sna gotten a grup o' her again?' cried the shoemaker,
starting half up in alarm. 'She cam here to me aboot the shune, but I
reckon I sortit her!'

'I winna speir what ye said,' returned Robert. 'It's no maitter noo.'

And the tears rose to his eyes. His bonny lady!

'The Lord guide 's!' exclaimed the soutar. 'What is the maitter wi' the
bonnie leddy?'

'There's nae bonnie leddy ony mair. I saw her brunt to death afore my
verra ain een.'

The shoemaker sprang to his feet and caught up his paring knife.

'For God's sake, say 'at yer leein'!' he cried.

'I wish I war leein',' returned Robert.

The soutar uttered a terrible oath, and swore--

'I'll murder the auld--.' The epithet he ended with is too ugly to
write.

'Daur to say sic a word in ae breath wi' my grannie,' cried Robert,
snatching up the lapstone, 'an' I'll brain ye upo' yer ain shop-flure.'

Sandy threw the knife on his stool, and sat down beside it. Robert
dropped the lapstone. Sandy took it up and burst into tears, which
before they were half down his face, turned into tar with the blackness
of the same.

'I'm an awfu' sinner,' he said, 'and vengeance has owerta'en me. Gang
oot o' my chop! I wasna worthy o' her. Gang oot, I say, or I'll kill
ye.'

Robert went. Close by the door he met Miss St. John. He pulled off his
cap, and would have passed her. But she stopped him.

'I am going for a walk a little way,' she said. 'Will you go with me?'

She had come out in the hope of finding him, for she had seen him go up
the street.

'That I wull,' returned Robert, and they walked on together.

When they were beyond the last house, Miss St. John said,

'Would you like to play on the piano, Robert?'

'Eh, mem!' said Robert, with a deep suspiration. Then, after a pause:
'But duv ye think I cud?'

'There's no fear of that. Let me see your hands.'

'They're some black, I doobt, mem,' he remarked, rubbing them hard upon
his trowsers before he showed them; 'for I was amaist cawin' oot the
brains o' Dooble Sanny wi' his ain lapstane. He's an ill-tongued chield.
But eh! mem, ye suld hear him play upo' the fiddle! He's greitin' his
een oot e'en noo for the bonnie leddy.'

Not discouraged by her inspection of his hands, black as they were, Miss
St. John continued,

'But what would your grandmother say?' she asked.

'She maun ken naething aboot it, mem. I can-not tell her a'thing. She
wad greit an' pray awfu', an' lock me up, I daursay. Ye see, she