Weel, ye see--' MacGregor was interrupted by a sound from the further end of the room.
The stranger, whom most of them had by this time forgotten, had risen, and was approaching the table where they sat.
'Guid guide us!' interrupted several under their breaths, as all rose, 'it's Lord Sandy himsel'!' 'I thank you, gentleman,' he said, with a mixture of irony and contempt, 'for the interest you take in my private history.

I should have thought it had been as little to the taste as it is to the honour of some of you to listen to such a farrago of lies.' 'Lees! my lord,' said MacGregor, starting to his feet.

Mr.Cocker looked dismayed, and Mr.Lammie sheepish--all of them dazed and dumbfoundered, except the old weaver, who, as his lordship turned to leave the room, added: 'Lang lugs (ears) suld be made o' leather, my lord, for fear they grow het wi' what they hear.' Lord Rothie turned in a rage.

He too had been drinking.
'Kick that toad into the street, or, by heaven! it's the last drop any of you drink in this house!' he cried.
'The taed may tell the poddock (frog) what the rottan (rat) did i' the taed's hole, my lord,' said MacGregor, whom independence, honesty, bile, and drink combined to render fearless.
Lord Sandy left the room without another word.

His factor took his hat and followed him.