Miss Horn had neither wish nor power to reply, and changed her front.
“An’ sae, Ma’colm Colonsay,” she said, “ye ha’e no less nor made up yer min’ to pass yer days in yer ain stable, neither better nor waur than an ostler at the Lossie Airms, an’ that efter a’ ’at I ha’e borne an’ dune to mak a gentleman o’ ye, bairdin’ yer father here like a verra lion in ’s den, an’ garrin’ him confess the thing again’ ilka hair upon the stiff neck o’ ’im? Losh, laddie! it was a pictur to see him stan’in wi’ ’s back to the door like a camstairy (obstinate) bullock!”
“Haud yer tongue, mem, gien ye please. I canna bide to hear my father spoken o’ like that. For ye see I lo’ed him afore I kent he was ony drap’s blude to me.”
“Weel, that’s verra weel; but father an’ mither’s man and wife, an’ ye camna o’ a father alane.”
“That’s true, mem, an’ it canna be I sud ever forget yon face ye shawed me i’ the coffin, the bonniest, sairest sicht I ever saw,” returned Malcolm, with a quaver in his voice.
“But what for cairry yer thouchts to the deid face o’ her? Ye kent the leevin’ ane weel,” objected Miss Horn.
“That’s true, mem; but the deid face maist blottit the leevin’ oot o’ my brain.”
“I’m sorry for that.—Eh, laddie, but she was bonny to see!”
“I aye thoucht her the bonniest leddy I ever set e’e upo’. An’ dinna think, mem, I’m gaein to forget the deid, ’cause I’m mair concernt aboot the leevin’. I tell ye I jist dinna ken what to du. What wi’ my father’s deein’ words committin’ her to my chairge, an’ the more than regaird I ha’e to Leddy Florimel hersel’, I’m jist whiles driven to ane mair. Hoo can I tak the verra sunsheen oot o’ her life ’at I lo’ed afore I kent she was my ain sister, an’ jist thoucht lang to win near eneuch till, to du her ony guid turn worth duin? An’ here I am, her ane half-brither, wi’ naething i’ my pooer but to scaud the hert o’ her, or else lee! Supposin’ she was weel merried first, hoo wad she stan’ wi’ her man whan he cam to ken ’at she was nae marchioness—hed no lawfu’ richt to ony name but her mither’s? An’ afore that, what richt cud I ha’e to alloo ony man to merry her ohn kent the trowth aboot her? Faith, it wad be a fine chance though for the fin’in’ oot whether or no the man was worthy o’ her! But, ye see that micht be to make a playock o’ her hert. Puir thing, she luiks doon upo’ me frae the tap o’ her bonny neck, as frae a h’avenly heicht; but I s’ lat her ken yet, gien only I can win at the gait o’ ’t, that I ha’ena come nigh her for naething.”
He gave a sigh with the words, and a pause followed.