When
he should see her in Brighton, she would be to him as she had been
yesterday, when they said good-bye by the side of the river. And were
not these the only possible relations between them; and ought he not to
be proud and content that he could look forward to an enduring
continuance of them?
Yes; but some man would be coming along and marrying her; and where
would he be then? What would become of this alliance, this friendly
understanding--perhaps, even, some little interest on her part in his
affairs--what would become of all these relations, then? It was the way
of the world. Their paths would be divided--he would hear vaguely of
her--perhaps see her name in the papers as being at a drawing-room or
something of the kind. She would have forgotten all those long, still
days by the Aivron and the Geinig; no echo would remain in her memory of
"The Bonnie Earl o' Morau," as he had sung it for her, with all the
passionate pathos of which he was capable; she would be a
stranger--moving afar--one heard of only--a remembrance--and no more. So
the impalpable future was interwoven with those dreams and not too happy
forecasts, as the train thundered on its way, along the wooded banks of
the Allan Water and towards the winding Links of Forth.
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