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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"The Marquis of Lossie"

Sae up they gaed to the cave yon'er, as I was
tellin' ye; an' hoo it was, was a won'er, for I 's warran' she had
been aboot the place near a towmon (twelvemonth), but never had
she been intil that cave, and kenned no more nor the bairn unborn
what there was in 't. An' sae whan the airemite, as the auld minister
ca'd him, though what for he ca'd a muckle block like yon an airy
mite, I'm sure I never cud fathom--whan he gat up, as I was sayin',
an' cam' foret wi' his han' oot, she gae a scraich 'at jist garred
my lugs dirl, an' doon she drappit, an' there, whan I ran up, was
she lyin' i' the markis his airms, as white 's a cauk eemege, an'
it was lang or he brought her till hersel', for he wadna lat me
rin for the hoosekeeper, but sent me fleein' to the f'untain for
watter, an' gied me a gowd guinea to haud my tongue aboot it a'.
Sae noo, my leddy, ye're forewarnt, an' no ill can come to ye, for
there's naething to be fleyt at whan ye ken what's gauin' to meet
ye."
Malcolm had turned his head aside, and now moved on without remark.
Struck by his silence, Clementina looked up, and saw his face very
pale, and the tears standing in his eyes.
"You must tell me the sad story, Malcolm," she murmured. "I could
scarcely understand a word the old man said."
He continued silent, and seemed struggling with some emotion.


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