The Betrayal of Maggie Blair - By Elizabeth Laird Page 0,130

Gospel."

I admired my uncle for the strength of his convictions, but it was when he softened into a kind of doubt that I really loved him.

While he'd been talking about Tam, the inner struggle that had been going on inside me ever since we had walked out through the gates of Edinburgh had been resolved. I knew what I was going to do. I put my hand into my pocket and fingered the little leather purse in which lay the precious coins that Mr. Shillinglaw had given me. They rattled against my father's silver buckle. Their jingle seemed to say, You're free. Free to go.

If it hadn't been such a fine day, with the August sun warming the stones and the rowan berries turning scarlet on the trees, I think my resolve would have weakened. But as we approached the turning that would lead to Kilmacolm and Ladymuir, I steeled myself to walk past it and go on to the west, until I reached the sea and the boat that would take me home.

Uncle Blair was about to turn down the familiar path and was speeding up with joyful anticipation of his homecoming, before I plucked up the courage to tell him my decision. He stared at me, appalled.

"Go back to Bute? After all that's happened? And travel alone? A young woman? You can't! I won't allow it!"

"I'm sorry, Uncle," was all I could say. "I can't go home with you."

"Maggie, dear girl." He put his hands on my arms and looked earnestly into my face. "I know that your aunt hasn't always—that she doesn't find it easy to—but in her heart she values you, I know she does, and she wants you to be with us."

I reached up and kissed his cheek, from which the beard, scraped off by Cousin Thomas, was already bristling out again.

"It's not my aunt," I said. "She's always done her best with me. But I want to go home! I told you what the lawyer man said. There's no danger for me now. I have to face my accusers. I can't go on running forever. And I must thank Mr. Robertson for trying to help me, and I've got to see if my old cow is all right, and—and—oh, so many things."

"You mean," he said, his brow wrinkling, "that you feel duty bound to return? That it's the Lord who's showing you this path and not some girlish willfulness?"

There was such simple goodness and honesty in my uncle that it was impossible to lie to him. A glib answer rose to my lips and died there.

"I'm not sure if that's it, exactly," I said at last. "It's what my heart is telling me to do. Is that my conscience speaking? And if so, is it the voice of the Lord?"

He nodded slowly.

"With you, Maggie, I believe it is. Your heart is pure. Your courage is proven. But I don't like it. I'm afraid for you. And they will all be disappointed at home."

They won't think of me at all, I thought. Not once they've seen you. Except for Ritchie, perhaps, and Martha.

Aloud I said, "You don't need to worry about me, Uncle. It's only a few miles from here to Largs. I'll be there by tonight. And boats go across every day to Rothesay."

"Well," he said reluctantly. "You've a strong mind, my dear, and you've achieved harder things than this. I suppose I must let you go. But you'll come again soon to Ladymuir? We'll not be happy till we've seen you there again."

"I will. I promise."

He had given in.

"I shall remember you daily in my prayers," he said, and kissed me fondly on my cheek.

I almost wavered when I saw the love and concern in his eyes, but I steeled myself for a last goodbye, and once he had set out down the track, he didn't look back. I knew that every bit of him was yearning for his home and family.

For a moment, I was horribly lonely but straight afterward came a wave of joy. I jumped and twirled about and began to almost run on toward the sea.

Fortune smiled on me that day, because as I marched along the road, swinging my arms, a farmer and his wife offered to take me up in their cart. I sat on the back of it, dangling my legs all the way to Largs, where the masts of ships bound for the islands were bobbing about on the quayside, casting long shadows across the