“Why doesna he come, Mistress Burns?” said Mary pathetically. They had come down to the field where Gilbert was now at work the better to watch for their loved one’s approach. “Twilight is comin’ on an’ ’tis a lang walk to Castle Montgomery at night. I canna wait much langer noo.”
“Never ye mind, lassie; ye shall stay the night with me,” replied Mrs. Burns soothingly, “if Robert doesna come.”
“I’ll take ye back, Mary,” said Gilbert eagerly, going up to her. Perhaps Robert was not coming after all, he thought with wildly beating heart.
“Thank ye, Gilbert, but I’ll wait a wee bit longer,” answered Mary hopefully; “perhaps he’ll be here soon,” and she dejectedly dug her bare toes into the damp earth.
“Well, lassie, I canna waste any mair time,” said Mrs. Burns energetically. “Ye can stay here with Gilbert, while I return to my spinning. Come, Souter, there’s some firewood to be split,” and she quickly walked to the house, followed more slowly by the reluctant Souter.
Gilbert, with his soul in his eyes, feasted on the pathetic loveliness of the sweet face beside him, gazing wistfully toward Mauchline, and his aching heart yearned to clasp her to his breast, to tell her of his love, to plead for her pity, her love, herself, for he felt he would rather die than give her up to another. He drew closer to her.
“What is the matter, Gilbert?” asked Mary anxiously, noting his pale face. “Are ye in pain?”
“Aye, Mary, in pain,” he answered passionately. “Such pain I’ll hope ye’ll never know.” He bowed his head.
“I’m so sorry, lad,” she replied innocently. “I wish I could help ye,” and she looked compassionately at the suffering man.
He raised his head suddenly and looked into her eyes.