"I intend to give her some money and send her to the States to rejoin her husband. Pope must be hanged: there's no help for it."
While they thus talked and enjoyed the beauty of the night, they heard a grand mellow voice chanting one of the psalms. Shortly the musical person came in sight, and then they beheld the Rev. Michael Gowrie, in strict clerical dress, looking fat and gay and more bibulous than ever. On seeing his son-in-law and daughter he advanced with a majestic gait reciting solemnly--
"Soon, as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the glorious tale.
"That's Addison, ye ken, my bairns. A fine poet, though not tae be named i' the same breeth wi' Robbie Burns."
"So you are off to-morrow?" said Herries taking no notice of this poetical outburst.
"I'm gangin' tae morrow tae the Norrth. Aye, my fut wull be on ma native heath soon. Five hunner a year, and a stainless name. Leuk, laddie, what honesty o' purpose does for the wise."
"Oh father," said Elspeth disgusted, "you know you----"
"I know that I walked in miry ways," said the sage quickly, "groped in darkness and employed in the muckrake to find ma gold. But I wis but a good honest mon struggling wi' advarsity. Aye, lassie, dinna forget that I saved your husband fra the gallows."
"You've made five hundred a year out of that," said Herries, contemptuously.
"And gey cheap at the price, my manny. My ain conscience o' having dune good is ma reward. Aye, I can lay ma venerable locks on my pillow and say I've thocht o' the gude o' ithers afore ma ain. See, Elspeth, the husband I got for ye, and the hoose, and the----"