“I know—I know,” said Jane, sadly; “but please don’t talk to me now.”
“Weel, weel, I know that your puir heart’s sair yet, lassie, and I won’t talk aboot sic things; but talk to ye I must, aboot something.”
“You’re as bad as a woman, Mr McCray,” said Jane, pettishly.
“I only wish I was half as good as one woman I ken,” said Sandy, gallantly. “But hoot, lassie, I’m glad to see the Squire’s coming round. He brought her leddyship with him into the garden yestreen, and told her he’d make me the head-gairdener, and the puir thing leuked as bright and happy as could be; and, dye ken, lassie, I think we’re going to hae bright times again at the Castle, and I’m aboot setting things reet, and I’ll be as busy as busy, day after day; but ye’ll see me a bit o’ nichts?”
“Did Sir Murray speak kindly to her ladyship?” said Jane anxiously.
“Kind! ay,” said Sandy; “and she turned to him directly, and laid her hand upon his arm, and they strolled off together behind the bushes, and he passed his arm round her—so, Jenny—and stooped him down, and kissed her—just as I’m showing of ye—there, just on her bonnie cheek, like that; for they didna ken I could see.”
As Sandy McCray gave his description with illustrations, Jane started angrily away.
“Nay, lassie, gude save us, she didna do so, for she turned her bonnie face up to his, and looked sae loving and airnest in his e’e, that it was quite a sight. And, Jenny, lassie, ain’t ye glad I’m head-gairdener noo. I dinna care myself, but I thought ye’d be glad.”
“McCray,” exclaimed Jane, earnestly, as she came once more closer to him, “you’re a good and true-hearted man, and I’m not worthy of you.”
“Hoot—hoot! lassie; haud that clap.”