“Put you striked him pack, Malcolm? Ton’t say you tidn’t gif him pack his plow. Ton’t tell it to her, Malcolm!” “Hoo cud I hit my maister, an’ mysel’ i’ the wrang, daddy?” “Then she’ll must to it herself,” said Duncan quietly, and, with the lips compressed of calm decision, turned towards the door, to get his dirk from the next room. “Bide ye still, daddy,” said Malcolm, laying hold of his arm, “an’ sit ye doon till ye hear a’ aboot it first.” Duncan yielded, for the sake of better instruction in the circumstances; over the whole of which Malcolm now went. But before he came to a close, he had skilfully introduced and enlarged upon the sorrows and sufferings and dangers of the laird, so as to lead the old man away from the quarrel, dwelling especially on the necessity of protecting Mr Stewart from the machinations of his mother. Duncan listened to all he said with marked sympathy. “An’ gien the markis daur to cross me in ’t,” said Malcolm at last, as he ended, “lat him leuk till himsel’, for it’s no at a buffet or twa I wad stick, gien the puir laird was intill ’t.” This assurance, indicative of a full courageous intent on the part of his grandson, for whose manliness he was jealous, greatly served to quiet Duncan; and he consented at last to postpone all quittance, in the hope of Malcolm’s having the opportunity of a righteous quarrel for proving himself no coward. His wrath gradually died away, until at last he begged his boy to take his pipes, that he might give him a lesson. Malcolm made the attempt, but found it impossible to fill the bag with his swollen and cut lips, and had to beg his grandfather to play to him instead. He gladly consented, and played until bed-time; when, having tucked him up, Malcolm went quietly to his own room, avoiding supper and the eyes of Mrs Courthope together. He fell asleep in a moment, and spent a night of perfect oblivion, dreamless of wizard lord or witch lady. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE CUTTER. Some days passed during which Malcolm contrived that no one should see him: he stole down to his grandfather’s early in the morning, and returned to his own room at night. Duncan told the people about that he was not very well, but would be all better in a day or two. It was a time of jubilation to the bard, and he cheered his grandson’s retirement with music, and with wild stories of highland lochs and moors, chanted or told. Malcolm’s face was now much better, though the signs of the blow were still plain enough upon it, when a messenger came one afternoon to summon him to the marquis’s presence. “Where have you been sulking all this time?” was his master’s greeting. “I havena been sulkin’, my lord,” answered Malcolm. “Yer lordship tauld me to haud oot o’ the gait till I was fit to be seen, an’ no a sowl has set an ee upo’ me till this verra moment ’at yer lordship has me in yer ain.” “Where have you been then?”