For a few days the weather was dull and unsettled, with cold flaws, and an occasional sprinkle of rain. But after came a still gray morning, warm and hopeful, and ere noon the sun broke out, the mists vanished, and the day was glorious in blue and gold. Malcolm had been to Scaurnose, to see his friend Joseph Mair, and was descending the steep path down the side of the promontory, on his way home, when his keen eye caught sight of a form on the slope of the dune which could hardly be other than that of Lady Florimel. She did not lift her eyes until he came quite near, and then only to drop them again with no more recognition than if he had been any other of the fishermen. Already more than half-inclined to pick a quarrel with him, she fancied that, presuming upon their very common-place adventure and its resulting secret, he approached her with an assurance he had never manifested before, and her head was bent motionless over her book when he stood and addressed her. “My leddy,” he began, with his bonnet by his knee. “Well?” she returned, without even lifting her eyes, for, with the inherited privilege of her rank, she could be insolent with coolness, and call it to mind without remorse. “I houp the bit buikie wasna muckle the waur, my leddy,” he said. “’Tis of no consequence,” she replied. “Gien it war mine, I wadna think sae,” he returned, eyeing her anxiously. “--Here’s yer leddy-ship’s pocket-nepkin,” he went on. “I hae keepit it ready rowed up, ever sin’ my daddy washed it oot. It’s no ill dune for a blin’ man, as ye’ll see, an’ I ironed it mysel’ as weel ’s I cud.” As he spoke he unfolded a piece of brown paper, disclosing a little parcel in a cover of immaculate post, which he humbly offered her. Taking it slowly from his hand, she laid it on the ground beside her with a stiff “_Thank you_,” and a second dropping of her eyes that seemed meant to close the interview. “I doobt my company’s no welcome the day, my leddy,” said Malcolm with trembling voice; “but there’s ae thing I maun refar till. Whan I took hame yer leddyship’s buik the ither day, ye sent me half a croon by the han’ o’ yer servan’ lass. Afore her I wasna gaein’ to disalloo onything ye pleased wi’ regaird to me; an’ I thocht wi’ mysel’ it was maybe necessar’ for yer leddyship’s dignity an’ the luik o’ things----” “How dare you hint at any understanding between you and me?” exclaimed the girl in cold anger. “Lord, mem! what hey I said to fess sic a fire-flaucht oot o’ yer bonny een? I thocht ye only did it ’cause ye wad’ na like to luik shabby afore the lass--no giein’ onything to the lad ’at brocht ye yer ain--an’ lippened to me to unnerstan’ ’at ye did it but for the luik o’ the thing, as I say.” He had taken the coin from his pocket, and had been busy while he spoke rubbing it in a handful of sand, so that it was bright as new when he now offered it. “You are quite mistaken,” she rejoined, ungraciously. “You insult me by supposing I meant you to return it.”