‘Maybe ye’re him efter a’!’ said Steenie. ‘He can tak ony shape he likes. I wudna won’er gien ye was him! Ye’re unco like him ony gait!’ ‘Na, na, Steenie! I’m far frae that! But I wud fain be what he wud hae me, jist as ye wud yersel. Sae ye maun tak me, what I am, for his sake, Steenie!’ This was the man’s hour, not the dog’s, yet Steenie threw himself at her feet. ‘Gang oot a bit by yersel, Steenie,’ she said, caressing him with her hand. ‘That’s what ye like best, I ken! Ye needna min’ me! I only cam to see ye sattlet intil yer ain hoose. I’ll bide a gey bit. Gang ye oot, an ken ’at I’m i’ the hoose, and that ye can come back to me whan ye like. I hae my buik, and can sit and read fine.’ ‘Ye’re aye richt, Kirsty!’ answered Steenie, rising. ‘Ye aye ken what I’m needin. I maun win oot, for I’m some chokin like.--But jist come here a minute first,’ he went on, leading the way to the door. There he pointed up into the wild of stars, and said, ‘Ye see yon star o’ the tap o’ that ither ane ’at’s brichter nor itsel?’ ‘I see ’t fine, and ken ’t weel,’ answered Kirsty. ‘Weel, whan that starnie comes richt ower the white tap o’ yon stane i’ the mids o’ that side o’ the howe, I s’ be here at the door.’ Kirsty looked at the stone, saw that the star would arrive at the point indicated in about an hour, and said, ‘Weel, I’ll be expeckin ye, Steenie!’ whereupon he departed, going farther up the hill to court the soothing of the silent heaven. In conditions of consciousness known only to himself and incommunicable, the poor fellow sustained an all but continuous hand-to-hand struggle with insanity, more or less agonized according to the nature and force of its varying assault; in which struggle, if not always victorious, he had yet never been defeated. Often tempted to escape misery by death, he had hitherto stood firm. Some part of every solitary night was spent, I imagine, in fighting that or other evil suggestion. Doubtless, what kept him lord of himself through all the truth-aping delusions that usurped his consciousness, was his unyielding faith in the bonny man. The name by which he so constantly thought and spoke of the saviour of men was not of his own finding. The story was well known of the idiot, who, having partaken of the Lord’s supper, was heard, as he retired, murmuring to himself, ‘Eh, the bonny man! the bonny man!’ And persons were not wanting, sound in mind as large of heart, who thought the idiot might well have seen him who came to deliver them that were bound. Steenie took up the tale with most believing mind. Never doubting the man had seen the Lord, he responded with the passionate desire himself to see _the bonny man_. It awoke in him while yet quite a boy, and never left him, but, increasing as he grew, became, as well it might, a fixed idea, a sober, waiting, unebbing passion, urging him to righteousness and lovingkindness.