"Bah! You don't think God cares about a misshapen lump of flesh
like that!" exclaimed his lordship with contempt.
"As muckle's aboot yersel', or my leddy," said Malcolm. "Gien he
didna, he wadna be nae God ava' (at all)."
The marquis laughed again: he heard the words with his ears,
but his heart was deaf to the thought they clothed; hence he took
Malcolm's earnestness for irreverence, and it amused him.
"You've not got to set things right, anyhow," he said. "You mind
your own business."
"I'll try, my lord: it's the business o' ilka man, whaur he can,
to lowse the weichty birns, an' lat the forfouchten gang free. Guid
day to ye, my lord."
So saying the young fisherman turned, and left the marquis laughing
in the hall.
CHAPTER XXVII: LORD GERNON
When his housekeeper returned from church, Lord Lossie sent for
her.
"Sit down, Mrs Courthope," he said; "I want to ask you about a
story I have a vague recollection of hearing when I spent a summer
at this house some twenty years ago. It had to do with a room in
the house that was never opened."
"There is such a story, my lord," answered the housekeeper. "The
late marquis, I remember well, used to laugh at it, and threaten
now and then to dare the prophecy; but old Eppie persuaded him not
--or at least fancied she did."
"Who is old Eppie?"
"She's gone now, my lord. She was over a hundred then. She was born
and brought up in the house, lived all her days in it, and died in
it; so she knew more about the place than any one else.
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