Mary Lyon thought. For he
continued his discourse as if nothing were the matter.

"I came here in a friendly spirit, madam," he said, "but I have good
reason to believe that every male of your household is deeply involved
in the smuggling traffic, and that several of them, in spite of their
professions of religion, assaulted and took possession of the House of
Marnhoul for the purpose of unlawfully concealing therein undutied goods
from the proper officers of the crown!"

"Aye, and ken ye wha it was that tried to burn doon your Great House,"
cried my grandmother--"it was your grand tutor--your wonderfu' guardian,
even Lalor Maitland, the greatest rogue and gipsy that ever ran on two
legs. There was a grandson o' mine put a charge o' powder-and-shot into
him, though. But here come the lads. They will tell ye news o' your
tutor and guardian, him that ye daur speak to me aboot committing the
puir innocent bairns to--what neither you nor a' the law in your black
bag will ever tak' frae under the roof-tree o' Mary Lyon. Here, this way,
lads--dinna be blate! Step ben!"

And so, without a shadow of blateness, there stepped "ben" Tom and Eben
and Rob. Tom had his scythe in his hand, for he had come straight from
the meadow at his father's call, the sweat of mowing still beading his
brow, and the broad leathern strap shining wet about his waist. Eben
folded a pair of brawny arms across a chest like an oriel window, but
Rob always careful for appearances, had his great-grandfather's sword,
known in the family as "Drumclog," cocked over his shoulder, and carried
his head to the side with so knowing an air that the blade was cold
against his right ear.

Last of all my grandfather stepped in, while I kept carefully out of
sight behind him. He glanced once at his sons.

"Lads, be ashamed," he said; "you, Thomas, and especially you, Rob. Put
away these gauds. We are not 'boding in fear of weir.' These ill days
are done with. Be douce, and we will hear what this decent man has to
say."

There is no doubt that the lawyer was by this display of force somewhat
intimidated. At least, he looked about him for some means of escape, and
fumbled with the catch of his black hand-bag.

"Deil's in the man," cried Mary Lyon, snatching the bag from him, "but
it's a blessing I'm no so easy to tak' in as the guidman there. Let that
bag alane, will ye, na! Wha kens what may be in it? There--what did I
tell you?"

Unintentionally she shook the