"
"He's better the noo," she said. "He's taen a doze o' ane o' thae
drogues he's aye potterin' wi'--fain to learn the trade o' livin'
for ever, I reckon! But that's a thing the Lord has keepit in 's ain
han's. The tree o' life was never aten o', an' never wull be noo i'
this warl'; it's lang transplantit. But eh, as to livin' for ever,
or I wud be his lordship, I wud gie up the ghost at ance!"
"What makes you say that, mistress Brookes?" asked Donal.
"It's no ilk ane I wud answer sic a queston til," she replied; "but
I'm weel assured ye hae sense an' hert eneuch baith, no to hurt a
cratur'; an' I'll jist gang sae far as say to yersel', an' 'atween
the twa o' 's, 'at I hae h'ard frae them 'at's awa'--them 'at weel
kent, bein' aboot the place an' trustit--that whan the fit was upon
him, he was fell cruel to the bonnie wife he merriet abro'd an'
broucht hame wi' him--til a cauld-hertit country, puir thing, she
maun hae thoucht it!"
"How could he have been cruel to her in the house of his brother?
Even if he was the wretch to be guilty of it, his brother would
never have connived at the ill-treatment of any woman under his
roof!"
"Hoo ken ye the auld yerl sae weel?" asked Mrs. Brookes, with a sly
glance.
"I ken," answered Donal, direct as was his wont, but finding somehow
a little shelter in the dialect, "'at sic a dauchter could ill hae
been born to ony but a man 'at--weel, 'at wad at least behave til a
wuman like a man.
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