“Dinna’ ye make fun of our poor clay biggin’, Souter Johnny,” cried Mrs. Burns rebukingly. “Be it ever so poor, ’tis our hame.”
“Aye, ’tis our hame, mother,” repeated Robert lovingly. “An’ e’en tho’ I have been roaming in other parts, still this humble cottage is the dearest spot on earth to me. I love it all, every stick and stone, each blade of grass, every familiar object that greeted my eager gaze as I crossed the moor to this haven of rest, my hame. And my love for it this moment is the strongest feeling within me.”
His roving eyes tenderly sought out one by one the familiar bits of furniture around the room, and lingered for a moment lovingly on the old fireplace. It was there he had first seen Mary Campbell. She had come to the cottage on an errand, and as she stood leaning against the mantel, the sunlight gleaming through the window upon her golden hair, he had entered the room. It was plainly love at first sight, and so he had told her that same day, as he walked back to Castle Montgomery with the winsome dairymaid. The course of their love had flowed smoothly and uneventfully; he loved her with all the depth of his passionate emotional nature, and yet his love was more spiritual than physical. She was an endless source of inspiration, as many a little song and ode which had appeared in the Tarbolton weekly from time to time could testify. How long the year had been away from her, he mused dreamily. To-morrow, bright and early, he would hurry over to Castle Montgomery and surprise her at her duties.
“Gazed straight into the startled eyes of Robert.”
Mary, from her hiding place, had watched all that happened since Robert had come into the room. She had not expected to remain so long hidden, she thought wistfully. She had hoped that Mrs. Burns would miss her, and that she, or Robert, or someone would look for her, but they had not even thought of her, and her lips trembled piteously at their neglect. And so she had stayed on, peeping out at them, whenever their backs were turned, feeling very lonely, and very miserable, in spite of the pride that thrilled her, as she watched her lover sitting there so handsome in the full strength of his young manhood. Perhaps they didn’t want her here to-night. Perhaps it was true, as Gilbert said, “that Robert didn’t love her any more.” The tears could no longer be restrained. If she could only slip out unobserved she would go home. She wasn’t afraid, she thought miserably. She wondered what they were doing now, they were so quiet? Peering shyly around the mantel, she gazed straight into the startled eyes of Robert, who with a surprised ejaculation started back in amazement.
“Why, Mary Campbell!” cried his mother remorsefully, as she caught sight of Mary’s face, “I declare I clear forgot ye, lass.” With a glad cry Robert sprang toward her and grasped her two hands in his own, his eyes shining with love and happiness.
“Mary, lass, were ye hidin’ awa’ from me?” he asked in tender reproach. She dropped her head bashfully without a word. “’Tis o’er sweet in ye, dear, to come over to welcome me hame,” he continued radiantly. “Come an’ let me look at ye,” and he drew her gently to where the candle light could fall on her shy, flushed face. “Oh, ’tis bonnie ye’re looking, lassie,” he cried proudly. He raised her drooping head, so that his hungry eyes could feast on her beauty. She stood speechless, like a frightened child, not daring to raise her eyes to his. “Haven’t ye a word of welcome for me, sweetheart?” he whispered tenderly, drawing her to him caressingly.
“I’m—I’m very glad to hae ye back again,” she faltered softly, her sweet voice scarcely audible.
“Go an’ kiss him, Mary; dinna’ mind us,” cried Souter impatiently. “I can see ye’re both asking for it wi’ your eyes,” he insinuated. And he drew near them expectantly.