mother were just
coming through from Leith; Christie ran for her eighty pounds, placed
them in her bosom, cast a hasty glance at a looking-glass, little larger
than an oyster-shell, and ran out.

"Hech! What pleased the auld wife will be to see he has a lass that can
mak auchty pund in a morning."

This was Christie's notion.

At sight of them she took out the banknotes, and with eyes glistening
and cheeks flushing she cried:

"Oh, Chairles, ye'll no gang to jail--I hae the siller!" and she offered
him the money with both hands, and a look of tenderness and modesty that
embellished human nature.

Ere he could speak, his mother put out her hand, and not rudely, but
very coldly, repelling Christie's arm, said in a freezing manner:

"We are much obliged to you, but my son's own talents have rescued him
from his little embarrassment."

"A nobleman has bought my picture," said Gatty, proudly.

"For one hundred and fifty pounds," said the old lady, meaning to mark
the contrast between that sum and what Christie had in her hand.

Christie remained like a statue, with her arms extended, and the
bank-notes in her hand; her features worked--she had much ado not to
cry; and any one that had known the whole story, and seen this unmerited
repulse, would have felt for her; but her love came to her aid, she put
the notes in her bosom, sighed and said:

"I would hae likeit to hae been the first, ye ken, but I'm real
pleased."

"But, mother," said Gatty, "it was very kind of Christie all the same.
Oh, Christie!" said he, in a tone of despair.

At this kind word Christie's fortitude was sore tried; she turned away
her head; she was far too delicate to let them know who had sent Lord
Ipsden to buy the picture.

While she turned away, Mrs. Gatty said in her son's ear:

"Now, I have your solemn promise to do it here, and at once; you will
find me on the beach behind these boats--do it."

The reader will understand that during the last few days Mrs. Gatty had
improved her advantage, and that Charles had positively consented to
obey her; the poor boy was worn out with the struggle--he felt he must
have peace or die; he was thin and pale, and sudden twitches came over
him; his temperament was not fit for such a battle; and, it is to be
observed, nearly all the talk was on one side. He had made one expiring
struggle--he described to his mother an artist's nature; his strength,
his weakness--he besought her not to be a slave t