A strange way of being in love, reader? You think so? I
would there were more love like it: the world would be centuries
nearer its redemption if a millionth part of the love in it were of
the sort. All I insist, however, on my reader's believing is, that
it showed, in a youth like Robert, not less but more love that he
could go against love's sweetness for the sake of love's greatness.
Literally, not figuratively, Robert would kiss the place where her
foot had trod; but I know that once he rose from such a kiss 'to
trace the hyperbola by means of a string.'
It had been arranged between Ericson and Robert, in Miss Napier's
parlour, the old lady knitting beside, that Ericson should start, if
possible, a week earlier than usual, and spend the difference with
Robert at Rothieden. But then the old lady had opened her mouth and
spoken. And I firmly believe, though little sign of tenderness
passed between them, it was with an elder sister's feeling for
Letty's admiration of the 'lan'less laird,' that she said as
follows:--
'Dinna ye think, Mr. Ericson, it wad be but fair to come to us neist
time? Mistress Faukner, honest lady, an' lang hae I kent her, 's no
sae auld a frien' to you, Mr. Ericson, as oorsel's--nae offence to
her, ye ken. A'body canna be frien's to a'body, ane as lang 's
anither, ye ken.'
''Deed I maun alloo, Miss Naper,' interposed Robert, 'it's only
fair. Ye see, Mr. Ericson, I cud see as muckle o' ye almost, the
tae way as the tither.
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