“Before she dies,” said Edie, “she earnestly entreats that pleasure.”
“It will be a pleasure to neither of us,” said the Earl, sternly, “yet she shall be gratified. She lives, I think, on the sea-shore to the southward of Fairport?”
“Just between Monkbarns and Knockwinnock Castle, but nearer to Monkbarns. Your lordship’s honour will ken the laird and Sir Arthur, doubtless?”
A stare, as if he did not comprehend the question, was Lord Glenallan’s answer. Edie saw his mind was elsewhere, and did not venture to repeat a query which was so little germain to the matter.
“Are you a Catholic, old man?” demanded the Earl.
“No, my lord,” said Ochiltree stoutly; for the remembrance of the unequal division of the dole rose in his mind at the moment; “I thank Heaven I am a good Protestant.”
“He who can conscientiously call himself good, has indeed reason to thank Heaven, be his form of Christianity what it will—But who is he that shall dare to do so!”
“Not I,” said Edie; “I trust to beware of the sin of presumption.”
“What was your trade in your youth?” continued the Earl.
“A soldier, my lord; and mony a sair day’s kemping I’ve seen. I was to have been made a sergeant, but”—