“I’ll try, my lord: it’s the business o’ ilka man, whaur he can, to lowse the weichty birns, an’ lat the forfouchten gang free.[5]—Guid day to ye, my lord.”
[5] Isa. lviii. (...to loose the weighty burdens and let the oppressed go free...).
So saying the young fisherman turned, and left the marquis laughing in the hall.
CHAPTER XXVII.
LORD GERNON.
When his housekeeper returned from church, Lord Lossie sent for her.
“Sit down, Mrs Courthope,” he said; “I want to ask you about a story I have a vague recollection of hearing when I spent a summer at this house some twenty years ago. It had to do with a room in the house that was never opened.”
“There is such a story, my lord,” answered the housekeeper. “The late marquis, I remember well, used to laugh at it, and threaten now and then to dare the prophecy; but old Eppie persuaded him not —or at least fancied she did.”
“Who is old Eppie?”
“She’s gone now, my lord. She was over a hundred then. She was born and brought up in the house, lived all her days in it, and died in it; so she knew more about the place than any one else.”
“Is ever likely to know,” said the marquis, superadding a close to her sentence. “And why wouldn’t she have the room opened?” he asked.