Addressed to a late divinity-classmate, he asked in
it incidentally whether his old friend had ever heard anything of the
little girl--he could just remember her name and the pretty face of her--
Isy, general slavey to her aunt's lodgers in the Canongate, of whom he was
one: he had often wondered, he said, what had become of her, for he had
been almost in love with her for a whole half-year! I cannot but take the
inquiry as the merest pretence, with the sole object of deceiving himself
into the notion of having at least made one attempt to discover Isy. His
friend forgot to answer the question, and James Blatherwick never alluded
to his having put it to him.
CHAPTER XX
Never dawned Sunday upon soul more wretched. He had not indeed to climb
into his watchman's tower without the pretence of a proclamation, but on
that very morning his father had put the mare between the shafts of the
gig to drive his wife to Tiltowie and their son's church, instead of the
nearer and more accessible one in the next parish, whither they oftener
went.
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