The Norse blood we think little o', Peter glories in; an' the twa men count thegither o'er their glasses the races o' the Vikings, an' their ain generations up to Snorro an' Thorso." "Is there no ither master but Peter Fae?
ask theesel' that question, John." "I hae done that, Christine.

Plenty o' masters, but nane o' them hae Margaret for a daughter.

Christine, I love Margaret, an' she loves me weel.

Thou hast loved theesel', my sister." "I ken that, John," she said tenderly; "I hae loved, therefore I hae got beyont doots, an' learned something holier than my ain way.

Thou trust Margaret now.