Long before Kittlestonheugh returned to Glasgow, the indissoluble knot was tied between his daughter and her cousin, Walkinshaw Milrookit. The Laird of Dirdumwhamle was secretly enjoying this happy consummation of a scheme which he considered as securing to his son the probable reversion of an affluent fortune, and a flourishing estate. Occasional flakes of fear floated, however, in the sunshine of his bosom, and fell cold for a moment on his heart. His wife was less satisfied. She knew the ardour with which her brother had pursued another object; she respected the consideration that was due to him as a parent in the disposal of his daughter; and she justly dreaded his indignation and reproaches. She was, therefore, anxious that Mr. Milrookit should return with her to the country before he came back from Camrachle. But her mother, the Leddy, was in high glee, and triumphant at having so cleverly, as she thought, accomplished a most meritorious stratagem, she would not for a moment listen to the idea of their going away before dinner. ‘Na; ye’ll just bide where ye are,’ said she. ‘It will be an unco-like thing no to partake o’ the marriage feast, though ye hae come without a wedding garment, after I hae been at the cost and outlay o’ a jigot o’ mutton, a fine young poney cock, and a Florentine pie; dainties that the like o’ hae na been in my house since Geordie, wi’ his quirks o’ law, wheedled me to connive wi’ him to deprive uncle Watty o’ his seven lawful senses, forbye the property. But I trow I hae now gotten the blin’ side o’ him at last: he’ll no daur to say a word to me about a huggery-muggery matrimonial, take my word for’t; for he kens the black craw I hae to pluck wi’ him anent the prank he played me in the deevelry o’ the concos mentos, whilk ought in course o’ justice to have entitled me to a full half of the income o’ the lands; and a blithe thing, Dirdumwhamle, that would hae been to you and your wife, could we hae wrought it into a come-to-pass; for sure am I, that, in my experience and throughgality, I would na hae tied my talent in a napkin, nor hid it in a stroopless tea-pot, in the corner o’ the press, but laid it out to usury wi’ Robin Carrick. Howsever, maybe, for a’ that, Meg, when I’m dead and gone, ye’ll find, in the bonny pocket-book ye sewed lang syne at the boarding-school for your father, a testimony o’ the advantage it was to hae had a mother. But, Sirs, a wedding-day is no a time for molloncholious moralizing; so I’ll mak a skip and a passover o’ a matter and things pertaining to sic Death, and the Leddy’s confabbles as legacies, and kittle up your notions wi’ a wee bit spree and sprose o’ jocosity, afore the old man comes; for so, in course o’ nature, it behoves us to ca’ the bride’s father, as he’s now, by the benison o’ Dr. De’ilfear, on the lawfu’ toll-road to become, in due season, an ancestor. Nae doubt, he would hae liked better had it been to one of his ain Walkinshaws o’ Kittlestonheugh; but, when folk