at besides the wastrife, it was lang or she
could walk as comfortably with the shoes as without them"; but found the
people very hospitable on the whole, and sometimes got a cast in a
waggon.

At last London was reached, and an audience obtained with the Duke of
Argyie. His Grace's heart warmed to the tartan when Jeannie appeared
before him in the dress of a Scottish maiden of her class. His
grandfather's letter, too, was a strong injunction to assist Stephen
Butler, his friends or family, and he exerted himself to such good
purpose, that he brought her into the presence of the queen to plead her
cause for herself. Her majesty smiled at Jeannie's awestruck manner and
broad Northern accent, and listened kindly, but said:

"If the king were to pardon your sister, it would in all probability do
her little good, for I suppose the people of Edinburgh would hang her
out of spite." But Jeannie said: "She was confident that baith town and
country would rejoice to see his majesty taking compassion on a poor
unfriended creature." The queen was not convinced of the propriety of
showing any marked favour to Edinburgh so soon--"the whole nation must
be in a league to screen the murderers of Porteous"--but Jeannie pleaded
her sister's cause with a pathos at once simple and solemn, and her
majesty ended by giving her a housewife case to remind her of her
interview with Queen Caroline, and promised her warm intercession with
the king.

The Duke of Argyie came to Jeannie's cousin's, where she was staying, in
a few days to say that a pardon had been dispatched to Effie Deans, on
condition of her banishing herself forth of Scotland for fourteen
years--a qualification which greatly grieved the affectionate
disposition of her sister.

_IV.--In After Years_

When Jeannie set out from London on her homeward journey, it was not to
travel on foot, but in the Duke of Argyle's carriage, and the end of the
journey was not Edinburgh, but the isle of Roseneath, in the Firth of
Clyde. When the landing-place was reached, it was in the arms of her
father that Jeannie was received.

It was too wonderful to be believed--but the form was indisputable.
Douce David Deans himself, in his best light-blue Sunday coat, with
broad metal buttons, and waistcoat and breeches of the same.

"Jeannie--my ain Jeannie--my best--my maist dutiful bairn! The Lord of
Israel be thy father, for I am hardly worthy of thee! Thou hast redeemed
our captivity, brought