The dinner was a kind of festival. Mac Roy made every one feel so, when he
served with careful and elaborate ceremonies the famous wine. Allan felt
almost pained by the significance given to his return. It roused the first
feeling of opposition in him. "I will not float with the current unless I
wish to do so," was his mental determination; "and I will not have it
supposed that my return home is a surrender of my inclinations."
Unfortunately John Campbell regarded it as such; and his desire was to
adequately show his appreciation of the concession. Before Allan had been
at home three days, he perceived that his father was restless and
impatient. He had watched and waited so long, he could not help feeling
that Allan was unkind to keep a question of such importance in abeyance
and uncertainty.
But the week Allan had allowed himself nearly passed and he had not been
able to say a word to Mary on the subject pressing him so closely. He felt
that he must have more time, and he went into Glasgow to see David. He
found him in Professor Laird's study hard at work; and he saw at a glance
the easy attitude of the young man among his new surroundings. When the
servant said, "Here is a gentleman to call on you, Mr. Promoter," David
rose without the slightest embarrassment to welcome his visitor; though
when the door was closed, he said with a smile, "I let them call me
'Mister Promoter;' I must consider the office I'm seeking and gie it
honor; but it sounds unca strange, sir. Whiles, I feel as if I wad be glad
to hear somebody say 'David' to me."
"Well, David, have you had a good week?"
"A week fu' o' grand promises, sir. I hae had a glint inside spacious
halls o' delightfu' stillness and wonderfu' wisdom. I'll ne'er forget the
joy o' it."
"We promised Maggie to return in seven days. I shall not be able to keep
my promise, but I think it will be right for you to do so."
"I wad be glad if you were going wi' me."
"I shall follow ere long; and even if I should never see you again, David,
I think your future is assured. Would you like me to go with you as far
as Edinburgh?"
"I wad like it, but there is nae occasion for it. The city doesna fright
me noo. If I couldna find my way to Pittenloch wi' a gude Scot's tongue in
my mouth, and siller in my purse, I wad hae little hope of ever finding my
way into a pulpit. Thank you kindly, sir."
"Then good-bye for the present, Davie, and give my regards to your sister."
He felt like a traitor to Maggie and to his own heart, but what was there
else for him to say. When he reached the street the whole atmosphere of
life seemed to have changed. A sudden weariness of the placid existence at
Meriton attacked him. Was he to go on, year after year, dressing and
visiting, and taking little rows in land-locked bays, and little rides and
drives with Mary Campbell? "I would rather fling a net in the stormiest
sea that ever roared, for my daily bread," he said. Yet he went on
dressing, and rowing, and riding, and visiting for many more weeks;
sometimes resenting the idle, purposeless life as thoroughly enervating;
more frequently, drifting in its sunshiny current, and hardly caring to
oppose it, though he suspected it was leading him to Drumloch.