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Updated: June 19, 2025
"You are laughing at me, Bryde," said she in a little voice, shakily. "No, dear, no," said he, "I would be thinking of the Laird of Scaurdale if he kent, and me with a name to be making.
The long and short of it was jeest this she married on an Englishman, a landed man and weel bred Stockdale they ca'ed him but he turned oot ill after a', and the first wean was a lass instead o' a boy. And I'm jalousin' she would be getting her keel-haulings for that, poor lady. Ye ken weel that young Scaurdale broke his neck, and ye ken where.
"He will have good company even there, it seems," said the lass. But in a little Helen and she were at the talking. "And where would you be leaving all your cavaliers, Helen," said Margaret, for Hugh had been telling us of the young sparks at Scaurdale. "Cavaliers, Margaret!" with a very dainty moving of the shoulders.
"I could always be wheedling him, Hamish," she laughed. At that I looked at her. "I am thinking of Hugh," says she, "Hugh and Mistress Helen," but she had the grace to be shamed a little. "Indeed," said Belle, "they are a bonny pair, the young Laird and the young lady. She will be riding here many times, for the Laird of Scaurdale will have been telling her old tales of the place."
"Am I not the daft lassie?" said she, and started to the singing of merry airs; but before we saw the rowan-tree that grows on the face of the black hill, her songs were sad again. "He will be lonesome away there, Bryde," said she, looking back. "He will be looking for a lass one of these nights," said I, a little angry, "and there are bonny lasses here and there, between here and Scaurdale."
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