“My father would not do but what he thought he must. He is poor, though I never thought him so poor as this; and I daresay he would like to see me settled before he goes. It is the black settling when I’m cried in the kirk before I’m courted.”
“They can never marry you against your will,” said Gilian in a dull, lifeless way, as if he had no great belief in what he laid forth.
“And that would be true,” she said, “if I had a friend in the whole countryside. I have not one except——”
He flushed and waited, and so did she expectantly, thinking he would make the fervent protest most lads would do under the same circumstances. But in the moment’s pause he could not find the words for his profound feeling.
“Except old Elasaid, the nurse on the Kames moor,” she continued.
“Oh, her!” said he lamely.
“There’s no one else I could think of.”
“Look at me,” he cried; “look at me; am I not your true friend? I will do anything in the world for you.” But he still went on torturing himself with his bramble branch, the most insensible of lovers.
She was annoyed at his want of the commonest courage or tact. “John Hielan’man! John Hielan’-man!” she said inwardly, trying a little coquetry of the downcast eyes to tempt him. For now she was desolate that she almost loved this gawky youth throbbing in sympathy with her tribulation.
“I believe you are my true friend, I believe you arc my true friend, and there is no one else,” she said, blushing now with no coquetry, and if he had not been a fool and his fate against him, he might at a hand’s movement or a word have had her in his arms. The word to say was sounding loud and strong within him; he took her (only, alas! in fancy) to his breast, but what was she the wiser?