'If I was to leave my husband dear,
And my twa babes also,
O where is it you would tak' me to,
If I with thee should go?'
And the lover becomes the avenger; together they sail away on a strange ship, until they descry the mountains of hell; and the lover turned demon warns her of her doom.
And aye when she turned her round about,
Aye taller he seemed for to be,
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.
He struck the topmast wi' his hand,
The foremast wi' his knee;
And he brak that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea."
"Will there be illustrations, sir?" asked Vincent (in humble imitation of Maisrie). "And an édition de luxe? For that, I imagine, is where my co-operation might come in. Maisrie seems so anxious to help; and I should like to take my part too."
"It is a far cry to the completion of such an undertaking as that," said the old man, rather wistfully.
But Maisrie would not have him lapse into any despondent mood.
"You must not look so far ahead, grandfather," she said, cheerfully. "You must think of your own pride and satisfaction in beginning it; and I know you will be delighted; for who can do it as well as you? And if I am so very mercenary, I can't help it; only I shall be all the better pleased to remember that you are being properly paid for your work. Supposing the kitchen is my department?—Oh, very well!—somebody must look to that. It will be a labour of love for you, grandfather, all the way through; and then, when the book is nearing completion, just think of the pride you will have in choosing someone, some distinguished person, for the dedication. It will be far more your own work than merely giving specimens of the Scottish-American poets; indeed it will be all your own; for the ballads are only to be texts, as you say. And I think we should go home now, and you will look over some of the books. I don't care about the illuminations—not I. What is the Lord Mayor's Day to Vincent or me—when you might be telling us about Katherine Janfarie and May Collean?"
"No, no, Maisrie," said he, as he rose from the table. "Give me a little time for preparation. We promised to show you the streets lit up. And mind you wrap yourself well, Maisrie, for the evenings are getting cold now."
But little did Vincent Harris, as he helped her on with her cloak, and made ready to go out into the dusky and glaring thoroughfares, foresee what was going to befall him that night.
When they issued forth into Regent-street, there was as yet no very dense crowd, though here and there the front of a tall building flamed in yellow fire; but nevertheless Maisrie said—