“Who is she?”
“By name she’s Bauby Cat’nach, an’ by natur’ she’s what I tell ye —an’ gien I had her ’atween my twa een, it’s what I wad say to the face o’ her.”
“It can’t be MacPhail! Mrs Stewart says he is her son, and the woman Catanach is her chief witness in support of the claim.”
“The deevil has a better to the twa o’ them, my lord, as they’ll ken some day. His claim’ll want nae supportin’. Dinna ye believe a word Mistress Stewart or Bauby Catanach aither wad say to ye.— Gien he be Mistress Stewart’s, wha was his father?”
“You think he resembles my late brother: he has a look of him, I confess.”
“He has, my lord. But onybody ’at kent the mither o’ ’im, as you an’ me did, my lord, wad see anither lik’ness as weel.”
“I grant nothing.”
“Ye grant Grizel Cam’ell yer wife, my lord, whan ye own to that wreet. Gien ’t war naething but a written promise an’ a bairn to follow, it wad be merriage eneuch i’ this cuintry, though it mayna be in cuintries no sae ceevileest.”
“But all that is nothing as to the child. Why do you fix on this young fellow? You say you can’t prove it.”
“But ye cud, my lord, gien ye war as set upo’ justice as I am. Gien ye winna muv i’ the maitter, we s’ manage to hirple (go halting) throu’ wantin’ ye, though, wi’ the Lord’s help.”