Ye've Screepture warrant for it.

A man maun leave fether and mother (I'm yer fether), and cleave to his wife.

My certie! 'cleave' is a strong word--there's nae sort o' doot aboot it, when it comes to 'cleaving!'" He wagged his head thoughtfully, and walked to the side-table in a corner, to cut the bread.
As he took up the knife, his one wary eye detected a morsel of crumpled paper, lying lost between the table and the wall.

It was the letter from Geoffrey, which Anne had flung from her, in the first indignation of reading it--and which neither she nor Arnold had thought of since.
"What's that I see yonder ?" muttered Mr.Bishopriggs, under his breath.
"Mair litter in the room, after I've doosted and tidied it wi' my ain hands!" He picked up the crumpled paper, and partly opened it.

"Eh! what's here?
Writing on it in ink?
and writing on it in pencil?
Who may this belong to ?" He looked round cautiously toward Arnold and Anne.