'I never thocht aboot
that. But I had no richt, for a' that passed, to intrude mysel'
upo' her to that extent.'
'Weel, I reckon ye're richt. Yer wounds an' yer medals ought to
weigh weel against a' that. There's this comfort in 't, that gin
she bena richt weel worthy o' ye, auld frien', she winna tak ye.'
Shargar did not seem to see the comfort of it. He was depressed for
the remainder of the day. In the morning he was in wild spirits
again. Just before he started, however, he said, with an expression
of tremulous anxiety,
'Oucht I to tell her a' at ance--already--aboot--aboot my mither?'
'I dinna say that. Maybe it wad be equally fair to her and to
yersel' to lat her ken ye a bit better afore ye do that.--We'll
think that ower.--Whan ye gang doon the stair, ye'll see a bit
brougham at the door waitin' for ye. Gie the coachman ony orders ye
like. He's your servant as lang 's ye're in London. Commit yer way
to the Lord, my boy.'
Though Shargar did not say much, he felt strengthened by Robert's
truth to meet his fate with something of composure. But it was not
to be decided that day. Therein lay some comfort.
He returned in high spirits still. He had been graciously received
both by Miss Hamilton and her hostess--a kind-hearted old lady, who
spoke Scotch with the pure tone of a gentlewoman, he said--a treat
not to be had once in a twelvemonth. She had asked him to go to
dinner in the evening, and to bring his friend with him.
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