A Daughter of Fife

There was nothing in the parting to strengthen her suspicions. Maggie was

indeed white and silent, but Allan went almost hurriedly away: as if he

were weary of the circumstances surrounding him. David thought him cool

and cross, and was pained by the mood; but Maggie knew the meaning of the

worried, slightly haughty manner; for in one quick glance, he had made her

understand how bitter it was to leave her in her worse than loneliness;

and how painful in his present temper was the vulgar effusiveness of

Janet Caird's thanks and noisy farewells.

An hour upon the sea cured him. "David," he said, "I was very cross. I did

not like that woman in your home. She spoils my memory of it."

"She is my fayther's sister, sir."

"Forgive me, David. Let us speak of other things. You have found

comfortable lodgings, I hope?"

"Ay, sir. Willie Buchan's third cousin married a Glasgow baker, who has a

gude place in the Candleriggs Street. That is close by the High Street and

vera convenient as to locality. The charges also are sma'. I hae a

comfortable room and my bite and sup for ten shillings weekly."

This introduced a subject which opened up endlessly to David, and Allan

was glad to let him talk; for thought is sweet to the lover, thought of

the beloved under any circumstances. No other shadow darkened a friendship

that had been so evenly cloudless, and David and Allan parted full of

mutual good will and regard, although the hopes and aims of each were so

widely different.

Allan went directly to his father's office, but John Campbell had gone to

a board meeting, and so he took the next boat for Meriton. Evidently

Archibald had not been warned that day by any peculiar "feeling" of his

arrival. There was no conveyance of any kind waiting for him; but as the

distance was only two very pleasant miles, Allan did not much regret the

prospect of having to walk them.

The woods adjoining the road were the Campbells' property, he leaped the

wall, and took the footpath through them. How silent it was under the

pines! the more so because of that vague stir in the air among them.

What nameless perfumes! emanations from the resinous earth, from the old

trunks, from the foliage. What delightful mysteries in their nooks! Bird

twitterings intimate and charming; chirpings of the mothers to their newly

fledged young; little cries of joy, and counsel, and innocent surprises!

A large, cool, calm hand was laid upon his heart, the hand of nature; he

sauntered slowly in the aromatic air, he dreamed impossible dreams of

bliss, and with the faith of youth believed in them. Good! When we have

weaned youth from dreams, from poetry, from enthusiasms, and made it

thoroughly sensible, and material, what kind of race will remain to the

world?