"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.