"Oh, my bairn, I canna promise. The dear lass wi' me has nae kin left to her; and if she twines hersel about my auld heart, I canna thrust her aside for anither. It was but the morn that my silly fancy was imagining the times again settled, and yoursel hame and weel; but never mind what I was about to say. Effie is a gude, gentle soul, and helpfu' witha'; and should it be that we hae peace granted to us, ye will see that I can love Effie weel, although I love anither lass as mickle."
This is word for word what Bessie told me more than two years afterwards; but two years afterwards was not then. No, no; and how much of sorrow was yet to be crowded into those two years is my painful task to relate.
There were no more real battles after that of Bothwell Bridge, but only skirmishes, where a few on both sides met by accident or otherwise.
I will now leave off telling what happened throughout the country, and relate what more particularly concerned myself and my friends.
Steenie, as you may know from what I have said, was like the apple of my eye. I liked not to think the time might come when another would have a deeper hold on his affections; and I persuaded myself that this would never be. But, like it or not, it was all the same thing in the end. When Janet McAdam's father was shot, Steenie's heart went over to his orphan daughter with one great bound, and his sister was never to be the same to him as before. I always thought that his love for Janet was born of pity, for when the trouble came to her she stretched her hands imploringly towards heaven in helpless, hopeless agony; and that meek and mute appeal to the great and good God reached also a brave and loving human heart. But there was cause for admiration as well as pity, for hers was truly a sweet face to look upon. Her eyes closed slowly, and the long, dark, silken lashes fell on her pale cheek, while the sensitive quivering of the mouth showed her great effort to bear up bravely. Many times was it whispered then and there, "See the dear sweet lassie! See the dear smitten lamb!"
But whatever was the first cause of Steenie's love, it was deep and lasting. I did not know his feelings in regard to her till he told me himself. It was wrong, it was selfish, but I liked Janet less from that very moment. I regarded her as an intruder. I turned away with a stony look on my face and a weight at my heart. I did not look at Steenie, but I felt that his eyes were following me. I knew there was entreaty in them, but I would not listen to the voice within me, "You are wrong, Effie." He told me he had already made known to her his love; so there was nothing for me to do but submit to unkind fate, as I in my blindness thought. I had pictured Steenie always living with mother and me, with peace and plenty restored to us. I thought that together we would soothe the declining years of our aged parent; together we would read and walk, as in past days.
Steenie told me that I also was beloved. I gave him no reply. I did not then know that I could feel love beyond that which I cherished for my brother, and I thought he said this that I might grieve less for his companionship. I was offended, and for the first time in my life I parted from my brother with coldness.
Six months passed, during which we seldom met. At the end of that time Steenie was married. The ceremony was performed quietly, and even secretly, at Bessie McDougal's house.
I was still displeased, although I made a faint show of affection for my new sister; but it was so unreal that neither my mother nor Steenie were deceived by it. Janet, in her sweet trustfulness, accepted it. Mother told me I was unreasonable; but I said it was Steenie who was unreasonable—to marry when death stared him in the face; but certain it is that was not the cause of my opposition to the marriage.