“Ye might ken the style of these epistles by this time, Dinah,” said Mr. Henderson, as he walked leisurely up and down a long low-ceilinged room, and addressed himself to a piece of very faded gentility, who sat at a writing-table. “She wants to hear naething but what she likes, and, as near as may be, in her ain words too.”
“I always feel as if I was copying out the same letter every time I write,” whined out a weak, sickly voice.
“The safest thing ye could do,” replied he, gravely. “She never tires o' reading that everybody on the estate is a fule or a scoundrel, and ye canna be far wrang when ye say the worst o' them all. Hae ye told her aboot the burnin' at Kyle-a-Noe?”
“Yes, I have said that you have little doubt it was malicious.”
“And hae ye said that there's not a sixpence to be had out of the whole townland of Kiltimmon?”
“I have. I have told her that, except Miss Mary herself, nobody would venture into the barony.”
“The greater fule yerself, then,” said he, angrily. “Couldna ye see that she'll score this as a praise o' the young leddy's courage? Ye maun just strike it out, ma'am, and say that the place is in open rebellion—”
“I thought you bade me say that Miss Mary had gone down there and spoken to the people—”
“I bade ye say,” broke he angrily in, “that Miss Mary declared no rent should be demanded o' them in their present distress; that she threw the warrants into the fire, and vowed that if we called a sale o' their chattels, she 'd do the same at the castle, and give the people the proceeds.”
“You only said that she was in such a passion that she declared she 'd be right in doing so.”