Mag. I’m but a puir, humble mountain girl; but let me tell you, sir, that my character’s just as dear to me as the richest and proudest lady’s in the land. Before I consent to approach ye, swear to me that you mean me no harm.
Bel. Harm? Of course, I don’t. Don’t be a little fool! Come here.
Mag. There is something in his manner that reassures me. It is not that of the airy trifler with innocent hairts. (Aloud.) What wad ye wi’ puir, harmless Maggie Macfarlane, gude sir?
Bel. Can you tell me what constitutes a Scotch marriage?
Mag. Oh, sir, it’s nae use asking me that; for my hairt is not my ain to give. I’m betrothed to the best and noblest lad in a’ the bonnie Borderland. Oh, sir, I canna be your bride!
Bel. My girl, you mistake. I do not want you for my bride. Can’t you answer a simple question? What constitutes a Scotch marriage?
Mag. Ye’ve just to say before twa witnesses, “Maggie Macfarlane is my wife;” and I’ve just to say, “Maister Belvawney is my husband,” and nae mon can set us asunder. But, sir, I canna be your bride; for I am betrothed to the best and noblest——
Bel. I congratulate you. You can go.
Mag. Yes, sir.
[Exit Maggie into cottage.