"
Lady Bellair was the bold faced countess.
"I dinna like her," said Malcolm.
"Who the devil asked you to like her?" said the marquis. But he
laughed as he said it.
"I beg yer lordship's pardon," returned Malcolm. "I said it 'or I
kent. It was nane o' my business wha my leddy was wi'."
"Certainly not. But I don't mind confessing that Lady Bellair is
not one I should choose to give authority over Lady Florimel. You
have some regard for your young mistress, I know, Malcolm."
"I wad dee for her, my lord."
"That 's a common assertion," said the marquis.
"No wi' fisher fowk. I kenna hoo it may be wi' your fowk, my lord."
"Well, even with us it means something. It implies at least that he
who uses it would risk his life for her whom he wishes to believe
it. But perhaps it may mean more than that in the mouth of a
fisherman? Do you fancy there is such a thing as devotion--real
devotion, I mean--self sacrifice, you know?"
"I daurna doobt it, my lord."
"Without fee or hope of reward?"
"There maun be some cawpable o' 't, my lord, or what for sud the
warl' be? What ither sud haud it ohn been destroyt as Sodom was for
the want o' the ten richteous? There maun be saut whaur corruption
hasna the thing a' its ain gait."
"You certainly have pretty high notions of things, MacPhail. For
my part, I can easily enough imagine a man risking his life; but
devoting it!--that 's another thing altogether."
"There maun be 'at wad du a' 't cud be dune, my lord.
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