Duncan also was displeased,
but with himself; for disappointing one he loved so much. With
the passion for confidence which love generates, he had been for
some time desirous of opening his mind to her upon the matter in
question, and had indeed, on this very occasion, intended to lead
up to a certain disclosure; but just at the last he clung to his
secret, and could not let it go.
Compelled thereto against the natural impulse of the Celtic nature,
which is open and confiding, therefore in the reaction cunning and
suspicious, he had practised reticence so long, that he now recoiled
from a breach of the habit which had become a second, false nature.
He felt like one who, having caught a bird, holds it in his hand
with the full intention of letting it go, but cannot make up his
mind to do it just yet, knowing that, the moment he opens his hand,
nothing can make that bird his again.
A whole week passed, during which Lady Florimel did not come near
him, and the old man was miserable. At length one evening, for she
chose her time when Malcolm must be in some vague spot between the
shore and the horizon, she once more entered the piper's cottage.
He knew her step the moment she turned the corner from the shore,
and she had scarcely set her foot across the threshold before he
broke out:
"Ach, my tear laty! and tid you'll think old Tuncan such a stoopit
old man as not to 'll pe trusting ta light of her plind eyes? Put
her laty must forgif her, for it is a long tale, not like anything
you 'll pe in ta way of peliefing; and aalso, it'll pe put ta
tassel to another long tale which tears ta pag of her heart, and
makes her feel a purning tevil in ta pocket of her posom.
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