Eh, la.s.sie! but they're a brae couple, and Heaven be gracious to them!"

"Amen!" said Jane, softly, as, with dewy eyes, she rested upon her husband's shoulder, and continued to gaze at the sight before them.

"They say it's a vale o' sorrows, this warld, Jenny la.s.sie," said McCray, taking off and wiping his spectacles; "but to my way of thinking, it's a verra beautiful gairden, full of bright floors and sweet rich fruits. But ye ken, la.s.sie, that there's that de'il--muckle sorrow to him--a'ways pitching his tares and his bad seeds ower the wall, for them to come oop in weeds; and gif ye no keep the hoe busy at wark, and bend your prood neck and stiff back to keep tearing them oop by the roots, Auld Sootie's rubbing those hands of his at the way in which his warks run on. Perhaps ye'll just put the whusky near by my haund. I thank ye, la.s.sie. Winna ye tak' a wee soopie?"

Mrs McCray declined; and after refreshing himself with a goodly draught, the old Scot continued:

"Ye're reet, la.s.sie; the gairden has got its breet floors aifter all; and I think I'll e'en stay as I am. Heaven bless them! And there's that gudely vine of the Captain's coming to them, leuking as she desairves. Gude-sake, Jenny, I believe gif there's a better woman on this airth than thee, it's Mrs Norton; but she's na ye're equal in soom things, la.s.sie. She mak's a gudely lady, but she wad ne'er ha' fitted in your station."

There was another sip of "whusky" before McCray spoke again, when, as two fresh figures pa.s.sed slowly by the window:

"Eh, la.s.sie!" cried Sandy; "but leuk there--that's the thing that wairms my hairt better than e'en the whusky or the glint o' yer twa e'en. It mak's me think o' whaat Dauvid says aboot brethren living together in unity. Leuk hoo the puir laird hangs on the Captain's airm, and hoo he listens to his wards. They're like brithers indeed noo; and the Captain's always reading to him. Boot--eh, la.s.sie?--it strikes me they're gaun doon to the church again."

McCray was right, for, arm in arm--Captain Norton, upright of bearing, Sir Murray Gernon bent and feeble, walking with the shuffling step induced by his last seizure--they were bound on the frequent pilgrimage they made, a visit never paid by either alone--a pilgrimage to a shrine most holy in their eyes--for it was to the grave of the woman they had both loved.

The stormy epoch was past; and a gentle time of calm had come. Brace Norton had just returned from a two years' cruise, an impatient time, but one which he had pa.s.sed in peace, for at every station he knew that long and loving letters awaited him. But now he was returned, and but few days more were to elapse before words were to be p.r.o.nounced that should make two hearts one.

But Merland village was greatly dissatisfied; the couple, they said, were capitally matched, and young Lieutenant Norton would be 'most as wealthy as Sir Murray himself; but it did seem hard on the poor lord, who was said to be picking up a living anyhow at the foreign gaming-tables. Then, too, there were no grand preparations, and the wedding was to be quiet as quiet, and no open house at the Castle; and the general opinion seemed to be that times were not as they used to be--a declaration to which old Chunt cordially a.s.sented.

Still, people were more lenient, and many a blessing was showered on the blushing girl, who was led--nay, who led herself, feeble, broken Sir Murray Gernon--into the church, while, when the service was over, a deep hush fell upon all, and people held back with reverence; hats were doffed, and words were spoken in whispers, for when, leaning upon her husband's arm, Isa Norton came slowly through the porch, it was seen that she bore a wreath of tiny flowers, and, to the surprise of all, she stopped.

There was no fierce hand, though, to pluck them from her; and people whispered more and more as they saw the tears standing brightly in her eyes--tears of sorrow and happiness--thankfulness, too, for the bliss that was theirs. The bells would have struck up, but whispered words stayed the ringers; children would have flung flowers in the bride's path, but, for a few moments, their little hands were arrested; for, leaning upon Captain Norton's arm, both suffering strongly from the emotion evoked from the past, Sir Murray Gernon now appeared, to stand by his daughter's side; and the halt was by Lady Gernon's resting-place, the family vault of the old family--the spot where, years before, broken-hearted, mad almost, Philip Norton stood waiting the coming of the bridal party.

Even the whispers now were stayed, for the Merland people felt that something unusual was about to take place, and they were right; and for long years after it was talked of, and handed down: for, with trembling hand, Isa raised the wreath--the forget-me-not wreath--she held, and laid it, her simple offering, upon the grave of the dead, where they stood awhile, with bended heads, and then pa.s.sed on. Then came the silver chiming of the old--old bells; the children cast their flowers; and long and hearty cheers rang out for the bridal pair; there was the hurrying of footsteps, the trampling of horses, and the rush of wheels, and the wedding procession swept away; but the simple wreath remained where it had been placed--remained for people to say, again and again, that the act was strange; but it was the token that Marion Gernon's memory was fresh in every heart, and the colour of that wreath, wet with her child's tears, was _True-blue_!

The End.