A light flush rose to her cheeks, but whether from embarrassment or anger could not be told from her reply. “I ken nane o’ that name,” she said. “Whaur’s the laird o’ Kirkbyres, than?” “Whar ye s’ never lay han’ upo’ ’im!” returned the child, her cheeks now rosy-red, and her eyes flashing. “_Me_ lay han’ upo’ ’im!” cried Malcolm, surprised at her behaviour. “Gien ’t hadna been for you, naebody wad hae fun’ oot the w’y intill the cave,” she rejoined, her gray eyes, blue with the fire of anger, looking straight into his. “Phemy! Phemy!” said her mother. “For shame!” “There’s nae shame intill ’t,” protested the child indignantly. “But there _is_ shame intill ’t,” said Malcolm quietly, “for ye wrang an honest man.” “Weel, ye canna deny,” persisted Phemy, in mood to brave the evil one himself, “’at ye was ower at Kirkbyres on ane o’ the markis’s mears, an’ heild a lang confab wi’ the laird’s mither!” “I gaed upo’ my maister’s eeran’,” answered Malcolm. “Ow, ay! I daursay!--But wha kens--wi’ sic a mither!” She burst out crying, and ran into the street. Malcolm understood it now. “She’s like a’ the lave (_rest_)!” he said sadly, turning to her mother. “I’m jist affrontit wi’ the bairn!” she replied, with manifest annoyance in her flushed face. “She’s true to _him_,” said Malcolm, “gien she binna fair to _me_. Sayna a word to the lassie. she’ll ken me better or lang. An’ noo for my story.” Mrs Mair said nothing while he told how he had come upon Lizzy, the state she was in, and what had passed between them; but he had scarcely finished, when she rose, leaving a cup of tea untasted, and took her bonnet and shawl from a nail in the back of the door. Her husband rose also. “I’ll jist gang as far ’s the Boar’s Craig wi’ ye mysel’, Annie,” he said. “I’m thinkin’ ye’ll fin’ the puir lassie whaur I left her,” remarked Malcolm. “I doobt she dauredna gang hame.” That night it was all over the town, that Lizzy Findlay was in a woman’s worst trouble, and that Malcolm was the cause of it. CHAPTER LI. THE LAIRD’S BURROW. Annie Mair had a brother, a carpenter, who, following her to Scaurnose, had there rented a small building next door to her cottage, and made of it a workshop. It had a rude loft, one end of which was loosely floored, while the remaining part showed the couples through the bare joists, except where some planks of oak and mahogany, with an old door, a boat’s rudder, and other things that might come in handy, were laid across them in store. There also, during the winter, hung the cumulus-clouds of Blue Peter’s herring-nets; for his cottage, having a garret above, did not afford the customary place for them in the roof.