"Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met and never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted."
Ideal love does not ask conventional recognition. Love is not comfort,
nor house, nor lands, nor the tame delights of use and wont. Love is
sacrifice. Always ask love to pour out its gifts upon the altar of
sacrifice. This is to make love divine. But fill the cup of love with
comfort, and certainty, and calm days of ease, and you make it poor and
cheap. The zest of love is uncertainty. When love has to breast the
Hellespont it feels its most impassioned thrill. Let there be distance,
and danger, and separation and tears in love. Let there be dull
certainty, and custom stales its dearest delights.
Love is worthiest when it asks no requital. Minnie knew that all was
over. She received short notes from Donald from time to time, and the
newspapers kept her informed of the progress of events. She clearly
perceived that if Donald did not give himself up, one of the two things
must happen--he would either be killed himself by the police, or he
would kill one or more of his pursuers, with the certainty of being
ultimately caught, and probably hung. In her letters she implored him to
give himself up, and not further incense the Government, which was not
disposed to be implacable. Finding all her entreaties unavailing, she
determined to visit him. This was a bold resolution. It was carried out
without hesitation. A more sophisticated nature would have asked--"Will
this seem modest?" Modesty itself never asks such a question. Modesty is
not conscious. There is no blush on its cheek. Minnie believed that if
she could see Donald, she could persuade him to give himself up.
We won't tell you what Minnie wore, nor how she got to Marsden, nor what
fears she endured, lest the police, suspecting her as a stranger, should
follow her, and discover Donald's whereabouts.
Minnie reached Marsden in safety. It was in the afternoon.
She had written a brief note to Donald, telling him that she was coming.
The meeting took place in his father's house, the old people keeping
guard, so as to be able to warn the fugitive should any stranger
approach the house.
"Donald!"
"Minnie!"
Then they shook hands.
A mutual instinct caused them to shrink from endearments. Donald was
brown, thin, and weary-looking. His pistols were in his pockets, and his
rifle slung by his side. He had just come in from the woods.
Minnie looked at him, and the calmness which she thought she had
schooled herself to maintain deserted her. She burst into tears.
"Oh! Donald, Donald," she cried, "why will you not end this? If you ever
loved me, I beg of you to give yourself up, and stand your trial. Your
friends will see that you get fair play. I never believed you guilty of
murder. From what I can hear outside, nobody believes such a thing. That
you should have taken a life is dreadful--dreadful! but that you took
it in self-defence I fully believe. For God's sake, Donald, let the
struggle end. You will be killed; or, carried away by passion, you may
take another life, and then think of your terrible position. Can I move
you? Once I could. I love you in this terrible hour as dearly as ever,
and I would to God I could spare you what you must now suffer. But let
me try to save you from yourself. Listen to reason. Give yourself up to
Major Dugas. Your friends will procure the best legal advice, and who
knows but that you may still have a future before you. Let me urge you,"
and she went up to him, and laid her hand upon his arm, while the tears
streamed down her cheeks.
Donald took her hand, and kissed it. He was greatly moved. "I can't,
Minnie," he said. "I can't do it. I would never get a fair trial. I feel
it. No, once arrested, they would either keep me in jail for ever, or
hang me. I have baffled them now for nearly a year, and I can baffle
them still. They must give up at last."
"But have you not heard," Minnie said, "that they are bringing on
fifteen more men from Quebec?"
"Oh, yes," said Donald, smiling sadly it seemed, "I am kept well
informed, though they have arrested most of my friends. Let them bring
on a hundred men. They can't take me without I'm betrayed."
"And I saw in the papers," said Minnie, with a look of horror, "that if
these failed, they would employ bloodhounds against you."
Donald flushed. "I can't believe they would dare to do such a thing," he
said. "Public opinion would not stand it. No, I'm not afraid of that."
"Then, must my visit be in vain, Donald?" Minnie pleaded.
"I may be acting unwisely, Minnie," Donald responded, "but I can't agree
to give myself up. I feel that I must fight it out as I am doing. What
the end will be God only knows. But I want you to forget me, Minnie.
Forget me, and learn, by and by, to be happy in other companionships.
You are young, and life is before you. I never thought we would end like
this. But it must be. I can't recall what has happened. I am an outlaw.
Perhaps the scaffold awaits me. Your love would have blessed my life. I
suppose fate would not have it so."
"Donald, Donald." It was the voice of his mother, who now came quickly
in exclaiming, "they are coming towards the house; away to the bush;
quick."
Donald took Minnie's hand and wrung it hard. He bent down and kissed her
forehead. "God bless you," he said--"farewell."
Then he rushed out of the house, and disappeared from view in the woods.
It was a party of five policemen, armed with rifles.
They were too late!