“I’m twenty-seven, Hector!”
“Aye, a wilfu’ bairn, John, and a’m an auld man ill able tae cope wi’ ye, laddie, bein’ vera feeble and bowed wi’ years.”
“Sink me, Hector, but you’re strong as a horse and straight as your sword, and can’t be a day older than fifty-five or six——”
“Feefty-ane, John, fifty-one, whateffer! But I was ever a quiet, plain, simple body tae follow the skirl o’ the war-pipes ... battle, skirmish an’ siege ... juist a puir, God-fearin’ soger-body——”
“Though King William made you a knight and a General, Sir Hector!”
“Och aye ... but best of a’—I was y’r father’s friend, his comrade an’ brither-in-arms in camp an’ field, y’ ken!” Sir Hector was silent a moment; when next he spoke, his English was more precise than usual. “When your noble father died, John, he left you and your mother to my care.... So soon as the wars were over I hasted to take up this sacred charge and found your mother dying ... but you were alive enough—a bonnie, braw, wee thing.... And since then, John, since then——”
“You have been everything to me, Hector—my only true friend!”
“God knoweth I have tried to be faithful to the trust, to keep my word to your father and do my duty by his son——”
“And, sir, indeed you have!”
“Ah, but have I, John—have I so, indeed? Have I trained you up to be the honourable gentleman your father would have been proud of calling son? Have I, lad—have I?”