Still there was no reply. John's face had grown hard as a stone face, but Robert thought rather from the determination to govern his feelings than from resentment.
'She's been doin' weel ever sin' syne,' he added.
Still no word from either; and Robert fearing some outburst of indignation ere he had said his say, now made haste.
'She's been a servant wi' Dr. Anderson for four year noo, an' he's sair pleased wi' her. She's a fine woman. But her bairnie's deid, an' that was a sair blow till her.'
He heard a sob from the mother, but still John made no sign.
'It was a bonnie bairnie as ever ye saw. It luikit in her face, she says, as gin it kent a' aboot it, and had only come to help her throu the warst o' 't; for it gaed hame 'maist as sune's ever she was richt able to thank God for sen'in' her sic an angel to lead her to repentance.'
'John,' said his wife, coming behind his chair, and laying her hand on his shoulder, 'what for dinna ye speyk? Ye hear what Maister Faukner says.—Ye dinna think a thing's clean useless 'cause there may be a spot upo' 't?' she added, wiping her eyes with her apron.
'A spot upo' 't?' cried John, starting to his feet. 'What ca' ye a spot?—Wuman, dinna drive me mad to hear ye lichtlie the glory o' virginity.'
'That's a' verra weel, John,' interposed Robert quietly; 'but there was ane thocht as muckle o' 't as ye do, an' wad hae been ashamed to hear ye speak that gait aboot yer ain dauchter.'
'I dinna unnerstan' ye,' returned Hewson, looking raised-like at him.