As he raised his eyes, he beheld the Marquis of A——, who, having arrived at the Tod’s Hole, had walked forth to look for his kinsman. After mutual greetings, he made some apology to the Master for not coming forward on the preceding evening. “It was his wish,” he said, “to have done so, but he had come to the knowledge of some matters which induced him to delay his purpose. I find,” he proceeded, “there has been a love affair here, kinsman; and though I might blame you for not having communicated with me, as being in some degree the chief of your family——” “With your lordship’s permission,” said Ravenswood, “I am deeply grateful for the interest you are pleased to take in me, but _I_ am the chief and head of my family.” “I know it—I know it,” said the Marquis; “in a strict heraldic and genealogical sense, you certainly are so; what I mean is, that being in some measure under my guardianship——” “I must take the liberty to say, my lord——” answered Ravenswood, and the tone in which he interrupted the Marquis boded no long duration to the friendship of the noble relatives, when he himself was interrupted by the little sexton, who came puffing after them, to ask if their honours would choose music at the change-house to make up for short cheer. “We want no music,” said the Master, abruptly. “Your honour disna ken what ye’re refusing, then,” said the fiddler, with the impertinent freedom of his profession. “I can play, ‘Wilt thou do’t again,’ and ‘The Auld Man’s Mear’s Dead,’ sax times better than ever Patie Birnie. I’ll get my fiddle in the turning of a coffin-screw.” “Take yourself away, sir,” said the Marquis. “And if your honour be a north-country gentleman,” said the persevering minstrel, “whilk I wad judge from your tongue, I can play ‘Liggeram Cosh,’ and ‘Mullin Dhu,’ and ‘The Cummers of Athole.’” “Take yourself away, friend; you interrupt our conversation.” “Or if, under your honour’s favour, ye should happen to be a thought honest, I can play (this in a low and confidential tone) ‘Killiecrankie,’ and ‘The King shall hae his ain,’ and ‘The Auld Stuarts back again’; and the wife at the change-house is a decent, discreet body, neither kens nor cares what toasts are drucken, and what tunes are played, in her house: she’s deaf to a’thing but the clink o’ the siller.” The Marquis, who was sometimes suspected of Jacobitism, could not help laughing as he threw the fellow a dollar, and bid him go play to the servants if he had a mind, and leave them at peace. “Aweel, gentlemen,” said he, “I am wishing your honours gude day. I’ll be a’ the better of the dollar, and ye’ll be the waur of wanting music, I’se tell ye. But I’se gang hame, and finish the grave in the tuning o’ a fiddle-string, lay by my spade, and then get my tother bread-winner, and awa’ to your folk, and see if they hae better lugs than their masters.” CHAPTER XXV.