He took a sixpence from his pocket and broke it silently in two. He had prepared it for the ceremony, but it required a slight effort, and the girl stood with her eyes fixed on his white, handsome, resolute face, as he accomplished the rite. Then he lifted one half, and said:
“This is yours, Maggie Promoter. With this silver token, I bind you mine, until death parts us.”
“And this is yours, Allan Campbell. Wi’ this siller token, I bind you mine, until death parts us.”
Handfast they stood with the broken silver in their palms; their shining eyes reading the sacred promise in each other’s face. Allan’s heart was too full for words; Maggie, trembling with joy, was yet awed by the solemn significance of the promise. Yet she was the first to speak—
“I’ll be true to you, Allan, true as the sun to the dawn, true as the moon to the tide. Whene’er you come, late or early, you’ll find me waiting.”
He took her by the hand, and they walked up and down the house place together; and the rain plashed against the window, and the sun glinted in after it, and the village awakened to its daily life and labor, but they took no note of the world outside the cottage, until a little child tapped low down on the closed door.
“My mammy wants some milk, Maggie Promoter,” and Maggie filled the small pitcher, and then smilingly said, “We hae forgotten our breakfast, Allan. What will you hae?”
“To-day is all mine, Maggie; let us have oat cake and milk, and kisses.” And he followed her from cupboard to drawer, and stood by her while she spread the cloth, and ate his portion by her side, and thought it like a meal in Paradise.
And oh, how swiftly went those few hours stolen from two years of waiting and longing; full of the eager joy of the moment, touched with the sweet melancholy of the near parting. They forgot that the wind had changed, and that David would be earlier home for it; forgot all things but their own bliss and sorrow, until a passing neighbor called out—“yonder boat coming wi’ all her sails spread, will be the ‘Allan Campbell,’ Maggie.”
Then they knew that their real parting had come. From it, Allan, white with grief, went to the pier, and Maggie forced back her tears, and hung on the kettle, and spread the table, and made all things ready to welcome her aunt. She had not seen her for many years, she had not any pleasant memories of her, but “blood is thicker than water,” and kinship, to the Scotch heart, has claims of almost sacred obligation.