"Ten years!" said Butler. "It's a long time—sufficient perhaps for a woman to weary"
"To weary of her auld gown," said Jeanie, "and to wish for a new ane if she likes to be brave, but not long enough to weary of a friend—The eye may wish change, but the heart never."
"Never!" said Reuben,—"that's a bold promise."
"But not more bauld than true," said Jeanie, with the same quiet simplicity which attended her manner in joy and grief in ordinary affairs, and in those which most interested her feelings.
Butler paused, and looking at her fixedly—"I am charged," he said, "with a message to you, Jeanie."
"Indeed! From whom? Or what can ony ane have to say to me?"
"It is from a stranger," said Butler, affecting to speak with an indifference which his voice belied—"A young man whom I met this morning in the Park."
"Mercy!" said Jeanie, eagerly; "and what did he say?"
"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."