“Well,” she said, “I hope ye have got it over and settled everything: for, Mr. Fred, Effie is just coming down from the manse, and I thought you would perhaps like to see her, not under my nose, as people say, but where ye could have a little freedom. If ye hurry you will meet her where the road strikes off into the little wood--and that’s a nice little roundabout, where a great deal can be got through. But come away, ye must not lose a moment; and afterwards ye can finish your talk with papa.”
If Fred could have disappeared through the dingy old carpet, if he could have melted into thin air, there would have been no more seen of him in Gilston house that day. But he could not escape his fate. He was hurried along to a side door, where Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to him the little path by which Effie would certainly return home. She almost pushed him out into the waning afternoon to go and tell his love.
When he heard the door close behind him and felt himself free and in the open world, Fred for a moment had the strongest impulse on his mind to fly. The enthusiasm of his youthful love had been desecrated by all these odious prefaces, his tender dreams had been dispelled. How could he say to Effie in words fit for her hearing what he had been compelled to say to those horrible people to whom she belonged, and to hear resaid by them in their still more horrible way? He stood for a moment uncertain whether to go on or turn and fly--feeling ashamed, outraged, irritated. It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that soiled and desecrated story for her hearing now.
But just then she appeared at the opening of the road, unconscious, coming sweetly along, in maiden meditation, a little touched with dreams. The sight of her produced another revolution in Fred’s thoughts. Could it be for him that soft mist that was in her eyes? He went forward, with his heart beating, to meet her and his fate.
ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW
End of Project Gutenberg's Effie Ogilvie; vol. 1, by Margaret Oliphant