"Weel, a week or twa went by, and ae nicht in the gloamin’ I met him on the road--accidental like. He was gey quate for a time, then he laid a haun’ on my airm and said, very solemn: ’Jean, I love ye: are ye ane o’ the elect?’ My heart gi’ed a big loup, for I guessed what was comin’, and juist to gain time I answered, ’I’m no’ sure, Andra,’ says I, ’but I hope sae.’ ’Oh, but ye maun be sure; ye maun be sure. Hope is no’ enough,’--and he turned on his heel and went down the road again. Weel, I went back tae the hoose a wee bit sorry, for I liked him weel; and it seemed tae me I had frichtened him awa. But that nicht in my bed I thocht things ower, and said tae mysel’--’Jean, my lass, it’s a serious step gettin’ married, but it’s a lot mair serious remainin’ single, and guid young men are scarce, and you are a tocherless lass. What are ye gaun tae dae?’ So I worked oot a plan in my heid. After maybe a week, Andra cam’ back for a crack wi’ my step-faither, and seein’ him comin’ up the road I went oot tae meet him. He was a wee blate at the first, but I helped him oot wi’t. ’Andra,’ says I, ’dae ye mind what ye said the last nicht ye were here?’ ’I do, Jean,’ says he. ’Weel,’ says I, ’I’ve been thinkin’ very hard since then. Ye believe, I hope, in fore-ordination?’ ’Certainly,’ says he, ’Predestination is a cardinal doctrine.’ ’I ken,’ I said, ’and it was fore-ordained that you should tell me that you lo’e me. You were fore-ordained tae lo’e me: I was fore-ordained tae lo’e you--and I like ye weel: and if ye let my puir human uncertainty as tae my election stand in the way, ye are fleein’ in the face o’ Providence wha fore-ordained that we should love each other.’ He was a bit ta’en aback, I could see; for he stood quate for a while. Then he turned and said, "I daurna dae that: I daurna. Jean, will ye tak’ me?’ ’It was fore-ordained that ye should ask me that question,’ I answered, ’and it was fore-ordained that I should say "Ay." I’ll be a guid wife tae ye, Andra.’ And I ha’e been, though even yet he’s no’ sure if I’m ane o’ the elect or no. "Whiles he thinks I am. I mind the morning after Dauvit was born--I was ane o’ the elect then. He sat by the bedside, takin’ keeks every noo and then at the wee lamb sleepin’ in the fold o’ my airm, and repeatin’ lang screeds oot o’ the Song o’ Solomon, wi’ the love-licht in his e’e, till the howdie turned him oot, sayin’ it was no’ seemly for an elder o’ the kirk tae be using sic holy words tae a mere woman. A mere woman forsooth! and me a mither! She was a barren stock hersel’, ye see.