"You wouldn't," rejoined Elspeth curtly.
Gowrie wiped a tear from his inflamed eye with a ragged handkerchief, and raised his face to heaven.
"Ma ain child," said he in a pathetic tone, "Aye, it's a Lear I am, nae less."
"Look here, father," said Elspeth, placing her hands on her hips and speaking almost as sourly as Mrs. Narby, whose favourite attitude this was. "It's no use your talking like this. You took me from that excellent school, where my godfather was educating me, and turned me into Mrs. Narby's drudge, just that you might have a place to go to, in the 'Marsh Inn,' without paying. I was a child when you last saw me, and did what I was told. But love, the love of a good man, has changed me into a woman. I have become engaged to Angus, and I helped him to escape. He's far away from here, and in a place where you won't find him. I have seen him several times since he got away from the inn, and we are engaged to be married."
"It warrums ma hairt tae hear ye say so, lassie," mumbled Gowrie, in a thankful voice. "Aye, aye, ye'll be able tae gie yer auld faither a warrum seat by the hearth."
"We haven't got a hearth," said Elspeth bluntly.
"Aye, but ye'll hae a braw ane, I doot not," said Gowrie cunningly, and watched the effect of his remark out of the corner of his wicked old eye.
It was Kind who replied, as he was beginning to have an inkling of why Mr. Gowrie had put in so opportune an appearance.
"I don't know if you guessed that Elspeth had a hand in Mr. Herries' escape," said he, looking steadily at his visitor, "but you came down here to see if you could force her to become engaged to Mr. Herries."
"There's nae force required," chuckled Gowrie.