‘My father’s making a step-bairn o’ me, mother, and has gi’en Charlie a’ the outcome frae the till, and says he’s gaun to hain but for Geordie and Meg.’
‘Surely, gudeman,’ said the Leddy o’ Grippy, addressing her husband, who for a moment stood confounded at this obstreperous accusation—‘Surely ye’ll hae mair naturality than no to gi’e Watty a bairn’s part o’ gear? Has na he a right to share and share alike wi’ the rest, over and aboon what he got by my father? If there’s law, justice, or gospel in the land, ye’ll be obligated to let him hae his right, an I should sell my coat to pay the cost.’
The old man made no answer; and his children sat in wonder, for they inferred from his silence that he actually did intend to make a step-bairn of Watty.
‘Weel!’ said the Leddy emphatically, ‘but I jealoused something o’ this;—I kent there could be nae good at the bottom o’ that huggermuggering wi’ Keelevin. Howsever, I’ll see til’t, Watty, and I’ll gar him tell what he has put intil that abomination o’ a paper that ye were deluded to sign.’
Claud, at these words, started from his seat, with the dark face, and pale quivering lips of guilt and vengeance; and, giving a stamp with his foot that shook the whole house, cried,—
‘If ye daur to mak or meddle wi’ what I hae done!’
He paused for about the space of half a minute, and then he added, in his wonted calm and sober voice,—‘Watty, t’ou has been provided more—I hae done mair for thee than I can weel excuse to mysel—and I charge baith thee and thy mother never, on pain of my curse and everlasting ill-will, to speak ony sic things again.’
‘What hae ye done? canna ye tell us, and gie a bodie a satisfaction?’ exclaimed the Leddy.
But the wrath again mustered and lowered in his visage, and he said, in a voice so deep and dreadful, so hollow and so troubled, from the very innermost caverns of his spirit, that it made all present tremble,—
‘Silence, woman, silence.’