"It is just this, my dear lassie," said Mrs. Johnstone in answer to her niece’s inquiry, "I am a lone widow with no one here to care for me, or to mind whether I go or stay, so I have determined upon accompanying you to Edinburgh, in order to protect and assist you as far as lies in my power. When you came here and told me your sad story, I resolved upon going with you, and laid my plans accordingly. Two days ago a boy was dispatched to tell your father and Mrs. Telford where you were, and that they need not feel anxious about you, as I should tend and love you as though you were mine own child. Now, don’t say one word against this, Jeanie, for my mind is made up on this subject." Poor Jeanie Irving, quite overcome with this proof of affection and kind interest on the part of her aunt, threw herself into her arms, and sobbed aloud, thanking her through her tears for her promised protection, which she assured her would prove invaluable, as she should require a faithful guide and counsellor to cheer and advise her ’mid all the trials and disappointments she was prepared to encounter. All being thus satisfactorily arranged, Mrs. Johnstone proceeded to settle some little household affairs prior to departing with her niece—such as stopping the clock, locking up closets, throwing water on the fire, and sundry other little arrangements which all careful housekeepers know to be essential before leaving home. The rays of the setting sun were gilding the towers of the ancient fortress of Dunedin, as Mrs. Johnstone and her niece entered the Scottish capital. All was terror and confusion. Dragoons marched along the streets with all the insolence of petty power which subordinates know so well how to assume;—members of the opposite faction stole noiselessly on their way, as if afraid of attracting the notice of the swaggering soldiers, who seemed fully aware of, and to enjoy the terror they inspired; while aged citizens, whose care-worn faces betrayed the anxiety under which they laboured, stood together in groups as if discussing the events of the day. Jeanie, with the natural modesty of her sex, drew the shepherd’s plaid still closer around her, to screen her face in some measure from the insolent gaze of the dragoons, some of whom peered underneath the covering as they passed in the hopes of obtaining a glimpse of the carefully-shrouded face. "Pull it off her, George," said a soldier to his comrade, one of these who failed in their attempts to get a look of Jeanie Irving, "pull it off her, and let us see what she’s like; what in the name of wonder makes her hide her face in that manner? Pull it off her, I say."