“And who was that woman?” said Butler. “Surely by her means the truth might be discovered.—Who was she? I will fly to her directly.”
“I wish,” said Dumbiedikes, “I were as young and as supple as you, and had the gift of the gab as weel.”
“Who is she?” again reiterated Butler impatiently.—“Who could that woman be?”
“Ay, wha kens that but herself?” said Saddletree; “she deponed farther, and declined to answer that interrogatory.”
“Then to herself will I instantly go,” said Butler; “farewell, Jeanie;” then coming close up to her—“Take no rash steps till you hear from me. Farewell!” and he immediately left the cottage.
“I wad gang too,” said the landed proprietor, in an anxious, jealous, and repining tone, “but my powny winna for the life o’ me gang ony other road than just frae Dumbiedikes to this house-end, and sae straight back again.”
“Yell do better for them,” said Saddletree, as they left the house together, “by sending me the thretty punds.”
“Thretty punds!” hesitated Dumbiedikes, who was now out of the reach of those eyes which had inflamed his generosity; “I only said twenty punds.”
“Ay; but,” said Saddletree, “that was under protestation to add and eik; and so ye craved leave to amend your libel, and made it thretty.”
“Did I? I dinna mind that I did,” answered Dumbiedikes. “But whatever I said I’ll stand to.” Then bestriding his steed with some difficulty, he added, “Dinna ye think poor Jeanie’s een wi’ the tears in them glanced like lamour beads, Mr. Saddletree?”