shall see her again. Make haste, waiter—
and let it be strong." My seat commanded
a view of the entrance of the station.
Puffing out of it with a cigar in his mouth, and
his hat on one side of his head, there came
forth the insolent gent, who had shared his
luncheon with—(brutal miscreant, why
did he mention her name?) Sukey. To me
she was Susan, Susannah, every form of the
name but that; and, as I gazed on him, I
hated him—hated him for his matchless
impudence—his six feet height—his audacious
countenance and manly face and beard.
"Who is that?" I asked the waiter, when
he brought me the tumbler.

"That, sir; that's young Glinders, son of
Glinders and Co. the brewers."

"And waiter!" I said in a careless voice,
"who is Sukey at the bar ? the young lady
in the lovely dress—the loveliest creeture
in England—small waist, fine shoulders,
white hands—din ye ken her?"

"They say young Glinders is going to
marry Miss Oggit, which her mother keeps
the refreshment-room—praps it's her, sir."

Death! she shall be rescued from the
hands of Glinders. I will show her my
landscape—waiter, more drink!—quick! I will
ask her to come out for a walk after the
Down-train goes. If once I get her to listen
—to understand—aye— but how is that to be
done? Don't my frightful Scotch frighten
her to death? Will she comprehend what
I mean?

           *           *         *          *          *

We walked in the cool of the evening.
The sun still lay in golden touches on the
tops of wood and spire—the path led
gradually away from the town, and followed the
windings of a burn. There were foot-stiles at
every field; at every stile I helped her over.
I held her hand as she placed her beautiful
foot on the top-rail and leapt down to where
I stood. Once when to support her better I
placed her hand upon my shoulder, Glinders
suddenly came up the hedge-row. He
gloomed and glowered—with my disengaged
hand I struck him, and felled him to the
earth—such a blow as Wallace may have
bestowed on an English tyrant; as Cuthullin
leaping from his cloud-borne car may
have administered to Connal of the azure
locks. Cold lay Glinders in his woe, grief
seized his heart. Fallen art thou, son of the
brewer, and compassion fills my soul. Rise,
captive of my spear, and leave my Susan to
the voice of my praise—"

          *          *          *          *           *

"Waiter, if ye dinna bring me mair drink
in one moment o' time, I'll brain ye on the
wa'—the train will be down in ten minutes."

         *          *          *         *          *

She blushed a beautiful consent. "Thus
ever," I cried "is sincerity rewarded." I
took her home my beautiful, my bride. My
mother bent over her—my aunt cried with
rapture. I took her forth and said, "come
into the garden, Sue," and we listened together
to the dry-tongued laurels, pattering
talk. This is my home, I said, we can easily
add a painting-room at the west. Here I
will work all day. Fame, money, friends, will
all pour in; and you, seated like a goddess
on an emerald throne, shall receive the
homage of my heart—"Waiter, there's the
whistle o' the Down-train. Mair drink, or
ye're a deed man."

I swallowed the brandy and water. I
hurried across the street. The London
passengers were already in the room. I joined
them—a fat man held forth his dirty hand
and seized a mutton-pie. She said sixpence,
he threw it down again, and said it was an
extortion, he never paid more than a
four-penny piece. I stood and looked at her.
Our eyes met. She smiled—the quarrel was
arranged, I know not how, I only saw her
lips curling with divine compassion towards
the savage, and I believed, a softer compassion
towards myself. When they were all
gone, when the room was again empty— I
suddenly felt an impulse of ungovernable
admiration. I stretched across the counter
and seized her hand; I was forcing it to my
lips, but upset a large cruet of cherry-brandy
and a vast pyramid of tarts. She
screamed and struggled. I held her taper
fingers, "I canna live withoot ye," I cried.
"Come and marry me this moment, or I'll
dee on the floor. I'll see ye to the next
Exhibition. Ye sall be Venus in a shell, or
Cleopatra with the asp, or Joan of Arc with
the sword; and as to Glinders, I'll murder
the haill firm !"

         *        *          *        *        *

The mayor of Paulborough, is the most
disgusting looking fellow, I ever saw. He
sat frowning and puffing on his chair-of-state,
and fined me large sums by way of
damage for the breakages, and five shillings
for being disorderly, and incapable of taking
care of myself

Next night at a late hour, I tapped at my
mother's window. She thought I was a
ghost, and went through half the shorter
catechism, before I could persuade her I was
come back. "Mither," I said, as I swallowed
some bread and cheese before going to bed.
"I'm no going to leave ye any mair. The
English dinna understand us ava.' Were o'er
modest and bashfu'—and that's the reason
we never get on either wi' men or women—
but yet modesty's a real merit in learning,
and tawlent, and genius, and poetry, and
painting, and metapheesics."