“She may lay ’at she likes, but it’s no ilka egg laid has a chuckie intill ’t,” answered Miss Horn sententiously. “Jist ye gang hame to auld Duncan, an’ tell him to turn the thing ower in ’s min’ till he’s able to sweir to the verra nicht he fan’ the bairn in ’s lap. But no ae word maun he say to leevin’ sowl aboot it afore it’s requiret o’ ’im.” “I wad be the son o’ the puirest fisher-wife i’ the Seaton raither nor hers,” said Malcolm gloomily. “An’ it shaws ye better bred,” said Miss Horn. “But she’ll be at ye or lang--an’ tak ye tent what ye say. Dinna flee in her face; lat her jaw awa’, an’ mark her words. She may lat a streak o’ licht oot o’ her dirk lantren oonawaurs.” Malcolm returned to Mr Graham. They agreed there was nothing for it but to wait. He went next to his grandfather and gave him Miss Horn’s message. The old man fell a thinking, but could not be certain even of the year in which he had left his home. The clouds hung very black around Malcolm’s horizon. Since the adventure in the Baillies’ Barn, Lady Florimel had been on a visit in Morayshire: she heard nothing of the report until she returned. “So you’re a gentleman after all, Malcolm!” she said, the next time she saw him. The expression in her eyes appeared to him different from any he had encountered there before. The blood rushed to his face; he dropped his head, and saying merely, “It maun be a’ as it maun,” pursued the occupation of the moment. But her words sent a new wind blowing into the fog. _A gentleman_ she had said! Gentlemen married ladies! Could it be that a glory it was madness to dream of, was yet a possibility? One moment, and his honest heart recoiled from the thought: not even for Lady Florimel could he _consent_ to be the son of that woman! Yet the thought, especially in Lady Florimel’s presence, would return, would linger, would whisper, would tempt. In Florimel’s mind also, a small demon of romance was at work. Uncorrupted as yet by social influences, it would not have seemed to her absurd that an heiress of rank should marry a poor country gentleman; but the thought of marriage never entered her head: she only felt that the discovery justified a nearer approach from both sides. She had nothing, not even a flirtation in view. Flirt she might, likely enough, but she did not foremean it. Had Malcolm been a schemer, he would have tried to make something of his position. But even the growth of his love for his young mistress was held in check by the fear of what that love tempted him to desire. Lady Florimel had by this time got so used to his tone and dialect, hearing it on all sides of her, that its quaintness had ceased to affect her, and its coarseness had begun to influence her repulsively. There were still to be found in Scotland old-fashioned gentlefolk speaking the language of the country with purity and refinement; but Florimel had never met any of them, or she might possibly have been a little less repelled by Malcolm’s speech.