“I see ye are no for assisting me, Laird,” said Jeanie, “sae fare ye weel—and gang and see my poor father as aften as ye can—he will be lonely eneugh now.”
“Where is the silly bairn gaun?” said Dumbiedikes; and, laying hold of her hand, he led her into the house. “It’s no that I didna think o’t before,” he said, “but it stack in my throat.”
Thus speaking to himself, he led her into an old-fashioned parlour, shut the door behind them, and fastened it with a bolt. While Jeanie, surprised at this manoeuvre, remained as near the door as possible, the Laird quitted her hand, and pressed upon a spring lock fixed in an oak panel in the wainscot, which instantly slipped aside. An iron strong-box was discovered in a recess of the wall; he opened this also, and pulling out two or three drawers, showed that they were filled with leathern bags full of gold and silver coin.
“This is my bank, Jeanie lass,” he said, looking first at her and then at the treasure, with an air of great complacency,—“nane o’ your goldsmith’s bills for me,—they bring folk to ruin.”
Then, suddenly changing his tone, he resolutely said,—“Jeanie, I will make ye Lady Dumbiedikes afore the sun sets and ye may ride to Lunnon in your ain coach, if ye like.”
“Na, Laird,” said Jeanie, “that can never be—my father’s grief—my sister’s situation—the discredit to you—”
“That’s my business,” said Dumbiedikes; “ye wad say naething about that if ye werena a fule—and yet I like ye the better for’t—ae wise body’s eneugh in the married state. But if your heart’s ower fu’, take what siller will serve ye, and let it be when ye come back again—as gude syne as sune.”
“But, Laird,” said Jeanie, who felt the necessity of being explicit with so extraordinary a lover, “I like another man better than you, and I canna marry ye.”
“Another man better than me, Jeanie!” said Dumbiedikes; “how is that possible? It’s no possible, woman—ye hae ken’d me sae lang.”
“Ay but, Laird,” said Jeanie, with persevering simplicity, “I hae ken’d him langer.”