“Ye shall know in good time,” she replied coquettishly. “I—I must make certain that ye dinna’ love—me.” She smiled, but her heart was beating wildly.
“I love only one maiden, an’ I make her my wife within a week,” he answered with dignity.
“An’ ye’ve no regrets for Lady Nancy, nor for Mrs. McLehose, nor—nor any o’ the grand ladies ye’ll be givin’ up to marry the little country maiden?” she asked softly, forgetting in her eagerness her lapse into her natural speech.
“None, my lady,” he replied firmly. “Noo, lets call a truce to this masquerade! I am at a loss to understand your errand here to-night, but do not press ye for an explanation, and as I am due at the Duke of Athol’s, I must bid ye good-night.” He bowed coldly, and started to leave her.
But with a cry of joy, which thrilled him to the heart, she drew near to him with outstretched arms. “Robbie, lad, canna’ ye guess who I am?” she cried. “I’m nae a grand lady at all, I’m only your Highland Mary.” With a quick movement, she tore off the mask from her flushed and radiant face and threw it far from her.
“Mary, is it ye?” he gasped, almost speechless with surprise. He could scarcely believe his senses. This radiantly beautiful lady his Highland Mary? was such a metamorphosis possible?
She made him a little courtesy. “Aye, ’tis Mary!” she answered, her heart beating fast with pleasure. Quickly she told him how she had come, why she had come, and how long she had waited, just to hear his words of approval. “Do I please ye, laddie?” she asked shyly.
For a moment he could not speak. Her wonderful perfection of beauty startled him. He drew her closely into his arms, kissing her with almost pathetic tenderness. “Mary, my love, my sweet lass!” and his voice trembled. “Pleased! Good Heavens, what little words those are to express my feelings. I can tell ye how you look, for nothing can ever make ye vain! Ye’re the most beautiful lassie I’ve ever seen! Ah, but I’m proud of ye this night. Ye’re fit to wear a coronet, Mary lass! I ken there will not be a grand lady at the ball to-night who will look half sae bonnie, nor hae such sweet, dainty manners, as my country sweetheart.” He held her off at arm’s length and glanced with affectionate adoration, from the fair, golden-crowned head down to the point of the small pearl-embroidered slipper that peeped beneath the edge of the rich, sheeny white robe.
“It seems so strange to be here in Edinburgh, decked out in all this finery,” she murmured dreamily, “and on my way to a real ball. Is it really me?”
“Aye, ’tis ye, Mary, I’ll swear to that!” he cried heartily, kissing the sweet, ingenuous face raised to his so wistfully. She blushed with pleasure, and bashfully turned her head away. “Ye dinna’ think I look awkward, do ye laddie?” she inquired in a low, timid voice.