It's a mercy I hae
nae feelin's," she added, arresting her handkerchief on its way to her
eyes, and refusing to acknowledge the single tear that ran down her
cheek.
Plainly she was not like any of the women whose characters the marquis
had accepted as typical of womankind.
"Then you won't leave the matter to her husband and son?" he said
reproachfully.
"I tellt ye, my lord, I wad du naething but what I saw to be richt.
Lat this affair oot o' my han's I daurna. That laad ye micht work
to onything 'at made agane himsel'. He's jist like his puir mither
there."
"If Miss Campbell _was_ his mother," said the marquis.
"Miss Cam'ell!" cried Miss Horn. "I'll thank yer lordship to ca' her
by her ain, an' that's Lady Lossie."
What of the something ruinous heart of the marquis was habitable was
occupied by his daughter, and had no accommodation at present either
for his dead wife or his living son. Once more he sat thinking in
silence for a while. "I'll make Malcolm a post-captain in the navy and
give you a thousand pounds," he said at length, hardly knowing that he
spoke.
Miss Horn rose to her full height and stood like an angel of rebuke
before him. Not a word did she speak, only looked at him for a moment
and turned to leave the room. The marquis saw his danger, and striding
to the door stood with his back against it.
"Think ye to scare _me_, my lord?" she asked with a scornful laugh.
"Gang an' scare the stane lion-beast at yer ha'-door.
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