"What's wrang wi' him, Rob?" she asked, the quick alarm in her voice
cutting his heart as she spoke.
"He hasna been workin' for fully a fortnicht," he replied.
"But what's wrang?" she persisted. "Is he ill?"
"Mysie, I'd raither onything than be the means o' painin' you, for you
are no' in a fit state to be worried."
"You maun tell me, Rob," she cried fiercely, her face showing
excitement. "What is it that is wrang? Is he awfu' ill?"
"He's lyin' gey bad, Mysie, an' when I cam' awa' this mornin', I didna
like the look o' him at a'. He was kind o' wanderin' in his mind, an'
speakin' to you an' John, jist as he used to speak when we were a'
bairns thegither. He was liltin' some o' thae auld sangs he used to sing
to us. But dinna greet, Mysie, you'll mak' yoursel' waur. You are no
very strong, you ken, an' if you worry it'll mak' you waur. You should
raither try an' bear up, an' get strong, an' maybe gang an' see him.
He'd be awfu' prood to see you, an' so wad your mither."
"No, no," she cried. "I canna gang. It wad kill them to see me noo, an'
I couldna bear't, if they should be angry wi' me. I couldna face their
anger, Rob."
"Weel, Mysie," he said, drawing a long breath, as if to face a stiff
proposition, "there is no other way out of it, but that you'll hae to
marry me now--just this minute, an' gang back wi' me.
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