“Ay, say ye sae?” said Ochiltree; “that maun hae been about a woman, I reckon?”
“Troth, and ye hae guessed it,” said Francie—“jeest a cusin o’ his nain—Miss Eveline Neville, as they suld hae ca’d her;—there was a sough in the country about it, but it was hushed up, as the grandees were concerned;—it’s mair than twenty years syne—ay, it will be three-and-twenty.”
“Ay, I was in America then,” said the mendicant, “and no in the way to hear the country clashes.”
“There was little clash about it, man,” replied Macraw; “he liked this young leddy, ana suld hae married her, but his mother fand it out, and then the deil gaed o’er Jock Webster. At last, the peer lass clodded hersell o’er the scaur at the Craigburnfoot into the sea, and there was an end o’t.”
“An end o’t wi’ the puir leddy,” said
