"It
was but a fortnicht or three weeks, as near as I can judge, efter
the birth o' your bairn, that Grizel Cam'ell--"
"Were you with her then?" again interrupted the marquis, in a tone
of sorrowful interest.
"No, my lord, I was not. Gien I had been, I wadna be upo' sic an
eeran' this day. For nigh twenty lang years 'at her 'an me keepit
hoose thegither, till she dee'd i' my airms, never a day was she
oot o' my sicht, or ance--"
The marquis leaped rather than started to his feet, exclaiming,
"What in the name of God do you mean, woman?"
"I kenna what ye mean, my lord. I ken 'at I 'm but tellin' ye the
trouth whan I tell ye 'at Grizel Cam'ell, up to that day,
an' that 's little ower sax month sin' syne."
"Good God!" cried the marquis; "and here have I--Woman! are you
speaking the truth? If--," he added threateningly, and paused.
"Leein' 's what I never cud bide, my lord, an' I 'm no likly to
tak till 't at my age, wi' the lang to come afore me."
The marquis strode several times up and down the floor. "I 'll
give you a thousand pounds for those letters," he said, suddenly
stopping in front of Miss Horn.
"They 're o' nae sic worth, my lord--I hae yer ain word for 't.
But I carena the leg o' a spin maggie (daddy longlegs)! Pairt wi'
them I will not, 'cep' to him 'at pruves himsel' the richtfu' heir
to them."
"A husband inherits from his wife."
"Or maybe her son micht claim first--I dinna ken. But there 's
lawyers, my lord, to redd the doot.
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