awa frae us, but he sall nae hae gude of her, for I'll mak' her deaf and
dumb," and she threw something over the young girl.

While they rode off, disappointed, Jamie Freel lifted the latch and went
in.

"Jamie man!" cried his mother, "you've been awa all night. What have
they done on you?"

"Naething bad, mother; I hae the very best o' gude luck. Here's a
beautiful young lady I hae brought you for company."

"Bless us and save us!" exclaimed his mother; and for some minutes she
was so astonished she could not think of anything else to say.

Jamie told the story of the night's adventure, ending by saying, "Surely
you wouldna have allowed me to let her gang with them to be lost for
ever?"

"But a _lady_, Jamie! How can a lady eat we'er (our) poor diet and live
in we'er poor way? I ax you that, you foolitch fellow!"

"Well, mother, sure it's better for her to be over here nor yonder," and
he pointed in the direction of the castle.

Meanwhile the deaf and dumb girl shivered in her light clothing,
stepping close to the humble turf fire.

"Poor crathur, she's quare and handsome! Nae wonder they set their
hearts on her," said the old woman, gazing at their guest with pity and
admiration. "We maun dress her first; but what in the name o' fortune
hae I fit for the likes of her to wear?"

She went to her press in "the room" and took out her Sunday gown of
brown drugget. She then opened a drawer and drew forth a pair of white
stockings, a long snowy garment of fine linen, and a cap, her "dead
dress," as she called it.

These articles of attire had long been ready for a certain triste
ceremony, in which she would some day fill the chief part, and only saw
the light occasionally when they were hung out to air; but she was
willing to give even these to the fair trembling visitor, who was
turning in dumb sorrow and wonder from her to Jamie, and from Jamie back
to her.

The poor girl suffered herself to be dressed, and then sat down on a
"creepie" in the chimney corner and buried her face in her hands.

"What'll we do to keep up a lady like thou?" cried the old woman.

"I'll work for you both, mother," replied the son.

"An' how could a lady live on we'er poor diet?" she repeated.

"I'll work for her," was all Jamie's answer.

He kept his word. The young lady was very sad for a long time, and tears
stole down her cheeks many an evening, while the old woman span by the
fire and Jamie made salmon nets, an accompli