An' it's a' as true 's gospel, though I hae aye held my tongue
aboot it till this verra nicht. Ay! ye'll a' hearken noo; but it's
no lauchin', though there was sculduddery eneuch, nae doobt, afore
it cam' that len'th. And mony a het drap did the puir lassie greet,
I can tell ye. Faith! it was no lauchin' to her. She was a servan'
o' oors, an' a ticht bonnie lass she was. They ca'd her the
weyver's bonny Mary--that's the name she gaed by. Weel, ye see--'
MacGregor was interrupted by a sound from the further end of the
room. The stranger, whom most of them had by this time forgotten,
had risen, and was approaching the table where they sat.
'Guid guide us!' interrupted several under their breaths, as all
rose, 'it's Lord Sandy himsel'!'
'I thank you, gentleman,' he said, with a mixture of irony and
contempt, 'for the interest you take in my private history. I
should have thought it had been as little to the taste as it is to
the honour of some of you to listen to such a farrago of lies.'
'Lees! my lord,' said MacGregor, starting to his feet. Mr. Cocker
looked dismayed, and Mr. Lammie sheepish--all of them dazed and
dumbfoundered, except the old weaver, who, as his lordship turned to
leave the room, added:
'Lang lugs (ears) suld be made o' leather, my lord, for fear they
grow het wi' what they hear.'
Lord Rothie turned in a rage. He too had been drinking.
'Kick that toad into the street, or, by heaven! it's the last drop
any of you drink in this house!' he cried.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61