"Wha daurs say sic a name to Duncan Macalpine? Wha daurs disbelieve his word, standing in Oranmore? A feckless, ill-favored fuil, wi' as muckle hair about the filthy face o' him as wad hang him up in a tree, as the prodigal Absalom hung langsyne.--A cheat! If Big Duncan Macalpine wasna caring mair for his folk and name than for himsel, ye wad hae been spinning through the air afore now, in your road to the low country, ye ill-tongued loon!" "Whisht, Jean!--whisht!" said her brother. "What needs we heed ill word? We're langer kent it in Oranside than the gentleman." Duncan drew himself up in proud dignity. The puny "gentleman"--a thing of yesterday--was insignificant in the presence of the cottar of Oranmore--a true heritor of the soil. "You do not mean, gentleman," said Mr. Lumsden,--"I trust you do not mean to take any extreme proceedings. I rejoice to be able to give my testimony to the sterling honor and integrity of Duncan Macalpine and his kinsmen of Oranmore. Lord Gillravidge cannot have better, or more honorable tenants. I entreat--I beg that time may be given them to make a representation of their case to his Lordship. He is new to the country, and may not know that these men are not ordinary tenants--that they have, as they truly say, a right to the soil. Mr. Whittret, you cannot refuse them your influence with Lord Gillravidge--you know their peculiar claim?" "They might have a claim upon Mr. Sutherland," said the agent, gloomily. "They can have none upon Lord Gillravidge." "Lord Gillravidge is bound to preserve ancient rights," exclaimed Mr. Lumsden. "It is not possible he can know the circumstances. These men are not ordinary cottars, Mr. Whittret--you understand their position. For pity's sake do not drive them to extremity!" "It cannot be helped," said Mr. Whittret, bending his dark brows, and shunning the clear eye of the minister: "I must adhere to my instructions, Sir. These hill-lands are already let to a stock-farmer. I must proceed." "There can be no need for haste, at least," said Mr. Lumsden. "The new tenant cannot enter till Whit-Sunday. Let the Macalpines stay--let them remain until the term." Mr. Whittret lifted his eyes in furtive malice, with a glance of that suspicious cunning which perpetually fancies it is finding others out. "And have Lord Gillravidge called a tyrant and oppressor for removing the people after their seed is sown? You are very good, Mr. Lumsden--we know how clerical gentlemen can speak. We shall take our own plan. Simpson, begin your work."