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In a little while the guests departed. As the night was very fine, Julian proposed walking a part of the way home with De Villeneuve. Augusta bade him good night with a sort of mocking coldness, which to her great surprise he did not resent, for he fervently pressed her hand; and when, seated in state before her toilette-glass, she took the jewels from her hair, she remembered, with all the triumph of a well-avenged coquette, that for the first time she had seen her anger bring tears to his eyes, and make his cheek look pale.
Mrs. Lindsay went to bed full of sleepy wonder as to why Mr. Lindsay had left the opera, and where she could have left her fan. Ellen, really anxious, stole gently into her uncle's dressing-room; the door of the bedroom was ajar, she went in on tiptoe with the lemonade she always prepared for him. Jobb’s soothing draught had taken a great effect. She saw by the light of a veilleuse in the hearth that he was asleep, and her footstep did not in the least arouse him. Convinced that if aught unpleasant had occurred he
comfort, and if ye never meet me mair, which is ower likely, for I feel I am na lang for this world, be kind to puir Babie. She came bock to day unco late, and much disfigured, as the serving lassie tells me, for I was in bed, her feather broken, and her dress a' draggled wi' mud; but I have na asked her what befel her, for I have na spirit to scold the puir lassie noo—’deed, I think I deserve it mair than hersel, for it is mair sinfu' to hate life than to enjoy it.
“ I set off to-morrow wi' her for my ain dear land. May be I may be mair mysel when I breathe that pure air, and look again on the hills and the heather; but na, na, they will but remind me !...forgive me, dear Ellen Lindsay, and accept my warm thanks for a' your mony favours. Ye have been unco kind, lassie, to a daughter o' a house that never forgets either kindness offered, or wrang done, even to a daughter o’ the house o’ Douglas.
“o' Douglas Glen.” The other letter was written in a much weaker hand.
“ I return you your half-crown, dear Ellen, wi' mony thanks. I do na offer to repay you for the wax figure, because I consider it was a great imposition, and I did a' I could to prevent your being so taken in by a saucy callant o' a southron, wha kens nor honesty nor manners. Neither do I offer to repay you for the cab in whilk I rode easily enoo, and arrived hame quite safe, because I wudna offend ye, and as I was your guest in your ain carriage, ye could na do less, when it could na tak me hame, than send me bock in anither.
“ I canna write you sae long a letter as I would, for a great spiteful bird in the cage, that looked for a' the warld as mild as a dove, only much larger, a' white, except a bonny plume o' yellow feathers on his head, deceived me into taking him on my finger, and then, like a fause sonthron as he is, bit me well nigh to the bone. Nor was that the only hoccident I met wi', for while I was looking at the monkeys (chattering ugly craters as they are), one o' them got hold o' my cop and plume, and when the mon got it bock again, the crater had broken the feather and made it quite a disfigured cop.
“ Weel, I put it on again, and was for ganging hame, for I was na fit to be seen, when a mon advised me to tak a ride on the elephant, a huge crater like a hoose ; as ill luck would have it, I, thinking it might be lang before I'd get such an offer again, consented, when I ken na how or why it was, the grate ugly heathen baste set off, and in a minute or twa I found he had trod down the fence, and joodge o' my dismay, he stalked into a pond, and knelt down wi' his great ugly vicious knees in the water. I did na ken what to do; however, I did my best, and got upon my feet upon the baste's braid bock—when, oh, conceive o' my terror! he turned up his great trunk, just like the boa-constrictor, and I felt the warm hot baste o' a thing a turning round my waist. Think o' my condition, alone in the pond, a standing like a rope-dancer on the beast's bock-a crowd round the pond, a' the wretches laughing and