upper ranks, but into a mixture of the two tongues; a feat which she
performed very well, and for which she had been qualified by having
lived in the service of the great.

"And so Mr. Napier of Eastleys is dead?" she began.

"Yes," answered the writer, perhaps with a portion of cheerfulness,
seeing he was that gentleman's agent, or "doer," as it was then called;
a word far more expressive, as many clients can testify, at least after
they are "done;" and seeing also that a dead client is not finally
"done" until his affairs are wound up and consigned to the green box.

"And wha is his heir, think ye?" continued his questioner.

"Why, Charles Napier, his nephew," answered the writer, somewhat
carelessly.

"I'm no just a'thegither sure of that, Mr. Dallas," said she, with
another effort at dignity, which was unfortunately qualified by a
knowing wink.

"The deil's in the woman," was the sharp retort, as the writer opened
his eyes wider than he had done since he laid down his parchments.

"The deil's in me or no in me," said she; "but this I'm sure of, that
Henrietta Hislop--that's our Henney, ye ken--the brawest and bonniest
lass in Toddrick's Wynd (and that's no saying little), is the lawful
heiress of Mr. John Napier of Eastleys, and was called Henrietta after
her mother."