young lovers continued to meet as usual, and to talk of the future after lovers’ fashion. The dull-eyed woman, strange to say, never alluded to the subject again. She had quarrelled with the girl, indeed, and there was some talk of parting; but it came to nothing. They continued to live together. But clouds were gathering—gathering slowly—in the dull-eyed woman’s brain; the flash of the lightning was seen now and then in her still eyes; but the thunder and the rain were yet to come.
In desiring to break off or postpone the marriage, Mrs. Cameron was not influenced so much by her liking for Jock, as by a certain bad purpose which had lately got into her head, and which Jessie’s marriage with Jock, or anybody else, might frustrate. She kept this purpose carefully hidden under her quiet face, until necessity compelled her to execute it. For some months past (the better to ensure the success of her scheme) she had never once ventured out to the church, but had pleaded indisposition. The minister dropped in now and then to chat with and console her, for she was one of his most pious parishioners. She did very little of the household work, but sat most of the day in the big armchair, with her dull blue eyes fixed on the fire, hiding the projected sin. She was the better enabled to indulge herself, because her husband had left her a few pounds at his death.
The months rolled on; winter passed with his snows and gales, and was followed by the fair winds and soft rains of early spring. Jessie and Jock met once, sometimes twice a week—always by night—when the daily toil was over. But every evening that Jessie stole out from the little cottage, the dull-eyed woman threw a shawl over her head and followed, turning off in another direction when outside the door. Generally on her return home, her step-mother was fast asleep in bed; sometimes she sat in the arm-chair peevishly chiding the girl for staying out of doors so late.
One night Jessie stole out later than usual to meet her lover. The night was dark and warm, and the two young people strolled along the highway for more than a mile. Jock’s arm was round Jessie’s waist, and he was whispering soft words to her as they walked along. There were no stars out, and the moon was hid; light vapoury clouds were sailing swiftly across the sky, squadroned by a silent wind. The lovers could just see each other’s faces.
They were turning round a curve of the highway when they passed a woman and a man, the latter, who wore a gamekeeper’s coat, far gone in liquor. The woman’s face was hid in an old shawl; she shrank back into the darkness with a frightened air as the lovers walked by. The man staggered forward with an oath, and caught hold of Jessie’s arm with a rough grasp. Jock, when he had knocked the offender down, recognised him as the gamekeeper of a neighbouring landowner, Sir Hugh Mucklewraith. The lovers passed on amid a volley of coarse abuse from the fallen man. Jessie felt the least bit frightened; but strong Jock soon reassured her, and they were again absorbed in the old sweet theme.
On the following morning Mrs. Cameron’s face wore a strange scared look. The dull-eyed woman spoke in her usual tone; but her voice trembled a little, and her blue eyes flinched as they met those of her step-daughter.
“You were out lang last nicht, my lassie?” she said, with a queer smile.
“Ay, mither,” said Jessie, calmly enough. But the girl felt weary and said no more. After a short pause Mrs. Cameron spoke again.
“Jessie, I maun gang awa’ Edinbro’ ways the morn’s morn,—to the wee bit village whaur my sister Jean stays wi’ her gudeman. It’s twal mile and a bittock frae here, and I maun e’en tak’ the Edinbro’ coach. I’ll maybe be awa’ ae week and aiblins twa. Ye’ll hae to keep the house by yoursel’ a wee.”
“And what for are ye gaun awa’, mither?” asked Jessie, who was a little surprised by the statement.
“I canna help it, lassie. I’m weel enough now, and I hae had word this day about Jean. (Ye dinna mind her; ye haena seen her face since ye were a wee bit thing. She’s a heap aulder than me.) She’s lyin’ badly wi’ the sma’-pox, puir woman, and I maun dae what I can to bring her roun’. It wadna look kind-like if I stayed awa’.”
This coming from a person who was too ill to venture out to church or go visiting a sick neighbour rather staggered Jessie. But she was not a suspicious girl, and never for a moment doubted the truth of her step-mother’s statement. She made no objection, however surprised she felt at the suddenness of the necessity.
The coach was to pass through the little village at twelve noon. Mrs. Cameron was ready by eleven. A large basketful of “sweet bits” for the invalid was slung on her arm. It happened that the basket had no cover; and, as the dull-eyed woman did not want everybody to pry into its contents, she was obliged to keep her large shawl flung well forward over it. There were sharper eyes than poor inexperienced Jessie’s in that cannie village. The traveller left Jessie busy in the house, and betook herself (ostensibly) to the cross in the centre of the village, where the coach stopped for two minutes on its onward journey. She would not listen to Jessie, who proposed to carry her basket to the place of starting.
A week passed by and Mrs. Cameron did not return. The lovers met only once that week, for Jessie was more than usually busy. Jock was busy too. He toiled at the big bellows all day long: thinking, no doubt, of the dark-eyed lassie on the other side of the way.
Nine days had passed since Mrs. Cameron left home. It was a dark windy night; but Jessie lay fast asleep in the little cottage, dreaming of Jock. The day’s work had been hard. She slept heavily, as only hard-working people sleep. Had her sleep been lighter at the dead hour of the night, when the wind was whistling loudly outside, and darkness lay over the valley like a pall, had her sleep been lighter that noisy night, this true story would never have been written.
There were two rooms in the cottage; in the inner of the two slept Jessie, with the door bolted. The other was the kitchen, in the corner of which was an empty bed. The outer door of