Then Allan walked rapidly back to the cottage. He was longing to speak to Maggie, and every moment of David’s absence was precious. She was far from expecting him, for she knew that David and Allan had left the cottage together, and she supposed Allan had also gone to Dron Point. When he opened the door the house was empty; but glancing up the beach, he saw Maggie, with her head bent to the smiting rain, slowly making her way home. He knew that this early walk had become a usual thing with her, and he understood by his own feelings, how grateful the resolute onward march against wind and rain would be to her heart.
In a few minutes she pushed open the cottage door; and her wet rosy face, in the dark green folds of the plaid over her head, had a vivid distinctness. When she saw Allan she trembled. His unexpected presence, the eager longing gaze in his eyes, his outstretched arms, the soft, penetrating utterance of her name, “Maggie! dearest Maggie!” All these things were an instant’s revelation to her. She clasped her hands helplessly, and the next moment Allan was taking the wet plaid off her head and shoulders, and whispering, as he did so, all the fond words which he had so long restrained.
She let him tell her again and again how much he loved her. She had no more power to resist the sweet pleading than a man dying of thirst has power to resist water. For a few moments she surrendered herself to a joy so pure and so unexpected. “Oh Maggie, sweetest Maggie, tell me that you love me: that you love none but me, that you will marry none but me,” pleaded Allan.
“I have aye loved you, sir. I dreamed about you when I was a lassie. I keep it the thocht o’ you close in my heart. When you lookit at me the night you cam’ here first, I kent you, and I loved you that vera moment. Whate’er the love I give to you, it is your ain, my soul brought it into the warld for you, and for nae other man.”
“In two years, Maggie, I will come for you. My wife! My wife!”
“I’ll no say that, sir; not just yet. Marrying is o’ this warld. Loving is from somewhere beyond it. You told me about another leddy; and beside that, I wouldna come atween you and your fayther.
“I have spoken to the other lady, and she has refused me.”
“Puir thing! I’m dooting you asked her for the refusal. I hae had many a sair heart anent her since you went awa’; and when I think o’ her, I dinna feel as if I deserved my ain joy.”
“I could love none but you, Maggie. And I have told my father that I love you. I have told him every thing.”
“Weel, sir? What said he?”