“Any port but that, my dear! If you are grieving because you think you are going abroad you need not be anything of the kind, my leddy. This is the place for you, about your father’s door and him away where the fevers are--aye and the harbours too with diversions in every one of them.” “And Uncle Jamie’s going to keep me, is he?” said she. “Lucky me! I was aye so fond of gaiety, you mind.” “Whoever it is that’s to keep you it might be worse,” said he. “Then there’s somebody.” “Somebody,” he repeated; “the cleverest young----” “Stop! stop!” she cried, rising suddenly to her feet; “do not dare to mention a name; spare me that.” He looked at her in amazement. “Do you think I’m a stone, Duncan?” “You would not be asking me that twice if I was younger myself,” he said redly, looking at her fine figure, the blush like a sunset on her neck, the palpitation of her bosom, the flash and menace of her eyes. “Well, well, well, go on, tell me more,” she cried when she had recovered herself. “What more is there?” “You are the one that should know most,” said he. “I know nothing at all,” she answered bitterly. “It seems that nowadays the lady is the last to be taken into confidence about her own marriage.” “Are you telling me?” he asked incredulously. “I’m swearing it down your throat,” she cried. “If I had a friend in this countryside he would be pitying my shame that I must be bargained for like beast at a fair and not have a word in the bargain.” “My name’s what my name may be,” said he, putting out an arm and addressing the world, “and you are my master’s daughter; I would cut off that hand to save you a minute’s vexation. What did Black Duncan know but that you had the picking of the gentleman yourself--and you might have picked worse, though I tell you I did not care to hear about the money in it.” “The money,” she exclaimed, turning pale to the lips; “then--then--then there’s money in it?” “He’s a smart young fellow----” “No name, no name, or you are no friend of mine! Money, you say?” “I could have picked no better for you myself.” “Did you say money?” “I thought once there might be something.” “Money, money,” she repeated to herself. “A tocher should not be all on one side,” said he, “and I know the gentleman would be glad to have you----” “Perhaps the whole countryside knows more about it than I do; it could scarcely know less. I wondered why they were looking at me in the church on Sunday. Oh! I feel black burning shame--shame--shame!” She put her hands to her face to hide her tears; she trembled in every part. “They know; the cries are in at least,” said Duncan. “The cries! the cries!” she repeated. “Is my fate so near at hand as that?” “You’ll be a married woman before the General takes the road,” said he.