"Thou wrongest me, and art unnecessarily angry, dearest Lily. I mean not to slight the gudeman, thy father's memory; but thou hast not yet answered me."
"Sir, I cannot answer while you detain me thus."
Gordon's dark eyes began to sparkle.
"You scorn me then—-you?"
"Nay, nay, Heaven forbid! but remember, that even if I could love you—which is impossible—our religion—our religion! thou a Catholic—I a Calvinist!"
Gordon uttered a bitter laugh.
"Fair Lily," said he; "a time is coming (yea, it is at hand!) when such marriages will be as a boon from God to the accursed brood of Knox and Calvin—of Rough and Wishart; but once more, dearest Lily, hear me——"
"Impossible—impossible!"
"I am going far away from these green woods, from Strathdon and Strathdee, and I will have nothing of thee—of thee, I have loved so long to look upon. Give me but a tress, a ringlet, however small; a riband, a glove—a rag, a shred—oh Lily, Lily!—if you knew how I have loved you!"
"Halbert Gordon, it is improper to give such a gift—and impossible, too——"