“God forbid, my lord! But will ye uphaud yersel’ the lawfu’ heir to the deceased? It lies ’atween yer lordship an’ mysel’——i’ the meantime.”
He sat down, holding the scrap of paper between his finger and thumb.
“I will buy them of you,” he said coolly, after a moment’s thought, and as he spoke he looked keenly at her.
The form of reply which first arose in Miss Horn’s indignant soul never reached her lips.
“It’s no my trade,” she answered, with the coldness of suppressed wrath. “I dinna deal in sic waurs.”
“What do you deal in then?” asked the marquis.
“In trowth an’ fair play, my lord,” she answered, and was again silent.
So was the marquis for some moments, but was the first to resume.
“If you think the papers to which you refer of the least value, allow me to tell you it is an entire mistake.”
“There was ane thoucht them o’ vailue,” replied Miss Horn—and her voice trembled a little, but she hemmed away her emotion— “—for a time at least, my lord; an’ for her sake they’re o’ vailue to me, be they what they may to yer lordship. But wha can tell? Scots law may put life intill them yet, an’ gie them a vailue to somebody forbye me.”