“I can tak the leader, my lord.”
“I tell you you’re to do nothing of the kind!” cried the marquis angrily. “You’re to ride inside, and bring Mr—what’s his name?— back with you.”
“Soutar, my lord, gien ye please.”
“Be off, then. Don’t wait to feed. The brutes have been eating all day, and they can eat all night. You must have him here in an hour.”
In an hour and a quarter, Miss Horn’s friend stood by the marquis’s bedside. Malcolm was dismissed, but was presently summoned again to receive more orders.
Fresh horses were put to the chariot, and he had to set out once more—this time to fetch a justice of the peace, a neighbour laird. The distance was greater than to Duff Harbour; the roads were worse; the north wind, rising as they went, blew against them as they returned, increasing to a violent gale; and it was late before they reached Lossie House.
When Malcolm entered, he found the marquis alone.
“Is Morrison here at last?” he cried in a feeble, irritated voice.
“Yes, my lord.”
“What the devil kept you so long? The bay mare would have carried me there and back in an hour and a half.”