"She is not a common peasant woman. You could not believe that she would
ever kick her heels in a 'foursome reel,' or pass coarse jokes with the
lads. Yet she must be uneducated, and perhaps vulgar."
"She is never vulgar, sir. She has a soul, and she is conscious of it. She
had parents, grave and thoughtful, who governed by a look, without waste
of words. Though she lives on the wild Fife coast, she has grown up
beneath the shade of Judea's palms; for the Bible has blended itself with
all her life. Sarah, Moses, Joshua, Ruth, and David, are far more real
people to her than Peel or Wellington, or Jenny Lind, or even Victoria.
She has been fed upon faith, subjected to duty, and made familiar with
sorrow and suffering and death. The very week I met her, she had lost her
father and three eldest brothers in a sudden storm. If you could see her
eyes, you could look into her pure soul. A woman like that is never
vulgar, father."
"A lover is allowed to exaggerate, Allan."
"But I do not exaggerate. Uneducated she certainly is. She can write a
little; and in the long stormy days and evenings, I read aloud to her and
to her brother. But Scott and Burns and Leigh Hunt are not an education.
Her Bible has really been her only teacher."
"It is His Word," said John Campbell, reverently. "It is the best of
teachers. The generations to whom Scotland owes everything, had no other
book. It made her men calm, reflective, courageous unto death. It made her
women gentle, faithful, pure, ideal. I remember my mother, Allan; she came
from the same school. Her soul lived so much in the Book, that I am sure
if an angel had suddenly appeared to her, she would scarcely have been
surprised. What domestic women those were! How peaceful and smiling! How
fond of the children! How dear to the children!" He had wandered a few
moments back into his own past; and though he hastily recalled himself,
the influence was upon him.
"Allan?"
"Yes, father."
"Have you said anything to this girl? Have you in any way committed your
promise to her?"
"I have never sought her love. I was their guest, I would not wrong her by
a thought. There was in my heart a real intention to marry Mary Campbell.
I am your son, do you think I would plot shame or sorrow for any girl?"
"Does she love you?"
"I cannot tell--sometimes I fear so."
"Allan, there are few loves that conquer life. Life would be a hurly-burly
of unbridled passion, if we had not the power to control our likes and
dislikes. We two cannot quarrel. You are my one child. The sole desire of
my heart is your welfare and happiness. We will make a paction between us.
Go away for two years. Let absence test the love you have conceived for
this strange girl. At the end of it you will either love her better, or
your heart will have turned back to the friend and hope of your childhood
and youth. If so, Mary will forgive you, and I may yet see you Laird of
Drumloch. But if the new love outgrows the old; if you are sure, after two
years' test, that none but this fisher-girl can be your wife, I will not
oppose your happiness. I can trust you to bring no woman to Meriton who
will be a shame or a grief to my old age."