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Updated: June 15, 2025
Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a shoot of compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his breakfast almost untasted. But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone together.
Dawtie! quo' she; 'faith, the Black Bull's yer dawtie!" "But how does she know?" asked Ralph, in the interests of truth and scientific inquiry. Saunders thought that he was speaking with an eye on the future.
"Would you like me to call Alexa?" said George. "Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!" he replied. George rose to go and call her. "Beware of her!" said the laird, with glazy eyes, "Beware of Dawtie!" "How?" asked George. "Beware of her," he repeated. "If she can get the cup, she will! She would take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!"
"Or," he went on, finding she did not move, "if you have done anything, Dawtie, that you ought not to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must confess, not to a poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I forgive you, and there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie." "Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the door o' this room, and sit till "
She said: "Yes, sir," and stood waiting. He did not speak. "I do not know where to find it," she said. "I am going to tell you," he replied, but seemed to hesitate. "I will not touch a single thing beside," said Dawtie. He believed her, and at once proceeded: "Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me.
He came up to Annie, and addressed her in the smoothest voice he could find, fumbling at the same time in his coat-pocket. "Hoo are ye the nicht dawtie? Are ye verra weel? An' hoo's yer auntie?" He waited for no reply to any of these questions, but went on. "See what I hae brocht ye frae the chop." So saying, he put into her hand about half-a-dozen sweeties, screwed up in a bit of paper.
Dawtie turned to leave the room. "Stop! stop!" cried Crawford; "I have not done with you yet, my girl. You have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong to the laird." "I do not choose to answer the question," said Dawtie. "Then you shall answer it to a magistrate." "I will, sir," she replied, and stood. Crawford left the room. He rode home in a rage.
"Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced it at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him when he died; that I know." "And it is missing?" "Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it.
Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George went and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. "I will find her," she said, and rose, but turned and asked: "How does he seem now?" "Rather worse," George answered. "Are you going to be with him through the night?" "I am; he insists on my staying with him," replied George, almost apologetically.
But often her work or her book would lie on her lap, and she would find herself praying for the dear father for whom she could do nothing else now, but for whom she might have done so much, had she been like Dawtie. Her servant had cared for her father more than she!
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