“Weel, I’m not believing it.”
Then they were at the foot of the hill on which Ruleson’s house stood, and Christine said, “Your carriage is waiting for you, Angus, and you be to bid me good night, here. I would rather rin up the hill by mysel’, and nae doubt the puir horses are weary standin’ sae lang. Sae good night, and good-by, laddie!”
“I shall not leave you, Christine, until I have seen you safely home.”
“I am at hame here. This is Ruleson’s hill, and feyther and mither are waiting up for me.”
A few imperative words from Angus put a stop to the dispute, and he climbed the hill with her. He went as slowly as possible, and told her at every step how beautiful she was, and how entirely he loved her. But Christine was not responsive, and in spite of his eloquent tenderness, they felt the chill of their first disagreement. When they came in sight of the house, they saw that it was dimly lit, and Christine stood still, and once more bade him good-by.
Angus clasped both her hands in his. “My love! My love!” he said. “If I spoke cross, forgive me.”
“I hae naething to forgive. I owe you for mair pleasure and happiness, than I can ever return.”
“Give me one kiss of love and forgiveness, Christine. Then I will know you love Angus”—and he tried gently to draw her closer to him. “Just one kiss, darling.”
“Na! Na,” she answered. “That canna be. I’m a fisher-lass, and we hae a law we dinna break—we keep our lips virgin pure, for the lad we mean to marry.”