Elspeth glanced at Kind, and he at her. The old man had guessed all that had taken place by shrewd observation, and they dreaded lest this preternatural cunning (for so it seemed) should lead him to guess that Herries was quaking under his feet. But his next observation reassured them in some measure. "I'm ganging tae save the lad," said Gowrie, finishing his glass. "What?" cried his daughter, and Herries suppressed a gasp with difficulty. The remark was like a gleam of light in a clouded heaven. "Aye," pursued Gowrie, leisurely, "ye taunt me, yer ain faither, wi' taking a few bit shullings fra the laddie's pocket. It wis the best thing that happened tae him, that same, for by daeing what I did, I can save the lad. And who's he, my ain pupil, to grudge his auld tutor a bit of siller?" Kind glanced nervously at the floor. He knew that Herries was overhearing every word the old reprobate uttered, and dreaded lest he should reveal himself prematurely. But Herries held his peace until he learned more of Mr. Gowrie's intentions. He did not trust him an inch until he could see how the old man proposed to benefit by saving him. Elspeth, knowing her father of old, had similar thoughts in her brain, and spoke her mind pretty freely. What the reprobate had guessed she confessed, thinking, that if he knew Herries was her lover, he would be more inclined to save him. Sweetlips remained silent, as he was anxious to let Gowrie talk, so as to learn exactly what he had up his sleeve. "Father," said the girl, laying her hands on Gowrie's shoulders, "can you really save Angus?" "Yes," said the reverend gentleman, in his best English, "if he will be guided by me." "And what do you expect to get out of this?" "Ma ain child," said the patriarch, relapsing into Scotch, "dae ye nae theenk but what a mon micht dae good wi'out conseedering himsel'?" "You wouldn't," rejoined Elspeth curtly. Gowrie wiped a tear from his inflamed eye with a ragged handkerchief, and raised his face to heaven. "Ma ain child," said he in a pathetic tone, "Aye, it's a Lear I am, nae less." "Look here, father," said Elspeth, placing her hands on her hips and speaking almost as sourly as Mrs. Narby, whose favourite attitude this was. "It's no use your talking like this. You took me from that excellent school, where my godfather was educating me, and turned me into Mrs. Narby's drudge, just that you might have a place to go to, in the 'Marsh Inn,' without paying. I was a child when you last saw me, and did what I was told. But love, the love of a good man, has changed me into a woman. I have become engaged to Angus, and I helped him to escape. He's far away from here, and in a place where you won't find him. I have seen him several times since he got away from the inn, and we are engaged to be married." "It warrums ma hairt tae hear ye say so, lassie," mumbled Gowrie, in a thankful voice. "Aye, aye, ye'll be able tae gie yer auld faither a warrum seat by the hearth."