Part 92 (2/2)

He shook his hands like a despairing child, then stamped and wept in the agony of frustrated rage.

Mrs Courthope took Phemy in her arms, and carried her to her own room, where she opened the window, and let the snowy wind blow full upon her. As soon as she came quite to herself Malcolm set out to bear the good tidings to her father and mother.

Only a few nights before had Phemy been taken to the room where they found her. She had been carried from place to place, and had been some time, she believed, in Mrs Catanach's own house. They had always kept her in the dark, and removed her at night, blindfolded.

When asked if she had never cried out before, she said she had been too frightened; and when questioned as to what had made her do so then, she knew nothing of it: she remembered only that a horrible creature appeared by the bedside, after which all was blank. On the floor they found a hideous death mask, doubtless the cause of the screams which Mrs Catanach had sought to stifle with the pillows and bedclothes.

When Malcolm returned, he went at once to the piper's cottage, where he found him in bed, utterly exhausted, and as utterly restless.

”Weel, daddy,” he said, ”I doobt I daurna come near ye noo.”

”Come to her arms, my poor poy!” faltered Duncan. ”She'll pe sorry in her sore heart for her poy! Nefer you pe minding, my son; you couldn't help ta Cam'ell mother, and you'll pe her own poy however.

Ochone! it will pe a plot upon you aal your tays, my son, and she'll not can help you, and it 'll pe preaking her old heart!”

”Gien G.o.d thoucht the Cam'ells worth makin', daddy, I dinna see 'at I hae ony richt to compleen 'at I cam' o' them.”

”She hopes you 'll pe forgifing ta plind old man, however. She could n't see, or she would haf known at once petter.”

”I dinna ken what ye 're efter noo, daddy,” said Malcolm.

”That she'll do you a creat wrong, and she'll be ferry sorry for it, my son.”

”What wrang did ye ever du me, daddy?”

”That she was let you crow up a Cam'ell, my poy. If she tid put know ta paad plood was pe in you, she wouldn't pe tone you ta wrong as pring you up.”

”That 's a wrang no ill to forgi'e, daddy. But it 's a pity ye didna lat me lie, for maybe syne Mistress Catanach wad hae broucht me up hersel', an' I micht hae come to something.”

”Ta duvil mhor (great) would pe in your heart and prain and poosom, my son.”

”Weel, ye see what ye hae saved me frae.”

”Yes; put ta duvil will pe to pay, for she couldn't safe you from ta Cam'ell plood, my son! Malcolm, my poy,” he added after a pause, and with the solemnity of a mighty hate, ”ta efil woman herself will pe a Cam'ell--ta woman Catanach will pe a Cam'ell, and her nain sel' she'll not know it pefore she 'll be in ta ped with the worsest Cam'ell tat ever G.o.d made--and she pecks his pardon, for she'll not pelieve he wa.s.s making ta Cam'ells.”

”Divna ye think G.o.d made me, daddy?” asked Malcolm.

The old man thought for a little.

”Tat will tepend on who was pe your father, my son,” he replied.

”If he too will be a Cam'ell--ochone! ochone! Put tere may pe some coot plood co into you, more as enough to say G.o.d will pe make you, my son. Put don't pe asking, Malcolm. Ton't you 'll pe asking.”

”What am I no to ask, daddy?”

”Ton't pe asking who made you--who was ta father to you, my poy.

She would rather not pe knowing, for ta man might pe a Cam'ell poth. And if she couldn't pe lofing you no more, my son, she would pe tie pefore her time, and her tays would pe long in ta land under ta cra.s.s, my son.”

But the memory of the sweet face whose cold loveliness he had once kissed, was enough to outweigh with Malcolm all the prejudices of Duncan's instillation, and he was proud to take up even her shame.

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