“I aye thoucht her the bonniest leddy I ever set e’e upo’. An’ dinna think, mem, I’m gaein to forget the deid, ’cause I’m mair concernt aboot the leevin’. I tell ye I jist dinna ken what to du. What wi’ my father’s deein’ words committin’ her to my chairge, an’ the more than regaird I ha’e to Leddy Florimel hersel’, I’m jist whiles driven to ane mair. Hoo can I tak the verra sunsheen oot o’ her life ’at I lo’ed afore I kent she was my ain sister, an’ jist thoucht lang to win near eneuch till, to du her ony guid turn worth duin? An’ here I am, her ane half-brither, wi’ naething i’ my pooer but to scaud the hert o’ her, or else lee! Supposin’ she was weel merried first, hoo wad she stan’ wi’ her man whan he cam to ken ’at she was nae marchioness--hed no lawfu’ richt to ony name but her mither’s? An’ afore that, what richt cud I ha’e to alloo ony man to merry her ohn kent the trowth aboot her? Faith, it wad be a fine chance though for the fin’in’ oot whether or no the man was worthy o’ her! But, ye see that micht be to make a playock o’ her hert. Puir thing, she luiks doon upo’ me frae the tap o’ her bonny neck, as frae a h’avenly heicht; but I s’ lat her ken yet, gien only I can win at the gait o’ ’t, that I ha’ena come nigh her for naething.” He gave a sigh with the words, and a pause followed. “The trowth’s the trowth,” resumed Miss Horn, “neither mair nor less.” “Ay,” responded Malcolm; “but there’s a richt an’ a wrang time for the tellin’ o’ ’t. It’s no as gien I had had han’ or tongue in ony foregane lee. It was naething o’ my duin’, as ye ken, mem. To mysel’, I was never onything but a fisherman born. I confess ’at whiles, when we wad be lyin’ i’ the lee o’ the nets, tethered to them like, wi’ the win’ blawin’ strong an’ steady, I ha’e thocht wi’ mysel’ ’at I kent naething aboot my father, an’ what gien it sud turn oot ’at I was the son o’ somebody--what wad I du wi’ my siller?” “An’ what thoucht ye ye wad du, laddie?” asked Miss Horn gently. “What but bigg a harbour at Scaurnose for the puir fisher-fowk ’at was like my ain flesh and blude!” “Weel,” rejoined Miss Horn eagerly, “div ye no look upo’ that as a voo to the Almichty--a voo ’at ye’re bun’ to pay, noo ’at ye ha’e yer wuss? An’ it’s no merely ’at _ye_ ha’e the means, but there’s no anither that has the richt; for they’re yer ain fowk, ’at ye gaither rent frae, an ’at’s been for mony a generation sattlet upo’ yer lan’--though for the maitter o’ the lan’, they ha’e had little mair o’ that than the birds o’ the rock ha’e ohn feued--an’ them honest fowks wi’ wives an’ sowls o’ their ain! Hoo upo’ airth are ye to du yer duty by them, an’ render yer accoont at the last, gien ye dinna tak till ye yer pooer an’ reign? Ilk man ’at’s in ony sense a king o’ men is bun’ to reign ower them _in_ that sense. I ken little aboot things mysel’, an’ I ha’e no feelin’s to guide me, but I ha’e a wheen cowmon sense, an’ that maun jist stan’ for the lave.” A silence followed.