“I don’t know that, Malcolm. It depends.”
“It’s plain yer lordship’s prejudeezed i’ their fawvour. Ony gait, I’m sartin it’s fair play ye want; an’ I canna for the life o’ me see a hair o’ wrang i’ yer lordship’s gaein’ in a cogue, as auld Tammy Dyster ca’s ’t; for, at the warst, ye cud only interdick them, an’ that ye cud du a’ the same, whether ye gaed or no. An’, gien ye be sae wulled, I can tak you an’ my leddy whaur ye’ll hear ilka word ’at’s uttered, an’ no a body get a glimp o’ ye, mair nor gien ye was sittin’ at yer ain fireside as ye are the noo.”
“That does make a difference!” said the marquis, a great part of whose unwillingness arose from the dread of discovery.—“It would be very amusing.”
“I’ll no promise ye that,” returned Malcolm. “I dinna ken aboot that.—There’s jist ae objection hooever: ye wad hae to gang a guid hoor afore they begoud to gaither.—An’ there’s aye laadies aboot the place sin’ they turned it intill a kirk!” he added thoughtfully. “—But,” he resumed, “we cud manage them.”
“How?”
“I wad get my gran’father to strik’ up wi’ a spring upo’ the pipes, o’ the ither side o’ the bored craig—or lat aff a shot of the sweevil: they wad a’ rin to see, an’ i’ the meantime we cud lan’ ye frae the cutter. We wad hae ye in an’ oot o’ sicht in a moment —Blue Peter an’ me—as quaiet as gien ye war ghaists, an’ the hoor midnicht.”
The marquis was persuaded, but objected to the cutter. They would walk there, he said. So it was arranged that Malcolm should take him and Lady Florimel to the Baillies’ Barn the very next time the fishermen had a meeting.
CHAPTER XLVI.
THE BAILLIES’ BARN.
Lady Florimel was delighted at the prospect of such an adventure. The evening arrived. An hour before the time appointed for the meeting, the three issued from the tunnel, and passed along the landward side of the dune, towards the promontory. There sat the piper on the swivel, ready to sound a pibroch the moment they should have reached the shelter of the bored craig—his signal being Malcolm’s whistle. The plan answered perfectly. In a few minutes, all the children within hearing were gathered about Duncan—a rarer sight to them than heretofore—and the way was clear to enter unseen.
It was already dusk, and the cave was quite dark, but Malcolm lighted a candle, and, with a little difficulty, got them up into the wider part of the cleft, where he had arranged comfortable seats with plaids and cushions. As soon as they were placed, he extinguished the light.