The Bride Elect: or, The Doom of the Double Roses — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

134 THE BRIDE ELECT. can’t betray her confidence, and throw her back to lean to- ward none of us—lI can’t be so cruel as that.” «<She’ll do queer things for pride’s sake,” answered the laird, in a low voice. ‘‘ Don’t despair, Robin, but don your bravest gallantry after to-day’s ride. We'll see.” And with that he chirruped to his horse, and trotted on to join the lady in her impatient advance, and Robin, a little flushed yet, and half-timid, came up at her other side. ‘Well, my good uncle, have you had your conference?” cried my lady, with scornful glances. ‘‘And is Kilmeny’s farther path marked out for her to your satisfaction? and is Robin to be the string which ties her to your hand? and is she to be wheedled or driven, which? Don’t, Uncle Tyndale, don’t trouble explaining. We'll proceed with our little trip, which has been somewhat delayed. See how those fishermen and their wives stare at Strathmore’s cap- tive, as if they had never seen her warriors. Are they pitying me, eh, Uncle Tyndale?” and the strange girl laughed tauntingly, until her dark face grew rich with lovely carnation tints, although her eyes angrily ghttered from window to door of cot and sheiling. ‘Doubtless, my Lady Kilmeny hopes to hear flattering tidings from her old friends?” quoth Tyndale Strathmore, crafty and shy, not suffering her scathing scorn to flow over him quite unmatched. ‘‘Mayhap she expects good news, that she laughs so loudJy? Mayhap she thinks to see him, that she’s dressed so richly?” With a scarlet tinge mantling her brow, my lady turned round and regarded the laird with one of those steady, un- flinching scrutinies of hers which he found so difficult to withstand. ‘‘How far do you dare to imagine I could stoop?” she breathed through her teeth; then, deigning to wait for no reply, she swept onward, turned her steed sharply down a side street, and entered the arched gate-way of the Lowland steamer dock, with her two kinsmen cantering at her back, a goodly sight to the crowds assembled there. Few and far between were the ships of any size round the rude docks of Golspie town. What craft there were seemed nothing better than the black, tarred boats and punts of the fishermen themselves, with here and there a stout merchant ship, or a coasting lugger rolled into Dornock from stress of weather encountered on the boisterous North Sea. The Gomichbooks (Eo)