‘Isabel.’ he said, ‘if you don’t make me hate Margaret before all’s over, it will be a wonder. Do you forget what you have told me? or do you think I forget? Would I ever ask you to leave your sister, if things were here just as they are in other places? Have you not told me that the age of miracles has come back; and don’t I know that there is nobody in the place so good as Margaret? Why should she die when the rest recover? It stands to reason; and you are not going to spend all your lives together, you two. Of course you will marry some time: and so will she--when she is better,’ the young man added after a pause. ‘Margaret marry? Never, never!’ cried Isabel ‘You cannot understand; and you dinna say that as if you believed it either--but like a scoffer,’ she added, ‘that thinks nothing is true.’ ‘I think my Isabel is true,’ said the young man, ‘and I believe anything she says.’ ‘Oh, no me, no me,’ cried Isabel, with tears, ‘dinna call _me_ true. I am false to everybody belonging to me. I am cheating and deceiving all my own folk. I am true to nobody but you.’ ‘After all, that is the most important,’ said Stapylton, with an attempt at playfulness. ‘Isabel, am not I the first now? the first to be loved--the first to be considered? I know you are to me.’ Isabel made a long pause. She wandered on with him, for they were walking all the time, with her eyes bent on the sweet grass she trod under foot and the heather-bushes among which they picked their way. After a long interval a ‘No’ dropped from her lips. ‘No,’ she went on, shaking her head slowly. ‘I must not think of you first--not now. I must think of Margaret first. Dinna be angry, Horace. It is but a year since I saw you first, and she has been my best friend and my dearest for twenty years. And you are well and strong, and she is dying; and you have plenty of friends, and she has no one but me. I must think of her before you.’ ‘Then you don’t love me!’ cried the young man. ‘I see how it is: you have a liking for me--that is all. You are pleased to keep a man dangling about at your orders, waiting for you, as they say here, at kirk and market; but as for _loving_--giving up all and following your husband--you’re not the girl for that, Isabel. I see: you’re Scotch, and you’re cautious; and you won’t take one step till you see what is to be the next; and as for speaking of love----’