Oh, how she hated the sunshine and the noisy babble of it! How feverishly
she longed for the night, for the shadows in which she could weep, for the
darkness in which she could be herself, for the isolation in which she
could escape from slavery! It was an entirely new, strange feeling to her.
In that simple community; joys and sorrows were not for secrecy. A wedding
or a funeral was the affair of every one. Women were expected to weep
publicly, and if they wore sackcloth and ashes, to wear it in the sight of
every one. Love affairs were discussed without ceremony, and often
arranged in full family conclaves. All married strictly within their own
rank; not once in a generation did a fisher-girl marry "out of the boats."
Maggie would have been really afraid to speak of her love for a gentleman
like Allan Campbell. She knew well what a storm of advices, perhaps even
of scorn and reproaches, her confidence would be met with. Yet she would
talk freely enough about Angus Raith, and when Christie Buchan told her
Raith's version of their quarrel, she did not hesitate to fly into a
passion of indignation, and stigmatize him freely as "a liar and a
cowardly ne'er-do-weel."
"You'll mak' it up," said Christie, "and marry him when the year is oot.
Deed you'll be kind o' forced to, for he'll let nae other lad come
Speiring after you."
"I'll ne'er mak' it up wi' him; no, not for a' the gold in Fife; and you
may tell him if he ever speaks o' me again, I'll strike the lies aff his
black mouth wi' my ain hand." She found a safe vent for her emotions in
the subject, and she continued it until her visitors went. But it was an
unwise thing. Raith had kin and friends in Pittenloch; all that she had
said in her excited mental condition was in time repeated to them, and she
was eventually made to feel that there was a "set" who regarded her with
active ill will.
In the meantime, Allan and David had a pleasant sail to Leith; and during
it Allan made David's position perfectly clear to him. "Dr. Balmuto has
taken for himself the pleasure of buying your first books, David," he
said; "you must let me select your first scholastic wardrobe; or rather we
will go together to my tailor, for he will know exactly what is necessary
for you. The square cap of your college, and its scarlet gown, we shall
procure best in Glasgow."
"I'll do whate'er you say, sir." "You see, David, the respectability of
the theological class must be kept up, and it will be better that
Professor Laird sees you first dressed as a student, rather than as a
fisher. Then, as one never knows what may happen, I shall deposit to your
credit in the Western Bank of Glasgow, the sum of £400. It will be for
your fees, and board, and books, and dress. You will have to be very
careful, David. I wanted to make it £500, but Dr. Balmuto said you would
like better the idea of economy. Not one word, David. I know all you feel.
I am happier than you are; and if the obligation ever becomes a painful
one to you, why pay me back when you get a kirk and a good stipend."