The Bride Elect: or, The Doom of the Double Roses — page 140: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE BRIDE ELECT, 131 father, the laird, want a madwoman for the Lady of Strath- more? Away! Get you gone, and leave me to my misery alone! My own heart is better company than you!” Towering and spirited, with the haughty blood in full play, my Lady Kilmeny drew off her horse to one side, and warded him from her with angry hands. ‘Pll fling away that weapon if you'll keep up that spirit,” answered Robin, eying her admiringly. ‘ I’Il ne’er breathe reproach again to you. Still keep brave heart within your bonnie breast, and wrestle with the regrets which wean your loyalty from Strathmore.” With a slight, scornful smile, my lady threw away her anger, grew quite calm, and rode on by his side again, still sometimes smiling to herself. ‘“‘T— must have an interview with my good uncle,” she muttered, after a long pause, with her old, mocking air. ‘‘ Laird Tyndale’s ways are not—as the Scriptures have it— are not my ways; and if he cuts out twisting and winding paths for my feet to tread, he shall explain more fully their signification to me. I object to be any man’s tool. The happy Lady of Strathmore shall still claim a small interest in her own actions, and, begging my good uncle’s pardon, those actions shall be more fully to her own mind before she enacts them. Cousin Robin, here’s Golspie, and the steamer has arrived at the dock, and I can hear her hissing and roaring from here, and I can see her red funnel over those fishermen’s huts. Now, my cousin, if that steamer, coming from my own country, brings no friend for Kilmeny, proving that all those hearts she cherished are forgetful—if no face of old-time affection waits by that dingy steamer’s side to meet me, I shall honestly wash my hands of the bitter past, and become Highland savage, if you like. Will that do, most kindly kinsman?” ‘‘ Bravo, my sweet cousin! I am almost cruel enough to hope ee The young cavalier’s words were here cut short by a very unexpected apparition in front of them. ° Mounted upon a stout black cob, with tartan plaid wavy- ing in the wind, heavy steel bridle glittering in the sun, black velvet bonnet low down over his brows, came Laird Tyndale Strathmore, pricking up the winding road from the town to meet the pair. Wily and ever watchful, the laird had extracted from An- Gomichbooks: co