The good little woman looked at her in some surprise, but Helen’s eyes were cast down, and she could not see the laughter which danced under their lids.
“Ay, Miss Buchanan, it’s a serious thing,” resumed Miss Insches, “for ye see, a minister maunna think about his ain comfort it’s lane, but about what a’body’ll say; for it’s a wonderful thing to me, how a’body does aye find something to say, whatever folk do; and then forbye being a lady—and I aye make a point o’ that—there’s so much needed in a minister’s wife. There’s Robert now—he’s as guid a lad as ever was; but when he’s at his studies, or when he’s dune out wi’ preaching, I’m aye as quiet as poussie—but it’s no every wife that would have that discrimination.”
“No indeed,” echoed the mischievous Helen.
“And then Robert, puir man, he’s aye been used to have his ain way,” said Miss Insches, becoming disconsolate as the thought again entered her mind that Robert must consent to come down from his shrine, and very probably should have his own way no longer: “and I’m sure I dinna ken onybody that deserves’t as weel; for a better lad—”
“Is Mr Insches going to be married?” interrupted Hope.
Miss Insches brightened.
“Weel, I’ll no say—there is a young lady, I ken—she’s very bonnie, though she’s but a young thing, and they have an unco wark with one another. Ye ken he maun make up his mind for himsel—I wouldna take it upon me to advise him to the like o’ that; but I judge he would get na discouragement yonder, and she’s a lady baith by the faither’s side and the mother’s. There’s nae saying what may come to pass in a while; but the noo, Robert’s gaun away to take a jaunt to himsel—he’s just worn out aye at his duty, puir man, and he’s gaun to London.”
“Weel,” added Miss Insches to herself, as she left Mrs Buchanan’s door, “if she ever got the offer of our Robert—maybe she didna—but if she ever did, I kenna what glamour was in the lassie’s e’en, to make her take that muckle dour man when she might have gotten the minister!”
A little mirth, somewhat strange to look upon, was in Mrs Buchanan’s parlour when the minister’s sister left; for Helen laughed, and her laugh had a quivering sound, and tears were in her eyes; and Hope laughed because Helen did, and in triumph, with some perception that there were deeper feelings than mirth in those tears, and Mrs Buchanan smoothed her slightly ruffled brow, and smiled with them, thinking of the time when “Robert” was great and important in her eyes, as well as in those of his sister, as of a troublous, uneasy time, already far away and hidden in the past.
The white dress was completed: they laid its spotless folds on the old sofa where the spring sunshine fell on it gently, and Hope Oswald laid two or three of those small fragrant, deep-blue violets which grew at the door, upon the bridal dress. Pure, simple, hopeful, marking the conclusion of the chequered youth, which, spent in toil and poverty, had yet been bright with the sunshine of heaven. Tenderly Hope Oswald decked it with her violets—gravely the mother looked on; this gentle grasp of joy brought a strange note of sadness out of the young heart and the old, sadness which made them more joyful, and showed that the happiness had reached the depths, and stirred the stillest waters there.