“I wish ye wad haud the clavering tongue o’ ye,” said the indignant Janet; “_I_ ken?--I ken nane o’ your ill ways--ye needna be putting the name o’ them on me; and wha’s the ither lad?” “Do ye think I dinna ken that ye wad never trust me wi’ that bit message, if I was telling about anither young lady’s sweetheart? Hout, woman, ye’re no gaun to get round me wi’ the like o’ that. I’m a man to be trusted here where I stand; if I wasna, Jen, I wad ne’er hae had the face to ask a woman o’ your experience to send your bit message wi’ me; but ye may ken it’s safe in my hands--never mortal shall hear tell o’t but the ane.” The exasperated Janet threatened Robbie with her hot iron; with a broad laugh the fisherman evaded it, but he did not retreat. “And Miss Buchanan telled ye, Robbie?” said Mrs Mense, “weel she’s no ower nice o’ her counsellors.” “She’s nane sae wise as to tell me,” said the incorrigible Robbie, “but I have an e’e in my ain head--no to say twa, and them black anes. Ye see ae black e’e’s as guid as three blue anes ony day; for no to speak o’ the licht that ilka body can see through, I hae a gift, like the cats, to see in the dark. Na, na, Miss Buchanan has nae thocht I’m in her counsels--but for a’ that, I ken; and ye may think when I heard the wives in the toun a’ keckling about the minister--I leuch. Some o’ them had new found it out, that he was aye wandering about the townend; but he needna fash his thoom--and I’ve a guid mind to tell him mysel.” “He’ll no be muckle heeding,” said Mrs Mense with dignity; “the like o’ him, a fine-looking lad that micht get as guid a leddy as ony in the country-side; and she’s no even that you could ca’ particular bonnie. Oh! thae young callants, how they will aye rin after their ain fancies!” The prudential demurrings of the Reverend Robert Insches as to the eligibility of the humble schoolmistress of Fendie were perfectly justified. The parish decided that she was not eligible--that the minister would clearly throw himself away--that the dignity of the Church would be compromised; but the Reverend Robert was now out of his depths, and had lost the footing of prudence. He was not aware that his wanderings about “the townend” began to be discussed by Robbie Carlyle and his customers. The minister was very much more interested at present in consideration of what was said and done in the little, quiet, dusky parlour, than in any other apartment in Fendie, or in broad Scotland. He had lost his balance; he could no longer manage himself according to his old rules, even though the dearly beloved “position” should be put in jeopardy. The chances of his pursuit made him a little anxious sometimes, but there was no withdrawal; he must either win or fail. CHAPTER IV. I am sick and capable of fears; Oppressed with wrongs and therefore full of fears; A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; A woman, naturally born to fears.--KING JOHN.