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diff --git a/old/60455-h/60455-h.htm b/old/60455-h/60455-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 7ba7186..0000000 --- a/old/60455-h/60455-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14301 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Highland Mary, by Clayton Mackenzie Legge. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -p.dropcap { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -p.dropcap:first-letter { - color: transparent; - visibility: hidden; - margin-left: -0.9em; -} - -img.dropcap { - float: left; - margin: 0.15em 0.5em 0 0; -} - -table { - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; - width: 90%; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -.bbox { - margin: auto; - max-width: 25em; - border: 4px solid black; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -td { - padding: 0.25em; - vertical-align: middle; -} - -.tdr { - text-align: right; -} - -.bbox2 { - margin: 2em auto; - max-width: 25em; - border: double black; - padding: 1em; -} - -.box-inner { - border-top: thin solid black; - border-bottom: thin solid black; -} - -.box-inner2 { - border-bottom: thin solid black; -} - -.caption { - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.dedication { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - line-height: 1.8em; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.pad1 { - padding-left: 4em; -} - -.pad2 { - padding-left: 8em; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .verse { - text-indent: -3em; - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent1 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.poetry .indent2 { - text-indent: -1em; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; - margin-right: 1em; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.spacer { - margin-left: 2em; - margin-right: 2em; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -@media handheld { - -img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -img.dropcap { - display: none; -} - -p.dropcap:first-letter { - color: inherit; - visibility: visible; - margin-left: 0; -} -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Highland Mary, by Clayton Mackenzie Legge - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Highland Mary - The Romance of a Poet - -Author: Clayton Mackenzie Legge - -Illustrator: William Kirkpatrick - -Release Date: October 8, 2019 [EBook #60455] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGHLAND MARY *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p class="titlepage larger">HIGHLAND MARY</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="750" alt="Cover image" /> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Highland Mary.”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="larger">HIGHLAND<br /> -MARY</span></p> - -<p class="center larger">The Romance of a Poet</p> - -<p class="titlepage">A<br /> -NOVEL</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">By</span><br /> -CLAYTON MACKENZIE LEGGE</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">Illustrated by</span><br /> -WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK</p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 200px;"> -<img src="images/cmc.jpg" width="200" height="180" alt="Logo of C. M. Clark Publishing Co." /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">1906</span><br /> -C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -<span class="smaller">BOSTON</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">Copyright, 1906.<br /> -THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.,<br /> -Boston, Mass.</p> - -<p class="center smaller">Entered at<br /> -Stationer’s Hall, London.</p> - -<p class="center smaller">Dramatic and all other<br /> -<span class="smcap">Rights Reserved</span>.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="dedication">TO<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap larger">The Rev. Dr. Donald Sage Mackay, D.D.</span>,<br /> -<i>Pastor of the Collegiate Church</i>,<br /> -<span class="smcap">New York City</span>.<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">I RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE THIS BOOK</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>FOREWORD</h2> - -<p>With apologies to Dame History for having taken liberties -with some of her famous characters, I would ask the Reader to -remember that this story is fiction and not history.</p> - -<p>I have made use of some of the most romantic episodes in the -life of Robert Burns, such as his courtship of Mary Campbell and -his love affair with Jean Armour, “the Belle of Mauchline,” and -many of the historical references and details are authentic.</p> - -<p>But my chief purpose in using these incidents was to make -“Highland Mary” as picturesque, lovable and interesting a character -in Fiction as she has always been in the History of Scotland.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clayton Mackenzie Legge.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>HIGHLAND MARY</h1> - -<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> - -<p>In the “but” or living-room (as it was termed in -Scotland) of a little whitewashed thatched cottage -near Auld Ayr in the land of the Doon, sat a quiet, -sedate trio of persons consisting of two men and a -woman. She who sat at the wheel busily engaged in -spinning was the mistress of the cot, a matronly, -middle-aged woman in peasant’s cap and ’kerchief.</p> - -<p>The other two occupants of the room for years -had been inseparable companions and cronies, and -when not at the village inn could be found sitting -by the fireside of one of their neighbors, smoking -their pipes in blissful laziness. And all Ayrshire -tolerated and even welcomed Tam O’Shanter and his -cronie, “Souter Johnny.”</p> - -<p>Tam was an Ayrshire farmer, considered fairly -well-to-do in the neighborhood, while Souter (shoemaker) -Johnny was the village cobbler, who seldom, -if ever, worked at his trade nowadays. All the -afternoon had they sat by the open fireplace, with its -roomy, projecting chimney, watching the peat burn, -seldom speaking, smoking their old smelly pipes, and -sighing contentedly as the warmth penetrated their -old bones.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns glanced at her uninvited guests occasionally -with no approving eye. If they must inflict -their presence on her, why couldn’t they talk, say -something, tell her some of the news, the gossip of -the village? she thought angrily; their everlasting -silence had grown very monotonous to the good -dame. She wished they would go. It was nearing -supper time, and Gilbert would soon be in from the -field, and she knew that he did not approve of the -two old cronies hanging around monopolizing the -fireplace to the exclusion of everyone else, and she did -not want any hard words between them and Gilbert. -Suddenly with a final whirl she fastened the end of -the yarn she was spinning, and getting up from -her seat set the wheel back against the whitewashed -wall.</p> - -<p>Then going to the old deal dresser, she took from -one of the drawers a white cloth and spread it -smoothly over the table, then from the rack, which -hung above it, she took the old blue dishes and quickly -set the table for their evening meal. At these preparations -for supper the old cronies looked eagerly -expectant, for none knew better than they the excellence -of the Widow Burns’ cooking, and a look of -pleasant anticipation stole over their sober faces as -they perceived the platter of scones on the table ready -to be placed on the hot slab of stone in the fireplace.</p> - -<p>Knocking the ashes from his pipe, Tam rose -unsteadily to his feet, and standing with his back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -to the fire, he admiringly watched the widow as she -bustled to and fro from table to dresser. “Ah, Mistress -Burns, ye’re a fine housekeeper,” he remarked -admiringly. “An’ ye’re a fine cook.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns turned on him sharply. “So is your -guidwife,” she said shortly, glancing out through the -low, deep, square window to where her second son -could be seen crossing the field to the house. She -hoped he would take the hint and go.</p> - -<p>“Aye, Mistress, I ken ye’re recht,” replied Tam, -meekly, with a dismal sigh. “But it’s a sorry bet o’ -supper I’ll be gang hame to this night, an’ ye ken -it’s a long journey, too, Mistress Burns,” he insinuated -slyly.</p> - -<p>“Sure it’s a lang, weary journey, Tam,” said Souter -Johnny, commiseratingly. “But think o’ the -warm welcome ye’ll be haein’ when ye meet your guidwife -at the door,” and a malicious twinkle gleamed in -his kindly but keen old eyes.</p> - -<p>“How is your guidwife, Tam O’Shanter?” inquired -Mistress Burns, as she placed some scones on -the hot hearthstone to bake.</p> - -<p>“She’s a maist unco woman, Mistress,” replied -Tam sorrowfully. “There’s no livin’ wi’ her o’ -late. She’s no a help or comfort to a mon at a’!” he -whined. Here Tam got a delicious whiff of the baking -scones, and his mouth as well as his eyes watered -as he continued pathetically, “If she could only -cook like ye, Mistress. Oh, ’twas a sorry day for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -Tam O’Shanter when he took such a scoldin’ beldame -for wife,” and Tam sat down, the picture of abject -distress.</p> - -<p>Souter regarded his cronie with a grim smile. He -had no pity for Tam, nor for any man, in fact, who -would not or could not rule his own household. -(Souter, by the by, had remained a bachelor.) However, -he did his best to console Tam whenever his -marital troubles were discussed.</p> - -<p>“Never mind, Tam,” he said sympathetically, -helping himself to a scone while Mistress Burns’ back -was turned. “Ye ken where ye can find all the comfort -and consolation ye can hold, if ye hae the tippence.”</p> - -<p>Tam wiped away a tear (tears came easily to -the old tyke in his constant state of semi-intoxication) -and gave a deep, prolonged sigh. “Aye, Souter, an’ -I feel mair at home in the Inn than I do with my guidwife,” -he answered mournfully. “I dinna mind telling -ye, she’s driven me to the Deil himsel’, by her daur -looks an’ ways. The only friend I hae left is Old -John Barleycorn,” and he wailed in maudlin despair.</p> - -<p>“He’s your best enemy, ye mean,” retorted Souter -dryly, relighting his pipe, after having demolished, -with evident relish, the last of his stolen scone.</p> - -<p>“Waesucks, mon,” he continued, assuming the -tone of Dominie Daddy Auld, who had tried in vain -to convert the two old sinners, much to their amusement -and inward elation. “Your guidwife told ye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -weel. Ye’re a skellum, Tam, a blethering, blustering, -drunken blellum,” and the old rogue looked slyly at -Mistress Burns to note the effect of his harangue.</p> - -<p>“Aye, ye’re right, Souter Johnny,” said the good -dame, nodding approval to him, and going up to -Tam, who was still sitting groaning by the fireside, -she shook him vigorously by the shoulder. “Stop -your groaning and grunting, ye old tyke, and listen -to me,” she said sharply. “Take your friend’s advice -and gi’ old John Barleycorn a wide berth.” -Here her voice dropped to a whisper, “or some day -ye’ll be catched wi’ warlocks in the mire, Tam -O’Shanter.” He stopped his noise and straightened -up in his chair.</p> - -<p>“Aye, and ghosties and witches will come yelpin’ -after ye as ye pass the auld haunted kirk at Alloway,” -added Souter sepulchrally, leaning over Tam -with fixed eyes and hand outstretched, clutching spasmodically -at imaginary objects floating before Tam’s -suspicious, angry eyes. Tam, however, was not to -be so easily frightened, and brushing Souter aside, he -jumped to his feet. “Souter Johnny, dinna ye -preach to me, mon,” he roared menacingly. “Ye -hae no reght. Let Daddy Auld do that! I dinna -fear the witches or ghosties, not I.” He staggered -to the window and pointed to an old white horse -standing meekly by the roadside.</p> - -<p>“Do ye see any auld faithful Maggie standin’ out -there?” he cried triumphantly. Not waiting for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -their answer, he continued proudly, “Nae witches can -catch Tam O’Shanter when he’s astride his auld -mare’s back, whether he is drunk or sober,” and he -glared defiantly at his listeners. At that moment -the door from the “ben” opened, and Gilbert Burns -entered the room. An angry frown wrinkled his -forehead as his gaze fell upon the two old cronies. A -hard worker himself, he could not abide laziness or -shiftlessness in another. He strode swiftly up to Tam, -who had suddenly lost his defiant attitude, but before -he could speak the bitter, impatient words which -rushed to his lips, his mother, knowing his uncertain -temper, shook her head at him remonstratingly. “Ah, -lad, I’m fair ye hae come in to rest a while, an’ to hae -a bit o’ supper,” she hurriedly said. “Set ye doon. -I hae some scones for ye, an’ Mollie has some rabbit -stew. Noo gie me your bonnet and coat, laddie,” and -taking them from him she hung them on the peg -behind the door, while Gilbert with a look of disgust -at the two old cronies sat down and proceeded -to butter his scones in moody silence. Tam and Souter, -however, did not appear in any wise abashed, and -perceiving they were not to be invited to eat with -Gilbert, they resumed their seats each side of the -fireplace and heaved a disconsolate sigh.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns, who had left the room for a moment, -now entered bearing a large bowl of the steaming -stew, which she set before her son, while directly after -her appeared old Mollie Dunn, the half-witted household<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -drudge. The time was when Mollie had been -the swiftest mail carrier between Dumfries and -Mauchline, but she was now content to have a home -with the Burns family, where, if the twinges of rheumatism -assailed her, she could rest her bones until -relief came. She now stood, a pleased grin on her -ugly face, watching Gilbert as he helped himself to a -generous portion of the stew which she had proudly -prepared for the evening meal.</p> - -<p>“Molly,” said her mistress sharply, “dinna ye -stand there idle; fetch me some hot water frae the -pot.”</p> - -<p>Molly got a pan from the rack and hurried to the -fireplace, where Tam was relighting his pipe with -a blazing ember, for the dozenth time. Molly -had no love for Tam, and finding him in her way, -she calmly gave a quick pull to his plaidie, and Tam, -who was in a crouching position, fell backward, -sprawling on the hearth in a decidedly undignified attitude. -With the roar of a wounded lion, he scrambled -to his feet, with the assistance of Souter, and shaking -his fist at the laughing Molly, he sputtered indignantly, -“Is the Deil himsel’ in ye, Molly Dunn? -Ye’re an impudent hussy, that’s what ye are.” Molly -glared at him defiantly for a moment, then calmly proceeded -to fill her pan with hot water, while the old -man, bursting with indignation, staggered over to the -dresser where Mistress Burns was brewing some -tea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mistress Burns,” he remonstrated almost tearfully, -“ye should teach your servants better manners. -Molly Dunn is a——” but he never finished his -sentence, for Molly, hurrying back with the hot -water, ran into him and, whether by design or accident -it was never known, spilled the hot contents of the pan -over Tam’s shins, whereupon he gave what resembled -a burlesque imitation of a Highland fling to the -accompaniment of roars of pain and anger from -himself and guffaws of laughter from Souter and -Molly. Even Mrs. Burns and Gilbert could not -resist a smile at the antics of the old tyke.</p> - -<p>“Toots, mon,” said Molly, not at all abashed at -the mischief she had done, “ye’re no hurt; ye’ll get -mair than that at hame, I’m tellin’ ye,” and she nodded -her head sagely.</p> - -<p>“Molly, hold your tongue,” said Mistress Burns -reprovingly, then she turned to Tam. “I hope ye’re -nae burnt bad.” But Tam was very angry, and turning -to Souter he cried wrathfully, “I’m gang -hame, Souter Johnny. I’ll no stay here to be insulted; -I’m gang hame.” And he started for the -door.</p> - -<p>“Dinna mind Molly; she’s daft like,” replied Souter -in a soothing voice. “Come and sit doon,” and -he tried to pull him toward the fireplace, but Tam -was not to be pacified. His dignity had been outraged.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, Souter, I thank ye!” he said firmly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -“An’ ye, too, Mistress Burns, for your kind invitation -to stay langer,” she looked at him quickly, -then gave a little sniff, “but I ken when I’m insulted,” -and disengaging himself from Souter’s restraining -hand, he started for the door once more.</p> - -<p>“An’ where will ye be gang at this hour, Tam?” -insinuated Souter slyly. “Ye ken your guidwife’s -temper.”</p> - -<p>“I’m gang over to the Inn,” replied Tam defiantly, -with his hand on the open door. “Will ye -gang alang wi’ me, Souter? A wee droppie will cheer -us both,” he continued persuasively.</p> - -<p>Souter looked anxiously at Gilbert’s stern, frowning -face, then back to Tam. “I’d like to amazin’ -weel, Tam,” he replied in a plaintive tone, “but ye -see——”</p> - -<p>“Johnny has promised me he’ll keep sober till -plantin’ is over,” interrupted Gilbert firmly; “after -that he can do as he likes.”</p> - -<p>“Ye should both be ashamed o’ yoursel’s drinkin’ -that vile whisky,” said Mrs. Burns angrily, and she -clacked her lips in disgust. “It is your worst enemy, -I’m tellin’ ye.”</p> - -<p>“Ye mind, Mistress Burns,” replied Souter, winking -his left eye at Tam, “ye mind the Scriptures -say, ‘Love your enemies.’ Weel, we’re just tryin’ to -obey the Scriptures, eh, Tam?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, Souter,” answered Tam with drunken gravity, -“I always obey the Scriptures.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here, mon, drink a cup of tea before ye gang -awa’,” said Mrs. Burns, and she took him a brimming -cup of the delicious beverage, thinking it might -assuage his thirst for something stronger. Tam -majestically waved it away.</p> - -<p>“Nay, I thank ye, Mistress Burns, I’ll no’ deprive -ye of it,” he answered with extreme condescension. -“Tea doesno’ agree with Tam O’Shanter.” He -pushed open the door. “I’m off to the Inn, where -the <i>tea</i> is more to my likin’. Guid-day to ye all,” and, -slamming the door behind him, he called Maggie to -his side, and jumping astride her old back galloped -speedily toward the village Inn. The last heard of -him that day was his voice lustily singing “The -Campbells Are Coming.”</p> - -<p>After he left the room Mistress Burns handed -Souter the cup of tea she had poured for Tam, and -soon the silence was unbroken save by an occasional -sigh from the old tyke as he sipped his tea.</p> - -<p>Presently Gilbert set down his empty cup, rose -and donned his coat. “Here we are drinking tea, -afternoon tea, as if we were of the quality,” he observed -sarcastically, “instead of being out in the fields -plowing the soil; there’s much to be done ere sundown.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, this suits me fine,” murmured Souter -contentedly, draining his cup. “I ken I was born -to be one o’ the quality; work doesno’ agree wi’ me, -o’er weel,” and he snuggled closer in his chair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye’re very much like my fine brother Robert in -that respect,” answered Gilbert bitterly, his face -growing stern and cold. “But we want no laggards -here on Mossgiel. Farmers must work, an’ work -hard, if they would live.” He walked to the window -and looked out over the untilled ground with hard, -angry eyes, and his heart filled with bitterness as he -thought of his elder brother. It had always fallen to -him to finish the many tasks his dreaming, thoughtless, -erratic brother had left unfinished, while the latter -sought some sequestered spot where, with pencil -and paper in hand, he would idle away his time writing -verses. And for a year now Robert had been in -Irvine, no doubt enjoying himself to the full, while -he, Gilbert, toiled and slaved at home to keep the poor -shelter over his dear ones. It was neither right nor -just, he thought, with an aching heart.</p> - -<p>“Ye ken, Gilbert,” said Souter Johnny, breaking -in on his reverie, “Robert wasna’ born to be a -farmer. He always cared more, even when a wee -laddie, for writin’ poetry and dreamin’ o’ the lasses -than toilin’ in the fields, more’s the pity.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns turned on him quickly. “Souter -Johnny, dinna ye dare say a word against Robert,” -she flashed indignantly. “He could turn the best -furrough o’ any lad in these parts, ye ken that -weel,” and Souter was completely annihilated by the -angry flash that gleamed in the mother’s eye, and it -was a very humble Souter that hesitatingly held out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -his cup to her, hoping to change the subject. “Hae -ye a wee droppie mair tea there, Mistress Burns?” -he meekly asked.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns was not to be mollified, however. -“Aye, but not for ye, ye skellum,” she answered -shortly, taking the cup from him and putting it in -the dishpan.</p> - -<p>“Come along, Souter,” said Gilbert, going to the -door. “We hae much to do ere sundown and hae -idled too long, noo. Come.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’re workin’ me too hard, Gilbert,” groaned -Souter despairingly. “My back is nigh broken; -bide a wee, mon!”</p> - -<p>A sharp whistle from without checked Gilbert as -he was about to reply. “The Posty has stopped at -the gate,” exclaimed Mistress Burns excitedly, rushing -to the window in time to see old Molly receive -a letter from that worthy, and then come running -back to the house. Hurrying to the door, she -snatched it from the old servant’s hands and eagerly -held it to the light. Molly peered anxiously over her -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“It’s frae Robbie,” she exclaimed delightedly. -“Keep quiet, noo, till I read it to the end.” As she -finished, the tears of gladness rolled down her smooth -cheek. “Oh, Gilbert,” she said, a little catch in her -voice, “Robert is comin’ back to us. He’ll be here -this day. Read it, lad, read for yoursel’.” He took -the letter and walked to the fireplace. After a slight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -pause he read it. As she watched him she noticed -with sudden apprehension the look of anger that -darkened his face. She had forgotten the misunderstanding -which had existed between the brothers since -their coming to Mossgiel to live, and suddenly her -heart misgave her.</p> - -<p>“Gilbert lad,” she hesitatingly said as he finished -the letter, “dinna say aught to Robert when he -comes hame about his rhyming, will ye, laddie?” -She paused and looked anxiously into his sullen face. -“He canna bear to be discouraged, ye ken,” and she -took the letter from him and put it in her bosom. -Gilbert remained silent and moody, a heavy frown -wrinkling his brow.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps all thoughts of poesy has left him -since he has been among strangers,” continued the -mother thoughtfully. “Ye ken he has been doin’ -right weel in Irvine; and it’s only because the flax -dresser’s shop has burned to the ground, and he -canna work any more, that he decides to come hame -to help us noo. Ye ken that, Gilbert.” She laid her -hand in tender pleading on his sunburnt arm.</p> - -<p>“He always shirked his work before,” replied -Gilbert bitterly, “and nae doot he will again. But -he maun work, an’ work hard, if he wants to stay -at Mossgiel. Nae more lyin’ around, scribblin’ on -every piece of paper he finds, a lot of nonsense, -which willna’ put food in his mouth, nor clothe his -back.” Mrs. Burns sighed deeply and sank into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -low stool beside her spinning wheel, he hands folded -for once idly in her lap, and gave herself up to her -disquieting thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Ye can talk all ye like,” exclaimed Souter, -who was ever ready with his advice, “but Robert -is too smart a lad to stay here for lang. He was -never cut out for a farmer nae mair was I.”</p> - -<p>“A farmer,” repeated Mrs. Burns, with a mirthless -little laugh. “An’ what is there in a farmer’s -life to pay for all the hardships he endures?” she -asked bitterly. “The constant grindin’ an’ endless -toil crushes all the life out o’ one in the struggle -for existence. Remember your father, Gilbert,” -and her voice broke at the flood of bitter recollection -which crowded her thoughts.</p> - -<p>“I have na forgotten him, mither,” replied Gilbert -quietly. “Nor am I likely to, for my ain lot in -life is nae better.” And pulling his cap down over -his eyes, he went back to the window and gazed moodily -out over the bare, rocky, profitless farm which -must be made to yield them a living. There was silence -for a time, broken only by the regular monotonous -ticking of the old clock. After a time Mrs. -Burns quietly left the room.</p> - -<p>“Oh, laddie,” whispered Souter as the door closed -behind her, coming up beside Gilbert, “did ye hear -the news that Tam O’Shanter brought frae Mauchline?”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean about Robert an’ some lassie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -there?” inquired Gilbert indifferently, after a brief -pause.</p> - -<p>“Aye!” returned Souter impressively, “but she’s -nae common lass, Gilbert. She’s Squire Armour’s -daughter Jean, called the Belle of Mauchline.”</p> - -<p>“I ken it’s no serious,” replied Gilbert sarcastically, -“for ye ken Robert’s heart is like a tinder -box, that flares up at the first whisper of passion,” -and he turned away from the window and started for -the door.</p> - -<p>“I canna’ understand,” reflected Souter, “how -the lad could forget his sweetheart, Highland Mary, -long enough to take up wi any ither lassie. They -were mighty fond o’ each ither before he went awa’ a -year ago. I can swear to that,” and he smiled -reminiscently.</p> - -<p>A look of despair swept over Gilbert’s face at the -idle words of the garrulous old man. He leaned -heavily against the door, for there was a dull, aching -pain at his heart of which he was physically conscious. -For a few moments he stood there with white drawn -face, trying hard to realize the bitter truth, that at -last the day had come, as he had feared it must come, -when he must step aside for the prodigal brother who -would now claim his sweetheart. And she would go to -him so gladly, he knew, without a single thought -of his loneliness or his sorrow. But she was not to -blame. It was only right that she should now be -with her sweetheart, that he must say farewell to those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -blissful walks along the banks of the Doon which for -almost a year he had enjoyed with Mary by his side. -His stern, tense lips relaxed, and a faint smile softened -his rugged features. How happy he had been -in his fool’s paradise. But he loved her so dearly -that he had been content just to be with her, to listen -to the sweetness of her voice as she prattled -innocently and lovingly of her absent sweetheart. -A snore from Souter, who had fallen asleep in his -chair, roused him from the fond reverie into which he -had fallen, and brought him back to earth with a start. -With a bitter smile he told himself he had no right -to complain. If he had allowed himself to fall in -love with his brother’s betrothed, he alone was to -blame, and he must suffer the consequence. Suddenly -a wild thought entered his brain. Suppose—and his -heart almost stopped beating at the thought—suppose -Robert had grown to love someone else, while -away, even better than he did Mary? He had heard -rumors of Robert’s many amourous escapades in -Mauchline; then perhaps Mary would again turn to -him for comfort. His eyes shone with renewed hope -and his heart was several degrees lighter as he left -the house. Going to the high knoll back of the cottage, -he gazed eagerly, longingly, across the moor -to where, in the hazy distance, the lofty turrets of -Castle Montgomery, the home of the winsome dairymaid, -Mary Campbell, reared their heads toward the -blue heavens.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Ye banks and braes and streams around</div> -<div class="verse">The Castle of Montgomery,</div> -<div class="verse">Green be your woods and fair your flowers,</div> -<div class="verse">Your waters never drumlie,</div> -<div class="verse">There summer first unfolds her robes,</div> -<div class="verse">And there the langest tarry,</div> -<div class="verse">For there I took the last farewell</div> -<div class="verse">O’ my sweet Highland Mary.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>At the foot of the hill on which stood Castle Montgomery -flowed the River Doon, winding and twisting -itself through richly wooded scenery on its way -to Ayr Bay. On the hillside of the stream stood the -old stone dairy, covered with ivy and shaded by overhanging -willows. Within its cool, shady walls the -merry lassies sang at their duties, with hearts as -light and carefree as the birds that flew about the -open door. Their duties over for the day, they had -returned to their quarters in the long, low wing of -the castle, and silence reigned supreme over the -place, save for the trickling of the Doon splashing -over the stones as it wended its tuneful way to join -the waters of the Ayr.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the silence was broken; borne on the -evening breeze came the sound of a sweet, high -voice singing:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone,”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">sang the sweet singer, plaintively from the hilltop. -Nearer and nearer it approached as the owner followed -the winding path down to the river’s bank. -Suddenly the drooping willows were parted, and there -looked out the fairest face surely that mortal eyes -had ever seen.</p> - -<p>About sixteen years of age, with ringlets of flaxen -hair flowing unconfined to her waist, laughing blue -eyes, bewitchingly overarched by dark eyebrows, a -rosebud mouth, now parted in song, between two -rounded dimpled cheeks, such was the bonnie face -of Mary Campbell, known to all around as “Highland -Mary.” Removing her plaidie, which hung -gracefully from one shoulder, she spread it on the -mossy bank, and, casting herself down full length -upon it, her head pillowed in her hand, she finished -her song, lazily, dreamily, letting it die out, slowly, -softly floating into nothingness. Then for a moment -she gave herself up to the mere joy of living, -watching the leaves as they fell noiselessly into the -stream and were carried away, away until they were -lost to vision. Gradually her thoughts became more -centered. That particular spot was full of sweet -memories to her. It was here, she mused dreamily, -that she and Robert had parted a year ago. It was -here on the banks of the Doon they so often had -met and courted and loved, and here it was they had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -stood hand in hand and plighted their troth, while -the murmuring stream seemed to whisper softly, -“For eternity, for all eternity.” And here in this -sequestered spot, on that second Sunday of May, -they had spent the day in taking a last farewell. -Would she ever forget it? Oh, the pain of that -parting! Her eyes filled with tears at the recollection -of her past misery. But she brushed them quickly -away with a corner of her scarf. He had promised to -send for her when he was getting along well, and she -had been waiting day after day for that summons, -full of faith in his word. For had he not said as he -pressed her to his heart:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“I hae sworn by the heavens to my Mary,</div> -<div class="verse">I hae sworn by the heavens to be true.</div> -<div class="verse">And so may the heavens forget me,</div> -<div class="verse">When I forget my vow.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A whole year had passed. She had saved all -her little earnings, and now her box was nearly filled -with the linen which she had spun and woven with -her own fair hands, for she did not mean to come dowerless -to her husband. In a few months, so he had -written in his last letter, he would send for her to -come to him, and they would start for the new -country, America, where gold could be picked up in -the streets (so she had heard it said). They could -not help but prosper, and so the child mused on happily. -The sudden blast of a horn interrupted her -sweet day dreams, and, hastily jumping to her feet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -with a little ejaculation of dismay she tossed her -plaidie over her back, and, filling her pail from the -brook, swung it lightly to her strong young shoulder.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“An’ it’s o’ in my heart, I wish him safe at home,”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">she trilled longingly, as she retraced her steps up the -winding path, over the hill, and back to the kitchen, -where, after giving the pail into the hand of Bess, the -good-natured cook, she leaned against the lintel of the -door, her hands shading her wistful eyes, and gazed -long and earnestly off to where the sun was sinking -behind the horizon in far-off Irvine. So wrapped was -she in her thoughts she failed to hear the whistle of -Rory Cam, the Posty, and the bustle and confusion -which his coming had created within the kitchen. The -sharp little shrieks and ejaculations of surprise and -delight, however, caused her to turn her head inquiringly. -Looking through the open door, she saw Bess -in the center of a gaping crowd of servants, reading a -letter, the contents of which had evoked the delight of -her listeners. “An’ he’ll be here this day,” cried Bess -loudly, folding her letter. “Where’s Mary Campbell?” -she demanded, looking around the room.</p> - -<p>“Here I am, Bess,” said Mary, standing shyly at -the door.</p> - -<p>“Hae ye heard the news, then, lassie?” asked Bess, -grinning broadly.</p> - -<p>“Nay; what news?” inquired Mary, wondering -why they all looked at her so knowingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ve just had word frae my sister in Irvine, an’ -she said——” Here Bess paused impressively. -“She said that Rob Burns was burnt out o’ his place, -an’ that he would be comin’ hame to-day.” Bess, who -had good-naturedly wished to surprise Mary, was -quite startled to see her turn as white as a lily and -stagger back against the door with a little gasp -of startled surprise.</p> - -<p>“Are ye sure, Bess?” she faltered, her voice shaking -with eagerness.</p> - -<p>“It’s true as Gospel, lassie; I’ll read ye the -letter,” and Bess started to take it out, but with -a cry of joy Mary rushed through the door like a -startled fawn, and before the astonished maids could -catch their breath she had lightly vaulted over the -hedge and was flying down the hill and over the moor -toward Mossgiel farm with the speed of a swallow, -her golden hair floating behind her like a cloud of -glorious sunshine. On, on she sped, swift as the -wind, and soon Mossgiel loomed up in the near distance. -Not stopping for breath, she soon reached -the door, and without pausing to knock burst into the -room.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns had put the house in order and, with a -clean ’kerchief and cap on, sat patiently at her wheel, -waiting for Robert to come home, while Souter quietly -sat in the corner winding a ball of yarn from the -skein which hung over the back of the chair, and -looking decidedly sheepish. When Mary burst in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -the door so unceremoniously they both jumped -expectantly to their feet, thinking surely it was -Robert.</p> - -<p>“Why, Mary lass, is it ye?” said Mrs. Burns in -surprise. “Whatever brings ye over the day? not -but we are glad to have ye,” she added hospitably.</p> - -<p>“Where is he, Mistress Burns, where’s Robbie?” -she panted excitedly, her heart in her voice.</p> - -<p>“He isna’ here yet, lassie,” replied Mrs. Burns, -with a sigh. “But sit ye doon. Take off your -plaidie and wait for him. There’s a girlie,” and she -pushed the unresisting girl into a chair.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re sure he isna’ here, Mistress Burns?” asked -Mary wistfully, looking around the room with eager, -searching eyes.</p> - -<p>“Aye, lassie,” she replied, smiling; “if he were -he wouldna’ be hidin’ from ye, dearie, and after -a year of absence, too. But I ken he will be here -soon noo.” And she went to the window and looked -anxiously out across the moor.</p> - -<p>“It seems so lang since he left Mossgiel, doesna’ -it, Mistress Burns?” said Mary with a deep sigh of -disappointment.</p> - -<p>“An’ weel ye might say that,” replied Mrs. Burns. -“For who doesna’ miss my laddie,” and she tossed -her head proudly. “There isna’ another like Robbie -in all Ayrshire. A bright, honest, upright, pure-minded -lad, whom any mither might be proud of. -I hope he’ll return to us the same laddie he was when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -he went awa’.” The anxious look returned to her -comely face.</p> - -<p>An odd little smile appeared about the corners -of Souter’s mouth as he resumed his work.</p> - -<p>“Weel, noo, Mistress Burns,” he asked dryly, -“do ye expect a healthy lad to be out in this sinful -world an’ not learn a few things he didna ken -before? ’Tis only human nature,” continued the -old rogue, “an’ ye can learn a deal in a year, mind -that, an’ that reminds me o’ a good joke. Sandy -MacPherson——”</p> - -<p>“Souter Johnny, ye keep your stories to yoursel’,” -interrupted Mrs. Burns with a frown. Souter’s -stories were not always discreet.</p> - -<p>“Irvine and Mauchline are very gay towns,” continued -Souter reminiscently. “They say some of -the prettiest gurls of Scotlan’ live there, an’ I hear -they all love Robbie Burns, too,” he added slyly, -looking at Mary out of the corner of his eye.</p> - -<p>“They couldna help it,” replied Mary sweetly.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye’re nae jealous, Mary?” he inquired in a -surprised tone, turning to look into the flushed, shy -face beside him.</p> - -<p>“Jealous of Robert?” echoed Mary, opening her -innocent eyes to their widest. “Nay! for I ken he -loves me better than any other lassie in the world.” -And she added naïvely, “He has told me so ofttimes.”</p> - -<p>“Ye needna fear, Mary,” replied Mrs. Burns,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -resuming her place at the wheel. “I’ll hae no ither -lass but ye for my daughter, depend on’t.”</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, Mistress Burns,” said Mary brightly. -“I ken I’m only a simple country lass, but I mean -to learn all I can, so that when he becomes a great -man he’ll no be ashamed of me, for I ken he will be -great some day,” she continued, her eyes flashing, -the color coming and going in her cheek as she predicted -the future of the lad she loved. “He’s a -born poet, Mistress Burns, and some day ye’ll be -proud of your lad, for genius such as Rabbie’s -canna always be hid.” Mrs. Burns gazed at the -young girl in wonder.</p> - -<p>“Oh, if someone would only encourage him,” continued -Mary earnestly, “for I’m fair sure his heart -is set on rhyming.”</p> - -<p>“I ne’er heard of a body ever makin’ money writin’ -verses,” interposed Souter, rubbing his chin reflectively -with the ball of soft yarn.</p> - -<p>“Ah, me,” sighed Mrs. Burns, her hands idle for -a moment, “I fear the lad does but waste his time -in such scribbling. Who is to hear it? Only his -friends, who are partial to him, of course, but who, -alas, are as puir as we are, and canna assist him in -bringin’ them before the public. The fire burns out -for lack of fuel,” she continued slowly, watching the -flickering sparks die one by one in the fireplace. “So -will his love of writin’ when he sees how hopeless it -all is.” She paused and sighed deeply. “He maun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -do mair than write verses to keep a wife and family -from want,” she continued earnestly, and she looked -sadly at Mary’s downcast face. “And, Mary, ye -too will hae to work, harder than ye hae ever known, -even as I have; so hard, dearie, that the heart grows -sick and weary and faint in the struggle to keep the -walf awa’.”</p> - -<p>“I am no afraid of hard work,” answered Mary -bravely, swallowing the sympathetic tears which rose -to her eyes. “If poverty is to be his portion I shall -na shrink from sharin’ it wi’ him,” and her eyes -shone with love and devotion.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns rose and put her arms lovingly about -her. “God bless ye, dearie,” she said softly, smoothing -the tangled curls away from the broad low brow -with tender, caressing fingers.</p> - -<p>“Listen!” cried Mary, as the wail of the bagpipes -was heard in the distance. “’Tis old blind -Donald,” and running to the window she threw back -the sash with a cry of delight. “Oh, how I love the -music of the pipes!” she murmured passionately, and -her sweet voice vibrated with feeling, for she thought -of her home so far away in the Highlands and the -dear ones she had not seen for so long.</p> - -<p>“Isna he the merry one this day,” chuckled -Souter, keeping time with his feet and hands, not -heeding the yarn, which had slipped from the chair, -and which was fast becoming entangled about his -feet.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s fair inspirin’!” cried Mary, clapping her -hands ecstatically. “Doesna it take ye back to the -Highlands, Souter?” she asked happily.</p> - -<p>“Aye, lassie,” replied Souter. “But it’s there -among the hills and glens that the music of the -pipes is most entrancin’,” he added loyally, for he -was a true Highlander. The strains of the “Cock -of the North” grew louder and louder as old Donald -drew near the farm, and Mary, who could no -longer restrain her joyous impulse, with a little excited -laugh, her face flushing rosily, ran to the -center of the room, where, one hand on her hip, her -head tossed back, she began to dance. Her motion -was harmony itself as she gracefully swayed to and -fro, darting here and there like some elfin sprite, -her bare feet twinkling like will-o’-the-wisps, so -quickly did they dart in and out from beneath her -short plaid skirt. With words of praise they both -encouraged her to do her best.</p> - -<p>Louder and louder the old piper blew, quicker and -quicker the feet of the dancer sped, till, with a gasp -of exhaustion, Mary sank panting into the big armchair, -feeling very warm and very tired, but very -happy.</p> - -<p>“Ye dance bonnie, dearie, bonnie,” exclaimed Mrs. -Burns delightedly, pouring her a cup of tea, which -Mary drank gratefully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dearie me,” Mary said apologetically, putting -down her empty cup, “whatever came o’er me? -I’m a gaucie wild thing this day, for true, but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -canna held dancin’ when I hear the pipes,” and she -smiled bashfully into the kind face bent over her.</p> - -<p>“Music affects me likewise,” replied Souter, trying -to untangle the yarn from around his feet, but -only succeeding in making a bad matter worse. -“Music always goes to my feet like whusky, only -whusky touches me here first,” and he tapped his head -humorously with his forefinger.</p> - -<p>“Souter Johnny, ye skellum!” cried Mrs. Burns, -noticing for the first time the mischief he had -wrought. “Ye’re not worth your salt, ye ne’er-do-weel. -Ye’ve spoiled my yarn,” and she glared at the -crestfallen Souter with fire in her usually calm eye.</p> - -<p>“It was an accident, Mistress Burns,” stammered -Souter, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot -to the other in his efforts to free himself from the persistent -embrace of the clinging yarn.</p> - -<p>With no gentle hand Mrs. Burns shoved him into a -chair and proceeded to extricate his feet from the -tangled web which held him prisoner. Soon she freed -the offending members and rose to her feet. “Noo -gang awa’,” she sputtered. “Ye’ve vexed me sair. -Gang out and help Gilbert. I canna bide ye round.” -Souter took his Tam O’Shanter, which hung over the -fireplace, and ambled to the door.</p> - -<p>“Very weel,” he said meekly, “I’ll go. Souter -Johnny can take a hint as weel as the next mon,” -and he closed the door gently behind him and slowly -wended his way across the field to where Gilbert was -sitting, dreamily looking across the moor.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> - -<p>“Why doesna he come, Mistress Burns?” said Mary -pathetically. They had come down to the field where -Gilbert was now at work the better to watch for their -loved one’s approach. “Twilight is comin’ on an’ -’tis a lang walk to Castle Montgomery at night. I -canna wait much langer noo.”</p> - -<p>“Never ye mind, lassie; ye shall stay the night -with me,” replied Mrs. Burns soothingly, “if Robert -doesna come.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take ye back, Mary,” said Gilbert eagerly, -going up to her. Perhaps Robert was not coming -after all, he thought with wildly beating heart.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, Gilbert, but I’ll wait a wee bit longer,” -answered Mary hopefully; “perhaps he’ll be here -soon,” and she dejectedly dug her bare toes into the -damp earth.</p> - -<p>“Well, lassie, I canna waste any mair time,” -said Mrs. Burns energetically. “Ye can stay -here with Gilbert, while I return to my spinning. -Come, Souter, there’s some firewood to be split,” -and she quickly walked to the house, followed more -slowly by the reluctant Souter.</p> - -<p>Gilbert, with his soul in his eyes, feasted on the -pathetic loveliness of the sweet face beside him, gazing -wistfully toward Mauchline, and his aching heart<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -yearned to clasp her to his breast, to tell her of his -love, to plead for her pity, her love, herself, for he -felt he would rather die than give her up to another. -He drew closer to her.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter, Gilbert?” asked Mary anxiously, -noting his pale face. “Are ye in pain?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, Mary, in pain,” he answered passionately. -“Such pain I’ll hope ye’ll never know.” He bowed -his head.</p> - -<p>“I’m so sorry, lad,” she replied innocently. “I -wish I could help ye,” and she looked compassionately -at the suffering man.</p> - -<p>He raised his head suddenly and looked into her -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Are ye goin’ to marry Robert this summer, when -he returns?” he asked abruptly, his voice husky with -emotion.</p> - -<p>“Aye, if he wishes it,” answered Mary simply, -wondering why he looked so strangely white.</p> - -<p>“He has been gone a year, ye ken,” continued -Gilbert hoarsely. “Suppose he has changed and no -langer loves ye?” She looked at him with big, frightened -eyes. She had never thought of that possibility -before. What if he did no longer love her? she -thought fearfully. She looked about her helplessly. -She felt bewildered, dazed; slowly she sank down on -the rocky earth, her trembling limbs refusing to support -her. Her fair head drooped pathetically, like -a lily bent and bruised by the storm.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If Robert doesna want me any more,” she murmured -after a pause, a pathetic little catch in her -voice, “if he loves someone else better than he does -his Highland Mary, then I—I——”</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll soon forget him, Mary,” interrupted Gilbert -eagerly, his heart throbbing with hope. She -raised her eyes from which all the light had flown -and looked at him sadly, reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“Nay, lad, I wouldna care to live any longer,” -she said quietly. “My heart would just break,” -and she smiled a pitiful little smile which smote him -like a knife thrust. He caught her two hands in -his passionately and pressed them to his heart with -a cry of pain.</p> - -<p>“Dinna mind what I said, lass,” he cried, conscience -stricken; “dinna look like that. I dinna -mean to grieve ye, Mary, I love ye too well.” And -almost before he realized it he had recklessly, passionately, -incoherently told her of his love for her, his -jealousy of his brother, his grief and pain at losing -her. Mary gazed at him in wonder, scarcely understanding -his wild words, his excited manner.</p> - -<p>“I’m fair pleased that ye love me, Gilbert,” she -answered him in her innocence. “Ye ken I love ye -too, for ye’ve been so kind and good to me ever -since Robert has been awa’,” and she pressed his -hand affectionately. With a groan of despair he -released her and turned away without another word. -Suddenly she understood, and a great wave of sympathy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -welled up in her heart. “Oh, Gilbert,” she -cried sorrowfully, a world of compassion in her -voice. “I understand ye noo, laddie, an’ I’m so -sorry, so sorry.” He bit his lips till the blood came. -Finally he spoke in a tone of quiet bitterness.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been living in a fool’s paradise this past -year,” he said, “but ’tis all ended noo. Why, ever -since he went awa’ I have wished, hoped, and even -prayed that Rob would never return to Mossgiel, -that ye might forget him and his accursed poetry, -and in time would become my wife.” He threw out -his hands with a despairing gesture as he finished.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Gilbert,” she faltered, with tears in her -eyes, “I never dreamed ye thought of me in that -way. Had I only known, I——” she broke off -abruptly and looked away toward the cottage.</p> - -<p>“Ye see what a villain I have been,” he continued -with a bitter smile. “But ye have nothin’ -to blame yoursel’ for, Mary. I had no right to -think of ye ither than as Robert’s betrothed wife.”</p> - -<p>“I’m so sorry, lad,” repeated Mary compassionately. -Then her downcast face brightened. “Let -us both forget what has passed this day, and be -the same good friends as ever, wi’na we, Gilbert?” -And she held out her hand to him with her old winning -smile.</p> - -<p>“God bless ye, lassie,” he replied brokenly. Quietly -they stood there for a few minutes, then with a sudden -start they realized that deep twilight had fallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -upon them. Silently, stealthily it had descended, -like a quickly drawn curtain. Slowly they wended -their way back to the cottage. When they reached -the door Mary suddenly turned and peered into the -deepening twilight.</p> - -<p>“Listen!” she said breathlessly. “Dinna ye hear -a voice, Gilbert?” He listened for a minute. -Faintly there came on the still air the distant murmur -of many voices.</p> - -<p>“’Tis only the lads on their way to the village,” -he replied quietly. With a little shiver, Mary drew -her plaidie closely about her, for the air had grown -cool.</p> - -<p>“I think I’ll hae to be goin’ noo,” she said dejectedly. -“He willna be here this night.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” answered Gilbert. “I’ll saddle the -mare and take ye back. Bide here a wee,” and he -left her. She could hardly restrain the disappointed -tears, which rose to her eyes.</p> - -<p>Why didn’t Robert come? What could keep him -so late? She so longed to see her laddie once more. -She idly wondered why the lads, whose voices she now -heard quite plainly, were coming toward Mossgiel. -There was no inn hereabouts. By the light of the -rising moon she saw them on the moor, ever drawing -nearer and nearer, but they had no interest for her. -Nothing interested her now. She leaned back against -the wall of the cottage and patiently awaited Gilbert’s -return.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s comin’! he’s comin’!” suddenly exclaimed -the voice of Mrs. Burns from within the cottage. -“My lad is comin’! Out of my way, ye skellum!” -and out she ran, her face aglow with love and excitement, -followed by Souter, who was shouting gleefully, -“He’s comin’! he’s comin’! Robbie’s comin’!” -and off he sped in her footsteps, to meet the returned -wanderer.</p> - -<p>“It’s Robbie! it’s Robbie!” cried Mary joyously, -her nerves a-quiver, as she heard the vociferous outburst -of welcome from the lads, who were bringing -him in triumph to his very door.</p> - -<p>“Welcome hame, laddie!” shouted the crowd, as -they came across the field, singing, laughing and -joking like schoolboys on a frolic.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I canna’, I darena’ meet him before them a’,” -she exclaimed aloud, blushing rosily, frightened at the -thought of meeting him before the good-natured -country folk.</p> - -<p>She would wait till they all went away, and, turning, -she ran into the house like a timid child. Quickly -she hid behind the old fireplace, listening shyly, as -she heard them approach the open door.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, lads, for your kind welcome,” said -Robert as he reached the threshold, one arm around -his mother. “I didna’ ken I had left so many friends -in Mossgiel,” and he looked around gratefully at the -rugged faces that were grinning broadly into his.</p> - -<p>“Come doon to the Inn and hae a wee nippie for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -auld lang syne,” sang out Sandy MacPherson, with -an inviting wave of the hand.</p> - -<p>“Nay, an’ he’ll not gang a step, Sandy MacPherson,” -cried Mrs. Burns indignantly, clinging -closely to her son.</p> - -<p>“Nay, I thank ye, Sandy,” laughingly replied -Robert. “Ye must excuse me to-night. I’ll see ye -all later, and we’ll have a lang chat o’er auld times.”</p> - -<p>“Come awa’ noo, Robert,” said Mrs. Burns lovingly, -“an’ I’ll get ye a bite and a sup,” and she -drew him into the house.</p> - -<p>“Good-night, lads; I’ll see ye to-morrow,” he -called back to them cheerily.</p> - -<p>“Good-night,” they answered in a chorus, and -with “three cheers for Robbie Burns” that made the -welkin ring, they departed into the night, merrily -singing “Should auld acquaintance be forgot?” a -song Robert himself had written before leaving -Mossgiel.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> - -<p>“Ah, Souter Johnny, how are ye, mon?” cried Robert -heartily, as his eyes rested on the beaming face of -the old man. “Faith, an’ I thought I’d find ye here -as of old. ’Tis almost a fixture ye are.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, weel,” replied Souter nonchalantly, as he -shook Robert’s outstretched hand, “ye ken the -Scripture says, ‘an’ the poor ye have always wi’ -ye.’” Robert laughed merrily at the old man’s -sally.</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness, they’ve gone at last,” said Mrs. -Burns with a sigh of relief, as she entered the room. -“Why, laddie, ye had half the ne’er-do-weels of Mossgiel -a-following ye. They are only a lot of leeches -and idle brawlers, that’s a’,” and her dark eyes -flashed her disapproval.</p> - -<p>“I’m sure they have kind hearts, mither, for a’ -that,” replied Robert reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re so popular wi’ them a’, Robbie,” cried -Souter proudly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, when he has a shillin’ to spend on them,” -added Mrs. Burns dryly. “But sit doon, laddie; -ye maun be tired wi’ your lang walk,” and she gently -pushed him into a chair beside the table.</p> - -<p>“I am a wee bittie tired,” sighed Robert gratefully -as he leaned back in the chair.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll soon hae something to eat before ye,” replied -his mother briskly.</p> - -<p>“I’m nae hungry, mother,” answered Robert. -“Indeed, I couldna’ eat a thing,” he remonstrated -as she piled the food before him.</p> - -<p>“’Tis in love ye are,” insinuated Souter with a -knowing look. “I ken the symptoms weel; ye canna’ -eat.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’re wrong there,” replied Robert with a bright -smile. “Love but increases my appetite.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, for love,” added Souter <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> - -<p>“Ah, mother dear, how guid it seems to be at hame -again, under the old familiar roof-tree,” said Robert -a little later, as he leaned back contentedly in his -chair and gazed about the room with eager, alert -glances. As he sits there with his arms folded let -us take a look at our hero. Of more than medium -height, his form suggested agility as well as strength. -His high forehead, shaded with black curling hair -tied at the neck, indicated extensive capacity. His -eyes were large, dark, and full of fire and intelligence. -His face was well formed and uncommonly interesting -and expressive, although at the first glance his -features had a certain air of coarseness, mingled with -an expression of calm thoughtfulness, approaching -melancholy. He was dressed carelessly in a blue -homespun long coat, belted at the waist, over a buff-colored -vest; short blue pantaloons, tucked into long -gray home-knit stockings, which came up above his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -knee, and broad low brogans, made by Souter’s hands. -He wore a handsome plaid of small white and black -checks over one shoulder, the ends being brought -together under the opposite arm and tied loosely -behind.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a fine hame-comin’ ye’ve had, laddie,” cried -old Souter proudly. “Faith, it’s just like they -give the heir of grand estates. We should hae had -a big bonfire burnin’ outside our—ahem—palace -gates,” and he waved his hand grandiloquently.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ ye make fun of our poor clay biggin’, -Souter Johnny,” cried Mrs. Burns rebukingly. “Be -it ever so poor, ’tis our hame.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, ’tis our hame, mother,” repeated Robert -lovingly. “An’ e’en tho’ I have been roaming in -other parts, still this humble cottage is the dearest -spot on earth to me. I love it all, every stick and -stone, each blade of grass, every familiar object that -greeted my eager gaze as I crossed the moor to this -haven of rest, my hame. And my love for it this -moment is the strongest feeling within me.”</p> - -<p>His roving eyes tenderly sought out one by one -the familiar bits of furniture around the room, and -lingered for a moment lovingly on the old fireplace. -It was there he had first seen Mary Campbell. She -had come to the cottage on an errand, and as she -stood leaning against the mantel, the sunlight gleaming -through the window upon her golden hair, he -had entered the room. It was plainly love at first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -sight, and so he had told her that same day, as he -walked back to Castle Montgomery with the winsome -dairymaid. The course of their love had flowed -smoothly and uneventfully; he loved her with all the -depth of his passionate emotional nature, and yet -his love was more spiritual than physical. She was -an endless source of inspiration, as many a little song -and ode which had appeared in the Tarbolton weekly -from time to time could testify. How long the -year had been away from her, he mused dreamily. -To-morrow, bright and early, he would hurry over -to Castle Montgomery and surprise her at her -duties.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Gazed straight into the startled eyes of Robert.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Mary, from her hiding place, had watched all that -happened since Robert had come into the room. -She had not expected to remain so long hidden, she -thought wistfully. She had hoped that Mrs. Burns -would miss her, and that she, or Robert, or someone -would look for her, but they had not even -thought of her, and her lips trembled piteously at -their neglect. And so she had stayed on, peeping out -at them, whenever their backs were turned, feeling -very lonely, and very miserable, in spite of the pride -that thrilled her, as she watched her lover sitting -there so handsome in the full strength of his young -manhood. Perhaps they didn’t want her here to-night. -Perhaps it was true, as Gilbert said, “that -Robert didn’t love her any more.” The tears could -no longer be restrained. If she could only slip out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -unobserved she would go home. She wasn’t afraid, -she thought miserably. She wondered what they -were doing now, they were so quiet? Peering shyly -around the mantel, she gazed straight into the -startled eyes of Robert, who with a surprised ejaculation -started back in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Why, Mary Campbell!” cried his mother remorsefully, -as she caught sight of Mary’s face, “I -declare I clear forgot ye, lass.” With a glad cry -Robert sprang toward her and grasped her two hands -in his own, his eyes shining with love and happiness.</p> - -<p>“Mary, lass, were ye hidin’ awa’ from me?” he -asked in tender reproach. She dropped her head -bashfully without a word. “’Tis o’er sweet in ye, -dear, to come over to welcome me hame,” he continued -radiantly. “Come an’ let me look at ye,” and -he drew her gently to where the candle light could -fall on her shy, flushed face. “Oh, ’tis bonnie ye’re -looking, lassie,” he cried proudly. He raised her -drooping head, so that his hungry eyes could -feast on her beauty. She stood speechless, like a -frightened child, not daring to raise her eyes to his. -“Haven’t ye a word of welcome for me, sweetheart?” -he whispered tenderly, drawing her to him -caressingly.</p> - -<p>“I’m—I’m very glad to hae ye back again,” she -faltered softly, her sweet voice scarcely audible.</p> - -<p>“Go an’ kiss him, Mary; dinna’ mind us,” cried -Souter impatiently. “I can see ye’re both asking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -for it wi’ your eyes,” he insinuated. And he drew -near them expectantly.</p> - -<p>“Hauld your whist, ye old tyke,” flashed Mrs. -Burns indignantly. “Robbie Burns doesna’ need ye -to tell him how to act wi’ the lassies.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll not dispute ye there,” replied Souter dryly, -winking his eye at Robert knowingly.</p> - -<p>Robert laughed merrily as he answered, “Ye ken -we’re both o’er bashful before ye a’.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, ye’re a fine pair of lovers, ye are,” retorted -Souter disgustedly, turning away.</p> - -<p>“So the neighbors say, Souter,” responded Robert -gayly, giving Mary a loving little squeeze.</p> - -<p>And surely there never was a handsomer couple, -thought Mistress Burns proudly, as they stood there -together. One so dark, so big and strong, the other -so fair, so fragile and winsome. And so thought -Gilbert Burns jealously, as he came quietly into the -room. Robert went to him quickly, a smile lighting -up his dark face, his hand outstretched in -greeting.</p> - -<p>“I’m o’er glad to see ye again, Gilbert,” he cried -impulsively, shaking his brother’s limp hand.</p> - -<p>“So ye’ve come back again,” said Gilbert, coldly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, like a bad penny,” laughingly responded -Robert. “Noo that I am burned out of my situation, -I’ve come hame to help ye in the labors of the -farm,” and he pressed his brother’s hand warmly.</p> - -<p>“I fear your thoughts willna’ lang be on farming,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -observed Gilbert sarcastically, going to the -fireplace and deliberately turning his back to Robert.</p> - -<p>“I’ll struggle hard to keep them there, brother,” -replied Robert simply. His brother’s coldness had -chilled his extraordinarily sensitive nature. He -walked slowly back to his seat.</p> - -<p>“I ken ye’d rather be writin’ love verses than -farmin’, eh, Robert?” chimed in Souter thoughtlessly.</p> - -<p>“’Tis only a waste of time writin’ poetry, my lad,” -sighed Mrs. Burns, shaking her head disapprovingly.</p> - -<p>“I canna’ help writin’, mother,” answered the lad -firmly, a trifle defiantly. “For the love of poesy -was born in me, and that love was fostered at your -ain knee ever since my childhood days.”</p> - -<p>She sighed regretfully. “I didna’ ken what seed -I was sowing then, laddie,” she answered thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ be discouraged,” cried Mary eagerly, -going to him. “I’ve faith in ye, laddie, and in -your poetry, too.” She put her hand on his shoulder -lovingly, as he sat beside the table, looking -gloomy and dejected. “Some day,” she continued, -a thrill of pride in her voice, “ye’ll wake to find -your name on everybody’s lips. You’ll be rich and -famous, mayhap. Who kens, ye may even become -the Bard o’ Scotland,” she concluded in an awestruck -tone.</p> - -<p>“Nay, Mary, I do not hope for that,” replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -Robert, his dark countenance relaxing into a smile -of tenderness at her wild prophecy, although in his -own heart he felt conscious of superior talents.</p> - -<p>“Waesucks,” chuckled Souter reminiscently. “Do -you mind, Robbie, how, a year ago, ye riled up the -community, an’ the kirk especially, over your verses -called ‘Holy Willie’s Prayer’? Aye, lad, it was an -able keen satire, and auld Squire Armour recognized -the truth of it, for he threatened to hae ye arrested -for blaspheming the kirk and the auld licht religion. -He’ll ne’er forgive ye for that,” and he shook his -head with conviction.</p> - -<p>“He’s an auld Calvinistic hypocrite,” replied Robert -carelessly, “and he deserved to be satirized alang -wi’ the rest of the Elders. Let us hope the verses -may do them and the kirk some good. They are -sadly in need of reform.” Then with a gay laugh -he told them a funny anecdote concerning one of -the Elders, and for over an hour they listened to -the rich tones of his voice as he entertained them -with jest and song and story, passing quickly from -one to the other, as the various emotions succeeded -each other in his mind, assuming with equal ease the -expression of the broadest mirth, the deepest melancholy -or the most sublime emotion. They sat around -him spellbound. Never had they seen him in such -a changeable mood as to-night.</p> - -<p>“And noo, laddie, tell us about your life in Irvine -and Mauchline,” said Mrs. Burns.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> - -<p>Robert had finished his last story, and sat in meditative -silence, watching the smoldering peat in the -fireplace.</p> - -<p>He hesitated for a moment. “There is little to -tell, mother,” he answered, not looking up, “and that -little is na worth tellin’.”</p> - -<p>“I ken ye’ve come back no richer in pocket than -when ye left,” remarked Gilbert questioningly. As -his brother made no answer, he continued with sarcastic -irony, “But perhaps there wasna’ enough -work for ye there.” He watched his brother’s face -narrowly.</p> - -<p>“There was work enough for a’,” replied Robert -in a low tone, an agony of remorse in his voice. “An’ -I tried to fulfill faithfully the uncongenial tasks set -before me, but I would sink into dreams, forgetting -my surroundings, my duties, and would set me doon -to put on paper the thoughts and fancies which came -rushing through my brain, raging like so many devils, -till they found vent in rhyme; then the conning o’er -my verses like a spell soothed all into quiet again.” -A far away rapt expression came over his countenance -as he finished, and his dark glowing eyes -gazed dreamily into space, as if communing with -the Muses. Mrs. Burns and Mary both watched him -with moist, adoring eyes, hardly breathing lest they -should disturb his reverie. Gilbert stirred in his -chair restlessly.</p> - -<p>“Ye will never prosper unless ye give up this day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -dreaming,” he exclaimed impatiently, rising from his -chair and pacing the floor.</p> - -<p>Robert looked up, the fire fading from his eyes, -his face growing dark and forbidding. “I ken that -weel, Gilbert,” he answered bitterly. “An’ I despair -of ever makin’ anything of mysel’ in this world, -not e’en a poor farmer. I am not formed for the -bustle of the busy nor the flutter of the gay. I’m -but an idle rhymster, a ne’er-do-weel.” He walked -quickly to the window and stood dejectedly looking -out into the night.</p> - -<p>“Nay, ye’re a genius, lad,” declared old Souter -emphatically, patting him affectionately on the -shoulder. “I havena’ watched your erratic ways for -nothin’, an’ I say ye’re a genius. It’s a sad thing to -be a genius, Robert, an’ I sympathize wi’ ye,” and the -old hypocrite shook his head dolefully as he took his -seat at the fireplace.</p> - -<p>“I’m a failure, I ken that weel. I’m a failure,” -muttered Robert despairingly, his heart heavy and -sad.</p> - -<p>“Nay, laddie, ye mustna’ talk like that,’tis not -right,” cried Mary, bravely keeping back the sympathetic -tears from her eyes and forcing a little -smile to her lips. “Ye are only twenty-five,” she -continued earnestly. “An’ all your life is stretchin’ -out before ye. Why, ye mustna ever think o’ -failure. Ye must think only of bright, happy things, -and ye’ll see how everythin’ will come out all right.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -Noo mind that. So cheer thee, laddie, or ye’ll make -us all sad on this your hame-comin’. Come, noo, -look pleasant,” and she gave his arm a loving little -shake. As his stern face melted into a sad smile, -she laughed happily. “That’s right, laddie.” With -a little encouraging nod she left him, and running -to Mrs. Burns, she gave her a hug and a kiss, until -the old lady’s grim features relaxed. Then like a -bird she flitted to the other side of the room.</p> - -<p>“Souter Johnny,” she saucily cried, “how dare -ye look so mournful like. Hae ye a fit o’ the gloom, -man?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit o’ it,” retorted Souter energetically, -jumping lightly to his feet. “Will I stand on my -head for ye, Mary, eh?”</p> - -<p>Mary laughed merrily as Mrs. Burns replied in -scathing tones, “Your brains are in your boots, noo, -Souter Johnny.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, wherever they are,” responded Souter with -a quizzical smile, “they dinna’ trouble me o’er much. -Weel, I think I’ll be turnin’ in noo,” he continued, -stretching himself lazily. “Good-night to ye all,” -and taking a candle from the dresser, he slowly left -the room.</p> - -<p>“Come, lads,’tis bedtime,” admonished Mrs. -Burns, glancing at the old high clock that stood in -the corner. “Mary, ye shall sleep with me, and, -Robert, ye know where to find your bed. It hasna’ -been slept in since ye left. Dinna’ forget your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -candle, Gilbert,” she called out as he started for the -door. He silently took it from her hand. “Dinna’ -forget your promise,” she whispered anxiously to him -as he left the room in gloomy silence.</p> - -<p>The look on his face frightened her. There was -bitterness and despair in the quick glance he gave -the happy lovers, who were standing in the shadow -of the deep window. “The lad looked fair heart-broken,” -she mused sorrowfully. For a moment she -looked after him, a puzzled frown on her brow. -Then suddenly the truth dawned on her. How blind -she had been, why hadn’t she thought of that before? -The lad was in love. In love with Mary Campbell, -that was the cause of his bitterness toward his -brother. “Both in love with the same lass,” she -murmured apprehensively, and visions of petty meannesses, -bitter discords, between the two brothers, -jealous quarrels, resulting in bloody strife, perhaps; -and she shuddered at the mental picture her uneasy -mind had conjured up. The sooner Robert and -Mary were married the sooner peace would be -restored, she thought resolutely. They could start -out for themselves, go to Auld Ayr or to Dumfries. -They couldn’t be much worse off there than here. -And determined to set her mind easy before she retired, -she walked briskly toward the couple, who now -sat hand in hand, oblivious to earthly surroundings, -the soft moonlight streaming full upon their happy -upturned faces. She watched them a moment in silence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -loath to break in upon their sweet communion. -Presently she spoke.</p> - -<p>“Robert,” she called softly, “ye’d better gang to -your bed noo, lad.”</p> - -<p>With a start he came back to earth, and jumping -up boyishly, replied with a happy laugh, “I forgot, -mother, that I was keeping ye and Mary from your -rest.” He glanced toward the recessed bed in the -wall where his mother was wont to sleep. “Good-night, -mither, good-night, Mary,” he said lovingly. -Then taking his candle, he started for the door, but -turned as his mother called his name and looked at -her questioningly.</p> - -<p>“Laddie, dinna’ think I’m meddling in your affairs,” -she said hesitatingly, “but I’m fair curious -to know when ye an’ Mary will be wed.”</p> - -<p>Robert looked inquiringly at Mary, who blushed -and dropped her head. “Before harvest begins, -mither,” he answered hopefully, “if Mary will be -ready and willing. Will that suit ye, lassie?” And -he looked tenderly at the drooping head, covered with -its wealth of soft, glittering curls.</p> - -<p>“I hae all my linen spun and woven,” she faltered, -after a nervous silence, not daring to look at him. -“Ye ken the lassies often came a rockin’ and so helped -me get it done.” She raised her head and looked in -his glowing face. “’Tis a very small dowry I’ll be -bringin’ ye, laddie,” she added in pathetic earnestness.</p> - -<p>He gave a little contented laugh. “Ye’re bringin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -me yoursel’, dearie,” he murmured tenderly. -“What mair could any lad want. I ken I do not -deserve such a bonnie sweet sonsie lassie for my wife.” -He looked away thoughtfully for a moment. Then -he continued with glowing eyes, “But ye mind the -verse o’ the song I gave ye before I went awa’?” -he said lovingly, taking her hand in his. His voice -trembled with feeling as he fervently recited the -lines:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“We have plighted our troth, my Mary,</div> -<div class="verse">In mutual affection to join,</div> -<div class="verse">And cursed be the cause that shall part us,</div> -<div class="verse">The hour and moment o’ time.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>She smiled confidingly up into his radiant face, -then laid her little head against his breast like a -tired child. “Always remember, sweetheart,” he -continued softly, as if in answer to that look, “that -Robbie Burns’ love for his Highland Mary will remain -forever the tenderest, truest passion of his unworthy -life.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> - -<p>Life at Mossgiel passed uneventfully and monotonously. -Robert had settled down with every appearance -of contentment to the homely duties of -the farmer, and Gilbert could find no fault with -the amount of labor done. Morning till night he -plowed and harrowed the rocky soil, without a -word of complaint, although the work was very hard -and laborious. Planting had now begun and his -tasks were materially lightened. He had ample -leisure to indulge in his favorite pastime; and that -he failed to take advantage of his opportunities for -rhyming was a mystery to Gilbert, and a source of -endless regret to Mary. But his mother could tell of -the many nights she had seen the candle light gleaming -far into the night; and her heart was sore -troubled when in the morning she would see the evidence -of his midnight toil, scraps of closely written -paper scattered in wild disorder over his small table, -but she held her peace. The lad loved to do it, she -mused tenderly, and so long as he was not shirking his -work, why disturb his tranquillity?</p> - -<p>A few weeks after the return of our hero Mary -and Mrs. Burns were seated in the living-room, -Mrs. Burns as usual busy at her wheel, while Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -sat sewing at the window, where she could look out -across the fields and see her sweetheart, who, with -a white sheet containing his seed corn slung across -his shoulder, was scattering the grain in the earth. -She sang dreamily as she sewed, her sweet face beaming -with love and happiness. No presentiment -warned her of the approaching tragedy that was -soon to cast its blighting shadow over that happy -household—a tragedy that was inevitable. The -guilty one had sown to the flesh, he must reap corruption. -The seed had been sown carelessly, recklessly, -and now the harvest time had come, and such a harvest! -The pity of it was that the grim reaper must -with his devouring sickle ruthlessly cut down such a -tender, sweet, and innocent flower as she who sat -there so happy and so blissfully unconscious of her -impending doom.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, with an exclamation of astonishment, she -jumped excitedly to her feet. “Mistress Burns,” -she cried breathlessly, “here are grand lookin’ -strangers comin’ up the path. City folk, too, I -ken. Look.”</p> - -<p>Hastily the good dame ran to the window. “Sure -as death, Mary; they’re comin’ here,” she cried in -amazement. “Oh, lack a day, an’ I’m na dressed -to receive the gentry.” A look of comical dismay -clouded her anxious face as she hurriedly adjusted -her cap and smoothed out her apron. “Is my cap -on straight, Mary?” she nervously inquired. Mary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -nodded her head reassuringly. “Oh, dear, whatever -can they want?” Steps sounded without. “Ye -open the door, Mary,” she whispered sibilantly as -the peremptory knock sounded loudly through the -room. Timidly Mary approached the door. “Hist, -wait,” called Mrs. Burns in sudden alarm. “My ’kerchief -isna’ pinned.” Hastily she pinned the loose end -in place, then folding her hands, she said firmly, “Noo -let them enter.” Mary slowly opened the door, which, -swinging inward, concealed her from the three -strangers, who entered with ill-concealed impatience -on the part of the two ladies who were being laughingly -chided by their handsome escort. With a -wondering look of admiration at the richly dressed -visitors, Mary quietly stole out and softly shut the -door behind her.</p> - -<p>With a murmur of disgust the younger of the two -ladies, who was about nineteen, walked to the fireplace, -and raising her quilted blue petticoat, which -showed beneath the pale pink overdress with its Watteau -plait, she daintily held her foot to the blaze. -A disfiguring frown marred the dark beauty of -her face as her bold black eyes gazed about her -impatiently.</p> - -<p>“It’s a monstrous shame,” she flashed angrily, -“to have an accident happen within a few miles of -home. Will it delay us long, think you?” she -inquired anxiously, addressing her companion.</p> - -<p>“It depends on the skill of the driver to repair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -the injury,” replied the other lady indifferently. -She appeared the elder of the two by some few years, -and was evidently a lady of rank and fashion. She -looked distinctly regal and commanding in her large -Gainsborough hat tilted on one side of her elaborately -dressed court wig. A look of amused curiosity -came over her patrician face as she calmly surveyed -the interior of the cottage. She inclined her head -graciously to Mrs. Burns, who with a deep courtesy -stood waiting their pleasure.</p> - -<p>“We have just met with an accident, guidwife,” -laughingly said the gentleman, who stood in the -doorway brushing the dust from his long black -cloak. He was a scholarly looking man of middle -age, dressed in the height of taste and fashion. -“While crossing the old bridge yonder,” he continued, -smiling courteously at Mrs. Burns, “our -coach had the misfortune to cast a wheel, spilling us -all willy-nilly, on the ground, and we must crave -your hospitality, guidwife.”</p> - -<p>“Ye are a’ welcome,” quickly answered Mrs. -Burns with another courtesy. “Sit doon, please,” -and she placed a chair for the lady, who languidly -seated herself thereon with a low murmur of thanks.</p> - -<p>“Allow me to introduce myself,” continued the -gentleman, coming into the room, his cloak over -his arm. “I am Lord Glencairn of Edinburgh. -This is Lady Glencairn, and yonder lady is Mistress -Jean Armour of Mauchline.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>The young lady in question, who was still standing -by the fireplace, flashed him a look of decided -annoyance. She seemed greatly perturbed at the -enforced delay of the journey. She started violently -as she heard Mrs. Burns say, “And I am -Mrs. Burns, your lordship.” Then she hurried to -the old lady’s side, a startled look in her flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>“Mistress Burns of Mossgiel Farm?” she inquired -in a trembling voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady,” replied Mrs. Burns. The young -lady’s face went white as she walked nervously back -to the fireplace.</p> - -<p>“My dear Jean, whatever is the matter?” asked -Lady Glencairn lazily, as she noticed Jean’s perturbation. -“Is there anything in the name of Burns to -frighten you?”</p> - -<p>“No, your ladyship,” replied Jean falteringly, -turning her face away so that her large Gainsborough -hat completely shielded her quivering features. -“I—I am still a trifle nervous from the -upset, that is all.” She seemed strangely agitated.</p> - -<p>“Was it not unlucky?” replied Lady Glencairn -in her rich vibrating contralto. “’Twill be a most -wearisome wait, I fear, but we simply must endure it -with the best possible grace,” and she unfastened her -long cloak of black velvet and threw it off her -shoulders, revealing her matchless form in its tightly -fitting gown of amber satin, with all its alluring -lines and sinuous curves, to the utmost advantage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It willna’ be long noo, your ladyship,” replied -Mrs. Burns, smiling complacently. She had quietly -left the room while the two were talking, and seeing -Souter hovering anxiously around, trying to -summon up courage to enter, she had commanded -him to go to the fields and tell the lads of the accident, -which he had reluctantly done.</p> - -<p>“My lads will soon fix it for ye,” she continued -proudly. “Robert is a very handy lad, ye ken. He -is my eldest son, who has just returned from Mauchline,” -she explained loquaciously in answer to Lord -Glencairn’s questioning look.</p> - -<p>Jean nervously clutched at the neck of her gown, -her face alternately flushing and paling. “Your -son is here now?” she asked eagerly, turning to Mrs. -Burns.</p> - -<p>“Aye, he’s out yonder in the fields,” she answered -simply.</p> - -<p>“Oh, then you know the young man?” interrogated -Lady Glencairn, glancing sharply at Jean.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know him,” she answered with averted -gaze. “We met occasionally in Mauchline at dancing -school, where we fell acquainted.”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn looked at her with half-closed eyes -for a moment, then she smilingly said, “And I’ll -wager your love for coquetting prompted you -to make a conquest of the innocent rustic, eh, -Jean?”</p> - -<p>Jean tossed her head angrily and walked to the -window.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Lady Glencairn, you are pleased to jest,” she retorted -haughtily.</p> - -<p>“There, there, Jean, you’re over prudish. I vow -’twould be no crime,” her ladyship calmly returned. -“I’ll wager this young farmer was a gay Lothario -while in Mauchline,” she continued mockingly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, your ladyship,” interrupted Mrs. Burns -simply. “He was a flax dresser.”</p> - -<p>“Truly a more respectable occupation, madame,” -gravely responded Lord Glencairn with a suspicious -twinkle in his eye.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, my lord,” answered Mrs. Burns with -a deep courtesy. “My lad is a good lad, if I do say -so, and he has returned to us as pure minded as when -he went awa’ a year ago.”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn raised her delicately arched eyebrows -in amused surprise. Turning to Jean, she -murmured drily, “And away from home a year, too! -He must be a model of virtue, truly.”</p> - -<p>Jean gazed at her with startled eyes. “Can she -suspect aught?” she asked herself fearfully.</p> - -<p>“Could I be getting ye a cup of milk?” asked Mrs. -Burns hospitably. “’Tis a’ I have to offer, but -’tis cool and refreshing.”</p> - -<p>“Fresh milk,” repeated Lady Glencairn, rising -with delight. “I vow it would be most welcome, guidwife.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed it would,” responded her husband. And -Mrs. Burns with a gratified smile hurried from the -room.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear, don’t look so tragic,” drawled Lady -Glencairn carelessly, as she noticed Jean’s pale face -and frightened eyes. “We’ll soon be in Mauchline. -Although why you are in such a monstrous -hurry to reach that lonesome village after your delightful -sojourn in the capital, is more than I can -conjecture,” and her keen eyes noted with wonder -the flush mount quickly to the girl’s cheek.</p> - -<p>“It is two months since I left my home, your ladyship,” -faltered Jean hesitatingly. “It’s only natural -I should be anxious to see my dear parents -again.” She dropped her eyes quickly before her -ladyship’s penetrating gaze.</p> - -<p>“Dear parents, indeed,” sniffed Lady Glencairn to -herself suspiciously as she followed their hostess to -the door of the “ben.”</p> - -<p>With a nervous little laugh Jean rose quickly from -her chair by the window and walked toward the door -through which they had entered. “The accident has -quite upset me, Lady Glencairn,” she said constrainedly. -“Would you mind if I stroll about the fields -until my nerves are settled?” she asked with a forced -laugh.</p> - -<p>“No, child, go by all means,” replied her ladyship -indolently. “The air will do you good, no -doubt.”</p> - -<p>“I warn you not to wander too far from the -house,” interposed Lord Glencairn with a kindly -smile. “We will not be detained much longer.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -With a smile of thanks she hastily left the room just -as Mrs. Burns entered from the “ben” bearing a -large blue pitcher filled with foaming milk, which she -placed on the table before her smiling visitors.</p> - -<p>Jean breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the -door behind her. She felt in another moment she -would have screamed aloud in her nervousness. That -fate should have brought her to the very home of -the man she had thought still in Mauchline, and to -see whom she had hurriedly left Edinburgh, filled -her with wonder and dread. “I must see him before -we leave,” she said nervously, clasping and unclasping -her hands. But where should she find him? She -walked quickly down the path and gazed across the -fields, where in the distance she could see several men -at work, repairing the disabled coach. Anxiously -she strained her eyes to see if the one she sought -was among them, but he was not there. Quickly she -retraced her steps. “I must find him. I must speak -with him this day,” she said determinedly. As she -neared the cottage she turned aside and walked toward -the high stone fence which enclosed the house -and yard. Swiftly mounting the old stile, she looked -about her. Suddenly she gave a sharp little exclamation, -and her heart bounded violently, for there before -her, coming across the field, was the man she sought, -his hands clasped behind him, his head bent low in the -deepest meditation. With a sigh of relief she sank -down on the step and calmly awaited his approach.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> - -<p>Robert flung the last of his seed corn into the earth -with a sigh of thankfulness, for though he gave the -powers of his body to the labors of the farm, he refused -to bestow on them his thoughts or his cares. -He longed to seek the quiet of his attic room, for his -soul was bursting with song and his nervous fingers -fairly itched to grasp his pencil and catch and hold -forever the pearls dropped from the lap of the Goddess -Muse into his worshipful soul, ere they faded and -dissolved into lusterless fragments. Mechanically he -turned his footsteps toward the cottage, plunged in -deep reverie. As he walked slowly along his mind suddenly -reverted to the year he had spent in Mauchline. -It had been his first taste of town life. Blessed with -a strong appetite for sociability, although constitutionally -melancholy, and a hair-brained imagination, -he had become an immediate favorite and welcome -guest wherever he visited. <i>Vive l’amour</i> and <i>vive la -bagatelle</i> had soon become his sole principle of action. -His heart, which was completely tinder, was -eternally lighted up by some goddess or other, and it -was not long before he regarded illicit love with levity, -which two months previously he had thought of -with horror. Poesy was still a darling walk for his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -mind, but it was only indulged in according to the -humor of the hour. Having no aim in life he had been -easily led from the paths of virtue into many forms -of dissipation, which, when indulged in, afterwards -plunged him into the deepest melancholy. A few -months after his advent into the village he had met -Jean Armour, the daughter of a master builder. -She was one of the belles of Mauchline, a wild, -willful, imprudent lass, whose sensual charms soon -ensnared the susceptible heart of the unsophisticated -farmer lad. The fatal defect of his character -was the comparative weakness of his volition, -and his passions, once lighted up, soon carried him -down the stream of error and swept him over the -precipice he saw directly in his course.</p> - -<p>Such being their temperaments, it was not to be -wondered at when their procedure soon became decidedly -irregular, their intimacy becoming the common -talk and gossip of Mauchline.</p> - -<p>A few months before Robert returned to Mossgiel -farm Jean had received an invitation from her -god-parents, Lord and Lady Glencairn, to visit Edinburgh, -which she had accepted with eagerness, for she -was becoming tired of her latest conquest and longed -for the gay life of the capital.</p> - -<p>Robert saw her leave Mauchline with no pangs of -regret at her inconstancy and caprice. He was in -a state of profound melancholy at the time, the -thoughts of how he had fallen from the paths of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -truth and virtue, the thoughts of the pure love of -his sweetheart at home, filling his heart with grief -and remorse. He was thinking of all this as he -approached the stile. How wretchedly weak and -sinful he had been to forget his sworn vows to Mary, -he thought remorsefully. “May no harping voice -from that past ever come to disturb her peace of -mind,” he prayed fervently.</p> - -<p>Jean watched him, drawing ever nearer, with eyes -filled with sudden shame and dread at what she had to -tell him. Why had her brief infatuation for the poverty-stricken -farmer led her into such depths of imprudence -and recklessness? she thought angrily. As -he reached the bottom of the stile she softly spoke -his name, and noted with chagrin his startled look of -surprise and annoyance as he raised his eyes to hers.</p> - -<p>“Jean Armour?” he cried in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked coquettishly, -his presence exercising its old fascination for -her.</p> - -<p>“What has brought ye to Mossgiel?” he asked -abruptly, ignoring her outstretched hand.</p> - -<p>“An accident,” she replied flippantly. “I was -on my way home and would have been there ere this -had it not been for a fortunate mishap.”</p> - -<p>“Fortunate mishap?” he repeated questioningly.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she retorted amiably, “otherwise I should -have missed seeing you,” and she smiled down into -his pale startled face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I dinna understand why ye left Edinburgh,” he -began, when she interrupted him.</p> - -<p>“Because I thought you were still in Mauchline,” -she explained quickly. He look at her questioningly. -“I left Edinburgh for the sole purpose of seeing you, -Robert,” she announced quietly, making room for him -to sit beside her, but he did not accept the invitation.</p> - -<p>“Well, noo, that was very kind of ye, Jean,” he -replied a little uneasily. “But I’m not so conceited -as to believe that. I ken the charms o’ Edinburgh -town, with its handsome officers, soon made ye forget -the quiet country village, and a’ your old flames, -including your bashful humble servant,” and he -made her a mocking bow.</p> - -<p>His tone of satirical raillery made her wince. -“Forget?” she cried passionately, jumping to her -feet. “I wish to heaven I might forget everything, -but I cannot—I cannot.” The sudden thought of -her predicament caused her haughty, rebellious spirit -to quail, and covering her face with her hands, she -burst into a paroxysm of tears and sank heavily down -upon the step.</p> - -<p>He regarded the weeping woman silently. Was -her attachment for him stronger than he had believed? -Could it be possible she still entertained a passion for -him? he asked himself anxiously. But no, that couldn’t -be; she had left him two months ago with a careless -word of farewell on her laughing lips. Yet why -these tears, these wild words she had just uttered?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -A wave of pity for her swept over him as he realized, -if such were the case, that he must repulse her -advances gently but none the less firmly. He had -done with her forever when he said his last farewell. -There could be no raking over of the dead ashes.</p> - -<p>Jean angrily wiped away her tears. She must not -give way to such weakness. She had an errand to -perform which would need all her courage. He was -evidently waiting for some explanation of her strange -behavior, she told herself with a vain effort to steel -her heart. Now was the time to tell him all, she -thought fearfully, peeking out from behind her small -linen ’kerchief, with which she was dabbing her eyes, -at his cold, wondering face. The sooner it was done -the sooner she would know what to expect at his -hands. How should she begin? After a long, nervous -pause she faltered out, “Have you forgotten -the past, Robert, and all that we were to each other?”</p> - -<p>“Nay, Jean, I remember everything,” he answered -remorsefully. “But let us not speak of that noo, -please. Ye ken that is all ended between us forever.” -He turned away pale and trembling, for her presence, -her looks and words recalled many things he wanted -to forget, that shamed him to remember.</p> - -<p>“Ended?” she repeated, an angry flush rising to -the roots of her black hair. She looked at him in -amazement. He, the poverty-stricken farmer, had -repulsed her, the belle of Mauchline? Could she have -heard aright? He who had always been at her beck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -and call, two months ago her willing slave, could -it be that he was over his infatuation for her? She -had not thought of that possibility. She had expected -him to be humble, gratefully flattered by her -condescension in seeking him out. If he should -refuse the proposal she had come so far to make! she -thought in trepidation. “He must not refuse, he -shall not refuse,” and her face grew hard and set. -But perhaps he was piqued because she had left him -so unceremoniously two months ago, because she had -not written him. Her tense lips relaxed into a smile. -Oh, well, she would be nice to him now; she would -make him think she was breaking her heart for him, -work on his sympathy, then perhaps it would not be -necessary to confess her humiliating plight. No -farmer doomed to lifelong poverty would be averse -to winning the hand of the daughter of the rich -Squire Armour. These thoughts, running through -her mind, decided her next move, and with a fluttering -sigh she rose from her seat and descended the step. -She drew close to him and looking languishingly up -into his face, murmured, “Why should it be ended, -Robert? I love you just the same as I did in the -past,” and she threw her arms about his neck, clinging -to him passionately. “You do love me a little, -tell me you do.”</p> - -<p>“Jean, ye must be daft,” he panted, vainly trying -to disengage himself from her embrace.</p> - -<p>But she continued softly, alluringly, “Think of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -the old days, when I lay in your arms like this, Robbie. -Think of those happy hours we spent together -on the banks of the Doon. You were not cold to me -then. Oh, let us live them all over again. How -happy we will be. Kiss me, Rob,” and she lifted -her flushed, piquant face, her crimson lips pursed -temptingly, close to his. The warmth of her seductive -body, the white bare arms in their short sleeves, -which embraced his neck, the half-closed passionate -eyes gazing invitingly, languorously into his own, -fired his naturally ardent blood, making his senses to -reel from the contact. Slowly his arms, which had -been restraining her amorous embrace, tightened -their hold on her, drawing her closer and closer, -while the drops of sweat poured down his white, -yielding face, as with wild bloodshot eyes he battled -with the temptations which beset him so wantonly, -so dangerously. With a thrill of elation not unmixed -with desire she felt him yielding to her -embrace, and knew that she had won him again. -With a cooing cry of delight she was about to press -her warm lips to his, when suddenly a bird-like voice -singing in the distance arrested her impulse.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone?”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">rang out the voice of the singer plaintively. With a -cry of brief and horror Robert tore the clinging arms -from about his neck and threw her madly from him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -“What is the matter, Robert?” she cried fearfully, -looking at him in amazement.</p> - -<p>“I think ye had better go noo, Jean,” he answered -harshly, not looking at her. “’Twill be best for us -both. Oh, how I despise my weakness, I had no -right, no right noo.” And there was an agony of -shame and remorse in his voice.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean,” she asked white with rage. -“That you are not free to do as you like?” He remained -silent a moment.</p> - -<p>Then his face grew calm and peaceful. “The lass -whom ye hear singing is Mary Campbell, my betrothed -wife,” he answered simply. “We are to be -married when the plantin’ is done. We have been -sweethearts for years, and if I have in my weakness -forgotten my sworn vows to her, by God’s help I’ll -strive to be more faithful in the future.” His voice -vibrated with intense feeling as he made the resolution. -Then he continued softly and tenderly, “And -the love I bear my faithful Mary will never cease as -long as this crimson current flows within me.” A -mocking laugh greeted his words as he finished.</p> - -<p>“I tell you, Robert Burns,” cried Jean threateningly, -“she shall never be your wife, for I -will——” But the angry words died suddenly on -her lips at an unlooked-for interruption.</p> - -<p>“Jean, Jean,” called a lazy voice. Turning -quickly she saw with apprehension Lady Glencairn -standing in the open doorway of the cottage, beckoning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -leisurely to her. Had she heard her imprudent -words? she asked herself in terror. But no, that were -not possible. She had not raised her voice. For a -moment she hesitated, not knowing what to do. -Should she tell him the truth now? It would only -mean a hurriedly whispered word or two, but as she -looked at him standing there so proudly erect, the -angry, puzzled flush which her last hasty words had -occasioned still mantling his swarthy face, she felt -her courage slipping away from her. Why not wait -and write him? she temporized; that would be much -better than creating a scene now, with the sharp eye -of Lady Glencairn fastened upon them. Yes, she -would do that, she decided hastily. She turned calmly -and mounted the stile and without one backward -glance descended to the other side. “Are you coming?” -she asked indifferently over her shoulder, and -without waiting for his answer walked quickly toward -the house. Robert after a moment’s indecision -gravely followed her, the look of puzzled concern -still wrinkling his forehead.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I beg your pardon; I didn’t know you were -indulging in a tête-à-tête,” said Lady Glencairn -frigidly as they reached the door.</p> - -<p>“Lady Glencairn, this is Mr. Robert Burns,” stammered -Jean nervously, with a flush of embarrassment -at her ladyship’s sarcastic smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed, delighted I’m sure,” said her ladyship, -with a careless nod, which changed to surprised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -interest as Robert with simple, manly dignity removed -his Tam O’Shanter and bowed low before the -haughty beauty. “What an air for a peasant,” she -mused. “What dignity,” and she surveyed him -critically from the top of his head, with its black -clustering locks which gleamed purple in the sunshine, -to the tip of his rough leather brogans; -noting with admiration his stalwart frame, the well-shaped -head and massive neck, the strength suggested -in the broad shoulders, the deep chest, the -herculean limbs with the swelling muscles displayed -to such advantage within the tightly fitting breeches -of doe skin. “What a handsome creature,” she -thought with a thrill of admiration, as she took the -mental inventory of his good points. “And decidedly -interesting, I’ll wager, if not dangerous,” she -added, smiling contemplatively as she caught the look -of respectful admiration which gleamed in his wonderfully -magnetic eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, James,” she called languidly reëntering the -room, “here is the young man who has so kindly -assisted in repairing the coach—the young man who -has just returned from Mauchline,” she added significantly.</p> - -<p>“Nay, your ladyship, ’tis my brother Gilbert you -must thank for his assistance, not me,” replied Robert, -flushing. As the deep tones of his sonorous voice -fell on her ear she felt an indefinable thrill of emotion -steal over her that startled her. She looked at him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -wonderingly. What peculiar magnetism was there in -this farmer’s voice that could so easily move her, who -had always prided herself on her coldness, her indifference -to all men, including her husband, who was -blissfully unconscious of his beautiful wife’s sentiments -regarding him?</p> - -<p>“Your brother had no easy task, I fear, Mr. -Burns,” remarked Lord Glencairn genially. Then he -turned smilingly to Jean, who was standing impatiently -in the doorway. “What have you been doing -all this time, my dear Jean?” he asked lightly.</p> - -<p>“Ask Mr. Burns,” insinuated Lady Glencairn -with an odd little smile at Jean’s embarrassed -countenance. He looked inquiringly at the surprised -face of the young farmer.</p> - -<p>“Miss Armour has done me the honor of listening -to some of my rhyming,” quietly replied Robert with -a quick glance at Jean, his ready wit coming to her -rescue.</p> - -<p>“So then you are a poet,” murmured Lady Glencairn, -with a smile. “Do you write love sonnets to -your sweethearts, or does the muse incline at this season -to songs of springtime?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, my lady, he has the gift indeed,” spoke up -Mrs. Burns deprecatingly. “But I dinna’ ken if -it amounts to aught.”</p> - -<p>“My mother doesna’ care for my poetry,” said -Robert simply, turning to her ladyship.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ say that, laddie,” replied his mother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -earnestly. “Ye ken I’m o’er fond of those verses -to Highland Mary, but——”</p> - -<p>“‘Highland Mary’? what a dear name,” interrupted -Lady Glencairn sweetly, smiling at Robert. -“Who is she, may I ask?” and she leaned forward -questioningly in her chair.</p> - -<p>“She is a—a friend,” he replied, flushing to the -roots of his hair. Then he continued, softly, his eyes -lighting up with love and devotion, “An’ she is as -sweet and fragrant as a sprig of pure white heather -plucked from her native Highlands.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, and she’ll make a fine wife for Robert,” -added Mrs. Burns complacently.</p> - -<p>“Aye, finer than I deserve, mither,” he replied, -looking uneasily at Jean, who had started violently, -then quickly leaned back against the door post, pale -and trembling.</p> - -<p>“Marry her? Never! He cannot, he must not,” -she muttered to herself, frantically.</p> - -<p>“Why, Jean!” cried Lady Glencairn, going to her -in sudden alarm. “What ails you, why do you look -so wild?”</p> - -<p>“I—I’m—a pain gripped my heart most suddenly,” -she faltered. “I find it over warm here,” -she gasped. “I’ll await you without,” and she left -the room, a strange, frightened look on her pale -face.</p> - -<p>With a puzzled frown Lady Glencairn turned and -sank thoughtfully into a chair. Looking up suddenly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -she caught Robert’s eye fastened upon her -face in eager scrutiny. “Let me see, what were we -speaking about?” she inquired indifferently.</p> - -<p>“Ye were kind enough to ask me about my -poetry,” answered Rob quietly. Jean’s queer behavior -troubled him. What did it all mean? He -feared she had aroused suspicion in her ladyship’s -mind.</p> - -<p>“Oh, to be sure, and I vow I’m curious,” she replied -brightly. “I should like to read one of your -poems, Mr. Burns, if you have one at hand.”</p> - -<p>“He has bushels of them in the attic, your ladyship,” -eagerly spoke Mrs. Burns.</p> - -<p>“Aye, mother,” laughed Robert, “all waiting for -the publisher. Here is one I but this day scribbled -off, if—if ye really care to read it,” he added -bashfully, taking a scrap of paper from the pocket -of his loose shirt and handing it to Lady Glencairn.</p> - -<p>She took it with a smile of amused indifference. -A farmer and a poet! the idea was absurd. With an -almost imperceptibly sarcastic lifting of her delicate -eyebrows she read the title, “‘Flow gently, sweet -Afton, among thy green braes.’” Then she read the -verse in growing wonder and astonishment. She had -thought to please him with a word of praise, even if -they were laughably commonplace and prosaic; but it -was with genuine enthusiasm that she heartily cried, -“Really, ’tis a gem, Mr. Burns, so charming withal, -such beautiful sentiment, and writ in most excellent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -style. Read it, James,” and she handed it to Lord -Glencairn, who carefully perused it with apparent -delight in its rhythmic beauty of composition.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, my lady,” replied Robert, flushing. -“Your praise is o’er sweet to my hungry ear.” She -gazed at him in open admiration.</p> - -<p>“Here, Robert, are some more,” cried Mrs. Burns, -entering the room with a box, which she placed -before her son. “Show his lordship these, laddie,” -and she hovered nervously around, her face flushed -with excitement, watching anxiously every look and -expression that passed over the faces of their guests.</p> - -<p>Robert opened the box and selected a few of the -poems at random, which he handed to Lord Glencairn -without a word.</p> - -<p>“‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’ ‘Willie brewed -a peck of malt,’ ‘Holy Willie’s Prayer,’ ‘The Lass -of Balbehmyle,’” read Lord Glencairn slowly, -glancing over their titles. Then he read them -through earnestly, his noble face expressing the interest -he felt; then with a sigh of pleasure he passed -them to Lady Glencairn, who devoured the written -pages eagerly, her face flushed and radiant. When -she had finished, she leaned back in her chair and fixed -her luminous eyes upon her husband’s beaming face.</p> - -<p>“James,” said she decidedly, “you will please me -well if you will influence some publisher to accept this -young man’s poems and place them before the public. -I’m sure he is most deserving, and—he interests me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -greatly.” There was a peculiar glitter in her half-closed -eyes as she gazed intently at Robert with an -enigmatic smile parting her red lips. The gracious -lady with her high-bred air, her alluring smile, her -extreme condescension, was a revelation to the country-bred -lad, who was brought in close contact for the -first time with one so far above his station in life. -He felt his awkwardness more than he had ever -thought possible as he felt her critical eyes fastened -upon him and heard her honeyed words of praise and -encouragement.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Burns,” said his lordship earnestly, -“your poems interest me greatly, and I declare such -genius as you display should be given an opportunity -to develop. It will afford me much pleasure to take -these verses, with your permission, back with me to -Edinburgh and submit them to Sir William Creech, -who is the largest publisher there, and a personal -friend of mine, and if he accepts these poems as a -criterion of your artistic ability, without the least -doubt your success will be at once assured.” He put -them carefully in the large wallet he had taken from -an inside pocket while he was talking, and replaced it -within his coat.</p> - -<p>Robert looked at him, hardly daring to believe his -ears. “I—I canna find words to express my unbounded -gratitude to you, my lord,” he faltered, his -voice low and shaking.</p> - -<p>“I’d advise you to make a collection of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -poems, my lad,” continued Lord Glencairn quietly, -touched by the sight of Robert’s expressive features, -which he was vainly trying to control. “Chiefly -those in the Scottish dialect; they are new and will -create a sensation. Have them ready to forward -to town when sent for.” There was a tense silence -for a moment when he had finished.</p> - -<p>Robert dared not trust his voice to speak, to -utter his thanks. Finally he burst out. “My -lord, how can I ever thank ye for this unlooked-for -generosity to an absolute stranger!” he cried -brokenly. “For years I have been praying for a -publisher to edit my songs, but I could see no silver -lining to the dark clouds of obscurity hanging over -my unhappy, friendless head, clouds which threatened -to engulf me in their maddening embrace. -But now,” he continued eloquently, his voice ringing -with gladness, “the bright sunlight is peeping -around the fast disappearing cloud, warming my -very soul with its joyous rays. Oh, my lord, if -ever the name of Robert Burns should e’en become -familiar to his countrymen,’twill be through your -graciousness, your benevolence, to a poor unknown, -humble plowman,” and his eyes filled with tears of -love and gratitude for his noble benefactor.</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn took a pinch of snuff from the -small oblong box he held in his hand, and used his -handkerchief vigorously to conceal the tears of sympathy -which had welled up in his eyes as he listened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -to the recital of Robert’s ambitions, his hopes and -fears.</p> - -<p>“My dear lad,” he said, trying to speak lightly, -“I have done nothing as yet to deserve such fulsome -words of thanks. ’Tis but a trifling thing I -propose doing, and it pleases me, else perhaps I -might not trouble myself to speak in your behalf.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, noo, sir,” cried Mrs. Burns, wiping away -the tears of joy, “’tis your big, noble heart which -prompts ye to assist a struggling genius to something -better, higher, and nobler in this life. God -bless ye for it.”</p> - -<p>The door opened, and Gilbert Burns quietly -entered the room. Removing his Tam O’Shanter, he -bowed respectfully to Lord Glencairn and said -briefly, “Your Lordship’s coach is repaired.”</p> - -<p>With a word of thanks Lord Glencairn rose and -assisted his wife into her cloak.</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness we can proceed on our journey -while it is yet light,” she said animatedly, going to -the door.</p> - -<p>“I assure you, Mistress Burns, we have enjoyed -your hospitality amazing well,” said Lord Glencairn, -turning to their hostess. “Believe me, we’ll not forget -it.”</p> - -<p>They left the house, followed by their admiring -hosts. Suddenly Lady Glencairn gave a little cry -of delighted surprise as her eyes rested on the drooping -figure of Highland Mary, sitting disconsolately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -on a large rock beside the old well. “What a sweet, -pretty flower of a lass!” she cried enthusiastically. -“Come here, child,” she called aloud. Mary looked -up quickly with a little gasp of surprise, for she had -not noticed them come out. She rose bashfully to her -feet and stood hesitating, her eyes timidly fixed on a -piece of heather she was holding in her hand.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn laughed amusedly. “I vow ’tis -an uncommon modest shy wildflower truly,” she said -to her husband. “Come here, child, I’ll not bite you,” -and she held out her hands toward the wondering -girl.</p> - -<p>With a little silvery, timid laugh Mary walked -quickly toward her. “I’m no afraid, my lady,” she -replied quietly, but her heart was beating very fast, -nevertheless, as she stood before the great lady, who -was watching the flower-like face, with the delicate -pink color coming and going, with such apparent -admiration.</p> - -<p>“That’s our Highland Mary,” triumphantly -cried Souter, who had just come upon the scene.</p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed,” replied her ladyship brightly. “So -you are Highland Mary.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lady,” answered Mary with a quaint -little courtesy.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she a dear,” said Lady Glencairn aloud to -her husband.</p> - -<p>She turned to Robert, who was proudly watching -Mary, with eyes aglow with love and happiness. “No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -wonder, Mr. Burns,” she said, a sigh involuntarily -escaping her as she noted his rapt gaze, “that you -have sought to portray in song and verse the sweet -loveliness of this fair maiden.” Then she turned -suddenly to Mary.</p> - -<p>“You’re a very pretty child,” she said carelessly. -“But I suppose you know that well ere this.” She -laughed cynically and turned away.</p> - -<p>“She isna used to such compliments, your ladyship,” -said Robert, noticing the embarrassed blush -that mounted to Mary’s cheek. “She’s o’er shy, ye -ken.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the kind we raise in the Highlands,” -declared Souter with a satisfied air.</p> - -<p>“Come, James, it grows late,” wearily said Lady -Glencairn, taking her husband’s arm. “And here is -the coach.” As the vehicle with its prancing black -horses champing restlessly at their bits drew up to -the gate, she turned to Mary and said condescendingly, -“Good-by, child; I suppose some day, when Mr. -Burns is the Bard of Scotland, we’ll see you in town -with him. Be sure to come and see me at Glencairn -Hall.”</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, my lady,” replied Mary, courtesying -deeply, fortunately not discerning the sarcasm in the -tired tones of the great lady’s voice.</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn helped her into the coach, and -then turned to Robert with outstretched hand. “My -lad,” he said cordially, “you may expect to hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -from me or Sir William Creech very shortly. -Good-by.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by, sir,” replied Robert, “and may Heaven -bless you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lud,” cried Lady Glencairn as they were -about to start, “we’re forgetting Jean.”</p> - -<p>“The young lady strolled alang,” answered Gilbert -quietly. “She said you would overtake her on -the road.”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn thanked him with a careless nod, -and then leaned far out of the door to Robert. “Remember, -Mr. Burns,” she said softly, pressing his -hand, “I expect to see you in Edinburgh very soon, -don’t forget,” and with another lingering look, full -of meaning, she withdrew into the coach, and soon -they were gone in a cloud of dust, while he stood there -gazing after them like one in a dream with the last -rays of the setting sun lighting up his dark, passionate -face.</p> - -<p>“Hurra! ’tis luck ye’re in, laddie,” shouted -Souter in his ear. “The gentry have noticed ye. -Ye should be dancing for joy, mon. I’m off to tell -the lads of your good fortune,” and away he sped -to the village, eager as any old gossip to spread the -glorious news.</p> - -<p>“Isna it all like a dream, Mary?” sighed Mrs. -Burns rapturously, leading the way into the house, -followed by the two lovers, who entered hand in hand -and seated themselves in blissful silence on the high-backed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -settle under the window, their favorite seat. -For a few moments they sat motionless, regarding -each other with moist eyes. It almost seemed too -good to be true. In a few weeks perhaps Robert -would be a great man, thought Mary proudly. -“Weel, I always did have faith in Robert’s poetry,” -suddenly declared Mrs. Burns with conviction.</p> - -<p>Robert smiled at his mother’s words. “They -would all say that now,” he thought, but without -bitterness, for it was only the way of the world after -all.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll soon hae riches noo,” said Mary happily.</p> - -<p>“Aye, then ye shall hae a fine new gown, and—and -we will be married noo, instead of waiting,” answered -Robert, taking her tenderly in his arms.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a bonnie, bonnie pair ye make,” said Mrs. -Burns lovingly. “May God bless ye,” and she softly -stole away, leaving them to their feast of love.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus3.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Slipped quickly behind an old beech tree.”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> - -<p>Jean left the house filled with terrified dismay. Robert -going to marry another? then what would -become of her? She would be disgraced and ruined. -The thought drove her frantic. “He shall not marry -her; he shall give me the protection of his name, for -the time being at least,” she said to herself angrily. -Afterward, the marriage could be easily annulled; she -did not want him. She did not want to be tied for life -to any farmer, not she. She would then return to -Edinburgh. But suppose he would not consent to -such an arrangement? Well she would scare him into -it. He was as much to blame as she was anyway. -She would not wait to write him after all; she would -tell him now. There was nothing to fear. She would -wait until the others had started, then come back and -force her claim. If they went on without her, it -did not matter much; it was not far to the Inn, she -mused determinedly. She stopped in her rapid walk -and retraced her steps. As she neared the cottage -the door opened and her god-parents came out, and -with them were Robert and the others. Before they -could perceive her, however, she slipped quickly behind -an old beech tree back of the well and nearest -the house. Breathlessly, impatiently, she waited while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -they talked, and talked, till she thought they would -never go. Then when the coach came and the attendant -excitement of its departure, like a guilty -creature she stole noiselessly across the intervening -space to the cottage, slipped through the open door, -and hid herself behind the fireplace, where Mary had -concealed herself some weeks before.</p> - -<p>After Mrs. Burns left the room Jean came boldly -out from her hiding place and stood before the -startled couple, who gazed at her in amazement. She -looked at them insolently, a sneer on her full lips.</p> - -<p>“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Burns,” she interrupted -sarcastically. The color slowly faded from -his ruddy face. Was she going to expose that -shameful page in his past history to this innocent -child? Would she dare, could she be so reckless, so -shameless? he asked himself fearfully.</p> - -<p>“I thought ye had gone,” he said, dangerously -calm, stepping up to her.</p> - -<p>“I could not go till I had delivered a message,” -she explained, dropping her eyes before the determined -light in his.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he asked, puzzled by her tone and -manner.</p> - -<p>“It is of great importance and for your ears -alone,” she replied glibly. “I’m sure this lady—Miss -Campbell, is it not?—will not mind leaving us -for a moment,” and she smiled amiably into Mary’s -innocent inquiring face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>He led Mary gently to the door. “It’ll be only -for a moment, Mary,” he said quietly.</p> - -<p>“I dinna’ mind,” she answered brightly. “’Tis -near time for me to be going hame, ye ken,” and with -a smile she left them together.</p> - -<p>“Noo, then, what is your message?” he said with -calm abruptness, as the door closed.</p> - -<p>“This!” and she threw back her head defiantly. -“You must give up this Mary Campbell.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her in amazement. “What do ye -mean?” he gasped, opening his eyes in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“I mean you must make me your wife.” Her pale -and agitated face made him wonder if she had gone -quite daft. Before he could answer she continued -stridently, “You must marry me now, before it is -too late, too late to save my name from dishonor and -disgrace. Now do you understand?”</p> - -<p>A look of incredulous horror slowly blanched his -face to ashy whiteness. Had he heard aright? Surely -she was jesting; it could not be possible—and yet, -why not? His haggard eyes searched her colorless -face as though he would read her very soul. Calmly -she bore the scrutiny and then, with a groan of -anguish, he sank into a chair, weak and trembling. -“I canna, I willna, believe,” he muttered hoarsely. -“It’s a lie, it’s a lie, Jean Armour!”</p> - -<p>“It’s the truth, I tell you,” she cried passionately, -wringing her hands. “What else think you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -force me, the rich Belle of Mauchline, to humble my -pride and stoop to plead to a poverty-stricken farmer -to wed me?” She laughed wildly.</p> - -<p>“Can it be true, can it be true?” he whispered to -himself dully. He felt dazed by the suddenness, the -total unexpectedness, of the blow. He closed his eyes -wearily. What was it she wanted him to do, he -could not think. He sat dumbly waiting for her to -speak again.</p> - -<p>“You must write out an acknowledgment and -sign your name to it,” she continued, her voice low -and insistent. “It is an irregular marriage I know, -but it will save me from my father’s wrath, when I -can keep my plight from him no longer.” He still remained -silent, his face hidden in his hands. “Will -you do this?” she demanded anxiously, “or,” and -her voice grew hard and threatening, “or shall I -appeal to the Parish officers to help me save my good -name from disgrace?” Quickly he raised his head. -At his look of indignant scorn she winced and -turned away, flushing angrily.</p> - -<p>With a mirthless little laugh he retorted with -bitter emphasis, “Your good name, indeed!”</p> - -<p>She turned on him defiantly. “I was no worse -than other girls,” she flippantly retorted. “Only -more unfortunate. Will you do what I ask? Quick, -tell me, someone is coming!” She nervously caught -his hand. He did not speak. His face grew haggard -and old-looking as he stood motionless, forming<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -his resolution. It seemed to her an eternity before -he answered her.</p> - -<p>“So be it,” he answered hoarsely, drawing his hand -away from hers and moving slowly to the door. “I’ll -send ye the lines by the posty to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>With a cry of delight she gratefully held out -her hand to him. But he quietly opened the door, -and, without a word or look at her, stood silently -holding it back, his head bowed low on his bosom, his -face cold and repellent. Slowly Jean walked past -him out into the deepening twilight. She felt a -dawning pity in her heart for the wretched lad. She -could not quite forget those old, happy days, those -stolen walks and trysts along the banks of the Ayr. -No one could make love so ardently as he, she -thought with a sigh. Of all her lovers he had been -the favorite, he was so ingenuous, so trustful and confiding, -and yet so reckless, so imprudent and weak. -She knew well he had never really loved her, and the -thought had made her strive all the harder to win him. -He was flattered by her open preference for him, and -soon became an easy victim, a slave, to her seductive -charms and sophisticated fascinations, for he was only -human. And now the heart of that little dairymaid -would be broken. A quick pang of shame and regret -stole over her, but she instantly stifled it. She must -think of self first, she told herself uneasily. Anyway -she only wanted the marriage lines in case people -should point an accusing finger at her. Later—well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -the marriage could be annulled privately, and no one -be the wiser, for marriages were easily annulled in -Scotland. She walked briskly to where the coach was -standing, for they were waiting for her, determined -to cast all gloomy, depressing thoughts from her for -the time at least.</p> - -<p>Robert mechanically closed the door behind her -and walked slowly to the dresser. Taking from it a -bottle of ink and a quill, he carried them to the table, -and placing them upon it, sank heavily in a chair. -Long he sat there, pen in hand, the victim of the -profoundest melancholy, the deepest despair. The -thought that it was his own fault, his indifference to -consequences, his recklessness, his weak, sinful folly, -that had plunged himself and others into the awful -abyss of grief and sorrow, was like the bitterness of -death to him. As he sat there with drawn and haggard -face, while bitter regret gnawed deeply at his -conscience, the plaintive tones of Mary’s voice came -through the window, singing softly:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Ye banks and braes of bonnie Doon,</div> -<div class="verse">How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A groan of agony escaped the grief-stricken -man at the sound of the voice, which was sweeter than -all else in the world to him.</p> - -<p>“Mary, my lost Highland Mary!” he cried aloud, -“how can I give ye up forever?” and throwing himself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -across the table he wept bitter tears of anguish -and remorse.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“How can ye chant, ye little birds,</div> -<div class="verse">An’ I sae weary, fu’ o’ care?”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">continued the sweet voice in mournful cadence. -Softly the words floated to the ears of the sorrowing -man, like the echo of his own harrowing thoughts.</p> - -<p>As Mary reached the open window she paused -and gazed into the room eagerly. As she sees her -lover sitting there so silent and alone, her smile is -very sweet and tender.</p> - -<p>“Dear laddie; asleep,” she whispers softly. “He -must be o’er tired after his hard day’s work. God -bless my laddie,” and with a smile of ineffable sweetness, -she wafted a kiss to the bowed head and quickly -passed on, wending her lonely way back to Castle -Montgomery, while the man sitting there in agonized -silence, with clenched teeth and tense muscles, -slowly raised his head to listen, in heart-broken silence, -to her sweet voice floating back to him in silvery -melody, as she took up the broken thread of her -song:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird,</div> -<div class="verse">That wantons thro’ the flow’ring thorn.</div> -<div class="verse">Thou minds me o’ departed joys,</div> -<div class="verse">Departed, never to return.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The song died away in the distance.</p> - -<p>“God pity her, God pity me,” he murmured -brokenly.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> - -<p>From the huge, low ceilinged kitchen of Castle -Montgomery, which was ablaze with light, came the -gladsome sound of mirth and revelry, for</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Some merry countre folks togither did convene,</div> -<div class="verse">To burn their nits and pou’ their stocks, and hold their hallowe’en,</div> -<div class="verse">For blythe that night.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>For miles around the annual invitations had been -sent broadcast, and to-night the capacious kitchen -was taxed to its utmost. It was, however, a singularly -good-natured, if over-hilarious, gathering that had -assembled to do justice to old Bess’s cooking, and to -test their fate through the medium of the many -charms so well known to all the peasantry.</p> - -<p>There was Poosie Nancy in her stiffly-starched -frilled cap and her new kirtle, complacently nodding -here and there to all of her acquaintances as -they flocked about her. Poosie Nancy was a merry -old soul. For years she had been the mistress of the -Arms Inn, the public house on the high road, where -Souter and Tam O’Shanter were wont to idle away -their time and, incidentally, their “siller.” Standing -on one foot behind her was Molly Dunn. Molly was -consciously resplendent in a new plaid frock, made by -her own unskilled hands, and while it was certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -not a thing of beauty, it surely was a joy forever, to -the lassies, who laughingly twitted her about her -handiwork. But she heeded not their good-natured -jibes. She was admiringly watching Daddy Auld, -the little old minister, who sat in the midst of an -admiring group of his parishioners at the other side -of the room, who evidently stood in no awe of him, -judging from the bursts of laughter which greeted his -frequent attempts at jocularity.</p> - -<p>“Where is Tam O’Shanter, Souter Johnny?” suddenly -asked old Bess, who was proudly doing the -honors as mistress of ceremonies. Souter was -assiduously paying court to the comely Poosie Nancy -in the opposite corner with an eye to future possibilities.</p> - -<p>“He willna be here till late,” he replied impatiently, -addressing the crowd. “I left him at the Arms Inn, -an’ if he drinks much mair whisky, he will na’ be here -at all, I’m thinkin’,” and he turned eagerly to his -inamorata, who was fanning herself indifferently with -a plantain leaf.</p> - -<p>“He’ll fall into the Doon some night an’ be -drowned, sure as fate,” said she, carelessly dismissing -the subject.</p> - -<p>“Take your partners for the reel!” shouted big -Malcolm Macræ stentoriously, at this juncture. Old -Donald tuned up his fiddle with gleeful alacrity.</p> - -<p>Souter ceremoniously offered Poosie his arm, -which she condescendingly accepted, and majestically<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -they walked to the middle of the floor. With -much laughing and joking and good-natured rivalry, -they were all quickly paired off, and soon the -rafters rang with the happy voices of the hilarious -dancers as they merrily sang to the tune that blind -Donald was scratching out on his old and faithful, -though unmelodious, fiddle.</p> - -<p>Mary had taken no part in the merrymaking, for -she felt heavy and sad at heart. From her seat in -the corner, where the light was the dimmest, she had -watched the door with patient anxiety, hoping -against hope that Robert would come, but she had -waited in vain, and now the evening was nearly spent -and soon they would be going home, happy and tired -after their sport and entertainment, while she would -steal away to her quarters over the kitchen and cry -herself to sleep, as she had done for many nights -past. Souter Johnny, who was in his element and the -merriest of them all, had tried vainly to induce her to -join the revelers in their sport, and many an honest -laddie had sought her hand in the dance, only to -be shyly refused. So gradually she was left in peace, -and soon forgotten amid the excitement of their diversions. -They had tried some of the famous charms, -which decided the destinies of many of the lads and -lassies that night, and now old Bess brought forth -her long-hoarded bag of nuts, which she divided -among them. Amid shouts of mirth and laughter, -they proceeded to test the most famous of all the -charms. As they rushed pell-mell to the fireplace<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -and laid each particular nut in the fire, for which -they had named the lad or lassie of their choice, -and stood there eagerly watching, open-mouthed, to -see how they would burn, Mary, with a quickly beating -heart, stole unperceived close to the front row of -watchers, and with a little prayer, quietly threw her -pair into the fire. For a moment they burned slowly -side by side, then with a hop and a jump they popped -madly about, and finally at opposite sides of the -fireplace they glowed redly for a time, then expired -altogether. With a little, suppressed sob, unheeded -in the general excitement, she hurried back to her -seat, pale and trembling. It was as she had feared: -the course of their love was never again to run -smoothly, the charm had spoken. It had never been -known to predict wrongly. Why had she sought to -find out her fate? she asked herself pathetically. -Unheeding the merry songs and dances going on -around her, of which they never seemed to weary, and -the unco tales and funny jokes, she sat there thinking -her sweet, sad thoughts, and patiently waiting till -they should depart for their homes, that she might -seek the quiet of her bed, where her aching heart -might find relief in the tears which nowadays were -so hard to control. Suddenly the laughter subsided, -and Mary with a start raised her head to see all eyes -turned on her.</p> - -<p>“Mary, come here, lass,” called Souter Johnny, -who was fanning himself vigorously.</p> - -<p>“It’s your turn noo, Mary,” they cried boisterously.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -“So gie us a dance or a song,” and they -all pressed around her with good-natured suggestions.</p> - -<p>Old Bess took the shrinking girl by the hand, and -leading her forward, with a deep courtesy announced, -“Hieland Mary will favor us wi’ a song,” -then she left Mary standing in the center of the room -suffering agonies of dread as she raised her frightened -eyes to the group of laughing, good-natured, -gaping faces about her.</p> - -<p>“I canna’ sing, I canna’ sing, Souter,” she faltered, -turning to him beseechingly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ye can, dearie, just a—a verse, there’s a -girlie,” he answered encouragingly. “Come and -stand beside me, if that’s any inspiration to ye,” he -added, smiling good-humoredly.</p> - -<p>She ran to his side, and clutching him by the arm, -tried to muster up her courage, for the good-natured -audience were clamorously demanding a song. With -a frightened little gasp she began to sing the first -thing that came to her mind. “Oh, where, and oh, -where is my Highland laddie gone?” she faltered -out. A little titter passed through the crowd, for -they knew that “Rab Burns was nae longer sweet -on Mary Campbell,” as they told each other in loud -whispers. At the cruel sound Mary, whose lips had -trembled ominously as she thought of her recreant -lover, with an indignant look at the thoughtless ones, -burst into a flood of tears. Quickly Souter led her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -sobbing to a seat, while the others anxiously crowded -round, conscience-stricken at their thoughtless levity.</p> - -<p>“What’s happent? what’s happent? Has she -fainted?” they asked in helpless confusion, gazing -from one to the other.</p> - -<p>“She’s only a wee bittie tired,” answered old -Souter, tenderly smoothing the hair of the sorrowing -lass. “Let her alone an’ she’ll be all right. -Donald,” he called, “start your fiddle; we’re gang -to hae anither dance.”</p> - -<p>The blind old patriarch smiled serenely, and raising -his fiddle to his chin began to play, and soon the -mirth and fun grew fast and furious as the dancers -reeled and set, and crosst and cleekit.</p> - -<p>While old Donald was playing, and the dance was -well started, Souter quietly led Mary out in the open -air, and sitting down on the doorstep, he drew her -gently beside him. “Noo, Mary, what is the matter?” -he inquired kindly. “Winna ye tell old Souter -Johnny your trouble?”</p> - -<p>“Ye ken why I am unhappy, Souter Johnny,” -answered Mary apathetically. He sighed and remained -silent.</p> - -<p>“Have ye an’ Robert quarreled?” he asked -presently.</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered sadly.</p> - -<p>“Weel, come tell old Souter; it may ease your -mind, lassie,” and he drew her plaid about her -shoulders, for the night air was keen.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, ye ken, Souter,” she faltered, a pitiful -little break in her voice, “Robbie an’ I were to be -married after the plantin’ was o’er, and ’tis noo -harvest time, but ne’er a word has he spoke of our -marriage since that day. He is so changed, Souter, -I—I canna understand him at all,” and she leaned -wearily against his shoulder like a tired child.</p> - -<p>“That Armour lass is at the bottom of it all, I -ken,” thought Souter angrily, drawing her close to -him.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” continued Mary sadly, “perhaps he -has grown tired of his Highland Mary.” She plucked -idly at the fringe of her plaid, a look of resignation -on her sweet face.</p> - -<p>“Tired o’ ye?” repeated Souter incredulously. -“A man would be a most fearful fool to gie up such -a bonnie, sweet lassie as ye are. Noo, if I were only -younger, Robbie Burns wouldna hae things all his -own way, I tell ye,” and he nodded his head vigorously.</p> - -<p>“I ken he has some trouble,” said Mary, not heeding -his jocular efforts to cheer her, “that makes -him so unhappy like; if he would only let me share -that trouble wi’ him, whate’er it is, how gladly I -would do it.”</p> - -<p>Souter rubbed his bearded chin reflectively.</p> - -<p>“Weel, Mary, ye ken Robert’s a genius,” he -answered soberly. “An’ ye can ne’er tell how a -genius is gang to act, therefore ye must ne’er be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -surprised, Mary, at whate’er he does, for genius is -but anither name for eccentricity an’—an’ perverseness,” -and he sighed deeply, his kind old face wrinkled -with perplexity.</p> - -<p>“I feel, Souter,” she continued, pathetically calm, -“that I am slowly, but surely, drifting out o’ his -life forever.” She gazed suddenly into the face bending -over her solicitously.</p> - -<p>“Dinna ye know the cause, Souter?” she asked -beseechingly.</p> - -<p>He brushed his hand across his eyes and slowly -shook his head. She sighed patiently and turned -away her head and gazed listlessly into space. For a -few moments there was deep silence, broken only -by the bursts of laughter which came to them at -intervals from within.</p> - -<p>“Lassie, listen to me,” finally said the old man, -his voice cheery and hopeful once more. “Ye -mustna be so down-hearted; there is a cause for -everything in this world, an’ I ken Robert loves ye -wi’ all his heart, just the same as ever. Why, ye -can see the glimmer o’ love in his e’e whene’er he -looks at ye.” He smiled approvingly as Mary’s face -brightened, then continued decidedly, “Robert is well-nigh -daft that he hasna heard frae Lord Glencairn -all this time; that is why he is sae worrid an’ nervous, -sae moody an’ neglectful; noo cheer thee, lassie, it’ll -all come right in time,” and he patted her shoulder -lovingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I feel sae much better, Souter,” she murmured, -pressing his hand gratefully. “An’ noo I’ll -na borrow trouble any mair, thinkin’ Robert doesna’ -love me.” She smiled happily and jumped lightly to -her feet.</p> - -<p>“Whist, Mary, why dinna ye make sure o’ that?” -whispered Souter, looking around him mysteriously. -She looked at him wonderingly. “’Tis Hallowe’en, -ye ken, an’ a’ the witches an’ fairies are about this -night an’ will grant any wish made. Try a charm, -lassie.”</p> - -<p>“I did try one,” replied Mary with a sigh. “I -burned the nuts, but it didna’ come out right; that’s -what made me sad.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, weel, try anither; go pull a stock.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nay, I’m afraid to go out in the field at -night,” she replied timidly, drawing back. “But -I’ll go if ye’ll come wi’ me.” She held out her hand -to him.</p> - -<p>“Nay, thank ye, Mary,” he said grimly. “I -dinna’ care to see the face o’ my future wife just -yet; I fear I couldna’ stand the shock.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I darena’ go alone,” answered Mary decidedly, -her hand on the latch. “Think of anither -charm, one I can do indoors.”</p> - -<p>“An’ do ye think the fairies will come around -where ’tis light?” he cried in amazement. “Och, -no, ye must go to the darkest place ye can find.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> -His little round eyes gazed into hers with solemn -earnestness.</p> - -<p>Mary shivered with apprehension and peered into -the darkness. “Oh, Souter, think o’ the witches,” -she said nervously.</p> - -<p>“They willna’ hurt ye,” he answered a little impatiently. -“Ye maun sow a handful of hempseed -an’ harrow it o’er wi’ anything ye can draw after -ye, an’ repeat o’er and o’er,” assuming a guttural -monotone:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Hempseed, I sow thee; hempseed, I sow thee,</div> -<div class="verse">And him that is to be my true love,</div> -<div class="verse">Come after me and draw thee.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>“And will I see him then?” whispered Mary -eagerly, drawing near to him.</p> - -<p>“Aye,” returned Souter hoarsely. “Look over -your left shoulder an’ ye’ll see your future husband -pullin’ hemp. Noo, off wi’ ye; ye’ll find some -seed in the barn.” Mary tried to summon up her -courage, for she was highly superstitious, like all the -peasantry, and was anxious to test the potency of -the charm, and finally succeeded in taking a few -faltering footsteps in the direction of the barn, -when suddenly the door behind them opened, and -Molly Dunn appeared in the doorway. She held in -one hand a lighted candle, while in the other she carried -a broken piece of looking-glass, into which she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -was gazing intently, her eyes fixed and staring. -Behind her, crowding through the doorway, followed -the now noiseless revelers, who were stifling their -laughter to breathlessly watch the outcome of the -well-known charm, whose power Molly had decided -to put to a test, though believing staunchly in its -potency. Molly majestically walked down the steps -and across to the well, where, depositing her mirror -on the curbing, she took from the pocket of her -skirt a round, red apple, from which she bit a -goodly piece and began vigorously to chew upon it, -the while holding her candle above her head and anxiously -watching her reflection in the mirror.</p> - -<p>“Molly’s eatin’ the apple at the glass,” chuckled -Souter to Mary softly. “She’s lookin’ for the face -o’ her future husband. Let’s hae some fun wi’ her.” -He motioned to them all to keep silent, and stealing -softly over to the unconscious Molly, intoned in a -deep sepulchral voice, “Molly Dunn, if ye would see -your future husband, dinna’ ye dare turn your head -this way.”</p> - -<p>Molly gave a shriek of terror, thereby choking -herself with the piece of apple she was industriously -eating, and falling on her knees, her teeth -chattering in fear, she cried frantically, “The -witches! the witches!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, I’m the Deil himsel’,” answered Souter in -awe-inspiring accents. Molly groaned aloud, in mortal -terror, not daring to turn around. “An’ I’ve<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -come for ye, Molly Dunn,” slowly continued her -tormentor.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay!” cried Molly, her eyes staring wildly -in front of her. “I want naught to do wi’ ye; gang -awa’, gang awa’!” and she wildly waved her hands -behind her.</p> - -<p>“Not till ye’ve seen the face o’ the man ye’ll -wed,” replied the voice. “Beauteous fairy of Hallowe’en, -come forth,” he commanded majestically, -beckoning to Mary to come nearer. She did so. -“Speak, kind fairy.” He whispered to her what to -say to the awestruck Molly.</p> - -<p>Thus admonished, Mary, who was once more her -old light-hearted winsome self, raised her sweet voice -and spoke in a high falsetto, “Gaze in the looking-glass, -Molly Dunn; eat o’ the apple, think o’ the one -ye desire to see, an’ his face will appear beside -yours.”</p> - -<p>“Behold, I pass the magic wand o’er your head, -ye faithless woman,” added Souter threateningly.</p> - -<p>Hurriedly Molly complied with the injunctions, -and patiently she knelt there, apple in hand, the -candle light glaring full on her eager, ugly face, and -the wisp of faded hair tied tightly on top of her head, -which was waving wildly about, while she waited for -the face to appear beside her own reflection in the -glass.</p> - -<p>“Do ye see him yet?” asked Mary eagerly, -forgetting her rôle of “The Fairy of Hallowe’en,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -and speaking in her natural tone, while the group -at the doorway drew closer to the kneeling woman in -their excited curiosity.</p> - -<p>“Nay, not yet,” replied Molly in an awestruck -whisper.</p> - -<p>“Hold the candle higher,” admonished Souter, -“an’ eat quicker.” Molly did so. “Noo do you -see your handsome lover?” He crept up slyly behind -Molly, and bending over her shoulder, peered -into the glass, where he beheld the shadowy reflection -of his own face looming up beside that of the wondering -Molly. With a gasp of pleasure not unmixed -with fear, she dropped the glass, and turning quickly -grabbed the surprised Souter and held him close. As -she raised her candle to see whom the fairies had sent -to her, she recognized her tormentor, and with a -shriek of rage, she clouted the laughing Souter over -the head with her candlestick, amid peals of laughter -from the delighted spectators, until he called for -mercy.</p> - -<p>“Dinna I suit ye, Molly?” he asked in an injured -tone, nursing his sorely punished head.</p> - -<p>“Ye skelpie limmer’s face, ye, how dare ye try -sich sportin’ wi’ me?” she cried angrily.</p> - -<p>“The glass canna’ lie,” called out old Bess with -a shake of her frilled cap.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye seen Souter’s face there, Molly,” laughed -Poosie Nancy loudly. “There’s no gainsaying -that.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want a braw mon, a handsome mon,” whimpered -Molly. “Ye’re no a mon at all, ye wee skelpie -limmer.” The burst of laughter which greeted this -sally was very disconcerting to Souter, whose height, -five feet two inches, was distinctly a sore subject.</p> - -<p>“Try anither charm, Molly,” said Mary, feeling -sorry for the poor innocent.</p> - -<p>“Aye, I will,” replied Molly eagerly, drying her -tears with the back of her hand.</p> - -<p>“Then come alang,” said Souter, ready to make -amends. “Come an’ pull a stock. Gie me your -hand.” She did so eagerly. “Noo shut your eyes -tight; that’s it; come along noo.” But Molly braced -herself and refused to move.</p> - -<p>“I’m afeered o’ the dark an’ the witches,” she faltered, -her teeth chattering, her eyes so tightly closed -that her face was drawn into a mass of deep wrinkles.</p> - -<p>They all crowded round the couple with words of -praise and encouragement, and presently Molly was -persuaded to take a step forward and then another, -and finally the two moved slowly away and were -swallowed up in the darkness.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the rest of the revelers, after a whispered -consultation, hurried to the outhouse, amid -smothered shrieks of laughter.</p> - -<p>Molly and Souter walked slowly and timidly toward -the field of corn, which looked unreal and shadowy -in the pale moonlight. Molly’s few remaining teeth -were now chattering so loudly that Souter began<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -to grow nervous. He jerked her arm impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Be a mon, Molly,” he hoarsely whispered, his -voice a little shaky.</p> - -<p>“I’m afeered to,” she answered, opening her eyes -and looking fearfully around. They took a few -more stumbling step, then stopped.</p> - -<p>“Och, get off my foot, ye towsie tyke!” cried -Souter. Molly hastily removed the offending member -and on they went again. Suddenly they stopped, -rooted to the spot in terror. A low, blood-curdling -moan had rent the stillness. Again it came, chilling -the very blood in their veins by its awful weirdness.</p> - -<p>“The witches! the witches!” gasped Molly in -abject fear.</p> - -<p>Turning, they beheld a sight that caused their -hair to stand on end, “the marrow to congeal -in their bones,” as Souter afterward explained the -sensation which came over him. Coming toward -them was a score or more of hideous apparitions with -fire blazing from their eyes and their horribly grinning -mouths, and groaning and moaning like lost -souls. With a mortal cry of terror, the frightened -couple sped on wings of fear back to the friendly -light of the kitchen, the ghostly figures darting after -them with diabolical bursts of laughter. As they -slammed the door of the house behind them their pursuers -stopped and quickly blew out their Jack-o’-Lanterns -and then threw them to one side.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I didna ken mortal mon could e’er run so fast,” -snickered Poosie Nancy to the others as they noiselessly -entered the kitchen in time to hear the wonderful -tale of Souter’s hairbreadth escape from the -witches.</p> - -<p>Another hour of mirth and jollity, of dance and -song soon sped around. Souter and Molly were still -the center of an admiring group, for they had seen -the witches with their own eyes, and that distinction -was theirs alone that night. Suddenly the old clock -struck twelve, then began a merry scrambling for -bonnets and plaids. Having donned them, they -noisily crowded around their hostesses, who were -lined up against the wall, waiting ceremoniously to -be thanked for their hospitality and to bid their parting -guests godspeed. As the darts of homely wit -and repartee flew back and forth among them, causing -the lads to burst into uproarious laughter or -to grin in awkward bashfulness, and the lassies to -turn their heads away blushingly or to toss their -curls coquettishly, the door burst in suddenly, and -Tam O’Shanter staggered to the center of the floor, -pale, wild-eyed, and disheveled.</p> - -<p>“Tam O’Shanter!” they cried, gazing at him in -startled amazement. Souter quickly reached his old -cronie’s side.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, mon? hae ye seen a ghost?” -he asked concernedly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, worse than that, much worse,” hoarsely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -replied Tam, wiping the sweat from off his forehead -with a trembling hand.</p> - -<p>“What’s happened?” cried old Bess fearfully.</p> - -<p>“Calm yoursel’ an’ tell us, Tam,” said Souter -soothingly. They brought him a chair, for he trembled -like an aspen leaf. Throwing himself into it, -he gazed about him fearfully, the while struggling -to regain his breath.</p> - -<p>“Well,’tis this way, Souter,” he began presently -in a husky whisper. “I left the Arms Inn about an -hour ago or thereabouts an’ started for hame, for -’tis a long ride to Carrick, ye ken, an’ a most uncanny -ride e’en in the daylight.”</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” affirmed Poosie Nancy with a nod -of conviction to the others.</p> - -<p>“Weel,” continued Tam impressively, “a few -miles beyond the Maypole road ye have to pass a -dark, uncanny spot, the cairn where the hunters -found the murdered bairn. Ye ken the spot, Souter?” -turning to him for confirmation.</p> - -<p>Souter nodded his head quickly. “Aye, Tam, I -ken it weel, for ’twas near there old Mingo’s mother -hanged hersel’.” Old Bess looked over her shoulder -nervously.</p> - -<p>“Aye,” eagerly assented Tam, then he continued, -“Weel, a weird sight awaited me there; my blood -runs cold noo. Suddenly I heard a sound o’ music -and revelry, and Maggie stopped still, frightened -stiff. I looked up, and glimmering thro’ the trees<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -was auld Kirk Alloway all a blaze o’ light.” He -paused to note the effect of his astounding statement.</p> - -<p>They looked at each other disbelievingly. Some -turned angrily away, muttering to themselves. Was -old Tam making sport of them?</p> - -<p>“Go alang, mon,” cried Poosie Nancy with an -incredulous sniff of her pug nose. “’Tis naught but -an old tumbled down ruin.”</p> - -<p>“I’m telling ye gospel truth,” replied Tam earnestly. -They crowded around again, ready to be -convinced, though still eying him distrustfully.</p> - -<p>“Well, I was nae afraid,” continued Tam bashfully, -“for I was inspired by bold John Barleycorn, -so I rode Maggie close to the wall an’ there thro’ -the openin’, I saw inside, and wow! I saw an unco -sight!” Tam was becoming warmed up with his -recital. The eager, excited faces crowding around -him had restored his courage and flattered his vanity. -He paused impressively, his eyes fixed and -staring, gazing straight past the faces of his -listeners as though he saw the unco sight again. He -noted with pleasure the frightened glances they gave -over their shoulders. Then he proceeded slowly in a -sibilant whisper, “There were warlocks and witches -dancin’ hornpipes and jigs around the Kirk, dressed -only in their sarks. There were open coffins standin’ -around like clothespresses, an’ in each coffin stood a -corpse holdin’ in its cauld hand a burnin’ light. An’ -by that light I saw two span-lang wee unchristened<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -bairns, white and cold upon the holy table.” Tam -wiped the sweat off his brow and moistened his dry -lips; then he proceeded with his harrowing tale. -“Beside the bairns lay a bloody knife wi’ gray hairs -still sticking to the heft an’——”</p> - -<p>But with a shudder of fear, their faces blanched -and drawn, they exclaimed in doubting horror, -“Nay!” “Stop!” “Out on ye, mon!” “It’s nae -true!” etc. Tam was not to be cut off in the midst -of his tale so unceremoniously.</p> - -<p>He rose excitedly from his seat and continued -rapidly. “The dancers were twisting and turning -like snakes, and there in a winnock-bunker sat Auld -Nick himsel’, in the shape of a beast, playing the -pipes. Och, friends, it was an inspirin’ sight, and in -my excitement I yelled out——”</p> - -<p>“What?” cried the lads in unison.</p> - -<p>“‘Well done, Cutty Sark!’” shouted Tam, -proudly, well pleased at his own temerity.</p> - -<p>They boisterously applauded him for his courage, -but the lassies still clung to each other nervously.</p> - -<p>“Then what happened, Tam?” asked Souter quizzingly. -He could not quite bring himself to believe -Tam’s improbable tale, he knew the old sinner so -well.</p> - -<p>“Weel, the lights went out in an instant,” continued -Tam dramatically. “I had no sooner turned -Maggie’s head than out poured those unco witches -like bees buzzin’ in anger. I didna’ stop to meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -them, for Maggie, knowing her danger, bounded off -like a terrified deer and plunged off desperately -through the trees toward the brig with all these -witches followin’ wi’ eldritch screeches, close to her -heels till I could feel their breath on my clammy neck. -Oh, what an awful moment for me! but I knew if I -could but reach the keystone of the auld brig I -would be safe, for witches darena cross a running -stream, ye ken. Mag did her speedy utmost, but old -Nannie pursued close behind and flew at me with tooth -and nail, but she didna’ know my Maggie’s mettle,” -Tam laughed gleefully, “for with one grand leap -she reached the brig and saved her master’s life, -just as that Carline Nannie caught her by the -rump, an’ my poor Maggie left behind her old gray -tail.”</p> - -<p>As he finished his recital he gazed around him -triumphantly. There was an audible sigh of relief -from all.</p> - -<p>“That’s a burning shame,” said old Bess sympathetically, -alluding to the loss of Maggie’s tail.</p> - -<p>“What a wonderful experience ye had, Tam,” -cried Poosie Nancy admiringly. They all congratulated -him on his narrow escape and pressed food and -drink on him, showered him with words of praise, and -in short made him out a daring hero, much to Souter’s -disgust. He sat apart from the rest in dignified -silence, his heart wounded and sore, for was not his -late ghostly exploit completely ignored and forgotten?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -“Le Roi est mort, vive le Roi,” he might have -said to himself.</p> - -<p>“Listen,” cried Tam, jumping to his feet, his face -tense with eagerness. Faintly the patter, patter of -a horse’s hoofs was heard drawing nearer and -nearer.</p> - -<p>“’Tis only someone comin’ alang the highway,” -said Souter carelessly.</p> - -<p>“’Tis my Maggie,” cried Tam almost tearfully. -“She’s comin’ back for her master,” and with a -bound he reached the open doorway. A few steps -took him to the stone wall along the other side of -which ran the King’s Highway. “She’s comin’, she’s -comin’, my faithful Maggie is comin’,” he cried joyfully.</p> - -<p>“She must be an unco sight wi’out a tail, Tam,” -sneered Souter. A roar of laughter greeted this -sarcastic retort.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ ye dare laugh,” cried Tam, turning on -them furiously. The hoofbeats stopped suddenly. -In the misty moonlight they caught a glimpse of -a huge white creature, looking very spectral and -ghost-like, impatiently tossing its head from side to -side as if in search of something or someone. With -a glad cry Tam vaulted the fence, old as he was, -and dashed down the road, calling lovingly, “I’m -comin’, Maggie, I’m comin’ to ye.” A whinny of -delight, a snort of pleasure, greeted him as he reached -his old mare’s side. Then like a phantom, the old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -gray mare and her rider sped swiftly past them on -into the night and away toward Carrick.</p> - -<p>Silently they watched them, while the hoofbeats -grew fainter and fainter and then were lost to sound. -Such was Tam O’Shanter’s tale, the fame of which -soon spread throughout all Ayrshire.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> - -<p>In a sequestered spot beside the brook which runs -through the lower end of the big field at Mossgiel -farm, Robert sat dreamily watching the shallow brook -at his feet slowly trickle along over the stones. He -had left the field, his heart filled with anger against -his brother, who had been reproving him for his -thoughtlessness, his absent-mindedness; but gradually -his temper had melted, and removing his bonnet from -his fevered brow, he had given himself up to his -reveries. A little later Gilbert found him there, his -loose unbleached linen shirt open at the neck, -eagerly writing on a scrap of paper he held in his -hand.</p> - -<p>The last few weeks Gilbert had thrown off his -cloak of habitual reserve, and had treated his brother -with less harshness, less severity. He had watched -the slowly drifting apart of the lovers with wonder -and delight. Could it be that they were tiring of each -other? he asked himself over and over again. If -that were so then perhaps some day—but he would -not permit himself to think of the future. He would -be happy in the present. For he was comparatively -happy now, happier than he had ever expected to be. -Since Robert’s avoidance of her, Mary had again<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -turned to him for sympathy, and once more they were -on their old friendly footing. True she was a sad, -despondent companion, but he was blissfully happy -just to walk beside her from kirk, to listen to the -sound of her sweet voice, even though his brother was -the only topic of conversation, to feel the touch of -her little hand as he helped her over the stile. He -thought of all this now as he regarded his brother in -thoughtful silence. Presently he called his name. -Receiving no answer, he strode through the overhanging -willows and touched him quietly on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>With a start Robert looked up into his brother’s -face, then he turned slowly away. “What is wrong -noo, Gilbert?” he asked bitterly. “It seems I will -be doing nothing right o’ late.”</p> - -<p>“Nothin’ is wrong, lad,” replied Gilbert, his face -reddening. “I—I only came to tell ye I am sorry I -spoke sae harshly to ye just noo.”</p> - -<p>“Say no more, brother,” replied Robert quickly, -rising with outstretched hand, his face bright and -smiling. So ready was he to forgive any unkindness -when his pardon was sought. “’Tis all forgot. I -ken I do try your patience sore wi’ my forgetfulness -and carelessness, but I couldna’ help it. The voice of -the Goddess Muse, whom I adore, suddenly whispered -in my ear and I forgot my work, my surroundings, -and stood enraptured, entranced behind my patient -steed, catchin’ the thoughts and fancies that were -tumblin’, burstin’ from my brain, eager to be let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -loose, and this is the fruit o’ my inspiration almost -perfected.” He handed his brother the paper on -which he had been writing.</p> - -<p>“Is it a song of harvesting?” asked Gilbert sarcastically -without glancing at it.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” replied Robert softly. “’Tis called the -‘Cotter’s Saturday Night,’ an’ ye will recognize, no -doubt, the character and the theme, for ’tis partly -of our own and of our father’s life I have written. -’Tis my best work, Gilbert, I ken truly.” He eagerly -watched his brother’s face as he slowly read the verses -through.</p> - -<p>“May the light of success shine on it,” he said -kindly, when he had finished. “But it seems o’er -doubtful noo that the world will e’er see this, or any -of your verses, for not a word hae ye heard from -Edinburgh since ye sent Sir William Creech your -collection of poems.”</p> - -<p>Robert raised his head and regarded his brother -in despairing hopelessness. “I ken it weel, brother,” -he replied. “And my heart grows sick and weary, -waitin’, waitin’, for tidings, be they good or bad. -Two lang months have passed since I sent him my -collection, an’ still not a word, not a sign. Nae doubt -they were thrown in a corner, overlooked an’ neglected.” -For a moment he stood there gazing across -the fields, his vision blurred by the tears of disappointment -which filled his eyes. “Oh, why did Lord -Glencairn raise my hopes so high?” he cried passionately,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -“only to have them dashed to the ground -again.” Gilbert remained silent, his eyes cast down. -The sight of his brother’s misery touched him keenly. -But there was nothing he could say. “I believed him -and trusted to his honor, his promise,” continued -Robert dejectedly, “an’ for what?” He put on his -bonnet and clasping his hands behind him in his -characteristic attitude, slowly walked toward the cottage, -a prey to his gloomy thoughts.</p> - -<p>“Be patient, Rob, yet a while,” said Gilbert -encouragingly, as he walked along beside him. -“Who kens what the morrow will bring forth?”</p> - -<p>“The morrow?” repeated Robert grimly. “Methinks -I’ll ne’er know peace an’ tranquillity again -on this earth.”</p> - -<p>They strode on in silence. As they neared the -cottage Gilbert laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder, -bringing him to a standstill. “Robert,” -he said quietly and firmly, “I want to speak to ye -about Mary.”</p> - -<p>Robert turned his head away abruptly. “What -of her?” he asked in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“What are your intentions toward her?” demanded -Gilbert earnestly. “Do ye intend to marry -her, or are ye but triflin’ idly wi’ her affections?”</p> - -<p>Robert turned on him quickly. “Triflin’?” he -repeated indignantly. “Nay, Gilbert, ye wrong me -deeply.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, but ye ken Mary is not like other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -lassies to think lightly o’,” said Gilbert, his eye -searching his brother’s face keenly.</p> - -<p>“Heaven forbid,” ejaculated Robert in a low, -tense voice.</p> - -<p>“I canna’ understand your conduct o’ late,” continued -Gilbert earnestly. “I fear your stay in -Mauchline is responsible for the great change in ye, -for ye are not the same lad ye were when ye left -hame. I fear ye have sadly departed from those -strict rules of virtue and moderation ye were taught -by your parents, Robert.”</p> - -<p>“What mean ye, Gilbert?” inquired Robert, -startled.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Rob,” responded Gilbert, shaking his head -sadly, “I ken mair than ye think; reports travel e’en -in the country.”</p> - -<p>The thought that his wild escapades were known -to his narrow-minded though upright brother, and -perhaps to others, filled Robert with sudden shame. -“Weel, Gilbert,” he replied, trying to speak lightly, -“Ye ken that I have been fallin’ in love and out -again wi’ a’ the lassies ever since I was fifteen, but -nae thought of evil ever entered my mind, ye ken that -weel.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, I ken that,” answered Gilbert quickly, -“until ye went to Mauchline. And noo ye have -come back a changed lad, your vows to Mary forgotten. -If I thought ye would try to wrong -her——” he stopped abruptly, for Robert had faced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -him, white and trembling, his eyes flashing indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Stop, Gilbert!” he commanded, intensely calm. -“Mary Campbell’s purity is as sacred to me as an -angel’s in heaven. I would sooner cut my tongue -out by the roots than to willingly say aught to cause -her a moment’s misery or sorrow. Ye cruelly misjudge -me, Gilbert.” He turned away, feeling hurt -and angry that he should be so misunderstood by his -brother, and yet was he misjudging him, was he not -indeed causing her much sorrow? he asked himself -bitterly.</p> - -<p>Soon the whole guilty truth must be disclosed, -his faithlessness, his unworthiness. If she suffered -now, what would be her misery when she learned -that an insurmountable barrier had arisen between -them, cruelly separating them forever. The thought -filled him with unspeakable anguish.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, Rob, for my hasty words,” said -Gilbert remorsefully. “But ye ken Mary is very -dear to—to us all; that is why I spoke so plainly.”</p> - -<p>At that moment the door of the cottage opened and -the object of their discussion stepped into view. The -poor little moth could not help fluttering around the -candle, and so she was to be found at Mossgiel whenever -her duties would permit her to steal away.</p> - -<p>“Oh, here ye are, lads,” she called out to them, -her face brightening. “Will ye be comin’ in to tea -noo?” They did not answer. “My, what long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -faces ye both have,” she continued, smiling. “This -isna’ the Sabbath Day, so there’s no need of such -sorrowful faces.”</p> - -<p>“I didna’ ken ye were here,” answered Gilbert, -going toward her.</p> - -<p>Robert sat down by the well, the look of pain on -his melancholy face deepening as he listened to her -gentle voice. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned -back against the curbing, the paper held loosely in -his hand. It was so hard to realize that never again -would he press that form to his aching heart, that he -must renounce her utterly. Oh, if he could only die -now, how much better it would be for them all, he -weakly told himself.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to stay here to tea wi’ ye this night,” -said Mary wistfully. Why didn’t Robert speak to -her just one word of greeting? she thought sadly. -“Your mother bade me tell ye supper is waiting -whenever ye are ready.” She took a few halting -steps toward the well. “Are ye comin’ in, Robert?” -she inquired timidly.</p> - -<p>“In a wee,” he answered quietly, without looking -at her. “After I have finished my poem.” Mary -turned back, crushed to the heart by his apparent -coldness.</p> - -<p>“Weel, lads,” cried Mrs. Burns brightly, stepping -out on the low, broad stoop followed by Souter, who -held a cup of steaming tea in one hand and some oatcakes -in the other, on which he nibbled with evident<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -relish. “I heard your voices and couldna’ stay -within,” and she beamed on them lovingly.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re at it again, I see, Robert,” observed Souter -tactlessly. Robert flushed angrily. He was -easily irritated in his present state of mind. “Ye’ll -write yoursel’ into the grave, mon; ye’re not lookin’ -very peart the noo.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns regarded her eldest son with anxious -eyes. “Aye, I fear, laddie, ye are too intent on your -rhymin’,” she said solicitously. His abstracted moods, -his melancholy moroseness had filled her loving heart -with gloomy forebodings. “Sae much livin’ in the -clouds, my son, is unhealthful, an’ does but make ye -moody an’ uncertain in temper. Is it worth while -to wreck body, mind an’ soul to gain a little fame -an’ fortune, which, alas, seem so very far off?” she -asked, putting her hand lovingly on his bowed head.</p> - -<p>“Ye dinna’ understand, mither,” he replied sadly. -“I love to write. ’Tis my very life; thought flows -unbidden from my brain.” He rose to his feet and -pointing to the stream, which could be faintly seen -at the foot of the hill, continued with mournful finality, -“Why, mother, I might as well try to stop the -waters of yonder rushin’ brook as to attempt to -smother the poetic fancies that cry for utterance. -Nay, ’tis too late noo to dissuade me from my purpose,” -and he turned and watched the setting sun -slowly sink behind the distant hills in a flood of golden -splendor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>Souter noticed with uneasiness the gloom which -had settled upon them all as the result of his careless -words. Why was he such a thoughtless fool? -Ah, well, he would make them forget their troubles.</p> - -<p>“Och, Mistress Burns,” he cried, smacking his -lips with apparent relish, “’tis a mighty fine cup -of tea, a perfectly grand cup. It fair cheers the -heart of mon,” and he drained it to the bottom.</p> - -<p>“An’ where do ye think the oatcakes were made, -Souter?” asked Mary brightly.</p> - -<p>“Weel, I’m no’ a good hand at guessin’,” he answered, -thoughtfully scratching his head; “but by -their taste an’ sweetness, I should say that Mistress -Burns made them hersel’.”</p> - -<p>The good dame regarded him witheringly. “I -didna’ ken that oatcakes were sweet, Souter,” she -retorted.</p> - -<p>Mary laughed softly at his discomfiture. “Weel, -they come frae my sister in Applecross.”</p> - -<p>“Applecross!” he repeated, his face lighting up -with pleasure. “Noo I mind they did have the Highland -flavor, for true.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, an’ ye finished the last one for that reason, -no doubt,” replied Mrs. Burns wrathfully. “Ye’re -a pig, mon. Come awa’, lads, your supper will be -gettin’ cold,” and she led the way inside, followed -meekly by Souter. Gilbert waited for Mary to -enter, but she stood wistfully gazing at Robert.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -With a sigh he left them together, and Robert entered -the cottage.</p> - -<p>Mary slowly approached Robert as he stood looking -across to the distant hills, and patiently waited -for him to speak to her, but he stood there in tense -silence, not daring to trust himself to even look -at the pure flower-like face held up to his so pleadingly.</p> - -<p>“Robbie,” she said timidly after a pause, which -seemed interminable to them both, “willna’ ye let -the sunlight enter your heart an’ be your old bonnie -sel’ once mair? It will make us all sae happy.” -She put her hand on his arm lovingly. “Why are -ye sae changed, laddie? Dinna’ ye want me to love -ye any mair?”</p> - -<p>At the gentle touch of her fingers an uncontrollable -wave of passionate love and longing came over -him, sweeping away all resolutions resistlessly. -“Oh, my Mary, my Mary,” he cried hoarsely. “I -do want your love, I do want it noo an’ forever,” -and he clasped her lovingly to his aching heart. -Blissfully she lay in his strong arms while he showered -her flushed and happy face with the hungry, -fervent, loving kisses which he had denied -himself so long, and murmured little caressing words -of endearment which filled her soul with rapture and -happiness. “How I love ye, Mary,” he breathed in -her ear again and again as he held her close.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> - -<p>“An’ how happy ye make me once mair, laddie,” -she answered, nestling against him lovingly.</p> - -<p>“An’ how happy we will——,” he began, then -stopped pale and trembling, for grim recollection -had suddenly loomed up before him with all its train -of bitter, ugly facts; and conscience began to drum -insistently into his dulled ear. “Tell her the truth -now, the whole truth,” it said. But the voice of the -tempter whispered persuasively, saying, “Why tell -her now? wait, let her be happy while she may, put -it off as long as possible.”</p> - -<p>“What is it, Robbie?” cried Mary fearfully. -“Tell me what is troublin’ ye; dinna’ be afraid.” -His bowed head bent lower and lower.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mary, I’m sae unworthy, sae unworthy of all -your pure thoughts, your tender love,” he faltered -despairingly, resolved to tell her all. “Ye dinna’ ken -all my weakness, my deception, and into what depths -of sin I have fallen.” She sought to interrupt him, -but he continued rapidly, his voice harsh with the -nervous tension, his face pallid from the stress of -his emotions. “I have a confession to make ye——”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, laddie,” cried Mary, putting her hand -over his trembling lips. “Dinna’ tell me anything. -I want nae confession from ye, except that o’ your -love,” and she smoothed his cheek tenderly. “Ye -ken that is music to my ears at all times, but if ye -are deceivin’ me, if ye have na always been true -to me, an’ your vows, why, laddie, keep the knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -to yourself’. I am content noo, and ye ken -happiness is such a fleetin’ thing that I mean to cling -to it as long as I can.” She took his hands in both -her own and held them close to her heart. “Ye ken, -Robbie, ill news travels apace and ’twill reach my -ears soon enough,” she continued with a mournful -little quaver in her voice. “But no matter what -comes, what ye may do, my love for ye will overlook -it all; I will see only your virtues, my love, not your -vices.”</p> - -<p>Robert bowed his head in heart-broken silence. -Grief, shame, and remorse like tongues of fiery flames -were scorching and burning into his very soul. -Quietly they sat there engrossed in their thoughts, -till the voice of Mrs. Burns calling to them from the -cottage to come to supper roused them from their -lethargy.</p> - -<p>“We’re comin’ right awa’,” answered Mary -brightly. “Come, laddie, we mustna’ keep the folks -waitin’.”</p> - -<p>She took his listless hand and drew him gently to -the door and into the cottage.</p> - -<p>Silently they took their places at the table, around -which the others were already seated.</p> - -<p>“By the way,” said old blind Donald, the fiddler, -who had dropped in on his way to Mauchline for a -bite and a cup, “Poosie Nancy told me to tell ye, -Mistress Burns, that she wa drop in to see ye this -night.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We’ll be glad to see her,” replied Mrs. Burns -hospitably.</p> - -<p>“And Daddy Auld says he’ll be along, too,” continued -Donald, grinning broadly. “That is, if he -isna’ too busy convertin’ souls.”</p> - -<p>“Convertin’ souls,” sneered Souter incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Aye, ye should see the Jolly Beggars he was -haranguin’. They were jumpin’, an’ rantin’, an’ -singin’ like daft Methodists.”</p> - -<p>“The auld hypocrites!” cried Mrs. Burns, buttering -a scone which she placed in the old man’s tremulous -hand. “They didna’ go to the manse for conversion; -’tis a square meal they are after. They ken -the kind old heart o’ Daddy Auld.”</p> - -<p>Souter leaned back in his chair and smiled reminiscently. -“That reminds me o’ a guid story,” he began, -chuckling.</p> - -<p>“Never mind that story noo,” remonstrated Mrs. -Burns, who was in constant dread of Souter’s risque -stories. “That’ll keep.”</p> - -<p>“I never <i>can</i> tell that damn story,” ejaculated Souter -wrathfully.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> - -<p>They had finished their meager supper, and now -sat comfortably around the fire, Mrs. Burns and -Mary busy with their knitting, the men contentedly -smoking, while old Donald discordantly tuned up his -fiddle.</p> - -<p>“Noo, Donald,” said Souter briskly, “play us -something lively.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, I’ll play ye the Highland Fling, Souter -Johnny, an’ ye can dance. Come alang noo,” and -he started to play vigorously, keeping time with his -foot.</p> - -<p>“Aye, get out on the floor, Souter,” said Gilbert, -pulling him out of his chair.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, lad,” expostulated Souter fretfully, -“I be too old to fling the toe noo.”</p> - -<p>“Go alang wi’ ye, mon,” retorted Mrs. Burns -encouragingly; “a Scotsman, and a Highlander besides, -is ne’er too old to——”</p> - -<p>“To learn,” interrupted Gilbert brightly, swinging -the old man to the middle of the floor. “Let her -go.”</p> - -<p>“I havena danced for years,” said Souter apologetically. -Carefully knocking the ashes out of his -pipe he deposited it in the pocket of his capacious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -waistcoat and proceeded to divest himself of his coat. -“Ye ken I was the champion dancer of my clan, Clan -McDougal, when I was a young lad,” he announced -boastingly. “An’ mony a time I have cheered an’ -amused the lads, while tentin’ on the fields of Culloden, -before the big battle. An’ that reminds me o’ -a guid——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind the story,” said Gilbert impatiently. -“Gie us a dance.”</p> - -<p>After a few preliminary movements Souter caught -the swinging measure of the dance, and once started -he limbered up surprisingly. On he danced nimbly, -and untiringly, soon ably proving to his delighted audience -that he had not forgotten his old-time accomplishment. -“I’ll show these Lowlanders what a -Highlander can do,” thought the old man proudly. -Panting with excitement and eagerness he failed to -hear the metallic patter of horses’ hoofs drawing -near the cottage. Nearer and nearer they came -unheeded by all save one.</p> - -<p>From his seat by the fireplace, where he sat in -melancholy silence, Robert heard the sound, but gave -it no heed. Suddenly it ceased. He raised his head -to listen. Someone had surely stopped at the gate, -he thought, straining his ears eagerly, but the noise -of the fiddle and the dancing drowned all sound -from without. He glanced quickly at the smiling -faces of the others as they good-naturally watched -the dancer. “I must hae been mistaken,” he muttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -uneasily. Suddenly he leaned forward, grasping -his chair hard; surely he had heard his name -faintly called. He listened intently. Yes, there it -was again; this time the voice was nearer. A woman’s -voice, too. What could it mean? He rose to his -feet, his heart thumping fiercely, his muscles alert -and tense, his eyes fixed on the door, his mind filled -with gloomy presentiment.</p> - -<p>At that moment an imperative knock sounded -loudly through the room, and almost at the same time -the door flew open violently, and Jean Armour impetuously -dashed in. Closing the door quickly behind -her she leaned back against it, pale and -exhausted. Her riding habit of green and gold was -splashed and discolored with mud. The large hat -with its gleaming white plume hung limply over her -shoulder, while her black disheveled hair streamed -over her face and down her back in bewildering confusion. -She had evidently ridden fast and furious, -for she stood there with her eyes closed, her hand on -her heart, gasping for breath.</p> - -<p>Quickly Mrs. Burns led the exhausted girl to a -seat. In a few moments she raised her drooping head -and with wild frightened eyes searched the room till -her gaze fell on Robert, who was leaning white and -speechless against the fireplace, a great fear in his -heart.</p> - -<p>She rose quickly and going to him said in a tense, -rapid whisper, “Robert, my father knows all, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -through no fault of mine. Some idle gossip reached -his ear to-day, and when he returned home and learned -my condition his rage was terrible. He cursed you -like a madman, and would have done me bodily harm -had I remained within sight. But I feared for my -life, and fled before I had explained the truth to him. -I have come to you to protect me.”</p> - -<p>He listened to her in stony silence. The blow had -fallen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, it found him -totally unprepared to ward off its paralyzing effects. -He tried to speak, but the words refused to leave his -parched tongue. He felt benumbed and cold, all the -blood in his body seeming to have suddenly congealed. -As he stood there with the eyes of all riveted upon -him he felt like the veriest criminal that walked the -earth.</p> - -<p>For a moment there was a tense silence. Jean -stood there anxiously gazing into Robert’s stricken -face, as he vainly strove to utter a sound. Mary -had watched the little scene before her in growing -wonder and alarm and now leaned back against the -wall, her heart beating with some unknown, nameless -fear. What did this highborn lady want with her -laddie? she asked herself jealously.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus4.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“‘She is my wife, mither.’”</p> -</div> - -<p>Mrs. Burns stood grimly waiting for some explanation -of the scene she had just witnessed, but -had not heard nor understood. “Robert, my son,” -she said finally, her voice cold and firm, “what -does Squire Armour’s daughter want of ye?” There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -was no answer. “What is she to ye, Robert?” -she sternly insisted. Slowly he raised his head. As -she saw his wild and haggard face, from which all -the life and youth had fled, she started back in -horror, a startled exclamation on her lips.</p> - -<p>With a despairing, heart-broken look at Mary’s -wondering face, he bowed his head and falteringly -uttered the fatal words, “She is my wife, mither.”</p> - -<p>Had a thunderbolt from a clear sky unroofed -the humble cot, it would not have created the consternation, -the terror which those few words struck -to those loving hearts.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns was the first to rally from the shock. -“Your wife?” she repeated incredulously, looking -from one to the other.</p> - -<p>With a cry of grief and pain Mary sank weak -and trembling into a chair, like a deer wounded unto -death. She gazed at them heart-brokenly, while her -little hands nervously fluttered about her face. No, -no, he could not mean it. They were only joking, -surely. “Not that, Robbie, ye dinna mean that, -dearie?” she gasped piteously, holding out a beseeching -hand to him. His bowed head bent lower.</p> - -<p>“Do ye mean ye have legally married this lass?” -asked Gilbert eagerly. Mary would be free then, -he thought wildly. Free to be wooed and won.</p> - -<p>“We were married a few weeks ago,” answered -Robert dully. “I had not the courage to tell ye -before.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Besides,” interposed Jean, arranging her disordered -toilet, “I wished to keep the marriage from my -father for a—a time.” She blushed crimson.</p> - -<p>“I willna believe my son ever married ye of his -own free will,” cried Mrs. Burns bitterly, “fine -rich lady that ye are. He loves only that sweet -lass, Mary Campbell.” Quickly she reached Mary’s -side, and, raising the stricken child in her motherly -arms, she kissed her tenderly and pressed the golden -head gently against her loving heart.</p> - -<p>Jean looked at them, a look of resentment in her -flashing eyes. “I know that full well,” she answered -sullenly. “I know Robert hasn’t married me because -he wanted to, but because——” she looked down -shame-faced. “Because there was no alternative. -Now you know the truth,” she concluded bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Ye shameless creature!” cried Mrs. Burns, her -eyes blazing with indignation. “Ye have trapped -him into this marriage, but ye shall na stay beneath -this roof, ye limmer,” and she glared at the flushed -defiant girl in righteous anger.</p> - -<p>“Mither, mither!” cried Robert distractedly, -“dinna, for God’s sake; she is my wife in truth, an’ -she must stay wi’ me noo till I can prepare anither -hame for her. Dinna make it harder for me.” He -gazed pleadingly in his mother’s stern and angry -face.</p> - -<p>Mary pressed her lips to the quivering cheek. -“Mistress Burns,” she said softly, “what is to be,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -will be. I forgive them both wi’ all my heart.” She -paused and sighed with gentle resignation. Then she -continued, “An’—an’ I hope they will both find peace -in their new life.” She turned quietly to Jean, who -was nervously tapping her whip against her skirt. -“I ken ye’ll make Robert a good wife,” she said -earnestly. “So dinna let any thought o’ me sadden -your heart, or—or yours, Robert.” She turned and -looked at him tenderly. “I—I forgive ye,” she -whispered. Turning to Mrs. Burns again, she continued -pleadingly, “Ye must welcome Robert’s wife -to her new hame, Mistress Burns. We all maun make -this a merry hame-comin’ for—the—bride.” Her -plaintive voice broke abruptly, and the burning tears -welled up to her eyes, but she dashed them quickly -away and continued bravely, a pathetic little smile -hovering about her trembling lips, “I’ll go out noo -an’ make some fresh tea for ye, and ye’ll all stay -right here, till I come back, an’ Donald shall play -for ye again—an’ we’ll—all—be—sae merry—won’t -w-we? I’ll bring it w-when—it’s quite—ready.” -She smiled at them through her tears. Then she took -the teapot from the dresser and softly left the room.</p> - -<p>“God bless her brave and noble heart,” breathed -Robert brokenly.</p> - -<p>As she left the room Mrs. Burns drew herself -sternly erect, and after a moment’s hesitation turned -slowly to Jean. “I bid ye welcome to Mossgiel -Farm,” she said coldly. “I am sorry I spoke so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -bitterly to ye just noo. I—I will try to love ye as -Robert’s wife, but noo I—I can only think o’ Mary -an’ her sorrow. I’ll leave ye for a bit; Mary may need -me.” Her voice faltered and broke, and with a sob -of grief she hurriedly left the room.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> - -<p>Ever since the morning she had received her marriage -lines Jean had been trying to summon up -sufficient courage to tell her father the whole truth -about her secret marriage to Robert, to throw herself -upon his mercy, but each time when she had -approached him in fear and trembling, her courage -had ignominiously failed her. She knew only too -well her father’s irascible temper and uncertain -moods. And so days passed into weeks and still -she procrastinated, but she knew she could not conceal -from his observing eyes her condition much -longer. But whether to confess all and run the -risk of being thrown from her father’s door like -some abandoned outcast, or to contrive some excuse -to leave home to pay a visit to some friend, and -then, when it was all over, to return, that was the -question which disturbed her waking thoughts. If -she did the latter, she thought, she could easily have -her marriage annulled and no one would be the wiser. -But did she really want to have her marriage annulled? -she asked herself thoughtfully. She didn’t understand -herself at all these days. He had strangely -stirred her heart at their last meeting, to its very -depths. She knew he did not love her, that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -loved the little dairymaid, but almost imperceptibly -a great change was taking place in her feelings toward -him. At times a great longing came over her -to go to him, throw herself at his feet and beg to -share his hardships, his poverty, with him. But she -had not the courage, and so she battled with the conflicting -emotions that constantly beset her day and -night. Her temper soon became moody and uncertain, -she was in constant fear of her mother’s anxious, -watchful eyes, and yet she felt she would go daft if -she remained alone in her chamber with her disturbing -thoughts. So day after day she could be found in -her saddle madly galloping over the country, trying -to get away, far away, from her trouble. But all in -vain; it was always before her; there was no escaping -it. But at last the day came when she knew she -must make her decision, and almost in desperation -she decided on her course of procedure. Hastily -galloping home, she left her horse at the door, and -going to her room, scribbled a short note to her father -and left it on the table in his study. Then she had -slipped guiltily past the room where her mother sat -peacefully sewing, and sped swiftly along the hall to -the door. As she reached it, it burst inward and she -staggered back half fainting, for there on the threshold -stood her father, his face white with rage, his -jaw set and determined. He seized her roughly by -the arm, and thrusting her back into the house, had -taken one understanding look at her figure in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -tight-fitting habit, then with an outburst of bitter -anger and shame he cursed her and the author -of her disgrace, cursed her like a madman, cursed -her till he was spent with the force of his passion. -She tried to explain, to tell him the truth, that she -was a wife, but the words froze on her lips. His -words and manner struck terror to her very soul; -she feared for her very life’s safety. With all her -despairing strength she freed herself from his -clutch and stood cowering, panting, her hands raised -to shield herself from the blow she expected every -moment to fall on her defenseless body from the -insane man. As he approached her with hand upraised, -she gave one quick shriek, one wild look -around and darting under his arm reached the door. -Quickly she opened it and sped like a swallow to the -side of her waiting horse. With one bound she was -on his back, and away she galloped like the wind, -leaving her astonished father standing in the doorway -shaking his fist after her in impotent anger.</p> - -<p>She had given rein to her horse, not heeding or -caring where he took her. Her one and only thought -was to get away, far away; so she rode on and -on, over brook and brush, through bog and mire -till gradually her fear had subsided, and, reining -in her horse, she looked around, and with a thrill -of joy and wonder she saw Mossgiel Farm in the -distance. Surely fate had guided her horse’s footsteps -in this direction, she thought eagerly. Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -course was clear now, she would go to him, to her -husband, he would protect her. So she had continued -her journey to the cottage, where she brought naught -but misery and sorrow to its inmates.</p> - -<p>As Mrs. Burns left the room Jean gazed after her -in bitter silence. She wished she had not come. She -knew she was not welcome. Far better to have faced -her father’s anger. “But the die is cast. I have -made my bed,” she told herself wearily. She realized -how futile it was to repine over the past, and she felt -too exhausted, too miserably unhappy to think of the -future. She would stay here perhaps a night, then -she didn’t know, couldn’t think what would happen. -At all events she could never return to her father’s -home now. He had spurned her from him, and she -was not wanted here. Nobody wanted her now. Her -lips quivered convulsively and big tears of self-pity -rolled quietly down her pale cheeks.</p> - -<p>Gilbert looked uneasily from his brother’s grief-stricken -face to the weary, wan face of the bride. -How long were they going to sit there side by side -without a word to each other? he thought uneasily. -He felt a great wave of pity well up in his heart for -the unwelcome, unloved addition to their family. -True she was mostly to blame for her present misfortune. -Her imprudence, her misconduct had been -well known to many, before his brother had gone to -Mauchline to live. He felt sorry for Robert, too, -even while he bitterly reproached him for being the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -author of Mary’s unhappiness. They must make the -best of things now, he thought philosophically. “Ye -had better take off your bonnet, lassie,” he said -kindly, breaking the oppressive silence. “Ye’ll be -staying here the night.” She raised her head and -looked at him with flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>“Full well I know that all here hate and despise -me,” she burst forth bitterly, not heeding his request.</p> - -<p>Robert slowly raised his head and looked at her. -There was sorrow and compassion in his dark melancholy -eyes. “Jean,” he said quietly, “our lives -have been linked togither by a stern, inexorable fate. -We have both been guilty of a grievous sin, and noo -we must face the results bravely.” He rose and -walked to her and stood humbly by her side. “I -hope ye’ll forgive me, Jean, for wreckin’ your life -and plungin’ ye into sae much misery.”</p> - -<p>Slowly Jean bowed her head, her face flushing -guiltily. Surely she had the more need to ask his -forgiveness. She had not expected to find such nobility -of character, and it moved her deeply.</p> - -<p>“There is naught to forgive,” she cried in a low -stifled voice. “I alone am to blame. I am unfit, -unworthy to be your wife. Oh, I’m so miserable, so -unhappy,” and she burst into tears.</p> - -<p>Souter led old Donald silently out of the room. -There was nothing either one could say to the -wretched couple, so they sat outside and talked it -all over in the way old men have. They had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -been seated long, however, when they espied coming -toward them, at a furious gallop, a horse and rider. -As they drew near Souter perceived with sudden -apprehension that it was none other than Squire -Armour. He rose anxiously to his feet.</p> - -<p>“Do ye ken wha’ it is, Souter?” inquired Donald -in a quavering voice.</p> - -<p>“It’s Squire Armour himsel’,” whispered Souter -cautiously.</p> - -<p>“Ma certie!” ejaculated Donald, shaking his -white locks in mild alarm.</p> - -<p>“I’d better warn the lass,” said Souter hastily, -as the Squire drew up to the gate. Going to the -door he quickly told them of the newcomer, then -turned to intercept the irate visitor, who was coming -swiftly up the walk.</p> - -<p>“Heavens, my father here!” cried Jean in a -frightened whisper. “Oh, I dare not face his wrath. -Protect me, Robert,” and she clung to him fearfully.</p> - -<p>“Out o’ my way, mon!” they heard the harsh -voice of Squire Armour shouting. “Out o’ my -way,” and pushing aside the courageous little man he -strode wrathfully into the room.</p> - -<p>“Weel, I’ll stay and see the fun through,” said -Souter to himself grimly.</p> - -<p>“So, my lass,” cried the old Squire triumphantly, -“I’ve found ye just where I expected ye’d be, in the -arms o’ your dissolute lover. Come awa’, ye shameless -bairn.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>He started toward her, but Robert passed -her quickly behind him.</p> - -<p>“Keep back, Squire Armour,” he said firmly. -“I’m nae a mild-mannered man, an’ ye may learn it -to your cost.”</p> - -<p>Squire Armour glanced at him savagely. “Dinna -ye dare talk to me, ye libertine, ye blasphemous -rhymster. Ye dare to stand there wi’ my daughter, -proclaiming her dishonor to my very eyes?”</p> - -<p>“There is no dishonor, Squire Armour,” replied -Robert calmly, “for your daughter is—my wife.”</p> - -<p>“Your wife!” echoed the old man, staggering -back in amazement. “I’ll nae believe it. It’s a lie. -I’d rather see my daughter disgraced forever than be -your wife.”</p> - -<p>“Father, are you mad?” gasped Jean in horrified -accents.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye an Elder in the Kirk, a so-called ‘God-fearin’ -man’!” cried Robert scathingly, his eyes -blazing with scorn. “I tell ye, Squire Armour, she -is my wife, an’ all your bitter, unreasoning hatred -o’ me canna’ alter that unhappy fact.”</p> - -<p>For a moment the old man stood gazing at them -in helpless rage. Then he turned to Jean, his voice -trembling with suppressed emotion. “What proofs -have ye?” he asked hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“I have my marriage lines, father,” she answered -quickly.</p> - -<p>“Where were ye married?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, father, we——” began Jean hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>“Was it in the Kirk?” he interrupted sternly.</p> - -<p>“No,” she faltered. “It was——”</p> - -<p>“Not in the Kirk?” he cried, his voice rising -menacingly. “Who was the minister? Who married -ye?”</p> - -<p>“There was no minister, father.”</p> - -<p>“Nae minister!” he exclaimed in horror.</p> - -<p>“Wait, father, you don’t understand,” cried Jean -quickly; “’twas a Scotch marriage; ye ken what that -is—and,” she bowed her head guiltily, “why it is. -And here are my lines signed by Robert acknowledging -me as his wife.” She took from the bosom of her -gown a folded paper which she handed to her father.</p> - -<p>He read it through carefully. “This is na legal -or binding,” he exclaimed angrily.</p> - -<p>“’Tis perfectly legal, Squire Armour,” replied -Robert calmly, “even if it is irregular, and is as binding -as though we were married in Kirk.”</p> - -<p>“It shall be set aside,” fumed the old man. “I -will not have it so. Ye shall both renounce it, I -tell ye.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, father,” cried Jean tearfully, going to his -side. “’Tis too late now; would you shame me in -the eyes of the world?”</p> - -<p>“Do these few written lines make your shame -any the less?” he shouted wrathfully. “Will not -all the neighbors know why he had to give them to -ye? Ye would throw awa’ your life on this poverty-stricken,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -shiftless rhymster, but ye shall not do it; -ye must give him up, do ye hear?” and he raised -his arm menacingly.</p> - -<p>“No, no, no, father,” she exclaimed frantically, -falling on her knees beside him; “I cannot give -him up now, I cannot.” After all the weary weeks -of anxious fears and doubts she knew at last that -she had found her heart, and now asked no greater -happiness than to be allowed to remain with her husband -to share his humble life, to be the mother of his -family. All the old ambitious thoughts were gone -forever. She wondered that they ever existed.</p> - -<p>“Ye shameless bairn, ye must an’ shall!” he replied -fiercely. “This is the end o’ it all,” and he -vindictively tore into little bits the paper Jean had -given into his hands. “We’ll hear nae mair of that, -my lass, an’ I swear ye shall never see Robert Burns -again, make up your mind to that.”</p> - -<p>With a cry of despair Jean sank half fainting -into a chair.</p> - -<p>As he witnessed Squire Armour’s fiendish act -Robert’s heart gave a great bound that sent the -blood coursing madly through his veins. The marriage -lines were destroyed; then he was free, free! -Oh, the music in that word! Free to do as he -wished. A sob of anguish caused him to look around -at the kneeling figure of the unfortunate girl. -Quickly the eager light died out of his face as he -noted her suffering. Going to the kneeling girl he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -raised her gently to her feet, and holding her by the -hand faced the inhuman father. “Squire Armour, -ye would condemn your ain flesh an’ blood to shame -an’ disgrace because o’ your hatred for me,” he said -quietly, “but it shall not be. I defy ye. Come, -Jean, we will go to the Kirk at once and Daddy Auld -will marry us.” They turned to go, but the old man -stepped between them and the door, his arms upraised, -his eyes wild and glaring.</p> - -<p>“I’d sooner see her in her grave than bear the -accursed name of Robert Burns,” he cried with -solemn intensity. “Great though her imprudence -has been, she can still look to a higher, an’ better -connection than a marriage with ye.” Turning to -Jean he continued sternly, “Speak, lass, say that -ye’ll obey me, or the bitter curse o’ your parents -will haunt an’ follow ye all the rest o’ your -days.”</p> - -<p>“Think of the disgrace, father,” wailed the unhappy -girl, clinging to his arm beseechingly.</p> - -<p>“We’ll forget and forgive it all if ye’ll come -back,” he replied, the great love for his child revealing -itself in his eager tones. “Ye’re nae longer that -man’s wife. Come an’ none will ever know o’ your -dishonor.”</p> - -<p>“My God, mon!” exclaimed Robert in horrified -accents, “where is your father’s pride, your ain -honor, your manhood!”</p> - -<p>But Squire Armour heeded him not. “Come, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -daughter, come,” he said tenderly, leading the weak, -wavering girl to the door.</p> - -<p>“Ye canna expect to keep this a secret from the -world, Squire Armour,” cried Robert indignantly. -“Matters have gone too far for that; soon your -daughter’s name will be blasted irretrievably, while -mine will be coupled with that of blackguard. It -must not be. Ye must let Jean go to the Kirk wi’ -me this very night or I shall inform the Elders in the -Kirk.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll have no time to turn informer, my laddie,” -snarled Squire Armour, turning on him fiercely; -“for I mean to have ye brought before the Kirk -sessions, an’ ye’ll be punished as ye deserve for the sin -ye have committed, an’ ye shall sit on the cutty -stool, where all your friends an’ neighbors can jeer -an’ scoff at ye. This very night will I send the -parish officers after ye, Robert Burns. Ye can take -this warning or no, just as ye please, but I hope they -find ye here. Come, lass, we’ll go hame to your -mither, noo.” He drew the terrified, half-fainting -girl firmly through the door and down the path to the -road.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re an old hypocrite!” hooted Souter, following -them to the gate, where he stood shaking his fist -angrily after the departing visitors, and shouting his -frank opinion of the Squire in no mild or flattering -terms.</p> - -<p>“I alone am to blame,” cried Robert despairingly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -as he watched them gallop madly away into the -threatening night. “An’ only the bitterest sorrow, -the most poignant grief will I know until that wrong -is righted.”</p> - -<p>“What will ye do noo, lad?” asked Mrs. Burns, -breaking in upon the melancholy sadness which enveloped -him like a pall. (She had entered the room -in time to hear Squire Armour’s parting injunction.) -“Ye heard what the Squire threatened. Oh, dinna -disdain the littleness of prudence, my son.”</p> - -<p>“I willna, mother,” replied Robert dully, after a -pause. “I have decided to go awa’ from Mossgiel.”</p> - -<p>“Go awa’?” she repeated fearfully. “Nay, nay, -laddie, ye mustna! I fear for ye in your present -state o’ mind.”</p> - -<p>“I must, mother,” he answered wildly. “I willna -sit on the cutty stool to be made the laughing stock -o’ the whole neighborhood, to bring shame on ye -all.” He walked restlessly up and down the room -as he continued feverishly, “I willna stay here to -skulk from covert to covert under all the terrors -of a jail, for I ken that in a little while the merciless -pack of the law will be baying at my heels -like bloodhounds.” He turned to her suddenly, -“Mother, I mean to leave Scotland, perhaps forever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nay, nay, my bairn; I canna, I willna, let ye -go,” answered his mother, clinging to him passionately.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There, there, mither, dinna make it harder for -me.” He put his arm around her tenderly and pressed -her to him for a moment. “Noo, mother,” he said -quietly, “will ye pack my chest? I have nae time to -spare,” and he led her gently to the door.</p> - -<p>“Where will ye be goin’?” inquired Gilbert.</p> - -<p>“To the Indies, to Jamaica,” replied Robert -quickly. “Ye ken Dr. Douglas has a place for me -there as overseer of his plantation. He has offered -it to me mony times.” He turned in nervous haste -to his mother, who stood in the doorway anxiously -watching him. “Hurry, mither, please, I am in torture -o’ mind.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, laddie,” she answered sorrowfully. -“God will direct your footsteps aright,” and she -closed the door behind her and quickly made her way -to his chamber.</p> - -<p>“Will ye see Mary before ye go, Robert?” asked -Gilbert.</p> - -<p>He felt an infinite pity for his brother, who was -leaving behind him everything he held dear.</p> - -<p>“If she will come to me,” faltered Robert. “Tell -her I’m goin’ an’ that I will go wi’ a lighter heart -if she bids me godspeed. Watch o’er an’ protect -her, Gilbert,” he continued, placing his hand on his -brother’s shoulder. “An’ I hope one day she may -forget faithless Robert Burns, an’—an’ ye, Gilbert, -will be made happy.” He turned away as he -finished, grief gnawing at his heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - -<p>An eager light flashed in Gilbert’s eyes as he answered -fervently, “I would lay doon my life to serve -her,” and with a quick look into the averted face he -quietly left the room.</p> - -<p>Mechanically Rob took his bonnet from the peg -and throwing his long plaid around him went out into -the air, and silently, sorrowfully he stood there -watching the gloomy clouds that hung low in the -heavens through eyes misty with tears. His soul -was filled with unutterable sorrow at the coming -parting, with dread of the unknown future to be -passed alone in a strange, inhospitable foreign land. -Oh, the agony of that thought, alone! Suddenly -there came floating softly, peacefully, borne on the -back of the south wind, which was blowing gently -against his face, the alluring, seductive voice of the -Goddess Muse. Insistently she urged her way into -the dulled and listless ear of the grief-stricken man. -Not for long was she denied admission, however. -With a cry of joy, that even in that dreaded hour of -parting his Goddess had not deserted him, he eagerly -opened the book he held in his hand, his favorite book, -“Tristam Shandy” by Sterne, and wrote quickly, -lovingly on the flyleaf the impassioned words which -were being whispered in his ear. Hungrily the pencil -sped over the paper, till, with a sigh of regret, -he dropped his hand, the voice was hushed, the message -was finished. As he stood there eagerly reading -his verses by the light which streamed through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -the window, the door softly opened and Mary came -swiftly to his side, her pure face pitiful in its childlike -sorrow.</p> - -<p>“Is it true ye are gang awa’ frae Scotland, Robbie?” -she asked breathlessly. He bowed his head. -“Oh, my heart beats heavy for ye, laddie.” There -was infinite compassion in her voice. “But ye maun -be brave noo if ever ye were.” She nestled her little -hand in his. He clasped it fervently.</p> - -<p>“O, Mary, my Highland lassie!” he cried passionately, -“I want to hear ye say before I go that ye -forgive me for the sorrow I have brought into your -pure young life.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, laddie,” she answered softly, “there is -naught to forgive; ye had to do your duty like -an honorable mon. I hae been very happy wi’ -ye, laddie, an’ the memory o’ that happiness will -be wi’ me always.” She leaned against him for a -brief moment, then slowly drew herself away and -looked tenderly up into his face. “In this sad parting -hour,” she faltered, “I can tell ye without shame -that I love ye wi’ a’ my being, an’ will until I -dee.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven bless ye, Mary,” he whispered brokenly. -“The thought of your love will gie me courage to -bear my exile bravely.”</p> - -<p>“Exile!” she repeated shuddering. “Oh, what a -drear word, to think ye must be exiled in your noble -youth, that ye maun leave your hame, your country,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -to live alone in some foreign clime.” The tears -streamed down her pallid cheeks. “We will a’ miss -ye sair, lad,” she continued bravely, “and we will -pray for ye, an’—an’—oh, ’twill be sae hard to say -good-by, perhaps forever.” She threw her arms -about his neck and clung to him passionately.</p> - -<p>He held the weeping child in his strong, loving -embrace, his face close to hers. “Oh, why was I -born, only to bring sorrow, pain an’ disgrace to -those I hold dear?” he cried in an agony of grief -and remorse. “Bitterly am I atonin’ for my act -o’ imprudence; an exile, a failure,” he gave a mirthless -little laugh; “aye, a failure, for e’en the hopes -of success held out to me have a’ vanished in disappointment. -Oblivion has enveloped me in its darkening -pall, for whichever way I turn naught but -darkest gloom, with not e’en a ray of light, meets -my wretched gaze.” A flash of lightning pierced -the darkness, followed shortly by a heavy, prolonged -roll of thunder. She nestled closer to his -side.</p> - -<p>“Be not discouraged, laddie,” she said; “’tis always -darkest before dawn, an’ who kens what may -yet happen?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, nae, nae,” he interrupted with a despairing -shake of his head, “e’en the elements conspire against -me, for I maun face this coming storm on foot to -reach Greenock. ’Tis all a part of my just punishment.” -The wind had risen and with it a driving mist<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -which soon enveloped them in its damp embrace. But -they heeded it not.</p> - -<p>“Bide a wee, dinna go to-night,” she pleaded, -while the wind tossed her tangled curls seductively -around his neck and in his sorrowing face. “Listen -to the wind. Oh,’tis a bad night to start on a journey,” -and she clung to him tighter, her skirts flapping -about his limbs like some live thing, thrilling -him by their touch.</p> - -<p>“Before ye came out, lassie,” he replied quietly, -stilling the tumult in his heart, “I wrote some verses -in this book as a parting song; how appropriate they -are for this occasion ye will see. Listen,” and holding -the book up to the light he began to read:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“The gloomy night is gathering fast,</div> -<div class="verse">Loud roars the wild inconstant blast;</div> -<div class="verse">Yon murky cloud is foul with rain,</div> -<div class="verse">I see it driving o’er the plain;</div> -<div class="verse">Chill runs my blood to hear it rave,</div> -<div class="verse">I think upon the stormy wave,</div> -<div class="verse">Where many a danger I must dare,</div> -<div class="verse">Far from the bonnie banks of Ayr;</div> -<div class="verse">’Tis not the surging billows’ roar,</div> -<div class="verse">’Tis not that fatal deadly shore,</div> -<div class="verse">Tho’ death in every shape appear,</div> -<div class="verse">The wretched have no more to fear;</div> -<div class="verse">But round my heart the ties are bound,</div> -<div class="verse">That heart transpierced with many a wound;</div> -<div class="verse">These bleed afresh, these ties I tear,</div> -<div class="verse">To leave the bonnie banks of Ayr.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The wind had risen rapidly and the old beech tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -was shrieking and groaning overhead as its branches -strove like maniac arms with the tempest. The Ayr -could be plainly heard roaring its diapason on its -rocky banks in the darkness below, while the thunder -crashed overhead and the lurid glare of lightning -ever and again lit up the yard.</p> - -<p>Unheeding its warning he continued, his melancholy -sonorous voice, with its mournful cadences, -floating out with passionate longing, filling his listener -with unutterable sadness:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Farewell, old Coila’s hills and dales,</div> -<div class="verse">Her heathy moors and winding vales;</div> -<div class="verse">The scenes where wretched fancy roves,</div> -<div class="verse">Pursuing past unhappy loves.</div> -<div class="verse">Farewell my friends, farewell my foes,</div> -<div class="verse">My peace with thee, my love with those;</div> -<div class="verse">The bursting tears my heart declare,</div> -<div class="verse">Farewell the bonnie banks of Ayr.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>As his voice died away he heard the sound of -sobbing, and looked up, to see his mother standing in -the doorway.</p> - -<p>“Come awa’, lad, come in out of the night air!” -she called tenderly, controlling her sobs.</p> - -<p>Silently they entered the cottage. Robert crossed -the room to his brother’s side.</p> - -<p>“Gilbert,” he said quietly, “ye take the songs an’ -verses ye will find on my table an’ send them to Mr. -Aiken. Mayhap they will bring you in a bit o’ money -to help ye in your struggle wi’ poverty, an’ forgive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -me that I maun leave ye to battle wi’ misfortune -alone.” Turning to Mary he continued, lovingly, -“Mary, lass, will ye accept my Bible as a parting -gift?” She looked at him with shining eyes. “Ye’ll -find it in the oak box with the glass lid in the attic.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll prize it for aye, Robert,” she sobbed gratefully, -pressing his hand, “an’ our prayers will follow -ye to that far distant land, where I hope -success awaits ye.”</p> - -<p>He drew her to him gently and pressed a kiss on -her pure brow. “Farewell, lassie, may ye be happy,” -he breathed fervently. Turning again to Gilbert -he spoke rapidly, “Farewell, brother, give my love -to the dear brothers an’ sisters when they come hame.” -He shook his hand warmly.</p> - -<p>“God keep ye, Robert,” answered Gilbert quietly.</p> - -<p>Gently Robert drew his weeping mother into his -arms. Tenderly he pulled down the apron which -she had flung over her head to hide her sorrow, and -wiped away her tears. “Noo, mother,” he whispered -brokenly, “I—I maun say good-by; the day -has drawn to its close an’ I maun start on my journey -to Greenock. Dinna greet, dear mither.” He let -her weep on unconstrainedly a few moments.</p> - -<p>Finally her bitter sobbing ceased and looking up -into his face she cried passionately, “I canna give -ye up, my son, never to see ye again.” She took -his cheeks lovingly between her hands.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re making it hard for me to go, mither,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -he cried, utterly distracted. “But the die is cast, -my hands are on the plow, an’ I canna turn back -noo. Ye ken there is naught but disappointment -an’ disgrace to look forward to here, an’——” -Suddenly a loud cheer from outside the cottage -interrupted him. They listened in silent wonder. -Above the noise of the wind, which had risen to a -gale, and the swish of the rain, which now beat in -swirling gusts about the cottage, came the voices of -Souter and Donald shouting and cheering like boys -on a frolic. Quickly they opened the door. A gust -of wind dashed the rain fiercely in their faces. -Through the mist and gloom they could vaguely make -out the outlines of a coach standing at the gate, -which had approached unheard in the storm.</p> - -<p>“Robert, Robert!” cried Souter, looming up out -of the darkness and looking decidedly weatherbeaten. -“’Tis news I have, great and glorious -news.”</p> - -<p>“News?” they all repeated in wonder.</p> - -<p>“What is it, mon?” asked Rob, trembling with -excitement.</p> - -<p>“It can speak for itsel’,” replied Souter gleefully, -“for here it is.” He pointed behind him. They -looked down the path and saw rapidly approaching -the door a tall man, enveloped in a long cloak, -escorted by a servant in livery. At that moment the -light fell on his wet face and they started forward in -amazement.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Lord Glencairn?” cried Robert incredulously, -his heart throbbing with a strange new-born hope.</p> - -<p>“Aye, my lad, and near drowned,” laughed the -visitor genially. Robert grasped his outstretched -hand and drew him to the door.</p> - -<p>With words of welcome and delight they made -room for him to enter. Quickly he removed his wet -cloak from his shoulders and threw it to his servant, -who hung it beside the fire, while descanting on the -inclemency of the weather. Nervously and anxiously -they waited for the great man to speak his errand.</p> - -<p>Presently he turned from the fireplace, and, addressing -Robert, he said brightly, “Well, Mr. Burns, -you see I have not forgotten you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my lord,” faltered Robert, his face white -with suppressed feeling, “I—I had despaired of -seein’ you mair; do ye—bring me—hope? Is it—am -I——” his faltering voice stopped abruptly, but -his eager eyes continued to search the noble face -which was looking so kindly into his, as if he would -draw the news from him.</p> - -<p>“It is good news,” answered Lord Glencairn, -smiling brightly, “and you are famous; yes, my -lad, your poems are at last published and already -have become the rage in Edinburgh; the name of -Robert Burns is on the tongue of all, high and low, -prince and peasant.”</p> - -<p>“Thank God,” cried Mary softly, a look of -rapture on her face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Burns turned excitedly to her son, her hands -clasped nervously. “Oh, laddie, laddie, ye’re a great -mon, noo!” she exclaimed proudly.</p> - -<p>For a moment Robert stood there speechless, a -look of incredulous wonder on his face. “My -lord,” he faltered at last, “can it be true, what -you’re telling me, that my songs are—accepted, read -an’—praised in Edinburgh?” Lord Glencairn -bowed. “Oh, sir,” he continued, with a nervous -catch in his voice, “it seems too good to be true, too -good.”</p> - -<p>Gradually the warm color came back to the pale -face, the hurried breathing, which seemed almost to -smother him, became calmer, the nervous, excited -tension relaxed, and, with a smile of rapture and -content on his upturned face, he exclaimed fervently, -“At last my hopes and ambitions are realized, the -bright sunlight of success has crowned my efforts; -my verses are known an’ loved in Edinburgh! Oh, -do ye hear that, my loved ones?” He stretched -out his arms lovingly to them. “Nae mair poverty -for us noo, mither, nae—nor disappointments.” -He turned to Lord Glencairn, who was being assisted -into his cloak. “Oh, sir, I canna tell ye what is in -my heart,” he continued earnestly, “but ’tis overflowing -wi’ love an’ gratitude to ye.”</p> - -<p>“There, there, my lad, time is precious,” replied -Lord Glencairn kindly, buttoning up his cloak. -“’Tis late and we have far to go and the postchaise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -is awaiting us. I came here not only to bring you -news, Mr. Burns, but to take you back with me to -Edinburgh.” He laughed heartily at the look of -startled amazement that appeared on the faces before -him.</p> - -<p>“To Edinburgh!” gasped Robert unbelievingly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, lad,” replied his lordship earnestly, his -eyes flashing with admiration for the modest young -genius. “To Edinburgh, where fame and fortune -await you, where society stands with outstretched -arms to receive you as a conquering hero come to -claim his own. To the capital city, where all unite -in paying homage to the wonderful genius of Robert -Burns, our Scottish Bard. Will you come?” and -he held out his hand invitingly to the wondering lad, -who was gazing at him, his soul in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Am I dreaming?” he cried slowly, looking about -him for some confirmation of his fears. “Go to -Edinburgh wi’ ye, sir, as the Bard of Scotland? -O God, can this be true? My wildest hopes ne’er -held out such dreams o’ greatness, such happiness.” -His voice vibrated with feeling. He paused and took -a deep breath, then he continued joyfully, all the sorrows -of the past forgotten in his excitement, “A few -moments ago, my lord, I was bidding farewell to -these, my loved ones, forever. I was about to start -for the Indies, a wretched exile, a disappointed failure, -and noo fate once mair alters my destiny.” -With a glad laugh he seized Lord Glencairn’s outstretched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -hand, and, turning to his loved ones, he -cried, his voice ringing out clear and strong, a -conscious thrill of pride running through it, “Nae -more tears, mither, except those of happiness, nae -more sorrow or care, for I can leave ye all wi’ a light -heart noo, wi’ joy instead o’ sadness. ’Tis true -I go from here an outcast, but I’ll return to ye -a hero.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK II</h2> - -<hr /> - -<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> - -<p>The scene that opened on our hero in Edinburgh -was altogether new, and in a variety of other respects -highly interesting, especially to one of his -disposition of mind. To use an expression of his -own, he “found himself suddenly translated from -the veriest shades of life,” into the presence, and -indeed into the society, of a number of persons -previously known to him by report as of the highest -distinction in his country. From those men of letters -in general his reception was particularly flattering. -And they interested themselves collectively -and individually in the cultivation of his genius.</p> - -<p>In Edinburgh literature and fashionable society -are a good deal mixed. Our Bard was an acceptable -guest in the gayest and most elevated circles, and received -from female beauty and elegance those flattering -attentions above all others most grateful to -him. A taste for letters is not always conjoined -with habits of temperance and regularity, and Edinburgh -at this period contained perhaps an uncommon -proportion of men of considerable talents, devoted -to social excesses, in which their talents were -wasted and debased.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p> - -<p>Robert entered into several parties of this description -with his usual vehemence. His generous -affections, his ardent eloquence, his brilliant and daring -imagination fitted him to be the idol of such -associations. The sudden alteration of his habits -of life operated on him physically as well as morally. -The humble fare of the Ayrshire peasant he had -exchanged for the luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, -and naturally the effect of this change could not -be inconsiderable. He saw the danger, and at times -formed resolutions to guard against it, but he had embarked -on the tide of dissipation and was borne along -its stream. Some six months after his triumphant entrance -into the city he had returned to Mossgiel for -a fleeting visit to his home, and to assist his brother, -who had taken upon himself the entire support of -their aged mother, and who was struggling with -many difficulties on the farm of Mossgiel. It will -easily be conceived with what pleasure and pride -he was received by his mother, his sisters, and brothers. -He had left them poor and friendless; he -returned to them high in public estimation and easy -circumstances. He returned to them unchanged in -his ardent affections, and ready to share with them -to the uttermost farthing the pittance that fortune -had bestowed. He had been keenly disappointed -not to find Mary there. He learned, to his sorrow, -that she had gone back to the Highlands shortly -after he left for Edinburgh. He felt that she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -lost to him now forever, for, while his heart prompted -him to hurry to her side, reason told him that the -visit would but fill her cup of sorrow to the brim. -For, believing as he did, that he was still bound to -Jean in spite of the destruction of her marriage -lines, he knew he would only have to part from her -again, to leave her there with her sad thoughts, her -loneliness, while he returned to the gay life, where -it was so easy to forget or at least to still the voice -of sorrow. Having remained with them a few days -he proceeded again to Edinburgh, first stopping off -at Mauchline to call at the home of Squire Armour, -only to be met with curses and to be driven from -the door by the stern, unyielding man.</p> - -<p>Robert returned to Edinburgh, his heart filled -with bitterness and sorrow. For a while he brooded -over his troubles, which threatened to plunge him -into a state of extreme melancholy. But at last resentment -and anger crowded out all other thoughts, -and it was not long before he succeeded in drowning -recollection in the midst of the society and dissipation -of the metropolis.</p> - -<p>A year passed by, during which time he had vainly -tried to get word to Jean Armour. He had heard -that she had given birth to twins, and the thought -that they were without the protection of a father’s -name filled him with grief and remorse. Time and -again he had written her, only to have his letters returned -unopened. Finally he had received a letter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -from her father, stating that “the children were -dead and that Jean had quite forgotten him, and -was about to be joined in wedlock with a neighboring -rich farmer; that now he hoped Robert would -leave him and his daughter in peace,” etc., etc. He -laid down the letter with a thrill of joy stirring his -blood. Free at last! He had done his duty as -a man of honor, and now, after all the bitter heartache -and the long separation, he was free to marry -his little sweetheart. “Oh, thank God!” he cried -aloud, in an ecstasy of joy. “Thank God, the -miserable tangle in our lives will soon be straightened.” -He had long entertained a desire to visit those -parts of his native country which were so celebrated -in the rural songs of Scotland, and he would now -gratify that desire with Mary’s home as the objective -point. As soon as arrangements could be -made he started for the Highlands on horseback, -accompanied by a friend, one Will Nichol, and, -his fame having preceded him, they were royally entertained -on their journey through the country. -Finally they arrived in Dornoch, where Mary was -living quietly with her sister, and soon the long parted -lovers were clasped in each other’s arms. Later that -day he told her the glorious news of his release, his -freedom from all ties, told her of his undying love, -and swore that never again should they be parted in -this life. And Mary with a prayer of thankfulness -in her faithful heart, blushingly gave her willing consent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -to a speedy marriage. The next day they all -returned by easy stages to Edinburgh. Mrs. Dunlop, -an old friend of Robert’s, took the country -maiden under her protecting wing and gave her a -home until the marriage could be solemnized, the date -having been set one month from the time of their -arrival.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XIII</h3> - -<p>John Anderson, the proprietor of the “Bull’s -Head,” stood gazing wrathfully upon the scene of -disorder which met his eyes as he opened the door -of the sitting-room of his distinguished lodger’s -apartments. It was early evening, and still that -lodger remained in bed, although he had been called -at different intervals throughout the day by the -irate, though kind-hearted, landlord himself. “Dear—dear—dear,” -he muttered to himself, as he arranged -the furniture, “I’ll just give Robbie a bit -o’ my mind.” He went to the door of the sleeping -apartment and looked in. “Sleepin’ like a bairn,” -he said softly, “an’—an’ wi’ his boots on. Ma -certie!” He raised his hands in horror. “Weel, -I’m glad ye’re nae under the bed. Ah, weel, young -blood must hae its course. I mind I was young mysel’, -an’ if I do say it I could drink mair whusky than -any mon in the toon. Oh, those were happy days,” -and he sang softly to himself, as he continued his work -about the room:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“We are na fou’</div> -<div class="verse">We’re nat that fou’,</div> -<div class="verse">But just a droppie in our ee.</div> -<div class="verse">The cock may craw,</div> -<div class="verse">The day may daw’,</div> -<div class="verse">An’ ay we’ll taste the barley bree.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> - -<p>A knock on the door interrupted his song.</p> - -<p>“Weel, who is it?” he called impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Open the door,” replied a female voice eagerly.</p> - -<p>“A lassie,” exclaimed John in amazement. “Oh, -Robbie, ye devil.” He swung open the door and -stood back to allow the gorgeously dressed lady to -enter the room. Her dress of rich purple brocaded -silk, cut in the extreme of fashion, rustled stiffly -over the polished floor. Her head with its powdered -wig was held haughtily erect as she surveyed the -room with sparkling black eyes that nervously took -in her surroundings, through the tiny holes in the -black mask which concealed her face.</p> - -<p>“I—I thought—isn’t Mr. Burns at home?” she -stammered uneasily.</p> - -<p>“Weel, what may ye be wantin’ wi’ Mr. Burns?” -asked John cautiously. He had been bothered to -death with answering the questions of the silly -women who flocked to the parlors of the inn in -hopes of seeing their idol.</p> - -<p>The lady turned on him sharply. “None of your -business, my good man,” she retorted haughtily. -“How dare you question me, sirrah?”</p> - -<p>John was quite taken aback by the imperious tones, -but he still had his suspicions. “Weel, I thought -perhaps ye were one o’ the artless bonnie wenches -who were here last night wi’ the lads makin’ merry -till the wee sma’ hours. If ye are——” he paused -significantly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> - -<p>She flashed him an angry look. “Make your mind -easy on that score, my good fellow,” she retorted icily. -“I have called to interview Mr. Burns on an important -matter. Is he at home?”</p> - -<p>“Aye; he is in there asleep,” replied John, pointing -to a door beside the large book cabinet, which -nearly occupied one side of the room.</p> - -<p>“Asleep!” she repeated incredulously. “Lud, he -retires uncommon early for a gallant,” and there -was a note of disappointment in her deep contralto -voice.</p> - -<p>“Early is it?” said John, with a knowing smile. -“Faith, he hasna been up this day.”</p> - -<p>“What?” she ejaculated in horror. “Not all -day? Then you must awaken him immediately. I -must have speech with him at once,” and she spread -her voluminous draperies over the wide lounge and -calmly seated herself. “Do you hear?” she cried -impatiently, as John made no move.</p> - -<p>“I hae excellent hearin’, mum,” replied John -carelessly, “but I ken when I’m well off, an’ I hae -nae desire to feel the toe o’ Robert’s boot.”</p> - -<p>“A pest on your stubbornness, fool,” she cried -angrily, springing to her feet.</p> - -<p>“An’ I hae my doubts o’ a lass who comes to a -mon’s lodgings at night,” continued John, resenting -her impatience. “It’s na respectable.”</p> - -<p>She looked him over insolently, then shrugged her -shoulders. “I protest, landlord,” she replied, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -a mocking tone, “I am quite respectable, even if -I am here unchaperoned. But, Lud, I like not conventionalities, -and this adventure suits my madcap spirit -well.” She walked to the door of the sleeping chamber -and was about to open it, when his voice arrested -her.</p> - -<p>“I ken it all the time,” he cried indignantly. -“Ye’re a brazen hussy.”</p> - -<p>“Landlord!” she gasped in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye can leave my inn,” continued John, now -thoroughly aroused. “We are respectable, if ye -are na.”</p> - -<p>“Peace, fool!” she exclaimed furiously. “I am -Lady Glen——” she stopped and bit her lips angrily -at the indiscreet slip of her tongue. Suddenly a -daring thought entered her mind. One glance at his -face told her that he had not caught the name. To -think was to act with my lady. Then she continued -glibly, “I am Lady Nancy Gordon, daughter of the -Duke of Gordon, of Gordon Castle. It will be all -over town in a day,” she thought with malicious -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>John staggered back as though he had been shot. -“Ye Lady Nancy?” he gasped in amazement. “Oh, -my lady, I ask your pardon.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis not easily granted, numskull,” replied the -imperious beauty, her black eyes flashing dangerously. -The sound of a carriage rolling over the -cobble stones suddenly arrested her attention. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -a moment she listened intently, then, with a startled -exclamation, she turned to John and said in a frightened -whisper, “’Fore heaven! if it should be my husband—my -father, I mean, in pursuit of me.” She -ran hastily to the window from where a view of the -street could be obtained and threw open the casement.</p> - -<p>“It would serve ye right, my lady,” said John -to himself.</p> - -<p>“Great heavens! ’tis my uncle, Sir William -Creech!” she gasped. Then she said aloud, “Landlord, -’tis my father, as I feared! Oons! what a scrape -I’m in.” She closed the shutter hastily.</p> - -<p>“’Twill ruin your reputation to be found here -at night, my lady,” cried John concernedly, trotting -nervously to the window.</p> - -<p>“O Lud,” she replied airily, “I’m not concerned -over my reputation, ’tis already torn to ribbons by -my dear friends. ’Tis my—my father’s wrath I -fear. He is like to do some mischief.” An imperious -knocking sounded on the door below.</p> - -<p>“He has found ye, lassie,” cried old John excitedly. -“Go down to him; dinna let him find ye -here in Robbie’s chamber. Ye ken the blame will -all fall on the lad,” and he sought to escort her to -the door, but she evaded his outstretched hand with -laughing unconcern.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, my good fellow. I protest, I will not -see him,” she exclaimed, with reckless abandon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -She would keep up the impersonation till the end. -Another such chance to blast her enemy’s reputation -would not come to her in a lifetime, she thought -wickedly. “Listen,” she cried impetuously. “My -father, the Duke of Gordon, while he admires the -poetry of Mr. Burns, does not admire the man himself, -consequently he did not send him an invitation -to attend the masked ball which is given at Gordon -Castle to-night,” she explained glibly. “’Twas a -monstrous insult to the Bard of Scotland, and I told -my father so, and that I would not countenance it. -Then I stole away, as I thought, unobserved, and came -here to induce Mr. Burns to return with me. Once -inside the castle my father will be forced to receive -him graciously. Now, hurry, landlord, tell him to -dress and we’ll slip out quietly, and, with your connivance, -elude my—father’s vigilance.” She watched -him narrowly to note the effect of her story.</p> - -<p>“My lady,” replied John proudly, “the lad goes -to Athol Castle to-night, so ye had better gang hame -wi’ your father.” She gave a quick start of delighted -satisfaction. So he was going after all. If -she had only known that and felt sure of it, she might -have spared herself this nerve-racking experiment, -she thought impatiently.</p> - -<p>The pounding had kept up incessantly, and now -a stern, commanding voice called out for the landlord.</p> - -<p>“He’s calling me,” said John nervously; “ye’d<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -better go doon an’ explain a’ to him,” he told -her pleadingly.</p> - -<p>“Landlord, where the devil are you?” They -could hear the heavy tread of feet walking about -the rooms below.</p> - -<p>“He’s inside the house,” whispered John, wringing -his hands.</p> - -<p>“O Lud, he seems most angry, doesn’t he?” she -said in a subdued voice. She had suddenly grown -tired of the deception, and was eager now to get -away. “I—I think perhaps ’twould be best if he—er—my -father didn’t find me here after all,” she -admitted. “I—I really dare not face his anger.” -She jumped up quickly, all her bravado vanished. -“Get me out of this place, landlord, quick, quick!” -she gasped, clinging to him. Oh, why had she come? -Sir William would make such a disagreeable scene -if he found her here.</p> - -<p>“Into that room wi’ ye!” cried John quickly, -pointing to a small door in the opposite side of -the room; “an’ I’ll get your father out o’ the -house.”</p> - -<p>“Why couldn’t the old fossil have stayed at -home?” she said to herself angrily. “This promised -to be such a romantic adventure, landlord,” she said -aloud, poutingly. “And now ’tis all spoiled. Plague -take it. Hurry, landlord, and get my—father away, -for I must return to the ball before my absence is -noticed.” She went into the room, her heart filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -with apprehension, and closed the door, which John -promptly locked.</p> - -<p>“Thank the Lord,” he muttered with a sigh of -relief. “I breathe easier.” Going to the door leading -to the hall, he listened for a moment. From -below came the sound of clinking glasses. He closed -the door quickly. The coast was clear now. His -guidwife was waiting on the customer. He hurried -across the room and was about to release his prisoner, -when he heard the door of Robert’s chamber open. -He turned quickly and found his lodger yawning in -the doorway.</p> - -<p>“Well, John Anderson, my Jo John,” said he -lazily, “what’s all the row here, eh?”</p> - -<p>John looked up guiltily. “Are ye up, laddie?” -he stammered.</p> - -<p>“Nay, John, I’m walkin’ round in my bed,” retorted -Robert dryly. “Dinna ye think it’s time for -me to be up?” he asked. “What’s the matter, mon? -stand still, ye make me dizzy.”</p> - -<p>John was uneasily walking up and down, casting -surreptitious glances at the door of the room which -held the fair captive. “Oh, Johnny, my Jo John,” -laughed Robert as he caught sight of the old man’s -lugubrious countenance, “ye’ve been drinkin’ too -much Usqubaugh.”</p> - -<p>“Too much what, Robbie?” he asked nervously.</p> - -<p>“Usqubaugh. Dinna ken what that is? It’s -whisky, whisky, whisky.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I ken, laddie,” replied John, smiling grimly. -“Ye needna’ repeat it; one whisky is enough.”</p> - -<p>“Not for me,” laughed Robert, slapping him on -the shoulder. “Ye dinna ken my capacity.” The -noise of a chair overturning in the next room arrested -his attention.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” he asked quickly.</p> - -<p>“It’s n—nothing,” stammered John.</p> - -<p>“There’s somebody in that room,” exclaimed Rob, -putting his ear to the crack in the door. “I hear -her walking around.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, Rob, it’s nobody,” protested John, -pushing him away.</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh, John Anderson, my Jo John!” cried -Rob, pointing an accusing finger at the flushed, -embarrassed face of the old man, “I’m on to -ye.”</p> - -<p>“For shame, Robbie, an’ me wi’ an old wife below -stairs,” he answered indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Faith, I’ll just find out who it is,” chuckled Rob, -going toward the door.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, lad!” remonstrated John, holding him -back. “Wait, I’ll tell ye who it is.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I knew it,” ejaculated Rob triumphantly. -“Who is it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s—it’s the Bailie,” faltered John.</p> - -<p>“The Bailie? what’s he doing in there?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, he—he came to arrest ye for debt,” glibly -lied the old man. “So I told him to wait in there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -till ye came hame, an’ noo he’s my prisoner; that’s a’, -Robbie.”</p> - -<p>Rob grasped his hand gratefully. “Ye’re a true -friend, John Anderson. Let me see, how much do I -owe him?”</p> - -<p>John backed quickly away from him. “Nay, nay, -laddie!” he said decidedly. “I havena anither -penny.”</p> - -<p>“Neither have I,” laughed Rob ruefully. “So -I’ll leave ye to get him out the best way ye can; he’s -your prisoner, not mine. I’d like to pitch him down -stairs. Come on, John, between us we ought to manage -the old Shylock.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, Robbie,” he retorted dryly. “Take -my word for it, we’d hae our hands full.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, I’ll get into the rest of my clothes, for I’m -due in society,” yawned Rob, going to his room. -“Get rid of him, John; do what ye like with him; -he’s no friend of mine,” and he went in and closed -the door behind him.</p> - -<p>John softly followed him to the door and turned -the key in the lock. “I’ll take nae chances,” he said -grimly.</p> - -<p>“Good-evening,” said a sweet voice timidly. He -turned around and with a gasp of astonishment -beheld a young girl standing in the doorway. Suddenly -he gave a great start. Could his eyes deceive -him? Was that beautiful creature in the long white -opera cloak, her golden locks piled in a gorgeous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -mass high upon her little head, really the barefooted -lass he had seen only a few days ago, in her short -skirt of plaid?</p> - -<p>“Mary Campbell, is it yoursel’, lass?” he finally -gasped.</p> - -<p>“Aye, ’tis really me,” laughed Mary happily. -“I’m goin’ to the ball at Athol Castle with Mrs. -Dunlop. I wanted Robbie to see me in my gown -before I went, so Mrs. Dunlop left me here, while she -drove over to pick up Mrs. McLehose; then she’ll -return for me. Where is Robbie, John?”</p> - -<p>“He’s in there dressing, Mary, but whist, I’ve -something to tell ye first.”</p> - -<p>“About Robbie?” she asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Aye, there’s the devil to pay here, Mary.” The -old man’s face looked gloomy and perturbed. -“There’s a—a lady in that room.”</p> - -<p>“A—a lady!” gasped Mary in amazement, looking -at the door of Robbie’s chamber.</p> - -<p>“Aye, Lady Nancy Gordon hersel’.”</p> - -<p>“Then it’s true,” cried Mary, sinking into a -chair, a great fear tugging at her heart. “It’s -true, then, all the stories I hear, that Robert is be—bewitched -wi’ her. I wouldna’ believe it before. -Mrs. Dunlop says it isna’ true, that Robbie hasna’ -changed, but noo what can I think? Oh, laddie, oh, -laddie!” and she sank back pale and trembling.</p> - -<p>“There, lassie, Robert doesna’ care a penny for -that lass,” he said tenderly. “She is only a heartless<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -coquette, o’er fond of adventure,” and he laid -his wrinkled hand caressingly on the golden head. -“Noo look here, Mary, ye mustna’ expect Robert -to be an angel all the time. He thinks only -of ye, and he loves ye just as fondly, e’en if -he does smile and make love to the ladies who -throw themsel’s at his feet. He would lose his -popularity, ye ken. ’Tis only an amusin’ pastime, -lassie, an’ but gives him inspiration for his -poetry, so dinna’ take it to heart. Ye ken Rob is -highly sensitive, a most temperamental lad, who is -very susceptible to the charms of the fair sex, but -whist, Mary, he isn’t marrying any of them. There -is only one lassie who will be his wife noo, and she’s -nae far away from me this moment.” And he nodded -his head sagely.</p> - -<p>“Why dinna’ they leave him alone?” sighed Mary -disconsolately. “’Tis very unmaidenly in them to -seek for his favor so openly.”</p> - -<p>“Noo, lassie,” said John seriously, “we maun -get Lady Nancy out o’ this scrape, for the house -is watched noo by her father, who suspects her presence -here.”</p> - -<p>He walked up and down the room for a few -moments plunged in deep thought. All at once his -face brightened.</p> - -<p>“I have thought o’ a scheme, lassie,” he said suddenly. -“Let Lady Nancy take this long cloak of -yours; ’twill cover her o’er entirely; then she can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -walk boldly out past her father; he will think ’tis -ye, Mary, and will na’ stop her. Ye’re both of a -height,” and he regarded her with anxious eyes.</p> - -<p>“Why should I help her?” said Mary, her heart -still heavy and sore.</p> - -<p>“For Robbie’s sake,” pleaded John. “Her father -will blame the lad for it all; perhaps he will shoot -him, and he an innocent man. Why, lassie, he -doesna’ even ken the lass is in the house.”</p> - -<p>“Doesna’ ken it?” repeated Mary, smiling incredulously. -“Why, John, Robert isna’ blind. If -she is in his room——”</p> - -<p>“But she isna’ in his room, Mary,” interrupted -John. “She’s in there, scared to death,” and he -pointed to the door opposite.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” comprehended Mary with a sigh of relief. -“That’s different. I’ll help her noo, John,” and -she jumped eagerly to her feet, her face flushed and -earnest.</p> - -<p>“That’s the girlie,” replied John heartily. Going -to the door, he opened it and whispered to Lady -Nancy to come out.</p> - -<p>“Lud, I thought you were never coming,” she -flashed as she hastily entered the room. She stopped -short upon seeing Mary.</p> - -<p>“This lady will help ye get away,” said John, -looking angrily at the bogus Lady Nancy.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus5.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“Mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and threw it about -the bare shoulders of the disdainful lady.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Where have I seen that face before?” Lady -Glencairn asked herself nervously, looking closely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -into Mary’s flushed, innocent face, that reminded -her so guiltily of Lady Nancy Gordon herself.</p> - -<p>Mary quickly divested herself of her mantle and -threw it about the bare shoulders of the disdainful -lady, who hastily drew the large hood over her elaborate -court wig, entirely concealing it within its -voluminous folds.</p> - -<p>With a quick careless word of thanks to Mary, she -walked to the door, and calling to John, who was -quietly turning the key in Robert’s door, to show -her the way out, she swiftly left the room, and with -wildly beating heart, passed her uncle at the outer -door, and mingled her presence with the stream of -gallant courtiers and laughing, gayly-dressed ladies -that wended its boisterous way along the crowded -thoroughfare.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XIV</h3> - -<p>When Mary found herself alone she sat down pensively -in the big leather chair, feeling very sad and -thoughtful. Of course she trusted Robert absolutely, -but how could he really love such an ignorant little -country girl like herself, when there were so many -grand, rich, beautiful ladies surrounding him all the -time and suing for his favors, even seeking him out -in his own rooms? But her face brightened as she -thought of what John had told her. “It isna’ his -fault if the women lose their hearts over him,” he had -said, and in her heart she felt she could not blame -anyone for loving Robbie. She rose and softly approached -his door. Then she paused. No, she would -wait till he came and found her himself. But she did -wish he would hurry and finish dressing before Mrs. -Dunlop came back. She strolled aimlessly about the -room looking with listless eyes at the collections of -souvenirs and bric-a-brac which filled the mantels and -covered the tables. She noted with wonder the profusion -of ladies’ gloves, ’kerchief, scarfs, a slipper or -two and a motley collection of other articles littering -the table. She picked up a beautiful pink mask and -idly turned it over; on the back she read, “Dropped -by Lady Nancy at the Charity Ball given in honor -of the Prince of Wales.” She put it down, her lips<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -trembling. He must prize it very highly, she -thought with a pang of jealousy; but as she read -the various inscriptions on the back of a number of -the others, she smiled and told herself what a silly she -was. Of course he couldn’t be in love with all the -owners of those many favors. She picked up the -mask again and held it before her eyes. How funny -to cover one’s face in such a manner, she thought. -She fastened the elastic behind her ear, and with -a woman’s curiosity wondered how she looked -in it. She quickly spied the large cheval mirror -in the cabinet. “How funny I do look,” she -said to herself with a little amused laugh, as -she caught sight of her reflection. “Nobody would -ever know me.” As she drew closer to the mirror -in pleased wonder her dancing eyes slowly wandered -from the top of the glittering coil of her -golden hair, dwelt for an instant in blushing -modesty on the gleaming, bare shoulders, and rested -in loving, blissful content on her simple trailing robe -of ivory-tinted embroidered silk. She looked angelically -lovely as she stood there innocently admiring -her winsome reflection.</p> - -<p>“Is that really the Highland Mary who used to -wander barefooted through the glens and vales, the -simple dairymaid who made butter for Colonel -Montgomery?” she asked herself dreamily. “Am -I awake, I wonder? How Souter Johnny would -open his eyes if he could only see me noo in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -beautiful gown, carrying a fan an’ wi’ my hair done -up high.” She laughed gleefully but softly at the -thought. “Wouldna’ they be proud to see me such a -grand lady.” She walked stiffly across the room -with all the dignity she could command, her -chin held high and taking quick little pleased -glances over her shoulder at her reflection. It was -Mary’s first long gown, and it was not to be wondered -at, when in turning quickly around a chair she -easily became entangled in her train, and with a little -frightened gasp she suddenly found herself on her -knees endeavoring to extricate her feet from the -clinging mass of silk and linen in which they were -enmeshed. Finally she succeeded in regaining her -feet, but not until she had with extreme care seated -herself did she breathe a sigh of relief. She eyed her -train ruefully. “If I should fall doon before all -the great people at the ball, I should be so ashamed,” -she said, sighing dismally. “They would all laugh -at me. But Robert says I am nicer than anyone in -all the world.” She reveled in that thought an instant, -then her face lengthened. “But I ken there -is a difference, a great difference; I am only a simple -country lass without any learnin’ whatever, while -Lady Nancy is——” she rose suddenly as a thought -occurred to her, her hands clasped tightly together. -“Suppose he should grow ashamed of his ignorant -little country wife,” she whispered with trembling -lips; “it would break my heart in twain.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> - -<p>She held out her hands passionately toward her -unseen lover. “Ye willna’ ever regret makin’ me -your wife, will ye dear?” she whispered imploringly. -“Ye willna’ be sorry in years to come.” Quickly -her loving, trustful faith reasserted itself. “Nay, -nay, my heart tells me ye willna’, so I’ll be foolish -nae more. I’ll tell him what a silly lass I’ve been an’ -how he’ll laugh at my doubting fears.” She took a -step toward his door, when it opened and Robert came -quickly into the room, dressed for the ball, looking -very handsome in his plain and unpretending dress of -blue homespun, for he still retained the same simplicity -of manner and appearance that he brought with -him from the country. He stopped in amazement -as he came face to face with his unexpected visitor.</p> - -<p>Mary with a thrill of joy at the sight of her lover -waited eagerly for the words of praise which she -knew her appearance would elicit, and for which she -hungered, but as he stood looking at her so calmly, -so coldly, her joy turned to wonder and fear. What -was the matter? Didn’t she please him? With -a little gasp she put her hand nervously to her -face. As it came in contact with the mask, which -she had forgotten to remove, her heart gave a quick -bound of relief. Of course! He didn’t know her. -“He doesna’ ken who I am at all,” she thought -gleefully.</p> - -<p>As his eyes rested upon the pink mask, Robert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -gave a sudden start, then glanced quickly at the -table. No, it wasn’t there. So then this was Lady -Nancy herself. He recognized her hair, her figure, -and above all the mask. “So my haughty lady -thinks it safer to play wi’ fire incognito, eh?” -he thought grimly. “Weel, I’ll teach ye a lesson, -my fine lady; ye need one badly.” Then aloud, “I’m -indeed honored, madam, by your presence here to-night,” -he said, bowing low before her.</p> - -<p>Mary courtesied deeply. Oh, it was so exciting to -be talking with her Robbie, and how surprised he -would be when she unmasked.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t ye a word to say to me, fair lady?” -continued Robert softly, as she stood silently before -him.</p> - -<p>“He’ll sure ken my voice,” she thought in trepidation; -“if I could only talk like a lady.” She wondered -if she could imitate the haughty tones of Lady -Nancy Gordon herself. She’d try. She seated herself -languidly. “Then you don’t recognize me?” -she asked, disguising her lyric voice, as near as possible, -in the lazy drawl of Lady Glencairn’s voice.</p> - -<p>He started and looked at her intently. It didn’t -sound like Lady Nancy at all, but who else could -she be? he thought blankly. “Your voice sounds -like—but nae, I maun be mistaken,” he said doubtfully. -“Nay, madam, I do not recognize you. Will -you not remove——”</p> - -<p>“What, my face?” laughed Mary. She had marvelously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -lost all trace of her country intonation. -“Oh, nay, sir! I’m too much attached to it.”</p> - -<p>“Well ye might be, fair lady!” replied Robert, -“but why do ye hide your beauty so jealously?” -He reached out his hand to lift the mask from her -face, but, with a rippling laugh, she eluded him, and -from behind the high-backed settle made reply.</p> - -<p>“Be not impatient, Mr. Burns,” she said saucily; -“you shall see my face in good time, I warrant ye!” -It must be Lady Nancy after all, he told himself.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a promise of paradise, madam!” he cried -fervently, entering into the spirit of adventure.</p> - -<p>Mary looked at him reproachfully. Did he think -she was really Lady Gordon? she wondered. The -thought gave her pause. Well, she would find out -how much he really cared for her, how much truth -there was in the gossip she had heard. “Rumor -sayeth, Mr. Burns, that ye are in love with the beautiful -Lady Nancy Gordon; is that so?” she asked, -fanning herself languorously.</p> - -<p>He smiled quizzically into her face. “Rumor hath -many tongues, fair lady, and most of them lying ones. -The lady doesna’ suit my taste; even her money -couldna’ tempt me, an’ I need the money badly. -That will take her conceit down a peg I’ll warrant,” -he thought grimly.</p> - -<p>“But she is very beautiful, I hear,” said Mary, -filled with delight at his answer.</p> - -<p>“That I grant ye. Mistress Nancy is most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -adept in the use of the hare’s foot an’ of the paint -box. I’ll wager she can teach even our incomparable -actress, Mrs. Siddons, a few tricks in the art of -makeup. Oh, but ye should see the lady in the early -morning. ’Fore heaven, she resembles damaged -goods!” Now would come the explosion of wounded -pride and outraged dignity, he thought calmly, but -his amazement was unbounded when the seeming -Lady Nancy jumped up and down, ecstatically clapping -her hands in a very undignified manner. “Ye -seem o’er pleased at my remark,” he exclaimed with -a puzzled frown.</p> - -<p>“I am, I am pleased!” she cried joyfully.</p> - -<p>“What?” he stammered taken aback—“why, I—I -thought ye were——” He stopped, flushed and -embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“Were Lady Nancy Gordon!” she finished. “O -Lud, if I were, I wouldn’t feel complimented at all the -flattering things I’ve heard!” and she went off in -a peal of merry laughter.</p> - -<p>“Who are ye then, who comes to my chamber at -night?” he asked curtly, chagrined at his mistake. -She shook her head and laughed softly.</p> - -<p>“Ye shall know in good time,” she replied coquettishly. -“I—I must make certain that ye dinna’ love—me.” -She smiled, but her heart was beating wildly.</p> - -<p>“I love only one maiden, an’ I make her my wife -within a week,” he answered with dignity.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye’ve no regrets for Lady Nancy, nor for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -Mrs. McLehose, nor—nor any o’ the grand ladies -ye’ll be givin’ up to marry the little country -maiden?” she asked softly, forgetting in her eagerness -her lapse into her natural speech.</p> - -<p>“None, my lady,” he replied firmly. “Noo, lets call -a truce to this masquerade! I am at a loss to understand -your errand here to-night, but do not press -ye for an explanation, and as I am due at the Duke -of Athol’s, I must bid ye good-night.” He bowed -coldly, and started to leave her.</p> - -<p>But with a cry of joy, which thrilled him to the -heart, she drew near to him with outstretched arms. -“Robbie, lad, canna’ ye guess who I am?” she -cried. “I’m nae a grand lady at all, I’m only your -Highland Mary.” With a quick movement, she tore -off the mask from her flushed and radiant face and -threw it far from her.</p> - -<p>“Mary, is it ye?” he gasped, almost speechless -with surprise. He could scarcely believe his senses. -This radiantly beautiful lady his Highland Mary? -was such a metamorphosis possible?</p> - -<p>She made him a little courtesy. “Aye, ’tis -Mary!” she answered, her heart beating fast with -pleasure. Quickly she told him how she had come, -why she had come, and how long she had waited, -just to hear his words of approval. “Do I please -ye, laddie?” she asked shyly.</p> - -<p>For a moment he could not speak. Her wonderful -perfection of beauty startled him. He drew her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -closely into his arms, kissing her with almost -pathetic tenderness. “Mary, my love, my sweet -lass!” and his voice trembled. “Pleased! Good -Heavens, what little words those are to express my -feelings. I can tell ye how you look, for nothing can -ever make ye vain! Ye’re the most beautiful lassie -I’ve ever seen! Ah, but I’m proud of ye this night. -Ye’re fit to wear a coronet, Mary lass! I ken there -will not be a grand lady at the ball to-night who -will look half sae bonnie, nor hae such sweet, dainty -manners, as my country sweetheart.” He held her -off at arm’s length and glanced with affectionate -adoration, from the fair, golden-crowned head down -to the point of the small pearl-embroidered slipper -that peeped beneath the edge of the rich, sheeny -white robe.</p> - -<p>“It seems so strange to be here in Edinburgh, -decked out in all this finery,” she murmured dreamily, -“and on my way to a real ball. Is it really me?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, ’tis ye, Mary, I’ll swear to that!” he cried -heartily, kissing the sweet, ingenuous face raised to -his so wistfully. She blushed with pleasure, and -bashfully turned her head away. “Ye dinna’ think -I look awkward, do ye laddie?” she inquired in a low, -timid voice.</p> - -<p>“Nay, ye’re grace itself, sweetheart!” he replied -reassuringly, raising her chin till her drooping eyes -met his.</p> - -<p>“An’ ye wouldna ken I was only a dairymaid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -if it werena for my speech, would ye?” she interrogated, -with pathetic hopefulness. Her concerned, -anxious little face and wistful manner touched him -deeply.</p> - -<p>“I wouldna have ye changed for all the world, -Mary!” he told her tenderly, pressing his lips to the -one little curl which hung unconfined over her snowy -shoulder. “Be your own pure, sweet self always, -for ye’re the fairest of all God’s creatures to me -noo.”</p> - -<p>She gave a deep sigh of absolute content, and -leaned against him silently for a moment. Then she -looked up at him brightly. “This fine dress makes -me quite a grand lady, doesna’ it?” she prattled -innocently.</p> - -<p>“Aye! every inch a queen!” and he made her a -deep bow.</p> - -<p>“But it isna mine, Robbie,” she whispered confidentially. -“I borrowed it for the night only, like -Cinderella in the fairy book, to make my début into -fashionable society,” and she laughed gleefully, like -a little child telling a wonderful secret. “It’s Mrs. -Dunlop’s wedding gown, Robbie; isna it just -sweet?” She passed her hand gently over the folds -of the silk and there was awe and reverence in the -touch. “Oh, how I love to smooth it, ’tis so soft an’ -rich an’ glossy; it isna’ wrong to love the beautiful -things, is it, laddie?” she asked earnestly.</p> - -<p>“Nay,” replied Robert, smiling tenderly at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -naïveté. “Love the pretty things all ye like, dearie, -for hereafter ye shall have the finest gowns in town. -Ye shall select whatsoever your fancy pleases—dresses, -bonnets, mits, boots,” and he enumerated -on his fingers all the articles he could remember so -dear to a woman’s heart.</p> - -<p>“Shall I really, really?” she gasped as he -finished, looking at him with wondering eyes. “I -hae never bought a pretty thing in a’ my life, ye ken, -an’ oh, won’t it be just sweet? We’ll go to the shops -to-morrow, an’ Mrs. Dunlop will help me select my—my -wedding gown.” She held her head away bashfully, -blushing pink before the sudden fire that -gleamed in the dark eyes bent on her so devotedly.</p> - -<p>“Your wedding gown?” he repeated, with dreamy -softness. “Let it be silk, Mary, white, soft and -shimmering, to float around ye like a cloud of sunshine. -An’ ye must have a bridal veil too, lassie, one -sae fine an’ transparent that it will cover ye o’er like -the morning mist.”</p> - -<p>“I would be afraid to buy so much,” she replied -gravely. “’Twould be too costly, an’ ye canna’ -afford to waste sae much money to deck me out like -a lady,” and she shook her head in firm disapproval.</p> - -<p>He laughed heartily at her sober face and air of -housewifely prudence. “My dear,” he whimsically -told her, “dinna’ ye mind the cost. A weddin’ -doesna’ often happen in one’s lifetime, sae we’ll make -it a grand one this time.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye’ll spoil me, Robbie,” she answered, smiling -happily.</p> - -<p>“Nay, ye’re too sweet and lovely to be spoiled.”</p> - -<p>“Well, ye ken,” she replied demurely, “sweet -things spoil the quickest.”</p> - -<p>Before he could reply, the rattle of a carriage -over the pavement sounded loudly through the -room. As it stopped at the door, Mary gave a little -sigh of regret. “It’s Mrs. Dunlop, returning for -me at last,” she said. She secretly hoped the sharp -old eyes would not miss the cloak.</p> - -<p>“Aye, like the good fairy godmother,” smiled -Robert, as he led her out of the room and down the -stairs.</p> - -<p>“I feel as if I were in a dream,” she murmured -softly, picking up her train, and lovingly holding it -over her arm, as she walked daintily across the sidewalk -to the waiting carriage. “If I am, laddie,” -she continued earnestly, “I hope I may never awake -from it; I want to dream on forever.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XV</h3> - -<p>When Lady Glencairn, after her arrival at the Duke -of Athol’s, found that Robert had not come—indeed -she and Lord Glencairn and Sir William Creech, her -uncle, had been the first to arrive—she decided recklessly -to visit him at his chambers, so she had easily -stolen away unnoticed by all save one, on her indiscreet -journey. Sir William had seen her as she -slipped guiltily out through the conservatory window -and had followed her with growing suspicions -to the door of Robert’s chamber, where he waited in -impotent wrath for her to reappear, after having -questioned the guidwife within the inn. And he -was not deceived when she came out, wrapped in the -disguising cloak and mask. He followed her like a -grim servitor till she reached the castle, and as she -was noiselessly reëntering by the conservatory window, -he called to her to wait. With a startled gasp -she turned, and as her eyes rested on her uncle’s -accusing face, she gave a little laugh, half scornful, -half defiant, and leisurely throwing off her cloak and -mask, stood waiting for him to speak.</p> - -<p>“Ye foolish woman!” he told her angrily. -“How could ye be so imprudent, reckless mad, as to -visit a man’s chamber at night?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t preach to me, uncle,” she answered sullenly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -“No one knows of my being there, not even -Mr. Burns himself.”</p> - -<p>“But what were ye thinkin’ of to do such a reprehensible -act?” he demanded sternly. She turned on -him suddenly.</p> - -<p>“Because I love him!” she exclaimed passionately, -casting prudence to the winds. “I went there to tell -him of my love, to give myself to him, to beg him to -take me away from here, to take me anywhere, only -to let me be near him, to stay with him. But I was -forced to come away without seeing him, thanks to -you.”</p> - -<p>For a moment he regarded the reckless woman in -silence, amazement, shame, and anger struggling for -the mastery.</p> - -<p>“Alice, of what are you thinking?” he ejaculated -finally, catching her roughly by the arm. “You -must control yourself. I speak for your own good. -Think no more of this idle poet, for only shame, -ruin and unhappiness can come to ye and your husband, -unless ye give up this unholy passion.”</p> - -<p>She laughed scornfully. “My husband!” she -cried bitterly. “Don’t remind me of that fossil! -You, and the rest of my family, are to blame for my -being fettered, tied to a man I do not love. If it -were not for that, I could find the happiness I -crave.”</p> - -<p>“Sh! be calm!” he continued, looking anxiously -around. “You may be overheard. Foolish woman!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -do you forget that Robert Burns, as well as yourself, -is married.”</p> - -<p>“He is not!” she flashed impetuously. “That -was no legal tie. Some foolish chit of a country lass -flung herself at him, with the usual result. Any -man would have done as he did, but unlike most men, -he, out of pity and from a high sense of honor, married -her; but it was an irregular marriage, which -was speedily annulled by the girl’s father. He is -free now, free as ever he was. The girl has given -him up, poor fool. I only am the shackled one, a -prisoner for life, unless——” An eager light flashed -in her deepened eyes.</p> - -<p>“Unless Robert Burns elopes with ye!” he finished -sarcastically. “I warn ye, Alice, not to play with -edged tools;’tis o’er dangerous. Be more careful -or others will suspect what I already know.” She -smiled disdainfully and shrugged her shapely shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Do not force me to open your husband’s eyes!” -he retorted, angered by her irritating indifference. -She looked at him, her heart filled with sudden fury. -How she would like to hit him in the face with her -fan, how she hated him and his interference, his -unwelcome advice. “Already,” he continued irritably, -“you have given that scandalmonger, Eppy -McKay, cause to suspect your too warm and ardent -affection for Mr. Burns, by openly showing jealousy -of Lady Nancy Gordon.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I jealous of Nancy Gordon?” she repeated, with -airy scorn, walking toward the door of the conservatory. -“Huh, not I, uncle; I am not so unconscious -of my own charms,” and she drew her magnificent -figure up to its full height, then smiled insolently into -his perturbed and nervous face. “I thank you for -all your advice,” she murmured sweetly as they traversed -the long hall, “but remember, hereafter, that -I mean to steer my own canoe, whether it leads me -into safe waters or through the rapids.” And with -a radiant smile upon her sensuous lips she entered -the drawing-room, leaning affectionately upon the -arm of her outraged but speechless relative. Quietly -she took her place by her waiting husband’s side, her -dark eyes full of a bewitching and dangerous softness, -for her thoughts were on the one guest whose -very name had the power to move her so completely.</p> - -<p>Never had she appeared so dazzlingly beautiful, as -she stood there meeting her friends and acquaintances -with a deep ceremonious courtesy for the distinguished -ones, a smile and a nod for her intimates, -and an air of high-bred insolence and extreme self-satisfaction -pervading her whole appearance.</p> - -<p>No one was ever bored at the Duchess of Athol’s -brilliant “at homes.” One always felt sure of -meeting at least three or four justly celebrated -personages under her hospitable roof. And to-night -society was a-gog, for it was to welcome the farmer-poet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -Robert Burns, who had returned from his -triumphant tour through the Highlands. Soon the -capacious drawing-rooms were crowded. There was -the rustle of silk and satin, rare and delicate perfumes -shaken out of lace kerchiefs, while the heavy -scent of the many bouquets oppressed the warm air -to the point of suffocation. There was an interminably -monotonous murmur of voices, only broken at -rare intervals by a ripple of mild laughter. Over -by the large windows that overlooked the terrace -stood a group of people gazing earnestly out beyond -the gardens at some object, which had arrested their -attention, with various degrees of interest.</p> - -<p>“Whatever is happening below on Princes -Street?” suddenly inquired one of the ladies, nervously -clutching the arm of the man nearest her. -Eppy McKay was an eccentric maiden lady of questionable -age and taste. Of more than ordinary -height naturally, she looked a giantess in her powdered -wig, which towered fully a foot in the air, and -which was decorated profusely with waving plumes, -rosettes and jewels. Her lowcut gown of crimson -satin, over a petticoat of quilted green silk, was cut -extremely low, revealing a vision of skin and bones, -powdered to a ghastly whiteness. Her affectations, -her simperings, and her poses accorded society much -amusement, of which fact she was blissfully unconscious.</p> - -<p>“There is a crowd gathered around a carriage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -but farther than that I cannot make out,” replied -Mr. Mackenzie, the famous author and publisher.</p> - -<p>A prolonged shout from below increased the restlessness -of the timid Eppy. “Oh, dear!” she gasped. -“If it should be an uprising of the Jacobites,” and -she looked fearfully into the amused faces of her -companions.</p> - -<p>With a disgusted grunt, Sir William Creech shook -his arm free from her clawlike clutch. “Nonsense, -woman, ye’re daft!” he answered impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Well, upon my word!” she murmured in injured -surprise.</p> - -<p>“The mob is increasing—’tis coming nearer!” -exclaimed Mr. Mackenzie, stepping out upon the -wide balcony.</p> - -<p>“So it is,” affirmed Eppy, retreating behind the -heavy curtains. “Lady Glencairn!” she called as -her ladyship approached the window. “Listen to -those murmurs! Oh, dear! it makes me so nervous.”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn stepped out upon the balcony, -followed by the timid Eppy, and stood contemplating -the scene in the brightly lighted street below -them.</p> - -<p>“It sounds not ominous,” she said quietly, after a -moment. “Lud, what a throng! They have unhitched -the horses from a carriage, and are themselves -drawing it hither.”</p> - -<p>“Who is in the carriage, can you see?” eagerly -asked Eppy, straining her eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A gentleman, who is evidently addressing the -people,” answered Lady Glencairn slowly. She -gazed intently at the figure silhouetted against the -light of the street lamps. Surely she knew that -form. At that moment he turned, and with a flush -of surprise, a thrill of joy, she suddenly recognized -him.</p> - -<p>“Upon my life,’tis Robert, Robert Burns!” she -cried excitedly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, I recognize him now,” said Mr. Mackenzie.</p> - -<p>“And you say they are drawing him hither?” inquired -Sir William incredulously, turning to his -niece.</p> - -<p>“Aye, and why not?” she replied brightly, turning -to the others. “They should carry him on their -shoulders, for he deserves all homage.”</p> - -<p>“And ’tis said the Scots are not demonstrative,” -ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, as another burst of applause -and cheers, followed by laughter, reached their -ears.</p> - -<p>“You hear how demonstrative they can be when -occasion demands enthusiasm,” replied Lady Glencairn -stanchly, “when genius knocks at the door of -their hearts. See how Edinburgh has utterly lost -control of its conservative old self, and all over the -poetic genius of Robert Burns.”</p> - -<p>“True, he has indeed stirred the hardest-hearted -Scot by his fascinating poetry,” mused Mr. Mackenzie -admiringly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<p>“How I shall love him,” sighed Eppy dreamily. -“In sooth I do now,” and she simpered and dropped -her eyes like a love-sick school girl.</p> - -<p>“And she has never met the man yet!” cried Sir -William in amazement. “The woman’s daft,” he -muttered, turning away.</p> - -<p>“I do wish he would come,” sighed Eppy. “I -want to tell him how much I admire him and his -poetry. Oh, I have the dearest little speech, that -Sibella, my sister, composed, all prepared to say when -I am presented to him.” She rolled her eyes up ecstatically.</p> - -<p>“I shall also recite one of his odes to him,” she -continued, in the tone of one who is about to confer -a great favor. “I know ’twill please him -greatly,” and she fanned herself languidly.</p> - -<p>“What have you selected?” inquired Lady Glencairn, -laughing openly. The woman’s vanity amused -her.</p> - -<p>“Such a sweet conceit,” simpered Eppy.</p> - -<p>“Is it ‘Tam O’Shanter’s Tale’?” inquired Mr. -Mackenzie, interestedly.</p> - -<p>“No, oh, no!” she replied, shaking her head. -“’Tis monstrous long to recite.”</p> - -<p>“An ode to a calf,” said Sir William grimly, -“would be more appropriate.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps ’tis the tale of ‘The Twa Dogs,’” hazarded -Lady Glencairn. Eppy laughed gleefully and -shook her head.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tell us the name, madam; we’re no children!” -roared Sir William, glaring at her like an angry -bull.</p> - -<p>“You’re so gruff,” pouted Eppy reproachfully. -“Do you all give it up?” They nodded. “Well, -then, don’t be shocked,” and she shook her finger at -them coquettishly; then leaning forward she whispered -loudly, “’Tis entitled ‘To a Louse.’”</p> - -<p>“Heaven, preserve us!” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie, -laughing heartily.</p> - -<p>“She’s touched here!” cried Sir William commiseratingly, -putting his finger to his head.</p> - -<p>“Why did you choose that?” gasped Lady Glencairn, -in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Because ’tis a beautiful conceit,” answered Eppy -soulfully. “I protest, I mean to recite it.”</p> - -<p>“I vow ’tis a most singular selection.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why,” snapped Eppy spitefully. -“’Twas written round a fact.”</p> - -<p>“Really, I hadn’t heard of that,” answered her -ladyship, coolly turning away.</p> - -<p>“I wonder at that,” cooed Eppy innocently, -although a little malicious twinkle appeared in her -eyes. “You of all people should know everything -pertaining to Mr. Burns and his verses.” Lady -Glencairn stiffened suddenly, and cast a quick look -at the stern face of her uncle.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that?” inquired Sir -William aggressively, turning to Eppy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing, nothing!” she hastily replied, -frightened by what she had said.</p> - -<p>“Everything concerning Mr. Burns, my husband’s -protégé, and my friend, my dear friend, I -may call him, does interest me mightily, Miss McKay. -Pray tell me the story connected with the -poem, if you care to!” and Lady Glencairn turned -her glittering eyes, which were narrowed dangerously, -upon the face of the crestfallen Eppy.</p> - -<p>Sir William gave a snort of anger. “Ye couldn’t -stop her; she is dying to tell all she knows!” he said -crustily.</p> - -<p>Eppy cleared her throat vigorously. “Well, it -was this way,” she began confidentially. “Mr. -Burns was sitting behind a lady in Kirk, one Sabbath, -who had on a new bonnet, of which she seemed -most proud. As he was admiring its beauty, his -keen eyes detected this horrid little animal crawling -over the gauze and lace.”</p> - -<p>“How fascinating,” murmured Mr. Mackenzie in -mocking rapture.</p> - -<p>“And it immediately inspired his pen to write the -verses which have made such a sensation in town,” -concluded Eppy, looking eagerly at her listeners for -some look or word of approval.</p> - -<p>“What a—a creepy story,” said Lady Glencairn, -with a little shiver of repulsion.</p> - -<p>She turned to her quickly. “’Tis said, my dear, -and I ask you not to repeat it, for I promised not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -tell, that the lady in question was Agnes McLehose, -the beautiful grass widow, who is such an ardent admirer -of Mr. Burns, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Really!” murmured Lady Glencairn coldly.</p> - -<p>“And the airs she put on!” cried Eppy, with -lofty indignation. “Why, do you know——”</p> - -<p>But Lady Glencairn interrupted her sharply. “I -do not care to speak of Agnes McLehose,” she retorted -frigidly, “and I never indulge in scandal, -especially before my friends, so let us not disgust -them with any woman’s gossip.”</p> - -<p>“You are quite right,” affirmed Eppy affably. -“I do not believe in it myself; it always comes back -to one.”</p> - -<p>“Who can understand a woman?” grunted Sir -William aloud.</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s most easy to understand men,” retorted -Eppy quickly.</p> - -<p>With a sigh of impatience, Lady Glencairn took -Mr. Mackenzie’s arm and silently they reëntered the -drawing-room. They wended their way through the -groups of people standing about, for the largest and -most brilliant portion of the assemblage were standing, -the sofas, ottomans, and chairs being occupied -by the puffy old dowagers, who were entertaining -each other with choice bits of scandal; and, finally, -came to a standstill beside the grand piano. For a -moment they remained quiet, listening to the glorious -voice of Madame Urbani, who from the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -drawing-room above was trilling forth an aria from -grand opera. From her position Lady Glencairn -commanded a good view of the large arch through -which the guests entered the drawing-rooms. Anxiously -she watched for the handsome face and -curly black hair of the poet above the crowd that -surrounded her. “Why does he not come? what can -be detaining him?” she asked herself for the hundredth -time. Perhaps he was with Lady Nancy -Gordon, she thought jealously, looking about the vast -room. She was sure she had not yet been announced. -It looked very suspicious that neither she, nor Robert, -had arrived. And her heart was consumed with -bitter jealousy, although her smiling face bore no -traces of the raging fire within. How she hated that -doll-faced beauty for being single and free! How -she would delight in trampling her in the dust, she -thought cruelly. Nearly a month had elapsed since -Robert left Edinburgh, since she had seen him. A -month filled with vain longing and unrest. And since -his return, she could scarcely restrain her intense -longing to see him. Day after day she would drive -slowly past his lodgings, hoping to catch a glimpse -of his glowing, dark face, which had such power to -thrill her to the very depths of her intense and -passionate nature. That longing had taken possession -of her to-night, when she had slipped out and -stolen away to his rooms, and she would have willingly -given her body and soul to him, for the asking;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -but her good angel had protected her from her -own indiscretion, and saved her unsuspecting victim -from a great remorse. The gurgling voice of Eppy -McKay broke in abruptly on her disturbing revery.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear, I wish Mr. Burns would come,” she -said plaintively.</p> - -<p>“He is usually very punctual,” answered Lady -Glencairn, opening her large fan of ostrich plumes -and fanning herself indolently.</p> - -<p>“Genius is never governed by any rules of punctuality -or propriety,” observed Mr. Mackenzie.</p> - -<p>“Then he is exempt,” replied her ladyship, smiling -brightly. “Ah! you truant. Where have you -been?” she demanded of her husband, who joined -them at that moment.</p> - -<p>“Incidentally getting a breath of fresh air, my -dear,” replied Lord Glencairn, smiling lovingly into -his wife’s face. “But in reality, I was listening to -the ovation which Robert was receiving as he drove -through Princes Street.” Her eyes suddenly brightened.</p> - -<p>“How I wish I could have heard his speech to the -masses,” she cried enthusiastically. “For I must -confess, James, that no man’s conversation ever -carried me off my feet so completely as that of Robert -Burns.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, my lady!” he retorted in mock alarm. -“Then it behooves me to keep my eye on you hereafter.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> - -<p>She joined in the laugh that followed, then remarked -audaciously, “But, I vow, a little flirtation -is really most exhilarating now and then.” She -flashed her brilliant eyes mockingly upon the horror-struck -countenance of Eppy McKay.</p> - -<p>“How indiscreet!” exclaimed Eppy in amazement, -“and you are a married woman, too.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis perfectly shocking, isn’t it?” mimicked her -ladyship insolently.</p> - -<p>Eppy pursed her thin lips, while a little spot of -color dyed her parchment-like cheeks. “Well, I do -not approve of married women flirting,” she replied -primly, and as she caught the look of amusement -which passed between her ladyship and Mr. Mackenzie, -she added sourly, “Especially in public.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Then you do approve of it in private,” -replied her ladyship sweetly, innocently opening her -eyes to their widest.</p> - -<p>Eppy gave a gasp of horror. “Mercy, no!” she -cried indignantly, “I should say not.” And she -tossed her head in virtuous anger.</p> - -<p>“Robert Burns!” announced the footman at this -juncture.</p> - -<p>There was a sudden hush, a movement of excitement, -and the group around the door fell back, and -everybody made way for the most important guest -of the evening, who for the last hour had been the all-absorbing -topic of conversation. Lady Glencairn -started violently, as she heard the name announced.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -For a brief instant she closed her eyes, feeling faint, -and trembling in an ecstasy of joy. He was here -at last! Her heart throbbed so violently it stifled -her.</p> - -<p>“How noble he looks!” exclaimed Eppy in an -awestruck tone, as she watched the tall figure in a -polite but determined manner coolly elbowing a passage -among the heaving bare shoulders, fat arms, -the long trains, and bulging bustles and paniers -that seriously obstructed his way. “And to think -that man is but a lowly-bred peasant,” observed Mr. -Mackenzie, as he watched him bending low over the -hand of their hostess.</p> - -<p>“A man’s a man, for all that!” murmured her -ladyship, worshipful pride in her voice and in her -dazzling eyes, as she watched him approach, bowing -right and left. She drew herself up with the conscious -air of a beauty who knows she is nearly perfect, -and with a smile she extended her jeweled hand. -“I’m so glad to see you here to-night,” she says -sweetly, although a glance like fire seen through -smoke leaps from beneath her silky eyelashes, but -Robert saw it not; he was bending low over her fair -hand. “Welcome back to Edinburgh!” she continued, -pressing his hand warmly.</p> - -<p>A bright smile lighted up his dark visage. -“Thank ye,” he returned simply. Then he turned -to Lord Glencairn with outstretched hand. “My -lord!” he said warmly, “how glad, how delighted,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -I am to again press the hand of my patron, my -friend.”</p> - -<p>“The pleasure is mutual, my lad!” he replied. A -kindly smile lighted up his noble face, as he perceived -the ruddy glow of health in the full cheeks, -the flashing eyes of the young poet. “Ah, you return -to us looking bonnier than ever,” he continued. -“Your triumphant tour through the north with -its Highland chieftains and lords at your feet, has -not turned your head after all.”</p> - -<p>Robert laughed good-naturedly. “Not a bit of -it,” he replied frankly.</p> - -<p>“Let me present Mr. Henry Mackenzie,” introduced -Lady Glencairn at this juncture.</p> - -<p>Robert advanced eagerly to meet him, his hand -extended, his eyes flashing with delight. “The -author of the ‘Man of Feeling,’ the first book I -loved and admired years ago!” he exclaimed in direct -frankness. “It is an unexpected pleasure, sir.”</p> - -<p>“The pleasure is mutual,” replied Mr. Mackenzie, -flushing at the compliment. “We witnessed -your triumphant progress up Princes Street, and -were delighted at the ovation you received.”</p> - -<p>Robert laughed happily. “Was it not wonderful?” -he answered in his sonorous voice, which had -such a thrilling richness in it. “I could scarcely -realize it was the once poor, humble Robbie Burns -they were cheering. I am indeed happy; my -popularity has not begun to wane yet.” He regarded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -the great publisher with kindling eyes. -“That I am so favorably known, is due to your -kindly articles in your inestimable paper, <i>The -Lounger</i>, and your unbiased criticism of my poems, -which brought me before the public, and I thank you -most heartily for that generous criticism which was -so judicious withal.” A little murmur of approval -from his listeners greeted his last words.</p> - -<p>“’Twas a pleasure, believe me, Mr. Burns,” he -answered quietly, “to lend a helping hand to assist -a struggling genius.”</p> - -<p>“Thank ye,” said Robert, simply.</p> - -<p>“I believe you have never met our esteemed -contemporary, Mr. Sterne, author of ‘Tristam -Shandy,’” observed Mr. Mackenzie, and he quickly -made the introduction.</p> - -<p>Robert turned quickly to the grave and dignified -scholar. “Little did I ever dream,” he said fervently, -“that I would one day meet and converse with -my two favorite authors.”</p> - -<p>A smile of gratified vanity overspread the rugged -features of the scholar. “I am proud indeed,” he -observed pompously, “if my book has found favor in -your eyes, Mr. Burns.” And soon they had become -engaged in an animated conversation, much to the -chagrin of one of his admirers, who had been waiting -patiently to be introduced. She had been mentally -rehearsing her little speech for some time, and was -now waiting for the opportunity to deliver it.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No one would ever take him for a farmer,” she -thought in open-mouthed, worshipful adoration.</p> - -<p>“He looks quite like a gentleman,” said a haughty -voice near her, in a tone of great surprise.</p> - -<p>“Huh! he makes love to every woman he meets!” -replied Sir William spitefully.</p> - -<p>With a thrill of rapture at the thought, Eppy -attracted the attention of Lady Glencairn, and -whispered in that lady’s impatient ear, “Introduce -me, please; I see Mr. Burns is regarding me very -closely.”</p> - -<p>Presently a lull occurred in the discussion, and -Lady Glencairn smilingly introduced the garrulous -old lady to the poet, as a “warm admirer of his -poems.” “And of you, too,” eagerly interrupted -Eppy, clasping his hand in both of her own. “Oh! -I have longed for this moment, that I might clasp -the hand of Scotia’s Bard, and tell him how I love -him,”—she broke off with a smothered giggle. “I -mean his poems; oh, they are too heavenly for utterance,” -and she rolled her little gray eyes till only the -whites showed. “Sibella—she’s my sister, and a -dear creature if I do say so—and I have had many -a lovely cry over them,” she rattled on hardly pausing -for breath. “Ah, they have made us so happy. -You must come and see her, won’t you, she’s a writer -also, and you can have a sweet talk over your art. -We belong to a literary family, you know. Rob -Don, the Gaelic poet, belonged to our clan. We take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -after him.” She smiled affectedly and batted her -little eyes in what she fondly believed a very fetching -manner.</p> - -<p>Robert had vainly tried to edge in a word, and -now stood listening to the silly prattle, a smile of -amusement playing round his mobile mouth.</p> - -<p>“A long way after,” observed Sir William dryly. -Then he threw up his hands in dismay, for Eppy had -started off again.</p> - -<p>“Here I am rattling off a lot of nonsense,” she -gurgled, “but I do enjoy your talking so much, Mr. -Burns. I vow I could listen to it all day. I shall -always remember this happy occasion of our meeting.” -She stopped, out of breath, panting but -happy.</p> - -<p>Robert regarded her quizzically for a moment -while an audible titter was heard throughout the -rooms. “You quite overwhelm me, Miss McKay,” -he drawled at last. “But I have nevertheless enjoyed -conversing with you. Really, madam, I felt -quite eloquent and did myself full justice,” and he -bowed gravely.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you flatterer!” tittered Eppy, slapping his -arm coquettishly with her fan. “But I am not -madam yet.” She ventured a quick look at Sir -William.</p> - -<p>“Robert, I have been requested to ask you to -recite one of your favorite poems; will you honor -us?” asked Lord Glencairn, coming forward.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p>At once there was a chorus of inanely polite voices. -“Oh, do recite, Mr. Burns!” “Please give us ‘Tam -O’Shanter’s Ride,’” etc., etc.</p> - -<p>Robert slowly looked around him at the sea of -faces, and suddenly a feeling of resentment filled his -heart. Must he parade himself before these empty-headed -noodles, who regarded him in the light of a -curiosity, a plaything, to amuse them by his antics? -Why didn’t they ask Mr. Mackenzie or Mr. Sterne or -Dr. Blacklock, Mr. Ramsay, or any one of the others -to read from their books?</p> - -<p>“I must ask ye to excuse me to-night,” he replied -coldly. “I have been speaking in the open air and -my voice is tired.”</p> - -<p>“Then I will recite in your stead,” cried Eppy, -determined to make an impression on the romantic -young farmer.</p> - -<p>They crowded around her, laughing and joking, -for poor Eppy was the innocent, unsuspecting butt -of society.</p> - -<p>“What is your selection?” someone asked -seriously.</p> - -<p>“’Tis about the cunning little animal Mr. Burns -saw on the lady’s bonnet,” replied Eppy. “The -lady’s name was—er——” She paused and looked -inquiringly into Robert’s grimly amused face.</p> - -<p>“Ye would be very much surprised, perhaps -shocked and grieved, Miss McKay,” he answered, -“were I to mention the lady’s name here, so I’ll spare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -your feelings. Please recite the poem.” Eppy -made a deep courtesy, blissfully unconscious that the -lady in question was none else than herself. And -after arranging her dress to her satisfaction, cleared -her throat affectedly and made several ineffectual attempts -to begin the recitation. Gradually a look of -comical despair puckered up her face, and turning to -Robert with an embarrassed giggle, she exclaimed -poutingly, “I cannot recall a single line. How provoking, -and I protest. I knew every line by rote this -morning. Please start me on the first verse, Mr. -Burns.”</p> - -<p>The spectacle of this silly old woman making a -fool of herself before that heartless crowd both annoyed -and embarrassed Robert. “The last verse is -my favorite,” he replied, frowning angrily at the -amused titters which reached his ears from all sides, -and quickly he read the verse through:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Oh wad some power the giftie gie us</div> -<div class="verse">To see ourselves as others see us.</div> -<div class="verse">It wad fra many a blunder free us, and foolish notion</div> -<div class="verse">What airs in dress and gait wad leave us, and e’en devotion.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And none knew whether the shaft was pointed at -them or at the object of their mirth, who stood before -him with clasped hands and a smile meant to be -winning on her weak face, listening with all her -senses.</p> - -<p>“How true that is,” murmured Lady Glencairn.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed,” sighed Eppy soulfully. “What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -fools some people make of themselves, and they never -know it, which is the funny part of it.” She darted -a quick glance at Lady Glencairn, who returned the -look calmly and evenly, although she was saying to -herself, “Is she the fool she appears, or is she giving -me a dig, I wonder?”</p> - -<p>She turned to Robert. “Mr. Burns, will you find -me a chair, please; I am rather fatigued, standing -so long.”</p> - -<p>He offered her his arm. “It will be rather a -difficult matter,” he observed, looking about him -vainly. “Still, I can try.” And he moved through -the swaying crowd and out upon the balcony, with -her little gloved hand resting lightly on his coat -sleeve.</p> - -<p>“I saw you this morning, Mr. Burns, on Calton -Hill,” she observed lightly, “but at a distance. -Upon driving nearer I lost sight of you; you must -have vanished into the air.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” replied Robert, sitting beside her -on the low balustrade. “I found a beautiful solitude -amongst a luxuriant growth of willows, which -no doubt you overlooked.”</p> - -<p>“To be sure,” she returned. “Now I remember. -A sad scene occurred there a few years ago; a lady -from Loch Carron drowned herself in the little pond -they hang over, because the man she loved despised -her.” Her voice was soft and low. She drooped -her eyes and sighed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Poor unhappy woman,” sighed Robert sympathetically.</p> - -<p>She looked at him quickly, her face flushing, her -eyes earnestly searching his face. “Then you would -have pitied her?” she asked almost breathlessly.</p> - -<p>“He cannot be a man who would not pity a woman -under such circumstances,” he replied simply and -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“She loved him devotedly, recklessly,” she continued, -her voice trembling with suppressed emotion; -“but she had no moral right to do so,” she continued. -“She was a wife, a miserable, unhappy -wife; she deserved much pity, but he was pitiless -and uncharitable. He despised her weakness, and so—she -drowned herself.” Her voice sank into a -strained, unnatural whisper.</p> - -<p>“Poor unhappy woman!” he repeated compassionately. -“She was over-hasty, I fear.”</p> - -<p>“You would not have consigned her to such a -fate, would you?” she faltered, laying her soft -feverish hand on his.</p> - -<p>He started violently and was silent for a time. -Then, slowly, sorrowfully he turned and looked into -her tell-tale face; for a moment she gazed at him, -her eyes glittering with an unholy light, her bosom -heaving tumultuously. Then she slowly drooped her -head.</p> - -<p>“’Twould be a heavy load to have on one’s conscience,” -he replied constrainedly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p> - -<p>He rose from his seat and stood looking thoughtfully -across to where Edinburgh castle loomed up on -the hill, so cold and gloomy, outlined against the -blue sky.</p> - -<p>She glided swiftly to his side. “Robert, let -me——” she began passionately, when the cold -voice of Sir William Creech rooted her to the spot -in terror. Out of the shadow walked her uncle, and -ignoring her presence he addressed himself to Robert.</p> - -<p>“Well, Mr. Burns!” he said angrily, “perhaps -ye’ll condescend to notice me now, your publisher, -Sir William Creech.”</p> - -<p>“I hope ye’re well,” returned Robert indifferently.</p> - -<p>Sir William quivered with rage. “Ye’ve been in -town a week, and yet ye have not called to notify me -of your arrival,” he sputtered.</p> - -<p>“I quite forgot, Sir William,” answered Rob repentently; -“you see I’m not a good business man. -However, to-morrow I will call and we will arrange -our much neglected business matters.”</p> - -<p>“And there is much to arrange. Why did ye -refuse to write for my weekly? I offered to pay ye -well for it,” he snarled.</p> - -<p>“Pay!” flashed Rob indignantly. “Do you think -to buy the fruit of my brain like so much merchandise, -at so much a line for a penny newspaper? I -am not a penny journalist, I am a poet. Whenever -I embark on any undertaking it is with honest enthusiasm, -and to talk of money, wage, or fee would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -be a downright prostitution of the soul,” and his -eyes flashed dangerously.</p> - -<p>“You do not despise money, Robert Burns?” retorted -Sir William sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“Most certainly not!” replied Robert quickly. -“’Tis a most necessary commodity, but extremely -elusive, and to show you that money has no terrors -for me, I shall expect a settlement to-morrow in full. -Some £300 are due me from the sale of the last -edition of my songs.” He returned Sir William’s -wrathful gaze, his eyes full of righteous anger and -strong determination.</p> - -<p>“Just one word more, Mr. Burns!” he began -belligerently, but Robert raised his hand with a -stately gesture.</p> - -<p>“I’m in a sorry mood for business, Sir William -Creech,” he warned him, a steely glitter in his eye.</p> - -<p>“Well, ye will hear what I’ve to say,” insisted Sir -William doggedly. “Ye are under contract to me, -sir; but instead of living up to the terms of that -agreement, ye are scattering broadcast to every person -that pleases your fancy, a song or an ode or a -poem, which diminishes the worth and consequent -sale of your collection.”</p> - -<p>“Lud, uncle,” interposed Lady Glencairn quickly, -“I’ll warrant it makes not the slightest difference.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis not fair to me,” sputtered Sir William, -“and I warn ye, Mr. Burns, ye must not do it again. -I strictly forbid it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Uncle!” gasped Lady Glencairn in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Ye forbid?” repeated Robert in immeasurable -scorn. “Ye nor any man living can dictate to Robert -Burns. I shall write when an’ for whom I please. -I will not barter an’ sell my soul like so much merchandise. -You published my collection of songs an’ -have made money out o’ the transaction, which is -mair than I have done. I am sick of it all; I am -done with your roguery, your deceit, now an’ forever.” -And he waved his hand in angry dismissal.</p> - -<p>“But our contract,” gasped Sir William, taken -aback.</p> - -<p>“’Tis ended now, canceled by your ain insult, an’ -I shall take means to collect my just dues.”</p> - -<p>“Are you not hasty?” asked Lady Glencairn -concernedly.</p> - -<p>“I told ye to call to-morrow,” snarled Sir William, -“and I’ll pay ye, then ye can gang your own gait. -I have sought to give you advice, but ye were too -haughty and independent, and ye wouldn’t listen, -but ye will yet see and realize the bitter truth of -my words, so go on in your career of folly and its -inevitable ruin, for ye’ll soon be at the end of your -tether, and may the devil claim ye for his own.” -He stalked angrily away, muttering to himself, “Ye -upstart, ye low-born peasant, I’ll humble ye yet!”</p> - -<p>Robert turned to Lady Glencairn with a smile of -apology on his lips. “I ask your pardon, Lady -Glencairn,” he said humbly, “for being the cause of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -this unseemly scene in your presence, but my anger -was aroused, an’ I simply couldna’ help speaking my -thoughts—I am always doing the wrong thing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, nonsense!” she responded laughingly. “Let -us forget it and join the others.” She took his arm -and they slowly entered the ballroom, where they -were speedily joined by Lord Glencairn and a party -of friends, who immediately surrounded them.</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Lord Glencairn, “do you know -that you have left us an unconscionable time? Is -there some witchery about yon balcony that I know -not of?” and he smiled affectionately upon his wife, -whose eyes were shining with happiness.</p> - -<p>“Your pardon, James, but I’m sure our absence -was not noted in such a distinguished assemblage.” -She glanced carelessly about the room at the groups -of sedate-looking people gravely conversing with each -other while they strolled slowly, aimlessly about with -much dignity and ceremony, and an almost imperceptible -sneer curled her full lips. “Oh, the stiff -formality of some of these Calvinistic old fossils!” -she remarked contemptuously to Robert.</p> - -<p>“From all such people, good Lord deliver us,” -he replied in a low chant.</p> - -<p>“Amen!” cried Eppy, looking archly at Sir -William. “Give me youth and gayety always.” -Sir William looked his unspoken scorn.</p> - -<p>“You and I may well sigh for youth, Miss McKay,” -quavered the venerable Dr. Blacklock. “Many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -moons have passed since he eluded our clutch and -fled, never to return,” and he sighed dismally.</p> - -<p>“Speak for yourself, Doctor,” bridled Eppy. “I -shall never let go my hold on youth,” and she tossed -her head indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Speaking of fossils,” said Lady Glencairn pointedly, -turning to Eppy, “I wonder what can have -happened to Mrs. Dunlop?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she is always late for effect,” she replied -spitefully.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Dunlop is a very dear friend of mine,” -observed Robert quietly, but his eyes flashed with -indignation.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon for my rudeness,” murmured -Lady Glencairn sweetly.</p> - -<p>“I understand Mrs. Dunlop is chaperoning a new -beauty,” said Lord Glencairn inquiringly to his -wife.</p> - -<p>She gave him a side glance that was far from -pleasant. New beauty, indeed! There was only one -recognized beauty in Edinburgh and she would not -yield the palm to anyone. “I really do not know to -whom you allude, James,” she said coldly.</p> - -<p>The Duchess of Athol, who was standing near, -smiled significantly. “Mrs. Dunlop asked permission -to bring a young friend, who was visiting her -from the Highlands,” she remarked pleasantly. “I -do not know her in the least, and they may not come -at all.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Mrs. Dunlop and Miss Campbell!” announced -the footman loudly. With a smile on his handsome -face and a hurried word of apology, Robert rapidly -walked to meet the approaching couple, who were -the cynosure of all eyes. Mrs. Dunlop was recognized -by all as a woman of much importance in Edinburgh -society. She knew everybody and everybody -knew her, for she was the lineal descendant of the immortal -Wallace, a fact of which she was justly proud. -She was a motherly looking woman, with a charming -smile and a pleasant, taking manner.</p> - -<p>But the murmur of admiration throughout the -room was not for her; it was for the slim little girl in -white with the blue eyes and fair hair, which glittered -like gold beneath the brilliant light of the chandeliers. -“Who can she be?” they whispered to each -other in wonder. “Evidently not a person of importance, -else she would be dressed in the fashion of -the day and have her hair powdered.”</p> - -<p>“At last, Mary, ye’re here!” cried Robert delightedly, -placing her hand within his arm. She -clung to it with a nervous clutch.</p> - -<p>“The child is frightened to death,” whispered -Mrs. Dunlop, smiling indulgently.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus6.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“‘Mrs. Dunlop and Miss Campbell,’ announced the footman loudly.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Lady Glencairn turned very pale, as she recognized -the girl she had met in Robert’s room. She trembled -and could scarcely regain her usual composure -as Robert with a proud tenderness lighting up the -depths of his black eyes, led the vision of youth and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -perfect beauty up to the hostess, to whom he introduced -Mary. Then he turned to Lady Glencairn. -“Lady Glencairn, allow me to introduce to you Miss -Campbell. You remember Highland Mary, do you -not?”</p> - -<p>She gave a slight start and her muscles tightened. -The dairymaid sweetheart here in Edinburgh? she -thought in amazement. What could it mean?</p> - -<p>“Quite well,” she answered, extending her cold -jeweled hand. “I little dreamed I should ever meet -you here like this, but the unexpected always -happens.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ ye mind, my lady,” replied Mary simply, -“ye said ye would be glad to see me whenever I came -to town.” She raised those marvelous, innocent eyes -of hers and smiled. Why did Lady Glencairn -shrink from that frank and childlike openness of -regard? Why did she for one brief moment feel -herself to be vile and beneath contempt? She -turned to where Mrs. Dunlop was conversing animatedly -with their hostess, a flush akin to shame mantling -her haughty face.</p> - -<p>“My dear Duchess,” she was saying apologetically, -“pray pardon our late arrival, but I assure you -’tis not made for effect; our carriage broke down on -the way.”</p> - -<p>Eppy started in amazement; had she overheard her -spiteful remark?</p> - -<p>The Duchess graciously inclined her stately<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -head. “So glad you got here at all, Mrs. Dunlop,” -she said.</p> - -<p>Robert turned laughingly to the group of eager -people importuning him for an introduction to the -beautiful débutante. “Time forbids my introducing -ye individually to Miss Campbell,” he said good-naturedly, -“therefore let me present ye collectively -to Highland Mary, my future wife, whom ye have -all read of an’ loved in my poems.” A ripple of -applause greeted the news, and congratulations -poured in upon them, both hearty and sincere.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn staggered slightly, her face paling, -but she quickly recovered and stood haughtily -erect, fanning herself a little more rapidly, her full -red lips tightened to a thin malicious line.</p> - -<p>Eppy rushed up to Mary effusively. “May I -kiss you, dear?” she asked gushingly, “you are so -sweet and pretty, just like I was a few years ago,” -and she kissed the blushing girl with a resounding -smack. “You’ll be married in Edinburgh, I presume?” -she continued volubly. “I must attend the -wedding.”</p> - -<p>“The marriage will be most private, madam,” -observed Robert coldly.</p> - -<p>“Do you stay long in Edinburgh, Miss Campbell?” -asked Lady Glencairn abruptly, forcing a -smile to her lips.</p> - -<p>“No, not long, your ladyship,” replied Mary -timidly. The cold metallic tones of the haughty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -lady frightened her strangely. “I—I ne’er thought -I’d e’er come to Edinburgh,” she said, “but——” -She hesitated and looked shyly at Robert, and then -looked modestly down at the bit of cobweb lace which -she held in her hand and which did duty as a ’kerchief.</p> - -<p>“But I found the barrier between us was down, -that I was free as ever to wed the sweetheart of my -boyhood days,” he explained with simple dignity.</p> - -<p>“Aye, but you make a bonnie couple,” exclaimed -Mrs. Dunlop admiringly. “Well, I don’t blame -anyone for falling in love with you, Robert,” she -declared frankly. “You’re a great man,” and she -nodded her head vigorously. “And a handsome one, -too.”</p> - -<p>Robert blushed and shook his finger in warning at -his old friend, although a tender smile played around -his eyes and mouth. “Mrs. Dunlop, men are said to -flatter women because they are weak,” he said, “but if -it is so, poets must be weaker still, for the artful compliments -I have received from your sex have absolutely -turned my head, an’ really I begin to look on -myself as a person of no small importance,” and he -roguishly winked his eye at his old friend.</p> - -<p>“I never knew a man yet who was averse to flattery,” -retorted the old lady good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>In the brief lull that followed the general laugh, -the voice of Lord Glencairn could be heard in conversation -with Mary, who was earnestly gazing up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -into his face, all traces of timidity gone, for she felt -singularly at her ease in the presence of the kindly -old nobleman. “And so you mean to take Robert -away from us for good, eh?” he was saying in his -earnest, serious manner.</p> - -<p>“Ye ken he is fair anxious to get back to Mossgiel -now,” replied Mary, blushing deeply.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn snapped her fan together convulsively. -“You mean to leave Edinburgh for good?” -she asked in faint, incredulous accents, turning to -Robert.</p> - -<p>The people crowded around and a storm of protest -arose. “What madness!” “Leave Edinburgh -for the country!” “They couldn’t hear of such a -thing.” “He owed a duty to them as Scotland’s -Bard!” etc., etc.</p> - -<p>Robert turned to them and spoke lightly, although -with an undercurrent of seriousness. “I ken I am -but wasting my time, my energies, my talents here, -amid the sensual delight which your city affords,” -he said. “I am not formed for it. I am but a -rustic at heart and in manners, and the country is -my only vantageground.”</p> - -<p>Mary stole softly to his side and snuggled her -hand in his. “Isn’t it sweet to be in love?” cried -Eppy cooingly, to Sir William, in a sibilant aside. -“Think what we are missing.”</p> - -<p>“We’re too old for such nonsense,” replied Sir -William gruffly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, indeed!” flashed Eppy. “Huh, a woman’s -never too old to love,” with an indignant toss of her -head.</p> - -<p>“No, nor to make a fool of herself,” retorted Sir -William, smiling grimly.</p> - -<p>“But we cannot give you up just yet,” declared -Lord Glencairn emphatically, placing his hand affectionately -on Robert’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“I am sure, Mr. Burns,” said Mr. Mackenzie -gravely, “that your friends and admirers would not -advise such a move for you, especially as you are -now riding high on the top wave of success.”</p> - -<p>“I have nothing to gain by staying here, Mr. -Mackenzie,” replied Robert, turning to him and -speaking slowly and thoughtfully, “for, as you observe, -I am now firmly established as a poet. I fear -I am not proof against the subtle temptations which -constantly beset my path and which push aside all -thoughts of poesy; so as discretion is the better part -of valor,” he continued, looking lovingly at the girl -clinging so confidingly to his arm, “I shall flee from -it all to my farm, my plow, and there amid those -innocent, wholesome surroundings pass my remaining -days in peace wi’ my wife by my side.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dunlop sighed dismally and shook her white -curls in decided disapproval. “Laddie, you will be -taking a false step,” she declared emphatically; -“your place is here before the public.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed it is!” gurgled Eppy soulfully. “I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -protest Edinburgh cannot spare its poet yet. Your -old farm can wait for you yet a while.”</p> - -<p>Mary looked at his thoughtful face with anxious -eyes. She prayed fervently that nothing would dissuade -him from his purpose. For it had been at -her earnest solicitation that he finally decided to -give up the enervating pleasures of the Capital, and -to retire to the country where he would be free from -the contaminating influences which now surrounded -him.</p> - -<p>He smiled reassuringly into her perturbed little -face. No power on earth could tempt him to break -the promise he had so willingly made her on that -first day of her arrival in the gay metropolis, he -thought fondly. He turned to his questioners, who -were eagerly awaiting his answer, his face shining -with fixed determination.</p> - -<p>“My friends,” he said quietly, “I am only a -farmer born, a son of the soil. My one ambition -now is to have my own roof-tree near the Doon, -where amidst the beauties of harmonious nature the -Goddess Muse will commune with me as of old, for -’twas there the greatest inspiration of my soul came -to me, and I know if all else fails me an independent -livelihood awaits me at the plowtail.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut, the plowtail, indeed!” sniffed Mrs. -Dunlop indignantly.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn, who had been feverishly toying -with her fan, turned suddenly to Mary, a sneering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -smile on her crimson lips, “And have you no higher -ambition for your future husband, Miss Campbell?” -she demanded, her voice strangely harsh and metallic. -“Are you content to have him bury his talents -in the country?”</p> - -<p>“Yes! Oh, yes!” answered Mary shyly, a happy -smile dimpling her sweet face. Then she added -naïvely, “Ye ken, I’ll hae him all to myself then.” -Robert laughed merrily at this naïve confession.</p> - -<p>“Young man,” observed Mr. Sterne pompously, -“take my word for it, you’ll repent it if you leave -Edinburgh now.”</p> - -<p>“Robbie, what will everybody think?” cried Mrs. -Dunlop tearfully. “You are daft to run away while -the world is literally at your feet.”</p> - -<p>“For how long?” he asked laconically.</p> - -<p>“Until you tire of its homage, my lad,” replied -Lord Glencairn stanchly.</p> - -<p>Robert shook his head with a doubting smile. -“’Twill not be I who will tire first, my lord,” he -returned quietly. “I know myself and the world so -well. You see the novelty of a poet in my obscure -situation, my imperfection of awkward rusticity has -raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne -me to a height where I am absolutely certain my -abilities are inadequate to support me.” He looked -around a trifle defiantly at the rows of serious -faces, a little feeling of resentment welling up in his -heart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are over-modest, my dear Burns,” observed -Mr. Mackenzie with kindling eye.</p> - -<p>Robert shook his head with somber dignity. “Too -surely do I see the time when the same tide will leave -me and recede as far below the mark of truth.” He -turned and faced the people suddenly, his hands outstretched, -his eyes filled with melancholy enthusiasm. -Raising his voice he proceeded prophetically, “My -friends, you will all bear me witness, that when the -bubble of fame was at its height I stood unintoxicated, -with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking -forward to the hastening time when the blow of -calumny should dash it to the ground with all the -eagerness of revengeful triumph.”</p> - -<p>“That time will never come, Robert,” cried Mary -softly, “for we will leave this life behind us in a -very short while noo.”</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn slapped him on the back with -playful earnestness. “Come, come, my lad!” he -cried gayly, “this will never do; you are in the -dumps; throw it off, lad, and be merry. Do not -heed the idle gossip of your unsuccessful rivals and -the scandal mongers. Rest assured your popularity -and fame will never die whether you remain here -or retire to the country.”</p> - -<p>“Would I could think so,” sighed Robert gloomily.</p> - -<p>Eppy suddenly gave a nervous little giggle. “I -vow I feel like crying,” she observed hysterically, -“I wish everybody wouldn’t look so mournful.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mr. Mackenzie turned quickly to his hostess. -“My dear Duchess,” he said courteously, “you -were going to show us your new painting in -which Mr. Burns is the central figure of the -group.”</p> - -<p>At once the silent group became animated. “Oh, -yes, do!” cried Eppy, with a yearning look at -Robert. “I wonder if I could pick you from among -the others?” she coyly observed.</p> - -<p>“I trust, madam, that my phiz will be recognizable,” -he replied dryly.</p> - -<p>The Duchess turned to her husband. “Take Miss -Campbell and lead the way to the gallery,” she said -quickly.</p> - -<p>“Is Mr. Burns to take me?” inquired Eppy of -her hostess, but she had followed her husband, leaning -on the arm of Mr. Mackenzie.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn smiled sweetly, “So sorry, Miss -McKay, but Sir William has asked for that pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“I?” gasped Sir William, with a comical look of -dismay.</p> - -<p>She looked at him maliciously. “Yes, did you -not?” she raised her eyebrows inquiringly, an innocent -smile hovering about her mouth.</p> - -<p>For a moment he sputtered, then with a grim -smile he snarled sarcastically, “’Twill afford me -great pleasure.”</p> - -<p>With a wildly beating heart Lady Glencairn took<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> -Robert’s arm and started for the stairs, followed -by the others.</p> - -<p>Eppy sniffed suspiciously. “Oh, I understand -now,” she observed spitefully with a meaning smile.</p> - -<p>“I thought you would, dear,” flashed her ladyship -mockingly, over her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Are you coming, madam?” demanded Sir William -testily, offering his arm.</p> - -<p>With an indignant clack of her tongue, Eppy -haughtily brushed past him and swiftly mounted the -stairs, leaving the disgruntled Sir William to follow -at his leisure.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XVI</h3> - -<p>Among those that crowded around the carriage of -Robert Burns earlier in the evening, listening to -his inspiring oration, stood a girl of twenty or -thereabouts, whose pale, haggard face and tearful -eyes attracted some passing attention from those -near her. She was dressed in an ankle length skirt -of gray, over which a red shawl had been tastefully -draped. A black velvet bodice confined the loose -white gimpe at the waist, while from her left shoulder -a brilliant plaid hung gracefully to the bottom -of her dress. Around her neck row upon row of -different colored beads hung loosely to her waist. -Upon the blue-black hair which fell around her -face in waving masses, a wreath of white and pink -heather was twined becomingly. Her unusual attire -attracted much attention.</p> - -<p>“She must be a gypsy,” they told each other -wonderingly. Finally, after many conjectures, someone -in the crowd volunteered the information that -she was a street singer who had been seen singing -through the streets of the town for a day or so. -Their curiosity appeased, they turned to their idol -once more. Every now and then a convulsive sob -shook the young girl’s slender, graceful figure. Like -one who hungered for food and drink she watched the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -speaker, her heart in her eyes, her hands clasped -tightly upon her breast. When the eager throng unhitched -the horses from the open carriage she had -breathlessly watched every movement, and when they, -with wild bursts of applause and good-natured -laughter, sped away up Princes Street, pulling the -carriage behind them, she had swiftly followed, the -center of a noisy gang of street urchins and idle -brawlers.</p> - -<p>With a mighty cheer, which brought the watchmen -running to the spot pell-mell, they finally -stopped at Athol Castle and quickly lined themselves -on each side of the striped awning avenue, from the -curbing to the door, to watch the great man pass -within.</p> - -<p>The gypsy frantically elbowed her way through -the pompous coachmen and good-natured cabbies -who had pressed forward to witness the new arrival, -and reached the inner edge of the crowd. At that -moment Robert stepped from his carriage and walked -quickly up the avenue. With a little cry of joy she -stretched out her hands to arrest his attention, but -he passed inside without having once caught a -glimpse of this strange follower.</p> - -<p>A derisive laugh went up from those who had -curiously watched the peculiar actions of the gypsy. -At the sound she dropped her arms hurriedly, the -blood rushing to her pale cheeks. With one quick, -startled glance at the mocking faces beside her, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -turned quickly and threaded her way through the -line of splendid equipages, with their prancing horses, -till she reached a secluded part of the street, where -she stopped and looked back at the brilliantly lighted -castle, tears of bitter disappointment and despair -slowly trickling down her wan cheeks. As she stood -there in the bright moonlight, a prey to her bitter -thoughts, a handsome equipage, drawn by a prancing -pair of steeds, attracted her listless attention. As -it slowly drove past the wretched girl a sweet young -face crowned with golden hair appeared in the open -window, followed by a white arm. Her little hand -was noticeably bare of jewels. With a sweet word of -pity the girl tossed a silver piece at the feet of -her unfortunate sister. The gypsy indifferently -watched the carriage out of sight. Then, after a -moment’s hesitation, she stooped and picked up the -coin, and without looking at it put it carelessly in -her pocket, a flush of shame and mortification mantling -her dark cheek. For a while she stood in moody -silence, listening to the strains of music which came -faintly to her from the castle. Suddenly she lifted -her face to the heavens, her arms upraised, her lips -moving in some prayer or incantation. For a moment -she stood thus, then slowly her arms dropped to -her side. There was a new calm look of determination -in her face as she quickly traced her steps back to -where the crowds still lingered about the closed doors -of Athol Castle. She stood on the outskirts of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -the crowd unseen in the shadow, her restless eyes -searching here and there, peering into the open windows, -up and down the high stone wall which bordered -the huge garden, then back again, finally -resting upon the closed portals with a look of keen -disappointment shining in their depths. What she -sought was evidently not there. She stamped her -foot in impotent despair, a muttered imprecation -on her lips; she would search again. Gradually she -made her way back unnoticed by the crowd, who -were intent on listening to the music which floated -out bewitchingly on the still air, till she reached -the wall where it joined the corner of the castle. -Motionless she stood under its shadow, her heart -beating loudly as some idler drew near her place of -concealment. Suddenly a form loomed up before -her. With a startled cry she pressed close against -the ivied wall in sudden terror.</p> - -<p>“She come this way,” a voice cried eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, Sandy, she’s hidin’ among the ivy,” said -another.</p> - -<p>She heard them beating noisily about the thick -vines which hung in wild profusion over the walls, -her heart in her mouth. Frantically she tore the -vines apart until she reached the bare wall behind. -Then with breathless eagerness she pulled them together -again, effectually concealing her presence -from her pursuers. She pressed closer and closer -against the cold stones, shivering apprehensively -as they approached her hiding place. Suddenly she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -felt her support give way with a dull, creaking noise, -and before she could recover her equilibrium, she -found herself in a heap on the ground. She looked -up in time to see the door through which she had -fallen swing quickly into place and realized that -unwittingly she had found an old and evidently -unused entrance through the wall. Quickly rising -to her feet she looked about her, then she gave a -little cry of joy as she caught sight of the splashing -fountains in the moonlight, for she knew she was -inside the gardens belonging to the Duke of Athol. -Eagerly she gazed about her at the leafy shrubberies, -the massive oaks and beeches, the rose garden -with its wealth of scented flowers. And for a brief -moment she gave herself up to the painful reveries -the familiar sights recalled to memory, while the tears -of self-pity and heart-longing welled up in her -gloomy eyes and flowed unrestrainedly down her -cheeks. Presently, with a mirthless laugh of impatience, -she dashed the tears angrily away and walked -quickly up the grassy terrace toward the brilliantly -lighted castle. Through the large window which -looked over the low balcony she watched the incessant -stream of people coming and going, while others -walked aimlessly about the rooms or chatted in -groups. For some time she crouched beside the -low silver spruce, her eyes fixed upon the moving -scenes within. Then with a start she recognized the -golden-haired young lady who had given her the -silver piece, surrounded by a group of cavaliers. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -saw, too, with a pang of jealousy, the tenderness -with which the poet greeted her and led her up to -the haughty lady in purple. For some time she -watched them in melancholy silence, a prey to conflicting -emotions. By and by a group of ladies -drifted out on the balcony. They were discussing -the golden-haired girl, who had been introduced into -their midst that evening, and the announcement of -her marriage to the poet, Robert Burns. The gypsy, -as she heard those words, uttered a smothered cry -of amazement and horror, then sank half fainting -on the grassy lawn, moaning like one stricken unto -death. How long she lay there with senses dulled -by pain she never knew. Presently, bitter recollection -returned and with it an agony of fear that -blanched her lips and made her limbs to quake, while -grief and despair, like two grim sentinels, stood -eager watch beside her. Slowly she staggered to -her feet and turned her weary eyes once more upon -the balcony. There was no one there. Listlessly -she watched the gay figures darting past the windows. -Suddenly her muscles tightened like a hound’s -on the scent. The golden-haired girl suddenly glided -out on the balcony, a glorious vision of loveliness. -Pensively she leaned over the railing watching the -swans, which looked ghostly in the moonlight, swimming -majestically round and round the small pond -of water into which the spraying fountain was -playing.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XVII</h3> - -<p>Mary soon grew weary of looking at the many paintings -which lined the walls of the galleries; she wished -they would go back to the pretty rooms downstairs, -where the music was playing and the young folks were -dancing. She had enjoyed that. She tried to force a -smile of interest to her lips as the old Duke described -the subjects on the canvases before them. He soon -perceived her weariness, however, and calling to Mrs. -Dunlop, who was being bored beyond measure, as -she told her friends wearily, he requested her to -show Miss Campbell the gardens by moonlight, to -which she gladly assented. Quickly they descended -the broad staircase, and slowly wended their way -across the large drawing-room. Mrs. Dunlop took -her young charge to the large window and waved -her fat hand toward the magnificent view which lay -stretched before them. “Isn’t it grand, Mary?” she -observed lightly. It was an old story to her. Spying -an old friend across the room, she excused herself -to Mary and told her to enjoy herself, -then smilingly left her to her own devices. After -admiring the somber beauty of Edinburgh Castle, -Mary perceived the flowing fountain which splashed -tunefully below her in the garden. She stepped out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -on the balcony, a smile of pleasure lighting up her -sweet face. For a while she stood listening to the -rhythmic fall of the water, blissfully unconscious of -the presence of the unseen watcher. Suddenly before -her startled vision there sprang the form of the -gypsy. With a cry of alarm Mary stepped back -and was about to enter the room, when a voice calling -her by name arrested her wondering attention.</p> - -<p>“Wait, Mary Campbell!” hissed the voice of the -gypsy.</p> - -<p>Mary turned and looked into the white face gazing -up at her so defiantly, and she recognized the -girl to whom she had tossed the money. Suddenly -she gave a gasp of astonishment. “Jean Armour!” -she exclaimed incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Aye, Jean Armour,” repeated the gypsy. -“Come down to me; I must have a word with you -alone,” she whispered sibilantly.</p> - -<p>Mary gave a quick look around. Mrs. Dunlop -was still deep in her gossip, and Robert was nowhere -to be seen. She walked to the end of the -balcony and found the steps. Quickly she reached -the bottom, and going to Jean took her two hands -in hers and shook them warmly. She was so glad -to see anyone from Mossgiel, friend or foe.</p> - -<p>Jean regarded her advance with sullen suspicion. -“Two years ago I was an invited guest here at Athol -Castle,” she sneered bitterly, “while you were a barefooted -dairymaid in Mossgiel. Now look at us. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -are the lady and I am an outcast, singing on the -streets for my daily bread.”</p> - -<p>Mary looked at her in amazement. “But what -has happened?” she asked wonderingly.</p> - -<p>“My father has turned me into the street,” answered -Jean dully.</p> - -<p>“Had ye done wrong?” inquired Mary timidly.</p> - -<p>Jean laughed mirthlessly. “Wrong?” she repeated, -“aye, if refusing to marry an old man I -detested be wrong.”</p> - -<p>“An’ your father turned ye out for that?”</p> - -<p>“For that,” she replied stonily, “and because I -refused to give up Robert Burns.”</p> - -<p>“But—but ye gave him up long ago, Jean, of -your own free will,” faltered Mary, an awful fear -clutching at her heart. “An’ your father wrote -Robert,” she continued breathlessly, “that ye willingly, -gladly renounced all claims on him, that ye -even hated his name, an’ that ye hoped never to see -or hear o’ him again.”</p> - -<p>A look of hatred spread over the face of the -other. “My father lied when he wrote that,” she -cried with bitter intensity, “for I told him I would -never renounce my marriage to Robert, irregular -though it was, and I never will. He is my husband,” -and she glared defiantly at the shrinking girl, who -was looking at her with searching, frightened -eyes. For a moment the poor child stood there like -a lifeless figure as the words stamped themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -one by one on her bewildered brain and sent it reeling -into darkness and vacancy. She felt sick and -dizzy. There was a rushing sound in her ears, the -garden swung round dizzily before her eyes, yet -she stood still, speaking no word, although a quiver -of agony passed over her pallid face.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robert, my love, have I lost ye again?” she -thought dully. “I knew it was only a dream, too -sweet to last.” There was a choking sensation in her -throat, but she did not weep. As in a horrid dream -she heard the sharp metallic voice hissing in her -ear, “He is my husband, Mary Campbell. You must -give him up to me.” She roused herself out of -the lethargy into which she had fallen, and unclasping -her hands, she wearily pushed back her curls -from her brow and fixed her large pathetic eyes on -Jean, who instinctively shrank back before the -speechless despair of that helpless gaze. “But ye -have no claim on Robbie noo, Jean,” she faltered -slowly, “since your irregular marriage was publicly -dissolved.” She paused and her pale lips quivered. -“Why have ye come here noo to disturb -him?” she asked with infinite pathos. “He is -happy, so happy noo. Dinna destroy that happiness; -go awa’; leave him to me. Ye took him -from me once; dinna separate us again.” Her voice -broke and a hard sob choked her utterance. A great -pity welled up in Jean’s heart for the stricken child, -but she steeled herself against it and remained sullenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -quiet. Presently Mary spoke again. “I hae -nothing in this world, Jean, and I love him so,” -she said with dreamy wistfulness, “better than life -itsel’. We have loved each ither for years, an’ -that love has grown stronger an’ stronger as each -year passed by, till noo it’s part o’ my very being.” -Her voice rose to passionate pleading. “Oh, what -is your weak fancy compared to such a love, Jean -Armour?” she asked piteously. “Oh, I tell you I -canna give him up to you again.” She sank down -convulsively on the high-backed bench under the -balcony, her form quivering with low heart-breaking -sobs. Tears of sympathy slowly filled Jean’s eyes -as she watched the grief-stricken girl before her, but -with an angry frown she hardened her heart and -forced herself to think of her own wrongs and pitiable -condition.</p> - -<p>“You must give him up!” she answered harshly, -“and to-night.” She paused a moment to watch -the brilliant crowd within the drawing-room, passing -and repassing each other with slow, stately bearing -as they walked with ease and grace through the -dignified measures of the minuet. By and by she -turned to the drooping form and spoke again. “My -God, girl, don’t you suppose I too love him!” she -exclaimed passionately. “Why have I tramped mile -after mile, half starving, subjected to all kinds of -insults, struggling to reach here to see him, if it -were not for that love?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> - -<p>Mary slowly raised her head and looked at her in -reproachful sadness. “Your love has only brought -him, an’ all of us, sorrow and disgrace,” she said -with pathetic simplicity. “He never loved ye, Jean -Armour, ye ken that weel.”</p> - -<p>Jean winced at the blunt truth, and a quiver of -anger passed over her defiant face. “I know that -only too well,” she replied bitterly. Then she gave -a little mocking laugh, which nevertheless held a -suggestion of tears. “You may have his heart, Mary -Campbell,” she continued, “but I am what you can -never be, his wife and the mother of his bairns.”</p> - -<p>“The bairns,” repeated Mary blankly, “are they -alive, Jean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, they are alive, thank God!” murmured Jean -softly, “that is why I am here, Mary, that is why -I must demand my rights, for my bairns’ sake.” -Then she continued quickly, feverishly, “Had it not -been for them I would have done my father’s bidding, -would have forgotten Robert, renounced him utterly, -and married the man my father had chosen for me, -but I wanted my little ones to have the protection of -a father’s name, so I stubbornly refused his commands. -After my father had driven me from his -door with curses on his lips, I discovered too late -that Robert had tried again and again to see me, -had even begged my father to allow him to legalize -our marriage, and that his overtures were met with -scorn and abuse. Then I decided to come to Edinburgh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -myself to tell Robert the truth and to claim -my rights.” She paused defiantly.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn upon her return to the drawing-room -had missed Mary, and upon learning from -Mrs. Dunlop that she was upon the balcony, she -sauntered slowly in that direction. As she stepped -through the window she heard the low murmur of -voices, and looking down perceived with amazement -the young girl seated below her in company with a -fantastically-dressed gypsy. Suddenly, with a start, -she recognized the voice of Jean Armour. Hastily -concealing herself behind a large marble pillar she -listened in growing wonder, her face becoming hard -and repellent, to the direful confession of her god-daughter.</p> - -<p>“I arrived in Edinburgh after a month of hardships,” -continued Jean with suppressed excitement, -“and to-night I saw him in all his prosperity entering -the castle like a king, looking so handsome, so -contented, and so very happy.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is happy noo,” replied Mary softly. -“Happier than he’ll e’er be on earth again, perhaps,” -and she closed her eyes wearily.</p> - -<p>For a moment there was silence, broken only by -the monotonous hum of voices and the faint twanging -of the harp from within the drawing-room. Presently -Mary opened her eyes and spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Ye maunna blame Robert for anything at a’, -Jean,” she said loyally. “He thought the bairns were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -dead, an’ he believed your father’s words, but noo, -when he kens a’, he will do his duty nobly for his -bairns’ sake.” She smiled bravely into the eager -face of the other. “Ye have the right to him, Jean, -I see that noo,” she continued sadly, “an’—an’ forgive -my rude and unkind words to ye just noo,” -and gently she held out her little hand.</p> - -<p>Jean took it tenderly in her own. “What will -you do now, where will you go?” she asked with a -feeling of remorse.</p> - -<p>“I shall go back to Colonel Montgomery’s,” replied -Mary, in a sad, spiritless voice, from which all -the life seemed to have fled, “where I can see -my friends sometimes. Mistress Burns loves me, an’ -I—I may see Robbie, if only from the window as -he passes. It willna harm anyone.” She looked at -Jean in a pleading, timid manner, while her mouth -quivered pathetically, but she forced a wan smile -to her pale lips and then slowly turned and walked -toward the stairway. As she mounted the bottom -step Jean ran quickly to her side and clasped her -hand impulsively.</p> - -<p>“Mary, I’m so sorry for you,” she said pityingly, -“but I’m doing it for my bairns’ sake, ye ken -that.”</p> - -<p>“I understand, Jean,” answered Mary simply, “I -dinna blame ye.” She leaned back against the marble -balustrade. “But, oh, it’s hard, bitter hard,” she -murmured brokenly; “if I could only die here and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -noo.” She stretched out her hands with a sort of -wild appeal. “Oh, Robbie, my darlin’,” she exclaimed -in a sobbing whisper, “how can I tell ye, -how can I break your heart? I thought ye had -drunk your cup o’ misery empty, but the dregs are -yet to be drained.”</p> - -<p>The sympathetic tears rolled down Jean’s face. -“Will you tell him I’m here, Mary, and that I must -see him at once?” she asked pleadingly. Mary -slowly bowed her head in assent. “Oh, how I dread -to meet him,” continued Jean in a frightened whisper, -“to have him look at me with stern and angry eyes; -to know that he longs to be free, and that he wishes -me dead, perhaps.” She covered her face with her -hands and shivered apprehensively.</p> - -<p>“Ye needna fear, Jean,” replied Mary, with reproachful -pride. “Robert Burns is a mon of honor; -ye should know that weel. I’ll go noo an’ tell him -ye are here.” For a moment she swayed as if about -to fall, but she recovered herself in an instant and -slowly mounted the few remaining steps to the balcony. -As she reached the top she pressed her hand -against her heart as if that action would still its -rapid beating. “Heaven give me the strength to tell -him,” she breathed, and, with a little prayer on her -lips, she slowly entered the drawing-room, where she -found Mrs. Dunlop anxiously looking for her.</p> - -<p>Jean watched her for a few moments, then, with -a sigh of nervous dread, she turned and paced restlessly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -up and down within the deep shadows beneath -the overhanging trees. She had only taken -one turn when she felt herself seized by the arm and -drawn into the bright moonlight. Smothering the -startled cry of alarm which rose to her lips she -turned and faced her assailant. “Lady Glencairn!” -she gasped, starting back in astonishment.</p> - -<p>“So, Jean Armour,” hissed her ladyship, “’tis -you whose name has been coupled so disgracefully -with that of Robert Burns.”</p> - -<p>Jean dropped her head quickly, flushing crimson -before the scornful light in the other’s eyes, which -flashed like stars in the pale moonlight that came -streaming down upon them. “Then you have -heard?” she faltered, after a little frightened pause.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have heard everything,” her ladyship returned -witheringly, “and my suspicions of you of -two years ago have turned out to be right.”</p> - -<p>“Please say no more now, Lady Glencairn,” retorted -Jean sullenly. “Let me go.” She tried to -pass, but Lady Glencairn put a restraining hand -upon her shoulder. “I will say no more, you foolish -girl,” she replied angrily. “Why do you insist -upon thrusting yourself upon Robert Burns, to-night? -He utterly detests your memory. He has -done with you forever.”</p> - -<p>Jean looked at her defiantly. “I am his wife. He -must acknowledge me,” she declared firmly.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn laughed scornfully. “You foolish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -child, do you think he will ever forgive you for -stepping in between him and Mary Campbell again?” -she asked with studied indifference. “No, he would -hate you; you know his erratic temper, my dear Jean; -you would but ruin your chance for a reconciliation -forever, if he sees you now, when his heart is torn by -grief and sorrow at losing for the second time the one -lass who is all the world to him.” She paused and -watched narrowly the look of dread and doubt creep -slowly over the downcast face before her.</p> - -<p>By and by Jean looked up, her eyes burning with -unshed tears and shining feverishly. “What shall -I do then, Lady Glencairn?” she asked helplessly, -“where shall I go?”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn did not answer for a few moments. -She was thinking with a thrill of joy that -Jean’s coming would separate the two lovers forever. -“More than likely Robert would now remain in Edinburgh,” -she mused with wildly beating heart. “But, -on the other hand, if he stayed he would quixotically -marry Jean Armour, and publicly right her in the -eyes of the world,” she thought jealously, “and -then——” She broke off and stared at the girl intently. -“If she were out of the way,” she thought -maliciously, “might not his fickle fancy be caught in -the rebound?” These thoughts flowed quickly -through her brain, and her eyes half shut wickedly, -her gleaming white bosom heaving from her hurried -breathing, as she decided on her course. “You must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -leave here at once,” she said softly, taking Jean’s -hand with an affectation of tenderness.</p> - -<p>“I cannot return to my father,” she replied dully. -“I have nowhere to go now.”</p> - -<p>“Go to an inn for to-night,” said her ladyship -hurriedly, “and I’ll come to you in the morning and -advise you as to your future movements, and help -you.”</p> - -<p>“But I must see Robert first.”</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn frowned impatiently. “Foolish -girl, take my advice and wait until to-morrow. You -will lose nothing by it, for I will myself plead with -Robert in your behalf.”</p> - -<p>Jean did not answer. She stood mute and undecided.</p> - -<p>“Surely, my dear Jean,” continued Lady Glencairn -mockingly, “you don’t expect him to proclaim -you as his dearly beloved wife before them all, -do you?” She waved her hand carelessly toward the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Jean flushed and looked away. “No, I didn’t -come for that,” she muttered slowly.</p> - -<p>“Then why not do as I advise? I know that when -the keen edge of his grief has worn off he will willingly -take you to his heart and by a church marriage make -you his lawful wife,” and she threw her warm arm -over the shoulders of the yielding girl.</p> - -<p>Jean gave a nervous little laugh. “I vow, Lady -Glencairn, I have not the courage to meet him now,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> -she said. “I—I thank you gratefully for your -kindness. I—I know ’tis better to wait——” She -paused and sighed dejectedly. “You’ll find me at -the Star and Garter Inn in King’s Court,” she said -quickly after a moment’s indecision. Then she drew -her scarf hurriedly about her shoulders as if anxious -to get away.</p> - -<p>At that instant a laughing group of people came -out on the balcony. Lady Glencairn hastily drew -her back in the shadows. “Go, go quickly!” she -whispered, “before you are seen.” With a panting -word of thanks Jean glided through the bushes, and, -skirting the patches of light, she soon reached the -secret door through which she had so unceremoniously -entered and passed out to the street now -deserted, save for the motionless coachmen asleep on -their boxes. Lady Glencairn breathed a sigh of -relief as she watched Jean fade out of sight, swallowed -up in the darkness. “Both out of the way -now,” she murmured, a triumphant smile on her -full crimson lips. She walked quickly toward the -balcony. “What a contemptible creature I have -become,” she thought with careless unconcern. -“And all for love of a low-born peasant,” and she -laughed derisively, as she mounted the steps. She -slowly entered the drawing-room, feeling strangely -nervous and guilty, to find a great many people -going to supper. Robert had grown tired of the -heat and glare and noise, and seeing Mary sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -so weary and wan looking, surrounded by a crowd of -admirers who worshiped at the shrine of youth and -beauty, he crossed quickly and whispered his wishes -to her. She rose gladly and both advanced to bid -their hostess farewell.</p> - -<p>“Sorry you cannot remain longer,” said the -Duchess with genuine cordiality. “You must bring -Miss Campbell some afternoon to see me, Mr. -Burns, when I am not receiving the public,” and -with a pleasant smile she bade them good-night. -Slowly they made their way through the crowd and -met Lady Glencairn coming swiftly toward them.</p> - -<p>As her eyes rested upon his happy countenance -she knew that he was still in ignorance of Jean’s -arrival in Edinburgh. “Won’t you have some supper?” -she inquired brightly. “Don’t go yet.”</p> - -<p>But Robert quietly insisted, as he perceived Mary’s -increasing languor and pallor. So Lady Glencairn, -with anger and disappointment gnawing at her -heart, for she had hoped to show him the beauties -of the garden by moonlight before he went, seeing -that remonstrances were of no avail, bade them both -an effusive good-night. “Don’t forget my garden -party to-morrow,” she said with a patronizing smile, -touching Mary’s cold hand lightly. “I shall expect -you,” and she turned to greet her husband, who was -approaching with Mr. Mackenzie.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, your ladyship,” answered Mary simply, -making a little courtesy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Let me escort you to the carriage, Miss Campbell,” -said Lord Glencairn, at once offering her his -arm.</p> - -<p>“And allow me to follow,” added Mr. Mackenzie, -slipping his arm through Robert’s, to whom he whispered, -“How dare you, sir, how dare you be such -a provokingly happy man in this miserable old -world?” Robert laughed, and they all walked slowly -down to the carriage, conversing gayly on their -way.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Mary stopped with a little exclamation -of dismay. “We’ve forgotten Mrs. Dunlop,” she -said contritely.</p> - -<p>With a laugh Lord Glencairn dispatched a footman -to find her, and the good lady soon appeared, -flushed and panting from her hurried departure. -With a last handshake all around Robert sprang in -beside them and within a couple of minutes the carriage -was out of sight.</p> - -<p>“Ye were the queen of the evening, Mary, just -as I told ye ye’d be,” said Robert triumphantly. -“Have ye enjoyed yoursel’?”</p> - -<p>“Ay, for a whiley,” answered Mary listlessly, -leaning back against the heavy padding of the seat, -with eyes heavy and sad. She had had no opportunity -as yet to tell Robert the dread news, and her -heart was filled with misgivings as she thought of -Jean waiting patiently in the garden for him to -come to her. She started up suddenly, resolved to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -tell him, but the sight of his happy face, and the -presence of Mrs. Dunlop, cooled her courage, and -she leaned back again silent and miserable. If she -didn’t tell him to-night what would Jean do? With -her usual unselfishness she gave no thought to self. -She was miserably unhappy, but she would not allow -herself to think of her own sufferings. Her whole -thought was of him and the darkness into which he -would soon be plunged, and of Jean and her bairns, -Robert’s bairns. She sighed quiveringly, and a little -pang of jealousy shot through her heart like a breath -of fire, but it soon passed away and left only a dull -ache that would always be there now, she thought -wearily, as they rolled along toward home. She -clasped her hands together feverishly. “Should she -whisper to him now, tell him all and bid him drive back -to Jean?” she asked herself in an agony of indecision. -At that moment the carriage stopped at the door -of Mrs. Dunlop’s mansion. It was too late now. -She gave a little sigh of relief, though her heart -was filled with grief and anxiety. Robert escorted -her to the door, with loving pride in her daintiness, in -her sweet air of refinement. She looked very frail and -spirituelle, as she turned to him quietly and bade -him good-night.</p> - -<p>“Has something gone wrong, Mary?” he inquired -solicitously, noticing with alarm her wan face, -her languid air of weariness.</p> - -<p>She shook her head slowly, not daring to trust<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -her voice. Mrs. Dunlop put her arm about her -fondly.</p> - -<p>“The lassie is tired, Robert,” she said in her -motherly way, “and no wonder. She’ll be as bright -as a lark in the morning.” Bidding them both a -tender good-night, he turned and ran down the steps, -jumped into the carriage, and drove off toward his -chambers, whistling softly to himself the tune of -“Mary of Argyle.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> - -<p>The next day a grand garden party was given at -Glencairn Hall. All Edinburgh was invited, and -they came eagerly to see the great poet, who was on -the eve of leaving the social world to retire to his -farm in Ayrshire, and to see Highland Mary, the -dainty, flower-like sweetheart of their idol. The -grounds looked very bright and gay. Refreshment -booths of red and white canvas were dotted here and -there on the smooth velvet lawns. Bright flags of all -nations waved from different parts of the gardens—signals -of putting, archery, and dancing—and the -seductive music of the Queen’s theater orchestra rose -up and joined the songs of birds and the tinkle of the -fountains in full play. Girls in light summer costumes -were grouped picturesquely beneath the stately oaks -and beeches. Gay laughter echoed from the leafy -shrubberies, and stray couples were seen sauntering -carelessly through the rose gardens, too much absorbed -in each other to notice what was going on -around them.</p> - -<p>Presently out of the same rose garden a man -walked hurriedly, followed by a woman, who quickly -overtook him, to his perceptible annoyance. They -were Sir William Creech and Eppy McKay. Eppy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -looked exceedingly ugly in the full glare of the bright -sun. She was dressed in a brilliant plaid gown, the -style of which seemed to accentuate her angularity; -and a huge Gainsborough hat was perched jauntily -upon her towering court wig. Her small green eyes -looked coquettishly at her irate companion. He -stopped and glared at her fiercely.</p> - -<p>“But I desire to take a smoke,” he said wrathfully.</p> - -<p>“I don’t object to smoke, Sir William,” she -tittered coyly.</p> - -<p>He looked about him wildly as if seeking some -means of escape from his admirer. “But I wish -to be alone,” he cried almost pleadingly.</p> - -<p>She opened her eyes and regarded him reproachfully. -“Oh, you are joking, Sir William, but you -cannot scare me away.”</p> - -<p>With a groan of despair he continued his walk, hoping -to escape from his persistent admirer. “Great -heavens! I’ll go daft yet,” he muttered as he perceived -her close at his elbow. For a few minutes he puffed -furiously at his pipe, casting angry glances from -time to time at his unwelcome companion, who trotted -along so contentedly at his side. Finally Sir -William concluded that he could not elude her attentions -for the time being, so decided to make the best of -the infliction. “Do I go too fast for you?” he asked -maliciously, as he heard her puffing away vigorously -beside him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, indeed,” she replied with a little breathless -giggle. “You couldn’t go too fast for me, for I -am as light and quick on my feet as ever I was. In -faith, why shouldn’t I be?” she continued gayly. -“I am only 32. You see I am so much younger than -you.”</p> - -<p>He snorted angrily. “Well, you don’t look it,” -he retorted. She stopped short and looked at him -in amazed indignation.</p> - -<p>“What?” she quavered, a little out of breath, -“I don’t look younger than you?”</p> - -<p>At the sign of approaching tears, Sir William -frowned impatiently. “I mean you don’t look—32,” -he said diplomatically.</p> - -<p>She simpered and thanked him for the compliment.</p> - -<p>He smiled grimly as he said to himself, “She’s -over 60 if she’s a day.”</p> - -<p>“They all tell me I don’t look my age,” she said -gushingly. “It’s my artistic soul that keeps me so -young and fresh-looking.” They sat down on a -bench, glad of the opportunity to cool themselves -after their strenuous walk. “Do you know,” she -said dreamily, fanning herself, “I am very different -from most artistic people.” He looked at her. “Oh -my, yes, indeed!” she affirmed convincingly. “I -don’t live in the clouds, I am of the earth earthy,” -and she gave him another languishing look.</p> - -<p>“Ye don’t tell me,” he retorted mockingly.</p> - -<p>“But I love art,” sighed Eppy ecstatically.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -“When I was young,” she went on reminiscently, -“I mean when I was younger,” she corrected herself -with a startled look at her silent companion, “I came -near having a painting from my own hand hung in -the National Gallery.”</p> - -<p>“You are a clever woman,” he remarked sarcastically.</p> - -<p>“It was this way,” she explained volubly. “I -had painted a lovely marine. I do marines much -better than anything else,” with a self-conscious -smirk, “and upon showing it to Mr. William Nichol, -a dear man, but one who drinks to excess, he promised -to mention it to the Lord Mayor. Well, it made -me exceedingly nervous, I vow. However, I bought -a most lovely frame for it, Nile green in color, with -sweet red plush ends.” She cleared her throat affectedly -and continued with evident delight. “I do like -things to match,” she explained, “and the green was -the exact shade of the water. It was simply exquisite.” -She clasped her hands together and rolled her -eyes heavenward. “And the red ends exactly -matched the cow, which was a lovely shade of——”</p> - -<p>“Cow?” echoed Sir William in amazement. -“Did I hear you say cow?”</p> - -<p>Eppy looked at him pettishly. She didn’t like to -be so violently interrupted. “Certainly a cow,” -she returned frigidly. “Is there anything strange -in a cow?” and she drew herself up with an injured -air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, there’s nothing strange in a cow when it -is by itself,” replied Sir William dryly, “but in a -marine, well, it is a little hard on the cow.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know what you are saying, Sir William,” -flashed Eppy indignantly. “Please don’t -interrupt me again. The cow I have reference to was -in one corner drinking. I heard Lady Nancy Gordon -telling Mrs. McLehose that the cow looked as if -it were trying to drink the ocean dry; the idea!” -and she clucked her tongue against her teeth in contemptuous -scorn. “She’s a cat,” she continued -spitefully; “I never could bear her. She was uncommon -jealous of me, yes, indeed, but that’s another -matter.”</p> - -<p>Sir William turned crimson, and seemed about to -choke, as he tried to smother his laughter. “You -were telling me about your marine,” he finally stuttered.</p> - -<p>“Don’t hurry me, Sir William,” said Eppy -coquettishly. “Well, I took it to Lord Mundobbo. -You know whom I mean; at that time he had something -to do with the National Gallery; Mr. Nichol -didn’t inform me as to his exact connection with it.” -She paused and gazed soulfully into space. “Shall -I ever forget the day? The sun was high in the -heavens—but there,” she broke off with a deprecating -smile. “I really must restrain my poetic impulse. -But as I was saying,” she rambled on quickly, “the -sky was overcast and threatening snow——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thought the sun was shining, Miss McKay,” -interrupted Sir William gruffly.</p> - -<p>She was beginning to get on his nerves again. “I -am a little mixed in my metaphors,” apologized -Eppy condescendingly, “but you flustrate me so, -Sir William,” and she tapped him playfully with her -fan. “Well, I felt that victory was mine. I took -off the paper—it was pink, tied with a yellow string—and -laid it before him.” She paused impressively, -then she continued in an elocutionary tone of voice. -“He gazed at it long and silently. He was simply -speechless. I knew he’d be. I said to him, ‘Lord -Mundobbo, as much as it grieves me to part with my—ahem—masterpiece, -for the sake of art I will permit -you to add it to the collection of paintings in the -National Gallery.’ Said he, ‘Miss McKay, really I -appreciate this honor you do me and the National -Gallery. It is a masterpiece of its kind, but I cannot -accept it.’”</p> - -<p>“The brute!” exclaimed Sir William in mock -anger. “Why not?”</p> - -<p>“He said if I would change the ocean into a fresh -water pond and give the cow a chance, he might -consider it,” and Eppy tearfully regarded her now -laughing companion with an aggrieved air.</p> - -<p>“Did ye do it?” inquired Sir William, rising to -his feet.</p> - -<p>“Did I do it!” repeated Eppy with horror expressed -in every tone of her voice, every feature of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -her pointed face. “No, sir,” she replied emphatically. -“Never would I willingly spoil a work of art. -That was my first and only. I couldn’t improve on -it. But my artistic soul was smothered, and now -another, a poetic spirit has taken its place.” She -smiled dreamily, a sigh of content escaping her -parted lips.</p> - -<p>“A case of the survival of the fittest, eh?” he -retorted brusquely.</p> - -<p>For a moment they walked on in silence, Sir William -wondering how to get rid of the incubus, and -Eppy happy over the impression she fondly imagined -she had made upon Sir William. Just then a bend -in the avenue brought them in full view of the broad -terrace in front of the hall, where Robert’s handsome -figure was outlined clearly against the dazzling blue -of the sky. Several people were grouped near him. -He seemed to be in animated conversation with some -of them, and his face was radiant with smiles. With -a cry of delight, Eppy hurried forward to greet him, -forgetting Sir William utterly, much to his amazement. -That she, or anyone, would dare leave him so -unceremoniously to join Robert Burns angered him -beyond measure. He followed her slowly at some little -distance, with no very pleasant expression on his -stern features.</p> - -<p>Later in the afternoon when it was close to sunset, -and all other amusements had given way to -the delight of dancing Sir Roger de Coverly on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -springy green turf to the silvery music of the -orchestra, Mary and Mrs. Dunlop put in their -appearance. Mary was looking very beautiful in a -clinging, old-fashioned white crepe de chene, another -old relic of Mrs. Dunlop’s dead and gone slim youth. -While they danced, she reclined languidly in a low -chair, her sad eyes fixed mournfully upon Robert’s -glowing face as he lay stretched in lazy length -at her feet. The day had passed and still she had had -no opportunity to tell him the dire news, for she had -not seen him since the night before.</p> - -<p>While the dancing was in progress a liveried page -walked noiselessly over the turf and stopping beside -the recumbent figure of the poet, quietly handed him -a note. He leisurely opened it and read it at a -glance. “Say I’ll be right there,” he said to the -waiting page after a moment’s meditation. He -excused himself to Mary and the others and followed -the man indoors, with a frown of impatient wonder -clouding his brow.</p> - -<p>Under the shadow of a noble maple, Lady Glencairn -was seated in earnest conversation with her -uncle. Her ladyship was looking exceedingly beautiful -in a pink-flowered summer silk, which puffed and -billowed around her, with a bunch of white heather -at her breast and a wreath of the same dainty flowers -in her picturesque Leghorn hat. She held a pink-lined -parasol over her head, and from under the -protecting shadow her dark lustrous eyes flashed disdainfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -as she regarded her scolding companion. -Suddenly she gave a start and leaned forward to -watch the group opposite. She had noticed the quiet -entrance of the servant and the immediate departure -of the poet, and idly wondered who it was that -desired to see Robert on such urgent business that -they must needs follow him here. The minutes -passed and still he did not return. She was growing -anxious. “Suppose”—and she started violently at -the sudden thought—“suppose it was by some unfortunate -chance Jean Armour herself?” She rose -quickly to her feet, with a word of apology and -after a quick look around, in which she noticed Mary’s -pale face and restless manner, she walked leisurely -toward the house. Once inside she rang for the page -and upon questioning him learned that the young -woman who had insisted on seeing Mr. Burns, and who -was none other than Jean Armour, as she concluded -from the man’s description, had just gone, and that -Mr. Burns was now seated in the drawing-room alone. -Hastily dismissing him, she stole softly into the -parlors, and there beside the table, his face in his -hands, sat Robert, his shoulders heaving convulsively. -She looked at him a moment and the tears -of pity came into her luminous eyes. Then softly -she walked to his side and laid her cool hand upon -his feverish head. “Robert, I am so sorry for you,” -she said gently.</p> - -<p>He lifted his head with a start and rose quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -to his feet. It didn’t occur to him to ask what she -meant or to inquire how she knew what had happened -in that room, and she was secretly glad that he demanded -no explanation. “Where is she?” he asked -dully.</p> - -<p>“She has gone,” she answered quickly. “I—I met -her at the door and offered to assist her, gave her -money and advised her not to make any unnecessary -scandal in town, but to return to her home at once. -You know she is my godchild. So she promised to -go, and I presume she is now on her way.” She -looked him straight in the eyes as she glibly told this -falsehood. She didn’t know what arrangements he -had made with Jean, but she daringly made the lying -explanation, confident that he would believe it, for he -could have no possible reason for suspecting her -motives, or any means of finding out at present that -she had not indeed met Jean, who might have altered -her plans at the last moment.</p> - -<p>A look of anger came over his face for a moment, -then as quickly died away, and his eyes filled with a -hopeless, despairing look. He walked slowly to the -window, his hands clenched together behind him, and -stood there, pale and miserable and wretched, gazing -out upon the scene of happiness he had just left.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn watched him with eyes filled with -passion, and her heart beat with painful thuds as she -fought against the desperate longing to throw herself -into his arms and comfort him. She glided<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -quickly to his side and put her hand gently within -his arm and stood there in sympathetic silence although -she was consumed with jealousy as she -watched his melancholy eyes riveted on the fair -face of his lost sweetheart. For a while they stood -there in gloomy quiet. Presently a deep, heartrending -sigh, which was almost a sob, escaped his -trembling lips.</p> - -<p>“An’ we were so happy a few minutes ago,” he -murmured brokenly. “An’ noo ’tis all over.” He -paused and bit his lips convulsively. Presently he -went on in a dull, low tone as if speaking to himself, -“How true it is, there’s many a slip ’twixt cup -and lip.” Lady Glencairn pressed his arm tenderly, -but remained silent. “What have I to live -for noo?” he continued with despairing mournfulness.</p> - -<p>“Everything, Robert,” murmured her ladyship -tenderly, gazing up into his face with glittering eyes.</p> - -<p>He turned and looked at her in wonder. As he -saw the feverish flush on her face, felt her hot breath -on his cheek, he remembered with a start her peculiar -words and meaning looks at Athol Castle the -night before. Lady Glencairn noted with apprehension -the look of stern coldness spread quickly over his -face, and the nervous tears of disappointment and -passionate longing welled up in her eyes. Then with -reckless abandon she dropped her head against his -shoulder and let the tears flow unrestrainedly. For a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -moment Robert stood there speechless with surprise -and horror, for he knew at last that what he had -vaguely feared was an indisputable fact; knew that -his hostess, the wife of his dearest friend and counsellor, -entertained a guilty passion for him. It filled -him with righteous anger that she would willingly betray -the love and confidence of the noblest gentleman -in the kingdom. He placed the weeping woman in a -chair and stood looking down upon her with a frown -of displeasure. “Lady Glencairn,” he said coldly, -“if these tears are for my unhappy fate, I thank ye -for your sympathy.”</p> - -<p>She caught his hand and held it tightly within -her arm. “Oh, no, no, Robert, ’tis not that,” she -whispered passionately. “Do you not remember the -Lady of the Lake I told you of last evening?” He -made no reply. Then she continued slowly, her voice -low and shaking, “Read my fate in that of hers.”</p> - -<p>Still he would not understand her. “I fear I do -not understand your meaning, my lady,” he replied, -trying to withdraw his hand from her grasp, but -she held it firmly.</p> - -<p>“Cannot your heart understand mine?” she cried -recklessly. “Does it not pity my wretchedness?”</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment. He knew he could -no longer parry with her, for her words and meaning -were too plain to admit of any misunderstanding. -He turned to her, his face set and firm. “Lady -Glencairn,” he said sternly, “you dishonor yourself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -by such madness, and all for naught. My heart is -noo numb with sorrow, it could feel no throb of -yours, even were I vile enough to see no evil in usurping -your husband’s rights.”</p> - -<p>“Do not remind me of my unhappiness!” she -exclaimed impatiently. “I married him when I was -a girl, before I knew what love was. Then you came -into my life, and I knew that the fire of love was -not dead within me.” Her rich seductive voice -trembled with passion.</p> - -<p>“I pray you cease!” he entreated her, but she -went on rapidly.</p> - -<p>“Let me speak, Robert!” she cried, clinging to -him frantically. “I can no longer contain myself, -for I love you better than my life, better than my -honor, my good name; I care not for them now. -Oh, pity me, pity me!” and she flung herself down -on her knees before him and burst into a storm of -irrepressible weeping.</p> - -<p>Robert looked around apprehensively. The -thought that someone might suddenly enter the -room filled him with alarmed dismay. With a quick -movement he raised her to her feet, and his voice -trembled with deep feeling when he next spoke. “I -do pity you,” he said sorrowfully, “but I pity your -husband more, when he learns of your faithlessness.” -He paused and regarded her with reproachful sadness. -“Oh, why have you severed forever the threads -of our friendship by such imprudence, such rashness?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -As he finished he bowed his head and walked -slowly toward the door.</p> - -<p>“Do not leave me like this!” she panted desperately. -“Can’t you see you are killing me by your -coldness.” She held out her arms in piteous entreaty -as she continued tenderly, “Tell me you didn’t mean -it, Robert. Say you are but testing my love for -you.”</p> - -<p>He turned on her quickly and at his look of -contemptuous scorn she drooped her head and the -hot blood rushed to her face. “Are you lost to all -sense of prudence, honor and decency?” he cried in -scathing accents. “Heaven knows I’m no moralist, -no saint,” and he gave a mirthless little laugh as he -thought of the opinion Edinburgh had formed concerning -his morality—then he went on firmly, solemnly, -“But I would sooner cut this erring heart of -mine out of this body than fall so low as to betray the -honor of my friend who trusts me.” She started -to speak again, but he raised his hand quickly. -“Say no more, Lady Glencairn,” he said with calm -dignity, “an’ I’ll forget this distressing conversation, -and continue thro’ life to respect equally with -himself, the wife of my friend.”</p> - -<p>Slowly the warm color faded from her cheeks, -leaving her ashy pale, while through her suddenly -narrowed eyelids a vindictive light gleamed tigerishly.</p> - -<p>“You’ve said enough!” she hissed through her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -clenched teeth. “I have lowered myself to you as -I would to no other man living, only to be scorned -and humiliated. God!” she laughed wildly, hysterically, -and threw herself face downward upon the -ottoman. “Fool, fool!” she cried with bitter self-abasement. -“How I hate and despise myself for -what I have done; would I had died before I had -uttered such damning words,” and she beat her -jeweled hands frantically against the cushions.</p> - -<p>“I beseech you to be careful, Lady Glencairn,” -cried Robert in amazed alarm, going to her.</p> - -<p>She turned on him fiercely. “You, of all men, -posing as a model of virtue and goodness, prating of -husband’s honor, wife’s duty.” She measured him -with a scornful, sneering glance of fury. “You, -who have the name of making love to every female -in petticoats who crosses your path, you hypocrite!”</p> - -<p>Robert fixed his eyes upon her in silence and the -utter scorn of the look stung her heart to its center. -Presently he controlled his anger sufficiently to be -able to speak, and still eying her with that straight, -keen look of immeasurable disdain, he said in cold, -deliberate accents, “Your ladyship has been misinformed -as to my past conduct. I do not claim -to be more than human, but I know my name is as -yet clear from the taint of dishonor.”</p> - -<p>“You poor fool, you country yokel!” she stormed -furiously, walking up and down between him and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -the door like a caged lioness. “Did you think you -could scorn such a woman as I with impunity? Do -you think I will stand the humiliation of being repulsed, -despised, shamed? I tell you no, no, never; -’tis but a step from love to hate, you should -know that.” She paused in her nervous walking and -stood facing him, her eyes ablaze with the uttermost -anger, her beautiful figure drawn rigidly erect. -“You shall be made to feel the depth of my hatred -before long, Robert Burns,” she threatened, and -there came a dangerous gleam in the flashing, dark -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I shall leave Edinburgh within the hour,” -replied Robert quietly. Was there ever such another -unfortunate being as himself? he thought grimly, and -a wave of unutterable sadness rushed over him.</p> - -<p>“Aye, that you will,” retorted her ladyship with -a sneering, bitter laugh. “But not as you anticipate, -with the plaudits of the world ringing in your ears. -Instead of that, only contemptuous silence will greet -your departure as you leave here in shame and disgrace, -and when you have sunk once more into poverty -and oblivion, you will repent bitterly ever -having made an enemy of Alice Glencairn.” As -these words left her lips, she swept haughtily past -him like an outraged queen and left the room, leaving -him standing there like one in a trance.</p> - -<p>He brushed his hands across his eyes as if to assure -himself that he was awake, that he wasn’t the subject<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -of some hideous hallucination, but no, he was painfully -conscious of the reality of it all. He heaved a -deep sigh and sank wearily into a chair, his eyes -riveted upon the floor in melancholy meditation. A -little cry aroused him from the profound gloom into -which his thoughts were plunged and looking fearfully -up, dreading lest her ladyship had returned, -his eyes rested upon the white, startled face of Highland -Mary. She had watched him leave the grounds -with listless curiosity, which changed to wonder and -dismay when Lady Glencairn rose from her seat and -sauntered toward the hall. For some minutes she -nervously sat there wondering vaguely why he stayed -so long and why her ladyship had followed him. -Presently she rose and mechanically made her way -over the springy sward toward the house. She -couldn’t have told why she went or what she intended -to do. She wondered in a vague way if Robert’s -message could in any way concern Jean, but her -thoughts dwelt longer upon the suspicions that had -been raised in her innocent heart against her beautiful -hostess, for she had recognized her as the bogus -Lady Nancy in spite of the disguising mask, suspicions -that filled her with uneasiness and alarm; and -yet why should she be jealous? She told herself sadly -she had renounced him forever, given him back to -Jean, and in a few days she would pass out of his -life forever. Oh, the agony that pierced her heart -at the recollection of her past happiness! How<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -fleeting it had been—scarcely a week. She had -drawn near the window by this time quite unconsciously. -Suddenly the sound of voices within the -room made her pause. She had not thought to listen -nor meant to, but when she heard the passionate -pleading voice of her ladyship and the stern replies -from Robert, a feeling of fascinated horror took -possession of her, rooting her to the spot. Motionless -she stood there and heard all that passed within -the room. And when the voices stopped and all was -deathly still, she peered through the window. At the -sight of her dear one sitting there all alone, with -that look of intense suffering on his face, her heart -cried out to him in sympathy. Quickly she opened -the high French window and noiselessly stepped into -the room. For a moment she stood watching him, -her eyes filled with patient sorrow, infinite pity, and -a world of loving compassion. Involuntarily a deep -sigh escaped her. As he raised his head she went -quietly up to him and placed a tender hand upon his -arm. After one quick, heart-broken look at her -he buried his face in his hands again.</p> - -<p>“Dinna distress yoursel’, laddie; I have known -since last night at Athol Castle that our happy -dream was ended.” She felt him stiffen beneath her -touch. “Jean came to me in the gardens,” she -explained with patient resignation. “I should have -told ye last night, for she was waiting for ye -to come to her, but I—I hadna’ the courage.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -There was silence for a moment, then he spoke in a -low, spiritless tone.</p> - -<p>“Jean said that ye knew all,” he said without -looking up. They remained quiet after that, -plunged in bitter thought. There was nothing they -could say to comfort each other, the wound was bleeding -too freely as yet. Presently Robert raised his -head, and with a despairing gesture pushed the heavy -curls back from his fevered brow and rose unsteadily -to his feet. They must get away at once, he thought -feverishly. He took Mary by the hand and started -for the door, when from the open window he heard -his name called. Turning apprehensively he beheld -Sir William Creech entering, followed by Lord Glencairn -and several of his guests. In his hand Sir -William held a newspaper, while a hard smile of -triumph wrinkled his stem face.</p> - -<p>“I told ye, Robert Burns, ye would overreach -yourself,” he cried jubilantly, shaking the newspaper -at him.</p> - -<p>Robert looked at him apathetically. “Ye were -ever a bird of ill omen,” he said quietly. “What -have I done noo?”</p> - -<p>“You have seen fit to sign your name to an article -in this paper, which has aroused the indignation of -all Edinburgh,” replied Sir William without any -preamble. “’Tis a most seditious article and shows -that ye have embraced the doctrines of the French -Revolution.”</p> - -<p>“A man has a perfect right to his opinion,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -Mrs. Dunlop decidedly, giving Sir William a scornful -look.</p> - -<p>“Indeed he has,” echoed Eppy, nodding her head -briskly. “I mean to stick to mine.”</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn turned and looked searchingly at -Robert’s pale, gloomy face. “Is that true, Robert?” -he asked gently.</p> - -<p>Robert did not reply. He seemed not to hear, in -fact.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a most serious charge, Mr. Burns,” remarked -Mr. Sterne gravely.</p> - -<p>“If it be true,” retorted Mr. Mackenzie loyally.</p> - -<p>“Which is not at all likely,” flashed Eppy indignantly.</p> - -<p>She would believe nothing wrong of her hero, -even if it were proven in black and white.</p> - -<p>“But listen!” continued Sir William eagerly. -He scanned the article through quickly until he found -what he sought. “Ah, here it is. It is stated here -that Mr. Burns refused to stand up in the theater -recently when ‘God save the King’ was being -played,” and he glared about him indignantly.</p> - -<p>A quiet sneer curled Robert’s lips. “Anything -else?” he asked sarcastically. “Out wi’ it or the -venom of your spleen will poison ye,” and he fixed -his eyes upon Sir William with disdainful indifference.</p> - -<p>“And there is more,” snarled Sir William. “’Tis -known that ye have sent two cannon to the French -Directorate with a complimentary letter, offering -further assistance.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, no, no, impossible.” cried Lord Glencairn -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“And,” continued Sir William vindictively, -“there’s also a full account here which explains -much of Mr. Burns’ reprehensible conduct here in -town, as well as in Ayrshire, where it seems his -amours were as numerous and questionable as they -are at the present time.”</p> - -<p>“For shame, Creech!” cried Lord Glencairn with -indignation.</p> - -<p>“How fascinating he must have been even when a -farmer,” giggled Eppy aside to Mrs. Dunlop, who -was casting indignant glances at Sir William.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a libelous article,” she flashed angrily, -“and I for one do not believe a word of it. Robert,” -she said, turning to the silent figure standing -so pale and calm before his inquisitors, “deny this -absurd charge before it is given further credence!”</p> - -<p>“He cannot deny it,” said Sir William. “His -name is at the bottom of it,” and he held it up to -their view.</p> - -<p>“And I’ll attempt no denial,” replied Robert in -a full ringing voice, “for I know it would be useless. -Know, then, that I do sympathize with the -French people in their struggle for freedom, and I -did help them all that lay in my power. I hope -that France may gain the prize for which she is -fighting, a free and independent republic, and that -she may set up her standard of liberty and independence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -as did the United States of America, when -they were delivered from the toils of the British.”</p> - -<p>There was an uncomfortable silence when he had finished -his declaration. His amazed and incredulous -listeners could hardly believe they had heard him -aright. They looked aghast at each other, not -knowing just how to take it. Their embarrassed -silence was soon broken, however.</p> - -<p>“Ye hear those seditious sentiments,” cried Sir -William in an I-told-you-so tone of voice.</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn shook his head gravely. “’Tis -dangerous to speak thus, Robert,” he said with -solemn earnestness. “You should be careful——”</p> - -<p>“Careful of what?” interrupted Robert with -impatient scorn. “Lest I offend people with my -plain speaking of the truth?” He paused and looked -around him with flashing eyes and dilated nostrils. -“Who is careful of my feelings?” he demanded. -“Not those who think themselves my superiors by -accident of birth.” He turned to Sir William -Creech and continued quickly, his voice vibrating -with suppressed indignation. “I’ve never wronged -ye, Sir William Creech, yet ye are miscreant enough -to seek my ruin, for I’m fair sure ’twas ye yourself -who inserted that scurrilous article in that paper ye -hold in your hand, in which my faults, my past -errors and follies are now being aired.”</p> - -<p>Sir William turned a sickly color. “Think what -you like,” he muttered savagely. “’Tis time the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -people of Edinburgh knew the character of the man -they are honoring.”</p> - -<p>“Sir William Creech, you are an old brute!” -cried Eppy, her little gray eyes flashing fire, and -going up to him she continued in haughty disdain, -“Remember, sir, I will have naught to do with you -in the future; I turn my back on you,” and she suited -the action to the word.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, Robert had spoken in an undertone to -Mrs. Dunlop, and that good soul, putting an arm -around Mary, who stood white and trembling like a -frightened child, walked to the door, and Robert, after -a formal inclination of his head, started quietly -but proudly after them. They had reached the door, -when it suddenly opened and Lady Glencairn stood -upon the threshold, her head held haughtily erect, -her lips curled in a disdainful sneer. She entered the -room and closed the door behind her, then turned and -faced the wondering group which was being augmented -by the entrance, through the window, of a -number of the guests whose curiosity had been -aroused by the unusual scene to which they had been -listening in speechless amazement.</p> - -<p>“Alice, what has happened?” cried Lord Glencairn -in an alarmed voice. Her ladyship’s white, -nervous face, the peculiar glitter in her eyes, startled -him out of his usual calmness.</p> - -<p>“James, I am deeply sorry to wound you,” she -began nervously, “but it’s best that you should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -know how grievously you have been betrayed by one -of your honored guests here to-day,” and she fixed -her narrowed eyes upon the startled face of Robert -Burns.</p> - -<p>A great fear of impending danger came over him -as he saw the revengeful look which she flashed at him, -and he involuntarily straightened himself as if to -receive a shock. There was a surprised movement -among the crowd, and a low murmur of many voices -broke the tense stillness which followed her accusation.</p> - -<p>“I—betrayed?” repeated Lord Glencairn, in astonishment. -“What mean you, my dear?”</p> - -<p>“I mean,” she answered, and the lie rolled glibly -off her crimson lips, “that your distinguished guest, -Robert Burns, has to-day wantonly and without provocation -grossly insulted the wife of his friend and -host.” As the ignoble lie left her lips, there was an -audible indrawn breath of startled surprise from -the amazed listeners. Then they turned and fixed -their wondering gaze upon the accused man, who, -after an inarticulate exclamation of horror, stood as -though carved out of stone.</p> - -<p>“I for one do not believe it,” cried Mrs. Dunlop -indignantly, and she returned Lady Glencairn’s look -of haughty displeasure with a withering glance of -scornful disbelief.</p> - -<p>“Nor I,” echoed Eppy, with a youthful toss of -her head.</p> - -<p>“What was the nature of the insult, Alice?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -asked Lord Glencairn gravely. No doubt she had -taken offense where no offense was intended, he -thought indulgently.</p> - -<p>Before she could answer, Robert stepped quickly -up to her with flashing eyes and lips trembling with -anger. “Madam, that I have had the misfortune -to offend ye, I am sorrowfully aware,” he said with -bitter sarcasm, “but that I have been guilty of -offering ye an insult, none knows better than yourself -how little cause ye have to accuse me of such -monstrous ingratitude, such a contemptible betrayal -of the laws of hospitality. I am quite willing that -you should repeat every word of the conversation -that passed between us in the room a few minutes -since, and if aught that I have said can be construed -as an insult to your ladyship, then do I stand ready -and whiling to abide by the consequence of such an -indiscretion.” He looked her straight in the eyes, -and with folded arms calmly waited for her to -speak.</p> - -<p>Not long did she return the look, however, for the -utter scorn of it stung her guilty heart to its core. -Not that she felt any compunction for what she was -doing—her whole soul was up in arms against him, -and she would not stop until she had meted out her -spiteful revenge upon him to the fullest extent. His -evident contemptuous defiance irritated her beyond -measure—she was angrier with him than ever—already -she had a sort of strange feeling of triumph<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -at the vengeance she had designed, for she knew that -her word would be believed against his; even now -she could read suspicion and conviction in many of -the serious faces that surrounded her, much to her -satisfaction. He had thrown down the challenge, -had he? Well, she would take it up. No one knew -what had passed between them save themselves, and -no one would ever know the truth, and the truth -would now be a very small factor in working out -her present scheme of vengeance. All these thoughts -flashed quickly through her mind, and her answer -was ready on her lips almost soon as he had finished -speaking. With well-simulated indignation she drew -herself haughtily away from him, with a gesture of -repulsion. “Dare you deny your protestations of -love and devotion?” she replied. “Why, my lord,” -she continued scornfully, turning to her husband, who -was now regarding Robert with serious, thoughtful -eyes, a look of wounded pride and deepening sorrow -gradually shadowing his noble countenance, “before -I could stop him he had fallen upon his knees -and begged me to be false to you, and to give him my -love, my favors.”</p> - -<p>“Great God!” cried Robert, staggering back, -white and speechless, while a wave of the blackest -despair engulfed him completely, for he knew that -the outrageous lie had sealed his doom as utterly as -though it had been the truth; knew that all denials -from him would be useless in the face of that accusation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -He sank back into a chair in helpless resignation, -his independent spirit, his haughty pride -wounded almost unto death.</p> - -<p>When Mary heard the lying accusation she -started forward with a little cry on her lips. Freeing -herself from Mrs. Dunlop’s restraining hand, she -took a few steps toward Lord Glencairn, her face -aglow with indignation, her timidity, her fear of -the great ones surrounding her, forgotten for the -moment, as she sought to defend the man she loved.</p> - -<p>“My lord!” she cried thrillingly, “’tis not true; -Robbie did not insult her ladyship, for I——”</p> - -<p>But, with an angry flush, Lady Glencairn interrupted -her. “I say he did,” she retorted harshly. -Then, as Mrs. Dunlop drew the frightened girl away, -she continued with insulting emphasis, “James, bid -this man and his virtuous Highland Mary begone -at once! Their presence here is an insult to respectable -people,” and she flashed them a malicious -look.</p> - -<p>“Alice, Alice!” exclaimed Lord Glencairn, in -accents of deep reproach, “that is unworthy of -you.”</p> - -<p>Robert felt as though he must choke with fury. -He forgot the presence of Lord Glencairn. He forgot -everything but his just indignation. “My -God!” he cried passionately, striding up to the -sneering woman, “you dare to speak so—you!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I!” she returned coolly, eying him disdainfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -up and down. “What have you to say -against me?” She drew herself up imperiously.</p> - -<p>“Only this,” replied Robert in a low, tense voice, -“ye may say what you will of me, but as ye value -your happiness, do not breathe aught against the -fair name of Mary Campbell.”</p> - -<p>She uttered an angry exclamation, but remained -speechless and so pale that her lips were devoid of -color. If he were dishonorable enough to tell everything, -she thought, with a thrill of fear, it would -make things decidedly embarrassing and humiliating -for her, besides giving her enemies a choice bit -of scandal, which they would use to excellent advantage.</p> - -<p>At this point a few of the guests, feeling decidedly -uncomfortable and very much <i>de trop</i>, quietly left -the room, but the others, and the room was filled, -held their ground, shamelessly reveling in the extraordinary -scene, the like of which had never before -been seen in an Edinburgh drawing-room, which -was being enacted before them.</p> - -<p>“Robert, lad,” whispered Mrs. Dunlop, in a loud -aside, “ye must say something. Deny this charge. -I know you are innocent of any wrong doing. -Speak, tell his lordship so!” and she pointed to -where he stood crushed and silent, in speechless -sorrow.</p> - -<p>“What can I say, Mrs. Dunlop?” replied Robert, -in an agony of indecision. “Would ye have me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -flatly contradict her ladyship and accuse her of -lying?” He paused a moment with patient sadness. -“Nay, nay, friend, there is nothing I can say noo -that will smooth matters or clear me in the eyes of -the world.”</p> - -<p>“But you must tell them the truth,” insisted -Mary. “Dinna’ let them believe this monstrous thing -of you.” She looked indignantly at the cold repellent -face of her ladyship, and continued fearlessly, -“She’s a bold, wicked woman, and she seeks -your ruin!”</p> - -<p>“How dare you, you insolent creature!” hissed -her ladyship furiously, while the amazed guests -looked in open-mouthed amazement at the demure -little dairymaid so suddenly transformed, standing -with head thrown back and eyes flashing accusingly.</p> - -<p>But Robert remained rigidly silent. He would -not be so base, so ungrateful as to shatter his benefactor’s -belief in his wife’s honor, her veracity, he -told himself in a spirit of self-sacrifice. He owed -all he had in the world to him, and he would remain -silent for his sake, and he kept his eyes fixed unresponsively -on the rug at his feet, but the little drops -of perspiration stood out on his brow, as he fought -against the temptation to clear his good name from -ignominy.</p> - -<p>Throwing open the door Lady Glencairn pointed -to it dramatically, “There’s the door, Mr. Burns,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -she said insolently; “do not compel me to call my -servants.”</p> - -<p>“Jezebel!” muttered Mr. Mackenzie through his -clenched teeth.</p> - -<p>“If he goes I go too,” flashed Mrs. Dunlop, casting -an indignant look at her hostess.</p> - -<p>“So will I,” echoed Eppy.</p> - -<p>“Wait!” cried Mary vibrantly. Her silvery voice -rang out above the confusion, as the guests moved -about among themselves asking all sorts of inane -questions, exploiting their views upon the subject—some -loudly extolling Lady Glencairn’s attitude in -the matter and others as stoutly defending the -bard. Instantly there was an astonished hush.</p> - -<p>“My lords and ladies,” continued Mary thrillingly, -“listen to me! I tell ye that Robert Burns is -innocent o’ this contemptible charge laid against him. -I know it, for I was outside the window yonder an’ -heard all that passed between him and her ladyship.”</p> - -<p>“Spy!” hissed Lady Glencairn between her teeth, -unheard in the hubbub of voices which had commenced -again with Mary’s statement as the subject -of comment, then she laughed mockingly. “How -absurd,” she cried to those about her. “My dear -James, let us end this scene. I will not stay here to -be insulted. Come, my friends, let us retire,” and -she took her husband’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Ye shall listen to the truth, all of ye!” cried -Mary resolutely. Clasping and unclasping her little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -hands with nervous intensity, her eyes filled with -determined purpose, she faced the fickle crowd that -was regarding her with such open admiration for -her stanchness, her bravery. “I heard her ladyship -swear to ruin Robert because he spurned her -unwomanly offers of love,” she declared, with convincing -earnestness.</p> - -<p>A guilty flush reddened the creamy pallor of her -ladyship’s face. “Oh, the shame of it, my lord, -to be thus humiliated before my guests!” she cried, -bursting into nervous tears. “Surely, my lord, you -would not listen to such monstrous tales,” she -pleaded.</p> - -<p>“Oh, believe me, I speak the truth,” exclaimed -Mary, a great fear in her heart as she saw the tender -look Lord Glencairn bestowed upon his weeping -wife.</p> - -<p>He was torn and spent by conflicting emotions. -He did not doubt his wife, yet the words of the -young girl rang true, and there was only truth -and nobility stamped upon the gloomy face of the -poet. What was he to believe? How could he decide? -His confidence in his wife had never yet been -shaken—yet, stay—there was once when—but he -would not think of that time, it was so long ago, -yet think of it he did with uneasy misgivings. If -she had deceived him once, might she not again? he -asked himself fearfully.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Burns, will you assure me on your word of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -honor as a man that you are entirely innocent of -any intentional insult to Lady Glencairn?” asked -Mr. Mackenzie bluntly. He had taken his place beside -Robert, along with Mrs. Dunlop and Mary and -Eppy McKay, together with a few more of Robert’s -sympathizers and stanch believers in his innocence. -And now he asked the question in hope of eliciting -some explanation, some excuse, anything, from the -silent man.</p> - -<p>Robert raised his head and without looking at -any one particular person, answered simply, indifferently, -as many thought.</p> - -<p>“I have always held Lady Glencairn in the highest -respect and admiration,” he said quietly. “She alone -knows what is the end she aims at, by attributing -feelings to me with regard to her which I have -never conceived, and words which I have never uttered.” -And he sank once more into his listless -attitude.</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn passed his hand over his brow in -a bewildered manner. “You were ever truthful, -Robert,” he muttered so low that none but his wife -heard his implied doubt of her.</p> - -<p>She turned on him witheringly. “My lord, you -insult me by lending an ear to aught he or his witness -can say in his behalf,” she exclaimed frigidly. Then, -turning to the onlookers, she continued with insolent -innuendo in words and manner, “You all know -the infatuated attachment of this maid for Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -Burns, who has bewitched her until she is ready to -sacrifice every consideration of truth, reason, or duty -to shield her guilty lover.”</p> - -<p>“What a scandal this will cause throughout -Edinburgh,” whispered Eppy to Mrs. Dunlop, who -was almost beside herself with speechless indignation -by this time. She had been listening with growing -anger to Lady Glencairn’s insolent falsehoods, for -she knew they were falsehoods, and she would never -believe that Robbie would belittle himself by lying, -for he was too brutally frank and truthful at times -to be thoroughly an agreeable companion.</p> - -<p>Eppy’s inopportune remark was the straw that -broke the camel’s back, and she turned on her hotly. -“Hold your tongue, ye old busy body!” she exploded -violently, nearly knocking the astonished -Eppy down by the suddenness, the unexpectedness, -of the retort.</p> - -<p>“I was never so insulted in my life,” Eppy -gasped tearfully, making little dabs at her eyes -with a dainty ’kerchief, and casting hurt, reproachful -glances at the blunt old lady, who, after delivering -her shaft at the unoffending Eppy, turned to -Lord Glencairn, the fire still flashing in her determined -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Lord Glencairn,” she said, with a touch of defiance, -“you may forbid me your house hereafter, -and indeed I hardly believe I will be welcome,” with -a look at the scornful face of her hostess; “but I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -care not; I believe in Robert’s innocence, and that -Mary Campbell has only spoken the truth.” A few -nodded their heads to each other in approval. Lord -Glencairn stood mute, a prey to the doubting fear -which gripped his heart.</p> - -<p>Her ladyship, with one quick look around at the -wavering faces of her friends, knew that she was -losing ground, and the color faded from her cheeks. -A look of nervous fear came into her steely eyes. -She must restore their shaking confidence in her—but -how? It gave her a strange feeling of satisfaction -to know that whatever the outcome, she had -ruined his popularity for the present, but she wanted -to ruin him utterly—to turn every door in Edinburgh -against him. If she could only get someone -to speak in her behalf, she thought prayerfully, as -she looked about her. Suddenly her eyes rested on -the saturnine features of her uncle, who was regarding -her with a malicious smile of triumph. An eager -light came into her hard eyes. He hated Robert -Burns; he would help her out if anyone would; she -would risk it. His word coupled with hers would -instantly turn the tide in her favor. And risking -all upon the throw, she called out loud enough to be -heard above the murmur of voices, “Uncle, it seems -my word is not fully believed,” she said, with a little -pitying, disdainful smile, which brought the flush -of embarrassment to the cheeks of several, who happened -to catch her eye; “so if you will oblige me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -by relating what you know of the unpleasant circumstances, -perhaps your word will be accepted by -our doubting friends.” Her lazy voice was replete -with insulting sarcasm.</p> - -<p>All eyes turned to look at Sir William, who, after -one quick, angry glance at the cool, smiling face of -his strategic niece, cleared his throat with irritating -precision, and, without glancing at the startled face -of his victim, who had started to his feet upon hearing -the amazing request of her ladyship, spoke -quickly and harshly, a faint tinge of color dying his -yellow skin as the dastardly lie left his lips.</p> - -<p>“I overheard Mr. Burns’ insults to my niece,” he -said firmly. “I was standing behind the curtain -there,” pointing to a large window, “where I had -gone only a moment before Lady Glencairn entered -the room, to glance out of the window, having heard a -noise without, and before I could make my presence -known, Mr. Burns had thrown himself upon his -knees, and—and I did not disturb them,” he concluded -lamely.</p> - -<p>“Ye perjurer!” cried Robert furiously. “By -heaven, I could choke ye with your own lie!” and he -turned white with passion. Sir William cowered -back, a look of fear in his shifty eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robbie, take me hame, take me hame,” -gasped Mary, with heart-breaking pathos, and she -sank half fainting in the chair Robert had vacated.</p> - -<p>“Come, James, let us retire,” said Lady Glencairn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -sweetly, casting a look of grateful triumph at -her uncle. “I am sorry you have lost a friend, but -I could not shield him,” and she pressed his arm with -affected tenderness. Slowly, sorrowfully he allowed -himself to be drawn to the door.</p> - -<p>“My lord!” cried Robert hoarsely, “have ye no -word to say to me? Ye have heard the proofs of -my innocence; will ye not believe them?” and his -whole soul was in his eyes as he eagerly searched the -downcast face of his old benefactor.</p> - -<p>Lord Glencairn gave him one sad, reproachful -look. “Oh, Robert,” he said brokenly, “and I -trusted you so.”</p> - -<p>Robert dropped his hand, which he had extended -pleadingly, and a flush mounted to the roots of his -hair, which quickly faded, leaving him paler than -before, while a look of wounded pride and unutterable -bitterness flashed into his stern face.</p> - -<p>“I will attempt no further denial, my lord,” he -said slowly, with quiet dignity. “Calumny has at -last reared its vicious head to strike like some venomous -serpent, seeking to crush me in its enveloping -folds. The genius of the Bard is ignored, forgotten—only -my obscure birth, my sins, my indiscretions, -my faults are remembered now,” and he smiled -with mournful bitterness.</p> - -<p>“Ye have been too puffed up with pride and -vanity,” cried Sir William brutally. “Edinburgh -has tired of you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p> - -<p>Robert gave a scornful little laugh. “Why,” he -asked, looking around at those who had been only -too glad to fawn upon him a few moments before, -“because I am no longer a curiosity for the vulgar -to gaze at?” He spoke with biting sarcasm. He -paused a minute, then continued bitterly. “Oh, fool -that I have been! At last my eyes are opened to my -true position in your world of society. How I hate -and despise the hypocrisy of you so-called some-bodies! -How you fawn and smirk and bow down -to wealth and position, while the man of genius, of -avowed worth is disbelieved, dishonored, and insulted! -God, the humiliation of it all!” His eyes -flashed with righteous anger and the indignant scorn -in his voice cut deeply through the thin skin of -more than one of his listeners. “I have endured -the insults heaped upon my head to-day in bitterness -of spirit and in silent scorn,” he continued stormily, -“but noo my outraged manhood at last rebels, and I -throw down my gage of contemptuous defiance.”</p> - -<p>“Robert, calm yourself, laddie!” whispered Mrs. -Dunlop apprehensively, laying a restraining hand -upon his arm, which trembled with excitement.</p> - -<p>“Your friends will never believe aught against -you, Mr. Burns,” exclaimed Mr. Mackenzie, with -deep feeling in his voice.</p> - -<p>“My friends!” repeated Robert wildly. “I have -none, I want none in this purse proud city. No -longer will I submit to insulting condescension. No<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -longer will I skulk into a corner of the street like -the veriest nobody on earth, lest the rattling equipage -of some gossiping titled blockhead mangle me -in the mire.”</p> - -<p>“Robert, I have always loved you,” exclaimed -Lord Glencairn, with rebuking reproachfulness.</p> - -<p>“But ye believe the worst of me noo,” replied -Robert passionately. “It only needed this scene -of scandal to show my friends in their true colors.”</p> - -<p>“Then go back to your low-born friends where -ye belong,” snarled Sir William vindictively.</p> - -<p>“I mean to go back,” retorted Robert, his face -flushing crimson, “and with gladness will I shake -the dust of this unjust city off my feet.” A softer -look came over his haggard face and his eyes filled -with a yearning look of utter heart-weariness, a sudden -longing for the blissful quiet of his country -home. A tender sweetness came into his voice as -he continued softly, “I will return from whence -I came, to the plowtail, where the poetic genius of -my country found me and threw her inspiring mantle -over me.”</p> - -<p>Mary took his hand in hers, and with infinite tenderness -murmured fondly, “An’ ye’ll find the banks -an’ braes of bonnie Doon holding out their arms to -welcome ye back to your native heath once more, -laddie.”</p> - -<p>“Let us hope he’ll shine to better advantage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -there,” sneered Sir William. A nervous little titter -broke the tense silence.</p> - -<p>Robert turned on him, goaded to sudden fury. -“Ye bird o’ ill omen!” he panted hoarsely, “I have -never injured ye; I have brought money into your -empty pockets. But ye will repent bitterly for -swearing away my life as ye have this day, for e’en -though I leave Edinburgh in shame and disgrace, -’tis not for ay. Nay! I thank God my works will -live after me, that my name will yet become immortal.” -His words rang out wildly and with impassioned -intensity.</p> - -<p>Lady Glencairn laughed mockingly, and, turning -to some of her friends standing near, she made some -low-toned remark, evidently a sarcastic witticism at -the expense of the speaker, which elicited a burst of -hollow laughter from her listeners, who, while they -wished to remain in the favor of the leader of Edinburgh -society, stood in wholesome awe of the blunt -speech, the scornful wit of the brilliant poet on -trial before them.</p> - -<p>“Ye vain boaster!” scoffed Sir William loudly, -“you’ll be forgot within a week,” and he laughed -derisively.</p> - -<p>“Ye may scoff, ye may laugh,” retorted Robert -hotly. “Ye may call me egoist if ye like, but I know -what I have done for my country—I have attuned -my wild artless notes to sing her praises, joys, and -sorrows, and I know those songs will live forever in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -the heart of every true Scotsman.” Suddenly, like -a ray of sunshine which dispels the morning mist, -his dark haughty face took upon itself a noble, -thoughtful, rapt expression—his wildly flashing eyes -softened—his furrowed brow smoothed, and, fixing -his luminous eyes upon the disdainful face of his -hostess, he continued with melancholy pathos and -prophetic solemnity, “Ah, my lady, ye have -trampled my good name low in the dust to-day, but -my prophetic spirit tells me the day is coming, even -though ye an’ all my traducers here be dead, rotted -and forgot, when one name will be remembered, cherished -and proclaimed above all others of Scotland, -aye, the world, and that name, my lords and ladies, -will not be of any rich titled somebody! Nay, ’twill -be that of the plowman-poet of Ayrshire, Robert -Burns.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XIX</h3> - -<p>The situation in which Robert now found himself -was calculated to awaken reflection. The time had -come, so he gloomily told his friend, Will Nichol, the -morning after the garden party at Lord Glencairn’s, -for him to abandon the gayety and dissipation -of which he had been too much enamored; and -all that day he pondered seriously, if gloomily, on -the past, and formed virtuous resolutions respecting -the future. He had weeks ago made up his mind -to settle himself for life in the occupation of agriculture, -and now that Edinburgh had tired of his -peculiarities, and the novelty of his appearance had -become an old story for them, there was nothing -left for him to do but to start in on his new life as -soon as possible. To further that end he called upon -Sir William that day and demanded a settlement. -When he left the office he found himself master of -nearly £500. With the money in his pocket he -again called on Will Nichols and requested him to -assist him in the selection of a farm. With his -advice and assistance he soon decided to lease the -farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the River Nith, -just above Dumfries. When he had in this manner -arranged his plans for the future his generous heart,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -which was sore and bleeding from the many wounds -it had recently received, wounds which seemed to the -suffering man that would never heal in this life, -turned in pity and remorse to the mother of his child—a -thrill of yearning stirred him strangely as he -thought of the little one—his son—a warm feeling -of love welled up in his heart as he softly repeated -the words; and listening to no consideration but -those of honor and duty, and a strange feeling of -growing affection, which made him pause in wonder, -he sought out Jean at the Inn, having learned that -she was still in town, contrary to Lady Glencairn’s -assertion, which he had believed; and there, with his -friends surrounding them, they were joined in a -public declaration of marriage, thus legalizing their -union and rendering it permanent for life.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dunlop and Mary had not been present at -the ceremony. Mary was confined to her bed in a -state of nervous collapse, and Mrs. Dunlop, much -as she loved Robert, and honored him for the noble -step he was taking, could not leave the stricken girl. -It was her wish and determination to keep Mary with -her as long as she could content herself there. Her -kind, motherly heart ached in silent sympathy for -the child who had received such a bitter disappointment, -and who was bearing her sorrows with such -patient fortitude. Before Robert left the city she -wrote for him to come and see her, assuring him of -her continued friendship, etc., etc. That evening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -found him seated beside his stanch friend in whom -he confided his hopes and his fears for the future, -and soon he had poured out the bitterness of his -heart, the yearnings of his soul, all the cruel disappointments -of his tempestuous life. She listened in -sympathetic silence, a smile of encouragement, every -now and then, lighting up her face. When he had -finished, she told him how proud she was of him, how -she gloried in his strength of purpose, his new-made -resolutions, cautioned him not to forget the new -vows he had so lately formed, warned him of the -many vices, the back-sliding state into which one of -his temperament was so apt to fall. Then with infinite -tenderness she told him of the courage of the -sweet maiden who now lay upon her bed of sorrow -in the upper room, told him of her loyalty, her pride -in his greatness, in his nobility, while he listened with -the burning tears streaming unchecked down his -quivering cheeks. After a pause she took him by -the hand and led him softly to the door of Mary’s -chamber. “For the last farewell,” she whispered -sadly. Then she left him standing before the door, -gazing at it as though it were the gates of Heaven -which were about to open for him at his bidding. A -sweet voice bade him enter, in answer to his timid -knock, and softly opening the door, he stepped into -the room.</p> - -<p>Mary opened her beautiful, tired blue eyes, thinking -it was her dear benefactress, and then what a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -divine rapture—what a dazzling wonder and joy -flashed into them, giving them back their old luster -of sunlight sparkling on an azure sea. She sprang -up in her bed and stretched out her arms.</p> - -<p>“Robert!” she cried sobbingly. “Oh, Robbie, -my darling.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dunlop came back and softly closed the door -on the sacred stillness that followed. Then she -slowly wended her way down to her sitting-room and -sat down with a deep sigh. “What a sad old world -this is,” she thought. The time dragged along very -slowly as she patiently waited for Robert to come -down. Presently she heard the door above close -ever so gently, and then his low footfall down the -thick stair carpet. She rose and met him in the reception -hall. He stood on the lowest step, his hand on -the balustrade, his breast heaving with the strain of -his emotions. Mrs. Dunlop took his hand tenderly -and pressed it in loving sympathy.</p> - -<p>By and by he spoke, and the intense suffering in -his voice touched her keenly. “As ye sow, so shall -ye reap,” he muttered brokenly. She could only -press his hand in silent sympathy. Gradually his -grief became quiet and a look of melancholy resignation -came over his expressive face.</p> - -<p>“When will you leave the city?” she asked -quietly.</p> - -<p>He thought a moment. “My affairs will be settled -by the week’s end,” he replied, “then I shall go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> -straight to Ellisland. I——” He paused a moment, -then straightened himself, and continued in a -firm voice, “Jean has gone to Mauchline. She will -remain there until the house at Ellisland is in condition -to receive her.” He held out his hand. -“And now, dear, good friend, good-by.”</p> - -<p>“No, not good-by, laddie,” she answered tearfully. -“Just <i>au revoir</i>, for I mean to visit you some -day,” and she smiled through her tears.</p> - -<p>With a last shake of the hand, he left her, while -above stairs a sweet, wan, tear-stained face, pressed -close against the pane, watched his bowed figure -striding moodily toward his lodging, watched it as -it faded, growing dimmer and dimmer, till it was lost -to sight.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus7.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">Robert Burns</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> - -<h2>BOOK III</h2> - -<hr /> - -<h3>CHAPTER XX</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Now spells of mightier power prepare,</div> -<div class="verse">Bid brighter phantoms round him dance;</div> -<div class="verse">Let flattery spread her viewless snare,</div> -<div class="verse">And fame attract his vagrant glance;</div> -<div class="verse">Let sprightly pleasure too advance,</div> -<div class="verse">Unveiled her eyes, unclasped her zone;</div> -<div class="verse">Till last in love’s delicious trance</div> -<div class="verse">He scorns the joys his youth has known.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When Robert reached Ellisland the evening sun -was flaming over the distant western hills. Not a -breath stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the -verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden moment -for a poet’s heart. He stopped his horse by the door -of the cottage and stood silently regarding his -future home. He had secured from Mr. Miller in -Dumfries, the owner of the farm, the keys, and declining -the company of several, who offered to show -him the way to his new possession, he set out on his -journey in gloomy solitude. For a few moments he -listened to the birds pouring their harmony on -every hand, as if to welcome the wanderer, then -with a sigh he unlocked the door and went -within. A few weeks passed uneventfully. Upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -his arrival he had immediately begun to rebuild the -dwelling house, which was inadequate to accommodate -his family. It afforded his jaded senses much -pleasure to survey the grounds he was about to cultivate, -and in rearing a building that should give -shelter to his wife and children (who were with Squire -Armour in Mauchline, the stern old man having -relented upon a bed of sickness), and, as he -fondly hoped, to his own gray hairs; sentiments of -independence buoyed up his mind; pictures of domestic -content and peace rose in his imagination; -and a few weeks passed away, the most tranquil, if -not the happiest, which he had experienced for some -time. His fame naturally drew upon him the attention -of his neighbors in the district in which he lived, -and he was received at the table of the gentlemen of -Nithdale with welcome, with kindness and respect. -It is to be lamented that at this critical period of his -life he was without the restraining influences of the -society of his wife, for a great change had -taken place in his situation; his old habits were -broken, and he brooded in melancholy abstraction -upon his past glories in Edinburgh and his wrongs, -while thoughts of Highland Mary constantly filled -his waking hours, and caused him to forget the good -resolutions he had formed, in his desire to drown -recollections. The social parties to which he was -invited too often seduced him from his rustic labor -and his plain rustic food, and overthrew the unsteady<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -fabric of his resolutions, inflaming those propensities -which temperance might have weakened, and -prudence finally suppressed. It was not long, therefore, -before Robert began to view his farm with dislike -and despondence, if not with disgust. Before his -advent into Edinburgh society, and during his sojourn -there, he had refrained from the habitual use -of strong liquors. But in Dumfries the sins that so -easily beset him continually presented themselves, -and though he clearly foresaw the consequences of -yielding to them, his appetite and sensations, which -could not prevent the dictates of his judgment, -finally triumphed over the power of his will.</p> - -<p>His great celebrity made him an object of interest -and curiosity to strangers, and few persons of cultivated -minds passed through Dumfries without attempting -to see the poet, and to enjoy the pleasure -of his conversation. As he could not receive them -under his own humble roof these interviews passed -at the inns of the towns, and often terminated in -excesses, which Robert was seldom able to resist. -Indeed, there were never wanting persons to share -his social pleasures, to lead or accompany him to the -tavern, to partake in the wildest sallies of his wit, or -to witness the strength and degradation of his genius.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately he had for several years looked to -an office in the excise as a certain means of livelihood, -should his other expectations fail. He had been -recommended to the Board of Excise before leaving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -Mossgiel, and had received the instructions necessary -for such a situation. He now applied to be -employed regularly, and was immediately appointed -exciseman, or gauger, as it is vulgarly called, of the -district in which he lived. His farm was after this, -in a great measure, abandoned to servants, while he -betook himself to the duties of his new appointment. -To be sure he could still be seen at intervals directing -his plow, a labor in which he excelled, but it was -not at Ellisland that he was now in general to be -found. Mounted on horseback, our hero was pursuing -the defaulters of the revenue among the hills -and vales of Nithdale, his roving eye wandering over -the charms of nature, and muttering his wayward -fancies as he moved along. Though by nature of an -athletic form, Robert had in his constitution the -peculiarities and delicacies that belong to the -temperament of genius. Endowed by nature with -great sensibility of nerves, he was in his corporeal, -as well as in his mental system, liable to inordinate -impressions, to fever of the body, as well as of mind. -This predisposition to disease, which strict temperance -in diet, regular exercise, and sound sleep might -have subdued, habits of a very different nature, -strengthened and inflamed.</p> - -<p>The following year Jean and her bairns came to -live at Ellisland. He received them with quiet affection, -and Jean, who had grown strangely humbled -and passive, did her utmost to please him at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -times, never referring to the past, and tactfully -avoiding all irritating subjects, and by her soothing -presence, her loving words of comfort and sympathy, -soon made her presence indispensable to her -moody husband. Another year passed by, a year -of anxiety for Jean, who was compelled to witness -her husband’s lapses from sobriety, which now came -so often, and to watch his health decline slowly, but -surely, in consequence. In the midst of all his wanderings -Robert met nothing in his domestic circle -but gentleness and forgiveness, except the gnawings -of his own remorse. He acknowledged his transgressions -to his patient wife, promised amendment, and -again received pardon for his offenses. But as the -strength of his body decayed, his resolution became -feebler, and habit acquired predominating strength.</p> - -<p>All this time Robert had entertained hopes of promotion -in the exercise, but circumstances occurred -which retarded their fulfillment, and which in his own -mind destroyed all expectation of their ever being -fulfilled. His steady friend, Mr. Mackenzie, interposed -his good offices in his behalf, however, and he -was suffered to retain his situation, but given to -understand that his promotion was deferred, and -must depend on his future behavior. This circumstance -made a deep impression on Robert. He -fancied that everyone held him in contemptuous pity, -as a man of some genius who had dwindled into a -paltry exciseman, and who was slinking out the rest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -of his insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, -and among the lowest of mankind; and for -days he would sit quietly on the banks of the river -plunged in the gloomiest meditation.</p> - -<p>About this time he received word of Lord Glencairn’s -death. The news plunged him into another -fit of melancholy gloom, lessened somewhat, however, -by the assurance that his noble benefactor had died -knowing the truth, believing in Robert’s innocence, -and asking his forgiveness.</p> - -<p>As his health declined his thoughts became more -and more fixed upon Mary, who was once more in -Mossgiel at Colonel Montgomery’s. He yearned -with bitter longing to gaze upon her sweet face again, -to hear her dear voice speak his name. These thoughts -he strove vainly to conquer, to banish from his mind, -for Jean’s patience and goodness, her loving forbearance, -filled him with shame at his own unworthiness. -But she gave no sign of the bitter heartache -she endured. She accepted it all in patient resignation, -striving by uniform prudence and good management -to relieve his distress of mind regarding -the material welfare of his little flock.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of spring he contracted a severe -cold while in reckless pursuit of an offender, in a -driving rain storm, and, having caught the guilty -one, he celebrated the event at the inn, in company -with some congenial spirits, seated in his wet clothes, -the result being an attack of rheumatism, which laid<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -him upon a bed of sickness for some weeks. His -salary was but a small one, hardly sufficient to keep -his family from want, and though hitherto his farm -had yielded him a comfortable living, for some -months it had been left to run itself, with the inevitable -results. Planting time had come and gone, and -still his ground lay all untouched. His laborers had -refused to work for him longer without pay, and -Souter Johnny, who was now making his home at -Ellisland, could only attend to the lighter chores -about the farm. And now things began to take a -serious outlook for our hero and his family. Though -sick and discouraged, with want staring him in the -face, he still sent glowing reports of his continued -prosperity to his loved ones in Mossgiel, reports that -filled their anxious hearts with false hopes and prayerful -thankfulness.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXI</h3> - -<p>One day during Robert’s early convalescence, -Souter, after having finished his chores, sauntered -leisurely through the vegetable garden. It was a -peaceful nook, and there were household odors of -mint, and thyme, and boy’s love, which were pleasant -to the soul of Souter Johnny, and reminded him of -stewed rabbit, which he dearly loved, with all its -attendant delicacies. He paced the path slowly, the -light of the sinking sun blazing gloriously upon the -brilliant gown of his companion, who was simpering -along beside him, her little gray eyes looking down -on him with flattering interest as she listened with -apparent delight to his tales of daring adventure. -Finally their conversation drifted to the sick man -within.</p> - -<p>“Poor bonnie laddie,” sighed Eppy dolefully. -“To think of him being so ill. We all loved him -dearly in Edinburgh.”</p> - -<p>“He hasna’ been the same lad since he returned -from there,” replied Souter. “He had many great -disappointments in his young life, I tell ye,” and he -shook his head dismally. “An’ noo everything has -gone to the dogs wi’ him, ever since he has been -in Ellisland. ’Twas a sorry day when he became an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -exciseman, say I.” He paused a moment reflectively, -then continued earnestly, “But no matter -what anybody says different, he has always done his -duty faithfully, always on the tramp in all kinds of -weather, till at last his robust constitution has given -out, an’ he bowled over, so to speak.” He loyally -refrained from mentioning that Robert’s illness was -partly due to his imprudent way of living.</p> - -<p>Eppy sighed again. “And he the Bard of Scotland,” -she returned commiseratingly. “How I pity -him. Isn’t it sad Mr. MacDougall?”</p> - -<p>“Aye,” replied Souter, with a quick look from -under his shaggy eyebrows. “Ye hae a kind heart -in ye, Miss McKay,” he observed after a pause.</p> - -<p>“Do you really think so?” she simpered. “I -fear you are a base flatterer, Mr. MacDougall. In -Edinburgh there were so many who flattered me, who -sought for my favors, that I became wearied of it -all, and longed for a change. That is why I came -here to Ayrshire and purchased the farm adjoining, -that I might rest during the summer.”</p> - -<p>“And then ye’ll be leaving us?” asked Souter -with a deep sigh.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not,” and she looked at him coquettishly. -“Would anyone care if I did return to -town?” she insinuated slyly.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a wonder that such a bonnie lassie as ye -should still be a maiden,” he observed abruptly with -a sly look out of the corner of his eye.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I have had many offers,” she answered airily, -though her heart fluttered with a newly-born -hope.</p> - -<p>“Do ye ne’er get lonely, Miss McKay?”</p> - -<p>She sighed and cast down her eyes. “Yes, I do,” -she declared plaintively, “and I’m lonely now in that -great big house with only a servant for company.”</p> - -<p>“Souter Johnny,” said Souter to himself, “this -is the chance of your lifetime; go in and win a home.” -Having arrived at this resolution, he cleared his -throat and pausing in his walk, faced the simpering -old lady. “Mum, ye see before ye,” he remarked, -not without some nervousness, “a single man, like -yoursel’. Not from necessity, och nae; Souter -Johnny, before he lost his handsome looks, could hae -had his pick o’ any o’ the lassies, but I hae waited -till noo——” he paused impressively.</p> - -<p>“Till now, Mr. MacDougall?” she repeated -breathlessly, eager to have him continue.</p> - -<p>“Weel, noo I hae found her,” he answered, “an’ -she’s what I hae been lookin’ for a’ my life.”</p> - -<p>“How romantic you are,” she cried soulfully, with -an admiring look.</p> - -<p>“Aye, that I am, ’tis born in me,” he responded. -“Do ye mind if I smoke, mum?” he asked carelessly. -He took out of his waistcoat pocket his old black -pipe and held it in his hand.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” she gushed. “I love to see you smoke, -’tis so manly.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span></p> - -<p>Having lighted his pipe and got it drawing to his -satisfaction, he turned to her once more, and remarked -casually, “Would ye call me too old to get -married? I’m askin’ your advice noo.” He looked -at her quizzically.</p> - -<p>She shook her head vigorously in the negative. -“Age does not matter at all,” she observed sagely. -“The question is do you feel peart?” and she regarded -him with anxious eyes.</p> - -<p>A grim smile played around Souter’s lips. Removing -his pipe, he replied with convincing firmness, -“Never was sick in my life, strong and healthy. -Feel my muscle!” and he held out his doubled arm -to the timid Eppy, who shrank away bashfully. “It -willna’ hurt ye,” he declared. Thus encouraged, she -gingerly touched it with one finger. “Fine, isn’t -it?” he asked proudly. Before she could answer -he continued, “I have a fine appetite, mum, an’ I -dinna’ feel my age. Noo I ask ye, am I too ugly to -be looked at, mum? Dinna’ be afraid to tell me the -truth.” He held up his head, straightened his bent -shoulders and stood awaiting her reply.</p> - -<p>She eyed him a moment in silence. “Well, Mr. -MacDougall,” she said doubtfully, after a pause, “I -must confess you’re no beauty.” A look of disappointment -came over Souter’s face, seeing which -she hastened to reassure him. “But I care not for -looks, Mr. MacDougall,” she cried earnestly. “One -could get used to you. I’ve heard it said that one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -can get used to anything in time,” and she smiled -sweetly into his downcast face.</p> - -<p>He gave her a quick look.</p> - -<p>“Is it as bad as that?” he returned reflectively. -“Weel, looks is all a matter of taste. And noo let’s -get down to business.” Eppy gave a start and her -hands fluttered about nervously, as she waited for -his next words. “Do ye think, mum, this sweet, -lovely lassie I hae in my mind would hae me for a -husband?” he insinuated softly.</p> - -<p>She gave a little gasp. “This is so sudden,” she -simpered, then broke off abruptly—he hadn’t asked -her yet. “Er—why don’t you ask the beautiful lassie. -She might think of it.” She coyly looked down -upon him from under her big bonnet.</p> - -<p>Souter threw down his pipe in his earnestness. “I -will,” he ejaculated quickly, his eyes sparkling with -triumph. “’Tis your ain bright sel’ for whom my -heart is yearnin’. Will ye hae me, Eppy?”</p> - -<p>Eppy closed her eyes in blissful content. “My -first proposal,” she thought joyfully. Opening her -eyes, she gazed at him fondly. “Oh, I don’t want to -make a mistake now,” she cried, half frightened, but -she had no intention of refusing him, however.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ fear,” replied Souter eagerly. “I’ll -attend to that; there’ll be no mistake made, I’ll warrant -ye.”</p> - -<p>“You’re such a masterful man,” she exclaimed, -with an admiring look, “and—well, there’s no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -gainsaying you. I must confess a real live man -about the house would be most comforting—to my -sister, Sibella—and—and me, so I—I’ll have you, -Souter,” and she threw herself into his arms with a -cry of joy and thankfulness.</p> - -<p>“Thank ye, thank ye, mum,” said Souter gratefully. -“I feel as if I had won the prize ticket in a -grand lottery.” He heaved a great sigh of blissful -content as he thought of the big house across -the way. “There noo, my pipe is out again,” he -observed, after a little pause, and he calmly turned -his back and proceeded to relight it, leaving Eppy -regarding him with reproachful eyes and pouting -lips.</p> - -<p>“Souter,” she finally faltered, “I—I thought -you were more romantic. We haven’t sealed our -engagement by a—a——”</p> - -<p>“A—what?” asked Souter concernedly. “Is -there something mair to do?”</p> - -<p>She sidled up to him, giggling bashfully, and after -turning to see if they were observed, she put her arm -around his neck and said pensively:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Gin a body meet a body comin’ thro’ the rye,</div> -<div class="verse">Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A comical look of comprehension dawned on -Souter’s face. “O—oh! I see, ’tis a kiss ye mean,” -he answered lightly. “Weel, noo, I’ll na’ stop ye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span> -if ye want to kiss me. If you can stand it, I can,” -and he held his face up to hers, for she towered a -foot above him. With a sudden dart, a downward -sweep of her head, she glued her lips to the little -man’s, then with a resounding smack she released -him, with a sigh of absolute content upon her homely -face. “Weel, noo, that’s not half bad,” observed -Souter, smacking his lips reflectively.</p> - -<p>“Now, Souter,” declared Eppy decidedly, after -they had walked a few paces in quiet, “since you -are a Highlander, you must wear the kilt, to please -me; and it must be the tartan of our clan.”</p> - -<p>Souter threw up his hands in amazed horror. -“Oh, dearie, dinna’ ask me to do that; I canna’ wear -the kilt; I am na’ built that way,” and he looked -down at his legs with whimsical seriousness.</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll not marry you,” she declared with -apparent firmness.</p> - -<p>Souter hurriedly explained in trembling fear. -“I’ll tell ye the truth, dearie: when I last wore the -kilt the laddies laughed at my crooked legs an’ -called me a scarecrow, an’ I swore then I’d ne’er -show my bare legs to mortal man again. Would ye -hae me expose my miserable defects, womman?”</p> - -<p>She stood off and let her eyes rove slowly down -his nether extremities with the air of a connoisseur. -“I protest they do not look so badly,” she observed -encouragingly.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus8.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“‘Keep on turning,’ she commanded.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“Looks are deceivin’, lassie,” quickly replied<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -Souter, who objected seriously to kilts. “My legs -are na’ my beauty point, for a’ that; they are just -twa wee bones, I tell ye, so be prepared for the -worst,” and he shook his head dolefully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, well, as Mr. Burns says, ‘A man’s a man, -for a’ that!’” she replied sweetly. Then after a -moment’s reflection, she asked with tender solicitude, -“Are they so very wee, Souter?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, ye should see them,” he replied eagerly, -hoping to convince her as to his unfitness to wear -the dress.</p> - -<p>Eppy held up her hands before her face in horror. -“Whatever are you saying, Souter?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, my legs are a maist sensitive subject wi’ -me, my dear,” he returned apologetically.</p> - -<p>“Turn around,” she commanded. He did so in -wonder. “Keep on turning,” she commanded. “I -think, mayhap, they’re not so bad,” she observed -after a critical inspection. “However, after we are -wed I can decide better whether ye can wear the kilt -or not.”</p> - -<p>Souter regarded her in meek astonishment, then -he humbly rejoined, “Weel, if ye can stand their -looks, I’ll na’ complain, but it’s o’er chilly at times,” -and he shivered apprehensively.</p> - -<p>She laughed gayly. “Now, Souter, I must go -home. Come over soon, you masterful man!”</p> - -<p>“Aye, the first thing in the morning,” retorted -Souter calmly, “an’ I’ll bring the minister wi’ me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The minister! Why bring him?” asked Eppy in -amazement.</p> - -<p>“To marry us, my dear,” replied Souter quietly.</p> - -<p>“You must be daft man!” she cried in sudden -alarm.</p> - -<p>Souter shook his head. “Ye’d better take no -chances,” he retorted calmly. “I may change my -mind,” and he carefully knocked the ashes out of his -pipe and put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p>“You impatient man!” fluttered Eppy. “I—I—come -over and we’ll talk about it. Good-by, -laddie,” and she tripped daintily off down the path -toward the gate.</p> - -<p>Then Souter sat down on the seat under the big -tree beside the house. “Souter Johnny,” he said to -himself, “ye’re a devil with the wimmen, mon,” and -a smile of self-satisfaction stole over his wrinkled -face.</p> - -<p>“Souter Johnny!” panted Eppy, running back -to him breathlessly, “I’ve changed my mind.”</p> - -<p>Souter jumped to his feet in sudden terror. Had -he lost her after all, or rather, had he lost the home -across the way? “W—what, do you mean?” he -stammered.</p> - -<p>“I mean—you—you—may bring the minister,” -she gasped, and away she fluttered down the walk -before he could recover from his astonishment.</p> - -<p>“Hurrah! your fortune is made, Souter Johnny!” -he cried aloud, when the meaning of her words had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -dawned upon him, and he threw his bonnet high in -the air. “Ye’ll nae hae to cobble shoes any mair, -noo, for ye’ll be lord of the manor house, wi’ servants -to wait on ye. Oh, the power of money! ye’ll -ride out in your fine carriage, Souter, and as ye -drive by, all the neighbors will be bowing and scraping -to ye. I can see them noo. ’Twill be ‘Mr. MacDougall, -will ye do us the honor to call at the castle; -her ladyship would be pleased to see you.’ Then I’ll -say to them that snubbed me when I was poor, ‘Weel, -noo, ’tis very busy I am, attending to my estates and -other social duties. Tell her grace that Mr. and -Mrs. MacDougall will be pleased to have her visit -us at MacDougall House, if she cares to meet us.’” -And he stalked along majestically to the house with -his head held proudly erect. “Noo, I’ll find the -minister and make sure of my bird.” Arriving at -the door of the cottage, he stopped, and addressing -an imaginary butler, said pompously, “James, open -the door, your master wishes to enter! Thank ye! -Noo take my hat! Noo ye may go!” With a -chuckle of delight he quietly opened the door and -composing his features into their natural expression, -entered the cottage and made his way to the kitchen, -where he found a bowl of porridge awaiting him, -which he hungrily devoured.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile in the other room Robert lay tossing -feverishly upon his bed. Jean sat beside him -smoothing his pillow from time to time, and soothing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -his anguished mind with words of love and -encouragement.</p> - -<p>“Blessings on your faithful head, Jean,” he murmured -gratefully. “You’re the best, truest wife that -erring mortal man ever had.” She flushed with -pleasure at his words of praise. “Oh, this accursed -rheumatism,” he groaned. “How it shackles one, -making one as much a prisoner as though a ball -and chain were attached to his ankle.”</p> - -<p>“But you are much better to-day,” said Jean -brightly.</p> - -<p>“For a while only. I fear me this is my fatal -illness,” he replied despondently.</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, Robert; you’ll be on your feet -in a few days now,” and she looked hopefully into his -worn and haggard face.</p> - -<p>He pressed her hand gently. “I haven’t been -the best of husbands, lass,” he said after a pause. -“I have sore tried your patience and your love -ofttimes, by my unfaithfulness, my unworthiness.”</p> - -<p>“I do not complain, Robert,” she answered -quietly.</p> - -<p>“No, ye have never done that,” he said with a -tender smile, “frequent though my lapses in sobriety -and propriety have been.” He paused -thoughtfully; presently he continued in mournful reflection, -“But I was punished for those sins afterward, -for then came remorse, shame, regret, the three -hell hounds that ever dog my steps and bay at my -heels.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If it is God’s will——” began Jean, but he -interrupted her.</p> - -<p>“Ah, no, Jean,” he replied bitterly. “’Tis not -God’s will that I should be here, racked with pain -and tortured by the sins that come staring me in the -face, each one telling a more bitter tale than his -fellow. ’Tis only the result of my own headstrong -folly.” She wiped away the drops of perspiration -from his brow with tender fingers, while he lay panting -from the excitement that the recital of his sorrows -had occasioned.</p> - -<p>“There, do not distress yourself with such bitter -thoughts,” she told him gently. “What is done, is -done, and all our sins will be blotted out in that -other life.”</p> - -<p>“That other life,” he repeated dreamily. “Can -it be possible that when I resign this feverish being -I shall find myself in conscious existence, enjoying -and enjoyed? Would to God I as firmly believed it -as I ardently wish it. If there is another life,” he -continued with a flash of his old whimsical brightness, -“it must be for the just, the benevolent, the -amiable only, and the good. I’m sore afraid Rob -Burns will na’ be able to get even a peep through -the Pearly Gates.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, dear,” replied Jean with tender reproach. -“’Twill be open to all. ‘Let whosoever will, come -and have eternal life,’ the Master said.”</p> - -<p>He mused a while on that sweet thought. “Ah, -weel, just noo,” he returned with a sigh, “this life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -is what we must face, and which I must cling to as -long as I can for the sake of my little flock. Poverty -and misfortune must be overcome, and at once. -Our salvation now lies in my getting the supervisorship -and increased salary; then we need have no fear -of the future; we can laugh at fate.”</p> - -<p>“You sent your last poem, ‘Prettiest maid on -Devon’s bank,’ to Mr. Thompson, didn’t ye, laddie?” -asked Jean anxiously.</p> - -<p>“Aye,” he replied, closing his eyes wearily. -“And I implored him for God’s sake to send me -a few pounds to tide me over the present, till I got -my promotion. I am not asking a loan, ’tis a -business transaction,” he continued proudly, “and -I ken he will send whatever he is able to spare. -He is a good friend, and it grieves me bitterly to -be obliged to ask help of him to keep us from starving. -But,” and a note of independence crept into -his voice, “my song is worth whatever he sends.”</p> - -<p>“Hunger and want can humble the most independent -spirit,” returned Jean sadly. She rose and -walked to the window and looked out into the twilight -with searching, anxious eyes. “Posty should -bring us an answer to-night,” she murmured.</p> - -<p>“An’ he will,” cried Robert hopefully, “for -Thompson willna’ disappoint me, for he kens I am -in sore straits.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven bless him!” cried Jean fervently.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXII</h3> - -<p>The next day our hero was in better health and -spirits, and insisted upon being up and dressed. -Jean, not without secret misgivings, got him into -his clothes and helped him to the rocking-chair, -which she had drawn up to the open window. For -a while he sat there in silent content, bathed in the -warm, golden light of the morning sun, whose genial -beams seemed to infuse new vigor into his languid -frame, while the gentle summer wind blew upon him -with its exhilarating, refreshing warmth. After Jean -had performed her household duties she returned to -find him playing happily with their two boys, telling -them tale after tale, while they sat perched on -either arm of the big rocker, their eyes popping out -of their round, healthy faces with excited interest. -He looked up as she entered and smiled into her -anxious face.</p> - -<p>“Do not tire yourself, Robert,” she cautioned him -gently. “Come, lads, run out doors and play a wee, -your father is tired.” But they clung to him -affectionately.</p> - -<p>“One mair story,” they pleaded.</p> - -<p>“Tell us aboot Tam O’Shanter’s ride!” commanded -Robert, Jr., gravely. Jean sat down while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -he recited the stirring tale, and watched her husband -with eyes aglow with love and pity. How changed -he was, she thought with a sigh. What havoc had -been wrought in that sturdy frame, that fine constitution, -in the once ringing tones of his musical -voice. Alas, all had flown, but with God’s help she -would win him back to health and strength once -more, she told herself with resolute determination. -As he finished he kissed the earnest faces held up to -his with such worshipful affection, and with a serious -“Thank ye, father,” they turned and marched quietly -out of the room and into the open air, and soon their -childish treble floated in through the open window, -bringing a smile of amused affection to the faces -of their parents.</p> - -<p>“Now, Robert, ye must be tired out,” remarked -Jean presently. “Will ye not try and get a -nappie?”</p> - -<p>“In a wee, Jean,” he answered, looking out of the -window thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“Then you must have a bittie of gruel now,” -she said, rising and going toward the door.</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay, Jean, I thank ye, but I canna’ eat nor -drink nor sleep just at present.”</p> - -<p>“Then try and take a nappie,” she insisted, -smoothing the pillows and sheets in anxious preparation.</p> - -<p>“A little later, Jean,” he replied a trifle impatiently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span></p> - -<p>She sighed patiently. “Then I’ll leave ye for -a while,” and she walked toward the door. “Ye’re -quite comfortable?” she asked. He nodded. Slowly -she closed the door upon him and applied herself to -the task of getting the midday meal.</p> - -<p>Presently, a knock on the door startled her, interrupting -her meager preparations. Hastily wiping -her hands on her apron, she opened it, and there on -the threshold stood two richly dressed strangers. -“From the city,” she mentally said, noticing the -elegance of their attire.</p> - -<p>Courteously raising his high conical blue silk hat, -the younger man addressed her. “Is not this Mistress -Burns, whom I have the honor to address?” -he asked.</p> - -<p>“I am Mistress Burns,” replied Jean with dignity.</p> - -<p>“We have come to see your husband. Will you -inform him, my dear madam, that his friend Henry -Mackenzie would be pleased to converse with him.”</p> - -<p>Jean opened wide the door, a look of pleasure on -her face. “Please to enter,” she said quietly. They -did so. She showed them into the living-room and -bade them be seated. “Robert will be out directly,” -she said, and hastily went to tell Robert of their -arrival.</p> - -<p>“So this is where Scotland’s Bard lives,” remarked -Mr. Mackenzie, looking about the room critically. -“This cheerless hut, which bespeaks naught but -poverty. Poor Burns, I pity him.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p> - -<p>“’Tis all his own fault,” testily replied his companion.</p> - -<p>“I am not so sure of that, Sir William,” said Mr. -Mackenzie with a swift look at him. “I have always -believed and maintained that Burns was innocent of -that monstrous charge my Lady Glencairn brought -against him, even though you did confess to being an -eye witness of the occurrence. However, she has received -her just deserts. She is at last totally -ostracized.”</p> - -<p>“Do ye mean to say——” sputtered Sir William.</p> - -<p>Mr. Mackenzie raised his hand in a stately gesture. -“I really do not care to discuss it, Sir -William. But at last Edinburgh is beginning to -realize how cruelly they have misjudged him, and -they would welcome him back again, but I fear his -pride and independence will prevent his accepting -any assistance whatever.”</p> - -<p>Sir William gave a snort of impatience. “I -cannot waste my sympathy on him,” he said angrily. -“I am dispatched here to do my duty, and I must -do it,” and his mouth set in a straight, determined -line.</p> - -<p>“’Tis a duty that for once is uncommon pleasant -to you,” replied Mackenzie sarcastically. There -was silence for a moment, then he continued, “I -take it, the decision of the Board is final?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Aye, ’tis irrevocable, sir,” replied Sir William -gruffly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And he must live on here as a poor exciseman,” -murmured Mackenzie half to himself. “Live! In -sooth ’tis but an existence,” and he strode to the -window in sudden perturbation and gazed thoughtfully -out upon the untilled land.</p> - -<p>The door of the chamber opened and Robert -entered the room, a smile of pleasure lighting up -his face. Mr. Mackenzie stepped eagerly forward -and clasped his hand and shook it warmly.</p> - -<p>“I am uncommon glad to see ye beneath my humble -roof,” said Rob earnestly, “and that ye havena’ -forgotten poor, hopeless Robert Burns.”</p> - -<p>Mackenzie led him to a chair. “Indeed, I have -not,” he replied brightly. “Believe me, Mr. Burns, -when I say that I prize your friendship above that -of all men I know.”</p> - -<p>Robert was about to reply, when he caught sight -of Sir William Creech watching them impatiently. -He gave a great start and rose to his feet.</p> - -<p>“Sir William Creech!” he said slowly and bitterly. -“To what do I owe this visit?”</p> - -<p>“I come on a matter of business,” replied Sir -William, a flush rising to his cheek.</p> - -<p>“What business can ye have with me noo?” asked -Robert with rising anger. “Perjurer, have ye come -to gloat over the man ye helped ruin by your -iniquitous falsehood? It isna’ good news ye bring, -I warrant ye, else ye would not be the bearer of it.” -And he gave a scornful little laugh.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Insulting as ever, Robert Burns,” snarled Sir -William, a red spot of anger on each cheek, his -eyes flashing wickedly. “Well, I’ll state my business -briefly. Ye wrote to the Board of Commissioners -for the position of supervisor in the -excise. Your request has been voted on and was -refused.” He spat the words out with vindictive -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Refused!” gasped Rob incredulously. He had -felt so confident that the position would be given him. -He sat down weakly in his chair, dazed for a moment. -“But my name has been on the list of promotion for -months,” he told them dully.</p> - -<p>“’Twas scratched off some weeks ago.”</p> - -<p>“Scratched off? and why?”</p> - -<p>“Because of your Jacobite tendencies,” replied -Sir William coldly. “Many reports concerning -your disloyal sentiments to your country have -reached the Board, which utterly ruined any chance -ye might have had of promotion.”</p> - -<p>Robert sat with bowed head, crushed by his disappointment. -“Again must I drink deeply of the -cup of humiliation and disappointment!” he cried -bitterly. Presently he looked up at Mr. Mackenzie -with a grim smile on his trembling face. “I am at -last persuaded, Mr. Mackenzie, that it was of me the -Hebrew sage prophesied when he foretold, ‘and behold, -on whatsoever this man doth set his heart, it -shall not prosper.’” His head dropped on his chest—his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -hands clenched the sides of the chair with despairing -intensity. Suddenly he jumped to his feet, -his face set and drawn, his eyes wild and flashing -with bitter anger. “My curse on those damned -informers, who have blasted my hopes,” he exclaimed -hoarsely. “May the devil be let loose to torture -them to madness.” Then he sank down in his chair -exhausted by his passion, his face pale and quivering.</p> - -<p>Mr. Mackenzie hastened to his side, fearful of the -consequences of the excitement on his frail constitution. -Presently Robert spoke again, but in a -weak, broken voice.</p> - -<p>“My last hope is torn from me,” he said despairingly. -“What shall I do now? Ah, Mr. Mackenzie, -I have felt all the sweetness of applause in my short -life, but I am now experiencing the bitterness of the -after-taste.” And the pitiful little smile, the pathetic -catch in his voice, strangely moved the heart of his -listener.</p> - -<p>“Pardon my question, Mr. Burns,” said he, “but -surely the excise allows you a salary?”</p> - -<p>Rob laughed mirthlessly. “Aye,” he replied, -“the munificent sum of thirty pounds a year.”</p> - -<p>“Thirty pounds a year!” repeated Mackenzie -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Aye, only half of which I am getting now,” -explained Robert bitterly. “Ye see I am ill and off -duty.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And are there no royalties on your songs or -published collection coming to you?”</p> - -<p>“Ask Sir William,” retorted Robert bitterly.</p> - -<p>“There is no demand for your poems since you -left Edinburgh,” replied Sir William crustily. “The -youth Walter Scott has taken your place in their -regard. He shows a remarkable talent for rhyming.” -And a malicious smile appeared on his crafty -face as he noted the quick flush appear on the expressive -countenance of the sick man.</p> - -<p>His quivering features betrayed how deeply the -barbed dart had entered his heart. He turned to Mr. -Mackenzie with a resigned little gesture. “Ye see, -sir,” he faltered with a pathetic smile, “how soon I am -forgot.” He paused, and the weak tears of sickness -welled up into his eyes; then he resumed with a -shade of bitterness, “Scott is sure to succeed, for -he is of noble birth. He’ll not be patronized, at -least.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Mackenzie had been thinking deeply, and now -he turned to Robert with a resolute air. “Mr. -Burns,” he said earnestly, “with your consent, I will -go to the Board of Commissioners of Excise, of -which the Duke of Gordon is the chairman, and move -them to grant you full salary. They are well known -to me and I am sure will not refuse my request.”</p> - -<p>A glad smile broke up Robert’s gloomy features. -“Ye are a friend, indeed!” he cried fervently. “God -grant they do not refuse you, for if they do, I must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -lay my account with an exit truly <i>en poète</i>, for if -I die not with disease, I must perish with hunger.”</p> - -<p>“Your interference will do no good here, Mr. -Mackenzie,” hotly declared Sir William, glaring at -Robert hatefully.</p> - -<p>“I think it will,” returned Mr. Mackenzie coolly. -“’Twould be Lord Glencairn’s wishes were he alive, -and his wishes will be respected by the Board, mark -well what I tell you,” and he flashed him a significant -look of defiance. Then turning to Robert, he shook -him by the hand and bade him adieu, saying that -he must return at once to Edinburgh. “And rest -assured,” he concluded, “I will inform you at once -of the decision of the Board, which without doubt -will be favorable. Cheer up, my man, Scotland will -not allow her ablest son to die of want and neglect, -if Henry Mackenzie can prevent it.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven bless ye!” responded Robert gratefully.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Burns, if you——” began Mr. Mackenzie, -then he hesitated a moment, but finally after a moment’s -thought continued his sentence—“if you -will but accept a loan,” and his hand sought his -pocket, but Robert shook his head decidedly.</p> - -<p>“No, no, Mr. Mackenzie,” he said proudly; “I -canna’ accept it, thank ye.”</p> - -<p>Mackenzie sighed. “Oh, you sensitive people,” -he remarked, “pride and poverty.”</p> - -<p>“Ye see,” explained Robert gratefully, “I expect -a few pounds from the sale of a poem, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -will relieve my temporary embarrassment, and if -the commissioners grant me full salary, I can start -for the seaside, where I may regain my lost health.” -He passed his hand wearily over his brow, which -began to pain him, for the excitement had worn -him out. “But I fear that has flown from me forever, -that the voice of the Bard will soon be heard -among ye no mair.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense!” replied Mackenzie brightly, putting -his hand affectionately on Robert’s shoulder. “You -will live for years yet, but you must take better care -of this life which is so valuable to your family, to -your friends and to the world.” There was deep -concern in his pleasant voice and in his earnest eyes.</p> - -<p>At that moment the street door opened and Eppy -appeared dressed youthfully in white, leading by the -hand none other than Souter Johnny, who was looking -decidedly crestfallen and sheepish, as he vainly -tried to pull down his little short kilt over his thin, -bony legs, for Souter was at last arrayed in full -kilts, much to his evident sorrow. He looked exceedingly -grotesque, squeezed into the suit, which -was too small even for his undersized frame.</p> - -<p>“In the name of!—Souter Johnny, what means -this?” gasped Robert in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Canna’ a man wear the kilts without being -laughed at?” answered Souter ruefully, resenting -the amused look on their faces.</p> - -<p>“Well, I must say ye look better in breeches,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -observed Rob with a quizzical glance at Souter’s -grotesquely thin crooked legs.</p> - -<p>“He wears them for my sake,” explained Eppy -with a soulful look at the uncomfortable Souter; -then she spied the visitors. “Why, Mr. Mackenzie, -it is good to see you here!” she exclaimed effusively, -and she made him a deep courtesy, purposely ignoring -Sir William.</p> - -<p>“Daft as ever,” grunted Sir William audibly.</p> - -<p>She regarded him with a haughty look of disdain. -“Daft!” she repeated. “Huh! you cannot insult -me now with impunity!” she exclaimed in triumph. -Turning to Souter, she called him to her side with -a commanding gesture.</p> - -<p>“Noo, ye see, Robert, what has become of my -breeches,” whispered Souter in Robert’s ear as he -passed him. “She is wearing them,” and he winked -his eye significantly.</p> - -<p>As he approached her, she reached out a long -arm and drew him to her so suddenly that it took -him off his feet. Finally he righted himself and -stood close beside her, his little gray head, with the -bonnet perched saucily on one side of it, scarcely -reaching to her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Friends,” she announced proudly, “this gentleman -is my—my husband,” and she noticed with -pleasure the look of consternation which appeared -on all their faces.</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Robert aghast.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’re married!” ejaculated Mr. Mackenzie -incredulously.</p> - -<p>“Poor man,” sneered Sir William mockingly.</p> - -<p>Eppy tittered gleefully. “Yes, I was married -to-day, and ’tis heavenly,” and she rolled her eyes -in an ecstasy of joy.</p> - -<p>“Well, ’twas the best you could do, I suppose,” -observed Sir William maliciously.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t take you as a gift,” she flashed. -“And you tried hard enough to win me, dear -knows,” she went on with total disregard for the -truth. “He was forever running after me,” she -explained deprecatingly to Souter.</p> - -<p>“You—you—you are not speaking the truth,” -sputtered Sir William furiously. “If I was running -it was to get away from you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course you won’t admit it now,” she -observed calmly. “But I am rejoicing that I didn’t -marry you.” She looked Souter over critically. -“Well, Souter may not be very handsome,” she -remarked thoughtfully after a pause, “but he is -a perfect picture in kilts,” and she gave a sigh of -absolute content.</p> - -<p>“Women are queer creatures,” whispered Souter -to Robert deprecatingly, “and my—my wife, ahem! -weel, she’s the queerest of them a’.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my friends,” laughed Mr. Mackenzie, “I -protest this time I must be off. Good-by, lad.”</p> - -<p>“May blessings attend your steps and affliction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -know ye not,” answered Robert fervently. “Ye -might take Sir William along, for he looks maist -uncomfortable amongst honest people!” he added -dryly.</p> - -<p>Mackenzie laughed grimly and passed out, leaving -Sir William to follow.</p> - -<p>“Ye insulting pauper!” fumed Sir William, starting -angrily for the door.</p> - -<p>“Ye can go back to your Edinburgh friends,” -cried Robert with flashing eyes, “an’ tell them that -e’en though ye found me almost on the verge of -despair, with oblivion hovering dark over my still -independent head, that I yet live in the hope of -seeing the prophecy I made to them all that night -fulfilled, and that Sir William Creech, my worst traducer, -will be the first one to again court my favor.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll hear no more such insulting language!” -roared Sir William threateningly.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll not hear it t’other side of the door,” -replied Robert quietly.</p> - -<p>“Aye, but ye’ll get your fairin’ one of these -days,” exclaimed Souter belligerently. “An’ ’twill -be in hell, where they’ll roast ye like a herrin’,” he -added grimly, much to Eppy’s horror.</p> - -<p>“Open the door for me, fellow!” shouted Sir -William wrathfully.</p> - -<p>“Open it yoursel’,” replied Souter, “an’ I promise -ye I’ll shut it behind your coattails mighty quick.”</p> - -<p>“Out of my way, idiot,” and with a shove he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -brushed the little man aside and swiftly joined his -waiting companion outside the gate.</p> - -<p>“Did ye see that?” gasped Souter, his eyes flashing -fire. “Did ye see that? Let me get after him,” -and he started for the door, with blood in his eyes, -but Eppy with a little shriek of alarm grabbed -him by the plaidie and held on to him with all her -strength, which was not slight.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, dearie, don’t, you might get hurt!” she -cried tearfully.</p> - -<p>“Weel, if ye say not, why I’ll let him gae,” returned -Souter submissively.</p> - -<p>“Come, Robert,” said Jean gently, “you must lie -down for a wee bit now.”</p> - -<p>“By the way, Rob,” laughed Souter reminiscently, -“do ye mind the day——” He stopped short as -Jean shook her head disapprovingly.</p> - -<p>“He’s had a most exciting morning,” she exclaimed -gently, “and needs rest now. He’ll be feeling more -peart to-morrow,” and she held out her hand in -dismissal.</p> - -<p>“Ye mean get out, eh, Mistress?” said Souter -good-naturedly. “Weel, weel, Souter Johnny can -take a hint.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Souter,” called Eppy from the open doorway, -where she had been impatiently waiting for her -bridegroom, “come with me to your—your new -home,” and she bashfully held her fan over her face -with a nervous little giggle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aye, that I will,” replied Souter, with alacrity. -He turned to Robert with a new air of dignity which -set comically upon his little figure. “If we can do -anything for ye, Robert, dinna’ forget to send over -to MacDougall House. Dinna’ forget my address. -Mrs. MacDougall, my arm.” She grabbed it quickly -and they walked to the door. “God-day all,” he -called over his shoulder, and with a feeling of great -contentment, that at last his troubles were over, and -that he was entering upon a new life of ease and -plenty, he closed the door behind them, and trotted -along beside his wife, grinning like a schoolboy, -across the fields to their new home.</p> - -<p>“Has the Posty come yet?” inquired Robert, after -they had gone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but he brought no letter for ye,” answered -Jean sadly.</p> - -<p>The words of one of the verses of his “Ode to a -Mouse,” came to him with gloomy presentiment.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“But, mousie, thou art no thy lane,</div> -<div class="verse">In proving foresight may be vain;</div> -<div class="verse">The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men</div> -<div class="verse indent2">Gang aft agley;</div> -<div class="verse">An’ lea’e us naught but grief an’ pain</div> -<div class="verse indent2">For promised joy;</div> -<div class="verse">Still thou are blest compared wi’ me!</div> -<div class="verse">The present only touchest thee;</div> -<div class="verse">But och! I backward cast my e’e,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">On prospects drear’;</div> -<div class="verse">An forward, tho’ I canna’ see,</div> -<div class="verse indent2">I guess and fear.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> - -<p>Later that day two men might have been seen galloping -their horses at full speed toward the little -house on the hillside. They were determined, resolute -looking men, evidently bent on serious purpose. -Finally they reached the gate, and dismounting made -their way to the door, the elder man insisting loudly -upon accompanying the other, much to his visible -annoyance.</p> - -<p>“There is no need for secrecy, Gilbert Burns,” -said he grimly, and he followed him into the house -and to the room where Robert sat with pencil in hand -vainly courting his Muse. Jean, who was busily -engaged in sewing, jumped to her feet with a little -cry of amazement upon seeing her father before -her. Robert held out his hand to his brother in delighted -surprise, mixed with anxiety.</p> - -<p>“Brother!” he cried, “what brings ye to Ellisland -in such haste? Is it bad news? Mother, our -sisters, are they ill?”</p> - -<p>“Nay,” replied Gilbert constrainedly. “They -are all well, Rob, and have sent their love to yourself -and family.”</p> - -<p>“Thank God for that,” responded Robert thankfully.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> -There was a little embarrassed silence, then -Gilbert spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Robert, we—we are in sore trouble,” he confessed, -his face anxious and troubled.</p> - -<p>“Trouble!” echoed Rob blankly. “What is -wrong, brother?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot hold Mossgiel any longer,” he replied, -dejectedly. “The farm is but a wretched lease, as ye -know, an’ I canna’ weather out the remaining year. -Without assistance, Robert, I canna’ hope to hold -our little family together any longer.”</p> - -<p>Robert’s heart sank within him as he heard the -direful news. He glanced at Squire Armour apprehensively. -“And Squire Armour?” he interrogated -with an angry glance at that gentleman, who stood -with a sneering smile on his harsh face, taking in the -evidences of poverty that surrounded them. And with -never a word of love or pity, nor of greeting to his -daughter who sat there with white face and longing -eyes, waiting to hear some news from her stern, implacable -father, of her loving mother at home.</p> - -<p>“I have bought the lease of Mossgiel,” he growled, -“an’ if your brother canna’ pay up the back rent, -which is long past due, I shall seize everything and -turn the whole lot of them out, every one.”</p> - -<p>Robert looked at him a moment in scornful silence. -Presently he spoke, and the cutting sarcasm of his -voice caused the old Squire to wince and drop his -eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye are a most just, square, God-fearin’ man, -Squire Armour,” he said. “The Kirk should be -proud of ye.” Turning to Gilbert, he asked him -the amount of his debt.</p> - -<p>“Only a matter of £4, brother,” he replied, “but -’tis a fortune to me at present.”</p> - -<p>“An’ I must have the money to-day or the farm, -I care not which.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, father!” cried Jean, going to him, “do -not be hard on him; he will pay you; only give him -time.”</p> - -<p>“Jean!” flashed Robert angrily, “dinna’ stoop -to ask mercy of that mon, even though he be your -own father.” Jean turned away with a sigh.</p> - -<p>Squire Armour laughed derisively. “Ye’ll both -be on your knees before long, I’ll warrant,” he cried -harshly, “asking favors of me, especially when ye -have naught to feed a starving family. Ye have -made yoursel’ a fine, comfortable bed, my lassie, -havena’ ye?” He sneered sarcastically, turning to -his shrinking daughter. “But ’tis made, and ye can -lie on it, ye ungrateful minx.”</p> - -<p>Robert rose quickly to his feet, his eyes flashing -dangerously.</p> - -<p>“Stop! Squire Armour!” he commanded. “Dinna’ -dare to use such language to my wife in my own -house, or weak, sick, and crippled as I am, I will -throw ye into the road like the cur that ye are.” -He stopped, breathless with indignation. Presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -he resumed with immeasurable scorn in his vibrating -voice, “An’ they call such men as ye Christians! -A sneaking, crawling, psalm-singing, canting hypocrite! -Faugh! Were I the Lord, I would sicken at -sight of ye.” He turned away and sat down beside -his now weeping wife, and there was pity and compassion -in the look he bestowed upon her.</p> - -<p>“I’ve had enough of your blasphemy, Robert -Burns. If ye canna’ pay the rent for your brother, -my business is elsewhere.”</p> - -<p>“I had no one else to turn to in this, my hour -of trouble,” murmured Gilbert brokenly. “If ye -can help me without impoverishing yoursel’, for -God’s sake do it, or I shudder to think what will -become of the dear ones at home.”</p> - -<p>Robert was silent. He thought with anxious loving -concern of his own little flock, of the slender -resources at his command, of the gravity of his -own situation, sick as he was and with such gloomy -prospects staring him in the face—and yet was he -not better off after all than they at Mossgiel? Had -he not his salary, small as it was, and the promise -of the supervisorship, besides the money that Thompson -would pay him for his poem? He had much to -thank God for, he thought gratefully.</p> - -<p>“I see ’tis no use delaying longer,” said Armour, -looking at the serious, downcast faces before him. -“I have given ye fair warning, Gilbert Burns, an’ -noo I’ll go.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> - -<p>He had reached the door, when Robert spoke -quietly but firmly. “Wait!” he called. “Ye shall -have the money, ye Shylock.”</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” cried Gilbert with a loving glance -at his brother’s calm face.</p> - -<p>Jean looked at him in speechless amazement. -What did he mean? How could he help others when -they were in such dire need themselves? she asked herself -apprehensively.</p> - -<p>“Robert,” she whispered anxiously, “ye dinna’ -ken what ye say.”</p> - -<p>“My brother will meet ye at sundown, at the Inn,” -continued Robert without heeding her warning, although -his face took on a whiter hue. “He will -bring ye every farthing of what is due ye. Noo -go; there is the door; your business here is ended. -Ye have brought naught but misery and trouble -into my life by your unreasonable hatred o’ me, but -the time will come, Squire Armour, when all the unhappiness -and suffering ye have caused me and mine -will rise up before ye like a hideous phantom, robbin’ -ye of all peace o’ mind on earth, and your hopes of -salvation hereafter.” He drew nearer the gaping -man, who was regarding him with angry, sullen eyes, -and continued with a bitter, unforgiving intensity -that filled his listeners with awe and horror, “An’ -when ye feel the chill icy hand of grim death clutching -at your heart, ye’ll cry out for the sympathy -and love of those whom ye cast out of your life, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -ye’ll cry in vain, an’ ye’ll die as ye have lived, a -miserable wretched ending to a miserable selfish -life.”</p> - -<p>As he finished his grim prophecy, Squire Armour -gave a cry of nervous fear, and with blanched face -and wild eyes he strove to speak, but the words would -not pass his white, trembling lips. Finally he gasped -in a frightened whisper which gradually rose to -angry defiance:</p> - -<p>“How dare ye! How dare ye say such things -to me, Robert Burns? I willna’ die like that and ye -canna’ frighten me with your grim forebodings.” -He paused and glanced at them all in turn, then -hastily opened the door. Just as he was stepping -out, he turned slowly and looked at the white, patient -face of his daughter. For a moment he regarded -her in silence, then with a visible effort he addressed -her.</p> - -<p>“Jean,” he said, and his voice was noticeably -softer, “ye are welcome to come back to your home.” -He cast a quick look at the lowering face of his son-in-law -and added vindictively—“alone.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, never alone, father,” replied Jean sadly, -looking at her husband’s frowning face.</p> - -<p>The old man turned with sudden fury upon them. -“I’ll wait till sundown for my money,” he shouted, -“but not a minute longer!” and he closed the door -behind him with a vicious slam.</p> - -<p>Gilbert was first to break the depressing silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -that ensued. He felt vaguely that all was not -so well with his brother as he had been led to -believe.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, brother,” he murmured contritely, -“for bringing this trouble on ye.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, Gilbert; it was to be, I ken,” answered -Rob absently.</p> - -<p>Gilbert was silent a moment. “But the money, -Robert, is it—are ye——” he stammered, then -stopped in embarrassed confusion.</p> - -<p>“’Tis the sum I expect from the sale of a -poem. Jean, see if there is aught of the Posty.” -She rose and went to the window and peered anxiously -down the dusty road.</p> - -<p>“I didna’ have the ready money with me,” went -on Robert lightly, as if it were a matter of small -importance, “or I would have fixed it up at once. -But ye shall hae the money, laddie, when my letter -comes,” and he smiled reassuringly into Gilbert’s -anxious face.</p> - -<p>“God bless ye, Robert; ye have taken a great load -off my heart.”</p> - -<p>Jean returned to her seat by the hearth, and listlessly -took up her needlework. “I fear Posty has -forgotten us to-day,” she said in answer to Robert’s -questioning look.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus9.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“‘I’ll wait till sundown for my money,’ he shouted.”</p> -</div> - -<p>A great fear seized his heart. For nearly a week -he had hopefully awaited some word from Thompson. -What could be the matter? “O God!” he prayed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> -silently, “let him not fail me noo.” With a -bright smile that sadly belied his anxious heart, he -rose and, taking Gilbert’s arm, said gayly, “Come, -brother, and see the new bairn that has been added -to the flock this last year.”</p> - -<p>As they left the room Jean dropped her work in -her lap and gazed after them with eyes filled with -helpless tears of anxiety, at the thought of the hardships -and suffering that lay in wait for them all.</p> - -<p>After admiring the baby in the trundle bed the -two brothers talked of the dear ones in Mossgiel, -and the many changes time had wrought in the lives -of them all; spoke with tenderness of the sister who -had recently been married—and dwelt with anxious -concern on the struggles of their younger brother, -who had left home to branch out for himself. For -a time they forgot their own troubles, and Robert -plied his brother with many questions concerning the -welfare of all his old friends and neighbors, while -Gilbert told him all the gossip of the village, of the -prosperity of some of the lads, and the unfortunate -situations of many of the others, thus leading up to -the recital of their own troubles since Robert had left -his home. He listened sorrowfully to the tale of -hardship and unceasing toil which brought such -little recompense, but not by word or look did he -betray his own blighted hopes and gloomy prospects. -Finally they had exhausted every subject save one, -and that one had been uppermost in the minds of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> -both, but each had avoided the subject with a shrinking -dread.</p> - -<p>No news of the little dairymaid had come to -Robert for almost a year, and the thought that -possibly she was ill or dead—or—and a hundred conjectures -racked his brain and froze the eager questions -that trembled on his lips. Gilbert must have -read the longing in his brother’s heart, for, after a -troubled glance at the dark yearning face gazing -at him so beseechingly, he looked down at his toil-worn -hands and awkwardly shifted one knee over the -other. Presently he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Mary is still at Colonel Montgomery’s,” he -observed, making an effort to speak lightly.</p> - -<p>“I heard she had left Mrs. Dunlop’s,” replied -Robert feverishly, moistening his lips with the tip of -his tongue.</p> - -<p>“Aye,” sighed Gilbert. “She grew tired o’ the -city and longed for the stillness, the restfulness of -country life once more, so she came back to us and -took her old place in the dairy. Poor lass,” and -he looked thoughtfully out of the window and sadly -watched the glorious sunset tinting the distant hills -in a blaze of golden light.</p> - -<p>“An’—an’ is she well—is she happy?” murmured -Robert in a soft, hushed voice. Gilbert did not -answer for a moment. Presently he roused himself -and slowly let his gaze wander back till it rested on -his brother’s wistful face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Can ye bear a shock, brother?” he asked -quietly.</p> - -<p>Robert suddenly stiffened and his eyes grew wide -and staring. He gripped the sides of the chair as a -wave of sudden dizziness dulled his understanding. -Presently it passed away, and like one in a dream -he whispered hoarsely, “Tell me the worst, Gilbert; -is—is she dead?”</p> - -<p>He closed his eyes and waited with breathless stillness -for the answer.</p> - -<p>“Thank God, not that!” replied Gilbert feelingly. -Robert breathed a sigh of relief. “But she -is very ill, an’ I ken she hasna’ long on earth noo. -The doctors say there is no hope for her,” and he bit -his lips to keep back the rising tears.</p> - -<p>Slowly, sorrowfully, Robert’s head drooped till it -rested on his bosom. For a moment he sat like one -on the verge of dissolution.</p> - -<p>“Oh, God!” he moaned bitterly, “that sweet -young life crushed out in all its innocent purity, like -a delicate flower, and through my sin, my reckless -folly. Oh, how can I live and bear my punishment!” -A convulsive sob racked his weakened frame. Gilbert -bent over him with tears in his eyes, forgetting -his own crushing sorrow in witnessing that of his -brother.</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ greet so, Robert,” he cried. “’Twas -not your fault, ye ken. It was to be.” His philosophical -belief in fate helped him over many a hard<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -and stony path, and enabled him to meet with calmness -and fortitude the many heartaches and disappointments -which befell him.</p> - -<p>Soon the convulsive shudders ceased, and leaning -wearily back in his chair, Robert fixed his great -mournful eyes upon his brother in sorrowful resignation.</p> - -<p>“How did she look when ye last saw her, Gilbert?” -he asked faintly, pressing his hand tightly -to his heart, for the old pain had come back with -exhausting results.</p> - -<p>“Like an angel, lad,” replied Gilbert tenderly. -“So sweet and pure, so patient and forgiving.”</p> - -<p>“Does she suffer much?”</p> - -<p>“Nay,” he answered reassuringly. Then he -continued, his voice soft and low, his strong features -quivering from the restraint he put upon his feelings, -“Her life is just slowly slipping away from -her; day by day she grows weaker and weaker, but -ne’er a complaint is on her lips. She is always so -cheerful an’ smilin’ that it fair makes ye weep to see -her fadin’ awa’ so fast,” and his voice broke into a -hard sob.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mary, my Highland Mary!” murmured -Robert brokenly.</p> - -<p>“Her last wish is to see the Highlands, to—to die -there,” continued Gilbert, his lips contracting with -a sudden, sharp pain at the thought. “So before -she grows any weaker, Mrs. Dunlop, who has come<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -from town to see her, and who is wi’ her noo, is goin’ -to take her back to her old home in Argyleshire.”</p> - -<p>“Going home to die!” repeated Robert dreamily. -“Oh, if I might be taken awa’ too, if my end would -only hasten,” he muttered despairingly, with the -weak selfishness of the sick and sorrowing. “Then -might our departing souls be united as one, to be -together for all eternity.”</p> - -<p>“Hush, Robert!” cautioned Gilbert, looking -fearfully at the closed door. “Remember Jean and -the bairns.”</p> - -<p>“Gilbert, I must see her before she goes!” he cried -utterly distracted. “’Tis for the last time on earth, -ye ken, lad,” and he jumped up, trembling with eager -excitement.</p> - -<p>“Brother, would ye kill yoursel’?” cried Gilbert, -seeking to restrain him. “’Tis madness for ye to -go out in your weak condition.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna’ stop me, Gilbert!” he panted, and he -flung open the door and rushed excitedly into the -room where Jean sat in patient meditation. “Jean, -get my bonnet and coat, quick, quick!” he commanded -with his old-time vehemence. She jumped -up pale and frightened and looked questioningly at -Gilbert. Quickly he told her of Mary’s illness and -Robert’s determination to go to her at once. When -he had finished she went to her husband, the tears of -ready sympathy in her eyes, for she was not jealous -of his love for Mary. She had gotten over that long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -ago, and laying her hand gently on his arm, she -tried to coax him to sit down and listen to them.</p> - -<p>“They’ll have to pass by here on their way to -Greenock,” she told him tenderly. “And ye may -be sure, Robert, that Mary will not leave Ayrshire -without saying good-by to you.” And so she reasoned -with him, while Gilbert joined her in assurances -of Mrs. Dunlop’s intention of stopping to see him -as she passed the farm. Gradually the wild light in -his eyes died down, the tense figure relaxed, and with -a sigh of exhaustion he allowed himself to be taken -back to his room.</p> - -<p>“Ye’re sure she’ll not forget to stop here?” he -asked with pathetic eagerness. Then he continued -with wistful retrospection, “Two years have come -and gone and not a word have we spoken to each -other since that day we parted in Edinburgh! Oh, -cruel, cruel fate!” He spoke so low that none heard -him.</p> - -<p>“Noo, Robert,” said Jean brightly, “you must -take your gruel, ’twill give ye strength.” But he -made a gesture of repulsion.</p> - -<p>“Nay, Jean, I canna’ eat noo; ’twould choke me. -I think I’ll lay me down to rest.” They soon prepared -him for bed. Without a word, he turned his -face to the wall and for the rest of the night he lay -there with wide, staring, sleepless eyes, thinking, -thinking, thinking.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXIV</h3> - -<p>News of Robert’s illness soon reached Edinburgh, -along with reports of his misconduct, profligacy, and -intemperance, reports which were grossly exaggerated, -together with many other slanderous falsehoods.</p> - -<p>And rumors of his poverty and the destitute -condition of his family brought sorrow and anxiety -to the hearts of many of his loyal friends, who -were only too ready and willing to offer him all -the help and assistance that would be needed, but -they knew, too, his inflexible pride and independence, -and realized how futile would be their offers of -friendly assistance.</p> - -<p>For some days Lady Nancy Gordon had been -anxiously puzzling her brain for some thought -or scheme whereby she could help the unfortunate -Bard who was plunged in such depths of poverty -and misfortune. She was thinking of him now -as she sat at the harpsichord, her fingers wandering -idly over the keyboard in a running accompaniment -to her thoughts. Her father softly entered the room -at this juncture, but she did not turn her head nor -intimate that she was aware of his presence. Presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -her touch grew more and more tender. Anon -she glided into one of those dreamily joyous, yet -sorrowful, mazurkas, that remind one of gay wild -flowers growing in rich profusion over silent and forgotten -graves. Lady Nancy had reason to boast of -herself, for she was a perfect mistress of the instrument—and -as her fingers closed on the final chord, she -wheeled round abruptly on the chair, and rising to -her feet greeted her father with a tender smile. For -a moment she regarded him in thoughtful silence, -then as he laid down his paper, she walked up to -him, a frown of displeasure wrinkling her smooth, -white forehead.</p> - -<p>“I think, father,” she said deliberately, with a -haughty uptilt of her pretty nose, “I think it is -perfectly disgraceful the way that hackney scribbler -who writes for yon journal,” indicating the -paper on the table, “either through malice or ignorance -affixes such degrading epithets to the name of -the Bard of Scotland, for by no other name will I -ever speak of Robert Burns,” and she flashed an -angry glance at the offending paper.</p> - -<p>“Poor obstinate lad,” sighed the Duke thoughtfully. -His mind went back to the day after the -garden party at Glencairn Hall, when he had sent -for Robert to honor them with his presence at Gordon -House, and how the poet had taken offense at -some thoughtless remark of his, given in kindly -spirit; how with haughty pride, and wounded dignity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -he had gotten up from the table and after -thanking them for their hospitality, declared he had -not come to be insultingly patronized and pitied, and -refusing to listen to reason, or explanation, he had -left in bitter resentment and blind misunderstanding. -Lady Nancy too was thinking the same thoughts, -and after a moment’s meditation she looked into her -father’s kindly face and remarked earnestly:</p> - -<p>“Father, something must be done for him and his -family at once.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear,” he meekly replied, “our hands -are tied by his own obstinacy.”</p> - -<p>“Can we not get up a subscription for him?” she -asked. He shook his head slowly.</p> - -<p>“’Twould be to no purpose, Nancy,” he returned -thoughtfully. “He would refuse all offers of pecuniary -aid. I know well his independent principles, -and so do you.”</p> - -<p>They talked over many plans and projects, but -none seemed feasible, and they were about to give up -in despair, when Henry Mackenzie was announced. -He had just arrived from Ellisland, and immediately -spoke of his visit to the poet, and under what painful -conditions he had found him—told them of his -promise to Burns to secure the office of supervisor -for him, and had called to consult with his lordship -concerning its bestowal.</p> - -<p>Nancy listened with bated breath and tear-dimmed -eyes as he spoke of the change in Robert, his poverty,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -his indomitable courage and independence, in -spite of the ravages of disease and the black, gloomy -outlook for future prosperity.</p> - -<p>“Nancy and I were just discussing some means -of alleviating his distress as you entered,” said the -Duke as Mr. Mackenzie finished his recital. “And -it affords me much gratification to be able to assist -him to the office of supervisor of the excise and its -attendant increase of salary.”</p> - -<p>“’Twill be a God-send to him, believe me, my -lord,” returned Mr. Mackenzie feelingly.</p> - -<p>“The news will be dispatched to him at once!” -cried Nancy with sparkling eyes. “’Twill relieve -his present distress of mind.”</p> - -<p>With that assurance, Mr. Mackenzie rose, and -thanking them for their kindness in behalf of the -indigent poet, took his leave.</p> - -<p>Having finished luncheon, the old Duke excused -himself, and going to his study, he made out the -necessary papers of promotion for the struggling -exciseman, with many a shake of his head and -pitying sigh for the young genius who was reduced -to such straits—driven to such a commonplace calling, -through his headstrong recklessness, his foolish -ideas of independence. Having signed them he sat -back in thoughtful meditation. Suddenly the door -opened, and his daughter asked permission to enter. -Having gained it, she crossed to her father, and -sinking down beside him, in an eager, impetuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -manner quickly laid before him a project which had -been formulating in her active brain while he was -busy writing out the papers.</p> - -<p>He started back in amazement. “What!” he -cried. “Are you out of your senses, Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“Now, papa, listen!” she exclaimed earnestly. -“’Twill take but a day’s ride to reach Dumfries, -and think how delighted he will be to receive the -promotion from your hands,” and she slyly noted -the effect of the bit of delicate flattery.</p> - -<p>He frowned and pursed his lips for a moment, and -idly tapped the folded papers against his knee in -thought. These signs boded success, as Nancy well -knew, and springing to her feet she gave him a big -hug that set him gasping.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Mistress Nancy!” he exclaimed as -soon as he recovered his breath, “why do you -want to take this wearisome journey at this season -of the year, just to visit the home of this poor -exciseman?” and he wonderingly regarded the face -that had suddenly grown flushed and pensive, as she -looked with worshipful eyes at the large engraving -over the fireplace, which contained the figure of -Burns in a characteristic attitude, reading one of -his poems to the group of people that surrounded -him.</p> - -<p>“I want to see him once more before the fire of -his genius grows cold,” she answered dreamily. “I -want to see him in his home with his—his wife and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> -children around him.” She might have told him -that she was heart-hungry for a sight of that dark, -glowing face, the flashing black eyes that had -thrilled her with such blissful pain, for the sound of -that rich, majestic voice, that had so often stirred -the uttermost depths of her heart. She felt that the -yearning of her soul would not be satisfied till she -had seen him again, spoken with him. She hoped, -yet dreaded, that the sight of his changed face, his -miserable surroundings, the commonplaceness of it -all, of meeting the exciseman with his wife and children -around him, rather than the idealized poet, -would silence forever the strange unrest of her soul, -banish all thoughts of sentiment from her mind, and -destroy the spell of glamour which he had all unconsciously -thrown about her. These thoughts flew -through her mind with lightning speed while her -father was making up his mind how best to dissuade -her from her purpose.</p> - -<p>“I fear me, Nancy, ’twill give us both more pain -than pleasure,” he said finally. “We may even lose -our respect for him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say that, father!” she cried reproachfully. -“No matter how low he may have fallen, and -I protest that fame has exaggerated his misconduct -woefully, we people of Scotland cannot forget nor -overlook the priceless treasure he has put into our -thankless hands, a treasure that will be handed down -to posterity with ever increasing regard, admiration<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -and love for its author,” and her flashing blue eyes, -that had so often reminded Robert of Mary Campbell, -and which had formed a closer tie of comradeship -between them, again sought and lingered upon -the engraved likeness of her hero. The singular -beauty of Lady Nancy Gordon was illumined by that -happy expression of countenance which results from -the union of cultivated tastes and superior understanding -with the finest affections of mind, and the -influence of such attractions had been keenly felt by -the ardent poet, who was not altogether unaware of -the impression he had made upon her heart, which -was as susceptible to the charms of wit and intellect -as was his own. As she stood gazing up at the picture, -she thought with an odd little smile how she -had openly sought for his favors, delighted in his -apparent preference for her society even while she -told herself she knew he was only attracted by her -brilliancy—that she appealed to his intellect—charmed -him by her wit, her cleverness. No, she -had never touched his heart, she thought with a -sigh, and a look of sadness came into her thoughtful -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I fear, Nancy, that Robert still harbors feelings -of resentment against us,” protested the Duke -after a pause. “I know he would rather not see -us.”</p> - -<p>But Lady Nancy overruled his objection. “Then -all the more reason for our assuring him of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> -friendship and asking his forgiveness for any offense -we have unintentionally offered him.”</p> - -<p>Seeing all arguments were useless, the old Duke -finally consented, and with a hug and a kiss, Nancy -left him and proceeded to make arrangements for -their speedy departure for Ayrshire.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXV</h3> - -<p>The next morning dawned bleak and dismal. A -damp, penetrating mist hung over the farm like a -pall, and the chill of the rain-laden air penetrated -into the rooms and made itself felt even by the side -of the brightest fires. It affected the inmates of Ellisland -farm to an alarming extent. They sat gloomily -around the hearth idly watching the smoldering peat -fire, which failed to send out much warmth—as if -it, too, felt the depressing influences which surrounded -the little household and which had plunged -them all into such a slough of despond.</p> - -<p>Robert had partaken of his bowl of porridge and -now lay upon his bed, grateful for the added warmth -of the woolen blankets which Jean had thrown over -him with thoughtful solicitude. He appeared to -the anxious watchers to be more like himself than he -had been for some days, in spite of his restless, sleepless -nights, as he lay there peacefully enjoying the -antics of the children who were playing gleefully but -quietly around the room their favorite game of -“Blind man’s holiday.”</p> - -<p>At sundown the night before Gilbert had hastened -to the Inn to meet Squire Armour and to plead for -another day’s grace, but the implacable old man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -refused to listen to him when he found he had failed -to bring the money, and stormily took his departure -with threats of instant eviction, leaving Gilbert in -a state of utter distraction. He watched the Squire -ride furiously away in the direction of Mossgiel -with a heavy, sinking fear at his heart, then slowly -made his way, with pale face and clenched hands, -back to his brother’s cottage, where he wrestled with -the fears that assailed him in despairing silence. -Several times during the night he was on the verge -of saddling his horse and dashing home, but the hope -that the morning would bring the long-expected -letter to Robert checked the impulse, and so he sat -the long night through anxiously waiting for the -dawn, praying fervently that he might not be too -late to save his dear ones from the vindictive -anger, the unyielding resolution of their irate landlord.</p> - -<p>And now morning was here at last. Robert had -fallen into a profound slumber of nervous exhaustion. -Jean tucked him in carefully with the warm blankets, -and taking the children with her, quietly closed the -door upon the sleeping man with a prayer of thankfulness -for his temporary respite from the troubles -that surged about his head.</p> - -<p>When her duties were over and the children -playing on the green, Jean took her sewing and -joined Gilbert in the living room. He was walking -restlessly up and down, with nervous, flashing eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span> -that eagerly searched the road, as he passed and -repassed the small window. His restless pacing, his -look of hopeful anxiety smote Jean to the heart, for -she had been bitterly resentful, and was still in a -measure, against Gilbert’s selfishness in thinking -only of his own extremity. It didn’t seem right or -just that he should be here with outstretched hands, -waiting to take the money that meant so much to -their own struggling family at the present time, and -without which she could only foresee grim want staring -them all in the face—and she had to struggle -with the desire that rushed over her to rise up and -tell him of their bitter plight, to bid him go -elsewhere for assistance; but the fear of Robert’s -anger kept her silent. Then, too, she suddenly -remembered that they had both kept their poverty -and Robert’s continued ill luck and failures from the -home folk, and it was only to be expected that -Gilbert would naturally turn to his prosperous -brother for assistance. “Prosperous, indeed! If he -but knew,” and she sighed deeply, for her mother’s -heart felt sore depressed as she thought of her own -loved ones. They did not talk much. Each was -too busy with his own gloomy thoughts.</p> - -<p>In fancy, Gilbert could see Squire Armour at Mossgiel -Farm, ordering out his mother and sister, watching -them with sinister eyes as they got together -their meager belongings, and then when they, with -streaming eyes, had carried out the last piece of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -furniture and stood gazing at the home that was no -longer theirs, the cruel landlord had heartlessly -laughed at their sorrow and, locking the door, had -ridden away with the keys in his pocket, leaving -them standing there not knowing whither to go nor -where to find food or shelter.</p> - -<p>“O God! Not that! Not that!” he cried aloud, -pausing in his walk with clenched hands, pale and -wild-eyed.</p> - -<p>Jean looked up from her work in startled alarm. -“Gilbert!” she cried. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>With a little mirthless laugh, he told her of the -vision he had had, told of his fears for the safety -of his home and the welfare of his loved ones.</p> - -<p>She listened with a feeling of shame at her heart -and a flush of angry humiliation mantling her pale -cheek.</p> - -<p>“’Fore Heaven, it makes me feel like cursing -even the memory of my father,” she exclaimed bitterly -with a flash of her old-time imperiousness. -“But be not alarmed, Gilbert,” she continued with -an encouraging smile. “Your mother is a match -even for my father, and I’ll warrant she’ll not let -him set his foot inside the threshold till you return.” -His face brightened.</p> - -<p>“I had indeed forgot my mother’s independent, -courageous spirit,” he replied with a sigh of relief -and hopefulness.</p> - -<p>The depressing gloom thus lifted, they soon drifted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> -into a friendly, earnest conversation, and the minutes -sped by without, however, the looked-for interruption -of the overdue postman.</p> - -<p>Outside, the mist had long since been dispersed by -the warm rays of the noonday sun, which was now -shining brilliantly. A soft moisture glittered on -every tiny leaf of the wild rose bushes which clustered -beneath the window of the little cot, and on every -blade of grass. The penetrating and delicious odor -of sweet violets and blue-bells scented each puff of -wind, and now and then the call of the meadow lark -pierced the air with a subdued far-off shrillness. Suddenly -the peaceful stillness was broken in upon by -the sound of footsteps crunching slowly along -the garden path on their way to the door of the -cottage.</p> - -<p>The Duke of Gordon and his daughter had arrived -in Dumfries the night before, and, after a night’s rest, -they took the coach to Ellisland and put up at the -little old Inn. There they made inquiries for the -whereabouts of the home of the poet of the little -old man who was boastfully describing the splendors -of MacDougall House, none other than our old friend -Souter, once more in his breeches, having asserted his -authority, much to his wife’s secret satisfaction, for -“she did so love a masterful man.” Whereupon -Souter condescendingly offered to conduct them to -the place they sought. And now, as they looked at -the poor clay biggin and the evidences of poverty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span> -and neglect which surrounded them on all sides, their -hearts sank within them.</p> - -<p>“I suppose we will find Mr. Burns greatly -changed?” said Nancy interrogatively with a little -shudder of dread.</p> - -<p>“Weel, mum,” replied Souter reflectively, “we -all change in time, ye ken. Some for worse, like -mysel’, and some for the better, like yoursel’, askin’ -your pardon for my boldness. And ye ken Robbie’s -life has been very hard these past few years.” He -sighed and shook his head dolefully. “But I want -to say right here,” and his heavy eyebrows drew -together in a black scowl, “Robbie Burns’ sickness -is na’ due to his drinkin’, as ye people of Edinburgh -believe, and put in yer penny papers. Robbie is -na drunkard. I hae known him from infancy, and I -affirm that he has never been guilty of the gross -enormities he has been charged with. He could -always attend to his duties,” and he looked with -aggressive suspicion into the downcast faces of his -listeners for some sign of doubt of his assertion, -which, though stanchly loyal, was not altogether true, -as he knew only too well. “But there is nae use -telling all ye know,” he told himself philosophically. -“And what people don’t know about the food they -eat, will no hurt their appetites.”</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to hear that,” ejaculated the -Duke warmly.</p> - -<p>“An’ he is a fond father an’ a maist affectionate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -husband,” continued Souter stoutly. “I’ll go in -noo and tell him ye’re here,” and he strode into the -house, leaving the couple standing in the path much -to their astonishment.</p> - -<p>“It doesn’t seem right, father,” said Lady Nancy -sadly, “for such genius to dwell in that little hut, -amid such surroundings. How I pity him.”</p> - -<p>There was a suggestion of tears in the sweet voice -which her fond father noticed with sudden apprehension. -He looked at her closely.</p> - -<p>“Who is to blame for his being here?” he retorted -firmly. She remained discreetly silent. Then he -continued in a softer voice, “But I mustn’t blame -nor censure him, now that he is sick, and down at -the bottom again. It is, indeed, a lasting pity that -such genius should be allowed to smother here in -poverty and among questionable companions, who, -’tis said, seek only to bring him to their level, and -who, alas! are but too surely dragging him there, I -fear, a weak, unresisting, but also a remorseful, -repentant victim.”</p> - -<p>“And must he stay on here, father, to die a poor -exciseman?” asked Nancy with a strangely beating -heart. “Even the added salary of the Supervisorship -cannot be sufficient to keep such a family.” At -that moment Souter opened the door. They turned -to him quietly.</p> - -<p>“Well, what says Mr. Burns?” asked the Duke -impatiently.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p> - -<p>A little smile of amusement appeared on Souter’s -face. “Mr. Burns begs you to enter and to be -seated,” he replied.</p> - -<p>They complied with the injunction and were shown -into the living-room, where they seated themselves.</p> - -<p>“I was also to tell ye,” continued Souter dryly, -“that he will be with ye as soon as he can get into -his damned rags.”</p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed the Duke laughingly.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, your ladyship,” answered Souter -with a little nod to Lady Nancy, “but them’s his -own words and I’m no the one to change the language -o’ a Scottish poet.”</p> - -<p>“Has he only rags to wear?” asked Lady Nancy -pitifully.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” cautioned her father, “he is here.”</p> - -<p>The door opened and Robert slowly entered the -room. He had thrown his wide plaid around his -shoulders, over his loose white shirt, and held it -together with one hand that gleamed very white -and thin against the bright colors. His black hair, -now faintly streaked with gray and which had thinned -considerably above his forehead, hung loosely about -his neck, framing his gaunt face, and accentuating -his pallor.</p> - -<p>For a moment they gazed upon the wreck of the -once stalwart and ruggedly healthy youth, too -shocked to utter a word. Robert was the first to -break the silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My lord,” he exclaimed with something of his -old brightness, “I am rejoiced, indeed, to see you -at Ellisland. ’Tis a great surprise, but none the -less a welcome one.” He shook the Duke’s outstretched -hand with fervor.</p> - -<p>“The pleasure is mutual, my lad,” responded the -Duke warmly. “’Tis a few years now since we -parted, and in anger, too.”</p> - -<p>“I was in the wrong that night,” broke in Robert -penitently, with a rueful shake of the head. “I sadly -misjudged ye there, as I learned afterward, but my -stubborn pride refused to accept the olive branch ye -held out to me. Ye see,” he explained frankly, -“’twas my unreasoning wounded pride and anger, -and my disappointment which blinded me to all sense -of right and justice. I realized after that ye were -my friends and that ye resented the damning insult -put upon me at Glencairn Hall.” He paused a -moment, a frown of bitterness wrinkling his brow. -Presently he looked up and holding out his hand -again with one of the old magnetic smiles, said, “An’ -ye have forgiven my ingratitude, an’ are come noo -to see me! I thank ye.”</p> - -<p>“’Tis all forgot. I forgave you at the time,” -responded the Duke cordially. “I could not hold -resentment against you.” He turned to his daughter, -who was partly concealed in the embrasure of -the deep window.</p> - -<p>“Nancy, child, speak to Robert.” She came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> -slowly forward with hand outstretched, a faint flush -dyeing her creamy skin, or perhaps it was the reflection -of the pink satin gown she was wearing beneath -the long velvet cloak, which, becoming unhooked, had -slipped down off her shoulders.</p> - -<p>Robert rose to his feet, and his black, gloomy -eyes lighted up with pleasure as they rested upon the -dainty vision of loveliness before him. Lady Nancy -had always reminded him of Mary Campbell, and -to-day the resemblance was more striking than ever. -For beneath the large leghorn with its waving, black -plumes, her golden hair so like Mary’s, for the once -unpowdered, glittered in all its beauty. Perhaps -my Lady Nancy had remembered the likeness and -had purposely heightened it by forgetting to use -the powder which had hitherto covered the golden -curls at all times. As she stood there with a wistful -look upon her face, it was easy to perceive the resemblance -to the timid dairymaid who, in borrowed -finery, had created such a sensation at the Duchess -of Athol’s “at home” three years before.</p> - -<p>“Lady Nancy, forgive my rudeness in not greeting -you sooner,” he exclaimed fervently.</p> - -<p>“I am so glad we are reconciled, friends, once -more,” she exclaimed impulsively. “It did seem as -if you would never relent, you stubborn man,” and -she smiled archly into his embarrassed face.</p> - -<p>“You find me greatly changed, of course,” he -remarked after they had discoursed a while upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -their journey. She remained silent, but he read the -sympathy shining in her blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“We read of your illness in town,” explained the -Duke, “and believe me, Robert, we are deeply sorry -for your affliction. But I trust the vigor of your -constitution will soon set you on your feet again,” -and he gave him a cheery smile of encouragement.</p> - -<p>Robert shook his head gloomily. “My health is, -I think, flown from me forever,” he replied sadly, -“altho’ I am beginning to crawl about the house, -and once, indeed, have I been seen outside my cottage -door.”</p> - -<p>“Why didn’t you let us know of your illness -before?” exclaimed Lady Nancy reproachfully. -“We are your friends.”</p> - -<p>Robert flushed painfully. “My miserable health -was brought on and aggravated solely by my headstrong, -thoughtless carelessness, and I felt so heartily -ashamed of myself that I sought to conceal from all -friends my real condition, but ’tis out at last. How -long I will be confined to the house, God alone -knows,” and he sighed deeply.</p> - -<p>“Do not give yourself up to despondency, my -lad,” encouraged the Duke brightly, “nor speak the -language of despair. You must get well.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed I must!” returned Robert grimly, “for -I have three strong, healthy boys and if I am nipt -off at the command of fate—gracious God! what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span> -would become of my little flock?” and a look of -distraction swept over his face at the thought.</p> - -<p>“Don’t distress yourself needlessly, Robert!” exclaimed -the Duke kindly. Then he continued earnestly, -“If anything should happen to you, if you -should be taken off before I am called, I promise -that the children of Robert Burns shall never come -to want.”</p> - -<p>“’Twould be a lasting disgrace to Scotland,” -flashed Lady Nancy with kindling eyes.</p> - -<p>Robert grasped the Duke’s hand impulsively. -“God bless ye for your noble assurance!” he cried. -“Ye have lifted a heavy weight of care and anxiety -off my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Why, father!” suddenly exclaimed Lady Nancy, -“I vow if you are not forgetting your principal -errand here.” He looked at her with a puzzled -frown. “Mr. Burns’ promotion,” she reminded him -laughingly.</p> - -<p>“Gad zooks!” he exclaimed in amazement, jumping -to his feet. “What an old dolt I am, to be sure.” -Hastily diving his hand in the inside pocket of his -elaborate, black-flowered satin square-cut, he -pulled out a long paper with a red seal attached -and handed it to the now bewildered Robert, who, -after a quick glance at their smiling faces, opened -the paper and quickly read its contents. Then he -gave a gasp, followed by an ejaculation of delighted -surprise and gratification.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span></p> - -<p>“My lord,” he exclaimed, “this is indeed a gift -to bring gladness to a man’s heart. I thank ye -most gratefully for my promotion, and will endeavor -to perform my duties to the best of my poor abilities -as soon as my strength returns.” And the look -of anxiety gave way to one of comparative contentment.</p> - -<p>“And your immediate recovery is of the first -importance,” returned the Duke brightly. “You -need a change.”</p> - -<p>“Why not come to town, where you can have the -best of medical attendance?” asked Lady Nancy -quietly, though her heart beat furiously as she offered -the suggestion.</p> - -<p>“That is impossible,” replied Robert. “The -medical folk tell me that my last and only chance -is bathing and sea air and riding. With my promotion -and the increase of salary it brings, I can -now obey their mandates,” and he held the paper -to his breast with a sigh of relief.</p> - -<p>“Then the sooner you start, the better,” remarked -the Duke kindly.</p> - -<p>Lady Nancy rose to her feet with a wan smile on -her lips. “And the sooner we start for Dumfries, -father, the better,” she returned.</p> - -<p>“You’re right, child, we must hasten,” and he -hastily arose and got his hat and cane together, -then he turned once more to Robert. “Mr. Burns, -pardon the suggestion, but is it not time to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -out another volume of your poems?” he asked -kindly.</p> - -<p>“I have not in my present state of mind much -appetite for exertion in writing,” answered Robert -slowly.</p> - -<p>“But they could be arranged for you by some -literary friend,” quickly returned the Duke, “and -advertised to be published by subscription.”</p> - -<p>Robert raised his head proudly. “Subscription!” -he repeated. “No, no, that savors too much -of charity,” and a look of obstinacy came into his -darkened eyes.</p> - -<p>“Remember,” said Lady Nancy gently, “that -Pope published his Iliad by subscription, Mr. -Burns.”</p> - -<p>He remained silent a moment, then after a little -struggle with his obstinate pride, he answered with a -touch of bitterness in his voice, “I realize that I -am in no position to despise any means to add to -my income or to leave my family better provided -for after I am gone. I will take your advice and will -at once speak to my dear friend Aiken about it. -He will aid me.”</p> - -<p>The door opened and Jean entered the room. She -had heard all the good news, and having met both -the Duke and Lady Nancy while sojourning at Glencairn -Castle a few years before, she felt she ought to -thank them for their good offices in Robert’s behalf.</p> - -<p>Lady Nancy and the Duke greeted her warmly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span> -asked after the health of the children, expressed -pleasure in seeing her again, and soon put her at her -ease, for the sudden thought of her hasty marriage -to Robert and the attendant slanderous gossip at first -made her feel and appear self-conscious and -restrained.</p> - -<p>“I was just telling Robert,” said the old Duke, -“that he must go at once to the seashore.” She -looked at her husband, and her wistful expression did -not escape the keen eyes of Lady Nancy.</p> - -<p>“If he only could go at once,” faltered Jean, “I -am sure the water would effect a cure, but——”</p> - -<p>Nancy gave her father a significant look, which -clearly said, “They have no money, father.” At -least, so he interpreted it, aided by his own shrewd -guess at the state of affairs.</p> - -<p>“By the way, Robert,” he said jocularly, “can -you swallow your pride sufficiently to accept a month’s -salary in advance?” He pulled out a large, well-filled -wallet and opened it.</p> - -<p>“We do not need it, my lord,” answered Robert -firmly and a trifle coldly. “I am expecting——” -Here Jean hurriedly interrupted him, knowing what -he was about to say.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robert!” she cried contritely, “I forget to -tell you that the Posty left no letter.”</p> - -<p>“No letter!” he repeated dully, looking at her -with wide-open, searching eyes. She sadly shook -her head.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Here are £5, lad. Take the note and to-morrow -set out for Brow,” and the Duke held out the note -for his acceptance, but he sat with averted gaze in -the proud silence of keen disappointment.</p> - -<p>“Do not refuse, Robert,” pleaded Jean softly. -“’Tis only a loan.”</p> - -<p>Slowly he took the money and folded it between -his fingers. “Thank ye, my lord,” he said quietly. -“I will accept it, for I am in sore need of it at this -moment.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right, my lad,” he said heartily. “What -is a friend for if he cannot extend or receive a -favor?” and he turned to help his daughter into -her cloak.</p> - -<p>Quickly Robert pressed the money into Jean’s -hand and whispered to her, “Take it at once to -Gilbert and bid him hasten to Mossgiel before it -is too late to save the roof over mother’s head.”</p> - -<p>“But, Robert——” she protested, but he would -not listen to her.</p> - -<p>“Do ye not see ’tis near sundown of the second -day?” he told her impatiently, “and Gilbert will -have to ride fast if he would get to Mossgiel before -night overtakes him; noo hasten, Jean.” Still she -lingered, reluctant to go.</p> - -<p>“Oh, lad, this money is for you; it means your -health, our happiness. It isn’t right to——”</p> - -<p>“We have got a roof over our head, Jean,” he -interrupted sternly. “We maist keep one over my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -mother and sister as weel. We will nae starve. -There are only £4 due your father. Keep out one -for our present needs. Noo go, lass, go.”</p> - -<p>Thus commanded, she hurried to the chamber where -Gilbert sat in despairing solitude, his head held -wearily between his hands, and conveyed to him the -glad intelligence. And soon he was speeding furiously -over the dusty road toward home, his face -aglow with joy and eagerness.</p> - -<p>When Jean returned to the room she found -Souter and Eppy there gayly chatting with the Duke -and Lady Nancy, who were evidently much surprised -to find their old friend Eppy at last married.</p> - -<p>“I am so glad to see you here, Lady Nancy,” -gushed Eppy effusively. “You must come and see -us before you return to Edinburgh. I live on the -estate adjoining this farm.” He drew the smiling -girl to the window and pointed out the beauties -of MacDougall House. “He is poor,” she whispered, -“but he is of noble birth, a MacDougall of -Lorne. Souter!” she called aloud to her husband, -who was looking exceedingly important as he stood -balancing himself on his toes, his hands behind his -back, a look of supreme self-satisfaction on his face, -and listening, with an air of blasé indifference, to -the conversation between the old Duke and Robert. -As he heard his name called he leisurely turned his -head in his wife’s direction.</p> - -<p>“Souter,” she continued in a tone meant to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span> -careless, but which expressed plainly her feeling of -pride, “isn’t it the Marquis of Lorne who is your -first cousin?”</p> - -<p>“What’s that, Souter?” asked Robert incredulously.</p> - -<p>Souter looked around him with a sickly smile. He -had not thought to be cornered in this manner, when -he had filled his wife’s mind with stories of past -grandeur and noble connections, and it made him -feel decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassed.</p> - -<p>“Er—didna’ ye ken that, Robbie?” he exclaimed -with a look of feigned surprise on his reddened face. -“Och, yes! By the by, Robbie,” he continued -quickly, anxious to change the subject, “we came -o’er to tell ye that we are gang to Brow on our -honeymoon.” Here Eppy giggled and looked bashfully -out of the window. “An’ my wife, Mrs. MacDougall,” -with a flourish of the hand in her direction, -which elicited another giggle from the lady in question, -“has decided that we want ye to gang alang -wi’ us.”</p> - -<p>Robert looked at him, then at Eppy in speechless -surprise. Jean gave a little gasp, and her hand -sought her husband’s arm and pressed it with -delight.</p> - -<p>“Souter,” faltered Robert, “ye’re both doing -this out of the kindness of your hearts, but I -canna——”</p> - -<p>“We’ll na take no for an answer. Ye may be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span> -stubborn wi’ your lofty independence, your pride, -but I can be just as stubborn as ye, Rab Burns, and -I say it is settled,” said Souter.</p> - -<p>“’Tis the hand of God,” whispered Jean softly.</p> - -<p>“God bless ye both,” faltered Robert, grasping -Souter’s hand affectionately.</p> - -<p>“Come, father,” said Lady Nancy, who had witnessed -this little scene with moist eyes, “I protest -we must start on our journey.”</p> - -<p>“But first we must have a toast,” said Robert -brightly. “’Tis most fitting. Jean, bring the -punch bowl.” Quickly she brought from the closet -the bowl of Inverary marble and placed it on the -table, and into it she poured some hot water and -sugar. “We have no wine to offer,” continued Robert, -“nothing better than Highland whisky, but ye -needna’ be afraid of becoming intoxicated, my lord,” -and he smiled ruefully, “for I ken ’twill hardly be -tolerable to your educated taste.” Jean had mixed -the punch and now passed it around among the -guests. “For auld lang syne!” cried Robert feelingly. -“Is not that phrase most expressive? My -lord, a toast,” and he raised his glass to the old -Duke, who, after a moment’s hesitation, proposed -“the health of Robert Burns, Scotland’s greatest -Bard.”</p> - -<p>“We drink to that with pleasure,” exclaimed Lady -Nancy.</p> - -<p>“Aye, that we do,” echoed Souter heartily. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -while the toast was being drunk he slyly whispered, -“Rob, dinna’ say aught to my wife about—er—the -old Marquis, my—ahem—cousin. Ye understand,” -and he nudged him significantly.</p> - -<p>Robert smiled and assured him of his secrecy.</p> - -<p>“And noo,” said Souter proudly, looking at -Eppy’s simpering face, “here’s to the bride.” She -made a deep courtesy and quaffed her glass with conscious -dignity at her sudden importance. “May she -always believe in her husband,” he added in an aside -to Robert, much to the latter’s amusement.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. MacDougall, here’s to your enemies, your -foes,” proposed Robert.</p> - -<p>“What?” she cried, opening her eyes in amazement.</p> - -<p>“May they have short shoes an’ corny toes,” he -added with a merry twinkle in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Duke, a toast!” said Souter importantly.</p> - -<p>The Duke thought a moment. “Well, I drink to -Mrs. MacDougall. May she soon have a house full -of bairns,” he thoughtlessly proposed.</p> - -<p>Eppy gasped and turned crimson, and Lady -Nancy bit her lips to keep back the smile her father’s -well-meant but tactless speech occasioned.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean to insult me, my lord?” flashed -Eppy indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Bless my soul, no,” returned the Duke in astonishment, -who could see no reason for offense in his -kindly-meant remark.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The Duke meant well,” said Souter pacifically -to his wife, whose eyes were flashing angrily. -“An’—an’—stranger things might happen, ye ken,” -and he rubbed his chin reflectively with a sly look -out of the corner of his roguish eye at Robert. She -tossed her head haughtily.</p> - -<p>“’Twould not be so monstrous strange, Mr. MacDougall, -as you seem to think,” she retorted frigidly. -Souter opened his eyes in speechless surprise. He -was about to speak, but after one bewildered glance -at the disdainful face of his bride, concluded that -discretion was the better part of valor, and for the -rest of that day he remained in thoughtful silence -reflecting on the inconsistencies of woman kind -in particular, and speculating upon the strange -and mysterious workings of human nature in general.</p> - -<p>The Duke bade them all adieu and passed out into -the garden, where its wild beauties attracted his -eye. He wandered about, forgetting, in his admiration -for the flowers, his daughter, who had lingered -behind for one last farewell word—alone.</p> - -<p>“And so, Mr. Burns,” she said thoughtfully, looking -after Jean’s retreating figure, “you have never -regretted taking the step that bound your life to -that of Jean Armour’s? Regretted doing your -duty?” There was a note of regret in the vibrating -voice.</p> - -<p>“Never, my lady,” he replied firmly. “It was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -the only really good thing I have ever done in my -wretched life.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him a moment with hungry eyes. -“Do you never think of the old days in town?” she -asked suddenly, and she was greatly surprised to -see his face turn pale, his eyes flash and deepen.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, madam, do not mention the -past!” he said, turning away. “All that has passed -out of my life forever,” he murmured after a pause, -“never to return.”</p> - -<p>“And you wish it so?” she asked faintly. He -bowed his head slowly. She moistened her lips feverishly -and drew near to him, her eyes filled with a -light that would have startled him had he seen it. -“Say not so! Must I give up the friendship of the -only man I esteem and hold dear?” she panted -breathlessly. “Oh, will you not renew the broken -thread of our correspondence [he had written her -several times since coming to Ellisland, but before -Jean’s advent] and enjoy the sweet intercourse of -thought, which will bring such gladness into my -own life, and will brighten the gloom of your own, -and will take naught from your wife’s peace of -mind?”</p> - -<p>He raised his head and regarded her thoughtfully. -“How can ye ask me that, my lady,” he answered, -“when ye declared to me in your last letter that you -meant to preserve my epistles with a view, sooner -or later, to expose them to the pillory of derision and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -the rocks of criticism?” And a look of resentment -gleamed in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I protest, Mr. Burns,” she cried reproachfully. -“I have, indeed, preserved your letters, but they will -never leave my possession; they are cherished as the -dearest treasures of my life.”</p> - -<p>He sighed and remained silent for a space. From -the kitchen came the sound of children’s voices. He -listened to it a moment, then turned to Lady -Nancy, a look of resolution in his face.</p> - -<p>“Lady Nancy,” he said firmly, “I canna’ write -to ye in sincerity. I have a wife and family, an’ I -have given my word to Jean, and while I dare to sin, -I dare not to lie, else madam I could perhaps too -truly join grief with grief, and echo sighs to thine. -But with one foot in the grave, I have no desire -to stir up the old ashes of—friendship to find a living -ember. ’Twould be but a weak, fitful burning at best. -Nay, ’tis too late noo. Believe me, ’tis best, dear -lady.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand -again. “An’ noo farewell, Lady Nancy, farewell.”</p> - -<p>She took his hand and looked into his set, unmoved -face, and a sigh of utter disappointment, of patient -longing, involuntarily escaped her trembling lips. -“If it must be, then farewell,” she answered slowly, -a slight tremor in her soft voice. She walked to the -door, then turned and fixing her eyes on him, she -continued mournfully, “Do not quite forget me, will -you, Robert? Let the scenes of nature remind you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -of Nancy. In winter remember the dark shades of -her life, for there are plenty; in summer, the warmth -of her friendship; in autumn, her glowing wishes to -bestow plenty on all, and let spring animate you with -hopes that your absent friend may yet surmount the -wintry blasts of life, and revive to taste a springtime -of happiness.”</p> - -<p>He bowed his head gravely. “I shall remember -ye, Lady Nancy—friend,” he returned feelingly.</p> - -<p>She gave him one long, lingering look. “Farewell, -farewell!” she gasped, and when he raised his -head she was gone.</p> - -<p>He sighed and walked thoughtfully to the window. -“The past and all its pleasures will soon be but a -dim memory,” he muttered grimly, “as one by one -the connecting links which bound me to it are severed -forever.” He paused and watched her as she joined -her father in the garden, and a quizzical look flashed -across his face. “Faith!” he muttered with a little -smile, “who would believe the time would come when -lovely women would plead in vain for the favors o’ -Rob Burns. Och! Robbie, ye are indeed fit only for -the grave,” and he turned away from the window in -earthly meditation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> - -<p>The next few days Jean was very busy with her -preparations for their sojourn at the seaside. The -date of their departure was already fixed and it now -lacked but a few days before they would bid farewell -to Ellisland forever, for Robert had decided to -take up his residence in Dumfries when his visit -was ended, for the duties of his new office would necessitate -his being there the quarter part of his time.</p> - -<p>As the day of their departure drew near, Robert -grew more and more depressed, and day by day he -sat in melancholy silence beside the window gazing -with unseeing eyes upon the tangled yet graceful -wilderness of flowers. Jean watched him in growing -fear and anxiety as he sank deeper and deeper into -those protracted fits of gloom and depression, -and vainly sought to find some reason for the -sudden change. He had been so elated at getting -his promotion and at the many advantageous -changes it would make in their condition—had dwelt -with affectionate wonder on Eppy’s kindness in -extending to them the invitation to accompany them -to Brow, and had seemed to greatly improve in -health and spirits for a few days. Then came Gilbert’s -letter stating that he had arrived in time to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span> -prevent the eviction of the dear ones at home. The -letter had plunged him into a state of feverish excitement -and restless anxiety, and all day he would sit -at the open window, watching with burning eyes -the long narrow road that twisted and turned on its -way to Mossgiel, straining his eyes eagerly at the -approach of any casual traveler who might be passing, -then with a look of patient despair, sink back -in his chair, pale and listless, his unfocused eyes -again gazing into space. One night after he had -left his chair and had retired to his bed for the night, -looking more haggard than usual, Jean spied on the -floor a crumpled paper which had evidently dropped -from his nerveless hand. Picking it up, she smoothed -it out and found it to be Gilbert’s letter, which she -had not seen, as Robert had read it to her and then -put it carefully aside. Slowly her gaze wandered -over it. Suddenly she gave a great start, for at the -bottom of the page this sentence caught her eye: -“Mary leaves to-morrow for the Highlands and will -pass through Ellisland.” Thoughtfully she put the -letter on the chair where he could find it in the morning, -and sat down by the cradle of the bairn and -gently rocked him till his fretful crying ceased; then -she gave herself up to the heart-burning thoughts -that filled her mind. She had tried so hard to be -patient all these years, she had struggled and struggled -to do her duty without a word of complaint, -she thought, while bitter tears of patient grief and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> -secret yearning for the love that she knew belonged -to another rolled down her sorrowing cheek. She -had no word of complaint to make against Robert -though, for he had never sought to deceive her -once, and there was no feeling of resentment in -her heart against the little dairymaid. It was not -the child’s fault. It was not the fault of either -that they still loved each other. Only Robert -might have shown her the letter, she thought with -quivering lips; there was no need to keep it from -her. She would know it when Mary came to the house, -anyway. She might have guessed the reason for his -sudden change, she thought, wiping away her tears, -only her mind had been so filled with the household -preparations for moving that Mary had been quite -forgotten. For a while she gently rocked the sleeping -child, watching its sweet, flushed face, listening to -its soft breathing, and soon all disturbing thoughts -slipped away from her troubled mind, and a peaceful, -holy calm entered her patient heart and shone -through her love-lit eyes. Covering its little form -carefully, she carried the cradle into her chamber and -placed it within reach of her bed. Then as she disrobed -for the night in dreary silence, her eyes fixed on -the pale face of her husband, who was tossing and -muttering in his sleep, a tender wave of pity swept -over her at the thought of the sweet lass who would -shortly pass out of their lives forever, leaving only -a sweet, haunting memory behind to remind them of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -her pathetic young life. Quickly she slipped into -bed beside her restless husband, upon whose feverish -cheek she pressed a tender kiss, and closing her tired -eyes, fancied she slept, though her sleep was but a -waking dream of love for her husband and children, -in which all bright hopes and vague longings reached -their utmost fulfillment, and yet were in some strange -way crossed with shadows of sorrow and grief, -which she had no power to disperse.</p> - -<p>On the following morning the heat was intense. No -breath of air stirred a ripple on the sluggishly-flowing -Nith, and there was a heaviness in the atmosphere -which made the very brightness of the sky -oppressive. Such hot weather was unusual for that -part of Scotland, and, according to Souter Johnny, -betokened some change. The sun was dazzling, yet -there was a mist in the air as though the heavens were -full of unshed tears. A bank of nearly motionless -clouds hung behind the dark, sharp peaks of the distant -mountains which lay beyond Mossgiel, for there -was no wind stirring, and Robert, seated in his chair -by the window, found himself too warm with his thick -plaid wrapped closely around him, and throwing -it back he let the sunshine bathe him in its golden -glow and play on the uncovered ebony of his hair. -He no longer watched the road with such eager -intensity. Rarely this morning had his gaze wandered -beyond the bush beneath the window, with its -one snowy-white rose, the last rose of summer, nestling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> -among the faded, worm-eaten leaves, looking -so pure, so fragrant, so delicately white against the -background of rusty, dead-looking foliage. It had -blossomed in the night, and in the morning when he -had approached the lattice from force of habit, although -he had given up all hope of seeing Mary before -she left Ayrshire, he had spied it in all its delicate -beauty. Each morning for six days now he had -gone to that window, expecting before the day drew -to its close to see the beloved form of his Mary -approach, only to go to his bed at night in bitter -disappointment. Gilbert’s letter stated she would -start that day, and now the sixth day had come and -yet there was no sign of her. He had told himself -he would not watch the road this morning; there was -no use, she had gone; she had not wanted to see him; -she felt too bitter against him—it was only natural -she should. These bitter thoughts had filled his mind -with misery and wretchedness as he drew near the -open window. Suddenly his eyes had rested on the -spot of white nestling on the top of the bush. With -a strange thrill at his heart, he had knelt down beside -the latticed window, and folding his arms on the sill, -gazed at the message from heaven, sent to bring -peace and hope to his aching heart, so he fondly -believed, while bright tears filled his eyes and brimmed -over, falling warmly on his folded hands.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mary, my love, my love!” he whispered -brokenly. “Come to me before ye die.” And all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -that morning he had watched it expand and stretch -out its petals to its utmost, wafting its perfume up -into his grateful nostrils, till a peace such as had -not visited his heart for many years, smoothed out -the lines of suffering from his brow and softened the -hard light in his deepened eyes. A verse of a poem -he had written a few years before flashed across his -memory:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“Oft hae I roved by bonnie Doon,</div> -<div class="verse">To see the rose and woodbine twine;</div> -<div class="verse">And like a bird sang o’ its luve,</div> -<div class="verse">And fondly sae did I o’ mine;</div> -<div class="verse">Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose,</div> -<div class="verse">Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree;</div> -<div class="verse">But my fausse luver stole my rose,</div> -<div class="verse">But ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Jean, coming into the room a little later, found him -there, his head resting on his hands, a smile of -contented calm upon his face, which now seemed -like the face of the youth she had known in Mauchline, -and the sight thrilled her strangely and brought -a spasm of pain to her overcharged heart.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXVII</h3> - -<p>That morning, when Robert first caught sight of the -rose, he had experienced a sort of mental obsession -in which his brain was mastered by the thought—an -absurd idea perhaps, and one which his reason and -his will both might easily have repelled, only he clung -fondly to the belief, letting it fasten itself upon his -mind and grow and grow—that Mary had passed -away in the night, and that her spirit had found a -temporary resting place in the heart of the white -rose that had blossomed forth so unexpectedly, so -unseasonably. He had watched the nodding flower -on its long, slender stem of green, waving gracefully -in the light breeze that had sprung up, and in -his state of dreaming consciousness fancied he could -see the wistful face of Highland Mary peeping out -from among the snowy petals. As the feeling grew -upon him that she had come to him in spirit, a great -content settled down and around him, a mighty calm -that seemed to still the troubled waters of his soul, -and all the bitter discontent, the yearnings of his -heart, the cravings, the unrest, faded away like a -mist dissolved by the warm splendor of the sun. For -a while he had sat there in blissful peace, a smile of -ineffable rapture on his face, gazing with rapt adoring -eyes at the dancing rose, which seductively blew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -nearer and nearer to him with each gust of the -swiftly rising wind, then as he would lovingly stretch -out his hand to touch it, to caress it, away it would -go, eluding him like a dancing sunbeam, to the -farthest side of the bush, bending its saucy head -lower and lower till it was lost to sight for an instant, -then up it would bound, gayly nodding, and then for -a moment would pause in its restless elfin dance, quivering -on its stem as though tired with its sportive -play, its coquetry. The sky had grown gradually -darker, and little waves disturbed the smooth surface -of the greenish gray grass that swayed and undulated -in running billows, as the wind rose. But the -kneeling man was all unconscious of the gloom that -had settled over the landscape, shutting out the glorious -sunshine, stilling the song of the birds, and -bringing in its train a damp chill that presaged a -storm. The wind tossed the curls madly about the -face of the poet, but still he did not move; only as -the chill air struck through his thin shirt, he mechanically -pulled his plaid about his shoulders, and -dreamed on happily, of the old days, when the heart -was young, before sorrow had embittered his life, -dreamed of a life of love with Mary by his side, -dreamed and dreamed far into the morning, and so -Jean had found him and left him to his slumbers. -Suddenly his eyes opened, but he did not move. -He sat there feeling a little cramped and stiff, until -hazy recollections dawned slowly upon his mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -then he raised himself from his crouching position, -and leaning out of the window gazed with eyes that -were wonderfully luminous at the blossom which was -just beyond his eager reach. He inhaled deep -breaths of its fragrant perfume, a smile of loving -tenderness on his lips. All at once a feeling of -sudden depression tightened around his heart as he -noticed for the first time the deepening gloom without, -felt the lowering temperature of the atmosphere, -which chilled and depressed him so strangely. He -looked again at the swiftly dancing flower, and his -heart stopped beating for an instant, while a look -of pain, of heart-breaking sorrow, darkened his face—the -white petals were dropping one by one, and -were being whirled and tossed madly through the air -like flakes of snow. He watched in silence, as the -wind, with reckless abandon, tore them out and scattered -them here and there, some sailing merrily out -of sight—one dashing through the open window and -against the white, agonized face of the suffering -man, clinging to it for a moment, in a sweet caress, -a last embrace, then slipping down—down, till it -found rest on the floor, where soon it was dead and -forgotten. As the last snowy petal left its stem, -leaving it looking so bare and pitiful nestling in -among the leaves as though ashamed of its nakedness, -a hard sob of anguish escaped his lips, for it seemed -as if each petal contained a part of the soul of his -loved one, and leaning his face against the sash, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> -gave himself up to the crushing sorrow that submerged -his soul and plunged him once more into -black despair. It seemed as if the last link that -had bound her to earth, and to him, was at last -broken and she had passed on out of his life forever; -not even the rose was left to preserve as a sacred -memory to look at occasionally, to bring her presence -nearer. And now no more such roses would -bloom for him, not in this life anyway, and so he -drearily mused in hopeless sorrow.</p> - -<p>All at once a vague feeling of uneasiness stole -over him, a curious feeling that he was not alone; -and yet he did not look around, for somehow it seemed -that it was the spirit of his Mary still hovering in the -air, seeking to comfort his grieving heart; and yet -the strange feeling of her nearness was different from -that emotion he had experienced when he in fancy -had looked at her wistful face in the heart of the -nodding rose. And suddenly he held his breath as -the consciousness of her physical presence grew -stronger and stronger upon him; his startled eyes -fixed themselves upon the naked stem, swaying gently -on the bush—he strained his ears to hear—he knew -not what—he could not tell—a trembling seized his -limbs—and when he heard a sweet, low voice call -“Robert,” not from the slender stalk, but somewhere -behind him, he gave no start of surprise. He told -himself it—it—was only imagination—the great -longing within him had—but there it was again—it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -could not be fancy—it—it must be—he turned slowly -in the direction of the voice as if afraid to find naught -but the empty room to mock him, for he had heard -no sound to indicate a presence within the room. As -his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom and his dulled -vision cleared, he saw just inside the door, standing -with hands outstretched to him—a flesh and blood -reality, but oh! so pitifully changed. He gave a -gasping cry and sprang to clasp the swaying form -close to his throbbing breast.</p> - -<p>Ah! the rapture of that meeting, the blissful joy -which filled his aching heart and crowded out stern -recollections from his memory, while all thoughts of -the grim present, its bitter facts which faced him, -the vain regrets, all—all were now forgotten. The -lines of pain in his haggard face were smoothed out -gently and deep peace settled upon their troubled -souls.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Mary!” he breathed softly, breaking the -sacred stillness. “Ye have come at last. Oh, it has -been so long, dearie, so long, and I have wanted ye -so much,” and he held her to his heart in a strong, -jealous, passionate embrace, as if he could never -part with her again on earth, but would shield her -from even the shadow of death, that he saw stamped -on her pale, pinched features, and which glowed in -the haunting depths of her tired blue eyes. A smile -of sadness passed quickly over her face like the sun -that peeps through the sudden rift of a cloud.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye knew, laddie, I couldna’ go awa’ without -seeing ye just once mair,” she whispered tenderly. -A fit of coughing suddenly racked her slender frame. -He led her weak and trembling to a chair and gently -wiped away the beads of perspiration from her forehead, -and for a moment she leaned up against him -in utter exhaustion. Presently she smiled up in his -anxious face and faintly thanked him. “Dinna’ be -alarmed, dearie,” she faltered. “I’m aright noo,” -and she bravely straightened up in her seat, but he -would not release her altogether.</p> - -<p>And so they sat, sad and silent, knowing the parting, -the sad, final parting would come in a few -quickly-fleeing moments.</p> - -<p>Outside the clouds had been gathering thickly -over the sky, and now and then a few shafts of sunlight -still forced a passage through them with steady -persistency, although storm hovered over all, waiting -the signal to burst forth. Suddenly a silver glare of -lightning sprang out from beneath the black-winged -cloud hanging low in the horizon, and a few large -drops of rain began to fall. Mary nestled closer to -him as she saw the brilliant flash, and shivered apprehensively. -They both were thinking of that other -storm, when he had bidden farewell to Ayrshire in -poverty and despair, to take his place in Edinburgh -among the high and mighty, to claim the reward -of genius—honor, fame and renown. And now the -time had come for her to say farewell, only there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -was a difference, and such a difference! She was bidding -good-by to life, to love, to everything. A -happy smile broke over her wistful face as she -thought of her reward; it would not be such a fleeting -thing as riches, honor and fame. Thank God, -it was more than those; it was an eternity of happiness. -No more sorrow, no more suffering, only -peace, divine peace, such as the world knoweth not, -such as she had never known in her short, eventful -life.</p> - -<p>“And so, Mary,” murmured Robert brokenly, -“the end of our life’s romance has come at last.”</p> - -<p>She put her little hand in his and pressed it -warmly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, ’tis the end, Robin Adair. The end of all, -but it had to come some time; we were but wearing -our hearts out in vain longings, in bitter regrets, -ye ken that, dear.” She paused and idly watched -the rain, which was now coming down fiercely. “It -will be better for—for us—all when I am gone,” -she murmured presently, with a far-away look in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>A sob of anguish caused her to turn quickly to -the sorrowing man by her side. Putting her hand -on his head, she continued in pathetic resignation, -“I will be spared much pain and sorrow, ye ken, -so dinna greet for me, laddie. I—I am content, -nay glad to go, for I—I am so tired—so very -tired of this—long, unhappy struggle.” Her voice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> -trembled and the tears rolled slowly down her sad -cheeks.</p> - -<p>“If I, too, could only end it all,” he moaned.</p> - -<p>“Sh! laddie!” she answered in gentle reproach. -“Ye mustna’ wish for death; ye have those dependent -on ye, whom ye maun think of noo, Jean and the -bairns.” Her voice grew very sweet and caressing. -“I saw them as I came in. Oh, they are such bonnie -little lads, dearie. So like ye, too. Gilbert is o’er -fond of them; he is playing wi’ them noo.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dunlop had been taken ill at the last moment -and had commissioned Gilbert to take her place. She -had supplied him plentifully with money for the -journey and had then sorrowfully taken her departure -for Edinburgh, her kind old heart sad and heavy.</p> - -<p>“Robbie lad,” continued Mary earnestly, “ye—ye -maun take Jean close to your heart. Ye maun -love her fondly for the bairns’ sake and—for her -own, too, for she is a good, kind wife to ye, and ye’ll -all—be very happy yet, I ken weel.”</p> - -<p>He slipped down from his chair to his knees and -buried his tear-stained face in her lap. “When ye -go, Mary,” he murmured brokenly, “I’ll never know -peace and happiness again.” She let him weep on -in silence. Presently he raised his head and looked -at her. “Ye dinna’ ken, lassie, how I have hungered -for a sight of your dear face—a word from your -sweet lips, this last year.” He clung to her passionately. -“An’ noo in a few minutes,” he continued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -in anguish, “ye will pass out o’ my life forever and -I maun live on here—desolate—and heart-broken.”</p> - -<p>“Nay, nay!” she cried reproachfully. “Dinna’ -say that, laddie, not alone, not alone,” and she looked -compassionately at the door of the kitchen where -Jean sat in patient misery holding her bairn to her -aching heart. At that moment Gilbert softly opened -the door and told them that they would have to -start at once, that the storm would not let up and -that they must catch the boat at Greenock that -night.</p> - -<p>“Ye had better say good-by, noo,” and he closed -the door quietly behind him.</p> - -<p>They looked at each other, too dazed for words. -Then she started to rise to her feet, but he clasped -her hands tightly, though she did not feel the pain, -and pressed her into the seat again.</p> - -<p>“Not yet, not yet, Mary!” he gasped. “I -canna’ let ye go just yet. ’Tis like tearing my heart -out by its roots.”</p> - -<p>“Ye mustna’ greet so, laddie,” said Mary, frightened -by the vehemence of his sorrow.</p> - -<p>“’Tis all my fault,” he moaned, “all thro’ my -sinful weakness that ye are made to suffer noo, all -my fault.”</p> - -<p>She put her fingers on his lips. “Sh! dearie!” -she remonstrated softly. “Dinna’ blame yoursel’. -If we suffer noo, we must na’ forget how happy we -have been, and we were happy, weren’t we, laddie?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> -and she smiled in fond reminiscence, then continued -a trifle unsteadily, “An—an hour’s happiness -is worth a year of pain, for when we get sad -an’ lonely, we can live it all over again, canna’ we?” -She paused and sighed pathetically. “Only it—it -isna’ real, is it, laddie?” A sudden break in her -voice caused her to put her hand to her throat and -look away with quivering lips. Then she went on -in plaintive, pleading gentleness, “Ye will sometimes -think of me—way up—in the Highlands, won’t ye, -dearie? It willna’ wrong—Jean, for—soon your -Mary will be—in Heaven, in her castle grand.”</p> - -<p>The thunder rolled along the sky in angry reverberating -echoes, stilling the low voice, while frequent -flashes of lightning leaped out like knives suddenly -drawn from dark sheaths—yet toward the north -over Greenock the sky was clearing, and streaks -and beams of gold fell from the hidden sun, with a -soothing promise of a clear and radiant sunset. -Mary’s face brightened as she watched the sunbeams -struggling through the lightened clouds, and -she went on dreamily, in the prolonged lull of the -storm:</p> - -<p>“My home there will be so fine, much finer than -the castle in Edinburgh.” She smiled tenderly and -let her hand slip down from his head to his heaving -shoulder, where it rested in loving quiet. “How -happy I was that night,” she mused; “an’ the sweet -gown was so pretty I—hated to take it off, but it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -wasna’ mine.” She paused with quivering lips. “But—but—I -was going to buy one the next day for -my own, wasna’ I? A white one—all smooth and -soft and shiny—for—for my wedding gown.” Her -voice died away in a hushed, mournful quaver.</p> - -<p>“Don’t, don’t, Mary!” sobbed Robert unrestrainedly. -“I canna’ bear to think of that noo, noo -when I maun give ye up forever.” He stroked her -face and covered her pale, thin, toil-worn hands -with heart-breaking kisses. Presently he grew -calmer. “I shall never forget that night, Mary, -that night with its pleasures and pain,” he went on -with dreamy pathos. “It is ever in my thoughts; -e’en in my dreams your dear bonnie face haunts -me with its sweet, pathetic smile, and your tender lips -seem to say, ‘laddie, ye were not true to your vows, -ye have broken my heart.’” She gave a little cry -of pain.</p> - -<p>“No, no, laddie, I never thought that,” she cried, -and she looked at him with gentle, pitying eyes.</p> - -<p>“I wad try to speak, to implore your forgiveness -for the misery I had caused ye,” continued Robert, -his husky voice heard faintly above the wail of the -wind, which shook the lattice with a sort of stealthy -clatter, like a midnight prowler striving to creep in -to steal and plunder. “And in my dumb despair -and anguish I would clutch at your floating garments -only to have them vanish into air, and I would -awake to find myself—alone—with my bitter remorse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -and sorrow.” A low, choked sob broke from -his hollow breast—he covered his face with his hands. -“Can ye ever forgive me?” he murmured.</p> - -<p>Mary regarded him with infinite compassion, a -heroic smile on her tired, quivering lips. “Freely -do I forgive everything, laddie,” she replied, “an’ -when I am gone I want ye to remember always that -Mary Campbell had only love, pity and forgiveness -in her heart for ye.” She raised her trembling -hands solemnly. “May God bring peace to your -troubled heart, laddie, and may your future dreams -be filled with joy and happiness, of love and prosperity.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 475px;"> -<img src="images/illus10.jpg" width="475" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">“The door opened and Jean quietly entered the room.”</p> -</div> - -<p>The door opened and Jean quietly entered the -room, her tense, white face full of patient sorrow. -She had sat in the kitchen for an eternity it seemed -to the waiting woman, while Mary was taking her -farewell of her husband. She had tried to talk to -Gilbert, to interest herself in the news of home, but -the words simply refused to leave her lips, and so -she had sat there, listlessly watching the children -playing around their uncle’s knee, her ears straining -to hear some sound from the other room. No one -knew how she suffered, to step aside, to welcome to -her home his former sweetheart, to know they were -there clasped in each other’s arms; and yet she did -not feel bitter toward Mary somehow, strange as it -might seem. She pitied her, she pitied them both, -and it filled her with a strange feeling of surprise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span> -that she could feel so. Still loving Robert as fondly -as she did, she could not help the feeling of despair -which crept over her at times, to know, to fully realize, -that she held only a secondary place in his -affections, to hear him calling for another, for -Mary. Sometimes in thought she caught herself -bitterly arraigning him for his thoughtlessness, his -apparent heartlessness; then the thought of his weak -condition, his ill health, his distracted state of mind, -these past months, tempered her judgment. He was -hardly responsible for his actions, and if he were -conscious of his own selfishness he had lost the power, -the strength of will, to restrain his feverish impulses. -She wondered vaguely if it would be different when—when -she had passed away forever—if her memory -would still come between them. She hoped not—she -prayed that it might not be so.</p> - -<p>Gilbert had left her to her silent musings, and had -gone out to harness the horses. Returning, he told -her that they must start at once, so she had opened -the door to tell them, and as her eyes took in the -misery which was reflected in their white, drawn faces -she was moved to intense pity, and the tears rained -slowly down her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Come, Mary, Gilbert says ’tis time to start,” -she faltered. They both looked up slowly at the -sound of her voice, then gazed dully into each other’s -eyes. Presently Mary rose from her chair and stood -up unsteadily, stretching out her little, cold, white<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -hands to Robert, who clutched them in his own feverish -palms as a drowning man clutches a straw.</p> - -<p>“The time has come to part, laddie,” she said -bravely, a wan little smile on her bluish lips.</p> - -<p>A violent shuddering seized him, he did not move -for a moment. Finally he staggered to his feet, -and a quiver of agony passed over his face. He -looked at her with dulled, glazed eyes and his face -assumed a ghastly hue.</p> - -<p>“’Tis so hard, so cruel, to say good-by forever,” -he breathed huskily, for his throat was dry and -parched. His swaying figure tottered a moment, -then he drew her slowly into his arms and pressed -his lips to her forehead. “’Tis the last time on -earth, Mary,” he whispered brokenly. Her lips -trembled, but she would not give way to the feeling of -dizziness that threatened to rob her of her consciousness. -She must leave him with a smile, she -told herself; she must not make it harder for him. -“Yes, for the last time, Robert,” she repeated slowly. -“May God bless and watch over ye, Robin Adair—till—we—meet -in Heaven. Good-by.” Her voice -died away inarticulately, and she sank forward into -his arms, where she lay motionless with closed eyes, -utterly spent in body and spirit, and save for a -shivering sob that now and then escaped her, she -seemed almost insensible. Jean rushed quickly forward -and drew her into a chair, while Gilbert fetched -a glass of water, which he held to her white lips.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span></p> - -<p>The wind shook the doors and whistled shrilly -through the crevices, then as though tired of its own -wrath, surged away in hoarse murmurs, through -the branches of the creaking old beech, toward the -Loch, and there was a short, tense silence while they -waited to see signs of life appear in the face of the -stricken girl. Presently she opened those azure blue -eyes and smiled up in their anxious faces; then she -struggled to her feet, but she put her hand quickly -to her heart and tottered.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my—poor—weak heart,” she gasped faintly. -Jean caught her quickly in her strong arms and -stroked her soft cheek with a curious yearning sensation -of love tugging at her heartstrings.</p> - -<p>“Poor dear,” she said compassionately, “you’re -too weak to stand so much excitement,” and she put -her back firmly in the chair. Mary attempted to -rise again, but Jean would not permit her. “Gilbert -shall carry you to the carriage,” she told her. -Gilbert stepped to her side.</p> - -<p>“I will be a light burden noo, Gilbert,” she faltered, -smiling pathetically into his strong, rugged -face, which bore traces of his deep, bitter grief. -Jean gently put her arms about her and in silence -implanted a kiss on her pure, sweet face; then she -turned away and covered her face with her hands. -Gilbert bent over and picked up the frail body, and -in spite of his efforts to restrain his emotion, a sigh -that was almost a groan escaped him, for she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span> -no heavier than a child of a few summers. He carried -her past his brother, who was sitting with head -bowed upon his breast in an attitude of absolute -despair.</p> - -<p>“Greet not for me, dearie,” whispered Mary -faintly, stretching out her hand and letting it rest -tenderly on his head. “God’s—will—be—done,” -and her dry, burning eyes took their last look, and -said their last farewell as Gilbert slowly carried her -from the room and closed the door, shutting Robert -out from her lingering gaze.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XXVIII</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">Then whilst his throbbing veins beat high</div> -<div class="verse indent1">With every impulse of delight,</div> -<div class="verse">Dash from his lips the cup of joy,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">And shroud the scene in shades of night;</div> -<div class="verse">And let despair, with wizard light,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Disclose the yawning gulf below,</div> -<div class="verse">And pour incessant on his sight,</div> -<div class="verse indent1">Her spectred ills and shapes of woe.</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>For some moments Robert sat there, apparently -dead to his surroundings. He had not looked up or -moved as the door closed upon the retreating figures. -He seemed to be in a state of complete exhaustion -of mind and body. Presently the sound of the carriage -rolling over the swishing, muddy driveway -roused him from his lethargy. Raising his head he -looked wildly around the room—then paused and -listened—he was as one in a dream, realizing nothing -plainly. He could hardly remember what had taken -place during the past few minutes; he could grasp -nothing tangible in thought or memory, till with a -wild start he seemed to awake, as the rattle of the -passing wheels brought back recollection. He staggered -to the window and, throwing back the lattice, -gazed out at the rapidly retreating blur of moving -wheels and horses and shapeless figures, and watched -it till it was lost to sight. As he stood there a soft<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span> -change, a delicate transparency, swept over the dark -bosom of the sky. Pale pink streaks glittered on the -dusky horizon—darts of light began to climb upward -into the clouds, and to plunge downward upon the -waving field of hay; the radiance spread swiftly, till -suddenly the whole heavens were bathed in the glorious -light, and the last cloud, fading into nothingness, -revealed the sun in all its matchless glory, hanging -low in the sky just above the hills, behind which it -would soon drop in stately splendor. Slowly the -watcher sank down to his knees and leaned his tired -head against the sash, his eyes closed and sunken.</p> - -<p>“She is gone, gone,” he murmured brokenly, “an’ -I am left all alone noo, all alone.” Jean bent over -him with pathetic tenderness, and taking his limp -hand in her own warm palm, she said with timid -reproach:</p> - -<p>“Not alone, Robert, while you have your—bairns—and -me.” She feared to call his attention -to herself in the midst of his grief, lest he might -revile her for standing between him and happiness; -but he did not hear.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Jean, how can I take up the burden of life -again?” he cried weakly, clinging to her hand with -despairing strength. It thrilled her strangely to -feel the grasp of his hand, to feel his weakness, his -sudden dependence, the appeal in his dark, mournful -eyes raised to hers so pitifully; she knelt beside him -and drew his head down on her heaving bosom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ye must be brave,” she told him, her voice trembling -with a new-found happiness, a sudden joy. He -needed her now, needed her love and care more than -ever. Then she continued softly, her voice vibrating -with thrilling intensity, “Ye have much to live -for yet, lad. Ye must be strong, ye must be brave. -Pluck up your courage! I’ll help ye.”</p> - -<p>He looked at her wonderingly, then he slowly -bowed his head. “Yes, Jean,” he said humbly, “I -will be strong; I’ll try to be brave.”</p> - -<p>She helped him to his chamber, and placed him -beside the window, where he could no longer watch -the road, and left him. For a while he gazed out -over the fields in apathetic calm, his mind a blank. -Across the field he could see Souter Johnny at work -in his garden. Suddenly he straightened up and -listened. Souter was singing.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">“O where, an’ O where is my Highland laddie gone?”</div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">came the old cracked voice. He closed his eyes -wearily, but he could not shut out the sound.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mary, my lost Highland Mary,” he whispered -under his breath.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="center">A Truly Great Story</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="center larger">“THIS WAS A MAN!”</p> - -<p class="center">By HATTIE HORNER LOUTHAN</p> - -</div> - -<div class="box-inner2"> - -<div class="poetry-container smaller"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse">His life was gentle; and the elements</div> -<div class="verse">So mix’d in him, that Nature might stand up</div> -<div class="verse">And say to all the world “This Was a Man!”</div> -<div class="verse right">—<i>Shakespeare</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p class="center">The Victory of a Character over -Circumstances.</p> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-i1.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="dropcap">If you read but one book this year, this is -the book that you should read. It is the -most powerful, soul-stirring tale that has -passed through the presses in many years. -It is a story of heredity, a story based on the belief -that “blood will tell,” a story of sinners and of one -who “was a man.” The scene is laid in Colorado at -the present time. Frontispiece of Paul the hero.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center smaller">ATTRACTIVELY BOUND IN CLOTH</p> - -<p class="center">Price<br /> -$1.50</p> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -BOSTON, MASS.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="center">AN ANSWER TO “THE LEOPARD’S SPOTS”</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="larger">YARB</span><br /> -AND<br /> -<span class="larger">CRETINE</span></p> - -<p class="center">By<br /> -DR. GEORGE B. H. SWAYZE</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">A Story of the Never-Ending -Southern Problem of the Races</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">There is action in this book from the very first -line until the last; there is also a deep, genuine -heart interest, but greater than either -of these is an able treatise on the greatest of -all modern problems—the black man. Dr. -Swayze takes a diametrically opposite view of the question -from that of Rev. Thomas Dixon in “The Leopard’s Spots.”</p> - -<p>It is interesting to compare the books of these two men, the -one a clergyman the other a physician. It would be quite -natural to expect that the man of God would take a somewhat -more gentle, more lenient view of the question than would the -man of medicine, but the readers of “<span class="smcap">Yarb and Cretine</span>” -assert that quite to the contrary Dr. Swayze has written -with a sympathy and toleration which was totally lacking in -the Rev. Mr. Dixon’s book.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">ILLUSTRATED</span> <span class="spacer">Price -$1.50</span> <span class="smaller">CLOTH BOUND</span></p> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -BOSTON, MASS.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="larger"><i>The Lieutenant<br /> -<span class="pad1">The Girl and</span><br /> -<span class="pad2">The Viceroy</span></i></p> - -<p>By<br /> -MARSHALL<br /> -PUTNAM<br /> -THOMPSON</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="center">The Story of an American Lieutenant, -a Patriotic Beauty and a Spanish -Viceroy in South America</p> - -</div> - -<div class="box-inner2"> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-i2.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">If you would read a romance, founded on -South American and American history, a -romance that will stir your blood and hold -your attention from the moment you begin -until you have read the last page, by all means read -“The Lieutenant, The Girl and The Viceroy.” Not -a dry or prosy page in the whole book. Beautifully -written and cleverly told. Correct in historic information, -but romantic in conception.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center smaller">ILLUSTRATED <span class="spacer"> </span>CLOTH BOUND</p> - -<p class="center">Price<br /> -$1.50</p> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -BOSTON, MASS.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<table> -<tr> -<td class="larger"> -<span class="larger">Maid</span><br /> -of the<br /> -<span class="larger">Mohawk</span> -</td> -<td class="tdr"> -<i>By<br /> -FREDERICK<br /> -A.<br /> -RAY</i> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<p class="center"><i>A ROMANCE OF THE MOHAWK VALLEY -IN THE DAYS OF THE REVOLUTION</i></p> - -<p class="noindent">¶ The picturesque valley of the Mohawk -River—one of the tributary streams of the -mighty Hudson—was the theatre of some -of the most exciting incidents of the American -Revolution.</p> - -<p class="noindent">¶ It was settled by a mixture of Dutch, -English and Irish and was the very border -land of the Briton’s most terrible ally—the -Indian.</p> - -<p class="noindent">¶ In this fruitful region Mr. Ray has located -the principal scenes of his romance and -the only wonder is that no one has done it -before him.</p> - -<p class="noindent">¶ All of the characters are actively concerned -in the Revolutionary War and many -of them are historical personages, among -whom might be mentioned: General Washington, -Major Andre, Benedict Arnold, Sir -Henry Clinton, James Riverton and many -others. Whatever they do in the story is in -perfect harmony with history.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>BOUND IN CLOTH</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED WITH FRONTISPIECE<br /> -IN COLORS</i></p> - -<p class="center larger">Price, $1.50</p> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">AT ALL BOOKSELLERS OR SENT PREPAID BY</span><br /> -THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO., <i>Boston, Mass.</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="center larger">A<br /> -WILDERNESS<br /> -CRY</p> - -<p class="center">By<br /> -GEORGE EDWARD DAY</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="center">A Story With a Strong Moral Lesson</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">A Book That Every Young Man -and Woman Should Read....</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-t.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">The greatest sacrifice that a woman can make is -to give up the man she loves when she believes -it to be her duty. This is the sacrifice -which is made by the heroine of “A Wilderness -Cry.” More than that, she is the wife of the man -whom she denounces. For the man it is a harvest of his wild -oats. The book ends happily, however. It is a story of -modern times.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center smaller">BOUND IN CLOTH <span class="spacer"> </span> ILLUSTRATED</p> - -<p class="center">Price<br /> -$1.50</p> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -BOSTON, MASS.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="center">A BOOK FOR SAINTS AND SINNERS</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="larger">FIRES</span><br /> -OF<br /> -<span class="larger">DESIRE</span></p> - -<p class="center">By<br /> -LAWRENCE R. MANSFIELD</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center">The Story of a Modern Adam, and -a Modern Eve; the Temptation, -the Fall and the Tragedy</p> - -<div class="box-inner"> - -<div> -<img class="dropcap" src="images/dropcap-a.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="dropcap">A young American of the cloth is sent -to India as a teacher. He meets a -beautiful native girl, pretends to marry -her but in reality betrays her. Returning -to America he finds that his sweetheart has gone -to India and has met the girl he has betrayed. The -end is tragic. A tale of great strength which every -one should read.</p> - -</div> - -<p class="center smaller">ILLUSTRATED <span class="spacer"> </span> BOUND IN CLOTH</p> - -<p class="center">Price<br /> -$1.50</p> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -BOSTON, MASS.</p> - -</div> - -<div class="bbox2"> - -<p class="center larger">The UNTAMED<br /> -PHILOSOPHER</p> - -<p class="center">AT HOME AND WITH</p> - -<p class="center larger">THE PLUGONIANS<br /> -OF PLUGOLIA</p> - -<p class="center">Being a Tale of Hens and some other People</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><i>by</i> FRANK W. HASTINGS<br /> -<span class="smaller">AUTHOR OF SEVERAL WIDELY UNKNOWN WORKS</span></p> - -<p>The book is a series of deliciously funny essays on such -things as Marriage, Work, Love, Country, Church, Wrecks, -Politics, Sundries, etc.</p> - -<p>The book bears this unique dedication, “To the everlasting, -ever present, ever dignified, ever-plentiful and never -murmuring weather these evidences of dementia are inscribed.”</p> - -<p>It is quite the funniest book of philosophy ever published -and one of the best works of humor that have been issued in -many years.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/hen.jpg" width="100" height="70" alt="A hen" /> -</div> - -<p class="center">THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO.<br /> -<span class="smaller">BOSTON, MASS.</span></p> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Highland Mary, by Clayton Mackenzie Legge - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGHLAND MARY *** - -***** This file should be named 60455-h.htm or 60455-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/5/60455/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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