"Now, in Heaven's name, what is the matter?" said Nigel Olifaunt.--
"Where have you been, or what have you been about? You look as pale as
death. There is blood on your hand, and your clothes are torn. What
barns-breaking have you been at? You have been drunk, Richard, and
fighting."
"Fighting I have been," said Richard, "in a small way; but for being
drunk, that's a job ill to manage in this town, without money to come
by liquor; and as for barns-breaking, the deil a thing's broken but my
head. It's not made of iron, I wot, nor my claithes of chenzie-mail;
so a club smashed the tane, and a claught damaged the tither. Some
misleard rascals abused my country, but I think I cleared the causey
of them. However, the haill hive was ower mony for me at last, and I
got this eclipse on the crown, and then I was carried, beyond my
kenning, to a sma' booth at the Temple Port, whare they sell the
whirligigs and mony-go-rounds that measure out time as a man wad
measure a tartan web; and then they bled me, wold I nold I, and were
reasonably civil, especially an auld country-man of ours, of whom more
hereafter."
"And at what o'clock might this be?" said Nigel.
"The twa iron carles yonder, at the kirk beside the Port, were just
banging out sax o' the clock."
"And why came you not home as soon as you recovered?" said Nigel.
"In troth, my lord, every _why_ has its _wherefore_, and this has a
gude ane," answered his follower.
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