“It’s an awfu’ thing to ha’e a wuman like that angert at ye!” he said to himself when at length she had disappeared, “--as bonny as she is angry! God be praised ’at he kens a’thing, an’ ’s no angert wi’ ye for the luik o’ a thing! But the wheel may come roon’ again--wha kens? Ony gait I s’ mak the best o’ Kelpie I can.-- I won’er gien she kens Leddy Florimel! She’s a heap mair boontifu’ like in her beauty nor her. The man micht haud ’s ain wi’ an archangel ’at had a wuman like that to the wife o’ ’m.--Hoots! I’ll be wussin’ I had had anither upbringin’, ’at I micht ha’ won a step nearer to the hem o’ her garment! an’ that wad be to deny him ’at made an’ ordeen’t me. I wull not du that. But I maun hae a crack wi’ Maister Graham, anent things twa or three, jist to haud me straucht, for I’m jist girnin’ at bein’ sae regairdit by sic a Revelation. Gien she had been an auld wife, I wad ha’e only lauchen: what for ’s that? I doobt I’m no muckle mair rizzonable nor hersel’! The thing was this, I fancy it was sae clear she spak frae no ill-natur’, only frae pure humanity. She’s a gran’ ane yon, only some saft, I doobt.” For the lady, she rode away sadly strengthened in her doubts whether there could be a God in the world--not because there were in it such men as she took Malcolm for, but because such a lovely animal had fallen into his hands. “It’s a sair thing to be misjeedged,” said Malcolm to himself as he put the demoness in her stall; “but it’s no more than the Macker o’ ’s pits up wi’ ilka hoor o’ the day, an’ says na a word. Eh, but God’s unco quaiet! Sae lang as he kens till himsel’ ’at he’s a’ richt, he lats fowk think ’at they like--till he has time to lat them ken better. Lord, mak clean my hert within me, an’ syne I’ll care little for ony jeedgement but thine.” CHAPTER XXV. THE PSYCHE. It was a lovely day, but Florimel would not ride: Malcolm must go at once to Mr Lenorme; she would not go out again until she could have a choice of horses to follow her. “Your Kelpie is all very well in Richmond Park, and I wish I were able to ride her myself, Malcolm, but she will never do in London.” His name sounded sweet on her lips, but somehow to-day, for the first time since he saw her first, he felt a strange sense of superiority in his protection of her: could it be because he had that morning looked unto a higher orb of creation? It mattered little to Malcolm’s generous nature that the voice that issued therefrom had been one of unjust rebuke. “Who knows, my lady,” he answered his mistress, “but you may ride her some day! Give her a bit of sugar every time you see her-- on your hand, so that she may take it with her lips, and not catch your fingers.” “You shall show me how,” said Florimel, and gave him a note for Mr Lenorme.