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Updated: May 18, 2025
"There's no blot upo' her memory, mem," returned the youth, "or I wad be markis the morn. There's never a sowl kens she was mither but kens she was wife ay, an' whase wife, tu." Miss Horn had neither wish nor power to reply, and changed her front.
The muddy lanes, green or clayey, that seemed to the unaccustomed eye to lead nowhere but into each other, did really lead, with patience, to a distant high-road; but there were many feet in Basset which they led more frequently to a centre of dissipation, spoken of formerly as the "Markis o' Granby," but among intimates as "Dickison's."
She went down to Scotland by the night express of the Great Northern, and arrived at Lone early in the morning of the day before the wedding-day that should have been. She found great preparations going on for the marriage of the markis and the heiress. She went over to the castle with the crowd of the country people who gathered there to see the grand decorations for the wedding.
"As soon then as I get a hold of that misbegotten elf " "Mean ye the yoong laird, or the yoong markis, mem?" "You forget, Mrs Catanach, that you are speaking to a lady!" "Ye maun hae been unco like ane ae nicht, ony gait, mem. But I'm dune wi' my jokin'." "As soon, I say, as I get my poor boy into proper hands, I shall be ready to take the next step." "What for sod ye pit it aff till than?
"Weel, ye ken little," said Peter, and the rest laughed. "I'm the Markis o' Lossie," said Malcolm. Every man but Peter laughed again: all took it for a joke precursive of some serious announcement. That which it would have least surprised them to hear, would have been that he was a natural son of the late marquis.
And at length, when the great thunderbolt fell that destroyed Lone and banished the ducal family, there were not wanting "guid neebors" who taunted Rose Cameron with such words as these: "The braw young markis hae made a fule o' ye, lass. Thoul't ne'er see him mair. And a guid job, too. Best ye'd ne'er see him at a'!" But the handsome shepherdess betrayed no sign of mortification or doubt.
"I dinna believe ae word o' 't, laddie," answered Miss Horn eagerly. "Wha cud believe sic a fine laad come o' sic a fause mither?" "She micht be ony body's mither, an' fause tu," said Malcolm gloomily. "That's true laddie; and the mair mither the fauser! There's a warl' o' witness i' your face 'at gien she be yer mither, the markis, an no puir honest hen peckit John Stewart, was the father o' ye.
Phemy too was at the table: she rose as if to leave the room, but apparently changed her mind, for she sat down again instantly. "Man ye're unco braw the day i' yer kilt an' tartan hose!" remarked Mair as he welcomed him. "I pat them on to please my daddy an' the markis," said Malcolm, with a half shamed faced laugh. "Are na ye some cauld aboot the k-nees?" asked the guidwife. "Nae that cauld!
"Oh! let me see; yes yes the heir to an earldom. That's liberal enough is it not?" "That 's as muckle as say I wad come to be a yerl some day, sae be I didna dee upo' the ro'd?" "Yes that's what it means." "An' a yerl's neist door till a markis isna he?" "Yes he's in the next lower rank." "Lower? Ay! No that muckle, maybe?"
The woman seeing to whom the letters were addressed, and hearing the Tenor talk in an off-hand way about his manservant as if he had been accustomed to the luxury all his life, feared for a moment that his mind was affected; but then some of those wild surmises as to whom and what he might be, which were rife all over the ancient city when he first arrived, recurred to her, and there slipped from her unawares the remark: "Well, they always said you was somebody, and to look at you one might suppose you was a dook or a markis, sir, but I won't make so bold as to ask."
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