“Perhaps not, Mr. Burnside; but then you would not have ten children—or nine at least; for now Gracie is married she does not count. But oh, I wish we could keep Earl’s-hall! It must be very pleasant to live where everybody knows you, and knows exactly what you are—that is, if you are anybody. Poor Margaret will not like leaving, but then she is a lucky girl; she is an heiress; she has a house of her own; and I dare say she will get very fond of that when she knows it. Do you think I ought to call her Aunt Margaret, Mr. Burnside?”
Effie’s laugh rang out so merrily as she said this, that she checked herself with a little alarm.
“Suppose Aunt Jean should hear me!” she said; and then, after a pause, “Oh! look straight down, straight down under the fir-trees, Mr. Burnside. Oh, this is more interesting than the view! A pair of—”
“Do you think it is quite honorable to look at them?” said Randal. He had a presentiment who it must be.
“Oh, it can’t be anybody we know,” said light-hearted Effie.
Far down in the wood, under the firs, no doubt the lovers felt themselves perfectly safe; but there were treacherous groups of trees, whose branches had been swept in one direction by the wind, laying bare the two who stood beneath. They were standing close together, holding each other’s hands.
“The girl is crying, I think,” said Effie, “and leaning against the man. What can be the matter? can they have quarrelled? and she is all in black, with a thick veil—”
“Come to this side,” said Randal, hastily, “there is a break in the mist. I think I can show you Schehallion.”
“I like this better than Schehallion,” said Effie; and then she started and cried, “O-oh!” with a long breath; and suddenly blushing all over, looked Randal in the face.
“I think Schehallion is much the most interesting to look at,” he said, and, touching her elbow with his hand, endeavored to lead her away. But Effie was too much startled to conceal her wonder and alarm.