“Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!”
“We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!”
“Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!” responded Dawtie, turning to her vernacular.
“Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!”
She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes she looked through and beyond his words.
She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed.
“Winna ye, Dawtie?” said Andrew, holding out his hands.
“I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew.”
“Ye h'avenly idiot,” cried Andrew. “Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?”
Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head—straight up, her head fell back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, her arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew taken her.