For there was in Kirsty that unassumed, unconscious dignity, that simple propriety, that naturalness of a carriage neither trammeled nor warped by thought of self, which at once awakes confidence and regard; while her sweet, unaffected ‘book English,’ in which appeared no attempt at speaking like a fine lady, no disastrous endeavour to avoid her country’s utterance, revealed at once her genuine cultivation. Sir Haco said afterward that when she spoke Scotch it was good and thorough, and when she spoke English it was Wordsworthian.
Listening to her first words, and reminded of the solemn sententious way in which sergeant Barclay used to express himself, his face rose clear in his mind’s eye, he saw it as it were reflected in his daughter’s, and broke out with—
‘Eh, lassie, but ye’re like yer father!’
‘Ye min’ upon him, sir?’ rejoined Kirsty, with her perfect smile.
‘Min’ upon him! Naebody worth his min’in upo’ could ever forget him! Sit ye doon, and tell ’s a’ aboot him!’
Kirsty did as she was told. She began at the beginning, and explained first, what doubtless sir Haco knew at least something of before, the relation between her father and colonel Gordon, whence his family as well as himself had always felt it their business to look after the young laird. Then she told how, after a long interval, during which they could do nothing, a sad opportunity had at length been given them of at least attempting to serve him; and it was for aid in this attempt that she now sought sir Haco, who could direct her toward the procuring of certain information.
‘And what sort of information do you think I can give or get for you, Miss Barclay?’ asked sir Haco.
‘I’ll explain the thing to ye, sir, in as feow words as I can,’ answered Kirsty, dropping her English. ‘The young laird has taen ’t intil his heid that he didna carry himsel like a man i’ the siege, and it’s grown to be in him what they ca’ a fixt idea. He was left, ye see, sir, a’ himlane i’ the beleaguert toon, and I fancy the suddent waukin and the discovery that he was there his lee lane, jist pat him beside himsel.’
Here she told the whole story, as they had gathered it from Francis, mingling it with some elucidatory suggestions of her own, and having ended her narration, went on thus:—
‘Ye see, sir, and my leddy, he was little better nor a laddie, and fowk ’at sair needs company, like Francie, misses company ower sair. Men’s no able—some men, my leddy—to tak coonsel wi’ their ain herts, as women whiles learns to du. And sae, whan he cam oot o’ the fricht, he was ower sair upon himsel for bein i’ the fricht. For it seems to me there’s no shame in bein frichtit, sae lang as ye dinna serve and obey the fricht, but trust in him ’at sees, and du what ye hae to du. Naebody ’at kenned Francie as I did, cud ever believe he faun’ mair fear in ’s hert nor was lawfu’ and rizzonable—sae lang, that is, as he was in his richt min’: ayont that nane but his maker can jeedge him. I dinna mean Francie was a pettern, but, sir, he was no cooard—and that I ken, for I’m no cooard mysel, please God to keep me as he’s made me. But the laddie—the man, I suld say—he’s no to be persuaudit oot o’ the fancy o’ his ain cooardice; and I dinna believe he’ll ever win oot o’ ’t wantin the testimony o’ his fellow-officers, wha o’ them may be left to grant the same. And I canna but think, gien ye’ll excuse me, sir, that, for his father’s sake, it wud be a gracious ac’ to tak him intil the queen’s service, and lat him haud on fechtin for ’s country, whaurever it may please her mejesty to want him.—Oot whaur he was afore micht be best for him—I dinna ken. It wad be to put his country’s seal upo’ their word.’