"That remark, Effie," said Lewis, "implies that I have courted, or at least received marks of affection, from others besides you, while I was leading you to suppose that my heart was entirely yours. Now, that is not justified by what I said; for one may have sweethearts, and neither know nor acknowledge them as such."
"Maybe I am wrang, Lewie," said Effie; "but what was I to think but that the twa ither sweethearts ye mentioned were acknowledged by ye? It's no in the pooer o' my puir heart to conceive how a young woman could love are that neither kenned nor acknowledged her love. But I speak frae my ain simple, an' maybe worthless thoughts. The world's wide, an' haulds black an' fair, weak an' strong, heigh and laigh; an' wharfore no also hearts an' minds as different as their bodies? The birds o' this haugh hae only their ain single luves; but they're a' coloured alike that belang to ae kind. Would that it had been God's pleasure to mak mankind like thae bonny birds!"
"I fear, Effie," replied Lewis, "that a statement of mine, intended to be partly in jest, has been construed by you in such a manner as to produce to you pain. God is my witness that I am as single-hearted in my affection as the birds of this haugh; and gaudier colours, sweeter notes, and better scented bowers will never interfere with the love I bear to Effie Mearns."
"What meant ye, then, Lewie, by sayin ye had twa sweethearts besides Effie Mearns?" said she.
"That you shall immediately know," replied Lewis "and you will think more highly of me when I shew you, by my revealing secrets, not indeed confided to me, but still secrets, that you have all my heart and the thoughts that it contains. The first of my other lovers you will not be jealous of, for she is old Lizzy Buchanan, or, as she calls herself, Buwhanan, my nurse, who loves me as well as you do, Effie; but the other, I fear, may create in you an unpleasant feeling of confidence misplaced, and friendship repaid by something like treachery. Surely I need say no more."
"Is it indeed sae, Lewie?" said she. "It's lang sin I whispered—and my heart beat and my limbs trembled as I did it—in the ear o' Lucy Cherrytrees, that my puir, silly thoughts were never aff Lewie Campbell. And what think ye she said to me? She said I needna look far ayont Bramblehaugh for a bonnier and a brawer lover."
"Then," replied Lewis, "I am not much better off than you are; for she told me that your simplicity, she feared, was art, and that your poverty made any beauty you had; and she doubted if that bonny face was not a great snare for the ruin of a penniless lover."
"Sae, sae," said she, sighing deeply; "and has the fair face o' life's friendship put on the looks o' the hypocrite at the very time when greater confidence was required? I hae read in Laird Cherrytrees' books he is sae kind as lend me, many an example o' fause and faithless creatures, baith men and women, o' the world, o' the great cities that lie far ayont oor humble sphere; but little did I think that here in Bramblehaugh, where our bughts ken nae nicht-thieves, and our hen-roosts nae reynards, there was ane, and that ane my friend, wha could smile in my face at the very moment she was tryin to ruin me in the eyes o' ane wha is dearest to me on earth."
As she thus poured forth her feelings with greater loquacity than she generally exhibited—being for the most part quiet and gentle—the tears flowed down her cheeks in great profusion, and she sobbed bitterly, in spite of all the efforts of Lewis to satisfy her that Lucy's endeavours to lessen her in his estimation were entirely fruitless.
"Apprehend nothing, dear Effie, from the discovered treachery of a false friend," said he, as he pressed her to his bosom. "It has less power with me than the whispers of that gentle burn have on the sleeping echoes of the Eagle's Rock that only answers to the voice of the tempest."