ye'll no be easy till you break my hairt." And this time the tears would
not be denied.

"I love you for crying; don't cry;" and he fished from the chaotic drawer
a cambric handkerchief, with which he dried her tears as they fell.

It is my firm belief she cried nearly twice as much as she really wanted
to; she contrived to make the grief hers, the sympathy his. Suddenly she
stopped, and said:

"I'm daft; ye'll accept a lane o' the siller fra me, will ye no?"

"No!" said he. "And where could you find eighty pound?"

"Auchty pund," cried she, "it's no auchty pund that will ding Christie
Johnstone, laddy. I hae boats and nets worth twa auchtys; and I hae forty
pund laid by; and I hae seven hundred pund at London, but that I canna
meddle. My feyther lent it the king or the queen, I dinna justly mind;
she pays me the interest twice the year. Sac ye ken I could na be sae
dirty as seek my siller, when she pays me th' interest. To the very day,
ye ken. She's just the only one o' a' my debtors that's hoenest, but
never heed, ye'll no gang to jail."

"I'll hold my tongue, and sacrifice my pictures," thought Charles.

"Cheer up!" said Christie, mistaking the nature of his thoughts, "for it
did na come fra Victoree hersel'. It wad smell o' the musk, ye ken. Na,
it's just a wheen blackguards at London that makes use o' her name to
torment puir folk. Wad she pairsecute a puir lad? No likely."