Malcolm's lowly idea of himself did not at all interfere with his loving Clementina, for at first his love was entirely dissociated from any thought of hers. When the idea, the mere idea, of her loving him presented itself, from whatever quarter suggested, he turned from it with shame and self-reproof: the thought was in its own nature too unfit. That splendor regard him! From a social point of view there was of course little presumption in it. The marquis of Lossies bore a name that might pair itself with any in the land; but Malcolm did not yet feel that the title made much difference to the fisherman. He was what he was, and that was something very lowly indeed. Yet the thought would at times dawn up from somewhere in the infinite matrix of thought that perhaps if he went to college and graduated and dressed like a gentleman, and did everything as gentlemen do--in short, claimed his rank and lived as a marquis should, as well as a fisherman might--then--then--was it not, might it not be, within the bounds of possibility--just within them--that the great-hearted, generous, liberty-loving Lady Clementina, groom as he had been, _menial_ as he had heard himself called, and as, ere yet he knew his birth, he had laughed to hear, knowing that his service was true--that she, who despised nothing human, would be neither disgusted nor contemptuous nor wrathful if, from a great way off, at an awful remove of humility and worship, he were to wake in her a surmise that he dared feel toward her as he had never felt and never could feel toward any other? For would it not be altogether counter to the principles he had so often heard her announce and defend to despise him because he had earned his bread by doing honorable work--work hearty and up to the worth of his wages? Was she one to say and not see, to opine and not believe? or was she one to hold and not practice--to believe for the heart, and not for the hand--to say _I go_, and not go--_I love_, and not help? If such she were, then there were for him no further searchings of the heart upon her account: he could but hold up her name in the common prayer for all men, only praying besides not to dream about her when he slept. At length, such thoughts rising again and again, and ever accompanied by such reflections concerning the truth of her character, and by the growing certainty that her convictions were the souls of actions to be born of them, his daring of belief in her strengthened until he began to think that perhaps it would be neither his early history nor his defective education nor his clumsiness that would prevent her from listening to such words wherewith he burned to throw open the gates of his world and pray her to enter and sit upon its loftiest throne--its loftiest throne but one. And with the thought he felt as if he must run to her, calling aloud that he was the marquis of Lossie, and throw himself at her feet.