“But surely, mem, ye dinna believe in sic fule auld warld stories as that! It’s weel eneuch for a tale, but to think o’ a body turnin’ ae fit oot o’ ’s gait for ’t, blecks (nonplusses) me.”
“I don’t say I believe it,” returned Mrs Courthope, a little pettishly; “but there’s no good in mere foolhardiness.”
“Ye dinna surely think, mem, ’at God wad lat onything depen’ upo’ whether a man opent a door in ’s ain hoose or no! It’s agane a’ rizzon!” persisted Malcolm.
“There might be reasons we couldn’t understand,” she replied. “To do what we are warned against from any quarter, without good reason, must be foolhardy at best.”
“Weel, mem, I maun hae the room neist the auld warlock’s, ony gait, for in that I’m gauin’ to sleep, an’ in nae ither in a’ this muckle hoose.”
Mrs Courthope rose, full of uneasiness, and walked up and down the room.
“I’m takin’ upo’ me naething ayont his lordship’s ain word,” urged Malcolm.
“If you’re to go by the very word,” rejoined Mrs Courthope, stopping and looking him full in the face, “you might insist on sleeping in Lord Gernon’s chamber itself.”
“Weel, an’ sae I micht,” returned Malcolm.
The hinted possibility of having to change bad for so much worse, appeared to quench further objection.