"I think I might have learned to love you--as you said--but I will not do you that wrong. You may suffer for a while, but your life will not be lost. G.o.d be with you, and fare ye well."

She rose as she spoke. John rose also, pained and angry. He did not take the hand which she held out to him.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

"We shall be friends always, I hope."

"Friends! No. We have got past that. It must be all or nothing between us. You must see that."

She looked at him with wet, appealing eyes.

"It cannot be all," said she, speaking low.

John turned and went away without a word.

That was not the very last between them. John came in the morning in time to carry Marjorie to the carriage, and to place her in Allison's arms. Something was said about letters, and Marjorie exclaimed:

"Oh! Allison, will it not be fine to get letters from Robin and John?"

John looked up to see the tears in Allison's sad eyes, and his own softened as he looked.

"Good-bye, my friend," said she. "Good-bye."

Even if he had wished he could not have refused to take her hand this time, with Marjorie and Robin looking on. But he did not utter a word, and in a moment they were gone.

John stood on the pavement looking after the carriage till it disappeared around a corner of the street, "And now," said he, "I must to my work again."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

"Will I like a fule, quo' he, For a haughty hizzie dee?"

There was work enough waiting him, if he were to carry out the plans he had pleased himself with making, before ever he had seen the face of Allison Bain. In one year more he had hoped to get to the end of his university course. If not in one year, then in two. After that, the world was before him and hard work.

"It has happened well," he was saying to himself, as he still stood looking at the corner of the street. "Yes, it has happened well. I am glad she is gone away. If she had been staying on in Nethermuir, it might not have been so easy for me to put her out of my thoughts. It has happened well."

And then he turned and went down the street "with his nose in the air,"

as was said by a humble friend of his who saw him, but whom he did not see.

"I must have my turn of folly like the lave (the rest), as auld Crombie would say. And 'it's weel over,' as he would also say, if he kenned all. I must to my work again."

Then he turned the corner and came face to face with the husband of Allison Bain. John's impulse during the s.p.a.ce of one long-drawn breath was to knock the man down and trample him under his feet. Instead of this, in answer to Brownrig's astonished question, "Have you forgotten me?" John met his extended hand and stammered:

"I did not expect to see you. And for the moment--certainly--"

"I have been at Mr Swinton's office to see him or you. You are late this morning."

"I am on my way there now. Have you time to go back again? That is, if I can do anything for you!"

"I'll go back with you. It is business I came down about. I am sorry to hear from Mr Swinton that you are thinking of leaving his employment. I was hoping that ye might have the overseeing of a job that the laird has nearly made up his mind to."

"Oh! as to that, the matter is by no means settled yet, though I have been thinking about it. I may stay on."

"A place in the employ of a man like Swinton, and I may add, after what I have heard him say,--a place in his confidence also, must make good stepping-stones to fortune for a young man. Where were you thinking of going, if one may ask? To America, I suppose, like so many other folk in these days."

"To America! Oh! no; I have no thought of leaving Scotland at present, or even of leaving Aberdeen. I intend taking a while at the college. I began it when I was a lad. But my plans may fall through yet."

"It would take time and it would take money," said Brownrig.

"That's true, but I have plenty of time before me."

"Well, ye may be up our way after all. The laird has ta'en it intil his head to have a new wing put to the house. It has as muckle need of a new wing as a Collie dog has o' twa tails," said Brownrig--falling into Scotch, as some folk have a way of doing when they wish to be contemptuous or jocose, or indeed are moved in any way. "But if it is to be done, it is to be done well, and Swinton is the man, with you to oversee."

"There could be little done this year," said John.

"Plans and preparations could be made. The work must be done in the summer."

Brownrig seemed to be thinking of something else, for when they came to the corner of the street, he stood still, looking out toward the sea.

John paused also for a moment, but he grew impatient and moved on. All this time he had been saying to himself:

"In some way I must keep this man in sight through the day and through the night as well, as long as he shall stay in the town. If he were to see her now! If he were to follow her!"

John drew his breath hard at the thought.

There was a long stair to go up before Mr Swinton's rooms could be reached, and when they came to the foot of it Brownrig paused.

"I am not quite myself this morning," he said. "I'll wait till later in the day before I try to see Mr Swinton again. There's no special hurry."

"You are not looking very well," said John gravely. "It would be as wise for you to wait a while and refresh yourself. I'll go with you a bit of the way."

They went back together till they came to the door of the inn. John refused Brownrig's invitation to enter, and left him there. Then he took his way to Robert's lodgings. Robert had not returned.

"Can they be lingering yet?" said John to himself. "I must see that they are fairly away."

In the street opposite the house where Mrs Esselmont had stayed, no carriage was standing. John slowly pa.s.sed the house and turned again, waiting for a while. Then he went toward the office. Looking in at the inn parlour on his way thither, he saw Brownrig sitting with a friend.

There were a bottle and gla.s.ses between them, and judging that he was "safe enough for the present," John went to his work. Brownrig paid another visit to Mr Swinton the next day, but nothing was definitely arranged between them as to the work which was to be done, and in a day or two he went away.

It must be owned that it went ill with John Beaton about this time. He had been in the way of saying to himself, and of saying to others also, whom he wished to influence, that the thing which a man desired with all his heart to do, that he could do. Of course he meant only such things as were not in their nature impossible to be done. But after a while he was not so sure of himself.

While Brownrig had lingered in the town, John had been more or less occupied with thoughts of him. He had kept sight of him at most times.

He had known where he was and what he was doing, and in what company.

He had done this for the sake of Allison Bain, declaring to himself that whatever might be done to prevent her falling into the hands of the man who called her his wife, it was right for him to do.

But Brownrig showed no sign of knowing that Allison had been in the town, and in a few days he turned his face homeward again.

Then John had time to attend to his own affairs, and it went ill with him for a while. He faced his trouble like a man, and "had it out with himself," as he might have "had it out" with friend or foe, with whom a battle was to be fought for the sake of a.s.sured peace to come after.

Yes, he loved Allison Bain--loved her so well that he had been willing to sacrifice a hopeful future at home, and begin a life of labour in a strange land, so that she might share it with him. He had not tried to shut his eyes as to the right and wrong of the matter. He had seen that which he had desired to do as other men would see it, and he had still spoken.