At length Malcolm, concluding from the silence that the meeting had thoroughly skailed, peeped cautiously out to make sure. But after a moment, he drew back, saying in a regretful whisper,—
“I’m sorry ye canna gang yet, my lord. There’s some half a dizzen o’ ill-luikin’ chields, cairds (gipsies), I’m thinkin’, or maybe waur, congregat doon there, an’ it’s my opingon they’re efter nae guid, my lord.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ony body wad ken that, ’at got a glimp o’ them.”
“Let me look.”
“Na, my lord; ye dinna understan’ the lie o’ the stanes eneuch to haud oot o’ sicht.”
“How long do you mean to keep us here?” asked the marquis impatiently.
“Till it’s safe to gang, my lord. For onything I ken, they may be efter comin’ up here. They may be used to the place—though I dinna think it.”
“In that case we must go down at once. We must not let them find us here.”
“They wad tak ’s ane by ane as we gaed doon, my lord, an’ we wadna hae a chance. Think o’ my leddy there!”