“I hae nae time for hair-splitting, ma'am. I suppose if she had a right she 'd exercise it! Put down the words as I gie them to ye! Ye hae no forgotten the conspeeracy?”
“I gave it exactly as you told me, and I copied out the two paragraphs in the papers about it, beginning, 'Great scandal,' and 'If our landed gentry expect—'”
“That's right; and ye hae added the private history of Joan? They 'll make a fine thing o' that on the trial, showing the chosen associate o' a young leddy to hae been naething better than—Ech! what are ye blubberin' aboot,—is it yer feelin's agen? Ech! ma'am, ye are too sentimental for a plain man like me!”
This rude speech was called up by a smothering effort to conceal emotion, which would not be repressed, but burst forth in a violent fit of sobbing.
“I know you didn't mean it. I know you were not thinking—”
“If ye canna keep your ain counsel, ye must just pay the cost o' it,” said he, savagely. “Finish the letter there, and let me send it to the post. I wanted ye to say a' about the Nelligans comin' up to visit Miss Mary, and she goin' ower the grounds wi' them, and sendin' them pineapples and grapes, and how that the doctor's girls are a'ways wi' her, and that she takes old Catty out to drive along wi' herself in the pony phaeton, which is condescendin' in a way her Leddyship will no approve o'. There was mony a thing beside I had in my head, but ye hae driven them a' clean awa' wi' your feelin's!” And he gave the last word with an almost savage severity.
“Bide a wee!” cried he, as she was folding up the letter. “Ye may add that Mister Scanlan has taken to shootin' over the preserves we were keepin' for the Captain, and if her Leddyship does not wish to banish the woodcocks a'the-gither, she 'd better gie an order to stop him. Young Nelli-gan had a special permission from Miss Mary hersel' and if it was na that he canna hit a haystack at twenty yards, there 'd no be a cock pheasant in the demesne! I think I 'm looking at her as she reads this,” said he, with a malicious grin. “Ech, sirs, won't her great black eyebrows meet on her forehead, and her mouth be drawn in till never a bit of a red lip be seen! Is na that a chaise I see comin' up the road?” cried he, suddenly. “Look yonder!”
“I thought I saw something pass,” said she, trying to strain her eyes through the tears that now rose to them.
“It's a post-chaise wi' twa trunks on the top. I wonder who's comin' in it?” said Henderson, as he opened the sash-door, and stood awaiting the arrival. The chaise swept rapidly round the beech copse, and drew up before the door; the postilion, dismounting, lowered the steps, and assisted a lady to alight. She threw back her veil as she stood on the ground, and Kate Henderson, somewhat jaded-looking and pale from her journey, was before her father. A slight flush—very slight—rose to his face as he beheld her, and without uttering a word he turned and re-entered the house.
“Ye are aboot to see a visitor, ma'am,” said he to his wife; and, taking his hat, passed out of the room. Meanwhile Kate watched the postboy as he untied the luggage and deposited it at her side.