"Can you find out what Winsome thinks herself?"
"I can that, though she hasna a word to say to me—that am far mair deservin' o' confidence than that muckle peony faced hempie, Meg, that an ill Providence gied me for a sis ter. Her keep a secret?—the wind wad waft it oot o' her." Thus affectionately Jess.
"But how can you find out, then?" persisted the young man, yet unsatisfied.
"Ou fine that," said Jess. "Meg talks in her sleep."
Before Agnew Greatorix leaped on to his horse, which all this time had stood quiet on his bridle-arm, only occasion ally jerking his head as if to ask his master to come away, he took the kiss he had been denied, and rode away laugh ing, but with one cheek much redder than the other, the mark of Jess's vengeance.
"Ye hae ower muckle conceit an' ower little sense ever to be a richt blackguard," said Jess as he went, "but ye hae the richt intention for the deil's wark. Ye'll do the young mistress nae hurt, for she wad never look twice at ye, but I cannot let her get the bonny lad frae Embra'-na, I saw him first, an' first come first served!"
"Where have you been so long," asked her mistress, as she came in.
"Juist drivin' a gilravagin' muckle swine oot o' the or chard!" replied Jess with some force and truth.