She must say something. Her eye fell on the little parcel beside her, and she spoke the first thought that came. “Will you take this?” she said, and offered him the handkerchief. In a dazed way he put out his hand and took it, staring at it as if he did not know what it was. “It’s some sair!” he said at length, with a motion of his hands as if to grasp his head between them. “Ye winna tak even the washin’ o’ a pocket-nepkin frae me, an’ ye wad gar me tak a haill half-croon frae yersel’! Mem, ye’re a gran’ leddy an’ a bonny; an ye hae turns aboot ye, gien ’twar but the set o’ yer heid, ’at micht gar an angel lat fa’ what he was carryin’, but afore I wad affront ane that wantit naething o’ me but gude will, I wad--I wad-- raither be the fisher-lad that I am.” A weak-kneed peroration, truly; but Malcolm was over-burdened at last. He laid the little parcel on the sand at her feet, almost reverentially, and again turned. But Lady Florimel spoke again. “It is you who are affronting me now,” she said gently. “When a lady gives her handkerchief to a gentleman, it is commonly received as a very great favour indeed.” “Gien I hae made a mistak, my leddy, I micht weel mak it, no bein’ a gentleman, and no bein’ used to the traitment o’ ane. But I doobt gien a gentleman wad ha’ surmised what ye was efter wi’ yer nepkin’, gien ye had offert him half a croon first.” “Oh, yes, he would--perfectly!” said Florimel with an air of offence. “Then, my leddy, for the first time i’ my life, I wish I had been born a gentleman.” “Then I certainly wouldn’t have given it you,” said Florimel with perversity. “What for no, my leddy? I dinna unnerstan’ ye again. There maun be an unco differ atween ’s!” “Because a gentleman would have presumed on such a favour.” “I’m glaidder nor ever ’at I wasna born ane,” said Malcolm, and, slowly stooping, he lifted the handkerchief; “an’ I was aye glaid o’ that, my leddy, ’cause gien I had been, I wad hae been luikin’ doon upo’ workin’ men like mysel’ as gien they warna freely o’ the same flesh an’ blude. But I beg yer leddyship’s pardon for takin’ ye up amiss. An’ sae lang ’s I live, I’ll regaird this as ane o’ her fedders ’at the angel moutit as she sat by the bored craig. An’ whan I’m deid, I’ll hae ’t laid upo’ my face, an’ syne, maybe, I may get a sicht o’ ye as I pass. Guid-day my leddy.” “Good-day,” she returned kindly. “I wish my father would let me have a row in your boat.” “It’s at yer service whan ye please, my leddy,” said Malcolm. One who had caught a glimpse of the shining yet solemn eyes of the youth, as he walked home, would wonder no longer that he should talk as he did--so sedately, yet so poetically--so long-windedly, if you like, yet so sensibly--even wisely.