“So, my lass,” cried the old Squire triumphantly, “I’ve found ye just where I expected ye’d be, in the arms o’ your dissolute lover. Come awa’, ye shameless bairn.”
He started toward her, but Robert passed her quickly behind him.
“Keep back, Squire Armour,” he said firmly. “I’m nae a mild-mannered man, an’ ye may learn it to your cost.”
Squire Armour glanced at him savagely. “Dinna ye dare talk to me, ye libertine, ye blasphemous rhymster. Ye dare to stand there wi’ my daughter, proclaiming her dishonor to my very eyes?”
“There is no dishonor, Squire Armour,” replied Robert calmly, “for your daughter is—my wife.”
“Your wife!” echoed the old man, staggering back in amazement. “I’ll nae believe it. It’s a lie. I’d rather see my daughter disgraced forever than be your wife.”
“Father, are you mad?” gasped Jean in horrified accents.
“An’ ye an Elder in the Kirk, a so-called ‘God-fearin’ man’!” cried Robert scathingly, his eyes blazing with scorn. “I tell ye, Squire Armour, she is my wife, an’ all your bitter, unreasoning hatred o’ me canna’ alter that unhappy fact.”
For a moment the old man stood gazing at them in helpless rage. Then he turned to Jean, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “What proofs have ye?” he asked hoarsely.