“My friends!” repeated Robert wildly. “I have none, I want none in this purse proud city. No longer will I submit to insulting condescension. No longer will I skulk into a corner of the street like the veriest nobody on earth, lest the rattling equipage of some gossiping titled blockhead mangle me in the mire.” “Robert, I have always loved you,” exclaimed Lord Glencairn, with rebuking reproachfulness. “But ye believe the worst of me noo,” replied Robert passionately. “It only needed this scene of scandal to show my friends in their true colors.” “Then go back to your low-born friends where ye belong,” snarled Sir William vindictively. “I mean to go back,” retorted Robert, his face flushing crimson, “and with gladness will I shake the dust of this unjust city off my feet.” A softer look came over his haggard face and his eyes filled with a yearning look of utter heart-weariness, a sudden longing for the blissful quiet of his country home. A tender sweetness came into his voice as he continued softly, “I will return from whence I came, to the plowtail, where the poetic genius of my country found me and threw her inspiring mantle over me.” Mary took his hand in hers, and with infinite tenderness murmured fondly, “An’ ye’ll find the banks an’ braes of bonnie Doon holding out their arms to welcome ye back to your native heath once more, laddie.” “Let us hope he’ll shine to better advantage there,” sneered Sir William. A nervous little titter broke the tense silence. Robert turned on him, goaded to sudden fury. “Ye bird o’ ill omen!” he panted hoarsely, “I have never injured ye; I have brought money into your empty pockets. But ye will repent bitterly for swearing away my life as ye have this day, for e’en though I leave Edinburgh in shame and disgrace, ’tis not for ay. Nay! I thank God my works will live after me, that my name will yet become immortal.” His words rang out wildly and with impassioned intensity. Lady Glencairn laughed mockingly, and, turning to some of her friends standing near, she made some low-toned remark, evidently a sarcastic witticism at the expense of the speaker, which elicited a burst of hollow laughter from her listeners, who, while they wished to remain in the favor of the leader of Edinburgh society, stood in wholesome awe of the blunt speech, the scornful wit of the brilliant poet on trial before them. “Ye vain boaster!” scoffed Sir William loudly, “you’ll be forgot within a week,” and he laughed derisively.