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I beg yer pardon, my lord, here i' the face o' my freen's. It was ill-temper an' pride i' me, jist the same as it's noo in Girnel there; an' ye maun forgie him, as ye forgae me, my lord, as sune 's ye can." "I'll du that, my Peter, the verra moment he wants to be forgi'en," said Malcolm. But Girnel turned with a grunt, and moved away toward the cliff. "This'll never du," said Peter.
'Lord preserve us! said the female voice, 'an he had worried our cat, Mr. Pleydell would ne'er hae forgi'en me! 'Aweel, my doo, the cat's no a prin the waur. So he's no in, ye say? 'Na, Mr. Pleydell's ne'er in the house on Saturday at e'en, answered the female voice. 'And the morn's Sabbath too, said the querist. 'I dinna ken what will be done.
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