When folk don't want to
live--when they've nothing to be happy aboot they are better to dee!"
"But you maunna talk like that, Mysie," he said again. "You'll get
better yet, an' be as happy as ever you were. It is only because you are
ill noo an' you sae weak, that mak's you talk like that. An' forby you
maun mind that there are ither folk wha'll be vexed if you dinna get
better. Your faither and your mither wad like to see you weel an' happy,
an' oh, Mysie, Mysie, I want you to get weel!" he broke out
passionately--pleadingly, the misery in his voice going to her heart as
it cried to her, ached for her, and suffered for her. "Wad you hae
married me, Mysie, if I had asked you afore you went awa'?" and his
hands were again stroking tenderly the brown hair and patting the thin
cheeks as he spoke and plead.
"Ay, Rob," she answered simply, "I wad hae married you. I sometimes
think yet that I'll never marry onybody else. As a lassie I aye dreamed
in my ain mind that I'd be your wife. It's awfu' hoo the things that
folk want maist are aye the things they never get!"
"Mysie, wad you marry me yet?" he asked, impulsively. "Jist this minute?
An' I'll tak' you hame, an' naebody will ken onything.
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