With the act the question seemed
shot from her--"Duv ye ca' yersel' an honest man, noo, Ma'colm?"
"I ca' myself naething," answered the youth; "but I wad fain be
what ye say, Miss Horn."
"Ow! I dinna doobt ye wadna steal, nor yet tell lees aboot a horse:
I ha'e jist come frae a sair waggin' o' tongues about ye. Mistress
Crathie tells me her man's in a sair vex 'at ye winna tell a wordless
lee aboot the black mere: that's what I ca't--no her. But lee it
wad be, an' dinna ye aither wag or haud a leein' tongue. A gentleman
maunna lee, no even by sayin' naething--na, no gien 't war to
win intill the kingdom. But, Guid be thankit, that's whaur leears
never come. Maybe ye're thinkin' I ha'e sma' occasion to say sic
like to yersel'. An' yet what's yer life but a lee, Ma'colm? You
'at's the honest Marquis o' Lossie to waur yer time an' the stren'th
o' yer boady an' the micht o' yer sowl tyauvin' (wrestling) wi' a
deevil o' a she horse, whan there's that half sister o' yer' ain
gauin' to the verra deevil o' perdition himsel' amang the godless
gentry o' Lon'on!"
"What wad ye ha'e me un'erstan' by that, Miss Horn?" returned
Malcolm. "I hear no ill o' her. I daursay she's no jist a sa'nt
yet, but that's no to be luiked for in ane o' the breed: they maun
a' try the warl' first ony gait.
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