“I little wot, gudewife; maybe half–a–dizen o’ dizens.”
“Half–a–dizen o’ dizens, gudeman!—aye sax dizen o’ dizens!—a’ the meal girnels i’ the country wadna stand it, let abee the wee bit meal ark o’ Chapelhope.”
“Gudewife, I’m perfectly stoundit. I dinna ken what to say, or what to think, or what to do; an’ the mair sae o’ what I have heard sin’ I gaed to the hill—Auld John o’ the Muir, our herd, wha I ken wadna tell a lee for the Laird o’ Drumelzier’s estate, saw an unco sight the night afore last.”
“Mercy on us, gudeman! what mair has been seen about the town?”
“I’ll tell ye, gudewife—on Monanday night he cam yont to stop the ewes aff the hogg–fence, the wind being eissel—it was a wee after midnight, an’ the moon wasna just gane down—he was sittin i’ the scug o’ a bit cleuch–brae, when, or ever he wist, his dog Keilder fell a gurrin’ an’ gurrin’, as he had seen something that he was terrified for—John took him aneath his plaid, an’ held him, thinkin it was some sheep–stealers; but or it was lang he saw a white thing an’ a black thing comin’ up the Houm close thegither; they cam by within three catloups o’ him—he grippit his cudgel firm, an’ was aince gaun to gie them strength o’ arm, but his power failed him, an’ a’ his sinnens grew like dockans; there was a kind o’ glamour cam o’er his een too, for a’ the hope an’ the heaven grew as derk as tar an’ pitch—but the settin moon shone even in their faces, and he saw them as weel as it had been fore–day. The tane was a wee bit hurklin crile of an unearthly thing, as shrinkit an’ wan as he had lien seven years i’ the grave; the tither was like a young woman—an’ what d’ye think? he says he’ll gang to death wi’t that it was outher our dochter or her wraith.”
Maron lifted up her eyes and her clasped hands toward the ceiling, and broke out with the utmost vehemence into the following raving ejaculation:—“O mercy, mercy! Watie Laidlaw!—O, may Him that dwalls atween the Sherubeams be wi’ us, and preserve us and guide us, for we are undone creatures!—O, Watie Laidlaw, Watie Laidlaw! there’s the wheel within the wheel, the mystery o’ Babylon, the mother of harlots, and abominations of the earth——”
“Maron Linton!—What are ye sayin?—Haud yer tongue, Maron Linton.”
“O gudeman, I thought it was the young fallows ye jaloosed her wi’—I wish it had. I wad rather hae seen her i’the black stool, in the place where repentance is to be hoped for; but now she’s i’the deil’s ain hands. I jaloosed it, Watie—I kend it—I was sure o’t lang syne—our bairn’s changed—she’s transplanted—she’s no Keaty Laidlaw now, but an unearthly creature—we might weel hae kend that flesh an’ blude cude never be sae bonny—Goodman, I hae an awsome tale to tell ye—Wha think ye was it that killed Clavers’ Highlanders?”
“That, I suppose, will remain a mystery till the day when a’ secrets will be cleared up, an’ a’ the deeds o’ darkness brought to light.”
“Sae may it be, Watie! Sae may it be! But it was neither ane nor other but our ain only dochter Kate.”