"Cha 'n 'eil beurla agam," said he, with a sort of affected indifference.
She was taken aback only for a moment.
"What does he say?" she asked of Mr. Purdie, who had followed her.
"He says he has no English," the factor answered; and then he added, vindictively: "But he would have plenty of English if he wanted to tell you of his grievances—oh, ay, plenty! Start him on that, and he'll find plenty of English! He's one of the most ill-condeetioned men in the whole place—and I suppose he has enough English to understand that!"
"Tell him who I am," said she, rather disappointedly; for she had set out with the determination to get to know all the circumstances and wants and wishes of her tenants, especially of the poorer ones, without the intervention of any factor.
Hereupon Mr. Purdie, in unnecessarily severe tones, as it seemed to her, addressed a few sentences in Gaelic to the stubborn-looking old man, who, in turn—and with no abatement of his hostile attitude—replied in the same tongue. But to Mary's surprise, he suddenly added—fixing morose eyes upon her—
"She—no my laird! Ross of Heimra—my laird. Young Donald—he my laird. She no my laird at ahl!"
"Oh, but that is absurd, you know," Mary said, eagerly, and with a quick delight that she could enter into direct communication with him. "You forget—you are mistaken—my uncle bought the estate from the late Mr. Ross of Heimra. Surely you understand that? Surely you know that? The whole place was bought in open market. Mr. Ross sold the land, and all the rights belonging to it—yes, and the obligations, too; and my uncle bought it. Don't you understand?"
The man turned away his eyes, and sulkily muttered something in Gaelic.
"What is it?" asked Mary, compelled to appeal once more to the factor.