“Eppy!” he exclaimed, in a tone in which indignation blended with surprise.
Eppy gave a cry, and ran to him. He pushed her away.
“My lord,” said Kennedy, “the lass will nane o’ me or mine. I sair doobt there’s nane but yersel’ can please her. But I sweir by God, my lord, gien ye du her ony wrang, I’ll no rist, nicht nor day, till I hae made ye repent it.”
“Go to the devil!” said Forgue; “there’s an old crow, I suspect, yet to pluck between us! For me you may take her, though. I don’t go halves.”
Eppy laid her hand timidly on his arm, but again he pushed her away.
“Oh, my lord!” she sobbed, and could say no more for weeping.
“How is it I find you here with this man?” he asked. “I don’t want to be unfair to you, but it looks rather bad!”
“My lord,” said Kennedy.
“Hold your tongue; let her speak for herself.”
“I had no tryst wi’ him, my lord! I never said come nigh me,” sobbed Eppy. “—Ye see what ye hae dune!” she cried, turning in anger on Kennedy, and her tears suddenly ceasing. “Never but ill hae ye broucht me! What business had ye to come efter me this gait, makin’ mischief ’atween my lord an’ me? Can a body no set fut ’ayont the door-sill, but they maun be followt o’ them they wud see far eneuch!”