There again: what could he see in her (she asked herself) that he should write of her so? He had declared to her that the magic with which all this neighbourhood was imbued was due to her presence there; but how could she, knowing herself as she did, believe that? And how to show her gratitude to him; and her faith in him; and her confidence as to the future? Well, she could but give to him her life and the love that was the life of her life—if these were worth the taking. But there was one among these many pieces that she had pondered over which she returned to again and again, and with a kind of pride; and that not because it sounded her praises, but because it assured her hopes. As for Ronald’s material success in life, she was troubled with little doubt about that. It might be a long time before he could come to claim his wife; but she was content to wait; in that direction she had no fears whatever. But there was something beyond that. She looked forward to the day when even the Stuarts of Glengask and Orosay should know what manner of man this was whom she had chosen for her husband. Her mother had called him an uneducated peasant; but she paid no heed to the taunt; rather she was thinking of the time when Ronald—other things being settled—might perhaps go to Edinburgh, and get to know some one holding the position there that Jeffrey used to hold (her reading was a little old-fashioned) who would introduce him to the world of letters and open the way to fame. She knew nothing of Carry Hodson’s luckless attempt in this direction; she knew, on the contrary, that Ronald was strongly averse from having any of these scraps printed; but she said to herself that the fitting time would come. And if these unpolished verses are found to belie her confident and proud prognostications as to the future, let it be remembered that she was hardly nineteen, that she was exceedingly warm-hearted, that she was a young wife, and day and night with little to think about but the perfections of her lover, and his kindness to her, and his praise of her, and the honour in which he held her. However, this piece was not about Meenie at all—he had called it _BY ISLAY’S SHORES._ _By Islay’s shores she sate and sang:_ _’O winds, come blowing o’er the sea,_ _And bring me back my love again_ _That went to fight in Germanie!’_ _And all the livelong day she sang,_ _And nursed the bairn upon her knee:_ _’Balou, balou, my bonnie bairn,_ _Thy father’s far in Germanie,_ _But ere the summer days are gane,_ _And winter blackens bush and tree,_ _Thy father will we welcome hame_ _Frae the red wars in Germanie.’_ _O dark the night fell, dark and mirk;_ _A wraith stood by her icily:_ _’Dear wife, I’ll never more win hame,_ _For I am slain in Germanie._ _On Minden’s field I’m lying stark,_ _And Heaven is now my far countrie,_ _Farewell, dear wife, farewell, farewell,_ _I’ll ne’er win hame frae Germanie.’_