"You must not say that, dear. You must not talk any more. I have a letter
that makes it all right. We will speak of it again when you are stronger."
"Yes, Maggie--and I know--I know--it is sure and certain to come right
--very soon, Maggie."
Indeed Mary had arrived at a very clear decision. As soon as she was able,
she intended to write to Allan and bring him to Drumloch to meet Maggie.
She would make a meeting for the lovers that should amply repay the one
broken for her sake. She knew now, that as Allan had been in Pittenloch,
he had returned from America, and that he was still faithful to his love.
She felt certain that there would be a letter from him among her
Accumulated mail matter. Perhaps he had even called at Drumloch. The next
time she was alone with Mrs. Leslie she asked if her cousin had been to
Drumloch yet. "He was expected home about this time," she said, "and I
should not like him to be turned from the door, even if I am ill."
"I heard that he had gone to Riga, Miss Campbell. Your uncle has been no
just well, and it was thought to be the right thing for Mr. Allan to go
and be company hame for him There are letters nae doubt from baith o'
them, but you willna be let meddle wi' the like o' thae things, yet
awhile."
The winter set in early, and cold, and Mary's recovery was retarded by it.
At the beginning of November she had not left her own rooms. But at that
time her seclusion was mostly a precautionary measure. She had regained
much of her old sprightliness, and was full of plans for the
entertainments she intended to give as soon as she was perfectly well.
"I am going to introduce you to Glasgow society at the New Year, Maggie,"
she said, "and I can imagine the sensation you will cause--the wonder--the
inquiries--the inventions--and the lovers you will be sure to have! I
think we shall enjoy it all, very much."
Maggie thought so, also. She was delighted with the fine new costumes
being made for Mary and herself. The discussions about them, their fitting
on, their folding away in the great trunks destined for Blytheswood
Square, helped to pass the dreary days of the chill damp autumn very
happily. One morning early in November Mary got a letter which gave her a
great pleasure. "Uncle John is coming tonight, Maggie!" she cried. "Oh how
glad I shall be to see him! We have both been to the door of death, and
come back to life. How much we shall have to say to each other! Now I want
you to dress yourself with the greatest care to-night, Maggie; you must be
ready when I have exhausted words on your beauty, to step into his
presence, and make words seem the poorest kind of things."