Part Ninth.

And now I must leap owre many weeks, in which there was no onyspecial event that I need set down. Once Colin sent me a bit note by Jock Howieson, who had made his peace wi' Maggie, bidding me meet him o' a certain e'en, an' that he had news for me. I page 50 was fu' fain to dae as he wished, but I minded the promise I had given, an' though it was a sair fight wi' inclination I wadna. I pit a few words on paper, wi' my love, tellin' him I couldna' break my promise, e'en if it broke my heart to keep it, and I wad aye be leal. The written lines looked sae puir and cauld when I had won through wi' them that I was maist minded not to send it till him. But it had to be done; it was my duty, an' I let it gae, an' syne I grat. Maggie came to me, an' spake me fair. She had been much mair gentle wi' me o' late. “I ken your trouble, Jenny,” said she; “an’ I'll ask at the laird to lat ye see Colin ance mair.”

“No, Maggie,” I said; “it wad but mak matters waur.” Then a thocht came intil my mind. “Maggie,” quo I, “ye are no forbad to see him. Will ye no gae till him an' try to gar him understand how I am hindered?”

“Fegs! no,” cried she. Colin Davidson's no' a safe lad to forgather wi' in the gloamin'“; and she skelpit awa' laughin'. I was no' weel pleased wi' her at the time, for I didna ken what had happened at the byre.

But I'm feart I couldna hae held out against the many entreaties that in one way an' the ither Colin continued to convey to me. My faither meant weel by me, nae dout; but I dinna haud it richt to pit such heavy restrictions on puir weak human nature.

Ae braw day, when the sun was shinin' wi’ a fine warm autumn glint, Maggie proposed that we would gae up to the Twasome Linn to gather the rowan berries that grew there. Naething laith, I ‘greed on't, an' up the bonnie glen we flitted, as blythe as twa page 51 weans out for a holiday. Eh! but the linn was a grand sicht that day—the water tum'mlin’ doun frae the rocks in a braid sheet o' silver, an' the spray tossin' an’ sparklin' in the sunlicht like showers o' many-coloured gems. The rowans were thick wi' their beautiful coral-red berries, an' we gathered them in rich ripe clusters. I was pu'in hard at a branch wi' a big bunch on't that I coveted, but I couldna richtly bend down, when a strong hand caught at it owre my head, and when I looked to see who was the owner o't, there stood Colin himsel'. Afore I could speak a word his arms were round me, an' I was sobbing on his breast, amaist daft wi' delight, and half vexed wi' him for makin' me break my promise no to meet him.

An’ where was Maggie? The gude, kind, graceless body had contrived the baill business wi' Colin, an' after betrayin' me intil my lover's arms she had just run awa' and left me to make the best o't. I didna find it very hard to forgi'e her; neither were Colin's caresses sair to thole. It was no by ony fan't o' mine that we had for gathered; and ance the mischief was done, there was nothing for it but to “whistle o'er the lave o't.” Colin informed me o' his proceedings, an' tauld how be was makin' a’ ready to gae out to New Zealand; and wad I gae wi' him, or let him gae his lane. Duty an' love had a sair fight for the mastery; but in the end love conquered and' afore we pairted I had plighted troth, and brak' a sixpence on't, that for gude oi ill, when the time came, I wad leave my hame an' my faither an' a', an' gang wi' him to the very end o' the warld. I might hae resisted temptation sae lang's I didna see him; but his soft, persuasive words page 52 o’ affection were owre powerfu' for me—an’ I only a wee lassie.

An’ now there happened a maist remarkable thing, and one that had a great bearing on this history. We were sittin' cosey, in a snug bield under the rowans, when our attention was attracted tae the linn, which dwynit awa till at last there was nae mair than a wee dribble intilt, an' that o' a strange dirty brown colour, like the moss water. This was sae unaccountable that we got out intil the open, and on lookin up the glen it seemed that the haill mountain was movin' down upon us. The rocks trembled an' tottered an' fell owre a' thro’ ither, an' came slidin' down the hill-side wi'a maist awsome grindin', seartin din.—“Eh Colin,” I sabbed out, aye hauding the faster till him on account o' the danger—“Eh! Colin it's just a judgment.”

“It's no a judgment ava.” quo he, “it's a slip frae the hill, sie as I hae seen mony o'.”

An’ sae it was proven to be. A big moss-hagg on the brae side had sliddered awa' an’ brought doun the face o' the hill aboon. I minded the earlin's propheey neist mornin' when ane o' the shepherds came in to Craigielinn, an' tauld that “the tap o' the mountain had fa'en intil the burn, an' the burn was noo aboon the loch.” An' I was thochtless eneuch to repeat it. My faither turned on me, sharp an' angry.—“Where gat ye thae fule's havers?” quo' he.—“Aye, aye!” he said mair quietly. “Ae pairt o' the curse has fa'en on us. The linn's a loch, an' the loch's a linn, an wha kens—there's a sair chance the rest o't may be fulfilled yet. Weel I an' my house are in the hands o' the Lord. His will be done.”

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It was just as the shepherd lad had said. The slide had pang'd up the mouth o' the upper glen atween the rocks wi' an immense heap o' earth an' stanes, and sae backed up the water that it might wi' truth be said the haill glen was now a loch for miles. An' when the water had filled it a', the linn came boundin' frae a fearsome height owre the top o' the dounfa.'