“Weel, I’ll stay and see the fun through,” said Souter to himself grimly. “So, my lass,” cried the old Squire triumphantly, “I’ve found ye just where I expected ye’d be, in the arms o’ your dissolute lover. Come awa’, ye shameless bairn.” He started toward her, but Robert passed her quickly behind him. “Keep back, Squire Armour,” he said firmly. “I’m nae a mild-mannered man, an’ ye may learn it to your cost.” Squire Armour glanced at him savagely. “Dinna ye dare talk to me, ye libertine, ye blasphemous rhymster. Ye dare to stand there wi’ my daughter, proclaiming her dishonor to my very eyes?” “There is no dishonor, Squire Armour,” replied Robert calmly, “for your daughter is—my wife.” “Your wife!” echoed the old man, staggering back in amazement. “I’ll nae believe it. It’s a lie. I’d rather see my daughter disgraced forever than be your wife.” “Father, are you mad?” gasped Jean in horrified accents. “An’ ye an Elder in the Kirk, a so-called ‘God-fearin’ man’!” cried Robert scathingly, his eyes blazing with scorn. “I tell ye, Squire Armour, she is my wife, an’ all your bitter, unreasoning hatred o’ me canna’ alter that unhappy fact.” For a moment the old man stood gazing at them in helpless rage. Then he turned to Jean, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. “What proofs have ye?” he asked hoarsely. “I have my marriage lines, father,” she answered quickly. “Where were ye married?” “Why, father, we——” began Jean hesitatingly. “Was it in the Kirk?” he interrupted sternly. “No,” she faltered. “It was——” “Not in the Kirk?” he cried, his voice rising menacingly. “Who was the minister? Who married ye?” “There was no minister, father.” “Nae minister!” he exclaimed in horror. “Wait, father, you don’t understand,” cried Jean quickly; “’twas a Scotch marriage; ye ken what that is—and,” she bowed her head guiltily, “why it is. And here are my lines signed by Robert acknowledging me as his wife.” She took from the bosom of her gown a folded paper which she handed to her father. He read it through carefully. “This is na legal or binding,” he exclaimed angrily. “’Tis perfectly legal, Squire Armour,” replied Robert calmly, “even if it is irregular, and is as binding as though we were married in Kirk.” “It shall be set aside,” fumed the old man. “I will not have it so. Ye shall both renounce it, I tell ye.” “Oh, father,” cried Jean tearfully, going to his side. “’Tis too late now; would you shame me in the eyes of the world?” “Do these few written lines make your shame any the less?” he shouted wrathfully. “Will not all the neighbors know why he had to give them to ye? Ye would throw awa’ your life on this poverty-stricken, shiftless rhymster, but ye shall not do it; ye must give him up, do ye hear?” and he raised his arm menacingly.