“Na, na; they’re a’ wrang there, whaever says that. For auld Jean, wham I min’ a weel faured wuman, though doobtless no sae bonny as whan he broucht her wi’ ’im a yoong lass--maybe to gar her haud her tongue--auld Jean said as I say. But that was lang efter the thing was ower auld to be ta’en ony notice o’ mair. Forby, you ’at’s a man o’ sense, gien it wasna the laird himsel’ ’at he killt, hoo wad there, i’ that case, be onything worthy o’ remark i’ their no thrivin’ efter ’t? I’ that case, the no thrivin’ cud hae had naething ava to du wi’ the killin’. Na, na, it was the laird himsel’ ’at the maister killt--the father o’ the present laird, I’m thinkin’. What aged-man micht he be--did ye ever hear tell?” “He’s a man well on to seventy,” answered Cosmo, with a pang at the thought. “Ay; that’ll be aboot it! There can be no doobt it was his father oor lord killt--an’ as little ’at efter he did it he gaed doon the braid ro’d to the deevil as fest ’s ever he cud rin. It was jist like as wi’ Judas--he maun gang till ’s ain. Some said he had sellt himsel’ to the deevil, but I’m thinkin’ that wasna necessar’. He was to get him ony gait! An’ wad ye believe ’t, it’s baith said and believt--’at he cam by ’s deith i’ some exterordnar w’y, no accoontable for, but plainly no canny. Ae thing’s sure as deith itsel’, he was ta’en suddent, an’ i’ the verra hoose whaur, mony a lang year afore, he commitit the deed o’ darkness!” A pause followed, and then the narrator, or rather commentator, resumed.