gh not his patience,
Kennedy's courage had nearly evaporated; and when he saw her he stepped
under an archway, let her pass, and followed afresh. All at once
resolve, which yet was no resolve, awoke in him. It was as if some one
took him and set him before her. She started when he stepped in front,
and gave a little cry.

"Dinna be feart, Eppy," he said; "I wudna hurt a hair o' yer heid. I
wud raither be skinned mysel'!"

"Gang awa," said Eppy. "Ye hae no richt to stan' i' my gait!"

"Nane but the richt o' lo'ein' ye better nor ever!" said Kennedy,
"--gien sae be as ye'll lat me ony gait shaw 't!"

The words softened her; she had dreaded reproach, if not indignant
remonstrance. She began to cry.

"Gien onything i' my pooer wud mak the grief lichter upo' ye, Eppy," he
said, "ye hae but to name 't! I'm no gauin' to ask ye to merry me, for
that I ken ye dinna care aboot; but gien I micht be luikit upon as a
freen', if no to you, yet to yours--alloot onyw'y to help i' yer
trible, I mean, I'm ready to lay me i' the dirt afore ye. I hae nae
care for mysel' ony mair, an' maun do something for somebody--an' wha
sae soon as yersel', Eppy!"

For sole answer, Eppy went on crying. She was far from happy. She had
nearly persuaded herself that all was over between her and lord Forgue,
and almost she could, but for shame, have allowed Kennedy to comfort
her as an old friend. Everything in her mind was so confused, and
everything around her so miserable, that she could but cry. She
continued crying, and as they were in a walled lane into which no
windows looked, Kennedy, in the simplicity of his heart, and the desire
to comfort her who little from him deserved comfort, came up to her,
and putting his arm round her, said again,

"Dinna be feart of me, Eppy. I'm a man ower sair-hertit to do ye ony
hurt. It's no as thinkin' ye my ain, Eppy, I wud preshume to du
onything for ye, but as an auld freen', fain to tak the dog aff o' ye.
Are ye in want o' onything? Ye maun hae a heap o' trible, I weel ken,
wi' yer gran'father's mischance, an' it's easy to un'erstan' 'at things
may well be turnin' scarce aboot ye; but be sure o' this, that as
lang's my mither has onything, she'll be blyth to share the same wi'
you an' yours."

He said his mother, but she had nothing save what he provided her with.

"I thank ye, Stephen," said Eppy, touched with his goodness; "but
there's nae necessity; we hae plenty."

She moved on, her apron still t