msel's, and
then it goes ill wi' them;" and she sighed and shook her head, as if
she feared such a possibility was within her own fate.

"What is it you mean? I'm seeking one word o' kindness from you,
Christine."

Then she looked at him, and she did not require speech. Cluny dared to
draw closer to her--to put his arm round her waist--to whisper such
alluring words of love and promise, that she smiled and gave him a
flower, and finally thought she might--perhaps--sometime--learn the
lesson he would teach her, for, "This warld is fu' o' maybe's, Cluny,"
she said, "and what's the good o' being young, if we dinna expect
miracles?"

"I'm looking for no miracle, Christine. I'm asking for what a man may
win by a woman's favor. I hae loved you, Christine, since I was a bit
laddie o' seven years auld. I'll love you till men carry me to the
kirk yard. I'd die for your love. I'd live, and suffer a' things for
it. Lassie! Dear, dear lassie, dinna fling love like mine awa'.
There's every gude in it."

She felt his heart throbbing in his words, but ere she could answer
them, her brother Neil called her three times, in a voice that
admitted of no delay. "Good-by, Cluny!" she said hurriedly. "You ken
Neil isna to be put off." Then she was gone, and Cluny, full of
bewildered loving and anxious feelings, rushed at headlong speed down
the steep and narrow garden path, to his grandmother's cottage on the
sands.

Neil stood by a little pine table covered with books and papers. He
was nearly twenty-one years old, and compared with his family was
small in stature, lightly built, and dark in complexion. His hair was
black, his eyes somberly gray, and full of calculation. His nose, lean
and sharp, indicated selfish adherence to the realities of life, and
the narrow nostrils positively accused him of timidity and caution.
His mouth was firm and discreet. Taken as a whole, his face was
handsome, though lean and thoughtful; but his manner was less
pleasant. It was that of a serious snob, who thinks there is a destiny
before him. He had been petted and spoiled all his life long, and his
speech and conduct were full of the unpleasant survivals of this
treatment. It spoiled him, and grated on Christine's temperament, like
grit in a fine salad.

He had never made a shilling in his life, he was the gentleman of the
family, elected by the family to that position. In his boyhood he had
been delicate, and quite unfit for the rough labor of the