A Daughter of Fife

"If my eye hadna seen, my heart wouldna hae wanted. I was happy."

"Promoter is an uncommon name. I never knew a Promoter before; but the Campbells are a big clan. I dare say you have known a great many Campbells?"

"The man whom fayther sold his fish to was a Campbell. And the woman I lodged wi' in Glasgow had a daughter married to a Campbell. And Mistress Lauder often sent me to Campbell's big store for silk and trimmings. And whiles, there was a minister preached in oor kirk, called Campbell—and there is yoursel', miss, the best o' them all to Maggie Promoter."

"Thank you, Maggie." Not in the faintest way had Maggie betrayed her knowledge of Allan, and Mary respected her for the reticence very much. "Now for our work. I will sew, and you shall read aloud. I want you to learn how to talk as I do, and reading aloud is an excellent exercise."

"I'll ne'er speak such high English as you, and I like my braid Scotch weel."

"But your voice is so delightful when you say the words as you ought to. You can read 'high English,' why not talk it?"

"My ain tongue is mair homelike and kindly. But I'll try yours, an' you want me to."

After Mary had listened an hour, she suddenly interrupted Maggie. "You read that love scene with wonderful feeling. Had you ever a lover, Maggie?"

"Maist girls have lovers. I couldna expect to escape. You will dootless hae lovers yoursel', ma'am?"

"I had one lover, Maggie, not much of a lover, he wanted to marry Drumloch, not me."

"That was a' wrang. Folks shouldna marry for gold. Sorrow comes that way."

"You would not, I am sure'"

"No, not for a' the gold in Scotland."

"Is your lover poor then, Maggie?"

"I ne'er asked him if he had this or that. He is a gude kind lad."

"Did he ever give you any beautiful things—precious rings or lockets—as the lovers in books do? The Sir Everard of whom you have just been reading gave Lady Hilda a ring of diamonds and opals, you remember?"

"The Fife lads break a sixpence in twa wi' their troth lass; and I hae my half sixpence. There can be no ring but a wedding ring for a lassie like me."

Then Mary laid down her work, and as she passed Maggie she touched her gently, and smiled in her face. She was rapidly coming to a decision; a few minutes in her own room enabled her to reach it. "The girl is a born lady; I gave her every opportunity, but neither to the text of 'Campbell,' nor 'lover,' did she betray herself or Allan. And really, when I think of it, I had almost a special direction about her. I did not intend to go to Mrs. Lauder's that morning. I should not have gone, if Madame Bartholemew had been at home. I should not have gone if Miss Fleming had been able to do my work. Maggie has evidently been put in my charge. Not to go any higher than Uncle John and Allan, I think when they demand her of me, they will say—'Where is thy sister?' not 'Where is thy servant maid, or thy sewing maid.' But I must be sure of myself. If I accept this obligation, I must accept it fully with all its contingencies and results. Can I be generous enough? Patient enough? Just enough? Loving enough?" And no wonder men honor good women! Who could have helped honoring Mary Campbell who saw her stand with honest purpose examining her own heart, and then lowly kneeling, asking God's blessing and help for the resolve so consecrated.

It was no light favor to be quickly given and quickly removed. Most good things are gradual; and Mary's kindness fell as the dew, a little in the morning, and a little in the evening. Here, a formality was dropped; there a tangible token of equality given. First, the evening dresses of white mull and pale merinos; then the meal at her table, and the seat in her carriage. And when this point had been reached, it had been so naturally and unobtrusively reached, that even the servants only remembered the first days of Maggie's residence at Drumloch, as a time when "Miss Promoter dootless had a sorrow o' her ain, and keepit much to hersel'."

With a more conventional girl, Mary might have had much difficulty in reaching this state of affairs; but Maggie took her kindness with the simple pleasure and gratitude of a child; and she certainly had not the faintest conception of Mary Campbell's relation to Allan.

Allan had distinctly spoken of his home as being in Bute; and of his cousin, as living in the same house with him from her childhood. Mary, in her own castle in Ayrshire, was certainly far enough away from all Allan's statements to destroy every suspicion of her identify. And the name of "Campbell" told her nothing at all. As Mary said, "The Campbells were a big clan." They abounded throughout the west of Scotland. Around Drumloch, every third man was a Campbell. In Glasgow the name was prominent on the sign boards of every street. In a Fife fishing village there are rarely more than four or five surnames. A surname had not much importance in Maggie's eyes. She had certainly noticed that "Campbell" frequently met "Promoter;" but certain names seem to have affinities for certain lives; at least certain letters do; and Maggie, quoting a superstition of her class, settled the matter to her own satisfaction, by reflecting "what comes to me wi' a 'C,' aye comes wi' good to me."

CHAPTER XII

TO THE HEBRIDES

"And yet when all is thought and said.
The heart still overrules the head."

"From the lone shieling of the misty islands.
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas:
But we in dreams behold the Hebrides."

One morning toward the end of July, Mary was reading the "Glasgow Herald." "Maggie," she said, "one of the Promoters has evidently left Fife, for I see the name among the list of students—David Promoter—he has done wondrously. The man is a miracle, he has taken every prize in his classes, I think."

"I'm right glad to hear tell o' it. I must aye wish weel—"

"Well, Maggie, not weel."

"Well, to the name."

It was true. David had overstepped even his own ambition. He had finished the term with an ovation from his fellows, and he had been urged to go with Prof. Laird's son to the outer Hebrides. And now that the strain of his study was over, and the goal, so far, nobly won, he could afford to remember his sister. Indeed David deserves more justice than these words imply. He had often thought of her since that March afternoon when he had put her into the train for Stirling. But he really believed that his first duty was to his studies, and he fully expected that his letter to Dr. Balmuto would be a sufficient movement to insure her welfare. Practically, he had thrown his own duty upon the minister's conscience, but he felt sure that the good man had accepted the obligation, for if not, he would certainly have written to him on the subject.

He sent the doctor the newspapers advertising his success, and a couple of days afterward went to Kinkell. Young Laird did not require his company for a week, and he thought well of himself for taking a journey to Fife merely to pleasure his sister, before he took his own pleasure. He had improved much in personal appearance during his residence in Glasgow. He was well dressed, and he had acquired an easy confidence of manner which rather took Dr. Balmuto by surprise. Perhaps it irritated him a little also; for he was not at all satisfied with David. The first words he said were not words of congratulation, they were a stern inquiry.

"David Promoter, where is your sister Maggie? Has she come back with you?"

"I came to ask you about Maggie, sir."

"Me! What way would you come to me? I have nothing to do with Maggie Promoter."

"Sir, when she left me last March, I gave her a letter to you, and put her in the train that was to bring her here."

"What did you write to me about?"

"I told you how unhappy and dissatisfied my sister was at Pittenloch; and I asked you to advise her to stay at Kinkell under your eye. Then none could speak ill o' her."

"Why under my eye? Are you not your sister's natural protector?"

"My studies—my college duties—"

"Your first duty was Maggie. You will be a miserable divine, let me tell you, if you have not plenty of humanity in you; and the kirk and the household are bound together with bands that cannot be broken. What is the worth of all the Greek you know, if you have forgotten your own flesh and blood? I'll not give you one word of praise, David, until you can tell me that Maggie is well and doing well."

"My God! Maggie not here! Where then is she? I must awa' to Pittenloch; maybe she is gone back there."

"No, she has not gone back. Poor girl! What would she go back there for? To be worried to death by a lad she hates, and a lot of women who hate her? I went to Pittenloch a week after she left, and I had a day of inquiries and examinations; and I can tell you Maggie has been sair wronged. That old woman in your house has the poison of hell under her tongue:—and the lifted shoulder and the slant eye, what woman can stand them? So she went to her brother, as a good girl past her wits would do, and her brother put her on the train and sent her back to her sorrow!"

"I sent her to you, sir. I thought I could trust in you—"

"Why to me, I ask again? You knew that I had spoken sharply to her at the New Year, how was she likely to come to me then? Where is your sister, David Promoter?"

"You should hae written to me, sir, when you found out that Maggie was gone from her hame."

"I thought, everyone thought, she was with you. I am shocked to find she is not. Whom else can she be with? Whom have you driven her to?"

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Where is Allan Campbell? That is what you must next find out." David looked at the minister like one distraught.

"I can't understand—I can't believe—gie me a drink o' water, sir."