--O Father
o' lichts! gar him tak the hump wi' him. I hae no fawvor for't, though
it's been my constant compainion this mony a lang."
But in general he only moaned, and after the words thus heard or
fashioned by Malcolm lay silent and nearly still for an hour.
All the waning afternoon Malcolm sat by his side, and neither mother,
maid nor doctor came near them.
"Dark wa's an' no a breath!" he murmured or seemed to murmur again.
"Nae gerse nor flooers nor bees! I hae na room for my hump, an' I
canna lie upo' 't, for that wad kill me. Wull I _ever_ ken whaur I cam
frae? The wine's unco guid. Gie me a drap mair, gien ye please, Lady
Horn.--I thought the grave was a better place. I hae lain safter afore
I dee'd.--Phemy! Phemy! Rin, Phemy, rin! I s' bide wi' them this time.
Ye rin, Phemy!"
As it grew dark the air turned very chill, and snow began to
fall thick and fast. Malcolm laid a few sticks on the smouldering
peat-fire, but they were damp and did not catch. All at once the laird
gave a shriek, and crying out, "Mither! mither!" fell into a fit so
violent that the heavy bed shook with his convulsions. Malcolm held
his wrists and called aloud. No one came, and, bethinking himself that
none could help, he waited in silence for what would soon follow.
The fit passed quickly, and he lay quiet. The sticks had meantime
dried, and suddenly they caught fire and blazed up. The laird turned
his face toward the flame; a smile came over it; his eyes opened wide,
and with such an expression of seeing gazed beyond Malcolm that he
turned his in the same direction.
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