“What! has he gotten a haud o’ her?”
“Ay, has he!—And dinna ye think it’ll be a’ ower the toon lang or this!”
“And hoo will ye meet it, mother?”
“We maun tell yer father, and get him to quaiet the soutar!—For her, we maun jist stap her mou wi’ a bunch o’ bank-notts!”
“That wad jist mak it ’maist impossible for even her to forgie you or me aither ony langer!”
“And wha’s she to speyk o’ forgivin!”
The door opened, and Peter entered. He strode up to his wife, and stood over her like an angel of vengeance. His very lips were white with wrath.
“Efter thirty years o’ merried life, noo first to ken the wife o’ my boasom for a messenger o’ Sawtan!” he panted. “Gang oot o’ my sicht, wuman!”
She fell on her knees, and held up her two hands to him.
“Think o’ Jamie, Peter!” she pleaded. “I wad tyne my sowl for Jamie!”