Having begged them to excuse him for a little while, and desired Mrs Courthope to serve luncheon for them, he ran to his grandfather, dreading lest any other tongue than his own should yield him the opened secret. He was but just in time, for already the town was in a tumult, and the spreading ripples of the news were fast approaching Duncan’s ears.
Malcolm found him, expectant and restless. When he disclosed himself, he manifested little astonishment, only took him in his arms and pressed him to his bosom, saying, “Ta Lort pe praised, my son! and she wouldn’t pe at aal surprised.” Then he broke out in a fervent ejaculation of Gaelic, during which he turned instinctively to his pipes, for through them lay the final and only sure escape for the prisoned waters of the overcharged reservoir of his feelings. While he played, Malcolm slipped out, and hurried to Miss Horn.
One word to her was enough. The stern old woman burst into tears, crying,
“Oh, my Grisel! my Grisel! Luik doon frae yer bonny hoose amo’ the stars, an’ see the braw laad left ahint ye, an’ praise the lord ’at ye ha’e sic a son o’ yer boady to come hame to ye whan a’ ’s ower.”
She sobbed and wept for a while without restraint. Then suddenly she rose, dabbed her eyes indignantly, and cried,
“Hoot! I’m an auld fule. A body wad think I hed feelin’s efter a’!”
Malcolm laughed, and she could not help joining him.
“Ye maun come the morn an’ chise yer ain room i’ the Hoose,” he said.
“What mean ye by that, laddie?”
“At ye’ll ha’e to come an’ bide wi’ me noo.”