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I wad hae made nothing o' 't, gin it hadna been for a frien' o' mine. But Mr Bruce is a scholar, an' 'll read the Laitin till 's." By this time James Johnstone was across the street. "There's some foul play in this," cried Bruce, out of the darkness. "My enemy maun sen' for an ootlandish speech and a heathen tongue to insnare ane o' the brethren!" Profound silence followed. All sat expectant.
"Definition!" repeated the marquis. "Is 't ower lang a word, my lord?" asked Malcolm. The marquis only smiled. "I ken what ye mean. It's a strange word in a fisher lad's mou', ye think. But what for should na a fisher lad hae a smatterin' o' loagic, my lord? For Greek or Laitin there's but sma' opportunity o' exerceese in oor pairts; but for loagic, a fisher body may aye haud his ban' in i' that.
Mr Graham that's the schoolmaister has a gran' libbrary, but it's maist Laitin an' Greek, an' though I like the Laitin weel, it's no what I wad read i' the face o' the sea. When ye're in dreid o' wantin' a dictionar', that spiles a'." "Can you read Latin then?" "Ay: what for no, my leddy?
I cud ill bide it frae him, an' gien ye tak till 't as weel, 1 maun jist haud oot o' yer gait. I'm nae gentleman, an' hae ower muckle respeck for what becomes a gentleman to be pleased at bein' ca'd ane. But as for the Laitin, I'll be prood to instruck yer leddyship whan ye please." "I'm afraid I've no great wish to learn," said Florimel.
The lee lang day he was among 's fowk workin' his michty wark. Whan the nicht cam', in which no man could wark, he gaed hame till 's Father, as 't war. Eh me! but it's weel to ha'e a man like the schuilmaister to put trowth intill ye. I kenna what comes o' them 'at ha'e drucken maisters, or sic as cares for naething but coontin' an Laitin, an' the likes o' that!"
"There's a wee bitty o' Laitin, here i' the note, 'at I canna freely mak oot," said Malcolm, approaching Lord Lossie with his finger on the passage, never doubting that the owner of such a library must be able to read Latin perfectly: Mr Graham would have put him right at once, and his books would have been lost in one of the window corners of this huge place. But his lordship waved him back.
"I wonder what book it is," said Ginny. "That wad be ill to say," answered Nicie. "Donal reads a hantle o' buiks mair, his mither says, nor she doobts he can weel get the guid o'." "Do you think it's Latin, Nicie?" "Ow! I daursay. But no; it canna be Laitin for, leuk! he's lauchin', an' he cudna dee that gien 'twar Laitin.
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