“While Jeanie was striving to look in the direction which the woman pointed out, and could na’ see through the tears that blinded her e’e, the driver jumped down from the cart, and asked the puir girl where he should leave her trunks, as it was getting late, and he must be off.
“‘You need not bring these big chests in here,’ said Mrs. Robertson; ‘I have no room in my house for strangers and their luggage.’
“‘Your house!’ gasped Jeanie, catching her arm. ‘Did you na’ tell me that he lived here?—and whereever Willie Robertson bides Jeanie Burns sud be a welcome guest. Tell him,’ she continued, trembling all ower, for she told me afterward that there was something in the woman’s look and tone that made the cold chills run to her heart, ‘that an auld friend from Scotland has jist came off a lang, wearisome journey to see him.’
“‘You may speak for yourself!’ cried the woman angrily, ‘for my husband is now coming down the clearing.’
“The word husband was scarcely out o’ her mouth than puir Jeanie fell as ane dead across the doorstep.
“The driver lifted up the unfortunate girl, carried her into the cabin, and placed her in a chair, regardless of the opposition of Mrs. Robertson, whose jealousy was now fairly aroused, and who declared that the bold huzzie should not enter her doors.
“It was a long time before the driver succeeded in bringing Jeanie to herself, and she had only just unclosed her eyes when Willie came in.
“‘Wife,’ he said, ‘whose cart is this standing at the door, and what do these people want here?’
“‘You know best,’ cried the angry woman, bursting into tears; ‘that creature is no acquaintance of mine, and if she is suffered to remain here, I will leave the house.’
“‘Forgi’e me, good woman, for having unwittingly offended ye,’ said Jeanie, rising. ‘But, merciful Father! how sud I ken that Willie Robertson, my ain Willie, had a wife? Oh, Willie!’ she cried, covering her face in her hands, to hide all the agony that was in her heart, ‘I ha’ come a lang way, as’ a weary to see ye, an’ ye might ha’ spared me the grief—the burning shame o’ this. Farewell, Willie Robertson!—I will never mair trouble ye nor her wi’ my presence, but this cruel deed of yours has broken my heart!’