“Weel, hinney,” returned the former, suddenly changing her tone, “I’m mair an’ mair convenced ’at yon’s the verra laad for yer purpose. For ae thing, ye see, naebody kens whaur he cam frae, as the laird, bonny laad, wad say, an’ naebody can contradick a word-- the auld man less than onybody, for I can tell him what he kens to be trowth. Only I winna muv till _I_ ken whaur he comes frae.” “Wouldn’t you prefer not knowing for certain? You could swear with the better grace.” “Deil a bit! It maitters na to me whilk side o’ my teeth I chow wi’. But I winna sweir till I ken the trowth--’at I may haud aff o’ ’t. He’s the man, though, gien we can get a grip o’ ’im! He luiks the richt thing, ye see, mem. He has a glisk (_slight look_) o’ the markis tu--divna ye think, mem?” “Insolent wretch!” “Caw canny, mem--A’thing maun be considered. It wad but gar the thing luik the mair likly. Fowk gangs the len’th o’ sayin’ ’at Humpy himsel’ ’s no the sin (_son_) o’ the auld laird, honest man!” “It’s a wicked lie,” burst with indignation from the other. “There may be waur things nor a bit lee. Ony gait, ae thing’s easy priven: ye lay verra dowie (_poorly_) for a month or sax ooks ance upon a time at Lossie Hoose, an’ that was a feow years, we needna speir hoo mony, efter ye was lichtened o’ the tither. Whan they hear that at that time ye gae birth till a lad-bairn, the whilk was stown awa’, an’ never hard tell o’ till noo--‘It may weel be,’ fowk’ll say: ‘them ’at has drunk wad drink again!’ It wad affoord rizzons, ye see, an’ guid anes, for the bairn bein’ putten oot o’ sicht, and wad mak the haul story mair nor likly i’ the jeedgment o’ a’ ’at hard it.” “You scandalous woman! That would be to confess to all the world that he was not the son of my late husband!” “They say that o’ him ’at _is_, an’ hoo muckle the waur are ye? Lat them say ’at they like, sae lang ’s we can shaw ’at he cam o’ your body, an’ was born i’ wedlock? Ye hae yer lan’s ance mair, for ye hae a sin ’at can guide them--and ye can guide him. He’s a bonny lad--bonny eneuch to be yer leddyship’s--_and_ his lordship’s: an’ sae, as I was remarkin’, i’ the jeedgment o’ ill-thouchtit fowk, the mair likly to be heir to auld Stewart o’ Kirkbyres!” She laughed huskily. “But I maun hae a scart a’ yer pen, mem, afore I wag tongue aboot it,” she went on. “I ken brawly hoo to set it gauin’! I sanna be the first to ring the bell. Na, na; I s’ set Miss Horn’s Jean jawin’, an’ it’ll be a’ ower the toon in a jiffy--at first in a kin’ o’ a sough ’at naebody ’ill unnerstan’: but it’ll grow looder an’ plainer. At the lang last it’ll come to yer leddyship’s hearin’: an’ syne ye hae me taen up an’ questoned afore a justice o’ the peace, that there may be no luik o’ ony compack atween the twa o’ ’s. But, as I said afore, I’ll no muv till I ken a’ aboot the lad first, an’ syne get a scart o’ yer pen, mem.” “You must be the devil himself!” said the other, in a tone that was not of displeasure.