“How can I go through the town, or even the village, in this dress? You will hae to go for me.”
“I will go to the Domine. It is impossible for me to go and buy a man’s full suit at Finlay’s. He is a great talker. He wad want to ken why and wherefore I was buying a man’s suit—you ought to think o’ this, Neil. I’ll ask Norman to go.”
“Norman will hae to tell that silly fool he married.”
“Then I had better go to the Domine. He willna cheep o’ the matter to anyone. Keep the doors bolted while I am awa’, and go to your own old room. It is a’ ready for you.”
Only half satisfied with these arrangements, he went fretfully to bed, and Christine went as quickly as she could to the manse. The Domine listened to her story with an air of annoyance. “I know Neil’s story,” he said, “and he has told it as far as his telling goes, as truthfully as I expected. I am not so sure about his need of money, the clothing is different. I will send over what is necessary, and call in the afternoon and see him.”
“Dinna be cross wi’ the lad, Sir. He is sair 328 broken down,” and suddenly Christine covered her face and began to cry with almost a child’s complete surrender to circumstances. The Domine soothed her as he would have soothed a child, and she said, “Forgie me, Sir, I had to give way. It is a’ by now. I’m not a crying woman, you know that, Sir.”
“I do, and I am the more angry at those who compel you to seek the relief of tears. But I’ll be as patient as I can with Neil, for your sake, and for his father’s and mother’s sake.”
So Christine returned and Neil was difficult to awaken, but he heard her finally, and opened the door, in a half-asleep condition. “So the Domine refused you?” he said—“I thought he would.”
“He did not refuse me. He will send, or bring, what you need, later.”
“You should hae brought them with you, Christine. I dislike to be seen in these disreputable rags. You should hae thought o’ that.”