“‘What’s ado, woman?’ said I, for I thought something fearful had happened.

“‘Oh,’ cried she, ’my lady’s lighter, and ye’re to come to Meggat’s Land, even noo, this minute, and bide nae man’s hindrance.’

“‘And so I will,’ said I, as I threw my red plaid ower my head; then I blew out my cruse, and out we came, jolting each other in the dark passage through sheer hurry and confusion—­down the Canongate, t’ll we came to Meggat’s Land, in at the kitchen door, ben a dark passage, up a stair, then ben another passage, till we came to a back room, the door of which was opened by somebody inside.  I was bewildered—­the light in the room made my een reel; but I soon came to myself, when I saw a man and Mrs. Kemp the howdie busy rowing something in flannel.

“‘Get along,’ said the man to Jean; ‘you’re not wanted here.’

“And as Jean made off, Mrs. Kemp turned to me—­

“‘Come here, Mrs. Hislop,’ said she.

“So I slipt forward; but the never a word more was said for ten minutes, they were so intent on getting the bairn all right—­for ye ken, sir, it was a new-born babe they were busy with:  they were as silent as the grave; and indeed everything was so still, that I heard their breathing like a rushing of wind, though they breathed just as they were wont to do.  And when they had finished—­

“‘Mrs. Hislop,’ said the man, as he turned to me, ’you’re to take this child and bring it up as your own, or anybody else’s you like, except Mr. Napier’s, and you’re never to say when or how you got it, for it’s a banned creature, with the curse upon it of a malison for the sins of him who begot it and of her who bore it.  Swear to it;’ and he held up his hand.

“And I swore; but I thought I would just take the advice of the Lord how far my words would bind me to do evil, or leave me to do gude, when the time came.  So I took the bairn into my arms.

“‘And wha will pay for the wet-nurse?’ said I; ’for ye ken I am as dry as a yeld crummie.  But there is a woman in Toddrick’s Wynd wha lost her bairn yestreen:  she is threatened wi’ a milk-fever, and by my troth this little stranger will cure her; but, besides the nourice-fee, there is my trouble.’

“‘I was coming to that,’ said he, ’if your supple tongue had left you power to hear mine.  In this leathern purse there are twenty gowden guineas—­a goodly sum; but whether goodly or no, you must be content; yea, the never a penny more you may expect, for all connection between this child and this house or its master is to be from this moment finished for ever.’

“And a gude quittance it was, I thought, with a bonny bairn and twenty guineas on my side, and nothing on the other but maybe a father’s anger and salt tears, besides the wrath of God against those who forsake their children.  So with thankfulness enough I carried away my bundle; and ye’ll guess that Henney Hislop is now the young woman of fifteen who was then that child of a day.”