The Leddy was seated at her tea-table when young Walkinshaw arrived, and, as on all occasions when she had any intention in her head, she wore an aspect pregnant with importance. She was now an old woman, and had so long survived the sorrows of her widowhood, that even the weeds were thrown aside, and she had resumed her former dresses, unchanged from the fashion in which they were originally made. Her appearance, in consequence, was at once aged and ancient.

‘Come your ways, Jamie,’ said she, ‘and draw in a chair and sit down; but, afore doing sae, tell the lass to bring ben the treck-pot,’—which he accordingly did; and as soon as the treck-pot, alias teapot, was on the board, she opened her trenches.

‘Jamie,’ she began, ‘your uncle George has a great notion of you, and has done muckle for your mother, giving her, o’ his own free will, a handsome ’nuity; by the which she has brought you, and Mary your sister, up wi’ great credit and confort. I would therefore fain hope, that, in the way o’ gratitude, there will be no slackness on your part.’

James assured her that he had a very strong sense of his uncle’s kindness; and that, to the best of his ability, he would exert himself to afford him every satisfaction; but that Glasgow was not a place which he much liked, and that he would rather go abroad, and push his fortune elsewhere, than continue confined to the counting-house.

‘There’s baith sense and sadness, Jamie, in what ye say,’ replied the Leddy; ‘but I won’er what ye would do abroad, when there’s sic a bein beild biggit for you at home. Ye ken, by course o’ nature, that your uncle’s ordaint to die, and that he has only his ae dochter Beenie, your cousin, to inherit the braw conquest o’ your worthy grandfather—the whilk, but for some mistak o’ law, and the sudden o’ercome o’ death amang us, would hae been yours by right o’ birth. So that it’s in a manner pointed out to you by the forefinger o’ Providence to marry Beenie.’

James was less surprised at this suggestion than the old lady expected, and said, with a degree of coolness that she was not prepared for,—

‘I dare say what you speak of would not be disagreeable to my uncle, for several times he has himself intimated as much, but it is an event that can never take place.’

‘And what for no? I’m sure Beenie’s fortune will be a better bargain than a landless lad like you can hope for at ony other hand.’

‘True, but I’ll never marry for money.’

‘And what will ye marry for, then?’ exclaimed the Leddy. ‘Tak my word o’ experience for’t, my man,—a warm downseat’s o’ far mair consequence in matrimony than the silly low o’ love; and think what a bonny business your father and mother made o’ their gentle-shepherding. But, Jamie, what’s the reason ye’ll no tak Beenie?—there maun surely be some because for sic unnaturality?’

‘Why,’ said he laughing, ‘I think it’s time enough for me yet to be dreaming o’ marrying.’

‘That’s no a satisfaction to my question; but there’s ae thing I would fain gie you warning o’, and that’s, if ye’ll no marry Beenie, I dinna think ye can hae ony farther to look, in the way o’ patronage, frae your uncle.’

‘Then,’ said James indignantly, ‘if his kindness is only given on such a condition as that, I ought not to receive it an hour longer.’

‘Here’s a tap o’ tow!’ exclaimed the Leddy. ‘Aff and awa wi’ you to your mother at Camrachle, and gallant about the braes and dyke-sides wi’ that lang windlestrae-legget tawpie, Nell Frizel—She’s the because o’ your rebellion. ’Deed ye may think shame o’t, Jamie; for it’s a’ enough to bring disgrace on a’ manner o’ affection to hear what I hae heard about you and her.’

‘What have you heard?’ cried he, burning with wrath and indignation.

‘The callan’s gaun aff at the head, to look at me as if his e’en were pistols—How dare ye, sir?—But it’s no worth my while to lose my temper wi’ a creature that doesna ken the homage and honour due to his aged grandmother. Howsever, I’ll be as plain as I’m pleasant wi’ you, my man; and if there’s no an end soon put to your pastoraulity wi’ yon Highland heron, and a sedate and dutiful compliancy vouchsafed to your benefactor, uncle George, there will be news in the land or lang.’

‘You really place the motives of my uncle’s conduct towards me in a strange light, and you forget that Robina is perhaps as strongly averse to the connection as I am.’

‘So she would fain try to gar me true,’ replied the Leddy; ‘the whilk is a most mystical thing; but, poor lassie, I needna be surprised at it, when she jealouses that your affections are set on a loup-the-dyke Jenny Cameron like Nell Frizel. Howsever, Jamie, no to make a confabble about the matter, there can be no doubt if ye’ll sing “We’ll gang nae mair to yon toun,” wi’ your back to the manse o’ Camrachle, that Beenie, who is a most sweet-tempered and obedient fine lassie, will soon be wrought into a spirit of conformity wi’ her father’s will and my wishes.’

‘I cannot but say,’ replied Walkinshaw, ‘that you consider affection as very pliant. Nor do I know why you take such liberties with Miss Frazer; who, in every respect, is infinitely superior to Robina.’

‘Her superior!’ cried the Leddy; ‘but love’s blin’ as well as fey, or ye would as soon think o’ likening a yird tead to a patrick or a turtle-dove, as Nell Frizel to Beenie Walkinshaw. Eh man! Jamie, but ye hae a poor taste; and I may say, as the auld sang sings, “Will ye compare a docken till a tansie?” I would na touch her wi’ the tangs.’

‘But you know,’ said Walkinshaw, laughing at the excess of her contempt, ‘that there is no accounting for tastes.’

‘The craw thinks it’s ain bird the whitest,’ replied the Leddy; ‘but, for a’ that, it’s as black as the back o’ the bress; and, therefore, I would advise you to believe me, that Nell Frizel is just as ill-far’t a creature as e’er came out the Maker’s hand. I hae lived threescore and fifteen years in the world, and surely, in the course o’ nature, should ken by this time what beauty is and ought to be.’

How far the Leddy might have proceeded with her argument is impossible to say; for it was suddenly interrupted by her grandson bursting into an immoderate fit of laughter, which had the effect of instantly checking her eloquence, and turning the course of her ideas and animadversions into another channel. In the course, however, of a few minutes, she returned to the charge, but with no better success; and Walkinshaw left her, half resolved to come to some explanation on the subject with his uncle. It happened, however, that this discussion, which we have just related, took place on a Saturday night; and the weather next day being bright and beautiful, instead of going to his uncle’s at Kittlestonheugh, as he commonly did on Sunday, from the time he had been placed in the counting-house, he rose early, and walked to Camrachle, where he arrived to breakfast, and afterwards accompanied his mother and sister to church.

The conversation with the old Leddy was still ringing in his ears, and her strictures on the beauty and person of Ellen Frazer seemed so irresistibly ridiculous, when he beheld her tall and elegant figure advancing to the minister’s pew, that he could with difficulty preserve the decorum requisite to the sanctity of the place. Indeed, the effect was so strong, that Ellen herself noticed it; insomuch, that, when they met after sermon in the church-yard, she could not refrain from asking what had tickled him. Simple as the question was, and easy as the explanation might have been, he found himself, at the moment, embarrassed, and at a loss to answer her. Perhaps, had they been by themselves, this would not have happened; but Mrs. Eadie, and his mother and sister, were present. In the evening, however, when he accompanied Mary and her to a walk, along the brow of the hazel bank, which overlooked the village, he took an opportunity of telling her what had passed, and of expressing his determination to ascertain how far his uncle was seriously bent on wishing him to marry Robina; protesting, at the same time, that it was a union which could never be—intermingled with a thousand little tender demonstrations, infinitely more delightful to the ears of Ellen than it is possible to make them to our readers. Indeed, Nature plainly shows, that the conversations of lovers are not fit for the public, by the care which she takes to tell the gentle parties, that they must speak in whispers, and choose retired spots and shady bowers, and other sequestered poetical places, for their conferences.