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Updated: May 26, 2025
Women 's born till 't, an' they tak it, an' are thankfu'; but a man never gies in till 't, an' sae it comes harder upo' him nor upo' them. Hear me, my lord: gien there be a man upo' this earth wha wad shield a wuman, that man 's Ma'colm Colonsay." "If only she weren't his sister!" murmured the marquis.
He saw a low white forehead, large eyeballs upheaving closed lids, finely modelled features of which the tightened skin showed all the delicacy, and a mouth of suffering whereon the vanishing Psyche had left the shadow of the smile with which she awoke. The tears gathered in his eyes, and Miss Horn saw them. "Ye maun lay yer han' upo' her, Ma'colm," she said.
"Div ye railly think it, Ma'colm?" sighed the factor with a flush. "I div that, sir. Only whan ye grow better, gien ye'll alloo me to say't, sir, ye maunna lat Sawtan temp' ye to think 'at this same repentin' was but a wakeness o' the flesh, an' no an enlichtenment o' the speerit." "I s' tie mysel' up till 't," cried the factor, eagerly.
One day, when Malcolm was seated, mending a net, among the thin grass and great red daisies of the links by the bank of the burn, where it crossed the sands from the Lossie grounds to the sea, Lizzy came up to him and said, "The factor wad like to see ye, Ma'colm, as sune's ye can gang till 'im." She waited no reply. Malcolm rose and went
Gien only Ma'colm MacPhail had been at hame to haud him in order!" Peter said nothing, and his silence, to one who spake out whatever came, seemed fuller of restraints and meanings than it was. She challenged it at once. "Noo, what mean ye by sayin' naething, Peter? Guid kens it's the warst thing man or woman can say o' onybody to haud their tongue.
Eh! sic a heap o' them as there has been sin' Awbel," she went on "an ilk ane them luikin, as gien there never had been anither but itsel'! Ye oucht to see a corp, Ma'colm. Ye'll hae't to du afore ye're ane yersel', an' ye'll never see a bonnier nor my Grizel." "Be 't to yer wull, mem," said Malcolm resignedly.
Maybe ye're thinkin' I ha'e sma' occasion to say sic like to yersel'. An' yet what's yer life but a lee, Ma'colm? "What wad ye ha'e me un'erstan' by that, Miss Horn?" returned Malcolm. "I hear no ill o' her. I daursay she's no jist a sa'nt yet, but that's no to be luiked for in ane o' the breed: they maun a' try the warl' first ony gait.
"He's a wise son 'at kens his ain faither!" remarked Miss Horn, with more point than originality. "The leddy never bore the best o' characters, as far 's my memory taks me, an' that 's back afore John an' her was merried ony gait. Na, na; John Stewart never took a dwaum 'cause Ma'colm MacPhail was upo' the ro'd."
Then came the voice of Lizzy in an agony from the door "Haud aff o' yersel', Ma'colm. I canna bide it. I gi'e ye back yer word." "We'll manage yet Lizzy," answered Malcolm, and kept warily retreating towards a window. Suddenly he dashed his elbow through a pane, and gave a loud shrill whistle, the same instant receiving a blow over the eye which the blood followed.
"I wad raither not," he replied, "but we maun see hoo he cairries himsel'." "Du naething till 'im for my sake, Ma'colm. Ye can hae naething again' him yersel'." It was too dark for Malcolm to see the keen look of wistful regret with which Lizzy tried to pierce the gloom and read his face: for a moment the poor girl thought he meant he had loved her himself.
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