‘For twa or three days after this, he gaed about like a ghaist; he couldna tak’ his meat through the day, nor his sleep at night, and I was fear’d that he wad bring some trouble on himsel’. He had tried twa or three times, I understood, to get a word o’ Jessie by hersel’, but she refused to see him. Mary had seen her ance or twice walkin’ wi’ her new sweetheart. Willie had heard this, and ae night he watch’d her until she parted wi’ him, and met her comin’ through her ain entry. I happen’d to be gaun out, but seein’ a glimpse o’ twa folk in the passage, I stopped short and o’erheard Willie say, “Jessie, I wish to speak to you.” “I have nae time to speak to you,” said she, pressing to get past him. “I’ll no keep you lang, and as it is likely it may be the last time I’ll request it, I hope you’ll hear me.” “Weel, what hae ye to say.” “I find by your manner of speakin’ that it’ll no be necessary to say much. I only wish to know whether, considering what has passed between us, you have any excuse to make for your conduct to me of late?” “No; what business have I to make any excuse to you? Let me go.” “O Jessie, your words would signify little, if I didna ken that your conduct was like them. Like a fool, I ance thought your heart was a’ my ain. You have deceived me, Jessie, broken my heart; but I canna wish you ill. May you never have your conduct to me returned on your own head. Although you have deserted me, you will never find one to love you as I have done; but I don’t say this to make you feel for me, or to bring back your lost affections. You never could be to me what you have been, and I wouldna lay my heart, broken as it is, again at your mercy, for any consideration. Farewell, Jessie, I wish you every happiness.” She appeared to be affected, for I could hear her sabbin’; but she didna mak’ ony reply.