"She's far gone! Far gone! Poor girl!" "Puir girl, is it?
It will be puir dooke before a' is ended! I'll hae him hanggit for trigomy, or what e'er ye ca' the marryin' o' twa wives at ance.

Twa wives! Ou! I'll nae staund it! I'll nae staund it!" cried Rose, suddenly bounding to her feet.
"Come now! Come now! my dear, good young lady," said the housekeeper, coaxingly.
"Ye'll nae believe it! Ye'll nae believe he's my ain gude mon wha has marrit the heiress the morn?
Look here, then! And look here! And look here!" continued the girl, impetuously, as she took a small morocco letter-case from her bosom and opened it, and took out one after another--a parchment, a letter, and a photograph.
"Yes, dear, I'll look at anything you like," said the housekeeper, with a sigh, for she thought she was only humoring a lunatic.
"Here's my marritge lines.

And I was marrit here, in Lunnun town, at a kirk ye ca' St.Margaret's, by a minister ca'ed Smith.

It's a' doon here in the lines.

Look for yoursel'.