“The poor gairden’s going to rack and ruin, lassie,” said McCray; “and just as I was going to make such improvements and alterations! But Sir Mooray says I’m not to let either of the ither sairvants go to him; and I believe he frightened that loon in the breeches, because he would take in the letters.”
“But he sha’n’t frighten me,” said Jane, firmly. “I’ll never leave the child, come what may.”
“Dinna fash yersel’, darling,” said McCray, tenderly. “I’ve got the wages and orders of six more that are to be sent away at once, but ye’re nae one of them. Sir Mooray winna discharge ye till he packs me off.”
“Indeed!” said Jane. “And how do you know?”
“Why, we’ve been talking aboot ye, lassie; and Sir Mooray said he had made up his mind to go abroad again, and asked me if I’d gang wi’ him; and though it cut me to the heart to leave my fruit and flowers, lassie, I thocht I’d see new sorts in the far countree, and I said I’d gang.”
“It didn’t fret you, then, to think of leaving me?” said Jane, bitterly.
“Hoot, lassie! and who’s aboot to gang and leave ye?” exclaimed McCray. “Sir Mooray said I was to see and get a good nurse to tak’ charge of the bairn—one as would go abroad; and I telled him he couldna do better than keep ye, when I thocht he was going to fly at me. But I telled him, quite still like, that we’d promised to marry, and that if he didna tak’ ye, lassie, he wadna tak’ me; and that seemed to make him mad for a bit, till I telled him that ye lo’ed weel the bairn, and that ye were a gude girl at heart. But he wadna listen.”
“Was it to be a good place, Alexander?” said Jane.
“Ay, lassie; I was to have a fair bit o’ siller.”
“Then you mustn’t give it up for me.”