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"Ay, sir, but he winned the game, an' that's aye a loss for Geordie; he aye tak's himsel' to the tavern when he wins. Oh, sir, ma hairt's fair broken; it's a twalmonth this verra nicht sin' oor wee Jessie dee'd, an' I was aye lippenin' to that to bring him till himsel'; but he seems waur nor ever he seeks to droon his sorrow wi' the drink."
An' so ye ha'na' found him?" "Oh, sister, my hairt's heavy an' sair. I canna' thole to tell ye." "But ye maun do't, an' the sooner ye tell't the sooner ye'll ha'e it over." "He was na' there. Oh, Ellen, Ellen! He'd gone to America! I'm afraid the Elder is right an' Hester has gone home to get her death blow. Why were we so precipitate in lettin' her go?"
I ken fine a' ye say is true, but he's yir faither for a' that. An' he loves ye maist as weel as me; but oh, my bonnie, there's nane loves ye like yir mither! His hairt's fair broken for ye, Robin. I'll tell ye something, but ye maunna tell yir faither. I heard him pray for ye all alane by himsel'. He prayed to God to bring ye back he ca'd ye Robin richt to God.
"That is you, Christie," said Jean; "use the lads like dirt, an' they think a' the mair o' ye." "Oh, Jean, my hairt's broken. I'm just deeing for him." "Let me speak till him then," said Jean; "I'll sune bring him till his marrow-banes;" and she took a hasty step to follow him. Christie held her fast. "I'd dee ere I'd give in till them. Oh, Jean!
"I'se gang, my lamb," said the rough man, quite subdued; "I daur say whisky will no pass my teeth the day." And so he went quietly away, and sat by Christie's fireside. Jean and Christie went toward the boats. Jean, after taking it philosophically for half a minute, began to whimper. "What's wrang?" said Christie. "Div ye think my hairt's no in my mooth wi' you gripping yon fierce robber?"
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