“Not alone, Robert, while you have your—bairns—and me.” She feared to call his attention to herself in the midst of his grief, lest he might revile her for standing between him and happiness; but he did not hear.
“Oh, Jean, how can I take up the burden of life again?” he cried weakly, clinging to her hand with despairing strength. It thrilled her strangely to feel the grasp of his hand, to feel his weakness, his sudden dependence, the appeal in his dark, mournful eyes raised to hers so pitifully; she knelt beside him and drew his head down on her heaving bosom.
“Ye must be brave,” she told him, her voice trembling with a new-found happiness, a sudden joy. He needed her now, needed her love and care more than ever. Then she continued softly, her voice vibrating with thrilling intensity, “Ye have much to live for yet, lad. Ye must be strong, ye must be brave. Pluck up your courage! I’ll help ye.”
He looked at her wonderingly, then he slowly bowed his head. “Yes, Jean,” he said humbly, “I will be strong; I’ll try to be brave.”
She helped him to his chamber, and placed him beside the window, where he could no longer watch the road, and left him. For a while he gazed out over the fields in apathetic calm, his mind a blank. Across the field he could see Souter Johnny at work in his garden. Suddenly he straightened up and listened. Souter was singing.
“O where, an’ O where is my Highland laddie gone?”
came the old cracked voice. He closed his eyes wearily, but he could not shut out the sound.
“Oh, Mary, my lost Highland Mary,” he whispered under his breath.
THE END