"Eh!" said the Partaness, in a whisper, as they parted at Duncan's
door, "a baad temper 's a frichtsome thing. I'm sure the times I
hae telled him it wad be the ruin o' 'im!"
To Malcolm's gentle knock Miss Horn's door was opened by Jean.
"What d'ye wint at sic an oontimeous hoor," she said, "whan honest
fowk's a' i' their nicht caips?"
"I want to see Miss Horn, gien ye please," he answered.
"I s' warran' she'll be in her bed an' snorin'," said Jean; "but
I s' gang an' see."
Ere she went, however, Jean saw that the kitchen door was closed,
for, whether she belonged to the class "honest folk" or not, Mrs
Catanach was in Miss Horn's kitchen, and not in her nightcap.
Jean returned presently with an invitation for Malcolm to walk up
to the parlour.
"I hae gotten a sma' mishanter, Miss Horn," he said, as he entered:
"an I thocht I cudna du better than come to you, 'cause ye can haud
yer tongue, an' that's mair nor mony ane the port o' Portlossie
can, mem."
The compliment, correct in fact as well as honest in intent, was
not thrown away on Miss Horn, to whom it was the more pleasing
that she could regard it as a just tribute. Malcolm told her all
the story, rousing thereby a mighty indignation in her bosom, a
great fire in her hawk nose, and a succession of wild flashes in
her hawk eyes; but when he showed her his hand,
"Lord, Malcolm!" she cried; "it's a mercy I was made wantin'
feelin's, or I cudna hae bed the sicht.
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