“Beautiful!” murmured he, and was silent. The meaning of this observation never transpired, and never will in this world. Six months afterward, being subjected to a searching interrogatory, he stated that he had alluded to the majesty and freedom of a certain _pose_ Christie had adopted while hailing him from the boat; but, reader, if he had wanted you and me to believe it was this, he should not have been half a year finding it out--_increduli odimus!_ They landed, and Christie sprang on shore; while she was wending her way through the crowd, impeded by greetings and acclamations, with every now and then a lass waving her kerchief or a lad his bonnet over the heroine's head, poor Mrs. Gatty was receiving the attention of the New Town; they brought her to, they told her the good news--she thanked God. The whole story had spread like wildfire; they expostulated with her, they told her now was the time to show she had a heart, and bless the young people. She rewarded them with a valuable precept. “Mind your own business!” said she. “Hech! y' are a dour wife!” cried Newhaven. The dour wife bent her eyes on the ground. The people were still collected at the foot of the street, but they were now in knots, when in dashed Flucker, arriving by a short cut, and crying: “She does na ken, she does na ken, she was ower moedest to look, I daur say, and ye'll no tell her, for he's a blackguard, an' he's just making a fule o' the puir lass, and if she kens what she has done for him, she'll be fonder o' him than a coow o' her cauf.” “Oh, Flucker! we maun tell her, it's her lad, her ain lad, she saved,” expostulated a woman. “Did ever my feyther do a good turn till ye?” cried Flucker. “Awel, then, ye'll no tell the lassie, she's weel as she is; he's gaun t' Enngland the day. I cannie gie ye a' a hidin',” said he, with an eye that flashed volumes of good intention on a hundred and fifty people; “but I am feytherless and motherless, an' I can fa' on my knees an' curse ye a' if ye do us sic an ill turn, an' then ye'll see whether ye'll thrive.” “We'll no tell, Flucker, ye need na curse us ony way.” His lordship, with all the sharp authority of a skipper, ordered Master Flucker to the pier, with a message to the yacht; Flucker _qua_ yachtsman was a machine, and went as a matter of course. “I am determined to tell her,” said Lord Ipsden to Lady Barbara. “But,” remonstrated Lady Barbara, “the poor boy says he will curse us if we do.” “He won't curse me.” “How do you know that?” “Because the little blackguard's grog would be stopped on board the yacht if he did.” Flucker had not been gone many minutes before loud cheering was heard, and Christie Johnstone appeared convoyed by a large detachment of the Old Town; she had tried to slip away, but they would not let her. They convoyed her in triumph till they saw the New Town people, and then they turned and left her.