Mrs. M’Clean returned to the front room. The gossips were whispering together; most of the men had strolled out and were standing in knots outside, looking stern disapprobation, for a man to be behindhand on his wedding-day did not augur well. Time sped on. It would be an unprecedented thing if the wedding were not to take place before noon, and the waiting company watched the sun as it mounted high in the heavens, and still no David appeared. “Puir lass,” sighed one good wife to another, “widdowed before she’s a wife.” “Or worse, deserted at the very altar. She’ll not hold her head up after this; she’s a proud lass, is Jean M’Clean.” In the back room Jean sat. She, too, was watching the sun climbing so surely and steadily toward the zenith. At the noontide hour she arose to her feet, her face white and drawn. “Leave me, friends,” she said. “There’ll be no wedding to-day. I am sorry to disappoint you. Leave me, please.” They all filed out, casting compassionate looks upon her. Agnes alone refused to leave. “Oh, Jeanie dear,” she whispered, “out of evils sometimes comes a blessing. I have known it so. Don’t give up, dear heart.” Jeanie turned from her and clasped her hands, then with groping steps strove to reach the door; at the threshold she stopped. “I can’t--I can’t face them all,” she cried. “Tell my mother.” “Hark!” exclaimed Agnes. There was the sound of flying hoofs--beat, beat,--along the road. With one spring Jeanie reached the window and pulled back the curtain. “It’s David!” she cried. “It’s David, my lad!” and then all trembling she sank down, sobbing out her joy. CHAPTER XV WHO HAD THE WILL It was, without doubt, David who was coming pounding along the path up from the woods, and who, dusty and travel-stained, drew up his reeking horse before the door. The men gathered closely about him, the women craned their necks from the door. “What is the matter, Davy, lad? What kept ye, Dave? Are ye ill, lad? Look at the hoss, he’s near spent,” were some of the various remarks made, as David, elbowing his way through the crowd, entered the house. He answered no questions, but made straight for Mrs. M’Clean. “Where’s Jeanie?” he asked hurriedly, and following her glance he went toward the door of the next room, paused not to knock, but entered forthwith. Jeanie, the tears still standing in her eyes, was waiting. David held out his two hands. “Am I too late, lass? It’s not my fault. I beeta get here long ago, but it’s a tale I must tell later. I am safe now, but am I too late? Will ye turn me off for being behindhand? Do you doubt me?” “Not I, David,” said Jeanie, giving him her hands. “I’m thankful you’ve come to no mishap. I never doubted you, but I feared ill had befallen you.” “Will ye tak me as I am, dusty an’ worn with travel? I’ve come _forty mile_ the morn. Will ye listen to me tale now, or will ye stand up wi’ me before the meenister so?” David was lapsing into the dialect of his childhood, in his excitement.