He smiled reassuringly into her perturbed little face. No power on earth could tempt him to break the promise he had so willingly made her on that first day of her arrival in the gay metropolis, he thought fondly. He turned to his questioners, who were eagerly awaiting his answer, his face shining with fixed determination. “My friends,” he said quietly, “I am only a farmer born, a son of the soil. My one ambition now is to have my own roof-tree near the Doon, where amidst the beauties of harmonious nature the Goddess Muse will commune with me as of old, for ’twas there the greatest inspiration of my soul came to me, and I know if all else fails me an independent livelihood awaits me at the plowtail.” “Tut, tut, the plowtail, indeed!” sniffed Mrs. Dunlop indignantly. Lady Glencairn, who had been feverishly toying with her fan, turned suddenly to Mary, a sneering smile on her crimson lips, “And have you no higher ambition for your future husband, Miss Campbell?” she demanded, her voice strangely harsh and metallic. “Are you content to have him bury his talents in the country?” “Yes! Oh, yes!” answered Mary shyly, a happy smile dimpling her sweet face. Then she added naïvely, “Ye ken, I’ll hae him all to myself then.” Robert laughed merrily at this naïve confession. “Young man,” observed Mr. Sterne pompously, “take my word for it, you’ll repent it if you leave Edinburgh now.” “Robbie, what will everybody think?” cried Mrs. Dunlop tearfully. “You are daft to run away while the world is literally at your feet.” “For how long?” he asked laconically. “Until you tire of its homage, my lad,” replied Lord Glencairn stanchly. Robert shook his head with a doubting smile. “’Twill not be I who will tire first, my lord,” he returned quietly. “I know myself and the world so well. You see the novelty of a poet in my obscure situation, my imperfection of awkward rusticity has raised a partial tide of public notice which has borne me to a height where I am absolutely certain my abilities are inadequate to support me.” He looked around a trifle defiantly at the rows of serious faces, a little feeling of resentment welling up in his heart. “You are over-modest, my dear Burns,” observed Mr. Mackenzie with kindling eye. Robert shook his head with somber dignity. “Too surely do I see the time when the same tide will leave me and recede as far below the mark of truth.” He turned and faced the people suddenly, his hands outstretched, his eyes filled with melancholy enthusiasm. Raising his voice he proceeded prophetically, “My friends, you will all bear me witness, that when the bubble of fame was at its height I stood unintoxicated, with the inebriating cup in my hand, looking forward to the hastening time when the blow of calumny should dash it to the ground with all the eagerness of revengeful triumph.” “That time will never come, Robert,” cried Mary softly, “for we will leave this life behind us in a very short while noo.”