But no ae word maun he say to leevin' sowl aboot it afore it's
requiret o' 'im."
"I wad be the son o' the puirest fisher wife i' the Seaton raither
nor hers," said Malcolm gloomily.
"An' it shaws ye better bred," said Miss Horn. "But she'll be at
ye or lang--an' tak ye tent what ye say. Dinna flee in her face;
lat her jaw awa', an' mark her words. She may lat a streak o' licht
oot o' her dirk lantren oonawaurs."
Malcolm returned to Mr Graham. They agreed there was nothing for
it but to wait. He went next to his grandfather and gave him Miss
Horn's message. The old man fell a thinking, but could not be
certain even of the year in which he had left his home. The clouds
hung very black around Malcolm's horizon.
Since the adventure in the Baillies' Barn, Lady Florimel had been
on a visit in Morayshire: she heard nothing of the report until
she returned.
"So you're a gentleman after all, Malcolm!" she said, the next time
she saw him.
The expression in her eyes appeared to him different from any
he had encountered there before. The blood rushed to his face; he
dropped his head, and saying merely, "It maun be a' as it maun,"
pursued the occupation of the moment.
But her words sent a new wind blowing into the fog. A gentleman
she had said! Gentlemen married ladies! Could it be that a glory
it was madness to dream of, was yet a possibility? One moment,
and his honest heart recoiled from the thought: not even for Lady
Florimel could he consent to be the son of that woman! Yet the
thought, especially in Lady Florimel's presence, would return,
would linger, would whisper, would tempt.
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