At twelve o' clock, when every one was at their dinner, and the beach was
empty, Maggie easily got away without observation. She did not regret her
journey. She had Allan's letter and she had also a few withered flowers
which he had gathered on the top of the cliffs during his visit, and left
in his room. Poor, little brown bits of gorse and heather, but they had
been in his hands, and were a precious and tangible link between them.
The carriage which had brought her to Kinkell was waiting for her, and
the horses being refreshed and rested, she left immediately for Drumloch.
She had many a thought to keep her company; but in the main, they were
thoughts of hopeful love toward Allan, and of grateful affection toward
Mary. This visit to Pittenloch had enabled her to measure Mary's singular
beneficence and patience; and she was almost glad that she had been able
to prove her gratitude by a cheerful renunciation of hopes so dear and so
purely personal. She knew then, if she had never before known, the value
of what had been done for her, and she understood why David had so
resolutely put aside everything that would interfere with his mental
culture. In such a mood, it was even easy to excuse his harshness. "He
feared I would be a hindrance to him," she thought; "and maybe, when a man
is climbing out of ignorance into knowledge, he ought to be feared for
hindrances, even though he likes them well."
Mary Campbell, like most people of a nervous temperament, had a quick,
sensitive ear. She heard Maggie's arrival and her step upon the stair
long before Mrs. Leslie did. She was still confined to her bed, but she
turned her questioning eyes eagerly to the door by which Maggie would
enter. She came in so brightly, and with such a happy light on her face,
that Mary felt sure the journey had been a successful one.
"In time, Maggie, after all?" she whispered, as Maggie kissed her.
"No, he did not wait for me:--but it is all right."
"Oh Maggie! what a shame!"
"Don't say that, Miss Campbell. He kept his word. He left me a letter. He
is not to blame. No one is to blame. It will be all for the best. I am sure
of that."
"Never call me Miss Campbell again, Maggie. I am Mary, your friend, your
sister Mary. Do you think I can forget those dreadful days and nights when
you walked with me, as I went through the Valley of the Shadow? Though I
could not speak to you I knew you were there. Your hand, so cool, so
strong, and gentle was what I clung to. On that last awful point of land,
beyond which all was a black abyss, I clung to it. I heard your voice when
I had passed beyond all other earthly sounds. It was the one link left me
between that world and this. Maggie! Maggie! You cannot tell how sorry I
am about this broken tryst."