“This is the second predicament you have got us into, MacPhail,” said his lordship, as they walked along the Boar’s Tail--the name by which some designated the dune, taking the name of the rock at the end of it to be the Boar’s Craig, and the last word to mean, as it often does, not _Crag_, but _Neck_, like the German _kragen_, and perhaps the English _scrag_. “I’m sorry for ’t, my lord,” said Malcolm; “but I’m sure yer lordship had the worth o’ ’t in fun.” “I can’t deny that,” returned the marquis. “And _I_ can’t get that horrid shriek out of my ears,” said Lady Florimel. “Which of them?” said her father. “There was no end to the shrieking. It nearly drove me wild.” “I mean the poor girl’s who sat beside us, papa. Such a pretty nice-looking creature too! And that horrid woman close behind us all the time! I hope you won’t go again papa. They’ll convert you if you do, and never ask your leave. You wouldn’t like that, _I_ know.” “What do you say to shutting up the place altogether?” “_Do_, papa. It’s shocking. Vulgar and horrid!” “I wad think twise, my lord, afore I wad sair (_serve_) them as ill as they saired me.” “Did I ask your advice?” said the marquis sternly. “It’s nane the waur ’at it’s gien oonsoucht,” said Malcolm. “It’s the richt thing ony gait.” “You presume on this foolish report about you, I suppose, MacPhail,” said his lordship; “but that won’t do.” “God forgie ye, my lord, for I hae ill duin’ ’t!” (_find it difficult_) said Malcolm. He left them and walked down to the foamy lip of the tide, which was just waking up from its faint recession. A cold glimmer, which seemed to come from nothing but its wetness, was all the sea had to say for itself. But the marquis smiled, and turned his face towards the wind which was blowing from the south. In a few moments Malcolm came back, but to follow behind them, and say nothing more that night. The marquis did not interfere with the fishermen. Having heard of their rudeness, Mr Cairns called again, and pressed him to end the whole thing; but he said they would only be after something worse, and refused. The turn things had taken that night determined their after course. Cryings out and faintings grew common, and fits began to appear. A few laid claim to visions,--bearing, it must be remarked, a strong resemblance to the similitudes, metaphors, and more extended poetic figures, employed by the young preacher, becoming at length a little more original and a good deal more grotesque. They took to dancing at last, not by any means the least healthful mode of working off their excitement. It was, however, hardly more than a dull beating of time to the monotonous chanting of a few religious phrases, rendered painfully commonplace by senseless repetition.