Malcolm soon left the high road and cut across the fields--over which the wind bore cries and shouts, mingled with laughter and the animal sounds of coarse jeering. When he came nigh the cart-road which led into the village, he saw at the entrance of the street a crowd, and rising from it the well-known shape of the factor on his horse. Nearer the sea, where was another entrance through the back-yards of some cottages, was a smaller crowd. Both were now pretty silent, for the attention of all was fixed on Malcolm’s approach. As he drew up Kelpie foaming and prancing, and the group made way for her, he saw a deep wide ditch across the road, on whose opposite side was ranged irregularly the flower of Scaurnose’s younger manhood, calmly, even merrily prepared to defend their entrenchment. They had been chaffing the factor, and loudly challenging the constables to come on, when they recognised Malcolm in the distance, and expectancy stayed the rush of their bruising wit. For they regarded him as beyond a doubt come from the marchioness with messages of goodwill. When he rode up, therefore, they raised a great shout, everyone welcoming him by name. But the factor, who, to judge by appearances, had had his forenoon dram ere he left home, burning with wrath, moved his horse in between Malcolm and the assembled Scaurnoseans on the other side of the ditch. He had self-command enough left, however, to make one attempt at the loftily superior. “Pray what is your business?” he said, as if he had never seen Malcolm in his life before, “I presume you come with a message.” “I come to beg you, sir, not to go further with this business. Surely the punishment is already enough!” said Malcolm respectfully. “Who sends me the message?” asked the factor, his teeth clenched, and his eyes flaming. “One,” answered Malcolm, “who has some influence for justice, and will use it, upon whichever side the justice may lie.” “Go to hell,” cried the Factor, losing utterly his slender self-command, and raising his whip. Malcolm took no heed of the gesture, for he was at the moment beyond his reach. “Mr Crathie,” he said calmly, “you are banishing the best man in the place.” “No doubt! no doubt! seeing he’s a crony of yours,” laughed the factor in mighty scorn. “A canting, prayer-meeting rascal!” he added. “Is that ony waur nor a drucken elyer o’ the kirk?” cried Dubs from the other side of the ditch, raising a roar of laughter. The very purple forsook the factor’s face, and left it a corpse-like grey in the fire of his fury. “Come, come, my men! that’s going too far,” said Malcolm. “An’ wha ir ye for a fudgie (_truant_) fisher, to gi’e coonsel ohn speired?” shouted Dubs, altogether disappointed in the poor part Malcolm seemed taking. “Haud to the factor there wi’ yer coonsel.” “Get out of my way,” said Mr Crathie, still speaking through his set teeth, and came straight upon Malcolm. “Home with you! or--r--r----”