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Fearing to search himself, he took refuge in resentment, and to support his hard judgment, put false and cruel interpretations on whatever befell. So that, with love and anger and wrong acknowledged, his heart was full of bitterness. "Puir fallow! gien only Ma'colm wad come hame, an' lat him ken he 's no the villain he taks him for.
"Noo God forgi'e ye, Maister Crathie, for threipin' sic a thing!" cried Lizzy, rising as if she would leave him; "Ma'colm MacPhail 's as clear o' ony sin like mine as my wee bairnie itsel'." "Do ye daur tell me he's no the father o' that same, lass?" "No, nor never will be the father a' ony bairn whase mither 's no his wife!" said. Lizzy, with burning cheeks and resolute voice.
But there 's lawyers, my lord, to redd the doot." "Her son! You don't mean " "I div mean Ma'colm MacPhail, my lord." "God in heaven!" "His name 's mair i' yer mou' nor i' yer hert, I 'm doobtin', my lord! Ye a' cry oot upo' him the men o' ye whan ye' 're in ony tribble, or want to gar women believe ye! But I 'm thinkin' he peys but little heed to sic prayers."
He turned white with dismay then red with anger, and stood speechless. But he was quickly brought to himself by a sharp pinch under the shoulder blade from Kelpie's long teeth: he had forgotten her, and she had taken the advantage. "Wha tellt ye that, Lizzy?" he said. "I'm no at leeberty to say, Ma'colm, but I'm sure it's true, an' my hert's like to brak."
Stoat 'ill put up the mere, and I'll be back I can du't in ten meenutes." "Eh! dinna hurry for me, Ma'colm: I'm no worth it," said Lizzy. But Malcolm was already at full speed along the top of the dune. "Lord preserve 's!" cried Lizzy, when she saw him clear the brass swivel. "Sic a laad as that is! Eh, he maun ha'e a richt lass to lo'e him some day! It's a' ane to him, boat or beast.
But luik at Sandy Graham! Ye ken whether he has gumption or no; an' gien he be a stickit minister, he stack by the grace o' moadesty. But, haith, I winna peety him! for, o' a' things, to peety a guid man i' the richt gate is a fule's folly. Troth, I'm a hantle mair concernt about yersel', Ma'colm!" Malcolm heard her without apprehension.
He was on the point of warning Clementina lest she too should be worse than startled, when he was arrested by the voice of John Jack, the old gardener, who came stooping after them, looking a sexton of flowers. "Ma'colm, Ma'colm!" he cried, and crept up wheezing. " I beg yer leddyship's pardon, my leddy, but I wadna ha'e Ma'colm lat ye gang in there ohn tellt ye what there is inside."
Ma'colm, ye're the only ane 'at disna luik doon upo' me, an whan ye cam' ower the tap o' the Boar's Tail, it was like an angel in a fire flaucht, an' something inside me said Tell 'im; tell 'im; an' sae I bude to tell ye." Malcolm was even too simple to feel flattered by the girl's confidence, though to be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved. "Hearken, Lizzy!" he said.
The factor yelled and cursed and swore, and still Malcolm plied the whip, and still the horses flew over fields and fences and ditches. At length in the last field, from which they must turn into the high road, the factor groaned out "For God's sake, Ma'colm, ha'e mercy!" The youth's uplifted arm fell by his side.
He was shown into the little parlour, which, for all the grander things he had been amongst of late, had lost nothing of its first charm. There sat Miss Horn. "Sit doon, Ma'colm," she said gruffly. "Hae ye h'ard onything, mem?" asked Malcolm, standing. "Ower muckle," answered Miss Horn, with all but a scowl. "Ye been ower to Gersefell, I reckon." "Forbid it!" answered Malcolm.
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