"
"I s' tell her mysel'," returned Malcolm. "But, gentlemen, I beg o'
ye, till I ken what I'm aboot an' gie ye leave, dinna open yer moo' to
leevin' cratur' aboot this. There's time eneuch for the warl' to ken
't."
"Your lordship commands me," said Mr. Soutar.
"Yes, Malcolm, until you give me leave," said Mr. Graham.
"Whaur's Mr. Morrison?" asked Malcolm.
"He is still in the house," said Mr. Soutar.
"Gang till him, sir, an' gar him promise, on the word o' a gentleman,
to haud his tongue. I canna bide to hae't blaret a' gait an' a' at
ance. For Mistress Catanach, I s' deal wi' her mysel'."
The door opened, and, in all the conscious dignity conferred by the
immunities and prerogatives of her calling, Mrs. Catanach walked into
the room.
"A word wi' ye, Mistress Catanach," said Malcolm.
"Certainly, my lord," answered the howdy with mingled presumption and
respect, and followed him to the dining-room. "Weel, my lord--" she
began, before he had turned from shutting the door behind them, in the
tone and with the air--or rather _airs_--of having conferred a great
benefit, and expecting its recognition.
"Mistress Catanach," interrupted Malcolm, turning and facing her,
"gien I be un'er ony obligation to you, it's frae anither tongue I
maun hear't. But I hae an offer to mak ye: Sae lang as it disna coom
oot 'at I'm onything better nor a fisherman born, ye s' hae yer twinty
poun' i' the year, peyed ye quarterly.
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