"Love's a divinity that speaks
'Awake Sweetheart!' and straightway breaks
A lordlier light than sunshine's glow,
A sweeter life than mortals know.
I bow me to his fond command,
Take life's great glory from his hand;
Crowned in one moment's sweet surprise,
When Somebody and I--changed eyes."
Maggie had very little hope of meeting Allan, and yet he might have
lingered. Judging him by her own heart, she thought he would have done so,
unless circumstances of which she had no knowledge made waiting
impossible. It was this faint hope that made her wear the costume most
becoming to her--a gown and mantle of dark blue cashmere and velvet, and a
white straw bonnet with bands and strings of blue velvet and one drooping
plume of the same tint. Mary looked at her critically, and said, "You do
me great credit, Maggie, I expect some one to be very pleased with me.
Kiss me, dear, and be sure and bring good news back with you."
Late that night Maggie reached Kinkell. She rested at its small inn
until daylight, then, ere any one was astir, she took the familiar path
down the rocks. Perhaps she ought to have had a great many fine thoughts,
and grateful emotions, on that walk; but people cannot feel to order, and
Maggie's mind was wholly bent upon Allan and herself. She was also obliged
to give much of her attention to her feet. The shelving narrow path, with
its wide fissures and slight foothold, had become really dangerous to her.
There were points at which she almost feared, and she felt more vividly
than ever she had done before how far the old life had slipped behind her.
She had become unfit for it; she shrank from its dangers; and when she
came in sight of the cottages, and remembered the narrow orbit of life
within them, she shrank even from its comforts and pleasures.
From her own cottage the smoke was rising in plentiful volume through the
white wide chimney. She did not know of Janet Caird's removal, and
supposed she would have to parry all her old impertinences and
complaints. When she opened the door Mysie, who was stooping over the
fire toasting a cake, turned her head; then she lifted herself and dropped
a courtesy.
"I am only Maggie Promoter, Mysie. Is Janet Caird sick?"
"Why, Maggie! I'd never hae kent you, lassie! Come to the fire, for it is
raw and cold--I'm glad I had the fire kindled, and the kettle boiling--you
can hae your breakfast as soon as you like it."
"I'll hae it the noo, Mysie." She fell at once into her old speech, and as
she removed her bonnet and mantle asked again, "Is Aunt Janet sick?"
"I dinna ken, nor I dinna care much, either. She's gane awa' frae
Pittenloch, and Pittenloch had a gude riddance o' her."