The Broken Sixpence

In a few minutes she pushed open the cottage door; and her wet rosy face,
in the dark green folds of the plaid over her head, had a vivid
distinctness. When she saw Allan she trembled. His unexpected presence,
the eager longing gaze in his eyes, his outstretched arms, the soft,
penetrating utterance of her name, "Maggie! dearest Maggie!" All
these things were an instant's revelation to her. She clasped her hands
helplessly, and the next moment Allan was taking the wet plaid off her
head and shoulders, and whispering, as he did so, all the fond words which
he had so long restrained.

She let him tell her again and again how much he loved her. She had no
more power to resist the sweet pleading than a man dying of thirst has
power to resist water. For a few moments she surrendered herself to a joy
so pure and so unexpected. "Oh Maggie, sweetest Maggie, tell me that you
love me: that you love none but me, that you will marry none but me,"
pleaded Allan.

"I have aye loved you, sir. I dreamed about you when I was a lassie. I
keep it the thocht o' you close in my heart. When you lookit at me the
night you cam' here first, I kent you, and I loved you that vera moment.
Whate'er the love I give to you, it is your ain, my soul brought it into
the warld for you, and for nae other man."