e pair
of them in a few cold, convincing sentences; he had now been there some
time, and he was still staggering round the outworks and undergoing what
he felt to be a savage cross-examination.

"Mr. Frank!" she cried. "What nex', I would like to ken?"

"He spoke most kindly and truly."

"What like did he say?"

"I am not going to tell you; you have nothing to do with that," cried
Archie, startled to find he had admitted so much.

"O, I have naething to do with it!" she repeated, springing to her feet.
"A'body at Hermiston's free to pass their opinions upon me, but I have
naething to do wi' it! Was this at prayers like? Did ye ca' the grieve
into the consultation? Little wonder if a'body's talking, when ye make
a'body yer confidants! But as you say, Mr. Weir, most kindly, most
considerately, most truly, I'm sure--I have naething to do with it. And
I think I'll better be going. I'll be wishing you good evening, Mr.
Weir." And she made him a stately curtsey, shaking as she did so from
head to foot, with the barren ecstasy of temper.

Poor Archie stood dumbfounded. She had moved some steps away from him
before he recovered the gift of articulate speech.

"Kirstie!" he cried. "O, Kirstie woman!"

There was in his voice a ring of appeal, a clang of mere astonishment
that showed the schoolmaster was vanquished.

She turned round on him. "What do ye Kirstie me for?" she retorted.
"What have ye to do wi' me? Gang to your ain freends and deave them!"

He could only repeat the appealing "Kirstie!"

"Kirstie, indeed!" cried the girl, her eyes blazing in her white face.
"My name is Miss Christina Elliott, I would have ye to ken, and I daur
ye to ca' me out of it. If I canna get love, I'll have respect, Mr.
Weir. I'm come of decent people, and I'll have respect. What have I done
that ye should lightly me? What have I done? What have I done? O, what
have I done?" and her voice rose upon the third repetition. "I thocht--I
thocht--I thocht I was sae happy!" and the first sob broke from her like
the paroxysm of some mortal sickness.

Archie ran to her. He took the poor child in his arms, and she nestled
to his breast as to a mother's, and clasped him in hands that were
strong like vices. He felt her whole body shaken by the throes of
distress, and had pity upon her beyond speech. Pity, and at the same
time a bewildered fear of this explosive engine in his arms, whose works
he did not understand, and yet had been tampering