’For God’s sake, Sylvander,’ she said, clasping the poet’s arm, ’behave yourself this night! Yonder is my most revered, particular, Puritanical cousin and guardian, the lawyer Archibald Herries. A pragmatical creature—no soul, no sympathy—but if he’s offended, poor Clarinda is undone! He is all her shield against the cruel world—all the worldly hope of her poor, deserted babes. I implore you have a care not to offend him by your manners to your poor friend.’ ’My bare existence offends him,’ said the poet, shrewdly enough. ’What right,’ he continued bitterly, ’has the poor ploughman to breathe the same air with so fine a gentleman as Mr. Herries?’ ’Oh, heavens!’ cried Nancy, half beside herself. ’Never heed him. Are you not worth a hundred of such poor dried sticks as he? Only think of your poor Clarinda and be careful! ’Twould indeed be almost better could you go.’ ’I thank you, madam,’ said the Bard, grimly; ’but I think I’ll stand my ground, unless you put me to the door.’ ’Then, for God’s sake, give all your heed to Ally,’ cried Nancy; ’not a look, not a word, but of merest civility to Clarinda!’ The poet cocked his eye. He was about to tell what he had seen that evening on first entering the room, but he checked himself: telling tales was not his weakness. And then the idea of a little dalliance with Alison, under the supercilious nose of her lover, by no means came amiss. Here was a little diverting vengeance ready to his hand; he would never carry it too far, he reflected, for, with all his faults, he was generous and good-natured. So he chuckled, and nodded knowingly to Nancy. In the dark little outer lobby, Alison and Herries had met for a brief moment. ’Archie!’ whispered Alison, with an outstretched hand. But he turned upon her a look of offence so cold, that she was silenced, and her arm fell to her side. ’I did not know,’ he said icily, ’of Miss Graham’s intimate acquaintance with the poet Burns!’ And he brushed past her into the parlour. Alison, feeling as though she had been struck, followed him. It had been easy to bear his anger in advance; but oh! she had not known how hard it would be—how hard to meet that changed look in his face, that coldness in his voice. The wave of courage that had risen so high within her, receded; but she forced it back. Better he should be angry than deceived. She did not realise as yet the intricate, net-like nature of deception, so loth to set one free.