“Na, na; I dinna expect it. The hame pays for the care o’ it.”
“But I’ll hae to pay you for the care o’ my letter, Mysie, for I can weel afford it. I’ll gie you two pounds for the next three months; and at the beginning o’ every quarter you’ll find the two pounds at the minister’s for you. He’ll gie it, or he’ll send it to you by the elder.”
“I dinna like to be paid for a kindness, Maggie. The young man was gude to me, and I’d do the kind turn to him gladly.”
“Weel, Mysie, David ought to hae minded the bit siller to you, and he wad dootless hae done it, if he hadna been bothered oot o’ his wits wi’ Aunt Janet. Sae, I’m only doing the duty for him. Davie isna mean, he is just thochtless anent a’ things outside o’ his college, or his books.”
At twelve o’ clock, when every one was at their dinner, and the beach was empty, Maggie easily got away without observation. She did not regret her journey. She had Allan’s letter and she had also a few withered flowers which he had gathered on the top of the cliffs during his visit, and left in his room. Poor, little brown bits of gorse and heather, but they had been in his hands, and were a precious and tangible link between them. The carriage which had brought her to Kinkell was waiting for her, and the horses being refreshed and rested, she left immediately for Drumloch.
She had many a thought to keep her company; but in the main, they were thoughts of hopeful love toward Allan, and of grateful affection toward Mary. This visit to Pittenloch had enabled her to measure Mary’s singular beneficence and patience; and she was almost glad that she had been able to prove her gratitude by a cheerful renunciation of hopes so dear and so purely personal. She knew then, if she had never before known, the value of what had been done for her, and she understood why David had so resolutely put aside everything that would interfere with his mental culture. In such a mood, it was even easy to excuse his harshness. “He feared I would be a hindrance to him,” she thought; “and maybe, when a man is climbing out of ignorance into knowledge, he ought to be feared for hindrances, even though he likes them well.”
Mary Campbell, like most people of a nervous temperament, had a quick, sensitive ear. She heard Maggie’s arrival and her step upon the stair long before Mrs. Leslie did. She was still confined to her bed, but she turned her questioning eyes eagerly to the door by which Maggie would enter. She came in so brightly, and with such a happy light on her face, that Mary felt sure the journey had been a successful one.
“In time, Maggie, after all?” she whispered, as Maggie kissed her.
“No, he did not wait for me:—but it is all right.”
“Oh Maggie! what a shame!”