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Updated: June 28, 2025
I thought the grave was a better place. I hae lain safter afore I dee'd. Phemy! Phemy! Rin, Phemy, rin! I s' bide wi' them this time. Ye rin, Phemy!" As it grew dark the air turned very chill, and snow began to fall thick and fast. Malcolm laid a few sticks on the smouldering peat-fire, but they were damp and did not catch.
All the house was careful the next morning that Phemy should not be disturbed; and when at length the poor child appeared, looking as if her colour was not 'ingrain, and so had been washed out by her tears, Kirsty made haste to get her a nice breakfast, and would answer none of her questions until she had made a proper meal.
Nothing entered them, however, but the sound of the rising tide, for Phemy sat by him in the faintly glimmering dusk, as without fear felt, so without word spoken.
"I will satisfy you in a moment," rejoined Diana; "and then away with your rhapsodies! She is the very Countess of Tinemouth, who brought that vagabond foreigner to our house who would have run off with Phemy!" "Lady Tinemouth!" exclaimed Pembroke; "I never saw her before. My ever-lamented mother knew her whilst I was abroad, and she esteemed her highly. Pray introduce me to her!"
"Hoot, laird! ye ken weel eneuch ye cam frae Go-od," answered Phemy, lengthening out the word with solemn utterance. The laird did not reply, and again the night closed around them, and the sea hushed at their hearts. But a soft light air began to breathe from the south, and it waked the laird to more active thought. "Gien he wad but come oot an' shaw himsel'!" he said.
Is there anything I can do for you?" Malcolm felt the dignity of her behaviour, but not the less, after his own straightforward manner, answered her question to the point. "I cam aboot naething concernin' mysel', mem, I cam to see whether ye kent onything aboot Phemy Mair." "Is it a wo? I don't even know who she is. You don't mean the young woman that ? Why do you come to me about her?
At times he would look terribly sad, and the mood would last for hours. Not once since she began to get better, had Phemy alluded to her faithless lover. In its departure her illness seemed to have carried with it her unwholesome love for him; and certainly, as if overjoyed at her deliverance, she had become much more of a child.
One night Phemy made her customary signal by knocking against the trapdoor with a long slip of wood: it opened, and, as usual, the body of the laird appeared, hung for a moment in the square gap, like a huge spider, by its two hands, one on each side, then dropped straight to the floor, when, without a word, he hastened forth, and Phemy followed.
"Takin' awa' my lugs," returned Phemy. "Ye cratur!" exclaimed Malcolm, "ye're ower wise. Wha wad hae thoucht ye sae gleg at the uptak!" "Whan fowk winna lippen to me " said Phemy and ceased. "What can ye expec," returned Malcolm, while father and mother listened with amused faces, "whan ye winna lippen to fowk? Phemy, whaur's the mad laird?"
He lay but a moment, came to himself, rose, and looked at the lovely thing he had laboured to redeem from 'cold obstruction. It lay just as it had fallen from his back, its face uppermost: it was Phemy! For a moment his blood seemed to stand still; then all the divine senses of the half-witted returned to him.
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