Up its
banks, lovely with flowers and rich with shrubs and trees below,
you might ascend until by slow gradations you left the woods and
all culture behind, and found yourself, though still within the
precincts of Lossie House, on the lonely side of the waste hill,
a thousand feet above the sea.
The hall door stood open, and just within hovered Mrs Courthope,
dusting certain precious things not to be handled by a housemaid.
This portion of the building was so narrow that the hall occupied
its entire width, and on the opposite side of it another door,
standing also open, gave a glimpse of the glen.
"Good morning, Malcolm," said Mrs Courthope, when she turned and
saw whose shadow fell on the marble floor. "What have you brought
me?"
"A fine salmon troot, mem. But gien ye had hard boo Mistress
Catanach flytit (scolded) at me 'cause I wadna gie't to her! You
wad hae thocht, mem, she was something no canny--the w'y 'at she
first beggit, an' syne fleecht (flattered), an syne a' but banned
an' swore."
"She's a peculiar person, that, Malcolm. Those are nice whitings.
I don't care about the trout. Just take it to her as you go back."
"I doobt gien she'll take it, mem. She's an awfu' vengefu' cratur,
fowk says."
"You remind me, Malcolm," returned Mrs Courthope, "that I'm not at
ease about your grandfather. He is not in a Christian frame of mind
at all--and he is an old man too. If we don't forgive our enemies,
you know, the Bible plainly tells us we shall not be forgiven
ourselves.
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