Enngland the day. I cannie gie ye a' a hidin'," said he, with an eye that flashed volumes of good intention on a hundred and fifty people; "but I am feytherless and motherless, an' I can fa' on my knees an'

curse ye a' if ye do us sic an ill turn, an' then ye'll see whether ye'll thrive."

"We'll no tell, Flucker, ye need na curse us ony way."

His lordship, with all the sharp authority of a skipper, ordered Master Flucker to the pier, with a message to the yacht; Flucker _qua_ yachtsman was a machine, and went as a matter of course. "I am determined to tell her," said Lord Ipsden to Lady Barbara.

"But," remonstrated Lady Barbara, "the poor boy says he will curse us if we do."

"He won't curse me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because the little blackguard's grog would be stopped on board the yacht if he did."

Flucker had not been gone many minutes before loud cheering was heard, and Christie Johnstone appeared convoyed by a large detachment of the Old Town; she had tried to slip away, but they would not let her. They convoyed her in triumph till they saw the New Town people, and then they turned and left her.

She came in among the groups, a changed woman--her pallor and her listlessness were gone--the old light was in her eye, and the bright color in her cheek, and she seemed hardly to touch the earth.

"I'm just droukit, la.s.ses," cried she, gayly, wringing her sleeve. Every eye was upon her; did she know, or did she not know, what she had done?

Lord Ipsden stepped forward; the people tacitly accepted him as the vehicle of their curiosity.

"Who was it, Christie?"

"I dinna ken, for my pairt!"

Mrs. Gatty came out of the house.

"A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie?" resumed Lord Ipsden.

"Ye maun ask Flucker," was the reply. "I could no tak muckle notice, ye ken," putting her hand before her eye, and half smiling.

"Well! I hear he is very good-looking; and I hear you think so, too."

She glided to him and looked in his face. He gave a meaning smile. The poor girl looked quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent start.

"Christie! where is Christie?" had cried a well-known voice. He had learned on the pier who had saved him--he had slipped up among the boats to find her--he could not find his hat--he could not wait for it--his dripping hair showed where he had been--it was her love whom she had just saved out of Death's very jaws.

She gave a cry of love that went through every heart, high or low, young or old, that heard it. And she went to him, through the air it seemed; but, quick as she was, another was as quick; the mother had seen him first, and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With another cry, the very keynote of her great and loving heart, she flung her arms round--Mrs. Gatty, who was on the same errand as herself.

"Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent; Hearts are not flint, and flint is rent."

The old woman felt Christie touch her. She turned from her son in a moment and wept upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom, and tried to speak to her; but all he could do was to sob and choke--and kiss her hand again.

"My daughter!" sobbed the old woman.

At that word Christie clasped her quickly; and then Christie began to cry.

"I am not a stone," cried Mrs. Gatty.

"I gave him life; but you have saved him from death. Oh, Charles, never make her repent what she has done for you."

She was a woman, after all; and prudence and prejudice melted like snow before her heart.

There were not many dry eyes--least of all the heroic Lady Barbara's.

The three whom a moment had made one were becoming calmer, and taking one another's hands for life, when a diabolical sound arose--and what was it but Sandy Liston, who, after furious resistance, was blubbering with explosive but short-lived violence? Having done it, he was the first to draw everybody's attention to the phenomenon; and affecting to consider it a purely physical attack, like a _coup de soleil,_ or so on, he proceeded instantly to Drysel's for his panacea.

Lady Barbara enjoined Lord Ipsden to watch these people, and not to lose a word they said; and, after she had insisted upon kissing Christie, she went off to her carriage. And she too was so happy, she cried three distinct times on her way to Edinburgh.

Lord Ipsden, having reminded Gatty of his engagement, begged him to add his mother and Christie to the party, and escorted Lady Barbara to her phaeton.

So then the people dispersed by degrees.

"That old lady's face seems familiar to me," said Lord Ipsden, as he stood on the little natural platform by the "Peac.o.c.k." "Do you know who she is, Saunders?"

"It is Peggy, that was cook in your lordship's uncle's time, my lord.

She married a green-grocer," added Saunders, with an injured air.

"Hech! hech!" cried Flucker, "Christie has ta'en up her head wi' a cook's son."

Mrs. Gatty was ushered into the "Peac.o.c.k" with mock civility by Mr.

Saunders. No recognition took place, each being ashamed of the other as an acquaintance.

The next arrival was a beautiful young lady in a black silk gown, a plain but duck-like plaid shawl, who proved to be Christie Johnstone, in her Sunday attire.

When they met, Mrs. Gatty gave a little scream of joy, and said: "Oh, my child; if I had seen you in that dress, I should never have said a word against you."

"Pars minima est ipsa puella sui!"

His lordship stepped up to her, took off his hat, and said: "Will Mrs.

Gatty take from me a commission for two pictures, as big as herself, and as bonny?" added he, doing a little Scotch. He handed her a check; and, turning to Gatty, added, "At your convenience, sir, _bien entendu."_

"Hech! it's for five hundred pund, Chairles."

"Good gear gangs in little book,"* said Jean.

*Bulk.

"Ay, does it," replied Flucker, a.s.suming the compliment.

"My lord!" said the artist, "you treat Art like a prince; and she shall treat you like a queen. When the sun comes out again, I will work for you and fame. You shall have two things painted, every stroke loyally in the sunlight. In spite of gloomy winter and gloomier London, I will try if I can't hang nature and summer on your walls forever. As for me, you know I must go to Gerard Dow and Cuyp, and Pierre de Hoogh, when my little sand is run; but my handwriting shall warm your children's children's hearts, sir, when this hand is dust." His eye turned inward, he walked to and fro, and his companions died out of his sight--he was in the kingdom of art.

His lordship and Jean entered the "Peac.o.c.k," followed by Flucker, who merely lingered at the door to moralize as follows:

"Hech! hech! isna thaat lamentable? Christie's mon's as daft as a drunk weaver."

But one stayed quietly behind, and a.s.sumed that moment the office of her life.