_To him_, JEAN, _a baby in her shawl_. _C._
JEAN (_who has entered silently during the Deacon’s last words_). It’s
me, Wullie.
BRODIE (_turning upon her_). What! You here again? [you again!]
JEAN. Deacon, I’m unco vexed.
BRODIE. Do you know what you do? Do you know what you risk? [Is there
nothing—nothing!—will make you spare me this idiotic, wanton
prosecution?]
JEAN. I was wrong to come yestreen; I ken that fine. But the day it’s
different; I but to come the day, Deacon, though I ken fine it’s the
Sabbath, and I think shame to be seen upon the streets.
BRODIE. See here, Jean. You must go now. I come to you to-night; I
swear that. But now I’m for the road.
JEAN. No till you’ve heard me, William Brodie. Do ye think I came to
pleasure mysel’, where I’m no wanted? I’ve a pride o’ my ains.
BRODIE. Jean, I am going now. If you please to stay on alone, in this
house of mine, where I wish I could say you are welcome, stay (_going_).
JEAN. It’s the man frae Bow Street.
BRODIE. Bow Street?
JEAN. I thocht ye would hear me. Ye think little o’ me; but it’s mebbe
a braw thing for you that I think sae muckle o’ William Brodie . . . ill
as it sets me.
BRODIE. [You don’t know what is on my mind, Jeannie, else you would
forgive me.] Bow Street?
JEAN. It’s the man Hunt: him that was here yestreen for the Fiscal.
BRODIE. Hunt?
JEAN. He kens a hantle. He . . . Ye maunna be angered wi’ me, Wullie!
I said what I shouldna.
BRODIE. Said? Said what?
JEAN. Just that ye were a guid frien’ to me. He made believe he was
awful sorry for me, because ye gied me nae siller; and I said, ‘Wha tellt
him that?’ and that he lee’d.
BRODIE. God knows he did! What next?
JEAN. He was that soft-spoken, butter wouldna melt in his mouth; and he
keept aye harp, harpin’; but after that let out, he got neither black nor
white frae me. Just that ae word and nae mair; and at the hinder end he
just speired straucht out, whaur it was ye got your siller frae.
BRODIE. Where I got my siller?
JEAN. Ay, that was it! ‘You ken,’ says he.
BRODIE. Did he? and what said you?
JEAN. I couldna think on naething, but just that he was a gey and clever
gentleman.
BRODIE. You should have said I was in trade, and had a good business.
That’s what you should have said. That’s what you would have said had
you been worth your salt. But it’s blunder, blunder, outside and in
[upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber]. You women! Did he see
Smith?
JEAN. Ay, and kennt him.
BRODIE. Damnation!—No, I’m not angry with you. But you see what I’ve to
endure for you. Don’t cry. [Here’s the devil at the door, and we must
bar him out as best we can.]
JEAN. God’s truth, ye are nae vexed wi’ me?
BRODIE. God’s truth, I am grateful to you. How is the child? Well?
That’s right. (_Peeping._) Poor wee laddie! He’s like you, Jean.
JEAN. I aye thocht he was liker you.
BRODIE. Is he? Perhaps he is. Ah, Jeannie, you must see and make him a
better man than his father.
JEAN. Eh man, Deacon, the proud wumman I’ll be gin he’s only half sae
guid.
BRODIE. Well, well, if I win through this, we’ll see what we can do for
him between us. (_Leading her out_, _C._) And now, go—go—go.
LAWSON (_without_, _L._). I ken the way, I ken the way.
JEAN (_starring to door_). It’s the Fiscal; I’m awa. (BRODIE, _L._).