The tourists, under the direction of a Scottish farmer, whose acquaintance Master Lewis had made, next proceeded to an eminence commanding a view of the mansion house of Coilsfield, the romance-haunting Castle of Montgomery.
“There,” said the Scotchman, “lived Burns’s first sweetheart.”
“Highland Mary?” asked several voices.
“Yes.”
“They were separated by death,” said Master Lewis. “Can you tell us the story?”
“As Mary was expecting soon to be wedded to Burns, she went to visit her kin in Argyleshire. She met Burns for the last time on a Sunday in May. It was a lovely day, and standing one on the one side and one on the other of a small brook, and holding a Bible between them, they promised to be true to each other for ever.
“On the journey, Mary fell sick and died. You have read Burns’s lines ‘To Mary in Heaven’?”
That sacred hour can I forget?
Can I forget the hallowed grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?
Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace!
Ah! little thought we ’twas our last!
“Do you ever sing the songs of Burns?” asked Master Lewis.
“Would you like to hear me try ‘Highland Mary’?”