a changed woman--her pallor and her
listlessness were gone--the old light was in her eye, and the bright
color in her cheek, and she seemed hardly to touch the earth.

"I'm just droukit, lasses," cried she, gayly, wringing her sleeve. Every
eye was upon her; did she know, or did she not know, what she had done?

Lord Ipsden stepped forward; the people tacitly accepted him as the
vehicle of their curiosity.

"Who was it, Christie?"

"I dinna ken, for my pairt!"

Mrs. Gatty came out of the house.

"A handsome young fellow, I hope, Christie?" resumed Lord Ipsden.

"Ye maun ask Flucker," was the reply. "I could no tak muckle notice, ye
ken," putting her hand before her eye, and half smiling.

"Well! I hear he is very good-looking; and I hear you think so, too."

She glided to him and looked in his face. He gave a meaning smile. The
poor girl looked quite perplexed. Suddenly she gave a violent start.

"Christie! where is Christie?" had cried a well-known voice. He had
learned on the pier who had saved him--he had slipped up among the boats
to find her--he could not find his hat--he could not wait for it--his
dripping hair showed where he had been--it was her love whom she had
just saved out of Death's very jaws.

She gave a cry of love that went through every heart, high or low, young
or old, that heard it. And she went to him, through the air it seemed;
but, quick as she was, another was as quick; the mother had seen him
first, and she was there. Christie saw nothing. With another cry,
the very keynote of her great and loving heart, she flung her arms
round--Mrs. Gatty, who was on the same errand as herself.

"Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent; Hearts are not flint, and
flint is rent."

The old woman felt Christie touch her. She turned from her son in a
moment and wept upon her neck. Her lover took her hand and kissed it,
and pressed it to his bosom, and tried to speak to her; but all he could
do was to sob and choke--and kiss her hand again.

"My daughter!" sobbed the old woman.

At that word Christie clasped her quickly; and then Christie began to
cry.

"I am not a stone," cried Mrs. Gatty.

"I gave him life; but you have saved him from death. Oh, Charles, never
make her repent what she has done for you."

She was a woman, after all; and prudence and prejudice melted like snow
before her heart.

There were not many dry eyes--least of all the heroic Lady Barbara's.

The three whom a moment ha