“We have got a roof over our head, Jean,” he interrupted sternly. “We maist keep one over my mother and sister as weel. We will nae starve. There are only £4 due your father. Keep out one for our present needs. Noo go, lass, go.”
Thus commanded, she hurried to the chamber where Gilbert sat in despairing solitude, his head held wearily between his hands, and conveyed to him the glad intelligence. And soon he was speeding furiously over the dusty road toward home, his face aglow with joy and eagerness.
When Jean returned to the room she found Souter and Eppy there gayly chatting with the Duke and Lady Nancy, who were evidently much surprised to find their old friend Eppy at last married.
“I am so glad to see you here, Lady Nancy,” gushed Eppy effusively. “You must come and see us before you return to Edinburgh. I live on the estate adjoining this farm.” He drew the smiling girl to the window and pointed out the beauties of MacDougall House. “He is poor,” she whispered, “but he is of noble birth, a MacDougall of Lorne. Souter!” she called aloud to her husband, who was looking exceedingly important as he stood balancing himself on his toes, his hands behind his back, a look of supreme self-satisfaction on his face, and listening, with an air of blasé indifference, to the conversation between the old Duke and Robert. As he heard his name called he leisurely turned his head in his wife’s direction.
“Souter,” she continued in a tone meant to be careless, but which expressed plainly her feeling of pride, “isn’t it the Marquis of Lorne who is your first cousin?”
“What’s that, Souter?” asked Robert incredulously.
Souter looked around him with a sickly smile. He had not thought to be cornered in this manner, when he had filled his wife’s mind with stories of past grandeur and noble connections, and it made him feel decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassed.
“Er—didna’ ye ken that, Robbie?” he exclaimed with a look of feigned surprise on his reddened face. “Och, yes! By the by, Robbie,” he continued quickly, anxious to change the subject, “we came o’er to tell ye that we are gang to Brow on our honeymoon.” Here Eppy giggled and looked bashfully out of the window. “An’ my wife, Mrs. MacDougall,” with a flourish of the hand in her direction, which elicited another giggle from the lady in question, “has decided that we want ye to gang alang wi’ us.”
Robert looked at him, then at Eppy in speechless surprise. Jean gave a little gasp, and her hand sought her husband’s arm and pressed it with delight.
“Souter,” faltered Robert, “ye’re both doing this out of the kindness of your hearts, but I canna——”