"And, my dear Mr.Erchie," she continued, with a change of voice, "ye mauna think that I canna sympathise wi' ye.Ye mauna think that Ihavena been young mysel'.Lang syne, when I was a bit lassie, no twenty yet - " She paused and sighed."Clean and caller, wi' a fit like the hinney bee," she continned."I was aye big and buirdly, ye maun understand; a bonny figure o' a woman, though I say it that suldna -built to rear bairns - braw bairns they suld hae been, and grand I would hae likit it! But I was young, dear, wi' the bonny glint o' youth in my e'en, and little I dreamed I'd ever be tellin' ye this, an auld, lanely, rudas wife! Weel, Mr.Erchie, there was a lad cam' courtin' me, as was but naetural.Mony had come before, and I would nane o' them.But this yin had a tongue to wile the birds frae the lift and the bees frae the foxglove bells.Deary me, but it's lang syne! Folk have dee'd sinsyne and been buried, and are forgotten, and bairns been born and got merrit and got bairns o' their ain.Sinsyne woods have been plantit, and have grawn up and are bonny trees, and the joes sit in their shadow, and sinsyne auld estates have changed hands, and there have been wars and rumours of wars on the face of the earth.And here I'm still - like an auld droopit craw - lookin' on and craikin'! But, Mr.Erchie, do ye no think that I have mind o' it a' still? I was dwalling then in my faither's house; and it's a curious thing that we were whiles trysted in the Deil's Hags.And do ye no think that I have mind of the bonny simmer days, the lang miles o' the bluid-red heather, the cryin' of the whaups, and the lad and the lassie that was trysted? Do ye no think that I mind how the hilly sweetness ran about my hairt? Ay, Mr.Erchie, I ken the way o' it - fine do I ken the way - how the grace o' God takes them, like Paul of Tarsus, when they think it least, and drives the pair o' them into a land which is like a dream, and the world and the folks in't' are nae mair than clouds to the puir lassie, and heeven nae mair than windle-straes, if she can but pleesure him! Until Tam dee'd - that was my story," she broke off to say, "he dee'd, and I wasna at the buryin'.But while he was here, I could take care o' mysel'.And can yon puir lassie?"Kirstie, her eyes shining with unshed tears, stretched out her hand towards him appealingly; the bright and the dull gold of her hair flashed and smouldered in the coils behind her comely head, like the rays of an eternal youth; the pure colour had risen in her face; and Archie was abashed alike by her beauty and her story.He came towards her slowly from the window, took up her hand in his and kissed it.
"Kirstie," he said hoarsely, "you have misjudged me sorely.I have always thought of her, I wouldna harm her for the universe, my woman!""Eh, lad, and that's easy sayin'," cried Kirstie, "but it's nane sae easy doin'! Man, do ye no comprehend that it's God's wull we should be blendit and glamoured, and have nae command over our ain members at a time like that? My bairn," she cried, still holding his hand, "think o'
the puir lass! have pity upon her, Erchie! and O, be wise for twa!
Think o' the risk she rins! I have seen ye, and what's to prevent ithers! I saw ye once in the Hags, in my ain howl, and I was wae to see ye there - in pairt for the omen, for I think there's a weird on the place - and in pairt for pure nakit envy and bitterness o' hairt.It's strange ye should forgather there tae! God! but yon puir, thrawn, auld Covenanter's seen a heap o' human natur since he lookit his last on the musket barrels, if he never saw nane afore," she added, with a kind of wonder in her eyes.
"I swear by my honour I have done her no wrong," said Archie."I swear by my honour and the redemption of my soul that there shall none be done her.I have heard of this before.I have been foolish, Kirstie, not unkind, and, above all, not base.""There's my bairn!" said Kirstie, rising."I'll can trust ye noo, I'll can gang to my bed wi' an easy hairt." And then she saw in a flash how barren had been her triumph.Archie had promised to spare the girl, and he would keep it; but who had promised to spare Archie? What was to be the end of it? Over a maze of difficulties she glanced, and saw, at the end of every passage, the flinty countenance of Hermiston.And a kind of horror fell upon her at what she had done.She wore a tragic mask.
"Erchie, the Lord peety you, dear, and peety me! I have buildit on this foundation" - laying her hand heavily on his shoulder - "and buildit hie, and pit my hairt in the buildin' of it.If the hale hypothec were to fa', I think, laddie, I would dee! Excuse a daft wife that loves ye, and that kenned your mither.And for His name's sake keep yersel' frae inordinate desires; haud your heart in baith your hands, carry it canny and laigh; dinna send it up like a hairn's kite into the collieshangic o' the wunds! Mind, Maister Erchie dear, that this life's a'
disappointment, and a mouthfu' o' mools is the appointed end.""Ay, but Kirstie, my woman, you're asking me ower much at last," said Archie, profoundly moved, and lapsing into the broad Scots."Ye're asking what nae man can grant ye, what only the Lord of heaven can grant ye if He see fit.Ay! And can even He! I can promise ye what I shall do, and you can depend on that.But how I shall feel - my woman, that is long past thinking of!"They were both standing by now opposite each other.The face of Archie wore the wretched semblance of a smile; hers was convulsed for a moment.
"Promise me ae thing," she cried in a sharp voice."Promise me ye'll never do naething without telling me.""No, Kirstie, I canna promise ye that," he replied."I have promised enough, God kens!""May the blessing of God lift and rest upon ye dear!" she said.
"God bless ye, my old friend," said he.
