“Tak tent what ye say, or mint at sayin, to persuaud him:—Isy ’ill be upo ye!” said the soutar laughing. “—But hearken to me, Mr. Bletherwick, and sayna a word to the minister aboot the bairnie.” “Na, na; it’ll be best to lat him fin’ that oot for himsel.—And noo I maun be gaein, for I hae my wallet fu’!” He strode to the door, holding his head high, and with never a word more, went out. The soutar closed the door and returned to his work, saying aloud as he went, “Lord, lat me ever and aye see thy face, and noucht mair will I desire—excep that the haill warl, O Lord, may behold it likewise. The prayers o’ the soutar are endit!” Peter Blatherwick went home joyous at heart. His son was his son, and no villain!—only a poor creature, as is every man until he turns to the Lord, and leaves behind him every ambition, and all care about the judgment of men. He rejoiced that the girl he and Marion had befriended would be a strength to his son: she whom his wife would have rejected had proved herself indeed right noble! And he praised the father of men, that the very backslidings of those he loved had brought about their repentance and uplifting. “Here I am!” he cried as he entered the house. “I hae seen the lassie ance mair, and she’s better and bonnier nor ever!” “Ow ay; ye’re jist like a’ the men I ever cam across!” rejoined Marion smiling; “—easy taen wi’ the skin-side!” “Doobtless: the Makker has taen a heap o’ pains wi the skin!—Ony gait, yon lassie’s ane amang ten thoosan! Jeemie sud be on his k-nees til her this vera moment—no sitting there glowerin as gien his twa een war twa bullets—fired aff, but never won oot o’ their barrels!” “Hoot! wad ye hae him gang on his k-nees til ony but the Ane!” “Aye wad I—til ony ane that’s nearer His likness nor himsel—and that ane’s oor Isy!—I wadna won’er, Jeemie, gien ye war fit for a drive the morn! In that case, I s’ caw ye doon to the toon, and lat ye say yer ain say til her.” James did not sleep much that night, and nevertheless was greatly better the next day—indeed almost well. Before noon they were at the soutar’s door. The soutar opened it himself, and took the minister straight to the ben-end of the house, where Isy sat alone. She rose, and with downcast eyes went to meet him. “Isy,” he faltered, “can ye forgie me? And wull ye merry me as sene’s ever we can be cried?—I’m as ashamed o’ mysel as even ye would hae me!” “Ye haena sae muckle to be ashamet o’ as _I_ hae, sir: it was a’ my wyte!” “And syne no to haud my face til’t!—Isy, I hae been a scoonrel til ye! I’m that disgustit at mysel ’at I canna luik ye i’ the face!” “Ye didna ken whaur I was! I ran awa that naebody micht ken.” “What rizzon was there for onybody to ken? I’m sure ye never tellt!” Isy went to the door and called Maggie. James stared after her, bewildered. “There was this rizzon,” she said, re-entering with the child, and laying him in James’s arms. He gasped with astonishment, almost consternation.