ch was filled with
broad-headed nails as thick as they could be driven, and, in a rage,
threw it at Robert as he darted out. Through its clang against the
door-cheek, the shoemaker heard a cry from the instrument. He cast
everything from him and sprang after Robert. But Robert was down the
wynd like a long-legged grayhound, and Elshender could only follow like
a fierce mastiff. It was love and grief, though, and apprehension and
remorse, not vengeance, that winged his heels. He soon saw that pursuit
was vain.

'Robert! Robert!' he cried; 'I canna win up wi' ye. Stop, for God's
sake! Is she hurtit?'

Robert stopped at once.

'Ye hae made a bonny leddy o' her--a lameter (cripple) I doobt, like yer
wife,' he answered, with indignation.

'Dinna be aye flingin' a man's fau'ts in 's face. It jist maks him 'at
he canna, bide himsel' or you eyther. Lat's see the bonny crater.'

Robert complied, for he too was anxious. They were now standing in the
space in front of Shargar's old abode, and there was no one to be seen.
Elshender took the box, opened it carefully, and peeped in with a face
of great apprehension.

'I thocht that was a'!' he said with some satisfaction. 'I kent the
string whan I heard it. But we'll sune get a new thairm till her,' he
added, in a tone of sorrowful commiseration and condolence, as he took
the violin from the case, tenderly as if it had been a hurt child.

One touch of the bow, drawing out a goul of grief, satisfied him that
she was uninjured. Next a hurried inspection showed him that there was
enough of the catgut twisted round the peg to make up for the part
that was broken off. In a moment he had fastened it to the tail-piece,
tightened and tuned it. Forthwith he took the bow from the case-lid,
and in jubilant guise he expatiated upon the wrong he had done his bonny
leddy, till the doors and windows around were crowded with heads peering
through the dark to see whence the sounds came, and a little child
toddled across from one of the lowliest houses with a ha'penny for the
fiddler. Gladly would Robert have restored it with interest, but, alas!
there was no interest in his bank, for not a ha'penny had he in the
world. The incident recalled Sandy to Rothieden and its cares. He
restored the violin to its case, and while Robert was fearing he would
take it under his arm and walk away with it, handed it back with a
humble sigh and a 'Praise be thankit;' then, without another word,
turned and we