For Ericson's sake, Robert made some effort to preserve the acquaintance of Mr. Lindsay and his daughter. But he could hardly keep up a conversation with Mr. Lindsay, and Mysie showed herself utterly indifferent to him even in the way of common friendship. He told her of Ericson's illness: she said she was sorry to hear it, and looked miles away. He could never get within a certain atmosphere of--what shall I call it? avertedness that surrounded her. She had always lived in a dream of unrealities; and the dream had almost devoured her life. One evening Shargar was later than usual in coming home from the walk, or ramble rather, without which he never could settle down to his work. He knocked at Robert's door. 'Whaur do ye think I've been, Robert?' 'Hoo suld I ken, Shargar?' answered Robert, puzzling over a problem. 'I've been haein' a glaiss wi' Jock Mitchell.' 'Wha's Jock Mitchell?' 'My brither Sandy's groom, as I tellt ye afore.' 'Ye dinna think I can min' a' your havers, Shargar. Whaur was the comin' gentleman whan ye gaed to drink wi' a chield like that, wha, gin my memory serves me, ye tauld me yersel' was i' the mids o' a' his maister's deevilry?' 'Yer memory serves ye weel eneuch to be doon upo' me,' said Shargar. 'But there's a bit wordy 'at they read at the cathedral kirk the last Sunday 'at's stucken to me as gin there was something by ordinar' in 't.' 'What's that?' asked Robert, pretending to go on with his calculations all the time. 'Ow, nae muckle; only this: “Judge not, that ye be not judged.”--I took a lesson frae Jeck the giant-killer, wi' the Welsh giant--was 't Blunderbore they ca'd him?--an' poored the maist o' my glaiss doon my breist. It wasna like ink; it wadna du my sark ony ill.' 'But what garred ye gang wi' 'im at a'? He wasna fit company for a gentleman.'