Delighted with the intelligence of their arrival, which soon reached him, Francis, carefully however concealing his intention from his father, stole down to the gipsy encampment, where, as he expected, he found his beloved Rosie, to see whom, indeed, was the chief, if not the sole object of his visit. The joy of the lovers at meeting—for they had not seen or heard of each other since they parted on the day of the adventure on the Tweed—need not be dwelt upon, as it was exactly what is usual in such cases; but other circumstances arose from this interview which it may be more worth while to record.
“My father,” said Francis, addressing Rosie, as they sat together on a green bank, at a little distance from the gipsy encampment, “has set his face against our marriage. He has said that in nothing will he oppose me, but in that. But that, if I disobey him there, well as he loves me, he will disinherit me, and leave me penniless. ‘Marry a gipsy girl,’ he said, ‘and bring disgrace upon your connections! Never, never, with my consent.’ Ha! ha!” exclaimed Francis, contemptuously, “little does he know, honest man, what a trifle all his wealth and all his possessions are, and would be, were they ten times greater, when put into the scale against such love as mine for thee, Rosie. He may keep his wealth, for I will marry——”
“The Laird o’ Upha’s dochter,” suddenly struck in Jean Gordon, who had now approached the lovers, unperceived. “Ay, the Laird o’ Upha’s dochter,” she repeated. “She’ll be yer wife, Francis. Winna she?”
“No, indeed, Jean, not her, whoever she be,” said Francis, laughingly, and flinging his arms affectionately around Rosie’s neck. “Not her, but my own sweet, dark-eyed gipsy girl here—your daughter, Jean.”
“The Laird o’ Upha’s dochter, I tell ye, ye’ll marry, nevertheless, Francis. Not mine; for I hae nane. Yer faither ’ll then hae nae objection to yer linkin to, I’m thinkin; for a weel-tochered lass she’ll be—an’ o’ gentle bluid has she come.”
From this point, the little that now remains of our story will be best conducted to its termination, by plain and concise narrative. Francis and Rosie now learned, with, overwhelming amazement, that the latter was indeed a daughter of Maitland of Uphall’s, an old and highly respectable family, and not of Jean Gordon’s; and that she had been stolen in her infancy by the gang with which she was now associated. Jean, also, now informed them that she had already announced at Uphall that their daughter still lived, and had accompanied this announcement by a promise to restore her within three days to her parents.
The circumstance of Rosie’s real parentage, Francis lost no time in communicating to his father, who heard it at first with incredulity; but promised that, if the facts were found to be as stated, he would not only withdraw his objections to their marriage, but would do all in his power to promote it.
To this, we have only to add, that the identity of Rosie having been proven to Uphall’s entire satisfaction, he acknowledged her as his child, and soon after gave his consent to her union to Francis Riddel, who had been equally expeditious, as in the case of his own father, in informing him of his claims on his daughter.
The lovers were accordingly married, and lived many happy years together, filling a highly respectable station in society, and esteemed by all who knew them for the strict propriety of their conduct in all the relations of life.
They left sons and daughters, who inherited their wealth, which was very considerable, but none of whom ever experienced, so far as ever we heard, any of their vicissitudes.