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"I thank ye frae mine," answered Malcolm, and again they shook hands. "But eh, Ma'colm, my man!" said the factor, "hoo will I ever shaw my face again?" "Fine that!" returned Malcolm, eagerly. "Fowk's terrible guid natur'd whan ye alloo 'at ye're i' the wrang. I do believe 'at whan a man confesses till 's neebour, an' says he's sorry, he thinks mair o' 'im nor afore he did it.
Towards morning he had found himself in the town again, and, crossing the Glamour, had wandered up the side of the water, and so come upon the sleepless miller contemplating his mill in the embrace of the torrent. "Ye maun alloo it's hard, Thamas," said the miller. "Hard?" retorted Thomas with indignation. "Hoo daur ye say sic a thing!
"I got it, my lord, whaur there's mair like it." "Show me them." "You refuse?" said the marquis; and the tone of the question was like the first cold puff that indicates a change of weather. "I div, my lord," she answered imperturbably. "If they are not my property, why do you bring me this?" "Are they your property, my lord?" "This is my handwriting." "Ye alloo that?" "Certainly, my good woman.
Ca' ye leein and hypocrisy a bit faut? I alloo the sin itsel mayna be jist damnable, but to what bouk mayna it come wi ither and waur sins upo the back o' 't? Wi leein, and haudin aff o' himsel, a man may grow a cratur no fit to be taen up wi the taings! Eh me, but my pride i' the laddie! It 'ill be sma' pride for me gien this fearsome thing turn oot to be true!"
"It does," responded Mr Graham solemnly. "Div ye alloo that, sir?" returned Malcolm aghast. "That soon's as gien a'thing war rushin' thegither back to the auld chaos."
"I maun alloo, hooever," the old woman went on, "'at ance ye get a haud o' THEM, they tak a grip o' YOU, an' hae a queer w'y o' hauntin' ye like, as they did the man himsel', sae 'at ye canna yet rid o' them. It comes only at noos an' thans, but whan the fit's upo' me, I canna get them oot o' my heid. The verse gangs on tum'lin' ower an' ower intil 't, till I'm jist scunnert wi' 't.
Supposin' she was weel merried first, hoo wad she stan' wi' her man whan he cam to ken 'at she was nae marchioness hed no lawfu' richt to ony name but her mither's? An' afore that, what richt cud I ha'e to alloo ony man to merry her ohn kent the trowth aboot her? Faith, it wad be a fine chance though for the fin'in' oot whether or no the man was worthy o' her!
"'Cause she was set on haudin her tongue. Was she to bring an owre true tale o' me to the vera hoose I was born in? As lang as I haud til my tongue, she'll never wag hers! Eh, but she's a true ane! She's ane to lippen til!" "Weel, I alloo, she's deen as a wuman sud the faut bein a' her ain!" "The faut bein' a' mine, mother, she wouldna tell what would disgrace me!"
'Mother, he answered, 'ye dinna ken, nor yet do I, what to mak o' me what wits I hae, and what wits I haena; but this ye'll alloo, that, for onything ye ken, the bonny man may be cryin upon me to gang efter some puir little yowie o' his, oot her lane i' the storm the nicht! With these words he walked gently from the kitchen, his dog following him.
"Ow, weel, I wad alloo what ye say, gien they war a' to be considered Christians." "Ow, I grant we canna weel du that i' the full sense, but I doobt, gien they bena a' Christians 'at ca's themsel's that, there's a heap mair Christianity nor get's the credit o' its ain name.
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