"You see what your ill wishes hae brought. I hope there mayna be lives
lost by your temper."
"Parfect nonsense! There is nae ill wish that is mair than idle breath, if
it be na His will."
Just at dusk there was an outcry and a clamor of women's voices followed
by passionate wailing, and a few minutes afterward Mistress Raith ran
shrieking into the cottage. "The 'Allan Campbell' has gone to the bottom,
and my boy Laurie wi' her. Oh, the ill heart, and the ill tongue o' you,
Maggie Promoter! I'd like fine to send you after him! Gie us a help,
wives, and let's gie her a ducking at the vera least!" The wretched mother
was half crazy, and Maggie fled from her presence. The circumstance was
the seal to her purpose. She knew well how her few angry words would be
held against her, and she said mournfully, "There's nae hope o' kindness
nor justice here for me. I should hae gane this morning when the thocht
came to me. I wad hae been on the road to Stirling ere this."
There was a constant succession of visitors at the cottage until late, but
as soon as all was quiet, Maggie went to her wretched hearthstone, and
silently made herself a cup of tea. Janet Caird sat rocking herself to and
fro, bewailing the dead, and the living; but yet carefully watching the
unusual proceedings and dress of her niece. At length, finding Maggie was
not to be provoked into words, she pretended suddenly to observe her kirk
clothes--"Whatna for hae you that fine merino on this night? Surely,
Maggie Promoter, you arena thinking o' going to the house o' mourning
--you, that ought to be on your bended knees for the ill wishes you sent
the puir lad to the bottom wi'. And after a' it wasna Angus but little
Laurie that got the weight o' your ill thochts!"
"Do stop, aunt. Say them words to the minister, and hear the reproof
you'll get! As if the breath o' an angry woman could make Him turn the
keys that nane turn but Him. And if you want to ken whar I am going, I may
as weel tell you now, as the morn. I am going to my brither Davie, for I
cannot thole the bad tongue and the bad heart o' you, anither day."
"Hear to the wicked lass! My bad tongue! My bad heart! I sall scream oot
at sich words--"
"Dinna flyte mair at me for ony sake, Aunt Janet. You'll get the hoose to
yoursel' in the early morning."