"
"Will you show me the way? I'll give you--I'll give you half-a-crown."
"Hildebrand Anne of Ardrochan is not the hired varlet of every
wandering chapster," said Tinker with a splendid air.
"I'm not a wandering chapster," said the money-lender. "I'm a
gentleman of London. I'll give you five shillings--half a sovereign--a
pound!"
"The offer of money to one in whose veins flows the proudest blood of
the North is an insult!" said Tinker in a terrible voice.
"No offence! No offence!" said Mr. Lambert, cursing what he believed
to be the penniless Highland pride under his breath.
Suddenly Tinker saw his way. "From the top of yon tower I can show you
the path to Hamish Beg's. Follow me," he said, turned his pony, and
led the way up the hill with a sinister air.
With a groan, the money-lender, quite unobservant of the sinister air,
breasted the ascent. He set down his rifle by the door of the tower,
and followed Tinker up the ladders.
"You see those two pine trees between those two far hills?" said Tinker.
Mr. Lambert drew round his field-glasses, and after long fumbling,
focussed them on the pines. "Well?" he said.
There was no answer; he turned to his angel guide, and found himself
alone on the tower.
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