Stephen. Troth, Sir John, there was naebody in the room but Dougal MacCallum, the butler.  But, as your honour kens, he has e’en followed his auld master.

“Very unlucky again, Stephen,” said Sir John, without altering his voice a single note.  “The man to whom ye paid the money is dead, and the man who witnessed the payment is dead too; and the siller, which should have been to the fore, is neither seen nor heard tell of in the repositories.  How am I to believe a’ this?”

Stephen. I dinna ken, your honour; but there is a bit memorandum note of the very coins, for, God help me!  I had to borrow out of twenty purses; and I am sure that ilka man there set down will take his grit oath for what purpose I borrowed the money.

Sir John. I have little doubt ye borrowed the money, Steenie.  It is the payment that I want to have proof of.

Stephen. The siller maun be about the house, Sir John.  And since your honour never got it, and his honour that was canna have ta’en it wi’ him, maybe some of the family may hae seen it.

Sir John. We will examine the servants, Stephen; that is but reasonable.

But lackey and lass, and page and groom, all denied stoutly that they had ever seen such a bag of money as my gudesire described.  What saw waur, he had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul of them his purpose of paying his rent.  Ae quean had noticed something under his arm, but she took it for the pipes.

Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of the room and then said to my gudesire, “Now, Steenie, ye see ye have fair play; and, as I have little doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than ony other body, I beg in fair terms, and for your own sake, that you will end this fasherie; for, Stephen, ye maun pay or flit.”

“The Lord forgie your opinion,” said Stephen, driven almost to his wits’ end—­“I am an honest man.”

“So am I, Stephen,” said his honour; “and so are all the folks in the house, I hope.  But if there be a knave among us, it must be he that tells the story he cannot prove.”  He paused, and then added, mair sternly:  “If I understand your trick, sir, you want to take advantage of some malicious reports concerning things in this family, and particularly respecting my father’s sudden death, thereby to cheat me out of the money, and perhaps take away my character by insinuating that I have received the rent I am demanding.  Where do you suppose the money to be?  I insist upon knowing.”

My gudesire saw everything look so muckle against him that he grew nearly desperate.  However, he shifted from one foot to another, looked to every corner of the room, and made no answer.

“Speak out, sirrah,” said the laird, assuming a look of his father’s, a very particular ane, which he had when he was angry—­it seemed as if the wrinkles of his frown made that selfsame fearful shape of a horse’s shoe in the middle of his brow; “speak out, sir!  I will know your thoughts; do you suppose that I have this money?”