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"It's no in natur'!" she cried. What are ye stan'in' like that for as gray mou'd 's a deein' skate?" For the first time in his life, Malcolm, young and strong as he was, felt sick. Sea and sky grew dim before him, and the earth seemed to reel under him. "I dinna believe 't," he faltered and turned away. "Ye dinna believe what I tell ye!" screeched the wrathful Partaness. "Ye daur to say the word!"
"Aigh, sirs! but it's a peety ye wasna foreordeent to be markis yersel'! It maun be a sair vex to ye 'at ye're naething but the factor." "If ye don't mind your manners, Mistress Fin'lay," said Mr Crathie in glowing indignation, "perhaps you'll find that the factor is as much as the marquis, when he's all there is for one." "Lord safe 's hear till 'im !" cried the Partaness.
Although the daughter had never confessed, the mother had yet arrived at the right conclusion concerning the father of her child how, she could hardly herself have told, for the conviction had grown by accretion; a sign here and a sign there, impalpable save to maternal sense, had led her to the truth; and now, if anyone had a word to say against Malcolm, he had better not say it in the hearing of the Partaness.
In a few minutes she was high and dry. Malcolm leaped on the sand just as the Partaness came bustling up with her kitchen table between her two hands like a tray. She set it down, and across it shook hands with him violently; then caught it up and deposited it firm on its four legs beneath the cutter's waist.
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