"Yes, she's like her, and she's not like her. She is quieter and no' so cheery, and she is no' near so bonny as her mother was. Rose is more like her mother in looks, but she doesna 'mind me of her mother in her ways as her sister does, because, I suppose, of the difference that the age and the country make on all that are brought up in them. There is something wanting in all the young people of the present day, that well brought up bairns used to have in mine. Miss Graeme has it, and her sister hasna. You'll ken what I mean by the difference between them."
Mr Snow could not. The difference that he saw between the sisters was sufficiently accounted for to him by the ten year's difference in their ages. He never could be persuaded, that, in any undesirable sense, Rose was more like the modern young lady than her sister. Graeme was perfect, in his wife's eyes, and Rose was not quite perfect. That was all. However, he did not wish to discuss the question just now.
"Well! Graeme is about as good as we can hope to see in _this_ world, and if he's good enough for her that is a great deal to say, even if he is not what her father was."
"There are few like him. But Allan is a good man, Will says, and he is not one to be content with a false standard of goodness, or a low one.
He was a manly, pleasant lad, in the days when I kenned him. I daresay his long warstle with the world didna leave him altogether scatheless; but he's out of the world's grip now, I believe. God bless my bairn, and the man of her choice."
There was a moment's silence. Mrs Snow turned to the window, and her husband sat watching her, his brow a little clearer, but not quite clear yet.
"She _is_ pleased. She ain't making believe a mite. She's like most women folks in _that_," said Mr Snow, emphasising to himself the word, as though, in a good many things, she differed from "women folk" in general. "They really do think in their hearts, though they don't always say so, that it is the right thing for girls to get married, and she's glad Graeme's going to do so well. But, when she comes to think of it, and how few chances there are of her ever seeing much of her again, I am afraid she'll worry about it--though she sartain don't look like it now."
Certainly she did not. The grave face looked more than peaceful, it looked bright. The news which both Rose and Will had intimated, rather than announced, had stirred only pleasant thoughts as yet, that was clear. Mr Snow put on his spectacles and looked at the letters again, then putting them down, said, gravely,--
"She'll have her home a great way off from here. And maybe it's foolish, but it does seem to me as though it was a kind of a come down, to go back to the old country to live after all these years."
Mrs Snow laughed heartily.
"But then, it is no' to be supposed that she will think so, or he either, you ken."
"No, it ain't. If they did, they'd stay here, I suppose."
"Well, it's no' beyond the bounds of possibility, but they may bide here or come back again. But, whether they bide here or bide there, God bless them both," said Mrs Snow, with moistening eyes.
"God bless them both!" echoed her husband. "And, which ever way it is, you ain't going to worry the least mite about it. Be you?"
The question was asked after a pause of several seconds, and Mr Snow looked so wistfully and entreatingly into his wife's face, that she could not help laughing, though there were tears in her eyes.
"No, I am no thinking of worrying, as you call it. It is borne in upon me that this change is to be for the real happiness of my bairn, and it would be pitiful in me to grudge her a day of it. And, to tell you the truth, I have seen it coming, and have been preparing myself for it this while back, and so I have taken it more reasonably than you have done yourself, which is a thing that wasna to be expected, I must confess."
"Seen it coming! Preparing for it!" repeated Mr Snow; but he inquired no farther, only looked meditatively out of the window, and nodded his head a great many times. By and by he said, heartily,--
"Well, if you are pleased, I am. God bless them."
"God bless all the bairns," said his wife, softly. "Oh, man! when I think of all that has come and gone, I am ready to say that 'the Lord has given me the desire of my heart.' I sought His guidance about coming with them. I had a sore swither ere I could think of leaving my mother and Sandy for their sakes, but He guided me and strengthened me, though whiles I used to doubt afterwards, with my sore heart wearying for my own land, and my own kin."
Mr Snow nodded gravely, but did not speak, and in a little she went on again:
"I sought guidance, too, when I left them, and now, looking back, I think I see that I got it; but, for a while, when death came, and they went from me, it seemed as though the Lord had removed the desire of my eyes with a stroke, because of my self-seeking and unfaithfulness. Oh, man! yon was a rough bit of road for my stumbling, weary feet. But He didna let me fall altogether--praise be to His name!"
Her voice shook, and there was a moment's silence, and then she added,--
"But, as for grieving, because Miss Graeme is going farther away, than is perhaps pleasant to think about, when she is going of her own free will, and with a good hope of a measure of happiness, that would be unreasonable indeed."
"Now, if she were to hold up her hands, and say, 'Now, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,' it would seem about the right thing to do,"
said Mr Snow, to himself, with a sigh. "When it comes to giving the bairns up, willing never to see them again, it looks a little as if she was done with most things, and ready to go--and I ain't no ways ready to have her, I'm afraid."
The next words gave him a little start of surprise and relief.
"And we'll need to bethink ourselves, what bonny thing we can give her, to keep her in mind of us when she will be far-away."
"Sartain!" said Mr Snow, eagerly.
"Not that I think she'll be likely to forget us," added his wife, with a catch in her breath. "She's no of that nature. I shouldna wonder if she might have some homesick thoughts, then, even in the midst of her happiness, for she has a tender heart! But, if they love one another, there is little doubt but it will be well with them, seeing they have the fear of God before their eyes. And, she may come back and end her days on this side of the sea, yet, who knows?"
"I shouldn't wonder a mite," said Mr Snow.
"But, whether or not, if she be well, and happy, and good, that is the main thing. And whiles I think it suits my weakness and my old age better to sit here and hear about the bairns, and think about them, and speak to you about them and all that concerns them, than it would to be among them with their youth and strength, and their new interests in life. And then, they dinna need me, and you do," added Mrs Snow, with a smile.
"That's so," said he, with an emphasis that made her laugh.
"Well then, let us hear no more about my worrying about Miss Graeme and the bairns. That is the last thing I am thinking of. Sitting here, and looking over all the road we have travelled, sometimes together, sometimes apart, I can see plainly that we were never left to choose, or to lose our way, but that, at every crook and turn, stood the Angel of the Covenant, unseen then, and, God forgive us, maybe unthought of, but ever there, watching over us, and having patience with us, and holding us up when we stumbled with weary feet. And knowing that their faces are turned in the right way, as I hope yours is, and mine, it is no' for me to doubt but that He is guiding them still, and us as well, and that we shall all come safe to the same place at last." She paused a moment, because of a little break and quiver in her voice, and then she added,--
"Yes. 'The Lord hath given me the desire of my heart' for the bairns.
Praise be to His name."