‘Here! Yes. O Tam, dear Tam, if I could do anything!’ cried Arthur.
‘I canna see that well,’ said Tam, with a sound of anxiety. ‘Where’s my sash?’
‘This is it, in your own hand,’ said Arthur, thinking he was wandering, but the other hand sought one of the ample folds, which was sewn over, and weighty.
‘Tak’ it; tak’ tent of it; ye’ll need the siller. Four hunder piastres of Tunis, not countin’ zeechins, and other sma’ coin.’
‘Shall I send them to any one at Eyemouth?’
Tam almost laughed. ‘Na, na; keep them and use them yersell, sir. There’s nane at hame that wad own puir Tam. The leddy, your mither, an’ you hae been mair to me than a’ beside that’s above ground, and what wad ye do wi’out the siller?’
‘O Tam! I owe all and everything to you. And now—’
Tam looked up, as Arthur’s utterance was choked, and a great tear fell on his face. ‘Wha wad hae said,’ murmured he, ‘that a son of Burnside wad be greetin’ for Partan Jeannie’s son?’
‘For my best friend. What have you not saved me from! and I can do nothing!’
‘Nay, sir. Say but thae words again.’