“The keyes are i’ my pooch,” said Miss Horn, clapping her hand to the skirt of her dress. “They’re aye i’ my pooch, though I haena had the feelin’s to mak use o’ them sin’ she left me.”
“Are ye sure they war there last nicht, mem?”
Miss Horn seemed struck.
“I had on my black silk last nicht,” she answered vaguely, and was here silent, pondering doubtfully.
“Weel, mem, jist ye put on yer black silk again the morn’s nicht, an’ come ower aboot aucht o’clock; an’ ye’ll be able to jeedge by her ongang whan ye’re no i’ the hoose, gien there be onything amiss wi’ Jean. There canna be muckle ill dune yet—that’s a comfort!”
“What ill, by (beyond) meddlin’ wi’ what doesna concern her, cud the wuman du?” said Miss Horn, with attempted confidence.
“That ye sud ken best yersel’, mem. But Jean’s an awfu’ gossip, an’ a lady like yer cousin micht hae left dockiments ahint her ’at she wadna jist like to hear procleemt frae the hoose-tap. No ’at she ’ll ever hear onything mair, puir thing!”
“What mean ye?” cried Miss Horn, half frightened, half angry.
“Jist what I say—neither mair nor less,” returned Mrs Mellis. “Miss Cam’ell may weel hae left letters for enstance, an’ hoo wad they fare in Jean’s han’s?”
“Whan I never had the hert to open her drawers!” exclaimed Miss Horn, enraged at the very notion of the crime. “I hae nae feelin’s, thank God for the furnishin’ o’ me!”