“I daurna gie ye onything to ca’ drink,” answered the minister, who could scarcely speak for the swelling in his throat. “The thing to dee ye guid is a cup o’ het tay! Ye canna hae had a moofu’ this mornin! I hae a cab waitin me at the door, and ye’ll jist get in, my puir bairn, and come awa hame wi’ me! My wife’ll be doon afore we win back, and she’ll hae a cup o’ tay ready for ye in a moment! You and me ’ill hae oor brakfast thegither.” “Ken ye what ye’re sayin, sir? I daurna luik an honest wuman i’ the face. I’m sic as ye ken naething aboot.” “I ken a heap aboot fowk o’ a’ kin’s—mair a heap, I’m thinkin, nor ye ken yersel!—I ken mair aboot yersel, tee, nor ye think; I hae seen ye i’ my ain kirk mair nor ance or twice. The Sunday nicht afore last I was preachin straucht intil yer bonny face, and saw ye greitin, and maist grat mysel. Come awa hame wi’ me, my dear; my wife’s anither jist like mysel, an’ll turn naething to ye but the smilin side o’ her face, I s’ un’ertak! She’s a fine, herty, couthy, savin kin’ o’ wuman, my wife! Come ye til her, and see!” Isy rose to her feet. “Eh, but I would like to luik ance mair intil the face o’ a bonny, clean wuman!” she said. “I’ll gang, sir,” she went on, with sudden resolve “—only, I pray ye, sir, mak speed, and tak me oot o’ the sicht o’fowk!” “Ay, ay, come awa; we s’ hae ye oot o’ this in a moment,” answered Mr. Robertson.—“Put the fine doon to me,” he whispered to the inspector as they passed him on their way out. The man returned his nod, and took no further notice. “I thoucht that was what would come o’ ’t!” he murmured to himself, looking after them with a smile. But indeed he knew little of what was going to come of it! The good minister, whose heart was the teacher of his head, and who was not ashamed either of himself or his companion, showed Isy into their little breakfast-parlour, and running up the stair to his wife, told her he had brought the woman home, and wanted her to come down at once. Mrs. Robertson, who was dressing her one child, hurried her toilet, gave over the little one to the care of her one servant, and made haste to welcome the poor shivering night-bird, waiting with ruffled feathers below. When she opened the door, the two women stood for a moment silently gazing on each other—then the wife opened her arms wide, and the girl fled to their shelter; but her strength failing her on the way, she fell to the floor. Instantly the other was down by her side. The husband came to her help; and between them they got her at once on the little couch. “Shall I get the brandy?” said Mrs. Robertson. “Try a cup of tea,” he answered. His wife made haste, and soon had the tea poured out and cooling. But Isy still lay motionless. Her hostess raised the helpless head upon her arm, put a spoonful of the tea to her lips, and found to her joy that she tried to swallow it. The next minute she opened her eyes, and would have risen; but the rescuing hand held her down.