“Ay,” said Mrs. M’Cosh, “he’s waited lang, but he’s waled weel in the end.  He’s gotten a braw leddy, and she’ll no’ be as flighty as a young yin, for Mr. Elliot likes quiet ways.  An’ then she has plenty siller, an’ that’s a help.  A rale sensible marriage!”

Bella Bathgate agreed.  “It’ll mak’ a big differ at Laverlaw,” she said, “for she’s the kind o’ body that makes hersel’ felt in a hoose.  I didna want her at Hillview wi’ a’ her trunks and her maid and her fal-lals an’ her fykey ways, but, d’ye ken, I’ll miss her something horrid.  She was an awfu’ miss in the hoose when she was awa’ at Christmas-time; I was fair kinna lost wi’out her.  It’ll be rale nice for Maister Elliot havin’ her aye there.  It’s mebbe a wakeness on ma pairt, but I whiles mak’ messages into the room juist to see her sittin’ pittin’ stitches into that embroidery, as they ca’ it, an’ hear her gie that little lauch o’ hers!  She has me fair bewitched.  There’s a kinna glawmour aboot her.  An’ I tell ye I culdna stand her by onything at the first....  I even think her bonnie noo—­an’ she’s no’ that auld.  I saw a pictur in a paper the ither day of a new-mairit couple, an’ baith o’ them had the auld-age pension.”

Jean looked on rather wistfully at her friend’s happiness.  She was most sincerely glad that the wooing—­so long delayed—­should end like an old play and Jack have his Jill, but it seemed to add to the empty feeling in her own heart.  Pamela’s casual remark about her brother perhaps being at Stratford had filled her for the moment with wild joy, but hearts after leaps ache, and she had quickly reminded herself that Richard Plantagenet had most evidently accepted the refusal as final and would never be anything more to her than Pamela’s brother.  It was quite as it should be, but life in spite of April and a motor-car was, what Mhor called a minister’s life, “a dullsome job.”

That year spring came, not reluctantly, as it often does in the uplands, but generously, lavishly, scattering buds and leaves and flowers and lambs, and putting a spirit of youth into everything.  The days were as warm as June, and fresh as only April days can be.  The Jardines anxiously watched the sun-filled days pass, wishing they had arranged to go earlier, fearful lest they should miss all the good weather.  It seemed impossible that it could go on being so wonderful, but day followed day in golden succession and there was no sign of a break.

David spent most of his days at the depot that held the car, there being no garage at The Rigs, and Jock and Mhor worshipped with him.  A chauffeur had been engaged, one Stark, a Priorsford youth, a steady young man and an excellent driver.  He had never been farther than Edinburgh.

The 20th came at last.  Jock and Mhor were up at an unearthly hour, parading the house, banging at Mrs. M’Cosh’s door, and imploring her to rise in case breakfast was late, and thumping the barometer to see if it showed any inclination to fall.  The car was ordered for nine o’clock, but they were down the road looking for it at least half an hour before it was due, feverishly anxious in case something had happened either to it or to Stark.