“I'd have ye know, sir,” interrupted the old man, rising to his feet, “that ma frien' Mr. James Gow is as independent of yours as he is of me and mine. He has married, sir, a Mrs. Hernandez, the rich widow of a coffee-planter, and now is the owner of the whole estate, minus the encumbrance of three children. And now, sir, you'll take this,”—he drew from his pocket an envelope. “It's a draft for five thousand dollars, with the ruling rate of interest computed from the day I received it till this day, and ye'll give it to your frien' when ye see him. And ye'll just say to him from me”—
But Miss Ailsa, with a spirit and independence that challenged her father's, here suddenly fluttered between them with sparkling eyes and outstretched hands.
“And ye'll say to him from ME that a more honorable, noble, and generous man, and a kinder, truer, and better friend than he, cannot be found anywhere! And that the foolishest and most extravagant thing he ever did is better than the wisest and most prudent thing that anybody else ever did, could, or would do! And if he was a bit overproud—it was only because those about him were overproud and foolish. And you'll tell him that we're wearying for him! And when you give him that daft letter from father you'll give him this bit line from me,” she went on rapidly as she laid a tiny note in his hand. “And,” with wicked dancing eyes that seemed to snap the last bond of repression, “ye'll give him THAT too, and say I sent it!”
There was a stir in the official apartment! The portraits of Lincoln and Washington rattled uneasily in their frames; but it was no doubt only a discreet blast of the north wind that drowned the echo of a kiss.
“Ailsa!” gasped the shocked Mr. Callender.
“Ah! but, father, if it had not been for HIM we would not have known Robin.”
It was the last that the consul saw of Ailsa Callender; for the next summer when he called at Loch Dour she was Mrs. Gray.