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Updated: June 17, 2025
'Haud yer tongue, my lord, and dinna bring doon a judgment upo' my hoose, for it wad be missed oot o' Rothieden, 'You're right there, Miss Naper. And here comes the whisky to stop my mouth. The Baron of Rothie sat for a few minutes with his feet on the fender before Miss Letty's blazing fire, without speaking, while he sipped the whisky neat from a wine-glass.
I thought I loved him, but it was not much of love that sea-sickness could get the better of. With a heart full of despair I went on shore. The captain slipped a note into my hand. I put it in my pocket, but pulled it out with my handkerchief in the street. Lord Rothie picked it up. I begged him to give it me, but he read it, and then tore it in pieces.
There are no such men now-a-days! It is a shame to speak of such, and therefore they are not! Decency has gone so far to abolish virtue. Would to God that a writer could be decent and honest! St. Paul counted it a shame to speak of some things, and yet he did speak of them because those to whom he spoke did them. Lord Rothie had, in five minutes, so deeply interested Mr.
'I never thocht to be sae favoured! Eh! but I hae langed, and noo I hae spoken! with which words he sat down, contented. When Mr. Cocker overtook his master, as MacGregor had not unfitly styled him, he only got a damning for his pains, and went home considerably crestfallen. Lord Rothie returned to the landlady in her parlour. 'What's the maitter wi' ye, my lord?
Before the first tune was over, I seemed to expect the second, and then the third, without thinking how I could know what was coming; but when they ended with the ballad of the Witch Lady, and I lifted up my head and saw that I was not by my father's fireside, but in Antwerp Cathedral with Lord Rothie, despair filled me with a half-insane resolution.
There is no barrier between Major Moray and myself but the foolish no, wicked indiscretion of an otherwise innocent and ignorant girl. Listen, Mr. Falconer: under the necessity of the circumstances you will not misjudge me if I compel myself to speak calmly. This, I trust, will be my final penance. I thought Lord Rothie was going to marry me. To do him justice, he never said so.
The Bothie was the name facetiously given by Alexander, Baron Rothie, son of the Marquis of Boarshead, to a house he had built in the neighbourhood, chiefly for the accommodation of his bachelor friends from London during the shooting-season. 'Haud yer tongue, Caumill, said the shoemaker. 'She's nae sic cattle, yon. Maybe he'll mak' something o't.
Cocker, he said, 'what mak's Sandy, Lord Rothie, or Wrathy, or what suld he be ca'd? tak' to The Bothie at a time like this, whan there's neither huntin', nor fishin', nor shutin', nor onything o' the kin' aboot han' to be playacks till him, the bonnie bairn 'cep' it be otters an' sic like?
He was in the midst of a prophetic denunciation of the vices of the nobility, and especially of Lord Rothie, when Meg, entering the room, went quietly behind his chair and whispered: 'Maister MacGregor, there's a lassie come for ye. 'I'm nae in, he answered, magnificently. 'But it's the mistress 'at's sent for ye. Somebody's wantin' ye. 'Somebody maun want me, than. As I was sayin', Mr.
When the sense of beauty which God had given him that he might worship, awoke in Lord Rothie, he did not worship, but devoured, that he might, as he thought, possess! The poison of asps was under those lips. His kiss was as a kiss from the grave's mouth, for his throat was an open sepulchre. This was all in the past, reader. Baron Rothie was a foam-flake of the court of the Prince Regent.
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