“Ay; when your brother Davie cam’ here, mair than a year syne, he just bid her pack her kist, and he and Troll Winans took her at daylight next morn to whar’ she cam’ frae. Elder Mackelvine made a grand exhort in the next meeting anent slandering folks; for Janet Caird was a gude text for it; and Kirsty Buchan said, it was a’ the gude Pittenloch e’er got oot o’ her.”
“David was here then?”
“Ay, he was here. Didna ye ken that?”
“Was there ony ither body here?”
“Ay, there was. A week syne here comes that bonnie young Allan Campbell that was aye sae fond o’ your brither Davie.”
“Did he stay here wi’ you?”
“Ay, for sure he did. For three days he stayed; and he just daundered roun’ the boats and the beach, and lookit sae forlorn, wanting Davie and the bonnie boat that had gane to the bottom, that folks were sorry for him. He gied Elder Mackelvine twenty pounds for the widows o’ Pittenloch, and he gied me mysel’ a five pound note; and I could hae kissed the vera footmarks he made, he was that kindly and sorrowfu’.”
“Did he name my name, Mysie?”
“Ay, he did that. He sat in Davie’s chair every night, and talked to me anent you a’ the time maistly; and he said, ‘Mysie, she’ll maybe come back some day; and if ever she does, you’ll tell her I was here, and that I missed her sairly; and he left a bit of paper for you wi’ me. I’ll get it for you, when we hae had our breakfast.”
“Get it the noo, Mysie. I’m fain to see it; and I dinna want my breakfast much—and shut the door, and run the bolt in, Mysie; I’m no caring to see folk.”