“The minister says we maun hae sure word afore we tell Saunders,” said Robbie; “as if the word we hae gotten wasna ower sure; but I say we’ve nae richt to keep the news frae the faither and the mother. Thea hae mair richt to ken than fremd folk. To be sure, I gied my word to the minister that I wad tell naebody. I’m saying, Jen, mind; till ance the minister maks his inquiries, ye’re no’ to say a word about it; though I kenna but what it wad be richt to tell the auld man, whether it turned out true or no, just to bring him to himsel’.” “Eh, preserve me!” said Janet Mense, “they say he put his curse upon the lad.” “I wadna say onything was ower hard for Saunders Delvie,” said the fisherman. “Whisht! nane o’ ye ken,” said the old woman. “If he had been mair moderate in his liking, he wad hae been mair moderate in his wrath. I tell ye, nane o’ ye ken. Wha’s yon, Jen? is’t no’ Saunders, his ain sel’?” The fisherman glanced eagerly out, and then drew back. “I pat on my Sabbath-day’s claes just for the purpose, but I canna face him now. I’ll slip awa into the milk-house, Mrs Mense; and say naething to him. It’s in the minister’s hands; we maun just leave it to the minister.” So saying, Robbie with some trepidation hastened away to conceal himself in the dairy until the old man had passed. The stern, harsh face of Saunders Delvie was lighted with a fire of strange and wild excitement. Defiance and yearning, tears and frowns, were strangely mingled in it. His voice shook, his gray eyelashes were wet, and under his heavy, bushy eyebrows his eyes shot out glances of fiery grief. His stern composure of manner was entirely broken. A burst of weeping, or a paroxysm of fierce rage, might, either of them, have brought to a climax the old man’s unusual agitation. With his heavy, quick, unsteady step, he came into the kitchen of Mossgray. No one spoke to him, for both of the women were afraid. Mrs Mense was sitting in her chair by the fireside; he went up to her hurriedly. “Auld friend,” he said abruptly, with that harsh tremor in his voice, more moving than many lamentations, “ken ye onything that concerns me or mine? tell me plain out what it is, for this I wunna bear.” “Oh, Saunders,” exclaimed the old woman, wiping the tears from her withered cheek, “have pity upon the lad--the puir lad!” “Is that a’? have ye nae mair to say but that?” said Saunders. Janet had followed the example of the fisherman, and the two old servants of Mossgray were alone. “Is that a’?” repeated Saunders, speaking rapidly, as if, in the contradictory impulse of his anxiety, he wished to prevent her from answering. “Ye’re sure that’s a’? Then I maun gang my ways--I maun tak counsel; if it’s righteous it maunna be ower late; but I’ll no’ speak to the Laird. He’s no’ a man like me; he taks the reprobate and the race o’ the reprobate into his bosom. Na, I winna speak to the Laird.”