“Hold your tongue, woman!” roared the Bull, shaking the very firmament with his voice. “Be not feared, my lass; ye shall have your mother’s countenance, though your father cast you off,” said Janet Gordon, nodding at us with unexpected graciousness. “Hold your peace, I tell you!” “Aye, Sandy, when I have done!” “Though he turn you to the doorstep I will pray for you,” she went on; “and for company on the way I will give you a copy of my meditations, which are most meet and precious.” Her husband laughed a quick, mocking laugh. “A bundle of clean sarks wad fit them better--but here comes the minister.” I turned about somewhat shamefacedly, and there, bowing to the Laird of Earlstoun, was young Gilchrist of Dunscore, whom the Presbytery of Dumfries had lately deposed. He was about to begin a speech of congratulation, but the Bull broke through. “Marry these two!” he commanded. And with his finger he pointed at Mary and myself, as if he had been ordering us for immediate execution. “But----” began the minister. Instantly an astonishing volume of sound filled the house. “BUT me no _buts_! Tie them up this moment! Or, by the Lord, I will eviscerate you with my sword!” And with that he snatched his great basket-hilted blade from the scabbard, where it swung on a pin by the side of the door. So, with a quaking minister, my own head dazed and uncertain with the whirl of events, and Mary Gordon giving her father back defiant glance for glance, we were married decently and in order. “Now,” said Alexander Gordon, so soon as the “Amen” was out, “go to your chamber with your mother, Mistress Mary! Take whatever ye can carry, but no more, and get you gone out of this house with the man you have chosen. I will teach you to be fond of dykebacks and of throwing yourself away upon beggarly, broken men!” And he frowned down upon her, as with head erect and scornful carriage she swept past him--her mother trotting behind like a frightened child. I think Alexander Gordon greatly desired to say something to me while he and I stood waiting for her return. For he kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, now turning to the window, anon humming half a tune and breaking off short in the midst. But ever as he came towards me with obvious intent to speak, he checked himself, shaking his head sagely, and so resumed again his restless marching to and fro. Presently my lass came down with a proud high look on her face, her mother following after, all beblubbered with tears and wringing her hands silently. “I bid you farewell, father!” Mary said; “till now you have ever been a kind father to me. And some day you will forgive this seeming disobedience!” Then it was that her father made a strange speech. “Quintin MacClellan has muckle to thank me for. For had it not been for the roaring of the Bull, he had not so easily gotten away the dainty quey!”