“It is as good as some posts at Court, Sir Mungo, which are coveted by persons of high quality,” replied George Heriot.
“Court favour, said ye? Court favour, Master Heriot?” replied Sir Mungo, choosing then to use his malady of misapprehension; “Moonshine in water, poor thing, if that is all she is to be tochered with—I am truly solicitous about them.”
“I will let you into a secret,” said the citizen, “which will relieve your tender anxiety. The dowager Lady Dalgarno gives a competent fortune to the bride, and settles the rest of her estate upon her nephew the bridegroom.”
“Ay, say ye sae?” said Sir Mungo, “just to show her regard to her husband that is in the tomb—lucky that her nephew did not send him there; it was a strange story that death of poor Lord Dalgarno—some folk think the poor gentleman had much wrong. Little good comes of marrying the daughter of the house you are at feud with; indeed, it was less poor Dalgarno's fault, than theirs that forced the match on him; but I am glad the young folk are to have something to live on, come how it like, whether by charity or inheritance. But if the Lady Dalgarno were to sell all she has, even to her very wylie-coat, she canna gie them back the fair Castle of Glenvarloch—that is lost and gane—lost and gane.”
“It is but too true,” said George Heriot; “we cannot discover what has become of the villain Andrew Skurliewhitter, or what Lord Dalgarno has done with the mortgage.”
“Assigned it away to some one, that his wife might not get it after he was gane; it would have disturbed him in his grave, to think Glenvarloch should get that land back again,” said Sir Mungo; “depend on it, he will have ta'en sure measures to keep that noble lordship out of her grips or her nevoy's either.”
“Indeed it is but too probable, Sir Mungo,” said Master Heriot; “but as I am obliged to go and look after many things in consequence of this ceremony, I must leave you to comfort yourself with the reflection.”
“The bride-day, you say, is to be on the thirtieth of the instant month?” said Sir Mungo, holloing after the citizen; “I will be with you in the hour of cause.”
“The king invites the guests,” said George Heriot, without turning back.
“The base-born, ill-bred mechanic!” soliloquised Sir Mungo, “if it were not the odd score of pounds he lent me last week, I would teach him how to bear himself to a man of quality! But I will be at the bridal banquet in spite of him.”