’I have left all to the name, lands and rents, and mines, and money.  But, unless the lad marries in his own rank, I’ll change my will.  It’s in the hidie hole at Kirkburn, that Logan built to keep King Jamie in, when he caught him.  But the fool Ruthvens marred that job, and got their kail through the reek.  I’m wandering.’  He helped himself to another dram, and went on, ‘Ye see what I want, ye must stop that marriage.’

‘But,’ said Merton, ’as you are so kindly disposed towards your kinsman, this Mr. Logan, may I ask whether it would not be wise to address him yourself, as the head of his house?  He may, surely he will, listen to your objections.’

‘Ye do not know the Logans.’

Merton concealed his smile.

’Camstairy deevils!  It’s in the blood.  Never once has he asked me for a pound, never noticed me by word or letter.  Faith, I wish all the world had been as considerate to auld Restalrig!  For me to say a word, let be to make an offer, would just tie him faster to the lass.  “Tyne troth, tyne a’,” that is the old bye-word.’

Merton recognised his friend in this description, but he merely shook a sympathetic head.  ‘Very unusual,’ he remarked.  ’You really have no hope by this method?’

’None at all, or I would not be here on this daft ploy.  There’s no fool like an auld fool, and, faith, I hardly know the man I was.  But they cannot dispute the will.  I drew doctors to witness that I was of sound and disponing mind, and I’ve since been thrice to kirk and market.  Lord, how they stared to see auld Restalrig in his pew, that had not smelt appleringie these forty years.’

Merton noted these words, which he thought curious and obscure.  ’Your case interests me deeply,’ he said, ’and shall receive my very best attention.  You perceive, of course, that it is a difficult case, Mr. Logan’s character and tenacity being what you describe.  I must make careful inquiries, and shall inform you of progress.  You wish to see this engagement ended?’

‘And the lad on with a lass of his rank,’ said the marquis.

’Probably that will follow quickly on the close of his present affection.  It usually does in our experience,’ said Merton, adding, ’Am I to write to you at your London address?’

‘No, sir; these London hotels would ruin the cunzie’ (the Mint).

Merton wondered whether the Cunzie was the title of some wealthy Scotch peer.

‘And I’m off for Kirkburn by the night express.  Here’s wishing luck,’ and the old sinner finished the brandy.

‘May I call a cab for you—­it still rains?’

‘No, no, I’ll travel,’ by which the economical peer meant that he would walk.

He then shook Merton by the hand, and hobbled downstairs attended by his adviser.

‘Did Mr. Logan call?’ Merton asked the office boy when the marquis had trotted off.

‘Yes, sir; he said you would find him at the club.’