But James Aytoun had not only an excellent claim to respect and honor, but actually received it. It was not any empty pride either which led him to sign himself James Aytoun, of Aytoun. Had it not been for the reckless and extravagant father, whose debts had so hopelessly entangled his inheritance, the territorial designation would have represented many fair acres--a long-descended patrimony. As it was, with only a desolate mansion-house, in a southern county, and some bleak lands about it, James Aytoun, of Aytoun, was still received and honored as a gentleman of good family and blood--neither by descent, education, nor breeding beneath any family in Scotland. It is but a narrow spirit which endeavors to sneer at a distinction like this, and call it the pride of poverty. James Aytoun belonged to that well-nurtured, manly class, whose hereditary honor and good fame belong to the nation, and whose frank dignity of mind and tone are as far removed as mental loftiness can be from that vulgar and arrogant thing, which mean men call pride. Jacky was reconciling herself to the little Edinburgh kitchen, and had already entered into conversation with Tibbie, when little Bessie arrived from her mother's humble house in an adjacent back street, to renew her acquaintance with her Strathoran friend.--Jacky had many messages to deliver from Johnnie Halflin, which Bessie received with a due amount of blushing laughter. "And, Oh, Jacky! how will they ever do wanting you at the Tower?" Jacky did not apprehend the covert wit--did not even perceive that the rosy little Edinburgh-bred girl, was about to condescend to, and patronise, the awkward rustic one. "They'll only miss me, for a while, at first--and then maybe, we'll no be long." "Is't Miss Ross that's with you?" asked Bessie. "I'm with Miss Ross," said Jacky, quickly "Miss Anne chose me of her own will--after I askit her--and so did Miss Falconer." "Eh! isna she an awfu' funny lady, yon Miss Falconer?" "Funny!" Jacky was indignantly astonished. "I dinna ken what ye ca' funny, Bessie. She's like--" "She's no like ither folk," said Bessie. "It's you that doesna ken. She's like--" "Wha is she like, Jacky?" "She's like Belphoebe," muttered Jacky, hastily. "But ye dinna ken wha _she_ was--and she's a lady, for a' that she does strange thing whiles." * * * * * "Is that the lady that throosh the gentleman that was gaun to be uncivil to our Miss Alice?" interposed Tibbie. "Yes," said Bessie laughing. Little Bessie was not above the vanity of being thought to know these north country magnates.--"And on New-year's night, when all the ladies were at the Tower, (ye mind, Jacky?) Miss Falconer gied me a shilling a' to mysel, for bringing her napkin to her, that she had left in Miss Alice's dressing-room--and nippit my lug, and tell't me to take care o' Miss Alice--she ca'ed her my little mistress. Isna she an awful height herself?"