When she came to the top of the cliff, she turned and gazed again at the sea. The sunshine then fell all over her, and her dress came into notice. It was simple enough, yet very effective—a white fluted cap, lying well back on her bright, rippling hair, long gold rings in her ears, and a vivid scarlet kerchief over her shoulders. Her skirt was of wide blue and gray stripes, but it was hardly noticeable, for whoever looked in Christine’s face cared little about her dress. He could never tell what she wore.
As she stood in the sunshine, a young man ran out of the house to meet her—a passing handsome youth, with his heart in his eager face and outstretched hands.
“Christine! Christine!” he cried. “Where at a’ have you keepit yourself? I hae been watching and waiting for you, these three hours past.”
“Cluny! You are crushing the bonnie flowers i’ my hands, and I’m no thanking you for that.”
“And my puir heart! It is atween your twa 7 hands, and it’s crushing it you are, day after day. Christine, it is most broke wi’ the cruel grip o’ longing and loving—and not a word o’ hope or love to help it haud together.”
“You should learn seasonable times, Cluny. It’s few lasses that can be bothered wi’ lovers that come sae early. Women folk hae their hands full o’ wark o’ some kind, then.”
“Ay, full o’ flowers. They canna even find time to gie the grip o’ their hand to the lad that loves them, maist to the death throe.”
“I’m not wanting any lad to love me to the death throe, and I’m not believing them, when they talk such-like nonsense. No indeed! The lad I love must be full o’ life and forthput. He must be able to guide his boat, and throw and draw his nets single-handed—if needs be.”
“I love you so! I love you so! I can do nothing else, Christine!”
“Havers! Love sweetens life, but it’s a long way from being life itsel’. Many a man, and many a woman, loses their love, but they dinna fling their life awa’ because o’ that misfortune—unless they have no kindred to love, and no God to fear.”