Robert bowed his head in heart-broken silence. Grief, shame, and remorse like tongues of fiery flames were scorching and burning into his very soul. Quietly they sat there engrossed in their thoughts, till the voice of Mrs. Burns calling to them from the cottage to come to supper roused them from their lethargy. “We’re comin’ right awa’,” answered Mary brightly. “Come, laddie, we mustna’ keep the folks waitin’.” She took his listless hand and drew him gently to the door and into the cottage. Silently they took their places at the table, around which the others were already seated. “By the way,” said old blind Donald, the fiddler, who had dropped in on his way to Mauchline for a bite and a cup, “Poosie Nancy told me to tell ye, Mistress Burns, that she wa drop in to see ye this night.” “We’ll be glad to see her,” replied Mrs. Burns hospitably. “And Daddy Auld says he’ll be along, too,” continued Donald, grinning broadly. “That is, if he isna’ too busy convertin’ souls.” “Convertin’ souls,” sneered Souter incredulously. “Aye, ye should see the Jolly Beggars he was haranguin’. They were jumpin’, an’ rantin’, an’ singin’ like daft Methodists.” “The auld hypocrites!” cried Mrs. Burns, buttering a scone which she placed in the old man’s tremulous hand. “They didna’ go to the manse for conversion; ’tis a square meal they are after. They ken the kind old heart o’ Daddy Auld.” Souter leaned back in his chair and smiled reminiscently. “That reminds me o’ a guid story,” he began, chuckling. “Never mind that story noo,” remonstrated Mrs. Burns, who was in constant dread of Souter’s risque stories. “That’ll keep.” “I never _can_ tell that damn story,” ejaculated Souter wrathfully. CHAPTER X They had finished their meager supper, and now sat comfortably around the fire, Mrs. Burns and Mary busy with their knitting, the men contentedly smoking, while old Donald discordantly tuned up his fiddle. “Noo, Donald,” said Souter briskly, “play us something lively.” “Aye, I’ll play ye the Highland Fling, Souter Johnny, an’ ye can dance. Come alang noo,” and he started to play vigorously, keeping time with his foot. “Aye, get out on the floor, Souter,” said Gilbert, pulling him out of his chair. “Nay, nay, lad,” expostulated Souter fretfully, “I be too old to fling the toe noo.” “Go alang wi’ ye, mon,” retorted Mrs. Burns encouragingly; “a Scotsman, and a Highlander besides, is ne’er too old to——” “To learn,” interrupted Gilbert brightly, swinging the old man to the middle of the floor. “Let her go.”