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“Ay,” said the poor girl, with a wistful echo, “I ken Robert Glen!” she shook her head, and the tears with which her eyes were full, brimmed over. “Ay, that do I, faither; I wish I had never kent him, I wish I had never thought so weel of him. Eh, but it’s strange—awful strange—to think ane ye ken can deceive! Them ye dinna ken are different. But to say a thing and no to mean it, faither—to give a promise and forget—to mak’ a vow before the Lord and think nae mair o’t! Can such things be?”

“Such things have been, Jeanie. I’m like you, I cannot believe in them; but they have been. And a’ that you and me can do is to bear whatever comes, and be aye faithful and steady, and wait till you see the end.”

“It’s sae lang waiting,” said Jeanie, with a smile in her wet eyes, as she rose from her seat; “and it’s no as if it would be ony satisfaction to see them punished for’t that do amiss. But fareyewell, faither; I’m muckle the better o’ your good advice. Thinkna of me, I’ll win through. It’s no like a thing that would make a person useless, no fit to do their day’s work or get their living. I’ll win through.”