Miss Horn rose to her full height and stood like an angel of rebuke before him.  Not a word did she speak, only looked at him for a moment and turned to leave the room.  The marquis saw his danger, and striding to the door stood with his back against it.

“Think ye to scare me, my lord?” she asked with a scornful laugh.  “Gang an’ scare the stane lion-beast at yer ha’-door.  Haud oot o’ the gait an’ lat me gang.”

“Not until I know what you are going to do,” said the marquis very seriously.

“I hae naething mair to transac’ wi’ yer lordship.  You an’ me ’s strangers, my lord.”

“Tut! tut!  I was but trying you.”

“An’ gien I had ta’en the disgrace ye offert me, ye wad hae drawn back?”

“No, certainly.”

“Ye wasna tryin’ me, then:  ye was duin’ yer best to corrup’ me.”

“I’m no splitter of hairs.”

“My lord, it’s nane but the corrup’ible wad seek to corrup’.”

The marquis gnawed a nail or two in silence.  Miss Horn dragged an easy-chair within a couple of yards of him.

“We’ll see wha tires o’ this ghem first, my lord,” she said as she sank into its hospitable embrace.

The marquis turned to lock the door, but there was no key in it.  Neither was there any chair within reach, and he was not fond of standing.  Clearly, his enemy had the advantage.

“Hae ye h’ard o’ puir Sandy Graham—­hoo they’re misguidin’ him, my lord?” she asked with composure.

The marquis was first astounded, and then tickled by her assurance.  “No,” he answered.

“They hae turnt him oot o’ hoose an’ ha’—­schuil, at least, an’ hame,” she rejoined.  “I may say they hae turnt him oot o’ Scotlan’, for what presbytery wad hae him efter he had been fun’ guilty o’ no thinkin’ like ither fowk?  Ye maun stan’ his guid freen’, my lord.”

“He shall be Malcolm’s tutor,” answered the marquis, not to be outdone in coolness, “and go with him to Edinburgh—­or Oxford, if he prefers it.”

“Never yerl o’ Colonsay had a better,” said Miss Horn.

“Softly, softly, ma’am,” returned the marquis.  “I did not say he should go in that style.”

“He s’ gang as my lord o’ Colonsay or he s’ no gang at your expense, my lord,” said his antagonist.

“Really, ma’am, one would think you were my grandmother, to hear you order my affairs for me.”

“I wuss I war, my lord:  I sud gar ye hear risson upo’ baith sides o’ yer heid, I s’ warran’.”

The marquis laughed.  “Well, I can’t stand here all day,” he said, impatiently swinging one leg.

“I’m weel awaur o’ that, my lord,” answered Miss Horn, rearranging her scanty skirt.

“How long are you going to keep me, then?”

“I wadna hae ye bide a meenute langer nor’s agreeable to yersel’.  But I’m in nae hurry sae lang’s ye’re afore me.  Ye’re nae ill to luik at, though ye maun hae been bonnier the day ye wan the hert o’ my Grizel.”