MAGGIE'S FLIGHT.
"She has profaned the sacred name of Friend
And worn it to vileness"
* * * * *
"Ah, wretched and too solitary he
Who loves not his own company!"
* * * * *
"Fortune came smiling to the maid, and woo'd her"
Life would be but a mean abode for men and women if they could not open
the windows of their souls and look beyond it. During the weeks which
immediately followed Janet Caird's association with Maggie she felt this
truth, though she did not define the feeling to herself. She only realized
the comfort of withdrawing from the fretful presence of her aunt to the
contemplative, passionless serenity of the Word of God. But even this was
an offence. "What are you doing at a', Maggie?" was the certain inquiry if
she went to the quiet of her own room for an hour.
"I'm reading the Book a wee, Aunt Janet."
The comments upon this reply varied, according to Janet's temper.
Sometimes it was, "Well, the gude ken, you need to read it." Again it
would be, "_Havers!_ Hoo can the like o' you understand it, and no
man body to gie you the sense?" And if the volume happened to be one from
Allan's small library, her railing at "no-vels and the sin o' them" was
unstinted.
But the real cause of difference between the women was far beyond Maggie's
knowledge or power to alter. It had sprung up the very hour that David
asked her to come to Pittenloch and be a companion to his sister. No
sooner had he left her than she began to consider in what light the
proposition could bring her personally the most respect and sympathy, and
a neighbor coming in at the moment, she found in her own small boast the
key-note of her future treatment of her niece.
"I hae been called for, Mistress Futtrit, a' the road to Pittenloch," she
said, with a sigh; "my nephew is settled for the ministry--an' nae
less--and I maun just gae and tak' the guiding o' his sister and his
hoose."
"You're auld to be fashed wi' a bairn noo, Mistress Caird."
"Na, na, it isna a bairn; Maggie Promoter is a braw, handsome lass, wi'
mair lovers than she has fingers and toes."
"But that's waur than a bairn. You'll be worn oot wi' the care o' it. I
ken by the heartaches my ain Baubie gied me. Early and late she keepit me
in het water."
"I hear tell that oor Maggie is just extraordinar' handsome and
extraordinar' self-willed. I ken I'm going to sorrow, but her fayther was
my brither, and I'll hae to do my duty, or be a meeserable woman."
"It's a credit to you, Mistress Caird, to hae feelings like them, and
you'll be supported dootless."
Jean Futtrit's pretty Baubie had not always behaved well; and Jean was
suspicious of all other young girls. She had thought the worst of Maggie
at once, and she made Janet Caird feel herself to be a very meritorious
domestic martyr in accepting the charge of her. This idea satisfied
Janet's craving for praise and sympathy; she fully endorsed it; she began
to take credit for her prudence and propriety before she even entered upon
her new life.
And circumstances in Pittenloch favored Janet; in a few days she had
received so much condolence, and had committed herself so completely
regarding her niece, that nothing could have induced her to reconsider her
conduct. Every trifle also in Maggie's attitude testified against herself.
She resented the constant conclaves of tea-drinking, gossiping women in
her house, and she was too honest-hearted to hide her disapproval from
them. The result was, that backed by Janet Caird, they came still more
frequently, and were more and more offensive. If she determined to make
the best of the matter, and remained with them, she was subjected to
advices, and innuendoes, and rude jokes, almost intolerable; and if she
went away she was accused of bad temper, of a greedy, grudging
disposition, and of contempt for her own people and class.
If Maggie had been wise enough to attend faithfully the weekly meeting in
Elder Mackelvine's cottage, she would have silenced many of her enemies.
But this one evening Maggie looked forward to, on different grounds;
Janet Caird never missed the meeting, and her absence gave Maggie two
sweet hours alone in her home. She locked her door, visited Allan's room,
changed her book, and afterward sat still, and let the time slip away in
thoughts sacred to her own heart.
As the end of the year approached Dr. Balmuto was expected. He made a
visit to Pittenloch every three months. Then he consoled the sick,
baptized weakly infants, reproved those who had been negligent in
attending kirk, and catechised and examined the young people previous to
their admission to The Tables. Maggie had not been very faithful about
the ordinances. The weather had been bad, the landward road was dangerous
when snow had fallen, and she did not like going in the boats among so
many who gave her only looks of grave disapproval. So she had made many
excuses, and in this matter Janet Caird had let her take her own way
without opposition. Absence from kirk was a proof of a falling away from
grace, which in the eyes of these people was beyond explanation; provided
the delinquent was not unmistakably sick.
The minister had noticed Maggie's frequent lapses from duty. He spoke to
Elder Mackelvine about it; and as the elder was in a manner responsible
for the flock to his superior shepherd, he felt obliged to repeat much of
the gossip he had heard. He had no ill will to the girl, far from it; yet
unknowingly he did her many wrongs, even though he distinctly said, "he
_knew_ no ill of Maggie Promoter, and was but repeating what a lot of
idle women said."
But Dr. Balmuto was troubled and alarmed. He thought not only of Maggie,
but also of David. He had sanctioned his ambition for the ministry, and
had helped him toward the office; and he could not bear to think of a
whisper against a name likely to stand in the list of God's servants. He
was angry at Maggie's imprudences, even if they were no worse than
imprudences. He paid a special visit to the Promoter cottage, and putting
aside Mistress Caird with a polite wave of the hand which greatly
impressed her, he demanded to see Maggie alone.
He told her frankly all that he had heard, and the girl was astounded.
There was just truth enough with every lie to carry the lie through. Many
of them she found it almost hopeless to try to explain; and when the
doctor asked her, "if there had been any words of love between Mr.
Campbell and herself?" she could not deny it. She remained speechless, and
the minister thought very badly of the woman dumb and blushing before him.
"Mind what I tell you, Maggie Promoter," he said sternly, "I know the
young man Campbell. He is none of your kind. He cannot make you his wife.
If he could, you would be wretched, for he would soon scorn you. Can the
eagle mate with the kittywake? Sin and sorrow come of such love making. It
will ruin both David and yourself. Mind, I have warned you. If you were my
own daughter I would say no less to you."
"There has been nae wrang word between us, sir. Nae word my ain fayther
and mither mightna hae listened to. That is the truth, sir."
"Then do not hold yourself apart from your own people. Don't fret about
the young man's absence, and neglect the ordinances to do it; remember
they are for your comfort and salvation."
"Folks hae thocht ill o' me, sir; and they treat me according to their ill
thochts:--and I wish Davie was hame, for I'm broken-hearted wi' the wrang
that is done me; morning, noon and night," she said warmly.
"Keep your temper and hold your tongue, Maggie. I suffer no woman to rail
in my presence. Do well, and you will be well spoken of, and doubtless
also, well treated."
She covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly; and his heart
relented a little. "I am glad to see the tears, Maggie; no one can do more
than be sorry for their sins and then mend them. Come, come, lassie; turn
over a new leaf, and the future shall mend the past."
"There is naething to mend, sir. I hae done no wrang to man, woman, or
child. You should hae stood up for the orphan lass, that has nae one near
to befriend her; but when a' men are against me--then I'll lippen to the
Lord!"
Her short passionate rain of tears was over. She stood erect, calm,
perhaps with an air of indifference. The doctor was much annoyed; he felt
that he had failed in reaching the girl's heart, and he went away with
that sense of irritation which our inabilities always leave with us.
Maggie did not go out of the cottage for a week. She was expecting David
home for the holidays, and she confidently looked for him to right her.
Unfortunately, David came by Kinkell, and called first at Dr. Balmuto's.
He had done very well in his Greek and Hebrew, and he wished to show the
minister that his kindness had been appreciated and improved. Dr. Balmuto
received David a little coldly. He had not really been moved to help him
by any personal liking, but rather from a conscientious conviction that
the young man had a decided vocation for theology. In fact, there had
always been a tinge of self-satisfaction about David which he seriously
disliked, and for which very reason he had once sent him back to the boats
to learn humility. Though honestly pleased at his progress, he did not
think it well to praise him too much; especially as he observed that David
boasted in a quiet way of the favor shown him by his teachers, and named,
when there was no occasion for naming it, the circumstance of having been
twice asked to dinner by Prof. Laird.
"This and that is all very well, and I am glad of it, David," he said;
"but your name must be kept stainless; and the more learned you are, the
more people will look up to you, and the more readily the fly in the
ointment will be seen and heard tell of. I am sorry to say your sister has
been very imprudent. Pittenloch does nothing but talk of her queer ways,
and doubtless there have been love promises between her and Mr. Campbell.
Now if there is ill said about him and your sister, you must see that it
puts you in a bad light to take any favor whatever from him."
David rose angrily. "I canna let even you, sir, speak ill in that way
about Maggie. I was by her side until Mr. Campbell left Pittenloch. And I
will defend his name as well as Maggie's. There was not the wrong thocht
in either of their hearts. I am sure o' that."
"I am glad to hear you speak so bravely and confidently. Go home, and put
your house in better order than it is. There seems to be ill-will and
unhappiness in it. Make your women walk circumspectly, and give no
occasion for people to take your name up. Your name is not to be lightly
used now, David Promoter."
David had looked forward to this visit, anticipated the minister's praises
and satisfaction, had even brought him a little present of some fine
tobacco. He left the manse with a sense of anger and humiliation, and with
the tobacco in his pocket. He had found no opportunity to offer it. And
the home-coming from which Maggie had expected so much was an unhappy one.
David blamed her for Dr. Balmuto's coldness and apparent lack of interest
in his affairs; and whether Maggie had done wrong, or had only been
wronged, he felt that she had injured him and his prospects. Nervous and
sensitive to a foolish degree on the subject of social respect from those
in authority, he gave to the affair far more importance than it deserved.
He made Maggie almost feel as if she had brought absolute and
irretrievable ruin upon him.
Still he would not be unjust to her, nor listen to any accusation not made
before her face. Even Aunt Janet, though she attacked David on his weakest
side, by giving him all the respect due to a placed minister, did not
succeed in gaining his private ear. "I'll give nae occasion for
backbiting," he said, "tell me when Maggie is present, what you have to
say against her."
"She read novels, instead of working at her trade--she held herself aloof
from people, and stayed by herself. She did not go regularly to kirk and
meeting. She had spent good money having the 'Allan Campbell' put in
order, yet she would neither lend nor hire the boat when it was asked of
her. She kept Mr. Campbell's room locked up, and would not even let a
friend of the family drink a cup of tea inside it. She was queer and cold
to all the lads, and had been specially rude to Angus Raith, whose mother
was Mistress Caird's chief friend. Folks, too, wondered where she got
money, and Maggie had not respected their curiosity, and satisfied them
that she was living honest."
These were Aunt Janet's principal accusations against her niece. Maggie
answered them very plainly. She declared that she could not get work,
because her aunt's complaints had deprived her of all her friends. The
books she read were the same books Mr. Campbell had read aloud to them
both. As for the boat, she did not want it to go to waste, and if she
loaned it to one person, she might as well have given it to the village.
If she had taken hire, it would have been a great offence, and worse said
of her, than for keeping it at anchor. As it was, she asserted Aunt Janet
had lent it to the Raiths frequently, without her knowledge or consent at
the time.
"Not mair than three times, Maggie," interrupted Mrs. Caird, "and you were
that ill-tempered I couldna ask you anent it. You wad hae snappit my head
aff."
"That was three times o'er many, aunt," answered David; "the boat was
Maggie's; folks should speer it of hersel'; I would hae nae right to lend
it, and I wouldna do it, nae matter wha asked it o' me."
"The Raiths are gude frien's"--
"For a' the Raiths in Fife and Moray, no!"
"Then Davie, as for letting Mr. Campbell's room be for the use of a' and
sundry that liked it, how could I? You ken, he told me tak' care o' the
pictures and books inside it."
"You wad hae as much right to his purse as his room, if he had left his
purse in your keeping. The room wasna yours to lend, Maggie."
"And, Davie, I dinna like Angus Raith, and his mither is here the day
lang, and till the late night; and Angus is aye to convoy her hame; and he
sits in your chair, and glowers at me, or he says words I canna listen
till, and I want nae love from him or any other man. If you will be a
brither to me, and no let folks tread my gude name in the mire, I'll aye
be a true sister to you, Davie, and I'll care for nane but you."
"I'll let nane say ill o' you, if you dinna deserve it, Maggie. Folks
should think shame o' themselves to set on a lass without man or woman to
stand by her."
"I'm sure I aye said what I could wi' truth for the lassie."
"I dinna think it. And as for Maggie's money, that is Maggie's business
and my business. Maggie's money is clean money, every penny o' it. There
is my word for that. I am sure it was weel kent that fayther left money
lying in Largo Bank; but I'll gie accounts to nane; and I'll not hae
Maggie asked for them either. As for Angus Raith, he might hae taken his
'no' before this. I'll not blame Maggie for not liking him; and I wad be
as weel pleased for Maggie to bide single, till I hae my ain manse to
marry her from. Now I willna hae my life and prospects wrecked for
women's battlement and quarrels;" and then David very foolishly spoke of
Dr. Balmuto's coldness to him; and on this subject David got warm and
eloquent, and Aunt Janet perceived that the minister was disposed to blame
Maggie.
Before leaving for his classes again, he did what he thought was the
prudent thing to do for all parties. He really satisfied no one. Maggie
felt that he had been less kind to her in many ways than he ought to have
been. The villagers resented the change in his manners and speech. Their
affairs, never interesting to him, were now distasteful; he went little
among them, but sat most of his time reading in his own cottage. If he
walked down to the pier or the boat-house, he brought unavoidably a
different element with him. The elder men disputed all he said, the younger
ones took little notice of him. He might have understood from his own
experience what Maggie was suffering; but David had his mind full of grand
themes, and he brushed the opinions of a few fishermen off, as he brushed
a fly from his open book. After he had returned to Glasgow, Aunt Janet
said, with an air of wrong and offence--"Brither and sister sail in one
boat;" and she had more sympathy for her opinion.
The dreariest part of the winter was to come. David was not to return home
again until the end of July; perhaps not even then. He had been spoken to
about spending the long vacation with Prof. Laird's son in the Hebrides,
as a kind of travelling tutor; and he hoped for the appointment. If he got
it a whole year might pass before his next visit to Pittenloch. And
Maggie's position had not been in any respect bettered, either by the
minister's or David's interference. Aunt Janet had received no special
reproofs or threats for her encroachments on Maggie's rights, and she made
a point of extending them in many ways. Before March was over the girl was
growing desperate.
Character is cumulative, and Maggie had been through these days of mean
and bitter trials unconsciously gathering strength. She was not the same
woman that had stood reproachful at destiny by the beached boat eleven
months before. Yet even then she had nursed a rebellious thought against
the hopelessness of Fate. She had refused to believe that the boat had
been built and destined for death and destruction; if something had been
done, which had not been done, it would have come safe to harbor. So also
she would not believe that her own misery was beyond help, and that all
that remained to her was a weary hoping and watching for Allan's return.
She was just at the point when endurance is waiting for the last
unendurable straw, when one morning Angus Raith called early, and asked
permission to use the "Allan Campbell" for a day's fishing. "Tak' her and
welcome," answered Janet Caird, promptly.
"Aunt Janet, you hae nae right to lend what isna yours, nor ever like to
be yours. David told you that plain as words could mak' it."
"You and your brither wear the life oot o' me, wi' your pride and
ill-temper. Tak' the boat, Angus."
"You let it alone, Angus. It is my boat, and I'll send the water-bailiff
after you for theft, if you lift her anchor."
"You will, will you? You mean meeserable hizzy! Then you'll hae to tak me
up wi' Angus; for I'm wi' him, and will stand by him, afore a' the lords
o' Edinburgh. Tak' the boat, Angus. I'll tak' the blame o' it! David
Promoter willna publish a thief in his ain house; he's o'er much set up
wi' himsel' and his gude name."
"Thank you, Mistress Caird; I'll tak' it. If a man tak's your sweetheart,
you may weel tak' his boat. I'll bring you part o' my luck, when the boat
comes hame at night."
"Dinna count your feesh, until you've caught them, Angus Raith," said
Maggie, passionately; "and as for luck, it is bad luck you deserve, and
bad luck you'll get, wi' your stolen boat."
"Hear to the lass! bespeaking sorrow for gude men, on a gude day's wark!"
Maggie answered not a word; she turned dourly round, went into her room
and locked it. "I'll run awa' from it a'!" and in the first moment of her
solitary passion of grief, the words struck her like an order. In great
emergencies, the soul does gives orders; clear, prompt, decisive words,
that leave no shadow of doubt behind them. "Go" said her soul to her, and
she began immediately to consider her plans. She did not want for money.
She had upwards of £23 left, beside an order for the £50 lying in Largo
Bank, which David had insisted on her keeping in case any sudden need came
for it.
"I'll put on my kirk clothes, and I'll go to Kinkell; Watty Young will
carry me in his wagon to Stirling, and there, I'll tak' a train for
Glasgow. David will find some way to get me a shelter, and I can sew, and
earn my ain bite and sup."
This was her simple, straightforward plan, and as soon as she had
determined to go away, it seemed wonderful to her that she had not done it
sooner. "But one canna cross the stile till they get to it," she
reflected; now however the idea took complete possession of her. She heard
Mrs. Raith and various other women talking with her aunt: she heard
herself repeatedly called to come and look after the broth, or other
domestic concerns, but she took no notice of any demand upon her. She
occupied the morning in locking away her simple treasures, and in making
into a small bundle a linsey dress and a change of linen. She did not
notice, until her room grew suddenly dark, that the wind had risen, and
the sky become black and stormy. Some uneasy presentiment drove her then
to the cottage door, where she stood with the rain blowing into her face,
watching the boats tossing back to harbor.
"You see what your ill wishes hae brought. I hope there mayna be lives
lost by your temper."
"Parfect nonsense! There is nae ill wish that is mair than idle breath, if
it be na His will."
Just at dusk there was an outcry and a clamor of women's voices followed
by passionate wailing, and a few minutes afterward Mistress Raith ran
shrieking into the cottage. "The 'Allan Campbell' has gone to the bottom,
and my boy Laurie wi' her. Oh, the ill heart, and the ill tongue o' you,
Maggie Promoter! I'd like fine to send you after him! Gie us a help,
wives, and let's gie her a ducking at the vera least!" The wretched mother
was half crazy, and Maggie fled from her presence. The circumstance was
the seal to her purpose. She knew well how her few angry words would be
held against her, and she said mournfully, "There's nae hope o' kindness
nor justice here for me. I should hae gane this morning when the thocht
came to me. I wad hae been on the road to Stirling ere this."
There was a constant succession of visitors at the cottage until late, but
as soon as all was quiet, Maggie went to her wretched hearthstone, and
silently made herself a cup of tea. Janet Caird sat rocking herself to and
fro, bewailing the dead, and the living; but yet carefully watching the
unusual proceedings and dress of her niece. At length, finding Maggie was
not to be provoked into words, she pretended suddenly to observe her kirk
clothes--"Whatna for hae you that fine merino on this night? Surely,
Maggie Promoter, you arena thinking o' going to the house o' mourning
--you, that ought to be on your bended knees for the ill wishes you sent
the puir lad to the bottom wi'. And after a' it wasna Angus but little
Laurie that got the weight o' your ill thochts!"
"Do stop, aunt. Say them words to the minister, and hear the reproof
you'll get! As if the breath o' an angry woman could make Him turn the
keys that nane turn but Him. And if you want to ken whar I am going, I may
as weel tell you now, as the morn. I am going to my brither Davie, for I
cannot thole the bad tongue and the bad heart o' you, anither day."
"Hear to the wicked lass! My bad tongue! My bad heart! I sall scream oot
at sich words--"
"Dinna flyte mair at me for ony sake, Aunt Janet. You'll get the hoose to
yoursel' in the early morning."
"And then what sail I do? A puir auld woman wiled awa' frae her ain hame."
"Aunt Janet, you can go back to your ain hame. There is nane to hinder
you. When you are ready, lock the door, and gie the key to Elder
Mackelvine. But if you like this bien comfortable cottage better than the
one bit empty room David took you from, you can stay in it your lane. I
wadna bide wi' you anither day for gude words, nor gude gold; no, nor for
onything else."
"My bite and sup were aye sure at Dron Point; but what will I do here at
a'? Hae you made a provision for the five shillings weekly?"
"Na, na; I hae paid that o'er lang. At Dron Point you spun your pickle o'
tow, and you nursed the sick folk. There is mair spinning here, and mair
sick folk. You are nae waur off, but better. And it is little o' the
siller I hae given you that has been spent. A' expenses hae come oot o' my
pocket."
"I'll no hear tell o'you going awa'! Sich daftness. And surely if you will
gae, you'll no leave an auld body like me wi'out some sma' income. You
that's got siller."
"I hae nae mair than I want. But I'll ask Davie to do what he thinks he
can do for you; seeing that you are my fayther's sister. Puir fayther! I
hope he doesna ken how hard you hae been on me."
"You sall not go! I'll no be left my lane--"
"I tell you, aunt, I am going in the morning. There is naebody in
Pittenloch can stop me; no, nor Doctor Balmuto himsel'."
Still Janet Caird scarcely believed Maggie. The girl had never been
further from home than Kinkell. She thought she would go first to the
minister, and she felt sure the minister would send her back home. So
when Maggie passed out of the door soon after daybreak, and said
"good-bye, Aunt Janet," the old woman answered with an affected
laugh--"gude-bye till the sun is doon. The night will bring you hame,
Maggie."
Maggie took the hills and was far up them before the village was astir.
She had no intention of calling upon the minister; she still resented his
last conversation with her, and after what he had said to Davie she had
little hopes of obtaining a kind hearing from him just yet. She found
Sandy Young's wagon nearly ready to start for Stirling, and she easily got
a seat in it. It was a slow, lumbering conveyance, but she was in no
hurry; and she enjoyed very much the leisurely drive through lanes, and
inland hamlets, and queer old towns. It was a strange and wonderful
experience to a girl who had seen little of nature but the sea and the
rocks, and little of men, save the men and women of her own distinctive
class.
On the evening of the third day she reached Glasgow. It was a clear,
blowing March day, very near the anniversary of her father's and brothers'
death. Glasgow was in one of its brightest moods; the streets clean and
crowded, and the lamplighters just beginning to light them. She easily
found her way to the Candleriggs, and to the house in which David lodged.
Here, for the first time, her heart failed her. She loitered about the
window of the bakery until she had a sense of shame and hunger and
weariness that overcame all her fears. "I'm wanting Mr. Promoter, ma'am,"
she said at length to the woman behind the counter, and the woman looking
sharply at her answered, "He's in his room. Go through the close and up
the stair; it's at the right hand side."
It seemed strange to knock at her brother's door, and yet Maggie felt as
if David would expect it of her. He answered the timid summons by a loud
peremptory "Come in;" but when Maggie entered he leaped to his feet in
amazement, and let the big book in his hand fall to the floor. There were
the remains of tea on the table, and a young man who was sitting with
David had pushed the cups aside, and filled their places with his papers
and books.
"Maggie!"
"Ay, it's me, Davie."
"What has brought you to Glasgow?"
"You ken I wouldna come without a good reason. I hope I am na unwelcome."
Her eyes filled, she could scarcely endure the strain of uncertainty as
she stood before him.
Then he took her hands and kissed her brow, and said, "Cameron, this is
my sister, my only near relative, so I'm sure you'll excuse me the night."
And the young man, who had been gazing with delight on Maggie's beauty,
rose with an apology and went away.
"Now, Maggie, I want to know what has brought you here?"
"Gie me some bread and tea first, for I am fair famished, and then I'll
tell you."
"I must also speak to the good wife about a sleeping place for you under
her own eye. You'll be going back to-morrow."
"I'll not go back to Pittenloch again." Then she told him all the wrong
and shame and sorrow that had dogged her life since he had left her at the
New Year. "Let me stay near by you, Davie. I can sew, I can go oot to
service. I'll be happy if I see you one hour on the Sabbath day."
His face was white and stern and pitiless. "You want to ruin my life,
Maggie, and your ain too. Mr. Cameron will speak of having seen you here.
And it is nae less than evendown ruin for a theology student to have
women-folks coming to his room--young women like yoursel'."
"I'm your ain sister, Davie."
"Who is to know that? Can I go about saying to this one and to that one
'the woman who came to see me, or the woman I went to see, on Sabbath last
is my sister.' It would not do for you to stay here, for I have company
to see me and to study with me, and you and I would both be spoken of. It
would not be right for you to take a room and live by yourself, and sew
out by the day. You are too noticeable, and I could not spare the time to
call and look after you in any way. And as to going out to service, I am
mair than astonished to hear you naming a thing like that. _We are
fisher folk._ Nane of the Promoters ever served mortal man as hand-maid
or flunkey. We have always served God and cast the nets for a living. We
werena indebted to any human being. We aye took our daily bread from His
hand. And if you, Maggie Promoter, would dare to go out as a servant I
would give you the back of my hand for ever."
"Then what will I do, Davie? What will I do? I am sae miserable. Do hae
some pity on me."
"You speak as if happiness was 'the because' of life. Do? Do your duty,
and you will be happy, whatever wind blows. And as to my having pity on
you, I would love you little if I gave way now to your impatience and
your wounded pride. Who loves you if I don't? I am aye thinking of the
days when we will have a braw house of our ain. Can you not wait?"
"It is lang waiting; and many a hope goes wi' the weeks and the months.
Davie, I canna go back."
"You must go back. I will write a letter to Dr. Balmuto and ask him to put
you with some decent family in Kinkell: and keep his own eye on you. What
can you want more than that? And let me tell you, Maggie, I think it very
unsisterly of you, bothering and hampering me with women's quarrels, when
I am making myself a name among them that will be looked to for the
carrying on o' the kirk in the future. But I'll say no more, and I'll
forgive this romantic folly o' yours, and to-morrow I'll put you in the
Stirling train, and you'll go, as I tell you, to Dr. Balmuto."
Maggie made no further objections. David wrote the promised letter, and he
spent a part of the next day in showing her the "wonderfuls" of the
cathedral and the college. He was even gentle with her at the last, and
not a little proud of the evident sensation her fresh, brilliant beauty
caused; and he asked her about her money matters, and when he put her in
the train, kissed her fondly; and bade her "be brave, and patient, and
cheerful."
And still Maggie said nothing. Her eyes were full of tears, and she looked
once or twice at her brother in a way that made his heart dirl and ache;
but she seemed to have resigned herself to his direction. Only, at the
first station beyond Glasgow, she got out of the train, and she allowed it
to go on to Stirling without her.