Alas for Philip! Many were tears and great was perplexity. Nor had availed then All his prayer and all his device. But much was spoken Now, between Adam and Elspie: companions were they hourly: Much by Elspie to Adam, inquiring, anxiously seeking, From his experience seeking impartial accurate statement What it was to do this or do that, go hither or thither, How in the after-life would seem what now seeming certain Might so soon be reversed; in her quest and obscure exploring Still from that quiet orb soliciting light to her footsteps; Much by Elspie to Adam, inquiringly, eagerly seeking: Much by Adam to Elspie, informing, reassuring, Much that was sweet to Elspie, by Adam heedfully speaking, Quietly, indirectly, in general terms, of Philip, Gravely, but indirectly, not as incognisant wholly, But as suspending until she should seek it, direct intimation; Much that was sweet in her heart of what he was and would be, Much that was strength to her mind, confirming beliefs and insights Pure and unfaltering, but young and mute and timid for action: Much of relations of rich and poor, and of true education. It was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, Then when brackens are changed, and heather blooms are faded, And amid russet of heather and fern green trees are bonnie; Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow; One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen, And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree, Pendulous, here and there, her coronet, necklace, and ear-rings, Cover her now, o’er and o’er; she is weary and scatters them from her. There, upon Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, Under the alders knitting, gave Elspie her troth to Philip, For as they talked, anon she said, It is well, Mr. Philip. Yes, it is well: I have spoken, and learnt a deal with the teacher. At the last I told him all, I could not help it; And it came easier with him than could have been with my father; And he calmly approved, as one that had fully considered. Yes, it is well, I have hoped, though quite too great and sudden; I am so fearful, I think it ought not to be for years yet. I am afraid; but believe in you; and I trust to the teacher; You have done all things gravely and temperate, not as in passion; And the teacher is prudent, and surely can tell what is likely. What my father will say, I know not; we will obey him: But for myself, I could dare to believe all well, and venture. O Mr. Philip, may it never hereafter seem to be different! And she hid her face— Oh, where, but in Philip’s bosom!