If Allanson's death-warrant had been announced to him at that moment, it could not have deprived him so completely of sense and motion. His visage changed into that of a corpse, his jaws fell down, and his eyes became glazed, so as apparently to throw no reflection inwardly. Mr Welch, who had kept his eye steadily on them all the while, perceived his comrade's dilemma, and went up to him. "Allanson?--Mr Allanson? What is the matter with you, man?" said he. "Why, the girl has bewitched you, and turned you into a statue!" Allanson made some sound in his throat, as if attempting to speak, but his tongue refused its office, and he only jabbered. Mr Welch, conceiving that he was seized with some fit, or about to faint, supported him into the Johnston Arms; but he either could not, or would not, grant him any explanation. Welch being, however, resolved to see the maiden in green once more, persuaded Allanson, after causing him to drink a good deal, to go out into the hiring-market again, in search of her. They ranged the market through and through, but the maiden in green was gone, and not to be found. She had vanished in the crowd the moment she divulged her name, and even though Welch had his eye fixed on her, he could not discover which way she went. Allanson appeared to be in a kind of stupor as well as terror, but when he found that she had left the market, he began to recover himself, and to look out again for the top of the market. He soon found one more beautiful than the last. She was like a sylph, clothed in robes of pure snowy white, with green ribbons. Again he pointed this new flower out to Mr David Welch, who declared that such a perfect model of beauty he had never in his life seen. Allanson, being resolved to have this one at any wages, took her aside, and put the usual question: "Do you wish to hire, pretty maiden?" "Yes, sir." "Will you hire with me?" "I care not though I do." "What, then, are your wages to be? Come--say? And be reasonable; I am determined not to part with you for a trifle." "My wages must be in kind; I work on no other conditions.--Pray, how are all the good people about Inverlawn?" Allanson's breath began to cut, and a chillness to creep through his whole frame, and he answered, with a faltering tongue,--"I thank you,--much in their ordinary way." "And your aged neighbours," rejoined she, "are they still alive and well?" "I--I--I think they are," said he, panting for breath. "But I am at a loss to know whom I am indebted to for these kind recollections." "What," said she, "have you so soon forgot Mary Burnet of Kirkstyle?"