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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Weel, what about her? what do I ken?" cries Haddo. "M'Brair, ye daft auld wife, I tell ye as true 's truth, I never meddled her. It was just daffing, I tell ye: daffing, and nae mair: a piece of fun, like! I'm no' denying but what I'm fond of fun, sma' blame to me! But for onything sarious hout, man, it might come to a deposeetion! I'll sweir it to ye. Where's a Bible, till you hear me sweir?"
'Weel, what about her? what do I ken? cries Haddo. 'M'Brair, ye daft auld wife, I tell ye as true's truth, I never meddled her. It was just daffing, I tell ye: daffing, and nae mair: a piece of fun, like! I'm no denying but what I'm fond of fun, sma' blame to me! But for onything sarious hout, man, it might come to a deposeetion! I'll sweir it to ye. Where's a Bible, till you hear me sweir?
She was neatly dressed in black silk, with a lace collar. Her hands were small and white. The moment the traveller stopped at the door, Miss Napier started. 'Letty, she said, 'wha's that? I could amaist sweir to Black Geordie's fit.
At this appeal, however, my lord appeared to recover his command upon himself. "To Albany?" said he, with a good voice. "Not short of it, at least," replied Sir William. "There is no safety nearer hand." "I would be very sweir to return," says my lord. "I am not afraid of Indians," he added, with a jerk.
She was too well accustomed to imprecations from the lips of her husband for any but an affected horror, but, regarding the honest word as a bad one, she assumed an air of injury. "Wad ye daur to sweir afore a leddy?" she exclaimed, shaking her uplifted hands in pretence of ghasted astonishment. "If Mr.
I canna sweir that I saw the face o' 'm, seein' the back o' 's heid was to me; but that it was Alec Forbes, I hae no more doobt than o' my ain existence. I was jist turnin', nearhan' the greetin', for I lo'ed the laddie weel, whan I saw something glintin' bonnie upo' the parapet o' the brig. And noo I beg to restore't till'ts richtful owner. Wad ye pass't up the table, gentlemen.
An' I'll never lat taste o' whusky intil my mou' nor smell o' whusky intil my nose, gin sae be 'at I can help it I sweir 't, O Lord. An' gin I binna raised up again Here his voice trembled and ceased, and silence endured for a short minute. Then he called his wife. 'Come here, Bell. Gie me a kiss, my bonny lass. I hae been an ill man to you. 'Na, na, Sandy.
It's a forlorn hope, a' 'at I'm fit for, Alec Forbes," returned Cupples sadly. This struck Alec so near his own grief that he could not reply with even seeming cheerfulness. He said nothing. Mr Cupples resumed. "I hae twa three words to say to you, Alec Forbes. Can ye believe in a man as weel's ye can in a wumman?" "I can believe in you, Mr Cupples. That I'll sweir till."
But what she micht hae said or dune, I dinna ken; for I sweir to ye, bantam, I know nothing that happent efter, till I cam' to mysel' at the soun' o' a lauch frae outside the door. I kenned it weel eneuch, though it was a licht flutterin' lauch. Maybe I heard it the better frae the conductin' pooer o' timmer, for my broo was doon o' the buirds o' the flure.
"Drinkin'!" exclaimed Mr Cupples. "Little ye ken aboot drinkin'. I hae drunken three times as muckle as you. And gin that be ony argument for me haudin' oot o' your gait, it's mair argument yet for you to haud oot o' mine. I sweir to God I winna stan' this ony langer. It gangs straucht to the everlastin' burnin's. Eh, man! to think nae mair o' women nor that!"
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