“My lord?”
“My Lord Killcrichtoun it was, ma’am, who did it.”
“Killcrichtoun!” repeated Drusilla, as a light broke on her mind.
“Killchristian!” exclaimed Pina, in dismay. “Killchristian!! It’s a wonder he had not cut off the child’s head as well as his hair! Good gracious! was ever such a heathenish, savage, barbarious name!”
“So it was one of the gentlemen of the house who did it?” inquired Drusilla, striving to control the excess of her emotions.
“Yes, ma’am; but indeed I thought by the way he behaved that he had a right to do it, and that the child was some kin to him. He don’t act so like a mad gentleman in general, ma’am.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“Well, ma’am, now I think upon it, I almost believe he must have watched his opportunity; for as soon as ever the nursemaid was gone, he came to the door, looked all around, and seeing no one but me and my charge, took the boy up in his arms and hugged him and kissed him and fondled him, and almost cried over him; and then before I could suspect, much less prevent his doing it, he out with his pen-knife and whipped off that pretty golden curl. And then he hurried away. I think he heard the nursemaid coming, for she was in the room the next minute. And you came in almost immediately after, ma’am.”
“Then this has just occurred?”
“Not ten minutes ago, ma’am. Anything else, ma’am?”