_Miss T._ (_after a pause_). Belvawney, I love you with an imperishable ardour which mocks the power of words. If I were to begin to tell you now of the force of my indomitable passion for you, the tomb would close over me before I could exhaust the entrancing subject. But, as I said before, business is business, and unless I can see some distinct probability that your income will be permanent, I shall have no alternative but to weep my heart out in all the anguish of maiden solitude--uncared for, unloved, and alone! [_Exit MISS TREHERNE into cottage._ _Bel._ There goes a noble-hearted girl, indeed! Oh, for the gift of Cheviot’s airy badinage--oh, for his skill in weaving a net about the hearts of women! If I could but induce her to marry me at once before the dreadful Major learns our flight! Why not? We are in Scotland. Methinks I’ve heard two loving hearts can wed, in this strange country, by merely making declaration to that effect. I will think out some cunning scheme to lure her into marriage unawares. _Enter MAGGIE, from cottage._ _Mag._ Will ye walk in and rest a wee, Maister Belvawney? There’s a room ready for ye, kind sir, and ye’re heartily welcome to it. _Bel._ It is well. Stop! Come hither, maiden. _Mag._ Oh, sir! you do not mean any harm towards a puir, innocent, unprotected cottage lassie? _Bel._ Harm! No: of course, I don’t. What do you mean? _Mag._ I’m but a puir, humble mountain girl; but let me tell you, sir, that my character’s just as dear to me as the richest and proudest lady’s in the land. Before I consent to approach ye, swear to me that you mean me no harm. _Bel._ Harm? Of course, I don’t. Don’t be a little fool! Come here. _Mag._ There is something in his manner that reassures me. It is not that of the airy trifler with innocent hairts. (_Aloud._) What wad ye wi’ puir, harmless Maggie Macfarlane, gude sir? _Bel._ Can you tell me what constitutes a Scotch marriage? _Mag._ Oh, sir, it’s nae use asking me that; for my hairt is not my ain to give. I’m betrothed to the best and noblest lad in a’ the bonnie Borderland. Oh, sir, I canna be your bride! _Bel._ My girl, you mistake. I do not want you for my bride. Can’t you answer a simple question? What constitutes a Scotch marriage? _Mag._ Ye’ve just to say before twa witnesses, “Maggie Macfarlane is my wife;” and I’ve just to say, “Maister Belvawney is my husband,” and nae mon can set us asunder. But, sir, I canna be your bride; for I am betrothed to the best and noblest---- _Bel._ I congratulate you. You can go. _Mag._ Yes, sir. [_Exit MAGGIE into cottage._