were tightly clasped together.

Captain Norton started to his feet as the young couple entered, but it
was no display of shame at his weakness, for he clasped Isa directly to
his breast, and Brace saw that the hand his father had dropped was
feebly held out to him. And then, though no words were spoken, a
strange peace, hitherto unknown, stole upon every heart there present.

Book 2, Chapter XXXII.

AFTER A LAPSE.

"I ha'e been thinking, Jenny," said Alexander McCray, one afternoon,
when, during intervals of taking pinches of snuff, he had mixed himself
a tumbler of whisky and water, wherein floated the transparent discs of
half a sliced lemon--"I ha'e been thinking, Jenny, if it wasna for Sir
Mooray wanting my airm noo he's oop again, and liking it better than
that three-wheeled chair thing, I'd give oop the stewardship, and go
back to my gairden."

"Nonsense!" said Mrs McCray, smiling.

"Weel, lassie, ye may ca' it nonsense, but I ca' it soun' sense, for
it's quite hairt-breaking to see the way that man neglects the
floor-beds. There's no floors noo in the gairden like there was in my
day."

"Alexander!" exclaimed his wife, jumping up, and turning him round
so that he could see through the low window out into the
pleasure-grounds--"you are getting in the habit of talking nonsense!
Did you ever see such a flower as that in the grounds in your day?"

"Gude save us--no," said Sandy, putting on his glasses, and a smile
dawning on his rugged face--"Gude save us--no, lassie! Ye're reet, for
she's a bonnie floor, indeed; and look at the sweet tendrils of the
thing, and how she clings to the brae stake that's goin' to support her.
Eh, lassie! but they're a brae couple, and Heaven be gracious to them!"

"Amen!" said Jane, softly, as, with dewy eyes, she rested upon her
husband's shoulder, and continued to gaze at the sight before them.

"They say it's a vale o' sorrows, this warld, Jenny lassie," said
McCray, taking off and wiping his spectacles; "but to my way of
thinking, it's a verra beautiful gairden, full of bright floors and
sweet rich fruits. But ye ken, lassie, that there's that de'il--muckle
sorrow to him--a'ways pitching his tares and his bad seeds ower the
wall, for them to come oop in weeds; and gif ye no keep the hoe busy at
wark, and bend your prood neck and stiff back to keep tearing them oop
by the roots, Auld Sootie's rubbing those hands of his at the way in
which his warks run on. Perhaps ye'