“A 'm hearin', Drum; tak yir ain time; the fire 's needin' mendin',” and the light, blazing up suddenly, showed another Drumsheugh than was known on Muirtown market.
“It's no easy, Weelum, tae say onything that gangs deeper than the weather an' cattle beasts.” Drumsheugh passed his hand across his forehead, and Maclure's pity was stirred.
“Gin ye hae dune onything wrang, an' ye want tae relieve yir mind, ye may lippen tae me, Drumsheugh, though it titch yir life. A' can haud ma tongue, an' a 'm a leal man.
“A' thocht it wesna that,” as Drumsheugh shook his head; “a'm jidgin' that ye hae a sorrow the Glen disna ken, and wud like an auld freend tae feel the wecht o't wi' ye.”
Drumsheugh looked as if that was nearer the mark, but still he was silent.
“A', ken what ye're feelin' for a' cudna speak masel,” and then he added, at the sight of his friend's face, “Dinna gar yirsel speak against yir wull. We 'ill say naethin' mair aboot it.... Did ye hear o' Hillocks coupin' intae the drift till there wes naethin' seen but his heels, and Gormack sayin', 'Whar are ye aff tae noo, Hillocks?'”
“A' maun speak,” burst out Drumsheugh; “a've carried ma tribble for mair than thirty year, and cud hae borne it till the end, but ae thing a' canna stand, an' that is, that aither you or me dee afore a've cleared ma name.”
“Yir name?” and the doctor regarded Drumsheugh with amazement.
“Ay, ma character; a've naethin' else, Weelum, naither wife nor bairns, so a'm jealous o't, though fouk michtna think it.
“Noo, gin onybody in Muirtown askit ma certeeficat o' a Drumtochty neebur, gie me his answer,” and Drumsheugh turned suddenly on Maclure, who was much confused.