Fathers was the grand object of John Campbell's life. He thought of it
until it became almost a sacred duty in his eyes. For the Scotsman's
acquisitiveness is very rarely destitute of some nobler underlying motive.
In fact, his granite nature is finely marbled throughout with veins of
poetry and romance. His native land is never forgotten. His father's
hearth is as sacred as an altar in his memory. A bluebell or a bit of
heather can bring tears to his eyes; and the lilt of a Jacobite song make
his heart thrill with an impossible loyalty. Those who saw John Campbell
on the Broomilaw would have judged him to be a man indifferent to all
things but money and bills of lading. Those who saw him softly stepping
through the old halls of Drumloch, or standing almost reverently before
the hard grim faces of his ancestors, would have called him an aristocrat
who held all things cheap but an ancient home and a noble family. His son
Allan, as the future Campbell of Drumloch, was an important person in his
eyes; he took care that he was well educated, and early made familiar with
the leisure and means of a fine gentleman. And as Allan was intelligent
and handsome, with a stately carriage and courtly manners, there seemed no
reason why the old root should not produce a new and far more splendid
line.

When Mary Campbell was nineteen, and her estate perfectly clear, it seemed
to her uncle a proper time to consummate the hopes for which he had toiled
and planned. He explained them fully to his son, and then said, "Now,
Allan, go and ask Mary to be your wife. The sooner I see you in your own
place, the happier I shall be."

A spirit of contradiction sprang up in the young man's heart, as soon as
the words were uttered. Probably, it was but the development of an
antagonism that had been lying latent for years. He remained silent so
long, that his father's anger rose.