The Bride Elect: or, The Doom of the Double Roses — page 142: what you’re looking at

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

Seal THE BRIDE ELECT. | 133 «‘She needs a bringing down, and she’ll get it!” muttered Laird ‘Tyndale, flushing in spite of himself at her utter fear- lessness. ‘* Don’t answer her, father!’ entreated Robin, with re- morse at his own harshness stirring in his softening eyes. “The poor lass has a hard time of it, between loss of all she loved and our rough exactions.” ‘‘ Did she speak to you about her friends?” demanded the old laird, anxiously. ‘‘ Has she been filling your ears with nonsense?” | “She has told me nothing but that she thinks more of - her Aberdeen grandmother and grandfather, and printer- lad, than she does of Sutherland; and that one of them lands here to-day.” “Oh, she’s a wilfu’ queen!” ejaculated Tyndale, shaking his fist at the serene figure ambling in front of them, but withal having a certain glow of admiration for her, in his vengeful glance, ‘‘and she’d have her say and make her way, should Strathmore fa’ about her ears, but saftly, my lady Spunkie—saftly, bonnie May, it’s no aye the sourest tree that has the sweetest fruit; youll be none the waur for a down-coming.”’ : ‘< Hather,” said Robin, with a troubled face, ‘‘ what harm would this friend’s coming to cheer Kilmeny do?” ““S’death, man!” growled the father, in response—‘‘ so much the worse for them if they show their faces among glooming, grumbling Strathmore men, with souls made up of superstition and hearts of vengeful truthfulness. So much the worse for us if our plans are crushed before my lady is truly our own, to cry loudest defiance fearlessly to our foes, Robin, boy”—the old man’s hand. came down on his son’s, and a look of deep intelligence crept to his wary face—‘‘ Robin, boy, you’ve but to touch the sparks in your girl’s fiery will—win her for yours—and the danger’s past, and she’s ours, body and soul, to hurl the alien from her possessions, and save the doomed house of Strathmore.” Hotly flushed the young man’s cheek. He looked up the road and down the road, from rolling sea surf to rippling meadow fields, but no rest could he find for his roving eyes save on Lady Kilmeny’s fluttering skirt twenty paces ahead. ‘<T can’t do it, father,” he muttered. ‘‘She clings to me more than to Gavin or Kenneth; but it’s not for love. | CONMIE OOS 50)