Part 85 (1/2)
”Was the bairn laid mither nakit intill yer han's, Maister MacPhail?”
asked Miss Horn, who had been meditating.
”Och! no; he wa.s.s his clo'es on,” answered Duncan.
”Hae ye ony o' them left?” she asked again.
”Inteet not,” answered Duncan. ”Yes, inteet not.”
”Ye lay at the Salmon, didna ye?”
”Yes, mem, and they wa.s.s coot to her.”
”Wha drest the bairn till ye?”
”Och! she 'll trest him herself.” said Duncan, still jealous of the women who had nursed the child.
”But no aye?” suggested Miss Horn.
”Mistress Partan will pe toing a coot teal of tressing him, sometimes.
Mistress Partan is a coot 'oman when she 'll pe coot--fery coot when she 'll be coot.”
Here Malcolm entered, and Miss Horn told him what she had seen of the laird, and gathered concerning him.
”That luiks ill for Phemy,” remarked Malcolm, when she had described his forlorn condition. ”She canna be wi' 'im, or he wadna be like that. Hae ye onything by w'y o' c.o.o.nsel, mem?”
”I wad c.o.o.nsel a word wi' the laird himsel'--gien 't be to be gotten. He mayna ken what 's happent her, but he may tell ye the last he saw o' her, an' that maun be mair nor ye ken.”
”He 's taen sic a doobt o' me 'at I 'm feart it 'll be hard to come at him, an' still harder to come at speech o' 'im, for whan he 's fricht.i.t he can hardly muv is jawbane--no to say speyk. I maun try though and du my best. Ye think he's lurkin' aboot Fife Hoose, div ye, mem?”
”He's been seen there awa' this while--aff an' on.”
”Weel, I s' jist gang an' put on my fisher claes, an set oot at ance. I maun haud ower to Scaurnose first, though, to lat them ken 'at he 's been gotten sicht o'. It 'll be but sma' comfort, I doobt.”
”Malcolm, my son,” interjected Duncan, who had been watching for the conversation to afford him an opening, ”if you'll pe meeting any one will caal you ta son of tat woman, gif him a coot plow in ta face, for you 'll pe no son of hers, efen if she'll proof it-- no more as hersel. If you 'll pe her son, old Tuncan will pe tisown you for efer, and efermore, amen.”
”What's broucht you to this, daddie?” asked Malcolm, who, ill as he liked the least allusion to the matter, could not help feeling curious, and indeed almost amused.
”Nefer you mind. Miss Horn will pe hafing coot reasons tat Mistress Stewart 'll not can pe your mother.”
Malcolm turned to Miss Horn.
”I 've said naething to Maister MacPhail but what I 've said mair nor ance to yersel', laddie,” she replied to the eager questioning of his eyes. ”Gang yer wa's. The trowth maun cow the lee i' the lang rin. Aff wi' ye to Blue Peter!”
When Malcolm reached Scaurnose he found Phemy's parents in a sad state. Joseph had returned that morning from a fruitless search in a fresh direction, and reiterated disappointment seemed to have at length overcome Annie's endurance, for she had taken to her bed.
Joseph was sitting before the fire on a three legged stool rocking himself to and fro in a dull agony. When he heard Malcolm's voice, he jumped to his feet, and a flash of hope shot from his eyes: but when he had heard all, he sat down again without a word, and began rocking himself as before. Mrs Mair was lying in the darkened closet, where, the door being partly open, she had been listening with all her might, and was now weeping afresh. Joseph was the first to speak: still rocking himself with hopeless oscillation, he said, in a strange m.u.f.fled tone which seemed to come from somewhere else--”Gien I kent she was weel deid I wadna care. It 's no like a father to be sittin' here, but whaur 'll I gang neist? The wife thinks I micht be duin' something: I kenna what to du. This last news is waur nor mane. I hae maist nae faith left. Ma'colm, man!”
and with a bitter cry he started to his feet--”I maist dinna believe there's a G.o.d ava'. It disna luik like it--dis 't noo?”
There came an answering cry from the closet; Annie rushed out, half undressed, and threw her arms about her husband.