Not long after this the young pair were unexpectedly parted. David had an uncle who was a large sheep-farmer in Westmorland, and it was thought by all his family a great opening for the lad when this well-to-do and childless relative offered to take him into his employment. Every one rejoiced at David’s good fortune except David himself and his poor little sweetheart. Even he was not so much broken-hearted as Rebecca. David scarcely knew whether to be more afflicted or elated at the girl’s despair. “I never reckoned you cared for I that much,” said he, as they went for their farewell stroll up the lane. She looked at him reproachfully without speaking, her pretty blue eyes were drowned in tears, her mouth drooped, her little face looked very white and pitiful. “There I shouldn’t ha’ said that,” cried he remorsefully. “Ye never loved anybody but me, did ye? An’ you’ll always be true--won’t ye?” “Always! always!” she sobbed--“faithful an’ true, David. Whenever you do think of me you must always say that to yoursel’. Rebecca was a teasin’ maid, you may think, but she loved me an’ she’ll always love me--faithful and true.” Then David in a kind of rapture of anguish, felt her arms about his neck--such little, light, slender arms--and her golden head sank upon his breast. Before that time he had had many misgivings in thinking of the two years that must elapse before they again met, and had wondered to himself often if Rebecca would be likely to stick to him when he was no longer at hand; but now all such ignoble doubts died within him, and in spite of the knowledge that the morrow must part him from her, he was a proud and happy lad as he folded her in his arms. In two years he would come back--his uncle had said he might come home for a holiday after two years. He would earn a lot of money and meanwhile they would write. They would often write; Rebecca wouldn’t be too partic’lar about blots or spellin’, would she? No, Rebecca was not in the mood to be particular about anything. Then David would give his word to write often. “An’ whenever ye see a bit o’ sweetbriar, ye’ll think o’ me?” said Rebecca. Yes, he would think of her then and always. “I do want the sweetbriar to remind you o’ me,” went on the girl, “because--because--I reckon it’s like me--full of prickles. I’ve often been a bad maid to ye, Davy, haven’t I? Often an’ often I’ve pricked ye and hurt ye, but I’ve loved ye all the time.” And thereupon David assured her he didn’t mind the prickles, and that there was nothing in all the world so sweet as the sweetbriar, and then having reached the top of the lane they kissed each other again and came home through the scented dusk full of a melancholy happiness.