‘Ay! ye may greet,’ said the Queen of the Cadgers, ‘ye’ve plenty to greet for! Was there ever a lad like Whanland?’
Cecilia could not speak for sobs; when the barriers of such a nature as hers are broken down there is no power that can stay the flood.
‘He thocht the world o’ you,’ continued Granny, folding her arms; ‘there was naething braw eneuch for you wi’ him. There wasna mony that kent him as weel as a’ kent him. He didna say verra muckle, but it was sair to see him.’
‘Granny! Granny! have pity!’ cried Cecilia, ‘I cannot bear this! Oh, you don’t understand! I love him with all my heart and I shall never see him again. You are so cruel, Granny Stirk—where are the reins? I am going now.’
Blind with her tears, she groped about in the horse’s mane.
‘What ailed ye to let him awa’ then?’ exclaimed the old woman, laying her hand on the bridle.
‘I could not help it. I cannot tell you, Granny, but I had to give him up. Don’t ask me—I was obliged to give him up though I loved him better than anything in the world. It was not my fault; he knew it. I am so miserable—so miserable!’
‘An’ you that’s to be married to the Laird o’ Fullarton’s nephew!’ cried Granny Stirk.
‘I wish I were dead,’ sobbed Cecilia.
Though Granny knew nothing of the tangle in which her companion was held, she knew something of life and she knew real trouble when she saw it. Her fierceness against her was turned into a dawning pity. How any woman could give up a man she loved was a mystery to her, and how any woman could give up the Laird of Whanland, incomprehensible. But the ways of the gentry were past finding out.