was a person of more importance to the
presiding matron of Brokenburn-foot, than I had the means of rendering
myself to the far-famed Miss Nickie Murray, the patroness of your
Edinburgh assemblies. The person I mean was a buxom dame of about
thirty, her fingers loaded with many a silver ring, and three or four
of gold; her ankles liberally displayed from under her numerous blue,
white, and scarlet; short petticoats, and attired in hose of the finest
and whitest lamb's-wool, which arose from shoes of Spanish cordwain,
fastened with silver buckles. She took the lead in my favour, and
declared, 'that the brave young gentleman should not weary himself to
death wi' playing, but take the floor for a dance or twa.'

'And what's to come of me, Dame Martin?' said Willie.

'Come o' thee?' said the dame; 'mishanter on the auld beard o' ye! ye
could play for twenty hours on end, and tire out the haill countryside
wi' dancing before ye laid down your bow, saving for a by-drink or the
like o' that.'

'In troth, dame,' answered Willie, 'ye are no sae far wrang; sae if my
comrade is to take his dance, ye maun gie me my drink, and then bob it
away like Madge of Middlebie.'

The drink was soon brought; but while Willie was partaking of it,
a party entered the hut, which arrested my attention at once, and
intercepted the intended gallantry with which I had proposed to present
my hand to the fresh-coloured, well-made, white-ankled Thetis, who had
obtained me manumission from my musical task.

This was nothing less than the sudden appearance of the old woman whom
the laird had termed Mabel; Cristal Nixon, his male attendant; and the
young person who had said grace to us when I supped with him.

This young person--Alan, thou art in thy way a bit of a conjurer--this
young person whom I DID NOT describe, and whom you, for that very
reason, suspected was not an indifferent object to me--is, I am sorry to
say it, in very fact not so much so as in prudence she ought. I will not
use the name of love on this occasion; for I have applied it too often
to transient whims and fancies to escape your satire, should I venture
to apply it now. For it is a phrase, I must confess, which I have
used--a romancer would say, profaned--a little too often, considering
how few years have passed over my head. But seriously, the fair chaplain
of Brokenburn has been often in my head when she had no business
there; and if this can give thee any clue for explainin