Part 34 (1/2)
”Well, well, we'll see.”
”But I want.i.t to tell ye anither thing my lord,” said Malcolm, as he followed the marquis down the stairs.
”What is that?”
”I cam upo' anither plot--a mair serious ane, bein' against a man 'at can ill haud aff o' himsel', an' cud waur bide onything than yer lords.h.i.+p--the puir mad laird.”
”Who's he?”
”Ilka body kens him, my lord! He's son to the leddy o' Kirkbyres.”
”I remember her--an old flame of my brother's.”
”I ken naething aboot that, my lord; but he's her son.”
”What about him, then?”
They had now reached the hall, and, seeing the marquis impatient, Malcolm confined himself to the princ.i.p.al facts.
”I don't think you had any business to interfere, MacPhail,” said his lords.h.i.+p, seriously. ”His mother must know best.”
”I'm no sae sure o' that, my lord! To say naething o' the ill guides.h.i.+p, which micht hae 'garred a minister sweer, it wud be a cruelty naething short o' deev'lich to lock up a puir hairmless cratur like that, as innocent as he 's ill shapit.”
”He's as G.o.d made him,” said the marquis.
”He 's no as G.o.d wull mak him,” returned Malcolm.
”What do you mean by that?” asked the marquis.
”It stan's to rizzon, my lord,” answered Malcolm, ”that what's ill made maun be made ower again. There's a day comin' whan a' 'at's wrang 'll be set richt, ye ken.”
”And the crooked made straight,” suggested the marquis laughing.
”Doobtless, my lord. He'll be straucht.i.t oot bonny that day,” said Malcolm with absolute seriousness.
”Bah! You don't think G.o.d cares about a misshapen lump of flesh like that!” exclaimed his lords.h.i.+p with contempt.
”As muckle's aboot yersel', or my leddy,” said Malcolm. ”Gien he didna, he wadna be nae G.o.d ava' (at all).”
The marquis laughed again: he heard the words with his ears, but his heart was deaf to the thought they clothed; hence he took Malcolm's earnestness for irreverence, and it amused him.
”You've not got to set things right, anyhow,” he said. ”You mind your own business.”
”I'll try, my lord: it's the business o' ilka man, whaur he can, to lowse the weichty birns, an' lat the forfouchten gang free. Guid day to ye, my lord.”
So saying the young fisherman turned, and left the marquis laughing in the hall.
CHAPTER XXVII: LORD GERNON