“Na, no ance. I kenned better nor that! I never even wusst it, for that would be nae freen’s wuss: ye would never get ony farther gien ye did! I’m nane fit for a minister’s wife—nor worthy o’ bein ane! I micht do no that ill, and pass middlin weel, in a sma’ clachan wi’ a wee bit kirkie—but amang gran’ fowk, in a muckle toon—for that’s whaur ye’re sure to be! Eh me, me! A’ the last week or twa I hae seen ye driftin awa frae me, oot and oot to the great sea, whaur never a thoucht o’ Isy would come nigh ye again;—and what for should there? Ye camna into the warl’ to think aboot me or the likes o’ me, but to be a great preacher, and lea’ me ahin ye, like a sheaf o’ corn ye had jist cuttit and left unbun’!” Here came another burst of bitter weeping, followed by words whose very articulation was a succession of sobs. “Eh, me, me! I doobt I hae clean disgraced mysel!” she cried at last, and ended, wiping her eyes—in vain, for the tears would keep flowing. As to young Blatherwick, I venture to assert that nothing vulgar or low, still less of evil intent, was passing through his mind during this confession; and yet what but evil was his unpitying, selfish exultation in the fact that this simple-hearted and very pretty girl should love him unsought, and had told him so unasked? A true-hearted man would at once have perceived and shrunk from what he was bringing upon her: James’s vanity only made him think it very natural, and more than excusable in her; and while his ambition made him imagine himself so much her superior as to exclude the least thought of marrying her, it did not prevent him from yielding to the delight her confession caused him, or from persuading her that there was no harm in loving one to whom she must always be dear, whatever his future might bring with it. Isy left the room not a little consoled, and with a new hope in possession of her innocent imagination; leaving James exultant over his conquest, and indulging a more definite pleasure than hitherto in the person and devotion of the girl. As to any consciousness in him of danger to either of them, it was no more than, on the shore, the uneasy stir of a storm far out at sea. Had the least thought of wronging her invaded his mind, he would have turned from it with abhorrence; yet was he endangering all her peace without giving it one reasonable thought. He was acting with a selfishness too much ingrained to manifest its own unlovely shape; while in his mind lay all the time a half-conscious care to avoid making the girl any promise.