h let him
understand she was not talking to Crummie, but to Crummie's maker;
and it was therefore he had got up and gone after her. For there
was no reason, so far as he knew or imagined, why he should not
hear, as so many times before, what she was saying to the Master.
He supposed that as she could not well speak to him in the presence
of a man like Angus, she had gone out to the byre to have her talk
with him there. He crawled to the end of the cottage so silently
that she heard no sound of his approach. He would not go into the
byre, for that might disturb her, for she would have to look up to
know that it was only Gibbie; he would listen at the door. He found
it wide open, and peeping in, saw Crummie chewing away, and Janet on
her knees with her forehead leaning against the cow and her hands
thrown up over her shoulder. She spoke in such a voice of troubled
entreaty as he had never heard from her before, but which yet woke a
strange vibration of memory in his deepest heart.--Yes, it was his
father's voice it reminded him of! So had he cried in prayer the
last time he ever heard him speak. What she said was nearly this:

"O Lord, gin ye wad but say what ye wad hae deen! Whan a body disna
ken yer wull, she's jist driven to distraction. Thoo knows, my
Maister, as weel's I can tell ye, 'at gien ye said till me, 'That
man's gauin' to cut yer thro't: tak the tows frae him, an' lat him
up,' I wad rin to dee't. It's no revenge, Lord; it's jist 'at I
dinna ken. The man's dune me no ill, 'cep' as he's sair hurtit yer
bonnie Gibbie. It's Gibbie 'at has to forgie 'im an' syne me. But
my man tellt me no to lat him up, an' hoo am I to be a wife sic as
ye wad hae, O Lord, gien I dinna dee as my man tellt me! It wad ill
befit me to lat my auld Robert gang sae far wantin' his denner, a'
for naething. What wad he think whan he cam hame! Of coorse, Lord,
gien ye tellt me, that wad mak a' the differ, for ye're Robert's
maister as weel's mine, an' your wull wad saitisfee him jist as
weel's me. I wad fain lat him gang, puir chiel! but I daurna.
Lord, convert him to the trowth. Lord, lat him ken what hate
is.--But eh, Lord! I wuss ye wad tell me what to du. Thy wull's
the beginnin' an' mids an' en' o' a' thing to me. I'm wullin'
eneuch to lat him gang, but he's Robert's pris'ner an' Gibbie's
enemy; he's no my pris'ner an' no my enemy, an' I dinna think I hae
the richt. An' wha kens but he micht gang shottin' mair