“But do you think no one will know?” sobbed Jane.
“That’s just what I do think, my lassie; and if ye’ll promise me, like a good girl, never to have word again with Mr Jock Gurdon, I’ll be up wi’ the dawn, and put the damage reet outside, and then nobody’ll be a bit the wiser.”
“Oh, Mr McCray, how can I ever thank you?” sobbed Jane, catching one of his great hands in hers. “I do promise you, indeed!” And she tried to kiss it.
“Nay—nay, my puir bairn, that’s for me to do.” And he drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead gently and reverently.
“I’m a great, awkward-looking chid, Jenny Barker, but I’ve got a man’s heart in me. Ye’ve been sair deceived, and I don’t blame ye a bit for being true and faithful to your jo; but, now that’s all over, lassie, try and comfort your heart with the thought that there’s another man in the world who, while he loves the ground ye tread on, loves ye, too, sae weel, that he won’t say word more till he can see that it winna be distasteful to ye. And now, good night, bairn. Let me get my spade, and I’ll be off. Keep yer ain counsel, and I’ll keep it too; and ye may depend that Jock Gurdon will never say word about it.”
With a pleasant, quiet smile upon his broad, honest face, Sandy McCray took his spade and turned to go, when Jane laid her hand upon his arm to detain him.
“What is it, bairn?” said Sandy.
“I’m afraid—” whispered Jane, earnestly.
“Afraid? and why?” asked Sandy.
“Afraid those bad men may be watching for you,” whispered Jane.