"I'm wushing ane harm to ony o' ye, but I maun get speech o' my lord.

He's no bairn; he'll be ane-and-twenty the thirtieth o' June: I mind the day weel, for the wife was brought to bed o' her last wean the same day as the countess, and our Dougal's a braw callant the noo, ye ken.

Gin the earl has ony wits ava, whilk folk thocht was aye doubtful', he'll hae gotten them by this time.

I maun speak wi' himself', unless, as they said, he's no a' there." "Haud your tongue, ye fule!" cried Malcolm, stopping him with a fierce whisper.

"Yon's my lord!" The old shepherd started back, for at this moment a sudden blaze-up of the fire showed him, sitting in the corner, the diminutive figure, attired carefully after the then fashion of gentlemen's dress, every thing rich and complete, even to the black silk stockings and shoes on the small, useless feet, and the white ruffles half hiding the twisted wrists and deformed hands.
"Yes, I am the Earl of Cairnforth.