Although it was not her temper easily to
bend her mind to entreaty, she could not help exclaiming after the
ireful and retreating ship-chandler,--"Good Master, hear me but a
moment! for mercy's sake, for honesty's sake!"
"Mercy and honesty from him, mistress!" said the Scot, who, though he
essayed not to interrupt the retreat of his antagonist, still kept
stout possession of the field of action,--"ye might as weel expect
brandy from bean-stalks, or milk from a craig of blue whunstane. The
man is mad, bom mad, to boot."
"I must have mistaken the person to whom the letter was addressed,
then;" and, as she spoke, Mistress Martha Trapbois was in the act of
stooping to lift the paper which had been so uncourteously received.
Her companion, with natural civility, anticipated her purpose; but,
what was not quite so much in etiquette, he took a sly glance at it as
he was about to hand it to her, and his eye having caught the
subscription, he said, with surprise, "Glenvarloch--Nigel Olifaunt of
Glenvarloch! Do you know the Lord Glenvarloch, mistress?"
"I know not of whom you speak," said Mrs. Martha, peevishly. "I had
that paper from one Master Nigel Gram."
"Nigel Grahame!--umph.-O, ay, very true--I had forgot," said the
Scotsman. "A tall, well-set young man, about my height; bright blue
eyes like a hawk's; a pleasant speech, something leaning to the kindly
north-country accentuation, but not much, in respect of his having
been resident abroad?"
"All this is true--and what of it all?" said the daughter of the
miser.
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