A Daughter of Fife | Page 9

sunrise, and great flocks of hungry white sea-birds were making for the
Firth. Maggie folded her plaid around her, and walked to the little pier
to see the boat away; and as she stood there, the wind blew the kerchief
off her head into the water; and she saw Campbell lean forward and
pick it up, and then nod back to her an assurance of its safety. She
turned away half angry at herself for the thrill of pleasure the trifling
incident had given her. "It's my ain folk I ought to be thinking o', and
no strangers; it's the dead, and no the living that ought to be in my heart.
Oh Maggie Promoter, whate'er has come o'er you!"
To such reflections she was hasting with bent head back to her cottage,
And trying to avoid a meeting with any of the few men and women
about so early. But she was soon sensible of a rapid step following her,
and before she could turn her head, a large hand was laid upon her
shoulder, and Angus Raith was at her side.
"Sae you thocht to shun me, Maggie."
"You are wrang there, I didna even see you, Angus."
"That's the God's truth. You havena e'en for any body noo, but that
proud, fine gentleman that's staying wi' you."
"Be quiet, Angus. Hoo daur you say the like o'that? I ne'er saw the

man's face until yestreen; you shouldna think ill o' folk sae easy."
"What does he want here amang fishers? They dinna want him, I'm
vera sure. There's nae room for gentlemen in Pittenloch."
"Ask him what he wants. He pays for his room at Pittenloch; fourteen
white shillings every week, he agreed wi' Davie for."
"Fourteen shillings!"
The magnitude of the sum astonished him. He walked silently by
Maggie's side until she came to her door-step. He was a heavy-faced
Celt; sallow, and dark-eyed; with the impatient look of a selfish greedy
man. Maggie's resolute stand at her door-stone angered him, "I'm
coming in a wee," he said dourly, "there are words to be said between
us."
"You are wrang there too, Angus. I hae neither this, nor that, to say to
you; and I'm busy the day."
"I spoke to your fayther and your brother Will, anent a marriage
between us, and you heard tell o' it."
"Ay, they told me."
"And you let me walk wi' you frae the kirk on the next Sabbath.--I'm no
going to be jilted, Maggie Promoter, by you."
"Dinna daur to speak that way to me, Angus. I never said I wad wed
you, and I dinna believe I ever sall say it. Think shame o' yoursel' for
speaking o' marrying before the tide has washed the footmarks o' the
dead off the sea sands. Let go my hand, Angus."
"It is my hand, and I'll claim it as long as you live. And it will be ill for
any ither body that daurs to touch it."
"Daurs indeed! I'll no be daured by any body, manfolk or womanfolk.
You hae gi'en me an insult, Angus Raith, and dinna cross my
door-stane any more, till you get the invite to do so."

She stepped within her open door and faced him. Her eyes blazed, her
whole attitude was that of defiance. The passions, which in well-bred
women are educated clean down out of sight, were in Maggie
Promoter's tongue tip and finger tips. Angus saw it would not do to
anger her further, and he said, "I meant nae harm, Maggie."
"I'll no answer you anither word. And mind what I told you. Dinna
cross my doorstane. You'll get the red face if you try it." She could
have shut the door, but she would have thought the act a kind of
humiliation. She preferred to stand guard at its threshold, until Angus,
with a black scowl and some muttered words of anger, walked away.
She watched him until he leaped into his boat; until he was fairly out to
sea. Then she shut and barred the door; and sitting down in her father's
chair, wept passionately; wept as women weep, before they have
learned the uselessness of tears, and the strength of self-restraint.

CHAPTER III.
THE CAMPBELLS OF MERITON.
"We figure to ourselves The thing we like, and then we build it up As
chance will have it, on the rock or sand."
"About some act, That has no relish of salvation in it."
Upon the shores of Bute, opposite the rugged, heathery hills of Cowal,
John Campbell had built himself a splendid habitation. People going up
and Down the Kyles were in the habit of pointing out Meriton Mansion,
and of asserting that the owner had risen from extreme poverty to his
enviable position. There was not a