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“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.

The exciseman had jumped to his feet at Donald’s first outburst. But he had underrated his man, and now it was too late. To attempt to draw a pistol now would be fatal–that was a movement with which he should have opened the affair. The exciseman was disposed to try bluster; but bluster does not always win a trick in the game, more especially when the ace of trumps, in the shape of a pistol, is held by the adversary. In this instance, after a long glance at the Highlander, the gauger’s eyes wavered and fell; he swallowed hard in his throat once or twice, and lost colour; and finally he sat down in the seat from which a minute ago he had sprung full of fight. Then slowly, and almost as it seemed, against his own volition, his hand went out and closed on the whisky bottle. He helped himself largely, drank copiously, without diluting too much with water, but still said never a word. Now his colour came back a little, and he nibbled at the oatcake and cheese. Then more whisky. Gradually the man became talkative–even laughed now and then a trifle unsteadily. And all the time Donald kept on him a watchful eye, and had him covered, giving him no opportunity to turn the tables. For here the Highlander saw his chance. He had no wish to murder the gauger, but, at any price, he was not going to be taken. If, however, he kept the man a little longer in his present frame of mind, it was very evident that presently the exciseman would be too tipsy to do anything but go to sleep. And so it proved. From being merely merry–in a fashion somewhat tempered by the ugly, threatening muzzle of a pistol, he became almost friendly; from friendly he became aggrieved, moaning over the insult that a breekless Highlander had put on him; then the sentimental mood seized him, and he wept maudlin tears over the ingratitude and neglect shown to him by his superior officers; finally, in the attempt to sing a most dolorous song, he rolled off his seat and lay on his back, snorting.