That same night of your desertion I came late from a friend's house--where I was excessively admired, whatever you may think of it--and what should I hear but that a lass in a tartan screen desired to speak with me?
She had been there an hour or better, said the servant-lass, and she grat in to herself as she sat waiting.

I went to her direct; she rose as I came in, and I knew her at a look.

'_Grey Eyes!_' says I to myself, but was more wise than to let on.

_You will be Miss Grant at last ?_ she says, rising and looking at me hard and pitiful.

_Ay, it was true he said, you are bonny at all events .-- The way God made me, my dear_, I said, _but I would be gey and obliged if ye could tell me what brought you here at such a time of the night--Lady_, she said, _we are kinsfolk, we are both come of the blood of the sons of Alpin .-- My dear_, I replied, _I think no more of Alpin or his sons than what I do of a kale-stock.