unkind, and, above all, not base."

"There's my bairn!" said Kirstie, rising. "I'll can trust ye noo, I'll
can gang to my bed wi' an easy hairt." And then she saw in a flash how
barren had been her triumph. Archie had promised to spare the girl, and
he would keep it; but who had promised to spare Archie? What was to be
the end of it? Over a maze of difficulties she glanced, and saw, at the
end of every passage, the flinty countenance of Hermiston. And a kind
of horror fell upon her at what she had done. She wore a tragic mask.
"Erchie, the Lord peety you, dear, and peety me! I have buildit on this
foundation" - laying her hand heavily on his shoulder - "and buildit
hie, and pit my hairt in the buildin' of it. If the hale hypothec were
to fa', I think, laddie, I would dee! Excuse a daft wife that loves ye,
and that kenned your mither. And for His name's sake keep yersel' frae
inordinate desires; haud your heart in baith your hands, carry it canny
and laigh; dinna send it up like a hairn's kite into the collieshangic
o' the wunds! Mind, Maister Erchie dear, that this life's a'
disappointment, and a mouthfu' o' mools is the appointed end."

"Ay, but Kirstie, my woman, you're asking me ower much at last," said
Archie, profoundly moved, and lapsing into the broad Scots. "Ye're
asking what nae man can grant ye, what only the Lord of heaven can grant
ye if He see fit. Ay! And can even He! I can promise ye what I shall
do, and you can depend on that. But how I shall feel - my woman, that
is long past thinking of!"

They were both standing by now opposite each other. The face of Archie
wore the wretched semblance of a smile; hers was convulsed for a moment.

"Promise me ae thing," she cried in a sharp voice. "Promise me ye'll