"Nor to me," added Mrs Bourhill, "his mother-in-law to be."
"Dear me," said Mrs Blair to Miss Bourhill, "you are married, you know. We saw it in the papers."
"A mistake," replied Miss Bourhill, "a cousin of the same name, not me."
"But," pleaded Mrs Blair, "the engagement fell to the ground. The correspondence stopped years ago."
"Malcolm's fault," replied Miss Bourhill quietly. "I wrote last."
"A promise," added Mrs Bourhill, "can't be broken but by the consent of both parties. A bargain's a bargain."
These replies, curt and remorseless, sounded in the young minister's ears like his death-knell, and he lay back in his chair and closed his eyes in mute agony.
But Malcolm Blair, enfeebled though he was, was too brave to be crushed at once. In a few days his mind had regained its strength, and was calmly looking the difficulty in the face. He had, he saw, just two alternatives. One was to hold himself bound by his blindfold engagement, to marry Miss Bourhill, and so to blight his whole future career: the other was to break his promise and bravely take the consequences—a law suit, a public exposure of all his private affairs, the payment of heavy damages, and the resignation of the position to which he had just been appointed. The latter course was the one which he was inclined to take. But before definitely deciding, he wrote to Miss Singleton stating his resolution, and giving his reasons for it. The engagement between him and Miss Bourhill, he argued, was made in a moment of excitement, and when they were both young and thoughtless. Any affection they might have had for each other was a mere fancy, and very soon vanished. By a tacit agreement they ceased to write to each other, and for years there had been no correspondence between them. To go through the solemn and binding rite of marriage under these circumstances would be to lay the crime of perjury upon their souls. This argument seemed to Malcolm to be so unanswerable, that he felt sure of the approval of Miss Singleton.
Great, therefore, was his surprise when he received a letter from her expressing her deep regret that she could not approve of his resolution. The exchange of the heart's affection, she said, between a man and a woman was a serious and solemn engagement. It was often a matter of life and death. Not only the happiness of the individuals themselves, but the welfare of society might depend upon it. It was really as binding as the marriage vow itself. No cooling of affection, no temporary estrangement, nothing but infidelity could be a reason for setting it aside. And as for his future happiness, he should not despair. By the use of tender and assiduous sympathy he had succeeded in rekindling healthy affection in many a degraded soul. Why should the influence which had been so effectual in the slums of Coaltown fail at his own fireside. Let him keep his promise like an honourable man and a Christian. Let him do the right, and trust in God for the result.