“You are right there: it could do no good.”
“I fear it may du as little whaur I am gaein’ to mak it! I’m upo’ my ro’d to gar my lord gie an accoont o’ himsel’. Faith, gien it bena a guid ane, I’ll thraw the neck o’ ’im! It’s better me to hang, nor her to gang disgraced, puir thing! She can be naething mair to me, as I say; but I wud like weel the wringin’ o’ a lord’s neck! It wud be like killin’ a shark!”
“Why do you tell me this?” asked Donal.
“’Cause I look to you to get me to word o’ the man.”
“That you may wring his neck?—You should not have told me that: I should be art and part in his murder!”
“Wud ye hae me lat the lassie tak her chance ohn dune onything?” said the fisherman with scorn.
“By no means. I would do something myself whoever the girl was—and she is the granddaughter of my best friends.”
“Sir, ye winna surely fail me!”
“I will help you somehow, but I will not do what you want me. I will turn the thing over in my mind. I promise you I will do something—what, I cannot say offhand. You had better go home again, and I will come to you to-morrow.”
“Na, na, that winna do!” said the man, half doggedly, half fiercely. “The hert ’ill be oot o’ my body gien I dinna du something! This verra nicht it maun be dune! I canna bide in hell ony langer. The thoucht o’ the rascal slaverin’ his lees ower my Eppy ’s killin’ me! My brain ’s like a fire: I see the verra billows o’ the ocean as reid ’s blude.”