ce a girl perhaps a little older than herself,
helped her to find her luggage, put them into a chaise, took his leave,
and went home.

He did not know that all the way back along the pier they had been
followed by Patrick Beauchamp.

CHAPTER XLIII.

Excited, and unable to settle to his work, Alec ran upstairs to Mr
Cupples, whom he had not seen for some days. He found him not more than
half-way towards his diurnal goal.

"What's come o' _you_, bantam, this mony a day?" said Mr Cupples.

"I saw ye last Saturday," said Alec.

"Last Setterday week, ye mean," rejoined the librarian. "Hoo's the
mathematics comin' on?"

"To tell the truth, I'm raither ahin' wi' them," answered Alec.

"I was thinkin' as muckle. Rainbows! Thae rainbows! And the anawtomy?"

"Nae jist stan'in' still a'thegither."

"That's weel. Ye haena been fa'in' asleep again ower the guddlet
carcass o' an auld pauper--hae ye?"

Alec stared. He had never told any one of his adventure in the
dissecting-room.

"I saw ye, my man. But I wasna the only ane that saw ye. Ye micht hae
gotten a waur fleg gin I hadna come up, for Mr Beauchamp was takin' the
bearin's o' ye throu the window, and whan I gaed up, he slippit awa'
like a wraith. There ye lay, wi' yer heid back, and yer mou' open, as
gin you and the deid man had been tryin' whilk wad sleep the soun'est.
But ye hae ta'en to ither studies sin' syne. Ye hae a freah subject--a
bonnie young ane. The Lord hae mercy upo' ye! The goddess o' the
rainbow hersel's gotten a haud o' ye, and ye'll be seein' naething but
rainbows for years to come.--Iris bigs bonnie brigs, but they hae
nowther pier, nor buttress, nor key-stane, nor parapet. And no fit can
gang ower them but her ain, and whan she steps aff, it's upo' men's
herts, and yours can ill bide her fit, licht as it may be."

"What are ye propheseein' at, Mr Cupples?" said Alec, who did not more
than half understand him.

"Verra weel. I'm no drunk yet," rejoined Mr Cupples, oracularly. "But
that chield Beauchamp's no rainbow--that lat me tell ye. He'll do you a
mischeef yet, gin ye dinna luik a' the shairper. I ken the breed o'
him. He was luikin' at ye throu the window like a hungry deevil. And
jist min' what ye're aboot wi' the lassie--she's rael bonnie--or ye may
chance to get her into trouble, withoot ony wyte (fault) o' yer ain.
Min' I'm tellin' ye. Gin ye'll tak my advice, ye'll tak a dose o'
mathematics direckly. It's a fine alterati