He found her standing
before him with her two hands on her two hips, and lingered a
moment at the door to hear what she was saying.
"Na, na, my lord!" expostulated Grizzie, "I canna lea' ye here. Yer
lordship'll sune be past takin' care o' yersel--no 'at ye wad be a
witch at it this present! Ye wad be thinkin' ye was i' yer bed whan
ye was i' the mids' o' the middin', or pu'in' the blankets o' the
denk dub ower yer heid! Lord! my lord, yet micht set the hoose o'
fire, an' burn a', baith stable an' byre, an' horses an' cairts,
an' cairt-sheds, an' hiz a' to white aisse in oor nakit beds!"
"Hold your outlandish gibberish," returned his lordship. "Go and
fetch me some whisky. This stuff is too cold to go to sleep on in
such weather."
"Deil a drap or drap o' whusky, or oucht else, yer lordship's hae
fra my han' this nicht--nae mair nor gien ye war a bairn 'at wantit
poother to blaw himsel' up wi'! Ye hae had ower muckle a'ready,
gien ye war but cawpable o' un'erstan'in', or failin' that, o'
believin' an honest wuman 'at kens what state ye are in better nor
ye du yersel'.--A bonny lordship!" she muttered to herself as she
turned from him.
The laird thought it time to show himself, and went forward. Lord
Mergwain had understood not the half of what Grizzie said; but had
found sufficient provocation in the tone, and was much too angry
for any articulate attempt at speech beyond swearing.
"My lord," said the laird, "I think you will find your room
tolerably comfortable now: shall I have the pleasure of showing you
the way?"
"No, indeed! I'm not going to stir.
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