ed the verses he sang to her as they walked that
evening, and now sent them--completed in a very different tone. Not
a word accompanied them.

My thoughts are like fire-flies pulsing in moonlight;
My heart like a silver cup full of red wine;
My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light
Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine.

My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin';
My hert like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall;
My sowl like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin',
To bide i' the mirk till the great trumpet call.

But peace be upo' ye, as deep as ye're lo'esome!
Brak na an hoor o' yer fair-dreamy sleep,
To think o' the lad wi' a weicht in his bosom,
'At ance sent a cry till ye oot o' the deep.

Some sharp rocky heicht, to catch a far mornin'
Ayont a' the nichts o' this warld, he'll clim';
For nane shall say, Luik! he sank doon at her scornin',
Wha rase by the han' she hield frank oot to him.

The letter was handed, with one or two more, to Mr. Galbraith, at
the breakfast table. He did not receive many letters now, and could
afford time to one that was for his daughter. He laid it with the
rest by his side, and after breakfast took it to his room and read
it. He could no more understand it than Fergus could the Epistle to
the Romans, and therefore the little he did understand of it was too
much. But he had begun to be afraid of his daughter: her still
dignity had begun to tell upon him in his humiliation. He laid the
letter aside, said nothing, and waited, inwardly angry and
contemptuous. After a while he began to flatter himself with the
hope that perhaps it was but a sort of impertinent valentine, the
writer of which was unknown to Ginevra. From the moment of its
arrival, however, he kept a stricter watch upon her, and that night
prevented her from going to Mrs. Sclater's. Gibbie, aware that
Fergus continued his visits, doubted less and less that she had
given herself to "The Bledder," as Donal called the popular
preacher.

CHAPTER LIV.

OF AGE.

There were no rejoicings upon Gibbie's attainment of his
twenty-first year. His guardian, believing he alone had acquainted
himself with the date, and desiring in his wisdom to avoid giving
him a feeling of importance, made no allusion to the fact, as would
have been most natural, when they met at breakfast on the morning of
the day. But, urged thereto by Donal, Gibbie had learned the date
for h