“Hush, hush, Hobbie—­not a word about that—­it’s a story better forgotten.”

“I dinna ken—­if it had chanced amang our folk, we wad hae keepit it in mind mony a day till we got some mends for’t—­but ye ken your ain ways best, you lairds—­I have heard say that Ellieslaw’s friend stickit your sire after the laird himsell had mastered his sword.”

“Fie, fie, Hobbie; it was a foolish brawl, occasioned by wine and politics—­many swords were drawn—­it is impossible to say who struck the blow.”

“At ony rate, auld Ellieslaw was aiding and abetting; and I am sure if ye were sae disposed as to take amends on him, naebody could say it was wrang, for your father’s blood is beneath his nails—­and besides there’s naebody else left that was concerned to take amends upon, and he’s a prelatist and a jacobite into the bargain—­I can tell ye the country folk look for something atween ye.”

“O for shame, Hobbie!” replied the young Laird; “you, that profess religion, to stir your friend up to break the law, and take vengeance at his own hand, and in such a bogilly bit too, where we know not what beings may be listening to us!”

“Hush, hush!” said Hobbie, drawing nearer to his companion, “I was nae thinking o’ the like o’ them—­But I can guess a wee bit what keeps your hand up, Mr. Patrick; we a’ ken it’s no lack o’ courage, but the twa grey een of a bonny lass, Miss Isabel Vere, that keeps you sae sober.”

“I assure you, Hobbie,” said his companion, rather angrily, “I assure you you are mistaken; and it is extremely wrong of you, either to think of, or to utter, such an idea; I have no idea of permitting freedoms to be carried so far as to connect my name with that of any young lady.”

“Why, there now—­there now!” retorted Elliot; “did I not say it was nae want o’ spunk that made ye sae mim?—­Weel, weel, I meant nae offence; but there’s just ae thing ye may notice frae a friend.  The auld Laird of Ellieslaw has the auld riding blood far hetter at his heart than ye hae—­troth, he kens naething about thae newfangled notions o’ peace and quietness—­he’s a’ for the auld-warld doings o’ lifting and laying on, and he has a wheen stout lads at his back too, and keeps them weel up in heart, and as fu’ o’ mischief as young colts.  Where he gets the gear to do’t nane can say; he lives high, and far abune his rents here; however, he pays his way—­Sae, if there’s ony out-break in the country, he’s likely to break out wi’ the first—­and weel does he mind the auld quarrels between ye, I’m surmizing he’ll be for a touch at the auld tower at Earnscliff.”

“Well, Hobbie,” answered the young gentleman, “if he should be so ill advised, I shall try to make the old tower good against him, as it has been made good by my betters against his betters many a day ago.”

“Very right—­very right—­that’s speaking like a man now,” said the stout yeoman; “and, if sae should be that this be sae, if ye’ll just gar your servant jow out the great bell in the tower, there’s me, and my twa brothers, and little Davie of the Stenhouse, will be wi’ you, wi’ a’ the power we can make, in the snapping of a flint.”