A Daughter of Fife

Never had Allan thought her so beautiful. The words of irrevocable

Devotion were on his lips. But at that moment had he been king of

Scotland, Maggie Promoter would not have stayed to listen to them. So he

turned to Angus. The man, with an insolent, defiant face, stood leaning

against the rock. He had taken out his pipe, and with an assumption of

indifference was trying to light it. Every trick of self-defence was known

to Allan. He could have flung Angus to the ground as easily as a

Cumberland shepherd throws the untrained wrestler, but how little honor,

and how much shame, there would be in such an encounter! He looked

steadily at the cowardly bully for a moment, and then turning on his heel,

followed Maggie. The mocking laugh which Angus sent after him, did not

move any feeling but contempt; he was far more anxious to comfort and

conciliate the suffering, angry woman, than to revenge himself upon so

despicable an enemy.

But when he arrived at the cottage the door was shut. This was so rarely

its condition that he could not help feeling that Maggie had intentionally

put him away from her presence. He was miserable in his uncertainty, he

longed to comfort the womanhood he had heard outraged, but he was not

selfish enough to intrude upon a desired solitude, although as he slowly

walked up and down before the closed door, he almost felt the chafing of

the wounded heart behind it.

And Maggie, in all her anger and humiliation, was not insensible to

Allan's position. As she rocked herself to and fro, and wept and moaned

Without restraint, she was conscious of the man who respected her unjust

humiliation too much to intrude upon it, even with his sympathy: who

comprehended her so well, as to understand that even condolence might be

an additional offence. She could not have put the feeling into words, and

yet she clearly understood that there are some sorrows which it is the

truest kindness to ignore.

In about half-an-hour the first vehemence of her grief was over. She stood

up and smoothly snooded back her hair; she dried her eyes, and then looked

cautiously out of the window. In the dim light, Allan's tall graceful

figure had a commanding aspect, greatly increased in Maggie's eyes by the

fashionable clothing he wore that day. As she watched him, he stood still

and looked toward the sea; and his attitude had an air of despondency that

she could not endure to witness. She went to the door, set it wide open,

and stood upon its threshold until Allan came near.

"I dinna mean to shut you oot, sir," she said sadly, "you are aye

welcome."

"Thank you, Maggie."

His voice was grave, almost sorrowful, and he went at once to his own

room. That was precisely what Maggie felt he ought under the circumstances

to do; and yet she had a perverse anger at him for doing it.