The marquis, who had all this time continued his walk up and down the floor, stood still, raised his head as if about to speak, dropped it again on his chest, strode to the other window, turned, strode back, and said,—
“This is a very serious matter.”
“It’s a’ that, my lord,” replied Miss Horn.
“You must give me a little time to turn it over,” said the marquis.
“Isna twenty year time eneuch, my lord?” rejoined Miss Horn.
“I swear to you that till this moment I believed her twenty years in her grave. My brother sent me word that she died in childbed, and the child with her. I was then in Brussels with the Duke.”
Miss Horn made three great strides, caught the marquis’s hand in both hers, and said,—
“I praise God ye’re an honest man, my lord.”
“I hope so,” said the marquis, and seized the advantage:—“You’ll hold your tongue about this?” he added, half inquiring, half requesting.
“As lang as I see rizzon, my lord, nae langer,” answered Miss Horn, dropping his hand. “Richt maun be dune.”