"Gude-e'en, if thou comes on a gude errand," said old Dame Alison, suspiciously; "but that's no thy custom, bailie."
"I came, dame, to ask John anent Peter Fae."
The dame laughed pleasantly. "If thou had asked him anent Margaret Fae, he could tell thee more about it."
"This is nae laughing matter, dame. Peter Fae has been murdered—yes, murdered! An' he said, ere he died, that John Sabay did the deed."
"Then Peter Fae died wi' a lie on his lips—tell them that, John," and the old woman's face was almost majestic in its defiance and anger.
"I hae not seen Peter Fae for a week," said John. "God knows that, bailie. I wad be the vera last man to hurt a hair o' his gray head; why he is Margaret's father!"
"Still, John, though we hae nae warrant to hold thee, we are beholden to do sae; an' thou maun come wi' us," said Bailie Inkster.
"Wrang has nae warrant at ony time, an' ye will no touch my lad," said Alison, rising and standing before her son.
"Come, dame, keep a still tongue."
"My tongue's no under thy belt, Tulloch; but it's weel kenned that since thou wranged us thou ne'er liked us."