“It is not that I doubt you, mother; but you know how difficult it is not to mention a thing that is much in your mind. Margaret Leslie is my own; it is all settled and fixed between us. She came out to me in her trouble when she found her father was dying, and what could I do but comfort her, and support her, and show my feeling--” “Oh, ay, Rob,” his mother interpolated, “you were aye grand at that!” “What could a man do else?--a sweet young creature like Margaret Leslie crying by his side! I told her, what I suppose she knew very well before, for I never hide my feelings, mother, as you say. And the issue is, she’s mine. However it was done, you will not say but what it was well done. I have been fond of her since ever I can remember.” “And of twa-three mair,” said Mrs. Glen, “but no a word o’ that, Rob my man. Eh, but I’m weel pleased! That’s what I’ve been thinking of since the very week you came hame. ‘Now if Rob, with all his cleverness, could get that bonnie Miss Margret,’ I said to mysel’. The Lord bless ye, my man! I aye thought you were born to be the lucky one of my family. Is it a’ in her ain disposition, or have the family ony power over it, Rob? Eh, my bonnie man, what a down-sitting! and the bonniest leddy in Fife of her years. You’re a lucky lad, if ever there was one.” “Let me in, mother; I don’t want to tell this to any ears but yours.” “Ay, ay, my man, I’ll let you in,” said his mother, standing aside from the door. “Come in and welcome, my lucky lad. Is there anything you would like for your supper? Naething in a’ the house is ower good for such good news. We’ll take a bottle o’ wine out of the press, or maybe ye would like a drap toddy just as well, which is mair wholesome. Come in, come in, my bonnie man. A bonnie lass, and plenty wi’ her; and a real auld family an honor to anybody to be connected with. My word, Rob Glen, you’re a lucky lad! Wha will look down upon you now? Wha will say a word about your opinions? I’ve never upbraided you mysel’; I saw your talents, and felt ye could bide your time. Eh,” cried Mrs. Glen, exultant, “wha will say now but that marriages are made in heaven? And Rob, my bonnie man, when is it to be?” “We are not so far as that, mother,” he said; “do you think she has the heart to think of marrying, and poor old Sir Ludovic lying on his death-bed? We must wait for all that. I’m too happy in the mean time to think of more. She’s mine; and that is more than I could have hoped.” “That’s very true, my man: but still something settled would have been a grand stand-by,” said Mrs. Glen, slightly disappointed; “I would have thought now it would have been a great comfort to Sir Ludovic to see his daughter married and settled before he slips away. But the gentry’s ways are not as our ways. I’m doubting you’ll have some trouble with the family, if nothing’s settled afore the auld gentleman dies.”