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634 Evry, the ainlie son and chief o’ a’ that ilk—ane as wad ha’ conferred honour to onnie throne he sat upon; and next to her father, the Lady Janet luved him, for he wer worthie of a’ a woman’s faith and love. When Kenneth and the deil together had rendered Lady Janet’s father nigh upon a ruined man, wha suld come forwards then but the son Patrick, saying, ’Only be my wife, Lady Janet Johnstoun, and your father’s a free mon again—free in his castle and in his ha’—free frae debt and all that he shrinks frae,’ or words to that effect; for,” continued Mrs. Bennet, humbly, “it’s nae likely that my puir tongue can say the things as they would be said by the Lady Janet, and nobles, and yerls o’ her kin. I ken but the facts, and maun be content to relate them as best I can, craving yer remembrance that they of whom I speak wad nae utter sounds like yer auld nurse, Mary Bennet.”

We begged her to proceed in her tale, Lora leaning her chin on her hand listening with breathless attention.

“Weel a day,” continued Mrs. Bennet, ”her father wad nae ha’ said a word to cross his darling’s heart, but she kenned a’, and that wer enough for the Lady Janet, and she spake up, honourable and bold, to Sir Patrick. Said she:—

‘Ye ken, Sir Patrick, that I hae nae heart to give ye; sin’ I was a wee babe, it has been in my cousin Archdale’s keeping; but, for my father’s sake, gien ye will accept of sae puir a thing, sae loveless a gift, here is my hand, and I will be yer wife, faithful and true, till death.’ He took her at her word, and her father never kenned ’twas ought agin her inclination, for she’d never do a richt thing by halves: and but twice after that saw she ever her cousin Archdale. The first time ’twas to bid him farewell. They met on the open muir, the sun shining bright abuve their heads, and my ain mither stood by her side, and grat, puir thing! as if ’twer her heart wer breaking!—grat sae, that she heard but little of a’ they said. But for a’ sae braw and lustie as Lord Archdale wer, when he cam to meet the Lady Janet, stanning before her wi’ his bonnet in his hand, and the fresh breeze blowing his golden hair like a glory frae his brow; for a’ sae brave a mon as he wer, when ’twas ere a foe or the oppressor of his clan as stood before him, he quailed and sank before the doom o’ parting frae his true love, the Lady Janet Johnstoun. And my mither said that, with her ain characteristics, even in her sorrow, she thought but o’ comfortin’ him. At last the Lady Janet tuke his hand sae fondlie in baith o’ hers, and said, ‘Archie, mon cœur, God be with ye, and lighten every pang that I had hoped to share. Farewell! ye’ll think nae mair o’ me, Archie!’ Lord Archdale luked in her face as tho’ ’twer his last luke at ought below, and saying, ‘Nae mair than Heaven, Janet,’ turned awa’ a tremblin’ heartbroken mon. My mither led her hame. She never spoke a word, or seemed to make a sorrow o’ the parting frae her cousin, but her bonnie face, where the red rose used to dwell, turned like marble, and no one ever saw a gleam o’ colour in her cheek again, save once, as ye will hear.

“Sir Patrick was very proud of her, and so far as it lay in his niggardly, ungenerous, coward’s nature to be so, wer kind to her, and preparations for the wedding went on brawlie; kinsfolk cam speeding ower the hills, gentles o’ a’ high degrees frae far and near; but the Lady Janet sat in her bower alone, and never seemed to care for ought but tending on her father. She who’d fly a hawk, or hunt a hound, or rein a horse better and braver than the best, had lost all heart for onnie, save her duty to him. ’Twas in the winter time, and each cauld blast seemed to shake the auld mon waur, and Sir Patrick hurried on preparations for his wedding, in such a fashion as mony deemed unseemly. The day cam at last, and the Lady Janet, wi’ her voice as firm as her heart wer cauld, said the words that gave herself away; but her eyes ne’er sought the bridegroom, dark and lustrous as they were; they ne’er turned on ony but the auld mon by her side, her father.

“The blow cam at last,” continued Mrs. Bennet, wiping her eyes, for during the latter part of her story they had frequently overflowed. “The Lady Janet’s father wer found dead on the floor o’ her chamber, when she had na’ been a wedded wife a month. They feared to tell her the sad news; for them as kenned him best, said as how it wer the loss o’ his child as killed him—the loss o’ her who sold hersel’ to save him! But when she heard it, she took it a’ like a stane, and ne’er a muscle o’ the white face muved; but when she saw my mither, she said—and I often mind me of her words—‘A’ the rivers rin into the sea, Mary, and are lost! All my trouble’s lost in this, and I shall never feel again.’ Puir thing, she wer mistaken! Her father wer a stern, just mon; fierce, if onnie wrang’d him, mair gentle still, if onnie needed: but none dare say the word that was untrue within his ken, or lichtlie him so much as a shadow, e’en when seas rolled between, so long as he were standing on the hill’s blue heather! But when he wer dead and gone, without or kith or kin, save the Lady Janet and his brother, the deil put into the mouth o’ Kenneth to speak slightinglie and wi’ disparagement o’ the auld mon, the Lady Janet’s father—put it into their cowardlie hearts to say what the father o’ lies would; because there wer nane but a puir woman to gainsay him. And the Lady Janet heard—heard all they would invent, wi’ nought but her simple word, simple and trew as her puir father’s would ha’ been, to contradict them. And they who saw her, said the Lady Janet’s face, mild and gentle, and brave, and queenlike as it alway wer, became strange, wi’ an eerie glance in her large dark eyes,—a look like the look of a stag at bay!

’Twas unco’ remarkable, to say nothing more o’ the matter,” continued Mrs. Bennet, who, like many Scotch women, was somewhat superstitious, ’twas unco’ remarkable, to say nothing more o’ the matter, that about this time, in a’ the glens, and in a’ the ways, might be heard the auld Johnstoun strathspey: sometimes ye might find the instrument and the men, oftner not; but what wer remarkable war, that a’most every Hielandmon o’ a’ the clan wer heard singing strange words to the auld tune, and nane could