"I forgi'e ye wi' a' my hert," returned the factor, inly delighted to have something to forgive.
"I thank ye frae mine," answered Malcolm, and again they shook hands.
"But eh, Ma'colm, my man!" he added, "hoo will I ever shaw my face again?"
"Fine that!" returned Malcolm, eagerly. "Fowk's terrible guid-natur'd whan ye alloo 'at ye're 'i the wrang. I do believe 'at whan a man confesses till 's neebor an' says he's sorry, he thinks mair o' 'im nor afore he did it. Ye see we a' ken we hae dune wrang, but we haena' a' confessed. An' it's a queer thing, but a man 'll think it gran' o' 's neebor to confess, when a' the time there's something he winna repent o' himsel', for fear o' the shame o' haein to confess 't. To me, the shame lies in no confessin' efter ye ken ye're wrang. Ye'll see, sir, the fisher-fowk 'll min' what ye say to them a heap better noo."
"Div ye railly think it, Ma'colm?" sighed the factor with a flush.
"I div that, sir. Only whan ye grow better, gien ye'll alloo me to say't, sir, ye maunna lat Sawtan temp' ye to think 'at this same repentin' was but a wakeness o' the flesh, an' no an enlichtenment o' the speerit."
"I s' tie mysel' up till 't," cried the factor eagerly. "Gang an' tell them i' my name 'at I tak back ilka scart o' a nottice I ever gae ane o' them to quit, only we maun hae nae mair stan'in' o' honest fowk 'at comes to bigg herbors till them. Div ye think it wad be weel ta'en gien ye tuik a poun'-nott the piece to the twa women?"
"I wadna du that, sir, gien I was you," answered Malcolm. "For yer ain sake, I wadna to Mistress Mair, for naething wad gar her tak it: it wad only affront her; an' for Nancy Tacket's sake, I wadna to her, for as her name so's her natur: she wad not only tak it, but she wad lat ye play the same as aften's ye likit for less siller. Ye'll hae mony a chance o' makin' 't up to them baith, ten times ower, afore you an' them pairt, sir."
"I maun lea' the cuintry, Ma'colm."
"'Deed, sir, ye'll du naething o' the kin'. The fishers themsel's wad rise no to lat ye, as they did wi' Blew Peter! As sune's ye're able to be aboot again, ye'll see plain eneuch 'at there's no occasion for onything like that, sir. Portlossie wadna ken 'tsel' wantin' ye. Jist gie me a commission to say to the twa honest women 'at ye're sorry for what ye did, an' that's a' 'at need be said atween you an' them, or their men aither."