It seems to me he's lang been broodin ower something we ken
noucht aboot."
"That would be nae ferlie, woman! Whan was it ever we kent onything gaein
on i' that mysterious laddie! Na, but his had need be a guid conscience,
for did ever onybody ken eneuch aboot it or him to say richt or wrang til
'im! But gien ye hae a thoucht he's ever wranged that lassie, I s' hae the
trowth o' 't, gien it cost him a greitin! He'll never come to health o'
body or min' till he's confest, and God has forgien him. He maun confess!
He maun confess!"
"Hoot, Peter, dinna be sae suspicious o' yer ain. It's no like ye to be sae
maisterfu' and owerbeirin. I wad na lat ae ill thoucht o' puir Jeemie
inside this auld heid o' mine! It's the lassie, I'll tak my aith, it's that
Isy's at the bothom o' 't!"
"Ye're some ready wi' yer aith, Mirran, to what ye ken naething aboot! I
say again, gien he's dene ony wrang to that bonnie cratur--and it wudna tak
ower muckle proof to convince me o' the same, he s' tak his stan', minister
or no minister, upo the stele o' repentance!"
"Daur ye to speyk that gait aboot yer ain son--ay, and mine the mair gien
_ye_ disown him, Peter Bletherwick!--and the Lord's ain ordeent minister
forbye!" cried Marion, driven almost to her wits' end, but more by the
persistent haunting of her own suspicion, which she could not repress, than
the terror of her husband's threat.
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