"
There was a half angelic, half dog-like entreaty in his up looking
hazel eyes that seemed to draw hers down into his: she must put a
stop to that.
"Get up, Malcolm," she said kindly, "what would my father or Mrs
Courthope think?"
"I dinna ken, an' I maist dinna care; atween ae thing an' anither,
I'm near han' distrackit," answered Malcolm, rising slowly, but
not taking his eyes from her face. "An' there's my daddy!" he went
on, "maist won ower to the enemy--an' I daurna tell even him what
for I canna bide it!--Ye haena been sayin' onything till him--
hiv ye, my leddy?"
"I don't quite understand you," returned Florimel, rather guiltily,
for she had spoken on the subject to Duncan. "Saying anything to
your grandfather? About what?"
"Aboot--aboot--Her, ye ken, my leddy."
"What her?" asked Florimel.
"Her 'at--The leddy o' Gersefell."
"And why? What of her? Why, Malcolm! what can have possessed you?
You seem actually to dislike her!"
"I canna bide her," said Malcolm, with the calm earnestness of one
who is merely stating an incontrovertible fact, and for a moment his
eyes, at once troubled and solemn, kept looking wistfully in hers,
as if searching for a comfort too good to be found, then slowly
sank and sought the floor at her feet.
"And why?"
"I canna tell ye."
She supposed it an unreasoned antipathy.
"But that is very wrong," she said, almost as if rebuking a child.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
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