“Oh, Christine, how sweet and good you are! I’m afraid I am not worthy o’ your love!”
“Vera likely you are not. Few brothers love their 54 sisters as they ought to. It willna be lang before you’ll do like the lave o’ them, and put some strange lass before me.”
“There’s nae lass living that can ever be to me what you hae been, and are. You hae been mother and sister baith, to me.”
“Dear lad, I love thee with a’ my heart. All that is mine, is thine, for thy use and help, and between thee and me the word and the bond are the same thing.”
Christine was much pleased because Neil unconsciously had fallen into his Scotch dialect. She knew then that his words were spontaneous, not of consideration, but of feeling from his very heart.
In a week the change contemplated had been fully accomplished. Neil had become accustomed to the luxury of his new home, and was making notable progress in the work which had brought him there.
Twice during the week Margot had been made royally happy by large baskets of wonderful flowers and fruit, from the Ballister gardens. They were brought by the Ballister gardener, and came with Neil’s love and name, but Margot had some secret thoughts of her own. She suspected they were the result of a deeper and sweeter reason than a mere admiration for her wonderful little garden among the rocks; but she kept such thoughts silent in her heart. One thing she knew well, that if Christine were twitted on the subject, she would hate Angus 55 Ballister, and utterly refuse to see him. So she referred to the gifts as entirely from Neil, and affected a little anxiety about their influence on Ballister.
“I hope that young man isna thinking,” she said, “that his baskets o’ flowers and fruit is pay enough for Neil’s service.”
“Mither, he promised to pay Neil.”
“To be sure. But I didna hear o’ any fixed sum. Some rich people hae a way o’ giving sma’ favors, and forgetting standing siller.”