"Is it probable that a wretch such as your
legends describe him should ever get there?"
"Ye dinna think God's forgien him, than, mem?"
"I have no right to judge Glenlyon, or any other man; but, as you
ask me, I must say I see no likelihood of it."
"Hoo can ye compleen o' my puir blin' grandfather for no forgiein'
him, than?--I hae ye there, mem!"
"He may have repented, you know," said Mrs Courthope feebly, finding
herself in less room than was comfortable.
"In sic case," returned Malcolm, "the auld man 'ill hear a' aboot
it the meenit he wins there; an' I mak nae doobt he'll du his best
to perswaud himsel'."
"But what if he shouldn't get there?" persisted Mrs Courthope, in
pure benevolence.
"Hoot toot, mem! I wonner to hear ye! A Cawmill latten in, and my
gran'father hauden oot! That wad be jist yallow faced Willie ower
again!*--Na, na; things gang anither gait up there. My gran'father's
a rale guid man, for a' 'at he has a wye o' luikin' at things 'at's
mair efter the law nor the gospel."
*[Lord Stair, the prime mover in the Massacre of Glenco.]
Apparently Mrs Courthope had come at length to the conclusion that
Malcolm was as much of a heathen as his grandfather, for in silence
she chose her fish, in silence paid him his price, and then with
only a sad Good day, turned and left him.
He would have gone back by the river side to the sea gate, but
Mrs Courthope having waived her right to the fish in favour of Mrs
Catanach, he felt bound to give her another chance, and so returned
the way he had come.
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