“I ha’e no feelin’s mysel’, as ye weel ken, laddie,” she remarked in conclusion, “an’ I doobt, gien I had been i’ your place, I wadna hae luikit to a’ sides o’ the thing at ance as ye hae dune.-- An’ it was a man like you ’at sae near lost yer life for the hizzy!” she exclaimed. “I maunna think aboot it, or I winna sleep a wink. But we maun get that deevil Catanach (an’ cat eneuch!) hangt. Weel, my man, ye may haud up yer heid afore the father o’ ye, for ye’re the first o’ the race, I’m thinkin’, ’at ever was near-han’ deein’ for anither. But mak ye a speedy en’ till ’t noo, laad, an’ fa’ to the lave o’ yer wark. There’s a terrible heap to be dune. But I maun haud my tongue the nicht, for I wad fain ye had a guid sleep, an’ I’m needin’ ane sair mysel’, for I’m no sae yoong as I ance was, an’ I ha’e been that anxious aboot ye, Ma’colm, ’at though I never hed ony feelin’s, yet, noo ’at a’ ’s gaein’ richt, an’ ye’re a’ richt, and like to be richt for ever mair, my heid’s jist like to split. Gang yer wa’s to yer bed, and soon may ye sleep. It’s the bed yer bonny mither got a soon’ sleep in at last, and muckle was she i’ the need o’ ’t! An’ jist tak tent the morn what ye say whan Jean’s i’ the room, or maybe o’ the ither side o’ the door, for she’s no mowse. I dinna ken what gars me keep the jaud. I believe ’at gien the verra deevil himsel’ had been wi’ me sae lang, I wadna ha’e the hert to turn him aboot his ill business. That’s what comes o’ haein’ no feelin’s. Ither fowk wad ha’e gotten rid o’ her half a score years sin’ syne.” CHAPTER LVIII. THE TRENCH.