"When eight days have elapsed then," said her mother, resuming her tone of tenderness, "we shall hope, my dearest love, that you will end this suspense."
"Miss Ashton must not be hurried, madam," said Bucklaw, whose bluntness of feeling did not by any means arise from want of good-nature—"messengers may be stopped or delayed. I have known a day's journey broke by the casting off a fore-shoe—Stay, let me see my calendar—the 20th day from this is St Jude's, and the day before I must be at Caverton Edge to see the match between the Laird of Kittlegirth's black mare, and Johnston the meal monger's four-year old colt; but I can ride all night, or Craigy can bring me word how the match goes; and I hope, in the mean time, as I shall not myself distress Miss Ashton with any further importunity, that your ladyship yourself, and Sir William, and Colonel Douglas, will have the goodness to allow her uninterrupted time for making up her mind."
