"No," he said: "I prefer you living."
"Have you no curiosity? People can say things dying that they couldn't say living, perhaps."
"Well, they have no business to do so," he said. "It is taking an unfair advantage, which a generous nature never does; besides, it is more solemn to live than die."
"Then you don't want the letter?"
"Oh yes, if you like."
"Very well: I'll think of it. Can you show me the way to John's place of refuge?"
They found John sitting up in bed, and Mrs, Ormiston ministering to him: the remains of a fowl were on a plate beside him, and he was lifting a glass of something comfortable to his lips.
"I never knew of this, John," said his mistress, "till just a few minutes ago. This is sad."
"Weel, it doesna look very sad," said John, eying the plate and the glass. "Yer leddyship and me hae gang mony a daftlike road, but I think we fairly catched it the day."