Julia grew frightened.

She sent me with numbers of petitions to him.
'Look here, young un,' said Heriot; 'you're a good little fellow, and I like you, but just tell her I believe in nothing but handwriting, and if she writes to me for it humbly and nicely she shall have it back.

Say I only want to get a copy taken by a first-rate painter.' Julia shed tears at his cruelty, called him cruel, wicked, false to his word.

She wrote, but the letter did not please him, and his reply was scornful.

At prayers morning and evening, it was pitiful to observe her glance of entreaty and her downfallen eyelashes.