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Updated: June 19, 2025
There was an elegance about her and an air of languor, maybe from her sombre dark eyes, yet her every movement was graceful, and her smile a thing to be looking for, and she was slender as the stalk of a bluebell. The Laird of Scaurdale was in great humour, well on to seventy, his teeth still strong and white, and his shoulders with but a horseman's stoop.
Margaret came over beside me and put her hand into mine. "You're early, sir, you're early," cried Scaurdale; "it's asourying wi' the lasses ye will be at." The mistress looked not so ill-pleased at that, but it seemed to me Margaret's hand tightened in mine with a little tremble. "I'm thinking, Scaurdale, we will be getting a pair of colours for Bryde," said my uncle.
And if ever a man had it in his bones to run it was Dan, and at the door they met the very door where the woman had kissed her man and smote him on the cheek, when I lay in the heather, and the Laird of Scaurdale rode with the wean in the crook of his arm the same Helen that had brought them there then, had brought also this happy meeting.
On all the road the folk would be walking to be seeing the couple, and it was all we could be doing to be holding the horses, for there would be salutes from blunderbusses, and flags on the trams of creels, old flags and tattered from many's the sea, and we came to Scaurdale, and smuggled Hugh into the house like a thief, for fear he would be seeing Helen, and got at the dressing of him.
"I was paid good money for that job, and I ken what I ken, and mair what I've found out. Ye'll no' hiv great mind o' Scaurdale's son? No? Aweel, he was a bog-louper, and wild, wild at that, but he fell in wi' some south-country lady a cousin o' his ain, that stopped for years at Scaurdale a young thing that was feart to haud the man, but fond o' him too. I canna mind the name o' her.
"Easy going," says Dan; "McGilp has nae wind to come close in, and it's a long pull to the cove." The Laird swung himself to the saddle, and as the servant mounted, Belle made to give him the tartan bundle, but John, Laird o' Scaurdale, trusted none but himself on a night ride over the road to Scaurdale. "Give me the wean," says he, and loosened his cloak.
I did much thinking while the others would be talking, and I thought of the day, fresh from the college, when we ploughed the stubble and Belle brought the wean in the tartan shawl, the wean that grat beside Hugh in the old room when Belle carried her from the wee byre the wean that was carried to McCurdy's hut with Belle and Dan McBride, and had lain in the crook of the arm of John of Scaurdale that night when McGilp had shown a light away seaward.
"I'm thinkin' that, my dear, will it be ridin' for the priest, for indeed you're such a wicked lass I see nae ither way for it. I canna aye be knockin' when your wickedness keeps me in the caul' . . . ." "Come," she cried, rising, "come, for we will have been dallying too long, and I did give my word to Scaurdale. I will not be listening any more to your talk."
"And what lesson did ye get that day, Sir Churchman?" "Pride goeth before a fall," says Dan, "but that was a bad day for me." "And how?" cried Scaurdale, and I could see he was wasting time on purpose.
There's aye plenty o' gossips in the world, and Scaurdale will want this business kept quiet." "In plain words," said I, "the wean has been stolen away from her father with the mother's help." "That's just it precisely, Hamish; and what better place could she be hidden than here, with Scaurdale and your uncle so very friendly, and this so quiet a place?"
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