Elsie went seriously into this question, as seriously as any forsaken wife could do, whose husband was being led astray from her, as she took a melancholy ramble by herself along the east sands, where Rodie never accompanied her now. She asked herself what she could do to bring him back, to make him feel that, however his Johnnys and his Alicks might tempt him for the moment, it was Elsie that was his true friend: she must never scold him, nor taunt him with liking other folk better, she must always be kind, however unkind he might be. With these excellent resolutions warm in her mind, it happened to Elsie to see, almost straight in front of her, hanging on the edge of a pool among the rocks, Rodie himself, in company with Johnny Wemyss, the newly-chosen friend of his heart. Johnny was up to his elbows in the pool, digging out with his hands the strange things and queer beasts to be found therein; and half to show the charity of her thoughts, half out of curiosity and desire to see what they were about, Elsie hurried on to join them. Johnny Wemyss was a big boy, bigger than Rodie, as old as Elsie herself--roughly clad, with big, much-mended nailed boots, clouted shoon, as he would himself have called them, and his rough hair standing out under the shabby peak of his sailor’s cap. “What are you doing--oh, what are you finding? Let me see,” cried Elsie, coming up behind them with noiseless feet on the wet but firm sand. Johnny Wemyss gave a great start, and raised himself up, drawing his bare and dripping arms out of the water, and standing confused before the young lady, conscious that he was not company for her, nor even for her brother, the minister’s son, he who came of mere fisher folk. But Rodie turned round fierce and threateningly, with his fists clenched in his pockets. “What are you wanting?” he cried. “Can you not let a person abee? We are no wanting any lassies here.” “Rodie,” cried his sister, flushed and almost weeping, “do you say that to me?” “Ay do I!” cried Rodie, red with wrath and confusion. “What are you wanting? We just want no lassies here.” Elsie gave him but one look of injured love and scorn, and, without saying another word, turned round and walked away. Oh, May was right! she was only a lassie to her own brother, and he had insulted her before that Johnny, who was the cause of it all--she only hoped they were looking after her to see how firm she walked, and that she was not crying--no, she would not cry--why should she cry about him, the hard-hearted, unkind boy? and with that, Elsie’s shoulders heaved, and a great sob rent her breast. She had indeed mourned his desertion before: yet this was practically her first revelation of the hollowness of life. Meanwhile, Rodie was far from comfortable on his side; all the more that Johnny Wemyss gave him a kick with his clouted shoe, and said, with the frankness of friendship: