When Roderick had written his letter he fell into a long and deep sleep, and it was daylight before he awoke. He was calmer in mind than he had been since he was taken ill, but it was the stillness of exhaustion. His fevered thoughts had been labouring up and down a never-ending gamut of feeling, like a prisoner tramping hopelessly up a revolving wheel, ever the same mountain of misery and despair rising before him, toil to surmount it as he might. He had climbed and climbed unceasingly--purposeless and hopeless, unable to stop, till at length, worn out, he had, as it were, fallen back in complete prostration. His waking was like that of one who has fallen from a height--stunned, the returning of far-ebbed consciousness was slow, and he would, if he could, have pushed it back again, and returned to oblivion.
He closed his eyes and turned from the light, courting the retreating footsteps of beneficent sleep, but that gentle healer refused to be detained, and he was awake. By-and-by he saw his letter carried away to its address, and he set himself to wait patiently for the return of his messenger, some time in the afternoon.
The rheumatic symptoms which had added greatly to his unrest, the day before, were abated, and his medical adviser expressed strong hope of being able to remove them altogether; but the distress in his chest had increased, his breathing was laboured and painful, threatening to develop into a serious attack.
The surgeon looked round the room, it was not a promising sick-room for an affection of the lungs. The walls, where they could be seen behind the book shelves, were stained with moisture; there was the cold earthen floor beneath the carpet, and a pervading flavour of mouldy dampness through the room, which seemed to grow only more perceptible when more fuel was piled on the hearth. When the weather was dry the windows could be opened, and with the help of a bright fire, a moderately sweet atmosphere could be obtained after a time; but whenever rain without necessitated the closing of the windows, the stuffy savour of mouldiness again took possession of the place.
Roderick lay and waited. He tried to read, but his eyes soon grew weary, and his thoughts would not fix themselves on the page, though he tried one book after another. It pained his chest to converse, and he could only possess his soul in patience, and wait Joseph's return.
But Joseph came not. Noon passed, the shadows crept round and lengthened, but still no sign. It might be that Sophia required time to consider his letter. In that there was at least this much of hope, that if she had become engaged to the Englishman there would have been no occasion for her to delay in saying so. He grew restless as the afternoon advanced, and by evening was so flushed and increasingly feverish that they gave him a composing draught, and so got him to sleep.
In the morning he was dull and stupid for some hours, but gradually the fumes of the night's potion dissipated. His first enquiry was what letters or messages had come. There had been none. It seemed strange that no member or office-bearer of his hitherto attached flock should have come near him. Some of the more remote and scattered would not know, but it was strange the villagers should hold aloof. Could they have imagined that his illness might be infectious? and yet they were not wont thus to avoid contagion. The very elders, part of whose duty it was to visit the sick, had kept away; and although they might have been expected to take some interest in seeing the pulpit filled, they yet had allowed Saturday to pass without coming near him. Even Mr. Sangster, the presiding elder had not come, although the illness had been brought on in attending upon his wife, and he must have known all about it. He would know also of the letter to Sophia. Could it be on account of that that he did not come? Yet why? If he had other views for the settlement of his daughter, why did he not say so? The silence was getting unbearable.
Sunday proved to be rainy, greatly to Mrs. Sangster's relief. She availed herself of the excuse to remain at home, her son and daughter were both laid up with severe colds, and Mr. Wallowby was not inclined to get himself wet. Mr. Sangster was therefore the sole occupant of the phaeton, and he did not reach the village till the church hour had arrived, and he had to hasten straight to the tent. There, with the associates Roderick had named, he did his best to extemporize some resemblance to a church service to the few shepherds (proof to rain and tempest) and old women crouching under umbrellas, who alone, defying the elements, had assembled as usual for their weekly meal of doctrine.
The diet of public worship was got over as speedily as possible, and at the conclusion a few parishioners knocked in passing to enquire after the minister's health. They were so few, however, as to excite the surprise of Mary, as well as her brother, and there had been no elder or deacon among them.
In the end Mr. Sangster did appear, he was admitted to the sick-room, and manifested the most cordial sympathy in Roderick's illness. He explained that the previous day being a market in a neighbouring town, he had gone thither, and had only got home a few minutes before Roderick's message, requesting him to assist at public worship, had been delivered.
He returned the heartiest thanks for Roderick's care of his wife, and was in every way as friendly as possible, but he made no allusion to the letter to Sophia or to the proposal which it contained, which is not remarkable seeing he had not heard of it.
Roderick lay and listened. The free and friendly tone did not look as if his suit had been received unfavourably, and yet it was alluded to in no way whatever. He gathered courage at last to enquire for Sophia, and was answered that she was laid up with a severe cold, but the manner of the reply was the most simple and ordinary, and showed no sign of an idea that more could be meant by the enquirer than met the ear.
Roderick inferred that the old man was favourable to his suit, and that the young lady was taking time to make up her mind. For the moment, therefore, his hopes rose, his mind grew easier, his body more at rest, and he spent a calmer evening and night than the preceding.
On Monday morning he was very hopeful. She had had a long Sunday undisturbed by the possibility of doing anything else, for it had rained steadily, to reflect on his petition, and she must surely return him an answer to-day.
Neither message, letter, or visitor appeared, however. 'Ah well,' he concluded at last, 'her father will no doubt bring it with him in the evening, when he comes to be present at the meeting of Session.'
The evening came. Roderick's study had been transferred as far as possible into a fitting meeting-place. The screen which closed off his sleeping corner from the room was removed, the writing table and books moved aside as well as might be, and a dozen chairs or more arranged in front of his bed.
The clock over the fireplace marked the quarter to seven, but no one came. It seemed strange that all that day no one should have come to see him. He had lived in the completest harmony with his people, and when in health had had some one always dropping in for a 'crack,' so that it had often been difficult for him to secure the privacy necessary to prepare his sermons. The sudden change was altogether inexplicable to him. Every one seemed to stand aloof, and he seemed to be put under a taboo by the entire population of the glen.
Mary went to the window. No one appeared to be coming, she then went to the door, but the village street was deserted save by a few grimy children tumbling in the gutter. Looking across the road, however, where a lane ran down to the waterside, she descried one or two figures standing. They stood well up to the wall of a house and were nearly hidden from where she stood. Indeed she would have supposed they were actually hiding themselves there and watching, but that she could imagine no possible reason for such a proceeding.
While she stood looking, Peter Malloch came out of his door and walked towards her. Here at any rate was one man coming to the meeting. It was getting late, but then the village time would get astray sometimes. It depended on the watch of the stage coach guard, a not very accurate timekeeper, as its hands would sometimes be moved twenty minutes forward or half an hour back that the coach might arrive at its different stages in time, whereby its internal economy would become deranged, and it would be sent for a fortnight to recruit at the watchmaker's.
Farther down the street she now descried Ebenezer Prittie. No doubt it was the clocks which were to blame. But no! When Peter Malloch reached the corner of the lane, he stopped short for an instant, and then hastily turned down it and disappeared. Ebenezer marched steadily along till he came to the same point, but then he also stopped and straightway vanished, like the other. What could it mean? Roderick was restless and very ill. It would require all his strength to get through the proceedings in the quietest way possible, and she could not think of fretting him, neither could she say anything to Eppie now.
That good soul had been rather tiresome as it was, for the past few days. She was always kind and attentive, though a trifle more motherly than Mary considered the circumstances to warrant, for she objected to the old woman's view of her as a helpless young thing who needed to be clucked over, and protected with beak and feather, like some unfledged nurseling of the poultry yard. Of late Eppie's commiserating sympathy and sad devotion had become nearly overpowering, as Mary could divine no possible ground for anything so pathetic; things had appeared to be going much as usual, the only unwonted circumstance having been her own return home a day or two before in the Inchbracken dog-cart, driven by Kenneth. Eppie must have got it into her head that she was falling under the influence of those black persecutors, the Drysdales, and that her soul was in danger; and that was too provokingly absurd altogether and not to be tolerated.
Mary flushed slightly to think of it, though there came also a light into her eye, as though in some aspects the idea was not so grievous after all. But it must be put down, whether or no, and she had been endeavouring to assume a deportment of severe and dignified distance, which would put the old body back in her proper place. Poor child! Her attempts at offended reserve were like the snaps of a toothless puppy, they had small resemblance to biting, and were far more likely to tickle the offending hand than to hurt it.
The next person to appear along the village street was Mr. Sangster. He appeared to think he was late, and strode quickly along. He reached the end of the lane. Would he also turn down? No; Mary saw him wave his hand in salutation, which showed that the others were still concealed there, but he stepped briskly across, and, with a cordial greeting to herself in passing, entered her brother's room.
He had scarcely done so, when, round the corner of the lane, there came the whole Kirk-Session and Deacons' Court,--some ten or a dozen persons in all,--like a crowd of urchins late for school. They hurried forward in a sort of knot, each unwilling to go first, as though there were an irate pedagogue to confront, yet no one wished to be last, as if he expected the dominie's cane to descend on his shoulders. They were all oppressed by the dreadful rumours in circulation, as to the minister's iniquity, and all wished to wreak vengeance on the defiler of their church. But how to set about it? Something vigorous and memorable must be done; but what was it to be?
A posse of the lieges called out to assist in capturing some notorious offender, half-a-dozen dogs holding a wild cat at bay--their fingers tingle to collar, their fangs glance fiercely ready to throttle; they stand all eager, all fierce, all cruel,--but who shall be the first to lay hold? and what may not befall that impetuous individual? Knocking down, braining, scratching of eyes out; even in the case of these zealous Free-churchmen, flooring in some metaphorical but very actual though imagined sense. No man was prepared to tackle the offender, yet all were so sure of his wrong-doing, that each felt as if he were bound to do it, if he should encounter him alone or first. But now Auchlippie had gone in, he, the ruling elder, their official head, was the proper person to do the undevised deed, or, if he did not, to bear the 'wite' of leaving it undone.
Roderick brightened up on the entrance of Mr. Sangster, and looked enquiringly in his face, but he did not venture to ask the question that was so near his lips. Mr. Sangster was cordial even beyond his wont, and answered his enquiries about the different members of his family at full length; but he did not say what Roderick was so impatient to hear; he could not, for his wife had told him nothing about it.
The entrance of the elders and deacons made further personal converse impossible. They walked up to the bed, took the sick man's hand one after another, but could scarcely command their lips to frame the ordinary inquiries after his health. Singularly to them, the minister received them with perfect composure, and all his wonted friendliness, while their eyes fell and wandered while the words died away upon their lips. 'Who was the sinner?' Ebenezer Prittie very nearly inquired aloud. Here were they, twelve just men and righteous, endowed in their own sight and that of their neighbours with all the virtues and christian graces in plenteous abundance, and yet this one impenitent sinner, laid out before them, snared in the full bloom and luxuriance of his iniquity, was able to outface them all, while they, his judges and accusers could scarce look him straight in the face, and had not a word to say.
The proceedings began in the usual manner. Roderick however, found he could scarce even whisper the opening prayer, and he therefore requested Mr. Sangster to act in his stead. They had been called together to make the concluding arrangements as to their new church. Widow Forester had come to terms about the ground, and they were therefore to set to work with all the expedition in their power, to raise the walls and secure a roof to shelter them, before the arrival of the winter storms. The day before had given them warning if that were needed, that the fine summer weather was drawing to a close, and that in a very few weeks the season of cold and storm would be upon them.
It was decided to commence work without any delay whatever, and that on the Thursday they should hold a religious service to inaugurate the work. Roderick had already bespoken the assistance of Mr. Dowlas, who had agreed to come over from his own parish whatever day he might be summoned. All therefore that had to be done was to notify him that Thursday was to be the day, and that owing to Roderick's illness he would have to assume the whole duty himself, instead of merely taking part, unless on so short notice he could induce his neighbour Mr. Geddie to accompany him.
No one present seemed disposed to speak unnecessarily, a somewhat unusual circumstance, for the deacons especially, being new to office, were prone to eloquence on ordinary occasions. Roderick accepted this taciturnity as a mark of consideration for his weakness and felt grateful. Indeed no more judicious mode of showing consideration could have been devised, for he felt himself getting worse under the stir and excitement very quickly. The meeting broke up as speedily as possible, and he was left alone, for Mr. Sangster had been carried away by the rest. He had been counting on another talk with him and perhaps of yet hearing from him the thing he most desired, but his own voice had entirely gone, so it was but natural his friend should not think of remaining with him when he could not speak.
He lay back on his pillow and solaced himself by thinking all manner of good of the men who had just left. The poor, the lower classes, who are thought so gross and rude in their perceptions! What people could have shown a more delicate intuition of what would be grateful to him in his weakness, than those rough-spoken, hard-handed men? He had been vexing himself with thoughts of their indifference and neglect, during his illness, but see how considerate and forbearing they had been this evening, notwithstanding the well known crotchets of this one and that, which would certainly have been brought out on any other occasion.
It was a beautiful thought, though not, in the circumstances a very accurate one, and helped him much in dropping peacefully to sleep not long after.
On Monday morning Mr. Wallowby was the first to appear in the breakfast-room,--an unusual circumstance. There was meditation in the noiseless tread of his slippered feet, and he rubbed his hands thoughtfully, one over the other. So, a reflective cat will softly move her paws and undulate her tail, while she is planning her next raid on a neighbouring mouse hole. His enquiries after Peter's health were solicitous and tender, and the regret and disappointment at his being still confined to his room, perhaps excessive, considering his strong recommendations over-night, that the patient should keep his bed altogether next day, and, by making a regular lay up of it, get well the sooner. He asked Mr. Sangster to lend him a horse and trap to drive over to Inchbracken, still lamenting Peter's indisposition and deploring the necessity of having to go alone, but persistently deaf to the suggestion that he should wait a day or two till Peter got better.
The trap was ordered round as desired, the old gentleman being thankful that in default of Peter's help the guest should take his amusement into his own hands, and not fall back on him, James Sangster, who had been resignedly counting on a day of self-sacrifice and boredom in the young man's company. He would have yielded the day freely enough, and submitted to the boredom with a fair grace, but he feared the young man would be as much bored as himself; and that, somehow, he did not relish. We are all of us so accustomed to being bored by our fellows, that none but the very young think of complaining, but that our fellows might be bored with us, is a suggestion our self-love would rather not entertain. Mrs. Sangster did not approve the idea; she would have had Peter go to consolidate his intimacy with the county magnates, and what could it possibly matter to Wallowby? she thought. She proposed a postponement, but Wallowby was already deep in a discussion of the relative merits of Hungarian rye-grass and timothy with her spouse, and so continued not to hear.
The hour arrived, so likewise did the trap, and Mr. Wallowby issued from his chamber glorious as a sunbeam. He had dressed himself with the greatest care, and he really looked very well, if only he could have run against somebody or something, so as to derange the get-up in some slight degree, and make the whole more human. He was of sufficient stature, and his face was well enough, if a trifle vacant; so that in this faultless array, without crease or plait or pucker, he resembled one of the figures in a tailor's fashion plate considerably more than a gentleman of the period. Mrs. Sangster met him on the stairs and was vastly impressed. She would have liked Sophia to see him; but, alas! that could be managed only by peeping from behind a blind, for Sophia herself was still the victim of catarrh, and forced to remain invisible.
Reaching Inchbracken, Mr. Wallowby was received by Julia. Lady Caroline had not yet left her room, but sent word that she hoped to see him at luncheon, and the gentlemen were from home. It was Julia's acquaintance, however, which he had already made; and as the other lady was to appear later, he resigned himself with perfect satisfaction to be entertained by that agreeable person. They walked about the grounds admiring the broad sweep of the lake, which, lapping round Inchbracken on three sides, swept far away into the shadow of the overhanging hills. Mr. Wallowby was charmed to discover in himself a remarkably just appreciation of scenery, which he had never before been conscious of possessing; but then he was not sure that it had ever before fallen to his lot to have it so well called forth, or to have met so appreciative a companion. It was quite remarkable and very pleasant to find on how many subjects their opinion exactly agreed, not on scenery only, for that was not a theme to last long, but in general views of life and society, even politics and religion, though these, as heavy matters, were only glanced at in passing; 'but it is so pleasant to meet with a woman capable of understanding one on such higher and more masculine subjects,' at least so thought Mr. Wallowby.
Julia was a wily sportswoman. She had often heard Captain John describe the method of tickling a trout, and here was a gudgeon whom she was minded to try her hand on, and capture, if possible, by that delicate process. Wallowby opened out and spread himself in the bland warmth of her approving smiles, like a very sunflower. He had truly never before realised what a remarkably fine fellow he was, and the revelation was delightful; and so, too, in consequence, was the fair prophetess who had disclosed it. Loch Gorton was fine, no doubt, and so too were the purple shadows slumbering among the hills beyond; but what were these in comparison to the heights and depths, long concealed under mists of modest diffidence, in the wondrous soul of Augustus Wallowby? The man fairly shimmered like a moonlit fountain, with coruscations of self-surprising wit and gratified vanity, while Circe cooed genially in response, still leading him onward into deeper quagmires of idiocy. Through gardens and shrubberies she led the way, and he followed closely behind, with ears laid luxuriatingly back; as the donkey whose poll has been deftly scratched will rub himself up against his new found friend, and court a continuance of the titillating process. Julia was actually discomposed by the rapidity of her success. Had she been in fun it would have been amusing, but she was a practical woman who meant business and a settlement for herself, so she feared to proceed too fast. Too speedy an inflation applied to so little solid substance might burst it, like a glass blower's freak, in a shower of spangles, to the mere idle glorification of the man himself; whereas if there was to be glass blowing, it was a useful goblet for her that was wanted. To change the tune, therefore, she now led the way to the old square tower overtopping the shrubbery, which was all that remained of the ancient family residence. Here a larger share of the conversation devolved on herself, Scotch antiquities and history being altogether unfamiliar to her Southern friend. He listened, however, with respectful interest to her account of the early Drysdales. When a man is uncertain who may have been his own grandfather, or whether such a person ever existed, there is something impressive in the long line of progenitors claimed by other people, and their certainty as to the possession. Here among the crumbling walls they once inhabited, it was impossible to doubt about them,--a very legion of haughty shadows who had once ruled the surrounding country,--or not to feel a positive reverence for their surviving representative. This train of thought naturally led to Lady Caroline, and as Julia phrased it, 'my Cousin, Lord Pitthevlis.' In the presence of that noble house the pretensions of the Drysdales dwindled considerably,--came down almost within reach, as it were, of Mr. Wallowby's unhistoric self; and yet this magnificent family were cousins of the engaging maiden who stood before him and discoursed so graciously of their grandeur. It was a delightful idea to realize, and he endeavoured to bring it well within his grasp, by desiring to know the precise degree of cousinship. She replied that the relationship was through George, the thirteenth Earl. It appeared to be difficult to particularize very exactly. An honourable Cornelius somebody, and a Lady Mary somebody else, besides other important people, had all been implicated some generations back in Miss Finlayson's introduction on this sublunary scene; 'but Lord Pitthevlis always calls me cousin, and so do the rest of the family, so of course it is so,' she concluded, and Wallowby was satisfied. There was apparently no prospect of her ever being a countess in her own right, but she was evidently very highly connected, so that when she died, her husband would be able to put up a hatchment with eight quarterings in front of his house; and Mr. Wallowby actually called up in his mind's eye a momentary vision of his own residence in the outskirts of Manchester so adorned, just to see how it would look. Poor man! I fear he was far gone.
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"Through gardens and shrubberies she led
the way." Page 162.
During those few minutes when the lady left him in the morning room, while she went to remove her bonnet before luncheon, he drew a long breath and asked himself, 'could it be that at last he really was in love?' A long train of captives passed through his memory, the supposed victims of his fascinations--or his fortune, was it? But what were any of them to this incomparable person? So elegant, so accomplished, and so appreciative! It seemed very sudden; but then, was not love at first sight the truest, the best, the highest form of that delightful emotion? And was not the attraction mutual? With his long and intimate knowledge of the sex, he knew all the signs. He was sure of that, and could not be mistaken in this case. He was indeed a sad rogue, so he told himself. He could not help that, but he felt for the poor girl in a serene and benevolent sort of way, and resolved that she should not sigh in vain. Yet he must be circumspect and do nothing precipitate! Although he was to return to England in three days' time, and could not without making explanations to an inquisitive world come again to see her; that was a matter he must break to her gently, and he would ask leave to correspond with her. Meanwhile he must practise reserve--veil his radiance somewhat, lest the poor child should be reduced to a heap of ashes--another Semele--before the fitting time for a proposal had arrived. So far his reflections had got, as he stood looking from the windows, and pulling out the corners of his whiskers to their extremest length, when he was interrupted by a summons to luncheon.
In the dining-room the ladies were already seated, one being Lady Caroline whom he had not yet seen; and whether it was merely the presence of a third person, or the silent claim of superiority on the part of that lady, the atmosphere appeared to have undergone a change. Life was no longer a river at high tide rolling to a triumphal march from 'the Caliph of Bagdad,' but a very ordinary stream indeed, oozing along between monotonous banks, over a flat and muddy bottom. Instead of a prized and congenial friend, he was now reduced to the part of stranger, and rather an unknown stranger too. Lady Caroline led the conversation as was her wont, but more interrogatively, and less as an exclusive monologue than when addressing persons with whom she was better acquainted. Having been called on to express his admiration for Scotland and the Scotch, on this his first visit to the country, he was next asked if he had been induced to attend any of the open-air conventicles which his friends so much affected, and how he liked them. He said he had been at one, and that it was a picturesque gathering in a stagy sort of way, and something very different from anything he had ever seen before.
'I should think so,' said Lady Caroline; 'it seems to me a species of madness which has fallen upon the people. I wonder the authorities do not put it down, for it is utterly subversive of order, and all good government. I feel quite ashamed whenever I hear of it coming under the notice of people from another country. They must form so strange an opinion of us. If you spend another Sunday in the neighbourhood you must persuade your friends to send you over to the parish church. It is not far from here.'
Mr. Wallowby replied that he would be returning to England before another Sunday came round. 'But I was not aware,' he added, 'that there were any but Presbyterian chapels for many miles round here. I felt compunction about attending the ministrations of an unordained person, it seemed to me so much a burlesque on the offices of religion, but I was told that except in towns and a very few country places far north, there are no clergymen in Scotland at all. And yet the Scotch claim to be very religious. I did not know before that people could be religious without church or parson, and now I have seen it I do not like it.'
'Yes! English people are all alike! They insist upon choosing for themselves, and having done so, they would impose their choice upon everybody else. That is not so bad perhaps when they stick to the old-fashioned ways--in my young days we all got on most comfortably together; but now when they have adopted so many new notions, apostolical succession for instance, which we never used to hear of, it seems a trifle unreasonable that people who have so much difficulty in knowing their own views should expect others to accept them too. For myself, I find the Act of Parliament and the law of the land the best religious director, and wherever I live I mean to conform to the Established Church of the country--always excepting France, and I never will live there. I have not forgot yet how we used to be threatened with Popery and wooden shoes if ever the French should land upon our shores. Now, the English Church people are dissenters in Scotland, just as Presbyterians are in England. But I hate the very name of dissenter, as of all disloyalty, and therefore I attend the English Church when in England, just as I do the Scotch in Scotland.'
'But if the ministers of the Scotch form of worship are not priests, how can they constitute a Church? That is my difficulty.'
'The Act of Settlement says that they do, and there is no going behind the law of the land. The Archbishop of Paris probably does not consider the Archbishop of Canterbury a priest, or able to constitute a Church; but no Englishman would be worth his salt who cared for what a Frenchman said. As for the clergy in different countries, they are all most excellent people, but they require a Queen Elizabeth or some such person to keep them in their own place. They are all, priests and presbyters alike, inclined to be meddlesome and tyrannical; and if we would only let them, they would rule us with a rod of iron. I am quite familiar with your prejudices, and even respect them, so far; my brother Pitthevlis is a Scotch Episcopalian, and I was so brought up myself, but I fear I must say they are a little narrow, and too like your own new disturbers (Puseyites, you call them, I think), ever to be possible as a national Church.'
Mr. Wallowby bridled slightly. He thought he was a Puseyite himself, and had great scorn for the Low Church party; but in those pre-ritualistic days his High Churchism was, like most other laymen's, little more than a taste for illuminated windows, surpliced choirs, intoned prayers, and a musical service; and that rather on account of its 'swellness,' than as a means of edification; and he would have been as prompt as any Low Churchman to cry out 'Popery' against the modern developments. Thirty years have passed since then, and many things have changed. Mr. Wallowby had raised his head to do battle for his faith, but meanwhile Lady Caroline had meandered on to other themes, so what he might have said can never be known.
The chicken, the salad, and the toast were at length consumed. All rose from table, and Augustus felt that it was time for him to withdraw. Julia accompanied him to the door, there was some low-toned conversation, and he was gone.
'Well! my dear Julia,' said Lady Caroline, 'I do not know what I should do without your kind good-nature, to take the bores off my hands. It must be between three and four hours since that misguided man arrived, and you have been with him all the time! Does your head ache?'
'Oh no, dear Lady Caroline, I have got through the visit very pleasantly. He does not talk so much as to weary one, and yet he has plenty to say.'
'Ah? Then I may save my condolences. So much the better! He strikes me as being almost good-looking, if he were only a gentleman, and not quite so tightly buttoned into his clothes. Men laugh at women's tightlacing, but how they endure all these wisps of muslin round their throats I cannot think. And I am sure they are quite as ridiculous.'
'I thought Mr. Wallowby dressed rather nicely; and as to his manners--of course he has never gone into society, and he is not the least like a guardsman; but then he has never had the chance to see one. And, who knows? he may have a son in the army at least, perhaps even a field-marshal, or a Lord-Chancellor, for I hear he is very rich, and even the greatest families must have a first man, or perhaps, as you would say, the man before that.'
'Julia, my dear, you are a philosopher! The gentleman must have merit, or he would not have won over my critical young cousin so soon. He is rich you say?'
'Yes, Lady Caroline. Miss Brown, who was living with the Sangsters says he is very rich; and it would be too absurd in a penniless girl like me to be critical and fastidious in judging a man of his substantial fortune.'
'Fastidious! my dear? Then there is a chance of his being submitted to your approval?'
Julia coloured. 'Indeed Lady Caroline, it is so hard for a girl to say. But if you will not think me absurd, I almost fancy there might perhaps be a possibility of something like that.'
'Ah, then, my dear, that alters the question altogether. I have no daughter of my own, and there is no one whose settlement in life I have more nearly at heart than yours. Confide in me, child! I have every wish to be a mother to you.'
Julia kissed her hand very sweetly. 'I shall find out all about him,' continued the old lady, through old MacSiccar, and you may trust me not to compromise you in any way. If his circumstances are satisfactory, it might probably be a very judicious step on your part; One cannot have everything you know; but enough to live upon is a thing it is impossible to do without. And as to the rest, under your guidance, I see no reason why he should not make a perfectly presentable figure in society. I am sure you will make an admirable and attached wife, whoever you marry; but marrying for love, instead of with it, as every good girl of course will, often turns out to be a mistake. You know, my dear, I was not very young myself when I married, and a few years earlier I was very nearly doing something foolish of that kind. The gentleman had high rank and was really very charming; but my dear papa discovered the unsuitableness of the connection in time, and though I was really infatuated, he carried us all down to Pitthevlis, and kept us there for two years. In the meantime, what papa expected occurred, the gentleman ruined himself. His property was put under trustees, and he himself has been living at Boulogne and such places ever since, on the few hundreds a year allowed by his creditors. I shudder sometimes when I think how narrowly I escaped----. Shortly after that my dear General came forward, and I need not say how thankful I am that I was saved from my earlier folly. Rank and position are most desirable things, but a solid income is indispensable. There are so many girls now, too, and the men have grown so mercenary, that a girl without fortune or a title cannot look for more than a younger son, which is merely a sort of decent dependence on the family, and often a most painful position. So my dear,' added the old lady, who had been gradually warming under her own eloquence, 'I wish you every success, always provided the parti should prove worthy your acceptance,' and thereupon she rose, and bending over Julia, kissed her on the forehead, like a fairy godmother, or some other superior spirit, animated by the most beneficent intentions. She was thinking that if Kenneth should marry and settle down at Inchbracken, as his father desired, a third lady in the household would be one too many.
The joint meeting of elders and deacons broke up as described, and left the minister alone. They did not separate, however, for Ebenezer Prittie stood without the cottage door, and begged them so urgently to come round to the Post Office that they consented.
The Post Office proved a meeting place still more restricted than the one they had left, but it was private. The shop having been closed, they seated themselves on the counter and sundry kegs of nails, and waited the opening of the proceedings.
Ebenezer moved that Mr. Sangster should take the chair (a tall slender-legged stool), and that the proceedings should be minuted in the Session books, as a continuance after adjournment of the meeting which had just broken up. Mr. Sangster objected to so irregular a course, and declined to mount the chair. He would be happy to hold an informal conversation with his friends there assembled, but he would take no part in a hole-and-corner meeting not duly called, and held without the knowledge of their minister, who of right should preside.
Ebenezer coughed behind his hand, cleared his voice, and stood forth. He had been planning something very energetic in the way of resolutions and minutes of Session, which by and by would be produced in the Presbytery with his name as prime mover and leader; but now he had got them together, it did not appear such plain sailing as he had anticipated, and he began to have qualms and misgivings. The position of prosecutor or accuser did not appear so desirous, now that he stood in the midst of that silent and expectant circle, as it had done when he was merely planning it. He coughed again, but the silence remained unbroken. No one else desired to speak, so he had to go on. He told them that it was unnecessary for him to name the reason for his having requested them to reassemble there, as they knew it already. Mr. Sangster interrupted, that he for one had not an idea of the object of their meeting, and was waiting to hear it. Ebenezer replied that the whole glen was ringing with reports of the evil living of the person acting as pastor over them,--that it was a crying scandal, and that the enemy would have good cause to exult over the subversion of their Zion, if they did not cast the unclean thing out from among them.'
'What do you allude to. Mr. Prittie?' asked Mr. Sangster.
'To the minister's bairn, sir!' replied Ebenezer; 'ye hardly need to speer that.'
'But Mr. Brown's adoption of a foundling infant affords no ground of censure that I can see. I confess, indeed, that I have always thought he had set us an example of Christian charity we would do well to copy.'
'Do ye mean to say, sir, ye dinna ken wha's acht that bairn?'
'I do. Whose is it?'
'His ain, of course!'
'How do you know?'
'A' body kens that by noo, 'at bides in Glen Effick.'
'I don't, for one; and I should like to know how you know it.'
'What a' body says maun be true! Ye'll allow that, Mester Sangster. An' what's mair, the mither's kenned as weel.'
'And who is the mother? Has she said so?'
'A body wadna just look for that, ye ken, sir. Folk dizna cry stinkin' fish e'y open market. An' ye wadna be lookin' to hear auld Tibbie Tirpie cryin' 'cuttie' after her ain dochter!'
'How then do you make it out? For myself, I don't believe one word of it.'
'Do ye mean to say 'at I'm leein', Mester Sangster? I'm but a puir man to you, I ken weel; an' I'm mindin' 'at ye're the Laird of Auchlippie; but I was ordeened to the eldership o' the kirk the same day ye was yoursel', an' I'm thinkin' we're baith brithers in the house o' God, whaur there's no respect of persons; an' I kenna what for ye suld think I'm leein' ony mair nor yersel'.'
'Whisht, man!' remonstrated Peter Malloch. 'The Laird never thocht to misdoubt you. It's just a way o' speakin' folk's gotten. But I'm sayin', Mester Sangster, I cud gang a lang gate mysel' e'y pruivin' o' thae suspeecions. I hae seen the minister wi' my ain een, slinkin' frae the auld wife's door, lang efter dark; an' the verra next day, doon she comes to me for tea an' sneeshin' an' sic like trokes as a puir body can do wantin' weel eneugh, an' pays a' wi' a pund note o' the Peterhead Bank. There's nae misdoubtin' whaur that siller cam frae! An' folk dinna gie notes to puir bodies for naething.'
'Folk differ in that as in other things, Peter,' retorted the laird with a shrug. 'Some wad gie a bodle gin they had ane, an' when they haena they gie a bawbee. An' mony's the button I hae fand in the kirk collections in my time! But I can't see that therefore we must attribute Mr. Brown's liberality to an evil motive. He preaches liberal giving, you know, and he practises what he preaches. Perhaps we might all take a lesson from him and increase our charities without going beyond our duty.'
'Hech!' sighed a voice in the corner, 'it's no the amount! It's the speerit it's dune in; an' that's a grand truith, an' a comfortin'. It was the Widdie's twa mites 'at gat a' the praise!'
'Yes!' retorted the Laird with a chuckle, 'but they were all her living! The chield that put the button in the plate gets little countenance there! But, to return to the rumours; there would have to be some more conclusive evidence before any step could be taken in the matter. As I have said before, I believe the whole thing is just idle talk, and I will be no party to insulting Mr. Brown by even bringing such an insinuation under his notice. This parish and the whole church owe him gratitude for his zealous and self-denying labours. I regard the whole tenor of his life among us as ample refutation of any unsubstantiated report that can be circulated to his disparagement; and I wonder that any office-bearer of this church, after all the intercourse we have been privileged to have with him, can think otherwise. I think it is the duty of all here present, to put down this tattling of idle tongues; and if we cannot stop, at least we should not heed them, and by-and-by they will cease to wag of themselves.'
'It's braw crackin' about tatlin' tongues,' said Peter Malloch, 'but wadna we be giein' the enemy grund to blaspheme? an' that's clean contrar' to Scripter. A bonny tale the reseeduaries wad mak o't a', gin it cam to their lugs! They're aye sayin', as it is, 'at the unco gude (an' that means hiz) are nae better nor ither folk, but a hantle waur. An' as for Mester Brown an' his giein', there's mair ways o' doin' gude nor juist giein siller to feckless bodies 'at canna help themsels. What for canna hie gie a help to the honest hard workin' folk 'at's fechtin' their best to gar baith ends meet, an' support the lawfu' tred o' his ain glen? "Claw me an' I'se claw ye," is gude plen Scotch. Gin folk peys their pennies intil the Sustentation Fund reglar, it's gey an yerksom to see the minister's family gae by the door, an' dale wi' outsiders. It'll be a week come the morn 'at the carrier frae Inverlyon brocht them a muckle creel fu' o' groceries. What wad come to the tred o' the glen gin a' body dealt that gate?'
'Hoot, Peter,' snorted the Laird, 'the sand in yer sugar's been ower grit! I'm thinkin' I heard tell o' a sma' chuckie stane in Miss Brown's tea-cup. Folk are na juist hens, ye see, an' dinna find sic provender halesome.'
Something like a snigger followed the Laird's sally. No one else present being a 'merchant' of eatables, the joke was greatly relished. It is always pleasant to see a neighbour suffer, because it gives point and relish to one's own immunity. It is a form of childish sensuality that survives the relish for lollipops, but it is perhaps most openly indulged in during the lollipop period. Whispering and restlessness become hushed all over the school-room when a whipping is going forward. Each child settles in its seat to watch the performance, all eyes and interest; the sharper the whish of the cane and the louder the wail of the victim, the more pleasurable and keen the interest of each spectator, for the better he realizes the ease and comfort of his own little skin.
Peter flushed. The laird was a privileged man, who might take his joke as he pleased, but no prescriptive immunity sheltered the rest.
'I see naething to nicker at, Ebenezer Prittie! Gin onything fell amang my sugar I ken naething about it ava, as I'll explain to Miss Brown; but I see na hoo yer ain ellwand can be an inch shorter nor ither folks, an' ye no ken o't.'
'I daur ye to say that again, ye ill-faured leein' rascal! Gin it war na for my godly walk and conversation, as a Christian man an' an Elder, I'd lay the ellwand about yer crappet lugs!'
Here there was a general intervention between the two angry men, and the laird expressed his regret at having used any expression that could disturb the harmony of the meeting, but they knew his weakness for a joke; and as everything seemed to have been said on the subject they had met to consider, and as it was getting late, he would now wish them all good-night.
'I see na that a' has been said,' observed Ebenezer, so soon as the Laird was beyond hearing, 'or that ony thing has been said ava that's ony gude. Are we to let the hale thing drap, an' mak fules o' oursel's afore the hale glen, just to pleasure Auchlippie? I trow no!'
'An' what wad ye be for doin' then?' asked one.
'I'll tell ye what we suld do,' suggested another. 'Isna Mester Dowlas comin' to haud the meetin,' an' lay the fundation o' the new Kirk? An' what for suldna we ca' him to adveese wi' us what ocht to be dune? I'm thinkin' he's as weel able as Auchlippie to direc' folk, an' we needna be feared to anger him, he's no a laird.'
'Aweel!' said Ebenezer, who had now mounted on the top of the tall stool, and was benevolently regarding the meeting from his self-appointed station as chairman. 'Ye'll better juist muive that, Andra Semple, an' as I'm e'y chair I'll put yer motion to the meetin'. An' syne ye can muive an adjournment, Elluck Lamont, an' we'll adjourn to Thursday efternoon, whan the kirk skells. An' sae we'll be a' in order ('let a'thing be dune decently an' in order,' says the Apostle) till we get Mester Dowlas to set us richt.'
Thus the meeting had but small direct result. Its effect indirectly, however, was considerable. When, early that evening, the members had stolen down the lane near the minister's cottage, to intercept each other and feel circuitously towards the point of interest, each would have been ashamed, first and unsupported, to repeat aloud the rumours that had reached him. When he had heard them in the first instance, usually from his wife--it is the gentle sex usually which originates or introduces such tales, probably because it has no head to break, which is to say, that its corporal immunities in a civilized land enable it to say unpunished what would bring down on the male tattler both brawls and broken bones,--he had at first declared it was impossible, and then that it was unlikely; and even when, after dwelling on it in his mind, the love of a sensation made him half think half hope there might be something in it, he would hesitate to allude to it save by a whisper and a shake of the head, and would caution his wife not to repeat it, or let herself appear as one who was giving it currency. When, however, the matter had been talked over, audible speech exercised its usual defining and contracting influence. The mysterious and appalling, as well as the doubtful element, became vulgarised as well as realized. Without any additional evidence, yet in the company of so many others who all believed, each felt it due to his own character for clear-sightedness and high moral tone to dismiss every remnant of doubt, and to be eager for the exposure and punishment of the offender. Afterwards, in the presence of the accused himself, their certainty had begun a little to waver. The many pieties and goodnesses associated with him in their memories, were too discordant with this new and vulgar suspicion, and probably had they met him each alone, they would have dismissed the accusation from their minds; but each sat under the scrutinizing eyes of his twelve or thirteen fellows. They were the eyes into which he had looked, a little while ago, when he had made up his mind that the rumours were well founded; and as he felt their glance on him now, it was like a voice urging steadfastness and consistency with what he had been saying so shortly before. Those persons looking at him had heard him say that he believed everything; how, then, could he, while still under their eye, turn round and dismiss his suspicions without any new fact or argument to account for the change? Nevertheless, the zeal of the old Hebrew prophets, which some of them had felt stirring in their veins and urging them to lift a testimony and denounce the sinner in the midst of his ways, had cooled and oozed away as they sat round the sickbed; each looked expectantly to the others, but felt he could not undertake the work himself. It was a relief to all of them to leave the sick-room, and when they re-assembled at the Post Office, they felt more strongly built up in their suspicions than ever. If anything could have bound them more firmly to their position, it was Mr. Sangster's scant respect for the conclusion at which they had arrived. They were willing to admit his superiority both in position and education, and probably any one of them would have deferred to him if alone; but the sturdy democratic or Presbyterian element in them objected to so many yielding to the one who wore a better coat and had learned Latin; and when in the end he tried to dismiss the meeting, after pooh-poohing its object as absurd, they felt bound to assert themselves by boldly and openly taking the other course.
All reserve, therefore, was dropped. Each had all the others to bear him out in whatever he said; and that night he openly discussed the supposed facts with his wife while she prepared his supper.
The next morning the 'stoups' stood empty at the well, and heaps of wet linen lay neglected and unspread down on the 'loaning,' while their owners in garrulous knots discussed the minister's misdoings, and Peter Malloch sold more little parcels of tea and snuff than he had ever done in one day before, so many of the gudewives desired to get his version with full particulars.