Florimel thanked her, stepped lightly upon it, and sprang to the sand, where she was received with words of welcome from many, and shouts which rendered them inaudible from the rest. The men, their bonnets in their hands, and the women courtesying, made a lane for her to pass through, while the young fellows would gladly have begged leave to carry her, could they have extemporised any suitable sort of palanquin or triumphal litter. Followed by Malcolm, she led the way over the Boar’s Tail--nor would accept any help in climbing it--straight for the tunnel: Malcolm had never laid aside the key to the private doors his father had given him while he was yet a servant. They crossed by the embrasure of the brass swivel. That implement had now long been silent, but they had not gone many paces from the bottom of the dune when it went off with a roar. The shouts of the people drowned the startled cry with which Florimel, involuntarily mindful of old and for her better times, turned to Malcolm. She had not looked for such a reception, and was both flattered and touched by it. For a brief space the spirit of her girlhood came back. Possibly, had she then understood that hope rather than faith or love was at the heart of their enthusiasm, that her tenants looked upon her as their saviour from the factor, and sorely needed the exercise of her sovereignty, she might have better understood her position, and her duty towards them. Malcolm unlocked the door of the tunnel, and she entered, followed by Rose, who felt as if she were walking in a dream. As he stepped in after them, he was seized from behind, and clasped close in an embrace he knew at once. “Daddy, daddy!” he said, and turning threw his arms round the piper. “My poy! my poy! Her nain son Malcolm!” cried the old man in a whisper of intense satisfaction and suppression. “You’ll must pe forgifing her for coming pack to you. She cannot help lofing you, and you must forget tat you are a Cam’ell.” Malcolm kissed his cheek, and said, also in a whisper: “My ain daddy! I ha’e a heap to tell ye, but I maun see my leddy hame first.” “Co, co, this moment co,” cried the old man, pushing him away. “To your tuties to my leddyship first, and then come to her old daddy.” “I’ll be wi’ ye in half an hoor or less.” “Coot poy! coot poy! Come to Mistress Partan’s.” “Ay, ay, daddy!” said Malcolm, and hurried through the tunnel.