“Ah, man,” replied the Scotchman, “dinna let your birses rise at that gate. Noo, there's the filbert trees, ma friend, of whilk ane is male and the tither female; and the upshot e'en is, Andy, that de'il a pickle o' fruit ever the female produces until there's a braw halesome male tree planted in the same gerden. But, ou, man, Andy, wasna yon she and that bonnie jaud, Connor, that we met the noo? De'il be frae my laul, but I jalouse she's aff wi' him this vara nicht.” “Oh, dear, no!” replied Cummiskey, starting; “that would kill her father; and yet there must be something in it, or what would bring them there at such an hour? He and she may love one another as much as they like, but I must think of my mas-ther.” “In that case, then, our best plan is to gie the alarm.” “Hould,” replied Andy; “let us be cautious. They wouldn't go on foot, I think; and before we rise a ruction in the house, let us find out whether she has made off or not. Sit you here, and I'll try to see Connor, her maid.” “Ah, but, Andy, man, it's no just that pleasant to sit hei-e dry-lipped; the tankard's, oot, ye ken.” “Divil tankard the Scotch sowl o'you--who do you suppose could think of a tankard, or any thing else, if what we suspect has happened? It will kill him.” He then proceeded to look for Connor, whom he met in tears, which she was utterly unable to conceal. “Well, Miss Connor,” he asked, “what's the matther? You're cryin', I persave.” “All, Cummiskey, my mistress is unwell.” “Unwell! why she wasn't unwell a while ago, when the gardener and I met her and you on your way to the back o' the garden.” “Oh, yes,” replied Connor; “I forced her to come out, to try what a little cool air-might do for her.” “Ay, but, Connor, did you force her to come in again?” “Force! there was no force necessary, Cummiskey. She's now in her own room, quite ill.” “Oh, then, if she's quite ill, it's right that her father should know it, in ordher that a docther may be sent for.” “Ah, but she's now asleep, Cummiskey--that sleep may set her to rights; she may waken quite recovered; but you know it might be dangerous to disturb her.” “Ah, I believe you,” he replied, dissembling; for he saw at once, by Connor's agitated manner, that every word she uttered was a lie; “the sleep will be good for her, the darlin'; but take care of her, Connor, for the masther's sake; for what would become of him if any thing happened her? You know that if she died he wouldn't live a week.” “That's true, indeed,” she replied; “and if she get's worse, Cummiskey, I'll let the master know.” “That's a good girl; ma gragal that you! war--good-by, acushla,” and he immediately! returned to his own room, after having observed that Connor went down to the kitchen. “Now, Mr. Malcomson,” said he, “there is a good fire before you. I ax your pardon--just sit in the light of it for a minute or so; I want this candle.”