“Aye, capital whisky; cap-i-tal whisky,” said the stranger graciously.  “And I daresay there’s more where that came from, if the truth were kenned.”

But that was a suggestion which Donald found it convenient to ignore.  He had “ferry little English,” he said.

“And I daresay, now,” pursued the stranger, in tones if anything perhaps a trifle over-hearty, “I daresay, now, the devil a drop of it will ever have helped to line the King’s pocket?  Eh?”

But here, again, Donald’s knowledge of English was at fault; he “wad no pe kennin’ fhat his honour’s sel’ wad pe sayin’.”

“And what might your name be?” presently inquired this over-inquisitive guest.

“Ach, it micht joost pe Tonal,” said the Highlander.

“Donald?  Aye, and what more than Donald?”

“Ooh, there wull pe no muckle mair.  They will joost be calling me Tonal M’Tonal.”

“Donald M’Donald?  Aye, aye.  I thought so.  Well, Donald, I’m an excise officer, and you’ve been distilling whisky contrary to the law.  I’ll just overhaul your premises, and then you’ll be coming with me as a prisoner.  And you’d best come quietly.”

“Preesoner?—­Preesoner?  Her honour will no be thinkin’ o’ sic a thing.  There micht aiblins pe a thing or twa in ta hoose tat his honour wad pe likin’ to tak’ away, but it iss no possible tat he can do onything wi’ her nainsel’.”

“It’s no use talking, my mannie.  Duty’s duty.  You must come wi’ me.”

“Ochon!  Ochon!  Tuty wull pe a pad thing when it’s a wee pit pisness sic as this.  Yer honour wull joost be takin’ the pits o’ things in ta bothy, an’ her nainsel’ wull gang awa’ an’ no say naething aboot it at aal.”

“I’m not here to argue with you,” cried the exciseman, getting impatient.  “You’re my prisoner.  I confiscate everything here.  If there’s any resistance, I can summon help whenever I please.  You’d best come quietly.”

“Oh, ’teed tat’s ferry hard; surely to cootness very hard indeet.  But she wull no pe thinkin’ aaltogether tat she wull pe driven joost like a muckle prute beast either.  Her nainsel’ wull mebbes hef a wheen freends tat could gie her help if she was wantin’t.  Could ye told me if there wud pe ony o’ them tat wad pe seem’ yer honour comin’ in here?”

“Not one of your friends, my mannie.  Nor nobody else.”

“Then, by Gott, there wull pe nopody tat wull pe seem’ ye go oot,” shouted Donald in an excited, high-pitched scream, as he snatched a heavy horse-pistol from behind the door, and cocked it.  “If ye finger either your swort or your pistol, your plood wull pe on your ain head.  She wull pe plowin’ your prains oot.”

A very different man this from the submissive, almost cringing, creature of a few minutes back!  Now, there stood a man with set mouth and eyes that blazed evilly; the pistol that covered the gauger was steady as a rock, and a dirk in the Highlander’s left hand gleamed ominously as it reflected the glow from the fire in the middle of the room.