n since the first I saw you;
it's to take you to church and take care of you as a woman ought to be
took care of by a man. And you know I could do it, Jen, for my wages is
good; but you've shied an' shied whenever you've seen me, and baulked
an' baulked when you couldn't shy, so as no skittish mare is half so
bad.'

'Because, Johnnie, I wouldn't ha' yer heart broke the way mine is. I
loved ye too true for that.'

'But what's to hinder that we may be like other folks is? There's
troubles comes to all, but we can bear them like the rest. What's to
hinder? I thought there was some one else, an' that you didn't like. God
knows, Jen, if that 'ad been the way, I'd never 'ev troubled you again;
but last night when we heard your mother was took bad, an' mother an' me
stepped round to see what we could do, an' you let on as you did 'ave a
caring for me, I says,--"Let's be cried in the church," so as your
mother could die happy, if die she must. But when you says, "no," and as
you'd meet me here an' tell me why, I was content to wait an' come here;
an' now what I want to know is--why? what's to hinder, Jen?'

'Ye knows as well as me the tales about me, Johnnie.'

'Tales!' said the young man passionately; 'what tales? All along I've
knocked down any man as 'ud say a word against you.'

'Ay, but the women, Johnnie; ye couldn't knock them down; that's why a
woman's tale's allus the worst.'

'An' what can they say? the worst is that if any man comes nigh you for
a kiss or the like o' that--and no offence, Jen, but you're an uncommon
tidy girl to kiss--he sees another man betwixt himself an' you. Fools
they be to believe such trash! If you'd give me the leave--which I'm not
the fellow to take without you say the word--I'd soon show as no shadder
'ud come betwixt.'

He came a step nearer, reproachful in his frank respect, as if he would
claim the liberty he asked; but she drew back, holding up her hand to
ward him off.

'I believe you half believe the nonsense yourself, Jen.'

'Heaven knows, Johnnie, I've reason to b'lieve it weel, none knows
better ner me. It's that I've comed to tell ye to-night; an' there's
nowt fur it but we mun part. An' if I trouble yer peace staying here i'
the glen, I'll go away out o' yer sight. It wasn't a wish o' mine to
bring ye trouble. None knows better ner me how hard trouble's to bear.'

Her voice trembled as if with some physical pain; he only answered by a
sound of incredulous surprise.