“Oh where and oh where is my Highland laddie gone?”
rang out the voice of the singer plaintively. With a cry of brief and horror Robert tore the clinging arms from about his neck and threw her madly from him. “What is the matter, Robert?” she cried fearfully, looking at him in amazement.
“I think ye had better go noo, Jean,” he answered harshly, not looking at her. “’Twill be best for us both. Oh, how I despise my weakness, I had no right, no right noo.” And there was an agony of shame and remorse in his voice.
“Do you mean,” she asked white with rage. “That you are not free to do as you like?” He remained silent a moment.
Then his face grew calm and peaceful. “The lass whom ye hear singing is Mary Campbell, my betrothed wife,” he answered simply. “We are to be married when the plantin’ is done. We have been sweethearts for years, and if I have in my weakness forgotten my sworn vows to her, by God’s help I’ll strive to be more faithful in the future.” His voice vibrated with intense feeling as he made the resolution. Then he continued softly and tenderly, “And the love I bear my faithful Mary will never cease as long as this crimson current flows within me.” A mocking laugh greeted his words as he finished.
“I tell you, Robert Burns,” cried Jean threateningly, “she shall never be your wife, for I will——” But the angry words died suddenly on her lips at an unlooked-for interruption.
“Jean, Jean,” called a lazy voice. Turning quickly she saw with apprehension Lady Glencairn standing in the open doorway of the cottage, beckoning leisurely to her. Had she heard her imprudent words? she asked herself in terror. But no, that were not possible. She had not raised her voice. For a moment she hesitated, not knowing what to do. Should she tell him the truth now? It would only mean a hurriedly whispered word or two, but as she looked at him standing there so proudly erect, the angry, puzzled flush which her last hasty words had occasioned still mantling his swarthy face, she felt her courage slipping away from her. Why not wait and write him? she temporized; that would be much better than creating a scene now, with the sharp eye of Lady Glencairn fastened upon them. Yes, she would do that, she decided hastily. She turned calmly and mounted the stile and without one backward glance descended to the other side. “Are you coming?” she asked indifferently over her shoulder, and without waiting for his answer walked quickly toward the house. Robert after a moment’s indecision gravely followed her, the look of puzzled concern still wrinkling his forehead.
“Oh, I beg your pardon; I didn’t know you were indulging in a tête-à-tête,” said Lady Glencairn frigidly as they reached the door.
“Lady Glencairn, this is Mr. Robert Burns,” stammered Jean nervously, with a flush of embarrassment at her ladyship’s sarcastic smile.
“Oh, indeed, delighted I’m sure,” said her ladyship, with a careless nod, which changed to surprised interest as Robert with simple, manly dignity removed his Tam O’Shanter and bowed low before the haughty beauty. “What an air for a peasant,” she mused. “What dignity,” and she surveyed him critically from the top of his head, with its black clustering locks which gleamed purple in the sunshine, to the tip of his rough leather brogans; noting with admiration his stalwart frame, the well-shaped head and massive neck, the strength suggested in the broad shoulders, the deep chest, the herculean limbs with the swelling muscles displayed to such advantage within the tightly fitting breeches of doe skin. “What a handsome creature,” she thought with a thrill of admiration, as she took the mental inventory of his good points. “And decidedly interesting, I’ll wager, if not dangerous,” she added, smiling contemplatively as she caught the look of respectful admiration which gleamed in his wonderfully magnetic eyes.