“That he did not see you at the hour he expected, but required you should meet him alone at Muschat’s Cairn this night, so soon as the moon rises.”
“Tell him,” said Jeanie, hastily, “I shall certainly come.”
“May I ask,” said Butler, his suspicions increasing at the ready alacrity of the answer, “who this man is to whom you are so willing to give the meeting at a place and hour so uncommon?”
“Folk maun do muckle they have little will to do, in this world,” replied Jeanie.
“Granted,” said her lover; “but what compels you to this?—who is this person? What I saw of him was not very favourable—who, or what is he?”
“I do not know,” replied Jeanie, composedly.
“You do not know!” said Butler, stepping impatiently through the apartment—“You purpose to meet a young man whom you do not know, at such a time, and in a place so lonely—you say you are compelled to do this—and yet you say you do not know the person who exercises such an influence over you!—Jeanie, what am I to think of this?”
“Think only, Reuben, that I speak truth, as if I were to answer at the last day.—I do not ken this man—I do not even ken that I ever saw him; and yet I must give him the meeting he asks—there’s life and death upon it.”
“Will you not tell your father, or take him with you?” said Butler.
“I cannot,” said Jeanie; “I have no permission.”