It cam to me that the rock was
the sepulchre, the hole the open door o' 't, an' yersel' ane o' the
angels that had faulded his wings an' was waitin' for somebody to
tell the guid news till, that he was up an awa'."
"And what do I look like today?" she asked.
"Ow! the day, ye luik like some cratur o' the storm; or the storm
itsel' takin' a leevin' shape, an' the bonniest it could; or maybe,
like Ahriel, gaein' afore the win', wi' the blast in 's feathers,
rufflin' them 'a gaits at ance."
"Who's Ahriel?"
"Ow, the fleein' cratur i' the Tempest! But in your bonny southern
speech, I daursay ye wad ca' him--or her, I dinna ken whilk the
cratur was--ye wad ca' 't Ayriel?"
"I don't know anything about him or her or it," said Lady Florimel.
"Ye'll hae a' aboot him up i' the libbrary there though," said
Malcolm. "The Tempest's the only ane o' Shakspere's plays 'at I hae
read, but it's a gran' ane, as Maister Graham has empooered me to
see."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Florimel, "I've lost my book!"
"I'll gang back an' luik for 't this meenute, my leddy," said Malcolm.
"I ken ilka fit o' the road we've come, an' it's no possible but
I fa' in wi' 't.--Ye'll sune be hame noo, an' it'll hardly be on
again afore ye win in," he added, looking up at the clouds.
"But how am I to get it? I want it very much."
"I'll jest fess 't up to the Hoose, an' say 'at I fan' 't whaur I
will fin' 't. But I wiss ye wad len' me yer pocket nepkin to row
't in, for I'm feared for blaudin' 't afore I get it back to ye.
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