“I hae as muckle as ever I had, daddy.”
“Yes, put you’ll tidn’t know.”
“But ye did, daddy.”
“Yes, and inteet she cannot tell why she’ll pe loving you so much herself aal ta time!”
“Weel, daddy, gien ye cud lo’e me sae weel, kennin’ me nae bluid’s bluid o’ yer ain—I canna help it: I maun lo’e ye mair nor ever, noo’ at I ken ’t tu.—Daddy, daddy, I had nae claim upo’ ye, an’ ye hae been father an’ gran’father an’ a’ to me!”
“What could she do, Malcolm, my poy? Ta chilt had no one, and she had no one, and so it wass. You must pe her own poy after all!—And she’ll not pe wondering put——It might pe——Yes, inteed not!”
His voice sank to the murmurs of a half-uttered soliloquy, and as he murmured he stroked Malcolm’s cheek.
“What are ye efter noo daddy?” asked Malcolm.
The only sign that Duncan heard the question was the complete silence that followed. When Malcolm repeated it, he said something in Gaelic, but finished the sentence thus, apparently unaware of the change of language:
“—only how else should she pe lovin you so much, Malcolm, my son?”