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Who is she?" Malcolm hesitated a moment: if she really did not know what he meant, was there any risk in telling her? But he saw none. "Wha is she, mem!" he returned. "I whiles think she maun be the laird's guid angel, though in shape she's but a wee bit lassie. She maks up for a heap to the laird. Him an' her, mem, they 've disappeart thegither, naebody kens whaur."
"There's no a wean, is there?" "'Deed is there, mem! but pairt o' the meesery is, the bairn's disappeart; and she's brackin her heart aboot 'im. She's maist oot o' her min', mem! No that she's onything but perfecly reasonable, and gies never a grain o' trouble! I canna doobt she'd be a great help til ye, and that ilka minute ye saw fit to lat her bide.
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