“Weel, it’s perhaps a sair potion to swaller, Jenny; but be a woman. What does the puir bairn say?”
“Say? Nothing; only goes about the place pale and wan, with her poor heart breaking,” said the housekeeper; “and when that creature—”
“Hoot, lassie! what creature?” said McCray.
“That popinjay lord,” said Jane scornfully. “When—”
“Gude save us, lassie! dinna ye ken yer catechism: ‘order yersel’ lowly and reverently to a’ yer betters;’ and that’s na ordering yersel’ lowly and reverently.”
“When I’ve seen him take hold of her, as if she was his property that he had bought, and stroke her hair and kiss her, the poor thing has shuddered; and once she struggled from him, and came to me to take care of her—for she only sees him with me in the room—and as soon as he’d gone she sobbed, as if her heart would break.”
“Puir bairn,” said McCray; “but he’s gane noo, and she’ll ha’e a respite.”
“Respite, indeed!” said his wife angrily. “It puts me in mind of the old time—over five-and-twenty years ago—when my poor dear lady was all low and desponding because, at the wish of old Master and Mrs Elstree, she had accepted Sir Murray; and there she was with her cousin, Mrs Norton, you know, sobbing her poor eyes—I mean heart—away. I declare, whether it’s wrong or right, Alexander, that if that poor young man—no! poor? nonsense: he’s better off a deal than my fine lord, and as brave as he’s high—”
“That’s a true word, lassie,” said McCray, who was having his evening pipe and tumbler of whisky and water, his day’s duties being ended.
“If that Mr Norton came to me and asked me to help him to run away with the child, I’d help him to the best of my power.”