“Down, down, Wallace, mon,” said the young shepherd, “ken ye not Jeanie yet—the flower o’ Ettrick? Ah! Jeanie, Jeanie,” he added—and his tone and manner at once betrayed the footing on which he stood with the maiden—“little did ye ken, when ye were tripping sae gaily o’er the lea, with a heart as light as a lavrock and a song as sweet as the waving of the broom at noonday, that one who lo’es ye sae dearly, was lookin’ at ye frae behind this tree.” The maiden blushed again, and stealing a timid glance at her lover, her eyes sought the ground. The shepherd took her hand, which was not withdrawn from his grasp, and said, “Ye ken weel, Jeanie dear, what ye were singing,” and his voice assumed a sudden seriousness as he spoke, which caused the maiden again to look up, although the allusion he made to the subject of her song, had dyed her cheeks with new blushes, “and I hae come hither this morning, for I ken ye passed here—to see ye if only for a moment. Ye ken, Jeanie, that we were to hae been one next Michaelmas, and that I was to get the Ellsey farm—a canny croft it is, dearie, and happy, happy would we hae been there”—the maiden looked inquiringly in his face at these words, and her lover continued mournfully—“ye guess the worst, I see, by that look. In one word, a richer man has outbid me, and so, for the third time, hae I been disappointed.” And as he said these words with a husky voice, betokening the depth of his emotion, the speaker paused, and drew the back of his hand across his eyes. His affianced bride showed the true delicacy of her mind in this juncture. Instead of saying aught to comfort him, she drew closer to his side, and laying her hand on his arm, gazed up into his face with a look so full of sympathy and love, that its mute, yet all-powerful eloquence, went to the shepherd’s heart. He drew her tenderly to his bosom, kissed her unresisting brow, and gazed for some moments in silent rapture on her face. At length he spoke.