“That’s hoo I hae hard the tale, my lord; but I wad be sorry sud a’ it conteens meet wi’ like corroboration.—As I say, a dochter there was, an’ gien a’ was surpassin’, she was surpassin’ a’. The faimily piper, or sennachy, as they ca’d him—I wadna wonner, my lord, gien thae gran’ pipes yer boonty gae my gran’father, had been his!—he said in ane o’ his sangs, ’at the sun blinkit whanever she shawed hersel’ at the hoose-door. I s’ warran’ ae thing—’at a’ the lads blinkit whan she luikit at them, gien sae be she cud ever be said to condescen’ sae far as to luik at ony; for gien ever she set ee upo’ ane, she never loot it rist: her ee aye jist slippit ower a face as gien the face micht or micht not be there —she didna ken or care. A’ body said she had sic a hauchty leuk as was never seen on human face afore; an’ for freen’ly luik, she had nane for leevin’ cratur, ’cep’ it was her ain father, or her ain horse ’at she rade upo’. Her mither was deid.
“Her father wad fain hae seen her merriet afore he dee’d, but the pride he had gien her was like to be the en’ o’ a’, for she coontit it naething less than a disgrace to pairt wi’ maiden-leeberty. ‘There’s no man,’ she wad say, whan her father wad be pressin’ upo’ the subjec’,—‘there’s no mortal man, but yersel’, worth the turn o’ my ee.’ An’ the father, puir man, was ower weel pleased wi’ the flattery to be sae angry wi’ her as he wad fain hae luikit. Sae time gaed on, till frae a bonny lassie she had grown a gran’ leddy, an’ cud win up the hill nae forder, but bude to gang doon o’ the ither side; an’ her father was jist near-han’ daft wi’ anxiety to see her wad. But no! never ane wad she hearken till.
“At last there cam to the hoose—that’s Colonsay Castel, up there —ae day, a yoong man frae Norrawa’, the son o’ a great nobleman o’ that country; an’ wi’ him she was some ta’en. He was a fine man to leuk at, an’ he pat them a’ to shame at onything that nott stren’th or skeel. But he was as heumble as he was fit, an’ never teuk ony credit till himsel’ for onything ’at he did or was; an’ this she was ill-pleased wi’, though she cudna help likin’ him, an’ made nae banes o’ lattin’ him see ’at he wasna a’thegither a scunner till her.
“Weel, ae mornin’, verra ear’, she gaed oot intill her gairden, an luikit ower the hedge; an’ what sud she see but this same yoong nobleman tak the bairn frae a puir traivellin’ body, help her ower a dyke, and gie her her bairn again! He was at her ain side in anither meenute, but he was jist that meenute ahint his tryst, an’ she was in a cauld rage at him. He tried to turn her hert, sayin’ —wad she hae had him no help the puir thing ower the dyke, her bairnie bein’ but a fortnicht auld, an’ hersel’ unco weak-like? but my leddy made a mou’ as gien she was scunnert to hear sic things made mention o’. An’ was she to stan’ luikin’ ower the hedge, an’ him convoyin’ a beggar-wife an’ her brat! An’ syne to come to her ohn ever washen his han’s! ‘Hoot, my leddy,’ says he, ‘the puir thing was a human cratur!’—‘Gien she had been a God’s angel,’ says she, ‘ye had no richt to keep me waitin’.’—‘Gien she had been an angel,’ says he, ‘there wad hae been little occasion, but the wuman stude in want o’ help!’—‘Gien ’t had been to save her life, ye sudna hae keepit me waitin’,’ says she. The lad was scaret at that, as weel he micht, an’ takin’ aff ’s bannet, he lowtit laich, an’ left her. But this didna shuit my leddy; she wasna to be left afore she said gang! sae she cried him back, an’ he cam, bannet in han’; an’ she leuch, an’ made as gien she had been but tryin’ the smeddum o’ ’im, an’ thoucht him a true k-nicht. The puir fallow pluckit up at this, an’ doon he fell upo’s knees, an’ oot wi’ a’ ’at was in ’s hert,—hoo ’at he lo’ed her mair nor tongue cud tell, an’ gien she wad hae him, he wad be her slave for ever.
“‘Ye s’ be that,’ says she, an’ leuch him to scorn. ‘Gang efter yer beggar-wife,’ she says; ‘I’m sick o’ ye.’
“He rase, an’ teuk up ’s bannet, an’ loupit the hedge, an’ gae a blast upo’ ’s horn, an’ gethered his men, an’ steppit aboord his boat, ower by Puffie Heid yonner, an’ awa to Norrowa’ ower the faem, ’an was never hard tell o’ in Scotlan’ again. An’ the leddy was hauchtier, and cairried her heid heicher nor ever—maybe to hide a scaum (slight mark of burning) she had taen, for a’ her pride.
“Sae things gaed on as afore, till at len’th the tide o’ her time was weel past the turn, an’ a streak o’ the snaw in her coal-black hair. For, as the auld sang says,
“Her hair was like the craw,
An’ her ble was like the snaw,
An’ her bow-bendit lip
Was like the rose-hip,
An’ her ee was like the licht’nin’,
Glorious an’ fricht’nin’.
“But a’ that wad sune be ower!
“Aboot this time, ae day i’ the gloamin’, there cam on sic an awfu’ storm, ’at the fowk o’ the castel war frichtit ’maist oot o’ their wits. The licht’nin’ cam oot o’ the yerd, an’ no frae the lift at a’; the win’ roared as gien ’t had been an incarnat rage; the thunner rattlet an’ crackit, as gien the mune an’ a’ the stars had been made kettledrums o’ for the occasion; but never a drap o’ rain or a stane o’ hail fell; naething brak oot but blue licht an’ roarin’ win’. But the strangest thing was, that the sea lay a’ the time as oonconcernt as a sleepin’ bairn; the win’ got nae mair grip o’ ’t nor gien a’ the angels had been poorin’ ile oot o’ widows’ cruses upo’ ’t; the verra tide came up quaieter nor ord’nar; and the fowk war sair perplext as weel ’s frichtit.