Part 88 (1/2)
”There 's naither c.o.c.k craw nor bill rair intill 't my lord. I c.u.m to you wi' 't i' the houp ye 'll help to redd (clear) it up, for I dinna weel ken what we can du wantin' ye. There 's but ane kens a' the truth o' 't, an' she 's the awfu'es leear oot o' purgatory --no 'at I believe in purgatory, but it 's the langer an' lichter word to mak' use o'.”
”Who is she?”
”By name she's Bauby Cat'nach, an' by natur' she's what I tell ye --an' gien I had her 'atween my twa een, it 's what I wad say to the face o' her.”
”It can't be MacPhail! Mrs Stewart says he is her son, and the woman Catanach is her chief witness in support of the claim.”
”The deevil has a better to the twa o' them, my lord, as they 'll ken some day. His claim 'll want nae supportin'. Dinna ye believe a word Mistress Stewart or Bauby Catanach aither wad say to ye.-- Gien he be Mistress Stewart's, wha was his father?”
”You think he resembles my late brother: he has a look of him, I confess.”
”He has, my lord. But onybody 'at kent the mither o' 'im, as you an' me did, my lord, wad see anither lik'ness as weel.”
”I grant nothing.”
”Ye grant Grizel Cam'ell yer wife, my lord, whan ye own to that wreet. Gien 't war naething but a written promise an' a bairn to follow, it wad be merriage eneuch i' this cuintry, though it mayna be in cuintries no sae ceevileest.”
”But all that is nothing as to the child. Why do you fix on this young fellow? You say you can't prove it.”
”But ye cud, my lord, gien ye war as set upo' justice as I am. Gien ye winna muv i' the maitter, we s' manage to hirple (go halting) throu' wantin ye, though, wi' the Lord's help.”
The marquis, who had all this time continued his walk up and down the floor, stood still, raised his head as if about to speak, dropped it again on his chest, strode to the other window, turned, strode back, and said,
”This is a very serious matter.”
”It's a' that, my lord,” replied Miss Horn.
”You must give me a little time to turn it over,” said the marquis.
”Isna twenty year time eneuch, my lord?” rejoined Miss Horn.
”I swear to you that till this moment I believed her twenty years in her grave. My brother sent me word that she died in childbed, and the child with her. I was then in Brussels with the Duke.”
Miss Horn made three great strides, caught the marquis's hand in both hers, and said, ”I praise G.o.d ye 're an honest man, my lord.”
”I hope so,” said the marquis, and seized the advantage ”You'll hold your tongue about this ?” he added, half inquiring, half requesting.
”As lang as I see rizzon, my lord, nae langer,” answered Miss Horn, dropping his hand. ”Richt maun be dune.”
”Yes--if you can tell what right is, and avoid wrong to others.”
”Richt 's richt, my lord,” persisted Miss Horn. ”I 'll hae nae modifi-qualifications!”
His lords.h.i.+p once more began to walk up and down the room every now and then taking a stolen glance at Miss Horn, a glance of uneasy anxious questioning. She stood rigid--a very Lot's wife of immobility, her eyes on the ground, waiting what he would say next.
”I wish I knew whether I could trust her,” he said at length, as if talking aloud to himself.
Miss Horn took no notice.
”Why don't you speak, woman?” cried the marquis with irritation.
How he hated perplexity!