“Well, Master,” said Captain Craigengelt, with malice which even his fear of the consequences could not suppress, “you have this morning done me an egregious wrong and dishonour, but far more to yourself. A castle indeed!” he continued, looking around him; “why, this is worse than a _coupe-gorge_ house, where they receive travellers to plunder them of their property.” “You insolent rascal,” said the Master, raising his cane, and making a grasp at the Captain’s bridle, “if you do not depart without uttering another syllable, I will batoon you to death!” At the motion of the Master towards him, the bully turned so rapidly round, that with some difficulty he escaped throwing down his horse, whose hoofs struck fire from the rocky pavement in every direction. Recovering him, however, with the bridle, he pushed for the gate, and rode sharply back again in the direction of the village. As Ravenswood turned round to leave the courtyard after this dialogue, he found that the Lord Keeper had descended from the hall, and witnessed, though at the distance prescribed by politeness, his interview with Craigengelt. “I have seen,” said the Lord Keeper, “that gentleman’s face, and at no great distance of time; his name is Craig—Craig—something, is it not?” “Craigengelt is the fellow’s name,” said the Master, “at least that by which he passes at present.” “Craig-in-guilt,” said Caleb, punning upon the word _craig_, which in Scotch signifies throat; “if he is Craig-in-guilt just now, he is as likely to be Craig-in-peril as ony chield I ever saw; the loon has woodie written on his very visnomy, and I wad wager twa and a plack that hemp plaits his cravat yet.” “You understand physiognomy, good Mr. Caleb,” said the Keeper, smiling; “I assure you the gentleman has been near such a consummation before now; for I most distinctly recollect that, upon occasion of a journey which I made about a fortnight ago to Edinburgh, I saw Mr. Craigengelt, or whatever is his name, undergo a severe examination before the privy council.” “Upon what account?” said the Master of Ravenswood, with some interest. The question led immediately to a tale which the Lord Keeper had been very anxious to introduce, when he could find a graceful and fitting opportunity. He took hold of the Master’s arm, and led him back towards the hall. “The answer to your question,” he said, “though it is a ridiculous business, is only fit for your own ear.” As they entered the hall, he again took the Master apart into one of the recesses of the window, where it will be easily believed that Miss Ashton did not venture again to intrude upon their conference. CHAPTER XVII. Here is a father now, Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, Make her the stop-gap to some canker’d feud, Or fling her o’er, like Jonah, to the fishes, To appease the sea at highest. ANONYMOUS.