A Daughter of Fife

"O, Love! let this my lady's picture glow

Under my hand to praise her name, and show

Even of her inner self a perfect whole

That he who seeks her beauty's furthest goal,

Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw

And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know

The very sky and sea-line of her soul"

The suite of rooms which belonged especially to the heir of Meriton were

very handsome ones, and their long, lofty parlor was full of art treasures

gathered from the various cities which Allan had visited. The fire in this

room had been lighted for some time and was burning cheerily, and the

young man sat in its ruddy glow when his father entered.

"I was lonely to-night, Allan, so I have come to make you a visit."

"You do me a great honor, sir, and are most welcome." And he went to meet

him gladly. But as Blair, his valet, was softly moving about in an inner

room, conversation was confined to conventional grooves until the servant

with a low "good night, sir," glided away. As soon as they were alone the

effort to conceal emotion was mutually abandoned. John Campbell sat on one

side of the hearth, with his head dropped toward his folded hands. Allan

kept his eyes fixed upon the glowing coals; but he was painfully aware of

his father's unhappy presence, and waiting for him to open the

conversation which he saw was inevitable.

"I have had a knock-me-down blow to-night, son Allan."

"And I am much to blame for it; that is what grieves me, father."

"You are altogether to blame for it, Allan. I thought Mary loved you when

you came home this summer; to-night I am sure she loves you. You must have

made some great blunder or she would have married you."

"There was a great blunder. I did the thing accidentally which I had often

had in my heart to do, but which I am very certain would have been

impossible to me, had it not blundered out in a very miserable way. We

were speaking of my late absence, and I let her know that she had been the

cause of our dispute, the reason why I had left home."

"If you had planned to get 'no,' you could have taken no better way. What

girl worth having would take you after you had let her understand you

preferred a quarrel with your father, and an exile from your home, to a

marriage with her?"

"I would, for your sake, father, unsay the words if I could. Is there any

excuse, any--"

"There is no excuse but time and absence. Mary loves you; go away from her

sight and hearing until she forgets the insult you have given her. I don't

mean go away to the east or to the west coast, or even to London or Paris.

I mean go far away--to China or Russia; or, better still, to America. I

have friends in every large sea-port. You shall have all that my name and

money can do to make your absence happy--and women forgive! Yes, they

forget also; wipe the fault quite out, and believe again and again. God

bless them! You can write to Mary. Where a lover cannot go he can send,

and you need not blunder into insults when you write your words. You have

time to think and to rewrite. I shall have to part with you again, son

Allan. I feel it very bitterly."