“And what I like warst o’ a’,” continued poor Cuddie, “is thae ranting red-coats coming amang the lasses, and taking awa our joes. I had a sair heart o’ my ain when I passed the Mains down at Tillietudlem this morning about parritch-time, and saw the reek comin’ out at my ain lum-head, and kend there was some ither body than my auld mither sitting by the ingle-side. But I think my heart was e’en sairer, when I saw that hellicat trooper, Tam Halliday, kissing Jenny Dennison afore my face. I wonder women can hae the impudence to do sic things; but they are a’ for the red-coats. Whiles I hae thought o’ being a trooper mysell, when I thought naething else wad gae down wi’ Jenny--and yet I’ll no blame her ower muckle neither, for maybe it was a’ for my sake that she loot Tam touzle her tap-knots that gate.” “For your sake?” said Morton, unable to refrain from taking some interest in a story which seemed to bear a singular coincidence with his own. “E’en sae, Milnwood,” replied Cuddie; “for the puir quean gat leave to come near me wi’ speaking the loun fair, (d--n him, that I suld say sae!) and sae she bade me God speed, and she wanted to stap siller into my hand;--I’se warrant it was the tae half o’ her fee and bountith, for she wared the ither half on pinners and pearlings to gang to see us shoot yon day at the popinjay.” “And did you take it, Cuddie?” said Morton. “Troth did I no, Milnwood; I was sic a fule as to fling it back to her--my heart was ower grit to be behadden to her, when I had seen that loon slavering and kissing at her. But I was a great fule for my pains; it wad hae dune my mither and me some gude, and she’ll ware’t a’ on duds and nonsense.” There was here a deep and long pause. Cuddie was probably engaged in regretting the rejection of his mistress’s bounty, and Henry Morton in considering from what motives, or upon what conditions, Miss Bellenden had succeeded in procuring the interference of Lord Evandale in his favour. Was it not possible, suggested his awakening hopes, that he had construed her influence over Lord Evandale hastily and unjustly? Ought he to censure her severely, if, submitting to dissimulation for his sake, she had permitted the young nobleman to entertain hopes which she had no intention to realize? Or what if she had appealed to the generosity which Lord Evandale was supposed to possess, and had engaged his honour to protect the person of a favoured rival? Still, however, the words which he had overheard recurred ever and anon to his remembrance, with a pang which resembled the sting of an adder. “Nothing that she could refuse him!--was it possible to make a more unlimited declaration of predilection? The language of affection has not, within the limits of maidenly delicacy, a stronger expression. She is lost to me wholly, and for ever; and nothing remains for me now, but vengeance for my own wrongs, and for those which are hourly inflicted on my country.”