Shargar sprung
on the box, and dragged him down all but headlong.
'Now,' he said, 'beg my mother's pardon.'
'Be damned if I do, &c., &c.,' said the cabman.
'Then defend yourself,' said Shargar. 'Robert.'
Falconer was watching it all, and was by his side in a moment.
'Come on, you, &c., &c.,' cried the cabman, plucking up heart and
putting himself in fighting shape. He looked one of those insolent
fellows whom none see discomfited more gladly than the honest men of
his own class. The same moment he lay between his horse's feet.
Shargar turned to Robert, and saying only, 'There, Robert!' turned
again towards the woman. The cabman rose bleeding, and, desiring no
more of the same, climbed on his box, and went off, belabouring his
horse, and pursued by a roar from the street, for the spectators
were delighted at his punishment.
'Now, mother,' said Shargar, panting with excitement.
'What ca' they ye?' she asked, still doubtful, but as proud of being
defended as if the coarse words of her assailant had had no truth in
them. 'Ye canna be my lang-leggit Geordie.'
'What for no?'
'Ye're a gentleman, faith!'
'An' what for no, again?' returned Shargar, beginning to smile.
'Weel, it's weel speired. Yer father was ane ony gait--gin sae be
'at ye are as ye say.'
Moray put his head close to hers, and whispered some words that
nobody heard but herself.
'It's ower lang syne to min' upo' that,' she said in reply, with a
look of cunning consciousness ill settled upon her fine features.
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