"Think ye a spy?
what else would I think ye--me that kens naething by ye?
But I see that I was wrong; and as I cannot fight, I'll have to apologise.

A bonny figure I would be with a broadsword.

Ay! ay!" she went on, "you're none such a bad lad in your way; I think ye'll have some redeeming vices.
But, oh, Davit Balfour, ye're damned countryfeed.

Ye'll have to win over that, lad; ye'll have to soople your back-bone, and think a wee pickle less of your dainty self; and ye'll have to try to find out that women-folk are nae grenadiers.

But that can never be.