This was accordingly done, and as Mary sat close by the window, and gasping for breath, an unseen hand threw a small package into her lap.
“Dear sirs, Mary,” said Dame Seton, “open up the bit parcel, bairn; it will be a present frae your Uncle Sandie; it’s a queer way o’ gieing it, but he ne’er does things like ony ither body.” The bridal guests gathered round Mary as she slowly undid fold after fold. “Hech!” observed Dame Seton, “it maun be something very precious to be in such sma’ bouk.” The words were scarcely uttered when the half of a gold ring lay in Mary’s hand.
“Where has this come frae?” exclaimed Mary, wringing her hands. “Has the dead risen to upbraid me?”
“No, Mary, but the living has come to claim you,” cried the young sailor, as he vaulted through the open window, and caught her in his arms.
“Oh, Willie, Willie, where hae ye been a’ this weary time?” exclaimed Mary, while the tears fell on her pale cheek.
“That’s a tale for another day,” answered the sailor; “I can think of nothing but joy while I haud you to my breast, which you will never leave mair.”
“There will be twa words to that bargain, my joe,” retorted Dame Seton. “Let go my bairn, and gang awa wi’ ye; she’s trysted to be this honest man’s wife, and his wife she shall be.”
“Na, na, mistress,” said the bridegroom, “I hae nae broo o’ wedding another man’s joe: since Willie Fleming has her heart, he may e’en tak her hand for me.”
“Gude save us,” cried the farmer, shaking the young sailor by the hand, “little did I ken wha I was speaking to on the top of the coach. I say, guidwife,” he continued, “ye maun just let Willie tak her; nae gude e’er yet come o’ crossing true love.”
“’Deed, that’s a truth,” was answered by several bonny bridesmaids. Dame Seton, being deserted by her allies, and finding the stream running so strongly against her, at length gave an unwilling consent to the marriage of the lovers, which was celebrated amidst general rejoicings; and at the request of his bride, Willie, on his wedding-day, attired himself in the clothes which the moths had so considerately spared for the happy occasion.