“Wha tellt ye that, Lizzy?” he said.
“I’m no at leeberty to say, Ma’colm, but I’m sure it’s true, an’ my hert’s like to brak.”
“Puir lassie!” said Malcolm, whose own trouble had never at any time rendered him insensible to that of others. “But is ’t onybody ’at kens what he says?” he pursued.
“Weel, I dinna jist richtly ken gien she kens, but I think she maun ha’e gude rizzon, or she wadna say as she says. Oh me! me! my bairnie ’ill be scornin’ me sair whan he comes to ken. Ma’colm, ye’re the only ane ’at disna luik doon upo’ me, an whan ye cam ower the tap o’ the Boar’s Tail, it was like an angel in a fire-flaucht, an’ something inside me said—Tell ’im; tell ’im; an’ sae I bude to tell ye.”
Malcolm was even too simple to feel flattered by the girl’s confidence, though to be trusted is a greater compliment than to be loved.
“Hearken, Lizzy!” he said. “I canna e’en think, wi’ this brute ready ilka meenute to ate me up. I maun tak her hame. Efter that, gien ye wad like to tell me onything, I s’ be at yer service. Bide aboot here—or, luik ye: here’s the key o’ yon door; come throu’ that intill the park—throu’ aneth the toll ro’d, ye ken. There ye’ll get into the lythe (lee) wi’ the bairnie; an’ I’ll be wi’ ye in a quarter o’ an hoor. It’ll tak me but twa meenutes to gang hame. Stoat ’ill put up the mere, and I’ll be back—I can du ’t in ten meenutes.”
“Eh! dinna hurry for me, Ma’colm: I’m no worth it,” said Lizzy.
But Malcolm was already at full speed along the top of the dune.
“Lord preserve ’s!” cried Lizzy, when she saw him clear the brass swivel. “Sic a laad as that is! Eh, he maun ha’e a richt lass to lo’e him some day! It’s a’ ane to him, boat or beast. He wadna turn frae the deil himsel’. An syne he’s jist as saft ’s a deuk’s neck whan he speyks till a wuman or a bairn—ay, or an auld man aither!”
And full of trouble as it was about another, Lizzy’s heart yet ached at the thought that she should be so unworthy of one like him.