“‘Helen,’ said I, ‘when did Willie Meldrum find opportunities to gain your heart? I never saw him in the house in my life.’
“‘Oh, sir!’ said she, ‘gin I could hae bidden in the house, he wad never hae seen me either; but I was forced to walk out wi’ the bairns, and there was nae place sae quiet and out o’ the gate, but Willie was sure to find me out. If I gaed down the burn, Willie was aye fishing; if I gaed up the loan, there was aye something to be dune about the kye. At the kirk door, Willie was aye at hand to spier for your honour, and gie the bairns posies; and after our sair distress, when I was little out for mony a day, I couldna slip out ae moonlight night, to sit a moment upon Jeanie’s grave, but Willie was there like a ghaist aside me, and made my very heart loup to my mouth!’
“‘And do you return his good-will, Helen?’ said I, gravely.
“‘Oh, sir,’ said the poor thing, trembling, ‘I darena tell you a lie. I tried to be as proud and as shy as a lassie should be to ane abune her degree, and that might do sae muckle better, puir fallow! I tried to look anither gate when I saw him, and mak mysel deaf when he spoke o’ his love; but oh! his words were sae true and kindly, that I doubt mine werena aye sae short and saucy as they sud hae been. It’s hard for a tocherless, fatherless lassie to be cauldrife to the lad that wad tak her to his heart and hame; but oh! it wad be harder still, if she was to requite him wi’ a father’s curse! It’s ill eneuch to hae nae parents o’ my ain, without makin’ mischief wi’ ither folk’s. The auld man gets dourer and dourer ilka day, and the young ane dafter and dafter—sae ye maun just send me aff the country to some decent service, till Willie’s a free man, or a bridegroom.’
“‘My dear Helen,’ said I, ‘you are a good upright girl, and I will forward your honest intentions. If it be God’s will that Willie and you come together, the hearts of men are in His hand. If otherwise, yours will never at least reproach you with bringing ruin on your lover’s head.’
“So I sent Helen, Mr Francis, to my brother’s in the south country, where she proved as great a blessing and as chief a favourite as she had been with us. I saw her some months afterwards; and though her bloom had not returned, she was tranquil and contented, as one who has cast her lot into the lap of Heaven.
“Well, to make a long story short, Willie, though he was unreasonable enough, good, worthy lad as he is, to take in dudgeon Helen’s going away (though he might have guessed it was all for his good), was too proud, or too constant, to say he would give her up, or bind himself never to marry her, as his father insisted. So the old man, one day, after a violent altercation, made his will, and left all his hard-won siller to a rich brother in Liverpool, who neither wanted nor deserved it. Willie, upon this quarrel, had left home very unhappy, and stayed away some time, and during his absence old Blinkbonnie was taken extremely ill. When he thought himself dying, he sent for me (I had twice called in vain before), and you may be sure I did my best not to let him depart in so unchristian a frame towards his only child. I did not deny his right to advise his son in the choice of a wife; but I told him he might search the world before he found one more desirable than Helen, whose beauty and sense would secure his son’s steadiness, and her frugality and sobriety double his substance. I told him how she had turned a deaf ear to all his son’s proposals of a clandestine marriage and made herself the sacrifice to his own unjust and groundless prejudices. Dying men are generally open to conviction; and I got a fresh will made in favour of his son, with a full consent to his marriage honourably inserted among its provisions. This he deposited with me, feeling no great confidence in the lawyer who had made his previous settlement, and desired me to produce it when he was gone.
“It so happened that I was called to a distance before his decease, and did not return till some days after the funeral. Willie had flown home on hearing of his father’s danger, and had the comfort to find him completely softened, and to receive from his nearly speechless parent many a silent demonstration of returned affection. It was, therefore, a doubly severe shock to him, on opening the first will (the only one forthcoming in my absence), to find himself cut off from everything, except the joint lease of the farm, and instead of five thousand pounds, not worth a shilling in the world. His first exclamation, I was told, was, ‘It’s hard to get baith scorn and skaith—to lose baith poor Helen and the gear. If I had lost it for her, they might hae ta’en it that likit!’
“About a week after, I came home and found on my table a letter from Helen. She had heard of Willie’s misfortune, and in a way the most modest and engaging, expressed herself ready, if I thought it would still be acceptable, to share his poverty and toil with him through life. ‘I am weel used to work,’ said she, ‘and, but for you, wad hae been weel used to want. If Willie will let me bear a share o’ his burden, I trust in God we may warsle through thegither; and, to tell you the truth,’ added she, with her usual honesty, ‘I wad rather things were ordered as they are, than that Willie’s wealth should shame my poverty.’
“I put this letter in one pocket, and his father’s will in the other, and walked over to Blinkbonnie. Willie was working with the manly resolution of one who has no other resource. I told him I was glad to see him so little cast down.