“Were you with her then?” again interrupted the marquis, in a tone of sorrowful interest.
“No, my lord, I was not. Gien I had been, I wadna be upo’ sic an eeran’ this day. For nigh twenty lang years ’at her ’an me keepit hoose thegither, till she dee’d i’ my airms, never a day was she oot o’ my sicht, or ance——”
The marquis leaped rather than started to his feet, exclaiming,—
“What in the name of God do you mean, woman?”
“I kenna what ye mean, my lord. I ken ’at I’m but tellin’ ye the trowth whan I tell ye ’at Grizel Cam’ell, up to that day, an’ that’s little ower sax month sin’ syne,——”
“Good God!” cried the marquis; “and here have I——!—Woman! are you speaking the truth?—If——,” he added threateningly, and paused.
“Leein’ ’s what I never cud bide, my lord, an’ I’m no likly to tak till ’t at my age, wi’ the lang to-come afore me.”
The marquis strode several times up and down the floor. “I’ll give you a thousand pounds for those letters,” he said, suddenly stopping in front of Miss Horn.
“They’re o’ nae sic worth, my lord—I hae yer ain word for ’t. But I carena the leg o’ a spin-maggie (daddy-longlegs)! Pairt wi’ them I will not, ’cep’ to him ’at pruves himsel’ the richtfu’ heir to them.”
“A husband inherits from his wife.”