“I wuss there was one of ye a’ that understood that poor bairn’s living, and what’s to come o’ her,” said John. “Sir Ludovic, he’s no lang for this world.” “He’s just in his ordinar, and his faither lived to ninety.” “He’s no just in his ordinar. I havena likit the looks of him this month past; and now he sees it himsel’.” “Lord bless us, man!” cried Bell, in alarm; “and ye never said a word to me!” “What good would that have done if I had said a word to ye? You canna keep out Death. If he’s coming, he’ll come, and no be hindered by you or me. But now he’s found it out himsel’. Will I tell ye what he said to me no an hour ago? But I’ll not tell you; maybe ye would think it was just naething, and pit your jokes on me.” “You may do just what you like,” said Bell: “speak or no speak, he seems just in his ordinar to me.” “Is this like his ordinar?” says John, indignantly. “He says to me no an hour ago, ‘Are the horses busy, John?’ he said; and I says (for it doesna do to let on when wark’s slack; you never ken what folk may take into their head), ‘Oh ay, Sir Ludovic,’ I says, ‘they’re aye busy.’ ‘Could we have them for the carriage on Sunday?’ he says. ‘Weel, Sir Ludovic,’ says I, ‘it might be sae; but what would it be for? Miss Margret, she aye walks, and wouldna thank ye for ony carriage; and the ither leddies, they’re no here.’ Then he strikes his stick on the floor. ‘Can I have the carriage on Sunday?’ he cries, him that’s aye so quiet. Aweel! that’s a’; and if that doesna prove that he’s been turning many a thing ower in his mind.” “Was it to gang to the kirk?” said Bell, somewhat struck by awe; “he hasna been at the kirk this year or more.” “I tellt ye sae,” said John; “and Sir Ludovic, he’s no man to make a careless end. He’ll do all decently and in order. He’ll no let the minister think he’s neglectit. Ye’ll give me out my best claes, as if it was a funeral. I ken what he means, if naebody else does; and syne what is to become of that bairn?” “Oh, man, haud your tongue, haud your tongue,” cried Bell. “Sir Ludovic! that has aye been so steady and so weel in health. I canna credit what you say. Your best claes! Put on your bonnet, mair like, and gang and bid the doctor come this way, canny, the morn’s morning, without saying a word to anybody. That’s the thing for you to do. And now I’ll send that laud away,” she added, briskly. This was a little outlet to her feelings; and to do Bell justice, she was glad to have a moment alone after hearing this alarming news. CHAPTER XV.