“My lady,” said Malcolm, appealing to her knowledge of his character to secure credit, for he was about to use his last means of persuasion, and as he spoke, in his eagerness he relapsed into his mother tongue,--“My lady, did I ever tell ye a lee?” “Certainly not, Malcolm, so far as I know. Indeed I am sure you never did,” answered Florimel, looking up at him in a dominant yet kindly way. “Then,” continued Malcolm, “I’ll tell your ladyship something you may find hard to believe, and yet is as true as that I loved your ladyship’s father.--Your ladyship knows he had a kindness for me.” “I do know it,” answered Florimel gently, moved by the tone of Malcolm’s voice, and the expression of his countenance. “Then I make bold to tell your ladyship that on his deathbed your father desired me to do my best for you--took my word that I would be your ladyship’s true servant.” “Is it so, indeed, Malcolm?” returned Florimel, with a serious wonder in her tone, and looked him in the face with an earnest gaze. She had loved her father, and it sounded in her ears almost like a message from the tomb. “It’s as true as I stan’ here, my leddy,” said Malcolm. Florimel was silent for a moment. Then she said, “How is it that only now you come to tell me?” “Your father never desired me to tell you, my lady--only he never imagined you would want to part with me, I suppose. But when you did not care to keep me, and never said a word to me when you went away, I could not tell how to do as I had promised him. It wasn’t that one hour I forgot his wish, but that I feared to presume; for if I should displease your ladyship my chance was gone. So I kept about Lossie House as long as I could, hoping to see my way to some plan or other. But when at length Mr Crathie turned me away, what was I to do but come to your ladyship? And if your ladyship will let things be as before in the way of service, I mean--I canna doot, my leddy, but it’ll be pleesant i’ the sicht o’ yer father, whanever he may come to ken o’ ’t, my leddy.” Florimel gave him a strange, half-startled look. Hardly more than once since her father’s funeral had she heard him alluded to, and now this fisher-lad spoke of him as if he were still at Lossie House. Malcolm understood the look. “Ye mean, my leddy--I ken what ye mean,” he said. “I canna help it. For to lo’e onything is to ken ’t immortal. He’s livin’ to me, my leddy.” Florimel continued staring, and still said nothing. I sometimes think that the present belief in mortality is nothing but the almost universal although unsuspected unbelief in immortality grown vocal and articulate. But Malcolm gathered courage and went on,