earl, as ud been kidnapped by th' gypsies, but yo' nivver wur kidnapt, an' she's noan o' th' soft koind. Th' Lady Geraldine wur a difrient mak'. Theer wur na mich i' her to my moind. She wur allus makkin' out as brass wur nowt, an' talkin' about 'humble virchew' as if theer wur nowt loike it. Yo' would na ketch her talkin' i' that road. Mother she'd sit an' cry until th' babby's bishop wur wet through, but I nivver seed nowt to cry about mysen. She getten th' chap i' th' eend, an' he turnt out to be a earl after aw. But I towd mother as marryin' a workin' man wur na i' her loine."
Murdoch burst into a harsh laugh and got up.
"I've been pretty well talked over, it seems," he said. "I didn't know that before."
"Aye," replied Janey, coolly. "We've talked yo' ower a good bit. Are yo' goin'?"
"Yes," he answered, "I am going."
He went out with an uncertain movement, leaving the door open behind him. As he descended the steps, the light from the room, slanting out into the darkness, struck athwart a face, the body pertaining to which seemed to be leaning against the palings, grasping them with both hands. It was the face of Mr. Briarley, who regarded him with a mingled expression of anxiety and desire to propitiate.
"Is it yo'?" he whispered, as Murdoch neared him.
"Yes," he was answered, somewhat shortly.
Mr. Briarley put out a hand and plucked him by the sleeve.
"I've been waitin' fur yo'," he said in a sonorous whisper which only failed to penetrate the innermost recesses of the dwelling through some miracle.
Murdoch turned out of the gate.
