ine, and if Mither were here today, I
know she would scorn any proposal that brought Jessy here. She never
liked Jessy."

"Her liking or disliking did not influence her will about the house.
She loved every stone in this cottage, and above all she loved her
garden, and her flowers. Tell me, Norman, if Jessy came here, how long
would the house be in decent order? And where would Mither's bonnie
flower-garden be, by the end o' the spring weather? For Mither's sake
I'll tak' care o' the things she loved. They werna many, and they
werna worth much, but they were all she had, for her hard working
life, and her sair suffering. And she relied on you, Norman. She said
in her last hours, 'If things are contrary, Christine, and you can't
manage them, ca' on Norman, and nane else. Norman will stand by his
sister, if a' the warld was against her.'"

"Ay, will he! Blood is thicker than water. We had the same Feyther and
Mither. Nane better ever lived," and he stretched out his hand, and
Christine clasped it, and then he kissed her, and went away.

Jessy was waiting for him. "Ye hae been a mortal lang time, Norman,"
she said. "I hae been that narvous and unsettled i' my mind, I
couldna even get a bite ready for ye."

"Weel ye be to settle yoursel' now, Jessy; for my sister has her mind
fixed on the way she has set hersel', and naebody will be able to move
her. Naebody!"

"Is she getting her wedding things ready?"

"She is going to wear blacks for the full year."

"There's nae occasion for her to cast them. She can put on a white
gown for the ceremony. I suppose they will hae the Domine come to the
house and marry them."

"You are going ayont a' probabilities, Jessy. Christine willna marry
for a full year. I am not sure she will ever marry."

"She be to marry! Of course she'll marry! She canna mak' a leeving oot
a' a few bits o' poetry! She be to marry! All women hae to marry.
Where is she going to bide?"

"Just where she is."

"I'll not hear tell o' that. The house is yours. After the widow's
death, the home comes to the auldest son. That's the law o' Scotland,
and I'm vera sure it's the law o' England likewise. It's the right
law. When folks break it, the break is for sorrow. There was Robert
Toddie, who left his house and land to his daughter Jean, and she
married her lad, and took him to live there--never heeding her
brother's right--and baith her bairn and hersel' died within a
twelvemonth, and sae Robert cam' to h