“Ye ken why I am unhappy, Souter Johnny,” answered Mary apathetically. He sighed and remained silent.
“Have ye an’ Robert quarreled?” he asked presently.
“No,” she answered sadly.
“Weel, come tell old Souter; it may ease your mind, lassie,” and he drew her plaid about her shoulders, for the night air was keen.
“Well, ye ken, Souter,” she faltered, a pitiful little break in her voice, “Robbie an’ I were to be married after the plantin’ was o’er, and ’tis noo harvest time, but ne’er a word has he spoke of our marriage since that day. He is so changed, Souter, I—I canna understand him at all,” and she leaned wearily against his shoulder like a tired child.
“That Armour lass is at the bottom of it all, I ken,” thought Souter angrily, drawing her close to him.
“Perhaps,” continued Mary sadly, “perhaps he has grown tired of his Highland Mary.” She plucked idly at the fringe of her plaid, a look of resignation on her sweet face.
“Tired o’ ye?” repeated Souter incredulously. “A man would be a most fearful fool to gie up such a bonnie, sweet lassie as ye are. Noo, if I were only younger, Robbie Burns wouldna hae things all his own way, I tell ye,” and he nodded his head vigorously.
“I ken he has some trouble,” said Mary, not heeding his jocular efforts to cheer her, “that makes him so unhappy like; if he would only let me share that trouble wi’ him, whate’er it is, how gladly I would do it.”