"They were warring for home and freedom!" rejoined Jessie. "To avoid captivity I would fight in the open field in the ranks. And so would you. But the love of liberty is oftener a passion with us mountaineers, than with lowlanders."
She caught her breath strangely—something between a sob and a laugh—which she tried to cover with a cough.
"A sad and ceaseless sigh!"
repeated the haunting demon in Roy's heart.
The hilarious talk went on, unchecked by his occasional fits of abstraction. Jessie was like another being in the anticipation of liberation.
"Heartlessly cheerful!" said Selina, with her usual aptitude for making unlucky observations.
"One would think you two were tired of each other already!" she subjoined. "And you haven't been married more than half a year! I shall tell this to papa. He raved over your mutual attachment and your devoted attentions to Mr. Fordham when he was sick, Jessie!"
"Say, at the same time, that she does not go, of her own accord!" said Roy—"but because I try to be as careful of her health as she was of mine. Although, if you had ever visited Dundee, you would not be scandalized by her desire to revisit it."
Fanny, observing Jessie's quick, hot blush and averted eyes, and divining that something was ajar, came to the relief of the hardly pressed couple.
"Did Jessie ever tell you, Mr. Fordham," she said, in her liveliest tone—"of the astounding poetical effort put forth by her admirer, Mr. Lowndes, the rich student, they used to call him—entitled, 'Jessie the flower o' Dundee'! The graceless youths of his class set it to the good old Scotch tune of that name. It was in a different metre—very uncommon, I believe, and the fun of the joke was in fitting the words in, after the manner of 'Ancient Uncle Edward.' I will get you a copy, and Warren here shall teach you how to sing it."