"I wad be laith," answered Malcolm; "she wad be ower bonny a dream
to miss.--Are they a' like that?" he added, speaking under his
breath.

"Na, 'deed no!" replied Miss Horn, with mild indignation. "Wad ye
expec' Bawby Cat'nach to luik like that, no?--I beg yer pardon for
mentionin' the wuman, my dear," she added with sudden divergence,
bending towards the still face, and speaking in a tenderly apologetic
tone; "I ken weel ye canna bide the verra name o' her; but it s' be
the last time ye s' hear 't to a' eternity, my doo." Then turning
again to Malcolm.--"Lay yer han' upon her broo, I tell ye," she
said.

"I daurna," replied the youth, still under his breath; "my han's
are no clean. I wadna for the warl' touch her wi' fishy han's."

The same moment, moved by a sudden impulse, whose irresistibleness
was veiled in his unconsciousness, he bent down, and put his lips
to the forehead.

As suddenly he started back erect with dismay on every feature.

"Eh, mem!" he cried in an agonised whisper, "she's dooms cauld!"

"What sud she be?" retorted Miss Horn. "Wad ye hae her beeried
warm?"

He followed her from the room in silence, with the sense of a faint
sting on his lips. She led him into her parlour, and gave him a
glass of wine.