While they thus talked and enjoyed the beauty of the night, they heard a grand mellow voice chanting one of the psalms. Shortly the musical person came in sight, and then they beheld the Rev. Michael Gowrie, in strict clerical dress, looking fat and gay and more bibulous than ever. On seeing his son-in-law and daughter he advanced with a majestic gait reciting solemnly-- "Soon, as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the glorious tale. "That's Addison, ye ken, my bairns. A fine poet, though not tae be named i' the same breeth wi' Robbie Burns." "So you are off to-morrow?" said Herries taking no notice of this poetical outburst. "I'm gangin' tae morrow tae the Norrth. Aye, my fut wull be on ma native heath soon. Five hunner a year, and a stainless name. Leuk, laddie, what honesty o' purpose does for the wise." "Oh father," said Elspeth disgusted, "you know you----" "I know that I walked in miry ways," said the sage quickly, "groped in darkness and employed in the muckrake to find ma gold. But I wis but a good honest mon struggling wi' advarsity. Aye, lassie, dinna forget that I saved your husband fra the gallows." "You've made five hundred a year out of that," said Herries, contemptuously. "And gey cheap at the price, my manny. My ain conscience o' having dune good is ma reward. Aye, I can lay ma venerable locks on my pillow and say I've thocht o' the gude o' ithers afore ma ain. See, Elspeth, the husband I got for ye, and the hoose, and the----" "Oh, shut up and go away," said Herries, disgusted with the old scamp, "and don't come near us oftener than you can help." "And this," said Mr. Gowrie, lifting his eyes to the cloudless sky, "is gratitude." "Gratitude be hanged, I owe you none." "Dinna talk o' hanging, laddie, when ye think that puir Pope's fate micht hae been yours. Ye owe me a' theengs, I'm theenking. What were ye but a Jonah when I took peety on ye at the 'Marsh Inn'? I helped ye with counsel, I cheered yer lonely path, and gied tae ye ma ain bairn, the pride and glory of my existeence." Herries stared at Mr. Gowrie thus praising himself, then taking Elspeth's arm within his own, calmly walked away. "Dear," he said when they entered the house, "when your father goes, we'll forget all the past." "I never wish to see him again," shuddered the girl, "and oh, Angus, to think I should have such a father," she let fall a tear. Herries kissed it away. "There! There! We won't think any more of him or of our troubles. All's well that end's well. You and I are no longer Mr. and Mrs. Jonah." "What are we then?" asked Elspeth smiling through her tears. "Dand Joan," and then they sat down happy at last. And the sage, the wise man, who had steered them,--in his own opinion,--through all their troubles, sat on the terrace lamenting the ingratitude of his children.