"Wae is me that I should hear this," said the dominie, sadly. "I speak in confidence, dominie," said the quartermaster, laying his "yard of clay" lightly on the other's arm, and lowering his voice. "Of course--of course. But how different hath the Master's life been from his father's! Wasting his patrimony among London bucks and bullies--among parasites and flatterers, even as Timon of Athens wasted his substance, till he was driven to seek sustenance by digging for the poorest roots of the earth." "Our old Lord has ever acted wisely, dominie; when not on active service, he has ever been resident on his ain auld patrimonial property--wisely so, I say, for it beseems not that the great names of the land should die out of the memory of those who inhabit it; d--n all absentees, say I!" And as the quartermaster buried his red nose in his toddy-jug, the concluding anathema became an indistinct mumble. "Bankruptcy and disgrace are before the Master, I fear," he resumed with a sigh, as he snuffed the long candles, which were placed in square-footed holders of carved mahogany, mounted with silver rings on the stems; "war may save him for a time, but only if he leaves the Guards." "War, say ye?" "Yes--for if he owed sums that surpassed the national debt, his creditors could never touch him while under orders for foreign service." "But at his home-coming?" "Ay, there's the rub, dominie. A fine story it would be to have the Master of Rohallion--he, the heir of a line that never was disgraced--ever stainless and true--arrested by a dog of a bailiff--arrested, perhaps, at the head of his regiment, it might be after fighting the battles of his country! Zounds, dominie, it would be enough to make all the old oaks in Rohallion wood drop their leaves and die, as if a curse had come upon the land! It would break his father's heart, and, much as I love the family, I would rather that Cosmo was killed in action, than that he had to endure such disgrace, or that after facing the French, as I know he will do bravely (for there never came a coward of the Crawford line), he had to flee ignobly to Holyrood, and become an abbey laird, that he might snap his fingers at the laws of both Scotland and England, until, perhaps, he got the lands of Ardgour." The dominie was truly grieved to hear such things, for he had all the old Scottish patriarchal love of the family, under whom his forefathers--stout men-at-arms in their time, had been trusted dependents, through long dark ages of war and tumult; so he drew a long sigh, took a deep draught from his toddy jug, and asked in a low voice-- "If aught were to happen unto the Master, how would the title go?"