haotic
drawer a cambric handkerchief, with which he dried her tears as they
fell.

It is my firm belief she cried nearly twice as much as she really wanted
to; she contrived to make the grief hers, the sympathy his. Suddenly she
stopped, and said:

"I'm daft; ye'll accept a lane o' the siller fra me, will ye no?"

"No!" said he. "And where could you find eighty pound?"

"Auchty pund," cried she, "it's no auchty pund that will ding Christie
Johnstone, laddy. I hae boats and nets worth twa auchtys; and I hae
forty pund laid by; and I hae seven hundred pund at London, but that I
canna meddle. My feyther lent it the king or the queen, I dinna justly
mind; she pays me the interest twice the year. Sac ye ken I could na be
sae dirty as seek my siller, when she pays me th' interest. To the very
day, ye ken. She's just the only one o' a' my debtors that's hoenest,
but never heed, ye'll no gang to jail."

"I'll hold my tongue, and sacrifice my pictures," thought Charles.

"Cheer up!" said Christie, mistaking the nature of his thoughts, "for it
did na come fra Victoree hersel'. It wad smell o' the musk, ye ken. Na,
it's just a wheen blackguards at London that makes use o' her name to
torment puir folk. Wad she pairsecute a puir lad? No likely."

She then asked questions, some of which were embarrassing. One thing he
could never succeed in making her understand, how, since it was sixty
pounds he borrowed, it could be eighty pounds he owed.

Then once more she promised him her protection, bade him be of good
cheer, and left him.

At the door she turned, and said: "Chairles, here's an auld wife seeking
ye," and vanished.

These two young people had fallen acquainted at a Newhaven wedding.
Christie, belonging to no one, had danced with him all the night, they
had walked under the stars to cool themselves, for dancing reels, with
heart and soul, is not quadrilling.

Then he had seen his beautiful partner in Edinburgh, and made a
sketch of her, which he gave her; and by and by he used to run down to
Newhaven, and stroll up and down a certain green lane near the town.

Next, on Sunday evenings, a long walk together, and then it came to
visits at his place now and then.

And here. Raphael and Fornarina were inverted, our artist used to work,
and Christie tell him stories the while.

And, as her voice curled round his heart, he used to smile and look, and
lay inspired touches on his subject.

And she, an artist of the to