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Before this, Blue Peter had become aware that some one was near him, but, intent on the words of his brother fisher of the old time, had half unconsciously put off looking up to see who was behind him. When now he did so, and saw Malcolm, he rose and touched his bonnet. "It was jist i' my heid, my lord," he said, without any preamble, "sic a kin' o' a h'avenly Jacobin as this same Jacobus was!
"Ye h'avenly idiot," cried Andrew. "Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?" Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head straight up, her head fell back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, her arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew taken her. "Andrew! Andrew!" she sighed, and was still in his arms. "Winna ye, Dawtie?" he whispered.
But, ye see that micht be to make a playock o' her hert. Puir thing, she luiks doon upo' me frae the tap o' her bonny neck, as frae a h'avenly heicht; but I s' lat her ken yet, gien only I can win at the gait o' 't, that I ha'ena come nigh her for naething." He gave a sigh with the words, and a pause followed. "The trowth's the trowth," resumed Miss Horn, "neither mair nor less."
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