Apparently, however, there had been some dissension between them; for the old man sat in his corner strangely wrathful, his face in a glow, his head thrown back, his nostrils distended, and his eyelids working, as if his eyes were “poor dumb mouths,” like Caesar’s wounds, trying to speak. “We are told in the New Testament to forgive our enemies, you know,” said Mrs Courthope, heedless of his entrance, but in a voice that seemed rather to plead than oppose. “Inteet she will not be false to her shief and her clan,” retorted Duncan persistently. “She will _not_ forgife Cawmil of Glenlyon.” “But he’s dead long since, and we may at least hope he repented and was forgiven.” “She’ll be hoping nothing of the kind, Mistress Kertope,” replied Duncan. “But if, as you say, God will be forgifing him,--which I do not belief,--let that pe enough for ta greedy blackguard. Sure, it matters but small whether poor Tuncan MacPhail will be forgifing him or not. Anyhow, he must do without it, for he shall not haf it. He is a tamn fillain and scounrel, and so she says,--with her respecs to _you_, Mistress Kertope.” His sightless eyes flashed with indignation; and perceiving it was time to change the subject, the housekeeper turned to Malcolm. “Could you bring me a nice mackerel or whiting for my lord’s breakfast to-morrow morning, Malcolm?” she said. “Certaintly, mem. I s’ be wi ye in guid time wi’ the best the sea’ll gie me,” he answered. “If I have the fish by nine o’clock, that will be early enough,” she returned. “I wadna like to wait sae lang for _my_ brakfast,” remarked Malcolm. “You wouldn’t mind it much, if you waited asleep,” said Mrs Courthope. “Can onybody sleep till sic a time o’ day as that?” exclaimed the youth. “You must remember my lord doesn’t go to bed for hours after you, Malcolm.” “An’ what can keep him up a’ that time? It’s no as gien he war efter the herrin’, an’ had the win’ an’ the watter an’ the netfu’s o’ waumlin craturs to haud him waukin’.” “Oh! he reads and writes, and sometimes goes walking about the grounds after everybody else is in bed,” said Mrs Courthope, “he and his dog.” “Well, I wad raither be up ear’,” said Malcolm; “a heap raither. I like fine to be oot i’ the quaiet o’ the mornin’ afore the sun’s up to set the din gaun; whan it’s a’ clear but no bricht--like the back o’ a bonny sawmon; an’ air an’ watter an’ a’ luiks as gien they war waitin’ for somethin’--quaiet, verra quaiet, but no content.” Malcolm uttered this long speech, and went on with more like it, in the hope of affording time for the stormy waters of Duncan’s spirit to assuage. Nor was he disappointed; for, if there was a sound on the earth Duncan loved to hear, it was the voice of his boy; and by degrees the tempest sank to repose, the gathered glooms melted from his countenance, and the sunlight of a smile broke out.