Mrs. Margaret
embraced Tamar with tears, saying, "Methinks I am rejoiced that there is
no one likely to claim my precious one from me;" whilst the Laird
exclaimed, "I am not in the least convinced. The gipsy has no doubt some
scheme of her own in view. She is afraid of being found out, and
transported for child-stealing; but I wish I could see her, to tell her
that I no more believe my palm-tree to have sprung from the briers of
the Egyptian wilderness, than that I am not at this moment the Laird
of Dymock."
"Lord help you, nephew!" said Mrs. Margaret, "if poor dear Tamar's
noble birth has not more substantial foundation than your lairdship, I
believe that she must be content as she is,--the adopted daughter of a
poor spinster, who has nothing to leave behind her but a few bales of
old clothes."
"Contented, my mother," said Tamar, bursting into tears, "could I be
contented if taken from you?"
Thus the affair of the gipsy passed off. The Laird, indeed, talked of
raising the country to catch the randy quean; but all these resolutions
were speedily forgotten, and no result ensued from this alarm, but that
which Almighty power produced from it in the mind of Tamar, by making
her more anxious to draw the minds of her patrons to religion.
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