“Ay, and tyne his as weel!” he returned. “Tyne what’s yer ain to tyne, wuman—and that’s no your sowl, nor yet Jamie’s! He’s no yours to save, but ye’re deein a’ ye can to destroy him—and aiblins ye’ll succeed! for ye wad sen’ him straucht awa to hell for the sake o’ a guid name—a lee! a hypocrisy!—Oot upo ye for a Christian mither, Mirran!—Jamie, I’m awa to the toon, upo my twa feet, for the mere’s cripple: the vera deil’s i’ the hoose and the stable and a’, it would seem!—I’m awa to fess Isy hame! And, Jamie, ye’ll jist tell her afore me and yer mother, that as sene ’s ye’re able to crawl to the kirk wi’ her, ye’ll merry her afore the warl’, and tak her hame to the manse wi’ ye!” “Hoot, Peter! Wad ye disgrace him afore a’ the beggars o’ Tiltowie?” “Ay, and afore God, that kens a’thing ohn onybody tellt him! Han’s and hert I s’ be clear o’ this abomination!” “Merry a wuman ’at was ta’en wi’ a wat finger!—a maiden that never said _na_!—Merry a lass that’s nae maiden, nor ever will be!—Hoots!” “And wha’s to blame for that?” “Hersel.” “Jeemie! Jist Jeemie!—I’m fair scunnert at ye, Mirran!—Oot o’ my sicht, I tell ye!—Lord, I kenna hoo I’m to win ower ’t!—No to a’ eternity, I doobt!” He turned from her with a tearing groan, and went feeling for the open door, like one struck blind. “Oh, father, father!” cried James, “forgie my mither afore ye gang, or my hert ’ill brak. It’s the awfu’est thing o’ ony to see you twa striven!” “She’s no sorry, no ae bit sorry!” said Peter. “I am, I am, Peter!” cried Marion, breaking down at once, and utterly. “Dee what ye wull, and I’ll dee the same—only lat it be dene quaietly, ’ithoot din or proclamation! What for sud a’body ken a’thing! Wha has the richt to see intil ither fowk’s herts and lives? The warl’ could ill gang on gien that war the gait o’ ’t!” “Father,” said James, “I thank God that noo ye ken a’! Eh, sic a weicht as it taks aff o’ me! I’ll be hale and weel noo in ae day!—I think I’ll gang wi’ ye to Isy, mysel!—But I’m a wee bit sorry ye cam in jist that minute! I wuss ye had harkit a wee langer! For I wasna giein-in to my mother; I was but thinkin hoo to say oot what was in me, ohn vext her waur nor couldna be helpit. Believe me, father, gien ye can; though I doobt sair ye winna be able!” “I believe ye, my bairn; and I thank God I hae that muckle pooer o’ belief left in me! I confess I was in ower great a hurry, and I’m sure ye war takin the richt gait wi’ yer puir mither.—Ye see she loed ye sae weel that she could think o’ nae thing or body but yersel! That’s the w’y o’ mithers, Jamie, gien ye only kenned it! She was nigh sinnin an awfu sin for your sake, man!” Here he turned again to his wife. “That’s what comes o’ lovin the praise o’ men, Mirran! Easy it passes intil the fear o’ men, and disregaird o’ the Holy!—I s’ awa doon to the soutar, and tell him the cheenge that’s come ower us a’: he’ll no be a hair surprised!”