“Think of the disgrace, father,” wailed the unhappy girl, clinging to his arm beseechingly.
“We’ll forget and forgive it all if ye’ll come back,” he replied, the great love for his child revealing itself in his eager tones. “Ye’re nae longer that man’s wife. Come an’ none will ever know o’ your dishonor.”
“My God, mon!” exclaimed Robert in horrified accents, “where is your father’s pride, your ain honor, your manhood!”
But Squire Armour heeded him not. “Come, my daughter, come,” he said tenderly, leading the weak, wavering girl to the door.
“Ye canna expect to keep this a secret from the world, Squire Armour,” cried Robert indignantly. “Matters have gone too far for that; soon your daughter’s name will be blasted irretrievably, while mine will be coupled with that of blackguard. It must not be. Ye must let Jean go to the Kirk wi’ me this very night or I shall inform the Elders in the Kirk.”
“Ye’ll have no time to turn informer, my laddie,” snarled Squire Armour, turning on him fiercely; “for I mean to have ye brought before the Kirk sessions, an’ ye’ll be punished as ye deserve for the sin ye have committed, an’ ye shall sit on the cutty stool, where all your friends an’ neighbors can jeer an’ scoff at ye. This very night will I send the parish officers after ye, Robert Burns. Ye can take this warning or no, just as ye please, but I hope they find ye here. Come, lass, we’ll go hame to your mither, noo.” He drew the terrified, half-fainting girl firmly through the door and down the path to the road.
“Ye’re an old hypocrite!” hooted Souter, following them to the gate, where he stood shaking his fist angrily after the departing visitors, and shouting his frank opinion of the Squire in no mild or flattering terms.
“I alone am to blame,” cried Robert despairingly, as he watched them gallop madly away into the threatening night. “An’ only the bitterest sorrow, the most poignant grief will I know until that wrong is righted.”
“What will ye do noo, lad?” asked Mrs. Burns, breaking in upon the melancholy sadness which enveloped him like a pall. (She had entered the room in time to hear Squire Armour’s parting injunction.) “Ye heard what the Squire threatened. Oh, dinna disdain the littleness of prudence, my son.”
“I willna, mother,” replied Robert dully, after a pause. “I have decided to go awa’ from Mossgiel.”