"
"The deevil has a better to the twa o' them, my lord, as they 'll
ken some day. His claim 'll want nae supportin'. Dinna ye believe
a word Mistress Stewart or Bauby Catanach aither wad say to ye.--
Gien he be Mistress Stewart's, wha was his father?"
"You think he resembles my late brother: he has a look of him, I
confess."
"He has, my lord. But onybody 'at kent the mither o' 'im, as you
an' me did, my lord, wad see anither lik'ness as weel."
"I grant nothing."
"Ye grant Grizel Cam'ell yer wife, my lord, whan ye own to that
wreet. Gien 't war naething but a written promise an' a bairn to
follow, it wad be merriage eneuch i' this cuintry, though it mayna
be in cuintries no sae ceevileest."
"But all that is nothing as to the child. Why do you fix on this
young fellow? You say you can't prove it."
"But ye cud, my lord, gien ye war as set upo' justice as I am. Gien
ye winna muv i' the maitter, we s' manage to hirple (go halting)
throu' wantin ye, though, wi' the Lord's help."
The marquis, who had all this time continued his walk up and down
the floor, stood still, raised his head as if about to speak, dropped
it again on his chest, strode to the other window, turned, strode
back, and said,
"This is a very serious matter."
"It's a' that, my lord," replied Miss Horn.
"You must give me a little time to turn it over," said the marquis.
"Isna twenty year time eneuch, my lord?" rejoined Miss Horn.
"I swear to you that till this moment I believed her twenty years
in her grave.
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