But it must have been much which brought thee to the pass of asking for either." So saying, he filled a quart flagon from a barrel that stood nigh, and presented it to his guest.

Oliver eagerly accepted it, raised it to his head with a trembling hand, imbibed the contents with lips which quivered with emotion, and, though the potation was as thin as he had requested, so much was he exhausted with the combined fears of alarm and of former revelry, that, when he placed the flagon on the oak table, he uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction, and remained silent.
"Well, now you have had your draught, gossip," said the smith, "what is it you want?
Where are those that threatened you?
I could see no one." "No--but there were twenty chased me into the wynd," said Oliver.

"But when they saw us together, you know they lost the courage that brought all of them upon one of us." "Nay, do not trifle, friend Oliver," replied his host; "my mood lies not that way." "I jest not, by St.John of Perth.

I have been stayed and foully outraged (gliding his hand sensitively over the place affected) by mad David of Rothsay, roaring Ramorny, and the rest of them.

They made me drink a firkin of Malvoisie." "Thou speakest folly, man.