‘Surely, Miss Barclay, you wouldn’t set the poor lad in the forefront of danger again!’ said lady Macintosh.
‘I wud that, my lady! I canna but think the airmy, savin for this misadventur—gien there be ony sic thing as misadventur—hed a fair chance o’ makin a man o’ Francie; and whiles I canna help doobtin gien onything less ’ill ever restore him til himsel but restorin him til ’s former position. It wud ony gait gie him the best chance o’ shawin til himsel ’at there wasna a hair o’ the cooard upon him.’
‘But,’ said sir Haco, ‘would her majesty be justified in taking the risk involved? Would it not be to peril many for a doubtful good to one?’
Kirsty was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes.
‘I’m answert, sir—as to that p’int,’ she said, looking up.
‘For my part,’ said lady Macintosh, ‘I can’t help thinking that the love of a good woman like yourself must do more for the poor fellow than the approval of all the soldiers in the world.—Pardon me, Haco.’
‘Indeed, my lady, you’re perfectly right!’ returned her husband with a smile.
But lady Macintosh hardly heard him, so startled, almost so frightened was she at the indignation instantly on Kirsty’s countenance.
‘Putna things intil ony heid, my leddy, ’at the hert wud never put there. It wad be an ill fulfillin o’ my father’s duty til his auld colonel, no to say his auld freen’, to coontenance sic a notion!’
‘I beg your pardon, Miss Barclay; I was wrong to venture the remark. But may I say in excuse, that it is not unnatural to imagine a young woman, doing so much for a young man, just a little bit in love with him?’