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 They sing it sometimes in Edinburgh still. How would you like Margaret to make such a song of you? "This Margaret's magnificence of the great lover's mind." There's a fellow who sings it some nights down there. And old Andrew Boyd hears it — three hundred years and more afterwards — and he knows the truths of it, as all wise men would. And John Hunter may be forgotten, not like a Mary Stuart, but the thing that John Hunter means will endure, always, and wise men would know the truth of it for ever.

Hunter: Would you madden me? Why?


 * (A voice singing is heard away in the night, faintly)

I would give anything to know that Margaret loves me—there. But, Finlay—what is there in Finlay that she can't find in me?

Boyd: A vast, separate, breathing creation of God. Would you dare to forbid a woman's love of that? You are ambitious.

Hunter: What would she say, do you think, if I loved this woman and that, here and there?

Boyd: She would despise you. Because you