"Folk get used to doing without, vera easy, if the want isn't siller. Love isna a necessity."
"O, but it is! Dear Christine, it is the great necessity."
Then they were at the foot of the hill on which Ruleson's house stood, and Christine said, "Your carriage is waiting for you, Angus, and you be to bid me good night, here. I would rather rin up the hill by mysel', and nae doubt the puir horses are weary standin' sae lang. Sae good night, and good-by, laddie!"
"I shall not leave you, Christine, until I have seen you safely home."
"I am at hame here. This is Ruleson's hill, and feyther and mither are waiting up for me."
A few imperative words from Angus put a stop to the dispute, and he climbed the hill with her. He went as slowly as possible, and told her at every step how beautiful she was, and how entirely he loved her. But Christine was not responsive, and in spite of his eloquent tenderness, they felt the chill of their first disagreement. When they came in sight of the house, they saw that it was dimly lit, and Christine stood still, and once more bade him good-by.
Angus clasped both her hands in his. "My love! My love!" he said. "If I spoke cross, forgive me."
"I hae naething to forgive. I owe you for mair pleasure and happiness, than I can ever return."
"Give me one kiss of love and forgiveness, Christine. Then I will know you love Angus"--and he tried gently to draw her closer to him. "Just one kiss, darling."
"Na! Na," she answered. "That canna be. I'm a fisher-lass, and we hae a law we dinna break--we keep our lips virgin pure, for the lad we mean to marry."
"You are very hard and cruel. You send me away almost broken-hearted. May I write to you?"
"If you'll tell me about a' the wonderfuls you see, I'll be gey glad to hear from you."
"Then farewell, my love! Do not forget me!"
"It's not likely I'll forget you," and her voice trembled, as she whispered "Farewell!" and gave him her hand. He stooped, and kissed it. Then he turned away.
She watched him till in the dim distance she saw him raise his hat and then disappear. Still she stood, until the roll of the carriage wheels gradually became inaudible. Then she knew that she was weeping, and she wiped her eyes, and turned them upon the light in the cottage burning for her. And she thought tenderly of her lover, and whispered to her heart--"If he had only come back! I might hae given him a kiss. Puir laddie! Puir, dear laddie! His uncle has heard tell o' the fisher-lassie, and he's ta'en him awa' from Christine--but he's his ain master--sae it's his ain fault! Christine is o'er gude for anyone who can be wiled awa' by man, or woman, or pleasure, or gold. I'll be first, or I'll be naething at a'!"