For it seemed that it was not to be left to John to supply all the rest that was needed in the way of Allison's "providing." For a glimpse was given her of a great many beautiful things,--"naiprie," and bed linen, and gowns and shawls, and other things which a bride is supposed to require. And something was said of china and silver, that were waiting to be sent away to the ship when the time for sailing came. And Allison was not sure how John might like all this. But she need not have been afraid.

Mrs Esselmont had a word with John that night, when he came after his "lecture" to take Allison home. On their way thither, he said to her:

"What did Mrs Esselmont mean when she said to me, that she had at one time hoped that you would come home to her, to be to her a daughter in her old age?"

"Did she say that? It was friend and companion that she said to me. It was at the worst time of all, when Willie had written to me that he was going away to the far West. I was longing to get away, but I couldna go, not knowing that Willie wanted me, and because--until--Oh! yes, I was sad and lonely, and not very strong, and Mrs Esselmont asked me.

But it was not daughter she said to me, but companion and friend."

"And what answer did you give her?"

"I thanked her, but I couldna promise, since I _must_ go to my brother sooner or later."

"And was it only of your brother that you thought, Allison?"

"I had no right to think of any one else then, and besides--"

"Well, besides?" said John after a pause.

"It was you that Elsie liked best, Willie thought--and that her father liked best, as well--"

"Did the foolish fellow tell you that?"

"He said that Elsie was ay friendly with you, and that she had hardly a word or a look for him, and he was afraid that it might break friendship between you if he stayed on, and he said he was going away."

"And he did go, the foolish lad. Friendly! Yes, Elsie and I were friendly, but it was Willie who had her heart. But his going away did no harm in the end."

Allison sighed.

"It was ay Willie's way to yield to impulse, and ill came of it whiles."

"It is his way still--whiles. But it is _good_ that mostly comes of it now. And in Elsie's hands, a thread will guide him. You will love Elsie dearly, Allison."

"I love her dearly already."

They had reached the manse by this time, and as they lingered a moment in the close, John said:

"And were you pleased with all the bonny things that Mrs Esselmont has been speaking to me about?"

Allison started, and laid her hand on his arm.

"Are you pleased, John? I was afraid--"

"Yes, I am pleased. She is very kind."

John kept her hand in his, and led her on till they came to the garden-gate.

"Now tell me of what you are afraid, Allie," said he.

"Oh! not afraid. But I was glad to come to you with little, because I knew you would be glad to give me all. And I thought that--perhaps-- you--But Mrs Esselmont is very kind."

"My dear, I would be ill to please indeed, if I were not both pleased and proud to hear the words which Mrs Esselmont said of you to-night.

Yes, she is more than kind, and she has a right to give you what she pleases, because she loves you dearly."

Allison gave a sigh of pleasure.

"Oh! it was not that I was afraid. But I was, for so long a time, troubled and anxious,--that--whiles I think I am not just like other women--and that you might--"

John uttered a little note of triumph.

"Like other women? You are very little like the most of them, I should say."

"It is not of you--it is of myself I am afraid. You think too well of me, John. I am not so good and wise as you believe, but I love you, John."

That ought to have been enough, and there were only a few words more, and this was one of them:

"Allie," said John gravely, "I doubt that I am neither so wise nor so good as you think me to be. You will need to have patience with me.

There are some who say I am hard, and ower-full of myself, and whiles I have thought it of myself. But, Allie, if I am ever hard with you, or forgetful, or if I ever hurt you by word or deed, it will not be because I do not love you dearly. And you will ay have patience with me, dear, and trust me?"

"I am not afraid, John."

The happy day came, and the marriage in the manse parlour was a very quiet affair, as those who were most concerned desired it to be. But in the opinion of Nethermuir generally, a great mistake had been made. The marriage should have been in the kirk, it was said, so that all the town might have seen it.

Robert was best-man, and Marjorie was best-maid. Mrs Esselmont and her daughter and son-in-law were there, and one other guest.

"Think of it!" folk said. "Only one asked to the marriage out of the whole town, and that one auld Saunners Crombie!"

There was a good reason for that in John's esteem, and in Allison's.

Saunners appreciated the honour which was done him. He also did honour to the occasion--p.r.o.nouncing with unction over the bride and bridegroom the blessings so long ago spoken at the gate of Bethlehem.

It was not quite springtime yet, but the day was like a spring day, with a grey sky, and a west wind blowing softly, when John and Allison came in sight of the kirk of Kilgower. Only the voice of the brown burn broke the stillness, murmuring its way past the manse garden, and the kirkyard wall, and over the stepping-stones on which Allison had not dared to rest her tired feet, on the morning when she saw it last, and she said in her heart:

"Oh! can it be that I am the same woman who would fain have died on that day?"

They went into the kirkyard first. The tears which fell on the white headstone were not all tears of sorrow. They told of full submission, of glad acceptance of G.o.d's will in all the past, and of grat.i.tude for all that the future promised.

"John," said she softly. But her voice failed her to say more.

"We will come again, dear," said he gently, and he led her away.

And so they went on to the manse, and Allison bowed her head while the good old man blessed her, and was glad, though the tears were very near her eyes. John had much to tell the minister about his son and his happy family, and of their way of life, and the good which they did in the town; and after a little Allison smiled as she met her husband's kind eyes, and was ready with her answers when Dr Hadden turned to her.

They were to stay over the Sabbath. Surely they must stay over the Sabbath, the minister said, and the reason which he gave for their staying was the one which John would have given for wishing to go away.

"There will be so many at the kirk who will like to see Allison Bain's face again," said he.

But when he added reverently, "And doubtless it is in her heart to thank G.o.d in His own house, for all the way by which He has led her since that sorrowful day," what could they do but promise to remain?

In the gloaming they went down by the burn side, and past the stepping-stones, and round the hill to the cottage of Janet Mair. It was a dark little place. The tiny peat fire on the hearth cast only a faint light, and it was some moments before they caught a glimpse of the wee bowed wifie, who had befriended Allison in her time of need.