And he rode home at a precipitate amble with Kirstie at his horse's

heels.

Dressed as she was for her last walk, they had laid the dead lady on her

bed. She was never interesting in life; in death she was not

impressive; and as her husband stood before her, with his hands crossed

behind his powerful back, that which he looked upon was the very image

of the insignificant.

"Her and me were never cut out for one another," he remarked at last.

"It was a daft-like marriage." And then, with a most unusual gentleness

of tone, "Puir bitch," said he, "puir bitch!" Then suddenly: "Where's

Erchie?"

Kirstie had decoyed him to her room and given him "a jeely-piece."

"Ye have some kind of gumption, too," observed the judge, and considered

his housekeeper grimly. "When all's said," he added, "I micht have done

waur - I micht have been marriet upon a skirting Jezebel like you!"

"There's naebody thinking of you, Hermiston!" cried the offended woman.

"We think of her that's out of her sorrows. And could SHE have done

waur? Tell me that, Hermiston - tell me that before her clay-cauld

corp!"

"Weel, there's some of them gey an' ill to please," observed his

lordship.

CHAPTER II - FATHER AND SON

MY Lord Justice-Clerk was known to many; the man Adam Weir perhaps to

none. He had nothing to explain or to conceal; he sufficed wholly and

silently to himself; and that part of our nature which goes out (too

often with false coin) to acquire glory or love, seemed in him to be

omitted. He did not try to be loved, he did not care to be; it is

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