“Are there not any other letters from Saint Louis?” inquired Lucy, colouring slightly.
“There’s nane, my bonny young leddy,” replied David, “excepting twa, ane frae auld Miller, to acknowledge the receipt o’ the last ten barrels o’ saut pork that I sent him, and anither frae Reuben Stiggs, wha keeps the great outfitting store for trappers, to order an early freight o’ blankets, bibles, religious tracts, scalp–knifes, and whisky, for the Indian trade.”
In spite of her disappointment, Lucy could not forbear smiling at the gravity with which the merchant enumerated this strange mixture of goods ordered for a warehouse, to which the missionary and the trapper both resorted for their respective supplies.
The dinner passed agreeably enough; and Jessie Muir having soon recovered from the diffident shyness by which she had been at first overcome, amused Lucy and Aunt Mary by her quiet, but shrewd, observations on persons and things in Marietta; while the merchant enjoyed, with evident satisfaction, several glasses from a certain bottle of madeira, which he knew to have been for some years deposited in his own warehouse.
As soon as dinner was over, the ladies retired to Lucy’s boudoir, where she examined the contents of the packages which Jessie had brought for her inspection, while Colonel Brandon looked over the letters and papers from St. Louis. These proved to be of considerable importance, as they announced that all the points in dispute with the other fur company had been satisfactorily arranged, and that his own shares, as well as those in which Ethelston’s property was chiefly invested, had risen greatly in value. During the perusal of this correspondence the Colonel spoke from time to time familiarly and unreservedly with his companion. He had learnt from Lucy the attachment that existed between Henry Gregson and the merchant’s daughter, and had formed an internal resolution to contribute to its successful issue by advancing to the young man a sum sufficient to enable him either to enter into partnership with the merchant, or to commence business on his own account; but it was not his intention to develope this scheme until he had spoken with the elder Gregson; wherefore, he contented himself for the present with sounding the merchant in vague and general terms respecting the disposal of his daughter’s hand.
“My good friend,” said the Colonel, “now that we have despatched our business, it occurs to me that I ought to remind you of a circumstance which may not yet have entered your thoughts, namely, that your daughter Jessie is grown up to be a very pretty, sensible, and discreet young woman, and that having no son of your own, you ought to seek for her a worthy husband, who might hereafter aid her in comforting the declining years of Dame Christie and yourself.”
During this address the merchant fidgeted on his chair, and betrayed other evident symptoms of uneasiness; but he made no reply, and the Colonel continued: “I think I know of a young man who has long entertained an attachment for her; and, if I am not mistaken, Miss Jessie would be more likely to smile than to frown upon his suit. Feeling myself not a little interested in his future prospects, I should, if Mrs. Muir and yourself approve the match, willingly contribute, as far as lies in my power, to their comfortable settlement.”
“Really, Colonel Brandon, ye’re vera kind, I can no’ fin’ words to thank ye,” stammered David, who seemed to have lost his self–possession; and before he could recover it so far as to make any distinct reply, Lucy came into the room; and taking the Colonel’s arm, looked up affectionately into his face, saying, “Dear father, you have given enough time now to business; come into my room and hear one of Jessie’s Scotch songs. I have just been listening to one which was written, as she tells me, by Robert Burns; it is so simple and so beautiful, she has promised to sing it over again for you.”
The Colonel smiled, and followed his daughter, saying to the merchant as they left the room, “We will speak further on that subject the next time that we meet.”
As soon as the little party was assembled in the boudoir, Colonel Brandon entreated Jessie Muir to fulfil her promise of singing again the song which had given so much pleasure to his daughter. Blushing slightly, Jessie complied, and sung, in a voice of much natural sweetness, and without accompaniment:—