"I pa.s.sed through the Auld Toon the noo--a place I never speak in; an'

if they did na glower at me as I had been a strange beast.

"They cam' to their very doors to glower at me; if ye'll believe me, I thoucht shame.

"At the hinder end my paa.s.sion got up, and I faced a wife East-by, and I said, 'What gars ye glower at me that way, ye ignorant woman?' ye would na think it, she answered like honey itsel'. 'I'm askin' your paarrdon,'

says she; and her mon by her side said, 'Gang hame to your ain hoose, my woman, and Gude help ye, and help us a' at our need,' the decent mon.

'It's just there I'm for,' said I, 'to get my mon his breakfast.'"

All who heard her drew their breath with difficulty.

The woman then made for her own house, but in going up the street she pa.s.sed the wet coat hanging on the line.

She stopped directly.

They all trembled--they had forgotten the coat--it was all over; the coat would tell the tale.

"Aweel," said she, "I could sweer that's Liston Carnie's coat, a droukit wi' the rain;" then she looked again at it, and added, slowly, "if I did na ken he has his away wi' him at the piloting." And in another moment she was in her own house, leaving them all standing there half stupefied.

Christie had indeed endeavored to speak, but her tongue had cloven to her mouth.

While they stood looking at one another, and at Beeny Liston's door, a voice that seemed incredibly rough, loud and harsh, jarred upon them; it was Sandy Liston, who came in from Leith, shouting:

"Fifty pounds for salvage, la.s.ses! is na thaat better than staying cooard-like aside the women?"

"Whisht! whisht!" cried Christie.

"We are in heavy sorrow; puir Liston Cairnie and his son w.i.l.l.y lie deed at the bottom o' the Firrth."

"Gude help us!" said Sandy, and his voice sank.

"An', oh, Sandy, the wife does na ken, and it's hairt-breaking to see her, and hear her; we canna get her tell't; ye're the auldest mon here; ye'll tell her, will ye no, Sandy?"

"No, me, that' I will not!"

"Oh, yes; ye are kenned for your stoot heart, an' courage; ye come fra'

facing the sea an' wind in a bit yawl."

"The sea and the wind," cried he, contemptuously; "they be ----, I'm used wi' them; but to look a woman i' the face, an' tell her her mon and her son are drowned since yestreen, I hae na coorage for that."

All further debate was cut short by the entrance of one who came expressly to discharge the sad duty all had found so difficult. It was the Presbyterian clergyman of the place; he waved them back. "I know, I know," said he, solemnly. "Where is the wife?"

She came out of her house at this moment, as it happened, to purchase something at Drysale's shop, which was opposite.

"Beeny," said the clergyman, "I have sorrowful tidings."

"Tell me them, sir," said she, unmoved. "Is it a deeth?" added she, quietly.

"It is!--death, sudden and terrible; in your own house I must tell it you--(and may G.o.d show me how to break it to her)."

He entered her house.

"Aweel," said the woman to the others, "it maun be some far-awa cousin, or the like, for Liston an' me hae nae near freends. Meg, ye idle fuzzy," screamed she to her servant, who was one of the spectators, "your pat is no on yet; div ye think the men will no be hungry when they come in fra' the sea?"

"They will never hunger nor thirst ony mair," said Jean, solemnly, as the bereaved woman entered her own door.

There ensued a listless and fearful silence.

Every moment some sign of bitter sorrow was expected to break forth from the house, but none came; and amid the expectation and silence the waves dashed louder and louder, as it seemed, against the dike, conscious of what they had done.

At last, in a moment, a cry of agony arose, so terrible that all who heard it trembled, and more than one woman shrieked in return, and fled from the door, at which, the next moment, the clergyman stood alone, collected, but pale, and beckoned. Several women advanced.

"One woman," said he.

Jean Carnie was admitted; and after a while returned.

"She is come to hersel'," whispered she; "I am no weel mysel'." And she pa.s.sed into her own house.

Then Flucker crept to the door to see.

"Oh, dinna spy on her," cried Christie.

"Oh, yes, Flucker," said many voices.

"He is kneelin'," said Flucker. "He has her hand, to gar her kneel tae--she winna--she does na see him, nor hear him; he will hae her. He has won her to kneel--he is prayin, an' greetin aside her. I canna see noo, my een's blinded."

"He's a gude mon," said Christie. "Oh, what wad we do without the ministers?"

Sandy Liston had been leaning sorrowfully against the wall of the next house; he now broke out:

"An auld shipmate at the whale-fishing!!! an' noow we'll never lift the dredging sang thegither again, in yon dirty detch that's droowned him; I maun hae whisky, an' forget it a'."

He made for the spirit-shop like a madman; but ere he could reach the door a hand was laid on him like a vise. Christie Johnstone had literally sprung on him. She hated this horrible vice--had often checked him; and now it seemed so awful a moment for such a sin, that she forgot the wild and savage nature of the man, who had struck his own sister, and seriously hurt her, a month before--she saw nothing but the vice and its victim, and she seized him by the collar, with a grasp from which he in vain attempted to shake himself loose.

"No! ye'll no gang there at siccan a time."

"Hands off, ye daft jaud," roared he, "or there'll be another deeth i'

the toon."

At the noise Jean Carnie ran in.

"Let the ruffian go," cried she, in dismay. "Oh, Christie, dinna put your hand on a lion's mane."

"Yes, I'll put my hand on his mane, ere I'll let him mak a beast o'

himsel'."

"Sandy, if ye hurt her, I'll find twenty lads that will lay ye deed at her feet."

"Haud your whisht," said Christie, very sharply, "he's no to be threetened."