“What say you?” cried Bigla, starting up with a suddenly acquired energy. “What say you, Aggy? is he in the arbour?”
“Hush, my lady!” said the cautious girl, “he is there; and from his tears and sighs I should judge that his heart is well attuned to thine at this moment.”
“Let me fly to him!” exclaimed Bigla, “the moments are most precious;” and throwing her plaid hastily around her, she stole out beyond the barbican; and, having reached the garden, she ran on tiptoe to the simple elder-bush bower at the farther end of it, leaving Archy Abhach to keep watch against intrusion.
The scene between Bigla and her lover was tender and melting. For a time they did little else than weep and sigh together.
“Aggy tells me that you go with Logie to-morrow,” said Sir John at last. “How could you suffer yourself to be persuaded to agree to any such arrangement?”
“It was with no good will that I did so,” replied Bigla; “but as Logie was armed with my dear departed father’s delegated authority, and as his proposal was backed by a parent’s dying wish, I could not withstand his request.”
“Holy Mother, then art thou lost to me for ever!” cried Sir John passionately. “Canst thou thus coolly resolve, even for such a cause, to throw thyself into the very jaws of those from whom I can never hope to reclaim thee but by force of arms!”
“Force of arms!” said Bigla. “I question much whether any force of arms from the Grants could prevail against the men of my clan, who will have the keeping of me. But fear not, for the time is not far distant when the law will give me guidance of mine own affairs; then mayest thou reclaim me from myself with full assurance of a ready compliance on my part.”
“But what if these clansmen of thine should basely coerce thee to a hated union with one of themselves?—with Logie, for instance, who is old enough to be thy father!”
“I have no such fears,” replied Bigla.