“But we cannot give you up just yet,” declared Lord Glencairn emphatically, placing his hand affectionately on Robert’s shoulder.
“I am sure, Mr. Burns,” said Mr. Mackenzie gravely, “that your friends and admirers would not advise such a move for you, especially as you are now riding high on the top wave of success.”
“I have nothing to gain by staying here, Mr. Mackenzie,” replied Robert, turning to him and speaking slowly and thoughtfully, “for, as you observe, I am now firmly established as a poet. I fear I am not proof against the subtle temptations which constantly beset my path and which push aside all thoughts of poesy; so as discretion is the better part of valor,” he continued, looking lovingly at the girl clinging so confidingly to his arm, “I shall flee from it all to my farm, my plow, and there amid those innocent, wholesome surroundings pass my remaining days in peace wi’ my wife by my side.”
Mrs. Dunlop sighed dismally and shook her white curls in decided disapproval. “Laddie, you will be taking a false step,” she declared emphatically; “your place is here before the public.”
“Indeed it is!” gurgled Eppy soulfully. “I protest Edinburgh cannot spare its poet yet. Your old farm can wait for you yet a while.”
Mary looked at his thoughtful face with anxious eyes. She prayed fervently that nothing would dissuade him from his purpose. For it had been at her earnest solicitation that he finally decided to give up the enervating pleasures of the Capital, and to retire to the country where he would be free from the contaminating influences which now surrounded him.
He smiled reassuringly into her perturbed little face. No power on earth could tempt him to break the promise he had so willingly made her on that first day of her arrival in the gay metropolis, he thought fondly. He turned to his questioners, who were eagerly awaiting his answer, his face shining with fixed determination.
“My friends,” he said quietly, “I am only a farmer born, a son of the soil. My one ambition now is to have my own roof-tree near the Doon, where amidst the beauties of harmonious nature the Goddess Muse will commune with me as of old, for ’twas there the greatest inspiration of my soul came to me, and I know if all else fails me an independent livelihood awaits me at the plowtail.”
“Tut, tut, the plowtail, indeed!” sniffed Mrs. Dunlop indignantly.
Lady Glencairn, who had been feverishly toying with her fan, turned suddenly to Mary, a sneering smile on her crimson lips, “And have you no higher ambition for your future husband, Miss Campbell?” she demanded, her voice strangely harsh and metallic. “Are you content to have him bury his talents in the country?”