did na' care to hear them—they could na' bring bock my bairn to me, or atone for the wrong he haed done her."
"But, grandmother," said Alice, raising her pale face, and speaking for the first time, as Goody Campbell paused—"tell me, what did he, what did my father say, when you did see him? tell me—did he deny or own the terrible wrong?"
"Haith, Alice, I haed nae chance to see him; an' I wad na' if I haed. I ne'er looked on his fause face again; my on'y wish wa' to keep out o' his way."
"But did you never write to him—never question him—never charge him with his baseness? never give him a chance to clear himself?"
"Not I, indeed! Hoo could he repair the wrong he haed done? My bonnie lassie wa' lyin' under the mools; an' wha' wa' he to me? Would I gi'e him the chance, think ye, to cast mair dishonor on my Alice's memory, or to disown her innocent bairn? Never, never! I tell ye, No!"
"But, grandmother, that was unjust. You took the angry word of a revengeful woman
