“You can’t tell how it is, Christine. You never were i’ love, I’m thinking.”
“I’m thankfu’ to say I never was; and from all I see, and hear, I am led to believe that being in love isna a superior state o’ life. I’m just hoping that what you ca’ love isna of a catching quality.”
“I wish it was! Maybe then, you might catch love from me. Oh Christine, give me a hope, dear lass. I canna face life without it. ‘Deed I can not.”
“I might do such a thing. Whiles women-folk are left to themsel’s, and then it goes ill wi’ them;” and she sighed and shook her head, as if she feared such a possibility was within her own fate.
“What is it you mean? I’m seeking one word o’ kindness from you, Christine.”
Then she looked at him, and she did not require speech. Cluny dared to draw closer to her—to put his arm round her waist—to whisper such alluring words of love and promise, that she smiled and gave him a flower, and finally thought she might—perhaps—sometime—learn the lesson he would teach her, for, “This warld is fu’ o’ maybe’s, Cluny,” she said, “and what’s the good o’ being young, if we dinna expect miracles?”
“I’m looking for no miracle, Christine. I’m asking for what a man may win by a woman’s favor. I hae loved you, Christine, since I was a bit laddie o’ seven years auld. I’ll love you till men carry me to the kirk yard. I’d die for your love. I’d live, and suffer a’ things for it. Lassie! Dear, dear lassie, dinna fling love like mine awa’. There’s every gude in it.”
She felt his heart throbbing in his words, but ere she could answer them, her brother Neil called her three times, in a voice that admitted of no delay. “Good-by, Cluny!” she said hurriedly. “You 9 ken Neil isna to be put off.” Then she was gone, and Cluny, full of bewildered loving and anxious feelings, rushed at headlong speed down the steep and narrow garden path, to his grandmother’s cottage on the sands.
Neil stood by a little pine table covered with books and papers. He was nearly twenty-one years old, and compared with his family was small in stature, lightly built, and dark in complexion. His hair was black, his eyes somberly gray, and full of calculation. His nose, lean and sharp, indicated selfish adherence to the realities of life, and the narrow nostrils positively accused him of timidity and caution. His mouth was firm and discreet. Taken as a whole, his face was handsome, though lean and thoughtful; but his manner was less pleasant. It was that of a serious snob, who thinks there is a destiny before him. He had been petted and spoiled all his life long, and his speech and conduct were full of the unpleasant survivals of this treatment. It spoiled him, and grated on Christine’s temperament, like grit in a fine salad.