"Think shame o' yoursel' for the vera thought-'The Campbells will sit in Drumloch's halls,
Till the crown be lost and the kingdom falls' When the lady goes to her fate, there's a laird waiting, I trow, to take
her place; and weel will he fill it."
"You'll be meaning Mr. John Campbell?"
"Wha else? He was born in the house, and please God, he'll die in its
shelter. If my lady goes to Forfar Castle what will she want wi' Drumloch?
A good sum o' lying siller will be better for her, and she would rather
bide Miss Campbell a' the days o' her life, than take the hame o' the
Campbells to strange folk."
"I wish her weel always, but I'm no against the thought o' serving John
Campbell again. Women are whiles vera trying in the way o' business.
There's naething but arithmetic needed in business, but they will bring a'
sorts o' im-prac-ti-ca-ble elements into it likewise."
"I hope you mean naething wrang by that big word, factor."
"Nae wrang, nae wrang, Jessie. Miss Campbell is easy to do for, and she
has bonnie ladylike ways wi' her; but I'd like fine to see that grand,
grey-headed auld gentleman laird o' the place. He'd bring a deal o'
respect with him."
"He would that; and folks would hear o' Drumloch in London; for Miss
Campbell said to that Glasca' law body, that her uncle would gie up the
business to his son Allan, and go into parliament himsel'--goodness kens
they need some douce, sensible men there. Hear to the fiddles! I feel them
in the soles o' my feet! I never could sit still when 'Moneymusk'
was tingling in my ear chambers. Come awa', factor, and let us hae a reel
thegither!"
"Wi' a' my heart, Jessie. And though I am on the wrang side o' fifty,
there's none has a better spring than I hae." He had laid down his pipe,
and taken her hand as he spoke, and tripping and swaying to the enchanting
strains they went into the dancing hall together.
"Nae wonder the fiddles made us come, it's the gypsy band, factor;" and
Jessie pointed out five or six dark, handsome fellows with tumbled black
hair, and half-shut gleaming eyes, who had ranged themselves with sullen
shyness and half-rebellious order at the upper end of the room. But how
wondrously their slim, supple fingers touched the bow, or the strings!
They played like magicians, and wrought the slow, grave natures before
them up to a very riot of ravishing motion. Faster and faster flew the
bounding, sliding feet; the dancers being stimulated by the musicians, and
the musicians driven to a passion of excitement by those exhilarating
cries, and those snappings of the fingers, through which the canny Scot
relieves the rapture of his delicious dancing.