Supper followed, at which his lordship sat next to Lizzy, and partook
of dried skate and mustard, bread and cheese, and beer. Every man
helped himself. Lord Meikleham and a few others were accommodated
with knives and forks, but the most were independent of such
artificial aids. Whisky came next, and Lord Meikleham being already,
like many of the young men of his time, somewhat fond of strong
drink, was not content with such sipping as Lizzy honoured his
glass withal.
At length it was time, according to age long custom, to undress the
bride and bridegroom and put them to bed--the bride's stocking,
last ceremony of all, being thrown amongst the company, as by its
first contact prophetic of the person to be next married. Neither
Lizzy nor Lord Meikleham, however, had any chance of being thus
distinguished, for they were absent and unmissed.
As soon as all was over, Malcolm set out to return home. As he
passed Joseph Mair's cottage, he found Phemy waiting for him at
the door, still in the mild splendour of her pearl-like necklace.
"I tellt the laird what ye tellt me to tell him, Malcolm," she
said.
"An' what did he say, Phemy?" asked Malcolm.
"He said he kent ye was a freen'."
"Was that a'?"
"Ay; that was a'."
"Weel, ye're a guid lassie."
"Ow! middlin'," answered the little maiden.
Malcolm took his way along the top of the cliffs, pausing now and
then to look around him. The crescent moon had gone down, leaving
a starlit night, in which the sea lay softly moaning at the foot of
the broken crags.
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