On the Saturday evening when she expected her son's visit, she was seated with her knitting on a chair in front of her cottage. She was in high spirits, and anticipated with great pleasure the discussing with Gilbert all the details of taking possession of Sunnybrae. Soon she saw him in the distance coming striding through the pasture land. Still working at her stocking, she went down the face of the hill to meet him. But when he drew near, instead of that jubilant smile which she had expected to see on his face, there was a look of depression.
"Gilbert," she exclaimed, "what's wrang? Something has happened. Ye canna hide it from yer mither. Tell me at ance."
He told her; and with a cry of lamentation she dropped on the ground and sat there, wringing her hands and bemoaning her fate: "what hae I dune, what hae I dune, to be afflickit in this way—blow after blow—blow after blow—and after slavin' and starvin' and savin'. But that man (what's his name?) canna hae swallowed the siller. He maun hae spent it on some folk. They should be socht oot and made to pay it back."
Strang thought it best not to answer his mother, but to allow her to give vent to her feelings. Then raising her gently up, taking her by the arm, and telling her that she must come and give him a cup of tea, as he was ready to faint, he led her into her cottage. It was a poor place, but the care which had been taken to make it comfortable in honour of his coming touched his heart. A clear fire was burning behind the two iron bars that served for a grate. The cracked hearthstone and rough earthen floor had been swept and whitened. The most was made of the scanty bits of furniture, the wreck of her former household; and everything was clean and in its proper place. A snowy cloth covered the frail round table; the marriage china was arranged in order; his favourite brambleberry jam was in a glass dish; his favourite buttered toast simmered before the fire; and the only armchair in the house was placed for him in his favourite chimney-corner.
Wiping her eyes occasionally, and moaning "Oh dear," she poured out a cup of tea for him; but refused to take any herself, and sat rocking herself to and fro. Then came another outburst, "Why did ye ever trust that man? I'm sure I tellt ye weel aboot 'im."
"Mother, mother," he said in a deprecating tone, "hoo can ye say so? Ye never did."
"That I did," she moaned out. "But ye never listen to what I say. Nae wonder ye forget."
Strang saw that reasoning would do no good; and so he sat silent while she continued to give vent to her feelings. And to his great relief, a knock came to the door, and a gentleman, well-dressed and well-mannered, entered.
"Mr Strang, I presume," he said. "I must beg your pardon for intruding. I called at Pitlour, and they sent me on here."
Catching fresh alarm, and seeing in this visit a continuation of the coil of troubles in which they had got involved, the mother cried out, "Oh sir! what are ye gaun to dae wi' 'im?"