can not see her, but also, where you can see many others. I think American
women will be a fair test of your affection. Between Boston and New
Orleans their variety is infinite. Gillbride says, they are the blood, and
beauty, and intellect of all races potently mingled. Mary has a right to
be considered; she is evidently embarrassed by your presence; the least
you can do for her now, is to relieve her from it. Next spring there will
be an opportunity to re-consider matters, if you desire. Money has
accumulated belonging to Drumloch, and Mary has decided to expend it on
the house. A new wing is to be built, and she will go to reside there. The
work will get on better, and the tenants look with justice to the
advantages of an open house again. But there is no more to be said at this
time. Come, Allan, let us go to the drawing-room, I hear Mary playing a
song I never can resist, no nor any other person, I think--" and he began
to hum "_O Love will venture in_."

"Isn't it a wonderful combination of thirds and sevenths? There is nothing
like it in the whole portfolio of music. Nothing so winning, nothing that
can so charm and haunt your ear-chambers." And they stepped softly and
slowly, and stood at the door together, to listen to the enchaining
plaintive little song:

[Musical notation omitted.]

O love will venture in where it daurna weel be seen,
O love will venture in where wisdom once has been;
But I will down the river rove amang the woods so green,
And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May.

The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year,
And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear: