“I cannot write to you in the way you tell me--I would think shame. Oh, Sir, you must not expect much from a poor lass that never has learned anything, till I tried to do it, to please you. There is nothing I would not do to please you. Ye’ve been very kind to me, Mr. Heriot, like a good man. And, eh! I hope I’ll make a good wife, if I could but learn quicker, no to be a shame to you. Sorry, sorry I am that I did not take more advantage of the schule as I might have done--for, oh! Mr. Heriot, them that say ‘your face is your fortune,’ say little that is pleasant to hear. When I think whiles that it’s but for my face ye fancied me; and that, maybe, if any accident happened--if I lost my colour, or my teeth, or what not, ye would think of me nae mair! Oh, Sir, dinna be like that! If _you_ were blind and cripplit, and pock-markit, like old John in the clachan, I would but think the more of you. And you that are a gentleman, Mr. Heriot, and know everything, you should not be less than poor me; for although I am little to set store by, and no a scholar, nor instructed, I’m better than my face, which is just a bit of painted flesh, as the Minister says. If I thought you cared for me, and no just _it_--oh, but I would be happy! I have a great deal to say, but I cannot tell how to say it. I am feared for making you think me more ignorant than ever. My heart’s full, full; but I think shame to say all that’s in it; you know, Sir, better than I can tell you. When will you come back? oh! when will ye come back? I’m weary of wishing and wishing. My sister Agnes will not go to her place, thinking ye might not like it. John Ogilvy, my first cousin, the son of Uncle John, that is the smith, is away to the College to learn to be a Minister. I do not mind anything else you would like to hear; but that I’m wearying, wearying sore, and aye, the longer the time is, the mair wearying to see my” (here there were a great many erasures--one word written over another till it was impossible to make out what they had been--until it finished in the clearly written words) “my Mr. Heriot again. “Your ain and your very ain, oh dear, dear Sir, “ISABELL.”