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.] "Why did you move, then," persisted girl, who understood what he said st about half.

"Wed, my leddy, ye see it's het, an' m aye amang the fish mair or less, an' didna ken 'at I was to hae the honor sittin' doon aside ye; sae I thocht ye maybe smellin' the fish. It's healthy euch, but some fowk disna like it; an' r a' that I ken, you gran' fowk's senses  may be mair ready to scunner (take ) than oors. 'Deed, my leddy, we adna need to be particlar whiles, or it ad be the waur for 's!"

Simple as it was, the explanation to restore her equanimity, by what had seemed his  in lying down in her presence: saw that she had mistaken the. The fact was, that, concluding her behavior she had something to to him, but was not yet at leisure for m, he had lain down, as a loving dog , to await her time. It was, not coolness. To remain standing her would have seemed a demand her attention; to lie down was to and wait. But Florimel, pleased, was only the more  to torment—a peculiarity of  which she inherited from her her book, and read through three stanzas, without, however, a single phrase in them, before spoke. Then looking up, and for a moment the youth who lay her with the eyes of the in the psalm, she said—
 * she bowed her face once more

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"I thocht ye wantit me, my leddy! I yer pardon," answered Malcolm, to his feet, and turning to.

"Do you ever read?" she asked.

"Aften that," replied Malcolm, again, and standing stock-still. "An' I like best to read jest as yer leddyship's the noo, lyin' o' the san'-hill, wi' the haill sea afore me,' an' nothing 'tween me an' the icebergs but the water an' the stars an' a wheen islands. It's like readin' wi' fower een, that?"

"And what do you read on such occasions?" carelessly drawled his persecutor.

"Whiles ae thing an' whiles anither—whiles onything I can lay my han's upo'. I like traivels an' sic like weel eneuch; an' history, gien it be na ower dry-like. I div not like sermons, an' there's mair o' them in Portlossie than onything ither. Mr. Graham—that's the schoolmaister—has a gran' library, but its maist Laitin an' Greek, an' though I like the Laitin weel, it's no what I wad read i' the face o' the sea. When ye 're in drcid o' wantin' a dictionar', that spiles a'."

"Can you read Latin, then?"

"Ay : what for no, my leddy? I can read Virgil middlin'; and Horace's Ars Poetica, the whilk Mr. Graham says is no its richt name ava, but jist Epistola ad Pisones; for gien they bude to gie 't anither, it sud ha' been Ars Dramatica. But leddies dinna care aboot sic things."

"You gentlemen give us no chance. You won't teach us."

"Noo, my leddy, dinna begin to mak' ghem o' me, like my lord. I cud ill bide it frae him, an' gien ye tak till 't as weel, I maun jist haud oot o' yer gait. I'm nae gentleman, an' hac ower muckle respeck for what becomes a gentleman to be pleased at being ca'd ane. But as for the Laitin, I'll be prood to instruck her leddyship whan ye please."

"I'm afraid I've no great wish to learn," said Florimel.

"I daur say not," said Malcolm quietly, and again addressed himself to go.

"Do you like novels?" asked the girl.

"I never saw a novelle. There's no ane amo' a' Mr. Graham's buiks, an' I s' warran' there's full twa hunner o' them. I dinna believe there's a single novelle in a' Portlossie."

"Don't be too sure: there are a good many in our library."

"I hadna the presumption, my leddy, to coont the Hoose in Portlossie.—Ye 'll hae a sicht o' buiks up there, no?"

"Have you never been in the library?"

"I never set fut i' the hoose—'cep' i' the kitchie, an' ance or twise steppin' across the ha' frae the ae door to the tither. I wad fain see what kin' o' a place great fowk like you bides in, an'