A DAUGHTER OF FIFE

By

AMELIA E. BARR

AUTHOR OF "JAN VEDDER'S WIFE"

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. --THE BEACHED BOAT

CHAPTER II. --THE UNKNOWN GUEST

CHAPTER III. --THE CAMPBELLS OF MERITON

CHAPTER IV. --MAGGIE AND ANGUS

CHAPTER V. --PARTING

CHAPTER VI. --OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE

CHAPTER VII. --MAGGIE

CHAPTER VIII. --THE BROKEN SIXPENCE

CHAPTER IX. --SEVERED SELVES AND SHADOWS

CHAPTER X. --MAGGIE'S FLIGHT

CHAPTER XI. --DRUMLOCH

CHAPTER XII. --TO THE HEBRIDES

CHAPTER XIII. --THE BROKEN TRYST

CHAPTER XIV. --THE MEETING PLACE

CHAPTER XV. --WOO'D AN' MARRIED AND A'

CHAPTER I. 

THE BEACHING OF THE BOAT. 

 "Thou old gray sea, Thou broad briny water, With thy ripple and thy plash, And thy waves as they lash The old gray rocks on the shore. With thy tempests as they roar, And thy crested billows hoar, And thy tide evermore Fresh and free. "

 --Dr. Blackie. 

On the shore of a little land-locked haven, into which the gulls andterns bring tidings of the sea, stands the fishing hamlet of Pittenloch. It is in the "East Neuk o' Fife, " that bit of old Scotland "fronted with agirdle of little towns, " of which Pittenloch is one of the smallestand the most characteristic. Some of the cottages stand upon the sands, others are grouped in a steep glen, and a few surmount the loftysea-washed rocks. 

To their inhabitants the sea is every thing. Their hopes and fears, theirgains and losses, their joys and sorrows, are linked with it; and thelargeness of the ocean has moulded their feelings and their characters. They are in a measure partakers of its immensity and its mystery. Thecommonest of their men have wrestled with the powers of the air, and themight of wind, and wave, and icy cold. The weakest of their women havefelt the hallowing touch of sudden calamity, and of long, lonely, life-and-death, watches. They are intensely religious, they holdtenaciously to the modes of thought and speech, to the manner of livingand dressing, and to all the household traditions which they havecherished for centuries. 

Two voices only have had the power to move them from the even spirit oftheir life--the voice of Knox, and the voice of Chalmers. It was among thefishers of Fife that Knox began his crusade against popery; and from theirvery midst, in later days, sprang the champion of the Free Kirk. Otherwiserebellions and revolutions troubled them little. Whether Scotland's kingsat in Edinburgh or London--whether Prince Charles or George of Hanoverreigned, was to them of small importance. They lived apart from the battleof life, and only the things relating to their eternal salvation, or theirdaily bread, moved them. 

Forty-two years ago there was no landward road to Pittenloch, unless youfollowed the goats down the steep rocks. There was not a horse or cart inthe place; probably there was not a man in it who had ever seen ahaymaking. If you went to Pittenloch, you went by the sea; if you left it, there was the same grand highway. And the great, bearded, sinewy men, bending to the oars, and sending the boat spinning through clouds ofspindrift, made it, after all, a right royal road. 

Forty-two years ago, one wild March afternoon, a young woman was standingon the beach of Pittenloch. There was an ominous wail in the sea, tellingof the fierce tide yet to come; and all around her whirling wraiths ofvapor sweeping across the level sands. From a little distance, sheappeared like a woman standing amid gray clouds--a sombre, solid, figure;whose attitude was one of grave thoughtfulness. Approaching nearer, it wasevident that her gaze was fixed upon a fishing boat which had been drawnhigh upon the shingle; and from which a party of heavy-footed fishermenwere slowly retreating. 

She was a beautiful woman; tall, supple, erect; with a positive splendorof health and color. Her dress was that of the Fife fisher-girl; ablue flannel jacket, a very short white and yellow petticoat, and awhite cap drawn over her hair, and tied down with a lilac kerchiefknotted under the chin. This kerchief outlined the superb oval of herface; and made more remarkable the large gray eyes, the red curvedmouth, and the wide white brow. She was barefooted, and she tappedone foot restlessly upon the wet sands, to relieve, by physical motion, her mental tension and sorrow. 

It was Maggie Promoter, and the boat which had just been so solemnly"beached" had been her father's. It was a good boat, strong in everytimber, an old world Buckie skiff, notorious for fending in founderingseas; but it had failed Promoter in the last storm, and three days afterhe and his sons had gone to the bottom had been found floating in LargoBay. 

If it had been a conscious criminal, a boat which had wilfully andcarelessly sacrificed life, it could hardly have been touched with moredislike; and in accordance with the ancient law of the Buchan and Fifefishers, it was "_put from the sea_. " Never again might it toss onthe salt free waves, and be trusted with fishermen's lives. Silently itwas drawn high up on the desolate shingle, and left to its long andshameful decay. 

Maggie had watched the ceremony from a little distance; but when thefishers had disappeared in the gathering mist, she slowly approached theboat. There it lay, upside down, black and lonely, far beyond the highestmark of any pitying tide. She fancied that the insensate timber had a lookof shame and suffering, and she spoke to it, as if it had a soul tocomprehend her:--

"Lizzie! Lizzie! What cam' o'er you no to bide right side up? Four gudemen to your keeping, Lizzie, and you lost them a'. Think shame o' yersel', think shame o' yersel', for the sorrow you hae brought! You'll be a heartgrief to me as long as you lie there; for I named you mysel', littlethinking o' what would come o' it. "

For a few minutes she stood looking at the condemned and unfortunate boatin silence; then she turned and began to walk rapidly toward the nearestcluster of cottages. The sea fog was rolling in thick, with the tide, andthe air was cold and keen. A voice called her through it, and she answeredthe long-drawn "Maggie" with three cheerful words, "I'm coming, Davie. "Very soon Davie loomed through the fog, and throwing a plaid about her, said, "What for did you go near the boat, Maggie? When you ken where illluck is, you should keep far from it. "

"A better looking or a bonnier boat I ne'er saw, Davie. "

"It's wi' boats, as it is wi' men and women; some for destruction, some for salvation. The Powers above hae the ordering o' it, and it'sa' right, Maggie. "

"That's what folks say. I'm dooting it mysel'. It's our ain fault someway. Noo there would be a false plumb in yonder boat, though we didna kenit. "

"Weel, weel, she failed in what was expected o' her, and she's got herdeserts. We must tak' care o' our ain job. But I hae news for you, and ifyou'll mak' a cup o' tea, and toast a Finnin haddie, we'll talk it o'er. "

The Promoter cottage was in a bend of the hills, but so near the sea thatthe full tide broke almost at its door, and then drew the tinkling pebblesdown the beach after it. It was a low stone dwelling, white-washed, andheather-roofed, and containing only three rooms. David and Maggie enteredthe principal one together. Its deal furniture was spotless, its floorcleanly sanded, and a bright turf fire was burning on the brick hearth. Some oars and creels were hung against the wall, and on a pile of nets inthe warmest corner, a little laddie belonging to a neighbor's householdwas fast asleep. 

Maggie quickly threw on more turf, and drew the crane above the fire, andhung the kettle upon it. Then with a light and active step she set abouttoasting the oat cake and the haddie, and making the tea, and setting thelittle round table. But her heart was heavy enough. Scarcely a week beforeher father and three eldest brothers had gone out to the fishing, andperished in a sudden storm; and the house place, so lately busy and noisywith the stir of nearly half-a-dozen menfolk, was now strangely still andlonely. 

Maggie was a year older than her brother David, but she never thought ofassuming any authority over him. In the first place, he had the privilegeof sex; in the next, David Promoter was generally allowed to be"extr'onar' wise-like and unwardly in a' his ways. " In fact there had beenan intention of breaking through the family traditions and sending him tothe University of Aberdeen. Latterly old Promoter had smoked his pipe veryoften to the ambitious hope of a minister in his family. David's brothersand sister had also learned to look upon the lad as destined by Providenceto bring holy honors upon the household. No thought of jealousy had marredtheir intended self-denial in their younger brother's behalf. Their sternCalvinism taught them that Jacob's and Jesse's families were not likely tobe the only ones in which the younger sons should be chosen for vessels ofhonor; and Will Promoter, the eldest of the brothers, spoke for all, whenhe said, "Send Davie to Aberdeen, fayther; gladly we will a' of us helpwi' the fees; and may be we shall live to see a great minister come oot o'the fishing boats. "

But though the intended sacrifice had been a sincerely pure and unselfishone, it had nevertheless been refused. Why it had been refused, was thequestion filling David's heart with doubt and despair, as he sat with hishead in his hands, gazing into the fire that March afternoon. Maggie waswatching him, though he did not perceive it, and by an almost unconsciousmental act was comparing him with his dead brothers. They had been simplystrong fair fishers, with that open air look men get who continually settheir faces to the winds and waves. David was different altogether. He wasexceedingly tall, and until years filled in his huge framework of bone andmuscle, would very likely be called "gawky. " But he had the face of amediaeval ecclesiastic; spare, and sallow, and pointed at the chin. Hishair, black and exceeding fine, hung naturally in long, straggling masses;his mouth was straight and perhaps a little cruel; his black, deep seteyes had the glow in them of a passionate and mystical soul. Such a man, if he had not been reared in the straitest sect of Calvinism, would haveadopted it--for it was his soul's native air. 

That he should go to the university and become a minister seemed to Davidas proper as that an apple tree should bear an apple. As soon as it wassuggested, he felt himself in the moderator's chair of the generalassembly. "Why had such generous and holy hopes been destroyed?" Maggieknew the drift of his thoughts, and she hastened her preparations for tea;for though it is a humiliating thing to admit, the most sacred of ourgriefs are not independent of mere physical comforts. David's and Maggie'ssorrow was a deep and poignant one, but the refreshing tea and cake andfish were at least the vehicle of consolation. As they ate they talked toone another, and David's brooding despair was for the hour dissipated. 

During the days of alternating hope and disappointment following the stormin which the Promoters perished, they had not permitted themselves tothink, much less to speak of a future which did not include those whomight yet return. But hope was over. When Promoter's mates beached hisboat, both David and Maggie understood the rite to be a funeral one. Itwas not customary for women to go to funerals, but Maggie, standing afaroff, amid the gray thick fog, had watched the men drag the unfortunatecraft "where a boat ought never to be;" and when they had gone away, hadstood by the lonely degraded thing, and felt as sad and hopeless, as if ithad been the stone at a grave's mouth. 

All the past was past; they had to begin a life set to new methods andmotives: "and the sooner the better, " thought Maggie, "if fayther werehere, he wad say that. "

"Davie?"

"Weel?"

"Is the tea gude? And the fish, and the cake?"

"Ay, they're gude. I didna think I was sae hungry. I'm maist 'shamed toenjoy them sae hearty. "

"Life's wark wants life's food; and we canna sit wi' idle hands anitherseven days. You were saying you had news, what will it be?"

"Ay, I had forgotten. Willie Johnson's Willie has brought back wi'him a young man. He wants a quiet room to himsel', and there's naebody inPittenloch can gie him ane, if it be na us, or the Widow Thompson. He'soffered a crown a week for ane. "

"You should hae said instanter we'd be thankfu'. My certie! A crown aweek, that's a fair godsend, Davie. "

"The widow has the first right to the godsend; if she canna tak' it, she'll send it our way, Maggie. "

"Davie, there is £50 in Largo Bank. "

"I ken that. "

"You'll tak' it. It will gie you a' the start you need at Aberdeen. Fayther said £30 a year wad do, wi' a carefu' hand to guide it. You'll beHelping yoursel' wi' a bit teaching afore it is a' gane. "

"I'll no touch it. What are you talking aboot? Oor fayther saved it forhis auld age and his burying. "

"And he'll ne'er be auld now, Davie! and God has found him a grave thatonly He kens o'! I can spin, and weave, and sew, and the lasses roun'aboot have keepit my needle aye busy. Why not? I served my time in Largo, and I can cut a skirt or josey, and mak' a kirk gown, better than any onenearer. "

"You'll be wanting to marry ere lang, Maggie. Angus Raith thinks much o'you; and £50 wad buy his share in Cupar's boat. I sall hae the cottage, and the £50 is to be for your wedding and plenishing. "

"This is na a time to talk o' wedding, Davie; and there is na any promisemade to Angus Raith! Go into Kinkell the morn and speak wi' the minister;he is a wise man, and we will baith o' us do the thing he says. "

After this, the conversation drifted hither and thither, until the mealWas finished. Then while Maggie tidied up the room, David opened the doorAnd stood thoughtfully within its shadow. "There's a voice in the seato-night, " he said mournfully, "and when the tide turns back, the windwill have its way. "

"Can you see aught?"

"Naething. There's a heavy mist and a thick smur--but I hear steps on theshingle. I'm thinking it will be Johnson wi' the stranger I spoke o'. "

"Ay, weel, I hae gotten my feet dressed, " and she looked down withapproval at her ribbed gray stockings, and low shoes, the brass clasps ofwhich she had just latched. 

David did not answer her, for he was bidding his visitors welcome. ThenMaggie turned round with the freshly lit "cruisie" in her hand, and hereyes were caught by two other eyes, and held as if by a spell. She wasconscious, as she stood blushing, that the stranger had been astonished ather appearance, but she certainly did not dream that it was her greatbeauty which had for one moment made him incapable of controlling hissense of it. It was only one moment, in the next he turned to David, andoffered to pay him two shillings a day for the use of his vacant room, anda share of his simple fare. 

The interview lasted but a very short time. Maggie said, she could havethe room ready for him by noon of the following day, and as soon as thematter was settled, he went. 

He had not sat down, and so every one else had remained standing; but atthe open door he caught Maggie's eyes once more, and with a slightmovement of adieu to her, he disappeared. She trembled, and turned hot andcold, and felt as if she must cry. It was with difficulty she hid heremotion from her brother, who looked queerly at her as he said, "I ne'ersaw any man look like that man. "

"He had a bonnie braidcloth cloak on. "

"Sae handsome and sae stately; and if kings hae any grander way, there'snae wonder folks bow down to them. I aye thocht that Dr. Balmuto had themaist compelling look wi' him; but I think yonder man wouldna fear him, e'en though the doctor had on his Geneva bands and his silk gown. "

"What's his name, Davie?"

"I dinna ken. I never thocht to ask him. "

Then a singular sadness, one quite distinct from the shadow of their knownsorrow, settled upon both brother and sister. Was it a sorrow ofapprehension? one of those divinations which we call presentiments. Neither David nor Maggie questioned it; they were not given to analyzingTheir feelings, indeed they were totally unacquainted with this mostuseless of mental processes. 

But nevertheless, the stranger had left an influence, and for half an hourthey sat silently musing. Maggie was the first to break its spell. In alow voice, as she bent lower to the dying fire, she began to talk of thedead for whom "God had found graves;" and to recall little incidents oftheir hard unselfish lives, which particularly touched David's and her ownexperience. 

"If they were here to-night, Davie--oot on the dark sea--tossed up anddown--pulling in the nets or lines wi' freezing hands--hungry, anxious, fearfu' o' death--wad we wish it?"

"Na, na, na, Maggie! Where they are noo, the light doesna fade, and theheart doesna fail, and the full cup never breaks. Come, let us ask o' theBook thegither. I dinna doot, but we sall get just the word we areneeding. "

Maggie rose and took it from its place on the broad shelf by thewindow, and laid it down upon the table. David lifted the light and stoodbeside her. Then with a reverent upward glance, he opened the well-usedleaves:--

"Maggie, what need we mair? Listen to the word o' the Lord;" and with avoice tender and triumphant he read aloud--

"_Then are they glad because they be quiet: so He bringeth them untotheir desired haven_. "

CHAPTER II. 

THE UNKNOWN GUEST. 

 "She was a form of life and light, That seen, became a part of sight, And rose where'er I turned mine eye, The Morning Star of Memory. "

 "Thou art more than all the shrines that hold thee. "

The next morning was a very stormy one; there was an iron-gray sky above ablack tumbling sea; and the rain, driven by a mad wind, smote the facelike a blow from a passionate hand. The boats were all at anchor, with noprospect of a fishing that day; and the fishermen, gathered in littlegroups, were muttering over the bad weather. But their talk was notbitter, like the complaints which landsmen make over leveled crops. Regarding every thing that happened as the result of righteous decree, whyshould they rail at disappointment or misfortune? Some went slowly to ashed where boats were being built; others sat down within the doors oftheir cottages and began to knit their nets, or to mend such as were outof order. 

David could take a landward route to Kinkell, among the shore rocks; forthough the path was often a mere footing, it was well known to him; and asfor the stormy weather, it seemed only a part of the darker and fiercertempest in his own soul. He left Maggie early. She watched him climbingwith bent head the misty heights, until a projecting rock hid him fromview; then she went back to her household duties. 

The first one was to prepare the room she had rented for its strange guestand it gave her many a pang to fold away the "kirk clothes" of her fatherand brothers and lock them from sight in the big "kist" that was thefamily wardrobe. For clothing has a woeful individuality, when we put itaway forever; and the shoes of the dead men had a personality that almostterrified her. How pitiful, how forsaken, how almost sentient they looked!Blind with tears, she hid them from sight, and then turned, as theBereaved must ever turn, back to the toil and need of daily life. 

There was but one window in the room, a little one opening on hinges, andglazed with small diamond-shaped bits of glass. The driving storm hadwashed it clean, she hung a white curtain before it, and brought from theliving room a pot of scarlet geranium, and a great sea shell, from whosemouth hung a luxuriant musk plant. Its cool fragrance filled the room, andgave an almost dainty feeling to the spotlessness of the deal furnitureand the homespun linen. Before the turf fire there was a square of ragcarpet, and the bits of blue and scarlet in it were pretty contrasts tothe white wood of the chairs and table. 

The stranger was to have come about noon, but it was the middle of theafternoon when he arrived. The storm was then nearly over, and there was aglint of watery sunshine athwart the cold; green, tossing sea. Maggie hadgrown anxious at his delay, and then a little cross. At two o'clock shegave a final peep into the room and said to herself, --"I'll just get onwi' my wark, let him come, or let him bide awa'. I canna waste my timewaiting for folk that dinna ken the worth o' time. "

So when her lodger stood at her door she was at her baking board, andpatting the cakes so hard, that she did not hear him, until he said, "Goodafternoon, Miss Promoter. "

Then she turned sharply around, and answered, "Maggie Promoter, if itplease you, sir. "

"Very well, " he said gravely, "good afternoon, Maggie. Is your brother athome?"

"No, sir; he's awa' to Kinkell. Your room is ready for you, sir. " As shespoke she was rubbing the meal from her hands, and he stood watching herwith delight. He had wondered if her beauty would bear the test ofdaylight, or if it needed the broad shadows, and the dull glow of theburning turf and the oil cruisie. But she stood directly in the band ofsunshine, and was only the more brilliantly fair for it. He was not inlove with her, he was sure of that, but he was interested by a life sovivid, so full of splendid color, grace, and vitality. 

With a little pride she opened the door of his room, and stirred up theglowing peats, and put the big rush chair before them, --"And you can justcall me, sir, when you want aught, " she said, "I'll go ben noo, and finishmy cake baking. "

"Maggie, this room is exactly what I wanted; so clean and quiet! I'm muchobliged to you for allowing me to use it. " "You pay siller, sir, andthere's nae call to say thank you!" With the words she closed the door, and was gone. And somehow, the tone of reserve and the positive click ofthe latch made him feel that there would be limits he could not pass. 

In a couple of hours he heard the little stir of David's return, and thepreparation for tea. Maggie brought his table to the fireside and coveredit with a square of linen, and set upon it his cup and plate. He had abook in his hand and he pretended to be absorbed in it; but he did notlose a movement that she made. 

"Your tea is a' ready, sir. "

He lifted his eyes then, and again her clear candid gaze was caught by hisown. Both were this time distinctly conscious of the meeting, and bothwere for the moment embarrassed. 

"It looks good, Maggie, and I am hungry. Is your brother back?"

"David is hame, sir. It was a hard walk he had. He's tired, I'm thinking. "

The last words were said more to herself than to her lodger. She wassomewhat troubled by Davie's face and manner. He had scarcely spoken toher since his return, but had sat thinking with his head in his hands. She longed to know what Dr. Balmuto had said to him, but she knew DavidWould resent questioning, and likely punish her curiosity by restrainingconfidence with her for a day or two. So she spoke only of the storm, andof the things which had come into her life or knowledge during hisabsence. 

"Kirsty Wilson has got a sweetheart, David, and her no sixteen yet. "

"Kirsty aye thocht a lad was parfect salvation. You shallna be mair thancivil to her. She has heard tell o' the man staying wi' us. It wad be thatbrought her here nae doot. "

"She was not here at a'. Maggie Johnson telled me. Maggie cam' to borrow acup o' sugar. She said Cupar's boat tried to win out o' harbor after thestorm. It could not manage though. "

"It was wrang to try it. Folks shouldna tempt Providence. "

"The cakes baked weel to-day. "

"Ay, they are gude eating. "

Then she could think of nothing more to say, and she washed the cups, andwatched the dark, sad man bending over the fire. A vulgar woman, a selfishwoman, would have interrupted that solemn session at her hearth. She wouldhave turned Inquisitor, and tortured him with questions. "What's thematter?" "Is there anything wrong?" "Are you sick?" etc. , etc. But whenMaggie saw that her brother was not inclined to talk to her, she left himalone to follow out the drift of his own thoughts. He seemed unconsciousof her presence, and when her active house duties were over, she quietlypulled her big wheel forward, and began to spin. 

The turfs burned red, the cruisie burned low, the wheel "hummed"monotonously, and Maggie stepped lightly to-and-fro before it. In an hourthe silence became oppressive, she was sleepy, she wished Davie wouldspeak to her. She laid her fingers on the broad wooden band and was justgoing to move, when the inner door was opened, and the stranger stood atit. His pause was but a momentary one, but the room was all picture tohim, especially the tall fair woman with her hand upon the big wheel, andher face, sensitive and questioning, turned toward her brother. 

"David Promoter. "

"Ay, sir. " He moved slowly like a man awakening from a sleep, but veryquickly shook off the intense personality of his mood, and turned to thestranger with a shy and yet keen alertness. 

"I dinna ken your name, sir, or I wad call you by it. "

"My name is Allan Campbell. "

"Sit down, sir. You are vera welcome. Can I do aught to pleasure you?"

"I want my trunk from Largo. Yesterday the sea was too heavy to bring it. Can you get it for me to-morrow?"

"An' the sea be willing, sir. "

"There is a box of books also, but they are very heavy. "

"Books! We'll try and bring them ony way. "

"You love books then?"

"Better than bread. "

"What have you read?"

"I have read my Bible, and The Institutes, and the Scot's Worthies, andpairt o' the Pilgrim's Progress. But I didna approve o' John Bunyan'sdoctrine. It's rank Armenianism. "

"I have just finished a volume of Scott's poems. Have you read any ofthem?"

"Na, na; I hae nae skill o' poetry, sir, an' it be na the Psalms o'David. "

"Let me read you a stanza, that I think you will enjoy. "

He went for his book and drew a chair beside the little light, and readwith a great deal of fire and feeling some passages from "The Lay of theLast Minstrel. " He was soon sensible that he was gradually stirring inthese two untutored souls, feelings of which they had hitherto beenunconscious. He put more and more passion into the words, finally he threwdown the book, and standing erect, recited them with outstretched arms anduplifted face. When he ceased, David was listening like one entranced; andMaggie's knitting had fallen to the floor: for she had unconsciouslyrisen, and was gazing at the speaker with a face that reflected everychange of his own. It was as if the strings of a harp had snapped, andleft the souls of the listeners in mid-air. With an effort the enthusiasmwas put aside, and after a minute's pause, David said, "I ne'er heardwords like them words. Mony thanks to you, sir. I'm right glad it was aScot wrote them, " and he murmured softly--

 "O Caledonia stern and wild! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood. "

Still it was Maggie's shy, tremulous glance and luminous face, thatThanked and pleased Campbell most, and he lifted the book and went away, almost as much under the spell of the poet, as the two simple souls whohad heard his music for the first time. There was a moment or two in whichlife seemed strange to the brother and sister. They had much the samefeeling as those who awaken from a glorious dream and find sordid caresand weary pains waiting for them. David rose and shook himselfimpatiently, then began to walk about the narrow room. Maggie lifted herstocking and made an effort to knit, but it was a useless one. In a fewminutes she laid it down, and asked in a low voice, "Will you have a plateo' parritch, Davie?"

"Ay; I'm hungry, Maggie; and he'll maybe like one too. "

So the pan was hung over the fire, and the plates and bowls set; and whileMaggie scattered in the meal, and went for the milk, Davie tried toCollect his thoughts, and get from under the spell of the Magician of hisage. And though poetry and porridge seem far enough apart Campbell said ahearty "thank you" to the offer of a plate full. He wanted the food, andit was also a delight to watch Maggie spread his cloth, and bring in thehot savory dish of meal, and the bowl of milk. For her soul was still inher beautiful face, her eyes limpid and bright as stars, and the simplemeal so served reminded him of the plain dignified feasts of the old ruraldeities. He told himself as he watched her, that he was living a faireridyl than ever poet dreamed. 

"Gude night, sir, " she said softly, after she had served the food, "youtook me into a new life the night, and thank you kindly, sir. "

"It was a joy to me, Maggie. Good night. "

She was a little afraid to speak to David; afraid of saying more than hewould approve, and afraid of saying anything that would clash with thesubject of his meditations. But she could not help noticing hisrestlessness and his silence; and she was wondering to herself, "whymen-folk would be sae trying and contrary, " when she heard him say--

"Grand words, and grand folk, Maggie; but there are far grander than thaebe. "

"Than kings, and queens, and braw knights and fair leddies?" "Ay, what arethae to angels and archangels, powers and dominions, purity, faith, hope, charity? Naething at a'. "

"Maybe; but I wish I could see them, and I wish I could see the man whowrote anent them, and I wish you could write a book like it, Davie. "

"Me! I have an ambition beyond the like o' that. To be His messenger andspeak the words o' truth and salvation to the people! Oh Maggie, if Icould win at that office, I wouldna envy king nor knight, no, nor the poethimsel'. "

"Did you see the minister?"

"Ay; bring your chair near me, and I'll tell you what he said. You'll beto hear it, and as weel now, as again. "

"Surely he had the kind word to-day, and you that fu' o' sorrow?"

"He meant to be kind. Surely he meant to be kind. He sent me word to comeup to his study, and wee Mysie Balmuto took me there. Eh, Maggie, if I hada room like that! It was fu' o' books; books frae the floor to theroof-place. He was standing on the hearth wi' his back to the fire, andyou ken hoo he looks at folk, through and through. 'Weel, Davie, ' he said, 'what's brought you o'er the hills through wind and rain pour? Had youwork that must be pushed in spite o' His work?'"

"I felt kind o' shamed then at my hurry, and I said, 'Doctor, you'll haeheard tell o' the calamity that has come to our house?' And he answered, 'I hae heard; but we willna call it a calamity, David, seeing that it waso' His ordering. '"

"'It was very suddent, sir, ' I said, and he lookit at me, and said, 'Hismessengers fly very swiftly. Your father was ready, and I do not think Hecalls the young men, unless He wants them. It was not of the dead you cameto talk with me?' I said, 'No, sir, I came to ask you aboot Maggie andmysel'. '"

"Then I told him hoo I longed to be a minister, and hoo fayther and therest had planned to send me to Aberdeen this vera year, and hoo there wasstill £50 which you wanted me to take, and he never said a word, but justlet me go blethering and blundering through the story, till I felt like Iwas the maist selfish and foolish o' mortals. When I couldna find anitherword, he spake up kind o' stern like--"

"What did he say? You be to tell me that noo. "

"He said, 'David Promoter, you'll no dare to touch the £50 this year. Goback to the boats, and serve the Lord upon the sea for a twelve months. Goback to the boats and learn how to face hunger, and cold, and weariness, with patience; learn to look upon death, and not to fear him. Forbye youcannot leave your sister her lane. Lassies marry young among your folk, and she'll need some plenishing. You would not surely send her from youwith empty hands. You cannot right your own like with wranging hers, noteven by a bawbee. '"

"He shouldna hae said the like o' that. The siller isna mine, nor wasnameant for me, and I'll ne'er touch it. That I wont. " "Marry Angus Raith, and tak' it, Maggie. He loves you weel. "

"Angus Raith isna to be thocht o', and it's ill-luck mixing wedding talkwi' death talk. The minister is right; whatna for are we hurrying up thefuture? Let us be still and wait; good, as well as evil comes, and us notlooking for it. I'm sorry you didna hae a pleasanter visit. "

"It wasna just unpleasant. I ken weel the minister is right. Put on acovering turf noo, Maggie, for the tide serves at six o'clock, and I'll beawa' to Largo the morn. "

Maggie was up at gray dawn next morning, while yet the sea birds weredozing on their perches, looking like patches of late snow in the cranniesof the black rocks. There was no wrath in the tide, only an irresistibleset shoreward. When David was ready for his breakfast, Campbell was readyalso; he said he wished to go with the boat, and David's face lighted upwith satisfaction at the proposal. And Maggie was not ill-pleased to beleft alone. She was restless, and full of strange thoughts, and needed thecalm and strength of solitude. 

It was an exquisite morning; the sea was dimpling and laughing in thesunrise, and great flocks of hungry white sea-birds were making for theFirth. Maggie folded her plaid around her, and walked to the little pierto see the boat away; and as she stood there, the wind blew the kerchiefoff her head into the water; and she saw Campbell lean forward and pick itup, and then nod back to her an assurance of its safety. She turned awayhalf angry at herself for the thrill of pleasure the trifling incident hadgiven her. "It's my ain folk I ought to be thinking o', and no strangers;it's the dead, and no the living that ought to be in my heart. Oh MaggiePromoter, whate'er has come o'er you!"

To such reflections she was hasting with bent head back to her cottage, And trying to avoid a meeting with any of the few men and women about soearly. But she was soon sensible of a rapid step following her, and beforeshe could turn her head, a large hand was laid upon her shoulder, andAngus Raith was at her side. 

"Sae you thocht to shun me, Maggie. "

"You are wrang there, I didna even see you, Angus. "

"That's the God's truth. You havena e'en for any body noo, but that proud, fine gentleman that's staying wi' you. "

"Be quiet, Angus. Hoo daur you say the like o'that? I ne'er saw the man'sface until yestreen; you shouldna think ill o' folk sae easy. "

"What does he want here amang fishers? They dinna want him, I'm vera sure. There's nae room for gentlemen in Pittenloch. "

"Ask him what he wants. He pays for his room at Pittenloch; fourteen whiteshillings every week, he agreed wi' Davie for. "

"Fourteen shillings!"

The magnitude of the sum astonished him. He walked silently by Maggie'sside until she came to her door-step. He was a heavy-faced Celt; sallow, and dark-eyed; with the impatient look of a selfish greedy man. Maggie'sresolute stand at her door-stone angered him, "I'm coming in a wee, " hesaid dourly, "there are words to be said between us. "

"You are wrang there too, Angus. I hae neither this, nor that, to say toyou; and I'm busy the day. "

"I spoke to your fayther and your brother Will, anent a marriage betweenus, and you heard tell o' it. "

"Ay, they told me. "

"And you let me walk wi' you frae the kirk on the next Sabbath. --I'm nogoing to be jilted, Maggie Promoter, by you. "

"Dinna daur to speak that way to me, Angus. I never said I wad wed you, and I dinna believe I ever sall say it. Think shame o' yoursel' forspeaking o' marrying before the tide has washed the footmarks o' the deadoff the sea sands. Let go my hand, Angus. "

"It is my hand, and I'll claim it as long as you live. And it will be illfor any ither body that daurs to touch it. "

"Daurs indeed! I'll no be daured by any body, manfolk or womanfolk. Youhae gi'en me an insult, Angus Raith, and dinna cross my door-stane anymore, till you get the invite to do so. "

She stepped within her open door and faced him. Her eyes blazed, her wholeattitude was that of defiance. The passions, which in well-bred women areeducated clean down out of sight, were in Maggie Promoter's tongue tip andfinger tips. Angus saw it would not do to anger her further, and he said, "I meant nae harm, Maggie. "

"I'll no answer you anither word. And mind what I told you. Dinna cross mydoorstane. You'll get the red face if you try it. " She could have shut thedoor, but she would have thought the act a kind of humiliation. Shepreferred to stand guard at its threshold, until Angus, with a black scowland some muttered words of anger, walked away. She watched him until heleaped into his boat; until he was fairly out to sea. Then she shut andbarred the door; and sitting down in her father's chair, weptpassionately; wept as women weep, before they have learned the uselessnessof tears, and the strength of self-restraint. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE CAMPBELLS OF MERITON. 

 "We figure to ourselves The thing we like, and then we build it up As chance will have it, on the rock or sand. "

 "About some act, That has no relish of salvation in it. "

Upon the shores of Bute, opposite the rugged, heathery hills of Cowal, John Campbell had built himself a splendid habitation. People going up andDown the Kyles were in the habit of pointing out Meriton Mansion, and ofasserting that the owner had risen from extreme poverty to his enviableposition. There was not a word of truth in this story. John Campbell wasthe youngest son of Campbell of Drumloch, a gentleman of ancient lineage, and of considerable wealth. Alexander, his elder son, inherited from himthe castle of Drumloch and the lands pertaining to the name and theestate; to his younger son John he gave a large sum of money. With thismoney he opened a shipping house on the Broomilaw of Glasgow, andgradually built a fleet of trading vessels, which traversed every knownsea. John Campbell's name had indeed become synonymous for enterprise, wealth and commercial honor. 

The tie between the brothers was always an affectionate one; and whenAlexander died early in life, he left his child and the estate in chargeof John. The estate was much embarrassed, the child was a delicate girl ofnine years. But when ten years had passed the conditions of both werechanged; Mary Campbell had grown to a sweet and charming womanhood, andDrumloch had paid off its last shilling of mortgage, and was as desirablean estate as could be found in the west of Scotland. 

During these ten years, one desire had dominated all others in JohnCampbell's heart--the marriage of his son Allan to the heiress of Drumloch. It seemed to him the most natural of events, and also the most desirable. It would keep the old family and name, in the old home. It had been hisbrother's dying wish. He might buy his son a much larger and finer estate, but with gold he could not buy the family associations, and the long, honorable lineage of Drumloch. The old keep could be enlarged andbeautified; the lands lying far and near could be bought and added to itsdomain; and yet Allan could lawfully call himself, "Campbell of Drumloch. "

Thus to establish on a broader and richer basis the old home of hisFathers was the grand object of John Campbell's life. He thought of ituntil it became almost a sacred duty in his eyes. For the Scotsman'sacquisitiveness is very rarely destitute of some nobler underlying motive. In fact, his granite nature is finely marbled throughout with veins ofpoetry and romance. His native land is never forgotten. His father'shearth is as sacred as an altar in his memory. A bluebell or a bit ofheather can bring tears to his eyes; and the lilt of a Jacobite song makehis heart thrill with an impossible loyalty. Those who saw John Campbellon the Broomilaw would have judged him to be a man indifferent to allthings but money and bills of lading. Those who saw him softly steppingthrough the old halls of Drumloch, or standing almost reverently beforethe hard grim faces of his ancestors, would have called him an aristocratwho held all things cheap but an ancient home and a noble family. His sonAllan, as the future Campbell of Drumloch, was an important person in hiseyes; he took care that he was well educated, and early made familiar withthe leisure and means of a fine gentleman. And as Allan was intelligentand handsome, with a stately carriage and courtly manners, there seemed noreason why the old root should not produce a new and far more splendidline. 

When Mary Campbell was nineteen, and her estate perfectly clear, it seemedto her uncle a proper time to consummate the hopes for which he had toiledand planned. He explained them fully to his son, and then said, "Now, Allan, go and ask Mary to be your wife. The sooner I see you in your ownplace, the happier I shall be. "

A spirit of contradiction sprang up in the young man's heart, as soon asthe words were uttered. Probably, it was but the development of anantagonism that had been lying latent for years. He remained silent solong, that his father's anger rose. 

"Have you nothing to say, sir?" he asked. "A good wife and an old andhonorable estate are worth a few words of acknowledgment. "

"I do not wish to marry Drumloch, sir. " John Campbell turned white, andthe paper in his hand shook violently. "Do you mean me to understand thatI have been working ten years for a disappointment? I will not have tenYears of my life wasted to pleasure a foolish youth. "

"Is it right for me to marry a woman I do not love, and so waste my wholelife?"

A conversation begun in such a spirit was not likely to endsatisfactorily. Indeed it closed in great anger, and the renewal of thesubject day after day, only made both men more determined to stand by theposition they had taken toward each other. Allan almost wondered at hisown obstinacy. Before his father had so broadly stated the case to him, hehad rather liked his cousin. She was a calm, cheerful, sensible girl, withvery beautiful eyes, and that caressing, thoughtful manner which is socomfortable in household life. He believed that if he had been left anyfreedom of choice, he would have desired only Mary Campbell to be hiswife. But he told himself that he would not be ordered into matrimony, or compelled to sacrifice his right of choice, for any number ofdead-and-gone Campbells. 

There was no prospect of any reconciliation between father and son, exceptby Allan's unconditional surrender. Allan did not regard this step asimpossible in the future, but for the present he knew it was. He decidedto leave home for a few months, and when the subject was opened again tobe himself the person to move the question. He felt that in the matter ofhis own marriage he ought at least to make the proposition; it was enoughfor his father to agree to it. The trouble had arisen from the reversal ofthis natural order. 

Mary had perceived that there was dissension between her uncle and cousin, but she had not associated herself with it. She was sure that it was aboutmoney, for evidently Allan had lived an extravagant life when he wasabroad. So, when he said to her one morning, "Mary, father and I cannotagree at present, and I think I will go away for a few weeks;" sheanswered, "I think you are right, Allan. If one has a hurt, it does not do to bealways looking at it, and touching it. If you have a quarrel with uncle, let it rest, and then it will heal. Do you want--any money, Cousin Allan?I have plenty, and I do not use it. "

She spoke shyly with hesitation and blushes, but he felt all the kindnessof the question. He took her hand and kissed it. At that moment she lookedlovely to him. 

"I have no need of money, Mary. I only ask for your kind remembrance. "

"That is ever yours. Do not go far away. "

"Not far. You shall hear from me soon. "

The thought of a correspondence struck him very pleasantly. He mightthus--if he liked the idea upon future reflection--arrange the wholematter with Mary, and return home as her expected husband. That would be asufficient assertion of his own individuality. 

He went to Edinburgh. He had no definite plan, only that he felt a desirefor seclusion, and he knew fewer people in Edinburgh than in Glasgow orLondon. The day after his arrival there he accompanied a casualacquaintance to Leith pier, from which place the latter was going to sailfor London. As he stood watching the vessel away, his hat blew off and afisherman brought it back to him. It was Will Johnson of Pittenloch, andhe was not a man to whom Allan felt he could offer money. But he stoodtalking with him about the Fife fishing towns, until he became intenselyinterested in their life. "I want to see them, " he said to Will; "let mehave a couple of hours to get my trunks, and I will go with you toPittenloch. "

There are very few men who have not a native longing for the ocean; who donot love to go

 "----back to the great, sweet Mother, Mother and lover of men, the sea;"

and Allan forgot all his annoyances, as soon as he felt the bound of theboat under him. Johnson had to touch at Largo, but ere they reached it thewind rose, and it was with some difficulty the harbor was made. But duringthe rough journey Allan got very near to the men in the boat; he lookedforward to a stay at Pittenloch with pleasure; and afterward, events woulddoubtless shape themselves better than he could at that time determinethem. 

It had been a sudden decision, and made very much in that spirit whichleads men to toss up a penny for an oracle. And sometimes it seems as if aFate, wise or otherwise, answers the call so recklessly made. If he livedfor a century Allan knew that he would never forget that first walk toPromoters--the big fisherman at his side, the ocean roaring in his ears, the lights from the cottage windows dully gleaming through the blackdarkness--never forget that moment in which Maggie Promoter turned fromthe fire with the "cruisie" in her hand, the very incarnation ofwomanhood, crowned with perfect health and splendid beauty. 

It was Allan's nature to drift with events, and to easily accommodatehimself to circumstances. In France he had been a gay, fashionabletrifler; in Germany cloudy philosophies and musical ideas had fascinatedhim; in Rome he had dreamed in old temples, and painted and smoked withthe artists in their lofty shabby studios. He was equally ready to sharethe stirring danger and freedom of the fisher's life, for he was yetyoung enough to feel delight in physical exertion, and in physical danger. 

When the boat went hammering through cheerless seas, and the lines wereheavy with great ling fish, it was pleasure to match his young supplethews with those of the strongest men. And it was pleasure, when hungryand weary, to turn shoreward, and feel the smell of the peat smoke on thesouth-west wind, bringing the cottage hearth, and the welcome meal, andthe beautiful face of Maggie Promoter nearer. Even when the weather wasstormy, and it was a hurl down one sea, and a hoist up the next, when theforty foot mast had to be lowered and lashed down, and the heavy mizzenset in its place, Allan soon grew to enjoy the tumult and the fight, andhis hand was always ready to do its share. 

Very soon after going to the Promoters he procured himself some suits offishers' clothing; and Maggie often thought when he came in from the sea, rosy and glowing, with his brown hair wet with the spindrift, nets on hisshoulders, or lines in his hands, that he was the handsomest fisher-ladthat ever sailed the Frith of Forth. David and Allan were much together, for David had gone back to the boats as the minister bade him, yet theduty had been made far easier than he expected. For when Allan understoodhow the Promoters' boat had failed them, he purchased a fishing skiff ofhis own, and David, and the men whom David hired, sailed her for herowner. David had his certain wage, the men had the fish, and Allan had adelight in the whole situation far greater than any mere pleasure yachtcould possibly have given him. 

Where there is plenty of money, events do not lag. In a couple of monthsthe Promoters' cottage was apparently as settled to its new life as everit had been to the old one. The "Allan Campbell" was a recognized craft inthe fishing fleet, and generally Allan sailed with her as faithfully as ifhis life depended upon the catching of the gray fish. And when thesea-mood was not on him, he had another all-sufficing occupation. For hewas a good amateur painter, and he was surrounded by studies almostirresistible to an artistic soul. 

The simple folk of Pittenloch looked dubiously at him when he stood beforehis easel. There was to them something wonderful, mysterious, almostuncanny, in the life-like reproduction of themselves and their boats, their bits of cottages, and their bare-footed bairns--in the paintedglimpses of the broad-billowed ocean; and the desolate old hills, withsuch forlorn lights on their scarps, as the gloom of primeval tempestsmight have cast. 

The controversy about these bits of painted canvas interested every one inthe village; for though Allan talked beautifully about "looking up"through nature unto nature's God, it was a new doctrine to the Fifefishers; who had always looked for God in their Bibles, and theirconsciences. Except in rare cases, it was impossible for them to conceivehow painting might be a Gate Beautiful to the temple. 

Indeed Elder John Mackelvine, a dour, stern, old Calvinist, was of opinionthat every picture was a breaking of the second commandment--"A makin' o'an image and likeness o' the warks o' God, and sae, neither mair nor lessthan idolatry. Forbye, pictur's are pairfectly ridic'lus, " he continued;"what for, will you want the image o' a thing, when you hae the thingitsel'? John Knox kent weel what he was doing when he dinged doon a' thepictur's and images in thae auld kirks. He kent men were aye mair pleasedto worship their ain handywark, than the Creator's. "

David listened with many misgivings, but he ventured to say that, "therewas nae thocht o' idolatry in Allan Campbell's heart. "

"You'll dootless ken a' aboot it, Davie, " answered Mackelvine scornfully;"but you'll no deny that he was sae set up wi' the pictur' he made o'Largo Bay, that he might just as weel hae bowed doon to it. TheEverlasting hills! The everlasting seas!" said the old fisher, man, risingAnd stretching upward and outward his bare, brown arm, "put them in apaintin'! Pairfect nonsense! Even-down sin!"

From this conversation David went directly home. It was Saturday night andthe boats all in harbor for the Sabbath day. The house place wasspotlessly clean, the evening meal waiting. As soon as David spoke to hissister, Allan opened his door and called him. "Come here, David Promoter, I want to show you something. "

David guessed that it was a new picture, and he went a little reluctantly. 

"This is an 'interior', David, " he said excitedly; "it is the first I haveever tried, and I am so pleased with the result;--what do you think ofit?"

David slowly approached the easel. The picture represented faithfully theliving room of his own cottage. All its breadths of light and shade, allits telling contrasts, were used skilfully as a background for Maggie. Shewas gazing with a white anxious face out of the little window seaward, watching the gathering storm, and the fishing boats trying to make theharbor through it. 

"What do you think of it, David?"

"It is wonderfu', sir; but I dinna approve o' it. I think you will hae naeright to put the fear o' death and dool, and the breaking hearts o' womeninto a pictur'. Forbye, you might sell it, and I wouldna like my sister--noto speak o' my hame--to be turned into siller. And there's mair to say, sir. Some o' oor folk think it isna lawfu' in the sight o' God to mak' theimage o' anything; and seeing, sir, that I humbly hope some day to standupon the altar steps, it would ill become me to hurt the conscience o'auld or young. I must walk circumspect for the vera hope's sake. "

"I never thought of selling a picture, David; I would not sell one withyour sister in it, for all the gold in Scotland. And this is the firsttime I have heard of your intention regarding the ministry. Why did younot tell me before? How gladly I would have helped you!"

"It is a hope I dinna let mysel' think o' just yet, sir. Dr. Balmuto bidme bide in the boats for a twelve months, and, you ken, I couldna leaveMaggie her lane, here. "

"Perhaps Maggie will marry. " He dropped each word slowly, as if it gavehim pain. 

"Ay; I hope she will. There was mair than one word spoken aboot a lad inthe village; but after oor great loss, she wouldna hear tell o' any lad;and the minister thocht we might weel wait thegither for one year onyway. He'd be right, dootless. "

"David, after tea let us take a walk on the beach together. I havesomething to say to you. "

CHAPTER IV. 

MAGGIE AND ANGUS. 

 "What thing thou doest, bravely do; When Heaven's clear call hath found thee"

 "All thoughts, all passions, all delights Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. "

It was an exquisite evening toward the end of May; with a purple sunsetbrightening the seaward stretches, and the gathering herring fleet slowlydrifting in the placid harbor. They walked silently toward a little rockypromontory, and there sat down. Allan's face was turned full toward hiscompanion. 

"David, " he said, "I have lived with you ten weeks; slept under your roof, and eaten of your bread. I want you to remember how many happy hours wehave spent together. At your fireside, where I have read aloud, and Maggieand you have listened--"

"Ay, sir. We hae had some fine company there. Poets, preachers, greatthinkers and warkers o' all kinds. I'll ne'er forget thae hours. "

"Happy hours also, David, when we have drifted together through starlightand moonlight, on the calm sea; and happy hours when we have made harbortogether in the very teeth of death. I owe to you, David, some of thepurest, healthiest and best moments of my life. I like to owe them to you. I don't mind the obligation at all. But I would be glad to show you that Iam grateful. Let me pay your university fees. Borrow them of me. I am arich man. I waste upon trifles and foolishness every year more thanenough. You can give me this great honor and pleasure, David; don't letany false pride stand between us. " He laid his hand upon David's hand, andlooked steadily in his face for the answer. 

"God, dootless, put the thocht in your heart. I gie Him and you thanks forit. And I'll be glad o' your help. Dr. Balmuto spake o' a year in theboats; when it is gane I'll tak' your offer, sir. "

"You must not wait a year, David. You must try and be ready to go toAberdeen, or Edinburgh, or Glasgow in the autumn. What do you think ofGlasgow? The dear gray old college in the High Street! I went theremyself, David, and I have many friends among its professors. "

"I'd like Glasca', --fine. "

"Then it shall be Glasgow; and I will see Dr. Balmuto. He will not opposeyour going, I am sure. "

"Aboot Maggie, sir? I couldna seek my ain pleasure or profit at her loss. She doesna tak', like other lasses do, to the thocht o' marriage; and Icanna bear to say a cross word to her. She is a' I have. "

"There must be some way of arranging that matter. Tell Maggie what I havesaid, and talk affairs over with her. She will be sure to find out a way. "

The conversation was continued for hours. Every contingency was fullydiscussed, and Allan was much pleased with David's prudence andunselfishness. "I think you will make a good minister, " he said, "and wewill all yet be very proud of you. "

"I sall do my duty, sir, all o' it. I sall neither spare sin nor sinner. My ain right eye sall nae be dear to me, if it wad win a thocht frae Hiswark. "

His pale face was lit as by some interior light, his eyes full ofenthusiasm. He sat asking questions concerning the manners and methods ofuniversities, the professors and lectures, and books and students, untilthe late moon rose red and solemn, above the sea and sky line, and Allanknew then it was almost midnight. 

"We must go home, David. Maggie will wonder what has happened. We shouldhave thought of her before this hour. "

Indeed when they came near the cottage they saw Maggie standing at thedoor watching for them. She went in and closed it as soon as she perceivedthat all was well, and when the laggards would have explained their delay, she was too cross to listen to them. 

"It's maist the Sabbath day, " she said, hiding her fretfulness behindconscientious scruples, as all of us are ready to do. "I hope it wasnayour ain thouchts and words you were sae ta'en up wi'; but I'm feared itwas. You wadna hae staid sae lang, wi' better anes. "

She would not look at Allan, and it pained him to see upon her face thetraces of anxiety and disappointment. 

Far through the night he sat at his open window, gazing out upon the sea, which was breaking almost below it. The unshed tears in Maggie's eyes, andher evident trouble at his absence, had given him a heart pain that hecould not misunderstand. He knew that night that he loved the woman. Notwith that low, earthy affection, which is satisfied with youth, or beautyof form or color. His soul clave unto her soul. He longed to kiss herheavy eyes and troubled mouth, not because they were lovely, but becausehis heart ached to soothe the sorrow he had given her, and longed tocomfort her with happy hopes for the future. 

But he had seen enough of these honest-hearted fisher-women, to know thatthe smallest act of tenderness was regarded by them as a promise. Of thatfrivolous abuse of the sweetest things which is called flirtation, Maggiehad not the faintest conception. If it could have been explained to her, she would have recoiled from it with shame and indignation. 

She would not have comprehended that a man should admire her, and tell herthat he loved her, unless he intended to make her his wife. 

And Allan was not prepared to admit this conclusion to the intercoursewhich had been so sweet, so inexpressibly sweet. He knew that her simplepresence was a joy to him. He could see that her shining eyes grewbrighter at his approach, and that her face broke up like happy music ashe talked to her. "She is the other half of my own soul, " he said, "and mylife can never be complete without her. But what a mockery of Fate tobring us together. I cannot fall to her station; I cannot raise her tomine. I ought to go away, and I will. In a little while she will forgetme. "

The thought angered and troubled him; he tossed restlessly to and froUntil daybreak, and then fell into a heavy slumber. And he dreamed of MaryCampbell. His heart was full of Maggie, but he dreamed of Mary; and hewondered at the circumstance, and though he was hardly conscious of thefact, it made him a trifle cooler and more restrained in his intercoursewith Maggie. And Maggie thought of her bad temper the previous night, andshe was ashamed and miserable. 

At irregular intervals, as occasion served, he had gone into Edinburgh, and when there, he had always made an opportunity for writing to Meriton. Mary therefore concluded that he was staying in Edinburgh, and JohnCampbell did not fret much over the absence of a son who could be recalledeasily in a few hours. He understood that Allan was in correspondence withhis Cousin Mary, and he would not admit a doubt of the final settlement ofthe Drumloch succession in the way he desired. 

And undoubtedly the result of Allan's long self-examination was a resolveto tear himself away from Maggie Promoter, and return to his home and hisevident duty. He could show his regard for the Promoters by interestinghimself in David's advancement. Maggie would understand his motives. Shewould know what he suffered by her own sufferings, but the weary achewould die out finally, and leave only in each heart a tender memory whichperhaps they might carry into another life, "if both should not forget. "He almost wept as he made this mental funeral of his dearest hopes; yet hemade it frequently during the following days, and he was making it soearnestly as he walked into Kinkell to see Dr. Balmuto, that he was at themanse before he had realized that he was on the road to it. 

The doctor had seen him frequently in Kirk, but always in such clothes asthe fishers wore. He glanced at the elegantly dressed young man andrecognized him. Then he lifted the card which Allan had sent in as hisintroduction, and said sharply, "Good morning, Mr. Campbell. I have seenyou often lately--in fisher's dress. I hope you have a good reason for themasquerade, for let me tell you, I know something of John Campbell, yourfather, and I doubt if you have his approval. "

"I must ask you, doctor, to take my motives on trust for the present. Iassure you I think they are good ones. But I came here this morning tospeak of David Promoter. I have been staying with him for some weeks. Irespect and admire him. I desire out of my abundance to help him. "

"He is a proud lad. I doubt if he will let you. "

"He is quite willing that I should have this pleasure, if he has yourpermission. I wish him to go to Glasgow this autumn; he says you told himto stay in the boats for a year. "

"I did; but I may have made a mistake. I thought he was a little upliftedwith himself. He spoke as if he were needful to the church--but the ladmay have felt the spirit in him. I would not dare to try and quench it. Your offer is a providence; it is as if God put out his own hand andOpened the kirk door for him. Tell David Promoter I said, 'Go to Glasgow, and the Lord go with thee. ' But what is to come of his sister? She is avery handsome girl, " and he looked sharply at Allan, "is she going tomarry?"

"I have asked nothing concerning that question, sir. "

"I am very glad to hear you say that; glad for her sake, glad for yoursalso. "

Then the subject of the Promoters was gradually dropped; although Allanspent the day at Kinkell manse. For the doctor was a man with a vividmind. Though he was old he liked to talk to young men, liked to hear themtell of their studies, and friendships, and travels, and taste throughtheir eager conversation the flavor of their fresher life. Allan remainedwith him until near sunset, then in the warm, calm gloaming, he slowlytook the homeward route, down the precipitous crags and hills. 

At a sudden turn of the path near the beach, he saw Maggie. She sat upon arock so directly beneath him that he could have let his handkerchief fallinto her lap. Her arms were dropped, her attitude listless; without seeingher face, Allan was certain that her eyes were sad, and her long gaze atthe incoming tide full of melancholy. He was just going to speak, when hesaw a man coming toward her at a rapid pace. It was Angus Raith, and Allanwas conscious of a sharp pang of annoyance and jealousy. 

He had no intention to watch them, neither had he any desire to meet Anguswhile he was with Maggie. That would have been a little triumph for Angus, which Allan did not intend to give him. So he determined to remain wherehe was until they had either parted or gone away together. He wasundoubtedly angry. It never struck him that the meeting might be anaccidental one. He was certain that, for some reason or other, Maggie hadan appointment with her well-known admirer; and he said bitterly tohimself, "Like to like, why should I have the heart-ache about her?"

The sound of their voices, in an indistinct, fitful way, reached him wherehe sat. At first there was nothing peculiar in the tone, but in a fewminutes it was evident that Maggie was getting angry. Allan rose then andwent slowly toward them. Where the hill touched the beach it terminated ina point of jagged rocks about seven feet high. Maggie and Angus stood onone side of them, Allan on the other. He was as yet unseen, buthalf-a-dozen steps would bring them together. Maggie was by this time in apassion. 

"It is weel for you, Angus Raith, that my fayther is at the bottom o' thesea, " she said. "If Will was alive, or John, or Sandy, this day, ye hadnadaured to open your ill mouth to me. "

"Why dinna you tell your fine brother Davie?"

"Davie is aboon sorting the like o' you. Do you think I wad hae hands thatare for the Ordinances touch you, you--born deevil?"

"Tell Maister Allan Campbell then. If a's true that's said to be true--"

"Dinna say it, Angus! Dinna say it! I warn you to keep a still tongue inyour head. "

"If he isna your man, he ought to be. "

In a moment she had struck him on the mouth a blow so swift and stingingthat it staggered him. Allan heard it; he stepped quickly forward and puthis hand upon her shoulder. She was quivering like a wounded bird. But shedrew herself proudly away from Allan's touch and faced Angus in a blaze ofscornful passion. 

"Ay; strike me back! It wad be like you!" For the first impulse of the manon recovering himself had been to raise his hand. "But I'd rayther youstruck me dead at your feet, than to be your wife for ane five minutes. "

Angus laughed mockingly. "You kent wha was behind the rock dootless! Theblank--blank--blank fine gentleman! The----the----the----" and a volley ofepithets and imprecations followed which made Maggie put her hands to herears. 

"Let me take you home. " It was Allan who spoke, and again he laid his handgently upon her. She shook it angrily off. "Dinna touch me, sir!" shecried, "I hae had scorn and sorrow in plenty for you. I can tak' mysel'hame finely;" and she walked rapidly away with her head flung proudlybackward. 

The girl had never been taught to control her feelings. She was a naturalwoman suffering under a sense of insult and injustice, and resenting it. And she was angry at Allan for being a witness to her emotion. His verycalmness had seemed like a reproof to her. Wrath, chagrin, shame, resentment, swept in hot passionate waves over her; and the very intensityof her mental anguish imparted to her body a kind of majesty that perforcecommanded respect. 

Never had Allan thought her so beautiful. The words of irrevocableDevotion were on his lips. But at that moment had he been king ofScotland, Maggie Promoter would not have stayed to listen to them. So heturned to Angus. The man, with an insolent, defiant face, stood leaningagainst the rock. He had taken out his pipe, and with an assumption ofindifference was trying to light it. Every trick of self-defence was knownto Allan. He could have flung Angus to the ground as easily as aCumberland shepherd throws the untrained wrestler, but how little honor, and how much shame, there would be in such an encounter! He lookedsteadily at the cowardly bully for a moment, and then turning on his heel, followed Maggie. The mocking laugh which Angus sent after him, did notmove any feeling but contempt; he was far more anxious to comfort andconciliate the suffering, angry woman, than to revenge himself upon sodespicable an enemy. 

But when he arrived at the cottage the door was shut. This was so rarelyits condition that he could not help feeling that Maggie had intentionallyput him away from her presence. He was miserable in his uncertainty, helonged to comfort the womanhood he had heard outraged, but he was notselfish enough to intrude upon a desired solitude, although as he slowlywalked up and down before the closed door, he almost felt the chafing ofthe wounded heart behind it. 

And Maggie, in all her anger and humiliation, was not insensible toAllan's position. As she rocked herself to and fro, and wept and moanedWithout restraint, she was conscious of the man who respected her unjusthumiliation too much to intrude upon it, even with his sympathy: whocomprehended her so well, as to understand that even condolence might bean additional offence. She could not have put the feeling into words, andyet she clearly understood that there are some sorrows which it is thetruest kindness to ignore. 

In about half-an-hour the first vehemence of her grief was over. She stoodup and smoothly snooded back her hair; she dried her eyes, and then lookedcautiously out of the window. In the dim light, Allan's tall gracefulfigure had a commanding aspect, greatly increased in Maggie's eyes by thefashionable clothing he wore that day. As she watched him, he stood stilland looked toward the sea; and his attitude had an air of despondency thatshe could not endure to witness. She went to the door, set it wide open, and stood upon its threshold until Allan came near. 

"I dinna mean to shut you oot, sir, " she said sadly, "you are ayewelcome. "

"Thank you, Maggie. "

His voice was grave, almost sorrowful, and he went at once to his ownroom. That was precisely what Maggie felt he ought under the circumstancesto do; and yet she had a perverse anger at him for doing it. 

"He might hae said, 'it's a fine night;' or 'has Davie come hame?' or thelike o' that, " she whispered; "I'll hae lost his liking forever mair, anda' for Angus Raith's ill tongue. I wish I had keep't my temper, butthat is past wishing for. " Then a sudden thought struck her, and sheknocked gently at Allan's door. 

"Is that you, Maggie?"

"Yes, sir. I want to speak a word wi' you. Will you come ben a minute?"

He responded at once to her desire--"What is it, Maggie?" he asked. 

"If it please you, sir, I dinna want Davie to ken anything anentto-night's ill-words and ill-wark. "

"I think that is a very wise decision. "

"No gude can come o' telling what's ill, and if you wad believe me, sir, I'm vera, vera sorry, for my share in it. "

Her eyelids were dropped, they trembled visibly, and there was a pathetictrouble and humiliation in her beautiful face. Allan was sick withrestrained emotion. He longed to fold the trembling, wounded woman to hisheart. He fully believed that he had the power to kiss back the splendorof beauty and joy into her pale face; and it would have been the greatestfelicity earth could grant him, to do so. Yet, for honor's sake, herepressed the love and the longing in his heart, and stood almost cold andunresponsive before her. 

"I am vera, vera sorry, " she repeated. "The man said words I couldnathole, and sae--I struck him. "

"I do not blame you, Maggie. It would be a delight to me to strike him ashe deserves to be struck. For your sake, I kept my hands off the wretch. To-morrow, before all his mates, if you say so, I will punish him. "

"Na, na, na; that is the thing I'm feared for I dinna want my name ineverybody's lips; and you ken, sir, hoo women-folks talk anent women. They'd say; 'Weel, weel, there's aye fire where there's smoke, ' and thelike o' that, and they wad shake their heads, and look oot o' the cornero' their e'en, and I couldna thole it, sir. "

"There is David to remember also. Dr. Balmuto thinks with me. He is to goto Glasgow College in the autumn, and a quarrel might now be a bad thingfor his whole life. He wants every hour for study, he has no time forAngus Raith I think. "

"Thank you, sir--and if you wad try and forget the shame put upon me, andno quite tak' away the gude will you had for me, I'd be vera grateful andhappy. " And she covered her eyes with her left hand, and shyly put out theright one to Allan. 

"Oh, Maggie! Maggie!" he said almost in a whisper, "you little know howyou try me! Dear girl, forget all, and be happy!" And as her hand lay inhis hand, his eyes fell upon it. It was a brown hand, large, but finelyformed, the hand of a sensitive, honorable, capable woman. It was the handwith which she had struck Angus Raith; yet Allan bowed his head to it, andleft both a kiss and a tear on its palm. 

CHAPTER V. 

A PARTING. 

 "Each on his own strict line we move And some find death ere they find love, So far apart their lives are thrown From the twin soul that halves their own. "

 "Oh, nearest, farthest! Can there be At length some hard-earned heart-won home, Where--exile changed for Sanctuary-- Our lot may fill indeed its sum, And you may wait and I may come?"

About twelve o'clock the wind rose, there was a rattling breeze and atossing sea all night; and David did not return until the early morningtide. Allan was roused from sleep by young Johnson singing, "We cast our line in Largo Bay. "

and soon after he heard David greet Maggie in an unusually cheerfulmanner. He was impatient to tell him the good news, and he dressedhurriedly, and went into the house place. Maggie was scattering the mealinto the boiling water for breakfast; and David, weary with his nightwork, sat drowsing in his father's big chair. Maggie had already been outin the fresh, wet breeze, and she had a pink kerchief tied over her hair;but she blushed a deeper pink, as she shyly said, "Gude morning, sir. "

Then David roused himself--"Hech, sir!" he cried, "I wish you had been wi'us last night. It was just a joy to feel the clouds laying their cheeks tothe floods, and the sea laying its shouther to the shore; I sat a' nightwi' the helm-heft in my hand, singing o'er and o'er again King David'sgrand sea sang--

 "The floods, O Lord, hae lifted up They lifted up their voice; The floods have lifted up their waves And made a mighty noise. But yet the Lord, that is on high, Is more of might by far Than noise of many waters is, Or great sea-billows are. "

[Footnote: Psalm 93. Version allowed by General Assembly of the Kirk ofScotland. ]

"And I couldna help thinking, " he continued, "that the Angels o' Power, doing His will, wad be likely aye to tak' the sea road. It's freer o'men-folk, and its mair fu' o' the glory o' God. "

"I am glad you had such a grand night, David. It is well to take a finefarewell of anything, and it was your last fishing. Dr. Balmuto sends youthis word about Glasgow University--'go, and the Lord go with thee. ' Hehas given me a letter to a professor there, who will choose the books youwant, and set you the lessons you are to learn between now and the openingof the classes in September. The books are to be the doctor's gift to you. He would hear tell of nothing else. "

David was as one that dreams for a moment; but his excitement soonconquered his happy amazement. He had to put his breakfast aside. 

"I dinna want to eat, " he said, "my soul is satisfied. I feel as if Ine'er could be hungry any mair. " He was particularly delighted at theminister's kindness, and said fervently, "I thank him for the books, farmair for the blessing. " He took all the favors to be done him withoutdispute or apology, just as a candid, unselfish child, takes what lovegives it. He was so anxious to get to work, that he would liked to haveleft at once for Glasgow; but Allan was not ready to leave. Indeed he was"swithering" whether, or not, he should take this opportunity of biddingfarewell to Pittenloch. 

After breakfast they went to the boat together. The decks were coveredWith a mass of glinting, shimmering fish, that looked like molten silverin the sunshine. "David, " said Allan, "make the boys clean her thoroughly, and in smooth water you can now use her as a study. Maggie dislikes menabout the house all day; you can bring your books and papers to the boatand drift about in smooth water. On the sea there will be no cryingchildren and scolding mothers to disturb you. "

The idea delighted David; he began at once to carry it out; but Allan tookno further interest in the matter, and went strolling up the beach untilhe came to the spot where the quarrel of the preceding evening had takenplace. Here he stood leaning against the rock unconscious of outsideinfluences for neatly two hours. He asked himself "did he love MaggiePromoter?" "Did she love him?" "Was there any hope in the future for theirmarriage?"

Then he acknowledged to his soul that the woman was inexpressibly dear tohim. As for Maggie's love of himself, he hoped, and yet he feared it;feared it, because he loved her so well that he did not like to think ofthe suffering she must bear with him. He felt that no prospect of theirmarriage could be entertained. He loved his father, and not onlyrespected, but also in some measure shared his family pride. He felt thatit would be a sin to desert him, and for his own private pleasure crumblethe unselfish life-work of so many years to pieces. Then also, beautifulas Maggie was in her cot at Pittenloch, she would be sadly out of place inthe splendid rooms at Meriton. Sweet, intoxicatingly sweet, the cup whichhe had been drinking, but he felt that he must put it away from his own, and also from Maggie's lips. It would be fatal to the welfare of both. 

Thinking such thoughts, he finally went back to the cottage. It was aboutten o'clock; Maggie's house work was all "redd up;" and she was standingat her wheel spinning, when Allan's shadow fell across the sanded floor, and she turned to see him standing watching her. 

"You are hame soon, sir. Is a' well wi' you?"

"No, Maggie, all is not well. If all had been well, I had never been inPittenloch. " She stopped her wheel and stood looking at him. Then heplunged at once into the story, which he had determined to tell her. "Ihad a quarrel with my father and I left home. He does not know where Iam. "

"You hae done very wrang I'm fearing, sir. He'll hae been a gude faytherto you?"

"Yes, very good. He has given me love, education, travel, leisure, wealth, my own way, in all things but one. "

"Then, you be to call yoursel' a bad son. I didna think it o' you, sir. "

"But, Maggie, that one thing includes all my future life. If I obey him, Imust always be miserable. "

"It will be aboot some leddy?" asked Maggie, and she spoke in a lowrestrained voice. 

"Yes, about my cousin. She is very rich, and if I marry her, Maggie, Ishall unite the two branches of our family, and take it back to itsancient home. "

"Your fayther has the right to ask that much o' you. He's been lang gudeto you. "

"I did not ask him to be good. I did not ask for my life, but life havingbeen given me, I think I have the right to do as I desire with it. "

"There is nane o' us, sir, hae the right to live for, or to, oursel's. Atree doesna ask to be planted, but when it is planted, it bears fruit, andgies shadow, cheerfully. It tholes storms, and is glad in the sunshine, and if it didna bear fruit, when it was weel cared for, it wad deserve tobe cut doon and burnt. My bonnie rose bush didna ask me to plant it, yetit is bending wi' flowers for my pleasure. Your fayther will hae the rightto say what you shall do to pay back his love and care. "

"But when I do not love the lady I am desired to marry?"

"Tuts!" She flung her head back a little scornfully with the word. "There's few folks ken what love is. "

"Do you, Maggie?"

"What for wad I ken? Is the leddy bonnie?"

"Very sweet and gentle and kind. "

"Does she like you?"

"We have been long together. She likes me, as you like David. "

"Will she want to be your wife? That's what I mean, sir. "

"I think not. A man cannot know such a thing as that, until he asks. "

She looked sharply at him, and blushed crimson. "Then you hae never askedher?"

"I have never asked her. My father wants me to do so, and I refused. "

"You are feared she'll tak' you?"

"Just so, Maggie. Now what would you advise me to do?"

"You wouldna do the thing I told you. Whatna for then, should I say aword?"

"I think I should do what you told me. I have a great respect for yourgood sense, Maggie. I have never told my trouble to anyone but you. "

"To naebody?"

"Not to any one. "

"Wait a wee then, while I think it o'er. I must be sure to gie you truecounsel, when you come to me sae trustful. "

She set the wheel going and turned her face to it for about five minutes. Then she stilled it, and Allan saw that the hand she laid upon it trembledviolently. 

"You should gae hame, sir; and you should be as plain and trustful wi'your cousin, as you hae been wi' me. Tell the leddy just hoo you love her, and ask her to tak' you, even though you arena deserving o' her. Yourfayther canna blame you if she willna be your wife. And sae, whether shesays 'na, ' or 'yes, ' there will be peace between you twa. "

"That is cutting a knot with a vengeance, Maggie. "

"Life isna lang enough to untie some knots. "

Then with her head still resolutely turned from Allan, she put by thewheel, and went into her room, and locked its door. Her face was as grayas ashes. She sat with clenched hands, and tight-drawn lips, and swayedher body backwards and forwards like one in an extremity of physicalanguish. 

"Oh Allan! Allan! You hae killed me!" she whispered; "you hae broken myheart in twa. "

As she did not return to him, Allan went to his room also, and fellasleep; a sleep of exhaustion, not indifference. Maggie's plan had struckhim at first as one entirely impracticable with a refined, conventionalgirl like Mary Campbell; but when a long dreamless rest had cleared andrefreshed his mind, he began to think that the plan, primitive as it was, might be a good one. In love, as well as geometry, the straight line mightbe the easiest and best. 

But he had no further opportunity to discuss it with her. David's trip toGlasgow was a very important affair to him, and he stayed at home in theafternoon to prepare for it. Then Maggie had her first hard lesson inself-restraint. All her other sorrows had touched lives beside her own;tears and lamentations had not only been natural, they had been expectedof her. But now she was brought face to face with a grief she must hidefrom every eye. If a child is punished, and yet forbidden to weep, what atumult of reproach and anguish and resentment is in the small patheticface! Maggie's face was the reflex of a soul in just such a position. Sheblamed Allan, and she excused him in the same moment. The cry in her heartwas "why didna he tell me? Why didna he tell me before it was o'er late?He kent weel a woman be to love him! He should hae spoken afore this! Butit's my ain fault! My ain fault! I ought to think shame o' mysel' forgiving what was ne'er sought. "

David noticed the pale anguish of her cheeks and mouth, and the look ofterror in her eyes, but he thought her trouble was entirely on his ownaccount. "Dinna fret aboot me, Maggie, " he said kindly, "I am going whereI hae been sent, and there's nae ill thing will come to me. And we sallHae the summer thegither, and plenty o' time to sort the futurecomfortable for you. Why, lassie, you sall come wi' me to Glasca', raytherthan I'll hae you looking sae broken-hearted. "

It was not a pleasant evening. Allan was packing his best pictures andSome clothing. David was also busy. The house was upside down, and therewas no peace anywhere. Maggie's one hope was, that she would be able tobear up until they were gone. Fortunately the tide served very early, andalmost at daylight she called the travelers for their breakfast. They wereboth silent, and perhaps no one was sorry when those few terrible minutesof approaching farewells were over. At the last, with all her efforts, Maggie could not keep back her tears, and David's black, shiny eyes weredim and misty also. 

"Few men hae sae kind-hearted a sister as I hae, " he said gratefully. Scotch families are not demonstrative in their affections; very seldom inall her life had Maggie kissed her brother, but when he stood with hisbonnet in his hand, and the "good-bye" on his lips, she lifted her faceand kissed him tenderly. Allan tried to make the parting a matter oflittle consequence. "We shall be back in a few days, Maggie;" he saidcheerily. "David is only going for a pleasuring"--and he held out his handand looked her brightly in the face. So they went into the boat, and shewatched them out of harbor; and Allan long remembered how grandlybeautiful she was, standing at the very edge of the land, with thesunshine falling all over her, the wind blowing backward her hair and herplaid, and her white bare arm raised above her head in a last adieu. Hesaw her turn slowly away, and he knew how her heart ached by the sharpnessof the pain in his own. 

She went back to the desolate untidy house and fastened the door, and drewthe curtains, and sat down full of misery, that took all light and hopeout of her life. She did not lose herself in analysis; the tide of sorrowwent on rising, rising, until it submerged her. Accustomed to draw all herreflections from the Bible, she moaned out "Lover and friend thou hast putfar from me. " Ah! there is no funeral so sad to follow as the funeral ofour first love, and all its wonderful hopes. 

In a little while there was a knock at the door, and she had to dry hereyes and open to the neighbors, who had many curiosities to satisfy. Davidand "Maister Campbell" were gone, and they did not fear Maggie. She hadto enter common life again, to listen to wonderings, and congratulations, and wearisome jokes. To smile, to answer questions, and yet, to hear amidall the tumult of words and laughter, always one voice, the sound of whichpenetrated all other sounds; to be conscious of only one thought, whichshe had to guard jealously, with constant care, lest she should let itslip amid the clash of thoughts around her. 

Oh, how she hated the sunshine and the noisy babble of it! How feverishlyshe longed for the night, for the shadows in which she could weep, for thedarkness in which she could be herself, for the isolation in which shecould escape from slavery! It was an entirely new, strange feeling to her. In that simple community; joys and sorrows were not for secrecy. A weddingor a funeral was the affair of every one. Women were expected to weeppublicly, and if they wore sackcloth and ashes, to wear it in the sight ofevery one. Love affairs were discussed without ceremony, and oftenarranged in full family conclaves. All married strictly within their ownrank; not once in a generation did a fisher-girl marry "out of the boats. "

Maggie would have been really afraid to speak of her love for a gentlemanlike Allan Campbell. She knew well what a storm of advices, perhaps evenof scorn and reproaches, her confidence would be met with. Yet she wouldtalk freely enough about Angus Raith, and when Christie Buchan told herRaith's version of their quarrel, she did not hesitate to fly into apassion of indignation, and stigmatize him freely as "a liar and acowardly ne'er-do-weel. "

"You'll mak' it up, " said Christie, "and marry him when the year is oot. Deed you'll be kind o' forced to, for he'll let nae other lad comeSpeiring after you. "

"I'll ne'er mak' it up wi' him; no, not for a' the gold in Fife; and youmay tell him if he ever speaks o' me again, I'll strike the lies aff hisblack mouth wi' my ain hand. " She found a safe vent for her emotions inthe subject, and she continued it until her visitors went. But it was anunwise thing. Raith had kin and friends in Pittenloch; all that she hadsaid in her excited mental condition was in time repeated to them, and shewas eventually made to feel that there was a "set" who regarded her withactive ill will. 

In the meantime, Allan and David had a pleasant sail to Leith; and duringit Allan made David's position perfectly clear to him. "Dr. Balmuto hastaken for himself the pleasure of buying your first books, David, " hesaid; "you must let me select your first scholastic wardrobe; or rather wewill go together to my tailor, for he will know exactly what is necessaryfor you. The square cap of your college, and its scarlet gown, we shallprocure best in Glasgow. "

"I'll do whate'er you say, sir. " "You see, David, the respectability ofthe theological class must be kept up, and it will be better thatProfessor Laird sees you first dressed as a student, rather than as afisher. Then, as one never knows what may happen, I shall deposit to yourcredit in the Western Bank of Glasgow, the sum of £400. It will be foryour fees, and board, and books, and dress. You will have to be verycareful, David. I wanted to make it £500, but Dr. Balmuto said you wouldlike better the idea of economy. Not one word, David. I know all you feel. I am happier than you are; and if the obligation ever becomes a painfulone to you, why pay me back when you get a kirk and a good stipend. "

"I hear you, sir, and I'm gratefu' as man can be. "

"Very likely Professor Laird may wish you to stay a week with him. He willwant to find out what you know, and what studies you can be pursuing thissummer. If he does so, I shall take that opportunity to visit my friends. Then we can return to Pittenloch until the classes open. I look forward tosome calm, happy weeks, David; and perhaps I shall be able to help youwith your Latin and Greek. I wasn't a bad scholar two years ago. "

"Is your hame far awa', sir?"

"I dare say, David, you think it strange I do not ask you to go with methere. "

"It wad ill set me to hae such thochts, sir. I hope you dinna put them tome. "

"The truth is, David, I have had a little trouble with my family. If youwon't mind my secrecy, I should prefer not to speak of it. "

"I hae naething to do wi' your private affairs, sir. I wad think it theheight o' dishonor to mak' any inquiry concerning them. "

Then the subject was readily turned, for David's mind and imagination wasfull of the lovely and grand city in which he found himself. He had neverbeen beyond the small fishing towns of Fife, and the ancient castle andpalace, the fine terraces of handsome houses, the marching to and fro ofsoldiers, the streets and kirks made sacred by the sufferings of theCovenanters and the voice of Knox, filled his soul with unspeakableemotions. Glasgow, at first, almost terrified him. "It's the City o' HumanPower, " he wrote to Maggie. "It is fu' o' hurrying crowds, and harshalarms, and contentious noises. And the horses and the carriages! They aremaist fearsome! Also the drivers o' them are a fierce and insolent race o'men; and I tak' credit to mysel', that I hae not been quite dumfounded wi'the noise o' it. "

Allan had a private interview with Professor Laird before he introducedDavid to him; and doubtless satisfactory arrangements were made, for Davidreceived a cordial welcome to his house. He had taken naturally to hisblack clothes; never for a moment had he felt or appeared out of place inthem; and the professor, after a keen look at his new student, said in anaside to Allan--

"A born ecclesiastic, a natural theologian; where did you find him, Mr. Campbell?"

"Where Christ found some apostles, in the fishing boats. He will do, Ithink. "

"Do! He is one of those men who will walk up to fame as they would to afriend in their own home. "

CHAPTER VI

OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE. 

 "There is a change in every hour's recall, And the last cowslip in the fields we see On the same day with the first corn poppy. Alas for hourly change, Alas for all The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall, Even as the beads of a told rosary!"

The next day Allan bade David "good-bye, " for a week. He went first to hisfather's office; where he received a glad welcome. Their dispute did notinterfere with the courtesies of life; nor indeed, had it in any degreedulled the sincere affection between father and son. As they stood amoment hand-fast, they looked into each other's face, and in the mutuallook there was a dumb acknowledgment of a love which could not be easilyshadowed, and which no circumstances could altogether extinguish. 

"Where have you been so long, Allan? I have wearied to see you. "

"I was on the East coast, father. "

"Trying to find out what you really wanted?"

"That, and also making some fine studies. I have brought back with me afew pictures which I hope you will like. Shall I take the noon boat toMeriton, or wait for you?"

"Go at noon. I may stop at Largo to see a yacht I think of buying. "

"How is Mary?"

"Well and bonnie. She will be glad to see you. She has been glad always tosee a letter with the Edinburgh postmark. James Sinclair is waiting foradvices, so 'good-bye' until we meet at Meriton. Just tell MacRoy to letus have a bottle of the 'comet' [Footnote: _Comet wine_, that of1811, the year of the comet, and the best vintage on record; famed for itsdelicate aroma. ] Madeira tonight. The occasion will excuse it. " Allan feltgrateful, for he knew what the order really meant--it was the wine ofhomecoming, and rejoicing, and gratitude. And afterall, he had beensomething of a prodigal, and his father's greeting, so full of regard, sodestitute of reproach, had touched him very much. How beautiful was Clydeside! How homelike the heathery hills, the dimpling bays, the luxuriantstretches of wood, the stately dwellings crowning the smooth green, sloping lawns! The bold rocks of Fife, the bellowing waves, the plaintivecries of the fishermen, the salt and sparkle of the great sea, therocking, bounding boat upon it, all these things slipped from his memoryin the charm of the present picture. 

He was impatient to reach his home, and glad to see the coachman and aphaeton waiting, when the steamer touched the little jetty. The man raisedhis hat with a pleasure there was no mistaking. "I came my ways doon on a'may be, ' sir, " he said proudly, "I jist had a feeling o' being wantedhere. Whiles, thae feelings are as gude as a positive order. You'll become to stay, Mr. Allan, surely, sir. There'll be a sight o' birds in theheather this year. "

"My stay depends on this and that, Archibald. Is there any change roundMeriton?"

"Nane worth the praising, sir. We hae a new minister. I dinna think mucho' him. "

"Not orthodox, I suppose. "

"A puir body, sir, a puir body at a sermon. I like a gun and a minister toshoot close. Dr. MacDonald is an awfu' scattering man. He'll be fraeGenesis to Revelations in the same discourse, sir. "

They were passing between plantations of young larch; the great hills rosebehind them, the songs of a multitude of birds filled the warm, sweet air. The horses tossed their heads, and lifted proudly their prancing feet. Allan had a keen sense of the easy, swift motion through the balmyatmosphere. As he leaned back against the comfortably cushioned vehicle, he could not help contrasting the circumstances with the hoarysea-shattering rocks of Fife, the tossing ocean, the tugging oars, andthe fisherman's open boat. He did not try to decide upon the merits of thedifferent situations; he simply realized the present, and enjoyed it. 

The great doors of Meriton House stood open, and a soft-treading footmanmet him with bows and smiles, and lifted his cloak and luggage, and madehim understand that he had again entered a life in which he was expectedto be unable to wait upon himself. It gave him no trouble to accept theconditions; he fell at once into the lofty leisurely way of a manaccustomed to being served. He had dismissed his valet in Edinburgh, whenhe determined to go to Pittenloch, but he watched his father's servantbrushing his dinner suit, and preparing his bath and toilet, without onedissenting feeling as to the absolute fitness of the attention. The loftyrooms, the splendor and repose, the unobtrusive but perfect service, werethe very antipodes of the life he had just left. He smiled to himself ashe lazily made contrasts of them. But Fife and the ways of Fife seemed faraway. It was like a dream from which he had awakened, and Meriton was theactual and the present. 

He knew that he would meet Mary Campbell very soon, and he was notindifferent to the meeting. He could not help glancing with complaisanceat the new evening suit he had brought with him; and looking a littleruefully at his browned and hardened hands, and the tan of wind andweather on his face. He hoped he would meet Mary before his father'sarrival; so that he could get accustomed to the situation before he had toexhibit himself in it to those keen and critical observers, the servants. 

He went early into the dining-room, and found Mary already there. She hadsome ferns and roses in her hands, and was mingling them, for theadornment of the dinner table. She put them down, and went to meet himwith a smile like sunshine. Her small, slender figure clothed in whiteIndia mull had a peculiarly fragile appearance; but Allan watched her, asshe glided about the room filling the crystal vases, with a restfulcontent. He thought how intelligent her face is! How graceful her diction, how charming her low, sweet voice!

The dinner was a kind of festival. Mac Roy made every one feel so, when heserved with careful and elaborate ceremonies the famous wine. Allan feltalmost pained by the significance given to his return. It roused the firstfeeling of opposition in him. "I will not float with the current unless Iwish to do so, " was his mental determination; "and I will not have itsupposed that my return home is a surrender of my inclinations. "Unfortunately John Campbell regarded it as such; and his desire was toadequately show his appreciation of the concession. Before Allan had beenat home three days, he perceived that his father was restless andimpatient. He had watched and waited so long, he could not help feelingthat Allan was unkind to keep a question of such importance in abeyanceand uncertainty. 

But the week Allan had allowed himself nearly passed and he had not beenable to say a word to Mary on the subject pressing him so closely. He feltthat he must have more time, and he went into Glasgow to see David. Hefound him in Professor Laird's study hard at work; and he saw at a glancethe easy attitude of the young man among his new surroundings. When theservant said, "Here is a gentleman to call on you, Mr. Promoter, " Davidrose without the slightest embarrassment to welcome his visitor; thoughwhen the door was closed, he said with a smile, "I let them call me'Mister Promoter;' I must consider the office I'm seeking and gie ithonor; but it sounds unca strange, sir. Whiles, I feel as if I wad be gladto hear somebody say 'David' to me. "

"Well, David, have you had a good week?"

"A week fu' o' grand promises, sir. I hae had a glint inside spacioushalls o' delightfu' stillness and wonderfu' wisdom. I'll ne'er forget thejoy o' it. "

"We promised Maggie to return in seven days. I shall not be able to keepmy promise, but I think it will be right for you to do so. "

"I wad be glad if you were going wi' me. "

"I shall follow ere long; and even if I should never see you again, David, I think your future is assured. Would you like me to go with you as faras Edinburgh?"

"I wad like it, but there is nae occasion for it. The city doesna frightme noo. If I couldna find my way to Pittenloch wi' a gude Scot's tongue inmy mouth, and siller in my purse, I wad hae little hope of ever finding myway into a pulpit. Thank you kindly, sir. "

"Then good-bye for the present, Davie, and give my regards to your sister. "

He felt like a traitor to Maggie and to his own heart, but what was thereelse for him to say. When he reached the street the whole atmosphere oflife seemed to have changed. A sudden weariness of the placid existence atMeriton attacked him. Was he to go on, year after year, dressing andvisiting, and taking little rows in land-locked bays, and little rides anddrives with Mary Campbell? "I would rather fling a net in the stormiestsea that ever roared, for my daily bread, " he said. Yet he went ondressing, and rowing, and riding, and visiting for many more weeks;sometimes resenting the idle, purposeless life as thoroughly enervating;more frequently, drifting in its sunshiny current, and hardly caring tooppose it, though he suspected it was leading him to Drumloch. 

What curious "asides" and soliloquies of the soul are dreams! Perhaps ifwe cared to study them more conscientiously they would reveal us toourselves in many startling ways. The deep, real feelings which we willnot recognize while awake, take possession of us when we sleep; and thecup-bearer who was slain for dreaming that he poisoned the king was, verylikely, righteously slain. The dream had but revealed the secret thoughtof his soul. "We sleep, but our heart waketh, " and though

 "Calm and still may be the sleeping face In the moonlight pale, The heart waketh in her secret place Within the veil. And agonies are suffered in the night; Or joys embraced too keen for waking sight. "

One morning, just at the gray dawn, Allan had a dream of this kind. He sawMaggie on the sea alone, and he was sailing away from her. She stoodupright in a little open boat, which the waves tossed to and fro:--aspeechless, woe-stricken woman, who watched him with sorrow-haunted eyes, but neither by word, look, nor movement called him to her. 

He awoke, and could sleep no more. The dream had revealed him to himself. Who was there in all the world as dear to him as Maggie was? He felt thatshe was wretched, and he hated himself for having made her so. That veryhour he wrote to David, and said all that he might say, to give her hopeand comfort, and over and over he declared his purpose of being inPittenloch, before David left it for Glasgow. How soon David might get theletter was a very uncertain thing, but still he could not rest until hehad written it. 

He was dull and silent at breakfast, and hid himself and his moody temperbehind his favorite newspaper. Mary had often noticed that men like to bequiet in the early morning; she gave them naturally all the benefit theyclaim from the pressure of unread mails and doubtful affairs. If hercousin was quiet and sombre, he might have half-a-dozen innocent reasonsfor the humor; when he felt more social, he would be sure to seek her. Andwhen she saw him sauntering toward her favorite retreat she was nothingastonished. It was the fulfillment of as natural an expectation as thatthe clock should strike at the full hour. 

"I am glad to see you, Allan, " she said, with a charming serenity ofmanner. "We shall not now have many days as fair as this one is. " She worea gown of pale blue lawn, and had a great cluster of scarlet fuchsias inher hand. Behind the garden bench on which she sat, there was a hedge offuchsias seven feet high and very thick. Her small dark head restedagainst its green and scarlet masses. The little bay tinkled and murmuredamong the pebbles at her feet. She had a book, but she was not reading. She had some crochet, but she was not working. Allan thought he had neverseen her look so piquant and interesting: but she had no power to movehim. The lonely, splendid beauty of the woman he had seen in his morningvision filled his heart. He sought Mary that hour only for Maggie's sake. 

While he was wondering how he could best introduce the conversation hedesired, Mary broke the silence by a sudden question. "Cousin Allan, wherewere you this spring? I have often wanted to ask you. "

"Why did you not ask me? I wish you had, I should like to have talked onthat subject. I was in the Fife fishing district. "

"Oh!"

"Why do you feel curious, Mary?"

"I have always thought there was something singular about that journey. What took you to Fife? I never heard you speak of Fife before. "

"It was an accident. My hat blew off, a Fife fisherman got it for me. Iliked the man, and went back to Fife with him. "

"Accidents open the door to Fate. Now then, what singular thing happenedto you in Fife?"

"Nothing unusual happened. Is this my catechism or yours, Mary?"

"We can divide it. It is your turn to question. "

"Do you know why I left home?"

"You had a 'difference' with Uncle John. "

"What about?"

"Money, I dare say. I feel sure you were very extravagant while you wereabroad. "

"It was not about money. "

"About going into business then? You ought to do something, Allan. It is ashame for you to be so lazy. "

"It was not about business. It was about you. "

"Me!"

"My dear Mary, for what I am going to say, I beg your pardon in advance, for I feel keenly the position in which I must appear before you. You knowthat the welfare of Drumloch has been my father's object by day, and hisdream by night. He cannot bear to think of a stranger or a strange name inits old rooms. Long ago, when we were little children, our marriage wasplanned, and when the place was clear, and you had grown to a beautifulwomanhood, and I had completed my education, father longed to see us inDrumloch. There were points we could not agree upon. He was angry, I wasobstinate--Mary, I know not how to tell you; how to ask you--"

"Allan, my dear brother Allan, spare yourself and me any more words. " Shelooked up with clear, candid eyes, and laid her hand upon his. "Uncle isnot unjust in his expectations. His outlay, his cares, his labor, havesaved Drumloch to the family. It is as much his purchase as if he hadbought every acre at public roup. And he has been a second father to me;kind, generous, thoughtful. It is hard enough for him that his plans mustfail; it would be cruel indeed if he were parted from a son he loves sotenderly as he loves you, Allan. Let me bear the blame. Let it be my faulthis hopes cannot be realized. "

"Can they not be realized, Mary?"

"Do you mean by that question to offer me your hand, Allan? At any rate Iwill consider it a fulfillment of your father's desire. No, they cannot berealized. You are to me as a brother. I distinctly refuse to accept you asa husband. Uncle John is a gentleman; he will consider my 'no' as final;and he is too just to blame you, because I decline to be your wife. Norshall we be any worse friends, Allan, for this honest talk, I am sure ofthat. " She smiled bravely in his face, and he did not suspect how deeplyboth her affections and her pride had been wounded. 

"Let us go back to the house; the air is heavy and hot, we may have astorm. "

Allan was thoroughly miserable and unsettled. As soon as Mary had sopositively refused him, he began to have doubts and longings. "Drumlochwas a fine estate--the name was old and honorable, and in a fair way forgreater honors--Mary was sweet and sensible, and a woman to be desiredabove all other women--except Maggie. Yet, after all, was he not paying agreat price for his pearl?" Mary and Maggie were both difficult to resign. He began to grumble at events and to blame every one but himself. "If hisfather had not been so unreasonable, he never would have gone to Edinburghat the time he did--never would have gone to Pittenloch--never would havemet Maggie Promoter. "

John Campbell came home in unusually high spirits. He had made aprofitable contract, and he had done a kindness to an old friend. Bothcircumstances had been mental tonics to him. He felt himself a happy man. The atmosphere of the dinner table chilled him a little, but for once thesubject on which he was always hoping and fearing did not enter his mind. When Mary left the room, he said cheerfully, "We will be with you anon, dearie, and then you shall sing for us, '_The Lass O' Gowrie_, '" andhe began to hum the pretty melody as he poured out for himself anotherglass of port. "Help yourself, Allan. You do not seem very brightto-night. "

"I do not feel very bright. Mary told me positively this morning that shewould not marry me. "

"What! Not marry you? Did you ask her?"

"She said 'no'. "

"Oh, but she be to marry you! Your father would not have taken 'no', sir. "

"A man cannot force a rich girl to be his wife. If you will speak to Mary, you will understand how useless any further hope is. "

"I will speak to her. I can hardly believe this sorrow has really come tome. "

He rose and went to his niece. "Come here, Mary, and sit down beside me. Allan tells me you will not have him for your husband. Your decision is asore trouble to me; almost the worst trouble that could come to me. Oh, Mary, what is the matter? Is not Allan handsome, and kind, and good, andrich enough to mate you? And he loves you, too; I am sure he loves you; hecould not help it. "

"But, uncle, what if he loves some other girl better than me?"

"That isn't possible. Did he tell you such a thing as that?"

"No; but I am sure it is so. However, Allan is the second thought, uncle;Drumloch is the first. We must save Drumloch for the Campbells, uncle. "

"You dear lassie! But how can that be done if Allan is not in the samemind?"

"Three things may happen, uncle. I may remain unmarried, I may marry, Imay die. If I remain unmarried, I am only the steward of Drumloch; I shallsave it for Allan or Allan's children. If I die, its disposition will bethe same. If I marry into a strange name or family, I will sell Drumlochto you before I change my name. "

"You are a wise, kindly little woman; and you have found a drop of comfortfor me. I will buy Drumloch any day you wish to sell it. May be then I'llbe Campbell of Drumloch myself. "

"Drumloch will be well off with such a laird. I would not fret yourselfone moment, uncle. There is more good in a disappointment than can beseen. "

"God bless you, my dearie! Allan is blind, and deaf, and foolish, or hewould never have taken 'no' from you. "

"He is in love, uncle. That accounts for everything. Do you know where hewas during his last absence?"

"On the east coast, making pictures. The two he gave me are wonderful. Hehas genius certainly; the Campbells mostly have genius. I had siller tomake, or I could have painted pictures myself. I have a remarkableperception anent color. "

"He was in the Fife fishing villages. "

"And a very good place for subjects. The Fife fishers are a fine race--faithful, religious, handsome. "

"Very handsome, I should think. Did you notice the woman in the picturesAllan gave you?"

"Yes, I did; a splendid study in both cases. "

"Have you been in Allan's room lately?"

"Not since he returned home. "

"Go to it to-night. You will find the walls covered with studies fromFife. In nearly every study the same figure reappears. That is the womanAllan loves. I am right, uncle; I feel I am. "

"A fisher-girl!"

"Perhaps; but what a fisher-girl! The mother of men must have been likeher. There is one picture in which she leans against a jagged mass ofrocks, gazing over the sea. The face is so splendid, the figure so fine, the sense of life so ample, that it haunts you. And every likeness of herhas just that tinge of melancholy which lies at the bottom of all thingsthat are truly happy, or truly beautiful. How could Allan care for anyother woman, having seen her?"

"You are a quick observer, Mary. "

"The heart has its oracles as well as the head, uncle. "

She spoke sadly, and John Campbell looked with a kindly curiosity at her. He felt almost certain that she had suffered a keen disappointment, aswell as himself. "But she would die before she would make a complaint, " hethought, "and I may learn a lesson from her. It is a weak soul that is notcapable of its own consolation. She has evidently determined to make thebest of things beyond her sorting. "

After a short silence, Mary slipped quietly from the room. John Campbellscarcely noticed her departure. He had the heartache, and men of sixtyhave it far worse than men of twenty. When their hopes fail, they have notime left, often no ability left to renew them. To make the best of thingswas all that now remained; and he was the more able to do this because ofMary's promise to him. But it is always hard to feel in the evening thatour day's work has been unsuccessful, and that resignation, and notsuccess, must make the best of the hours remaining. 

As he mused the storm, which had threatened all the afternoon, broke. Theswash and patter of the rain against the windows, and the moaning of thetrees on the lawn, made a dreary accompaniment to his melancholy musings. It grew chill, and a footman entered, put a match to the laid fuel, andlighted the gas. Then John Campbell made an effort to shake off theinfluence which oppressed him. He laid down the ivory paper knife, whichhe had been turning mechanically in his fingers, rose, and went to thewindow. How dark it was! The dripping outlook made him shiver, and heturned back to the slowly burning fire. But solitude and inaction becameunbearable. "Regretting never mended wrong; if I cannot get the best, Ican try for the second best. And perhaps the lad is not beyond reasoningwith. " Then he rose, and with a decided air and step went straight toAllan's room. 

CHAPTER VII

MAGGIE. 

 "O, Love! let this my lady's picture glow Under my hand to praise her name, and show Even of her inner self a perfect whole That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal, Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know The very sky and sea-line of her soul"

The suite of rooms which belonged especially to the heir of Meriton werevery handsome ones, and their long, lofty parlor was full of art treasuresgathered from the various cities which Allan had visited. The fire in thisroom had been lighted for some time and was burning cheerily, and theyoung man sat in its ruddy glow when his father entered. 

"I was lonely to-night, Allan, so I have come to make you a visit. "

"You do me a great honor, sir, and are most welcome. " And he went to meethim gladly. But as Blair, his valet, was softly moving about in an innerroom, conversation was confined to conventional grooves until the servantwith a low "good night, sir, " glided away. As soon as they were alone theeffort to conceal emotion was mutually abandoned. John Campbell sat on oneside of the hearth, with his head dropped toward his folded hands. Allankept his eyes fixed upon the glowing coals; but he was painfully aware ofhis father's unhappy presence, and waiting for him to open theconversation which he saw was inevitable. 

"I have had a knock-me-down blow to-night, son Allan. "

"And I am much to blame for it; that is what grieves me, father. "

"You are altogether to blame for it, Allan. I thought Mary loved you whenyou came home this summer; to-night I am sure she loves you. You must havemade some great blunder or she would have married you. "

"There was a great blunder. I did the thing accidentally which I had oftenhad in my heart to do, but which I am very certain would have beenimpossible to me, had it not blundered out in a very miserable way. Wewere speaking of my late absence, and I let her know that she had been thecause of our dispute, the reason why I had left home. "

"If you had planned to get 'no, ' you could have taken no better way. Whatgirl worth having would take you after you had let her understand youpreferred a quarrel with your father, and an exile from your home, to amarriage with her?"

"I would, for your sake, father, unsay the words if I could. Is there anyexcuse, any--"

"There is no excuse but time and absence. Mary loves you; go away from hersight and hearing until she forgets the insult you have given her. I don'tmean go away to the east or to the west coast, or even to London or Paris. I mean go far away--to China or Russia; or, better still, to America. Ihave friends in every large sea-port. You shall have all that my name andmoney can do to make your absence happy--and women forgive! Yes, theyforget also; wipe the fault quite out, and believe again and again. Godbless them! You can write to Mary. Where a lover cannot go he can send, and you need not blunder into insults when you write your words. You havetime to think and to rewrite. I shall have to part with you again, sonAllan. I feel it very bitterly. "

Allan did not answer at once. He sat looking at his father's bent face andheavy eyes. The blow had really aged him, for "'tis the heart holds up thebody. " And to-night John Campbell's heart had failed him. He realizedfully that the absence and interval necessary to heal Mary's sense ofwrong and insult might also be full of other elements equally inimical tohis plans. Besides, he had a real joy in his son's presence. He loved himtenderly; it maimed every pleasure he had to give him up. 

"What do you say, Allan? There has been a mistake, and we must make thebest of the chances left us. Had you not better go away? Mary will forgiveyou sooner at a distance. "

Allan bit his lips, and looked steadily at the kind, sorrowful faceopposite him. Then he answered, "You are too good a father to deceive, sir. I will not do you that wrong, however angry you may be with me. Ilove another woman. I never can marry Mary without wronging both her andmyself. "

"That alters everything, Allan. How long have you loved this other woman?"

"Since I left home last March. "

"You cannot be sure of a love only a few months old. Will you tell me whoshe is?"

Allan took a taper and lit every gas-jet in the room. "Look around, father, you will see her everywhere. " He led him first to the picturestill upon his easel--Maggie, in her long, brown merino kirk dress; withlinen cuffs folded back over the tight, plain sleeves! and a small, turneddown linen collar at the throat. She had a sea-shell in her open leftpalm, and she was looking at it, with that faint melancholy smile Allanalways chose for her face! He asked for no criticism, and John Campbellmade none. Silently the two men passed from picture to picture. Maggiealways. Maggie baking the oat cakes. Maggie at the wheel. Maggie mendingthe nets. Maggie peering through misty gloom for the boats, out on theangry sea. Maggie bending over the open Bible. Maggie with a neighbor'sbaby cuddled up to her breast. Maggie rowing, with the wind blowing herfine hair like a cloud around her. Maggie knitting by the fireside, herface beaming with sisterly love on the pale dark face of her brotherDavid. As Allan had said, "Maggie everywhere. "

The elder man went back to look at several of the pictures; he stood longbefore the one on the easel. He sat down again, still silent; but Allansaw that there was no anger on his face. 

"Well, father?"

"She is a grand looking woman. No one can deny that. A peasant woman, though?"

"Yes, sir, a peasant woman; the daughter of a Fife fisherman. "

"She is not a common peasant woman. You could not believe that she wouldever kick her heels in a 'foursome reel, ' or pass coarse jokes with thelads. Yet she must be uneducated, and perhaps vulgar. "

"She is never vulgar, sir. She has a soul, and she is conscious of it. Shehad parents, grave and thoughtful, who governed by a look, without wasteof words. Though she lives on the wild Fife coast, she has grown upbeneath the shade of Judea's palms; for the Bible has blended itself withall her life. Sarah, Moses, Joshua, Ruth, and David, are far more realpeople to her than Peel or Wellington, or Jenny Lind, or even Victoria. She has been fed upon faith, subjected to duty, and made familiar withsorrow and suffering and death. The very week I met her, she had lost herfather and three eldest brothers in a sudden storm. If you could see hereyes, you could look into her pure soul. A woman like that is nevervulgar, father. "

"A lover is allowed to exaggerate, Allan. "

"But I do not exaggerate. Uneducated she certainly is. She can write alittle; and in the long stormy days and evenings, I read aloud to her andto her brother. But Scott and Burns and Leigh Hunt are not an education. Her Bible has really been her only teacher. "

"It is His Word, " said John Campbell, reverently. "It is the best ofteachers. The generations to whom Scotland owes everything, had no otherbook. It made her men calm, reflective, courageous unto death. It made herwomen gentle, faithful, pure, ideal. I remember my mother, Allan; she camefrom the same school. Her soul lived so much in the Book, that I am sureif an angel had suddenly appeared to her, she would scarcely have beensurprised. What domestic women those were! How peaceful and smiling! Howfond of the children! How dear to the children!" He had wandered a fewmoments back into his own past; and though he hastily recalled himself, the influence was upon him. 

"Allan?"

"Yes, father. "

"Have you said anything to this girl? Have you in any way committed yourpromise to her?"

"I have never sought her love. I was their guest, I would not wrong her bya thought. There was in my heart a real intention to marry Mary Campbell. I am your son, do you think I would plot shame or sorrow for any girl?"

"Does she love you?"

"I cannot tell--sometimes I fear so. "

"Allan, there are few loves that conquer life. Life would be a hurly-burlyof unbridled passion, if we had not the power to control our likes anddislikes. We two cannot quarrel. You are my one child. The sole desire ofmy heart is your welfare and happiness. We will make a paction between us. Go away for two years. Let absence test the love you have conceived forthis strange girl. At the end of it you will either love her better, oryour heart will have turned back to the friend and hope of your childhoodand youth. If so, Mary will forgive you, and I may yet see you Laird ofDrumloch. But if the new love outgrows the old; if you are sure, after twoyears' test, that none but this fisher-girl can be your wife, I will notoppose your happiness. I can trust you to bring no woman to Meriton whowill be a shame or a grief to my old age. "

He leaned forward and put out his hand; Allan clasped and kissed it. "Noman could have a wiser or a kinder father. I will do whatever you advise, sir. "

"You will not require to go to Fife again, I hope?"

"I promised to go there again. I must keep my word. It would be cruel todrop out of so dear a life, and if she loves me, give her neither hope norpromise. "

"Write. "

"I promised to go. "

"Then keep your word. I can depend upon you. If you say anything to her, tell the whole truth. Allan, I am not asking more from you than I havealready given. Some years ago, I met again bonnie Jessie Russell. She wasmy first love. I nearly broke my heart about her. The old affection cameback to both of us. I could have married her then, but she was a widowwith four children. I would not divide your inheritance. I put down my ownlonging, and thought only of you, and of Drumloch. Love is meant tocomfort and brighten life, but not to rule it like a despot. I have had mysay. Good night, Allan. "

He rose and went slowly out of the room, and he stopped at the easel andlooked again at the pictured woman upon it. "Does she know who you are, Allan?" he asked. 

"She knows only that my name is Campbell. "

"Do not tell her more. When a love affair gets named, it travels far. Idraw many sailors from the Fife sea-towns. We don't want strangers todiscuss our personal affairs;"--and leaning upon Allan's arm, he passedout of the room, in which he had not only bravely buried his own desires, but also, wisely and kindly accepted others materially altering the fewyears of life left him. But oh, how selfish is youth! Only one thing isindispensable to it, the need of being happy at any cost. How good is Godto those whom he permits to ripen into middle, and old age, and becomemellow, and generous, and self-forgetting!

It will be seen, then, that John Campbell was not one of thosemoney-makers with stunted senses, and incomplete natures, for whom all thegrapes in the garden of God are sour. He had loved and suffered, the songsof his native land had sweet echoes in his heart, he could appreciatebeauty, he delighted in color, he had learned the blessedness of givingand forgiving, he had found out that with renunciation the higher lifebegins. When Allan told him in the morning that he was going to Fife, heaccepted the information pleasantly, as part of an understood arrangement. 

"Will you be long away, Allan?"

"A few days, sir. "

"And when you return? What then?"

"I have decided to go Westward. "

"I am glad of it. Boston! New York! Baltimore! Charleston! New Orleans!Why the very names are epics of enterprise! Old as I am, if I could winaway from my desk, I would take a year or two to read them. "

They parted pleasantly with a lingering handclasp, and words of "goodspeed;" and though Allan was going to bid Maggie a long farewell, he waslight-hearted, for it was not a hopeless one. If she loved him, and couldhave patience for two years, he would be free to make her his wife. And heintended to give her this hope to share with him. 

When he arrived in Edinburgh, the city was all astir with movingregiments, and the clear, crisp autumn air thrilling with military music--that admirable metallic music so well disciplined, so correct, and yet allthe more ardent and passionate for its very restraint. It typified to himthe love he had for Maggie Promoter. Its honorable limitations, thepatience and obedience by which it was restricted, only made it stronger;and he understood how in order to love a woman well, truth and honor mustbe loved still better. 

The first person he saw upon Leith pier was Willie Johnson. "Willie!" hecried, laughing outright in his pleasured surprise; "have you come to takeme to Pittenloch? I want to go there. "

"Hech! but I'm glad to see you, Master Campbell, I'll put to sea noo. Icain' awa in spite o twaill signs, and the wind turned wrang, and my feeshall spoiled, and I hae had a handfu' o bad luck. Sae I was waiting for theluck tide to turn, and there is nane can turn it sae weel as yoursel'We'll be awa' hame noo, and we'll hae wind and water with us

 "Sing wo and well a day but still May the good omens shame the ill, "

said Allan gayly, and the old classical couplet sent his thoughts off tothe Aegean sea and the Greek fishermen, and the superstitions which arethe soul alphabet of humanity. 

Johnson had very little news for him. "There's few wonderfu' to see, orhear tell o', in Pittenloch, sir. The Promoters were you asking for? Aythey are well, and doing well, and like to do better still. They say thatDavid is quite upsetten wi his good luck and keeps himsel mair from folkthan need be But a fu' cup is hard to carry. 

"They are mistaken, Johnson, I am sure David Promoter has not a pennyworthof personal pride in him He is studying hard, and books--"

"Books' sir, he's got a boat fu' o' them. It isn't vera kindly taken, hisusing a boat for kirk business. Some think it willna be lucky for therest. "

"What foolishness, Willie!"

"'Deed, sir, it is just an invite to misfortune to bring the kirk into theboats. There's naething so unlucky around them as a minister, if it be naea black cat, or a pair o' tongs. "

Allan laughed; he could not help laughing, he was so happy. Maggie wasgrowing nearer to him every moment; and it was a real joy to be again uponthe sea, to feel the fresh wind blowing through his hair, and the cradlingmotion of the wide swell of the waves. Early in the morning they arrived atPittenloch. There was the brown pier, and the blue water, and the spaces ofyellow sand, and the sea-weed and tangle all populous with birds whoseshrill cries filled the air. There were the white cottages, and the menstrolling off to the boats and the women in the open doors watching themaway. 

There was the Promoters cottage. It was closed and Allan was disappointed. Surely Maggie should have felt him coming. Every moment as he went towardit, he expected the door to open, and a sense of unkindness was chillinghis heart, when he heard a swift, light step behind him. He turned, andthere stood Maggie. She had the dew of the sea on her face, her cheekswere like a rose, pink and wet before sunrise. Her eyes had a glint as ofthe morning star in them, she was trembling and panting with her surpriseand rapid motion. 

He had thought of the sweetest words to greet her with, he had imaginedthat he might find it possible to take her in his arms and kiss hiswelcome from her lips. But in spite of her evident gladness, something inher manner restrained him; also, there was Christie Buchan, and half adozen other women watching them. So what he said and did, was only to holdout his hand, and ask, "Are you well, Maggie? Are you glad to see me?"

"Weel, and right happy, sir. "

"And David?"

"He is weel and happy too, sir. He likes the early hours for study, and Iaye try to tak' a walk and let him hae the house place quiet, and tohimsel'. "

"He should have used my room. Students are tyrants, Maggie, if you give into them, they will stop the clock and make you breathe with your fingerson your lips. "

Smiling, she opened the door and said, "Step inside, sir; there's nae footwelcomer. "

"I thocht you wad come! I said you wad come!" cried David joyfully. "NooI'm the proudest man in Fife! Maggie, let us hae some tea, and a kipperedherring, and toast the oat cake crisp. I'll no call the king my cousinto-day! Mr. Campbell, you are just the answer to my heart's desire. "

"Thank you, David. It is pleasant to be made so much of"--and he openedthe door of his room, and cried out, "O how nice it is, Maggie! I willjust wash the salt off my face and then come and breakfast with you; andtoast me a couple of herring, Maggie, for I am as hungry as a fisherman, and I have not tasted a herring since I left Pittenloch. "

Three at a little round table, and only some tea, and fish, and oat cake;and yet, never was there a gayer meal. After it was over, David was eagerto show Allan what he had accomplished, and the young men went togetherinto Allan's room to examine lexicons and exercises. 

David was full of quick interest, and Allan deserved credit for affectinga sympathy it was impossible for him to feel. In a little while, some onebegan to sing and the voice was singularly clear, and sweetly penetrating. Allan put down the papers in his hand, and listened like one entranced. 

"It's just Maggie, and I'm mair astonished at her. She hasna sung a wordsince fayther's death. What for is she singing the noo? It's no kind o'her, and me wi' yoursel' and the books;" said David very fretfully; for hedid not like to be interrupted in his recitations. 

"Hush! hush! I would not lose a syllable for all the Latin language, David. "

[Footnote: Words and air by Alexander Nicholson, LL. O. ]

[Illustration: Musical notation omitted. ]

 "My heart is yearning to thee, O Skye, Dearest of islands! There first the sunshine gladdened my eye, On the sea spark-ling; There doth the dust of my dear ones lie, In the old graveyard. 

[Musical notation omitted. ]

 Bright are the golden green fields to me Here in the lowlands; Sweet sings the mavis in the thorn tree Snowy with fragrance; But oh for a breath of the great North sea Girdling the mountains!

 Good is the smell of the brine that laves Black rock and skerry; Where the great palm-leaved tangle waves Down in the green depths, And round the craggy bluff, pierced with caves, Sea-gulls are screaming. 

 Many a hearth round that friendly shore Giveth warm welcome; Charms still are there, as in days of yore, More than of mountains; But hearths and faces are seen no more Once of the brightest. 

 Many a poor black cottage is there Grimy with peat smoke; Sending up in the soft evening air Purest blue incense, While the low music of psalm and prayer Rises to heaven. 

 Kind were the voices I used to hear Round such a fireside, Speaking the mother tongue old and dear, Making the heart beat With endless tales of wonder and fear, Of plaintive singing. 

 Reared in those dwellings have brave ones been; Brave ones are still there; Forth from their darkness on Sunday I've seen Conning pure linen, And, like the linen, the souls were clean Of them that wore it. 

 Blessings be with ye, both now and aye, Dear human creatures! Yours is the love no gold can buy. Nor time wither. Peace be to thee and thy children, O Skye! Dearest of Islands!"

"That is not one of your fisher songs, David?"

"Na, na; it is a sang made aboot Skye, and our mither was a Skye woman;sae Maggie learned it to please her. I dinna think much o' it. "

"It is the most touching thing I ever heard. " The melody was Gaelic, slowand plaintive, and though Maggie gave the English words with her ownpatois, the beauty and simplicity of the song was by no means injured. "Put by the books, David, " said Allan. "I have no heart now fordry-as-dust lessons. Let us speak of Maggie. How is she going to live whenyou go to Glasgow?"

"She will just bide where she is. It is her ain hame, and she is amang herain folk. "

"Surely she will not live alone?"

"Na, na, that wed gie occasion for ill tongues to set themsel's to wark. Aunt Janet Caird is coming to be company for her. She is fayther's sister, and no quite beyond the living wi'. I thocht o' taking the boat the morn, and going for her. "

"Where to?"

"About twenty miles to the nor'ward, to a bit hamlet, thae call DronPoint. "

"What kind of a woman is she, David? I hope she is kind and pleasant. "

"We can hope sae, sir; but I really dinna expect it. Aunt Janet had a badname wi' us, when we were bairns, but bairns' judgment isn't to lippento. "

"I think it is. If you have any fear about Aunt Janet being good to livewith, don't go for her. "

"The thing is a' settled between her and oursel's. Maggie and I talked ito'er and o'er. There wasna any other thing to do. All o' oor kin but AuntJanet hae big families o' their ain to look after. Maggie willna hear tello' leaving the cottage, and she canna stay in it her lane. Sae, she musttak' the ill and gude thegither. "

"For my own sake I am glad she stays in the cottage, because I wish tokeep possession of my room. Your face need not cloud, David; I am notcoming here at all; but it is inconvenient for me to remove my books, andthe many sea-treasures I gathered during my stay with you. If I did removethem, I should have to store them in some other place, so it will be akindness, if you will continue to rent me the room. "

"Your foot is aye welcome in my house, sir; and when you are wanting aweek's fishing, there is naething to prevent you taking it, if Aunt Janetis here. She is a vera strict pairson; the deil himsel' wouldna besuspected o' wrang-doing, if she were watching him. "

"Poor Maggie! David, it does seem a hard lookout for her; especially whenyou will be so happy with your books, and I am going on a two years'pleasure trip to America. "

David's face brightened involuntarily, and Allan could see that thethought of his certain absence was not at all displeasing. But he did notblame him for a fear so brotherly and natural; he was, however, dissatisfied with the arrangements made for Maggie's comfort, and heasked, "Can she not go to Glasgow with you, David? It would be a finething to have a little home for yourself there, and Maggie to look afteryour comfort. You would study better. "

"I wad do naething o' the sort. I wad be keepit back by ony woman. Thereis many a ceevil word to say to them, that is just time and strength ta'enfrom study. Maggie kens weel, that when I hae my kirk, she'll be first andforemost wi' me. I'll count nae honor or pleasure worth the having shedoesna share. Forbye, sir, when you hae a hame, and the plenishing o' it, folk should think lang ere they scatter it to the four winds. It is easyto get rid o' household things; whiles, it is maist impossible to get themthegither again. I might die, and Maggie be left to fight her ain battle. If it should come to that, Hame is a full cup; Hame is a breastwark; youcan conquer maist things on your ain hearthstone. "

"Perhaps you are right, David. "

"I ken weel I am right. Maggie and I hae thocht o' every thing; her gudename, and her happiness is my first wish. She is vera dear to me. She isa' I have, sir. "

"I shall not be in Pittenloch for two years, David, so I will pay you nowfor the use of my room. The rent I believe is seven shillings weekly, thatis £36. I wish you would give this sum entire to Maggie. I should like herto feel in some measure independent; and I should like you to feel thatyou had no necessity to take thought about her from week to week. "

"Thank you, sir, for the kind thocht, as weel as for the siller; and Ishall tell Maggie to keep the knowledge o' it from her aunt, who is awoman o' a vera parsimonious disposition. "

"Also my boat is to be hers. She can hire it out or she can sell it. It isabsolutely her own. It would be folly for me to keep it rocking at anchor, and rusting away. I can not speak to her on such subjects, but you will besure and make her understand, David. "

"'Deed sir, I'll tak' care that she gets the gude o' all your kindness. It's mair than thochtfu' o' you; and I'll hae nae need noo, to let Maggiestep in atween me and my ain proper duties. "

Then they went to the boat together, and David removed all his books andbelongings from her, and she was made ready to go for Aunt Janet thefollowing morning. The rest of the day went rapidly by, Allan had manyvisits to make, and some special tokens of regard to leave. Then they hadtea together at Maggie's fire-side, and Allan watched her once more stoopto the glowing turf, and light the little iron cruisie, and rise with thelight from it on her beautiful face. The simple household act was alwaysone of meaning and interest to him. He renewed in it that moment ofstrange delight when he had first seen her. This evening he tried to catchher eyes as she rose, and he did so, and what did she see in his steadygaze that brought the happy blood in crimson waves over her throat andface, and made her eyelids shine with the light that was underneath them?

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE BROKEN SIXPENCE. 

 "I love you, sweet: how can you ever learn How much I love you?" "You I love even so, And so I learn it. " "Sweet, you cannot know How fair you are. " "If fair enough to earn Your love, so much is all my love's concern. "

 "Ah! happy they to whom such words as these In youth have served for speech the whole day long!"

David left early in the morning for Dron Point, and Allan went to the pierwith him, and watched the boat away. It was not a pleasant morning. Therehad been, all night, surly whiffs of rain, and the sky was full of gleamand gloom and guest. 

"I think it is likely Aunt Janet will get a good sea-tossing, " Allan saidin a voice of satisfaction, and David smiled grimly, and reflectedaudibly, "that it was all o' twenty miles, and the wind dead against them, for the hame coming. "

Then Allan walked rapidly back to the cottage. He was longing to speak toMaggie, and every moment of David's absence was precious. She was far fromexpecting him, for she knew that David and Allan had left the cottagetogether, and she supposed Allan had also gone to Dron Point. When heopened the door the house was empty; but glancing up the beach, he sawMaggie, with her head bent to the smiting rain, slowly making her wayhome. He knew that this early walk had become a usual thing with her, andhe understood by his own feelings, how grateful the resolute onward marchagainst wind and rain would be to her heart. 

In a few minutes she pushed open the cottage door; and her wet rosy face, in the dark green folds of the plaid over her head, had a vividdistinctness. When she saw Allan she trembled. His unexpected presence, the eager longing gaze in his eyes, his outstretched arms, the soft, penetrating utterance of her name, "_Maggie! dearest Maggie!_" Allthese things were an instant's revelation to her. She clasped her handshelplessly, and the next moment Allan was taking the wet plaid off herhead and shoulders, and whispering, as he did so, all the fond words whichhe had so long restrained. 

She let him tell her again and again how much he loved her. She had nomore power to resist the sweet pleading than a man dying of thirst haspower to resist water. For a few moments she surrendered herself to a joyso pure and so unexpected. "Oh Maggie, sweetest Maggie, tell me that youlove me: that you love none but me, that you will marry none but me, "pleaded Allan. 

"I have aye loved you, sir. I dreamed about you when I was a lassie. Ikeep it the thocht o' you close in my heart. When you lookit at me thenight you cam' here first, I kent you, and I loved you that vera moment. Whate'er the love I give to you, it is your ain, my soul brought it intothe warld for you, and for nae other man. "

"In two years, Maggie, I will come for you. My wife! My wife!"

"I'll no say that, sir; not just yet. Marrying is o' this warld. Loving isfrom somewhere beyond it. You told me about another leddy; and besidethat, I wouldna come atween you and your fayther. 

"I have spoken to the other lady, and she has refused me. "

"Puir thing! I'm dooting you asked her for the refusal. I hae had many asair heart anent her since you went awa'; and when I think o' her, I dinnafeel as if I deserved my ain joy. "

"I could love none but you, Maggie. And I have told my father that I loveyou. I have told him every thing. "

"Weel, sir? What said he?"

"He only asked me to wait for two years, and during that time to stay awayfrom you. "

"He asked jist what I wad hae asked, even for mysel'. I'm a poor ignorantfisher-lass, I wouldna daur to marry you, unless you had tried your lovefor me in some mair than ordinar' way. "

"Maggie, you are a part of my own soul. I can have no real wife but you. "

"I hope sae, sir. I love you weel. "

"Call me, Allan. "

She looked up, blushing like a flame. Some instinct beyond her controlmoved her. She put her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him, and as shedid so, she said thrice over, "Allan! Allan! Allan!"

"Maggie! Sweetheart! Life can give me no happier moment than this. " Andso, forgetting every thing but their love, and their great joy in eachother, they sat hand in hand and talked the hours away. Allan had so muchto make her understand, and she was anxious in all things to do as hedesired. "If you possibly can, my love, " he said, "remain here. Do notwork hard. Read all the books I have left in my room. Wait patiently forme. Trust in me with all your soul. If I live, I will surely come for youin two years. "

"And the time willna be that lang, for I'll aye be thinking o' you. "

"Maggie, when the Fife girls give their promise, what do they bind itwith?"

"They break a sixpence wi' the lad they love, and they each keep a half o'it. "

He took a sixpence from his pocket and broke it silently in two. He hadprepared it for the ceremony, but it required a slight effort, and thegirl stood with her eyes fixed on his white, handsome, resolute face, ashe accomplished the rite. Then he lifted one half, and said:

"_This is yours, Maggie Promoter. With this silver token, I bind youmine, until death parts us_. "

"_And this is yours, Allan Campbell. Wi' this siller token, I bind youmine, until death parts us_. "

Handfast they stood with the broken silver in their palms; their shiningeyes reading the sacred promise in each other's face. Allan's heart wastoo full for words; Maggie, trembling with joy, was yet awed by the solemnsignificance of the promise. Yet she was the first to speak--

"I'll be true to you, Allan, true as the sun to the dawn, true as the moonto the tide. Whene'er you come, late or early, you'll find me waiting. "

He took her by the hand, and they walked up and down the house placetogether; and the rain plashed against the window, and the sun glinted inafter it, and the village awakened to its daily life and labor, but theytook no note of the world outside the cottage, until a little child tappedlow down on the closed door. 

"My mammy wants some milk, Maggie Promoter, " and Maggie filled the smallpitcher, and then smilingly said, "We hae forgotten our breakfast, Allan. What will you hae?"

"To-day is all mine, Maggie; let us have oat cake and milk, and kisses. "And he followed her from cupboard to drawer, and stood by her while shespread the cloth, and ate his portion by her side, and thought it like ameal in Paradise. 

And oh, how swiftly went those few hours stolen from two years of waitingand longing; full of the eager joy of the moment, touched with the sweetmelancholy of the near parting. They forgot that the wind had changed, andthat David would be earlier home for it; forgot all things but their ownbliss and sorrow, until a passing neighbor called out--"yonder boat comingwi' all her sails spread, will be the 'Allan Campbell, ' Maggie. "

Then they knew that their real parting had come. From it, Allan, whitewith grief, went to the pier, and Maggie forced back her tears, and hungon the kettle, and spread the table, and made all things ready to welcomeher aunt. She had not seen her for many years, she had not any pleasantmemories of her, but "blood is thicker than water, " and kinship, to theScotch heart, has claims of almost sacred obligation. 

Allan, thinking of Maggie's comfort, watched Aunt Janet's arrival withmuch interest. She was a tall, thin woman, dressed in homespun linsey, with a ruffled linen cap upon her head, and a faded tartan plaid about hershoulders. David's offer had been a great piece of good fortune to her, but she had no intention of letting the obligation rest on her side. Herfirst words on landing were a complaint. 

"I ne'er was on such an upsetting sea, niece Maggie. It's vera seldom Ihae the grievous prostration o' the sea sickness, but the boat was illrigged and waur managed, and if I hadna been a vera Judith in fortitude, Iwad hae just turned round about, and gane my ways hame again. "

"The 'Allan Campbell' is thought to be a fine boat, aunt. "

"Fife fishers dinna ken a' things. "

"They'll ken aboot boats, though. "

"They may. I'm no sae sure. They lose a gude many every year that comes tothem. "

"How is Aunt Margery?"

"Her man has got into the excise. She holds her head as high as a hendrinking water aboot it. I never could abide pride o' any kind. It's no inme to think mair o' mysel' than other folks think o' me. "

Allan joined the family party in the evening, and he did his best to winJanet Caird's favor, and conciliate her numerous prejudices. Butunfortunately she intercepted a glance intended for Maggie, and hersuspicions were at once roused. Young people, in her opinion, were full oforiginal and acquired sins, and she made up her mind in a moment thatDavid had suspected his sister's propriety, and was anxious to shelter herunder the spotless integrity of Janet Caird's good name. 

"And for the sake o' the family I sall watch her well, " she decided; "shesall na lightly either the Cairds or the Promoters if I ken mysel'": andfrom the moment of that resolve, Allan was ranged in her mind, "among thewolves that raven round the fold. "

There was nothing in the parting to strengthen her suspicions. Maggie wasindeed white and silent, but Allan went almost hurriedly away: as if hewere weary of the circumstances surrounding him. David thought him cooland cross, and was pained by the mood; but Maggie knew the meaning of theworried, slightly haughty manner; for in one quick glance, he had made herunderstand how bitter it was to leave her in her worse than loneliness;and how painful in his present temper was the vulgar effusiveness ofJanet Caird's thanks and noisy farewells. 

An hour upon the sea cured him. "David, " he said, "I was very cross. I didnot like that woman in your home. She spoils my memory of it. "

"She is my fayther's sister, sir. "

"Forgive me, David. Let us speak of other things. You have foundcomfortable lodgings, I hope?"

"Ay, sir. Willie Buchan's third cousin married a Glasgow baker, who has agude place in the Candleriggs Street. That is close by the High Street andvera convenient as to locality. The charges also are sma'. I hae acomfortable room and my bite and sup for ten shillings weekly. "

This introduced a subject which opened up endlessly to David, and Allanwas glad to let him talk; for thought is sweet to the lover, thought ofthe beloved under any circumstances. No other shadow darkened a friendshipthat had been so evenly cloudless, and David and Allan parted full ofmutual good will and regard, although the hopes and aims of each were sowidely different. 

Allan went directly to his father's office, but John Campbell had gone toa board meeting, and so he took the next boat for Meriton. EvidentlyArchibald had not been warned that day by any peculiar "feeling" of hisarrival. There was no conveyance of any kind waiting for him; but as thedistance was only two very pleasant miles, Allan did not much regret theprospect of having to walk them. 

The woods adjoining the road were the Campbells' property, he leaped thewall, and took the footpath through them. How silent it was under thepines! the more so because of that vague stir in the air among them. What nameless perfumes! emanations from the resinous earth, from the oldtrunks, from the foliage. What delightful mysteries in their nooks! Birdtwitterings intimate and charming; chirpings of the mothers to their newlyfledged young; little cries of joy, and counsel, and innocent surprises!A large, cool, calm hand was laid upon his heart, the hand of nature; hesauntered slowly in the aromatic air, he dreamed impossible dreams ofbliss, and with the faith of youth believed in them. Good! When we haveweaned youth from dreams, from poetry, from enthusiasms, and made itthoroughly sensible, and material, what kind of race will remain to theworld?

And alas! All happy dreams are short enough. Allan's was dissipated by asound of suppressed weeping. He looked cautiously around, and on theclean, brown ground beneath the pines, a little in advance of him, he sawa woman sitting. Her back was against the trunk of a large tree, her facewas turned quite away from him, but he knew it was Mary Campbell. Andsoftly and hurriedly he retraced his own steps for some distance, and thenhe found the wall, and leaped into the highway, and walked home by it;thoroughly awake and disenchanted. 

He did not meet Mary until the dinner hour. She was then elegantlydressed, her face clear and bright, her manner, as it always was, gentleand yet cheerful. 

"The sphinx, " thought Allan, "is some inscrutable woman on our ownhearth-stone. " He remembered the low sobbing he had heard in the wood, thebowed head, the unmistakable attitude of grief, and then he looked atMary's face dimpling with smiles, and at her pretty figure, brave inglistening silk and gold ornaments. And somehow, that night, she made himfeel that she was the head of the House of Campbell, and the heiress ofDrumloch. 

The next day was the Sabbath. She was very particular about her religiousduties; she went to kirk twice, she had the servants in the evening forcatechism and parallel passages. 

She gave Allan no opportunity of seeing her alone. On Monday morning, although it rained, she insisted on going to Glasgow; and she stayed inGlasgow until the following Wednesday evening. It was perhaps the firstsensation of "snub" that Allan had ever received; and it annoyed him verymuch. 

But on Wednesday night she seemed to relent, and she did all in her powerto make their last dinner together one pleasant to remember. When she lefther uncle and cousin to finish their wine, she left them well disposed tokindly confidence. For since Allan's return from Fife he had not feltconfidence possible. His father had asked no questions, and shown nodisposition to discuss his plans. But at this hour he voluntarily renewedthe subject. 

"You went to Fife, I suppose, Allan?"

"Yes, sir. I was there two days. "

"And are you still in the same mind?"

"Nothing can change my mind on that subject, sir. "

"Time has worked greater wonders, Allan. However, I will venture noopinion for two years. When do you go Westward?"

"I shall leave for Liverpool by to-morrow night's train. I shall sail onSaturday. "

"Call at the office early, or go to town with me. All is ready for you. Write as often as you can, Allan, I shall weary for your letters. " Hiseyes were full of tears, he lifted his wine glass to conceal them. 

"Father, is there any special reason why I should go so far away from you?Can I not wait two years at home?"

"In justice to my own side of the bargain, Allan, you must travel andcompare other women with this Fife girl. You must not only be where youcan not see her, but also, where you can see many others. I think Americanwomen will be a fair test of your affection. Between Boston and NewOrleans their variety is infinite. Gillbride says, they are the blood, andbeauty, and intellect of all races potently mingled. Mary has a right tobe considered; she is evidently embarrassed by your presence; the leastyou can do for her now, is to relieve her from it. Next spring there willbe an opportunity to re-consider matters, if you desire. Money hasaccumulated belonging to Drumloch, and Mary has decided to expend it onthe house. A new wing is to be built, and she will go to reside there. Thework will get on better, and the tenants look with justice to theadvantages of an open house again. But there is no more to be said at thistime. Come, Allan, let us go to the drawing-room, I hear Mary playing asong I never can resist, no nor any other person, I think--" and he beganto hum "_O Love will venture in_. "

"Isn't it a wonderful combination of thirds and sevenths? There is nothinglike it in the whole portfolio of music. Nothing so winning, nothing thatcan so charm and haunt your ear-chambers. " And they stepped softly andslowly, and stood at the door together, to listen to the enchainingplaintive little song:

[Musical notation omitted. ]

 O love will venture in where it daurna weel be seen, O love will venture in where wisdom once has been; But I will down the river rove amang the woods so green, And a' to pu' a posie to my ain dear May. 

 The primrose I will pu', the firstling o' the year, And I will pu' the pink, the emblem o' my dear: For she's the pink o' womankind and blooms without a peer: And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

 I'll pu' the budding rose when Phoebus peeps in view, For it's like a baumy kiss o' her sweet bonnie mou' The hyacinth's for constancy, wi' its unchanging blue And a' to be a posie for my ain dear May

 The lily it is pure and the lily it is fair, And in her lovely bosom I'll place the lily there, The daisy's for simplicity of unaffected air; And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

 The woodbine I will pu' when the e'ening star is near And the diamond draps o' dew shall be her e'en sae clear; The violet's for modesty, which weel she fa's to wear And a' to be a posie to my ain dear May. 

 I'll tie the posie round wi' the silken band of love, And I'll place it on her breast, and I'll swear by a' above. That to the latest breath o' life the band shall ne'er remove. And this will be a posie to my ain dear May. 

The last long drawn notes of melancholy sweetness were scarcely still, when a servant entered. "The minister is here, sir. "

"I had forgotten, " said Campbell hastily. "There is an extra kirk sessionto-night. It is about the organ, Mary. Will you go?"

"I would rather not. Every one will have his testimony to raise againstit, and I should get cross. "

"Then good night, bairnies. I must not keep the minister waiting. MaybeI'll be beyond your time. Don't lose your beauty sleep for me. "

He left the room in a hurry, and in a few minutes the "bairnies" heard thecrunch of the retreating wheels upon the gravel. Mary continued at thepiano, lightly running over with one hand the music she happened to turn. Allan stood on the hearth watching her. Both were intensely anduncomfortably conscious of their position. At length Allan said, "Mary, suppose you cease playing, and talk with me!"

"Very well. " She rose slowly and turned with affected reluctance. Affected, because she really wished for some satisfactory conversationwith him. The recollection of their last confidence was painful andhumiliating. She could hardly bear the idea of carrying its memorythroughout two years. Few as the steps were between herself and Allan, shedetermined, as she took them, to speak with all the candor which herposition gave her the right to use; and at any rate, not to end theirinterview again in debt to self-esteem. The strength of the Scotch mind isin its interrogative quality, and instinctively Mary fell behind the coverof a question. 

"Why should we talk, Allan? Is there any thing you can say that will unsaythe words you have spoken?"

"You were not fair with me, Mary. You took me up before I had finished myexplanation. "

"Oh, I think there was enough said. "

"You made words hard to me, Mary. You forgot that we had been brought uptogether on terms of perfect confidence. I always held you as my sister. Itold you all my boyish secrets, all the troubles and triumphs of mycollege life, all my youthful entanglements. I had few, very few, secrets from you. I think we both understood by implication--rather than byexplanation--that it was our father's intention to unite the two branchesof the Drumloch family, and so also unite their wealth by our marriage. "

"I never understood there was any such intention. No one ever spoke to meof it. But if the plan had been possible, it was a wise plan; any sensibleparents would have conceived it, and hoped and worked for itsaccomplishment. "

"When I left home last spring--if I had thought you cared for me--one wordwould have detained me. "

"Was it my place to say that word? And, Allan, you would not have beenmoved by any word at that time. You thought only of asserting yourself, your rights, your inclinations. The crown of England would not have fittedyou, unless it had been your gracious will to select it. "

"A man must have some individuality--"

"At twenty-four years old how much has he? He is a mass of undigestedlearning and crude opinions. What he will be at thirty-four depends upon athousand circumstances which he cannot even apprehend. Wishes and advicesfrom a father are not commands. You showed a petulant, foolish temper, quite unworthy of you, in turning your back on Uncle John, and saying ineffect, 'I don't intend to take your advice, I intend to take my own way, even though it lead me to a Fife fishing village--and a degrading loveaffair. "

She said the words calmly, looking steadily, not at Allan, but into thedepths of the Argand lamp. There was no nervous movement of her hands; herinterlaced fingers lay motionless on the table before her. 

Allan answered promptly, "I have no degrading love affair in any Fifevillage. If I had, do you think I should have entered your presence atall? The woman I love is as sacred in my eyes as you are. I intend to makeher my wife. I should have told you all about her the morning that youtook for granted my offer in order to peremptorily refuse me--if you hadallowed me"--

"Oh, Allan! don't say that! We are getting deeper and deeper intomistakes. I certainly thought you wanted me to refuse you. I tried to makethe necessity as easy as possible for you. But imagine how I felt when Icame to consider things! I was asked to do this humiliating piece ofdeception, in order that I might clear your way to some fisher-girl. Itwas too bad, Allan!"

"I do seem to have treated you badly, Mary, because you gave me noopportunity to tell you every thing, and to ask as a great sisterlykindness what you gave under a sense of indignation and wrong. I feel thatit is now useless to explain; but how did you know that I was in love witha fisher-girl?"

"I have seen the pictures you painted while you were away. They revealedthe story to me--as much of it as I care to know. "

"There is now no secrecy in the matter. I have told my father all, and hehas asked me to go to America for two years. At the end of that time hewill accept my marriage. "

"Poor Uncle John! I wonder how people can toil and deny themselves forungrown children! When they come to years of have-my-own-way, theygenerally trample upon all their love and labor. For instance, you see atall, large, handsome woman in what you think picturesque poverty, youwant her, just as you used to want the fastest boat on the river, or thefastest horse in the field. The fact that you ought not to have her, thatyou cannot have her, except by trampling on all your father's dearesthopes, does not, in the least, control you. You can conceive of nothingbetter than the gratification of your own wishes. If all the men were likeyou, and all the women were in my mind, there would be no more marrying inthe world, Allan Campbell!"

"Mary, if you should ever be really in love, you will then excuse me; atpresent I can make no apology which you will understand or accept. Forgiveme upon credit. I am going away for a long time; and I cannot go happilyif we are at variance. " He sat down by her side, and she let him take herhand, and plead the memory of all their past affection for, and relianceon each other. "Be my friend, my sister still, Mary; though you will notanswer me, I will trust to you. Let us part kindly now, we can gainnothing by further discussion, at this time. " He lifted her face andkissed it; and the next moment she heard the door close behind hisfootsteps, and realized that the opportunity of which she had made suchan unhappy use was gone. 

There is little need to say that she was miserable. All of us have beenguilty of like perversities. We have said unkind things when our heartswere aching with suppressed affection; we have been so eager to defendourselves, to stand fairly in some dear one's sight, that we have hastedin the wrong direction, and never blundered into the right one until itwas too late. Poor Mary! She had stung herself all over. She could thinkof nothing that she had said that she did not wish unsaid; and of manythings of sisterly care, and even friendly courtesy, that she had entirelyforgotten. Mortification dismissed all other feelings, and she set herreflections to its key. "How glad he must be to have escaped a wife sosharp-tongued and domineering! No doubt that Fife girl would have been allsubmission and adoration! When a man falls in love with a girl so muchbeneath him, it is a piece of shameless vanity. It is the savage in theman. He wants her to say 'my lord' to him, and to show him reverence! Icould not do that kind of thing, no, not even if he filled the highestpulpit in the land, and preached to the queen herself every Sunday. "

When John Campbell returned, he found Mary still in the parlor. She wasplaying some noisy, mechanical "variation, " whose rapid execution was aphysical vent for her chagrin and disappointment. She rose with alacrity, rang for hot water, brewed his toddy, and affected the greatest interestin the kirk meeting. Indeed she was interested in it; for the gatheringhad been to consider whether John Campbell's offer of an organ, and herown offer of her services as organist, could be accepted by the church. 

"It was hopeless from the first, " said Campbell with a queer smile; "everyshepherd in Bute was there to protest. You would have thought I hadproposed a Popish Mass Book, or at least an Episcopal Litany. There willbe no 'music boxes' in Bute kirks this generation, Mary. And, would youbelieve it, the minister was dead against it?"

"I thought he favored an organ in the choir?"

"I was always uncertain about him. I never could interest him in thesubject. He would listen, and shake his head, or say, 'just so, sir, ' orrefer to a session in which all could say the word in their heart; and soon. To-night, after an opening prayer, in which he took the liberty toremind the Lord of all the spiritual dangers connected with praising Himwith instruments of our own handiwork, he stood up and said, 'I'm not infavor of any music with the Psalms of David, they are far better withoutit. And if I were willing for the organ box, we are a poor kirk, and couldnot afford to rob our stipendary and mission funds to pay a man player oninstruments; and as for women interfering with the ordinances in any way, you all know what St. Paul says on that subject. ' And, of course, when theminister talks with the people's prejudices, he is omnipotent. "

"Was it put to the vote?"

"Yes. Two of the congregation, Burns of Blantree, and myself, stood upwhen the organ was proposed; the rest sat grim and dour. Nothing less thanan earthquake could have made them stir. When those opposed to an organwere requested to rise, they stood up solid as a phalanx, and firm as astone wall. I wish Allan had gone with me. Where is the lad?"

"He bade me 'good-by' some time since. I dare say he has several things todo in his rooms. A man cannot go away for two years and leave histreasures to moths, and dust, and unchecked decay. Uncle, how soon can webegin to build at Drumloch? This organ business has made me lose sympathywith the Meriton people:--and I want something to do, Uncle John, something to think about, and look after. "

"Then I will have the plans drawn, and estimates made, and you shall go toyour own home, Mary, as soon as possible. The people are looking forwardto your return. You will be happier among them. We can return to Glasgowat once; I shall be very glad to do so; and you can go to Drumloch in thespring. "

The proposal pleased Mary. She wanted to get away from Meriton. She didnot like being in the same house with those numerous similitudes of theFife girl. The garden in which Allan had made her that pretence of anoffer, the parlor in which she had given way to such a petulant, disagreeable temper, were full of mortifying remembrances. She wanted toturn over a new leaf of life, to cross the past one, and to cancel foreverthe hopes there credited. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SEVERED SELVES AND SHADOWS. 

 "Now I would speak the last Farewell, but cannot; It would be still Farewell a thousand times; So let us part in the dumb pomp of grief. "

 * * * * *

 "Rumor is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, And if so easy and so plain a stop The still discordant, wavering multitude Can play upon't. "

At that time, Mary saw no more of her Cousin Allan. He had gone when sherose next morning, gone away in a slow, even downpour of rain, that wasdevoid of every hope of blue sky or sunshine. On the river they were in acloud of fog impenetrable to sight, and inexpressibly dreary. Everythingalso in the little boat was clammy and uncomfortable. There was a long daybefore Allan; for his business scarcely occupied him an hour, and then hewent out into the black, chill street, and felt thoroughly miserable. Hisfather's face had been so white, his hands had trembled so, he had madesuch a brave effort to say a cheerful 'good-by. ' Allan's consciencetroubled him; he felt supremely selfish, he could not satisfy himself thathe had any right to put so good a parent to so much sorrow. 

If he could have written to Maggie, it would have been some consolation. But he had not been able to make any arrangements for that solace. A postoffice did not exist in Pittenloch; if a letter were addressed there, itlay in Dysart until the Dysart postmistress happened to see some one fromPittenloch. Under such circumstances, there was no telling into whosehands his letters might fall. And a letter to Maggie Promoter from strangeparts, would be a circumstance to rouse unbounded curiosity. Eithercuriosity would be illegitimately satisfied, or Maggie would be the objectof endless suspicions. 

He thought of David, but there would be little comfort in seeing David, for he could not talk to him of Maggie. Allan would have liked well toconfide in David, and explain, as he thought he ought to, his honorableintentions toward his sister; but Maggie had earnestly entreated thatnothing should be said to her brother. "He'll be aye questioning me. He'llbe aye watching me. He'll maybe tell folks, and I'll feel everybody's eyeis on me. Forbye, he willna be as happy in what you hae done for him. Hethinks now, it was just for your admiration o' his abilities, and yourliking for his sel', that you sent him to Glasga' College. If he kent youthocht o' me, he wad be sure it was for my sake, and that wad jist tak'the good out o' everything for Davie. " Thus, Maggie had reasoned, andAllan thought her reasoning both generous and prudent. 

So there would be little comfort in threading the dirty ways of ArgyleStreet to the Candleriggs; and he went to his hotel and ordered dinner, then back to his father, and begged him to come and spend the last hoursof his delay with him. And John Campbell was delighted. "Things will gotapsalteerie, Allan, but let them; we will have a bite and a cup ofkindness together. " It was a very pleasant bite and cup, seasoned withmuch love, and many cheerful confidences; and when Allan, at length, leftthe dreary precincts of the old Caledonian Station, the last thing he sawwas his father's bare, white head, and that courtly upward movement of theright hand which was his usual greeting or adieu; a movement which is asmuch the natural salutation of a gentleman, as a nod is the natural one ofa vulgar mind. 

John Campbell remained in Glasgow for the next three days, and Mary waslonely enough at Meriton. It was a little earlier than they usuallyremoved to their city home, but she began to make preparations for thatevent. In the course of these preparations, it was necessary to inspectthe condition of Allan's apartments. How desolate and forsaken theylooked! No other rooms in the house had the same sense of loss, eventhough they had been in the same measure dismantled. The empty polishedgrates, the covered furniture, the closed blinds, the absence of all thelittle attributes of masculine life--pipes, slippers, newspapers, etc. --were painfully apparent. 

But no one had touched any of the numerous pictures of Maggie. They wereon the wall, the mantel, the table, the easel. She glanced at them, andleft the room; but after a moment's hesitation, she returned, drew up theblinds, and stood resolutely before the large one upon the easel. "What isthere in her face that is so charmful?" she asked. "Why did it draw meback here? Does my sense of justice forbid me to dislike without a reason, and am I looking for one?" She went from picture to picture. She stoodlong before some, she took one or two in her hand. She did not like thegirl, but she would not be unfair in her criticisms. "Whatever she isdoing, she is like a poem. I could not bake oat cakes, and look as if Ihad stepped out of Gessner's Idyls. But she does. What limpid eyes! Andyet they have a look of sorrow in them--as if they had been washed clearin tears--she is not laughing anywhere. I like that! If she were gay andjocund in that picture how vulgar it would be. --If her splendid hair wereunbound, and her fine throat and neck without kerchief, and if she weresimpering with a finger on a dimple in her cheek, I know that I shoulddetest her. It is her serenity, her air of seriousness, which is soenthralling--I wonder what her name is--it should be something grand, andsweet, and solemn--I should think Theodora would suit her--What nonsense!In a Fife fishing village every girl is either Jennie or Maggie orChristie. " So she mused, going from picture to picture, until theyacquired a kind of personality in her mind. 

Her uncle came home a little sad. "Allan has gone again, " he said. "I seemto have seen very little of the lad. He is such a fine lad, too. We had afew happy hours together at the last. I am very glad of that! When hecomes home next time, he will settle, and never leave me again. I shall bea happy man when that day gets around, Mary. "

"He will settle, that is, he will marry that fisher-girl! He has told youall about her, he says?"

"He was very honest and candid with me, very. "

"What is her name, uncle?"

"I do not know. He did not tell me, and I never thought of asking. "

"Where does she live?"

"Really, Mary, I never asked that either. I don't think it makes the leastdifference. "

"Oh, but it does. I am very much disappointed. I was thinking we couldtake a trip to the village, and see the girl ourselves. Would not that bea good thing?"

"It would be a very bad thing, a very dishonorable thing. If I thought itnecessary to play the spy on my son Allan, I should prefer to know he wasdead. The girl may become my daughter. I should be ashamed to meet her, ifI had gone to peep at her behind her back. She would not despise me morethan I should despise myself. "

"I do not look at it in that light, uncle. There might be several goodreasons. "

"We won't discuss them, Mary. Let us talk of Drumloch. Wilkie is drawingthe plan of the new wing. When will you go back to Glasgow? I was atBlytheswood Square to-day; the house is in beautiful order. "

"I will go back to-morrow. I am weary of Meriton this year. I have foundmyself everywhere at a discount. Allan refuses my estate and myself. Theminister and the kirk refuse my services as organist. And when I had avery kind idea in my head about Theodora, you make me feel as if I hadbeen plotting treason against her, and against honor and everything elseof good report. Let me hide my head in the smoke of Glasgow to-morrow. "

"Theodora! Is that the girl's name?"

"That is the fisher-girl's name, the one I have given her. I suppose shewill have to descend to Jennie or Christie. "

"Are you not a little ill-tempered, Mary?"

"I am shamefully ill-tempered, uncle. I am afraid I am growing bad, and Icannot make up my mind to get any more good from Dr. MacDonald. Whenministers want to snub women, they always quote St. Paul. Now, I do notbelieve any wrong of St. Paul. I have an idea that he was a perfectgentleman, and rather polite to our sex. "

"They quote his own words, my dear. "

"They quote, as they have transposed and transformed them. I think if awoman had translated that particular passage, it might have been lesspleasant for Dr. MacDonald to quote. "

"Nevermind Dr. MacDonald to-night, dearie. Sing us a few words of RobertBurns. It would be an ill heart that could not get cheery in his company. I bought the bonniest likeness of him yesterday. What a handsome lad hewas!"

"I always fancy he must have looked like Joseph. The Talmud says all thewomen in Egypt loved Joseph. I am sure everybody, young and old, maketheir hearts over to Robert Burns. 

[Musical notation omitted. ]

 There was a lad was born in Kyle, But whatnaday, o' whatna style, I doubt its hardly worth our while To be sae nice wi' Robin. 

 For Robin was a rovin boy, A rantin', rovin', rantin', rovin', Robin was a rovin' boy, O ran-tin', rov-in', Robin!

 Our monarch's hindmost year but ane Was five and twenty days began; 'Twas then a blast o' Januar' win' Blew hansel in on Robin. For Robin was, etc. 

 The gossip keekit in his loof, Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof, This waly boy will be nae coof; I think we'll ca' him Robin. For Robin was, etc. 

 He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', But aye a heart aboon them a', He'll be a credit till us a' We'll a' be proud o' Robin. For Robin was, etc. "

Half an hour's song put both in cheerful temper, and when Mary said, "Now, uncle, we must stop, because I want to take the first boat to-morrow, " thedear old man went gayly off, singing:--

[Musical score omitted]

 "Then up in the morning's no' for me, Up in the morning early; I'd rather gang supper-less to my bed, Than rise in the morning early. 

 "Up in the morning's no' for me, Up in the morning early, I'd rather gang supperless to my bed, Than rise in the morning early, "

and he was as proud and pleased with the apropos quotation, as if he hadwritten it himself. 

John Campbell's city house was one of the handsomest of the many handsomemansions in Blytheswood Square; and there the principal treasures of hishome life were gathered: silver, paintings, furniture, books, as well asthe mementoes which had come to him from past generations. He had expectedAllan to spend the winter at home, and made many extensive changes in viewof the company which the young people would probably desire. When Maryentered the house, she turned a face of astonishment and delight upon heruncle. Everywhere the utmost richness and luxury of appointment weremanifest, and over her piano hung the painting of the beaming RobertBurns, for which Campbell had just paid £500. He had intended to surprisehis niece, and he had his full measure of thanks in her unaffectedpleasure. It was a happy home-coming, and as they sat together that night, Mary tried to inspire the father's heart with her own hopes in regard toAllan's future. 

"He will come back in a year, uncle, " she said, "and he will bring withhim one of those bright-looking New York women, brains to the finger tips, nerves all over, with the most miraculously small feet, and costumes justas wonderful. Or it will be some large-eyed, slow-moving, long, litheSouthern girl who will look like a great white lily turned into a woman. Ido not think seriously that Theodora has the slenderest chance of becomingAllan's wife, and, would you believe it, uncle, I am honestly sorry forher?"

"I believe it, dear, if you say so; but I would not have expected it. "

"I cannot help thinking about her. I wish I could. I have wondered a dozentimes to-day if she knows that she is shut up alone in that nearly emptyhouse. How the storm will beat upon Allan's windows all the winter! Howthe wind will howl around the big, desolate place! And think of the realTheodora waiting among all kinds of rude surroundings on that bleak Fifecoast. There must have been a mistake with that girl, uncle. She was meantfor lofty rooms and splendid clothing, and to be waited upon hand andfoot. Don't you think souls must often wonder at the habitations they findthemselves in?"

"There is One above who orders all things. He makes no mistakes of thatkind, dearie. I dare say the girl is very happy. She will be a kind ofheroine among her own class of women, and they will envy her her richhandsome lover. "

"And you think she will be happy under those circumstances? Not unlessFife girls are a higher creation of women. If they envy her they will hateher also; and I doubt if she will have many more friends among thefisher-lads. They will look upon her as a renegade to her order. The oldwomen will suspect her, and the old men look askance at her withdisapproving eyes. The girl will be a white blackbird; the properlycolored birds will drive her out of the colony or pick her to death. It isonly natural they should. "

"But they are a very religious people; and grace is beyond nature. 

"I do not deny that, uncle; but did you ever find grace with a mantlelarge enough to cover a defenceless woman who was under the ban of themajority? Now did you?"

"I know what you are after, Mary. You want to go and see her. This talk isa roundabout way to enlist my sympathy. "

"Suppose I do want to go and see her, what then?"

"You could not go. The thing is simply impossible for some months atleast. We know neither her name nor her place of residence. I should haveto write to Allan on that matter; he might decline to tell me; if he didtell me, his answer will come with the snow and the winter storms. Howthen are you going to reach the Fife coast? And what kind of excuse coulda lady make for visiting it about Christmas?"

"Excuses are plenty as blackberries in season. I wonder you did not 'speerher name and hame;' that would have been my first question. "

"If I am buying a ship, Mary, I look at her build; I want to know if sheis sea-trusty; her name is of small account. Now, if I were you, I wouldnot trouble myself about Allan's sweetheart. I dare say she is happyenough. "

"I am quite sure she is wretched. I feel it. And I have an idea that Allanwould expect me, feeling so, to look after her. "

Mary Campbell's divination was a correct one. Maggie was even thus earlyvery wretched. In fact her misery began before Allan and David were quiteout of sight. For a few minutes Janet Caird let her stand and watch thedeparting boat; then she said with an air of business, "Weel, weel, Maggie, they are gane, but the wark o' the house bides. If you are readyI'll just gae through it, and tak' a look at the things put under my handand charge. "

Maggie turned round sharply. "There is nae charge in your hand, AuntJanet. I hae keepit the house since I was seventeen years auld, and I'm noneeding help frae onybody. "

"Then whatna for was I brought here, frae my ain bit o' heather roof? Itwill ill set you to put your fayther's auldest sister under your thumb. Folks will talk ill o' you. "

"They will talk as they like to talk, and it's mair often ill than gude. But the house is mine, and I'll guide it yet. You are vera welcome, AuntJanet, and I'll be thankfu' for your company, and your word o' advisement, and if you'll bide under my roof, I'll bide under the shelter o' your gudeheart, and gude word; for you ken, a lone lassie ought to hae some personweel respectit to stand by her, and to be a witness that she lives as adecent lassie ought to live. "

"I didna think I was to be made a convenience o'. I lookit to do my day'swark, and sae earn my day's wage. "

"Did Davie promise you siller at a'?"

"I'll no say he did; there wasna any promise fully made; but I thocht o'it. "

"How much was you thinking o'? What sum will pay you to stand by my gudename, and say for me the right word when you hear the wrang one? For youken, aunt, I'll ne'er deserve the wrang one. "

"Wad five shillings weekly be o'er much?"

"Ay, it's a deal. But I'll gie it to you. And you can knit your ainstocking, and go and come as it likes you; and I'll mind my ain hame, andI'll pay you the siller every Saturday night. "

"I dinna like the talk o' siller sae near the Sawbath day. We'll hae thesettlement on Saturday at noon. "

"Vera weel. We willna differ about an hour or twa. "

"I didna sleep gude last night. A box bed isna quite the thing for an auldwoman like me. "

Maggie hesitated. Her own little room was very dear to her. It gave her ameasure of privacy, and all her small treasures had their place in it. Theconcealed, or box bed, in the house place wall, had been David's sleepingplace. It was warm and thoroughly comfortable; it was the usual, andfavorite bed of all people of Janet Caird's class. Maggie wondered at herobjection; especially as her own room was exposed to the north wind, andmuch colder than the house place. She based her opposition on thisground--

"You can hae my room if it please you better, Aunt Janet; but it is a geycold one in the winter; and there isna ony way to make it warmer. "

"Tuts, lassie! What for wad I want your bit room, when there is mybrither's room empty noo?"

She rose as she spoke, and opened the door of the apartment which Allanhad so long occupied. "It's a nice room, this is; a gude fire-place and anopen bed, and you can pack awa a' those books and pictur's--they dinnalook like vera improving ones--and I'll put my kist i' that corner, andjust mak' mysel' quite comfortable. "

"But you canna hae this room, Aunt Janet. Neither I, nor you, hae theright to put oor foot inside it. It is rented, and the rent paid doon; andthe books and pictures canna be meddled wi'; there mustna be a finger laidon them. "

"My certie! The man is gane far awa'; o'er the Atlantic Ocean itsel'--I'llbear the blame o' it. He took quite a liking to me, that was easy seen, and I'm vera sure, he willna mind me using what he canna use himsel'. "

"He put the room, and a' in it, under my care, aunt. The books are worthmair siller than you ever counted; and I wouldna let ony-body--unless itwas the minister an orra time--stay in it. "

"What's the matter wi' the lassie? Maggie, you are no to be bided! I'llhae this room for mysel', and that's the end o' the controversy. "

She had sat down in the big rush chair, by the still burning turfs, andshe was looking round her with the critical eye of a person who iscalculating the capabilities of a place. Maggie left her sitting there, and began to tidy up the house. In half an hour Janet re-appeared, andwent to her kist--a great wooden box painted light blue--and began to undoits many cords and lock. Then Maggie closed the door of the disputed room, turned the key, and put it in her pocket. 

The noise instantly arrested the old woman. She stood up, and cried out ina passion, "What's that you're doing, Maggie Promoter?"

"I'm locking Mr. Campbell's room. I'll no see you break into ony one'sright, be they here, or far awa'. "

"You hizzy! You! You'll daur to call me a thief, will you?"

"Dinna fight me at the outset, Aunt Janet. If I am wrang, when Davie comeshame at the New Year, I'll gie you the key. But I'll no do it, till hesays sae, no, not if I die for it! Now then?"

"Setting yoursel' up in a bleezing passion wi' a person auld enough to beyour mither! Think shame o' yoursel', Maggie Promoter!"

Maggie was certainly in a passion. Her eyes were full of tears, her faceburning, her form erect and trembling with anger. Yet she was bitterlyannoyed at her own weakness; she felt degraded by her outburst of temper, and was just going to say some words of apology, when a number of womenentered the cottage. There was Jenny and Maggie Johnston, and KirstyBuchan, and Janet Thompson and Mysie Raith; five buxom wives in linseyand tartan, all talking together of their "men" and their families. 

Maggie's instincts revolted against any public discussion of her ownaffairs, and Aunt Janet was not disposed to tell her grievance whileMaggie was present. So both women put it aside to welcome their visitors. There was much hand-shaking, and loud talking, and then Janet Caird saidwith a bustling authoritative air, "Put on the kettle, Maggie, a cup o'tea when kimmers meet, mak's talk better;" and Maggie, dumbly resentful atthe order, obeyed it. 

She was not in a generous mood, and she was calculating, as she silentlyset the table, how much of her seven shillings a week would be left, whenshe had paid Janet Caird five out of it, and entertained all her kimmers. When the tea was brewed, the old woman went to her blue kist, and broughtout a bottle of Glenlivet, "just to tak' off the wersh taste o' the tea;"and Maggie, perceiving they had set down for a morning's gossip andreminiscence, said, "I'll awa' up the beach a wee, friends. I hae aheadache, and I'll see if the wind will blow it awa'. "

No one opposed the proposition. She folded her plaid around her head andshoulders and went out. Then Janet Caird put down her tea cup, lookedmournfully after her, sighed, and shook her head. Upon which, there was ageneral sigh, and a general setting down of tea cups, and a short, buteloquent silence. 

"You'll hae your ain adoo wi' that self-willed lass, I'm feared, MistressCaird. "

"'Deed, Mistress Raith, she's had o'er much o' her ain way, and she isneither to rule, nor to reason wi'. "

"Davie Promoter is a wise-like lad; he did right to bring you here. "

"And nane too soon. "

"She's sae setten up wi' the fuss Maister Campbell made wi' baith o' them. Naething gude enough for Dave and Maggie Promoter. The best o' teachersand nae less than Glasca College itsel', for the lad--"

"My nephew Davie isna quite a common lad, Mistress Buchan. Dr. Balmutogied him the books he needed. Think o' that noo. "

"And the lass is a handsome lass. Maister Campbell thocht that. Angus justhated the sight o' him, for he said he came between himsel' and Maggie. "

"She wouldna hae the impudence to even hersel' wi' Maister Campbell, a manconnectit wi' the nobility, and just rollin' in gowd and siller, " saidAunt Janet; drawing on her imagination for Mr. Campbell's distinctions. 

This was the key-note to a conversation about Maggie in which every one ofthe five women present gave their own opinion, and the opinion of alltheir absent cronies about the girl's behavior. And though Janet Cairdknew nothing of Maggie, and could say nothing definitely about her, sheyet contrived in some manner to give the impression, that David Promoterhad been afraid to leave his sister alone, on account of her attachment toMr. Campbell; and that she had been specially brought from Dron Point tokeep watch over the honor of the Promoter family. 

If Maggie had been a popular girl, the loyalty of the Pittenloch wives to"their ain folk" would have been a sufficient protection against anystranger's innuendoes; but there was no girl in Pittenloch less popular. Maggie was unlike other girls; that was a sufficient reason for disfavor. Society loves types, and resents the individual whom it cannot classify;and this feeling is so common and natural that it runs through all ourlives and influences our opinion of things inanimate and irresponsible:--the book of such inconvenient size or shape that it will not fit theshelf in our book-case, how many an impatient toss it gets! Theincongruous garment which suits no other garment we have, and seems out ofplace on every occasion, how we hate it! Although it may be of the finestmaterial and excellently well made. 

So, though no one knew anything wrong of Maggie, and no one dared to sayanything wrong, how provoking was the girl! She did nothing like any oneelse, and fitted into no social groove. She did not like the lads to jokewith her, she never joined the young lassies, who in pleasant weather satupon the beach, mending the nets. In the days when Maggie had nets tomend, she mended them at home. It was true that her mother was aconfirmed invalid, confined entirely to her bed, for more than four yearsbefore her death; and Maggie had been everything to the slowly dyingwoman. But this reason for Maggie's seclusion was forgotten now, only thefacts remembered. 

The very women who wondered, "what kind of a girl she must be never to goto dances and merry makings;" knew that she had watched night and day byher sick mother; knew that the whole household had trusted to Maggie fromher seventeenth year onward. Knew that it was Maggie that made all themeals, and kept the house place clean, and took care of the men'sclothing, and helped to mend the nets, and who frequently after a day ofunceasing labor, sat through the stormy nights with the nervous, anxiouswife and mother, and watched for her the rising and setting of theconstellations, and the changes of the wind. 

Before her mother had been a twelvemonth under "the cold blanket o' thekirk yard grass, " her father and brothers found rest among the clear coldpopulous graves of the sea. Then came Allan Campbell into her life, andhis influence in the Promoter household had been to intensify the quietand order, which David and Maggie both distinctly approved. The habit ofbeing quiet became a second nature to the girl, every circumstance of thelast years of her life had separated her more and more from the girls ofher class and age. She was not to blame, but what then? People sufferfrom circumstances, as well as from actual faults. 

There were two other points in Maggie's character undoubtedly influencingthe social feelings which finally determined the girl's future--her greatbeauty, and her quick temper. There were women in the village whoconsidered her rare and unmistakable beauty a kind of effrontery, at leastthey resented it with the same angry disapproval. A girl with no "man" tostand by her, ought not to look so provokingly radiant; nor, by the samerule, ought she to have such positive likes and dislikes, or a tonguealways so ready to express them. 

That very morning soon after leaving her aunt and the gossips around her, she met upon the beach Mysie Raith and Kitty Cupar. Kitty looked queerlyat her and laughed, and instead of ignoring the petty insult, Maggiestopped the girls. "What are you laughing at, Kitty Cupar?" she askedindignantly. 

"At naething, " promptly replied the girl. 

"What a born fool you must be to giggle at naething. Tak' tent, or you'llbe crying for naething, afore night. "

Then she went onward, leaving the girls full of small spite and annoyance. She was not far from her father's ill-fated boat. It always stood toMaggie in the stead of his grave. David had told her not to go near it, but she was in a perverse temper "and ill-luck, or waur ill-luck, I'mgoing;" she said to herself. It showed many signs of its summer'sexposure; the seams were open, the paint peeling off, the name nearlyeffaced. She sat down on the shingle and leaned against it. 

"Oh Lizzie! Lizzie!" she whispered to the poor forlorn battered thing. "You brought sair loss and sair change! Four hearts that loved me weel, you flung to the bottom o' the sea; and there's nane to care for me asthey did. Davie is bound up in his diction'ries, and thinks little ofMaggie noo; and _he_ is gane far awa'. He'll ne'er come back to me, I'm feared; he'll ne'er come back! It is just anither wreck, Lizzie, fora' you left is ta'en awa' this day. "

It is a great grief to miss the beloved in all the home ways, but oh, howthat grief is intensified when people not beloved step into their places!It made Maggie bitterly sorrowful to see Janet Caird in her father'schair. What a mistake she had made! She had no idea she would feel soresentfully to the one who was in her house because "they were not. "

"It will be waur yet to see her reading his Bible, " she thought, but shelifted the big book and laid it before her aunt at the usual hour for theevening prayer. "Na, na, " said Janet, with an expression ofself-approbation, "I dinna approve o' women reading the Word aloud. It isnae house without a man at the head o' it, and we canna hae exerciseswithout a man to gie us the sense o' them. We are twa lane women, we maunbe contented with the whisper o' a verse or twa to our ain hearts. "

And Maggie was almost glad. She thought of her father reading the Bookwith his four sons around him; and she thought of David's pale solemn facebending over it, as they two sat together to listen to its comfort and itscounsel; and she said, "I'll put the Book out o' sight, and I'll hae itopened nae mair, till I sit wi' Davie in his ain manse; and then we'llread again that bonnie verse _He_ gied us--_Then are they glad, because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven_. "

CHAPTER X. 

MAGGIE'S FLIGHT. 

 "She has profaned the sacred name of Friend And worn it to vileness"

 * * * * *

 "Ah, wretched and too solitary he Who loves not his own company!"

 * * * * *

 "Fortune came smiling to the maid, and woo'd her"

Life would be but a mean abode for men and women if they could not openthe windows of their souls and look beyond it. During the weeks whichimmediately followed Janet Caird's association with Maggie she felt thistruth, though she did not define the feeling to herself. She only realizedthe comfort of withdrawing from the fretful presence of her aunt to thecontemplative, passionless serenity of the Word of God. But even this wasan offence. "What are you doing at a', Maggie?" was the certain inquiry ifshe went to the quiet of her own room for an hour. 

"I'm reading the Book a wee, Aunt Janet. "

The comments upon this reply varied, according to Janet's temper. Sometimes it was, "Well, the gude ken, you need to read it. " Again itwould be, "_Havers!_ Hoo can the like o' you understand it, and noman body to gie you the sense?" And if the volume happened to be one fromAllan's small library, her railing at "no-vels and the sin o' them" wasunstinted. 

But the real cause of difference between the women was far beyond Maggie'sknowledge or power to alter. It had sprung up the very hour that Davidasked her to come to Pittenloch and be a companion to his sister. Nosooner had he left her than she began to consider in what light theproposition could bring her personally the most respect and sympathy, anda neighbor coming in at the moment, she found in her own small boast thekey-note of her future treatment of her niece. 

"I hae been called for, Mistress Futtrit, a' the road to Pittenloch, " shesaid, with a sigh; "my nephew is settled for the ministry--an' nae less--and I maun just gae and tak' the guiding o' his sister and his hoose. "

"You're auld to be fashed wi' a bairn noo, Mistress Caird. "

"Na, na, it isna a bairn; Maggie Promoter is a braw, handsome lass, wi'mair lovers than she has fingers and toes. "

"But that's waur than a bairn. You'll be worn oot wi' the care o' it. Iken by the heartaches my ain Baubie gied me. Early and late she keepit mein het water. "

"I hear tell that oor Maggie is just extraordinar' handsome andextraordinar' self-willed. I ken I'm going to sorrow, but her fayther wasmy brither, and I'll hae to do my duty, or be a meeserable woman. "

"It's a credit to you, Mistress Caird, to hae feelings like them, andyou'll be supported dootless. "

Jean Futtrit's pretty Baubie had not always behaved well; and Jean wassuspicious of all other young girls. She had thought the worst of Maggieat once, and she made Janet Caird feel herself to be a very meritoriousdomestic martyr in accepting the charge of her. This idea satisfiedJanet's craving for praise and sympathy; she fully endorsed it; she beganto take credit for her prudence and propriety before she even entered uponher new life. 

And circumstances in Pittenloch favored Janet; in a few days she hadreceived so much condolence, and had committed herself so completelyregarding her niece, that nothing could have induced her to reconsider herconduct. Every trifle also in Maggie's attitude testified against herself. She resented the constant conclaves of tea-drinking, gossiping women inher house, and she was too honest-hearted to hide her disapproval fromthem. The result was, that backed by Janet Caird, they came still morefrequently, and were more and more offensive. If she determined to makethe best of the matter, and remained with them, she was subjected toadvices, and innuendoes, and rude jokes, almost intolerable; and if shewent away she was accused of bad temper, of a greedy, grudgingdisposition, and of contempt for her own people and class. 

If Maggie had been wise enough to attend faithfully the weekly meeting inElder Mackelvine's cottage, she would have silenced many of her enemies. But this one evening Maggie looked forward to, on different grounds;Janet Caird never missed the meeting, and her absence gave Maggie twosweet hours alone in her home. She locked her door, visited Allan's room, changed her book, and afterward sat still, and let the time slip away inthoughts sacred to her own heart. 

As the end of the year approached Dr. Balmuto was expected. He made avisit to Pittenloch every three months. Then he consoled the sick, baptized weakly infants, reproved those who had been negligent inattending kirk, and catechised and examined the young people previous totheir admission to The Tables. Maggie had not been very faithful aboutthe ordinances. The weather had been bad, the landward road was dangerouswhen snow had fallen, and she did not like going in the boats among somany who gave her only looks of grave disapproval. So she had made manyexcuses, and in this matter Janet Caird had let her take her own waywithout opposition. Absence from kirk was a proof of a falling away fromgrace, which in the eyes of these people was beyond explanation; providedthe delinquent was not unmistakably sick. 

The minister had noticed Maggie's frequent lapses from duty. He spoke toElder Mackelvine about it; and as the elder was in a manner responsiblefor the flock to his superior shepherd, he felt obliged to repeat much ofthe gossip he had heard. He had no ill will to the girl, far from it; yetunknowingly he did her many wrongs, even though he distinctly said, "he_knew_ no ill of Maggie Promoter, and was but repeating what a lot ofidle women said. "

But Dr. Balmuto was troubled and alarmed. He thought not only of Maggie, but also of David. He had sanctioned his ambition for the ministry, andhad helped him toward the office; and he could not bear to think of awhisper against a name likely to stand in the list of God's servants. Hewas angry at Maggie's imprudences, even if they were no worse thanimprudences. He paid a special visit to the Promoter cottage, and puttingaside Mistress Caird with a polite wave of the hand which greatlyimpressed her, he demanded to see Maggie alone. 

He told her frankly all that he had heard, and the girl was astounded. There was just truth enough with every lie to carry the lie through. Manyof them she found it almost hopeless to try to explain; and when thedoctor asked her, "if there had been any words of love between Mr. Campbell and herself?" she could not deny it. She remained speechless, andthe minister thought very badly of the woman dumb and blushing before him. 

"Mind what I tell you, Maggie Promoter, " he said sternly, "I know theyoung man Campbell. He is none of your kind. He cannot make you his wife. If he could, you would be wretched, for he would soon scorn you. Can theeagle mate with the kittywake? Sin and sorrow come of such love making. Itwill ruin both David and yourself. Mind, I have warned you. If you were myown daughter I would say no less to you. "

"There has been nae wrang word between us, sir. Nae word my ain faytherand mither mightna hae listened to. That is the truth, sir. "

"Then do not hold yourself apart from your own people. Don't fret aboutthe young man's absence, and neglect the ordinances to do it; rememberthey are for your comfort and salvation. "

"Folks hae thocht ill o' me, sir; and they treat me according to their illthochts:--and I wish Davie was hame, for I'm broken-hearted wi' the wrangthat is done me; morning, noon and night, " she said warmly. 

"Keep your temper and hold your tongue, Maggie. I suffer no woman to railin my presence. Do well, and you will be well spoken of, and doubtlessalso, well treated. "

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly; and his heartrelented a little. "I am glad to see the tears, Maggie; no one can do morethan be sorry for their sins and then mend them. Come, come, lassie; turnover a new leaf, and the future shall mend the past. "

"There is naething to mend, sir. I hae done no wrang to man, woman, orchild. You should hae stood up for the orphan lass, that has nae one nearto befriend her; but when a' men are against me--then I'll lippen to theLord!"

Her short passionate rain of tears was over. She stood erect, calm, perhaps with an air of indifference. The doctor was much annoyed; he feltthat he had failed in reaching the girl's heart, and he went away withthat sense of irritation which our inabilities always leave with us. 

Maggie did not go out of the cottage for a week. She was expecting Davidhome for the holidays, and she confidently looked for him to right her. Unfortunately, David came by Kinkell, and called first at Dr. Balmuto's. He had done very well in his Greek and Hebrew, and he wished to show theminister that his kindness had been appreciated and improved. Dr. Balmutoreceived David a little coldly. He had not really been moved to help himby any personal liking, but rather from a conscientious conviction thatthe young man had a decided vocation for theology. In fact, there hadalways been a tinge of self-satisfaction about David which he seriouslydisliked, and for which very reason he had once sent him back to the boatsto learn humility. Though honestly pleased at his progress, he did notthink it well to praise him too much; especially as he observed that Davidboasted in a quiet way of the favor shown him by his teachers, and named, when there was no occasion for naming it, the circumstance of having beentwice asked to dinner by Prof. Laird. 

"This and that is all very well, and I am glad of it, David, " he said;"but your name must be kept stainless; and the more learned you are, themore people will look up to you, and the more readily the fly in theointment will be seen and heard tell of. I am sorry to say your sister hasbeen very imprudent. Pittenloch does nothing but talk of her queer ways, and doubtless there have been love promises between her and Mr. Campbell. Now if there is ill said about him and your sister, you must see that itputs you in a bad light to take any favor whatever from him. "

David rose angrily. "I canna let even you, sir, speak ill in that wayabout Maggie. I was by her side until Mr. Campbell left Pittenloch. And Iwill defend his name as well as Maggie's. There was not the wrong thochtin either of their hearts. I am sure o' that. "

"I am glad to hear you speak so bravely and confidently. Go home, and putyour house in better order than it is. There seems to be ill-will andunhappiness in it. Make your women walk circumspectly, and give nooccasion for people to take your name up. Your name is not to be lightlyused now, David Promoter. "

David had looked forward to this visit, anticipated the minister's praisesand satisfaction, had even brought him a little present of some finetobacco. He left the manse with a sense of anger and humiliation, and withthe tobacco in his pocket. He had found no opportunity to offer it. Andthe home-coming from which Maggie had expected so much was an unhappy one. David blamed her for Dr. Balmuto's coldness and apparent lack of interestin his affairs; and whether Maggie had done wrong, or had only beenwronged, he felt that she had injured him and his prospects. Nervous andsensitive to a foolish degree on the subject of social respect from thosein authority, he gave to the affair far more importance than it deserved. He made Maggie almost feel as if she had brought absolute andirretrievable ruin upon him. 

Still he would not be unjust to her, nor listen to any accusation not madebefore her face. Even Aunt Janet, though she attacked David on his weakestside, by giving him all the respect due to a placed minister, did notsucceed in gaining his private ear. "I'll give nae occasion forbackbiting, " he said, "tell me when Maggie is present, what you have tosay against her. "

"She read novels, instead of working at her trade--she held herself alooffrom people, and stayed by herself. She did not go regularly to kirk andmeeting. She had spent good money having the 'Allan Campbell' put inorder, yet she would neither lend nor hire the boat when it was asked ofher. She kept Mr. Campbell's room locked up, and would not even let afriend of the family drink a cup of tea inside it. She was queer and coldto all the lads, and had been specially rude to Angus Raith, whose motherwas Mistress Caird's chief friend. Folks, too, wondered where she gotmoney, and Maggie had not respected their curiosity, and satisfied themthat she was living honest. "

These were Aunt Janet's principal accusations against her niece. Maggieanswered them very plainly. She declared that she could not get work, because her aunt's complaints had deprived her of all her friends. Thebooks she read were the same books Mr. Campbell had read aloud to themboth. As for the boat, she did not want it to go to waste, and if sheloaned it to one person, she might as well have given it to the village. If she had taken hire, it would have been a great offence, and worse saidof her, than for keeping it at anchor. As it was, she asserted Aunt Janethad lent it to the Raiths frequently, without her knowledge or consent atthe time. 

"Not mair than three times, Maggie, " interrupted Mrs. Caird, "and you werethat ill-tempered I couldna ask you anent it. You wad hae snappit my headaff. "

"That was three times o'er many, aunt, " answered David; "the boat wasMaggie's; folks should speer it of hersel'; I would hae nae right to lendit, and I wouldna do it, nae matter wha asked it o' me. "

"The Raiths are gude frien's"--

"For a' the Raiths in Fife and Moray, no!"

"Then Davie, as for letting Mr. Campbell's room be for the use of a' andsundry that liked it, how could I? You ken, he told me tak' care o' thepictures and books inside it. "

"You wad hae as much right to his purse as his room, if he had left hispurse in your keeping. The room wasna yours to lend, Maggie. "

"And, Davie, I dinna like Angus Raith, and his mither is here the daylang, and till the late night; and Angus is aye to convoy her hame; and hesits in your chair, and glowers at me, or he says words I canna listentill, and I want nae love from him or any other man. If you will be abrither to me, and no let folks tread my gude name in the mire, I'll ayebe a true sister to you, Davie, and I'll care for nane but you. "

"I'll let nane say ill o' you, if you dinna deserve it, Maggie. Folksshould think shame o' themselves to set on a lass without man or woman tostand by her. "

"I'm sure I aye said what I could wi' truth for the lassie. "

"I dinna think it. And as for Maggie's money, that is Maggie's businessand my business. Maggie's money is clean money, every penny o' it. Thereis my word for that. I am sure it was weel kent that fayther left moneylying in Largo Bank; but I'll gie accounts to nane; and I'll not haeMaggie asked for them either. As for Angus Raith, he might hae taken his'no' before this. I'll not blame Maggie for not liking him; and I wad beas weel pleased for Maggie to bide single, till I hae my ain manse tomarry her from. Now I willna hae my life and prospects wrecked forwomen's battlement and quarrels;" and then David very foolishly spoke ofDr. Balmuto's coldness to him; and on this subject David got warm andeloquent, and Aunt Janet perceived that the minister was disposed to blameMaggie. 

Before leaving for his classes again, he did what he thought was theprudent thing to do for all parties. He really satisfied no one. Maggiefelt that he had been less kind to her in many ways than he ought to havebeen. The villagers resented the change in his manners and speech. Theiraffairs, never interesting to him, were now distasteful; he went littleamong them, but sat most of his time reading in his own cottage. If hewalked down to the pier or the boat-house, he brought unavoidably adifferent element with him. The elder men disputed all he said, the youngerones took little notice of him. He might have understood from his ownexperience what Maggie was suffering; but David had his mind full of grandthemes, and he brushed the opinions of a few fishermen off, as he brusheda fly from his open book. After he had returned to Glasgow, Aunt Janetsaid, with an air of wrong and offence--"Brither and sister sail in oneboat;" and she had more sympathy for her opinion. 

The dreariest part of the winter was to come. David was not to return homeagain until the end of July; perhaps not even then. He had been spoken toabout spending the long vacation with Prof. Laird's son in the Hebrides, as a kind of travelling tutor; and he hoped for the appointment. If he gotit a whole year might pass before his next visit to Pittenloch. AndMaggie's position had not been in any respect bettered, either by theminister's or David's interference. Aunt Janet had received no specialreproofs or threats for her encroachments on Maggie's rights, and she madea point of extending them in many ways. Before March was over the girl wasgrowing desperate. 

Character is cumulative, and Maggie had been through these days of meanand bitter trials unconsciously gathering strength. She was not the samewoman that had stood reproachful at destiny by the beached boat elevenmonths before. Yet even then she had nursed a rebellious thought againstthe hopelessness of Fate. She had refused to believe that the boat hadbeen built and destined for death and destruction; if something had beendone, which had not been done, it would have come safe to harbor. So alsoshe would not believe that her own misery was beyond help, and that allthat remained to her was a weary hoping and watching for Allan's return. 

She was just at the point when endurance is waiting for the lastunendurable straw, when one morning Angus Raith called early, and askedpermission to use the "Allan Campbell" for a day's fishing. "Tak' her andwelcome, " answered Janet Caird, promptly. 

"Aunt Janet, you hae nae right to lend what isna yours, nor ever like tobe yours. David told you that plain as words could mak' it. "

"You and your brither wear the life oot o' me, wi' your pride andill-temper. Tak' the boat, Angus. "

"You let it alone, Angus. It is my boat, and I'll send the water-bailiffafter you for theft, if you lift her anchor. "

"You will, will you? You mean meeserable hizzy! Then you'll hae to tak meup wi' Angus; for I'm wi' him, and will stand by him, afore a' the lordso' Edinburgh. Tak' the boat, Angus. I'll tak' the blame o' it! DavidPromoter willna publish a thief in his ain house; he's o'er much set upwi' himsel' and his gude name. "

"Thank you, Mistress Caird; I'll tak' it. If a man tak's your sweetheart, you may weel tak' his boat. I'll bring you part o' my luck, when the boatcomes hame at night. "

"Dinna count your feesh, until you've caught them, Angus Raith, " saidMaggie, passionately; "and as for luck, it is bad luck you deserve, andbad luck you'll get, wi' your stolen boat. "

"Hear to the lass! bespeaking sorrow for gude men, on a gude day's wark!"

Maggie answered not a word; she turned dourly round, went into her roomand locked it. "I'll run awa' from it a'!" and in the first moment of hersolitary passion of grief, the words struck her like an order. In greatemergencies, the soul does gives orders; clear, prompt, decisive words, that leave no shadow of doubt behind them. "Go" said her soul to her, andshe began immediately to consider her plans. She did not want for money. She had upwards of £23 left, beside an order for the £50 lying in LargoBank, which David had insisted on her keeping in case any sudden need camefor it. 

"I'll put on my kirk clothes, and I'll go to Kinkell; Watty Young willcarry me in his wagon to Stirling, and there, I'll tak' a train forGlasgow. David will find some way to get me a shelter, and I can sew, andearn my ain bite and sup. "

This was her simple, straightforward plan, and as soon as she haddetermined to go away, it seemed wonderful to her that she had not done itsooner. "But one canna cross the stile till they get to it, " shereflected; now however the idea took complete possession of her. She heardMrs. Raith and various other women talking with her aunt: she heardherself repeatedly called to come and look after the broth, or otherdomestic concerns, but she took no notice of any demand upon her. Sheoccupied the morning in locking away her simple treasures, and in makinginto a small bundle a linsey dress and a change of linen. She did notnotice, until her room grew suddenly dark, that the wind had risen, andthe sky become black and stormy. Some uneasy presentiment drove her thento the cottage door, where she stood with the rain blowing into her face, watching the boats tossing back to harbor. 

"You see what your ill wishes hae brought. I hope there mayna be liveslost by your temper. "

"Parfect nonsense! There is nae ill wish that is mair than idle breath, ifit be na His will. "

Just at dusk there was an outcry and a clamor of women's voices followedby passionate wailing, and a few minutes afterward Mistress Raith ranshrieking into the cottage. "The 'Allan Campbell' has gone to the bottom, and my boy Laurie wi' her. Oh, the ill heart, and the ill tongue o' you, Maggie Promoter! I'd like fine to send you after him! Gie us a help, wives, and let's gie her a ducking at the vera least!" The wretched motherwas half crazy, and Maggie fled from her presence. The circumstance wasthe seal to her purpose. She knew well how her few angry words would beheld against her, and she said mournfully, "There's nae hope o' kindnessnor justice here for me. I should hae gane this morning when the thochtcame to me. I wad hae been on the road to Stirling ere this. "

There was a constant succession of visitors at the cottage until late, butas soon as all was quiet, Maggie went to her wretched hearthstone, andsilently made herself a cup of tea. Janet Caird sat rocking herself to andfro, bewailing the dead, and the living; but yet carefully watching theunusual proceedings and dress of her niece. At length, finding Maggie wasnot to be provoked into words, she pretended suddenly to observe her kirkclothes--"Whatna for hae you that fine merino on this night? Surely, Maggie Promoter, you arena thinking o' going to the house o' mourning--you, that ought to be on your bended knees for the ill wishes you sentthe puir lad to the bottom wi'. And after a' it wasna Angus but littleLaurie that got the weight o' your ill thochts!"

"Do stop, aunt. Say them words to the minister, and hear the reproofyou'll get! As if the breath o' an angry woman could make Him turn thekeys that nane turn but Him. And if you want to ken whar I am going, I mayas weel tell you now, as the morn. I am going to my brither Davie, for Icannot thole the bad tongue and the bad heart o' you, anither day. "

"Hear to the wicked lass! My bad tongue! My bad heart! I sall scream ootat sich words--"

"Dinna flyte mair at me for ony sake, Aunt Janet. You'll get the hoose toyoursel' in the early morning. "

"And then what sail I do? A puir auld woman wiled awa' frae her ain hame. "

"Aunt Janet, you can go back to your ain hame. There is nane to hinderyou. When you are ready, lock the door, and gie the key to ElderMackelvine. But if you like this bien comfortable cottage better than theone bit empty room David took you from, you can stay in it your lane. Iwadna bide wi' you anither day for gude words, nor gude gold; no, nor foronything else. "

"My bite and sup were aye sure at Dron Point; but what will I do here ata'? Hae you made a provision for the five shillings weekly?"

"Na, na; I hae paid that o'er lang. At Dron Point you spun your pickle o'tow, and you nursed the sick folk. There is mair spinning here, and mairsick folk. You are nae waur off, but better. And it is little o' thesiller I hae given you that has been spent. A' expenses hae come oot o' mypocket. "

"I'll no hear tell o'you going awa'! Sich daftness. And surely if you willgae, you'll no leave an auld body like me wi'out some sma' income. Youthat's got siller. "

"I hae nae mair than I want. But I'll ask Davie to do what he thinks hecan do for you; seeing that you are my fayther's sister. Puir fayther! Ihope he doesna ken how hard you hae been on me. "

"You sall not go! I'll no be left my lane--"

"I tell you, aunt, I am going in the morning. There is naebody inPittenloch can stop me; no, nor Doctor Balmuto himsel'. "

Still Janet Caird scarcely believed Maggie. The girl had never beenfurther from home than Kinkell. She thought she would go first to theminister, and she felt sure the minister would send her back home. Sowhen Maggie passed out of the door soon after daybreak, and said"good-bye, Aunt Janet, " the old woman answered with an affectedlaugh--"gude-bye till the sun is doon. The night will bring you hame, Maggie. "

Maggie took the hills and was far up them before the village was astir. She had no intention of calling upon the minister; she still resented hislast conversation with her, and after what he had said to Davie she hadlittle hopes of obtaining a kind hearing from him just yet. She foundSandy Young's wagon nearly ready to start for Stirling, and she easily gota seat in it. It was a slow, lumbering conveyance, but she was in nohurry; and she enjoyed very much the leisurely drive through lanes, andinland hamlets, and queer old towns. It was a strange and wonderfulexperience to a girl who had seen little of nature but the sea and therocks, and little of men, save the men and women of her own distinctiveclass. 

On the evening of the third day she reached Glasgow. It was a clear, blowing March day, very near the anniversary of her father's and brothers'death. Glasgow was in one of its brightest moods; the streets clean andcrowded, and the lamplighters just beginning to light them. She easilyfound her way to the Candleriggs, and to the house in which David lodged. Here, for the first time, her heart failed her. She loitered about thewindow of the bakery until she had a sense of shame and hunger andweariness that overcame all her fears. "I'm wanting Mr. Promoter, ma'am, "she said at length to the woman behind the counter, and the woman lookingsharply at her answered, "He's in his room. Go through the close and upthe stair; it's at the right hand side. "

It seemed strange to knock at her brother's door, and yet Maggie felt asif David would expect it of her. He answered the timid summons by a loudperemptory "Come in;" but when Maggie entered he leaped to his feet inamazement, and let the big book in his hand fall to the floor. There werethe remains of tea on the table, and a young man who was sitting withDavid had pushed the cups aside, and filled their places with his papersand books. 

"Maggie!"

"Ay, it's me, Davie. "

"What has brought you to Glasgow?"

"You ken I wouldna come without a good reason. I hope I am na unwelcome. "Her eyes filled, she could scarcely endure the strain of uncertainty asshe stood before him. 

Then he took her hands and kissed her brow, and said, "Cameron, this ismy sister, my only near relative, so I'm sure you'll excuse me the night. "And the young man, who had been gazing with delight on Maggie's beauty, rose with an apology and went away. 

"Now, Maggie, I want to know what has brought you here?"

"Gie me some bread and tea first, for I am fair famished, and then I'lltell you. "

"I must also speak to the good wife about a sleeping place for you underher own eye. You'll be going back to-morrow '"

"I'll not go back to Pittenloch again. " Then she told him all the wrongand shame and sorrow that had dogged her life since he had left her at theNew Year. "Let me stay near by you, Davie. I can sew, I can go oot toservice. I'll be happy if I see you one hour on the Sabbath day. "

His face was white and stern and pitiless. "You want to ruin my life, Maggie, and your ain too. Mr. Cameron will speak of having seen you here. And it is nae less than evendown ruin for a theology student to havewomen-folks coming to his room--young women like yoursel'. "

"I'm your ain sister, Davie. "

"Who is to know that? Can I go about saying to this one and to that one'the woman who came to see me, or the woman I went to see, on Sabbath lastis my sister. ' It would not do for you to stay here, for I have companyto see me and to study with me, and you and I would both be spoken of. Itwould not be right for you to take a room and live by yourself, and sewout by the day. You are too noticeable, and I could not spare the time tocall and look after you in any way. And as to going out to service, I ammair than astonished to hear you naming a thing like that. _We arefisher folk. _ Nane of the Promoters ever served mortal man as hand-maidor flunkey. We have always served God and cast the nets for a living. Wewerena indebted to any human being. We aye took our daily bread from Hishand. And if you, Maggie Promoter, would dare to go out as a servant Iwould give you the back of my hand for ever. "

"Then what will I do, Davie? What will I do? I am sae miserable. Do haesome pity on me. "

"You speak as if happiness was 'the because' of life. Do? Do your duty, and you will be happy, whatever wind blows. And as to my having pity onyou, I would love you little if I gave way now to your impatience andyour wounded pride. Who loves you if I don't? I am aye thinking of thedays when we will have a braw house of our ain. Can you not wait?"

"It is lang waiting; and many a hope goes wi' the weeks and the months. Davie, I canna go back. "

"You must go back. I will write a letter to Dr. Balmuto and ask him to putyou with some decent family in Kinkell: and keep his own eye on you. Whatcan you want more than that? And let me tell you, Maggie, I think it veryunsisterly of you, bothering and hampering me with women's quarrels, whenI am making myself a name among them that will be looked to for thecarrying on o' the kirk in the future. But I'll say no more, and I'llforgive this romantic folly o' yours, and to-morrow I'll put you in theStirling train, and you'll go, as I tell you, to Dr. Balmuto. "

Maggie made no further objections. David wrote the promised letter, and hespent a part of the next day in showing her the "wonderfuls" of thecathedral and the college. He was even gentle with her at the last, andnot a little proud of the evident sensation her fresh, brilliant beautycaused; and he asked her about her money matters, and when he put her inthe train, kissed her fondly; and bade her "be brave, and patient, andcheerful. "

And still Maggie said nothing. Her eyes were full of tears, and she lookedonce or twice at her brother in a way that made his heart dirl and ache;but she seemed to have resigned herself to his direction. Only, at thefirst station beyond Glasgow, she got out of the train, and she allowed itto go on to Stirling without her. 

CHAPTER XI. 

DRUMLOCH. 

 "Brown shell first for the butterfly And a bright wing by and by. Butterfly good-bye to your shell, And, bright wings, speed you well"

In leaving the train Maggie had not yielded to a passing impulse. It was adeliberate act. David's indifference to her happiness, his subordinationof all her likes and dislikes, her time, and work, and hopes, to his ownambition shocked and pained her. She had spent the night in thought andhad reached a decided conclusion. As they walked about the cathedral andcollege, and up and down the High Street, while she looked with shudderinghorror on the squalid, hopeless poverty of the inhabitants of thoselocalities, she asked her brother where the rich people lived. 

"At the West End, " answered David. "On Sauchiehall Road, and the crescentsfurther on, away maistly up to Kelvin Grove. " And later on, as they werepassing down Buchanan Street, he pointed out the stages which ranconstantly to these aristocratic quarters of the city, and asked, "if shewished to see them?"

"Ay, I wad like too, but there's little time noo, it will do again. "

Yet she took good note of everything, and David Promoter, as he sat thatnight at his own fireside with his tea and books, little dreamed that hissister Maggie had found herself a home within an hour's ride from theCandleriggs. It was not much of a home, but it satisfied the weary, heart-sore girl. A little back room on a fourth story, with a windowlooking into a small court; but it was clean and quiet, and the bit offire burned cheerily, and the widow woman from whom she had rented it madeher a refreshing cup of tea, and brought with it the good wheat loaf andthe "powdered" butter for which Glasgow is famous; as well as a slice ortwo of broiled Ayrshire bacon. The food was cheap, and the ordinary foodof the people, but it seemed a great treat to the fisher-girl, who hadbeen used to consider wheat flour, fine butter, and bacon, very likeluxuries. 

And the peace! Oh how good, how good that was! No captious old womanflyting and complaining at every mouthful. No laughing noisy gossips. Noirritating interferences. No constant demand on her attention or sympathy. She sat and drank and thanked God with every mouthful; and with gratefultears promised Him to live a good life, and do her honest, kindly dutyevery hour. 

At last too, she could think of Allan without fear of any evil suspiciouseye upon her. She had been in such excitement and anxiety for some days, that she had let him slip from her mind; for it was one of this lovingwoman's superstitions, never to mix his memory with angry or sorrowfulthoughts. But in the peace and stillness that followed her meal, shecalled him back to her. With closed eyes and folded hands she rememberedthe words he had said to her, remembered the strength and sincerity of hispromise, the glow and tenderness of his handsome face, the truth in thefirm clasp of his hands, the glance of commingled love and grief which hadbeen his farewell. "I'll never wrong him by a doubt. Never, never, never, "she whispered. "If God has willed him to me, there's nane can keep himfrae me. Oceans canna part us, nor gold, nor friends, nor time, nor deathitself. _Allan! Allan! Allan!_"

At that moment Allan was in a pretty pleasure yacht idly drifting on thegulf of Mexico. Mardi Gras had taken him to New Orleans, and there he hadhired the boat, and was leisurely sailing from one gulf town to another. The skipper was his only companion, but he was fore, and Allan lay underan awning, full of the afternoon's lazy content. The scent of orangeblossoms was blown from the shore, the blue waters dimpled in thesunshine, and the flop of their ripple in the clincher-landings was an oldand pleasant music to him. Suddenly he sat erect and listened: "Maggiecalled me. Three times over she called me. " The impression upon hisspiritual ear was so strong that ere he was aware he had answered the call. 

He could dream no longer. His nobler part was on the alert. He was not, however, unhappy. The impression made upon him had been one of love andlonging, rather than of distress. His eyes brightened, his face flushed, he walked rapidly about, like a man under a keener sense of life. Loverssee miracles, and believe in them. Allan thought it nothing extraordinarythat Maggie's soul should speak to his soul. And why should we doubt thegreeting? Do we any of us know what subtle lines are between spirit andspirit? A few years since, who dreamed of sending a message through theair? Is it not more incredible that flesh and blood in New York shouldspeak with flesh and blood in Washington, than that spirits, rare, rapidand vivid as thought, should communicate with each other, even though thecircumference of the world be between them? Allan did not try to analyzethe circumstance; he had a conviction, positive and delicious, and henever thought of reasoning it away. 

With a sense of infinite comfort and content, Maggie read her eveningportion, and went to rest. She had determined to enjoy that evening'scalm, without letting any thought of the future trouble her; and she awokein the morning strong and cheerful, and quite ready to face the questionof her support. She spoke first to her landlady. "Mistress Malcolm, " shesaid, "I'm a dressmaker, and I want wark. Will you gie me your advice, forI'm not used to city ways?"

"You hae come to the city in a good time though. In the spring there isaye work in plenty. Tak' the 'Herald' and read the advertisements. I hae apaper ben the kitchen, I'll get it for you. See here now! Nae less thannine dressmakers wanting help! The first call comes frae Bute Crescent;that isna ten minutes walk awa'. Go and see the lady. "

Half an hour afterward, Maggie was ringing at the door of Mrs. Lauder'shouse. It was a very handsome one, handsomely furnished, and theshow-rooms were gay with the newest fashions. Maggie's beauty and finefigure was an instant commendation. "Can you sew well, and cut, and fit?"asked Mrs. Lauder. 

"'Deed, ma'am, I think I can. I was wi' Miss Jean Anderson o' Largo fortwa years. She'll say the gude word for me, every way. "

"I shall want you to be part of the day in the salesroom; but I willprovide you a suitable dress for that purpose; and I will give you tenshillings a week, at first. Will that do?"

"It will do weel, ma'am. "

"What is your name?"

"Maggie Promoter. "

"Come to-morrow, Miss Promoter. "

"Folks aye call me Maggie. "

"Very well. Come to-morrow, Maggie. "

The dress provided by Mrs. Lauder was a long, plain, black merino, tightlyfitting, with small turned back linen cuffs and collar; and Maggie lookedexceedingly handsome and stately in it. Her work was not hard, but thehours were long, and there was no outlook. She could not lift her head andcatch from the sea the feeling of limitless space and freedom. Still shewas happy. It was better to live among strangers who always gave her thecivil word, than to be with kin who used the freedom of their relationshiponly to wound and annoy her. And her little room was always a sanctuary inwhich she found strength and peace. Also, the Sabbath was all her own; andher place in the kirk to which she regularly went was generally filled anhour before service bells. That kirk was a good place to Maggie. She wasone of those delightsome women, who in this faithless age, have a ferventand beautiful faith in God. Into His temple she took no earthly thought, but kept her heart, there, "one silent space, A little sacred spot of loneliness. Where to set up the memory of His cross, A little quiet garden, sacred still To visions of His sorrow, and His love"

So the weeks went calmly, and not unpleasantly away. Now and then she hada restless heartache about David; and three times she walked all the wayto the Barony kirk, where she knew he worshiped, to get a sight of herbrother. She did not fear to do so. David Promoter, on Sabbath days, looked neither to the right hand nor to the left. In the kirk his palegrave face was bent toward his Bible, or lifted to the preacher. Maggiecould have sat within the touch of his hand and he would not have seenher. But she got no comfort from these visits to David's kirk, and shemissed all the comfort of her own kirk. So she finally said to herself--"I'll tak' my ain road, and I'll ne'er look his road, and when it will bethe right time, the twa roads will meet again. "

As the summer advanced there was less work to do, and she frequently wasat home in sufficient time to stroll along Kelvin side, or visit theBotanic Gardens. Inland scenery, trees, and, above all things, flowers, greatly delighted her. It gave her a thrill of exquisite pleasure to treadamong long, green grass, and feel the wavering sunshine and shadows of thewoods about her; and in the midsummer month, when she was to have a shortholiday, she promised herself many days of such pure and natural enjoyment. 

But often fortune has better plans for us than we make for ourselves. Oneday, near the end of June, Maggie was standing at an upper window, gazingwistfully at the little park, full of pretty shrubs, which belongedspecially to Bute Crescent. A handsome carriage rapidly took the turn, came dashing up the broad gravelled sweep, and stopped at Mrs. Lauder'shouse. In a few minutes there was a call for Maggie, and she went downstairs. The customer was before a long mirror with a mantle of black silkand lace in her hands. She was a young lady, slight and small, and asMaggie entered she turned toward her. 

It was Mary Campbell, and Mary knew in a moment who the tall beautifulwoman in the black dress was. She was very much astonished, but she didnot in any way betray her surprise. On the contrary, she gathered herfaculties quickly together and looked at Maggie critically, and at firstwithout kindness. 

Mary was at this time living at Drumloch, but a variety of business hadbrought her to Glasgow for a week or two. Her first impulse was to go toher uncle and tell him of her discovery. Her second was to keep it, atleast for a little while, to herself. It was almost certain that there hadbeen some great change in the girl's circumstances, or else she had cometo Glasgow in search of her lover. Mary could not tell how much or howlittle Maggie knew of Allan's movements and intentions; she thought itlikely the girl had grown impatient and left her home. If so, perhaps itwas her duty to interfere in a life brought so directly to her notice. Shealmost wished she had not seen her; gratified curiosity is very well, butif it bring with it a sense of obligation, it may not be worth the priceto be paid. 

Such were the drift of Mary's thoughts; and yet for Allan's sake she feltthat Maggie ought to be cared for. If she did not choose to assume thecharge, she ought to tell her uncle. Mary's conscience had taken up thequestion, and Mary's conscience was a tyrannical one. It gave her no restabout Maggie. "Maggie!" She repeated the name with a smile. "I knew shewould have to come down to 'Maggie' or 'Jennie'. I said so. Oh, Theodora, what a fall! But she is handsome, there is no doubt of that. And she walksas a mortal ought to walk, 'made a little lower than the angels'. And shereally has a ravishing smile, and perfect teeth also. I own I was afraidabout the teeth, nature generally forgets that detail. And her hands, iflarge, are shapely; and her hair is a glory, as it ought to be in a woman--and I wonder who taught her to dress it, and if she herself chose thelong, plain, black garment. Maggie is more of a puzzle than ever. I thinkI will find her out without Uncle John's help. "

The next day, and every day afterward for a week, she went to Mrs. Lauder's on some pretext or other. She always saw Maggie. She made littleplans to see her, and she went away from every interview feeling a greaterbondage to her. "I suppose I shall have to take her back to Drumloch withme!" As her visit to Glasgow drew to its close she came to thisconclusion. She felt that for Allan's sake Maggie had a claim on theircare; either John Campbell or herself ought to find out if she needed helpor friends, and after consideration Mary thought she had better assume thecharge. John Campbell would go straight to her, tell her who he was, andinvite her to Blytheswood Square, and, in fact, take the girl wholly ontrust. Mary also meant to be kind to her, but how hard it is for a womanto do a kindness as God does it, without saying, "Whose son art thou?"

Just before her return to Drumloch, she said to Mrs. Lauder, "I want someone to sew in my house. Do you think Maggie would give me a couple ofmonths. You cannot need her until September. "

"I think she will be very willing. I will send her to you. "

"Mistress Lauder says you wad like me to go wi' you, Miss Campbell. I'llbe glad to do it. I am just wearying for the country, and I'll do my bestto pleasure you. "

"Oh, thank you. It is to sew table damask. I will give you. £5 a month. "

"That is gude pay. I'll be gratefu' for it. "

"Be ready by nine o'clock to-morrow morning. I will call here for you. "

Drumloch was a very ancient place. The older portion was battlemented, andhad been frequently held against powerful enemies; but this part of thebuilding was merely the nucleus of many more modern additions. It stood inone of the loveliest locations in Ayrshire, and was in every respect ahome of great splendor and beauty. Maggie had never dreamt of such aplace. The lofty halls and rooms, the wide stairways, the picturesque airof antiquity, the fine park and gardens, the wealth of fruits and flowersquite bewildered her. Mary took her first real liking to the girl as shewandered with her through the pleasant places of Drumloch. Maggie said sofrankly what she liked and what she did not like; and yet she had muchgraceful ingenuousness, and extremely delicate perceptions. Often sheshowed the blank amazement of a bird that has just left the nest, againshe would utter some keen, deep saying, that made Mary turn to her withcurious wonder. Individualities developed by the Bible have these strangecontradictions, because to great guilelessness they unite an intimateknowledge of their own hearts. 

Mary had been much troubled as to where, and how, she was to place thisgirl. As David had boasted, she belonged to a race "who serve not. " "Shemay come to be mistress of Drumloch. It is not improbable. I will not makea menial of her. That would be a shame and a wrong to Allan. " She hadformed this decision as they rode together in the train, and acting uponit, she said, "Maggie, what is your name--all your name?"

"My name is Margaret Promoter. I hae been aye called Maggie. "

"I will call you Maggie, then; but my servants will call you MissPromoter. You understand?"

"If it is your will, Miss Campbell. "

"It is my wish, Maggie. You are to be with me entirely; and they mustrespect my companion. Can you read aloud, Maggie?"

"I wad do my best. "

"Because I want you to read a great deal to me. There is so much finesewing to do, I thought as we worked together one of us could have aneedle, the other a book. "

Following out this idea, she gave Maggie a pretty room near her own. Intoone adjoining immense quantities of the finest linen and damask werebrought. "I am just going to housekeeping, Maggie, " said Mary, "andDrumloch is to have the handsomest napery in Ayrshire. Did you ever seelovelier damask? It is worthy of the most dainty stitches, and it shallhave them. " Still Maggie's domestic status hung in the balance. For a weekher meals were served in her own room, on the plea of fatigue. Mary didnot feel as if she could put her with the housekeeper and upper servants;she could not quite make up her mind to bring her to her own table. Aconversation with Maggie one morning decided the matter. She found herstanding at the open window looking over the lovely strath, and the"bonnie Doon, " with eyes full of happy tears. 

"It is a sweet spot, Maggie. "

"It is the sweetest spot on earth, I think. "

"If we only had a view of the sea. We might have, by felling timber. "

Maggie shook her head. "I dinna like the sea. 'There is sorrow on the sea, it canna be quiet. ' [Footnote: Jeremiah 49, v. 23. ] I ken't a fisher'swife wha aye said, the sweetest promise in a' the Book, was that in theRevelations, 'there shall be nae sea there. '"

"Did you ever live near the sea?"

"Ay; I was born on the coast of Fife. "

"Have you any kin living?"

"I hae a brother--he minds me little. "

"Promoter, I never heard the name before. "

"It is a Fife name. The Promoters dinna wander far. If my fayther hadnabeen drowned, I should hae stayed wi' my ain folk. "

"But you are glad to have seen more of the world. You would not like to goback to Fife, now?"

"If my eye hadna seen, my heart wouldna hae wanted. I was happy. "

"Promoter is an uncommon name. I never knew a Promoter before; but theCampbells are a big clan. I dare say you have known a great manyCampbells?"

"The man whom fayther sold his fish to was a Campbell. And the woman Ilodged wi' in Glasgow had a daughter married to a Campbell. And MistressLauder often sent me to Campbell's big store for silk and trimmings. Andwhiles, there was a minister preached in oor kirk, called Campbell--andthere is yoursel', miss, the best o' them all to Maggie Promoter. "

"Thank you, Maggie. " Not in the faintest way had Maggie betrayed herknowledge of Allan, and Mary respected her for the reticence very much. "Now for our work. I will sew, and you shall read aloud. I want you tolearn how to talk as I do, and reading aloud is an excellent exercise. "

"I'll ne'er speak such high English as you, and I like my braid Scotchweel. "

"But your voice is so delightful when you say the words as you ought to. You can read 'high English, ' why not talk it?"

"My ain tongue is mair homelike and kindly. But I'll try yours, an' youwant me to. "

After Mary had listened an hour, she suddenly interrupted Maggie. "Youread that love scene with wonderful feeling. Had you ever a lover, Maggie?"

"Maist girls have lovers. I couldna expect to escape. You will dootlesshae lovers yoursel', ma'am?"

"I had one lover, Maggie, not much of a lover, he wanted to marryDrumloch, not me. "

"That was a' wrang. Folks shouldna marry for gold. Sorrow comes that way. "

"You would not, I am sure'"

"No, not for a' the gold in Scotland. "

"Is your lover poor then, Maggie?"

"I ne'er asked him if he had this or that. He is a gude kind lad. "

"Did he ever give you any beautiful things--precious rings or lockets--asthe lovers in books do? The Sir Everard of whom you have just been readinggave Lady Hilda a ring of diamonds and opals, you remember?"

"The Fife lads break a sixpence in twa wi' their troth lass; and I hae myhalf sixpence. There can be no ring but a wedding ring for a lassie likeme. "

Then Mary laid down her work, and as she passed Maggie she touched hergently, and smiled in her face. She was rapidly coming to a decision; afew minutes in her own room enabled her to reach it. "The girl is a bornlady; I gave her every opportunity, but neither to the text of 'Campbell, 'nor 'lover, ' did she betray herself or Allan. And really, when I think ofit, I had almost a special direction about her. I did not intend to go toMrs. Lauder's that morning. I should not have gone, if Madame Bartholemewhad been at home. I should not have gone if Miss Fleming had been able todo my work. Maggie has evidently been put in my charge. Not to go anyhigher than Uncle John and Allan, I think when they demand her of me, theywill say--'Where is thy sister?' not 'Where is thy servant maid, or thysewing maid. ' But I must be sure of myself. If I accept this obligation, Imust accept it fully with all its contingencies and results. Can I begenerous enough? Patient enough? Just enough? Loving enough?" And nowonder men honor good women! Who could have helped honoring Mary Campbellwho saw her stand with honest purpose examining her own heart, and thenlowly kneeling, asking God's blessing and help for the resolve soconsecrated. 

It was no light favor to be quickly given and quickly removed. Most goodthings are gradual; and Mary's kindness fell as the dew, a little in themorning, and a little in the evening. Here, a formality was dropped; therea tangible token of equality given. First, the evening dresses of whitemull and pale merinos; then the meal at her table, and the seat in hercarriage. And when this point had been reached, it had been so naturallyand unobtrusively reached, that even the servants only remembered thefirst days of Maggie's residence at Drumloch, as a time when "MissPromoter dootless had a sorrow o' her ain, and keepit much to hersel'. "

With a more conventional girl, Mary might have had much difficulty inreaching this state of affairs; but Maggie took her kindness with thesimple pleasure and gratitude of a child; and she certainly had not thefaintest conception of Mary Campbell's relation to Allan. 

Allan had distinctly spoken of his home as being in Bute; and of hiscousin, as living in the same house with him from her childhood. Mary, inher own castle in Ayrshire, was certainly far enough away from all Allan'sstatements to destroy every suspicion of her identify. And the name of"Campbell" told her nothing at all. As Mary said, "The Campbells were abig clan. " They abounded throughout the west of Scotland. Around Drumloch, every third man was a Campbell. In Glasgow the name was prominent on thesign boards of every street. In a Fife fishing village there are rarelymore than four or five surnames. A surname had not much importance inMaggie's eyes. She had certainly noticed that "Campbell" frequently met"Promoter;" but certain names seem to have affinities for certain lives;at least certain letters do; and Maggie, quoting a superstition of herclass, settled the matter to her own satisfaction, by reflecting "whatcomes to me wi' a 'C, ' aye comes wi' good to me. "

CHAPTER XII

TO THE HEBRIDES. 

 "And yet when all is thought and said. The heart still overrules the head. "

 "From the lone shieling of the misty islands. Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas: But we in dreams behold the Hebrides. "

One morning toward the end of July, Mary was reading the "Glasgow Herald. ""Maggie, " she said, "one of the Promoters has evidently left Fife, for Isee the name among the list of students--David Promoter--he has donewondrously. The man is a miracle, he has taken every prize in his classes, I think. "

"I'm right glad to hear tell o' it. I must aye wish weel--"

"_Well_, Maggie, not weel. "

"Well, to the name. "

It was true. David had overstepped even his own ambition. He had finishedthe term with an ovation from his fellows, and he had been urged to gowith Prof. Laird's son to the outer Hebrides. And now that the strain ofhis study was over, and the goal, so far, nobly won, he could afford toremember his sister. Indeed David deserves more justice than these wordsimply. He had often thought of her since that March afternoon when he hadput her into the train for Stirling. But he really believed that his firstduty was to his studies, and he fully expected that his letter to Dr. Balmuto would be a sufficient movement to insure her welfare. Practically, he had thrown his own duty upon the minister's conscience, but he feltsure that the good man had accepted the obligation, for if not, he wouldcertainly have written to him on the subject. 

He sent the doctor the newspapers advertising his success, and a couple ofdays afterward went to Kinkell. Young Laird did not require his companyfor a week, and he thought well of himself for taking a journey to Fifemerely to pleasure his sister, before he took his own pleasure. He hadimproved much in personal appearance during his residence in Glasgow. Hewas well dressed, and he had acquired an easy confidence of manner whichrather took Dr. Balmuto by surprise. Perhaps it irritated him a littlealso; for he was not at all satisfied with David. The first words he saidwere not words of congratulation, they were a stern inquiry. 

"David Promoter, where is your sister Maggie? Has she come back with you?"

"I came to ask you about Maggie, sir. "

"Me! What way would you come to me? I have nothing to do with MaggiePromoter. "

"Sir, when she left me last March, I gave her a letter to you, and put herin the train that was to bring her here. "

"What did you write to me about?"

"I told you how unhappy and dissatisfied my sister was at Pittenloch; andI asked you to advise her to stay at Kinkell under your eye. Then nonecould speak ill o' her. "

"Why under my eye? Are you not your sister's natural protector?"

"My studies--my college duties--"

"Your first duty was Maggie. You will be a miserable divine, let me tellyou, if you have not plenty of humanity in you; and the kirk and thehousehold are bound together with bands that cannot be broken. What is theworth of all the Greek you know, if you have forgotten your own flesh andblood? I'll not give you one word of praise, David, until you can tell methat Maggie is well and doing well. "

"My God! Maggie not here! Where then is she? I must awa' to Pittenloch;maybe she is gone back there. "

"No, she has not gone back. Poor girl! What would she go back there for?To be worried to death by a lad she hates, and a lot of women who hateher? I went to Pittenloch a week after she left, and I had a day ofinquiries and examinations; and I can tell you Maggie has been sairwronged. That old woman in your house has the poison of hell under hertongue:--and the lifted shoulder and the slant eye, what woman can standthem? So she went to her brother, as a good girl past her wits would do, and her brother put her on the train and sent her back to her sorrow!"

"I sent her to you, sir. I thought I could trust in you--"

"Why to me, I ask again? You knew that I had spoken sharply to her at theNew Year, how was she likely to come to me then? Where is your sister, David Promoter?"

"You should hae written to me, sir, when you found out that Maggie wasgone from her hame. "

"I thought, everyone thought, she was with you. I am shocked to find sheis not. Whom else can she be with? Whom have you driven her to?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Where is Allan Campbell? That is what you must next find out. "

David looked at the minister like one distraught. 

"I can't understand--I can't believe--gie me a drink o' water, sir. "

He was faint and sick and trembling. He drank and sat down a few minutes;but though the doctor spoke more kindly, and set clearly before him whatwas best to be done, he heard nothing distinctly. As soon as he was able, even while the doctor was speaking, he rose and went out of the house. Sorrow has the privilege to neglect ceremonies, and David offered noparting courtesy, but for this omission the minister was rather pleasedthan angry with him:

"The lad has some heart, God be thanked!" he muttered, "and the day willcome when he will be grateful to me for troubling it. "

David went with rapid steps down the rocks to Pittenloch. How hateful theplace looked to him that afternoon! How dreary those few tossing boats!How mean the cottages! How vulgar the women in their open doors! Howdisagreeable the bare-footed children that recognized him and ran hitherand thither with the news of his arrival. 

He was full of shame and anger. Where was his praise, where was his honor, with this disgrace in his home? How could he show those newspapersextolling his diligence and attainments, when Maggie had made his verysuccess a disgrace to him? Oh, how bitterly he felt toward her!

Mistress Caird met him at the door with her apron at her eyes: "Come in, sir, " she said, with a courtesy, "though it is a sorrowfu' house you cometo. "

"Aunt Janet, you have been drinking. I smell the whiskey above everything. Ah, there is the bottle!" His sharp eyes had seen it behind the tea caddyon the mantelshelf. He took it and flung it upon the shingle as far as hisarm could send it. 

"That is my ain whiskey, David; bought wi' my ain siller, and the gude kenI need a wee drappie to keep my vera heart frae breaking wi' the sorrow Ihae had. "

"Say, wi' the sorrow you hae made. Pack your trunk, Aunt Janet. I'll takeyou to Dron Point in the morning. "

He would talk no more to her. He let her rave and explain and scold, butsat silent on his hearth, and would go and see none of his old friends. But it did console him somewhat that they came crowding in to see him. That reaction which sooner or later takes place in favor of the injuredhad taken place in Maggie's favor since the minister's last visit. Mistress Caird felt that she was leaving Pittenloch something like asocial criminal. No one came to bid her farewell. David and a boy he hiredtook her silently to her old home. She had sacrificed every good feelingand sentiment for popularity, and everyone spoke ill of her. 

Getting near to Dron Point, she said to David, "You are a miserable set-upbit o' a man; but you'll pay me the £4 10s. You are owing me, or I'll sendthe constable and the sherra a' the way to Glasca' for it. "

"I owe you nothing, woman. "

"Woman, indeed! Maggie, the hizzy!--agreed to gie me five shillings weeklyif I wad say the gude word for her she ne'er deserved, and I havna beenpaid for eighteen weeks. That mak's it £4 10s. Just hand o'er the sillerand be done wi' it. "

"It is a theft, an extortion;" but he took a £5 note from his pocket-bookand gave her it. "That is a gratuity, " he said, "a gratuity to help youuntil you find employment. I do not owe you a penny. "

"There's nae gratuity in honest earned money; and if you wad gie me £50 itwad be too little to pay me for the loss o' health and time and gude nameI hae made through you and yours. Set you up for a minister, indeed! Cleanyour ain door-stane before you speak o' other folks. I'm glad to be rid o'the sight and the hearing o' you. "

That was the parting shot, and David could have very heartily returned it. But he heeded his Bible rule, and to her railing made no answer. Janetwould rather have been sworn at. He left her bargaining with a man to takeher blue kist to the village public, but he did not return to Pittenloch. He had given Elder Mackelvine the key of the cottage, and the elder hadpromised to find a proper woman to care for it. So he sent the boy backwith the boat, and found the quickest way from Dron Point to Glasgow. 

In his last interview with Allan Campbell, Allan had told him, if anydifficulty arose about his money matters, or if he needed more moneybefore he returned, to go to his father; and in view of such an emergency, had given David the address of Campbell & Co. He went there as soon as hearrived in Glasgow. It was in the middle of the afternoon and JohnCampbell had just gone to his house in Blytheswood Square. The young manwho answered his inquiry was pleasant spoken, and trustworthy, and Davidsaid to him--"Where is Mr. Allan Campbell?"

"He is in the United States. I believe in New Orleans. "

"When will he return?"

"It is very uncertain. Not for a year or more. "

Then he concluded that Maggie had gone to him. That was the thing Dr. Balmuto feared. What a fool he had been not to suspect earlier whateveryone else, doubtless, perceived. One hope yet remained. He wrote tothe Largo Bank about the £50. If Maggie had lifted it, then he would feelcertain she was doing honestly for herself, in some quiet village, orperhaps, even in Glasgow. But when he found the money had not beentouched, he accepted without further hope the loss and the shame. It is somuch easier to believe evil than good, even of those we love. Yet, howcould David, knowing Maggie as he did, do her this shame? Alas! DavidPromoter thought very badly of the majority of men and women. It was hisopinion that God had so made them, that they preferred evil to good, andonly by some special kind of Divine favor and help--such as had beenvouchsafed to himself--chose the right road. 

He certainly grieved for Maggie; but oh! how bitterly he felt the wrongshe had done him. For her own indulgence, how she would curtail and crampall his future college course! He had hitherto dressed well, and been ableto buy easily all the books he needed. For the future he would have torely upon his own exertions; for his first decision had been to pay backthe money he had taken from Allan's fund, and make the proceeds of histeaching defray his class fees. When he had done this, he had only £8left, out of the £50 which his father had left accumulated; but he was toreceive £25 from Prof. Laird for his two months' services, and with this£33, and the stray teaching he would certainly find to do, he really hadno fear of pushing his way through the next year. But yet he felt keenlythe bondage to care and necessity which Maggie's selfishness had put himunder. He never thought of blaming himself. It did not occur to him thatshe had rights as sacred as his own. "The cruelty of her! The cruelty ofher!" he kept saying, as he moodily paced his little room. He did notremember his own indifference, nor reflect that a trifle of kindness, eventhe small favor of a-weekly visit, would have kept the girl contentedlyunder his own eye. 

But David had marked out his course, and he was not the man to permit anywoman to seriously interfere with his plans. He put down with a mightywill his grief and disappointment, and shame, and went off to the Hebrideswith his pupil. But in spite of himself, Maggie went with him. He wascompelled to be very economical, and he could not quite get rid ofanxiety, and of planning for the future, which the change in his moneyaffairs forced upon him. And it was all Maggie's fault. "Her weakness, her craving 'to be made of, ' and to be happy, her inability to bear alittle feminine gossip, her longing after the companionship of himself--or another. " Maggie, after all, spoiled the trip to which he had lookedforward for half a year with longing and delight. 

When he returned to the Candleriggs, the first thing he saw was a letterfrom Maggie. It had been lying upon his table for some weeks. In factMaggie had written it soon after her removal to Drumloch, but she did notwish to post it from so small a place, and she therefore waited until herfirst visit to Glasgow, which occurred early in August. She had rememberedthe time when it was possible that David might go to Pittenloch, and shefeared that he would be very miserable when he found out that she hadnever returned to Kinkell. Without revealing her own location orcircumstances, she wished to satisfy him as far as possible of herinnocence and welfare; so she had thus written--

"Dear Davie. I am feared you will not get this, ere you find out I did notgo back yonder day you sent me. I have met with good friends, and amliving honest and happy. Have no fear anent me. I will do right, and dowell. Where I am there is no ill can be said of me, and no ill can come tome. I was glad beyond telling to read of your well-doing. You'll win tothe top of the tree, Davie, I aye thought that. Some day, you will find itin your heart to love Maggie, and to forgive her, that she was forced tolay an anxious thought on you. Your true, loving sister, Maggie Promoter. "

The letter was a comfort to him, and for a moment or two a great surprise. The writing was Maggie's writing, but much improved, the spelling wascorrect. It was evident that she was trying to teach herself, and itpleased him somewhat; although he was far from considering education as anecessity for women. "To think of Maggie reading the newspapers!" heexclaimed; "but then, " he reflected, "she had doubtless been looking for aword about him, " and with this thought, he became just, even tender, toher memory. As he folded away the letter, he said, "I was wrong to thinkwrong of her. She was always a good girl, and very fond of me. It would belong ere she would do aught to hurt my good name. It's no to be thoughtof. " So with a lighter heart he went bravely to work again, and the weeksand months in their busy monotony passed wisely and quickly away. 

To Maggie also, they went wisely and quickly, although life at Drumlochwas far from being monotonous. Mary had the quick, nervous temperamentwhich is eager for change and movement. She went frequently into Glasgowto give and to attend entertainments, for Drumloch was yet in the hands ofpainters and upholsterers. But she always went alone. She had fully madeup her mind that it would not be well to let John Campbell see Maggie. Ifhe liked her, he would be sure to write to Allan, and curtail hisprobation, and Mary felt that such a course would be an injustice to herplans for the gradual preparation of the girl for the position she mighthave to fill. 

So Maggie was left in charge at Drumloch. Almost imperceptibly she rose tothis duty. First one thing, then another, was fully grasped by her, untilthe steward and the housekeeper took her directions as readily as they didthose of Miss Campbell. Maggie had a natural aptitude for comprehendingsmall pecuniary and household details, "accounts" did not confuse her, andthey did seriously confuse Mary. She could make nothing of the "books"which her head servants rendered weekly, and which were clear to Maggie. So, while Mary was entertaining in Blytheswood Square, and going to dinnerparties, and dances, Maggie was equally happy looking after the hundredthings which from the village, the farm, the gardens and the housedemanded her supervision and direction. 

During this winter John Campbell did not often visit Drumloch, and when hedid Mary had always a long list of shopping for Maggie to attend to inGlasgow. The change was pleasant to Maggie and it was also pleasant toMary; for it cannot be denied, that she sometimes, at this period, chafedunder her self-imposed duty. Every one has peculiarities; they may beadmirable ones, and yet be irritating to those whose peculiarities run ina different direction. There were occasional days in which Mary felt thatit was the first necessity of life to get rid of Maggie Promoter for alittle while. But she never suffered Maggie to suspect this feeling; shewas even at such times effusively kind to her, and generally compromisedwith her conscience by giving her _protégé_ some rich or pretty present. 

Thus the winter passed, and in May Mary went to London. John Campbellaccompanied her; he had not been well for some months and he hoped thechange of scene would benefit him. Also, he had a great pride in hisniece, and he was no little pleased when she was presented at Court, andfor some months reigned a belle in the very best Scottish society in themetropolis. At this time she had not much interest in Drumloch, thoughMaggie wrote to her daily, and Maggie's letters were wonderfully cleverand amusing. And yet she had not received any special lessons; she hadsimply passed in a silent sort of way out of a region of ignorance, intoone penetrated by the thought of educated men and women. There had been inher mentally a happy unconscious growth upward, like that of awell-watered plant. But no system of education could have been soexcellently fitted for her development. The charge taught herself-reliance; the undisputed authority she wielded imparted to her mannerease and dignity, and that nameless something which is the result ofassured position. There was also the advantage of a conscious, persistenteffort on Maggie's own part; she tried to make every letter she wrote moreneat, and clear, and interesting. She took pride in the arrangement of herhair, was anxious about the fit of her dresses, and did not regard theright mixture of colors in her costumes as a thing beneath herconsideration. Early in July Mary returned to Drumloch. She had come asfar as Glasgow with a party who were going to Oban. Oban was then littleknown. During the summer tourists of the wealthy and cultivated classes, who had read Scott's "Lord of Isles, " came on short pilgrimages to thepretty clachan; but it was not, as now, the Charing Cross of theHighlands, where all the world you see. 

 "The doctor and the scholar. The poor man with his penny fee. The rich man with his dollar. The priest who steals short holiday, The prince who goes incog, sir The schoolboy with his dreams of play, The sportsman with his dog, sir. "

"We are going over classic ground, Maggie, and we will read the 'Lord ofthe Isles' together this week, ere we put a foot on it, " said Mary, whowas in a merry mood with life, and all the love and care of it. 

"But if I go also, what shall be done with Drumloch?"

"Mrs. Leslie and Bruce will do the best they can; and for the rest, letthings 'gae tapsal-teerie, ' as Uncle John says. I have made up my mind, Maggie, to take you with us, and I am not going to be disappointed for atrifle. Oh, Maggie! how we shall enjoy the great bens, and the corrieshazy with blue bells, and the wonderful isles of Skye and Iona. "

"Skye! My mother was a Skye woman. I should like well to see Skye. Howlong shall we be away?"

"Only a month. Winter comes soon among the mountains, and the roads arebad, even the sea road, which is the one we shall take. "

"I have a tryst, " said Maggie, blushing scarlet; "it is at the end ofAugust. I canna break it; if I did, life would be a miserable uncertaintyto me, and maybe, to some one else. "

Then Mary remembered how nearly the two years of Allan's absence wereover; and she understood well what tryst Maggie had to keep. "We shall beback in Glasgow by the 20th of August. How long will it take you to keepthis tryst, Maggie?"

"I would ask a week to go and come again. "

"But would you come again?"

"I would do that whate'er befell. "

"Do you think your lover will be there?"

"He said that. "

"And do you believe in him after two years?"

"Yes. I believe in every word he said. He will be there. "

"You shall be there also, Maggie, though we should have to send specialhorses and carriages with you. I intend to be back at Drumloch about the22d, that will give you plenty of time. When you return we will go toBlytheswood Square, until Uncle John gets home. "

"What would take him at all to a heathen country like Russia?"

"They are not quite heathens, Maggie; indeed, I believe they claim to bethe best kind of Christians; and Russian rubles turn into very goodEnglish sovereigns. There was some trouble about one of his ships atOdessa, and as a very clever London physician said that Uncle John neededtravel and change, he thought he would go himself and see about it. But heis one of those men who do not like to tread in their own footsteps, soinstead of coming back by the way he went, he will pass through Russianorthward, to a port on the Baltic, called Riga, where also he has somebusiness. I think Riga is on the Baltic; suppose you get the atlas, and wewill trace his course together. "

"I have heard you speak much of Mr. Campbell, I would like well to seehim. "

"You should have seen him ere this, Maggie; but I was waiting until--until, you looked and spoke as you do this morning;" and she rose andkissed the blush of Maggie's cheek, and then turned the conversation tothe dark tartans which she thought would be the best material fortravelling dresses. "And we want them very prettily made, " she added, witha rising color, "for it is fine folk we are going to meet, Maggie--LordJohn Forfar, and Captain Manners, and Lady Emma Bruce, and Miss Napier; soyou see, Miss Promoter and Miss Campbell must dress accordingly. "

Maggie was young enough and happy enough to feel all the excitement of theproposed trip. Still she was troubled about her tryst with Allan. Oban andthe Highlands were so far away. In Pittenloch, her mother, coming fromSkye, had been looked upon almost as a foreigner. She was quite unable tocompute the distances; she knew nothing of the time it would take totravel them: she felt ashamed to show anxiety to Mary on the matter. "ButI'll trust my way to His ordering. He'll no let me be too late for anygood thing He wills me;" and having thus settled the subject in her heart, she went about the necessary preparations in a joy of anticipation, whichmade Mary feel how pleasant it would be to have so fresh and charming acompanion. 

Two weeks afterward they were in Oban, watching from the heights theexquisite bay, and the lovely isle of Kerrera, the high mountains of Mull, and Ossian's "Misty Morven. " The Petrel, a cutter yacht of forty tons, waslying at anchor. In the morning they were to start for a glimpse of theAtlantic across the purple bogs of the Lews; going by way of Mull andCanna, and swinging round Barra Head, toward the red, rent bastions ofSkye. Through that charmful circle of the outer isles, with theirslumbrous tarns, and meres, and treeless solitudes they went. And oh, howfull of strange and dreamy beauty were the long quiet summer days in thatland of mystic forgetfulness! that great, secret land of waters, with itsirresistible tides, and the constant ocean murmur haunting it like aspirit voice. 

Maggie enjoyed them with all her soul, though she did not speak in italicsabout her feelings; perhaps she did not know very well how to expressherself. Forty years ago, even highly educated women did not rave aboutscenery, they knew nothing of shadows and colors, nothing of "effects"scarped, jagged and rifted. Neither had they any uneasy consciousness thatthey ought to blend the simple delights of fresh air, fresh scenes, andpleasant company, with some higher kind of recreation. 

Coming home through the sound of Barra, Mary said, "We are a day or twolate, Maggie, but I have not forgotten your tryst. We shall run down thecoast now, and round the Mull of Kintyre on the 24th. The next day we maybe at Drumloch, that will be early enough?"

"Mair than enough, Miss Campbell. I needna leave Drumloch until the 27th, though if it came easy I would leave before that. "

"How near we are to the cliffs; we are rippling the shadows along shore. Look at those forlorn headlands, Maggie. It was the sombre sadness of thisland that charmed the early saints, and girt all these isles with theirsolitary cells. "

"I liked well to read about them; and I can never think of Iona withoutremembering Columba with his face bright from the communion of angels. "

"And the hymn he wrote there, Maggie, we shall never forget that; itbreathes the soul of the saint, and pictures the scene of his saintship. Now to the cries of the sea-birds overhead, let us have a few lines; theswell of the waves will keep the time and the tune. "

 "That I might often see The face of the ocean. That I might see its heaving waves Over the wide ocean, When they chaunt music to their Father Upon the world's course, That I might see its level sparkling strand, It would be no cause of sorrow, That I might hear the songs of the wonderful birds, Source of happiness; That I might hear the thunder of the crowding waves Upon the rocks; That I might hear the roar by the side of the church Of the surrounding sea, That I might see its ebb and flood In their career; That I might bless the Lord Who conserves all, Heaven with its countless bright orders. Land, strand and flood. At times kneeling to beloved Heaven; At times psalm-singing; At times contemplating the King of Heaven, Holy, the Chief; At times work without compulsion; This would be delightful; At times plucking duilisc from the rocks; At times fishing; At times giving food to the poor; At times in a solitary cell. The best advice in the presence of God To me has been vouchsafed. The King, whose servant I am, will not let Anything deceive me. "

 _Skene_, Celtic Scotland, v. 2, p. 93. 

"Thank you, Maggie, historical places are not much to see, often, but theyare a great deal to feel. That hymn set me back into the sixth century, and I have been wondering what sort of women you and I would have beenthen. Perhaps nuns, Maggie. "

"We will not think ill o' ourselves, Miss Campbell. Nane o' the Promoterswere ever Catholics. "

"The Campbells prayed as the king prayed always--we have been a prudentclan for both worlds, Maggie. 'To get on' has been the one thing needfulwith us; but there are many families of that kind. Has not the windchanged?"

"Yes; it looks like bad weather;" and the mist as she spoke came rollingdown the sound with the swoop of a falcon. Hitherto they had beensingularly fortunate. "Fine weather and fair winds, " had been the usualmorning greeting; or if a passing squall appeared it had found them nearto some sheltered loch, or inlet. Lord Forfar was for putting intoBoisdale, for the glass was going down rapidly; but Lady Bruce was sure, "a little breeze would be a most delightful change. "

It was not very likely to be so with the wind rising out of the northeast;and ere long the Petrel's topmast was sent down, and a double reef put inher mainsail. Until midnight it blew hard with a fast rising sea, and amist as thick as a hedge. After this, it was ugly weather all the wayhome, and as they passed Ailsa Craig the wind changed to full north, andfetched the sea down with it. 

"The waves come high down the Frith, " said Maggie to the owner of theyacht, a hardy young fellow who leaned against the taffrail, and watchedhis boat hammering through the heavy seas. 

"They come any size you like down here, Miss Promoter. But our skipper isa good sailor; he has only one fault; he drives a boat without mercy. Still I think even Captain Toddy will run for shelter to-night. "

Captain Toddy thought not. He had a name for carrying on, and the Petrelwas not his boat if she did get a bit crushed. So the ladies, sittingunder the weather railing, watched the storm from among the folds ofyellow oilskin in which they had been tucked. Ere long, in the thick of agusty squall, the Petrel took her first header very heavily. Her bowdisappeared to the butts, and with a tremendous noise the sea came overthe deck in a deluge. Every plunge she made it was the same thing, and allof the ladies were thoroughly drenched. The cabin was wet and miserable, and there was no promise of any favorable change. Evidently the best thingto do was to make for the port of Ayr; for on the following day MaryCampbell was suffering very much from the effects of her exposure, andwhen Captain Toddy let the anchor fly underfoot pretty near the 'auldBrig' she was in a high fever, and breathing with pain and difficulty. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE BROKEN TRYST. 

 "I sit on my creepie, and spin at my wheel, And I think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel; He had but ae sixpence, he brake it in twa, And gied me the hauf o' t when he gaed awa'. He said, think na lang lassie tho' I gang awa'. I'll come and see you in spite o' them a'"

 --Logie O Buchan. 

"I am going to be ill, " said Mary, with trembling lips, "I feel as if Iwere walking into a great darkness, Maggie. "

They were driving toward Drumloch in the early morning, and there was thathaunted, terrified look in her eyes, with which a soul apprehensive ofsuffering and danger bespeaks the help and sympathy of those near to it. Maggie had seen the look before; the little children dying upon her kneeshad pierced her heart with it. She remembered it, even in the eyes ofstrong men driven by a sense of duty or humanity into the jaws of death. Mary took her hand and clung to it; and let her head fall helplessly uponMaggie's breast. When they reached home, she had almost to be carried toher room, and servants were sent off on fleet horses for medical aid. 

"A bad case of inflammation of the lungs, " was the doctor's verdict. "Itis likely to be a serious business, Miss Promoter, and Miss Campbell'sfriends should be informed at once of her condition. "

Mary would not be spoken to on the subject. "Her uncle, " she said, "washer only friend. In his last letter he had told her to send communicationsto the Hotel Neva at Riga. It was uncertain when he would get there. Andwhat was the use of alarming him, when he was too far away to help her?"Maggie perceived from the first moment of Mary's conviction of danger andsuffering, that the girl had flung herself upon her love and care. Withall her soul she accepted the charge. She would have held herself asunworthy to live if she had had one moment's reluctance in the matter. Instrong physical anguish it is almost impossible to be generous andself-forgetting, and Mary, in the first hours of acute, lacerating agony, forgot all things but her ever-present need of relief. Early in the secondday the fever reached the brain, and her talk became incoherent. Itrequired all Maggie's firm strength and tender love to control thesuffering girl. 

And it was nearly time for her tryst with Allan. On the twenty-ninth ofAugust he had bidden her farewell; two years from that day he had promisedto be in Pittenloch. She believed he would keep his promise; but how wasshe to keep hers? Only by being recreant to every sentiment of honor, gratitude and humanity. "And if I could be that false to Mary Campbell, Iwad weel deserve that Allan should be false to me, " she said. She hadnever read Carlyle, never heard of him, but she arrived at his famousdictum, as millions of good men and women have done, by the simplestprocess of conscientious thought: "I'll do the duty that lies close by myhand and heart, and leave the rest to One wiser than I am. "

She remembered also that she could write to Allan. There was a bare chancethat he might get the letter, especially if he should linger a few days inFife. But although she was ignorant of the action which David had takenwith regard to Janet Caird, she never thought of addressing the letter toher care. For a moment she hesitated between Willie Johnson and ElderMackelvine, but finally chose the former, for Willie and Allan had beengreat friends, and she was certain if Allan went to Pittenloch he wouldnot leave the village without seeing his old boat mate. It was a loving, modest little letter, explaining the case in which she found herself, andbegging him to come to Drumloch and say a word of kindness to her. Whenshe folded and sealed it, she thought with pleasure of Allan'sastonishment and delight at her improvement; and many an hour she passed, calculating, as well as she could, the distance, the time, and the chancesof Allan receiving her message. 

As it happened, he just missed it; but it was Maggie's own fault. If shehad trusted it to the Drumloch mail-bag and servant it would have reachedDalry on the twenty-ninth; and on that day Willie Johnson was in thepost-village, and received several letters lying there for himself andothers in Pittenloch. But when, in our anxiety, we trust to our ownjudgment, instead of to that something which, for lack of a better name, we call good fortune, we are usually, and perhaps justly, deserted by goodfortune. Maggie feared the footman would shirk her solitary letter, andperhaps keep it until his regular visit to the post the following day; soshe gave it to the doctor, earnestly asking him to post it as he passedthrough the town. And the doctor fully intended to do so, but he was metby an urgent call for help; he forgot it then; he did not pass near thepost-office for two days, and the two days might as well have been twomonths, for it was fully that time before Willie Johnson received his nextletters. 

Mary was exceedingly ill on the twenty-ninth. Her soul had reached thevery border-land of being. In the dim, still room she lay, painfullybreathing, faintly murmuring words unintelligible and very far away. Butas Maggie sat motionless beside her, sometimes hopelessly watching, sometimes softly praying, she could not help thinking of the beach atPittenloch, of the fresh salt air, and the sea coming in with the wind, and the motion and sparkle and sunshine, and the tall, handsome man sheloved looking with sorrowful longing for her. And though she never grudgedMary one moment of the joy she was sacrificing, yet her tears dropped uponthe clay-like hands she clasped in her own; for human love and human hopesare very sweet, never perhaps more sweet than in the very hour in which weyield them up to some noble duty, or some cruel fatality. 

And Maggie mourned most of all, because Allan would think her faithless;would judge her from the wicked, envious tongues that had driven her fromher home; and it is always the drop of injustice in sorrow that makessorrow intolerable. Only, Maggie trusted! In spite of many a moment's fearand doubt she trusted! Trusted God, and trusted Allan, and trusted thatsomehow out of sorrow would come joy; and as she stepped softly about herloving cares, or watched, almost breathlessly, Mary passing Death'shaggard hills, she often whispered to herself part of a little poem theyhad learned together:

 "I will try to hope and to trust in God! In the excellent Glory His abode Hath been from of old; thence looketh He, And surely He cannot help seeing me. And I think perhaps He thinks of me; For my heart is with Him continually. "

In the meantime, Allan, like all true lovers, had outrun the clock to keephis tryst. On the evening of the 28th of August a small steamer castanchor at Pittenloch pier. She had one passenger, Allan Campbell. He hadbeen waiting two days in Leith, but no boat from Pittenloch having arrivedduring that time, he had hired a small steamer to run up the coast withhim. He landed in the evening, just about the time the lamps in thecottages were being lit; and he looked eagerly toward the Promoter cottagefor some such cheering sign. As he looked, the window became red, and heleaped off the boat in a fever of joyful expectation. Surely Maggie wouldbe watching! The arrival of a strange steamer must have told her who wascoming. Every moment he expected to see her at the open door. As he nearedit, the turfs sent up a ruddy glow, and touched the whole interior withwarm color. The entrance was light, but the house place was empty. Smilingto himself, he went in, and stood upon the snow-white hearth, and glancedround the dear, familiar room. Nothing was changed. In a moment or two heheard a step; he looked eagerly toward it, and a very pleasant-looking oldwoman entered. 

"I thocht it wad be you, Maister Campbell. Welcome hame, sir! I'll mak youa cup o' tea anon, for the kettle's boiling, and a' things ready. "

"Thank you. I don't remember--I suppose Mistress Caird has left?"

"Sent awa', sir--not before she deserved it. "

"And you are in her place? I think I have seen you before?"

"Nae doot, sir. I'm Mysie Jardine--the Widow Jardine, sir. "

"And Maggie? Is she near by? At home? Where is she?"

"There is nane ken that, sir. "

"What do you mean, Mysie?"

"Maggie's gane awa', sir. "

"Maggie gone away! Where to?"

"'Deed, sir, I'd be fain to ken where to--but I hae the house for the careo' things; and David Promoter left word that if I took up Maggie's name inmy lips, I wad be to leave instanter; sae I'll say naething at a'. ElderMackelvine kens a' that anybody kens, and when you hae had a drap o' tea, you can ask him a' the questions you like to. "

"Never mind tea, I am going at once to Mackelvine's. "

"I'll be to get your room ready, sir; and put a bit o' fire in it, and thelike o' that?"

"Yes, I shall come back here. " He felt stunned, and glad to get into thefresh air. Maggie gone! He could hardly believe the words he had heard. Sorrow, anxiety, keen disappointment, amazement, possessed him; but evenin those moments of miserable uncertainty he had not one hard or wrongthought of Maggie. Elder Mackelvine's cottage was quite at the other endof the village, and he was walking rapidly down the shingle toward it, when he met Willie Johnson. 

"I heard tell you were here, Maister Campbell, and I cam' instanter tomeet you, sir. You'll hae to bide wi' us to-night, for a' is changed atthe Promoters. "

"So I see, Willie. " Then mindful of Maggie's good name, and of the factthat their betrothal was unknown, he said, with as much of his old manneras he could assume, "What has come to the Promoters? I hope some goodfortune?"

"I hope that, too; but there's nane can say, if it be good or ill. Davie, you will dootless hae heard tell o'?"

"I have heard nothing from him for two years. "

"Then your ears will be like to tingle wi' the news; for he has sethimsel' in a' the high seats in Glasca' College; and folks talk o'naething less than a Glasca' pu'pit for him; and you ken, it tak's doctorsin divinity to stand up afore a Glasca' congregation. Elder Mackelvinenever wearies o' talking anent him. For mysel', I canna say I ever likithim o'er weel; and since puir Maggie gaed awa', I hae ta'en littlepleasure in the honor he has done oor village. "

"Maggie gone away! Where to?"

"Nane can tell. She had a sair trial wi' yonder auld harridan her brotherbrought to bide wi' her. "

"I did not like the woman, Willie. "

"Like her? Wha wad like her but the blackhearted and the black-tongued?She gied the girl's gude name awa' to win hersel' a bit honor wi' auldwives, and even the minister at first was against Maggie; sae when shecouldna thole her trouble langer, she went to her brither, and folks say, he gied her the cold shoulder likewise. But when four months had gane hecam' here oot o' his wits nearly, and sent Janet Caird hame wi' a word, and the care o' the house was put on Mysie Jardine. Davie hasna set e'enon his cottage, nor foot in it, since; nor sent any word to his auldfrien's--though as to frien's it is naething less than a professor hechanges hats or the time o' day with noo, they tell me; and I can weelbelieve it, for he aye had the pride o' a Nebuchadnezzar in him. "

Elder Mackelvine in a measure corroborated Willie Johnson's statements. Maggie had been "hardly spoken of, " he admitted; but "I dinna approve o'the way oot o' trouble that she took, " he added sternly. "Lasses ought tosit still and thole wrang, until He undertakes their case. If Maggie hadbided in her hame a few weeks langer, He wad hae brought oot herrighteousness as the noon-day. There was a setting o' public feeling inthe right direction followed close on her leaving, and then cam' Dr. Balmuto wi' searchings, and examinations, and strong reproofs, for a', and sundry; and I didna escape mysel';" said the elder in a tone ofinjury. 

"What could they say wrong of Maggie Promoter?" asked Allan, with flashingeyes. 

"Ou, ay, a better girl ne'er broke her cake; but folks said this, andthat, and to tell the even-down truth, they put your ain name, sir, wi'hers--and what but shame could come o' your name and her name in the samebreath?"

"'Shame!' Who dared to use my name to shame hers with? Let me tell you, elder, and you may tell every man and woman in Pittenloch, that if I couldcall Maggie Promoter my wife, I would count it the greatest honor andhappiness God could give me. And if I find her to-morrow, and she willmarry me, I will make her Mrs. Allan Campbell the same hour. "

"You are an honorable young man, there's my hand, and I respect you wi' a'my heart. Gudewife, mak' us a cup o' tea, and put some herring to toast. Maister Campbell will eat wi' me this night, and we' hae a bed to sparelikewise, if he will tak' it. "

Allan gratefully ate supper with the elder, but he preferred to occupy hisold room in the Promoter cottage. "I have a kind of right there, " he said, with a sorrowful smile, "I hired it for two years, and my term is notquite out yet. "

"And David told me also, that whenever you came, this year, or any year, to gie you the key o' it. You will find a' your books and picturesuntouched; for when Dr. Balmuto heard tell what trouble Maggie had had tokeep Janet Caird oot o' it, he daured her to put her foot inside; andDavie cam' himsel' not long after, and took her back to Dron Point in awhiff and a hurry, wi' nae words aboot it. "

"I am afraid David is much to blame about his sister. He should have letMaggie stay with him. "

"I'll no hear David Promoter blamed. He explained the hale circumstanceso' the case to me, and I dinna think the charge o' a grown, handsome girllike Maggie was comformable, or to be thocht o'. A man that is climbingthe pu'pit stairs, canna hae any woman hanging on to him. It's no decent, it's no to be expectit. You ken yoursel' what women are, they canna betrusted wi' out bit and bridle, and David Promoter, when he had heard a'that Maggie had to complain o', thocht still that she needed over-sight, and that it was best for her to be among her ain people. He sent her backwi' a letter to Dr. Balmuto, and he told her to bide under the doctor'sspeech and ken, and the girl ought to hae done what she was bid to do; andso far I dinna excuse her; and I dinna think her brother is to hae a wordo' blame. A divinity student has limitations, sir; and womenfolk are cleanoutside o' them. "

The elder was not a man who readily admitted petty faults in his own sex. He thought women had a monopoly of them. He was quite ready to confessthat their tongues had been "tongues o' fire;" but then, he said, "Maggiehad the 'Ordinances' and the 'Promises, ' and she should hae waited wi'mair patience. Davie was doing weel to himsel' and going to be an honor toher, and to the village, and the country, and the hale Kirk o' Scotland, and it was the heighth o' unreason to mak' him accountable for troublethat cam' o' women's tongues. "

That night Allan slept again in his old room; but we cannot bring back theold feelings by simply going back to the old places. Besides, nothing wasjust the same. His room wanted, he knew not what; he could not hear thelow murmur of Maggie's voice as she talked to her brother; or the solemnsound of David's, as he read the Exercise. Footfalls, little laughs, slight movements, the rustle of garments, so many inexpressible keys toemotion were silent. He was too tired also to lay any sensible plans forfinding Maggie; before he knew it, he had succumbed to his physical andmental weariness, and fallen fast asleep. 

He kept the boat waiting two days in Pittenloch, but on the morning of thethird sorrowfully turned his back upon the place of his disappointment. Hefelt that he could see no one, nor yet take any further step until he hadspoken with David Promoter; and late the same night he was in theCandleriggs Street of Glasgow. He was so weary and faint that David'ssonorous, strong, "come in, " startled him. The two men looked steadily ateach other a moment, a look on both sides full of suspicion and inquiry. Allan was the first to speak. He had taken in at a glance the tall sombregrandeur of David's appearance, his spiritual look, the clear truthfulnessof his piercing eyes, and without reasoning he walked forward and said, somewhat sadly, "Well, David?"

"I do not know if it is well or ill, Mr. Campbell, and I will not shakehands on uncertain grounds, sir. Ken you where my sister is?"

"How can you wrong me so, David Promoter? But that would be a small wrongin comparison--how can you shame Maggie by such a question of me? Sincewe parted in Pittenloch I have neither seen nor heard from her. _Oh, Maggie! Maggie!_"

He could control himself no longer. As he paced the small room, the tearsstood in his eyes, and he locked and unlocked his hands in a passionateeffort to relieve his emotion. David looked at him with a stern curiosity. "You are mair than needfully anxious, sir. Do you think Maggie Promoterhas no brother? What is Maggie to you?"

"Everything! Everything! Life is hopeless, worthless, without Maggie. Sheis my promised wife. I would give every shilling I have in the worldrather than lose her. I would throw the whole of my world behind me, andgo into the fishing boats for her. I love her, sir, as you never can loveany woman. Do you think I would have given Maggie a heartache, or letMaggie slip beyond my ken, for all the honor and glory in the world, orfor a pulpit as high as the Tower of Babel?"

"Dinna confound things, Mr. Campbell. Maggie, and the pulpit, and theTower o' Babel are a' different. If you love Maggie sae blindly as a'that, whatna for did you leave her then? Why didn't you speak to me anentthe matter? Let me tell you, that was your plain duty, and you are noosupping the broo you hae brewed for yoursel'. "

David was under powerful emotion, and culture disappeared; "he had got tohis Scotch;" for though a man may speak many languages, he has only onemother tongue; and when the heart throbs, and glows, and burns, he goesback to it. "Why didna you speak wi' me?" he asked again, as he let hishand fall upon the table to emphasize the inquiry. 

"I will tell you why. Because Maggie loved you, and thought for you, andwould not put one dark drop into your cup of happiness. Because she wasafraid that if you knew I loved her, you would think I had tried to helpyou from that motive, and so, refuse the help. Because the dear girl wouldnot wound even your self complacency. Do not think I am ashamed of her, orashamed of loving her. I told my father, I told the only female relative Ihave, how dear she was to me. My father asked me to test my love by twoyears' travel and absence. I did so to convince him, not because I doubtedmyself. Do you know where Maggie is? If you do, tell me, I have a right tosee her. "

David went to a big Bible lying on a small table, and took from among itsleaves three letters. "I have had these from her at different times. Twoyou see are posted in Glasgow, the last received was posted three weeksago, from Portree, in Skye. She says she is with friends, and doing well, and you have but to read the letters to understand she is with those whoare more than kind to her. There are few women in Scotland that couldwrite a letter like her last. It shows a mind well opened, and the pen o aready writer. "

"May I have them?"

"Since you make so great a claim on Maggie, you may; but why did she notwrite to you, if you were trothplighted?"

"Because it was fully understood there was to be no communication of anykind between us for two years. That much I owed to the best of fathers. Also, as you know, Maggie has learned to write since we parted. But Iought to have made surer provision for her happiness. I am only rightlypunished for trusting her where I did. "

"You trusted her with her ain brother, Mr. Campbell. If Maggie had done asshe should hae done--"

"Maggie has done perfectly right. I am sure of that. I could swear to it. "

"Sir, we will keep to lawful language. Christian gentlemen don't needoaths. I say Maggie should have gone to Dr. Balmuto when I sent her. "

"I do not know the circumstances, but I say she ought not to have gone toDr. Balmuto. I am sure she only did whatever was wise and womanly. "

"There is no use in reasoning with one who talks without knowledge. If Iget any information about Maggie, or from her, I will send it to youraddress. I love Maggie. The lassie aye loved me. She wouldna thank you tospeak sae sharply to me. She will tell you some day that I did all thatcould be expectit of me. "

"Forgive me, David. I feel almost broken-hearted. I am irritable also forwant of food. I have not eaten since early this morning. "

"That is not right, sir. Sit down, in a few minutes you shall have allthat is needful. "

"No, no; I must go home. Half an hour will take me there. Shake hands, David. Whatever differences we may have, you, at least, understand fullythat I never could wrong your sister. "

"I am glad to give you my hand, sir. I owe you more than can be told. Ihad not been where I am to-day but for you. "

"And if there is anything more needed?"

"There is nothing more, sir. I have paid back all I borrowed. I have beenfortunate above my fellows. I owe you only the gratitude I freely andconstantly pay. "

Allan scarcely understood him; he grasped the hand David offered him, thenwalked to Argyle Street and called a cab; in half an hour, he was in hisown rooms in the Blytheswood Square house. His advent caused a littlesensation; the housekeeper almost felt it to be a wrong. "In the verythick of the cleaning!" she exclaimed; "every bit of furniture underlinen, and all the silver put by in flannel. Miss Campbell said she wasnacoming until the end o' September; and as for Mr. Allan, every one thoughthe was at a safe distance. We'll hae to hurry wi' the paint work noo, andif there's one thing mair than anither no to be bided it's hurrying upwhat should be taken pains wi'. "

Generally Allan would have been conscious of the disapproval his visitevoked, and he would have reconciled the servants to any amount of troubleby apologies and regrets; but at this time his mind was full of far morepersonal and serious affairs. He had been inclined to think the very bestof Maggie, to be quite certain that she had been detained by circumstancesabsolutely uncontrollable by her; but after reading again and again herletters to David, he did think she ought to have had some writtenexplanation of her absence waiting for him. She knew he would certainlysee either Willie Johnson or Elder Mackelvine, and he felt that she might--if she wished--have spared him much anxiety and disappointment. 

He longed now to see his father; he determined to tell him the truth, andbe guided by his advice. But John Campbell's last letter to his son hadbeen dated from Southern Russia, and it was scarcely likely he would be inGlasgow for three weeks. However, Mary Campbell was at Drumloch, and hethought as he sipped his coffee, that it would probably be the best thingto go there, rest for a day or two with his cousin, and if he found hersympathetic, ask her help in his perplexity. 

He called at the office on his way to the railway station, and he was metby the manager with an exclamation of peculiar satisfaction. "No one couldbe more welcome at this hour, Mr. Allan, " he said; "we were all longingfor you. There is bad news from Russia. "

"My father?"

"Is very ill. He took a severe cold in a night journey over the NovgorodSteppe, and he is prostrate with rheumatic fever at Riga. I had just toldLuggan to be ready to leave by to-night's train for Hull. I think thatwill be the quickest route. "

"I can catch the noon train. I will call in an hour for money and advices, and go myself. "

"That is what I expected as soon as I saw you. Have you heard that MissCampbell is very ill?"

"No. Is she at Drumloch? Who is caring for her?"

"She is at Drumloch. Dr. Fleming goes from Glasgow every day to consultwith the Ayr doctor. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Leslie, is an old servant, shewas with Miss Campbell's mother; forbye, Fleming says, she has with her ayoung lady friend who never leaves the sick room night or day. "

"I was just going out to Drumloch, but that is now neither possible nordesirable. I could be of no use to Miss Campbell, I can be everything tomy father. "

Allan had only one call to make. It was upon a middle-aged man, who hadlong been employed by their house in affairs demanding discernment andsecrecy. Few words passed between them. Allan laid a small likeness ofMaggie on the table with a £100 Bank of England note, and said, "SimonFraser, I want you to find that young lady for me. If you have good newswhen I return, I will give you another hundred pounds. "

"Have you any suggestions, Mr. Allan? Is she in Glasgow?"

"I think so. You might watch churches and dressmakers. "

"Am I to speak to her?"

"Not a word. "

"Shall I go to the office with reports?"

"No. Keep all information until I come for it. Remember the lady is worthyof the deepest respect. On no account suffer her to discover that you aredoing for me what unavoidable circumstances prevent me from doing myself. "

An hour after this interview Allan was on his way to Riga. In every lifethere are a few sharp transitions. People pass in a moment, as it were, from one condition to another, and it seemed to Allan as if he never couldbe quite the same again. That intangible, un-namable charm of a happy andthoughtless youth had suddenly slipped away from him, and he was sure thatat this hour he looked at things as he could not have looked at them aweek before. And yet extremities always find men better than they thinkthey are. His love and his duty set before Allan, he had not put his ownhappiness for one moment before his father's welfare and relief. Withoutdelay and without grudging he had answered his call for help and sympathy. 

But while he was hurrying on his journey of love and succor, Maggie waswatching in an indescribable sickness of delayed hope. If Allan got herletter on the 29th she thought he would surely be at Drumloch on the 30th. She gave him until the evening. She invented excuses for his delay forseveral more wretched days. Then she resigned all hope of seeing him. Herletter had missed him, and perhaps he would never again visit Pittenloch. What a week of misery she spent! One morning Dr. Fleming turned hersharply to the light. "Miss Promoter, " he said, "you are very near ill. Go away and cry. Take a good cry. It may save you a deal of suffering. Iwill stay by Miss Campbell an hour. Run into the garden, my brave woman, and have it out with yourself. "

She was thankful to do so. She wrapped her plaid around her and almostfled to the thick laurel shrubbery. As she walked there she cried softly, "Oh, Allan, Allan, Allan, it wasna my fault, dearie! It wasna Maggie'sfault! It wasna Maggie's fault!" Her bit of broken sixpence hung by anarrow ribbon round her neck. She laid it in her hand, kissed it, and weptover it. "He'll maybe come back to me! He'll maybe come back to me! And ifhe never comes back I'll be aye true to him; true till death to him. He'llken it some time! He'll ken it some time!" She cried passionately; she lether quick nature have full way; and sobbed as she had been used to sobupon the beach of Pittenloch, or in the coverts of its bleak, black rocks. 

The cruelty of the separation, the doubt, the injustice that must minglein Allan's memory with her, this was what "rent her heart. " Oh, words ofterrible fidelity! And how was she to conceal, to bear this secret wound?And who should restore to her the dear face, the voice, the heart thatwrapped her in its love? In that sad hour how prodigal she was of tenderwords! Words which she would perhaps have withheld if Allan had been byher side. What passionate avowals of her affection she made, so sweet, sothrilling, that it would be a kind of profanation to write them. 

When she went back to the house she was weary, but calm. Only hope seemedto have gone forever. There are melancholy days in which the sun has nocolor, and the clouds hang in dark masses, gray upon darker gray. Life hasthe same pallors and glooms; we are weary of ourselves and of others, wehave the sensation of defeat upon defeat, of hopeless struggles, of mortallanguors that no faith can lift. As Maggie watched that day beside herfriend she felt such prostration. She smiled scornfully to herself as sheremembered that ever in the novels which she had read the lover and thehero always appeared in some such moments of extremity as she had gonethrough. But Allan had not found her in the laurel walk, and she did notbelieve he would ever try to find her again. Sorrow had not yet taught herthat destiny loves surprises. 

About midnight she walked into an adjoining dressing room and looked out. How cold and steely the river wound through the brown woods until itmingled with the ghostly film on the horizon! Through what cloudy crags, The moon came rushing like a stag, With one star like a hound, behind it! As she watched the solemn, restless picture, she was calledvery softly--"Maggie'"

The word was scarce audible, but she stepped swiftly back, and kneeling byMary's side lifted her wasted hand. The eyes that met hers had the lightof reason in them at last. 

"I am awake, Maggie. "

"Yes, dear. Do not talk, you have been ill; you are getting better. "

Mary smiled. The happiest of pillows is that which Death has frowned on, and passed over. "I am really getting well?"

"You are really getting well. Sleep again. "

There was a silence that could almost be felt; and Maggie sat breathlessin it. When it became too trying, she rose softly and went to the nextroom. There was a small table there, and on it a shaded lamp and a fewbooks. One of them was turned with its face downward and lookedunfamiliar; she lifted it, and saw on the fly-leaf, Cornelius Fleming, A. D. 1800. It was a pocket edition of the Alcestis in English, and thegood man had drawn a pencil opposite some lines, which he doubtlessintended Maggie to read:--

 "Manifold are the changes Which Providence may bring. Many unhoped for things God's power hath brought about. What seemeth, often happeneth not; And for unlikely things God findeth out a way. "

She smiled and laid the little volume down. "The tide has turned, " shethought, "and many an ill wind has driven a ship into a good harbor. Iwonder what was the matter with me this morning!" And she sat quiet with anew sense of peace in her heart, until the moon was low in the west, andthe far hills stood clear and garish in the cold white light of morning. Then Mary called her again. There was a look of pitiful anxiety on herface; she grasped Maggie's hand, and whispered "The 29th? Is it come?"

"Yes, dear. "

"Your tryst, Maggie?"

"I will keep it some other time. "

"Now, Maggie. To-day. At once. Oh Maggie! Go, go, go! I shall be ill againif you do not. "

It was useless to reason with her. She began to cry, to grow feverish. 

"I will go then. "

"And you will come back?"

"In three or four days. "

"Spare no money. He will be waiting. I know it. Haste, Maggie! Oh dear, you don't know--oh, be quick, for my sake. "

Then Maggie told Mrs. Leslie such facts as were necessary to account forMary's anxiety, and she also urged her to keep the appointment. "Betterlate than ever, " she said, "and you may not be too late; and anyhow thesalt air will do you good, and maybe set you beyond the fit o' sicknessyou look o'er like to have. "

So within an hour Maggie was speeding to the coast of Fife, faintly hopingthat Allan might still be there; "for he must ken by his own heart, " shethought, "that it would be life or death, and naething but life or death, that could make me break a promise I had made to him. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MEETING PLACE. 

 "Love's a divinity that speaks 'Awake Sweetheart!' and straightway breaks A lordlier light than sunshine's glow, A sweeter life than mortals know. I bow me to his fond command, Take life's great glory from his hand; Crowned in one moment's sweet surprise, When Somebody and I--changed eyes. "

Maggie had very little hope of meeting Allan, and yet he might havelingered. Judging him by her own heart, she thought he would have done so, unless circumstances of which she had no knowledge made waitingimpossible. It was this faint hope that made her wear the costume mostbecoming to her--a gown and mantle of dark blue cashmere and velvet, and awhite straw bonnet with bands and strings of blue velvet and one droopingplume of the same tint. Mary looked at her critically, and said, "You dome great credit, Maggie, I expect some one to be very pleased with me. Kiss me, dear, and be sure and bring good news back with you. "

Late that night Maggie reached Kinkell. She rested at its small innuntil daylight, then, ere any one was astir, she took the familiar pathdown the rocks. Perhaps she ought to have had a great many fine thoughts, and grateful emotions, on that walk; but people cannot feel to order, andMaggie's mind was wholly bent upon Allan and herself. She was also obligedto give much of her attention to her feet. The shelving narrow path, withits wide fissures and slight foothold, had become really dangerous to her. There were points at which she almost feared, and she felt more vividlythan ever she had done before how far the old life had slipped behind her. She had become unfit for it; she shrank from its dangers; and when shecame in sight of the cottages, and remembered the narrow orbit of lifewithin them, she shrank even from its comforts and pleasures. 

From her own cottage the smoke was rising in plentiful volume through thewhite wide chimney. She did not know of Janet Caird's removal, andsupposed she would have to parry all her old impertinences andcomplaints. When she opened the door Mysie, who was stooping over thefire toasting a cake, turned her head; then she lifted herself and droppeda courtesy. 

"I am only Maggie Promoter, Mysie. Is Janet Caird sick?"

"Why, Maggie! I'd never hae kent you, lassie! Come to the fire, for it israw and cold--I'm glad I had the fire kindled, and the kettle boiling--youcan hae your breakfast as soon as you like it. "

"I'll hae it the noo, Mysie. " She fell at once into her old speech, and asshe removed her bonnet and mantle asked again, "Is Aunt Janet sick?"

"I dinna ken, nor I dinna care much, either. She's gane awa' fraePittenloch, and Pittenloch had a gude riddance o' her. "

"Gane!"

"Ay; when your brother Davie cam' here, mair than a year syne, he just bidher pack her kist, and he and Troll Winans took her at daylight next mornto whar' she cam' frae. Elder Mackelvine made a grand exhort in the nextmeeting anent slandering folks; for Janet Caird was a gude text for it;and Kirsty Buchan said, it was a' the gude Pittenloch e'er got oot o'her. "

"David was here then?"

"Ay, he was here. Didna ye ken that?"

"Was there ony ither body here?"

"Ay, there was. A week syne here comes that bonnie young Allan Campbellthat was aye sae fond o' your brither Davie. "

"Did he stay here wi' you?"

"Ay, for sure he did. For three days he stayed; and he just daunderedroun' the boats and the beach, and lookit sae forlorn, wanting Davie andthe bonnie boat that had gane to the bottom, that folks were sorry forhim. He gied Elder Mackelvine twenty pounds for the widows o' Pittenloch, and he gied me mysel' a five pound note; and I could hae kissed the verafootmarks he made, he was that kindly and sorrowfu'. "

"Did he name my name, Mysie?"

"Ay, he did that. He sat in Davie's chair every night, and talked to meanent you a' the time maistly; and he said, 'Mysie, she'll maybe come backsome day; and if ever she does, you'll tell her I was here, and that Imissed her sairly; and he left a bit of paper for you wi' me. I'll get itfor you, when we hae had our breakfast. "

"Get it the noo, Mysie. I'm fain to see it; and I dinna want my breakfastmuch--and shut the door, and run the bolt in, Mysie; I'm no caring to seefolk. "

It was one of those letters which we have forgotten how to write--largeletter cap, folded within itself, and sealed with scarlet wax. It was, "Dearest Maggie! Sweetest Maggie! Best beloved of women!" It was full oftenderness, and trust, and sorrow, and undying affection. Maggie's tearswashed it like a shower of rain. Maggie's kisses sealed every promise, andreturned to the writer ten-fold every word of its passionate mournfuldevotion. 

She did not now regret her journey. Oh, she would most gladly have walkedevery mile of the way, to have found that letter at the end of it. "He'llcome back here, " she thought; "love will bring him back, and I know bymyself how glad he will be to hae a word from me. " In the drawer of thetable in Allan's room there was some paper and wax. Allan's letter hadbeen written with his pocket pencil, but she found among David's oldpapers the remains of several pencils, and with some little difficulty shemade them sufficiently sharp to express what she wished to say. 

She told him everything--where she had spent the time since they parted--how good Miss Campbell had been to her--how impossible it would havebeen to desert her in an hour of such need and peril--how much she hadsuffered in her broken tryst, and how longingly and lovingly she wouldwait for him at Drumloch, though she waited there until the end of herlife. "And every year, " she added, "I'll be, if God let me, in Pittenlochon the 29th of August, dear Allan;" for she thought it likely he mightcome again at that time next year. 

Into Mysie's hand this letter was given with many injunctions of secrecyand care. And then Maggie sat down to eat, and to talk over the minordetails of David's and Allan's visits; and the changes which had occurredin her native village since she left it. "I dinna want you to say I haebeen here, Mysie. I'll get awa' at the dinner hour, and nane will be thewiser. I can do nae gude to any one, and I'll maybe set folks wonderingand talking to ill purpose. "

"I can hold my whist, Maggie; if it's your will, I'll no speak your name. And I hope I hae keepit a' things to your liking in the cottage. If sae, you might gie me a screed o' writing to your brither, sae that when hecomes again, he'll be contented, and willing to let me bide on here. "

"I'll do that gladly, Mysie. Hoo is a' wi' you anent wark and siller?"

"I get on, Maggie; and there's a few folk do mair than that; forbye, Maister Campbell's five pounds will get me many a bit o' comfort thiswinter. "

"Hoo much weekly does Davie allow you for the caretaking?"

"He didna speak to me himsel'. He left Elder Mackelvine to find somedecent body wha wad be glad o' the comfortable shelter, and the elder giedme the favor. "

"Dinna you hae some bit o' siller beside frae Davie?"

"Na, na; I dinna expect it. The hame pays for the care o' it. "

"But I'll hae to pay you for the care o' my letter, Mysie, for I can weelafford it. I'll gie you two pounds for the next three months; and at thebeginning o' every quarter you'll find the two pounds at the minister'sfor you. He'll gie it, or he'll send it to you by the elder. "

"I dinna like to be paid for a kindness, Maggie. The young man was gude tome, and I'd do the kind turn to him gladly. "

"Weel, Mysie, David ought to hae minded the bit siller to you, and he waddootless hae done it, if he hadna been bothered oot o' his wits wi' AuntJanet. Sae, I'm only doing the duty for him. Davie isna mean, he is justthochtless anent a' things outside o' his college, or his books. "

At twelve o' clock, when every one was at their dinner, and the beach wasempty, Maggie easily got away without observation. She did not regret herjourney. She had Allan's letter and she had also a few withered flowerswhich he had gathered on the top of the cliffs during his visit, and leftin his room. Poor, little brown bits of gorse and heather, but they hadbeen in his hands, and were a precious and tangible link between them. The carriage which had brought her to Kinkell was waiting for her, andthe horses being refreshed and rested, she left immediately for Drumloch. 

She had many a thought to keep her company; but in the main, they werethoughts of hopeful love toward Allan, and of grateful affection towardMary. This visit to Pittenloch had enabled her to measure Mary's singularbeneficence and patience; and she was almost glad that she had been ableto prove her gratitude by a cheerful renunciation of hopes so dear and sopurely personal. She knew then, if she had never before known, the valueof what had been done for her, and she understood why David had soresolutely put aside everything that would interfere with his mentalculture. In such a mood, it was even easy to excuse his harshness. "Hefeared I would be a hindrance to him, " she thought; "and maybe, when a manis climbing out of ignorance into knowledge, he ought to be feared forhindrances, even though he likes them well. "

Mary Campbell, like most people of a nervous temperament, had a quick, sensitive ear. She heard Maggie's arrival and her step upon the stairlong before Mrs. Leslie did. She was still confined to her bed, but sheturned her questioning eyes eagerly to the door by which Maggie wouldenter. She came in so brightly, and with such a happy light on her face, that Mary felt sure the journey had been a successful one. 

"In time, Maggie, after all?" she whispered, as Maggie kissed her. 

"No, he did not wait for me:--but it is all right. "

"Oh Maggie! what a shame!"

"Don't say that, Miss Campbell. He kept his word. He left me a letter. Heis not to blame. No one is to blame. It will be all for the best. I am sureof that. "

"Never call me Miss Campbell again, Maggie. I am Mary, your friend, yoursister Mary. Do you think I can forget those dreadful days and nights whenyou walked with me, as I went through the Valley of the Shadow? Though Icould not speak to you I knew you were there. Your hand, so cool, sostrong, and gentle was what I clung to. On that last awful point of land, beyond which all was a black abyss, I clung to it. I heard your voice whenI had passed beyond all other earthly sounds. It was the one link left mebetween that world and this. Maggie! Maggie! You cannot tell how sorry Iam about this broken tryst. "

"You must not say that, dear. You must not talk any more. I have a letterthat makes it all right. We will speak of it again when you are stronger. "

"Yes, Maggie--and I know--I know--it is sure and certain to come right--very soon, Maggie. "

Indeed Mary had arrived at a very clear decision. As soon as she was able, she intended to write to Allan and bring him to Drumloch to meet Maggie. She would make a meeting for the lovers that should amply repay the onebroken for her sake. She knew now, that as Allan had been in Pittenloch, he had returned from America, and that he was still faithful to his love. She felt certain that there would be a letter from him among herAccumulated mail matter. Perhaps he had even called at Drumloch. The nexttime she was alone with Mrs. Leslie she asked if her cousin had been toDrumloch yet. "He was expected home about this time, " she said, "and Ishould not like him to be turned from the door, even if I am ill. "

"I heard that he had gone to Riga, Miss Campbell. Your uncle has been nojust well, and it was thought to be the right thing for Mr. Allan to goand be company hame for him There are letters nae doubt from baith o'them, but you willna be let meddle wi' the like o' thae things, yetawhile. "

The winter set in early, and cold, and Mary's recovery was retarded by it. At the beginning of November she had not left her own rooms. But at thattime her seclusion was mostly a precautionary measure. She had regainedmuch of her old sprightliness, and was full of plans for theentertainments she intended to give as soon as she was perfectly well. "I am going to introduce you to Glasgow society at the New Year, Maggie, "she said, "and I can imagine the sensation you will cause--the wonder--theinquiries--the inventions--and the lovers you will be sure to have! Ithink we shall enjoy it all, very much. "

Maggie thought so, also. She was delighted with the fine new costumesbeing made for Mary and herself. The discussions about them, their fittingon, their folding away in the great trunks destined for BlytheswoodSquare, helped to pass the dreary days of the chill damp autumn veryhappily. One morning early in November Mary got a letter which gave her agreat pleasure. "Uncle John is coming tonight, Maggie!" she cried. "Oh howglad I shall be to see him! We have both been to the door of death, andcome back to life. How much we shall have to say to each other! Now I wantyou to dress yourself with the greatest care to-night, Maggie; you must beready when I have exhausted words on your beauty, to step into hispresence, and make words seem the poorest kind of things. "

"What shall I wear?"

"Wear? Well, I think that dark brown satin is the most becoming of yourdinner gowns--and dress your hair behind very high and loosely, with thecarved shell comb--and those long brown curls, Maggie, push them behindyour pretty ears; your face does not need them, and behind the ears theyare bewitching. "

Maggie laughed. She liked handsome dress, and it pleased her to be calledhandsome. She had indeed a good many womanly foibles, and was perhaps themore loveable for them. Dr. Johnson thought that a man who did not carefor his dinner would not care for more important things; and it is certainthat a woman who does not care for her dress is very likely to be amental, perhaps also a moral, sloven. 

Mary had hoped to signalize her delight in her uncle's visit by going downstairs to dine with him; but the day was unusually damp and cold, and herproposal met with such strong opposition that she resigned the idea. She dressed herself early in a pretty chamber gown of pink silk trimmedwith minever; but in spite of the rosy color, the pallor of her sicknessand long confinement was very perceptible. The train that was to bringJohn Campbell reached Ayr at four o'clock, and Maggie saw the carriagehurrying off to meet it, as she went to her room to dress for dinner. Inless than an hour there was the stir of an arrival, and John Campbell'sslow, heavy tread upon the stairs, and Mary's cry of joy as she met him inthe upper corridor. 

Maggie went on dressing with an increase of happiness; she felt Mary'spleasure as if it were her own. With a natural and exquisite taste, sheraised high the loose soft coils of her nut-brovn hair; and let fall inlong and flowing grace the rich folds of nut-brown satin that robed her. She wore no ornaments of any kind, except a cluster of white asters in herbelt, which Mary had given her from those brought for her own use. 

She was just fastening them there when Mary entered. "You lovely woman!"she cried enthusiastically. "I think you must look like Helen of Troy. Ihave a mind to call you Helen. Have you reflected that you will have to beUncle John's host? So before I take you to him, go down stairs, dear, andsee if the table is pretty, and all just as I should like to have it forhim. And if there are no flowers on the table, Maggie, go to theconservatory and cut the loveliest you can find--only if you stay toolong, I shall send Uncle John to find you. "

She passed out nodding and smiling and looking unusually beautiful andhappy. Maggie found that the dinner table was splendidly laid, but it was, as she expected, destitute of flowers, because it had always been eitherMary's or her own pleasure to cut them. The conservatory was an additionto the large double drawing-rooms on the opposite side of the hall, andshe was rather astonished to see that the fires had been lighted in them. At the entrance of the conservatory she stood a moment, wondering if shecould reach a superb white camellia, shining above her like a star amongits dark green leaves. As she hesitated, Allan opened the door, and walkedstraight to the hearth. He did not see Maggie, and her first impulse wasto retreat into the shadow of some palms beside her. A slight movementmade him turn. She stood there smiling, blushing, waiting. 

"Maggie!"

The cry was one of utter wonder and delight. "Oh, my love! My love!My love!" He held her in his arms. She was his forever now. "Not deathitself shall part us again, " he whispered, with that extravagance ofattachment which is permissible to lovers. For what lover ever spokereasonably? The lover that can do so is not a lover; he is fathoms belowthat diviner atmosphere whose language is, of necessity, as well aschoice, foolishness to the uninitiated. 

Allan had been sent by Mary for some book she affected to particularlywant. He forgot the book, as Maggie forgot the flowers, and inhalf-an-hour, John Campbell was sent after his dilatory son. Old men donot like surprises as well as lovers, and Mary had thought it best toprepare him for the meeting that was close at hand. He had felt a littlefear of the shock he was sure he would have to bear as graciously aspossible. But pleasant shocks do not hurt, and John Campbell's spiritsrose as soon as his eyes fell upon the beautiful woman standing by hisson's side. He came forward with smiles, he welcomed Maggie, and calledher "daughter" with a genuine pride and tenderness. 

Very soon he reminded the lovers that he was an old man who thought highlyof his dinner; he gave Maggie his arm and led her into the dining-room. There were no flowers on the table, and the meats were a little out oftime and past savor, but Allan and Maggie were oblivious of such trifles, and John Campbell was too polite, and perhaps also too sympathetic toremind them that they were still in Ayrshire, and that Ayrshire was notEden. And though Mary had not been able to witness the happiness she hadplanned, she felt it. It seemed to pervade the house like some quickeratmosphere. She had even a better appetite, and the servants also seemedconscious of a new joy, and indefinable promise of festivity--somethingfar more subtle than a bird in the air had carried the matter to everyheart. 

After dinner, while John Campbell was talking to Maggie, Allan went to seeMary. She was still on her sofa, a little tired, but very happy and verypretty. He knelt down by her side, and kissed her, as he whispered, "OhMary! My sister Mary! How good you have been to me! It is wonderful! Icannot thank you, dear, as I want to. I am so happy, so happy, Mary; andit is your doing. "

"I know how glad and grateful you are, Allan. The work was its own reward. I love Maggie. She has far more than repaid me. My dear Allan, you aregoing to be a very happy man. Now you may go to Maggie, and tell UncleJohn that I expect him to sit with me to-night. "

They smiled gladly at each other as they parted, and yet as soon as thedoor was shut between them they sighed. In the very height of ourhappiness why do we often sigh? Is it because the soul pities itself forjoys so fleeting that they are like the shadow of a bird "that wings theskies and with whose flight the shadow flies. " For even to-morrow therewould be some change, however slight. Allan knew that never again couldhe taste just this night's felicity. And blessed are they who take God'sgift of joy every hour as it comes, and who do not postpone the happinessof this life unto the next one. 

Early in the morning Allan went to see David. He had removed from theCandleriggs, and he found him in comparatively handsome rooms in Monteithterrace. He rose to meet Allan with a troubled look, and said at once, "Ihave no more information, Mr. Campbell. I am very sorry for the fact. "

"David, I have found Maggie! I am come to take you to see her. "

"Why has she not come to see me? I think that is her duty, and I'm noinclined to excuse her from it. She has given me many a troubled hour, Mr. Campbell, and she ought to say some word anent it. "

"There are always whys and wherefores, David, that cannot be explained ina minute or two. She has been living with my cousin, Miss Campbell ofDrumloch. I think that circumstance will warrant your faith in Maggiewithout further explanations at present. " Allan was so happy, he could notbe angry; not even when David still hesitated, and spoke of lectures to beattended, and translations yet unfinished. 

"Come, come, " he said persuasively; "shut your books, David, and let'saway to the 'Banks and Braes o' bonnie Doon'. Miss Campbell and Maggie areboth anxious to see you. We cannot be quite happy without you, David. "

Then smiling, yet half-reluctant, he went to his room to dress. When hereturned--hat and gloves in hand--Allan could not but look at him with alittle amazement. His suit of black broadcloth was cut in the strictestecclesiastical fashion, and admirably set off the dusky pallor and finestature of the young student. Every minor detail was in keeping. His linenband and cuffs were fine and white, the fit of his shoes and glovesperfect, the glossy excellence of his hat beyond a cavil. 

"I am at your service now, Mr. Campbell, though let me tell you, I think Iam giving-in to Maggie more than I ought to, sir. "

"David, we are going to be brothers, and I am proud and glad of it. Suppose you drop the Mr. Campbell and the sir--I think it is quite time. "

"There is a measure of respect in the word sir; and I wouldna care to dropit altogether with my nearest and dearest; I like it for myself whiles. But I am fain of the brotherhood, Allan; and I will give you with all myheart a brother's love and honor. "

Then David surrendered himself to the pleasure of the hour. He had neverbeen in that part of Scotland before, but he knew every historical andliterary landmark better than Allan did. And when he drove through thefine part of Drumloch, and came in sight of the picturesque and handsomepile of buildings, he said with a queer smile, "The Promotors don't flitfor a bare shelter, Maggie found a bonnie hiding place. "

He was quite as much delighted and astonished at his sister's appearanceand improvement, but he did not express it. He kissed her kindly, but hisfirst words had the spirit of the reproof he thought she well deserved:"Maggie Promoter, you did not behave well to me yonder day I sent youhome, as it was my duty to do. If the Lord hadna undertaken the guiding o'you, you wad hae made a sair mistake, my lassie! But I'll say nae mair, seeing that He has brought gude out o' evil and right out o' wrang. "

"I am sorry, Davie, very sorry, but--"

"That is enough. And you are like to do weel to yourself; and we may baithsay, that He has aye carried the purse for us, ever since the day He tookour father and bread-winner from us. And though you have been whiles asair thought to me, yet now you are going to be an honor and a rejoicingand I am a very proud and happy brother this day, Maggie. "

John Campbell was still at Drumloch, and David and he "sorted" from thefirst moment of their meeting. They had ecclesiastical opinions incommon, especially in regard to the "Freedom of the Kirk" from all laysupremacy;--a question then simmering in every Scotch heart, and destineda little later to find its solution in the moral majesty of the "Free KirkMovement. " David's glowing speech stirred him, as speech always stirs theheart, when it interprets persuasion and belief ripened into faith: andfaith become a passionate intuition. That he was the master spirit of thecompany was shown by the fact that he kept the conversation in his owngroove, and at his own will. Mrs. Leslie made him her deepest courtesy, and the old butler threw into all his services an amount of respect onlygiven by him to his spiritual masters and teachers. 

And David took all with that unconscious adaptation of attention whichindicates those born to authority and to honor. When asked after dinner ifhe would pay his respects to the mistress of Drumloch, he rose calmly andwith a real unconcern. He had sat with doctors of divinity, and facedlearned professors with a thesis or an exegesis that touched the roots ofthe most solemn propositions; an interview with a lady a little youngerthan himself was not likely to disturb his equanimity. For he was yet inthat callow stage of sentient being, which has not been inspired andirradiated by "the light that lies in woman's eyes. "

That night as they sat together Maggie's and Allan's marriage wasdiscussed. "They want to be married very quietly, " said Mary laughing. "Did you ever hear such nonsense, Uncle John? There has not been awedding feast in Drumloch for seventy years. We will grace the old rooms, and handsel all the new ones with the blythest bridal Ayrshire has seen ina century. Don't you agree with me, Mr. Promoter?"

Certainly Mr. Promoter did; and the kirk also, he said, had aye favored apublic binding of the sacred tie, not to go further back to the weddingfeast at Cana, honored by His presence and provided for by His hand. 

"And Maggie shall walk in silk attire; and we will dress the rooms inflags and flowers, and lay a great feast, and call friends and neighborsfrom afar. For we have the bonniest bride to show them that ever 'steppedstately east or west from Drumloch's bonnie braes'. "

CHAPTER XV. 

WOO'D AND MARRIED AND A'. 

 "My love is fair, I could not he'p but choose him My love is good, I could not bear to lose him. My love is wise, oh, what could I refuse him?"

 "And Love, our light at night and shade at noon, Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away All shafts of shelterless, tumultuous day Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune, And as soft waters warble to the moon Our answering spirits chime one roundelay"

A "blythesome bridal" is a traditional Scotch law, not to be lightlybroken by either rich or poor. Its non-observance usually implied somesorrowful element, and Mary's national, as well as natural desire, astherefore toward an elaborate festal ceremony. As soon as this intentionwas put into words their very echo seemed to be a prelude to the comingjoy. 

The old, still house acquired, no one could very well tell how, an air ofexpectation and pleasant hurry. Guest chambers, that had not been usedfor many years, were prepared for occupation. 

The ceremony was to take place on New Year's Day; so that the lovers wereto date a fresh life from a fresh year--a year in which they had shed notears, nor feared, nor been in any strait or disappointment. They wouldwrite upon its first page their marriage joy; and in order to do so wouldnot need to wipe out one sorrowful memory. In the meantime they dwelt in aland of delights. Wonderful things happened to Maggie every day. JohnCampbell never wearied of sending her presents. "She is my daughter, " hesaid, "and what for will I not send her the plenishing for her bridal?"Allan gave her jewels. Mary ransacked her antique "_awmries_" andcabinets for the laces of by-gone Campbell beauties; and spent hersovereigns lavishly on modern fairy-like webs for the wedding garments. 

It would have been unlovely and unwomanly in Maggie not to be happy; notto be a little excited, not perhaps, sometimes, to have been a littletrying. For a great happiness is often depressing to those who have towitness its exultation, prolonged day after day. Ordinary mortals feeloutside of it, and it strikes them with a vague, but certain, fear. Maryoften said to herself--"I would not be so silly about any one as Maggie isabout Allan. I hope if ever I do fall in love, a measure of common sensewill be granted me. "

Still people usually show a singular patience and tolerance with lovers. The old have "been in Arcadia, " and have tender memories of it. The younghave a wistful anticipation, a sympathetic curiosity. At any rate, thecourtship was only to last six weeks, and Mary determined, howeverprovoking the engaged pair might be, that she would put all down to thefact that lovers believe themselves to be a sublimated couple, quite outof the community of ordinary mortals; and being so happy andself-satisfied with themselves, they could not understand why every oneelse was not in the same supreme condition. 

And Mary Campbell was right; for if love is to have anything like theplace in real life, that it has in poetry--if we have any faith in thatmighty ruler of hearts and lives, a genuine love affair, we ought not todim the glory of marriage by denying it this sojourn in a veritable landof enchantment; for in its atmosphere many fine feelings blossom, thatnever would have birth at all, if the niceties and delicacies of courtshipwere superseded by the levelling rapidity of marriage. There is time forwriting and reading love letters, and both tongue and pen get familiarwith affectionate and noble sentiments. We may admit that love-making isan unreasonable and impracticable piece of business; but in this verycircumstance all its charm lies. Love delights in asserting theincredible, and in believing the impossible. But it is precisely in thedepths of this delicious foolishness that the heart attains its noblestgrowth. There may be many grander hopes, many calmer and more reasonablejoys in store for us, but, "There's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream. "

At length the wonderful day arrived. It had been well prepared for, andall was in readiness. There was no hurry, no fret, no uncertainty. Earlyin the morning men began to hang the old battle flags and armor of theCampbells of Drumloch and to adorn the rooms with myrtle and freshflowers. It was not the fashion then to turn the house into aconservatory, but the effect of the scattered groups of flowers, andbridal wreaths, was far more festal in character. 

At four o'clock the party were all assembled, and in response to someunderstood signal, the clergy grouped themselves at one end of the largeparlors. Then Allan entered at the other. With him was a minister in silkcassock and white lawn bands. It was Dr. Balmuto. Maggie followed, leaningupon John Campbell's arm. An involuntary stir, a murmur of admiration, greeted her. She was dressed in a robe of ivory-tinted silk, interwovenwith threads of pure silver. Exquisite lace veiled her throat and arms;opals and diamonds glowed and glinted among it. Her fine hair wasbeautifully arranged, and in her hand she carried the small Testament uponwhich she would seal her vows. 

Even David Promoter responded in some measure to the influence of thehour. Not often did he permit himself to lose sight of the great object ofhis existence; but this was an "occasion, " when he felt that he mightlawfully put his sister, and his natural interest in her, before otherhopes and aims. And this day, he was really proud of Maggie. She had donewell unto herself; she had justified all his own intentions toward her;she had allied him with one of the best families in the west of Scotland. He kissed her with a tender approval, and reminded her, as it was indeedhis duty, how good God had been to her, and how, He had brought her also, unto her "desired haven. "

He gave her this short homily, as he stood before her in Mary's littleparlor, just ere the wedding service began. Maggie listened to him with atouching gratitude and humility. In her eyes David was something more thana brother. He had laid his hand upon the altar and was set apart for itsministering. And he looked, every inch of him, the priest of his people. For David had always considered the proper habit of his order a subjectworthy of his careful attention; and on this auspicious occasion he wasdressed with the utmost care. Even among the varied and splendid uniformsof the military officers present, David Promoter's rich and sombrevestment was very noticeable. No one could deny that he was a singularlyhandsome and distinguished-looking man. It was upon his arm Mary Campbellentered, and her delicate beauty, enhanced by a white robe of somediaphanous material, made a telling contrast to the young minister's tallform, and black raiment. 

Maggie, on her father-in-law's arm, was but a few steps in advance ofthem. They saw Allan turn and watch her coming to him, and the light onhis face transfigured it. This was the woman he had been born to meet; thewoman that was the completion of his own nature. Once more he caught at aventure the beautiful eyes through which had come their first recognition;and he saw that they met his full of glad confidence and happy expectation. 

Dr. Balmuto's charge was a very solemn and a very loving one. The tearswere on his cheeks as Maggie stood before him. He spoke to her as gentlyas if she were his own daughter. He bade her look forward to the joyfulduties of her lot. He laid her hand in Allan's hand with a blessing. Thenfrom every lip arose the triumphant strains of the one hundred andtwenty-eighth psalm--the happy, hopeful wedding psalm--and with thegracious benediction, Allan and Maggie turned with smiling faces towardtheir future. 

The first months of their married life were to be spent in Continentaltravel. Maggie was to see all the famous places, which, as yet, were onlynames to her, and Allan was to see them again through her eyes. They wentaway in the gay, splendid fashion of the time, in an open landau drawn byfour horses, with outriders. The guests crowded the hall and the opendoor; the servants gathered below them; the tenants lined the road to thesmall station which they had selected for their starting point. And thusin a very triumph of joy they started upon their long life journey. 

The festivities of the bridal were continued for many days, both in thecastle and among the servants; and during them the young couple wereabundantly discussed. One of these discussions, occurring between thefactor of the estate and Miss Campbell's maid, is worth repeating, as itindicated a possible motive in the reticent little lady's life with whichher friends were not familiar. 

"Wha are these Promoters?" asked the factor. 

"They are a Fife family. "

"Wasna that handsome young minister her brother?"

"He was that. "

"He seems to hae set his heart on the heiress o' Drumloch. "

"Captain Manners has the same notion. "

"The minister will win. "

"The minister will _not win. Not he!"_

The words were so emphatically snapped out that they were followed by adistinct silence. 

"Jessie, " the factor said, "you are vera positive; but if there is onething mair unreliable than anither, it is a woman's fancy. The minister isa braw lad. "

"I ken ane that's worth twenty o' him, ay, I'll say, fifty o' him. "

"You're no surely meaning that young Glasca' lawyer that comes here, whiles. "

"You're no surely meaning to pass an insult on Miss Mary, factor. I'mthinking o' my Lord Forfar, and nae ither man to match him. He would kissmy lady's little shoon, and think the honor too much for king or kaiser. And for a' their plumes, and gold, and scarlet, the rattle o' theirswords, and the jingle o' their spurs, there wasna an officer at thebridal I'd name in the same breath wi' Lord Lionel Forfar. "

"But the minister"--

"_Houts_! What does a bonnie lady, young and rich and beautiful, wantwi' a minister body, unless it be to marry her to some ither lad?"

"You're for Forfar because he is Fife. "

"You're right--partly. I'm Fife mysel'. A' my gude common sense comes fraeFife. But for that matter, the minister comes from the auld 'kingdom' too. "

They were talking in a little room adjoining the servants' dining hall. The factor was smoking, Jessie stood on the stone hearth, tapping her footrestlessly upon it. 

"What's the man thinking o'?" she exclaimed after a little. "One would sayyou were at a funeral instead o' a wedding. "

"Thoughts canna always be sent here or there, Jessie. I was wondering whatwould come o' Drumloch if my lady took the Fife road. It would gie me saireen to see its bonnie braes in the market. "

"Think shame o' yoursel' for the vera thought--

 'The Campbells will sit in Drumloch's halls, Till the crown be lost and the kingdom falls'

When the lady goes to her fate, there's a laird waiting, I trow, to takeher place; and weel will he fill it. "

"You'll be meaning Mr. John Campbell?"

"Wha else? He was born in the house, and please God, he'll die in itsshelter. If my lady goes to Forfar Castle what will she want wi' Drumloch?A good sum o' lying siller will be better for her, and she would ratherbide Miss Campbell a' the days o' her life, than take the hame o' theCampbells to strange folk. "

"I wish her weel always, but I'm no against the thought o' serving JohnCampbell again. Women are whiles vera trying in the way o' business. There's naething but arithmetic needed in business, but they will bring a'sorts o' im-prac-ti-ca-ble elements into it likewise. "

"I hope you mean naething wrang by that big word, factor. "

"Nae wrang, nae wrang, Jessie. Miss Campbell is easy to do for, and shehas bonnie ladylike ways wi' her; but I'd like fine to see that grand, grey-headed auld gentleman laird o' the place. He'd bring a deal o'respect with him. "

"He would that; and folks would hear o' Drumloch in London; for MissCampbell said to that Glasca' law body, that her uncle would gie up thebusiness to his son Allan, and go into parliament himsel'--goodness kensthey need some douce, sensible men there. Hear to the fiddles! I feel themin the soles o' my feet! I never could sit still when '_Moneymusk_'was tingling in my ear chambers. Come awa', factor, and let us hae a reelthegither!"

"Wi' a' my heart, Jessie. And though I am on the wrang side o' fifty, there's none has a better spring than I hae. " He had laid down his pipe, and taken her hand as he spoke, and tripping and swaying to the enchantingstrains they went into the dancing hall together. 

"Nae wonder the fiddles made us come, it's the gypsy band, factor;" andJessie pointed out five or six dark, handsome fellows with tumbled blackhair, and half-shut gleaming eyes, who had ranged themselves with sullenshyness and half-rebellious order at the upper end of the room. But howwondrously their slim, supple fingers touched the bow, or the strings!They played like magicians, and wrought the slow, grave natures beforethem up to a very riot of ravishing motion. Faster and faster flew thebounding, sliding feet; the dancers being stimulated by the musicians, andthe musicians driven to a passion of excitement by those exhilaratingcries, and those snappings of the fingers, through which the canny Scotrelieves the rapture of his delicious dancing. 

But mere physical delight never satisfies even the humblest gathering ofthis douce nationality. In a few hours the fiddles were stopped, and thetable set out, and the great bowl of wedding punch brought in, to brightenwit, and song, and story. It was then very near the close of the day, andwith it came Mary Campbell to give the bridal toast. She had been dancingwith her own friends, and her cheeks were like a delicate flame, and hereyes like twin stars. Never had she looked so beautiful, as when standingamid the standing crowd, she raised the tiny glass above her head, andsaid in the sudden stillness--

 _"Here's to the bonnie Bride! Long may she live! and happy may she be!"_

Then hand clasped hand, and glass touched glass, and heart touched heart, and from every lip rang out, again and again, the loving, joyfulinvocation--

 "Here's to the bonnie Bride! Long may she live! and happy may she be!"