“It wes for anither a' githered, an' as fast as I got the gear a' gied it awa,” and Drumsheugh sprang to his feet, his eyes shining; “it wes for luve's sake a' haggled an' schemed an' stairved an' toiled till a've been a byword at kirk and market for nearness; a' did it a' an' bore it a' for ma luve, an' for... ma luve a' wud hae dune ten times mair. “Did ye ken wha it wes, Weelum?” “Ye never mentioned her name, but a' jaloosed, an' there's nane like her in the Glen--” “No, nor in braid Scotland for me! She 'ill aye be the bonniest as weel as the noblest o' weemen in ma een till they be stickit in deith. But ye never saw Marget in her bloom, when the blossom wes on the tree, for a' mind ye were awa in Edinburgh thae years, learning yir business. “A' left the schule afore she cam, an' the first time a' ever kent Marget richt wes the day she settled wi' her mither in the cottar's hoose on Drumsheugh, an' she 's hed ma hert sin' that 'oor. “It wesna her winsome face nor her gentle ways that drew me, Weelum; it wes... her soul, the gudeness 'at lookit oot on the warld through yon grey een, sae serious, thochtfu', kindly. “Nae man cud say a rouch word or hae a ill thocht in her presence; she made ye better juist tae hear her speak an' stan' aside her at the wark. 'A' hardly ever spoke tae her for the three year she wes wi's, an' a said na word o' luve. A' houpit some day tae win her, an' a' wes mair than content tae hae her near me. Thae years were bitter tae me aifterwards, but, man, a' wudna be withoot them noo; they 're a' the time a' ever hed wi' Marget. “A'm a-wearyin' ye, Weelum, wi' what can be little mair than havers tae anither man.” But at the look on the doctor's face, he added, “A 'll tell ye a' then, an'... a 'll never mention her name again. Ye 're the only man ever heard me say 'Marget' like this. “Weelum, a' wes a man thae days, an' thochts cam tae me 'at gared the hert leap in ma breist, and ma blude rin like the Tochty in spate. When a' drave the scythe through the corn in hairst, and Marget lifted the gowden swathe ahint me, a' said, 'This is hoo a 'll toil an' fecht for her a' the days o' oor life an' when she gied me the sheaves at the mill for the threshin', 'This is hoo she 'ill bring a' guid things tae ma hame.' “Aince her hand touched mine--a' see a withered forget-me-not among the aits this meenut--an'... that wes the only time a' ever hed her hand in mine... a' hoddit the floor, an', Weelum, a' hev it tae this day. “There's a stile on the road tae the hill, an' a hawthorn-trec at the side o 't; it wes there she met ae sweet simmer evenin', when the corn wes turnin' yellow, an' telt me they wud be leavin' their hoose at Martinmas. Her face hed a licht on it a' hed never seen. 'A 'm tae be marriet,' she said, 'tae William Howe. “Puir lad, puir lad, aifter a' yir houps; did ye lat her ken?”