CHEVIOT HILL, _a young man of property_ MR. GEORGE HONEY. BELVAWNEY, _his friend_ MR. HAROLD KYRLE. MR. SYMPERSON MR. HOWE. ANGUS MACALISTER, _a Lowland peasant lad_ MR. DEWAR. MAJOR MCGILLICUDDY MR. WEATHERSBY. BELINDA TREHERNE MISS MARION TERRY. MINNIE, _Symperson’s daughter_ MISS LUCY BUCKSTONE. MRS. MACFARLANE, _a Lowland widow_ MISS EMILY THORNE. MAGGIE, _her daughter, a Lowland lassie_ MISS JULIA STEWART. PARKER, _Minnie’s maid_ MISS JULIA ROSELLE. ACT I. GARDEN OF A COTTAGE, NEAR GRETNA. (_On the border, between England and Scotland._) ACTS II. AND III. DRAWING-ROOM IN SYMPERSON’S HOUSE IN LONDON. _Three months’ interval is supposed to elapse between Acts I. and II._ _Three days’ interval is supposed to elapse between Acts II. and III._ ENGAGED. ACT I. SCENE.--_Garden of a humble but picturesque cottage, near Gretna, on the border between England and Scotland. The whole scene is suggestive of rustic prosperity and content. MAGGIE MACFARLANE, a pretty country girl, is discovered spinning at a wheel, and singing as she spins. ANGUS MACALISTER, a good-looking peasant lad, appears on at back, and creeps softly down to MAGGIE as she sings and spins, and places his hands over her eyes._ _Ang._ Wha is it? _Mag._ Oh, Angus, ye frightened me sae! (_He releases her._) And see there--the flax is a’ knotted and scribbled--and I’ll do naething wi’ it! _Ang._ Meg! My Meg! My ain bonnie Meg! _Mag._ Angus, why, lad, what’s wrang wi’ e’e? Thou hast tear-drops in thy bonnie blue een. _Ang._ Dinna heed them, Meg. It comes fra glowerin’ at thy bright beauty. Glowerin’ at thee is like glowerin’ at the noonday sun! _Mag._ Angus, thou’rt talking fulishly. I’m but a puir brown hill-side lassie. I dinna like to hear sic things from a straight honest lad like thee. It’s the way the dandy toun-folk speak to me, and it does na come rightly from the lips of a simple man. _Ang._ Forgive me, Meg, for I speak honestly to ye. Angus Macalister is not the man to deal in squeaming compliments. Meg, I love thee dearly, as thou well knowest. I’m but a puir lad, and I’ve little but twa braw arms and a straight hairt to live by, but I’ve saved a wee bit siller--I’ve a braw housie and a scrappie of gude garden-land--and it’s a’ for thee, lassie, if thou’ll gie me thy true and tender little hairt!