“Indeed, brother, amang a’ the steery, Maria wadna be guided by me she set away to the Halket-craig-head—I wonder ye didna see her.”
“Eh!—what—what’s that you say, sister?—did the girl go out in a night like this to the Halket-head?—Good God! the misery of the night is not ended yet!”
“But ye winna wait, Monkbarns—ye are so imperative and impatient”—
“Tittle-tattle, woman,” said the impatient and agitated Antiquary, “where is my dear Mary?”
“Just where ye suld be yoursell, Monkbarns—up-stairs, and in her warm bed.”
“I could have sworn it,” said Oldbuck laughing, but obviously much relieved—“I could have sworn it;—the lazy monkey did not care if we were all drowned together. Why did you say she went out?”
“But ye wadna wait to hear out my tale, Monkbarns—she gaed out, and she came in again with the gardener sae sune as she saw that nane o’ ye were clodded ower the Craig, and that Miss Wardour was safe in the chariot; she was hame a quarter of an hour syne, for it’s now ganging ten—sair droukit was she, puir thing, sae I e’en put a glass o’ sherry in her water-gruel.”
“Right, Grizel, right—let womankind alone for coddling each other. But hear me, my venerable sister—start not at the word venerable; it implies many praiseworthy qualities besides age; though that too is honourable, albeit it is the last quality for which womankind would wish to be honoured—But perpend my words: let Lovel and me have forthwith the relics of the chicken-pie, and the reversion of the port.”
“The chicken-pie! the port!—ou dear! brother—there was but a wheen banes, and scarce a drap o’ the wine.”
The Antiquary’s countenance became clouded, though he was too well bred to give way, in the presence of a stranger, to his displeased surprise at the disappearance of the viands on which he had reckoned with absolute certainty. But his sister understood these looks of ire. “Ou dear! Monkbarns, what’s the use of making a wark?”