David could, however, say nothing. The very circumstance of the Laird's wishing him to say something pertinent to the purpose already so broadly hinted at, prevented him from touching so delicate a subject; and, notwithstanding of another application of the tail of the Laird's eye, he was silent.
"Ye hae gien me ae advice, David," said the Laird, in despair of getting anything more out of David without a question: "could ye no tell me _wha_ I should marry, man?" And having achieved this announcement, he rose and walked to the window.
"That's owre delicate a subject for me to gie an advice on, yer Honour," replied David. "The doo lays aside ninety-nine guid straes, an' taks the hundredth, though a crooked ane, for its nest. Ye maun judge for yersel."
"What say ye to yer ain Effie, then?" said the Laird, relieved at last from a dreadful burden.
"If yer Honour likes the lassie, an' she'll tak yer Honour, I can hae nae objections," replied David.
The Laird, who seemed twenty years younger after this declaration, took David by the hand, and shook it till the pain of his dislocated arm almost made him cry.
"Will ye speak to her aboot it. David!" said he, still holding his hand. "The best farm o' Burnbank will be your reward. Plead for me, David, my best friend. Tell Betty aboot it, and get her to use a mother's pooer. If I can trust my een, Effie doesna dislike me. If a' gaes weel, ye may hae Ravelrigg, or Braidacre, or Muirfield--onything that's in my pooer to gie, David." And the old lover, exhausted by the struggle and excitement he had suffered, sank back into the chair.
"I will do my best," replied David. And the old Laird sighed, and absolutely groaned with pure, unmixed satisfaction.
At the end of this scene, Effie and her mother came in. The damsel took her old seat on the three-footed stool at the foot of the bed; the eyes of the Laird sought again her face, where he thought they had a better right now to rest. No more was spoken; enough for a day had been said and done; and, with a parting look to David, to keep him in remembrance of his promise, and a purse of money slipped into the hand of Betty, as a solvent of any obstacle that might exist in her mind, the lover went to the door to receive Donald from the soft hands of Effie, who, as was her custom, had gone out before him, to lead the old cadger to the door, and hold the bridle till he with an effort got into the saddle. The only difference Effie could observe in his departure this day, was a kind of mock-gallant wave of the hand, as he, with more than usual spirit, struck his spurless heels into Donald's sides, and tried to rise in the saddle, in response to the hobble of the old Highlander.