"But," said Cosmo, "they say doon there, it was a brither o' the
laird, no the laird himsel','at the English lord killt."
"Na, na; they're a' wrang there, whaever says that. For auld Jean,
wham I min' a weel faured wuman, though doobtless no sae bonny as
whan he broucht her wi' 'im a yoong lass--maybe to gar her haud her
tongue--auld Jean said as I say. But that was lang efter the thing
was ower auld to be ta'en ony notice o' mair. Forby, you 'at's a
man o' sense, gien it wasna the laird himsel' 'at he killt, hoo wad
there, i' that case, be onything worthy o' remark i' their no
thrivin' efter't? I' that case, the no thrivin' cud hae had
naething ava to du wi' the killin'. Na, na, it was the laird
himsel' 'at the maisier killt--the father o' the present laird, I'm
thinkin'. What aged-man micht he be--did ye ever hear tell?"
"He's a man well on to seventy," answered Cosmo, with a pang at the
thought.
"Ay; that'll be aboot it! There can be no doobt it was his father
oor lord killt--an' as little 'at efter he did it he gaed doon the
braid ro'd to the deevil as fest's ever he cud rin. It was jist
like as wi' Judas--he maun gang till's ain. Some said he had sellt
himsel' to the deevil, but I'm thinkin' that wasna necessar'. He
was to get him ony gait! An' wad ye believe't, it's baith said and
believt--'at he cam by's deith i' some exterordnar w'y, no
accoontable for, but plainly no canny.
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