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Updated: May 2, 2025
It's the bed yer bonny mither got a soon' sleep in at last, and muckle was she i' the need o' 't! An' jist tak tent the morn what ye say whan Jean's i' the room, or maybe o' the ither side o' the door, for she's no mowse. I dinna ken what gars me keep the jaud. I believe 'at gien the verra deevil himsel' had been wi' me sae lang, I wadna ha'e the hert to turn him aboot his ill business.
I've had enough of this kind of thing." "Nonsense!" said the marquis, still rubbing his head. "Ye wad spile a', my leddy! It's ower late, forbye," said Malcolm; "I hear a fut." He rose and peeped out, but drew back instantly, saying in a whisper: "It's Mistress Catanach wi' a lantren! Haud yer tongue, my bonny leddy; ye ken weel she's no mowse.
Malcolm thought he was making game of him as heretofore, and held his peace. "You can go home now," said his lordship. "I will see to this affair." "But jist be canny middlin' wi' Mistress Catanach, my lord: she's no mowse." "What! you're not afraid of an old woman?"
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