Ang. Meg, my weel lo’ed Meg, my wee wifie that is to be, tell me what’s wrang wi’ ’ee?
Mag. Oh, mither, it’s him; the noble gentleman I plighted my troth to three weary months agone! The gallant Englishman who gave Angus twa golden pound to give me up!
Ang. It’s the coward Sassenach who well nigh broke our Meg’s heart!
Mrs. Mac. My lass, my lass, dinna greet, maybe he’ll marry ye yet.
Ch. (desperately). Here’s another! Does anybody else want to marry me? Don’t be shy. You, ma’am (to Mrs. Mac.) you’re a fine woman—perhaps you would like to try your luck?
Mag. Ah, sir! I dinna ken your name, but your bonnie face has lived in my twa een, sleeping and waking, three weary, weary months! Oh, sir, ye should na’ ha’ deceived a trusting, simple Lowland lassie. ’Twas na’ weel done—’twas na’ weel done! (Weeping on his shoulder; he puts his arm round her waist.)
Ch. (softening). My good girl, what do you wish me to do? I remember you now perfectly. I did admire you very much—in fact, I do still; you’re a very charming girl. Let us talk this over, calmly and quietly. (Mag. moves away.) No, you needn’t go; you can stop there if you like. There, there, my dear! don’t fret. (Aside.) She is a very charming girl. I almost wish I—I really begin to think I—no, no! damn it, Cheviot! not to-day.
Mag. Oh! mither, he told me he loved me!
Ch. So I did. The fact is, when I fell in love with you—don’t go my pretty bird—I quite forgot that I was engaged. There, there! I thought at the time that you were the tree upon which the fruit of my heart was growing; but I was mistaken. Don’t go; you needn’t go on that account. It was another tree—