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diff --git a/23736-h/23736-h.htm b/23736-h/23736-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..588111d --- /dev/null +++ b/23736-h/23736-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11515 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dew Of Their Youth, by S. R. Crockett. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h1 {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em; clear: both;} + h2 {text-align: center; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 2em; clear: both;} + h3 {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; font-weight: normal; clear: both;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + .blockquot {margin: .5em 5% .5em 5%;} + table p {text-align: center; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} + h2.toc {margin-top: 1em;} + td.tdright {vertical-align: top; text-align: right;} + td.tdleft {vertical-align: top; text-align: left;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; + position: absolute; right: 2%; border:1px solid #eee; + padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; + color: silver; background-color: inherit;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.dashed {width: 100%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border:none; border-bottom:1px dashed;} + a.pagenum:after {border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; content: attr(title);} + + /* general css definitions for fonts */ + .xl {font-size: x-large;} /* x-large */ + .l {font-size: large;} /* large */ + .s {font-size: small;} /* small */ + .xs {font-size: x-small;} /* x-small */ + .c {text-align: center;} /* centered */ + .b {font-weight: bold;} /* text is bold */ + .i {font-style: italic;} /* text is italic */ + .sc {font-variant: small-caps;} /* text is small-caps */ + .m0 {margin: 0;} /* margins are zero */ + .al {text-align: left;} /* align text left */ + .j {text-align: justify;} /* justify text */ + + .footnote p {margin: 0; line-height: 1.2; font-size:smaller; } + .footnote .label {font-size: 80%; vertical-align: super; } + .fnanchor {font-size: 70%; vertical-align: 0.3em;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Dew of Their Youth, by S. R. Crockett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Dew of Their Youth + +Author: S. R. Crockett + +Release Date: December 4, 2007 [EBook #23736] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table style="border: 1px solid #ddd; padding:2em; margin-top:50px;" summary=""> +<tr><td> +<p style="font-size:1.6em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0em;">THE</p> +<p style="font-size:2.2em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:4em;">DEW OF THEIR YOUTH</p> +<p style="font-size:1.0em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em;">BY</p> +<p style="font-size:1.4em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em;">S. R. CROCKETT</p> +<p style="font-size:0.8em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em;">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p style="font-size:0.8em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em;">‘THE LILAC SUNBONNET,’ ‘THE BLACK DOUGLAS,’ ‘STRONG MAC,’</p> +<p style="font-size:0.8em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:10em;">‘ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS,’ ETC.</p> +<p style="font-size:1.0em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:0em;">HODDER AND STOUGHTON</p> +<p style="font-size:1.0em; margin-top:0em; margin-bottom:1em;">LONDON MCMX</p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="c s" style="margin:2em;"> +Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,<br /> +BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND<br /> +BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. +</p> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2 class="toc"><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>CONTENTS</h2> +<table border="0" width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents" style="font-variant:small-caps; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> +<col style="width:80%;" /> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xl">PART I</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER I</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td colspan="2" align="right"><span class="xs">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Haunted House of Marnhoul</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_OF_MARNHOUL_241">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td style='height:40px' valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER II</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">“In the Name of the Law!”</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#IN_THE_NAME_OF_THE_LAW_515">10</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER III</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="tdleft">Miss Irma Gives an Audience</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#MISS_IRMA_GIVES_AN_AUDIENCE_768">18</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER IV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">First Foot in the Haunted House</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#FIRST_FOOT_IN_THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_913">22</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER V</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Censor of Morals</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_CENSOR_OF_MORALS_1243">33</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER VI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Apotheosis of Agnes Anne</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_APOTHEOSIS_OF_AGNES_ANNE_1537">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER VII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Doctor’s Advent</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_DOCTORS_ADVENT_1815">51</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER VIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Kate of the Shore</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#KATE_OF_THE_SHORE_2157">62</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER IX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Eve of St. John</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_EVE_OF_ST_JOHN_2497">73</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER X</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Crowbar in the Wood</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_CROWBAR_IN_THE_WOOD_2777">82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Agnes Anne’s Experiences As a Spy</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#AGNES_ANNES_EXPERIENCES_AS_A_SPY_2946">87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Fight in the Dark</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_FIGHT_IN_THE_DARK_3232">96</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">A World of Ink and Fire</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#A_WORLD_OF_INK_AND_FIRE_3397">101</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XIV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The White Free Traders</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_WHITE_FREE_TRADERS_3644">109</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xl">PART II</span></td></tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">My Grandmother Speaks Her Mind</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#MY_GRANDMOTHER_SPEAKS_HER_MIND_3931">118</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XVI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Castle Connoway</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#CASTLE_CONNOWAY_4205">127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XVII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Man “Doon-the-Hoose”</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_MAN_DOONTHEHOOSE_4392">133</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XVIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Transfiguration of Aunt Jen</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_TRANSFIGURATION_OF_AUNT_JEN_4555">138</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XIX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Loaded-Pistol Pollixfen</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#LOADEDPISTOL_POLLIXFEN_4820">146</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Real Mr. Poole</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_REAL_MR_POOLE_5106">155</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">While We Sat By the Fire</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#WHILE_WE_SAT_BY_THE_FIRE_5324">162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr><td> </td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2" align="center"><span class="xl">PART III</span></td></tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Boyd Connoway’s Evidence</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#BOYD_CONNOWAYS_EVIDENCE_5576">170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Sharp Spur</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_SHARP_SPUR_6054">184</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXIV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The College of King James</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_COLLEGE_OF_KING_JAMES_6330">193</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Satan Finds</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#SATAN_FINDS_6581">201</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXVI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Perfidy, Thy Name is Woman!</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#PERFIDY_THY_NAME_IS_WOMAN_6835">209</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXVII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">“Then, Heigh-Ho, the Molly!”</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THEN_HEIGHHO_THE_MOLLY_7108">218</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXVIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Love and the Logician</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#LOVE_AND_THE_LOGICIAN_7435">227</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXIX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Avalanche</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_AVALANCHE_7650">233</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Vanishing Lady</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_VANISHING_LADY_8024">244</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">Twice Married</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#TWICE_MARRIED_8350">254</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Little House on the Meadows</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_LITTLE_HOUSE_ON_THE_MEADOWS_8620">262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">And the Door Was Shut</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#AND_THE_DOOR_WAS_SHUT_8791">268</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXIV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">A Visit From Boyd Connoway</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#A_VISIT_FROM_BOYD_CONNOWAY_8969">274</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXV</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Valley of the Shadow</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW_9139">280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXVI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Supplanter</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_SUPPLANTER_9383">288</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXVII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Return of the Serpent to Eden Valley</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_RETURN_OF_THE_SERPENT_TO_EDEN_VALLEY_9661">297</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXVIII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">By Water and the Word</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#BY_WATER_AND_THE_WORD_9892">305</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XXXIX</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Wicked Flag</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_WICKED_FLAG_10140">313</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XL</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Great “Tabernacle” Revival</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_GREAT_TABERNACLE_REVIVAL_10430">322</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XLI</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">In the Wood Parlour</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#IN_THE_WOOD_PARLOUR_10675">330</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td style="height:40px" valign="bottom" colspan="2" align="center">CHAPTER XLII</td></tr><tr> + <td class="tdleft">The Place of Dreams</td> + <td class="tdright"><a href="#THE_PLACE_OF_DREAMS_10911">338</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class="dashed" /> + +<h2><a name="PART_I" id="PART_I"></a>PART I</h2> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_1" id="pg_1">1</a></span> +<a name="THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_OF_MARNHOUL_241" id="THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_OF_MARNHOUL_241"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE HAUNTED HOUSE OF MARNHOUL</h3> +</div> + +<p>I, Duncan MacAlpine, school-master’s son and uncovenanted assistant to +my father, stood watching the dust which the Highflyer coach had left +between me and Sandy Webb, the little guard thereof, as he whirled +onward into the eye of the west. It was the hour before afternoon +school, and already I could hear my father’s voice within declaiming as +to unnecessary datives and the lack of all feeling for style in the +Latin prose of the seniors.</p> + +<p>A score of the fifth class, next in age and rank, were playing at +rounders in an angle of the court, and I was supposed to be watching +them. In reality I was more interested in a group of tall girls who were +patrolling up and down under the shade of the trees at the head of their +playground—where no boy but I dare enter, and even I only officially. +For in kindly Scots fashion, the Eden Valley Academy was not only open +to all comers of both sexes and ages, but was set in the midst of a wood +of tall pines, in which we seniors were permitted to walk at our guise +and pleasure during the “intervals.”</p> + +<p>Here the ground was thick and elastic with dry pine needles, two or +three feet of them firmly compacted, and smelling delightfully of resin +after a shower. Indeed, at <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_2" id="pg_2">2</a></span>that moment I was interested enough to let +the boys run a little wild at their game, because, you see, I had found +out within the last six months that girls were not made only to be +called names and to put out one’s tongue at.</p> + +<p>There was, in especial, one—a dark, slim girl, very lissom of body and +the best runner in the school. She wore a grey-green dress of rough +stuff hardly ankle-long, and once when the bell-rope broke and I had +sprained my ankle she mounted instead of me, running along the rigging +of the roofs to ring the bell as active as a lamplighter. I liked her +for this, also because she was pretty, or at least the short grey-green +dress made her look it. Her name was Gertrude Gower, but Gerty +Greensleeves was what she was most frequently called, except, of course, +when I called the roll before morning and afternoon.</p> + +<p>I had had a talk with Sandy Webb, the guard, as he paused to take in the +mails. My father was also village postmaster, but, though there was a +girl in the office to sell stamps and revenue licences, and my mother +behind to say “that she did not know” in reply to any question +whatsoever, I was much more postmaster than my father, though I suppose +he really had the responsibility.</p> + +<p>Sandy Webb always brought a deal of news to Eden Valley. And as I had +official and private dealings with him—the public relating to way-bills +and bag-receipts, and the private to a noggin of homebrewed out of the +barrel in the corner of our cellar—he always gave me the earliest news, +before he hurried away—as it were, the firstlings of the flock.</p> + +<p>“There’s a stir at Cairn Edward,” he said casually, as he set down his +wooden cup. “John Aitken, the mason, has fallen off a scaffolding and +broken——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_3" id="pg_3">3</a></span>“Not his leg?” I interrupted anxiously, for John was a third cousin of +my mother’s.</p> + +<p>“No, more miraculous than that!” the guard averred serenely.</p> + +<p>“His back?” I gasped—for John Aitken, as well as a relation, was a +fellow-elder of my father’s, and the two often met upon sacramental +occasions.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Sandy, enjoying his grave little surprise, “only the trams of +his mortar-barrow! And there’s that noisy tinkler body, Tim Cleary, the +Shire Irishman, in the lock-up for wanting to fight the Provost of +Dumfries, and he’ll get eight days for certain. But the Provost is +paying the lodgings of his wife and family in the meantime. It will be a +rest for them, poor things.”</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that Sandy Webb, square, squat, many-wrinkled man, +sounded his horn and swung himself into his place as the driver, Andrew +Haugh, gathered up his reins. But I knew his way, and waited +expectantly. He always kept the pick of his news to the end, then let it +off like a fire-cracker, and departed in a halo of dusty glory.</p> + +<p>“Your private ghost is making himself comfortable over yonder at the +Haunted House. I saw the reek of his four-hours fire coming up blue out +of the chimbly-top as we drove past!”</p> + +<p>It was thus that the most notable news of a decade came to Eden Valley. +The Haunted House—we did not need to be told—was Marnhoul, a big, +gaunt mansion, long deserted, sunk in woods, yet near enough to the +Cairn Edward road to be visible in stray round towers and rows of +chimneys, long unblacked by fire of kitchen or parlour. It had a great +forest behind it, on the verges of which a camp of woodcutters and a +rude saw-mill had long been established, eating <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_4" id="pg_4">4</a></span>deeper and deeper in, +without, however, seeming to make any more difference than a solitary +mouse might to a granary.</p> + +<p>We boys knew all about the Haunted House. Since our earliest years it +had been the very touchstone of courage to go to the gate on a moonlight +night, hold the bars and cry three times, “I’m no feared!” Some had done +this, I myself among the number. But—though, of course, being a +school-master’s son, I did not believe in ghosts—I admit that the +return journey was the more pleasant of the two, especially after I got +within cry of the dwellings of comfortable burgesses, and felt the +windows all alight on either side of me, so near that I could almost +touch them with my hand.</p> + +<p>Not that I <i>saw</i> anything! I knew from the first it was all nonsense. My +father had told me so a score of times. But having been reared in the +superstitious Galloway of the ancient days—well, there are certain +chills and creeps for which a man is not responsible, inexplicable +twitchings of the hairy scalp of his head, maybe even to the breaking of +a cold sweat over his body, which do not depend upon belief. I kept +saying to myself, “There is nothing! I do not believe a word of it! ’Tis +naught but old wives’ fables!” But, all the same, I took with a great +deal of thankfulness the dressing-down I had got from my father for +being late for home lessons on a trigonometry night. You see, I was born +and reared in Galloway, and I suppose it was just what they have come to +call in these latter days “the influence of environment.”</p> + +<p>Well, at that moment, who should come up but Jo Kettle, a good fellow +and friend of mine, but of no account in the school, being a rich +farmer’s son, who was excused from taking Latin because he was going <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_5" id="pg_5">5</a></span>to +succeed his father in the farm. Jo had a right to the half of my +secrets, because we both liked Gerty Greensleeves pretty well; and I was +certain that she cared nothing about Jo, while Jo could swear that she +counted me not worth a button.</p> + +<p>So I told Jo Kettle about the Haunted House, and he was for starting off +there and then. But it was perfectly evident that I could not with these +fifth class boys to look after, and afternoon school just beginning. And +if I could not, I was very sure that he had better not. More than once +or twice I had proved that it was his duty to do as I said. Jo +understood this, but grew so excited that he bolted into school in a +moment with the noise of a runaway colt. His entrance disarranged the +attention of the senior Latiners of the sixth. My father frowned, and +said, “What do you mean, boy, by tumbling through the classroom door +like a cart of bricks? Come quietly; and sit down, Agnes Anne!”</p> + +<p>This was my poor unfortunate sister, aged fourteen, whom a pitiless +parent compelled to do classics with the senior division.</p> + +<p>Jo Kettle sat down and pawed about for his mensuration book, which he +studied for some time upside down. Then he extracted his box of +instruments from his bag and set himself to do over again a proposition +with which he had been familiar for weeks. This, however, was according +to immemorial school-boy habit, and sometimes succeeded with my father, +who was dreamy wherever the classics were not concerned, and regarded a +mere land-measuring agricultural scholar as outside the bounds of human +interest, if not of Christian charity.</p> + +<p>In two minutes my father was again immersed in Horace, which (with +Tacitus) was his chief joy. Then <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_6" id="pg_6">6</a></span>Jo leaned nearer to Agnes Anne and +whispered the dread news about the Haunted House. My sister paled, +gasped, and clutched at the desk. Jo, fearful that she would begin, +according to the sympathetic school phrase, “to cluck like a hen,” +threatened first to run the point of his compasses into her if she did +not sit up instantly; and then, this treatment proving quite inadequate +to the occasion, he made believe to pour ink upon her clean cotton +print, fresh put on that morning. This brought Agnes Anne round, and, +with a face still pale, she asked for details. Jo supplied them in a +voice which the nearness of my father reduced to a whisper. He sat with +his fingers and thumbs making an isosceles triangle and his eyes gently +closed, while he listened to the construing of Fred Esquillant, the +pale-faced genius of the school. At such times my father almost purred +with delight, and Agnes Anne said that it was “just sweet to watch him.” +But even this pleasure palled before the tidings from the Haunted House +as edited and expanded by Jo Kettle.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Duncan had told him, and Sandy Webb had told <i>him</i>. There were +daylight ghosts abroad about Marnhoul. Everybody on the coach had seen +them——”</p> + +<p>“What were they like?” queried Agnes Anne in an awestruck whisper; so +well poised, however, that it only reached Jo’s ear, and never caused my +enraptured father to wink an eyelid. I really believe that, like a good +Calvinist with a sound minister tried and proven, my father allowed +himself a little nap by way of refreshment while Fred Esquillant was +construing.</p> + +<p>Nothing loath, Jo launched headlong into the grisly. Through the matted +undergrowth of years, over the high-spiked barriers of the deer-park, +the Highflyer <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_7" id="pg_7">7</a></span>had seen not only the familiar Grey Lady in robes of +rustling silk (through which you could discern the gravel and weeds on +the path), but little green demons with chalk-white heads and long ears. +These leaped five-barred gates and pursued the coach and its shrieking +inmates as far as the little Mains brook that passes the kirk door at +the entrance of the village. Then there was a huge, undistinct, crawling +horror, half sea-serpent, half slow-worm, that had looked at them over +the hedge, and, flinging out a sudden loop, had lassoed Peter Chafts, +the running footman, whose duty it was to leap down and clear stones out +of the horses’ hoofs. Whether Little Peter had been recovered or not, Jo +Kettle very naturally could not tell. How, indeed, could he? But, with +an apparition like that, it was not at all probable.</p> + +<p>Jo was preparing a further instalment, including clanking chains, gongs +that sounded unseen in the air, hands that gripped the passengers and +tried to pull them from their seats—all the wild tales of Souter +Gowans, the village cobbler, and of ne’er-do-well farm lads, idle and +reckless, whose word would never have been taken in any ordinary affair +of life. Jo had not time, however, for Agnes Anne had a strong +imagination, coupled with a highly nervous organization. She laughed out +suddenly, in the middle of a solemn Horatian hush, a wild, hysterical +laugh, which brought my father to his feet, broad awake in a second. The +class gazed open-mouthed, the pale face of Fred Esquillant alone +twitching responsively.</p> + +<p>“What have you been saying to Agnes Anne MacAlpine?” demanded my father, +who would sooner have resigned than been obliged to own son or daughter +as such in school-time.</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” said Jo Kettle, speaking according to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_8" id="pg_8">8</a></span>the honour that +obliges schoolboys to untruth as a mode of professional honour. Then +Jo, seeing the frown on the master’s face, and forestalling the words +that were ready to come from his lips, “But, sirrah, I saw you!” amended +hastily, “At least, I was only asking Agnes Anne to sit a little farther +along!”</p> + +<p>“What!” cried my father, with the snap of the eye that meant punishment, +“to sit farther along, when you had no interest in this classical +lesson, sir—a lesson you are incapable of understanding, and—all the +length of an empty bench at your left hand! You shall speak with me at +the close of the lesson, and that, sirrah, is now! The class is +dismissed! I shall have the pleasure of a little interview with Master +Joseph Kettle, student of mensuration.”</p> + +<p>Jo had his interview, in which figured a certain leathern strap, called +“Lochgelly” after its place of manufacture—a branch of native industry +much cursed by Scottish school-children. “Lochgelly” was five-fingered, +well pickled in brine, well rubbed with oil, well used on the boys, but, +except by way of threat, unknown to the girls. Jo emerged tingling but +triumphant. Indeed, several new ideas had occurred to him. Eden Valley +Academy stood around and drank in the wondrous tale with all its ears +and, almost literally, with one mouth. Jo Kettle told the story so well +that I well-nigh believed it myself. He even turned to me for +corroboration.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t he tell you that, Duncan? That was the way of it, eh, Duncan?”</p> + +<p>I denied, indeed, and would have stated the truth as it was in Guard +Webb. But my futile and feeble negations fell unheeded, swept away by +the pour of Jo’s circumstantial lying.</p> + +<p>Finally he ran off into the village and was lost to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_9" id="pg_9">9</a></span>sight. I have +little doubt that he played truant, in full recognition of pains and +penalties to come, for the mere pleasure of going from door to door and +“raising the town,” as he called it. I consoled myself by the thought +that he would find few but womenfolk at home at that hour, while the +shopkeepers would have too much consideration for their tills and +customers to follow a notorious romancer like Jo on such a fool’s +errand.</p> + +<p>I cannot tell how that afternoon’s lessons were got over in Eden Valley +Academy. The hum of disturbance reached even the juniors, skulking +peacefully under little Mr. Stephen, the assistant. Only Miss +Huntingdon, in the Infant Department, remained quiet and neat as a dove +new-preened among her murmuring throng of unconscious little folk.</p> + +<p>But in the senior school, though I never reported a boy to my father +(preferring to postpone his case for private dealing in the playground), +the lid of the desk was opened and snapped sharply every five minutes to +give exit and entrance to “Lochgelly.” Seldom have I seen my father so +roused. He hated not to understand everything that was going on in the +school. He longed to ask me what I knew about it, but, according to his +habit, generously forbore, lest he should lead me to tell tales upon my +fellows. For, though actually junior assistant to my father, I was still +a scholar, which made my position difficult indeed. To me it seemed as +if the clock on the wall above the fireplace would never strike the hour +of four.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="IN_THE_NAME_OF_THE_LAW_515" id="IN_THE_NAME_OF_THE_LAW_515"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_10" id="pg_10">10</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>“IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!”</h3> +</div> + +<p>At last—at last! The door between the seniors and Mr. Stephen’s juniors +was thrown open. My father, making his usual formal bow to his +assistant, said, “When you are ready, Mr. Stephen!” And Mr. Stephen was +always ready. Then with his back to the hinges of the door, and his +strong black beard with the greying strands in it set forward at an +angle, Mr. John MacAlpine, head-master of Eden Valley Academy, said a +few severe words on the afternoon’s lack of discipline, and prophesied +in highly coloured language the exemplary manner in which any repetition +of it would be treated on the morrow. Then he doubled all home lessons, +besides setting a special imposition to each class. Having made this +clear, he hoped that the slight token of his displeasure might assure us +of his intention to do his duty by us faithfully, and then, with the +verse of a chanted psalm we were let go.</p> + +<p>Class by class defiled with rumble of boots and tramp of wooden-soled +clogs, the boys first, the girls waiting till the outside turmoil had +abated—but, nevertheless, as anxious as any to be gone. I believe we +expected to tumble over slow serpents and nimble spectres coming +visiting up the school-loaning, or coiling in festoons among the tall +Scotch firs at the back of the playground.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_11" id="pg_11">11</a></span>We of the sixth class were in the rear—I last of all, for I had to +lock away the copybooks, turn the maps to the wall, and give my father +the key. <i>But</i> I had warned the other seniors that they were not to +start without me.</p> + +<p>And then, what a race! A bare mile it was, through the thick fringes of +woods most of the way—as soon, that is, as we were out of the village. +Along the wall of the Deer Park we ran, where we kept instinctively to +the far side of the road. We of the highest class were far in front—I +mean those of us who kept the pace. The Fifth had had a minute or two +start of us, so they were ahead at first, but we barged through their +pack without mercy, scattering them in all directions.</p> + +<p>There at last was the gate before us. We had reached it first. Five of +us there were, Sam Gordon, Ivie Craig, Harry Stoddart, Andrew Clark and +myself—yes, there was another—that forward Gerty Greensleeves, who had +kilted her rough grey-green dress and run with the best, all to prove +her boast that, but for the clothes she had to wear, she was as good a +runner as the best boy there. Indeed, if the truth must be told, she +could outrun all but me.</p> + +<p>The tall spikes, the massive brass padlock, green with weathering, in +which it was doubtful if any key would turn, the ancient “Notice to +Trespassers,” massacred by the stones of home-returning +schoolboys—these were all that any of us could see at first. The +barrier of the deer-park wall was high and unclimbable. The massy iron +of the gates looked as if it had not been stirred for centuries.</p> + +<p>But a tense interest held us all spellbound. We could see nothing but +some stray glimpses of an ivy-clad wall. A weathercock, that had once +been gilded, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_12" id="pg_12">12</a></span>stood out black against the evening sky. The Grey Lady in +the rustling silk, through whom you could see the rain drops splash on +the gravel stones, was by no means on view. No green demons leaped these +sullen ten-foot barricades, and no forwandered sea-serpent threw oozy +wimples on the green-sward or hissed at us between the rusty bars.</p> + +<p>It was, at first, decidedly disappointing. We ordered each other to stop +breathing so loudly, after our burst of running. We listened, but there +was not even the sough of wind through the trees—nothing but the +beating of our own hearts.</p> + +<p>What had we come out to see? Apparently nothing. The school considered +itself decidedly “sold,” and as usual prepared to take vengeance, first +upon Jo Kettle and then, as that youth still persisted in a discreet +absence of body, on myself.</p> + +<p>“You spoke to Sandy Webb, the guard,” said Gertrude-of-the-Sleeves, +scowling upon me; “what did he say?”</p> + +<p>Before I could answer Boyd Connoway, the village do-nothing, +enterprising idler and general boys’ abettor, beckoned us across the +road. He was on the top of a little knoll, thick with the yellow of +broom and the richer orange of gorse. Here he had stretched himself very +greatly at his ease. For Boyd Connoway knew how to wait, and he was +waiting now. Hurry was nowhere in Boyd’s dictionary. Not that he had +ever looked.</p> + +<p>In a moment we were over the dyke, careless of the stones that we sent +trickling down to afflict the toes of those who should come after us. We +stood on the top of the mound. Connoway disturbed himself just enough to +sit up for our sakes, which he would not have done for a dozen grown +men. He <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_13" id="pg_13">13</a></span>removed the straw from his mouth, and pointed with it to the +end chimney nearest to the great wood of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>We gazed earnestly, following the straw and gradually we could see, +rising into the still air an unmistakable “pew” of palest blue +smoke—which, as we looked, changed into a dense white pillar that rose +steadily upwards, detaching itself admirably against the deep green +black of the Scotch firs behind.</p> + +<p>“There,” said Connoway gravely, “yonder is your ghost mending his fire!”</p> + +<p>We stood at gaze, uncomprehending, too astonished for speech. We had +come, even the unbelievers of us, prepared for the supernatural, for +something surpassingly eery, and anything so commonplace as the smoke of +a fire was a surprise greater than the sight of all Jo Kettle’s +imaginations coming at us abreast.</p> + +<p>Yet the people who owned the great house of Marnhoul were far away—few +had ever seen any of them. Their affairs were in the hands of a notable +firm of solicitors in Dumfries. How any mortal could have entered that +great abode, or inhabited it after the manner of men, was beyond all +things inexplicable. But there before us the blue reek continued to +mount, straight as a pillar, till it reached the level of the trees on +the bank behind, when a gentle current of air turned it sharply at right +angles to the south.</p> + +<p>Now we heard the tramp of many feet, and beneath us we saw Jo Kettle +with half-a-dozen of his father’s workers, and the village constable to +make sure that all was done in due and proper order. To these was joined +a crowd of curious townsmen, eager for any new thing. All were armed to +the teeth with rusty cutlasses and old horse pistols, which, when +loaded, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_14" id="pg_14">14</a></span>made the expedition one of no inconsiderable peril.</p> + +<p>The man with the crowbar applied it to the rusty chain of the padlock. +Two others assisted him, but instead of breaking the chain, the iron +standard of the gate crumbled into so much flaky iron rust, while +padlock and attachments swung free upon the other. It was easy enough to +enter after that.</p> + +<p>“In the name of the law!” cried the constable, taking a little staff +with a silver crown upon it in his hand. And at the word the gate +creaked open and the crowd pressed in.</p> + +<p>But the constable held up his hand.</p> + +<p>“‘In the name of the law,’ I said. I <i>might</i> have put it, ‘In the King’s +name,’ but what I meant was that we are to proceed in decency and +order—no unseemly rabbling, scuffling, or mischief making—otherwise ye +have me to reckon with. Let no word of ghosts and siclike be heard. The +case is infinitely more serious——”</p> + +<p>“Hear to Jocky wi’ his langnebbit words!” whispered Boyd Connoway in my +ear.</p> + +<p>“Infinitely more so, I say. It is evident to the meanest capacity—”</p> + +<p>“Evidently!” whispered Connoway, grinning.</p> + +<p>“—that a dangerous band of smugglers or burglars is in possession of +the mansion of Marnhoul, and we must take them to a man!”</p> + +<p>These words brought about a marked hesitation in the rear ranks, a +wavering, and a tendency to slip away through the breach of the broken +gate into the road.</p> + +<p>“Halt there,” cried Constable Black, holding the staff of office high. +“I call upon you, every man, to assist his Majesty’s officers. You are +special <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_15" id="pg_15">15</a></span>constables, as soon as I get time to swear you in. Praise be, +here’s good Maister Kettle! He’s a Justice of the Peace. He will hold +you to it now and be my witness if ye refuse lawful aid. Now, forward! +Quick march!”</p> + +<p>And this formidable armed band took its way along the overgrown gravel +avenue up to the front of the great house of Marnhoul. We boys (and +Greensleeves close to my elbow) played along the flanks like +skirmishers. All our spiritual fears were abated. At the name of the +law, and specially after the display of the silver-crowned staff, we +entered joyously into the game. If it had only been the arm of flesh we +had to encounter, we were noways afraid—though it was a sad downcome +from the solemn awe of coming to grips with the prince of darkness and +his emissaries.</p> + +<p>“You that have pistols that will go off, round with you to guard the +back doors!” cried Constable John Black. “It’s there the thieves have +taken up their abode. The smoke is coming from the kitchen lum. I see it +well. The rest, not so well armed, bide here with me under the +protection of the law!”</p> + +<p>And with that Constable Black, commonly called Jocky, elevated once more +his staff in the air, and marched boldly to the fatal door. He went up +the steps by which the Grey Lady was wont to descend to the clear +moonlight to take her airing in the wood. A little behind went Connoway, +in the same manner holding a “bourtree” pop-gun which he had just been +fashioning for some lucky callant of his acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Almost for the first time in his life Boyd Connoway had all the humour +to himself. Nobody laughed at his imitation of Officer Jocky’s pompous +ways. They would do it afterwards in the safety of their own <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_16" id="pg_16">16</a></span>dwellings +and about the winter fire. But not now—by no means now.</p> + +<p>Even though supported by the majestic power of the law, the crowd kept +respectfully edging behind wall and trees. Their eyes were directed +warily upwards to the long array of windows from which (legend +recounted) the Maitlands of Marnhoul had once during the troubles of the +Covenant successfully defended themselves against the forces of the +Crown.</p> + +<p>Now be it understood once for all, the inhabitants of Eden Valley were +peaceful and loyal citizens, except perhaps in what concerned the excise +laws and the ancient and wholesome practice of running cargoes of +dutiable goods without troubling his Majesty’s excise officers about the +matter. But they did not wish to support the law at the peril of their +lives.</p> + +<p>An irregular crackle of shots, the smashing of window glass in the back +of the mansion, with two or three hurrahs, put some courage into them. +On the whole it seemed less dangerous to get close in under the great +vaulted porch. There, at least, they could not be reached by shot from +the windows, while out in the open or under the uncertain shelter of +tree boles, who knew what might happen? So there was soon a compact +phalanx about the man in authority.</p> + +<p>Constable Black, being filled with authority direct from the +Lord-Lieutenant of the County, certainly had the instinct of magnifying +his office. He raised his arm and knocked three times on the bleached +and blistered panels of the great front door.</p> + +<p>“Open, I command you! In the name of the law!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>After the knocking there befell a pause, as it might be of twenty +breaths—though nobody seemed to draw <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_17" id="pg_17">17</a></span>any. Such a silence of listening +have I never heard. Yes, we heard it, and the new burst of firing from +the rear of the house, the cheers of the excited assailants hardly +seemed to break it, so deeply was our attention fixed on that great +weather-beaten door of the Haunted House of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>Again Jocky, his face lint-white, and his voice coming and going +jerkily, cried aloud the great name of the law. Again there was silence, +deeper and longer than before.</p> + +<p>At last from far within came a pattering as of little feet, quick and +light. We heard the bolts withdrawn one by one, and as the wards of the +lock rasped and whined, men got ready their weapons. The door swung back +and against the intense darkness of the wide hall, with the light of +evening on their faces, stood a girl in a black dress and crimson sash, +holding by the hand a little boy of five, with blue eyes and tight +yellow curls.</p> + +<p>Both were smiling, and before them all that tumultuary array fell away +as from something supernatural. The words “In the name of——” were +choked on the lips of the constable. He even dropped his silver-headed +staff, and turned about as if to flee. As for us we watched with dazzled +eyes the marvels that had so suddenly altered the ideas of all men as to +the Haunted House of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>But for a space no one moved, no one spoke. Only the tall young girl and +the little child stood there, like children of high degree receiving +homage on the threshold of their own ancestral mansion, facing the +lifted bonnets and the pikes lowered as if in salutation.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="MISS_IRMA_GIVES_AN_AUDIENCE_768" id="MISS_IRMA_GIVES_AN_AUDIENCE_768"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_18" id="pg_18">18</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>MISS IRMA GIVES AN AUDIENCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>“My name is Irma Maitland, and this is my brother Louis!” Such were the +famous words with which, in response to law and order in the person of +Constable Jacky Black, the tall smiling girl in the doorway of the +Haunted House of Marnhoul saluted her “rescuers.”</p> + +<p>“And how came you to be occupying this house?” demanded Mr. Josiah +Kettle, father of Joseph the inventive. He was quite unaware of the +ghastly terrors with which his son had peopled the Great House, but as +the largest farmer on the estate he felt it to be his duty to protect +vested rights.</p> + +<p>“In the same way that you enter your house,” said the girl; “we came in +with a key, and have been living here ever since!”</p> + +<p>“Are you not feared?” piped a voice from the crowd. It was afterwards +found that it was Kettle junior who had spoken.</p> + +<p>“Afraid!” answered the girl scornfully, holding her head higher than +ever; “do you think that a few foolish people firing at our windows +could make us afraid? Can they, Louis?” And as she spoke she looked +fondly down at her little brother.</p> + +<p>He drew nearer to his sister, looking up at her with a winning +confidence, and said in as manly a voice as he could compass, “Certainly +not, Irma! But—tell them not to do it any more!”</p> + +<p>“You hear what my brother says,” said the girl haughtily. “Let there be +no more of this!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_19" id="pg_19">19</a></span>“But—in right of law and order, I must know more about this!” cried +Constable Jacky, lifting up his staff again. Somehow, however, the magic +had gone from his words. Every one now knew that his thunder had a +hollow sound.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you are the <i>gendarme</i>—the official—the officer!” said the tall +girl, with a more pronounced foreign accent than before, making him a +little bow; “please go and tell your superiors that we are here because +the place belongs to us—at least to my brother, and that I am staying +to take care of him.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you come?” persisted the man in authority.</p> + +<p>The tall girl looked over his head. Her glance, clear, cool, +penetrating, scanned face after face, and then she said, as it were, +regretfully, “There are no gentlefolk among you?”</p> + +<p>There was the slightest shade of inquiry about words which might have +seemed rude as a mere affirmation. Then she appeared to answer for +herself, still with the same tinge of sadness faintly colouring her +pride. “For this reason I cannot tell you how we came to be here.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Josiah Kettle felt called upon to assert himself.</p> + +<p>“I have reason to believe,” he said pompously, “that I am as good as any +on the estate in the way of being a gentleman—me and my son Joseph. I +am a Justice of the Peace, under warrant of the Crown, and so one day +will my son Joseph—Jo, you rascal, come off that paling!”</p> + +<p>But just then Jo Kettle had other fish to fry. From the bad eminence of +the garden palisade he was devouring the new-comer with his eyes. As for +me, I had shaken the hand of the lately adored Greensleeves from my arm.</p> + +<p>The girl’s glance stayed for an instant and no <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_20" id="pg_20">20</a></span>more upon the round and +rosy countenance of Mr. Josiah Kettle, Justice of the Peace. She smiled +upon him indulgently, but shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” she said, with gentle condescension, “that I cannot tell +anything more to you. You are one of the people who broke our windows!”</p> + +<p>Then Josiah Kettle unfortunately blustered.</p> + +<p>“If you will not, young madam,” he cried, “I can soon send them to you +who will make you answer.”</p> + +<p>The young lady calmly took out of her pocket a dainty pair of ivory +writing tablets, such as only the minister of the parish used in all +Eden Valley, and he only because he had married a great London lady for +his wife.</p> + +<p>“I shall be glad of the name and address of the persons to whom you +refer!” said Miss Irma (for so from that moment I began to call her in +my heart).</p> + +<p>“The factors and agents for this estate,” Josiah Kettle enunciated +grandly. The writing tablets were shut up with a snap of disappointment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Messrs. Smart, Poole & Smart,” she said. “Why, I have known them +ever since I was as high as little Louis.”</p> + +<p>Then she smiled indulgently upon Mr. Kettle, with something so easily +grand and yet so sweet that I think the hearts of all went out to her.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” she said, “that really you thought you were doing right in +coming here and firing off guns without permission. It must be an +astonishing thing for you to see this house of the Maitlands inhabited +after so long. I do not blame your curiosity, but I fear I must ask you +to send a competent man to repair our windows. For that we hold you +responsible, Mr. Officer, and you, Mr. Justice of the Peace—you and +your son Jo! Don’t we, Louis?”</p> + +<p>“I will see to that myself!” a voice, the same that <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_21" id="pg_21">21</a></span>had spoken before, +came from the crowd. Miss Irma searched the circle without, however, +coming to a conclusion. I do think that her glance lingered longer on my +face than on any of the others, perhaps because Gerty Greensleeves was +leaning on my shoulder and whispering in my ear. (What a nuisance girls +are, sometimes!) So the glance passed on, with something in it at once +calm and simple and high.</p> + +<p>“If any of the gentlefolk of our station will call upon us,” she went +on, “we will tell <i>them</i> how we came to be here—the clergyman of the +parish—or——” here she hesitated for the first time, “or his wife.”</p> + +<p>Instinctively she seemed to feel the difficulty. “Though we are not of +their faith!” she added, smiling once more as with the air of serene +condescension she had shown all through.</p> + +<p>Then she nodded, and swept a curtsey with an undulating grace which I +thought to be adorable, in spite of the suspicion of irony in it.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye, good people,” she said, letting her eyes again run the +circuit of the sea of faces, reinforced by those who had been firing +their blunderbusses and horse-pistols (now carefully concealed) so +uselessly at the back windows of the house. “We are obliged for your +visit. Salute them, Louis!”</p> + +<p>Obediently the child carried his hand to the curls on his brow in the +same fashion I had seen soldiers do at the militia training on the +Dumfries sands, but with the same smilingly tolerant air of receiving +and acknowledging the homage of vassals which both of them had shown +from the beginning.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Irma smiled upon us all once more, nodded to me (I am sure of +it), and without another word, shut the door in our faces.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="FIRST_FOOT_IN_THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_913" id="FIRST_FOOT_IN_THE_HAUNTED_HOUSE_913"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_22" id="pg_22">22</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>FIRST FOOT IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE</h3> +</div> + +<p>To understand what a sensation these strange events made in Eden Valley, +it is necessary that you should know something of Eden Valley itself and +how it was governed.</p> + +<p>Governed, you say? Was it not within the King’s dominions, and governed +like every other part of these his Majesty’s kingdoms? Had we of the +Wide Valley risen against constituted authority and filled all Balcary +Bay between Isle Rathan and the Red Haven with floating tea-chests?</p> + +<p>Well, not exactly; but many a score of stealthy cargoes had been carried +past our doors on horse-back, pony-back, shelty-back—up by Bluehills +and over the hip of Ben Tudor. And often, often from the Isle of Man +fleet had twenty score of barrels been dropped overboard just in time to +prevent the minions of the law, as represented by H.M. ship <i>Seamew</i>, +sloop-of-war, from seizing them. So you will observe that the revolt of +Eden Valley against authority, though not quite so complete as that of +the late New England colonies, yet proceeded from the same motives.</p> + +<p>Only, as it typo happened, the tea-chests which were spilt in Boston +Harbour were finished so far as the brewing of tea was concerned, while +the kegs and firkins dropped overboard were easily recoverable by such +as were in the secret. In a day or two, the tide being favourable and +the nights dark enough, these same kegs would be found reposing in bulk +in the recesses <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_23" id="pg_23">23</a></span>of Brandy Knowe, next by Collin Mill—save for a few, +left in well defined places—one being left at the Manse for the Doctor +himself. That was within the very wall of the kirkyard, and under the +shadow of the clump of yews which had dripped upon the tombstones that +covered at least three of his predecessors. A second reposed under the +prize cabbages belonging to General Johnstone (who, as a young officer +of Marines, had simulated the courage of Admiral Byng before Minorca, +and like that gallant seaman, narrowly escaped being shot for his +pains). General Johnstone’s gardener knew well where this keg was +hidden. But it contained liquid well-nigh sacred in the eyes of his +master, and he had far too much common-sense ever to presume to find it. +A third came to anchor under a peat-stack belonging to Mr. Shepstone +Oglethorpe, the only Episcopalian within the parish bounds, and the +descendent of an English military family which had once held possession +of the Maitland estates during the military dragonnades of Charles II +and James II, but had been obliged to restore the mansion and most of +the property after the Prince of Orange made good his landing with his +“Protestant wind” at Torbay. Enough, however, remained to make Mr. +Shepstone Oglethorpe the next man in the parish after the minister and +the General. He was, besides, a pleasant, gossipy, young-old, fluttery +bachelor—a great acquisition at four-hours tea-drinkings, and much more +of a praise to them that do well than any sort of a terror to +evil-doers.</p> + +<p>These three constituted the general staff of our commonwealth, and in +spite of occasional forgetfulnesses as to the declaration of the +aforesaid kegs, parcels of French silks and Malines lace, to H.M.’s +Supervisor of Customs, King George had no more <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_24" id="pg_24">24</a></span>loyal subjects than +these highest authorities in Eden Valley, ecclesiastical, military and +civil. Then, after due interval, came the farmers of Eden Valley, +honest, far-seeing, cautious men, slow of action, slower still of +speech—not at all to be judged by the standard of the richest of them, +Mr. Josiah Kettle. He was, in fact, a mere incomer, who had been +promoted a Justice of the Peace because, on the occasion of the last +scare as to a French invasion, he had made and carried out large and +remunerative contracts for the supply of the militia and other troops +hastily got together to protect the Solway harbours from Dryffe Sands to +the Back Shore.</p> + +<p>The siege of the Haunted House of Marnhoul happened on a Friday, the +last school-keeping day of the week. Saturday was employed by the parish +in digesting the news and forming opinions for the consumpt of the +morrow. Meantime there was a pretty steady stream of the curious along +the Marnhoul road, but the padlock had been replaced, and only the +broken bar bore token of the storm which had passed that way.</p> + +<p>On Sunday, however, a small oblong scrap of white attracted the +attention of the nearer curious. It was attached, at about the level of +the eyes, to the unbroken bar of the gate of Marnhoul, and on being +approached with due care, was found to bear the following mysterious +inscription—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“<i>Sir Louis Maitland of Marnhoul, Bart., and Miss +Irma Sobieski Maitland receive every afternoon from +2 to 5.</i>”</p> + +<p><i>Marnhoul, Galloway, June 21.</i></p> +</div> + +<p>“Keep us a’!” was the universal exclamation of Eden Valley as it read +this solemnizing inscription. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_25" id="pg_25">25</a></span>It was generally believed to be a +challenge to the lawyers and the powers in general to come at these +hours and turn the young people out.</p> + +<p>And many were the opinions as to the legality of such a course. Law was +not generally understood in the Galloway of that date, and though the +Sheriff Substitute rode through the village once a month to spend a +night over the “cartes” with his friend the General, he too only laughed +and rode on. He was well known to me at the head of his profession, and +to have the ear of the Government. Such studied indifference, therefore, +could only be put down to a desire to wink at the proceedings of the +children, illegal and unprecedented as these might be.</p> + +<p>But I must now say something about my own folk.</p> + +<p>Though undoubtedly originally Highland, and, as my father averred, able +to claim kindred with the highest of his name, the MacAlpines had long +been domiciled in the south. My father was the son of a neighbouring +minister, and had only escaped the fate of succeeding his father in the +charge by a Highland aversion to taking the sacrament at the age when he +was called upon to do so—in order that, by the due order of the Church +of Scotland, he might be taken on his trials as a student in Divinity. +He had also, about that date, further complicated matters by marrying my +mother, Grace Lyon, the penniless daughter of a noted Cameronian elder +of the parish of Eden Valley.</p> + +<p>In order to support her, and (after a little) <i>us</i>, John MacAlpine had +accepted a small school far up the glen, from which, after a year or +two, on the appointment of Dr. Forbes to the parish, he had followed his +old college friend to Eden Valley itself. Under his care the little +academy had gradually been organized <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_26" id="pg_26">26</a></span>on the newest and best scholastic +lines known to the time. Even for girls classics and mathematics played +a prominent part. Samplers and knitting, which had previously formed a +notable branch of the curriculum, were banished to an hour when little +Miss Huntingdon taught the girls, locked in her own department like +Wykliffites in danger of the fires of Tower Hill. And at such times my +father almost ran as he passed the door of the infant school and thought +of the follies which were being committed within.</p> + +<p>“Samplers,” he was wont to mutter, “samplers—when they might be at +their Ovid!”</p> + +<p>My mother—Gracie Lyon that was—had none of the stern blood of her +Cameronian forebears, nor yet my father’s tempestuous Norland mood. She +was gentle, patient, with little to say for herself—like Leah, +tender-eyed (in the English, not in the Hebrew sense)—and I remember +well that as a child one of my great pleasures was to stroke her cheek +as she was putting me to sleep, saying, “Mother, how soft your skin is. +It is like velvet!”</p> + +<p>“Aye,” she would answer, with a sigh gentle as herself, “so they used to +tell me!”</p> + +<p>And I somehow knew that “they” excluded my father, but whom it included +I did not know then nor for many a day after.</p> + +<p>But my grandmother, my mother’s mother—ah, there indeed you were in a +different world! She dwelt in a large house on the edge of the Marnhoul +woods. My grandfather had the lease of the farm of Heathknowes, with +little arable land, but a great hill behind it on which fed black-faced +sheep, sundry cattle in the “low parks,” and by the river a strip of +corn land sufficient for the meal-ark and the stable feeding of his four +stout horses. Also on my father’s behalf my uncles conducted the lonely +saw-mill that ate and ate <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_27" id="pg_27">27</a></span>into the Great Wood and yet never got any +farther. There might be seen machinery for making spools—with +water-driven lathes, which turned these articles, variously known as +“bobbins” and “pirns,” literally off the reel by the thousand. It was a +sweet, birch-smelling place and my favourite haunt on all holidays. +William Lyon, my grandfather, had had a tempestuous youth, from which, +as he said, he had been saved “by the grace of God and Mary Lyon.”</p> + +<p>“Many a sore day she had with me,” he would confess to me, for he took +pleasure in my society, “but got me buckled down at last!”</p> + +<p>As my grandmother also kept me in the most affectionate but complete +subjection, the fact that neither one nor the other of us dared disobey +“Mary Lyon” was a sort of bond between us. Yet my grandmother was not a +very tall nor yet to the outward eye a powerful woman. You had to look +her in the eye to know. But there you saw a flash that would have cowed +a grenadier. There was something masterful and even martial in her walk, +in the way she attacked the enemy of the moment, or the work that fell +to her hand. All her ways were dominating without ever being +domineering. But in the house of Heathknowes all knew that she had just +to be obeyed, and there was an end to it.</p> + +<p>When my father and she clashed, it was like the meeting of Miltonic +thunderclouds over the Caspian. But on the whole it was safe to wager +that even then grandmother got her way. John MacAlpine first discharged +his Celtic electricity, and then disengaged his responsibility with the +shrug of the right shoulder which was habitual to him. After all, was +there not always Horace in his pocket—which he would finger to calm +himself even in the heat of a family dispute?</p> + +<p>A great school-master was my father, far ben in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_28" id="pg_28">28</a></span>secrets of the +ancient world—and such a man is always very much of a humanist. My +grandmother, alert, clear, decided on all doctrinal points, +argumentative, with all her wits fine-edged by the Shorter Catechism, +could not abide the least haziness of outline in religious belief.</p> + +<p>She did not agree with my grandfather’s easier ways, but then he did not +argue with her, being far too wise a man.</p> + +<p>“Eh, William,” she would say, “ye will carry even to the grave some rag +of the Scarlet Woman. And at the end I will not be surprised to find ye +sitting on some knowetap amang the Seven Hills!”</p> + +<p>But at least my grandfather was a Cameronian elder, in the little kirk +down by the ford, to which the Lyons had resorted ever since the days of +the societies—long before even worthy Mr. MacMillan of Balmaghie came +into the Church, ordaining elders, and, along with the pious Mr. Logan +of Buittle, even ordaining ministers for carrying on the work of the +faithful protesting remnant.</p> + +<p>But my father, John MacAlpine, both by office and by temperament, +belonged to the Kirk of Scotland as by law established. So indeed did +nine-tenths of the folk in the parish of Eden Valley. The band of +Cameronians at the Ford, and the forlorn hope of Episcopalians in their +hewn-stone chapel with the strange decorations, built on the parcel of +ground pertaining to Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe, were the only +non-Establishers in the parish. Yet both, nevertheless, claimed to be +the only true Church of Scotland, claimed it fiercely, with a fervour +sharpened by the antiquity of their claims and the smallness of their +numbers. This was especially true of the Cameronians, who were ever +ready to give a reason for the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_29" id="pg_29">29</a></span>faith that was in them. The +Episcopalians lacked the Westminster Catechisms as a means of +intellectual gymnastic. So far, therefore, they were handicapped, and +indeed reduced to the mere persistent assertion that they, and they +alone, were the apostolic Church, and if any out of their communion were +saved, it must only be by the uncovenanted mercies of God.</p> + +<p>Yet, though not within the sacred triangle of gentility (as it was known +in Eden Valley), of which the manse, the General’s bungalow, and the +residence of Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe occupied the three angles, my +grandmother was the first caller upon the lonely children in the great +house of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget her indignation when I went in to the dairy and +told her in detail what had happened—of the forcing of the gates, and +the firing upon the back windows. My grandfather, seated within doors, +in his great triangular easy-chair at his own corner of the wide +fireplace, looked up and remarked in his serene and far-off fashion that +“such proceedings filled him with shame and sorrow.”</p> + +<p>The words and still more the tone roused my grandmother.</p> + +<p>“William Lyon,” she said, standing before him in the clean middle of the +hearth which she had just been sweeping, and threatening him with the +brush (she would not have touched him for anything in the world, for she +recognized his position as an elder). “Hear to ye—‘shame and sorrow’! +Aye, well may ye say it. Had I been there I would have ‘sinned and +sorrowed’ them. To go breaking into houses with swords and staves, and +firing off powder and shot—all to frighten a pair of poor bairns! +Certes, but I would have sorted them to rights—with tongue, aye, and +with arm also.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_30" id="pg_30">30</a></span>And at this point Mary Lyon advanced a step so fiercely and with such +martial energy, that, well inured as my grandfather was to the generous +outbursts of his wife, he moved his chair back with a certain alacrity.</p> + +<p>“Mary,” he remonstrated, “Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe was with them. So at +least I understand, and also Mr. Kettle, who is a Justice of the +Peace—these in addition to the constable——”</p> + +<p>He got no further. My grandmother swooped upon the names, as perhaps he +expected. It was by no means the first time that, in order to draw off +the hounds of his wife’s wrath, he had skilfully drawn a red herring +across the trail.</p> + +<p>“Shepstone—Shepstone!” she cried, “a useless, daidling body! What was +he ever good for in this world but to tie his neckcloth and twirl his +cane? Oh aye, he can maybe button his ‘spats’! That is, if he doesna get +the servant lass to do it for him. And Josiah Kettle! William, I wonder +you are not shamed, goodman—to sit there in your own hearth-corner and +name such a hypocrite to me——”</p> + +<p>“Stop there, Mary,” said her husband; “only a man’s Maker has the right +to call him a hypocrite——”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am an Elder’s wife, and I’ll e’en be his Viceroy. Josiah Kettle +<i>is</i> a hypocrite, and I hae telled him so to his face—not once, but a +score of times. He has robbed the widow. He has impoverished the orphan. +Fegs, if I were a man, I could not keep my hands off him, and, ’deed, I +have hard enough work as it is. If there was a man about the house worth +his salt——”</p> + +<p>“Forgive your enemies——” suggested my grandfather, “do good——”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_31" id="pg_31">31</a></span>“So I would—so I would,” cried my grandmother, “but first I would give +the best cheese out o’ the dairy-loft to see Josiah ducked head over +heels in Blackmire Dub! Forgive—aye, certainly, since it is commanded. +But a bit dressing down would do the like o’ him no harm, and then the +Lord could take His own turn at him after!”</p> + +<p>Thus did my grandmother address all who came into contact with her, and +there is every reason to believe that she had more than once similarly +exhorted Mr. Josiah Kettle, rich farmer and money-lender though he was. +Yet it is equally certain that if Mr. Kettle had been stricken with a +dangerous and deadly malady which made his nearest kin flee from him, it +would have been my grandmother who would have flown to nurse him with +the same robust and forcible tenderness with which she oversaw the +teething and other ills incidental to her daughter’s children.</p> + +<p>“As for Jocky Black,” continued my grandmother, “the pomp of the +atomy—‘In the name of the law,’ says he—I’d law him! I would e’en nip +his bit stick from his puir twisted fingers and gie him his paiks—that +is, if it were worth the trouble! As for me, get me my bonnet, Jen—my +best Sunday leghorn with the puce <i>chenille</i> in it—I must look my +featest going to a great house to pay my respects. And you shall come +too, Duncan!” (She turned to me with her usual alertness.) “Run home and +tidy—quick! Bid your mother put on your Sunday suit. No, Jen, I will +<i>not</i> take you to fright the poor things out of their wits. Afterwards, +we shall see. But at first, Duncan there, if he gets over his blateness, +will be more of their age, and fear them less.”</p> + +<p>“If all I hear be true,” said my Aunt Jen, pursing up her mouth as if +she had bitten into a crab apple, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_32" id="pg_32">32</a></span>“the lassie is little likely to be +feared of you or any mortal on the earth!”</p> + +<p>“Maybe aye—maybe no,” snapped my grandmother, “at any rate be off with +you into the back kitchen and see that the dishes are washed, so as not +to be a show to the public. You and Meg have so little sense that whiles +I wonder that I am your mother.”</p> + +<p>“You are not Meg’s mother that I ken of!” her daughter responded +acridly.</p> + +<p>“I am her mistress, and the greater fool to keep such a handless hempie +about the house! You, Janet, I have to provide for in some wise—such +being the will of the Lord—His and your father’s there. Now then, +clear! Be douce! Let me get on my cloak and leghorn bonnet.”</p> + +<p>My grandmother being thus accoutred, and I invested with a black jacket, +knee-breeches, shoes, and the regulation fluffy tie that tickled my +throat and made me a week-day laughing stock to all who dared, Mistress +Mary Lyon and I started to make our first call at the Great House of +Marnhoul.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_CENSOR_OF_MORALS_1243" id="THE_CENSOR_OF_MORALS_1243"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_33" id="pg_33">33</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>THE CENSOR OF MORALS</h3> +</div> + +<p>As my grandmother and I went down the little loaning from Heathknowes +Farm she had an eye for everything. She “shooed” into duty’s path a +youngling hen with vague maternal aspirations which was wandering off to +found a family by laying an egg in the underbrush about the saw-mill. +She called back final directions to her daughter Jen and maidservant +Meg, and saw that they were attended to before she would go on. She +looked into the saw-mill itself in the by-going, and made sure that Rob +McTurk was in due attendance on the whirling machinery which was turning +off the spools, as it seemed to me, with the rapidity of light. She +inquired as to the whereabouts of her husband.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he was in a minute since!” said the politic Rob, who knew very well +that my grandfather had climbed into the bark storage loft, and was at +that moment sitting on a bundle, with a book in his hand and content in +his heart at having escaped the last injunctions of his wife.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said Mistress Mary Lyon, “tell him from me——” And, as +usual, a long list of recommendations followed.</p> + +<p>“I’ll see to it that he hears,” said Rob McTurk imperturbably, knowing +full well that his master could by no means help hearing, since my +grandmother, in order to drown the noise of the whirling spindles and +clattering cogs, had raised her voice till her every word must have +penetrated to the pleasant, bark-scented place where, under his solitary +skylight, Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_34" id="pg_34">34</a></span>William Lyon was so calmly reading his favourite <i>Memoirs +of the Life of Thomas Boston of Ettrick</i>.</p> + +<p>Besides my clothes, there were two things which interfered with the +happiness of my jaunt. One was the presence of a third and most +uncertain party to the affair—our rough, red house-collie Crazy, and +the other was a doubt as to the way in which we would be received. For, +be it remembered, I had seen Miss Irma Maitland shut the great door at +the top of the Marnhoul steps on the raging crowd of assailants, and I +wondered if we would not also find it slammed in our faces.</p> + +<p>I had, however, confidence in my grandmother.</p> + +<p>On the way to the padlocked gate at the entrance of the avenue which led +to the Haunted House, my grandmother had abundant room for the exercise +of her gifts. Never was there a woman who came across so many things +that “she could not abide.”</p> + +<p>Such, for instance, were Widow Tolmie’s ideas as to disposal of her +nocturnal household rubbish on the King’s highway. Into the Tolmie house +went Mistress Mary Lyon, well aware that words would have no avail. In a +minute she had requisitioned broom, bucket, and “claut,” or byre-rake. +In other three minutes all was over. Widow Tolmie had a clean frontage. +The utensils had been washed and hung up, and my grandmother was +delivering a lecture from one of the most frequently-quoted texts which +are not to be found in Holy Writ, while she drew again upon her strong, +energetic old hands the pair of lisle thread “mitts” she had taken off +in order to effect her clean sweep.</p> + +<p>After she had duly lectured the Widow Tolmie, she bade her in all amity +“Good-day,” and started to reform Crazy, who had been gyrating furiously +across her path, trying apparently to bite his tail out by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_35" id="pg_35">35</a></span>roots. +Crazy was, it appeared, a useless, good-for-nothing beast, a disgrace to +a decent Elder’s house, and I was ordered to stone him home.</p> + +<p>Now I did not particularly wish Crazy to go with us to the Great House. +I thought of the smiling carelessness of the girl’s face I had seen +there. Crazy might, and very likely would, misbehave himself. But still, +Crazy was my friend, my companion, my joy. <i>Stone Crazy!</i> It was not to +be thought of. He would certainly consider it some new kind of game and +run barking after the missiles. I therefore shot so far beyond that the +pebbles fell over the hedge, till my grandmother, whose sole method was +an ungainly cross between a hurl and a jerk, took up the fusillade on +her own account, with the result that Crazy was wrought up to the +highest point of excitement, and, as I had foreseen, brought each stone +back to my grandmother, barking joyously and pulling at her skirts for +her to throw again.</p> + +<p>“And just wait till I get you home,” gasped Mrs. Mary Lyon, shaking her +rough white head, “there shall a rope be put about your neck, my lad!”</p> + +<p>But whether for the purpose of mere tying up, or to carry out the +extreme sentence of the law, I did not gather. I resolved that, in the +latter case, Crazy should come with me to the school-house. There was a +place I knew of there, a crib at the end of the stick-cellar, which at a +pinch would do admirably for Crazy. And I felt sure that Crazy, wholly +incompetent at his own business of shepherding, would be a perfect +“boys’ dog” and a permanent acquisition to the Academy of Eden Valley. +There was, of course, my father to consider. But I did not stop to think +of that. The classics and Fred Esquillant were enough for him at the +moment.</p> + +<p>As she passed various cottage doors my <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_36" id="pg_36">36</a></span>grandmother had several bouts +with joiners who blocked the road with unfinished carts and diffusive +pots of red paint, with small wayside cowherds in charge of animals +which considered the hedge-rows as their appointed pasturage, with boys +going fishing who had learned at school that a straight line is the +shortest distance between two points, and who practised their Euclid to +the detriment of their neighbours’ fences.</p> + +<p>But nothing of great moment occurred till, on the same knoll from which +he had summoned us to view the smoke of the ghost’s afternoon fire at +Marnhoul, we encountered Boyd Connoway. He was stretched at length, as +usual, one leg crossed negligently over the other. He had pivoted his +head against a log for the purpose of seeing in three directions about +him—towards the Great House, and both up and down the main road. A +straw, believed to be always the same, was in his mouth.</p> + +<p>A red rag to a bull, a match to tinder, are weak metaphors—quite +incapable of expressing a tenth of what my grandmother felt at the sight +of the pet idler of Eden Valley.</p> + +<p>She rushed instantly to the assault, much as she would have led a +forlorn hope. The dragoons who plunged their swords into great mows of +straw in Covenanting barns, the unfortunates who pursued a needle +through a load of hay, were employed in hopeful work when compared with +Mistress Mary Lyon, searching with her tongue in this mass of +self-sufficiency for any trace of Boyd Connoway’s long-lost conscience.</p> + +<p>“Why are you not at home?” she cried; “I heard Bridget complaining as I +came by, that she could not feed the pig because she had nobody to bring +her wood for her boiler fire—and she in the middle of her blanket +washing!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_37" id="pg_37">37</a></span>The husband whom fate and her own youthful folly had given to Bridget +Connoway, took off his battered and weather-beaten hat with the native +politeness of a born Irishman. He did not rise. That would have been too +much to expect of him. But he uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the +other way about.</p> + +<p>“Mistress Lyon,” he said indolently, but with the soft, well-anointed +utterance of the blarneying islander, which does not die away till the +third generation of the poorest exile from Erin, “now, misthress dear, +consider!”</p> + +<p>“I have considered you for seven years, and seven to the back of that, +Boyd Connoway, and you are a lazy lout! Every year you get worse!”</p> + +<p>My grandmother counted nothing so stimulating as truth spoken to the +face. She acted, with all save her male grandchildren, on the ancient +principle that “Praise to the face is an open disgrace!” And Boyd, in +his time, had been singularly exempt from this kind of disgrace, so far +as my grandmother was concerned.</p> + +<p>“But consider, Mrs. Lyon,” he went on tranquilly, while my relative +stood in the road and eyed him with bitter scorn, “there’s my wife, now +she’s up early and late. She’s scrubbing and cleaning, and all for +what?—just that yonder pack o’ children o’ hers should go out on the +road and come trailing back in ten minutes dirtier than ever. She runs +to Shepstone Oglethorpe’s to give his maid a help in the mornings, all +for a miserable three shillings a week. She takes no rest to the sole of +her foot, nor gives nobody any either! Poor Bridget—I am sorry for +Bridget. ‘Take things easier, and you will feel better, Bridget,’ I say. +‘Trust in Providence, Bridget!’ ‘Think on what the Doctor said three +Sundays but one ago from the very pulpit.’ And would ye believe me, +Mistress <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_38" id="pg_38">38</a></span>Lyon, that poor woman, being left to herself, threw all the +weights at me one after the other—aye, and would have thrown the scales +too if I had not come away!”</p> + +<p>Here Connoway sighed and stretched himself luxuriously, rubbing the +stiff fell of his hair meditatively as he did so.</p> + +<p>“Ah, poor Bridget,” he continued, with pathos in his voice, “Bridget is +so dreadfully unresigned, Mistress Lyon. Often have I said to her, ‘Be +resigned, Bridget—trust in Providence, Bridget!’ But as sure as I point +out Bridget’s duty, there is something broken in our house!”</p> + +<p>“Pity but it was your head, Boyd Connoway! Come away, child!” cried my +grandmother, “quick—lest I do that man an injury. He puts me in such a +state that I declare to goodness I am thankful I have not a poker in my +hand! Now there’s your grandfather——”</p> + +<p>But she went no further in the discussion of her own lesser household +burden. For there right in front of us was the great gate, the battered +notice to trespassers, the broken standard on which the padlock, now +removed, had worn a rusty hollow, and in its place we read the little +white notice concerning the hours at which the mistress of the mansion +could receive visitors.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the poor young things!” said my grandmother, her anger (as was its +wont) instantly cooling, and even Boyd Connoway dropping back into his +own place as perhaps a necessary factor in an ill-regulated but on the +whole rather bearable world.</p> + +<p>The gate creaked open slowly. My grandmother drew herself up. For did she +not come of the best blood of the Westland Whigs, great-granddaughter +of that Bell of Whiteside, kinsman of Kenmure’s, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_39" id="pg_39">39</a></span>who was shot by Lag +on the moor of Kirkconnel, near to the Lynn through which the Tarff +foams white?</p> + +<p>For me, I was chiefly conscious of the bushes and shrubs on either side +the avenue, broken and trampled in the tumultuous rush of the populace +on the day of the discovery. I felt guilty. By that way Gerty +Greensleeves and I had passed, Gerty very close to my elbow. And now, +like the rolling away of a panorama picture in a show, Gerty +Greensleeves, and all other maids save one, had passed out of my life. +Or so, in my ignorance, I thought at the time.</p> + +<p>For no woman ever passes wholly out of any man’s life—that is, if he +lives long enough. She steals back again with the coming of life’s +gloaming, with the shadows of night creeping across the hills, or the +morning mists swimming up out of the valley. Sometimes she is weeping, +but more often smiling. For there is time enough, since the man last +thought of her, for all tears to be wiped from her eyes. But come she +will. Yet sometimes it is not so. She does not smile. She only stands on +the threshold of a man’s soul with reproachful eyes, and lips drawn and +mute. Then it is not good to be that man.</p> + +<p>But in those days, being a boy, carried along in the waft of my +grandmother’s skirt, I knew nothing about such things.</p> + +<p>I watched my grandmother take the antique knocker between her fingers, +noting with housewifely approval that it had recently been polished. I +have seldom passed a more uncomfortable time of waiting, than that +between the resounding clatter of grandmother’s knocking reverberating +through the empty house, and the patter of feet, the whispering, and at +last the opening of the door.</p> + +<p>Then I saw again the tall girl with the proudly angled chin, the crown +of raven curls, and the pair of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_40" id="pg_40">40</a></span>brave outlooking eyes that met all the +world with something that was even a little bold.</p> + +<p>I had been afraid that my grandmother, so indiscriminating in her +admonitions, might open fire upon this forlorn couple, isolated in the +great haunted house of Marnhoul. But I need not have troubled.</p> + +<p>My grandmother had the instinct of caressing maternity for all the +young, the forlorn, the helpless. So she only opened her arms and cried +out, “Oh, you dears—you poor darlings!”</p> + +<p>And the little boy, moved by the instinctive yearning of all that needed +protection, of everything of tender years and little strength towards +the breast that had suckled and the hands that had nursed, let go his +sister’s hand and ran happily to my grandmother. She caught him in her +arms and lifted him up with the easy habitual gesture of one long +certified as a mother in Israel. He threw his little arms about my +grandmother’s neck, nestling there just as the rest of us used to do +when we were in any trouble.</p> + +<p>“I like you! You are good!” he said.</p> + +<p>Miss Irma and I were therefore left eye to eye while Louis Maitland, in +spite of his title, was so rapidly making friends with the actual head +of our family.</p> + +<p>Irma eyed me, and I did the like to Miss Irma—that is, to the best of +my ability, which in this matter was nothing to hers. She seemed to look +me through and through. At which I quailed, and then she appeared a +little more content.</p> + +<p>With the child still in her arms, and her voice, lately so harsh in +rebuke, now tuned to the cooing of a nesting dove, my grandmother +introduced herself.</p> + +<p>“Child,” she said to Miss Irma, “I am your nearest neighbour. Who should +come to welcome you if not I? You will find me at the farm of +Heathknowes. It is my goodman’s saw-mills that you hear clattering <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_41" id="pg_41">41</a></span>from +where you stand, and I am come to see if there is anything I can do to +help you.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you——” began the girl, and then hesitated. She had meant to +declare that they wanted for nothing, perhaps to indicate that the wife +of a tenant was hardly a fitting “first-foot” to venture over the +threshold of a baronet of ancient name and of the sister who acted as +his sponsor, tutor and governor.</p> + +<p>But then Miss Irma did not know my grandmother as Eden Valley did, still +less as we who were, as one might say, of Cæsar’s household.</p> + +<p>“Let me come in—I will soon see for myself!” quoth my grandmother, and +marched straight into the front hall of the Maitlands, that immense +dusky cavern I had only once looked into over the pikes and pitchforks. +She carried Sir Louis, tenth baronet of that name, on one arm. With her +free right hand she went hither and thither, sweeping her hand along the +ledges of great oak cabinets, blowing at the dust on the stone +mantelpiece, and finally clearing the great curtained south-western +window to let in the sun in flakes and patches of scarlet and gold.</p> + +<p>Then she turned to Miss Irma and said in the tone of an expert who has +inspected a grave piece of work and not found it wanting, “You have done +very well, my dear!”</p> + +<p>And at this Miss Irma changed the fashion of her countenance. Pleasure +shone scarce concealed. It was certain that up to that moment she had +regarded my grandmother somewhat in the light of an intruder, but she +could not bear up against such an appeal from housewife to housewife.</p> + +<p>“Will you come up-stairs?” she said, “I have hardly got begun here yet.”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_APOTHEOSIS_OF_AGNES_ANNE_1537" id="THE_APOTHEOSIS_OF_AGNES_ANNE_1537"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_42" id="pg_42">42</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>THE APOTHEOSIS OF AGNES ANNE</h3> +</div> + +<p>No word or look included me in the invitation which Miss Irma tendered +to my grandmother. Nevertheless I followed, not knowing what else to do. +I felt huge, awkward, clumsy of build and knotty of elbow and knee. I +was conscious that my knuckles were red. I felt in the way and unhappy. +In short, I hulked. Indeed, but that I was able to watch two eyes of +darkest grey beneath a wisp of untamed curls on a small and shapely +head, and the look of the thing, I would far rather have stopped out on +the doorstep with Crazy.</p> + +<p>And perhaps that would have been the best place for me, all things +considered.</p> + +<p>After we had passed two or three rooms in review, all of which were, as +it appeared to me, garnished with the ordinary sheets and coverlets of a +bedroom, my grandmother abruptly turned upon Miss Irma.</p> + +<p>“Let me see your hands!” she said, in her ordinary brusque manner. I was +in terror lest we should be shown to the door. But the freemasonry of +work, the knowledge of things feminine, the fine little nod of +appreciation at a detail which is perfectly lost on a man, the flush of +answering approbation had done their perfect work between the old woman +and the girl.</p> + +<p>Such things were not within my ken, and my grandmother promptly banished +me. She set down the little baronet at the same time with a “Run and +play, my doo!” She issued directions for me to charge <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_43" id="pg_43">43</a></span>myself with the +responsibility. I would much rather have stayed to hear what grandmother +and Miss Irma had to say one to the other, because I was more interested +in that. But the choice was not given to me. Go I must.</p> + +<p>And with her first personal word of acknowledgment that I was a human +being, Miss Irma, calling me by name, indicated the “drawing-room” as +the place where we might await the end of this first congress of the +Holy Alliance.</p> + +<p>I was some little alarmed at the place, the name of which so far I had +only seen in books, but little Sir Louis whispered in my ear as he took +my hand, “We can play there. That’s only what sister Irma calls it!”</p> + +<p>When my grandmother and Miss Irma appeared after an absence of +half-an-hour they found the two of us deep in a game of bat-ball. I made +an attempt to hide the ball, fearing lest Miss Irma might think I +usually carried such things about with me (I had confiscated it in class +that day). But I need not have troubled, she paid no attention whatever +to me, continuing to hold my grandmother’s hand and look into the wise, +stormy, tender, emphatic, much-enduring old face. And I wondered at my +relative, and saw in this marvel one more proof of her own +infallibility.</p> + +<p>“You must not stay any longer in this great house alone,” she was +saying, “I will send you—somebody.”</p> + +<p>Then she looked again at Miss Irma’s hands, and though I did not see +why, nor understand at the time, she added, “No—no—it will never +do—never do!” I wish I could say that on this first occasion of our +meeting, Miss Irma devoted a little of her attention to me. But the +truth is, she had eyes for nobody but <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_44" id="pg_44">44</a></span>Mistress Mary Lyon of +Heathknowes. True, a glance occasionally came my way, which caused me +instinctively to straighten myself up and square my shoulders, as I did +in the playground when acting as drill sergeant to the juniors. But the +very same glance with quite as much personality in it, passed on to +Crazy, who, to the exuberant delight of little Louis, had by this time +intruded himself. It was impossible for the most self-conceited to bring +away much comfort or encouragement from favours so slight as these.</p> + +<p>Even Louis, after the advent of Crazy, considered me only as his +drill-sergeant, and valued me according as Crazy consented to show off +his tricks at the word of command from me.</p> + +<p>“Behave, sir! You are in the kirk!” cried I. And lo! to the boy’s wonder +Crazy, who had been gambolling about on the bare floor, sank down with +his head between his paws and his eyes hypocritically closed, till I +gave the signal, “Now fight the French!” Upon which uprose Crazy like a +dancing bear on his hind legs, and jumped about with flaming eyes, +barking with all his might. This, being the performance which pleased +Crazy most, was also the favourite with the young Sir Louis.</p> + +<p>Indeed leavetaking was difficult, though by no means on my account. For +Miss Irma was all taken up with grandmother and little Louis with Crazy. +Nobody minded me, and Miss Irma did not so much as reach me a finger, +though at the last she just nodded, and Sir Louis had to be removed +wailing, because he wished to keep his arms tight about the shaggy neck +of Master Crazy, that singularly indifferent sheep-dog, but excellent +variety entertainer.</p> + +<p>It was, however, promised that Crazy should <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_45" id="pg_45">45</a></span>return, and as I knew that +Crazy would by no means perform without me, considering himself bound to +me by hours of patient labour and persistent fellow truantry, I saw some +light on the horizon of an otherwise dark future. I must go back too. +But in the meantime Louis wept uncomforted, and “batted” his sister with +baby palms in the impotence of his anger as she carried him within.</p> + +<p>My grandmother said nothing of any importance on the way home. She was +evidently thinking deeply, and confined herself to “Hush, you there!” +and “Do ye hear what I was saying to ye?” Under a fire of suchlike +remarks, delivered more or less at random, and without the least +discrimination between the barking of Crazy (the effect) and me (the +cause)—I kept a little in the rear so that I might have a sober face on +me when she turned round, while the less subtle Crazy galloped in +furious circles yapping and leaping up even in my grandmother’s face. He +was, however, useful in drawing her fire, and though I had to keep a +sharp look-out for the stones she caught up to throw at Crazy (who ran +no personal danger) our home-coming was effected in good order and with +considerable amusement to myself.</p> + +<p>But on her arrival at Heathknowes, Mrs. Mary Lyon found that there were +forces in the universe which even she was powerless to conquer.</p> + +<p>Meg, the “indoor” lass at Heathknowes, refused point-blank to go one +foot in the direction of the “Ghaist’s Hoose.” She persisted in her +refusal even when addressed by the awe-inspiring baptismal name of +Margaret Simprin Hetherington, and reminded of the terms of her +engagement.</p> + +<p>No, Margaret Simprin Hetherington would not—could not—dared not—stay +a night in the great house <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_46" id="pg_46">46</a></span>of Marnhoul. Whatever my grandmother might +say it was not so nominated in the bond. She had been hired to serve +about the farmhouse of Heathknowes, and she did not mind carrying their +dinners to the workmen in the saw-mill——</p> + +<p>“No,” interpolated my grandmother, “nor taking an hour-and-a-half to do +it in!”</p> + +<p>Upon which, as if stirred by some association of ideas, Meg added that +she would go none to Marnhoul Big Hoose, “because not a soul would come +near the place.” It did not matter whether <i>she</i> believed in Grey Ladies +with rain-drops pattering through them or not—other people did, and she +would not be banished “among the clocks and rattons”—no, not for double +wages!</p> + +<p>My grandmother, indeed, explained that there was no question of ladies +grey or rain-drops pattering, but of obedience to her legal mistress.</p> + +<p>But she knew that the cause was lost, and I am quite sure anticipated +the reply of Margaret Simprin Hetherington, which was to the effect that +no lass, indoor or outdoor, was more willing to obey her mistress than +she, but it would be in the place in which she had been hired to +serve—there and not elsewhere.</p> + +<p>For once my grandmother was nonplussed. Being a good Galloway woman she +knew that of all things it is most impossible to run counter to the +superstitions of her people. Perhaps she retained a touch of these +herself. But, as she said, “The grace of the Lord can overcome all the +wiles of the Evil One! And Mary Lyon would like to see witch or warlock, +ghost or ghostling, that would come in her road when she went forth +under His banner.” On the darkest night she marched unafraid, conquering +and to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_47" id="pg_47">47</a></span>conquer, having the superstitions born in her, but knowing all +the same (and all the better for that knowledge) on which side were the +bigger battalions.</p> + +<p>It was no use to send my Aunt Jen, who had once been “in a place” +before. Aunt Jen would go, but—she would take her tongue with her. She +had her mother’s command of language, but was utterly destitute of her +tact, lacking also, as was natural, the maternal instinct. As, in a +moment of exasperation my grandmother once said of her, “Our Jinnet is +dried up like a crab-tree in the east wind!”</p> + +<p>She would certainly undo all that Mistress Mary Lyon had done, and “that +puir young lassie” (as she called Miss Irma) carried a warlike flash in +her eye which warned the rugged grandmotherly heart that she and our +Aunt Jen could not long bide at peace in the same house.</p> + +<p>My mother might have done, as far as temper was concerned, but she +wanted what grandmother called the “needcessary birr.” Besides which she +had more than enough to do in caring for her own house, mending my +father’s clothes and misinforming the public as to Post Office +regulations. On the whole, though she loved her married daughter, I +think Mary Lyon was not a little sorry for my father, John MacAlpine, in +his choice of a housekeeper. I could see this by the occasional descents +she made upon our house, and the way she had of going about the rooms, +setting things to rights, silent save for a running comment of soft +sniffs upon the nose of contempt—the while my mother, after a +sympathetic glance at me, devoted herself to silent prayer that +grandmother would not light upon anything very bad.</p> + +<p>With my grandmother, to fail in the due ordering of a house was a +cardinal sin. And my poor mother <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_48" id="pg_48">48</a></span>sinned, not indeed by intention, +hardly even in labour, but in that appearance of easy perfection, which +in a household is the result of excellent plans thoroughly and timeously +carried out. She was apt to be found late of an afternoon in a chair +with a book—and the dinner dishes still unwashed. Then Agnes Anne, my +sister, would come in without a word. Her school frock would be quickly +shrouded under a great coarse apron. If I happened to be within doors I +was beckoned to assist. If not, not—and Agnes Anne did them herself +while my mother slept on.</p> + +<p>But I do not think that grandmother knew this, for she very generally +ignored Agnes Anne altogether, having a decided preference for boys in a +family. It fell out, therefore, that when she came a little shamefacedly +to consult my father, as she sometimes did in days of difficulty—for +under a show of contempt she often really submitted to his judgment—it +was given to Agnes Anne to say suddenly, “Let me go to Marnhoul, +grandmother!” If Balaam’s ass (or say, Crazy), had spoken these words, +grandmother could not have been more astonished.</p> + +<p>More so still when John MacAlpine nodded approval.</p> + +<p>“Yes, let the lassie go—let her put her hand to the work. The burden +cannot be too soon laid on young shoulders—that is, if they are strong +enough.”</p> + +<p>Mary Lyon stared, as if both he and his daughter had suddenly taken +leave of their senses.</p> + +<p>“Why, what can the lassie <i>do</i>?” she cried; “I thought you were making +her nothing but a don in the dead languages!”</p> + +<p>“I can bake, and brew, and wash, and keep a house clean,” said Agnes +Anne, putting in her testimonials, since there was no one so well +acquainted with them. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_49" id="pg_49">49</a></span>My father nodded. He was not so blind as many +might suppose. My mother said, “Aye, ’deed, she can that. Agnes Anne is +a good lass. I know not what I should do without her!”</p> + +<p>My grandmother looked about at the new air of tidiness, and for the +first time a suspicion crossed her mind that, out of a pit from which +she was expecting no such treasure, some one in her own image might +possibly have been digged among her descendants of the second +generation. She looked at Agnes Anne with a ray of hope. Agnes Anne +stood the awful searching power of that eye. Agnes Anne did not flinch. +Mary Lyon nodded her head with its man’s close-cropped locks of rough +white hair in lyart locks about her ears.</p> + +<p>“You’ll do, Agnes Anne, you’ll do,” she said, adding cautiously, “that +is, after a time”—so as not to exalt the girl above measure. It was, +however, recognized by all as a definite triumph for my sister. My +grandmother, a rigid Calvinist, who believed in Election with all her +intellect, and acted Free Will with all her heart, elected Agnes Anne +upon the spot. Had the girl not willed to rise out of the pit of sloth +and mere human learning? And lo! she had arisen. Thenceforth Agnes Anne +stood on a pedestal, and for a while one sturdy disciple of Calvin’s +thought heretically of the pure doctrine. Here was a human being who had +willed, and, according to my grandmother, had made of herself a miracle +of grace.</p> + +<p>But she recalled herself to more orthodox sentiments. The steel was out +of the sheath, indeed, but it had to be tried. Even yet Agnes Anne might +be found wanting.</p> + +<p>“When will you be ready to start?” she said, turning her black twinkling +eyes upon her granddaughter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_50" id="pg_50">50</a></span>“In five minutes,” said Agnes Anne boldly.</p> + +<p>“And you are not frightened?”</p> + +<p>“Of what?”</p> + +<p>“Of these vain tales—ghosts, hauntings, and so forth. Our Meg Simprin +(silly maid!) would not move a foot, and you are far younger.”</p> + +<p>“I am no younger than those who are in the house already,” said Agnes +Anne, with great sense, which even I would hardly have expected from +her, “and if ghosts are spirits, as the Bible says, I do not see that +they can interfere with housework!”</p> + +<p>My grandmother rose solemnly from her seat, patted Agnes Anne on the +top-knot of her hair, shook hands with John MacAlpine, nodded meaningly +at my mother, and said, “Come along, young lass,” in a tone which showed +that the aged shepherdess had unexpectedly found a lamb whom she long +counted lost absolutely butting against the door of the sheep-fold.</p> + +<p>This was the apotheosis of Agnes Anne. Her life dates from that evening +in our kitchen, even as mine did from the afternoon when one half the +fools of Eden Valley were letting off shot-guns at the back windows of +Marnhoul Great House, while Miss Irma withstood the others on the +threshold of the front door.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_DOCTORS_ADVENT_1815" id="THE_DOCTORS_ADVENT_1815"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_51" id="pg_51">51</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>THE DOCTOR’S ADVENT</h3> +</div> + +<p>The firm of lawyers in Dumfries, the agents for the Maitland properties, +did not seem to be taking any measures to dispossess Miss Irma and young +Sir Louis. Perhaps they, too, had private information. Perhaps those who +had brought the children to Marnhoul may have been in the confidence of +that notable firm of Smart, Poole & Smart in the High Street. At any +rate they made no move towards ejection. They may also have argued that +any one who could dispossess the ghosts and make Marnhoul once more a +habitable mansion, was welcome to the tenancy.</p> + +<p>It was the Reverend Doctor Gillespie who, first of all the distinguished +men of the parish, received in some slight degree the confidence of Miss +Irma. Grandmother knew more, of course, and perhaps, also, Agnes Anne. +But, with the feeling of women towards those whom they approve, they +became Irma’s accomplices. Women are like that. When you tell them a +secret, if they don’t like you, they become traitors. If they do, they +are at once confederates. But the Doctor visited Marnhoul as a +deputation, officially, and also for the purpose of setting the minds of +the genteel at rest.</p> + +<p>The Doctor’s lady gave him no peace till he did his duty. The General’s +womenfolk at the Bungalow were clamorous. It was not seemly. Something +must be done, and since the action of Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe on the +occasion of the assault on the house had put <i>him</i> out of the question, +and as the General <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_52" id="pg_52">52</a></span>flatly refused to have anything to do with the +affair, it was obvious that the duty must fall to the Doctor.</p> + +<p>Nor could a better choice have been made. Eden Valley has known many +preachers, but never another such pastor—never a shepherd of the sheep +like the Doctor. I can see him yet walking down the manse avenue—it had +been just “the Loaning” in the days before the advent of the second Mrs. +Doctor Gillespie—a silver-headed cane in his hand, everything about him +carefully groomed, and his very port breathing a peculiarly grave and +sober dignity. Grey locks, still plentiful, clustered about his head. +His cocked hat (of the antique pattern which, early in his ministry, he +had imported by the dozen from Versailles) never altered in pattern. +Buckles of unpolished silver shone dully at his knee and bent across his +square-toed shoes.</p> + +<p>Above all spread his neckcloth, spotless, enveloping, cumbrous, +reverence-compelling, a cravat worthy of a Moderator. And indeed the +Doctor—our Doctor, parish minister of Eden Valley, had “passed the +Chair” of the General Assembly. We were all proud of the fact, even +top-lofty Cameronians like my grandmother secretly delighting in the +thought of the Doctor in his robes of office.</p> + +<p>“There would be few like him away there in Edinburgh,” she would say. +“The Doctor’s a braw man, and does us credit afore the great of the +land—for a’ that he’s a Moderate!”</p> + +<p>And had he been the chief of all the Moderates, the most volcanic and +aggressive of Moderates, my grandmother would have found some good thing +to say of a fellow-countryman of so noble a presence—“so personable,” +and “such a credit to the neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>Wisdom, grave and patient, was in every line of his <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_53" id="pg_53">53</a></span>kindly face. +Something boyish and innocent told that the shades of the prison-house +had never wholly closed about him. It was good to lift the hat to Dr. +Gillespie as he went along—hat a little tip-tilted off the +broadly-furrowed brow. In the city he is very likely to stop and regard +the most various wares—children’s dolls or ladies’ underpinnings. But +think not that the divine is interested in such things. His mind is +absent—in communion with things very far away. Lift your hat and salute +him. He will not see you, but—it will do <i>you</i> good!</p> + +<p>William Gillespie was the son of a good ministerial house. His father +had occupied the same pulpit. He himself had been born in his own +manse—which is to say, in all the purple of which our grey Puritan land +can boast. We were proud of the Doctor, and had good reason therefor. I +have said that even my field-preaching grandmother looked upon the +Erastian with a moisture quasi-maternal in her eyes, and as for us who +“sat under him and listened to his speech,” we came well-nigh to worship +him.</p> + +<p>Yet “the Doctor” was self-effacing beyond many, and only our proper +respect for the “Lady of the Manse” kept the parishioners in their +places. Discourses which he had preached in the callow days of his youth +on the “Book of the Revelation” had brought hearers from many distant +parishes, and at that time the Doctor had had several “calls” and +“offers” to proceed to other spheres on account of their fame. But he +had always refused to repeat any of them.</p> + +<p>“I have changed my mind about many things since then,” he would say; +“young men are apt to be hasty! The greatest of all heresies is +dogmatism.”</p> + +<p>But among the older saints of the parish that <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_54" id="pg_54">54</a></span>“series of expositions” +was not forgotten. “It was” (they averred) “like the licht o’ anither +world to look on his face—just heeven itsel’ to listen to him. Sirce +me, there are no such discourses to be heard now-a-days—not even from +<i>himsel’</i>!”</p> + +<p>And be it remembered that our dear Doctor could unbend—that is, in +fitting time and place. From the seats of the mighty, from Holyrood and +the Moderator’s chair our Cincinnatus returned to shepherd his quiet +flock among the bosky silences of Eden Valley. He wore his learning, all +his weight of honour lightly—with a smile, even with a slight shrug of +the shoulder. The smile, even the jest, rose continually to his lips, +especially when his wife was not present. But at all times he remembered +his office, and often halted with the ancient maxim at the sight of some +intruder, “Let us be sober—yonder comes a fool!” And many of his +visitors noticed this sudden sobriety without once suspecting its cause.</p> + +<p>Even the Cameronians agreed that there was “unction” in the Doctor. For +his brave word’s sake they forgave the heresies of his church about the +Civil Magistrate, and said freely among themselves that if in every +parish there was such a minister as Dr. Gillespie, the civil magistrate +would be compelled to take a very back seat indeed. But it was on +Communion Sabbath days that the Doctor became, as it were, transfigured, +the face of him shining, though he wist not of it.</p> + +<p>Something of the spirit of the Crucified was poured forth that day upon +men and women humbly bowing their heads over the consecrated memorials +of His love.</p> + +<p>A silence of a rare and peculiar sanctity filled the little bare, +deep-windowed kirk. The odour of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_55" id="pg_55">55</a></span>flowering lilacs came in like +Nature’s own incense, and the plain folk of Eden Valley got a foretaste, +faint and dim, but sufficient, of the Land where the tables shall never +be withdrawn.</p> + +<p>Better preachers than the Doctor?—We grant it you, though there are +many in the Valley who will not agree, but not one more fitted to break +the bread of communion before the white-spread tables.</p> + +<p>It was Agnes Anne who opened the door of Marnhoul, and stood a moment +astonished at the sight of the Doctor all in black and silver—hat, +coat, knee-breeches, silken hose and leathern shoes of the first, locks, +studs, knee-buckles, shoe-buckles all of the second.</p> + +<p>But our Agnes Anne was truly of the race of Mary Lyon, so in a moment +she said, “Pray come in, sir!” with the self-respect of the daughter of +a good house, as well as the dutifulness which she owed to one so +reverend and so revered.</p> + +<p>The Doctor was not surprised. He smiled as he recognized the +school-master’s daughter. But he betrayed nothing. He laid his hand as +usual on her smooth locks by way of a blessing, and inquired if Miss +Maitland and Sir Louis were at home.</p> + +<p>“They are in the school-room,” said Agnes Anne, in the most +business-like tone in the world; “come this way, sir.”</p> + +<p>It was a very different house—that which Agnes Anne showed the +Doctor—from the cobweb-draped, dust-strewn, deserted mansion of a few +weeks ago. Simply considering them as caretakers, the Dumfries lawyers +ought to have welcomed their new tenants. So far as cleanliness went, +Miss Irma had done a great deal—so much, indeed, as to earn the praise +of that severest of critics, my grandmother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_56" id="pg_56">56</a></span>But there was much that no girl could do alone. Chair-seats and +sofa-cushions had been beaten till no speck of dust was left. This had +had to be carefully gone about. For though, apparently, no thieves had +broken through to steal, it was evident that the house had last been +occupied by people of excessively careless habits, who had put muddy +boots on chairs and trampled regardlessly everywhere. But the other half +of the text held good. Moth and rust had certainly corrupted.</p> + +<p>However, Agnes Anne was handy with her needle, in spite of her father +and his class on Ovid. There was always a good deal to do in our house, +and since mother made no great effort, and was generally tired, it fell +to Agnes Anne to do it.</p> + +<p>She it was who had re-covered the worn old drawing-room chairs with +brocade found in the deep, cedar-wood lined cupboards, along with wealth +of ancient court dresses, provision of household linen, and all that had +belonged to the Maitlands on the day when, after the falling of the head +of their house upon Tower Hill, the great old mansion had been shut up.</p> + +<p>The Doctor had been strictly enjoined to take good heed to write +everything down on his mental tablets, and to give careful account to +his lady. He found the two young Maitlands seated at a table from which +the cloth had been lifted at one corner to make room for copybooks, ink, +pens and reading-books. Evidently Miss Irma was instructing her brother.</p> + +<p>“Now, Louis,” they heard her say as they came in, “remember the destiny +to which you are called, and that now is the time——”</p> + +<p>“The Doctor to call upon you!” Agnes Anne announced in a tone of awe +befitting the occasion.</p> + +<p>Then the stately apparition in black and silver which <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_57" id="pg_57">57</a></span>followed her into +the room came slowly forward, smiling with outstretched hand. Miss Irma +was not in the least put out. She rose and swept a curtsey with bowed +head. Little Sir Louis, evidently awed by the sedate grandeur which sat +so well upon the visitor, paused a moment as if uncertain how he ought +to behave.</p> + +<p>He was a little behind his sister, and completely out of the range of +her vision, so he felt himself safe in sucking the ink from the side of +his second finger, and rubbing the wet place hard on his black velvet +breeches. Then, as Miss Irma glanced round, he fell also to his manners +and bowed gravely—unconsciously imitating the grand manner of the +Doctor himself.</p> + +<p>The room used for lessons was a wide, pleasant place, rather low in the +roof, plainly panelled and wainscotted in dark oak, with a single line +of dull gold beading running about it high up. There was a large +fireplace, with a seat all the way round, and a stout iron basket to +hold the fire of sea-coal, when such was used. Brass and irons stood at +the side, convenient for faggots. A huge crane and many S-shaped +pot-hooks discovered the fact that at some time this place had been +occupied as a kitchen, perhaps in the straitened days of the last +“attainted” Maitlands.</p> + +<p>But now the chamber was pleasant and warm, the windows open to the air +and the song of the birds. Dimity curtains hung on the great poles by +the windows and stirred in the breeze, as if they had been lying for +half a century in dusky cupboards. Agnes Anne looked carefully to see if +the darning showed, and decided that not even her grandmother could spy +it out—how much less, then, the Doctor.</p> + +<p>She was, however, annoyed that the tall, brass-faced clock in the +corner, dated “Kilmaurs, 1695,” could not <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_58" id="pg_58">58</a></span>be made to go. But she had a +promise from Boyd Connoway that he would “take a look at her” as soon as +he had attended to three gardens and docked the tails of a litter of +promising puppies.</p> + +<p>The Doctor bowed graciously over the hand of Miss Irma, and shook hands +gravely with Sir Louis, who a second time had rubbed his finger on his +black velvet suit, just to make assurance doubly sure.</p> + +<p>The conversation followed a high plane of social commonplace.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Irma, “it is true that our family has been a long time +absent from the neighbourhood, but you are right in supposing that we +mean to settle down here for some time.”</p> + +<p>Then she deigned to enter into particulars. She had her brother to bring +up according to his rank, for, since there was no one else to undertake +the charge, it fell to her lot. Luckily she had received a good +education up to the time when she had the misfortune——</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said the Doctor quickly, “I understand.”</p> + +<p>He said nothing further in words, but his sympathetic silence conveyed a +great deal, and was more eloquent and consolatory than most people’s +speech.</p> + +<p>“And where were you educated?” asked the Doctor gently.</p> + +<p>“My father sent me to the Ursuline Sisters in Paris,” said Miss Irma +calmly.</p> + +<p>The Doctor was secretly astonished and much disappointed, but his face +expressed nothing beyond his habitual good nature. He replied, “Then +your father has had you brought up a Catholic, Miss Maitland?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, no,” answered Miss Irma, “only he had often occasion to be away +on his affairs, and to keep me out of mischief he left me with the +Ursulines and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_59" id="pg_59">59</a></span>my aunt the Abbess. At my father’s death I might have +stayed on with the good sisters, but I left because I was not allowed to +see my brother.”</p> + +<p>“Then am I right in thinking that—that—in fact—you are a +Presbyterian?” said the Doctor, playing with the inlaid snuffbox which +he carried in his hand. The amount of time he occupied in tapping the +lid and the invisibility of the pinches he had ever been seen to take +were alike marvels in the district.</p> + +<p>“I have no religious prejudices,” said Miss Irma to the Doctor, in a +calm, well-bred manner which must have secretly amused that +distinguished theologian, fresh from editing the works of Manton.</p> + +<p>“I did not speak of prejudices, dear young lady” (he spoke gently, yet +with the thrill in his voice which showed how deeply he was moved), “but +of belief, of religion, of principles of thought and action.”</p> + +<p>Miss Irma opened her eyes very wide. The sound of the Doctor’s words +came to her ears like the accents of an unknown tongue.</p> + +<p>“The sisters were very good people,” she said at last; “they give +themselves a great deal of trouble——”</p> + +<p>“What kind of trouble?” said the Doctor.</p> + +<p>“Kneeling and scrubbing floors for one thing,” said Miss Irma; “getting +up at all hours, doing good works, praying, and burning candles to the +Virgin.”</p> + +<p>“I should advise you,” said the Doctor, with his most gentle accent, “to +say as little as possible about that part of your experience here in +Eden Valley.”</p> + +<p>Miss Irma looked exceedingly surprised.</p> + +<p>“I thought I told you they were exceedingly good people. They were very +kind to me, though they looked on me as a lost heretic. I am sure they +said prayers for me many times a day!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_60" id="pg_60">60</a></span>The Doctor looked more hopeful. He was thinking that after all he might +make something of his strange parishioner, when the young lady recalled +him by a repetition of her former declaration, “As I said, I have no +religious prejudices!”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Doctor a little sharply—for him, “but still each one of +us ought to be fully persuaded in his own mind.”</p> + +<p>“And that means,” Miss Irma answered, quick as a flash, “that most of us +are fully persuaded according to our father and mother’s mind, and the +way they have brought us up. But then, you see, I never <i>was</i> brought +up. I know very well that my family were Presbyterians. Once I read +about their sufferings in two great volumes by a Mr. Wodrow, or some +such name. But then my grandfather lost most of his estates fighting for +the King——”</p> + +<p>“For the Popish Pretender,” said the Doctor, who could speak no smooth +things when it was a matter of the Revolution Settlement and the +government of King George.</p> + +<p>“For the man he believed to be king, while others stayed snugly at +home,” persisted Miss Irma. “Then my mother was a Catholic, and my +father too busy to care——”</p> + +<p>“My poor young maid,” said the Doctor, “it is wonderful to see you as +you are!”</p> + +<p>And secretly the excellent man was planning out a campaign to lead this +lamb into the fold of that Kirk of Scotland, for the purity of whose +doctrine and intact spiritual independence her forefathers had shed +their blood.</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” said he, rising and bending again over the girl’s hand +with old-fashioned politeness, “you will remember that your family pew +is in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_61" id="pg_61">61</a></span>front of our laft—I mean in the gallery of the parish kirk +of Eden Valley.”</p> + +<p>And the Doctor took his leave without ever remembering that he had +failed in the principal part of his mission, having quite forgotten to +find out by what means these two young things came to find themselves +alone in the Great House of Marnhoul.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="KATE_OF_THE_SHORE_2157" id="KATE_OF_THE_SHORE_2157"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_62" id="pg_62">62</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>KATE OF THE SHORE</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was, I think, ten days after Agnes Anne had left us for the old house +of the Maitlands when she came to me at the school-house. My father had +Fred Esquillant in with him, and the two were busy with Sophocles. I was +sitting dreaming with a book of old plays in my hand when Agnes Anne +came in.</p> + +<p>“Duncan,” she said, “I am feared to bide this night at Marnhoul. And I +think so is Miss Irma. Now I would rather not tell grandmother—so you +must come!”</p> + +<p>“Feared?” said I; “surely you never mean ghosts—and such nonsense, +Agnes Anne—and you the daughter of a school-master!”</p> + +<p>“It’s the solid ghosts I am feared of,” said Agnes Anne; “haste you, and +ask leave of father. He is so busy, he will never notice. He has Freddy +in with him, I hear.”</p> + +<p>So Agnes Anne and I went in together. We could see the man’s head and +the boy’s bent close together, and turned from us so that the westering +light could fall upon their books. Fred Esquillant was to be a great +scholar and to do my father infinite credit when he went to the +university. For me I was only a reader of English, a scribbler of verses +in that language, a paltry essayist, with no sense of the mathematics +and no more than an average classic. Therefore in the school I was a +mere hewer of wood and drawer of water to my father.</p> + +<p>“Duncan is coming with me to bide the night at <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_63" id="pg_63">63</a></span>Marnhoul,” said Agnes +Anne, “and he is going to take ‘King George’ with him to—scare the +foxes!”</p> + +<p>“From the hen-coops?” said my father, looking carelessly up. “Let him +take care not to shoot himself then. He has no nicety of handling!”</p> + +<p>I am sure that really he meant in the classics, for his thoughts were +running that way and I could see that he was itching to be at it again +with Freddy.</p> + +<p>“Tell your mother,” he said, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, “and +please shut the door after you!”</p> + +<p>Having thus obtained leave from the power-that-was, the matter was +broken to my mother. She only asked if we had told John, and being +assured of that, felt that her entire responsibility was cleared, and so +subsided into the fifth volume of Sir Charles Grandison, where thrilling +things were going on in the cedar parlour. It was my mother’s favourite +book, but was carefully laid aside when my grandmother came—nay, even +concealed as conscientiously as I under my coat conveyed away the +bell-mouthed, silver-mounted blunderbuss which hung over the hat-rack in +the lobby. Buckshot, wads, and a powderhorn I also secreted about my +person.</p> + +<p>On our way I catechized Agnes Anne tightly as to the nature of the +danger which had put her so suddenly in fear. But she eluded me. Indeed, +I am not sure she knew herself. All I could gather was that a letter +which had reached Miss Irma that morning, had given warning of trouble +of some particular deadly sort impending upon the dwellers in the house +of Marnhoul. When Agnes Anne opened the door of the hall to let the +sunshine and air into the gloomy recesses where the shadows still lurked +in spite of the light from the high windows, she had found a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_64" id="pg_64">64</a></span>folded +letter nailed to the door of Marnhoul. The blade of a foreign-looking +knife had been thrust through it deep into the wood, and the stag’s-horn +handle turned down in the shape of a reversed capital V—the spring +holding the paper firm. It was addressed to Miss Irma Maitland, and +evidently had reference to something disastrous, for all day Miss Irma +had gone about with a pale face, and a pitiful wringing action of her +fingers. No words, however, had escaped her except only “What shall I +do? Oh, what shall I do? My Louis—my poor little Louis!”</p> + +<p>The danger, then, whatever it might be, was one which particularly +touched the boy baronet. I could not help hoping that it might not be +any plot of the lawyers in Dumfries to get him away. For if I were +obliged to fire off “King George,” and perhaps kill somebody, I +preferred that it should not be against those who had the law on their +side. For in that case my father might lose his places, both as chief +teacher and as postmaster.</p> + +<p>I got Agnes Anne to look after “King George,” my blunderbuss, while I +went round to the village to see if anything was stirring about the +dwelling of Constable Jacky. She would only permit me to do this on +condition that I proved the gun unloaded, and permitted her to lock it +carefully in one cupboard, while the powder and shot reposed each on a +separate shelf outside in the kitchen, lest being left to themselves the +elements of destruction might run together and blow up the house.</p> + +<p>I scudded through the village, passing from one end of the long street +to the other. Constable Jacky in his shirt sleeves, was peaceably +peeling potatoes on his doorstep, while with a pipe in his mouth Boyd +Connoway was looking on and telling him how. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_65" id="pg_65">65</a></span>village of Eden Valley +was never quieter. Several young men of the highest consideration were +waiting within call of the millinery establishment of the elder Miss +Huntingdon, on the chance of being able to lend her “young ladies” stray +volumes of Rollin’s <i>Ancient History</i>, Defoe’s <i>Religious Courtship</i>, or +such other volumes as were likely to fan the flame of love’s young dream +in their hearts. I saw Miss Huntingdon herself taking stock of them +through the window, and as it were, separating the sheep from the goats. +For she was a particular woman, Miss Huntingdon, and never allowed the +lightest attentions to “her young ladies” without keeping the parents of +her charges fully posted on the subject.</p> + +<p>All, therefore, was peace in the village of Eden Valley. Yet I nearly +chanced upon war. My grandmother called aloud to some one as I passed +along the street. For a moment I thought she had caught me, in spite of +the cap which I had pulled down over my eyes and the coat collar I had +pulled up above my ears.</p> + +<p>If she got me, I made sure that she would instantly come to the great +house of Marnhoul with all the King’s horses and all the King’s men—and +so, as it were, spoil the night from which I expected so much.</p> + +<p>But it was the slouching figure of Boyd Connoway which had attracted her +attention. As I sped on I heard her asking details as to the amount of +work he had done that day, how he expected to keep his wife and family +through the winter, whether he had split enough kindling wood and +brought in the morning’s supply of water—also (most unkindly of all) +who had paid for the tobacco he was smoking.</p> + +<p>To these inquiries, all put within the space of half-a-minute, I could +not catch Connoway’s replies. Nor <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_66" id="pg_66">66</a></span>did I wait to hear. It was enough for +me to find myself once more safe between the hedges and going as hard as +my feet could carry me in the direction of the gate of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>No sooner was I in the kitchen with the stone floor and the freshly +scoured tin and pewter vessels glinting down from the dresser, than I +heard the voice of Miss Irma asking to be informed if I had come. To +Agnes Anne she called me “your big brother,” and I hardly ever remember +being so proud of anything as of that adjective.</p> + +<p>Then after my sister had answered, Miss Irma came down the stairs with +her quick light step, not like any I had ever heard. With a trip and a +rustle she came bursting in upon us, so that all suddenly the quaint old +kitchen, with its shining utensils catching the red sunshine through the +low western window and the swaying ivy leaves dappling the floor of +bluish-grey, was glorified by her presence.</p> + +<p>She was younger in years than myself, but something of race, of +refinement, of experience, some flavour of an adventurous past and of +strange things seen and known, made her appear half-a-dozen years the +senior of a country boy like me.</p> + +<p>“Has he come?” she asked, before ever she came into the kitchen; “is he +afraid?”</p> + +<p>“Only of being in a house alone with two girls,” said Agnes Anne, “but I +am most afraid of father’s blunderbuss which he has brought with him.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” said Miss Irma, determination marked in every line of her +face. “We have a well-armed man on the premises. It is a house fit to +stand a siege. Why, I turned away three score of them with a darning +needle.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_67" id="pg_67">67</a></span>“Not but what it is far more serious this time!” she said, a little +sadly. By this time I was reassembling the scattered pieces of “King +George’s” armament, while Agnes Anne, in terror of her life, was +searching on the floor and along the passages for things she had not +lost.</p> + +<p>As soon as I had got over my first awe of Miss Irma, I asked her +point-blank what was the danger, so that I might know what dispositions +to take.</p> + +<p>I had seen the phrase in an old book, thin and tall, which my father +possessed, called <i>Monro’s Expedition</i>. But Irma bade me help to make +the ground floor of the mansion as strong as possible, and then come +up-stairs to the parlour, where she would tell me “all that it was +necessary for me to know.”</p> + +<p>I wished she had said “everything”—for, though not curious by nature, I +should have been happy to be confided in by Miss Irma. To my delight, on +going round I found that all the lower windows had been fitted with iron +shutters, and these, though rusty, were in perfectly good condition. In +this task of examination Miss Irma assisted me, and though I would not +let her put a finger to the sharp-edged flaky iron, it was a pleasure to +feel the touch of her skirt, while once she laid a hand on my arm to +guide me to a little dark closet the window of which was protected by a +hingeless plate of iron, held in position by a horizontal bar fitting +into the stonework on either side.</p> + +<p>There was not so much to be done above stairs, where the shutters were +of fine solid oak and easily fitted. But I sought out an oriel window of +a tower which commanded the pillared doorway. For I did not forget what +I had seen when the Great House of Marnhoul was besieged by the rabble +of Eden Valley. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_68" id="pg_68">68</a></span>It was there that the danger was if the house should be +attempted.</p> + +<p>But I so arranged it, that whoever attacked the house, I should at least +get one fair chance at them with “King George,” our very wide-scattering +blunderbuss.</p> + +<p>In the little room in which this window was, we gathered. It made a kind +of watch-tower, for from it one could see both ways—down the avenue to +the main road, and across the policies towards the path that led up from +the Killantringan shore.</p> + +<p>I felt that it was high time for me to know against what I was to fight. +Not that I was any way scared. I do not think I thought about that at +all, so pleased was I at being where I was, and specially anxious that +no one should come to help, so as to share with me any of the credit +that was my due from Miss Irma.</p> + +<p>Agnes Anne, indeed, was afraid of what she was going to hear. For as yet +she had been told nothing definite. But then she was tenfold more afraid +of “King George”—mostly, I believe, because it had been made a kind of +fetish in our house, and the terrible things that would happen if we +meddled with it continually represented to us by our mother. Finally, we +arranged that “King George” should be set in the angle of the oriel +window, the muzzle pointing to the sky, and that in the pauses of the +tale, I should keep a look-out from the watch-tower.</p> + +<p>“It is my brother Louis—Sir Louis Maitland—whom they are seeking!”</p> + +<p>Miss Irma made this statement as if she had long faced it, and now found +nothing strange about the matter. But I think both Agnes Anne and I were +greatly astonished, though for different reasons. For my sister had +never imagined that there was any <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_69" id="pg_69">69</a></span>danger worse than the presence of +“King George” in the window corner, and as for me, the hope of helping +to protect Miss Irma herself from unknown peril was enough. I asked for +no better a chance than that.</p> + +<p>“We have a cousin,” she continued, “Lalor Maitland is his name, who was +in the rebellion, and was outlawed just like my father. He took up the +trade of spying on the poor folk abroad and all who had dealings with +them. He was made governor of the strong castle of Dinant on the Meuse, +deep in the Low Countries. With him my father, who wrongly trusted him +as he trusted everybody, left little Louis. I was with my aunt, the +Abbess of the Ursulines, at the time, or the thing had not befallen. For +from the first I hated Lalor Maitland, knowing that though he appeared +to be kind to us, it was only a pretence.</p> + +<p>“He entertained us hospitably enough in a suite of rooms very high up in +the Castle of Dinant above the Meuse river, and came to see us every +day. He was waiting till he should make his peace with the English. Then +he would do away with my brother and——”</p> + +<p>She paused, and a kind of shuddering whiteness came across the girl’s +face. It was like the flashing of lightning from the east to the west +that my grandmother reads about in her Bible—a sort of shining of +hatred and determination like a footstep set on wet sand. “But no,” she +added, “he would not have married me, even if he had kept me shut up for +ever in his Castle of Dinant on the Meuse!”</p> + +<p>Then all at once I began very mightily to hate this Lalor Maitland, +Governor of the Castle of Dinant. I resolved to charge “King George” to +the very muzzle, wait till he was within half-a-dozen paces, and—let +him have it. For I made no doubt that it was he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_70" id="pg_70">70</a></span>who was coming in +person to carry off Miss Irma and Sir Louis back again to his dungeons. +For though Irma had not called them that, I felt sure that she had been +shamefully used. And though I did not proclaim the fact, I knew the name +and address of a willing deliverer. I grew so anxious about the matter +that Agnes Anne three times bade me put down “King George” or I should +be sure to shoot some of them, or, most likely of all, little Louis in +his cot-bed up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“However, at last we escaped” (Miss Irma went on), “and I will tell you +how—what I have not told to any here—not even to your good grandmother +or the clergyman. It was through our nurse, a Kirkbean woman and her +name Kate Maxwell, called Mickle Kate o’ the Shore. Her father and all +her folk were smugglers, as, I understand, are the most of the farmers +along the Solway side. Some of these she could doubtless have married, +but Kate herself had always looked higher. The son of a farmer over the +hill, from a place called the Boreland of Colvend, had wintered sheep on +her father’s lands. Many a sore cold morning (so she said) had they gone +out together to clear the snow from the feeding troughs. I suppose that +was how it began, but in addition the lad had ambition. He learned well +and readily, and after a while he went into a lawyer’s office in +Dumfries, while Kate o’ the Shore went abroad with the family of a Leith +merchant, to serve at Rotterdam. She wanted to save money for the house +she was going to set up with the lawyer’s clerk. So, rather than come +back at the year’s end, she took the place which the Governor of Dinant +Castle offered her, and he was no other than our cousin Lalor.</p> + +<p>“In a little while Kate of the Shore had grown to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_71" id="pg_71">71</a></span>hate our cousin. Why, +I cannot tell, for he always bowed to her as to a lady, and indeed +showed her far more kindness than ever he used to us. When we wanted a +little play on the terrace or a sweetcake from the town, we tried at +first to get Kate to ask for us. But afterwards she would not. And she +grew determined to leave the Castle of Dinant as soon as might be, +making her escape and taking us with her. Her Boreland lad, Tam Hislop, +had told her all about the estates and the great house standing empty. +So nothing would do but that Kate o’ the Shore would come to this house +with us, where we would take possession, and hold it against all comers.</p> + +<p>“‘It is very difficult,’ said Kate’s friend, the Dumfries clerk, ‘to put +any one out of his own house.’ Indeed he did not think that even the +very Court of Session could do it.”</p> + +<p>“So during the governor’s absence we brought little Louis from Dinant to +Antwerp, where we hid him with some friends of Kate’s who are Free +Traders, and ran cargoes to the Isle of Man and the Solway shore. Kind +they were, stout bold men and appeared to hold their lives cheap +enough—also, for that matter, the lives of those who withstood them.</p> + +<p>“Many of them were Kirkbean men, near kinsfolk of Kate o’ the Shore, and +others from Colvend—Hislops, Hendersons and McKerrows, long rooted in +the place. But when we were in mid-passage, we were chased and almost +taken by a schooner that fired cannon and bade us heave to, but the +Kirkbean men, who had Kate o’ the Shore with them, bade our boat carry +on, and engaged the pursuer. We could see the flash of their guns a long +distance, and cries came to us mixed with the thunderclap of the +schooner’s guns. The Colvend men would have turned back to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_72" id="pg_72">72</a></span>help, but +they had received strict orders to put us on shore, whatever might +happen, the which they did at Killantringan.</p> + +<p>“After that” (Miss Irma still went on) “I had so much ado to look after +my brother, being fearful to let him out of my hands lest he should be +taken from me, that I only heard the names of a place or two spoken +among them—particularly the Brandy Knowe, a dark hole in a narrow +ravine, under the roots of a great tree, with a burn across which we had +to be carried. I remember the rushing sound of the water in the +blackness of the night, and Louis’s voice calling out, as the men +trampled the pebbles, ‘Are you there, sister Irma?’</p> + +<p>“But long before it was day they had finished stowing their cargo. We +were again on the march and the men took good care of us, leaving us +here according to their orders with plenty of provisions for a +week—also money, all good unclipped silver pieces and English gold. +They bade us not to leave the house on any account, and in case of any +sudden danger to light the fire on the tower head!</p> + +<p>“‘For the present our duty is done,’ said one of them, a kind of chief +or leader who had carried me before him on his own horse, ‘but there may +be more and worse yet to do, wherein we of the Free Trade may help you +more than all the power of King George—to whom, however, we are very +good friends, in all that does not concern our business of the private +Over-Seas Traffic’—for so they named their trade of smuggling.”</p> + +<p>“I would like much to see this beacon,” I said; “perhaps we may have to +light it. At any rate it is well to be sure that we have all the +ingredients of the pudding at hand in case of need.”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_EVE_OF_ST_JOHN_2497" id="THE_EVE_OF_ST_JOHN_2497"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_73" id="pg_73">73</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>THE EVE OF ST. JOHN</h3> +</div> + +<p>We went up the narrow stair—that is, Miss Irma and I—because, since I +carried my father’s blunderbuss, Agnes Anne would not come, but stopped +half-way, where the little Louis lay asleep in his cot-bed. On the top +of the tower, and swinging on a kind of iron tripod bolted into the +battlements, we found an iron basket, like that in which sea-coal is +burned, but wider in the mesh. Then, in the “winnock cupboard” at the +turn of the stair-head, were all the necessaries for a noble blaze—dry +wood properly cut, tow, tar, and a firkin of spirit, with some rancid +butter in a brown jar. There was even a little kindling box of foreign +make, all complete with flint, steel and tinder lying on a shelf, +enclosed in a small bag of felt.</p> + +<p>Whoever had placed these things there was a person of no small +experience, and left nothing to chance. It was obvious that such a +beacon lit on the tower of the ancient house of Marnhoul would be seen +far and near over the country.</p> + +<p>Who should come to our rescue, supposing us to be beset, was not so +clear. I did not believe that we could depend on the people of the +village. They would, if I knew them, cuddle the closer between their +blankets, while as for Constable Jacky, by that time of night he would +certainly be in no condition to know his right hand from his left.</p> + +<p>“And the message fixed to the front door with the knife—of which my +sister told me,” I suggested to Miss Irma, “what did it threaten?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_74" id="pg_74">74</a></span>For in spite of her obvious reluctance to tell me even necessary +things, I was resolved to make her speak out. She hesitated, but finally +yielded, when I pointed out that we must decide whether it came from a +friendly or an unfriendly hand.</p> + +<p>She handed it to me out of the pocket of her dress, the two of us +standing all the while on the top of the tower, the rusty basket +wheezing in the wind, and her blown hair whipping my cheek in the sharp +breeze from the north.</p> + +<p>I may say that just at that moment I was pretty content with myself. I +do not deny that I had fancied this maid and that before, or that some +few things that might almost be called tender had passed between me and +Gerty Greensleeves, chiefly cuffing and pinching of the amicable +Scottish sort. Only I knew for certain that now I was finally and +irrevocably in love—but it was with a star. Or rather, it might just as +well have been, for any hope I had with Miss Irma Maitland, with her +ancient family and her eyes fairly snapping with pride. What could she +ever have to say to the rather stupid son of a village school-master?</p> + +<p>But I took the paper, and for an instant Irma’s eyes rested on mine with +something different in them from anything I had ever seen there before. +The contemptuous chill was gone. There was even a kind of soft appeal, +which, however, she retracted and even seemed to excuse the next moment.</p> + +<p>“Understand,” she said, “it is not for myself that I care. It is +for—for my brother, Sir Louis.”</p> + +<p>“But, Miss Irma, do not forget that I——” The words came bravely, but +halted before the enormity of what I was going to say. So I had perforce +to alter my formation in face of my dear enemy, and only <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_75" id="pg_75">75</a></span>continued +lamely enough, “I had better see what the letter says.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered shortly, “I suppose that is necessary.”</p> + +<p>The letter was written on a sheet of common paper, ruled vertically in +red at either side as for a bill of lading. It had simply been folded +once, not sealed in the ordinary way, but thrust through sharply with +the knife which had pinned it to the wood, traversing both folds. The +knife, which I saw afterwards down-stairs, was a small one, with a +broadish blade shaped and pointed like a willow leaf. I had it a good +while in my hand, and I can swear that it had been lately used in +cutting the commonest kind of sailor tobacco.</p> + +<p>The message read in these words exactly, which I copied carefully on my +killivine-tablets—</p> + +<p class="blockquot"><i>“The first danger is for this night, being the eve of +Saint John. Admit no one excepting those who bring +with them friends you can trust. Fear not to use the +signal agreed upon. Help will be near.”</i></p> + +<p>Now this seemed to me to be very straightforward. None but a friend to +the children would speak of the beacon so familiarly, yet so +discreetly—“the signal agreed upon.” Nor would an enemy advise caution +as to any being admitted to the house.</p> + +<p>But Miss Irma had not passed through so many troubles without acquiring +a certain lack of confidence in the fairest pretences. She shook her +head when I ventured to tell her what I thought. She was willing to take +my help, but not my judgment.</p> + +<p>The words, “Admit no one, <i>excepting those who bring with them friends +you can trust</i>,” did not ring true in her ear. And the phrase, “the +signal agreed upon,” might possibly show that while the writer made +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_76" id="pg_76">76</a></span>sure of there being a signal of some kind, he was ignorant of its +nature.</p> + +<p>In face of all this there seemed nothing for it but to wait—doors shut, +windows barred, “King George” ready charged, and the stuff for the +beacon knowingly arranged.</p> + +<p>And this last I immediately proceeded to set in order. I had had +considerable experience. For during the late French wars we of Eden +Valley, though the most peaceful people in the world, had often been +turned upside down by reports of famous victories. After each of these +every one had to illuminate, if it were only with a tallow dip, on the +penalty of having his windows broken by the mob of loyal, but +stay-at-home patriots. At the same time, all the boys of Eden Valley had +full permission to carry off old barrels and other combustibles from the +houses of the zealous, or even to commandeer them without permission +from the barns and fences of suspected “black-nebs” to raise nearer +heaven the flare of our victorious bonfires.</p> + +<p>With all the ingredients laid ready to my hand, it was exceedingly +simple for me to put together such a brazier as could be seen over half +the county. Not the least useful of my improvements was the lengthening +of the chain, so that the whole fire-basket could be hoisted to the top +of the tripod, and so stand clear of the battlements of the tower, +showing over the tree-tops to the very cliffs of Killantringan, and +doubtless far out to sea.</p> + +<p>Last of all, before descending, I covered everything over with a thick +mat of tarred cloth, which would keep the fuel dry as tinder even in +case of rain, or the dense dews that pearled down out of the clear +heavens on these short nights of a northern June.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_77" id="pg_77">77</a></span>It is a strange thing, watching together, and in the case of young +people it is apt to make curious things hop up in the heart all +unexpectedly. It was so, at least, with myself. As to Miss Irma I cannot +say, and, of course, Agnes Anne does not count, for she sat back in the +shelter of a great cupboard, well out of range of “King George,” and +went on with her knitting till she fell asleep.</p> + +<p>However, Miss Irma and I sat together in the jutting window, where, as +the night darkened and the curtains of the clouds drew down to meet the +sombre tree-tops, a kind of black despair came over me. Would “King +George” really do any good? Would I prove myself stout and brave when +the moment came? Would the beacon we had prepared really burn, and, +supposing it did, would any one see it, drowned in woods as we were, and +far from all folk, except the peaceable villagers of Eden Valley?</p> + +<p>But I had the grace to keep such thoughts to myself, and if they visited +Miss Irma, she did the like. The crying of the owls made the place of a +strange eeriness, especially sometimes when a bat or other night +creature would come and cling a moment under the leaden pent of the +window.</p> + +<p>Such things as these, together with the strain of the waiting on the +unknown, drew us insensibly together—I do not mean Agnes Anne—but just +the two of us who were shut off apart in the window-seat. No, whatever +her faults and shortcomings (too many of them recorded in this book), +Agnes Anne acted the part of a good sister to me that night, and her +peaceful breathing seemed to wall us off from the world.</p> + +<p>“Duncan?” queried Miss Irma, repeating my name softly as to herself; +“you are called Duncan, are you not?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_78" id="pg_78">78</a></span>I nodded. “And you?” I asked, though of course I knew well enough.</p> + +<p>“Irma Sobieski,” she answered. And then, perhaps because everything +inside and out was so still and lonely, she shivered a little, and, +without any reason at all, we moved nearer to each other on the +window-seat—ever so little, but still nearer.</p> + +<p>“You may call me Irma, if you like!” she said, very low, after a long +pause.</p> + +<p>Just then something brushed the window, going by with a soft <i>woof</i> of +feathers.</p> + +<p>“An owl! A big white one—I saw him!” I said. For indeed the bird had +seemed as large as a goose, and appeared alarming enough to people so +strung as we were, with ears and eyes grown almost intolerably acute in +the effort of watching.</p> + +<p>“Are you not frightened?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“No, Irma—no, Miss Irma!” I faltered.</p> + +<p>“Well, I am,” she whispered; “I was not before when the mob came, +because I had to do everything. But now—I am glad that you are here” +(she paused the space of a breath), “you and your sister.”</p> + +<p>I was glad, too, though not particularly about Agnes Anne.</p> + +<p>“How old are you, Duncan?” she asked next.</p> + +<p>I gave my age with the usual one year’s majoration. It was not a lie, +for my birthday had been the day before. Still, it made Irma thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“I did not think you were so much older than your sister,” she said +musingly; “why, you are older than I am!”</p> + +<p>“Of course I am,” I answered, gallantly facing the danger, and +determined to brave it out.</p> + +<p>On the spot I resolved to have a private <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_79" id="pg_79">79</a></span>interview with Agnes Anne as +soon as might be, and, after reminding her of my birthday just past, +tell her that in future I was to be referred to as “<i>going on for +twenty</i>”—and that there was no real need to insert the words “going on +for.”</p> + +<p>Irma Sobieski considered the subject a while longer, and I could see her +eyes turned towards me as if studying me deeply. I wondered what she was +thinking about with a brow so knotted, and I knew instinctively that it +must be something of consequence, because it made her forget the letter +nailed to the door, and the warning which might veil a threat. She fixed +me so long that her eyes seemed to glow out of the pale face which made +an oval patch against the darkness of the trees. Irma’s face was only +starlit, but her eyes shone by their own light.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will trust you,” she said at last. “I saw you the day when the +mob came. You were ashamed, and would have helped me if you could. Even +then I liked your face. I did not forget you, and when Agnes Anne spoke +of her brother who was afraid of nothing, I was happy that you should +come. I wanted you to come.”</p> + +<p>The words made my heart leap, but the next moment I knew that I was a +fool, and might have known better. This was no Gerty Gower, to put her +hand on your arm unasked, and let her face say what her lips had not the +words to utter.</p> + +<p>“I want a friend,” she said; “I need a friend—a big brother—nothing +else, remember. If you think I want to be made love to, you are +mistaken. And, if you do, there will be an end. You cannot help me that +way. I have no use for what people call love. But I have a mission, and +that mission is my brother, Sir Louis. If you will consent to help me, I +shall love <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_80" id="pg_80">80</a></span>you as I love him, and you—can care about me—as you care +about Agnes Anne!”</p> + +<p>Now I did not see what was the use of bringing Agnes Anne into the +business. At home she and I were quarrelling about half our time. But +since it was to be that or nothing, of course I was not such a fool as +to choose the nothing.</p> + +<p>All the same, after the promising beginning, I was enormously +disappointed, and if only it had been lighter, doubtless my chagrin +would have showed on my face. It seemed to me (not knowing) the +death-blow to all my hopes. I did not then understand that in all the +unending and necessarily eternal game of chess, which men and women play +one against the other, there is no better opening than this.</p> + +<p>But I was still crassly ignorant, intensely disappointed. I even swore +that I would not have given a brass farthing to be “cared about” by Irma +as I myself did about Agnes Anne.</p> + +<p>Dimly, however, I did feel, even then, that there was a fallacy +somewhere. And that, however much human beings with youthful hearts and +answering eyes may pretend they are brother and sister, there is +something deep within them that moves the Previous Question—as we are +used to say in the Eden Valley Debating Parliament, which Mr. Oglethorpe +and my father have organized on the model of that in the <i>Gentleman’s +Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>But Irma, at least, had no such fear. She had, she believed, solved for +ever a difficult and troublesome question, and, on easy terms, provided +herself with a new relative, useful, safe and insured against danger by +fire. Perhaps the underwriters of the city would not have taken the +latter risk, but at that moment it seemed a slight one to Irma Sobieski.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_81" id="pg_81">81</a></span>At any rate, to seal the new alliance, in all sisterly freedom she gave +me her hand, and did not appear to notice how long I kept it in the +darkness. This was certainly a considerable set-off against the feeling +of loneliness, and, if not quite content, I was at least more so. I +wondered, among other things, if Irma’s heart kept knocking in a choking +kind of way against the bottom of her throat.</p> + +<p>At least mine did, and I had never, to my knowledge, felt just so about +Agnes Anne. Indeed, I don’t think I had ever held Agnes Anne’s hand so +long in my life, except to pick a thorn out of it with a needle, or to +point out how disgracefully grubby it was.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_CROWBAR_IN_THE_WOOD_2777" id="THE_CROWBAR_IN_THE_WOOD_2777"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_82" id="pg_82">82</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>THE CROWBAR IN THE WOOD</h3> +</div> + +<p>We sat so long that I grew hungry. And then forethought was rewarded. +For as I well knew, Agnes Anne had much ado to keep the house supplied +(and the larder too often bare with all her trying!), I had done some +trifle of providing on my own account. I had a flask of milk in my +pouch—the big one in the skirt of the coat that I always wore when +taking a walk in the General’s plantations. Cakes, too, and well-risen +scones cut and with butter between them, most refreshing. I gave first +of all to Irma, and at the sound of the eating and drinking Agnes Anne +awakened and came forward. So I handed her some, but with my foot +cautioned her not to take too much, because it was certain that she +would by no means do her share of the fighting.</p> + +<p>Both were my sisters. We had agreed upon that. But then some roses smell +sweeter than others, though all are called by the same name.</p> + +<p>We had just finished partaking of the food (and great good it did us) +when Agnes Anne heard a sound that sent her suddenly back to her corner +with a face as white as a linen clout. She was always quicker of hearing +than I, but certain it is that after a while I did hear something like +the trampling of horses, and especially, repeated more than once, the +sharp jingle which the head of a caparisoned horse makes when, wearied +of waiting, it casts it up suddenly.</p> + +<p><i>They were coming.</i></p> + +<p>We said the words, looking at each other, and I suppose each one of us +felt the same—that we were a lot of poor weak children, in our folly +fighting <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_83" id="pg_83">83</a></span>against men. At least this is how I took it, and a sick +disdain of self for being no stronger rose in my throat. A moment and it +had passed. For I took “King George” in hand, and bidding Irma see that +little Louis was sleeping, I ran up the stairs to the open tower-top. +Here I had thought to be alone, but there before me, crouched behind the +ramparts and looking out upon a dim glade which led down towards the +landing-place at Killantringan, was Agnes Anne. In answer to my question +as to what she was doing there, she answered at first that she could see +in the dark better than I, and when I denied this she said that surely I +did not think she was going to be left down there alone, nearest to the +assailants if they should force a passage!</p> + +<p>One should never encourage one’s real sister in the belief that she can +ever by any chance do right. So I said at once that whether she was +behind the door or sitting on the weathercock at Marnhoul Tower would +make no difference if the people were enemies and once got in.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she said. “What is that I hear now?”</p> + +<p>And from away down the glade came slow and steady blows like those which +a man might make as he lifts his axe and smites into the butt. There was +a sort of reverberation, too, as if the tree were hollow. But that might +only be the effect of the night, the stillness, and the heavy covert of +great woods which lay like a big green blanket all about us, and tossed +every sound back to us like a wall at ball-play.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if we could only see what they were doing—who they are?” I +groaned. “I could go out quite safely by the door in the tower, but then +who would fire off ‘King George’?”</p> + +<p>“Toc! Toc!” came the sounds. And then a pause as if the woodsman had +straightened himself up and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_84" id="pg_84">84</a></span>was wiping his brow. The timing of the +strokes was very slow. Probably, therefore, the labour itself was +fatiguing. Sometimes, too, the axe fell with a different swing, as if +other hands grasped it, but always with the same dull thudding and +irritating slowness.</p> + +<p>Then Agnes Anne made an astonishing proposition.</p> + +<p>“See here, Duncan,” she whispered, “let <i>me</i> out by the little postern +door at the foot of the tower. Miss Irma can watch behind it to let me +in if I come running back, and you stay on the top ready with ‘King +George.’ I will find out for you everything you want to know.” And I got +ready to say, brother-like, “Agnes Anne, you are a fool—your legs would +give way under you in the first hundred yards.”</p> + +<p>But somehow she saw (or felt) the speech that was coming, and cut me +short.</p> + +<p>“No, I wouldn’t either,” she said hurriedly and quite boldly. “You think +that because I hate that great thing there filled with powder and slugs +(which even you can’t tell when it will go off, or what harm it will do +when it does) that I am a coward. I am no more frightened than you are +yourself—perhaps less. Who was the best tracker when we played at +Indians and colonists, I should like to know? Who could go most quietly +through the wood? Or run the quickest? Just me, Agnes Anne MacAlpine!”</p> + +<p>Well, I had to admit it. These things were true. But then they had +little to do with courage. This was serious. It was taking one’s life in +one’s hand.</p> + +<p>“And pray what are we doing here and now?” snapped Agnes Anne. “If they +are strong enough to break in one of the doors, or get through one of +the windows, what can we do? Till we know what is coming against us, we +are only going from one blunder to another!”</p> + +<p>Now this was most astonishing of our Agnes Anne. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_85" id="pg_85">85</a></span>So I told her that I +had known that Irma was plucky, but not her. And she only said, very +shortly, “Better come and see!”</p> + +<p>So we went down and told Irma. At first she was all against opening any +door, even for a moment, on any account. The strength of these defences +was our only protection. She would rather do anything than endanger +that. But we made her listen to the slow thud of the axe out in the +wood, and even as we looked the figure of a man passed across the glade, +black against the greyish-green of the grass, on which a thick rise of +dew was catching the starlight.</p> + +<p>This figure wrapped in a sea-cloak, with head bent forward, passing +across the pale glimmer of the glade, sufficed to alter the mind of +Irma. She agreed in a moment, and locking the door of little Louis’s +room, she declared herself willing to keep watch behind the little +postern door of the tower, ready to let Agnes Anne in again, on the +understanding that I should be prepared from the open window above to +deal with any pursuer.</p> + +<p>I admit that in this I was persuaded against my judgment. For I felt +certain that though Agnes Anne could move with perfect stillness through +woods, and was a fleet runner, her nerve would certainly fail her when +it came to a real danger. And so great was the sympathy of my +imagination that I seemed already to feel the pursuer gaining at every +stride, the muscles of my limbs failing beneath me and refusing to carry +me farther, just as they do in a dream.</p> + +<p>But Agnes Anne was serious and determined, and in the end had to have +her way. I can see the reason now. She knew exactly what she meant to +do, which neither Irma nor I did—though of course both of us far +braver.</p> + +<p>We got the door open quite silently—for it was the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_86" id="pg_86">86</a></span>one Irma had used +in her few and brief outgates. Then, shrouded in her school cloak of +grey, and clad, I mean, in but little else, Agnes flitted out as silent +as a shadow along a wall.</p> + +<p>But oh, the agony I suffered to think what my father, and still more my +grandmother, would say to me because I had let my sister expose herself +on such an errand. Twenty times I was on the point of sallying forth +after her. Twenty times the sight of the pale face of Irma waiting there +stopped me, and the thought that I was the only protector of the two +poor things in that great house. Also after all Agnes Anne had gone of +her own accord.</p> + +<p>All the same I shivered as I kneeled by the window above with the wide +muzzle of “King George” pointing down the path which led from the glade. +Every moment I expected to hear the air rent with a hideous scream, and +“King George” wobbled in my hands as I thought of Agnes Anne lying slain +in the glow-worm shining of that abominable glade, with that across her +white neck for which my conscience and my grandmother would reproach me +as long as I (and she) lived. One thing comforted me during that weary +waiting. The hollow thudding as of axe on wood never ceased for a +moment. So from that I gathered (and was blithe to believe) that the +alarm had not been given, and that wherever Agnes Anne was, she herself +was still undiscovered.</p> + +<p>My eyes were so glued to that misty glade that presently I got a great +surprise. “There she is!” cried Irma, looking round the door, and I saw +a figure flit out of the dusk of the copse-covert within two yards of +the postern door. The next moment, without advertisement or the least +fuss, Agnes Anne was within. I heard the sliding of bolts, the hum of +talk, and then the patter of returning feet on the stair.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="AGNES_ANNES_EXPERIENCES_AS_A_SPY_2946" id="AGNES_ANNES_EXPERIENCES_AS_A_SPY_2946"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_87" id="pg_87">87</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>AGNES ANNE’S EXPERIENCES AS A SPY</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Well, at first I did not think much about anything” (said Agnes Anne), +“except keeping quiet and doing what Duncan did not believe I could do. +But I knew the wood. It was not so dark as one would think, and once out +of the echo of the house walls I could hear far better. I leaned against +a larch, holding on to the trunk and counting the sticky rosettes on its +trailers to keep me from thinking while I listened. Twice I thought I +had made out exactly from which direction the sound came, and twice I +found I was mistaken. But the third time I followed the ditch under the +sunk fence till I came to the mound which is shaped like a green hat at +the end next the house. The thudding came from there—I was sure of it. +When I could hear men talking, I was (and I am not saying it to put +Duncan in the wrong) more glad than afraid.</p> + +<p>“The bottom of the ditch was full of all sorts of underbrush—hazel and +birch roots mostly—growing pretty close as I found when once I got +there, but rustling horribly while I was getting settled. However, there +was nothing for it, if I wanted to find out anything, but to go on. So +on I went. I was close to the mound now, and could hear the voices.</p> + +<p>“‘Quiet there a moment!’ said some one, ‘I’ll swear I heard a noise in +the ditch!’</p> + +<p>“And as I crouched something like a blade of a sword or maybe a pike +came high above me stabbing this way and that. Twigs and leaves pattered +down, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_88" id="pg_88">88</a></span>but I was safe behind the stump of a fallen tree. Presently the +steel thing I had seen glinting struck the dead and sodden wood of the +tree-trunk, and snapped with a sharp tang like a fiddle-string—a +hayfork it may have been, or one of the long thin swords such as are +hung up in the hall.</p> + +<p>“But another and deeper voice—like that of a man somewhat out of +breath, said gruffly, ‘Better get the job done! ’Tis only a fox or a +rabbit—what else would be out here at this hour?’</p> + +<p>“And then, with the noise of spitting on the hands, the sound of the +heavy tool began again. It had a ring in it like steel on stone. I think +they had been chopping something with a pickaxe and had got through. For +now the clink was quite different, though that again might be because I +was nearer.</p> + +<p>“‘Have you found the passage? Surely it is long in showing?’</p> + +<p>“That was the first voice again, the better educated one, I take it. He +spoke like a gentleman, like the General or even the Doctor himself, +though there was much rudeness in the voice of the other when he +answered him.</p> + +<p>“‘D’ye think I am breaking my back over this stone-door for fun?’ +growled the man in panting gasps. ‘If I imagined you were any hand at a +tool, you should have a chance at this one quick enough!’</p> + +<p>“‘Steady, Dick!’ said the first, always in his pleasant tone, ‘it can’t +be far away at the farthest now!’</p> + +<p>“‘Hang it, it may not be there at all. Did you ever hear of a mouldy old +castle but had its tale about a secret passage? And did anybody ever see +one? Better make the woman speak, I tell you!’</p> + +<p>“‘Well,’ argued the first suavely, ‘it may come to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_89" id="pg_89">89</a></span>that, of course. But +let us give this a good trial first. To it, Dick—to it!’</p> + +<p>“‘Aye, “To it, Dick—to it!” And your own arm up to the elbow in your +blessed pocket,’ he grunted, and I could hear him set to work again with +an angry snarl. ‘If this doesn’t fetch it—well—there’s always the +woman!’</p> + +<p>“‘Aye—but it <i>will</i> do it this time,’ said the man with the soft voice. +‘I hear by the clink of the crow that you are nearly through. My uncle +used often to tell me about this. The big green mound is the ice-house +of Marnhoul. It was his father that made it, and the passage also to +connect with the cellar. See where it drains sideways into that ditch. +That is what makes the green stuff grow so rank about there!’</p> + +<p>“Between the noise of the heavy crowbar and the dispute, I ventured to +edge a bit closer, so that at last I could make out the two men, and +beyond them something that looked like a figure of a woman lying under a +cloak. But all was under the dimness of the stars and the twinkling dew, +so that I could see nothing clearly.</p> + +<p>“But what I had heard was enough, for in the middle of the worker’s +gasping and cursing there came a sudden crash and a jingle.</p> + +<p>“‘She’s through—I told you so. Uncle Edward was right!’ cried the first +and taller man, while the other only stared at the sudden disappearance +of his tool, and stood looking blankly at his own empty hands.</p> + +<p>“‘What’s to be done now?’ said the tall man.</p> + +<p>“‘Lever it up with the nose of the pick!’ growled the short thick man; +‘here, you—hang on to that!’</p> + +<p>“And then I knew that the sooner Duncan and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_90" id="pg_90">90</a></span>‘King George’ were down in +the cellar of Marnhoul House, the better it would be for our lives.”</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When Agnes Anne finished we sat a moment agape. But very evidently there +was no time to be lost. They would be among us before we knew it, if +once they got down into the passage. We tried to find out from Irma +where the cellar was, but she was sunk in terrible thoughts, and for a +long while she could say nothing but “Lalor Maitland—it is Lalor +Maitland, come to kill my poor Louis!”</p> + +<p>And indeed it was difficult to get her aroused sufficiently to help us. +Left to herself I do not doubt that she would have gone up-stairs and +fled with the child in her arms in the hope of hiding him in the wood.</p> + +<p>At last we got it out of her that the keys of the cellar were in the +great cupboard behind the door. She directed us to a double flight of +broad stairs. Irma had only looked into the cellar when she first came, +and had found it rifled, the barrels dry and gaping, full of dust, +dry-rot and the smell of decay.</p> + +<p>But she too had heard her father tell of the passage to the ice-house, +and how he and his brothers had used it for their escapades when the +house was locked up and the keys taken to their father’s room.</p> + +<p>We went down—I leading with “King George” under my arm and the two +girls following. But on the stairway a sudden terror leaped upon Irma. +While we were all down in the cellar, might not Lalor and his companion +enter by the front door, or by some unguarded window. So she turned and +ran back to the little boy’s room to defend him with an old pistol I had +found on the wall and loaded for her with powder and ball.</p> + +<p>Then Agnes Anne and I made our way into the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_91" id="pg_91">91</a></span>cellar. We had taken with +us the lantern, which we had hitherto kept covered, lest by the moving +of the light about the house we might be suspected of being on our +guard.</p> + +<p>Hastily I made the tour of the great cellar. The back of the place was +full of the <i>débris</i> of ancient barrels, some intact, some with gaping +sides, many held together with no more than a single hoop. But packed +together in one corner and occupying a place about one third of the +whole area of the floor was something very different. Tarpaulined, +fastened together by ropes, and guarded from damp by planks laid below +them, were some hundreds of kegs and packages—all, so far as I could +see, marked with curious signs, and in some cases the names of places. +One I remember, “Sallet Ooil—Apuglia,” gave me a sense of such distance +and strangeness, that for a moment I seemed to be travelling in strange +countries and seeing curious sights, rather than going down to risk my +life in Miss Irma’s quarrel with men I had never seen.</p> + +<p>It was very evident that there could be but one place where the passage +Irma had spoken of (on her father’s information) could debouch upon the +great cellar of Marnhoul. In the angle behind the mass of kegs was an +open space of some yards square, so clean that it looked as if it had +been recently swept.</p> + +<p>Beyond this again and quite in the corner, there was a step or two +downwards, as if it were into the bowels of the earth. This was stopped +with a door of stone accurately arranged and fitted with uncommon skill. +And I could see at a glance that it was probably one of the same kind +that the men whom Agnes Anne had seen were engaged in bursting by stroke +of crow. I understood more than that. For there was all the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_92" id="pg_92">92</a></span>winter in +Eden Valley scarce any other subject of talk than the Free Trade (which +is to say, plainly, smuggling), and concerning the various “ventures” or +boats and crews attached to some famous leader engaged in it.</p> + +<p>There was, in fact, no particular moral wrong attaching to the business +in Eden Valley or along the Solway shore high and low—rather a sort of +piety, since the common folk remembered that the excise had first been +instituted by that perjured persecutor of the Church, Charles II. Even +the Doctor, though he denounced the practice from the pulpit in +befitting words, did so chiefly on the ground that the attractions of +Free Trade, its dangers even, carried so many promising young men forth +of the parish, and a goodly proportion of them to return no more.</p> + +<p>But for all that, I never heard that he refused to partake of the anker +of Guernsey which his lady found by chance in the milk-house among the +creaming-pans, or by the tombstones of his predecessors in the +“Ministers’ Corner” of the kirkyard.</p> + +<p>I looked at the means of defence, and hidden among the packages at the +back I found two good muskets and one or two very worn ones—yet all +bearing the marks of recent attention. So, since the smuggled casks +formed a kind of breastwork right round the steps—up from the passage +that was blocked by the stone door—it came into my head that I could +there set up a kind of battery and run from one to the other of them, +firing—that is, if the worst came to the worst and the passage were +forced. So, having plenty of powder and shot and the wrappings of the +lace packages making excellent wads, I set about loading all the +muskets. I knew that Agnes Anne would be afraid of what I was doing, +having had a horror of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_93" id="pg_93">93</a></span>firearms ever since, as a child, she had seen +Florrie, our old dun cow, shot dead by Boyd Connoway to be our “mart” of +the year, and salted down for the winter’s food in the big beef barrel. +Agnes Anne would never be induced to eat a bit of Florrie, though indeed +she was very good and sweet, because forsooth she had been used to milk +her and give her handfuls of fresh grass. Since then she had never +forgiven Boyd Connoway, and had never been able to look upon a gun with +any complaisance.</p> + +<p>Yet when I told her to stand back and keep away from the powder horn and +the lantern (for it is none of the easiest to charge strange pieces in a +dark cellar) she said that she would stand by “King George” while I was +at hand—yes, and fire him off, too, if need were. Only I must show her +how to pull the trigger, and also adjust the muzzle so as to bear on the +steps by which the villains would come up!</p> + +<p>This I relate to show how (for the time being) Agnes Anne was worked +upon. For, as all have seen, she was naturally of a very timorsome and +quavering disposition. At any rate I did get the muskets, all five of +them, loaded, and set in position with their noses cocked over the +squared bulwarks of Mechlin and Vallenceens, of Strasburg yarn, and +Italian silver-gilt wire.</p> + +<p>And I can tell you they looked imposing in the light of the lantern, +though I was more than a little doubtful about some of them going off +without blowing themselves up. But it was no time to cavil about small +matters like that, and I said nothing about this to Agnes Anne, who, for +her part, continued to glance along the barrel of “King George” at the +stone door with the fixity of my father viewing a star through his large +brass spy-glass. Only Agnes Anne, being <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_94" id="pg_94">94</a></span>unable to keep one eye shut and +the other open, had to hold the lid of the unoccupied organ hard down +with her left hand, as if it too were about to bounce out on us like the +two men she had seen in the ice-house mound by the edge of the sunk +fence.</p> + +<p>We waited a good while with the light of the lamp smothered—all, that +is, but barely sufficient to give air to the flame. And I tell you our +hearts were gigotting rarely. Even Agnes Anne had taken a sudden liking +to “King George,” and would not let him go as I proposed to her, now +that all the other muskets were loaded and ready.</p> + +<p>“You would do better service with the lantern,” I told her, “you could +hold it up to let us see them better.”</p> + +<p>But she answered that the lantern could take care of itself. She was +going to do some of the real fighting, and so I should not scorn her any +more. But I knew very well that it was only a kind of hysteria and would +all go off at the dangerous moment. Down she would go on the floor like +a bundle of wet rags!</p> + +<p>However, to encourage Agnes Anne (as one must do to a girl), I said that +she was not to fire till she saw the white of their eyes. I remembered +that my father, in speaking of some battle or other, told how the +general had given his men that order, so that they might not miss. I +thought it very fine.</p> + +<p>But Agnes Anne said promptly that she would not wait for the white of +anybody’s eyes. She would fire and run for it as soon as she saw their +ugly heads coming up out of the ground. This shows how little you can do +with a girl, even if she have occasional fits of bravery. And I do not +deny that Agnes Anne had, though not naturally brave like myself and +Miss Irma.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_95" id="pg_95">95</a></span>It was anywhere between five minutes and a century before we heard the +first stroke of the crow behind the barricade. It sounded dull and +painful, as if inside of one’s head. At first we heard no talking such +as Agnes Anne had described at the entrance of the ice-house.</p> + +<p>Also, as they had been a good while on the way; I believe that they had +found other difficulties which they had not counted upon in traversing +the passage. But they were very near now, for presently, after perhaps +twenty strokes we could hear the striker sending out his breath with a +“<i>Har</i>” of effort each time he drove his crow home.</p> + +<p>It was very dark in the cellar, for we had covered the lamp more +carefully and almost ceased to breathe. But we saw through certain +chinks that our assailants had a light of some sort with them. We could +discern a faint glimmering all round the upper portion of the stone, and +stray rays also pierced at various places elsewhere.</p> + +<p>The long line of light at the top suddenly split and seemed to break +open in the middle. There came a fierce “<i>Hech</i>” from the assailant, and +the point of his crowbar showed, slid, and was as sharply recovered. +Next moment it came again.</p> + +<p>“Lever it!” cried the gruff voice, “if you have the backbone of a +windlestraw, lever!”</p> + +<p>And after a short, hard-breathing struggle, the stone door fell inwards, +the aperture was filled with intense light, dazzling, as it appeared to +us—and in the midst we saw two fierce and set faces peering into the +dark of the cellar.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_FIGHT_IN_THE_DARK_3232" id="THE_FIGHT_IN_THE_DARK_3232"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_96" id="pg_96">96</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>THE FIGHT IN THE DARK</h3> +</div> + +<p>One of the peering faces was hot and angry, bearded too, which few then +used to do except such as followed the sea. The other was dark and +beaked like a hawk, so that the shadow of an aquiline nose fell on the +man’s chin as he held the lantern high above his head.</p> + +<p>At first we could only see them to about the middle of the breast, as +for a little space of time they stood thus, hearkening with their heads +thrust forward.</p> + +<p>“Not a ratton—forward there, Dick!” said the man behind, and the man +with the bushy beard advanced, rising as he did so till I could see the +ties of tarry cord with which he looped up his corduroy small-clothes.</p> + +<p>Now it was high time to act. The game had been played far enough.</p> + +<p>“Hold there—stand!” I cried. “Not a step further or we fire!”</p> + +<p>I suppose my voice was echoed and fortified by the hollow vault. +Certainly in my own ears it roared like the sound of many waters. At any +rate the men stood, dumb-stricken, the tarry sailorly man a little in +front with his mouth open and his yellow dog-teeth gleaming. The other, +he who had given the orders, held the lantern higher in the air almost +against the stones of the vault, so as to see over the barricade of +boxes and barrels.</p> + +<p>“’Tis no more than the——” he was beginning. But he never got the +sentence completed. For I took good aim from a rest upon a package of +cloth, and let fly with the best of the muskets—but at the clear lowe +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_97" id="pg_97">97</a></span>of the lantern, not at the man’s face, as I had at first intended. +Somehow, a kind of pity came over me. I did not want to slay such men, +who, taken in their iniquity, must go right to their accounts. But the +lantern was hit clean, and the glass went jingling to the ground in a +hundred fragments.</p> + +<p>I judge also that some of the slugs must have strayed a little, for out +of the darkness came curses and the voice of the commander crying on +Dick to get back—that they were too strong for only two men. But the +sailor man advanced till I could hear him actually pulling himself over +the breastwork, gasping (or, as we say, “pech-”ing) with the effort. +Then I ran along my battery, and directing the next two of the old +muskets to the arched roof, I fired them off, bringing down with a crash +handfuls of rough lime and small bits of stone, mingled no doubt with +the ricocheted bullets themselves. At any rate our tarry Galligaskins +soon had enough of it. He turned and made good his retreat towards the +stairs up which he had forced his way.</p> + +<p>Then Agnes Anne, who had no chivalrous ideas of sparing anybody who came +assaulting the house of her friends, pulled the trigger of “King +George,” and in a moment all lesser sounds were drowned in a roar loud +as of a piece of ordnance.</p> + +<p>The blunderbuss had been trained on the opening with some care, and it +was lucky for the men that they happened to be in retreat, and so +presenting their backs at the time—lucky, also, that only buckshot had +been used instead of the bullets and slugs with which the other guns +were loaded. But even so it was enough. She was always careless and +scattery, our old “King George.” And from the marks on the lintels +afterwards she had sprinkled her charge pretty <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_98" id="pg_98">98</a></span>freely. Also there were +tokens, besides the yells and imprecations of the assailants and the +threats of Galligaskins to come back and do for us, that both of them +(as Constable Jacky would have said) “carried off concealed about their +persons an indictable quantity of my father’s good lead drops.”</p> + +<p>So far, good. Better than good, indeed—better than we had the least +reason to expect, all owing to my presence of mind, and the fortunate +nervousness of Agnes Anne—which, however, in the case under review, +Providence directed to a wise and good end. I was for running +immediately back up the stairs to put the mind of Miss Irma at rest, but +Agnes Anne, with that stubbornness which she will often manifest +throughout this history, withstood me.</p> + +<p>“What is it now?” I asked her, somewhat impatiently, I am bound to +admit. For I was all in a sweat to tell Irma about my victory, and how I +fought—and also, of course, about Agnes Anne pulling the trigger of +“King George” at random in the dark.</p> + +<p>“This is the matter,” said she, “Irma can wait. But if we do not improve +our victory, they will be back again with a whole army of men before we +can wink.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” I answered, “I will load the guns first and then go up!”</p> + +<p>“Loading the guns is good,” said Agnes Anne. “But before that we must +blind up this hole by which they climbed in. We will give them something +more difficult to break through in this narrow passage than a stone door +which they can make holes in with a crowbar!”</p> + +<p>And I caught at the idea in a moment, wondering how I had not thought of +it myself. But of course, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_99" id="pg_99">99</a></span>though I did not actually suggest it, Agnes +Anne could never have carried it through without me.</p> + +<p>We set about the work immediately. I took the big stone they had +loosened with their tools and tumbled it down the well of the stairway, +where, after rebounding once, it stuck at the turn and made a good +foundation for the barrels, boxes and packages we threw down till the +whole space was choke full, and then I danced on the top and defied the +lantern-man and Dick to get through in a week.</p> + +<p>“<i>Now</i> go and tell your Irma!” said Agnes Anne, and I went, while she +stopped behind with the lantern and a gun to watch if anything should be +attempted against the cellar.</p> + +<p>But I knew right well that no such thing was possible. Nothing short of +such a charge of gunpowder as would rive the whole house of Marnhoul +asunder would suffice to clear the staircase of the packing I had given +it. So Agnes Anne might just as well have come her ways up-stairs with +me. Still, I do not deny that it was thoughtful of her; Agnes Anne meant +well.</p> + +<p>Irma had heard the firing, and I found her with her little brother in +her arms, sitting by the window of the parlour overlooking the pilasters +of the front door. She held little Louis wrapped in a blanket, and kept +both herself and him out of sight as much as possible behind the +curtain. But she had the horse pistol I had given her on the ledge of +the sill close at her hand.</p> + +<p>She listened to my tale with a white intensity which was very pitiful. +Her eyes seemed so big that they almost overran her face, and there were +little sparks of light like fairy candles lit at the bottom of each.</p> + +<p>“Lalor Maitland—it was no other man!” she said in an awed voice. “And +now he is wounded he will <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_100" id="pg_100">100</a></span>be furious. He has many men always in his +power. For he can make or mar a man in the Low Countries, and even bad +men will do much for his favour. He will gather to him all who are +waiting. They will be here immediately and burst in the doors. Oh, what +shall we do? My poor, poor Louis!”</p> + +<p>“There is the woman whom Agnes Anne saw,” I said. “Can you guess what +she has to do with it? They said they would try her if they did not +succeed.”</p> + +<p>“Why not light the beacon now?” said a voice from the door. It was Agnes +Anne, who, being left to herself, the thought had come to her in the +dark of the cellar, and had run up to propose it. For me, I was too much +occupied with Irma, and I am sure that Irma was far too troubled +concerning her brother to think about the beacon. Yet it was the obvious +thing to do, and if I had had a moment to spare I would have thought of +it myself. So Agnes Anne had no great credit, after all, when you come +to look at it rightly.</p> + +<p>But the effect of the suggestion on Irma was very remarkable. It was as +if the voice of my sister actually raised her from the place where she +had been listlessly sitting with her brother in her arms. She snatched +the lantern from the hands of Agnes Anne and put little Louis back on +his pillow, bidding him stay there till the time should come for him to +get up.</p> + +<p>“Are the bad men all killed, Irma?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“We are going to bring the good people to help us!” she cried. And with +that she ran up-stairs, and I after her, in a great pother of haste. For +the candle in her hand was the only bit of fire we had, and I did not +want it blown out if I could help it.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="A_WORLD_OF_INK_AND_FIRE_3397" id="A_WORLD_OF_INK_AND_FIRE_3397"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_101" id="pg_101">101</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>A WORLD OF INK AND FIRE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The idea of Irma’s danger on the open house-top and in the full glare of +the beacon acted on me like a charm—yet people will say that there is +nothing at all in such a relationship as ours. Why, I would not have +been half as much concerned for Agnes Anne! And as a matter of fact, I +had not been so anxious down there behind the barrels and packages in +the cellar, when Lalor Maitland and Galligaskins were coming at us.</p> + +<p>Besides which, I knew that Irma, being unused to fire-building, would +only waste the excellent provision of kindling, and perhaps do us out of +our beacon altogether.</p> + +<p>So having joined her, it was not long till we had the tarred cloth off, +and, through the interstices of the iron bucket, the little blue and +yellow flames began chirping and chattering. But as I pulled the basket +up to the height of its iron crane, the wind of the night sent the fire +off with a mighty roar. The tops of the nearer trees stood out, every +leaf hard and distinct, but the main body of the woods all about +Marnhoul remained dark and solid, as if you could have walked upon them +without once breaking through.</p> + +<p>I stood there watching, with the chain still in my hand, though I had +run the ring into the hoop on the wall. We had been very clever so far, +and I was full of admiration for ourselves. But a bullet whizzing very +near my head, struck the basket with <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_102" id="pg_102">102</a></span>a vicious “scat,” doing no harm, +of course, but extending to us an urgent invitation to get out of range, +that was not to be disregarded.</p> + +<p>Irma was close beside me, following with her eyes the mounting crackle +of the beacon, the sudden jetting of the tall pale flames that ran +upward into the velvet sky of night. For from a pale and haunting grey +the firmament had all of a sudden turned black and solid. Middle shades +had been ruled out instantly. It was a world of ink and fire.</p> + +<p>But that sharp dash of danger cooled admiration in my heart. I caught +Irma by the shoulders and, roughly enough, pulled her down beside me on +the platform behind the stone ramparts. For a moment I think she was +indignant, but the next thankful. For half-a-dozen balls clicked and +whizzed about, passing through the square gaps that went all round the +tower, as if the wall had had a couple of teeth knocked out at regular +distances every here and there.</p> + +<p>Very cautiously we crawled to the stair-head, leaving our invisible +enemies cracking away at the fire basket, knocking little cascades of +sparks out of it, indeed, but doing no harm. For the beacon was +thoroughly well alight, and the chain good and strong.</p> + +<p>As we descended the ladder I went first so as to help Irma. She was a +little upset, as indeed she might well be. For it was quite evident that +the number of our assailants had singularly increased, and we did not in +the least know whether our signal would do us any good or not.</p> + +<p>“It may waken Boyd Connoway,” I thought, “but that will be all. He will +come sneaking through the wood to see what is the matter so as to tell +about it, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_103" id="pg_103">103</a></span>but he never used a weapon more deadly than a jack-knife with +a deer-horn handle.”</p> + +<p>As Irma’s foot slipped on the bottom rung of the ladder, I caught her as +she swayed, and for a moment in that dark place I held her in my hands +like a posy, fresh and sweet smelling, but sacred as if in church. She +said, without drawing herself away, at least not for a moment longer +than she need, “Duncan, you saved my life!”</p> + +<p>I had it on my tongue tip to reply, “And my own at the same time, for I +could not live without you!”</p> + +<p>When one is young it is natural to talk like that, but my old awe of +Miss Irma preserved me from the mistake. It was too early days for that, +and I only said, “I am glad!” And when we got down there was Agnes Anne, +with her finger on her lip, watching little Sir Louis sleeping. She +whispered to me to know why we had made such a noise firing on the top +of the tower.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t like down in the cellar,” she said, “you came as near as you +can think to wakening him!”</p> + +<p>I was so astonished that I could not even tell Agnes Anne that she would +soon find it was not we who had done the firing. The most part of the +guns were in the cellar any way, as she might have remembered. Besides, +what was the use? She had caught that fell disease, which is +baby-worship.</p> + +<p>Instead, I posted myself in the window, my body hidden in the red rep +curtain, and only my eyes showing through a slit I made with my knife as +I peered along the barrel of “King George.” I had resolved that with an +arm of such short “carry,” I would not fire till I had them right +beneath the porch, or at least coming up the steps of the mansion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_104" id="pg_104">104</a></span>It was in my mind that there would be a brutal rush at the door, +perhaps with pickaxes, perhaps with one of the swinging battering-rams I +had read of in the Roman wars, that do such wondrous things when cradled +in the joined hands of many men.</p> + +<p>But in this I was much mistaken. The assailants were indeed rascals of +the same tarry, broad-breeched, stringfasted breed as Galligaskins of +the cellar door. But Galligaskins himself I saw not. From which I judge +that Agnes Anne had sorted him to rights with the contents of “King +George,” laid ready for her pointing at the top of the steps by which an +enemy must of necessity appear.</p> + +<p>But they had a far more powerful weapon than any battering-ram. We saw +them moving about in the faint light of a moon in her last quarter just +risen above the hills—a true moon of the small hours, ruddy as a fox +and of an aspect exceedingly weariful.</p> + +<p>Presently there came toward the door two men with a strange and shrouded +figure walking painfully between them, as if upon hobbled feet. I could +see that one of the men was the tall man of the cave, he in whose hand I +had smashed the lantern. I knew him by a wrist that was freshly +bandaged, and also by his voice when he spoke. The other who accompanied +him was a sailor of some superior grade, a boatswain or such, dressed in +good sea cloth, and with a kind of glazed cocked hat upon his head.</p> + +<p>It was a very weird business—the veiled woman, the dim skarrow of the +beacon, the foxy old moon sifting an unearthly light between the +branches, everything fallen silent, and our assailants each keeping +carefully to the back of a tree to be out of reach of our muskets.</p> + +<p>They came on, the two men leading the woman by <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_105" id="pg_105">105</a></span>the arms till they were +out of the flicker of the flames both outside and under the shadow of +the house.</p> + +<p>Then the tall man, whom in my heart I made sure to be Lalor Maitland, as +Irma said, held up his bandaged hand as a man does when he is about to +make a speech and craves attention.</p> + +<p>“I have been ill-received,” he cried, “in this the house of my +fathers——”</p> + +<p>“Because you have striven to enter it as a thief and a robber!” cried +Irma’s voice, close beside me. She had passed behind me, slid the bolt +of the window, and was now leaning out, resting upon her elbows and +looking down at the men below. She was apparently quite fearless. The +appearance of her cousin so near seemed somehow to sting her.</p> + +<p>“Your brother and yourself are both under my care—I suppose, +Mademoiselle Irma, you will not deny that?”</p> + +<p>“We were,” Irma answered, in a clear voice; “but then, Lalor Maitland, I +heard what the fate was you were so kindly destining for me after having +killed my brother——”</p> + +<p>“And I know who put that foolishness into your head,” said Lalor +Maitland; “she regrets it at this moment, and has now come of her own +will to tell you she lied!”</p> + +<p>And with a jerk he loosened the apron which, as I now saw, had been +wrapped about the head of the swathed figure. I shall never forget the +face of the woman as I saw it then. The uncertain flicker of the flames +and sparks from our beacon (which, though itself invisible, darkened and +lightened like sheet lightning), the dismal umbery glimmer of the waning +moon, and the pale approach of day over the mountains to the east, made +the face appear almost ghastly. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_106" id="pg_106">106</a></span>But I was quite unprepared for the +effect which the sight produced upon Irma.</p> + +<p>“Kate,” she cried, “Kate of the Shore!”</p> + +<p>The woman did not reply, though there was an obvious effort to speak—a +straining of the neck muscles and a painful rolling of the eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Lalor calmly, as if he were exhibiting a curiosity, “this is +your friend to whom you owe your escape. She was doubtless to have +received a reward, and in any case we shall give her a fine one. But if +you will return to your protector, and come with me immediately on board +the good ship <i>Golden Hind</i>, which in some considerable danger, is +beating off and on between the heads of Killantringen—then I promise +you, you will save the life of our friend Kate here. If not——” (He +waved his hand expressively.)</p> + +<p>“You dare not kill her,” cried Irma; “in an hour the country will be up, +and you will be hunted like dogs.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is not I,” said Lalor calmly, “I do not love the shedding of +blood, and that is why I am here now. But consider those stout fellows +yonder. They are restive at having to wait for their pay, and the loss +of their captain, wounded in aiding me in obtaining my rights in a quiet +and peaceable manner, has by no means soothed them. I advise you, +Mistress Irma, to bring down the boy and let us get on board while there +is yet time. No one in the house shall be harmed. But listen to +Kate—Kate of the Shore. She will speak to you better than I! But first +we must perform a little surgical operation!”</p> + +<p>And with that he whipped out a bandanna handkerchief, which had been +knotted and thrust into her mouth in the manner of a gag.</p> + +<p>“Now then,” he said, “put a pistol to her head, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_107" id="pg_107">107</a></span>Evans! Now, Kate, you +have told many lies about your master, the late Governor of the fortress +of Dinant. Speak the truth for once in a way. For if you do not tell +these foolish children that they have nothing to fear—nay more, if you +cannot persuade them to quit their foolish conduct and return to their +rightful duty and obedience, it will be my painful duty to ask Evans +there, who does not love you as I do, to—well, you know what will +happen when that pistol goes off!”</p> + +<p>But even in such straits Kate of the Shore was not to be frightened.</p> + +<p>“You hear me, Miss Irma,” she said, “I know this bad man. He is only +seeking to betray you as he betrayed me. Defend your castle. Open not a +window—keep the doors barred. They cannot take the place in the time, +for they have the tide to think of.”</p> + +<p>“I expected this,” said Lalor, with a vaguely pensive air, “it has ever +been my lot to be calumniated, my motives suspected. But I have indeed +deserved other things—especially from you, Irma, whom (though your +senior in years, and during the minority of my ward Sir Louis, the head +of the house), I have always treated with affectionate and, perhaps, too +respectful deference!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Irma,” cried Kate of the Shore, “take care of that man. He has a +pistol ready. I can see the hilt of it in his pocket. You he will not +harm if he can help it, but if that be your brother whom I see at the +fold of the window-hanging, bid him stand back for his life.”</p> + +<p>“Drop your pistol, Evans,” commanded Lalor Maitland, “this part of the +play is played out. She will not speak, or rather what she says will do +us no good. Women are thrawn contrary things at the best, Evans, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_108" id="pg_108">108</a></span>as I +dare say you have noticed in your Principality of Wales. But take heed, +you and your precious defenders, I warn you that in an hour the house of +Marnhoul shall be flaming over your heads with a torch that shall bring +out, not your pitiful burghers from their rabbit-holes, but also the men +of half a county.</p> + +<p>“Hear me,” he raised his voice suddenly to a strident shout, “hear me +all you within the house. Give up the girl and the child to their legal +protectors, and no harm shall befall either life or property. We shall +be on shipboard in half-an-hour. I shall see to it that every man within +the castle is rewarded from the Maitland money that is safe beyond seas, +out of the reach of King George! Of that, at least I made sure, serving +twice seven years for it in the service of a hard master. I offer a +hundred pounds apiece to whoever will deliver the boy and the maid!”</p> + +<p>This was a speech which pleased me much, for it showed that from the +stoutness of our defence, and the many guns which had been shot off, +Lalor was under the impression that the house was garrisoned by a proper +force of men—when in truth there was only Miss Irma and me—that is, +not counting Agnes Anne.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_WHITE_FREE_TRADERS_3644" id="THE_WHITE_FREE_TRADERS_3644"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_109" id="pg_109">109</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>THE WHITE FREE TRADERS</h3> +</div> + +<p>But the country was by no means so craven as Lalor supposed. There were +bold hearts and ready saddles still in Galloway. The signal from the top +of the beacon tower of Marnhoul was seen and understood in half-a-dozen +parishes.</p> + +<p>Not that the young fellows who saw the flame connected it with the two +children who had taken refuge in the old place of the Maitlands. In +fact, most knew nothing about their existence. But their alacrity was +connected with quite another matter—the great cargo of dutiable and +undutied goods stored away in the cellars of Marnhoul!</p> + +<p>There was stirring, therefore, in remote farms, rattling on doors, +hurried scrambling up and down stable ladders. Young men on the +outskirts of villages might have been seen stealing through gardens, +stumbling among cabbage-stocks and gooseberry bushes as they made their +way by the uncertain flicker of our far-away beacon to the place of +rendezvous.</p> + +<p>Herds rising early to “look the hill” gave one glance at the red dance +of the flames over the tree-tops of Marnhoul great wood, and anon ran to +waken their masters.</p> + +<p>For in that country every farmer—aye, and most of the lairds, including +a majority of the Justices of the Peace—had a share in the “venture.” +Sometimes the value of the cargo brought in by a single run would be +from fifty to seventy thousand pounds. All this great amount of goods +had to be scattered and concealed locally, before it was carried to +Glasgow and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_110" id="pg_110">110</a></span>Edinburgh over the wildest and most unfrequented tracks.</p> + +<p>The officers of the revenue, few and ill-supported, could do little. +Most of them, indeed, accepted the quiet greasing of the palm, and +called off their men to some distant place during the night of a big +run. But even when on the spot and under arms, a cavalcade of a couple +of hundred men could laugh at half-a-dozen preventives, and pass by +defiantly waving their hands and clinking the chains which held the kegs +upon their horses. The bolder cried out invitations to come and drink, +and the good-will of the leaders of the Land Free Traders was even +pushed so far that, if a Surveyor of Customs showed himself pleasantly +amenable, a dozen or more small kegs of second-rate Hollands would be +tipped before his eyes into a convenient bog, so that, if it pleased +him, he could pose before his superiors as having effected an important +capture.</p> + +<p>The report which he was wont to edit on these occasions will often +compare with the higher fiction—as followeth:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“Supervisor Henry Baskett, in charge of the Lower Solway district, +reports as follows under date June 30th: Found a strong body of +smugglers marching between the wild mountains called Ben Tuthor and Blew +Hills. They were of the number of three hundred, all well mounted and +armed, desperate men, evidently not of this district, but, from their +talk and accoutrement, from the Upper Ward of Lanerickshire. Followed +them carefully to note their dispositions and discover a favourable +place for attack. I had only four men with me, whereof one a boy, being +all the force under my command. Nevertheless, at a place <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_111" id="pg_111">111</a></span>called the +Corse of Slakes I advanced boldly and summoned them, in the King’s name +and at the peril of their lives, to surrender.</p> + +<p>“Whereat they turned their guns upon us, each man standing behind his +horse and having his face hidden in a napkin lest he should be known. +But we four and the boy advanced firmly and with such resolution that +the band of three hundred law-breakers broke up incontinent, and taking +to flight this way and that through the heather, left us under the +necessity of pursuing. We pursued that band which promised the best +taking, and I am glad to intimate to your Excellencies, His Majesty’s +Commissioners, that we were successful in putting the said Free Traders +to flight, and capturing twenty-five casks best Hollands, six loads of +Vallenceen, etc., etc., as per schedule appended to be accounted for by +me as your lordship’s commissioners shall direct. In the hope that this +will be noted to our credit on the table of advancement (and in this +connect I may mention the names of the three men, Thomas Coke, Edward +Loval, Timothy Pierce, and the boy Joseph McDougal, whom I recommend as +having done their duty in the face of peril), I have the honour to sign +myself,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">“My Lords and Hon. Commissioners of H. M. Excise,<br /> +”Your obedient, humble servant, <br /> +<span class="sc">“Henry Baskett</span> (Supervisor).”</p> + +</div> + +<p>The other view of this transaction I find more concisely expressed in a +memorandum written in an old note-book belonging to my Uncle Tom.</p> + +<p>“Baskett held out for forty best French, but we fobbed him off with +twenty-five low-grade Rotterdam—the casks being leaky, and some packs +of goods too long left at Rathan Cave, which is at the back of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_112" id="pg_112">112</a></span>isle, and counted scarce worth the carrying farther. The night fine and +business most successful—thanks to an ever-watchful Providence.”</p> + +<p>The reader of these family memoirs will perhaps agree with me that, if +any one could do without an ever-watchful Providence troubling itself +about him, that man was my Uncle Tom.</p> + +<p>While, therefore, we in the House of Marnhoul were in the wildest +alarm—at least Agnes Anne was—forces which could not possibly be +withstood were mustering to hasten to our assistance. The tarry jackets +of the <i>Golden Hind</i> would doubtless have rushed the front door with a +hurrah, as readily as they would have boarded a prize, but Lalor +Maitland ordered them to bring wood and other inflammable material. At +least, so I judge, for presently I could see them running to and fro +about the edges of the wood. They had now learned the knack of keeping +in shelter most of the way. But I did not feel really afraid till I saw +some of them with kegs of liquor making towards the porch. There they +stove them in, and proceeded to empty the contents on the dry branches +and fuel they had collected. The matter was now beginning to look really +serious. To make things worse, they were evidently digging out the +bottom of our cellar-stair barricade, and if they succeeded in that they +would turn our position and take us in the rear.</p> + +<p>So I sent down Agnes Anne (she not being good for much else) to the +cellar to see how things were looking there, bidding her to be careful +of the lantern, and to bring back as many of the five muskets as she +could carry, so that I might keep the fellows in check above.</p> + +<p>Agnes Anne came flying back with the worst kind of news. A great flame +of fire was springing up out of the well of the staircase into which we +had tumbled <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_113" id="pg_113">113</a></span>the barrels and boxes. It threatened, she said, to blow us +sky-high, if there were any barrels of powder among the goods left by +the smugglers.</p> + +<p>At any rate, the flame was rapidly spreading to the other packages which +had formed our breastwork of defence, and was now like to become our +ruin.</p> + +<p>For, once fairly caught, the spirit would flame high as the rigging of +Marnhoul, and we should all be burnt alive, which was most likely what +Lolar Maitland meant by his parting threatening.</p> + +<p>“And it is more than likely,” Agnes Anne added, “that some of the +barrels burst as we threw them down the stairs, and so, with the liquor +flowing among their feet, the assailants got the idea of thus burning us +out.”</p> + +<p>At all events something had to be done, and that instantly. So I had +perforce to leave Agnes Anne in charge of “King George” again, +cautioning her not to pull the trigger till she should see the rascals +actually bending to set fire to the pile underneath the porch of the +front door. I also told her not to be frightened, and she promised not +to.</p> + +<p>Then I went down to the cellar. The heat there was terrible, and I do +not wonder that Agnes Anne came running back to me. A pillar of blue +flame was rising straight up against the arched roof of the cellar. I +could hear the cries of the men working below in the passage.</p> + +<p>“Hook it away—give her air—she will burn ever the brisker and smoke +the land-lubbers out!”</p> + +<p>Some few of the boxes in the front tier were already on fire, and still +more were smouldering, but the straightness of the vent up which the +flame was coming, together with the closeness and stillness of the +vault, made the flame mount straight up as in a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_114" id="pg_114">114</a></span>chimney. I therefore +divined rather than saw what remained for me to do. I leaped over and +began, at the risk of a severe scorching, to throw back all the boxes +and packages which were in danger. It was lucky for me that the +smugglers had piled them pretty high, and so by drawing one or two from +near the foundation, I was fortunate enough to overset the most part of +it in the outward direction.</p> + +<p>But the fierceness of the flame was beginning to tell upon the +building-stone of Marnhoul, which was of a friable nature—at least that +with which the vault was arched.</p> + +<p>Luckily some old tools had been left in the corner, and it struck me +that if I could dig up enough of the earthen floor or topple over the +mound of earth which had been piled up at the making of the underground +passage, the fire must go out for lack of air; or, better still, would +be turned in the faces of those who were digging away the barrels and +boxes from the bottom of the stair-well.</p> + +<p>This, after many attempts and some very painful burns, I succeeded in +doing. The first shovelfuls did not seem to produce much effect. So I +set to work on the large heap of hardened earth in the corner, and was +lucky enough to be able to tumble it bodily upon the top of the column +of fire. Then suddenly the terrible column of blue flame went out, just +as does a Christmas pudding when it is blown upon. And for the same +reason. Both were made of the flames of the French spirit called cognac, +or brandy.</p> + +<p>Then I did not mind about my burns, I can assure you. But almost +gleefully I went on heaping mould and dirt upon the boxes in the well of +the staircase, stamping down the earth at the top till it was almost +like the hard-beaten floor of the cellar itself. I <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_115" id="pg_115">115</a></span>left not a crevice +for the least small flame to come up through.</p> + +<p>Then I bethought me of what might be going on above, and the flush of my +triumph cooled quickly. For I thought that there was only Agnes Anne, +and who knows what weakness she may not have committed. She would never +have thought, for instance, of such a thing as covering in the flame +with earth to put it out. To tell the truth, I did think very +masterfully of myself at that moment, and perhaps with some cause, for +not one in a thousand would have had the “engine” to do as I had done.</p> + +<p>When I got to the top of the stairs, I heard cries from without, which +had been smothered by the deepness of the dungeon in which I had been +labouring to put out the fire. For a moment I thought that by the +failure of Agnes Anne to fire off “King George” at the proper moment, +the door had been forced and we utterly lost. Which seemed the harder to +be borne, that I had just saved all our lives in a way so original and +happy.</p> + +<p>But I was wrong. The shouting came not from the wicked crew of the +privateersman, but from the shouting of a vast number of people, most of +them mounted on farm and country horses, with some of finer limb and +better blood, managed by young fellows having the air of laird’s sons or +others of some position. None of these had his face bare. But in place +of the black highwayman masks of the followers of Galligaskins, these +wore only a strip of white kerchief across the face, though, as I could +see, more for the form of the thing than from any real apprehension of +danger.</p> + +<p>Indeed, in the very forefront of the cavalcade I saw our own two cart +horses, Dapple and Dimple, and the lighter mare Bess, which my +grandfather used for <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_116" id="pg_116">116</a></span>riding to and fro upon his milling business. I had +not the least doubt that my three uncles were bestriding them, though I +never knew that there were any arms about the house except the old +fowling-piece belonging to grandfather, with which on moonlight nights +he killed the hares that came to nibble the plants in his cabbage +garden.</p> + +<p>Soon the sailors and their abettors were fleeing in every direction. +But, what took me very much by surprise, there was no firing or cutting +down, though there was a good deal of smiting with the flat of the +sword. And at the entrance of the ice-mound I saw a great many very +scurvy fellows come trickling out, all burned and scorched, to run the +gauntlet of a row of men on foot, who drubbed them soundly with cudgels +before letting them go.</p> + +<p>Seeing this, I opened the window and shouted with all my might.</p> + +<p>“Apprehend them! They are villains and thieves. They have broken into +this house and tried to kill us all, besides setting fire to the cellar +and everything in it!”</p> + +<p>The men without, both those on foot and those on horseback, had been +calm till they heard this, and then, lo! each cavalier dismounted and +all came running to the door, calling on us to open instantly.</p> + +<p>“Not to you any more than to the others!” I cried. For, indeed, I saw +not any good reason. It appeared to me, since there was no real +fighting, that the two parties must be in alliance, or, at least, have +an understanding between them.</p> + +<p>But Agnes Anne called out, “Nonsense, I see Uncle Aleck and Uncle +Ebenezer. I am going to open the door to them, whatever you say!”</p> + +<p>So all in a minute the house of Marnhoul, long so <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_117" id="pg_117">117</a></span>desolate and silent, +wherein such deeds of valour and strategy had recently been wrought, +grew populous with a multitude all eager to win down to the cellar. But +Agnes Anne brought up my three uncles (and another who was with them) +and bade them watch carefully over the safety of Louis and Miss Irma. +(For so I must again call her now that she had, as it were, come to her +own again.)</p> + +<p>As for me they carried me down with them, to tell all about the attempt +to burn the goods in the cellar. And angry men they were when they saw +so many webs of fine cloth, so many bolts of Flanders lace, so many kegs +of rare brandy damaged and as good as lost. But when they understood +that, but for my address and quickness, all would have been lost to +them, they made me many compliments. Also an old man with a +silver-hilted sword, who carried himself like some great gentleman, bade +me tell him my <i>name</i>, and wrote it down in his note-book, saying that I +was of too good a head and quick a hand to waste on a dominie.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, I was of that mind (or something very much like it) myself. +An old haunted house like Marnhoul to defend, a young maid of high +family to rescue (and adopt you as her brother for a reward) did somehow +take the edge off teaching the Rule of Three and explaining the <i>De +Bello Gallico</i> to imps who cannot understand, and would not if they +could.</p> + +<h2><a name="PART_II" id="PART_II"></a>PART II</h2> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_118" id="pg_118">118</a></span> +<a name="MY_GRANDMOTHER_SPEAKS_HER_MIND_3931" id="MY_GRANDMOTHER_SPEAKS_HER_MIND_3931"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>MY GRANDMOTHER SPEAKS HER MIND</h3> +</div> + +<p>“There is no use talking” (said my grandmother, as she always did when +she was going to do a great deal of it), “no, listen to me, there is no +use talking! These two young things need a home, and if <i>we</i> don’t give +it to them, who will? Stay longer in that great gaol of a house, worse +than any barn, they shall not—exposed day and night to a traffic of sea +rascals, thieves and murderers, <i>they shall not</i>——”</p> + +<p>“What I want to know is who is to keep them, and what the safer they +will be here?”</p> + +<p>It was the voice of my Aunt Jen which interrupted. None else would have +dared—save mayhap my grandfather, who, however, only smiled and was +silent.</p> + +<p>“Ne’er you mind that, Janet,” cried her mother, “what goes out of our +basket and store will never be missed. And father says the same, be sure +of that!”</p> + +<p>My grandfather did say the same, if to smile quietly and approvingly is +to speak. At any rate, in a matter which did not concern him deeply, he +knew a wiser way than to contradict Mistress Mary Lyon. She was quite +capable of keeping him awake two-thirds of the night arguing it out, +without the faintest hope of altering the final result.</p> + +<p>“The poor things,” mourned my grandmother, “they shall come here and +welcome—that is, till better be. Of course, they might be more grandly +lodged <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_119" id="pg_119">119</a></span>by the rich and the great—gentlefolk in their own station. But, +first of all, they do not offer, and if they did, they are mostly +without experience. To bring up children, trust an old hen who has +clucked over a brood of her own!”</p> + +<p>“Safer, too, here,” approved my grandfather, nodding his head; “the +tarry breeches will think twice before paying Heathknowes a visit—with +the lads about and the gate shut, and maybe the old dog not quite +toothless yet!”</p> + +<p>This, indeed, was the very heart of the matter. Irma and Sir Louis would +be far safer at the house of one William Lyon, guarded by his stout +sons, by his influence over the wildest spirits of the community, in a +house garrisoned by a horde of sleepless sheep-dogs, set in a defensible +square of office-houses, barns, byres, stables, granaries, cart-sheds, +peat-sheds and the rest.</p> + +<p>“And when the great arrive to call,” said Aunt Jen, with sour insight, +“you, mother, will stop the churning just when the butter is coming to +put on your black lace cap and apron. You will receive the lady of the +manse, and Mrs. General Johnstone, and——”</p> + +<p>“And if I do, Jen,” cried her mother, “what is that to you?”</p> + +<p>“Because I have enough to do as it is,” snapped Jen, “without your +butter-making when you are playing the lady down the house!”</p> + +<p>Grandmother’s black eyes crackled fire. She turned threateningly to her +daughter.</p> + +<p>“By my saul, Lady Lyon,” she cried, “there is a stick in yon corner that +ye ken, and if you are insolent to your mother I will thrash you +yet—woman-grown as ye are. Ye take upon yourself to say that which none +of your brothers dare set their tongue to!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_120" id="pg_120">120</a></span>And indeed there is little doubt but that Mary Lyon would have kept her +word. So far as speech was concerned, my Aunt Jen was silenced. But she +was a creature faithful to her prejudices, and could express by her +silence and air of injured rectitude more than one less gifted could +have put into a parliamentary oration.</p> + +<p>Her very heels on the stone floor of the wide kitchen at Heathknowes, +where all the business of the house was transacted, fell with little +raps of defiance, curt and dry. Her nose in the air told of contempt +louder than any words. She laid down the porridge spurtle like a queen +abdicating her sceptre. She tabled the plates like so many protests, +signed and witnessed. She swept about the house with the glacial chill +which an iceberg spreads about it in temperate seas. Her displeasure +made winter of our content—of all, that is, except Mary Lyon’s. She at +least went about her tasks with her usual humming alacrity, turning work +over her shoulder as easy as apple-peeling.</p> + +<p>Being naturally lazy myself (except as to the reading of books), I took +a great pleasure in watching grandmother. Aunt Jen would order you to +get some work if she saw you doing nothing—malingering, she called +it—yes, and find it for you too, that is, if Mary Lyon were not in the +house to tell her to mind her own business.</p> + +<p>But you might lie round among grandmother’s feet for days, and, except +for a stray cuff in passing if she actually walked into you—a cuff +given in the purest spirit of love and good-will, and merely as a +warning of the worse thing that might happen to you if you made her +spill the dinner “sowens”—you might spend your days in reading anything +from the <i>Arabian Nights</i> in Uncle Eben’s old tattered edition to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_121" id="pg_121">121</a></span>mighty <i>Josephus</i>, all complete with plans and plates—over which on +Sundays my grandfather was wont to compose himself augustly to sleep.</p> + +<p>Well, Miss Irma and Sir Louis came to my grandmother’s house at +Heathknowes. Yes, this is the correct version. The house of Heathknowes +was Mary Lyon’s. The mill in the wood, the farm, the hill +pastures—these might be my grandfather’s, also the horses and wagons +generally, but his power—his “say” over anything, stopped at the +threshold of the house, of the byre of cows, at the step of the rumbling +little light cart in which he was privileged to drive my grandmother to +church and market. In these places and relations he became, instead of +the unquestioned master, only as one of ourselves, except that he was +neither cuffed nor threatened with “the stick in the corner.” All the +same, this immunity did not do him much good, for many a sound +tongue-lashing did he receive for his sins and shortcomings—indeed, far +more so than all the rest of us. For with us, my grandmother had a short +and easy way.</p> + +<p>“I have not time to be arguing with the likes of you!” she would cry. +And upon the word a sound cuff removed us out of her path, and before we +had stopped tingling Mary Lyon had plunged into the next object in hand, +satisfied that she had successfully wrestled with at least one problem. +But with grandfather it was different. He had to be convinced—if +possible, convicted—in any case overborne.</p> + +<p>To accomplish this Mary Lyon would put forth all her powers, in spite of +her husband’s smiles—or perhaps a good deal because of them. Upon her +excellent authority, he was stated to be the most irritating man betwixt +the Brigend of Dumfries and the Braes of Glenap.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_122" id="pg_122">122</a></span>“Oh, man, say what you have to say,” she would cry, when reduced to +extremities by the obvious unfairness of his silent mode of controversy, +“but don’t sit there girning like a self-satisfied monkey!”</p> + +<p>“Mother!” exclaimed Aunt Jen, horrified. For she cherished a secret +tenderness for my grandfather, perhaps because their natures were so +different, “How can you speak so to our father?”</p> + +<p>“Wait till you get a man of your ain, Janet,” my grandmother would +retort, “then you will have new light as to how it is permitted for a +woman to speak.”</p> + +<p>With this retort Aunt Jen was well acquainted, and had to be thankful +that it was carried no further, as it often was in the case of any +criticisms as to the management of children. In this case Aunt Jen was +usually invited not to meddle, on the forcible plea that what a score of +old maids knew about rearing a family could be put into a nutshell +without risk of overcrowding.</p> + +<p>The room at Heathknowes that was got ready for the children was the one +off the parlour—“down-the-house,” as it was called. Here was a little +bed for Miss Irma, her washstand, a chest of drawers, a brush and comb +which Aunt Jen had “found,” producing them from under her apron with an +exceedingly guilty air, while continuing to brush the floor with an air +of protest against the whole proceeding.</p> + +<p>From the school-house my father sent a hanging bookcase—at least the +thing was done upon my suggestion. Agnes Anne carried it and Uncle Ebie +nailed it up. At any rate, it was got into place among us. The cot of +the child Louis had been arranged in the parlour itself, but at the +first glance Miss Irma turned pale, and I saw it would not do.</p> + +<p>“I have always been accustomed to have him with <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_123" id="pg_123">123</a></span>me,” she said; “it is +very kind of you to give us such nice rooms—but—would you mind letting +him sleep where I can see him?”</p> + +<p>It was Aunt Jen who did the moving without a word, and that, too, with +the severe lines of disapproval very nearly completely ruled off her +face. It was, in fact, better that they should be together. For while +the parlour looked by two small-paned windows across the wide courtyard, +the single casement of the little bedroom opened on the orchard corner +which my grandfather had planted in the first years of his taking +possession.</p> + +<p>The house of Heathknowes was of the usual type of large Galloway farm—a +place with some history, the house ancient and roomy, the office houses +built massively in a square, as much for defence as for convenience. You +entered by a heavy gate and you closed it carefully after you. From +without the walls of the quadrangle frowned upon you unbroken from their +eminence, massy and threatening as a fortress. The walls were loopholed +for musketry, and, in places, still bore marks of the long slots through +which the archers had shot their bolts and clothyard shafts in the days +before powder and ball.</p> + +<p>Except the single gate, you could go round and round without finding any +place by which an enemy might enter. The outside appearance was +certainly grim, unpromising, inhospitable, and so it seemed to Miss Irma +and Sir Louis as they drove up the loaning from the ford.</p> + +<p>But within, everything was different. What a smiling welcome they +received, my grandfather standing with his hat off, my grandmother with +the tears in her motherly vehement eyes, gathering the two wanderers +defiantly to her breast as if daring all the world to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_124" id="pg_124">124</a></span>come on. Behind a +little (but not much) was Aunt Jen, asserting her position and rights in +the house. She did not seem to see Miss Irma, but to make up, she never +took her eyes off the little boy for a moment.</p> + +<p>Then my uncles were ranged awkwardly, their hands lonesome for the grip +of the plough, the driving reins, or the water-lever at the mill in the +woods.</p> + +<p>Uncle Rob, our dandy, had changed his coat and put on a new neckcloth, +an act which, as all who know a Scots farm town will understand, cost +him a multitude of flouts, jeers and upcasting from his peers.</p> + +<p>I was also there, not indeed to welcome them, but because I had +accompanied the party from the house of Marnhoul. The White Free Traders +had established a post there to watch over one of their best +“hidie-holes,” even though they had removed all their goods in +expectation of the visit of a troop of horse under Captain Sinclair, +known to have been ordered up from Dumfries to aid the excise +supervisor, as soon as that zealous officer was sure that, the steed +being stolen, it was time to lock the stable door.</p> + +<p>But when the dragoons came, there was little for them to do. Ned +Henderson, the General Surveyor of the Customs and head of the district +in all matters of excise, was far too careful a man to allow more to +appear than was “good for the country.” He knew that there was hardly a +laird, and not a single farmer or man of substance who had not his +finger in the pie. Indeed, after the crushing national disaster of +Darien, this was the direction which speculation naturally took in +Scotland for more than a hundred years.</p> + +<p>In due time, then, the dragoons arrived, greatly to the interest of all +the serving lasses—and some others. There was, of course, a vast deal +of riding about, cantering along by-ways, calling upon this or that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_125" id="pg_125">125</a></span>innocent to account for his presence at the back of a dyke or behind a +whin-bush—which he usually did in the most natural and convincing +manner possible.</p> + +<p>The woods were searched—the covers drawn. Many birds were disturbed, +but of the crew of the <i>Golden Hind</i>, or the land smugglers by whose +arrival the capture and burning of Marnhoul had been prevented, no trace +was found. Even Kate of the Shore’s present address was known to but +few, and to these quite privately. There was no doubt of her +faithfulness. That had been proven, but she knew too much. There were +questions which, even unanswered, might raise others.</p> + +<p>Several young men, of good family and connections, thought it prudent to +visit friends at a distance, and at least one was never seen in the +country more.</p> + +<p>One of his Majesty’s frigates had been sent for to watch the Solway +ports, much to the disgust of her officers. For not only had they been +expected at the Portsmouth summer station by numerous pretty ladies, but +the navigation between Barnhourie and the Back Shore of Leswalt was as +full of danger as it was entirely without glory. If they were unlucky, +they might be cashiered for losing the ship. If lucky, the revenue men +would claim the captured cargo. If they secured the malefactors they +would sow desolation in a score of respectable families, with the +daughters of which they had danced at Kirkcudbright a week ago.</p> + +<p>In Galloway, though a considerable amount of recklessness mingled with +the traffic, and there were occasional roughnesses on the high seas and +about the ports and anchorages of Holland and the Isle of Man, there was +never any of the cruelty associated with smuggling along the south coast +of England. The smugglers of Sussex killed the informer Chater with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_126" id="pg_126">126</a></span>blows of their whips. A yet darker tragedy enacted farther west, +brought half-a-dozen to a well-deserved scaffold. But, save for the +losses in fair fight occasioned by the intemperate zeal of some new +broom of a supervisor anxious for distinction, the history of Galloway +smuggling had, up to that time, never been stained with serious crime.</p> + +<p>Meantime the two Maitlands, Sir Louis and Miss Irma, were safely housed +within the defenced place of Heathknowes, guarded by William Lyon and +his three stout sons, and mothered by all the hidden tenderness of my +grandmother’s big, imperious, volcanic heart.</p> + +<p>Only my Aunt Jen watched jealously with a half-satisfied air and took +counsel with herself as to what the end of these things might be.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CASTLE_CONNOWAY_4205" id="CASTLE_CONNOWAY_4205"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_127" id="pg_127">127</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>CASTLE CONNOWAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Meanwhile Boyd Connoway was in straits. Torn between two emotions, he +was pleased for once to have found a means of earning his living and +that of his family—especially the latter. For his own living was like +that of the crows, “got round the country somewhere!” But with the +lightest and most kindly heart in the world, Boyd Connoway found himself +in trouble owing to the very means of opulence which had brought content +to his house.</p> + +<p>On going home on the night after the great attack on Marnhoul, weary of +directing affairs, misleading the dragoons, whispering specious theories +into the ear of the commanding officer and his aides, he had been met at +the outer gate of his cabin by a fact that overturned all his notions of +domestic economy. Ephraim, precious Ephraim, the Connoway family pig, +had been turned out of doors and was now grunting disconsolately, +thrusting a ringed nose through the bars of Paradise. Now Boyd knew that +his wife set great store by Ephraim. Indeed, he had frequently been +compared, to his disadvantage, with Ephraim and his predecessors in the +narrow way of pigs. Ephraim was of service. What would the “poor +childer,” what would Bridget herself do without Ephraim? Bridget was not +quite sure whether she kept Ephraim or whether Ephraim kept her. At any +rate it was not to Boyd Connoway that she and her offspring were anyways +indebted for care and sustenance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_128" id="pg_128">128</a></span>“The craitur,” said Bridget affectionately, “he pays the very rint!”</p> + +<p>But here, outside the family domain, was Ephraim, the beloved of his +wife’s heart, actually turned out upon a cold and unfeeling world, and +with carefully spaced grunts of bewilderment expressing his discontent. +If such were Ephraim’s fate, how would the matter go with him? Boyd +Connoway saw a prospect of finding a husband and the father of a family +turned from his own door, and obliged to return and take up his quarters +with this earlier exile.</p> + +<p>The Connoway family residence was a small and almost valueless leasehold +from the estate of General Johnstone. The house had always been +tumbledown, and the tenancy of Bridget and her brood had not improved it +externally. The lease was evidently a repairing one. For holes in the +thatch roof were stopped with heather, or mended with broad slabs of +turf held down with stones and laboriously strengthened with wattle—a +marvel of a roof. It is certain that Boyd’s efforts were never +continuous. He tired of everything in an hour, or sooner—unless +somebody, preferably a woman, was watching him and paying him +compliments on his dexterity.</p> + +<p>The cottage had originally consisted of the usual “but-and-ben”—that is +to say, in well regulated houses (which this one was not) of a +kitchen—and a room that was not the kitchen. The family beds occupied +one corner of the kitchen, that of Bridget and her husband in the middle +(including accommodation for the latest baby), while on either side and +at the foot, shakedowns were laid out “for the childer,” slightly raised +from the earthen floor on rude trestles, with a board laid across to +receive the bedding. There was nothing at either side to provide against +the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_129" id="pg_129">129</a></span>occupants rolling over, but, as the distance from the ground did +not average more than four inches, the young Connoways did not run much +danger of accident on that account.</p> + +<p>Disputes were, however, naturally somewhat frequent. Jerry or Phil would +describe himself as “lying on so many taturs”—Mary or Kitty declare +that her bedfellow was “pullin’ every scrap off of her, that she was!”</p> + +<p>To quell these domestic brawls Bridget Connoway kept at the head of the +middle bed a long peeled willow, which was known as the “Thin One.” The +Thin One settled all night disputes in the most evenhanded way. For +Bridget did not get out of bed to discriminate. She simply laid on the +spot from which the disturbance proceeded till that disturbance ceased. +Then the Thin One returned to his corner while innocent and guilty +mingled their tears and resolved to conduct hostilities more silently in +future.</p> + +<p>In the daytime, however, the “Thick One” held sway, which was the +work-hardened palm of Mistress Bridget Connoway’s hand. She was +ambidextrous in correction—“one was as good as t’other,” as Jerry +remarked, after he had done rubbing himself and comparing damages with +his brother Phil, who had got the left. “There’s not a fardin’ to pick +between us!” was the verdict as the boys started out to find their +father, stretched on his favourite sunny mound within sight of the +Haunted House of Marnhoul—now more haunted than ever.</p> + +<p>But on this occasion Boyd Connoway was on his return, when he met the +exiled Ephraim. His meditations on his own probable fate have led the +historian into a sketch of the Connoway establishment, which, indeed, +had to come in somewhere.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_130" id="pg_130">130</a></span>For once Boyd wasted no time. With his wife waiting for him it was well +to know the worst and get it over. He opened the door quickly, and +intruding his hat on the end of his walking stick, awaited results. It +was only for a moment, of course, but Boyd Connoway felt satisfied. His +Bridget was not waiting for him behind the door with the potato-beetle +as she did on days of great irritation. His heart rose—his courage +returned. Was he not a free man, a house-holder? Had he not taken a +distinguished part in a gallant action? Bridget must understand this. +Bridget should understand this. Boyd Connoway would be respected in his +own house!</p> + +<p>Nevertheless he entered hastily, sidling like a dog which expects a +kick. He avoided the dusky places instinctively—the door of the “ben” +room was shut, so Bridget could not be lying in wait there. Was it in +the little closet behind the kitchen that the danger lurked? The +children were in bed, save the two youngest, all quiet, all watching +with the large, dreamy blue (Connoway) eyes, or the small, very bright +ones (Bridget’s) what his fate would be.</p> + +<p>He glanced quaintly, with an interrogative lift of his eyebrows, at the +bed to the left. Jerry of the twinkling sloe-eyes answered with a quick +upturn of the thumb in the direction of the spare chamber.</p> + +<p>Boyd Connoway frowned portentously at his eldest son. The youth shook +his head. The sign was well understood, especially when helped out with +a grin, broad as all County Donegal ’twixt Killibegs and Innishowen +Light.</p> + +<p>The “Misthress” was in a good temper. Reassured, on his own account, but +inwardly no little alarmed for his wife’s health in these unusual +circumstances, Boyd began to take off his boots with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_131" id="pg_131">131</a></span>idea of +gliding safely into bed and pretending to be asleep before the wind had +time to change.</p> + +<p>But Jerry’s mouth was very evidently forming some words, which were +meant to inform his father as to particulars. These, though +unintelligible individually, being taken together and punctuated with +jerks in the direction of the shut door of “doon-the-hoose,” constituted +a warning which Boyd Connoway could not afford to neglect.</p> + +<p>He went forward to the left hand bed, cocked his ear in the direction of +the closed door, and then rapidly lowered it almost against his son’s +lips.</p> + +<p>“She’s gotten a hurt man down there,” said Jerry, “she has been runnin’ +wi’ white clouts and bandages a’ the forenight. And I’m thinkin’ he’s no +very wise, either—for he keeps cryin’ that the deils are comin’ to tak’ +him!”</p> + +<p>“What like of a man?” said Boyd Connoway.</p> + +<p>But Jerry’s quick ear caught a stirring in the room with the closed +door. He shook his head and motioned his father to get away from the +side of his low truckle bed.</p> + +<p>When his wife entered, Boyd Connoway, with a sober and innocent face, +was untying his boot by the side of the fire. Bridget entered with a +saucepan in her hand, which, before she deigned to take any notice of +her husband, she pushed upon the red ashes in the grate.</p> + +<p>From the “ben” room, of which the door was now open, Boyd could hear the +low moaning of a man in pain. He had tended too many sick people not to +know the delirium of fever, the pitiful lapses of sense, then again the +vague and troubled pour of words, and at the sound he started to his +feet. He was not good for much in the way of providing for a family. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_132" id="pg_132">132</a></span>He +did a great many foolish, yet more useless things, but there was one +thing which he understood better than Bridget—how to nurse the sick.</p> + +<p>He disengaged his boot and stood in his stocking feet.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he said, in an undertone to Bridget.</p> + +<p>“No business of yours!” she answered, with a sudden hissing vehemence.</p> + +<p>“I can do <i>that</i> better than you!” he answered, for once sure of his +ground.</p> + +<p>His wife darted at him a look of concentrated scorn.</p> + +<p>“Get to bed!” she commanded him, declining to argue with such as he—and +but for the twinkling eyes of Jerry, which looked sympathy, Boyd would +have preferred to have joined the exiled Ephraim under the dark pent +among the coom of the peat-house.</p> + +<p>He looked to Jerry, but Jerry was sound asleep. So was Phil. So were all +the others.</p> + +<p>“Very well, däärlin’!” said Boyd Connoway to himself as his wife left +the room. “But, sorrow am I for the man down there that she will not let +me nurse. She’s a woman among a thousand, is Bridget Connoway. But the +craitur will be after makin’ the poor man eat his poultices, and use his +beef tay for outward application only!”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_MAN_DOONTHEHOOSE_4392" id="THE_MAN_DOONTHEHOOSE_4392"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_133" id="pg_133">133</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>THE MAN “DOON-THE-HOOSE”</h3> +</div> + +<p>But Bridget Connoway, instant and authoritative as she was, could not +prevent her down-trodden husband from thinking. Who was the mysterious +wounded man “down-the-house”? One of the White Smugglers? Hardly. Boyd +had been in the thick of that business and knew that no one had been +hurt except Barnboard Tam, whose horse had run away with him and brushed +him off, a red-haired Absalom in homespuns, against the branches in +Marnhoul Great Wood.</p> + +<p>One of the crew of the <i>Golden Hind</i>, American-owned privateersman with +French letters of marque? Possibly one of the desperate gang they had +landed called the Black Smugglers, scum of the Low Dutch ports, come to +draw an ill report upon the good and wholesome fame of Galloway Free +Trade.</p> + +<p>In either case, Boyd Connoway little liked the prospect, and instead of +going to bed, he remained swinging his legs before the fire in a musing +attitude, listening to the moaning noises that came from the chamber he +was forbidden to enter. He was resolved to have it out with his wife.</p> + +<p>He had not long to wait. Bridget appeared in the doorway, a bundle of +dark-stained cloths between her palms. She halted in astonishment at the +sight which met her eyes. At first it seemed to her that she was +dreaming, or that her voice must have betrayed her. She gave her husband +the benefit of the doubt.</p> + +<p>“I thought I tould ye, Boyd Connoway,” she said <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_134" id="pg_134">134</a></span>in a voice dangerously +low and caressing, “to be getting off to your bed and not disturbin’ the +childer’!”</p> + +<p>“Who is the man that had need of suchlike?” demanded Boyd Connoway, +suddenly regaining his lost heritage as the head of a house, “speak +woman, who are ye harbouring there?”</p> + +<p>Bridget stood still. The mere unexpectedness of the demand rendered her +silent. The autocrat of all the Russias treated as though he were one of +his own ministers of state could not have been more dumbfounded.</p> + +<p>With a sudden comprehension of the crisis Bridget broke for the poker, +but Boyd had gone too far now to recoil. He caught at the little +three-legged stool on which he was wont to take his humble frugal meals. +It was exactly what he needed. He had no idea of assaulting Bridget. He +recognized all her admirable qualities, which filled in the shortcomings +of his shiftlessness with admirable exactitude. He meant to act strictly +on the defensive, a system of warfare that was familiar to him. For +though he had never before risen up in open revolt, he had never counted +mere self-preservation as an insult to his wife.</p> + +<p>“<i>Whack!</i>” down came the poker in the lusty hand of Bridget Connoway. +“<i>Crack!</i>” the targe in the lifted arm of Boyd countered it. At +arm’s-length he held it. The next attack was cut number two of the +manual for the broad-sword. Skilfully with his shield Boyd Connoway +turned it to the side, so that, gliding from the polished oak of the +well-worn seat, the head of the poker caught his wife on the knee, and +she dropped her weapon with a cry of pain. Jerry and the other children, +in the seventh heaven of delight at the parental duel, were sitting up +in their <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_135" id="pg_135">135</a></span>little night-shirts (which for simplicity’s sake were +identical with their day-shirts); their eyes, black and blue, sparkled +unanimous, and they made bets in low tones from one bed to another.</p> + +<p>“Two to one on Daddy!”</p> + +<p>“Jerry, ye ass, I’ll bet ye them three white chuckies<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> he’ll lose!”</p> + +<p>“Hould your tongue, Connie—mother’ll win, sure. The Thick ’Un will get +him!”</p> + +<p>Such combats were a regular interest for them, and one, in quiet times, +quite sympathized in by their father, who would guide the combat so that +they might have a better view.</p> + +<p>“Troth, and why shouldn’t they, poor darlints? Sure an’ it’s little +enough amusement they have!”</p> + +<p>He had even been known to protract an already lost battle to lengthen +out the delectation of his offspring. The Cæsars gave to their people +“Bread and the circus!” But they did not usually enter the arena +themselves—save in the case of the incomparable bowman of Rome, and +then only when he knew that no one dared stand against him. But Boyd +Connoway fought many a losing fight that his small citizens might +wriggle with delight on their truckles. “The Christians to the lions!” +Yes, that was noble. But then they had no choice, while Boyd Connoway, a +willing martyr, fought his lioness with a three-legged stool.</p> + +<p>This time, however, the just quarrel armed the three-legged, while cut +number two of Forbes’s Manual fell, not on Boyd Connoway’s head, for +which it was intended, but on Bridget’s knee-cap. Boyd of the tender +heart (though stubborn stool), was instantly <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_136" id="pg_136">136</a></span>upon his knees, his +buckler flung to the ground and rubbing with all his might, with +murmurings of, “Does it hurt now, darlint?—Not bääd, sure?—Say it is +better now thin, darlint!”</p> + +<p>Boyd was as conscience-stricken as if he had personally wielded the +poker. But the mind of Bridget was quite otherwise framed. With one hand +she seized his abundant curly hair, now with a strand or two of early +grey among the straw-colour of it, and while she pulled handfuls of it +out by the roots (so Boyd declared afterwards), she boxed his ears +heartily with the other. Which, indeed, is witnessed to by the whole +goggle-eyed populace in the truckle bed.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t I tell ye, Jerry, ye cuckoo,” whispered Connie, “she’d beat him? +He’s gettin’ the Thick ’Un, just as I told ye!”</p> + +<p>“But it’s noways fair rules,” retorted Jerry; “father he flung down his +weepon for to rub her knee when she hurt it herself wid the poker!”</p> + +<p>Jerry had lost his bet, as indeed he usually did, but for all that he +remained a consistent supporter of the losing side. Daily he +acknowledged in his body the power of the arm of flesh, but the vagrant +butterfly humour of the male parent with the dreamy blue eyes touched +him where he lived—perhaps because his, like his mother’s, were +sloe-black.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, in spite of mishandling and a scandalous disregard of the +rules of the noble art of self-defence (not yet elaborated, but only +roughly understood as “Fair play to all”), Boyd Connoway carried his +point.</p> + +<p>He saw the occupant of the bed “doon-the-hoose.”</p> + +<p>He was a slim man with clean-cut features, very pale about the gills and +waxen as to the nose. He lay on the bed, his head ghastly in its white +bandages <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_137" id="pg_137">137</a></span>rocking from side to side and a stream of curses, thin and +small of voice as a hill-brook in drought, but continuous as a +mill-lade, issuing from between his clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>These adjurations were in many tongues, and their low-toned variety +indicated the swearing of an educated man.</p> + +<p>Boyd understood at once that he had to do with no vulgar Tarry-Breeks, +no sweepings of a couple of hemispheres, but with “a gentleman born.” +And in Donegal, though they may rebel against their servitude and meet +them foot by foot on the field or at the polling-booths, they know a +gentleman when they see one, and never in their wildest moods deny his +birthright.</p> + +<p>Boyd, therefore, took just one glance, and then turning to his wife +uttered his sentiment in three words of approval. “I’m wid ye!” he said.</p> + +<p>Had it been Galligaskins or any seaman of the <i>Golden Hind</i>, Boyd would +have had him out of the house in spite of his wife and all the wholesome +domestic terror she had so long been establishing.</p> + +<p>But a Donegal man is from the north after all, and does not easily take +to the informer’s trade. Besides, this was a gentleman born.</p> + +<p>Yet he had better have given hospitality to Galligaskins and the whole +crew of pirates who manned the <i>Golden Hind</i> than to this slender, +clear-skinned creature who lay raving and smiling in the bedroom of +Boyd Connoway’s cabin.</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<hr style='text-align: left; margin: 0 auto 0 0; width:6em; border:1px solid #eee; margin-top:1em;' /> +<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> “Chuckies,” white pebbles used, in these primitive times, +instead of marbles.</p></div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_TRANSFIGURATION_OF_AUNT_JEN_4555" id="THE_TRANSFIGURATION_OF_AUNT_JEN_4555"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_138" id="pg_138">138</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>THE TRANSFIGURATION OF AUNT JEN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Never was anything seen like it in our time. I mean the transformation +of Aunt Jen, the hard crabapple of our family, after the entrance of the +Maitland children into the household of Heathknowes. Not that my aunt +had much faith in Irma. She had an art, which my aunt counted uncanny, +indeed savouring of the sin of witchcraft. It mattered not at all what +Irma was given to wear—an old tartan of my grandmother’s Highland Mary +days when she was a shepherdess by the banks of Cluden, a severe gown +designed on strictly architectural principles by the unabashed shears of +Aunt Jen herself, a bodice and skirt of my mother’s, dovelike in hue and +carrying with them some of her own retiring quality in every line. It +was all the same, with a shred or two of silk, with a little undoing +here, a little tightening there, a broad splash of colour cut from one +of my Uncle Rob’s neckcloths—not anywhere, but just in the right +place—Irma could give to all mankind the impression of being the only +person worth looking at in the parish. With these simple means she could +and did make every other girl, though attired in robes that had come all +the way from Edinburgh, look dowdy and countrified.</p> + +<p>Also she had the simple manner of those who stand in no fear of any one +taking a liberty with them. Her position was assured. Her beauty spoke +for itself, and as for the old tartan, the slab-sided merino, the +retiring pearl-grey wincey, their late owners did <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_139" id="pg_139">139</a></span>not know them again +when they appeared in the great square Marnhoul pew in the parish +church, which Irma insisted upon occupying.</p> + +<p>I think that a certain scandal connected with this, actually caused more +stir in the parish than all the marvel of the appearance of the children +in the Haunted House. And for this reason. Heathknowes was a Cameronian +household. The young men of Heathknowes were looked upon to furnish a +successor to their father as an elder in the little meeting-house down +by the Fords. But with the full permission of my grandmother, and the +tacit sympathy of my grandfather, each Sabbath day Miss Irma and Sir +Louis went in state to the family pew at the parish kirk (a square box +large enough to seat a grand jury). The children were perched in the +front, Irma keeping firm and watchful guard over her brother, while in +the dimmer depths, seen from below as three sturdy pairs of shoulders +against the dusk of a garniture of tapistry, sat the three Cameronian +young men of Heathknowes.</p> + +<p>Nothing could so completely and fully have certified the strength of my +grandmother’s purpose than that she, a pillar of the Covenant, thus +complacently allowed her sons to frequent the public worship of an +uncovenanted and Erastian Establishment.</p> + +<p>But there was at least one in the house of Heathknowes not to be so +misled by the outward graces of the body.</p> + +<p>“Favour is vain and the eye of Him that sitteth in the heavens regardeth +it not,” she was wont to say, “and if Rob and Thomas and Ebenezer come +to an ill end, mother, you will only have yourself to thank for it!”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Jen,” said her mother, “if you are <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_140" id="pg_140">140</a></span>prevented by your +infirmities from talkin’ sense, at least do hold your tongue. Doctor +Gillespie is a Kirkman and a Moderate, but he is—well, he is the +Doctor, and never a word has been said against him for forty year, walk +and conversation both as becometh the Gospel——”</p> + +<p>“Aye, but <i>is</i> it the Gospel?” cried Jen, snipping out her words as with +scissors; “that’s the question.”</p> + +<p>“When I require you, Janet Lyon, to decide for your mother what is +Gospel and what is not, I’ll let ye ken,” said my grandmother, “and if I +have accepted a responsibility from the Most High for these children, I +will do my best to render an account of my stewardship at the Great +White Throne. In the meantime, <i>you</i> have no more right to task me for +it, than—than—Boyd Connoway!”</p> + +<p>“There,” cried Jen, slapping down the last dish which she had been +drying while her mother washed, “I declare, mother, I might just as well +not have a tongue at all. Whatever I say you are on my back. And as if +snubbing me were not enough, down you must come on me with the Great +White Throne!”</p> + +<p>Her aggrieved voice made my grandmother laugh.</p> + +<p>“Well-a-well!” she said, in her richly comfortable voice of a mother of +consolation, “you are of the tribe of Marthas, Jen, and you certainly +work hard enough for everybody to give your tongue a right to a little +trot now and then. You will have all the blessings, daughter +Janet—except that of the peacemaker. For it’s in you to set folk by the +ears and you really can’t help it. Though who you took it from is more +than I can imagine, with a mother as mild as milk and a father——”</p> + +<p>“Well, what about the father—speak of the—um-um—father and he will +appear, I suppose!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_141" id="pg_141">141</a></span>It was my grandfather who had come in, his face bronzed with the sun +and a friendly shaving tucked underneath his coat collar at the back, +witnessing that some one of his sons, in the labours of the pirn-mill, +had not remembered the first commandment with promise.</p> + +<p>His wife removed it with a smile, and said, “I’ll wager ye that was yon +rascal Rob. He is always at his tricks!”</p> + +<p>“Well, what were you saying about me, old wife?” said grandfather, +looking at his wife with the quiet fondness that comes of half-a-century +of companionship.</p> + +<p>“Only that Jen there had a will-o’-the-wisp of a temper and that I knew +not how she got it, for you only go about pouring oil upon the waters!”</p> + +<p>“As to that, you know best, guidwife,” he answered, smiling, “but I +think I have heard of a wife up about the Heathknowes, who in some +measure possesses the power of her unruly member. It is possible that +Jen there may have picked up a thorn or two from that side!”</p> + +<p>William Lyon caught his daughter’s ear.</p> + +<p>“Eh, lass, what sayest thou?” he crooned, looking down upon her with a +tenderness rare to him with one of his children. “What sayest thou?”</p> + +<p>“I say that you and mother and all about this house have run out of your +wits about this slip of a girl? I say that you may rue it when you have +not a son to succeed you at the Kirk of the Covenant down by the Ford.”</p> + +<p>The fleeting of a smile came over my grandfather’s face, that quiet +amusement which usually showed when my grandmother opposed her will to +his, and when for once he did not mean to give in.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_142" id="pg_142">142</a></span>“It’s a sorrowful thing—a whole respectable household gone daft about +a couple of strange children;” he let the words drop very slowly. +“Specially I was distressed to hear of one who rose betimes to milk a +cow, so that the cream would have time to rise on the morning’s milk by +their porridge time!”</p> + +<p>“Father,” said Jen, “that was for the boy bairn. He has not been brought +up like the rest of us, and he does not like warm milk with his +porridge.”</p> + +<p>“Doubtless—ah, doubtless,” said William Lyon; “but if he is to bide +with us, is it not spoiling him thus to give way to suchlike whims? He +will have to learn some day, and when so good a time as now?”</p> + +<p>Aunt Jen, who knew she was being teased, kept silence, but the shoulder +nearest my father had an indignant hump.</p> + +<p>“Wheesht, William,” interposed grandmother good-naturedly, “if Jen rose +betimes to get milk for the bairn, ye ken yoursel’ that ye think the +better of her for it. And so do I. Jen’s not the first whose acts are +kindlier than her principles.”</p> + +<p>But Jen kept her thorns out and refused to be brought into the fold by +flattery, till her father said, “Jen, have ye any of that fine +homebrewed left, or did the lads drink it a’ to their porridges? I’m a +kennin’ weary, and nothing refreshes me like that!”</p> + +<p>Jen felt the artfulness of this, nevertheless she could not help being +touched. The care of the still-room was hers, because, though my +grandmother could go through twice the work in the day that her daughter +could, the brewing of the family small beer and other labours of the +still-room were of too exact and methodical a nature for a headlong +driver like Mary Lyon.</p> + +<p>My grandfather got his ale, of the sort just then beginning to be +made—called “Jamaica,” because a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_143" id="pg_143">143</a></span>quantity of the cheap sugar refuse +from the hogsheads was used in its production. In fact, it was the +ancestor of the “treacle ale” of later years. But to the fabrication of +this beverage, Jen added mysterious rites, during which the door of the +still-room was locked, barred, and the keyhole blinded, while Eben and +Rob, my uncles, stood without vainly asking for a taste, or simulating +by their moans and cries the most utter lassitude and fatigue.</p> + +<p>William Lyon sat sipping his drink while Jen eyed him furtively as she +went about the house, doing her duties with the silence and exactitude +of a well-oiled machine. She was a difficult subject, my aunt Jen, to +live with, but she could be got at, as her father well knew, by a +humanizing vanity.</p> + +<p>He sat back with an air of content in his great wide chair, the chair +that had been handed down as the seat of the head of the house from many +generations of Lyonses. He sipped and nodded his head, looking towards +his daughter, and lifting the tankard with a courtly gesture as if +pledging her health.</p> + +<p>Jen was pleased, though for a while she did not allow it to be seen, and +her only repentance was taking up the big empty goblet without being +asked and going to the still-room to refill it.</p> + +<p>During her absence my grandfather shamelessly winked at my grandmother, +while my grandmother shook her fist covertly at her husband. Which +pantomime meant to say on the part of William Lyon that <i>he</i> knew how to +manage women, while on his wife’s side it inferred that she would not +demean herself to use means so simple and abject as plain flattery even +with a “camsteary” daughter.</p> + +<p>But they smiled at each other, not ill-content, and as my grandmother +passed to the dresser she paused by the great oak chair long enough to +murmur, “She’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_144" id="pg_144">144</a></span>coming round!” But my grandfather only smiled and looked +towards the door that led to the still-room, pantries and so forth, as +if he found the time long without his second pot of sugar ale.</p> + +<p>He was something of a diplomat, my grandfather.</p> + +<p>It was while sitting thus, with the second drink of harmless “Jamaica” +before him, my aunt and grandmother crossing each other ceaselessly on +silent feet, that a knock came to the front door.</p> + +<p>Now in Galloway farm houses there is a front door, but no known use for +it has been discovered, except to <i>be</i> a door. Later, it was the custom +to open it to let in the minister on his stated visitations, and later +still to let out the dead. But at the period of which I write it was a +door and nothing more.</p> + +<p>Both of these other uses are mere recent inventions. The shut front door +of my early time stood blistering and flaking in the hot sun, or +soaking—crumbling, and weather-beaten—during months of bad weather. +For, with a wide and noble entrance behind upon the yard, so +well-trodden and convenient, so charged with the pleasant press of +entrants and exodants, so populous with affairs, from which the chickens +had to be “shooed” and the moist noses of questing calves pushed aside +twenty times a day—why should any mortal think of entering by the front +door of the house. First of all it was the front door. Next, no one knew +whether it would open or not, though the odds were altogether against +it. Lastly, it was a hundred miles from anywhere and opened only upon a +stuffy lobby round which my grandmother usually had her whole Sunday +wardrobe hung up in bags smelling of lavender to guard against the +moths.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the knock sounded distinctly enough from the front door.</p> + +<p>“Some of the bairns playing a trick,” said my <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_145" id="pg_145">145</a></span>grandmother tolerantly, +“let them alone, Janet, and they will soon tire o’t!”</p> + +<p>But Jen had showed so much of the unwonted milk of human kindness that +she felt she must in some degree retrieve her character. She waited, +therefore, for the second rap, louder than the first, then lifted a wand +from the corner and went “down-the-house,” quietly as she did all +things.</p> + +<p>Aunt Jen concealed the rod behind her. Her private intention was to wait +for the third knock, and then open suddenly, with the deadly resolve to +teach us what we were about—a mental reservation being made in the case +of Baby Louis, who (if the knocker turned out to be he) must obviously +have been put up to it.</p> + +<p>The third knock fell. Aunt Jen leaped upon the door-handle. Bolts +creaked and shot back, but swollen by many rainy seasons, the door held +stoutly as is the wont of farm front doors. Then suddenly it gave way +and Aunt Jen staggered back against the wall, swept away by the energy +of her own effort. The wand fell from her hand, and she stood with the +inner door handle still clutched in nervous fingers before a slight +dapper man in a shiny brown coat, double-breasted and closely buttoned, +even on this broiling day—while the strident “<i>weesp-weesp</i>” of brother +Tom down in the meadow, sharpening his scythe with a newly fill +“strake,” made a keen top-note to the mood of summer.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Poole,” said the slim man, uncovering and saluting obsequiously, +and then seeing that my aunt rested dumb-stricken, the rod which had +been in pickle fallen to the floor behind her, he added with a little +mincing smile and a kind of affected heel-and-toe dandling of his body, +“I am Mr. Wrighton Poole, of the firm of Smart, Poole, and Smart of +Dumfries.”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="LOADEDPISTOL_POLLIXFEN_4820" id="LOADEDPISTOL_POLLIXFEN_4820"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_146" id="pg_146">146</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>LOADED-PISTOL POLLIXFEN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Now Aunt Jen’s opinion of lawyers was derived from two sources, +observation and a belief in the direct inspiration of two lines of Dr. +Watts, his hymns.</p> + +<p>In other words, she had noticed that lawyers sat much in their offices, +twiddling with papers, and that they never went haymaking nor stood +erect in carts dumping manure on the autumnal fields. So two lines of +Dr. Watts, applicable for such as they, and indeed every one not so +aggressively active as herself, were calculated to settle the case of +Mr. Wrighton Poole.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em">“Satan finds some mischief<br /> +For idle hands to do.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, I had heard of them more than once myself, when she caught me +lying long and lazy in the depths of a haymow with a book under my nose.</p> + +<p>At any rate Aunt Jen suspected this Mr. Poole at once. But so she would +the Lord Chancellor of England himself, for the good reason that by +choice and custom he sat on a woolsack!</p> + +<p>“I’d woolsack him!” Aunt Jen had cried when this fact was first brought +to her notice; “I’d make him get up pretty quick and earn his living if +he was my man!”</p> + +<p>My grandfather had pointed out that the actual Lord Chancellor of the +moment was a bachelor, whereupon Aunt Jen retorted, “Aye, and doubtless +that’s the reason. The poor body has nobody to do her duty by him!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_147" id="pg_147">147</a></span>For these excellent reasons my Aunt Jen took a dislike to Mr. Wrighton +Poole (of the firm of Smart, Poole, and Smart, solicitors, Dumfries) at +the very first glance.</p> + +<p>And yet, when he was introduced into the state parlour with the six +mahogany-backed, haircloth-seated chairs, the two narrow arm-chairs, the +four ugly mirrors, and the little wire basket full of odds and ends of +crockery and foreign coins—covered by the skin of a white blackbird, +found on the farm and prepared for stuffing—he looked a very dapper, +respectable, personable man. But my Aunt Jen would have none of his +compliments on the neatness of the house or the air of bien comfort that +everything about the farm had worn on his way thither.</p> + +<p>She drew out a chair for him and indicated it with her hand.</p> + +<p>“Bide there,” she commanded, “till I fetch them that can speak wi’ you!” +An office which, had she chosen, Jen was very highly qualified to +undertake, save for an early and deep-rooted conviction that business +matters had better be left to the dealing of man and man.</p> + +<p>This belief, however, was not in the least that of my grandmother. She +would come in and sit down in the very middle of one of my grandfather’s +most private bargainings with the people to whom he sold his spools and +“pirns.” She had her say in everything, and she said it so easily and so +much as a matter of course that no one was ever offended.</p> + +<p>Grandfather was at the mill and in consequence it was my grandmother who +entered from the dairy, still wiping her hands from the good, warm +buttermilk which had just rendered up its tale of butter. There was a +kind of capable and joyous fecundity about my <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_148" id="pg_148">148</a></span>grandmother, in spite of +her sharp tongue, her masterful ways, the strictness of her theology and +her old-fashioned theories, which seemed to produce an effect even on +inanimate things. So light and loving was her hand—the hand that had +loved (and smacked) many children, brooded over innumerable hatchings of +things domestic, tended whole byrefuls of cows, handled suckling lambs +with dead mothers lying up on the hill—aye, played the surgeon even to +robins with broken legs, for one of which she constructed a leg capable +of being strapped on, made it out of the whalebone of an old corset of +her own for which she had grown too abundant!</p> + +<p>So kindly was the eye that could flash fire on an argumentative +Episcopalian parson—and send him over two pounds of butter and a dozen +fresh-laid eggs for his sick wife—that (as I say) even inanimate +objects seemed to respond to her look and conform themselves to the wish +of her finger tips. She had been known to “set” a dyke which had twice +resolved itself into rubbish under the hands of professionals. The +useless rocky patch she had taken as a herb garden blossomed like the +rose, bringing forth all manner of spicy things. For in these days in +Galloway most of the garnishments of the table were grown in the garden +itself, or brought in from the cranberry bogs and the blaeberry banks, +where these fruits grew among a short, crumbly stubble of heather, dry +and elastic as a cushion, and most admirable for resting upon while +eating.</p> + +<p>Well, grandmother came in wiping her hands. It seems to me now that I +see her—and, indeed, whenever she does make an entry into the story, I +always feel that I must write yet another page about the dear, +warm-hearted, tumultuous old lady.</p> + +<p>She saw the slender lawyer with the brown coat <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_149" id="pg_149">149</a></span>worn shiny, the scratch +wig tied with its black wisp of silk, and the black bag in his hand. He +had been taking a survey of the room, and started round quickly at the +entrance of my grandmother. Then he made a deep bow, and grandmother, +who could be very grand indeed when she liked, bestowed upon him a +curtsey the like of which he had not seen for a long while.</p> + +<p>“My name is Poole,” he said apologetically. “I presume I have the honour +of speaking to Mistress Mary Lyon, spouse and consort of William Lyon, +tacksman of the Mill of Marnhoul with all its lades, weirs, and +pendicles——”</p> + +<p>“If you mean that William Lyon is my man, ye are on the bit so far,” +said my grandmother; “pass on. What else hae ye to say? I dinna suppose +that ye cam’ here to ask a sicht o’ my marriage lines.”</p> + +<p>“It is, indeed, a different matter which has brought me thus far,” said +the lawyer man, with a certain diffidence, “but I think that perhaps I +ought to wait till—till your husband, in fact——”</p> + +<p>“If you are waiting for Weelyum,” said Mary Lyon, “ye needna fash. He is +o’ the same mind as me—or will be after I have spoken wi’ him. Say on!”</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” the lawyer continued, “it is difficult—but the matter +resolves itself into this. I understand—my firm understands, that you +are harbouring in or about this house a young woman calling herself Irma +Sobieski Maitland, and a child of the male sex whom the aforesaid Irma +Sobieski affirms to be the rightful owner of this estate—in fact, Sir +Louis Maitland. Now, my firm have been long without direct news of the +family whom they represent. Our intelligence of late years has come from +their titular and legal guardian, Mr. Lalor Maitland, Governor of the +district of the Upper Meuse in the Brabants. Now we <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_150" id="pg_150">150</a></span>have recently heard +from this gentleman that his wards—two children bearing a certain +resemblance to those whom, we are informed, you have been +harbouring——”</p> + +<p>My grandmother’s temper, always uncertain with adults with whom she had +no sympathy, had been gradually rising at each repetition of an +offending word.</p> + +<p>“Harbouring,” she cried, “harbouring—let me hear that word come out o’ +your impident mouth again, ye upsettin’ body wi’ the black bag, and I’ll +gie ye the weight o’ my hand against the side o’ your face. Let me tell +you that in the house of Heathknowes we harbour neither burrowing rats +nor creepin’ foumarts, nor any manner of unclean beasts—and as for a +lawvier, if lawvier ye be, ye are the first o’ your breed to enter here, +and if my sons hear ye talkin’ o’ harbourin’—certes, ye stand a chance +to gang oot the door wi’ your feet foremost!”</p> + +<p>“My good woman,” said the lawyer, “I was but using an ordinary word, in +perfect ignorance of any——”</p> + +<p>“Come na, nane o’ that crooked talk! Mary Lyon is nae bit silly Jenny +Wren to be whistled off the waa’ wi’ ony siccan talk. Dinna tell me that +a lawvier body doesna ken what ‘harbouring rogues and vagabonds’ +means—the innocent lamb that he is—and him reading the <i>Courier</i> every +Wednesday!”</p> + +<p>“But,” said the solicitor, with more persistent firmness than his +emaciated body and timorous manner would have led one to expect, “the +children are here, and it is my duty to warn you that in withholding +them from their natural guardian you are defying the law. I come to +require that the children be given up to me at once, that I may put them +under their proper tutelage.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_151" id="pg_151">151</a></span>“Here, William,” my grandmother called out, recognizing the footsteps +of her husband approaching, “gae cry the lads and lock the doors! +There’s a body here that will need some guid broad Scots weared on him.”</p> + +<p>But the lawyer was not yet frightened. As it appeared, he had only known +the safe plainstones of Dumfries—so at least Mary Lyon thought. For he +continued his discourse as if nothing were the matter.</p> + +<p>“I came here in a friendly spirit, madam,” he said, “but I have good +reason to believe that every male of your household is deeply involved +in the smuggling traffic, and that several of them, in spite of their +professions of religion, assaulted and took possession of the House of +Marnhoul for the purpose of unlawfully concealing therein undutied goods +from the proper officers of the crown!”</p> + +<p>“Aye, and ken ye wha it was that tried to burn doon your Great House,” +cried my grandmother—“it was your grand tutor—your wonderfu’ guardian, +even Lalor Maitland, the greatest rogue and gipsy that ever ran on two +legs. There was a grandson o’ mine put a charge o’ powder-and-shot into +him, though. But here come the lads. They will tell ye news o’ your +tutor and guardian, him that ye daur speak to me aboot committing the +puir innocent bairns to—what neither you nor a’ the law in your black +bag will ever tak’ frae under the roof-tree o’ Mary Lyon. Here, this way, +lads—dinna be blate! Step ben!”</p> + +<p>And so, without a shadow of blateness, there stepped “ben” Tom and Eben +and Rob. Tom had his scythe in his hand, for he had come straight from +the meadow at his father’s call, the sweat of mowing still beading his +brow, and the broad leathern strap shining wet about his waist. Eben +folded a pair of brawny arms across a chest like an oriel window, but +Rob always <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_152" id="pg_152">152</a></span>careful for appearances, had his great-grandfather’s sword, +known in the family as “Drumclog,” cocked over his shoulder, and carried +his head to the side with so knowing an air that the blade was cold +against his right ear.</p> + +<p>Last of all my grandfather stepped in, while I kept carefully out of +sight behind him. He glanced once at his sons.</p> + +<p>“Lads, be ashamed,” he said; “you, Thomas, and especially you, Rob. Put +away these gauds. We are not ‘boding in fear of weir.’ These ill days +are done with. Be douce, and we will hear what this decent man has to +say.”</p> + +<p>There is no doubt that the lawyer was by this display of force somewhat +intimidated. At least, he looked about him for some means of escape, and +fumbled with the catch of his black hand-bag.</p> + +<p>“Deil’s in the man,” cried Mary Lyon, snatching the bag from him, “but +it’s a blessing I’m no so easy to tak’ in as the guidman there. Let that +bag alane, will ye, na! Wha kens what may be in it? There—what did I +tell you?”</p> + +<p>Unintentionally she shook the catch open, and within were two pistols +cocked and primed, of which Eben and Tom took instant possession. +Meanwhile, as may be imagined, my grandmother improved the occasion.</p> + +<p>“A lawvier, are you, Master Wringham Poole o’ Dumfries,” she cried? “A +bonny lawvier, that does his business wi’ a pair o’ loaded pistols. Like +master, like man, I say! There’s but ae kind o’ lawvier that does his +business like that—he’s caa’ed a cut-purse, a common highwayman, and +ends by dancing a bonny saraband at the end o’ a tow-rope! Lalor +Maitland assaulted Marnhoul wi’ just such a band o’ thieves and +robbers—to steal away the bairns. This will be <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_153" id="pg_153">153</a></span>another o’ the gang. +Lads, take hold, and see what he has on him.”</p> + +<p>But with one bound the seemingly weak and slender man flung himself in +the direction of the door. Before they could move he was out into the +lobby among the lavender bags containing Mary Lyon’s Sunday wardrobe, +and but for the fact that he mistook the door of a preserve closet for +the front door, he might easily have escaped them all. But Rob, who was +young and active, closed in upon him. The slim man squirmed like an eel, +and even when on the ground drew a knife and stuck it into the calf of +Rob’s leg. A yell, and a stamp followed, and then a great silence in +which we looked at one another awe-stricken. Mr. Wringham Poole lay like +a crushed caterpillar, inert and twitching. It seemed as if Rob had +killed him; but my grandfather, with proper care and precautions drew +away the knife, and after having passed a hand over the body in search +of further concealed weapons, laid him out on the four haircloth chairs, +with a footstool under his head for a pillow.</p> + +<p>Then, having listened to the beating of the wounded man’s heart, he +reassured us with a nod. All would be right. Next, from an inner pocket +he drew a pocket-book, out of the first division of which dropped a +black mask, like those worn at the assault upon Marnhoul, with pierced +eyeholes and strings for fastening behind the ears. There were also a +few papers and a card on which was printed a name—</p> + +<p>“Wringham Pollixfen Poole”; and then underneath, written in pencil in a +neat lawyer-like hand, were the words, “Consultation at the Old Port at +midnight to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>At this we all looked at one another with a renewal of our perturbation. +The firm of Smart, Poole and Smart had existed in Dumfries for a long +time, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_154" id="pg_154">154</a></span>was highly considered. But in these troubled times one never +knew how far his neighbour might have been led. A man could only answer +for himself, and even as to that, he had sometimes a difficulty in +explaining himself. One of the firm of lawyers in the High Street might +have been tempted out of his depth. But, at any rate, here was one of +them damaged, and that by the hasty act of one of the sons of the house +of Heathknowes—which in itself was a serious matter.</p> + +<p>My grandfather, therefore, judged it well that the lawyers in Dumfries +should be informed of what had befallen as soon as possible. But Mr. +Wringham Pollixfen Poole, if such were his name, was certainly in need +of being watched till my grandfather’s return, specially as of necessity +he would be in the same house as Miss Irma and Sir Louis.</p> + +<p>None of the young men, therefore, could be spared to carry a message to +Dumfries. My father could not leave his school, and so it came to pass +that I was dispatched to saddle my grandfather’s horse. He would ride to +Dumfries with me on a pillion behind him, one hand tucked into the +pocket of his blue coat, while with the other I held the belt about his +waist to make sure. I had to walk up the hills, but that took little of +the pleasure away. Indeed, best of all to me seemed that running hither +and thither like a questing spaniel, in search of all manner of wild +flowers, or the sight of strange, unknown houses lying in wooded +glens—one I mind was Goldielea—which, as all the mead before the door +was one mass of rag-weed (which only grows on the best land), appeared +to me the prettiest and most appropriate name for a house that ever was.</p> + +<p>And so think I still.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_REAL_MR_POOLE_5106" id="THE_REAL_MR_POOLE_5106"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_155" id="pg_155">155</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>THE REAL MR. POOLE</h3> +</div> + +<p>So in time we ran to Dumfries. And my grandfather put up at a hostelry +in English Street, where were many other conveyances with their shafts +canted high in the air, the day being Wednesday. He did not wait a +moment even to speak to those who saluted him by name, but betook +himself at once (and I with him) to the lawyers’ offices in the High +Street—where it runs downhill just below the Mid Steeple.</p> + +<p>Here we found a little knot of people. For, as it turned out (though at +the time we did not know it), Messrs. Smart, Poole and Smart were agents +for half the estates in Dumfriesshire, and our Galloway Marnhoul was +both a far cry and a very small matter to them.</p> + +<p>So when we had watched a while the tremors of the ingoers, all eager to +ask favours, and compared them with the chastened demeanour of those +coming out, my grandfather said to me with his hand on my shoulder, “I +fear, Duncan lad, we shall sleep in Dumfries Tolbooth this night for +making so bauld with one of a house like this!”</p> + +<p>And from this moment I began to regard our captive Mr. Poole with a far +greater respect, in spite of his pistols—which, after all, he might +deem necessary when travelling into such a wild smuggling region as, at +that day and date, most townsbodies pictured our Galloway to be.</p> + +<p>We had a long time to wait in a kind of antechamber, where a man in a +livery of canary and black <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_156" id="pg_156">156</a></span>stripes, with black satin knee-breeches and +paste buckles to his shoes took our names, or at least my grandfather’s +and the name of the estate about which we wanted to speak to the firm.</p> + +<p>For, you see, there being so many to attend to on market day, they had +parted them among themselves, so many to each. And when it came to our +turn it was old Mr. Smart we saw. The grand man in canary and black +ushered us ben, told our name, adding, “of Marnhoul estate,” as if we +had been the owners thereof.</p> + +<p>We had looked to see a fine, noble-appearing man sitting on a kind of +throne, receiving homage, but there was nobody in the room but an old +man in a dressing-gown and soft felt slippers, stirring the +fire—though, indeed, it was hot enough outside.</p> + +<p>He turned towards us, the poker still in his hand, and with an eye like +a gimlet seemed to take us in at a single glance.</p> + +<p>“What’s wrong? What’s wrong the day?” he cried in an odd sing-song; +“what news of the Holy Smugglers? More battle, murder, and sudden death +along the Solway shore?”</p> + +<p>I had never seen my grandfather so visibly perturbed before. He actually +stammered in trying to open out his business—which, now I come to think +of it, was indeed of the delicatest.</p> + +<p>“I have,” he began, “the honour of speaking to Mr. Smart the elder?”</p> + +<p>“It is an honour you share with every Moffat Tam that wants a new roof +to his pigstye,” grumbled the old man in the dressing-gown, “but such as +it is, say on. My time is short! If ye want mainners ye must go next +door!”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Smart,” said my grandfather, “I have come <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_157" id="pg_157">157</a></span>all the way from the +house of Heathknowes on the estate of Marnhoul to announce to you a +misfortune.”</p> + +<p>“What?” cried the old fellow in the blanket dressing-gown briskly, “has +the dead come to life again, or is Lalor Maitland turned honest?”</p> + +<p>But my grandfather shook his head, and with a lamentable voice opened +out to the head of the firm what had befallen their Mr. Poole, how he +had come with pistols in his bag, and gotten trodden on by Rob, my +reckless uncle, so that he was now lying, safe but disabled, in the +small wall cabinet of Heathknowes.</p> + +<p>I was expecting nothing less than a cry for the peace officers, and to +be marched off between a file of soldiers—or, at any rate, the +constables of the town guard.</p> + +<p>But instead the little man put on a pair of great glasses with rims of +black horn, and looked at my grandfather quizzically and a trifle +sternly to see if he were daring to jest. But presently, seeing the +transparent honesty of the man (as who would not?), he broke out into a +snort of laughter, snatched open a door at his elbow, and cried out at +the top of his voice (which, to tell the truth, was no better than a +screech), “Dick Poole—ho there, big Dick Poole!—I want you, Dickie!”</p> + +<p>I could see nothing from the next room but a haze of tobacco smoke, +which presently entering, set the old man in the dressing-gown +a-coughing.</p> + +<p>“Send away thy rascals, Dick,” he wheezed, “and shut that door, Dickie. +That cursed reek of yours would kill a hog of the stye. Hither with you, +good Dick!”</p> + +<p>And after a clinking of glasses and the trampling of great boots on the +stairs, an immense man came <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_158" id="pg_158">158</a></span>in. His face was a riot of health. His eyes +shone blue and kindly under a huge fleece of curly black hair. There was +red in his cheeks, and his lips were full and scarlet. His hand and arm +were those of a prizefighter. He came in smiling, bringing with him such +an odour of strong waters and pipe tobacco that, between laughing and +coughing, I thought the old fellow would have choked. Indeed, I made a +step forward to pat the back of his dressing-gown of flannel, and if +Mary Lyon had been there, I am sure nothing would have stopped her from +doing it.</p> + +<p>Even when he had a little recovered, he still stood hiccoughing with the +tears in his eyes, and calling out with curious squirms of inward +laughter, “Dick, lad, this will never do. Thou art under watch and ward +down at the pirn-mill of Marnhoul! And it was a wench that did it. Often +have I warned thee, Dick! Two pistols thou hadst in a black bag. +Dick—for shame, Dick—for shame, thus to fright a decent woman! And her +son, Rob (I think you said was the name of him), did trample the very +life out of you—which served you well and right, Dickie! Oh, Dickie, +for shame!”</p> + +<p>The big man stood looking from one to the other of us, with a kind of +comical despair, when, hearing through the open door between the old +gentleman’s room and his own, the sounds of a noisy irruption and the +clinking of glasses beginning again, he went back, and with a torrent of +rough words drove the roysterers forth, shutting and locking the door +after them.</p> + +<p>Then he came strolling back, leaned his arm on the mantelpiece, and bade +my grandfather tell him all about it. I can see him yet, this huge ruddy +man, spreading himself by the fireplace, taking up most of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_159" id="pg_159">159</a></span>the room +with his person, while he of the flannel dressing-gown wandered about +<i>tee-heeing</i> with laughter—and, round one side or the other, or between +the legs of the Colossus, making an occasional feeble poke at the fire.</p> + +<p>It was curious also to see how my grandfather’s serene simplicity of +manner and speech compelled belief. I am sure that at first the big man +Dick had nothing in his mind but turning us out into the street as he +had done the roysterers. But as William Lyon went on, his bright eye +grew more thoughtful, and when my grandfather handed him the slip with +the name of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole upon it, he absolutely broke +into a hurricane of laughter, which, however, sounded to me not a little +forced and hollow—though he slapped his leg so loud and hard that the +little man in the dressing-gown stopped open-mouthed and dropped his +poker on the floor.</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” he cried shrilly, “that if you hit yourself like that, +Dick Poole, you will split your buckskin breeches, which appear to be +new.”</p> + +<p>But the big man took not the least notice. He only stared at the scrap +of paper, and then started to laugh again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t do that!” cried his partner. “You will blow my windows out, +and you know how I hate a draught!”</p> + +<p>And indeed they were rattling in their frames. Then the huge Dick went +forward and took my grandfather by the hand.</p> + +<p>“You are sure you have got him?” he inquired; “remember, he is slippery +as an eel.”</p> + +<p>“My wife is looking after him—my three sons also,” said William Lyon, +“and I think it likely that the stamp he got from Rob will keep him +decently <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_160" id="pg_160">160</a></span>quiet for a day at least. You see,” he added apologetically, +“he drave the knife into the thick of the poor lad’s leg!”</p> + +<p>“Wringham?” cried the big man, “why, I did not think he had so muckle +spunk!”</p> + +<p>“Is he close freend of yours?” my grandfather inquired a little +anxiously. For he did not wish to land himself in a blood-feud with the +kin of a lawyer.</p> + +<p>“Friend of mine!” cried the big man, “no, by no means a friend—but, as +it may chance, some sort of kin. However that may be, if you have indeed +got Pollixfen safe, you have done the best day’s work that ever you did +for yourself and for King George, God bless him!”</p> + +<p>“Say you so?” said my grandfather. “Indeed, I rejoice me to hear it. I +have ever been a loyal subject. And as to the Maitland bairns—you see +no harm in their making their home with my goodwife, where the lads can +take care of them—in the unsettled state of the country!”</p> + +<p>The senior partner at last got in a poke at the fire, for which he had +been long waiting his chance.</p> + +<p>“And you, Master Lyon, that are such a good kingsman,” he kekkled, “do +you never hear the blythe Free Traders go clinking by, or find an anker +of cognac nested in your yard among the winter-kail?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Smart,” said the big man, “this is a market day, but I shall need +to ride and see if this is well founded. You will put on your coat +decently and take my work. Abraham has already as much as he can do. Be +short with them—they will not come wanting to drink with you as they do +with me! If what this good Cameronian says be true at this moment, as I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_161" id="pg_161">161</a></span>have no doubt it was when he left Marnhoul, the sooner I, Richard +Poole, am on the spot the better.”</p> + +<p>So he bade us haste and get our beast out of the yard. As for him he was +booted and spurred and buckskinned already. He had nothing to do but +mount and ride.</p> + +<p>All this had passed so quickly that I had hardly time to think on the +strangeness of it. <i>Our</i> Mr. Poole, he to whom my uncle Rob had given +such a stamp, was not the partner in the ancient firm of Smart, Poole +and Smart of the Plainstones. Of these I had seen two, and heard the +busy important voice of the third in another room as we descended the +stairs. They were all men very different from the viper whom my +grandmother had caught as in a bag. Even Mr. Smart was a gentleman. For +if he had a flannel dressing-gown on, one could see the sparkle of his +paste buckles at knee and instep, and his hose were of the best black +silk, as good as Doctor Gillespie’s on Sacrament Sabbath when he was +going up to preach his action sermon. But our Mr. Wringham Pollixfen +Poole—I would not have wiped my foot on him—though, indeed, Uncle Rob +had made no bones about that matter.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="WHILE_WE_SAT_BY_THE_FIRE_5324" id="WHILE_WE_SAT_BY_THE_FIRE_5324"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_162" id="pg_162">162</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>WHILE WE SAT BY THE FIRE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Through the deep solitude of Tereggles Long Wood, past lonely lochs on +which little clattering ripples were blowing, into a west that was all +barred gold and red islands of fire, we rode. Or rather grandfather and +I went steadily but slowly on our pony, while beside us, sometimes +galloping a bit, anon trotting, came big Mr. Richard Poole on his black +horse. Sometimes he would ride off up a loaning to some farm-town where +he had a job to be seen to, or rap with the butt of his loaded whip at +the door of some roadside inn—the Four Mile house or Crocketford, where +he would call for a tankard and drain it off, as it were, with one toss +of the head.</p> + +<p>It was easy to be seen that, for some reason of his own, he did not wish +to get to Heathknowes before us. Yet, after he had asked my grandfather +as to the children, and some details of the attack on the house of +Marnhoul (which he treated as merely an affair between two rival bands +of smugglers) he was pretty silent. And as we got nearer home, he grew +altogether absorbed in his thoughts.</p> + +<p>But I could not help watching him. He looked so fine on his prancing +black, with the sunset glow mellowing his ruddy health, and his curious +habit of constantly making the thong of his horsewhip whistle through +the air or smack against his leg.</p> + +<p>I had met as big men and clever men, but one so active, so healthy, so +beautiful I had never before seen. And every time that a buxom wife or a +well-looking <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_163" id="pg_163">163</a></span>maid brought him his ale to the door of the change-house, +he would set a forefinger underneath her chin and pat her cheek, asking +banteringly after the children or when the wedding was coming off. And +though they did not know him or he them, no one took his words or acts +amiss. Such was the way he had with him.</p> + +<p>And about this time I began to solace myself greatly with the thought of +the meeting there would be between these two—the false Poole and the +true.</p> + +<p>At last we came in the twilight to the Haunted House of Marnhoul, and +Mr. Richard made his horse rear almost as high as the unicorn does in +the sign above the King’s Arms door, so suddenly did he swing him round +to the gate. He halted the beast with his head against the very bar and +looked up the avenue. The grass in the glade was again covered with dew, +for the sky was clear and it was growing colder every minute. It shone +almost like silver, and beyond was the house standing like a dim +dark-grey patch between us and the forest.</p> + +<p>“This gate has been mended,” he remarked, tapping the new wooden post +that had come down from the mill a day or two before.</p> + +<p>“I saw to that myself, sir,” said my grandfather. “I also painted it.”</p> + +<p>“Ha, well done—improving the property for your young guests!” said Mr. +Richard, and then quite suddenly he turned moodily away. All at once he +looked at my grandfather again. “You had better know,” he said, “that +the girl will have no money. So she ought to be taught dairymaking. I am +partial to dairymaids myself! If she favours the Maitlands, she ought to +make a pretty one.”</p> + +<p>My grandfather said nothing, for he did not like <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_164" id="pg_164">164</a></span>this sort of talk, and +was utterly careless whether Miss Irma were penniless or the greatest +heiress in the country.</p> + +<p>Then the long whitewashed rectangle of the Heathknowes office-houses +loomed above us on their hill. In a minute more we were at the gate. My +grandfather called, and through the door of the kitchen came a long +vertical slab of light that fell in a broad beam across the yard. Then +one of the herd-lads hurried across to open the barred “yett” and let us +in.</p> + +<p>“Is all safe?” said my grandfather.</p> + +<p>“As ye left him,” was the answer. “The mistress and the lads have never +taken their eyes off him for a moment!”</p> + +<p>“Take this gentleman’s horse, Ben,” said my grandfather. But Mr. Richard +preferred to be his own hostler, nor did he offer to go near the house +or speak a word of his business till he had seen his splendid black duly +stalled.</p> + +<p>Then my grandmother was summoned, the children brought down, and +immediately stricken, Sir Louis with an intense admiration of the great +strong man in riding boots, and Miss Irma with a dislike quite as +intense. I could see her averting her eyes and trying to hide it. But +over all the other women in the house he established at once a paramount +empire. Even my Aunt Jen followed him with her eyes, so much of the room +did he take up, so large and easy were his gestures, and with such a +matter-of-course simplicity did he take the homage they paid him.</p> + +<p>Yet he seemed to care far more about Miss Irma than even my grandmother, +or the fellow of his name whom he had ridden so far to see.</p> + +<p>He asked her whether she would rather stay where she was or come to +Dumfries, to be near the theatre <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_165" id="pg_165">165</a></span>and Assembly balls. As for a chaperon, +she could make her choice between Mrs. Hope of the Abbey and the +Provost’s lady. Either would be glad to oblige the daughter of a +Maitland of Marnhoul—and perhaps also Mr. Richard Poole.</p> + +<p>Then, after hearing her answer, he asked for pen and paper and wrote a +few lines—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>“As Miss Irma Maitland urgently desires that her +brother and she should remain under the care of Mr. +William Lyon and his wife at Heathknowes, and as +the aforesaid William and Mary Lyon are able and +willing to provide for their maintenance, we see no +reason why the arrangement should not be an excellent +and suitable one, at least until such time as Sir +Louis must be sent to school, when the whole question +will again come up. And this to hold good whatever +may be the outcome of this interview with the person +calling himself Wringham Pollixfen Poole,</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">“For Smart, Poole and Smart, <br /> +”R. <span class="sc">Poole</span>.“</p> +</div> + +<p>He handed the paper across to my grandmother, in whom he easily +recognized the ruling spirit of the household.</p> + +<p>“There, madam,” he said, “that will put matters on a right basis with my +firm whatever may happen to me. And now, if you please, I should like to +see my double at once. I suspect a kinsman, but do not be afraid of a +vendetta. If Master Robin, of whose prowess I have already heard, has +crushed in a rib or two, so much the better. Even if he had broken my +worthy relative’s back, I fear me few would have worn mourning!”</p> + +<p>They found the three young men still in the room, and my grandmother did +no more than assure herself <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_166" id="pg_166">166</a></span>of the presence of the still white-wrapped +figure on the shakedown in the corner, before leading Mr. Richard into +the parlour.</p> + +<p>He went out from us with a jovial nod to my father, a low bow to Miss +Irma, and mock salutation to little Sir Louis, his head high in the air, +his riding whip swinging by its loop from his arm, and as it seemed, a +vigour of blood sufficient for a dozen ordinary people circulating in +his veins.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said to my uncles, as soon as he had looked +at the bed and lifted the kerchief which Mary Lyon had laid wet upon the +brow. “I recognize, as I had reason to expect, a scion of my house, +however unworthy, with whom it will be necessary for me to communicate +privately. But if you will retire to the kitchen, I shall easily signal +you should your services become again necessary.”</p> + +<p>He stood with the edge of the door in his hand, and with a slight bow +ushered each of my uncles out. I was there, too, of course, seeing what +was to be seen. His eye lighted on me, and a slinking figure I must have +presented in spite of my usual courage, for he only turned one thumb +back over his shoulder with a comical smile, and bade me get to bed, +because when he was young he, too, knew what keyholes were good for.</p> + +<p>The word “too” hurt me, for it meant that he thought I was going to +eavesdrop, whereas I was merely, for the sake of Irma and the family, +endeavouring to satisfy a perfectly legitimate curiosity.</p> + +<p>I did, however, hear him say as he shut and locked the parlour door, +“Now, sir, the play is played. Sit up and take off that clout. Let us +talk out this affair like men!”</p> + +<p>It was now night, and we were gathered in the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_167" id="pg_167">167</a></span>kitchen. I do not think +that even Rob took much supper. I know that but for my grandfather the +horses would have had to go without theirs—and this, the most sacred +duty of mankind about a farm, would for once have been neglected. We +sat, mainly in the dark, with only the red glow of the fire in our +faces, listening to the voice of a man that came in stormy gusts. The +lamp had been left on the parlour table to give them light, and somehow +we were so preoccupied that none of us thought of lighting a candle.</p> + +<p>The great voice of Mr. Richard dominated us—so full of contempt and +anger it was. We could not in the least distinguish what the impostor +said in reply. Indeed, Rob and I could just hear a kind of roopy +clattering like that of a hungry hen complaining to the vague Powers +which rule the times and seasons of distribution from the “daich” bowl.</p> + +<p>There was something very strange in all this—so strange that when my +grandfather came back, for the first time in the history of Heathknowes, +no chapter was read, no psalm sung or prayer read. Somehow it seemed +like an impiety in the face of what was going on down there. Mr. Richard +talked far the most. At first his mood was all of stormy anger, and the +replies of the other, as I have said, almost inaudible.</p> + +<p>But after a while these bursts of bellowing became less frequent. The +low replying voice grew, if not louder, more persistent. Mr. Richard +seemed to be denying or refusing something in short gruff gasps of +breath.</p> + +<p>“No, no—no! By heaven, sir, NO!” we heard him cry plainly. And somehow +hearing that, Irma crept closer to me, and slid her hand in mine, a +thing which she had not done since the night of watching in the Old +House of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_168" id="pg_168">168</a></span>Somehow both of us knew that it was a question of herself.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly upon this long period of to-and-fro, there fell (as it +were) the very calmness of reconciliation. Peace seemed to be made, and +I think that all of us were glad of it, for the suspense and an +increasing tension of the nerves were telling on us all.</p> + +<p>“They are shaking hands,” whispered my grandmother; “Mr. Richard has +brought him to his senses. Fine I knew he would.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if they will put him in prison or let him off because of the +family?” said Rob, adjusting the bandage about his wounded leg. “Anyway, +I am glad of the bit tramp he got from my yard clogs!”</p> + +<p>“Wheesht!” whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction +of the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur.</p> + +<p>“They will be writing something—some bond or deed, most likely.”</p> + +<p>“They are long about it,” said William Lyon uneasily.</p> + +<p>The silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My +grandfather fidgeted in his chair. At last he said in a low tone, “Lads, +we have endured long enough. We must see what they are at. If we are +wrong, I will bear the weight!”</p> + +<p>As one man the four moved towards the door, through the keyhole of which +a ray of light was stealing from the lamp that had been left on the +table.</p> + +<p>“Open!” cried my grandfather suddenly and loudly. But the door remained +fast.</p> + +<p>“Is all right there, Master Richard?” he shouted. Still there was +silence within.</p> + +<p>“Put your shoulders to it, lads!” Eben and Tom were at it in a moment, +while strong Rob, springing <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_169" id="pg_169">169</a></span>from the far side of the passage, burst the +lock and sent the door back against the inner wall, the hinges snapped +clean through.</p> + +<p>Mr. Richard was sitting in a quiet room, his head leaning forward on his +hands. His loaded riding whip was flung in a corner. The window was wide +open, and the night black and quiet without. Sweet odours of flowers +came in from the little garden. The lamp burned peacefully and nothing +in the room was disturbed. But Mr. Wringham Pollixfen was not there, and +when we touched him, Mr. Richard Poole was dead, his head dropped upon +his arms.</p> + +<h2><a name="PART_III" id="PART_III"></a>PART III</h2> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_170" id="pg_170">170</a></span> +<a name="BOYD_CONNOWAYS_EVIDENCE_5576" id="BOYD_CONNOWAYS_EVIDENCE_5576"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>BOYD CONNOWAY’S EVIDENCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The loop of the riding-whip on Mr. Richard’s wrist was broken, and +behind his ear there was a lump the size of a small hen’s egg. There +were no signs of a struggle. The two men had been sitting face to face, +eye to eye, when by a movement which must have been swift as lightning, +one had disarmed and smitten the other.</p> + +<p>Tom, Eben and Rob armed themselves and went out. But the branches of +Marnhoul wood stood up against the sky, black, serried and silent. The +fields beneath spread empty and grey. The sough of the wind and the +fleeing cloud of night was all they saw or heard. They were soon within +the house again, happy to be there and the door barred stoutly upon +them.</p> + +<p>Except for little Louis, who was already in bed on the other side of the +house where his chamber was, and so knew nothing of the occurrence till +the morning, there was no sleep for any that night at Heathknowes. At +the first clear break of day Tom and Eben took the cart-horses and rode +over to tell Dr. Gillespie, General Johnstone, and Mr. Shepstone +Oglethorpe, who were all Justices of the Peace, of what had happened. +They came, the General the most imposing, with a great army cloak and a +star showing beneath the collar.</p> + +<p>In the little detached sitting-room, which till the coming of the +Maitlands had been used as a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_171" id="pg_171">171</a></span>cheese-room, Mr. Richard Poole sat, as he +had been found, his head still bowed upon his arms, but on his face, +when they raised it to look, there was an absolute terror, so that even +the General, who had seen many a day of battle, was glad to lay it down +again.</p> + +<p>They took such testimony as was to be had, which was but little, and all +tending to one startling conclusion. Suddenly, swiftly, noiselessly, +within hearing of eight or nine people, in a defensible house, with arms +at hand, Mr. Richard Poole, of the firm of Smart, Poole and Smart, had +been done to death.</p> + +<p>Yet he had known something, though perhaps not the full extent of his +danger. We recalled his silences, his moodiness as he approached the +farm—the manner in which he had at once put aside all claims, even on a +market Wednesday, that he might ride and speak with a man who, if he +were not a felon, was certainly no honourable acquaintance for such as +Mr. Richard.</p> + +<p>The three gentlemen looked at each other and took snuff from the +Doctor’s gold box.</p> + +<p>“Very serious, sir!” said Mr. Shepstone tentatively. For indeed he had +not many ideas—a fact which the others charitably put down to his being +an Episcopalian. Really he wanted to find out what they thought before +committing himself.</p> + +<p>“Tempestuous Theophilus!” cried the General, who in the presence of the +Doctor always swore by unknown saints—to relieve himself, as was +thought—“but ’tis more serious than you think. A fellow like this +alive, at large, in our parish——”</p> + +<p>“In <i>my</i> parish——” corrected the Doctor, who was the only man alive +with a legal right to speak of Eden Valley parish as his own.</p> + +<p>About noon the Fiscal, responsible law officer of the Crown, arrived +from Kirkcudbright escorted by <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_172" id="pg_172">172</a></span>Tom and Eben. The evidence was all heard +over again, the chamber—ex-cheese room, present parlour—again +inspected, but nothing further appeared likely to be discovered, when a +shadow fell across the threshold.</p> + +<p>For some time, indeed, I had sat quaking in my corner, all cold with the +fear of a flitting figure, appearing here and there, seen with the tail +of the eye, and then disappearing like the black cat I see in corners +when my eyes are overstrained with Greek.</p> + +<p>Of course I thought at once of the murderer Wringham Pollixfen lurking +catlike among the office-houses in the hope of striking again, perhaps +at Miss Irma—perhaps, also, as I now see, at Sir Louis. But indeed I +never thought of him, at least not at the time. It was not the pretended +Poole, however. It was a presence as quick, as agile, but more perfectly +acquainted with the hidie-holes of the farmyard—in fact, Boyd Connoway.</p> + +<p>Long before the others I got my eyes on him, and with the joy of a boy +when a visitor enters the school at the dreariest hour of lessons, I +rushed after him. To my surprise he went round the angle of the barn +like a shot. But I had played at that game before. I took one flying +leap into the little orchard from the window of the parlour which had +been given up to the Maitlands, Louis and Miss Irma. Then I glided among +the trees, choosing those I knew would hide me, and leaped on Master +Boyd from behind as he was craning his neck to peer round the corner in +the direction of the house door.</p> + +<p>To my utter amaze he dropped to the ground with a throttled kind of cry +as if some one had smitten him unawares. Here was surely something that +I did not understand.</p> + +<p>“Boyd, Boyd,” I said in his ear, for I began to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_173" id="pg_173">173</a></span>grow a little concerned +myself—not terrified, you know, only anxious—“Boyd, it is only +Duncan—Duncan MacAlpine from the school-house.”</p> + +<p>He turned a white, bewildered face to me, cold sweats pearling it, and +his jaw worked in spasms. “Oh yes,” he muttered, “Agnes Anne’s brother!”</p> + +<p>Now I did not see the use of dragging Agnes Anne continually into +everything. Also I was one of the boys who had gone with Boyd Connoway +oftenest to the fishing in Loch-in-Breck, and he need not have been +afraid of me. But I think that he was a little unsettled by fear.</p> + +<p>He did not explain, however, only bidding me shudderingly, “not to come +at him that way again!” So I promised I would not, all the more readily +that I heard him muttering to himself, “I thought he had me that +time—yes, sure!”</p> + +<p>Then I knew that he too was afraid of the man who called himself +Wringham Pollixfen Poole and had killed the real Mr. Richard in our old +cheese-room. But I was not a bit afraid, for had I not jumped through +the orchard window, and run and clapped my hand on his shoulder without +a thought of the creature ever crossing my mind.</p> + +<p>At any rate I took him in with me—that is, Boyd Connoway. I cannot say +that he wanted very much to go “before them Justices,” as he said. But +at least he preferred it to stopping outside. I think he was frightened +of my coming out again and slapping down my hand on his shoulder. Lord +knows he need not have been, for I promised not to. At any rate he came, +which was the main thing.</p> + +<p>He did not enjoy the ceremony, but stood before them with his blue coat +with the large rolling collar, which had been made for a bigger man, +buttoned about his waist, and his rig-and-furrow stockings of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_174" id="pg_174">174</a></span>green, +with home-made shoes called “brogues,” the secret of making which he had +brought with him from a place called Killybegs in County Donegal. He was +all tashed with bits of straw and moss clinging to him. His knees too +were wet where he had knelt in the marsh, and there was a kind of white +shaking terror about the man that impressed every one. For Boyd Connoway +had ever been the gayest and most reckless fellow in the parish.</p> + +<p>When he was asked if he knew anything about the matter he only +stammered, “Thank you kindly, Doctor, and you, General, and hoping that +I have the honour of seein’ you in good health, and that all is well +with you at home and your good ladies and the childer!”</p> + +<p>The General, who thought that he spoke in a mood of mockery, cautioned +him that they were met there on a business of life and death, and were +in no mood to be trifled with. Therefore, he, Boyd Connoway, had better +keep his foolery for another time!</p> + +<p>But the Doctor, being by his profession accustomed to diagnose the moods +of souls, discerned the laboured pant of one who has been breathed by a +long run from mortal terror—who has, as my father would have said, +“ridden a race with Black Care clinging to the crupper”—and took Boyd +in hand with better results. He agreed to tell all he knew, on being +promised full and certain protection.</p> + +<p>And it was something like this that he told his story, as it proved the +only direct evidence in the case, at least for many and many a day.</p> + +<p>“Doctor dear,” he began, “ye are a married man yourself, and you will +not be misunderstanding me when I ask that anything I may say shall not +be used against me?”</p> + +<p>The Fiscal looked up quickly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_175" id="pg_175">175</a></span>“I warn you that it will,” he said, “if you have had any hand in this +murder!”</p> + +<p>“Murder, is it?”—(Boyd Connoway gave a short grunting laugh)—“Aye, +maybe, but ’tis not the murder that has been, but the murder that will +be, if my wife Bridget gets wind of this! That’s why I ask that it +should be kept between ourselves—so that Bridget should not know!”</p> + +<p>“Women,” said the Fiscal oracularly, “must not be allowed to interfere +with the evenhanded and fearless administration of justice.”</p> + +<p>“Then I take it,” said Boyd, with a twinkle of the old mirth flickering +up into his white and anxious face, “that your honour is not a married +man!”</p> + +<p>“No,” said the Fiscal, with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Then, if I may make so bould, your honour knows nothing about how it is +’twixt Bridget and me. His riverence the Doctor now——”</p> + +<p>“Tell us what you know without digressions,” said the Fiscal; “no use +will be made of your evidence save in pursuing and bringing to justice +the criminal.”</p> + +<p>“He’s gone,” said Boyd Connoway solemnly, “and a good riddance to the +parish!”</p> + +<p>“Wha-a-at?” cried the three magistrates simultaneously. And the Fiscal +started to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Who has gone?” he cried, and mechanically he drew from his pocket a +silver call to summon his constables from the kitchen, where my uncles +and they were having as riotous a time as they dared while so many great +folk sat pow-wowing in the parlour near at hand.</p> + +<p>“Who?” repeated Boyd Connoway, “well, I don’t know for certain, but +perhaps this little piece of paper will put you gentlemen on the track.”</p> + +<p>And he handed over a letter, much stained with sea-water and sand. The +heel of a boot had trodden <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_176" id="pg_176">176</a></span>upon and partly obliterated the writing, the +ink having run, and the whole appearance of the document being somewhat +draggle-tailed.</p> + +<p>But there was no doubt about the address. That was clearly written in a +fine flowing English hand, “To His Excellency Lalor Maitland, late +Governor of the Meuse, Constable of Dinant, etc., etc. <i>These</i>”—</p> + +<p>We all looked at each other, and the Fiscal began to doubt whether the +new evidence as to the suspected murderer would prove so valuable after +all.</p> + +<p>“Your Excellency” (the letter ran), “according to the promise made to +you, the lugger <i>Bloomendahl</i>, of Walchern, Captain Vandam, has been +cleared of cargo and is exclusively reserved for your Excellency’s use. +It will be well, therefore, to dispatch your remaining business in +Scotland, as it is impossible to send back the <i>Golden Hind</i> or a vessel +of similar size without causing remark. At the old place, then, a little +after midnight of Thursday the 18th, a boat will be waiting for you at +the eastern port or the western of Portowarren according to the wind. +The tide is full about one.”</p> + +<p>“How came you by this?” the Fiscal demanded.</p> + +<p>“Shall I tell ye in bits, sorr?” said Boyd, “or will ye have her from +the beginning?”</p> + +<p>“From the beginning,” said the Fiscal, “only with as few digressions as +possible.”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said Boyd innocently, “I got none o’ them about me. Your honour +can saarch me if ye like!”</p> + +<p>“The Fiscal means,” said the Doctor, “that you are to tell him the story +as straightly and as briefly as possible.”</p> + +<p>“Straightly, aye, that I will,” said Boyd, “there was never a crooked +word came out of my mouth; but briefly, that’s beyond any Irishman’s +power—least of all if he comes from County Donegal!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_177" id="pg_177">177</a></span>“Go on!” cried the Fiscal impatiently.</p> + +<p>“As all things do in our house, it began with Bridget,” said Boyd +Connoway; “ye see, sorr, she took in a man with a wound—powerful sick +he was. The night after the ‘dust-up’ at the Big House was the time, and +she nursed him and she cured him, the craitur. But, whatever the better +Bridget was, all that I got for it was that I had to go to Portowarren +at dead of night, and that letter flung at me like a bone to a dog, when +I told him that I might be called in question for the matter of my +wife.”</p> + +<p>“‘Aye, put it on your wife,’ says he, ‘they will let you off. <i>You</i> have +not the pluck of a half-drowned flea!’</p> + +<p>“But when I insisted that I should have wherewith to clear me and +Bridget also, he cast the letter down, dibbling it into the pebbles and +sand with his heel just as he was going aboard.</p> + +<p>“‘There,’ he cried, ‘now you can put it on me!’”</p> + +<p>“Lalor Maitland,” said the Fiscal, ruminating, with his brow knit at the +letter in his hand. “Where is that maid? Bring her here!”</p> + +<p>I sprang away at once to knock on Irma’s door, and bid her come, because +the great folk were wanting her. And it seemed as if she had been +expecting the summons too, for she was sitting ready close by little +Louis. She cast a white shawl about her shoulders, crossed the kitchen +and so into the room where the four gentlemen were sitting about the +table—the Fiscal with his papers at the end, and behind the curtains +drawn close about the press-bed where lay that which it was not good for +young eyes to see.</p> + +<p>“Miss Maitland, will you describe to us your cousin, Lalor Maitland, of +whom you have already spoken to me?”</p> + +<p>It was the Doctor who took her hand, while on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_178" id="pg_178">178</a></span>other side Boyd +Connoway in his flapping clothes of antique pattern with brass buttons +stood waiting his turn. Irma took one look about which I intercepted. +And I think my nod together with the presence of my grandmother gave her +courage, for she answered—</p> + +<p>“Lalor Maitland? What has he to do with us? He shall not have us. We +would kill ourselves if we could not run away. You would never think of +giving us up to him——?”</p> + +<p>“Never while I am alive!” cried my grandmother, but Dr. Gillespie signed +to her to be silent.</p> + +<p>“Will you describe him to us?” suggested the Doctor suavely, “what sort +of a man, dark or fair, stout or spare, how he carries himself, what he +came over to this country for, and where he is likely to have gone, if +we find that he has left it?”</p> + +<p>Irma thought a moment and then said, “Perhaps I shall not be quite just +because I hated him so. But he was a man whom most call handsome, though +to me there was always something dreadful about his face. His hair was +dark brown mixed with grey. His features were cut like those of a +statue, and his head small for his height. He was slender, light on his +feet, and walked silently—<i>ugh</i>—yes, like a cat.”</p> + +<p>The Fiscal looked an interrogation at Boyd Connoway.</p> + +<p>“That is the man,” he answered unhesitatingly, “though most of the time +while he stayed with Bridget and me he kept his bed. Only from the way +he got along the cliff by Portowarren, I judge he was only keeping out +of sight and by no means so weak with his wound as he would have had us +believe.”</p> + +<p>“And tell us what you saw of him yesterday, Wednesday?”</p> + +<p>It was the Fiscal who asked the question, but I think all of us held our +breaths to catch Boyd Connoway’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_179" id="pg_179">179</a></span>answer. He shook his head with a +disconcerted air like a boy who is set too hard a problem.</p> + +<p>“I was from home most of the day, and when I came in, with a hunger +sharp-set with half-a-dozen hours struggling with the wind, Bridget bade +me be off at once to the Dutchman’s Howff, which is in Colvend, just +where the Boreland march dyke comes down to the edge of the cliff. I was +to wait there on the edge of the heugh till one came and called me by +name. When I complained of hunger, she put some dry bread into my hand, +crying out that I might seek meat where I had worked my work.</p> + +<p>“I saw that the ‘ben’ room was empty, and the blankets thrown over the +three chair backs. But when I asked where the sick man was, Bridget +stamped her foot and bade me attend to my business and she would take +care of hers. But Jerry, my oldest boy, had a word with me before I left +for the march dyke. He told me that the man ‘down-the-house’ had gone +that morning as soon as my back was turned, after paying his mother in +gold sovereigns, which she had immediately hidden.</p> + +<p>“So I went and waited by the Boreland march dyke—a wild place where +even the heather is laid flat by the wind. The gulls and corbies were +calling down the cliff, and at the foot the sea was roaring through a +narrow gully and spreading out fan-shaped along the sands of the +Dutchman’s Howff.</p> + +<p>“I waited long, having nought to eat except the sheaf of loaf bread I +gat with such an ill grace from Bridget, and at the end I was beginning +to lose patience, when from the other side of the gully I heard a crying +and a voice bade me follow the dyke upwards and stand by to help.</p> + +<p>“So upon the top of the wall I got, and there beneath me was the man I +had last seen lying in <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_180" id="pg_180">180</a></span>Bridget’s best bed, cossetted and cared for as +if he were a prince. But for all that he was short and angry, bidding me +dispatch and help him or he would lose his tide.”</p> + +<p>“And did he wear the same clothes as when last you saw him?” said +Shepstone Oglethorpe, with a shrewd air.</p> + +<p>At which Boyd Connoway laughed for the first time since he had come into +the presence of his betters.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, “for the last time I saw him he was under the sheets with +one of my sarks on, and Bridget’s best linen sheet tied in ribbons about +his head.”</p> + +<p>“And how, then, was he dressed?” said the Fiscal, with a glance of scorn +at Shepstone.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” answered Boyd Connoway, “just like you or me. I took no particular +notice. More than that, it was an ill time for seeing patterns, being +nigh on to pit mirk. He bade me lead the way. And this, to the best of +my knowledge and ability, I did. But the track is not canny even in the +broad of the day. Mickle worse is it when the light of the stars and the +glimmer o’ the sea three hunder feet below are all that ye hae to guide +ye! But the man that had been hidden in our ‘ben’ room was aye for going +on faster and faster. He stopped only to look down now and then for a +riding light of some boat. And I made so bold, seeing him that anxious, +as to tell him that if it were a canny cargo for the Co’en lads, waiting +to be run into Portowarren, never a glim would he see.”</p> + +<p>“‘You trust a man that kens,’ I said to him, ‘never a skarrow will wink, +nor a lantern swing. The Isle o’ Man chaps and the Dutchmen out yonder +have their business better at their fingers’ ends than that. But I will +tell ye what ye may hear when we get down <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_181" id="pg_181">181</a></span>the hill by the joiner’s +shop—and that’s the clink o’ the saddle irons, and the waff o’ their +horses’ lugs as they shake their necks—them no liking their heads tied +up in bags.’</p> + +<p>“‘Get on,’ he said, ‘I wish your head were tied up in a bag!’ And he +tugged at my tail-coat like to rive it off me, your honour. ‘Set me on +the shore there at Portowarren before the hour of two, or maybe ye will +get something for your guerdon ye will like but ill.’</p> + +<p>“This was but indifferent talk to a man whose bread you have been eating +(it is mostly porridge and saps, but no matter) for weeks and weeks!</p> + +<p>“We climbed down by the steep road over the rocks—the same that Will of +the Cloak Moss and Muckle Sandy o’ Auchenhay once held for two hours +again the gaugers, till the loaded boats got off clear again into deep +water. And when we had tramped down through the round stones that were +so hard on the feet after the heather, we came to the edge of the sea +water. There it is deep right in. For the tide never leaves +Portowarren—no, not the shot of a pebble thrown by the hand. Bending +low I could see something like the sail of a ship rise black against the +paler edge of the sea.</p> + +<p>“Then it was that I asked the man for something that might clear me if I +was held in suspicion for this night’s work—as also my wife Bridget.</p> + +<p>“After at first denying me with oaths and curses, he threw down this bit +paper that I have communicated to your worship, and in a pet trampled it +into the pebbles among which the sea was churning and lappering. He +pushed off into the boat, sending it out by his weight.</p> + +<p>“‘There,’ he cried back, ‘let them make what they will of that if ye be +called in question. And, hear ye, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_182" id="pg_182">182</a></span>Boyd Connoway, this I do for the sake +of that hard-working woman, your wife, and not for you, that are but a +careless, idle good-for-nothing!’”</p> + +<p>“Deil or man,” broke in my grandmother, who thought she had kept silence +long enough, “never was a truer word spoken!”</p> + +<p>Boyd Connoway looked pathetically about. He seemed to implore some one +to stand up in his defence. I would have liked to do it, because of his +kindness to me, but dared not before such an assembly and on so solemn +an occasion.</p> + +<p>“I put it to the honourable gentlemen now assembled,” said Boyd +Connoway, “if a man can rightly be called a lazy good-for-nothing when +he rose at four of the morning to cut his wife’s firewood——”</p> + +<p>“Should have done it the night before,” interrupted my grandmother.</p> + +<p>“And was at Urr kirkyard at ten to help dig a grave, handed the service +of cake and wine at twelve, rung the bell, covered in the corp, and +sodded him down as snug as you, Mr. Fiscal, will sleep in your bed this +night——!”</p> + +<p>“That will do,” said the Fiscal, who thought Boyd Connoway had had quite +enough rope. “Tell us what happened after that—and briefly, as I said +before.”</p> + +<p>“Why, I went over to Widow McVinnie’s to milk her cow. It calved only +last Wednesday, and I am fond of ‘beesten cheese.’ Besides, the +scripture says, ‘Help the widows in their afflictions’—or words to that +effect.”</p> + +<p>“After this man Lalor Maitland had got into the boat, what happened?”</p> + +<p>The Fiscal spoke sharply. He thought he was being played with, when, in +fact, Boyd was only letting his tongue run on naturally.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_183" id="pg_183">183</a></span>“Nothing at all, your honour,” said Boyd promptly. “The men in the boat +just set their oars to the work and were round the corner in a jiffey. I +ran to the point by the narrow square opening into the soft sandstone +rock, and lying low on my face I could see a lugger close in under the +heugh of Boreland, where she would never have dared to go, save that the +wind was off shore and steady. But after the noise of the oars in the +rowlocks died away I heard no more, and look as I would, I never saw the +lugger slip out of the deep shadow of the heughs. So, there being +nothing further to be done, I filled my pockets with the dulse that +grows there, thin and sweet. For nowhere along the Solway shore does one +get the right purple colour and the clean taste of the dulse as in that +of Portowarren, towards the right-hand nook as you stand looking up the +brae face.”</p> + +<p>Having tendered this very precise indication to whom it might concern, +Boyd bowed to the company and took his leave.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The Fiscal was for holding him in ward lest he should escape, being such +a principal witness. But the three Justices knew well that there was no +danger of this, and indeed all of them expressed their willingness to go +bail for the appearance of Boyd Connoway whenever he should be wanted.</p> + +<p>“And a great many times when he is not!” added my grandmother, with tart +frankness.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_SHARP_SPUR_6054" id="THE_SHARP_SPUR_6054"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_184" id="pg_184">184</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE SHARP SPUR</h3> +</div> + +<p>Though, therefore, the mystery remained as impenetrable as ever, I think +that the fact of the absence of Lalor Maitland put new vigour into all +of us. Richard Poole was buried in Dumfries, where all the “good jovial +fellows” of a dozen parishes gathered to give him an impressive funeral. +The firm closed up its ranks and became merely Messrs. Smart and Smart. +There was a new and loquacious tablet in St. Michael’s relating in +detail (with omissions) the virtues and attainments of the deceased Mr. +Richard. But of the other Mr. Poole, calling himself Wringham Pollixfen, +not a trace, not a suggestion, not a suspicion of his whereabouts had he +left behind since he stepped out of our window into the dark.</p> + +<p>But, nevertheless, in Eden Valley the air was clearer, the summer day +longer and brighter, and the land had rest. It was an impressive day +when Irma brought Louis to my father’s school. The Academy remembers it +yet.</p> + +<p>The morning had opened rather desolately. With the dawn the slate-grey +fingers of the rain clouds had reached down, spanning from Criffel to +Screel. The sea mist did what faith also can do. It removed mountains. +One after another they faded and were not. A chillish wind began to blow +up from the Solway, and even in Eden Valley was heard the distant roar +of the surf, through the low pass which is called the Nick of Benarick. +The long grass first stood in beads and then began to trickle. Flowers +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_185" id="pg_185">185</a></span>drooped their heads if of the harebell sort, or stood spikily defiant +like the yellow whin and the pink thistle.</p> + +<p>I had got ready cloaks and hoods, you may be sure. I was on the spot at +my grandmother’s door a full hour before the time. Within I found Mary +Lyon raging. Neither of the bairns should go out of her house on such a +day! What for could they not be content to take their learning from +Duncan and Agnes Anne? Miss Irma, she was sure, was well able to teach +the bairn. It was all a foolishness, and very likely would end in +something uncanny. If it did—well, let nobody blame her. She had lifted +up her testimony, and thrown away her wisdom on deaf ears.</p> + +<p>Which, indeed, was something not unlike the case.</p> + +<p>For just then the sun shone out. The clouds divided to right and left, +following the steep purpling ridges on either side of Eden Valley—and +in the middle opening out a long sweet stream of brightness. Little +Louis clapped his hands. He ached for the company of his kind. He talked +“boys.” He dreamed “boys”—not grown-up boys like me, but children of +his own age. He despised Irma because she was a girl. Only Agnes Anne +could anyways satisfy him, when she put on over her dress a pair of her +grandfather’s corduroy trousers, buttoned them above her shoulder, and +pretended to give orders as in the pirn-mill. Even then, after a happy +hour with the toys which Agnes Anne contrived for him, all at once Louis +grew whimpering disappointedly, stared at her and said, “You are not a +real little boy.”</p> + +<p>And I, who had the pick of the Eden Valley boys on my hand every time I +went near my father’s (and knew them for little beasts), wondered at his +taste, when he could have Irma’s company, not to speak <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_186" id="pg_186">186</a></span>of Agnes Anne’s. +But I resolved that I should keep a bright look-out and make the little +villains behave. For at an early age our Eden Valley boys were just +savages, ready to mock and rend any one of themselves who was a little +better dressed, who wore boots instead of clogs with birch-wood soles, +or dared to speak without battering the King’s English out of all +recognition.</p> + +<p>My father and Miss Huntingdon would, of course, be ready to protect our +small man as far as was in their power. But they, especially my father, +were often far removed in higher spheres of work, while Miss Huntingdon +was never in the boys’ playground at all. But I had none of these +disabilities. I was instructed, sharp-eyed, always on the spot, with +fists in good repair—armed, too, with a certain authority and the habit +of using it to the full.</p> + +<p>So little Louis found himself among his boys. I picked him out +half-a-dozen of the most peaceable to play with, after he had received +his first lesson from a very proud and smiling Miss Huntingdon. Miss +Irma, after being formally introduced to the school, left the sort of +throne which had been set for her beside my father, to go and sit beside +Agnes Anne at the top of the highest form of girls.</p> + +<p>Her presence made a hush among the elder boys, and such of the young men +as happened to be there that day. For though we had scholars up to the +age of twenty, most of these were at work during the summer and came +only in the winter season—though in the interval betwixt sowing and +hay-harvest and between that again and the ripening of the corn we would +receive stray visits from them, especially in the long wet spells of +weather.</p> + +<p>It was at noon and the girls were walking in their <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_187" id="pg_187">187</a></span>playground talking +with linked arms, apart from the noisy sportings of the boys, when I +caught my first glimpse of Uncle Rob. He was standing right opposite the +school in the big door of the Eden Valley Mill. I wondered what he was +doing there, for it was not the season for grinding much corn. Besides, +it would have been handier to send it down and call for it again during +such a busy season on the farm.</p> + +<p>So I ran across and asked him what he was doing there. I could hardly +hear his answer, for the loud <i>plash-plash</i> of the buckets of water as +they fell into the great pool underneath the wheel.</p> + +<p>I understood him, however, to say that it was open to me to attend to my +own business and leave him to look after his.</p> + +<p>In a moment the demon of jealousy entered into my soul. Could it be that +he came there to be near Irma—Irma, whom I had fought for and saved +half-a-dozen times over all by myself—for it is not worth while going +back to what Agnes Anne did, as it were, accidentally. I was so angry at +the mere thought that there and then I charged him with his perfidy. He +laughed a short, contemptuous laugh.</p> + +<p>“And what for no,” he answered; “at least <i>I</i> have a trade at my +finger-ends. I can drive a plough. I can thresh a mow. At a pinch I can +even shoe a horse. But you—you have quit even the school-mastering!”</p> + +<p>I do not know whether or not he said it unwittingly or with intent to +sting me. But at any rate the thrust went home. I could hardly wait till +my father had got through with his work that night, and was stretched in +his easy-chair, his long pipe in one hand and a volume of Martial in the +other. I broke <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_188" id="pg_188">188</a></span>in upon him with the words, “Father, I want to go to +college with Freddie Esquillant!”</p> + +<p>My father looked at me in surprise. I can see him still staring at me +bemazed with his pipe half-way to his mouth, and the open book laid face +downward upon his knee.</p> + +<p>“Go to college—you?” His surprise was more cutting than Uncle Rob’s +mockery. Because, you see, my father knew. That is, he knew my +scholarship. What he did not know was how much of my grandmother’s +spirit there was in me, and how I could keep working on and on if I had +the chance.</p> + +<p>“You have thought of this long?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“No, father!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well, what put it into your head?” he asked kindly.</p> + +<p>This I could hardly tell him without entering into my furious foolish +jealousy of Uncle Rob, his waiting at the mill, and our exchange of +words. So I only said, “It just came to me that I would like to get +learning, father!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes,” he meditated, “that is mostly the way. It is like heavenly +grace. It comes to a man when he least expects it—the desire for +learning. We seek it diligently with tears. It comes not. We wake in the +morning and lo! it is there!”</p> + +<p>It is characteristic of my father that even then he did not concern +himself about ways and means. For at the colleges of our land are +“bursaries” provided by pious patrons, once poor themselves, and often +with a thirst for knowledge unquenched—boys put too early to the bench +or the counter. Now my father had the way of winning these for his +pupils. He did not teach them directly how to gain them, but he supplied +the inspiration.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_189" id="pg_189">189</a></span>“Read much and well. Get the spirit. Learn the grammar, certainly. But +read Latin—till you can speak Latin, think Latin. It is more difficult +to think Greek. Our stiff-necked, stubborn Lowland nature, produce of +half-a-score of conquering nations, has not the right suppleness. But if +there is any poetry in you, it will find you out when you read +Euripides.”</p> + +<p>So though certainly I never got so far—the verbs irregular giving me a +distaste for the business—at least I fell into line, and in due +time—but there I am anticipating. I am writing of the day, the +wonderful day when the sharp spur of Uncle Rob’s reproach entered into +my soul and I resolved to be—I hardly knew what. A band of little boys, +all eager to see the pirn-mill in the Marnhoul wood, volunteered to +accompany Louis home. They went on ahead, gambolling and shouting. Agnes +Anne would have come also, but I suggested to her that she had better +stay and help her mother.</p> + +<p>She gave me one look—not by any means of anger. Rather if Agnes Anne +had ever permitted herself to make fun of me, I should have set it down +to that. But I knew well that could not be. She stayed at home, +contentedly enough, however.</p> + +<p>I went home with Irma. I did so because I had the cloaks and hoods to +carry. Also I had something to tell her. It seemed something so +terrible, so mighty, so full of risk and danger that my heart failed me +in the mere thinking of it. I was to go away and leave her, for many +years, seeing her only at intervals. It seemed a thing more and more +impossible to be thought upon.</p> + +<p>At the least I resolved to make myself out a martyr. It would be a blow +to Irma also, and the thought that she would feel it so almost made up +to me for my <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_190" id="pg_190">190</a></span>own pain, an ache which at the first moment had been of +the nature of a sudden and deadly fear.</p> + +<p>Yet I might have saved myself the trouble. Irma looked upon the matter +in a very different light. She was not moved in the least.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course,” she said, “you are only wasting your time here. Men +must go out and see things in the world, that afterwards they may do +things there. Here it is very well for us who have no friends and +nowhere else to go. But as soon as Louis is at school or has to leave +me—oh, it will happen in time, and I like looking forward—I shall go +too.”</p> + +<p>“But what could you do?” I cried in amazement, for such a thing as a +girl of her rank finding a place for herself was not dreamed of then. +Only such as my grandmother and Aunt Jen worked “in the sphere in which +Providence had placed them,” as the minister said in his prayer.</p> + +<p>“Never trouble your head,” said Irma, “there never was a Maitland yet +but gat his own will till he met with a Maitland to counter him!”</p> + +<p>“Lalor!” I suggested. At the name she twisted her face into an +expression of great scorn.</p> + +<p>“Lalor!” she said; “well, and have I not countered him?”</p> + +<p>She had, of course, but as far as I remembered there was something to be +said about another person who had at least helped. Now that is the worst +of girls. They are always for taking all the credit to themselves.</p> + +<p>It was a grave day when I quitted Eden Valley for the first time. Every +one was affected, the women folk, my mother, my grandmother, even Aunt +Jen, went the length of tears. That is, all with only two exceptions, my +father and Miss Irma. My father was <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_191" id="pg_191">191</a></span>glad and triumphant—confident +that, though never the scholar Freddie Esquillant was bound to be, I was +yet stronger in the more material parts of learning—those which most +pleased the ordinary run of regents and professors.</p> + +<p>I had already seen Irma early in the morning in that clump of trees +beyond the well where the flowering currants made a scented wall, and in +the midst the lilac bushes grow up into a cavern of delicately tinted, +constantly tremulous shade.</p> + +<p>I told her of my fears, whereat she scorned them and me, bidding me go +forward bravely.</p> + +<p>“I have never promised to be anybody’s friend before,” she said; “I +shall not break my word!”</p> + +<p>“But, Irma,” I urged, for indeed I could not keep the words back, they +being on the tip of my tongue, “what if in the meantime, when I am away +so far and seeing you so little, you should promise somebody else to be +more than a friend!”</p> + +<p>She stood a moment with the severe look I had grown to fear upon her +face. Then she smiled at me, at once amused and forgiving.</p> + +<p>“You are a silly boy,” she said; “but after all, you are but a boy. You +will learn that I do not say one thing one day and another the next. +There—I promised you a guerdon, did I not? That is the picture of my +mother. You can open the back if you like!”</p> + +<p>I set my thumb-nail to it, and there, freshly cut and tied with a piece +of the very blue ribbon she was wearing, lay a lock of her hair, a curl +curiously and as it seemed wilfully twisted back upon itself, as if it +had refused to be so imprisoned—just, in fact, like Irma herself.</p> + +<p>I should have kissed her hand if I had known how, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_192" id="pg_192">192</a></span>but instead I kissed +the lock of hair. When I looked up I am afraid that there was most +unknightly water in my eyes.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said, “this will never do. There must be none of that if you +are to carry Irma Sobieski’s pledge. Stand up—smile—ah, that is +better. Look at me as if I were Lalor Maitland himself, rather than cry +about it. You have my pledge, have you not—signed, sealed, and +delivered? There!”</p> + +<p>But how the legal formula was carried out by Miss Irma is nobody’s +business except our own—hers and mine, I mean. But at all events I went +forth from the lilac clump by the well, and picked up my full water cans +with a heart wondrously strengthened, and so up the path to Heathknowes +with a back straight as a ramrod, because of the eyes that I knew were +watching me through the chinks in the wall of summer blossom.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_COLLEGE_OF_KING_JAMES_6330" id="THE_COLLEGE_OF_KING_JAMES_6330"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_193" id="pg_193">193</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>THE COLLEGE OF KING JAMES</h3> +</div> + +<p>I arrived at Edinburgh with the most astonishing ache in my heart (or, +at least, in the parts adjoining), and had I met with the least +pitifulness I think I should have broken down entirely. But I found a +very necessary stimulus in the details of the examination for the +bursary. I had no doubt as to being nominated, but when the results were +posted I felt shame to be whole three places in front of Freddie +Esquillant, my master in all real scholarship, almost as much as my +father was—but who, on the day of trial, had spent his time in +answering thoroughly half-a-dozen questions without attempting the +others.</p> + +<p>At any rate it was none such bad news to send by the carrier, who put up +at the Black Bull in the Grassmarket, down to my mother and grandmother +in Eden Valley. I wrote to them separately, but to my father first, +because he understood such things and I knew that his heart was set on +Freddie and myself, though he thought (and rightly) that I was a mere +clodhopper at my books compared to Fred. As far as the classics went, my +father was in the right of it. But then Freddie could not write English, +except in a kind of long-winded, elaborate way, as if he were +translating from Cicero, which very likely was the case.</p> + +<p>Well, the need of keeping my head for the examiners’ questions, the +mending of my pens, the big barren room with the books about and the +other fellows scribbling away for dear life, the landladies in this +close and that square, with faces hardened and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_194" id="pg_194">194</a></span>tempers sharpened by +generations of needy students, out of whom they must nevertheless make +their scanty livings, the penetrating Edinburgh airs, the thinness of my +cloak and the clumsiness of my countrified rig—these all kept me +singularly aware of myself, and prevented any yielding to the folly of +homesickness, or, as in my case, “Irma-sickness,” to give the trouble +its proper name.</p> + +<p>After long search I took up my lodging in a new house at the end of +Rankeillor Street, in a place where there was the greenness of fields +every way about, except behind in the direction of the college. It was +the very last house, and from my garret window I could see the top of +Arthur’s Seat and the little breakneck path feeling its way round the +foot of the Salisbury Crags, afterwards to be widened into the +“Radicals’ Road.” Southward all was green and whaup-haunted to the grey +hip of Pentland, and we saw the spread of the countryside when we—that +is, Freddie and I—went down the Dalkeith Road to the red-roofed hamlet +of Echobank. Here, four times a week we bought a canful of milk that had +to do us two days. For there was something about the taste of the town +milk that scunnered us—Freddie especially being more delicately +stomached than I.</p> + +<p>Here, too, was a red-cheeked serving maid who provoked us—but more +especially poor Fred, who asked nothing better than that the wench +should let him alone. But I cared not so greatly—though, of course, she +was nothing to me. How could she be with the gage of Miss Irma hard +under my armpit, just where the Eden Valley tailor had placed my inside +pocket?</p> + +<p>Which reminds me that Fred, fluttering the leaves of his lexicon, or +mooning over his beloved Greek verses (which the professor discouraged +because he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_195" id="pg_195">195</a></span>could not make as good himself), would sigh a little ghost +of a sigh as often as he saw me take it out and lay it on the table +beside me like a watch. For long I thought it was because he feared it +would make me neglect my work, but now, looking back, I can see with +great clearness that it was because he felt that love and suchlike were +ruled out of his life. It was quite a year before I first mentioned Irma +to him by name. Yet he never asked, nor showed that he noticed at all, +save for that quick, gentle sigh.</p> + +<p>As portrayed in the miniature, Irma’s mother was a gentle fair-haired +woman, with a face like a flower sheltered under a broad-brimmed white +beaver hat, the very mate and marrow of those I have since seen in the +pictures by the great Sir Joshua. She had a dimpled chin that nested in +a fluffy blurr of lace. She was as unlike as possible to my dear brave +Irma, with her curls like shining jet, and the clean-cut, decisive +profile. But I saw at once from whom Baby Louis had gotten his fair soft +curls, his blue eyes, and the wistful appeal of his smile. They were +always before me as I sat with my elbows on the ink-splattered table, +and I did all my work conscious of the rebellious twist of raven curl +that was on the other side. I did not open this often, only when by +myself, and then with extreme care, for the glass, being old, was a +little loose, and it seemed as if the vivid life in the swirl of hair +actually moved it out of its place. For even so much of Irma as a curl +of her locks perforce retained something of her extraordinary vitality.</p> + +<p>It often used to come to me that Irma must be like her father over +again, only with all his faults turned to good, strengthened by the +determination he lacked. She had his restlessness, his brilliancy, his +power over men and women. Only along with these she had <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_196" id="pg_196">196</a></span>strength to +guide herself (which he, poor man, never had), and enough over for me +also. And I have my father’s word and my own consciousness that I needed +that guidance.</p> + +<p>College life is strange and solitary at these northern +universities—especially at those in the two great cities of Edinburgh +and Glasgow. The lad comes up knowing perhaps one other of his age and +standing. If he has a family one or two elder students will be ordered +by their people to look him up. Seldom do they repeat the visit. Their +circle is formed. They want no “yellow nebs.”</p> + +<p>For the rest he is alone, protected from the devil and the young lusts +of the flesh by the memory of his mother, perhaps by the remembrance +that about that time his father is striving hard to pinch to pay his +fees, but lastly, chiefly and most practically by those empty pockets.</p> + +<p>If he have a family in the town, he is hardly a student like the others. +He has his comrades within cry, his houses of call, girls here and there +whom he has met at dances in friendly houses, sisters and cousins of his +own or of his friends—in short, all the machinery of social life to +carry him on.</p> + +<p>But for the great majority life is other and sterner. As Milton +lamenting his blindness, the stranger student mourns wisdom and life “at +one entrance quite shut out.” The influence of women, sweeter than that +of the Pleiades, is absent, save in the shape of seamy-faced +grim-mouthed landladies, or, in a favourable case, which was ours (or +might have been), our red-cheeked, frank-tongued, oncoming wench in the +milk-house at Echobank, and the baker’s daughter across the way.</p> + +<p>The first result of this is a great outbreak of sentimentality among the +callowlings. They have pictures <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_197" id="pg_197">197</a></span>(oh, such caricatures!) to carry in +breast-pockets—or locks of hair, like mine. Their hearts are +inflammable as those of the flaxen-haired youths I met afterwards in the +universities of Germany, only living on oatmeal, without sausages, and +less florid with beer. Yet on the whole, the aforesaid empty purse +aiding, we were filled with not dishonest sentiment, keen as +sleuth-hounds on the track of knowledge, and disputatious as only lads +of Calvinistic training can be.</p> + +<p>Our landladies were much alike, our rooms furnished with the same +Spartan plainness. Only in Mistress Craven I happened on a good one, and +abode with her all the days of my stay at College, till the way opened +out for me to wider horizons and a humaner life.</p> + +<p>But I can see the room yet, and the narrow passage which led to it. +Here, close to the door, was a clock with a striking apparatus of +surprising shrillness to warn us of the flight of the half-hours. +“Ting!” another gone! Then, as the hour drew near, this academic clock +cleared its decks for real action—almost it might be said that it +cleared its throat, such a roopy gasping crow did it emit. This was +technically called “the warning.”</p> + +<p>And three times a day at the sound of it we rose, gathered our books and +fled fleetfoot for the college. The clock at Mistress Craven’s was set +ten minutes fast, so as to leave us time to flee down the Pleasance, +dodge through a side alley, cut Simon’s Square diagonally, debouch upon +Drummond Street (shunning Rutherford’s change-house, with its “kittle” +step down into the cellar), and lo! there, big, barren, grey, grave, +cauldrife as a Scots winter, was the College of King James—with the +bell, unheard in the side-streets, fairly “gollying” at us—an appalling +volume of sound—yet one which, on the whole, we minded less <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_198" id="pg_198">198</a></span>than the +skirl and rasp of Mistress Craven’s family clock.</p> + +<p>I have been speaking for myself. Fred Esquillant was always in time, +easy, quiet, letting nothing interfere with his duty. But for me I was +not built so. I watched for adventure and followed it. The dog I had met +yesterday looked not in vain for a pat. A girl waved a kerchief to the +student passing with the books under his arm. She did not know me, nor I +her. But in the general interests of my class I had to wave +back—without prejudice, be it said, to the black lock behind the +miniature in my pocket.</p> + +<p>We came back, as we had occasion, from our classes to the crowded stair +of our “land”—with its greasy handrail, and the faint whiff of humanity +clinging about the numbered doorways. Our key grated in the lock. Mrs. +Craven opened the kitchen door with a cry that our dinners would be +ready in a jiffey. We were done with the world for the day. Henceforth +four walls contained us. Many books lay tumbled about, or had to be +heaped on the floor whenever the half of the table was laid for a meal.</p> + +<p>I sat farthest from the fire, but facing it. Above and directly before +my eyes was a full-rigged ship, sailing among furious painted billows +directly against the lofty cliffs of a lea-shore, the captain on the +bridge regarding this manœuvre with the utmost complaisance. Beneath +was a china shepherdess without the head—opposite a parrot with a bunch +of waxen cherries in its beak.</p> + +<p>When we took the room, the backs of the chairs had been covered with +newly-washed embroidery in raspy woollens and starched linen thread. +There had also been a tablecloth, and upon it (neatly arranged by Mrs. +Craven’s daughter Amelia) a selection of the family “good books”—to +wit, the Holy Bible <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_199" id="pg_199">199</a></span>containing entries of the Craven family, with the +dates of birth altered or erased, Josephus with steel pictures, the +<i>Saint’s Rest</i> and some others. These had at once been removed, +according to agreement made before taking possession, and now, wrapped +in the tablecloth, reposed in a cupboard.</p> + +<p>Only <i>The Cloud of Witnesses</i> and Fox’s <i>Martyrs</i> were spared at my +special request. As for Freddie, he needed no other literature than his +text-books, and set himself to win medals like one who had been fitted +by machinery for that purpose.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Craven was an Englishwoman who had brought herself to this by +marrying a carter from Gilmerton. So she retained a pleasant habit of +curtseying which her daughter, born in Edinburgh and given to snuffing +up the east wind, did not in the least strive to imitate, so far at +least as we were concerned.</p> + +<p>But on the whole those rooms in Rankeillor Street were pleasant and even +model lodgings. Many a fine gentleman settled in the new town fared +worse, even artistically. We had on the wall in little black frames many +browned prints by a man of whom we had never heard, one Hogarth by name, +some of the details of which made Freddie blush and me laugh aloud. But +these doubtful subjects were counterbalanced by an equal number +illustrative of the Pilgrim’s Progress, beginning at the sofa-back with +the Slough of Despond, going through the Wicket Gate, past fierce Giant +Pope and up craggy Hills of Difficulty to a flaming Celestial City +apparently being destroyed by fire with extreme rapidity.</p> + +<p>In a glass-fronted corner cupboard were memorials of the late Mr. +Craven. To wit, a large punch-bowl, remarkable for having melted down a +flourishing business in the “carrying” way, four pair of horses with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_200" id="pg_200">200</a></span>wagons to match, a yard and suitable stabling, and, finally, Mr. +Craven, late of Gilmerton, himself.</p> + +<p>On the top shelf was all that remained of the tea-service he had +presented to his “intended” when he was still at the head of the +Gilmerton “yard”—she being at the time lady’s-maid at Dalkeith Palace +and high in favour with “her Grace.” Much art was needed in dusting +these and arranging them to make cups and saucers stand so that their +chipped sides would not show.</p> + +<p>I was strictly forbidden ever to dance, flap my long arms, or otherwise +disport myself near this sacred enclosure, as I sometimes did when the +blood ran high or the temperature low. As for Freddie, he could do no +wrong. At least, he never did. I was in despair about him, and foresaw +trouble.</p> + +<p>As to situation, we had the Meadows behind us, and (except the Sciennes +and Merchiston), all was free and open as far as Bruntsfield and the +Borough Muir. But towards Holyrood and the College, what a warren! You +entered by deep archways into secluded yards. Here was a darksome +passage where murder might be (and no doubt had been) done. Here was an +echoing gateway to a coaching inn, with a watchman ready to hit evil +boys over the head with his clapper if they tried to ring his bell, the +bell that announced the arrival of the Dumfries coach “Gladiator” after +thirty hours’ detention at the Beeftub in Moffatdale, or the shorter +breathed “four” from Selkirk and Peebles that had changed horses last at +Cockmuir Inn at the back of Kingside.</p> + +<p>All this I describe so minutely, once for all, because there is more to +come of it, and these precincts on the southern border of Edinburgh, +where Cromwell had once encamped, were mightily familiar to me before +all was done.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="SATAN_FINDS_6581" id="SATAN_FINDS_6581"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_201" id="pg_201">201</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>SATAN FINDS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Of course Christmas time soon came, when we collegers had our first +vacation, and Fred and I footed it down to Eden Valley. They had been +preparing for us, and the puddings, white and black, hung in rows along +the high cross-bars in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>Everybody was glad to see us, except, as it appeared at first, Miss +Irma. I called her Irma when I thought of the round locket with the hair +and her mother’s picture in it, also the letters she had sent me—though +these were but few, and, for all that was in them, might have been +written to the Doctor. But when I returned and met her full in the +doorway of my grandmother’s house, she gave me her hand as calmly as if +she had clean forgotten all that had ever been between us.</p> + +<p>For me, I was all shaken and blushing—a sight to be seen. So much so +that Aunt Jen, coming in with the milk for the evening’s porridge, +cocked an eye at me curiously. But if Irma felt anything, I am very sure +that it did not show on her face. And that is one of the greatest +advantages girls have—care or not care, they can always hide it.</p> + +<p>My mother shed tears over me. My father took stock of my progress, and +asked me for new light on certain passages we had been reading, but soon +deserted me with the familiar contemptuous toss of the head, which meant +that he must wait for Fred Esquillant. He might have learned by this +time. At anything practical I was miles ahead of Freddie, who had no +world outside of his classical books. But then my father was of the same +type, with, in addition, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_202" id="pg_202">202</a></span>the power of imparting and enthusing strong in +him—<i>his</i> practical side, which Freddie did not possess—indeed, never +felt the lack of, much less the ambition to possess. He was content to +know. He had no desire to impart his knowledge.</p> + +<p>I spent six mornings and five evenings out of my scanty twenty days at +the little thicket by the well. But the lilac was leafless now, and the +path which led back to the house of Heathknowes empty and deserted.</p> + +<p>Once while I was in hiding my Uncle Rob came and stood so long by his +water-pails, looking across the hills in the direction of the Craig +Farm, that I made sure he had found me out, or was trying for a talk +with Miss Irma on his own account.</p> + +<p>But Rob, as I might have known, was far too inconstant. As the saying +went, “He had a lass for ilka day in the week and twa for the Sabbath.” +It is more than likely that his long rumination at the well was the +result of uncertainty as to whether it was the turn of Jeannie at the +Craig or Bell down by at Parkhill.</p> + +<p>At any rate, it had no connection with me, for he went off home with his +burden, where presently I could hear him arranging with Eben as to the +foddering of the “beasts” and the “bedding” of the horses. For my three +uncles kept accounts as to exchanges of work, and were very careful as +to balancing them, too—though Rob occasionally “took the loan” of +good-tempered Eben without repayment of any sort.</p> + +<p>After my fifth solitary vigil among the rustling of the frozen stems and +the dank desolation of the icebound copse on the edge of the marsh, I +began to go about with a huge affectation of gloom on my face. It was +clear that I was being played with. For this I had scorned the +red-cheeked dairy-lass at Echobank, and the waved kerchiefs of the +baker’s daughter opposite. And the more unhappy and miserable I looked, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_203" id="pg_203">203</a></span>the closer I drew my inky cloak about me, the gayer, the more +light-hearted became Miss Irma.</p> + +<p>I plotted deep, dark, terrible deeds. She urged me to yet another help +of dumpling. She had made the jam herself, she said. Or the +shortbread—now there <i>was</i> something like shortbread, made after a +recipe learned in Brabant! (I wondered the word did not choke her, +thinking of Lalor—but, perhaps, who knew? she would not after all be so +unwilling!) I had shed my blood for naught—not that I had really shed +any, but it felt like that. I had gone forth to conquer the world for +the sake of a faithless girl—though, again, I had not even done quite +that, seeing that Freddy Esquillant bade fair to beat me in all the +classes—except, perhaps, in the Mathematic, for which he had no taste. +But the principle was the same. I was deserted, and my whole aspect +became so dejected that my mother spoke to my father about my killing +myself in Edinburgh with study, which caused that good (and instructed) +man to exclaim, “Fiddlesticks!” Then she went to my grandmother, who +prescribed senna tea, which she brewed and stood by till I had drunk. I +resolved to wear my heart a little less on my sleeve, and always after +that assured my grandmother that I was feeling very well indeed. Also I +made shift to eat a little, even in public, contriving it so, however, +that the effort to appear brave and gay ought to have been evident even +to Miss Irma.</p> + +<p>Every day Louis and she went to the Academy, and I went with them, one +of the uncles—generally Eben, the universally disposable—following to +the village with a loaded pistol in his tail-coat pocket.</p> + +<p>For though there had been, as yet, no more than the ordinary winter +traffic by the well-recognized Free Traders of the Solway board, no man +could tell when the lugger from the Texel, or even the <i>Golden <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_204" id="pg_204">204</a></span>Hind</i> +herself might try again the fortune of our coasts. The latter vessel had +been growing famous, multiplying her captures and cruelties; indeed, +behaving little otherwise than if she carried the black flag with the +skull and cross-bones. And though a large part of his Majesty’s navy had +been trying to catch her, hardly a monthly number of the <i>Scots +Magazine</i> came to my father without some new exploit being deplored in +the monthly chronicle over near the end.</p> + +<p>Nearer home, Messrs. Smart and Smart had offered by post to occupy +themselves with the future of the young baronet Sir Louis, on condition +that he should be given up to them to be sent to school, but in their +communication nothing was said about Miss Irma. So my grandfather sent +word that, subject to the law of the land, he would continue to protect +both the children whom Providence had placed in his care. And this was +doubtless what the Dumfries lawyers expected. The care and culture of +the estate during a long minority was what they thought about as being +most to their advantage, and it was quite evident that little Louis, for +the present, could hardly be better situated than at Heathknowes. +Messrs. Smart and Smart sent a man down to spy out the land, on pretext +of offering compensation, but his report must have been favourable both +as to the security of the farm-town and as to my grandfather’s repute +for generosity and open-handedness. For he did not return, and as to +payment, nothing more was ever heard at Heathknowes about the matter.</p> + +<p>The young people were now quite fixtures there, and though they were +spoken of as Miss Irma and Master Louis, Irma had carried her main +point, which was that they should be treated in all respects as of the +family. The sole difference made was that now the farm lads and lasses, +and the two men from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_205" id="pg_205">205</a></span>pirn-mill (whom my grandfather’s increasing +trade with the English weavers had compelled him to take on), had their +meals at a second table, placed crosswise to that at which the family +dined and supped. But this was chiefly to prevent little Louis from +occupying himself with watching to see when they would swallow their +knives, and nudging his neighbours Irma and Aunt Jen to “look out,” at +any particular dangerous and intricate feat of conjuring.</p> + +<p>As for me, I could not at all understand why Irma cold-shouldered me +during these first Christmas vacations, and indeed I had secretly +resolved to return no more to the house of Heathknowes till I had made +sure of a better reception. I began to count it a certainty that Irma, +feeling that she had gone too far and too fast with me before I went +off, was now getting out of the difficulty by a régime of extraordinary +coldness and severity. And if that were the case, I was not the man to +baulk her.</p> + +<p>For about this time a man I began to count myself.</p> + +<p>Worst of all, going home to the school-house there came into my head one +of the most stupid ideas that had ever got lodging there—though, +according to my grandmother, I am rather a don at harbouring suchlike.</p> + +<p>It occurred to me that a plan I had read of in some book or other might +suit my case. If I could only make Irma jealous, the tables might be +turned, and she become as anxious and desirous of making up as I was.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me a marvellously original idea. Irma had cared enough to +give me her mother’s miniature. She had cut off a lock of her hair, +which she had not done for all the world of her admirers—else she would +long have gone bald.</p> + +<p>Now it happened that though there were a good <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_206" id="pg_206">206</a></span>many dressmakers in Eden +Valley, including some that worked out for so much a day, there was only +one Ladies’ Milliner and Mantua-maker. This was the sister of our +infant-mistress, Miss Huntingdon. Her establishment was in itself a kind +of select academy. She had an irreproachable connection, and though she +worked much and well with her nimble fingers, she got most of her labour +free by an ingenious method.</p> + +<p>She initiated into her mysteries none of the poorer girls of the place, +who might in time be tempted to “set up for themselves,” and so spoil +their employer’s market. She received only, as temporary boarders, +daughters of good houses, generally pretty girls looking forward with +some confidence to managing houses of their own. At that time every girl +who set up to be anything in our part of the country aspired to make her +own dresses and build the imposing fabric of her own bonnets.</p> + +<p>So Miss Huntingdon had a full house of pretty maidens who came as +“approvers”—a fanciful variation of “improvers” invented by Miss +Huntingdon herself, and used whenever she spoke of “My young ladies,” +which she did all day long—or at least as often as she was called into +the “down-stairs parlour,” where (as in a nunnery) ordinary business was +transacted.</p> + +<p>A good many of the elder girls whom I had known at the Academy had +migrated there at the close of their period of education—several who, +though great maidens of seventeen or eighteen, had hardly appeared upon +my father’s purely classical horizon—seen by him only at the Friday’s +general review of English and history, and taught for the rest of the +week by little Mr. Stephen, by myself—and in sewing, fancy-work, and +the despised samplers by Miss Huntingdon, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_207" id="pg_207">207</a></span>the ever diligent, who, to +say the truth, acted in this matter as jackal to her elder sister’s +lion.</p> + +<p>In return she got a chamber, a seat at the table with the young ladies, +and a home. Nor will I say that Miss Seraphina, Ladies’ Milliner and +Mantua-maker, was not a good and kind sister to Miss Rebecca, the little +teacher at thirty pounds a year in the Infant Department at the Academy +of Eden Valley.</p> + +<p>But my mother in her time—Aunt Janet, even—had passed that way, though +Miss Huntingdon considered Jen one of her failures because she had not +“married from her house.” Most of the well-to-do farmers within ten +miles sent their daughters to complete their education at Miss +Huntingdon’s academy of the needle and the heavy blocking-iron. My +father, when he passed, did not know them, so great in his eyes was +their fall. Yet by quiet persistence, of which she had the secret, my +mother wore him down to winking at her sending Agnes Anne there for +three hours a day.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure,” she said, “I used to watch for <i>you</i> every time you went by +to school, and one day the frill of your shirt sleeve was hanging down, +torn on a nail. I was sorry, and wished that I could have run out and +mended it for you!”</p> + +<p>What this reminiscence had to do with Agnes Anne’s being allowed to go +to Miss Huntingdon’s I do not quite see. But learned men are much like +others, and somehow the little speech softened my father. So Agnes Anne +went, as, indeed, my mother had resolved from the beginning that she +should. And it was through Agnes Anne that my temptation came.</p> + +<p>She made a friend there. Agnes Anne always must have one bosom friend of +her own sex. For this Irma was too old, as well as too brilliant, too +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_208" id="pg_208">208</a></span>fitful, fairylike, changeful in her mood to serve long. Besides, she +awed Agnes Anne too much to allow her to confide in her properly. And +without hour-long confessions all about nothing, Agnes Anne had no use +for any girl friend. There was an unwritten convention that one should +listen sympathetically to the other’s tale of secrets, no matter how +long and involved, always on the supposition that the service should be +mutual.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Anderson was the name of Agnes Anne’s friend. In a week’s time +these two were seldom separate, and wandered about our garden, and under +the tall pine umbrellas with bent heads and arms lovingly interlaced. +Charlotte was a pretty girl, blooming, fresh, rosy, with a pair of bold +black eyes which at once denied and defied, and then, as it were, +suddenly drooped yieldingly. I was a fool. I might have known—only I +did not.</p> + +<p>Now my idea was to make just as much love to Charlotte as would warn +Miss Irma that she was in danger of losing me and to assist me in this +(though I did not reveal my intention of merely baiting my trap with +her) who more willing than Charlotte Anderson!</p> + +<p>But I had counted without two somewhat important factors—Miss Irma, and +Miss Seraphina Huntingdon. I was utterly deceived about the character of +Irma, and I had no idea of the extreme notions of rigid propriety upon +which Miss Seraphina conducted her business, nor of the explanation of +the large proportion of successful weddings in which the lady +mantua-maker had played the part of subordinate providence.</p> + +<p>Indeed, certain of the light-minded youth of Eden Valley called the +parlour with the faded red velvet chairs by the name of “Little +Heaven”—because so many marriages had been made there.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="PERFIDY_THY_NAME_IS_WOMAN_6835" id="PERFIDY_THY_NAME_IS_WOMAN_6835"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_209" id="pg_209">209</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>PERFIDY, THY NAME IS WOMAN!</h3> +</div> + +<p>Old Robert Anderson of Birkenbog was known to me by sight—a huge, +jovial, two-ply man, chin and waistcoat alike testifying to good cheer. +He wore a large horse-shoe pin in his unstiffened stock. A watch that +needed an inch-thick chain to haul up its sturdy Nuremburg-egg build, +strained the fob on his right side, as if he carried a mince-pie +concealed there. His laugh dominated the market-place, and when he stood +with his legs wide apart pouring a sample of oats slowly from one hand +into the palm of the other, his red face with the cunning quirks in it +had always a little gathering of admirers, eager for the next +high-spiced tale. He had originally come from the English border, and in +his “burr” and accent still bore token of that nationality.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he had his admirers, some of them fervent as well as +constant.</p> + +<p>Cochrane of the Holm would be there, his hand on the shoulder of +Blethering Johnny from the Dinnance. These two always laughed before a +word was uttered. They thought Birkenbog so funny that everything he +said was side-splitting even before he had said it.</p> + +<p>I remember being a great deal impressed myself by Old Birkenbog. He was +a wonderful horseman as a boy, and when he came to the market alone he +rode a big black horse of which even the head ostler stood in awe in the +yard of the King’s Arms. Once he had thrashed a robber who had assailed +him on <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_210" id="pg_210">210</a></span>his way to pay his rent, and had brought him into town trotting +cross-handed at his horse’s tail, the captive of his loaded whip and +stout right arm. It is doubtful if this draggled Dick Turpin, lying in +Bridewell, appreciated Birkenbog’s humour quite so much as did Cochrane +and Blethering Jock when he told them the story afterwards.</p> + +<p>If I had any common-sense I might have seen that Birkenbog was not a +safe man to trouble in the matter of an only daughter, without the most +serious intentions in the world. But, truth to tell, I never thought of +him knowing, which was in itself a thing quite superfluous and +altogether out of my calculations. I had had some small experience of +girls even before Miss Irma came to change everything. And the fruit of +my observations had been that, though girls tell each other’s secrets +freely enough, they keep a middling tight grip on their own. Nay, they +can even be trusted with yours, in so far as these concern +themselves—until, of course, you quarrel with them—and then—well, +then look out!</p> + +<p>Certainly I found lots of chances to talk to Charlotte. In fact Agnes +Anne made them for me, and coached me on what to say out of books. Also +she cross-examined Charlotte afterwards upon my performances, and +supplemented what I had omitted by delivering the passage in full. My +poor version, however, pleased Charlotte just as much, for merely being +“walked out” gave her a standing among Miss Seraphina’s young ladies, +who asked her what it felt like to be engaged.</p> + +<p>All had to be gone about in so ceremonious a manner, too, at least at +first—when I made my formal call on Miss Huntingdon, who received me in +her parlour with prim civility, as if I had come to order a leghorn hat +of the best.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_211" id="pg_211">211</a></span>“My mother’s compliments, and might Miss Charlotte Anderson be allowed +to accompany Agnes Anne to tea at four hours that day? I would be +responsible—yes, I knew Miss Huntingdon to be most particular upon this +point—for the convoy of the young ladies to the school-house, and would +see Miss Anderson safe home again.”</p> + +<p>My mother winked at these promenades, because in her heart of hearts she +was more than a little jealous of Irma. Charlotte Anderson she could +understand. She was of her own far-off kin, but Irma and her brother had +descended upon us, as it were, from another world.</p> + +<p>Why Agnes Anne meddled I cannot so well make out, unless it were the +mania which at a certain age attacks most nice girls—that of +distributing their brothers among their dearest friends—as far, that +is, as they will go round.</p> + +<p>So Charlotte and I walked under the tall firs of the Academy wood in the +hope that Irma might be passing that way. I escorted her home in full +sight of all Eden Valley—that was always on the look-out for whatever +might happen in the way of courtship about the shop of the famous +mantua-maker.</p> + +<p>And yet (I know people will think I am lying) never, I say, did I find +Miss Irma so desirable in my eyes as when I saw her at Heathknowes +during these days of folly. It was not that she was kinder to me. She +appeared not to think of me either one way or the other. She curtsied to +me, like a bird, flirting the train of her gown like a wagtail on a +stone by the running stream. One forenoon she met us, strolling with +little Louis by the hand, her black hair crowned with scarlet +hips—those berries of the wild dog-rose which grow so great in our +country lanes. She waved us a joyous little salute from the top of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_212" id="pg_212">212</a></span>a +stile, on which she perched as lightly as if joyful graces were +fluttering about her, and she herself ready to take wing.</p> + +<p>But she never so much as looked wistful, but let me go my way with a +single flirt of a kerchief she was adjusting about her brother’s neck. +As for me I was ready to hang myself in self-contempt and hatred of poor +innocent Charlotte Anderson, who smiled and imagined, doubtless, that +she was fulfilling the end for which she had come to Miss Huntingdon’s.</p> + +<p>After we had separated I went to thinking sadly on the stupidity of my +performances. This field of thought was a large one and the +consideration of it, patch by patch, took some time. It was market day. +The bleating of flocks was about me, a pleasant smell of wool and tar +and heather—and of bullocks blowing clouds of perfumed breath that +condensed upon the frosty air. I was leaning my arms upon the stone dyke +of the Market Hill and thinking of Irma, now by my own act rendered more +inaccessible than ever—when a hand, heavy as a ham falling from a high +ceiling, descended upon my shoulder. A voice of incomparable richness, a +little husky perhaps with the morning’s moistening at the King’s Arms, +cried out, “So ho, lad! thou dost not want assurance! Thinking on the +lasses at thy age! You’re the chap, they tell me, that’s been walkin’ +out my daughter in broad daylight! Well, well, cannot find it in my +heart to be too hard—did the like mysel’ thirty years ago, and never +regretted it. School-master’s son, aren’t ye? Thought I kenned ye by +sight! Student lad at the College of Edinburgh? Yes, yes—knew thy +father any time ever since he came from the North. No man has anything +to say again thy <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_213" id="pg_213">213</a></span>father! Except that he does not lay on the young +rascals’ backs half heavily enough! I dare say thou would be noways the +worse of a dressing down thysel’!”</p> + +<p>All this time he was thumping me on my back, and I was standing before +him with such a red face, and (I doubt not) such a compound of idiocy +and black despair upon it, that I might have been listening to my doom +being pronounced by the mouth of some full-blooded, jovial red judge, +with a bunch of seals the size of your fist dangling from his fob and +the loaded whip with which he had brought down the highwayman, under his +arm.</p> + +<p>“Come thou up to the King’s Arms!” he cried; “don’t stand there looking +like a dummy. Let’s have the matter out! Thour’t noan shamed, surely! +There’s no reason for why. At thy age, laddie—hout-hout—there’s no +wrong as young folks go. Come thy ways, lad!”</p> + +<p>Obediently I followed in his wake as he elbowed a way through the crowd, +salutations pouring in upon him on every side.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Birkenbog, what’s brought you into the market this day—sellin’ +lambs?”</p> + +<p>“That’s as may be—buyin’ calves more belike!”</p> + +<p>This was for my benefit, and the old brute, tasting his sorry jest, +turned and slapped me again, winking all the time with his formidable +brows in a spasmodic and horrible manner, that was like a threat.</p> + +<p>Now, I did not mind Lalor Maitland or Galligaskins when my blood was up. +But now it was down—far down—indeed in my very boots.</p> + +<p>All the time and every step of the way, I was trying in a void and empty +brain to evolve plans of escape. I could only hear the rich port-wine +chuckle <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_214" id="pg_214">214</a></span>of that great voice, and watch the gleam of those huge silver +spurs.</p> + +<p>And so presently we came to the King’s Arms. Never was bold wooer in a +more hopeless position. Whichever way I turned the case was +desperate—if I resisted, I could not expect to fare better than Tam +Haggart, whom that whip shank had beaten to the ground on the Corse o’ +Slakes. If I let myself drift, then farewell all hope of Irma Maitland.</p> + +<p>I hesitated and was lost. But who in my place could have bettered +it—save by not being such a portentous fool to begin with? But when +that is in a man, it will out.</p> + +<p>I entered the King’s Arms meekly, and before I knew what I was doing I +had been presented to three or four solid-thighed, thick-headed, +stout-legginged farmers as “Our Lottie’s intended.” They laughed, and +came near to shaking my hand off. I felt that if I backed out after +that, I never could show my face in Eden Valley again.</p> + +<p>Then we proceeded to business. I had not been accustomed to drink +anything stronger than water, and I was not going to begin now—so much +of sense I had left in me. So as often as the mighty farmer of Birkenbog +had his tankard pointed at the cornice of the commercial room of the +King’s Arms, I poured the contents of mine carefully among the sawdust +on the floor.</p> + +<p>And then my formidable “future” father-in-law got to the root of the +matter.</p> + +<p>“Father know about this?” He shot out the question as from a catapult.</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” said I, “I did not think of troubling him just yet—till——”</p> + +<p>“Till what?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_215" id="pg_215">215</a></span>“Till things were a bit more settled,” I faltered. He put his loosely +clenched fist on my knee. It appeared as large as the flat part of a +pair of smith’s bellows.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s what we are here now for, eh?” he said. “I doan’t blame +ye, you young dog. Now I like a fine up-standing wench myself, well +filled out, none o’ your flails done up in a bean-sack, nor yet a +tea-pot little body that makes the folk laugh as they see her trotting +alongside a personable man like me. Lottie will do ye fine. She’s none +great at the books—takes after her mother in that, but she’s a good +girl, and I’ll warrant ye, she will keep up her end of an argument well +enough after a year or two’s practice. But, mind you, lad, there’s to be +nothing come of this till I see you safe through college as a doctor. +Fees? Nonsense! Go to the hospitals, man, I’ll pay for that part. It can +come off what I have put aside to give the man that took Lottie off my +hands! A doctor—yes, that’s the business, and one sore needed here in +this very Eden Valley! <i>Whisht</i>—there—who think ye bought old Andrew +Leith’s practice and house? Who keeps the lads from the college there +and sends them packing at the end of every six months? Why, me—Anderson +of Birkenbog. So haste ye fast, and when ye are ready, the house is +ready, and the practice and the tocher—and as for the lass ye have made +it up with her yourself, as I understand.”</p> + +<p>Never was there a poorer-spirited wooer! No, never one. The very pour of +words stunned me. Had it not been for the coming and going of +Dutch-girthed brother-farmers, dumping bags of “samples” on the table, +and hauling at purses tied with leathern strings out of tight breeches +pockets, the “What’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_216" id="pg_216">216</a></span>your will, sir?” of Tom the drawer, and the clink +of cannikins, I must have been found out even then.</p> + +<p>But the part of the trouble which was to be mine personally was coming +to an end. After all, his daughter’s future was only an item in +Birkenbog’s programme of the day.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, lad”—he clapped me again on the shoulder (I sitting there +with the soul of an oyster)—“we have arranged everything +comfortable—eh? Now you can go and tell Lottie. Aye, and ye can say to +Miss—what’s her name—Thimbolina, the old dowager with the +corkscrews—with my compliments, that there’s a sweet-milk cheese +ripening on the dairy shelves for her at Birkenbog. Hear ye that, lad?”</p> + +<p>I took my leave as best I could. I felt I had hopelessly committed +myself. For though I had not said a word, I had not dared to reveal to +this fierce father, that being in love with another, I had been using +his daughter as a stalking horse.</p> + +<p>“And, look here, Duncan lad,” he said, “I’ll just step up and have a +word with your father. The clearer understanding there is between +families on such like arrangements, the less trouble there will be in +the future!”</p> + +<p>And he strode away out into the yard, halting, however, at the door to +call out in a voice that could be heard all over the neighbourhood, +“Come thy ways up to Birkenbog on Sunday and take a bit o’ dinner wi’ +us! Then thou canst see our Lottie and tell her how many times sweeter +she is than a sugar-plum! Ho, ho!”</p> + +<p>He was gone at last and I fairly blushed myself down the street, pushing +my way between the ranks of the market stalls and the elbowing farmers.</p> + +<p>“Are ye blind or only daft?” one apple wife called <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_217" id="pg_217">217</a></span>out, as I shook her +rickety erection of trestles and boards. She was as red in the face as +Birkenbog himself, for a cur with a kettle tied to its tail had taken +refuge under her stall, and she had been serving a writ of ejectment +with the same old umbrella with which she whacked thievish boys and +sheltered her goods on rainy days.</p> + +<p>But I heeded not. I was seeking solitude. I felt that I wanted nothing +from the entire clan of human beings. I had lost all that I should ever +really love. Irma—Irma! And here was I, settled for life with one for +whom I cared not a penny!</p> + +<p>By the time I had reached this stage, I had come out upon the bare woods +that mount the path by the riverside. I came to the great holly, a cave +of green shade in summer, and now a warm shelter in these tall solitudes +of wattled branches standing purple and black against the winter sky.</p> + +<p>Ah, there was some one there already. I stepped out again quickly, but +not too fast to see that it was Charlotte Anderson herself I had +stumbled upon—<i>and that she was crying</i>!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THEN_HEIGHHO_THE_MOLLY_7108" id="THEN_HEIGHHO_THE_MOLLY_7108"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_218" id="pg_218">218</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>“THEN, HEIGH-HO, THE MOLLY!”</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Charlotte!” said I, taking in a sudden pity a step nearer and holding +out my hand; but she only snatched her arm away fretfully and cried the +more bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Has your father been speaking unkindly to you?” I asked her, being much +surprised.</p> + +<p>She shook her head, and a wet handkerchief plashed on my hand like a sob +as she shook it out.</p> + +<p>“What is it, then?” I asked, more and more amazed at the turn things +were taking. Never had I thought for a moment that Charlotte would not +be as pleased and happy to have me as I was the reverse.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she burst out at last, sobbing between each hurried phrase, “I +don’t blame you, Duncan. It’s all that horrid old cat, Miss +Seraphina—Diabolina, the girls call her—she writes everything we do to +our people at home. She’s always writing, and she spies on us, too, and +listens—opens our letters! She has brought all this on me——”</p> + +<p>“Brought what on you?” I inquired blankly.</p> + +<p>“Having to marry you and all!” she said, and had recourse to her wet +handkerchief again. But that being altogether too sodden to afford her +any relief, she signalled to me, as if I had been Agnes Anne or another +girl, to pass her mine. Fortunately for once I could do so without +shame. For Miss Irma had been teaching me things—or at least the desire +to appear well in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Charlotte Anderson did not appear to notice, but went on crying.</p> + +<p>“And don’t you want to marry me, Lottie?” I said <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_219" id="pg_219">219</a></span>softly, taking her +hand. She let me now, perhaps considered as the proprietor of the +handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“Of course I don’t,” said she. “Oh, how could I?”</p> + +<p>Now this, considered apart, was certainly hurtful to my pride. For, +having frequently considered my person, as revealed in my mother’s big +Sunday mirror, I thought that she could very well. On my side there was +certainly nothing to render the matter impossible. Moreover, how about +our walks and talks! She had, then, merely been playing with me. Oh, +Perfidy, thy name is Woman!</p> + +<p>I was silent and paused for an explanation. I soon got it, considered as +before, as the sympathetic owner of the handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“It’s Tam Galaberry,” she said, “my cousin, you know, Duncan. He used to +come to see me ... before ... before you! But his sister went to +Dumfries to learn the high-class millinery, and since then Miss +Seraphina cannot thole him. As if he had anything to do with that. And +she wrote home, and my father threatened Tam to shoot him with the gun +if he came after me—all because we were cousins—and only seconds at +any rate. Oh-h-h-h! What <i>shall</i> I do?”</p> + +<p>I had to support Charlotte here—though merely as handkerchief-holder +and in the purest interests of the absent Mr. Thomas Gallaberry.</p> + +<p>But the relief to my own mind, in spite of the hurt to my pride, was +immediate and enormous. But a thought leaped up in my heart which cooled +me considerably.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lottie,” I said, as sadly as I could, “you have been false and +deceitful. You have come near to breaking my heart——”</p> + +<p>“I ken I have—I ken I have!” she cried. “Oh, can you ever forgive me?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_220" id="pg_220">220</a></span>“Only, Charlotte,” I answered nobly, “because I care for your happiness +more than for my own!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Duncan, but you are good!” She threw herself into my arms. I really +think she mistook me for Agnes Anne for the moment. But any consolations +I applied were, as before, in the interests of Tam Gallaberry.</p> + +<p>“I knew I was wicked and wrong all the time,” she said, “but when we +walked out, you remember the dyke we used to lean against” (she glanced +up at me with simple child-like eyes, tear-stained), “you must remember? +Well, one of the stones was loose. And Tam used to put one letter there, +and I took it out and slid it in my pocket, and put mine back the same! +Agnes Anne was looking the other way, of course, and you—you——”</p> + +<p>“Was otherwise employed than thinking of such deceit!” I said grandly.</p> + +<p>“You were kissing me! And I let you—for Tam’s sake,” Charlotte +murmured, smiling. “Otherwise the poor fellow would have had five miles +to come that next day, and I could not bear that he should not find his +letter!”</p> + +<p>“No!” I answered dryly, “it would certainly have been a pity.”</p> + +<p>She looked at me curiously.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” she said, “I always thought that <i>you</i> were playing, +too!”</p> + +<p>“Playing!” I exclaimed tragically. “Is it possible? Oh, Lottie!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I just thought it,” she said remorsefully. “I am sorry if it was +true—if you do really care about me so much—as all that!”</p> + +<p>I was still thinking of Tam Gallaberry. So apparently was she.</p> + +<p>Virtue is its own reward, and so is mutual <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_221" id="pg_221">221</a></span>consolation. It is very +consoling. Half the happy love stories in the world begin that way—just +with telling about the unhappy ones that went before. You take my word +for it—I, Duncan MacAlpine, know what I am talking about. Charlotte +Anderson too.</p> + +<p>So finally, after a while, I became very noble and said what a fine +thing it was to give up something very precious for others. And I asked +her if she could think of anything much nobler than willingly to give up +as fine a girl as herself—Charlotte Anderson—for the sake of Tam +Gallaberry? She thought awhile and said she could not.</p> + +<p>So I told her we must keep up appearances for a time, till we had made +our arrangements what to do. Charlotte said that she had no objections +as long as Tam Gallaberry did not know. So I said that she could write a +long letter that very night, and give it to Agnes Anne in the morning, +and I would go out to the stone, and put it underneath.</p> + +<p>Then she cried, “Oh, will you?” And thanked me ever so sweetly, asking +if, when I was about it, would I bring back the one I found there and +send it to her by my sister, in another envelope—“just over the top, +you know, without breaking the seal. Because such letters were sacred.”</p> + +<p>I said she need not trouble herself. I was only doing all this for her +sake. I did not want to see what another man had to say to her!</p> + +<p>And, if you will believe me, she was delighted, and said, “Now I know +that you were not all pretending, but do care for me a little wee bit!”</p> + +<p>Indeed, Charlotte was so delighted that it was perhaps as well for the +smooth flowing of their love story that Tam Gallaberry was at that +moment investigating their joint post office. For Lottie was a generous +girl when her heart was moved, and though she kept the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_222" id="pg_222">222</a></span>grand issues +clear, she often confused details—as, for instance, whether the +handkerchief was mine or my sister’s, and whether I was myself or Tam +Gallaberry.</p> + +<p>But I considered such slips as these pardonable at twenty. At that age +forgetfulness is easy. Afterwards the prison doors close, and now I am +not mistaken for Tam Gallaberry any more—and what is more, I don’t want +to be. However, after a while I brought Charlotte to earth again, out of +the exaltation of our mutual self-sacrifice, by the reminder that at +that moment our fathers would be arranging as to our joint future—and +that without the least regard for our present noble sentiments, or those +of the happily absent Mr. Thomas Gallaberry.</p> + +<p>She got down and looked at me, affrighted, her lips apart, and all +panting like a bird newly ta’en in the hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Duncan,” she cried, “you will help me, won’t you? You see how fond +I am of you!”</p> + +<p>I saw, exactly, but refrained from telling her that she had a strange +way of showing it.</p> + +<p>“I would do anything in the world for you,” she added,—“only I want to +marry Tom. Ye see? I have always meant to marry Tom! So I can’t help it, +can I?”</p> + +<p>Her logic had holes in it, but her meaning was starry clear. I thanked +her, and said that the best thing we could do was to take counsel +together. Which we did there under the shelter of the great holly-bush. +So much so that any one passing that way might have taken us for foolish +lovers, instead of two people plotting how to get rid the one of the +other.</p> + +<p>What helped the illusion greatly was that it was a cold day, with every +now and then a few driving flecks of snow. I had on a great rough +Inverness cloak of my father’s, far too large for me. I asked <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_223" id="pg_223">223</a></span>Charlotte +if she were warm. She said she was, but did not persist too much in the +statement. So we left Tom Gallaberry out of the question, and set +ourselves to arrange what we were to say to our two fathers.</p> + +<p>“It will be terrible hard to pretend!” I said, shaking my head.</p> + +<p>“It will be a sin—at least, for long!” she answered.</p> + +<p>I exposed the situation. There was to be no immediate talk of marriage. +Even her father had allowed that I must get through college first. He +was to pay my fees as a doctor. I did not want to be a doctor. Besides, +I could not take her father’s money——</p> + +<p>Here Charlotte turned with so quick a flounce that she nearly landed +herself in the little gutter which I had made with my stick to carry off +the drainage of the slope behind.</p> + +<p>“Not take the money? Nonsense!” she cried. “Father has more than he +knows what to do with!”</p> + +<p>She paused a while, finger on lip, meditating, the double ply of +calculation, stamped on her father’s brow, very strongly marked on hers.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Duncan,” she said caressingly, like a grown woman wooing to +get her own way, so deep her voice was, “daddy is giving you that money +because you are going to marry me, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>I signed, as well as I could, that Mr. Robert Anderson of Birkenbog +considered himself as so doing.</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands and cried out, as if she had stumbled on the +solution of some exceedingly difficult problem, “Why, then, take the +money and give it to Tom! He needs it for his farm—oh, just dreadful. +He says the hill is not half stocked, and that a hundred or two more +ewes would just be the saving of him!”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, “I shall be entering into an agreement with your father, +and shall have to give him receipts!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_224" id="pg_224">224</a></span>“Well,” she continued boldly, “Thomas will enter into an agreement with +you, if he doesn’t marry me—that is, if I am left on your hands—he +will pay you the money back—or else give you the sheep!”</p> + +<p>It will hardly be believed the difficulty I had to make Charlotte see +the impossibility—nay, the dishonesty of an arrangement which appeared +so simple to her. She thought for a while that I was just doing it out +of jealousy, and she sulked.</p> + +<p>I reasoned with her, but I might as well have tried logic on the +Gallaberry black-faced ewes. She continued to revolve the project in her +own mind.</p> + +<p>“Whatever you—I mean <i>we</i>—can get out of father is to the good,” she +said. “He will never miss it. If you don’t, I will ask him for the money +for your fees myself and give it to Tom——”</p> + +<p>“If you do!” I cried in horror,—“oh—you don’t know what you are +talking about, girl!”</p> + +<p>“You don’t love me a bit,” she said. “What would it matter to you? +Besides, if it comes to giving a receipt, I can imitate your signature +to a nicety. Agnes Anne says so.”</p> + +<p>“But, Charlotte, it would be forgery,” I gasped. “They hang people for +forgery.”</p> + +<p>“No, they don’t—at least, not for that sort,” she argued, her eyes very +bright with the working of her inward idea. “For how can it be forgery +when it is <i>your</i> name I write, and I’ve told you of it beforehand? It’s +my father’s money, isn’t it, and he gives it to you for marrying me? +Very well, then, it’s yours—no, I mean it’s Tom’s because he means to +marry me. At least I mean to marry him. Anyway, the money is not my +father’s, because he gives it freely to you (or Tom) for a certain +purpose. Well, Tom is going to be the one who will carry out that +purpose. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_225" id="pg_225">225</a></span>So the money is his. Therefore it’s honest and no forgery!”</p> + +<p>These arguments were so strong and convincing to Charlotte that I did +not attempt to discuss them further, salving my conscience by the +thought that there remained his Majesty’s post, and that a letter +addressed to her father at the Farmers’ Ordinary Room, in care of the +King’s Arms, would clear me of all financial responsibility. But this I +took care not to mention to Lottie, because it might have savoured of +treachery and disturbed her.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, I began urging her to find another confidant than +Agnes Anne. She would do well enough for ordinary letters which I was to +send on to Cousin Tom. But she must not know they were not for me. She +must think that all was going on well between us. This, I showed her, +was a necessity. Charlotte felt the need also, and suggested this girl +and that at Miss Seraphina Huntingdon’s. But I objected to all. I had to +think quick, for some were very nice girls, and at most times would have +served their country quite well. But I stuck to it that they were too +near head-quarters. They would be sure to get found out by Miss +Huntingdon.</p> + +<p>“It is true,” she meditated, “she <i>is</i> a prying old cat.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see anybody for it but Miss Irma, over at my grandmother’s!” I +said, boldly striking the blow to which I had been so long leading up.</p> + +<p>Charlotte gazed at me so long and so intently that I was sure she smelt +a rat. But the pure innocence of my gaze, and the frank readiness with +which I gave my reasons, disarmed her.</p> + +<p>“You see,” I said, “she is the only girl quite out of the common run to +whom you have access. You can go to Heathknowes as often as you like +with Agnes <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_226" id="pg_226">226</a></span>Anne. Nobody will say a word. They will think it quite +natural—to hear the latest about me, you know. Then when you are alone +with Miss Irma, you can burst into tears and tell her our secret——”</p> + +<p>“All——?” she questioned, with strong emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Well,” I hastened to reply, “all that is strictly necessary for a +stranger to know—as, for instance, that <i>you</i> don’t want to marry me, +and that <i>I</i> never wanted to marry you——”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she cried, moving in a shocked, uneasy manner, “but I thought +<i>you</i> did!”</p> + +<p>“Well, but—,” I stammered, for I was momentarily unhinged, “you see you +must put things that way to get Miss Irma to help us. She can do +anything with my father, and I believe she could with yours too if she +got a chance.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, she couldn’t!”</p> + +<p>“Well, anyway, she would serve us faithfully, so long as we couldn’t +trust Agnes Anne. And you know we agreed upon that. If you can think of +anything better, of course I leave it to you!”</p> + +<p>She sat a long while making up her mind, with a woman’s intuition that +all the cards were not on the table. But in the long run she could make +no better of it.</p> + +<p>“Well, I will,” she said; “I always liked her face, and I don’t believe +she is nearly so haughty as people make out.”</p> + +<p>“Not a bit, she isn’t——” I was beginning joyously, when I caught +Lottie’s eye; “I mean—” I added lamely, “a girl always understands +another girl’s affairs, and will help if she can—unless she has herself +some stake in the game!”</p> + +<p>And in saying this, I believe that for once in a way I hit upon a great +and nearly universal truth.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="LOVE_AND_THE_LOGICIAN_7435" id="LOVE_AND_THE_LOGICIAN_7435"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_227" id="pg_227">227</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>LOVE AND THE LOGICIAN</h3> +</div> + +<p>I knew that the Yule Fair was going on down in the village, and that on +account of it all Eden Valley was in an uproar. The clamour was +deafening at the lower end of the “clachan,” where most of the show folk +congregated. The rooks were cawing belatedly in the tall ashes round the +big square—into which, in the old times of the Annandale thieves, the +country folk used to drive the cattle to be out of the way of Johnstones +and Jardines.</p> + +<p>I skirted the town, therefore, so as not to meet with the full blast of +the riot. With such an unruly gang about, I kept Charlotte Anderson well +in sight till I saw her safe into Miss Seraphina’s. Of course, nobody +who knew her for a daughter of Fighting Rob of Birkenbog would have laid +hand upon her, but at such a time there might be some who did not know +the repute of her father.</p> + +<p>The great gong in front of the “Funny Folks” booth went “Bang! bang!” +Opposite, the fife and drum spoke for the temple of the legitimate +drama. At the selling-stalls importunate vendors of tin-ware rattled +their stock-in-trade and roared at the world in general, as if buyers +could be forced to attend to the most noisy—which, indeed, they mostly +did.</p> + +<p>From the dusky kennels in which the gipsies told fortunes and mended the +rush-bottomed chairs of the Valley goodwives came over the wall a faint +odour of mouldy hay, which lingered for weeks about every apartment to +which any of their goods were admitted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_228" id="pg_228">228</a></span>As for me, I had had enough of girls for one day, and I was wondering +how best to cut across the fields, take a turn about the town, and so +get home to my father’s by the wood of pines behind the school, when +suddenly a voice dropped upon me that fairly stunned me, so unexpected +it was.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Duncan MacAlpine,” it said, “I congratulate you on your choice of a +father-in-law. You could not have done better!”</p> + +<p>It was Miss Irma herself, taking a walk in a place where at such a time +she had no business to be—on the little farm path that skirts the woods +above the town. Louis was with her, but I thought that in the far +distance I could discern the lounging shadow of the faithful Eben.</p> + +<p>I stood speechless straight before her, but she passed on, lightly +switching the crisped brown stalks of last year’s thistles with a little +wand she had brought. I saw that she did not mean to speak to me, and I +turned desperately to accompany her.</p> + +<p>“I will thank you to pass your way,” she said sharply. “I am glad you +are to have such a wife and such a dowry. Also a father-in-law who will +be at the kind trouble of paying your college fees till you are quite +ready to marry his daughter. It is a thing not much practised among +gentlefolk, but, what with being so much with your mantua-makers, you +will doubtless not know any better!”</p> + +<p>“Irma—Irma,” I cried, not caring any more for Eben, now in the nearer +distance, “it is all a mistake—indeed, a mistake from the beginning!”</p> + +<p>“Very possibly,” she returned, with an airy haughtiness; “at any rate, +it is no mistake of mine!”</p> + +<p>And there, indeed, she had me. I had perforce to shift my ground.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_229" id="pg_229">229</a></span>“I am not going to marry Charlotte Anderson,” I said.</p> + +<p>“Then the more shame of you to deceive her after all!” she cried. “It +seems that you make a habit of it! Surely I am the last person to whom +you ought to boast of that!”</p> + +<p>“On the contrary, you are the first!”</p> + +<p>But she passed on her way, her head high, an invincible lightness in the +spring of every footstep, a splash of scarlet berries making a star +among her dark hair, and humming the graceless lilt which told how—</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em;">“Willie’s ga’en to Melville Castle,<br /> +Boots an’ spurs an’ a’—!”</p> + +<p>As for me, I was ready to sink deep into the ground with despondency, +wishful to rise never more. But I stopped, and though Uncle Eben was +almost opposite to me, and within thirty yards, I called after her, “The +day will come, Irma Maitland, when you will be sorry for the injustice +you are doing!”</p> + +<p>For I thought of how she would feel when Charlotte told about her cousin +Tam Gallaberry and all that I had done for them—though, indeed, it was +mostly by accident. Only I could trust Charlotte to keep her thumb upon +that part of it.</p> + +<p>I did not know what she felt then, nor, perhaps, do I quite know yet; +but she caught a tangle of wild cut-leafed ivy from a tree on which I +had long watched it grow, and with a spray of small green leaves she +crowned herself, and so departed as she had come, singing as if she had +not a care in the world, or as if I, Duncan MacAlpine, were the last and +least of all.</p> + +<p>And yet I judged that there might be a message for me in that very act. +She had escaped me, and yet there was something warm in her heart in +spite of all. Perhaps, who knows, an angel had gone down and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_230" id="pg_230">230</a></span>troubled +the waters; nor did I think, somehow, that any other would step in there +before me.</p> + +<p>After that I went down to see Fred Esquillant, who listened with sad yet +brilliant eyes to my tangled tale.</p> + +<p>“You are the lucky one,” I said, “to have nothing to do with the lasses. +See what trouble they lead you into.”</p> + +<p>He broke out suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Be honest, Duncan,” he said, “if you must boast! If you are bound to +lie, let it not be to me. You would not have it otherwise. You would not +be as I am, not for all the gold of earth. No”—he held his breath a +long while—“no, and I, if I had the choice, would I not give all that I +have, or am ever likely to have, for—but no, I’m a silent Scot, and I +canna speak the word——”</p> + +<p>“I’m the other sort of Scot,” I cried, “and I’ll speak it for you. Man, +it’s the first decent human thing I have ever heard come out o’ your +mouth. You would give all for LOVE!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, man,” he cried, snatching his fingers to his ears as if I +blasphemed, “are ye not feared?”</p> + +<p>“No, I’m not,” I declared, truly enough; “what for should I be feared? +Of a lassie? Tell a lassie—that ye—that ye——”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” cried Fred Esquillant, “not again!”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, that ye ‘like’ her—we will let it go at that. She will +want ye to say the other, but at least that will do to begin on. And +come, tell me now, what’s to hinder ye, Fred?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, everything,” he said; “it’s just fair shameless the way folk can +bring themselves to speak openly of suchlike things!”</p> + +<p>“And where would you have been, my lad, if once on a day your faither +had not telled your mither that she was bonny?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_231" id="pg_231">231</a></span>“I don’t know, and as little do I care,” he cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, then,” said I, “there’s Amaryllis—what about her?”</p> + +<p>“That’s Latin,” said Fred, waving his arm.</p> + +<p>“And there’s Ruth, and the lass in the Song of Solomon!”</p> + +<p>“That’s in the Bible,” he murmured, as if he thought no better of the +Sacred Word for giving a place to such frivolities.</p> + +<p>“Fred,” I said, “tell me what you would be at? Would you have all women +slain like the babes of Bethlehem, or must we have you made into a monk +and locked in a cell with only a book and an inkhorn and a quill?”</p> + +<p>“Neither,” he said; “but—oh, man, there is something awesome, +coarse-grained and common in the way the like o’ you speak about women.”</p> + +<p>“Aye, do ye tell me that?” I said to try him; “coarse, maybe, as our +father Adam, when he tilled his garden, and common as the poor humanity +that is yet of his flesh and blood.”</p> + +<p>“There ye go!” he cried; “I knew well that my words were thrown away.”</p> + +<p>“Speak up, Mr. Lily Fingers,” I answered; “let <i>us</i> hear what sort of a +world you would have without love—and men and women to make it.”</p> + +<p>“It would be like that in which dwell the angels of heaven—where there +is neither marrying nor giving in marriage!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “speaking for myself and most lads like me, we will mend +our ways before we get a chance of trying that far country! And in the +meantime here we are—our feet in the mire, and our heads not so very +near the sky. Talk of angels—where are we to get their society? And the +likest to them that I have ever heard tell of are just women—good +women, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_232" id="pg_232">232</a></span>innocent lasses, beginning to feel the stir of their own +power—and all the better and the stronger are they for that! Oh, Fred, +I saw an angel within the last half-hour! There she stood, her eyes +shooting witcheries, poised for flight like a butterfly, the dimples +playing hide-and-seek on her face, and her whole soul and body saying to +the sons of men, ‘Come, seek me on your knees—you know you can’t help +loving me! It is very good for you to worship me!”</p> + +<p>“And you are not ashamed, Duncan MacAlpine, to speak such words?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, ye Lallan Scot!” I cried; “ye Westland stot! Is there no hot blood +of the Celt in you? What brought <i>you</i> to Galloway, where the Celt sits +on every hill-top, names every farm and lea-rig, and lights his +Baal-fires about the standing stones on St. John’s Eve?”</p> + +<p>“Man,” said Fred, shaking his head, “I aye thought ye were a barbarian. +Now I know it. If you had your way, you would raid your neighbours’ +womenfolk and bring them in by the hair of their heads, trailing them +two at a time. For me, I worship them like stars, standing afar off.”</p> + +<p>“Aye,” said I, “that would be a heap of use to the next generation, and +the lasses themselves would like it weel!”</p> + +<p>But what Freddy Esquillant said about the next generation was unworthy +of him, and certainly shall not sully this philosophic page. Besides, he +spake in his haste.</p> + +<p>All the same, I noticed that, if ever any of the stars came near to his +earth, it would be a certain very moderately brilliant planet, bearing +the name of Agnes Anne or, more scientifically, MacAlpine Minima, which +would attract Master Fred’s reluctant worship.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_AVALANCHE_7650" id="THE_AVALANCHE_7650"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_233" id="pg_233">233</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>THE AVALANCHE</h3> +</div> + +<p>And now there was a second and longer probation in that gaunt town of +Edinburgh, without any miniature to lie beside me on my work-table like +a tickless watch, and help along the weary hours. And though the session +before I had thought but little of the letters (and indeed there was +nothing in them), yet this time there were none at all, which suited me +far worse. For, as it seemed, the mere sight of the hand-of-write would +have cheered me.</p> + +<p>Henceforward I could only learn, as it were, by ricochet what was going +on. My grandmother never set pen to paper. Her tongue to guide was +trouble enough to her without setting down words on paper to rise up in +judgment against her. True, my father wrote regularly to inquire if my +professor had any new light on the high things of Plato, the Iberian +flavour in Martial’s Epigrams, and such like subjects which were better +fitted to interest a learned dominie who had lost the scholar of his +choice than to comfort a young fellow who has only lost his sweetheart.</p> + +<p>For her part Agnes Anne wrote me reams about Charlotte, but never +mentioned a word as to the Maitlands, though she did say that Charlotte +was a good deal at Heathknowes, and (a trifle spitefully, perhaps) that +she did not know what took her there unless it were to see Uncle Rob! +This poor Uncle Rob of ours—his reputation was in everybody’s mouth, +certainly. He had been, so they said, a runagate, a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_234" id="pg_234">234</a></span>night-raker, and in +the days of his youth a trifle wild. But now with the shadows of forty +deepening upon him, it was not fair that all the hot blood of his teens +and twenties should rise up in judgment against him. Still so it was. +And the reason of it was, he had not, as he ought, married and settled. +For which sin of omission, as the gossips of Eden Valley said, “there +was bound to be a reason!”</p> + +<p>Charlotte herself did not send a line, excepting always the letters I +was to forward to Tom Gallaberry at his farm of Ewebuchts on the Water +of Ae. This at the time I judged unkind, but afterwards I found that +Cousin Tom had insisted upon it, on the threat of going to her father +and telling him the whole affair. For, in spite of all, Cousin Thomas +was jealous—as most country lads are of college-bred youths, and he +pinned Charlotte carefully down in her correspondence. However, I made +him pay his own postages, which was a comfort, and as Agnes Anne and +often my father would slip their letters into the same packet, after all +I had only the extra weight to pay.</p> + +<p>Still, I did think that some of them might have told me something of +Irma. But none did, till one great day I got a letter—from whom think +you? I give you fifty guesses—well, from my Aunt Jen. And it contained +more than all the rest put together, though all unconsciously, and +telling me things that I might have gone a long time ignorant of—if she +had suspected for a moment I was keen about them.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Heathknowes, this the thirteenth Aprile</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">“Dear Nephew Duncan</span>,</p> + +<p>“Doubtless you will be having so many letters +that you will not be caring for one from a cross auld +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_235" id="pg_235">235</a></span>maid, who is for ever finding fault with you when +ye are at home. But who, for all that, does not forget +to bear ye up in the arms of her petitions before +the Throne—no, night and morning both.</p> + +<p>“This is writ to tell you that I have sent ye, by +the wish of my mither, one cheese of seven pounds +weight good, as we are hearing that you are thinking +to try and find something to do in Edinburgh during +the summer time. Which will be an advisable thing, +if it be the Lord’s will—for faint-a-hait do ye do here +except play ill pranks and run the country.</p> + +<p>“However, what comes o’t we shall see. Also there +is a pig of butter. It may be the better of a trifle +more salt, that is, if the weather is onyway warm. +So I have put in a little piece of board and ye can +work the salt in yourself. Be a good lad, and mind +there are those here that are praying for ye to be +guided aright. Big towns are awful places for +temptation by what they say, and that ye are about +the easiest specimen to be tempted, that I have yet +seen with these eyes. Howsomever, maybe ye will +have gotten grace, or if not that, at least a pickle +common-sense, whilk often does as well—or better.</p> + +<p>“It’s a Guid’s blessing that ye have been led to +stop where ye are. For that lassie Charlotte Anderson +is going on a shame to be seen. Actually she is +never off our doorstep—fleeing and rinning all hours +of the day. At first I thought to mysel’, it was to +hear news of you. But she kens as weel as us when +the posts come in, besides the letters she gets from +Agnes Anne—some that cost as muckle as sevenpence—a +ruination and a disgrace!” [Tom Gallaberry must +have been prolix that week.] “Then I thought it was +maybe some of the lads—for, like it or no, ye had +better ken soon as syne, that maiden’s e’e is filled +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_236" id="pg_236">236</a></span>with vanity and the gauds o’ grandeur, disdaining +the true onputting of a meek and quiet spirit!</p> + +<p>“But, for your comfort, if ye are so far left to yourself +as to take comfort in the like—and the bigger fool +you—it is no the lads after all. It’s just Irma Maitland!</p> + +<p>“I declare they two are never sindry. They will +be out talk-talking, yatter-yattering when the kye +are being milked in the morning. Irma makes her +carry the water, that’s one comfort. But I wonder +at that silly auld clocking hen, Seraphina Huntingdon. +It’s a deal of work she will be getting, but I +suppose the premium pays for all, and she will not +care a farthing now that Charlotte’s market is made. +Not that I would trust you (or any student lad) the +length of my stirabout potstick—or indeed (not to +shame my own father) anything that wears hose and +knee-breeches. And maybe that’s the reason every +silly birkie thinks he has the right to cast up to me +that I am an auld maid. Faith, there’s few that wear +the wedding ring with whom I would change places. +But what of that?</p> + +<p>“The folk are all well here, both bairns and grown +folk, and we will be blithe to hear from you, and if +you have the time to send a scraps of your pen to +your auld maiden aunt, that mony a time (though +Lord knows not half often enough) has garred your +lugs ring for your misdeeds—she will be pleased to +hear if the butter and cheese were some kitchen to +your tasteless town’s bread.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">“Your obdt. servt. and affectionate aunt, <br /> +”<span class="sc">Janet Lyon</span>.“</p> +</div> + +<p>From this information I hoped great things—at least a letter demanding +pardon from Irma, or an account of how she had confessed all from that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_237" id="pg_237">237</a></span>graceless and thankless forgetful besom Charlotte. But I heard nothing +further till, one day going past after another, about a twelvemonth +after amazing word came. It was when I was busy with some literary work +I had gotten from one of the printers in the town—correcting proofs and +looking out for misspellings in the compositions of an eminent hand. I +will be plain—it was poor work, and as poorly paid. But I could live on +it, and in any case it was better than slaving at tutoring. That is, as +tutoring was at that time in Edinburgh—a dull boy whom none could make +anything of, insolent servants, sneering elder sisters and a guinea a +month to pay for all. However, I tried it and made some of them stop +sneering—at least the sisters.</p> + +<p>I was, I say, in the Rankeillor Street lodgings and Amelia was going out +at the door with my tea-things—as usual calling me names for “idling +within doors” when Fred was out at his classes. Freddie had private +permission from one of the professors to read in his library, so often +did not come home till late. But I stuck to my arm-chair and my +printer’s slips like a burr to homespun. Suddenly there was a great +noise on the stairs. “There,” cries Amelia, “that’s one of your +countrymen, or I’m no judge of the Galloway bray!”</p> + +<p>For, as I have indicated before, Amelia was far from imitating her +mother’s English politeness.</p> + +<p>The next moment the front door was driven in with a mighty brange +against the wall (for Amelia had been out the moment before on the +landing to throw some turnip-tops on the ash “backet”). A huge man in +many swathes of riding-coat dashed in and caught me by the throat. +Amelia had the two-pronged carving fork in her hand, and seeing her +mother’s lodger (as she thought) in danger of being choked to <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_238" id="pg_238">238</a></span>death, +without having regulated his week’s bill, she threw herself upon my +assailant and struck vehemently with the fork.</p> + +<p>The huge man in the many capes doubtless suffered no grievous harm. It +had hardly been possible for a pistol-ball to penetrate such an +armature, but still the sudden assault from behind, and perhaps some +subtle feminine quality in Amelia’s screams, made him turn about to see +what was happening.</p> + +<p>The man was Fighting Anderson of Birkenbog himself, and he kept crying, +“Where have you hidden her, rascal, thief? I will kill you, villain of a +scribbler! It was because you were plotting this that you dare not show +your face in the country!”</p> + +<p>But every time he threw himself upon me, Amelia, who did not want for +spunk, dug at him with the two-pronged fork, and stuck it through so +many plies of his mantle till he was obliged to cry out, “Here, lassie, +lay down that leister, or ye will hae me like miller Tamson’s riddle, +that the cat can jump through back-foremost.”</p> + +<p>After adjusting his coat collar he turned to me and demanded, in a more +sensible and quiet way, what had become of his daughter.</p> + +<p>At the question, Amelia went into one of her foolish fits of laughter +and cried out, “What, anither of them?”</p> + +<p>Whereupon to prevent misunderstandings, I explained that the young lady +was my landlady’s daughter, and a friend of Freddy Esquillant’s.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you students,” he said, and sat down to wipe his brow, having seen +from the most cursory examination of our abode, wholly open to the view, +and exiguous at the best, that certainly Charlotte was not hidden there.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_239" id="pg_239">239</a></span>“She left home three days syne as if to go to Miss Huntingdon’s,” he +said, “and ever since her mother has gone from one hysteric to another. +So, knowing nothing better to do, and maybe judging you by myself in my +own young days (for which I am sure I ask your pardon) I started out to +make sure that everything had been done decently and in order. Though as +sure as my name is Robert Anderson, I cannot think why you did not come +and wed the lass decently at home——”</p> + +<p>We were at this point in our explanation, Amelia’s ear was (doubtless) +close to the back of the door, and Birkenbog was relapsing into his +first belief, when I heard the key in the lock and the light foot of +Freddy in the passage.</p> + +<p>It came as a huge relief, for here was my witness.</p> + +<p>He entered, and, seeing the visitor, bowed and deposited his books in +the corner. He was for going out again, doubtless thinking that +Charlotte’s father and I were at business together. So, indeed, we +were—but not such as I wished to keep anyways private between us. I +could not, with any self-respect, go on depending any longer on Amelia’s +two-pronged fork.</p> + +<p>So I said, “Freddy, bear me witness that I have not been out of the +house this week, except to go to the printer’s with my work——”</p> + +<p>“Fegs,” cried a voice through the jar of the door, “there is no need for +Freddy to bear ye out in that. You have only to look at the carpet under +the legs of your chair. It has gotten a tairgin’, as if all the hosts of +King Pharaoh had trampled over it down to the Red Sea!”</p> + +<p>But I would not keep the old man any longer in suspense.</p> + +<p>“I fear, Birkenbog,” I said, “that you have given <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_240" id="pg_240">240</a></span>yourself a bootless +journey. From what I suspect, your flown bird will be nested nearer +home.”</p> + +<p>“Where?” he cried; “tell me the scoundrel’s name.”</p> + +<p>“Fairly and soothly, Birkenbog,” said I, “peace is best among near +friends—not to speak of kinsfolk!”</p> + +<p>“Aye,” said he, “fairly and soothly be it! But I have to ken first that +it is fairly and soothly. Who is the man?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know for certain,” I said, “but I have every reason to believe +that your daughter is at this moment Mistress Thomas Gallaberry of +Ewebuchts, on the Water of Ae!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the limmer,” he cried, and started up as if to fly at me again. His +face was indeed a study. First there appeared the usual hot wrath, +overlapping in ruddy fold on fold, and revealing the owner’s full-fed +intent to punish. This gradually gave way to a look of humorous +appreciation, and then all of a sudden, he slapped his thigh in an agony +of joyous appreciation.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the limmer,” he cried, “only a week since my kinsman Tam Gallaberry +asks me brave and canny for the lend of five hundred to stock his Back +Hill. He offered decent enough security, and as usual I took Charlotte’s +opinion on the business. For it’s her that has the great head for the +siller. Oh yes, she has that. And as soon as they gat the tocher, he’s +off wi’ the lassie. Certes, but he is the cool hand.”</p> + +<p>“If you allow me to judge, I should say the cool hand was Charlotte!” I +ventured.</p> + +<p>“Right, man,” he cried, “little do I doubt it! Tam Gallaberry has led a +grey mare to his stable that will <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_241" id="pg_241">241</a></span>prove the better horse, and that he +will ken before he is a fortnight older.”</p> + +<p>Then he turned upon me, short and sharp.</p> + +<p>“You have kenned this some while, I’m jaloosin’?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, for I felt that he might have me awkwardly trapped if he +went on, “that is one of the reasons why I did not come home. I knew +that Charlotte had made up her mind never to marry me——”</p> + +<p>“And ye took it like that?” he cried; “man, ye havena muckle spunk!”</p> + +<p>“It was not generally so thought at the time of the assault on the great +house of Marnhoul,” I answered; “and indeed I remember one old gentleman +about your figure, with a white crape over his nose, that shook me by +the hand and took my name down in his book——”</p> + +<p>“<i>Wheesht—wheesht</i>,” he said, looking about uneasily, “siccan things +are better never minted so close to the Parliament House where bide the +Red Fifteen!”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “that’s as may be, but I cannot have it said by you or +any man that I lack spunk!”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said he, “though I never was troubled that gate mysel’—there’s +mony a bold man has turned hen-hearted when it came to a question of the +lasses. There’s Freddy here, one wad never think it of him, but there +has he gotten yon lass that nearly did for me with her twa-pronged fork. +She’s a smart hizzy, and will make a lively wife to some man. But I maun +e’en be riding back to put a question or so to the man that has stown +awa’ my bit ewe-lamb and put her in fold by the Water of Ae.”</p> + +<p>At that moment Amelia came in with a triumphant <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_242" id="pg_242">242</a></span>smile. “It’s a laddie +from the post, and he winna gie up the letter unless you pay him +sevenpence for postage dues and a penny for himself!”</p> + +<p>“There’s the sevenpence, and clash the door in his face!” I cried. For I +was bravely well acquainted with the exigencies of these post-office +“keelies.”</p> + +<p>But Birkenbog, who was in good humour at the way he had been done by his +daughter, threw a handful of copper “bodles” across the table to Amelia.</p> + +<p>“There’s for the messenger!” he said. And I could see that he looked at +the letter when it came with some anxiety.</p> + +<p>As I supposed, it was from Charlotte, and the thinnest and least bulky +of her billets that had ever come up these stairs. I handed it across to +him, where he sat newly glooming at me.</p> + +<p>“Open it!” I said.</p> + +<p>“Since when has Robert Anderson of Birkenbog taken to opening letters +addressed to other men?”</p> + +<p>“Never heed—not till this very minute, maybe. Open that one, at any +rate!” And I ran my finger along the sealed edge.</p> + +<p>This was Charlotte’s letter to me.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>From our home at Ewebuchts, Tuesday.</i></p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">Dear Duncan</span>,</p> + +<p>“How can we ever make it up to you? We +were married yesterday by Mr. Torrance, the +minister at Quarrelwood, and came home here in +time for the milking of the cows. My father has +kindly given my Thomas five hundred on account +of my marriage portion, but he does not know it yet. +I left all well. Thomas joins in kind messages to all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_243" id="pg_243">243</a></span>inquiring friends. He is looking over my shoulder +now, as perhaps you may be already aware from the +style of composition.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right">“Yours truly, <br/> +”<span class="sc">Charlotte Gallaberry</span>.</p> + +<p>“P.S.—Oh, I forget to tell you, it will be as well +to barricade your door. For I left word with one of +the servant lasses that I was off to Edinburgh. Father +will likely call to see you, and he is sure to have with +him the whip wherewith he downed the highwayman. +But I know well your bravery, and do sincerely thank +you for all you may have to undergo for me.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="sc">“Charlotte</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>“Humph,” said her father, as he flung it across the table to me, “in my +opinion ye are well shut of her! She will twist that Tam Gallaberry +round her finger and then—whizz—she will make him spin like a peerie!”</p> + +<p>He rose, and without any adieus stamped his way down the stairs, +sniffing as he went at every landing. We stood at the window watching +his progress along the street—capes swaying, broad bonnet of blue +cocked at an angle on top, red double-chinned face looking straight +ahead. Amelia came over to my shoulder and looked too.</p> + +<p>But all she said was, “And now, when it’s past and gone, will ye tell me +if <i>Yon</i> is what you learned folk caa’ an avalanche?”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_VANISHING_LADY_8024" id="THE_VANISHING_LADY_8024"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_244" id="pg_244">244</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<h3>THE VANISHING LADY</h3> +</div> + +<p>During the next three years (and that is a long driech time) I made many +excuses for not going down to Eden Valley. I cannot say whether I +managed to get myself believed or not. But the fact of the matter is, +that, as things were, I could not bring myself to face Irma again and so +bring back the pain. My father had come up to see me twice. Once he had +brought my mother, of whom Mrs. Craven had made much, recognizing a +kindred refinement of spirit. But Amelia and my Aunt Jen (who came at +the time of the General Assembly) learned to respect one another—all +the more that they had been highly prejudiced before meeting.</p> + +<p>“She seems a weel-doing lass, wi’ no feery-faries aboot her!” declared +my aunt, speaking of Amelia Craven. While that young woman, delivering +her mind after the departure of Miss Janet Lyon, declared that she was a +“wiselike woman and very civil—but I’ll wager she came here thinking +that I was wanting ye. Faith, no, I wadna marry any student that ever +stepped in leather—<i>I ken ower muckle aboot them</i>!”</p> + +<p>“There’s Freddie!” I suggested.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Amelia shortly, “he’s different, I allow. But then, there’s a +medium. One doesna want a man with his nose aye in a book. But one that, +when ye spit at him, will spit back!”</p> + +<p>“Try me!” I said, daring her in conscious security.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_245" id="pg_245">245</a></span>“Goliah of Gath,” cried she, “but I wad be sair left to mysel’!”</p> + +<p>We continued, however, to be pretty good friends always, and in a +general way she knew about Irma. She had seen the oval miniature lying +on the table. She had also closely interrogated Freddy, and lastly she +had charged me with the fact, which I did not deny.</p> + +<p>Freddy was now assistant to the professor of Humanity, which is to say +of the Latin language, while besides my literary work on the <i>Universal +Review</i> I was interim additional Under-secretary to the University +Court. In both which positions, literary and secretarial, I did the work +for which another man pocketed the pay.</p> + +<p>But after all I was not ill-off. One way and another I was making near +on to a hundred pounds a year, which was a great deal for the country +and time, and more than most ministers got in country parts. I wrote a +great many very learned articles, though I signed none. I even directed +foreign affairs in the <i>Review</i>, and wrote the most damaging indictments +against “the traditional policy of the house of Austria.”</p> + +<p>Then the other man, the great one in the public eye, he who paid me—put +in this and that sonorous phrase, full of echoing emptiness, launched an +antithesis which had done good service a time or two on the hustings or +in the House of Commons, and—signed the article. Well, I do not object. +That was what I was there for, and after all I made myself necessary to +the <i>Universal Review</i>. It would never have appeared in time but for me. +I verified quotations, continued articles that were too short by +half-a-dozen pages, found statistics where there were blanks in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_246" id="pg_246">246</a></span>manuscript, invented them if I could not find them, generally bullied +the printers and proof-readers, saw to the cover, and never let go till +the “Purple-and-Green,” as we were called, was for sale on all the +counters and speeding over Britain in every postboy’s leathers.</p> + +<p>Now one of my employers (the best) lived away among the woods above +Corstorphine and another out at the Sciennes—so between them I had +pretty long tramps—not much in the summer time when nights hardly +existed, but the mischief and all when for weeks the sun was an +unrealized dream, and even the daylight only peered in for a morning +call and then disappeared.</p> + +<p>But at the time of which I write the days were lengthening rapidly. I +was deep in our spring number of the <i>Universal</i>. Only the medical +students were staying on at the University, and the Secretary’s spacious +office could safely be littered with all sort of printing <i>débris</i>. My +good time was beginning.</p> + +<p>Well, in one of my walks out to Corstorphine, I was aware, not for the +first time, of the figure of a girl, carefully veiled, that at my +approach—we were always meeting one another—slipped aside into a +close. I thought nothing of this for the first two or three times. But +the fourth, I conceived there was something more in it than met the eye. +So I made a detour, and, near by the end of George Street—unfinished at +that time like all the other streets in that new neighbourhood—I met my +vanishing lady face to face as she emerged upon the Queensferry Road. +She had lifted her veil a little in order the better to pick her way +among the building and other materials scattered there.</p> + +<p>It was Irma—Irma Maitland herself, grown into a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_247" id="pg_247">247</a></span>woman, her eyes +brighter, her cheeks paler, the same Irma though different—with a +little startled look certainly, but now not proud any more, and—looking +every day of her twenty-two years.</p> + +<p>“Irma!” I gasped, barring the way.</p> + +<p>She stopped dead. Then she clutched at her skirt, and said feverishly, +“Let me pass, sir, or I shall call for help!”</p> + +<p>“Call away,” I answered cheerfully. “I will only say that you have run +off from the home which has sheltered you for many years, and that your +friends are very anxious about you. Where are you staying?”</p> + +<p>I glanced at her black dress. It was not mourning exactly, but then Irma +never did anything like any one else. A fear took me that it might be +little Louis who was dead, and yet for the life of me I dared not ask, +knowing how she loved the child.</p> + +<p>When I asked where she was staying, she plucked again at her skirt, +lifting it a little as when she was being challenged to run a race. But +seeing no way clear, she answered as it were under compulsion, “With my +Aunt Kirkpatrick at the Nun’s House!”</p> + +<p>At first I had the fear that this might prove to be some Catholic place +like the convent to which she had been sent in Paris. But it turned out +to be only a fine old mansion, standing by itself in a garden with a +small grey lodge to it, far out on the road to the Dean.</p> + +<p>“Take me there!” I said, “for I must tell my grandmother what I have +seen of you, or she will be up here by the coach red and angry enough to +dry up the Nor’ Loch!”</p> + +<p>Irma walked by my side quite silent for a while, and I led her cunningly +so as not to get too soon to our destination. I knew better than to ask +why she <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_248" id="pg_248">248</a></span>had left Heathknowes. If I let her alone, she would soon enough +begin to defend herself. And so it was.</p> + +<p>“The lawyers took Louis away to put him to a school here,” she said. “It +was time. I knew it, but I could not rest down there without him. So I +came also. I left them all last Wednesday. Your grandmother came herself +with me to Dumfries, and there we saw the lawyers. They had not much to +say to your grandmother, while she——”</p> + +<p>“I understand,” said I; “she had a great deal to say to them!”</p> + +<p>Irma nodded, and for the first time faintly smiled.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered, “the little old man in the flannel dressing-gown, +of whom you used to tell us, forgot to poke the fire for a long time!”</p> + +<p>“So you left them all in good heart about your coming away?” I said.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the good souls,” she cried, weeping a little at the remembrance, +“never will I see the like till I am back there again. I think they all +loved me—even your Aunt Jen. She gave me her own work-basket and a +psalm book bound in black leather when I came away.”</p> + +<p>And at the remembrance she wept afresh.</p> + +<p>“I must stop this,” she said, dabbing her eyes with a very early-April +smile, “my Aunt Kirkpatrick will think it is because of meeting you. She +is always free with her imagination, my Lady Kirkpatrick—a clever woman +for all that—only, what is it that you say, ‘hard and fyky!’ She has +seen many great people and kings, and was long counted a great beauty +without anything much coming of it.”</p> + +<p>I thought I would risk changing the subject to what was really uppermost +in my mind.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_249" id="pg_249">249</a></span>“And Charlotte?” I ventured, as blandly as I could muster.</p> + +<p>“I wonder you are not shamed!” she said, with a glint in her eye that +hardly yet expressed complete forgiveness. “I know all about that. And +if you think you can come to me bleating like a sore wronged and +innocent lamb, you are far mistaken!”</p> + +<p>So this was the reason of her long silence. Charlotte had babbled. I +might have known. Still, I could not charge my conscience with anything +very grave. After all, the intention on both sides—Charlotte’s as well +as mine,—had been of the best. She wanted to marry her Tam of the +Ewebuchts, which she had managed—I, to wed Irma, from which I was yet +as far off as ever.</p> + +<p>So I made no remark, but only walked along in a grieved silence. It was +not very long till Irma remarked, a little viciously, but with the old +involuntary toss of her head which sent all her foam-light curls dipping +and swerving into new effects and combinations—so that I could hardly +take my eyes off her—“Would you like to hear more about Charlotte?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” said I boldly. For I knew the counter for her moods, which was to +be of the same, only stronger.</p> + +<p>“Well, she has two children, and when the second, a boy, was born, she +claimed another five hundred pounds from her father to stock a farm for +him—the old man called it ‘a bonny bairn-clout’ for our Lottie’s +Duncan!”</p> + +<p>“What did you say the bairn’s name was?”</p> + +<p>“Duncan—after you!” This with an air of triumph, very pretty to see.</p> + +<p>“And the elder, the girl?” I asked—though, indeed, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_250" id="pg_250">250</a></span>that I knew—from +the old letters of my Aunt Jen.</p> + +<p>“Irma!” she answered, some little crestfallen.</p> + +<p>“After you?”</p> + +<p>She had barely time to nod when we passed in at the lodge gate of the +Nun’s House. The old porter came to the gate to make his reverence, and +no doubt to wonder who the young lady, his mistress’s kinswoman, had +gotten home with her.</p> + +<p>I found the Lady Kirkpatrick—Lady by courtesy, but only known thus by +all her circle—to be a little vivid spark of a white-haired woman, +sitting on a sofa dressed in the French fashion of forty years ago, and +with a small plume of feathers in a jewelled turban that glittered as +she moved. At first she was kind enough to me.</p> + +<p>“Hey, Master-of-Arts Duncan MacAlpine, this is a bonny downcome for your +grandfather’s son, and you come of decent blood up in Glen Strae—to be +great with the Advocate, and scribbling his blethers! A sword by your +side would have suited ye better, I’m thinking!”</p> + +<p>“Doubtless, my lady,” I answered, “if such had been my state and +fortune. Nevertheless, I can take a turn at that too, if need be.”</p> + +<p>“Aha, ye have not lost the Highland conceit, in drawing water from the +wells of Whiggery!”</p> + +<p>“If I mistake not,” I replied, “your ladyship did not care to bide +always about a king’s court when she had the chance.”</p> + +<p>For I knew her history, as did everybody in Edinburgh—a little +gossiping town at that time—now, they say, purged of scandal—which is +a Heaven’s miracle if ever there was one.</p> + +<p>“Och, hear him!” she cried, throwing up her fan <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_251" id="pg_251">251</a></span>with a jerk to the end +of its tether with a curious flouting disdain, “politics are very well +when it is ‘Have at them, my merry men a’!’ But after, when all is done +and laid on the shelf like broken bairns’-plaiks, better be a Whig in +the West Bow than a Jesuit in a king’s palace abroad!”</p> + +<p>And, like enough (so at least it was whispered), the choice had been +offered her.</p> + +<p>Then all in a moment she turned to me with a twinkle in her eye that was +hardly less than impish. Indeed, I may say that she flew at me much like +an angry wasp when a chance of your walking-stick stirs its nest.</p> + +<p>“It’s prophesied,” she said, “that some day a Kirkpatrick of Closeburn +will be greater than a queen. For me it was, ‘Thank you kindly! I would +rather dwell in the Nun’s House of the Dean than possess the treasures +of Egypt!’ But this lass is a Kirkpatrick too, though only through her +grandmother, and I troth it may be her that’s to wear the crown. At any +rate, mind you, no dominie’s son with his fingers deep in printer’s ink, +and in the confidence of our little Advocate that rideth on the white +horse—only it’s a powny—must venture any pretensions——”</p> + +<p>“You mistake me,” said I, suddenly very dignified, “my family——”</p> + +<p>“Fiddlesticks,” cried the old lady; “there’s Bellman Jock wha’s faither +was a prince o’ the bluid. But what the better is he o’ that? Na, na, +there’s to be no trokin’, nor eyesdropping, nor yet slipping of notes +into itching palms, nor seeing one another to doors!—Och, aye, I ken +the gait o’t fine. Mony is the time I have seen it travelled. This young +leddy is for your betters, sirrah, and being but the son of a village +dominie, and working for your bread among <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_252" id="pg_252">252</a></span>Leein’ Johnny’s hundred black +men in Parliament Close, ye may—an it please ye, and <i>if</i> ye please, +gie this door a wide gae-by. For if ye come a second time, Samuel Whan, +the porter, will have his orders to steek the yett in your face!”</p> + +<p>“Madame,” said I, very fine, “it shall not be done twice!”</p> + +<p>I stole a glance at Irma, who was standing with her face white and her +lips trembling.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she, “nor yet once. I came here at your request, Aunt +Kirkpatrick. For years and years my brother and I have sorned on the +family of this gentleman—you yourself grant he is that——”</p> + +<p>“No such thing!” snapped my lady Kirkpatrick, “gentleman indeed—a +newsmonger’s apprentice! That’s your gentrice!”</p> + +<p>“We dwelt there, my brother and I,” Irma went on, “none of my family +troubling their heads or their purses about us, yet without a plack we +were treated as brother and sister by all the family.”</p> + +<p>“Be off, then, with your brother, since you are so fond of him!” cried +the fiery old lady, rising with a long black cane in her hand, a terrier +yelping and snapping at her heels. “I am for London next week, and I +cannot be at the chairge of a daft hempie, especially one of such low, +common tastes.”</p> + +<p>At these words, so unexpected and uncalled for, Irma put out her hand +and took mine. She spoke very gently.</p> + +<p>“Duncan,” she said, “we are not wanted here. Let us be going!”</p> + +<p>“But—Irma——!” I gasped, for even then I would take no advantage. +“Whither shall I conduct you? Have you other friends in Edinburgh?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_253" id="pg_253">253</a></span>“Before a minister!” she said. “That will be best. I have no friends +but you!”</p> + +<p>“Aye, there ye are!” cried the old lady, “I was sure there was something +at the back of this sudden flight to Edinburgh. The dear little +brother—oh, but we were that fond of him—the poor, poor innocent +bairn. Such a comfort for him to know his sister near at hand! Yet, +though I have done with you, Mistress Irma Sobieski, I may say that I +wish you no ill. Make a better use of your youth than maybe I have done. +If ye need a helping hand, there’s my sister Frances out at the +Sciennes. She’s fair crammed like a Strasburg goose wi’ the +<i>belles-lettres</i>. She will maybe never let ye within the door, but a +shilling a week of outdoor relief ye are sure of—for she sets up for +being full of the milk of human kindness. She set her cap at John Home +when he came home from London. She would never even allow that Davie +Hume was an atheist, whilk was as clear as that I hae a nose to my +face!—— Off with you to Fanny’s at the Sciennes. And a long guid day to +the pair of ye—ye are a disobedient regardless lassock, and ye are +heapin’ up wrath again the day of wrath, but for all that I’m no sayin’ +that I’ll forget you in my will! There are others I like waur nor you, +when all’s said and done!”</p> + +<p>“I would not take a penny of yours if I were starving on the street!” +cried Irma.</p> + +<p>“Save us!” said the old lady, lifting up her black wand, “ye will maybe +think different when ye are real hungrysome. The streets are nae better +than they are caa’ed. But off wi’ ye, and get honestly tied up! Bid +Samuel Whan shut the yett after ye!”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="TWICE_MARRIED_8350" id="TWICE_MARRIED_8350"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_254" id="pg_254">254</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<h3>TWICE MARRIED</h3> +</div> + +<p>Now I have never to this day been able to make up my mind whether the +Lady Kirkpatrick was really stirred with such anger as she pretended, +whether she was only more than a little mad, or if all was done merely +to break down Irma’s reserve by playing on her anger and pride.</p> + +<p>If the last was the cause of my lady’s strange behaviour to us, it was +shiningly successful.</p> + +<p>“We will not go a step to find my Lady Frances,” said Irma when we were +outside; “if she be so full of all the wisdoms, she would very likely +try to separate us.”</p> + +<p>And certainly it was noways my business to make any objections. So, +hardly crediting my happiness, I went southwards over the Bridges, with +Irma by my side, my heart beating so rarely that I declare I could +hardly bethink me of a minister to make me sure of Irma before she had +time to change her mind. As was usual at that hour at the Surgeon’s +Hall, we met Freddy Esquillant coming from the direction of Simon +Square. Him I sent off as quickly as he could to Rankeillor Street for +Amelia Craven. I felt that this was no less than Amelia’s due, for many +a time and oft must she have been wearied with my sighs and +complaints—very suitable to the condition of a lover, but mightily +wearisome to the listener.</p> + +<p>Irma said nothing. She seemed to be walking in a dream, and hardly +noticed Freddy—or yet the errand upon which I sent him.</p> + +<p>It came to me that, as the matter was of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_255" id="pg_255">255</a></span>suddenest, Amelia Craven +might help us to find a small house of our own where we might set up our +household gods—that is, when we got any.</p> + +<p>An unexpected encounter preceded the one expected. I was marching along +to our rendezvous with Freddy and Amelia at the crossing from Archers’ +Hall to the Sciennes, when all of a sudden whom should we meet right in +the face but my rosy-cheeked, bunchy little employer—my Lord Advocate +in person, all shining as if he had been polished, his face smiling and +smirking like a newly-oiled picture, and on his arm, but towering above +him, a thin, dusky-skinned woman, plainly dressed, and with an enormous +bonnet on her head, obviously of her own manufacture—a sort of tangle +of black, brown and green which really had to be seen to be believed.</p> + +<p>“Aha!” cried my Lord Advocate; “whither away, young sir? Shirking the +proofs, eh, my lad? And may I have the honour to be presented to your +sister from the country—for so, by her fresh looks, I divine the young +lady to be.”</p> + +<p>“If you will wait a few minutes till we can find a minister, I will say, +‘This, sir, is my wedded wife,’” I declared manfully.</p> + +<p>“And is the young lady of the same mind?” quoth my Lord, with a quick, +gleg slyness.</p> + +<p>“I am, sir—if the business concerns you!” said Irma, looking straight +at him.</p> + +<p>“What, and dare you say that you will take a man like this for your +wedded husband?” he demanded, with the swift up-and-down play of his +bushy brows which was habitual to him.</p> + +<p>“I see not what business it is of yours,” Irma answered, as sharply, +“but I do take him for my husband.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_256" id="pg_256">256</a></span>“There!” cried the lawyer, pulling out his snuffbox and tapping it +vehemently, “it is done. I have performed my first marriage, and all the +General Assembly, or the Gretna Green Welder himself, could not have +done it neater or made a better job. Declaration before witnesses being +sufficient in the eye of the law of Scotland, I declare you two man and +wife!”</p> + +<p>Irma looked distressed.</p> + +<p>“But I do not feel in the least married,” she said; “I must have a +minister!”</p> + +<p>“You can have all the ministers in Edinburgh, my lass, but you have been +duly wedded already in the presence of the first legal authority of your +kingdom, not to mention that of the Lady Frances Kirkpatrick——”</p> + +<p>“My aunt Frances, after all!” cried Irma, suddenly flushing.</p> + +<p>“Who may you be?” said the tall lady, with the face like sculptured +gingerbread.</p> + +<p>“Who <i>was</i> she, you mean, my Lady Frances?” said the Advocate blandly, +helping himself to a pinch of snuff. “I can tell you who she is—Mrs. +Duncan MacAlpine, wife of my private assistant and the sub-editor of the +<i>Universal Review</i>.”</p> + +<p>It was the first time he had given me that title, which pleased me, and +led me to hope that he meant to accompany the honour by a rise in +salary.</p> + +<p>“I am—I was—Irma Sobieski Maitland,” the answer was rather halting and +faint, for Irma was easily touched, and it was only when much provoked +that she put on her “No-one-shall-touch-me-with-impunity” air.</p> + +<p>“If the bride be at all uneasy in her mind,” said the Lord Advocate, +“here we are at Mr. Dean’s door. I dare say he will step down-stairs +into the chapel and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_257" id="pg_257">257</a></span>put on his surplice. From what I judge of the +lady’s family, she will probably have as little confidence in a +Presbyterian minister as in a Presbyterian Lord Advocate!”</p> + +<p>Freddy and Amelia were waiting across the street. I beckoned to them, +and they crossed reluctantly, seeing us talking with my Lord Advocate, +whom, of course, all the world of Edinburgh knew. I was not long in +making the introductions.</p> + +<p>“Miss Craven, late of Yorkshire, and Mr. Frederick Esquillant, assistant +to Professor Greg at the College.”</p> + +<p>“Any more declarations before witnesses to-day?” said my Lord, looking +quaintly at them. “Ah—the crop is not ripe yet. Well, well—we must be +content for one day.”</p> + +<p>And he vanished into a wide, steeply-gabled house, standing crushed +between higher “lands.”</p> + +<p>“The Dean will officiate, never fear,” said Lady Frances. “So you have +been staying with my sister, and of course she turned you out. Well, she +sent you to me, I’ll wager, and you were on your way. You could not have +done better than come direct to me.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed it was quite an accident,” said Irma, who never would take +credit for what she had not deserved; “you see, I did not know you, and +I thought that one like my Lady Kirkpatrick was quite enough——”</p> + +<p>“Hush, hush,” said the tall brown woman; “perhaps she means better than +you give her credit for. She is a rich woman, and can afford to pay for +her whimsies. Be sure she meant some kindness. But, at any rate, here +comes the Advocate with our good Dean.”</p> + +<p>We mounted into a curiously arranged house. At first one saw nothing but +flights on flights of stairs, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_258" id="pg_258">258</a></span>range above range apparently going +steeply up to the second floor, without any first floor rooms at all.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dean was a handsome old man with white hair, and he took our hands +most kindly.</p> + +<p>“My friend here,” he said, smiling at my Lord Advocate, “tells me that +he has not left very much for me to do from a legal point of view. But I +look upon marriage as a sacrament, and though the bridegroom is not, as +I hear, of our communion, I have no difficulty in acceding to the +request of my Lord—especially since our good Lady Frances has deigned +to be present as a near relative of the bride.”</p> + +<p>He called something into a sort of stone tube. Then bidding us to be +seated, he went into another room to array himself in his surplice, from +which, presently, he came out, holding a service-book in his hand.</p> + +<p>We followed him down-stairs—I with Lady Frances on my arm, the Lord +Advocate preceding us with Irma, whom he was to give away. He appeared +to take quite a boyish interest in the whole affair, from which I +augured the best for our future.</p> + +<p>We were rather hampered at the turning of the stair, and had to drop +into single file again, when Irma clutched suddenly at my hand, and in +the single moment we had together in the dusk, she whispered, “Oh, I am +so glad!”</p> + +<p>Lady Frances told me as we passed into the little half-underground +chapel, low and barrel-shaped as to the roof, with the candles ready +alight on the altar, that all this secrecy had come down from the time +when the service according to the Episcopal form had been strictly +forbidden in Edinburgh—at least in any open way.</p> + +<p>I cannot describe what followed. I must have stood like a dummy, +muttering over what I was prompted <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_259" id="pg_259">259</a></span>to say. But the responses came to +Irma’s lips as if she had many times rehearsed them—which perhaps was +the case—I know now that she had always kept her father’s King Edward +prayer-book, and read it when alone. We stood by the rails of what I now +know to have been the altar. All about was hung with deep crimson, and +the heavy curtains were looped back with golden cord. A kind of glory +shone behind the altar, in the midst of which appeared, in Hebrew +letters, the name of God. Irma, who was far more self-possessed than I, +found time to wonder and even to ask me what it meant. And I, +translating freely (for I had picked up somewhat of that language from +Freddy Esquillant), said, “Thou, God, seest me.”</p> + +<p>Which, at any rate, if not exactly correct, was true and apt enough.</p> + +<p>“Well, are you well married now, babes?” said the Advocate, and I tried +to answer him as we made our way to the vestry—I stumbling and +self-abased, Irma with the certainty and calmness of a widow at least +thrice removed from the first bashfulness of a bride.</p> + +<p>We signed the register, in which (the Advocate took care to inform us) +were some very distinguished names indeed. Which, however, was entirely +the same to me.</p> + +<p>Then as I thanked Mr. Dean for his kindness, not daring to offer any +poor fee, the Advocate chatted with Amelia Craven with great delicacy +and understanding, inquiring chiefly as to Freddy’s attainments and +prospects.</p> + +<p>But what was my surprise when, as soon as we were on the cobble stones, +the Lady Frances turned sharply upon Irma, and said, quite in the style +of my Lady Kirkpatrick, “And now, Irma Maitland, since your husband has +no house or any place to take you to, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_260" id="pg_260">260</a></span>you had better come to my house +in the Sciennes till he can make proper arrangements. It is not at all +suitable that a Maitland should be on a common stair like a travelling +tinker looking for lodgings.”</p> + +<p>Hearing which the neat, shining, dimpling little Advocate turned his +bright eyes from one to the other of us, and tapped his tortoise-shell +snuffbox with a kind of elvish joy. It was clear that we were better +than many stage-plays to him.</p> + +<p>As for Irma, she looked at me, but now sweetly and innocently, as if +asking for counsel, not haughty or disdainful as had been her wont. The +accusation of poverty touched me, and I was on the point of telling her +to choose for herself, that I would find her a house as soon as +possible, when Amelia Craven thrust herself forward.</p> + +<p>Up to this point she had kept silent, a little awed by the great folk, +or perhaps by the church, with the red hangings and twinkling, +mysterious candles on the altar.</p> + +<p>“I do not know a great deal,” she said, “but this I do know, that a +wife’s place is with her husband—and especially when the ‘love, honour +and obey’ is hardly out of her mouth. She shall come home to my mother’s +with me, even if Duncan MacAlpine there has not enough sense to bid +her.”</p> + +<p>Upon which the Advocate strove (or at least appeared to strive) to please +everybody and put everybody in the right. It was perhaps natural that, +till arrangements were completed, so young a bride should remain with +her family. But, on the other hand, young people could not begin too +soon to face the inevitable trials of life. The feelings of the young +lady who had expressed her mind in so lively a manner—Miss—Miss—ah +yes, Craven—Miss Amelia <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_261" id="pg_261">261</a></span>Craven—did her all honour. It only remained +to hear the decision of—of (a smirk, several dimples and a prolonged +tapping on the lid of his snuffbox)—<i>Mistress Duncan MacAlpine</i>.</p> + +<p>“I will go with my husband,” said Irma simply.</p> + +<p>“There’s for you, Frances!” cried the Advocate, turning to his companion +with a little teasing “hee-hee” of laughter, almost like the neigh of a +horse; “there spoke all the woman.”</p> + +<p>But Lady Frances had very deliberately turned about and was walking, +without the least greeting or farewell, in the direction of her own +house of Sciennes.</p> + +<p>“There goes a Kirkpatrick,” said the Advocate, tapping his box +cynically; “cry with them, they will hunt your enemies till they drop. +Cry off with them, and it’s little you will see of them but the back of +their hand.”</p> + +<p>He touched my Irma on her soft cheek with the tips of his fingers. “And +I wish, for your goodman’s sake,” he said, “that this little lady’s +qualities do not run in the female line.”</p> + +<p>“I hope,” said Irma, “that I shall always have grace to obey my +husband.”</p> + +<p>“Graces you have—overly many of them, as it is easy to see,” quoth the +gallant Advocate, taking off his hat and bowing low, “but it is seldom +indeed that ladies use either Grace or their graces for such a purpose!”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_LITTLE_HOUSE_ON_THE_MEADOWS_8620" id="THE_LITTLE_HOUSE_ON_THE_MEADOWS_8620"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_262" id="pg_262">262</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<h3>THE LITTLE HOUSE ON THE MEADOWS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Irma and I had a great seeking for the little house, great enough for +two, with such convenience as, at the time, could be called modern, and +yet within reach of our very moderate means. First of all Freddy and I +had gone to the Nun’s House to ask for Irma’s box and accoutrement. +These made no great burden. Nevertheless, we borrowed a little “hurley,” +or handcart, from the baker’s girl opposite, who certainly bore no +malice. I had our marriage lines in my pocket, lest any should deny my +rights. But though we did not see the Lady Kirkpatrick, the goods were +all corded and placed ready behind the door of the porter’s lodge. We +had them on the “hurley” in a minute. The Lady Frances passed in as we +were carrying out the brass-bound trunk of Irma’s that had been my +grandmother’s. She went by as if she had not seen us, her curiously +mahogany face more of the <i>punchinello</i> type than ever—yet somehow I +could not feel but that most of this anger was assumed. These women had +shown Irma no kindness, indeed had never troubled themselves about her +existence, all the long time she had stayed at Heathknowes. Why, then, +begin so suddenly to play upon the sounding strings of family and long +descent?</p> + +<p>Indeed, we two thought but little more about the matter. Our minds were +fully enough occupied. The wonder of those new days—the unexpected, +unforeseen glory of the earth—the sudden sweetness of love, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_263" id="pg_263">263</a></span>unbelievable, hardly yet realized, overwhelmed and confounded us.</p> + +<p>And, more than all, there was the search for a house. The Advocate met +me every day with his queer smile, but though he put my salary on a more +secure basis, and arranged that in future I should be paid by the +printer and not by himself, the sum total of my income was not +materially altered.</p> + +<p>“What’s enough for one is abundance for two!” was his motto. And the +aphorism rang itself out to his tiny rose-coloured nails on the lid of +the tortoise-shell snuffbox. Then he added a few leading cases as became +one learned in the law.</p> + +<p>“I began the same way myself,” he said, “and though I have a bigger +house now and serving men in kneebreeks and powder in their hair, I +never go by that cottage out by Comely Bank without a ‘pitter-patter’ of +my sinful old heart!”</p> + +<p>He thought for a while, and then added, “Aye, aye—there’s no way for +young folk to start life like being poor and learning to hain on the +gowns and the broadcloth! What matter the trimmings, when ye have one +another?”</p> + +<p>As to the house, it was naturally Irma who did most of the searching. +For me, I had to be early at the secretary’s office, and often late at +the printer’s. But there was always some time in the day that I had to +myself—could I only foresee it before I left home in the morning. +“Home” was, so far, at Mrs. Craven’s, where the good Amelia had given us +up her chamber, and Freddy rose an hour earlier, so that his wall-press +bed might be closed and the “room” made ready for Irma’s breakfast +parlour.</p> + +<p>All the three begged that we might stay on. We were, they declared with +one voice, not putting them <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_264" id="pg_264">264</a></span>to the smallest inconvenience. But I knew +different, and besides, I had a constant and consuming desire for a +house of mine own, however small.</p> + +<p>Ever since I first knew Irma, a dream had haunted me. In days long past +it had come, when I was only an awkward laddie gazing after her on the +Eden Valley meadows. Often it had returned to me during the tedious +silences of three years—when, quite against the proverb, love had grown +by feeding upon itself.</p> + +<p>And my dream was this.</p> + +<p>I was in a great city, harassed by many duties, troubled by enemies open +and concealed. There was the drear emptiness of poverty in my pocket, +present anxiety in my heart, and little hope in the outlook. But I had +work—I did not know in my dream what that work was—only that it +sufficed to keep body and soul together, but after it was done I was +weak and weary, a kind of unsatisfied despondency gnawing at my heart.</p> + +<p>Then I got loose for an hour or so from my unknown tasks. My path lay +across a kind of open place into which many narrow streets ran, while +some dived away into the lower deeps of the city. People went their ways +as I was doing mine, dejected and sad. But always, as I crossed toward +the opening of a wide new street, where against the sky were tall +scaffoldings and men busy with hod and mortar, I saw Irma coming towards +me. She was neat and youthful, but dressed poorly in plain +things—homespun, and in my dream, I judged, also home-made.</p> + +<p>I saw her afar off, and the heart within me gave a great leap. She came +towards me smiling, and lo! I seemed to stand still and worship the +lithe carriage and elastic step. The world grew all sweet and gay. The +lift above became blue and high. The sun shone <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_265" id="pg_265">265</a></span>no longer grey and +brown, but smiling and brilliant—as—as the face of Irma.</p> + +<p>Strangely enough she did not greet me nor hold out her hand as +acquaintances do. She came straight up to me as if the encounter were +the merest matter-of-course, while as I stood there, with the hunger and +the wretchedness all gone out of me, the weariness and misery melted in +the grace of that radiant smile, she uttered just these words, “I have +found the Little House Round the Corner!”</p> + +<p>Now I will tell of a strange thing—so strange that I have consulted +Irma about it, whether I should write it down here or keep it just for +ourselves.</p> + +<p>And she said, “It is true—so why not set it down?” Well, this is what +happened. One day I had arranged to meet Irma at the corner of the +quaint little village of Laurieston, which, as all the world knows, +looks down on the saughs of the Meadows and out upon the slopes of +Bruntsfield where, among the whins, the city golfers lose their balls.</p> + +<p>At that time, as all the world knows, there was undertaken a certain +work of opening out that part of the ancient wall which runs westward +from Bristo Port at the head of the Potter Row. Some great old houses +had gone down, and I mind well that I was greatly attracted by the first +view of the Greyfriars Kirk that ever I had from that quarter. (It was +soon lost again behind new constructions, but for a time it was worth +seeing, with its ancient “through” stones, and the Martyrs’ Monument +showing its bossy head over the low wall.)</p> + +<p>So much taken up with this was I, that I did not notice the altered +aspect of the place. Yet I looked about me like one who is suddenly +confronted by something very familiar. There was the wide space. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_266" id="pg_266">266</a></span>There +were the narrow streets I knew so well. Yonder was the Candlemaker Row +diving down into the bowels of the earth. Away towards the Greyfriars +were the tall “lands” which the masons were pulling down. Nearer were +men climbing up ladders with hods on their shoulders. Highest of all, +against the blue sky, naked as a new gibbet, stood out the framework of +a crane.</p> + +<p>It was the very place of my dream. I knew it well enough, indeed, but +never until that day it had looked so. And there, coming smiling down +the midst, easily as one might down the aisle of an empty church, was +Irma herself, as plain and poor in habiliment as my dream, but +smiling—ah, with a smile that turned all my heart to water, so dear it +was. It was good of God to let us love each other like that—and be +poor.</p> + +<p>And as she came nearer, she did not hold out her hand, nor greet me—but +when she was quite close she said, exactly as in the dream, “I have +found the Little House round the Corner!” Yet she had never heard of my +dream before.</p> + +<p>That this is true, we do solemnly bear witness, each for our own parts, +thereof, and hereto append our names—</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"><span class="sc">Duncan MacAlpine.</span><br /> +<span class="sc">Irma MacAlpine</span>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Irma had found it, indeed, but as I judged at the first sight of the +house, it was bound to be too expensive for our purses. I immediately +decided that something must be wrong somewhere, when I heard that we +could have this pleasant cottage with its scrap of garden, long and +narrow certainly, but full of shade and song of birds, for the +inconsiderable rent of ten pounds a year. We thought of many dangers and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_267" id="pg_267">267</a></span>inconveniences, but Irma was infinitely relieved when it came out to be +only ghosts. Servants, it appeared, could not be got to stay.</p> + +<p>“Is that all?” said Irma scornfully. “Well, then, I don’t mean to keep +any servants, and as for ghosts, Louis and I have lived in a big house +in a wood full of them from cellar to roof-tree! You let ghosts alone, +they will let you alone! ‘Freits follow them that look for them!”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="AND_THE_DOOR_WAS_SHUT_8791" id="AND_THE_DOOR_WAS_SHUT_8791"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_268" id="pg_268">268</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<h3>AND THE DOOR WAS SHUT</h3> +</div> + +<p>We were poor, very poor indeed in these days. Irma had many a wrinkled +brow and many an anxious heart over the weekly expenses—so much to be +set aside for rent, so much for mysterious things called taxes—which, +seeing no immediate good arise from them, my little rebel hated with all +her heart, and devised all sorts of schemes to evade.</p> + +<p>But every week there was the joy of a victory won. Untoward +circumstances had been vanquished—the butcher, the baker had been +settled with or—done without. For sometimes Amelia Craven came to give +us a day’s baking, and an array of fragrant scones and girdle-cakes, +which I was taken into the kitchen to see on my return home, gave us the +assurance of not having to starve for many days yet.</p> + +<p>I was glad, too, for it was my busy season, and I had to be much from +home. There was, indeed, a certain nondescript Mistress McGrier, who +came to help with the heavier duties of the house. She was the daughter +of one janitor at the college, the wife of yet another (presently +suspended for gross dereliction of duty), and she did some charing to +earn an honest penny. But there was little human to be found about her. +Whisky, poor food, neglect, and actual ill treatment had left her mind +after the pattern of her countenance, mostly blank. Yet I was not sorry +when she stayed, especially as the autumnal days shortened, till near +the time of my return. Mrs. McGrier frankly tarried for her tea, and her +conversation was not <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_269" id="pg_269">269</a></span>enlivening, since she could talk of little save +her sorrows as a wife, and how she was trusting to some one in the +office (meaning me) for the future reinstatement of her erring janitor.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, on Sundays, she would bring him, as it were framed and glazed +to a painful pitch of perfection. His red hair was plastered with +pomatum, identical with that which had been used upon his boots. Janitor +McGrier had been a soldier, and always moved as if to words of command +unheard to other mortals. If he had only two yards to go, he started as +if from the halt. His pale blue eyes were fixed in his head, and he +chewed steadily at lozenges of peppermint or cinnamon to hide the +perfume of the glass of “enlivener” with which his wife had bribed him +as an argument for submitting to get up and be dressed.</p> + +<p>It was only on such show occasions that Mrs. McGrier was voluble. And +that, solely, because “Pathrick” said nothing. Even as I remembered him +in the days of his pride at the door of the Greek classroom, Pathrick +had always possessed the shut mouth, the watery, appealing eye, and the +indicative thumb which answered the question of a novice only with a +quick jerk in the requisite direction.</p> + +<p>I think Pathrick sometimes conceived dark suspicions that I had changed +Irma in the intervals of his visits. You see, this small witch had but +two dresses that were any way respectable—that is to say, street-going +or Sabbath-keeping. But then she had naturally such an instinct of +arrangement that a scrap of ribbon, or the lace scarf my grandmother had +given her, made so great a difference that she seemed to have an entire +wardrobe at her command. No doubt a woman would have picked out the +fundamental sameness at a glance. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_270" id="pg_270">270</a></span>But it did very well for men, who +only care for the effect.</p> + +<p>Even the Advocate would look in on his way to or from the Sciennes for a +cup of tea from Irma. And in our little parlour he would sit and rap on +his snuffbox, talking all the while, and forgetting to go till it was +dark—as gentle and human as any common man.</p> + +<p>When Freddy and Amelia Craven came in he would give the student advice +about his work, or ask Amelia when she was going to call in his +assistance to get married—which was his idea of jocularity, and, I must +admit, also, that of Amelia. Indeed, we were wonderfully glad to see +him, and he brightened many a dull afternoon for Irma.</p> + +<p>Sometimes, if I got away early, I would find him already installed, his +hat stuck on his gold-headed cane in the corner—as it were, all his +high authority laid aside, while he regarded with moist eyes the +work-basket in which Irma kept her interminable scraplets of white +things which I would not have meddled with the tip of one of my fingers, +but which the Advocate turned over with an ancient familiarity, humming +a tune all the while—a tune, however, apt to break off suddenly with a +“<i>Humph</i>,” and an appeal to the much-enduring lid of the tortoise-shell +snuffbox.</p> + +<p>But I think the dearest and best remembered of all these early +experiences happened one winter’s evening in the midst of the press and +bustle which always attended the opening of the autumn session. The +winter number of the <i>Universal</i> was almost due, and we were backward, +having had to wait for the copy of an important contributor, whose +communication, in the present state of affairs, might even overturn a +policy—or, at least, in the opinion of the Advocate, could not be done +without. I need not say that the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_271" id="pg_271">271</a></span>article in question represented his +own views with remarkable exactitude, and he looked to it to further his +rising influence in London. As he grew greater, he was more often in the +south, and we saw less and less of him. On the other hand, the practical +work of the <i>Review</i> fell more and more upon me.</p> + +<p>So this night, as I say, I was late, and on turning out into the +south-going street which leads past the Surgeons’ Hall and St. Patrick’s +Square—my mind being busy with an extra article which I must write to +give our readers the necessary number of sheets—for the first and +certainly for the last time in my life I continued my train of thought +without remembering either that I was a married man, or that my little +Irma must be tired waiting for me.</p> + +<p>In mitigation of sentence I can only urge the day-long preoccupations in +which I had been plunged, and the article, suddenly become necessary, +which I must begin to write instanter. But at any rate, excuse or no +excuse, it is certain that I woke from my daydream to find myself in +Rankeillor Street, almost at the foot of the old Craven stairs which, as +a bachelor, I had climbed so often.</p> + +<p>Then, with a sudden shamed leap of the heart and a plunge of the hand +into my breeches pocket for my door key, I turned about. I had +forgotten, though only for a moment, the little wife working among her +cloud of feathery linen and trimmings, and the little white house round +the corner above the Meadows. You may guess whether or no I hurried +along between ash “backets” of the most unparklike Gifford Park, how +sharply I turned and scudded along Hope Park, dodging the clothes’ posts +to the right, from which prudent housewives had removed the ropes with +the deepening of the twilight.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_272" id="pg_272">272</a></span>The dark surface of the Meadows spread suddenly before me in an +amplitude of bleakness. A thin, sleety scuff of passing snow-cloud beat +in my face. A tall man wrapped in a cloak edged suspiciously nearer as +if to take stock of me, but my haste, and perhaps a certain wildness in +the disorder of my dress and hat made him think better of it—that is, +if indeed he ever thought ill of it—and with a muttered “Good-e’en to +ye,” he passed upon his way.</p> + +<p>I could see it now. The light in the window, the two candles that were +always set at the elbow of the busy little housewife, the supper, frugal +but well-considered, simmering on the hob, the table spread white and +dainty, with knives and forks of silver (the Advocate’s gift) laid out +in order.</p> + +<p>Then all the warm and loving things that sleep in the breast of a man +rose up within me. The long, weary day was forgotten. The article I must +write was shoved into a corner out of the way. For this one hour, in +spite of whistling wintry winds and scouring sleet-drifts, the little +light yonder in the window was sufficient.</p> + +<p>Two farthing dips, a hearth fire, and a loving heart! Earth had nothing +more to give, and my spirit seemed glorified within me. I had a curious +feeling of melting within me, which was by no means a desire to weep, +but rather as if all the vital parts of the man I was had been suddenly +turned to warm water. I cannot tell if any one has ever felt the like +before, but certainly I did that night, and “warm water” comes as near +to the real thing as I can find words to express.</p> + +<p>It seemed an age while I was crossing the short, stubbly grass of the +Meadows. The light within beaconed redder and warmer. On the +window-blind I saw a gracious silhouette. Then there was the <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_273" id="pg_273">273</a></span>putting +aside the edge of the blind with exploring finger—sure sign that my +little wife had been regarding the clock and finding me a little late in +getting home.</p> + +<p>As I ran up the short path to the gate I blew into my key. The latch of +the garden-gate clicked in the blast which swept across from the +Blackfords. But there at last before me was the door. The key glided, +well-accustomed, into its place, not rattling, but with the slide of +long-polished and intimate steel—soft, like silk on silk.</p> + +<p>But the key never turned. The door opened, seemingly of itself, and, +gloriously loving, a candle held high in her hand, her full, white +house-gown sweeping to her feet, the little wife stood waiting.</p> + +<p>I said nothing about the overplus of work that had filled my head as I +turned from the high, bleak portals of the University—nothing of how, +all unknowing, my traitor feet had carried me to the stairway in +Rankeillor Street—nothing of the long way, or the suspicious man in the +cloak, of the blast and the bent and the sting of the sleet in my face.</p> + +<p>I was at home, just she and I—the two of us alone. And upon us two the +door was shut.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="A_VISIT_FROM_BOYD_CONNOWAY_8969" id="A_VISIT_FROM_BOYD_CONNOWAY_8969"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_274" id="pg_274">274</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +<h3>A VISIT FROM BOYD CONNOWAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>“I wonder,” said Irma one Saturday morning when, by a happy accident, I +had no pressing need to go from home, so could stay and linger over +breakfast with my little wife like a Christian, “I wonder what that man +is doing down there? He has been sitting on the step outside our gate +ever since it was light, and he looks as if he were taking root there!”</p> + +<p>I made but one bound from the table to the window. For I remembered the +cloaked man who had crossed me in the Meadows the other night. Also my +inbred, almost instinctive curiosity as to the purposes and antecedents +of lurking folk of all kinds, pricked me. We were easy enough to get on +with in Eden Valley once you knew us, but our attitude towards strangers +was distinctly hostile.</p> + +<p>This man was muffled to the nose in a cloak, and might very well have +been my inquiring friend of the other night. But when I had opened the +door and marched with the firm ringing steps of a master down the paven +walk towards the gate, the face I saw turned to my approach, altered my +mood in a second.</p> + +<p>“Why, Boyd Connoway,” I cried, “who would have thought of seeing you +here? What are you doing in Edinburgh? But first come in—there is a +friend here who will be glad to see you!”</p> + +<p>“Eh, Mr. Duncan, but I am not sure that I dare venture. ’Tis no more +than decent I am, and the young lady, your wife—oh, but though to see +her sweet face would be a treat for poor Boyd Connoway, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_275" id="pg_275">275</a></span>what might she +not be sayin’ about me dirtying her carpets, the craitur? And as for +sittin’ in her fine arm-chairs——”</p> + +<p>“Come your ways in, Boyd,” I cried. “Have you had any breakfast? +No—then you are just in time! And you will find that our chairs are +only wood, and you would not hurt our fine carpets, not if you danced on +them with clogs!”</p> + +<p>“D’ye tell me, now?” said Boyd, much relieved. “Sure, and it’s a told +tale through the whole parish that you are livin’ in the very lap of +luxury—with nothing in the world to do for it but just make +scratch-scratches on paper with a quill-pen!”</p> + +<p>By this time Irma was at the door, hiding herself a little, for she had +still the morning apron on—that in which she had been helping Mrs. +Pathrick. But she was greatly delighted to see Boyd, who, if the truth +must be told, made his best service like an Irishman and a +gentleman—for, as he said, “Even five-and-thirty years of Galloway had +not wiped the sclate of his manners!”</p> + +<p>Now Boyd was always a favourite with Irma, and I fear that she was +fonder of him than she ought to have been, instead of pitying his +hard-driven Bridget—just because Bridget had not his beautiful manners. +Presently, as his mouth ceased to fill and empty itself so wonderfully +expeditiously, Boyd began to talk.</p> + +<p>“As to what fetched me, Miss Irma,” he said, in answer to questions, +“faith, I walked all the road, taking many a house on the way where +kenned folk dwelt. Here were pigs to kill and cure. And I killed and +cured them. Farther on there were floors to lay, and I laid them, or +fish-hooks to busk, and I busked them.”</p> + +<p>I put a question here.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_276" id="pg_276">276</a></span>“Oh, Bridget,” he said, shrugging his shoulders with a wearied air, +“Bridget doesn’t know when she’s well off. Och, the craitur! It began +with the night of the September Fair. Now, it is known to all the +countryside that Boyd Connoway is no drinker. He will sit and talk, as +is just and sociable, but nothing more. No, Miss Irma. And so I told +Bridget. But it so chanced that Fair Monday was a stormy day, which is +the most temptatious for poor lads in from the country, with only two +holidays in the year, most of them. And what with the new watch and the +councilmen being so strict against disorder—why, I could not let a dog +get into trouble if I could help it. So I spent the most of the night +seeing them home out of harm’s way—and if ever there was a work of +necessity and mercy, that was.</p> + +<p>“But Bridget, she thought different, and declared that I had never so +much as thought of her and the childer all day, but left her at the +wash-tub, while they, the poor craiturs, were poppin’ out and in of the +stalls and crawlin’ under the slatting canvas of the shows, as happy as +larks, having their fun all for nothing, and double rations of it when +they were caught, cuffed, and chased out. Well, Bridget kept it up on me +so long and got so worked up that she would not have a bite ready for me +when I came home tired and weary, bidding me go and eat my meat where I +had worked my work. So it seemed a good time for me to be off somewhere +for my health. But—such was my consideration, that not to leave Bridget +in distress I went asking about till I got her the washin’ at General +Johnstone’s—the minister’s she had before—so there was Bridget well +provided for, Miss Irma—and here am I, Boyd Connoway, a free man on my +travels!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_277" id="pg_277">277</a></span>We asked news of friends and acquaintances—the usual Galloway round of +questions.</p> + +<p>“Faith,” said Boyd, “but there’s just one cry among them—when are ye +coming down to let us have a look at your treasure, Mister Duncan? Sure, +it’s selfish ye are, now, to keep her all this long time to yourself! +The little chap’s holidays! Ah, true for you. We had forgotten him. And +ye are sure that he is well done to, and safely lodged where they have +put him, Miss Irma?”</p> + +<p>“If you bide a minute or two, Boyd,” said Irma, smiling, well-pleased, +“you may very likely have the chance of judging for yourself. For it is +almost his time to be here, for to-day is a holiday!”</p> + +<p>In fact, it was not a quarter of an hour before a shout, the triumphal +opening of the outer gate with a rush and a clang, and a merciless +pounding on the front door announced the arrival of Sir Louis. He had +grown out of all knowledge, declared the visitor, “but no doubt the +young gentleman had forgotten old Boyd Connoway.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” said Louis; “come and show me some more cat’s cradles; I know +two more ‘liftings’ already than any boy in the school. But <i>you</i> can do +at least a dozen!”</p> + +<p>And so, with the woven string about his long clever fingers, Louis +watched the deft and sure manipulation of Boyd Connoway as he “lifted” +and wove, changing the pattern indefinitely. For the time being the +village “do-nothing”—in the sense that he was the busiest man in the +place about other folk’s business—was merely another boy at Louis’s +school. And as he worked, he talked, delightfully, easily, dramatically. +He made the old life of Eden Valley pass before us. We heard the brisk +tongue of my grandmother from <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_278" id="pg_278">278</a></span>the kitchen, that of Aunt Jen ruling as +much of the roost as was permitted to her, but constantly made aware of +herself by her mother’s dominating personality.</p> + +<p>With equal facility he recalled my father in his classes, looking out +for collegers to do him credit, my mother passing silently along her +retired household ways, Agnes Anne dividing her time between helping her +mother in the house, and teaching the classes for which I used to be +responsible in the school.</p> + +<p>It was a memorable day in the little house above the Meadows. Louis +played with Boyd Connoway all the time, learning infinite new tricks +with string, with knife-blades, perfecting himself in the art of making +fly-hooks, of kite manufacture, and the art of lighting a fire.</p> + +<p>He had presented to him Boyd’s spare “sulphur” box, in which were +tinder, flint and steel, matches dipped in brimstone, and a pair of +short thick candles which could be set one at a time in a socket formed +by the box itself, the raised lid sheltering the flame from the wind.</p> + +<p>Never was a happier boy. And when the Advocate looked in, the surprising +boyishness of Boyd rubbed off even on him. We did not inform our old +friend of the high place which “the Advocate” held in the judicial +hierarchy of his country. For we knew well that nothing Boyd said in our +house would ever be used as evidence against him.</p> + +<p>But no doubt my lord gained a great deal of useful information as to the +habits of smugglers, their cargoes, destinations, ports of call and +sympathizers. Boyd crowned his performances by inviting the Advocate +down to undertake the defence of the next set of smugglers tried at the +assizes, a task which the Advocate <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_279" id="pg_279">279</a></span>accepted with apparent gratitude and +humility. For from the little man’s snuff-taking and easy-going, idling +ways, Boyd had taken him for a briefless advocate.</p> + +<p>“Faith, sir, come to Galloway,” he cried open-heartedly—“there’s the +place to provide work for the like of you lads. And it’s Boyd Connoway +will introduce you to all the excise-case defendants from Annan Port to +Loch Ryan. It’s him that knows every man and mother’s son of them! And +who, if ye plaise, has a better right?”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW_9139" id="THE_VALLEY_OF_THE_SHADOW_9139"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_280" id="pg_280">280</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +<h3>THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW</h3> +</div> + +<p>“The strongest mental tonic in the world is solitude, but it takes a +strong mind, fully equipped with thoughts, aims, work, to support it +long without suffering. But once a man has made his best companion of +his own mind, he has learned the secret of living.”</p> + +<p>So I had written in an essay on Senancour during the days when the +little white house was but a dream, and Irma had never come to me across +the cleared space in front of Greyfriars Kirk amid the thud of mallets +and the “chip” of trowels. But Irma taught me better things. She knew +when to be silent. She understood, also, when speech would slacken the +tension of the mind. As I sat writing by the soft glow of the lamp I +could hear the rustle of her house-dress, the sharp, almost inaudible, +<i>tick-tick</i> of her needle, and the soft sound as she smoothed out her +seam. Little things that happen to everybody, but—well, I for one had +never noticed them before.</p> + +<p>It seemed as if this period of contentment would always continue. The +present was so good that, save a little additional in the way of income, +I asked for no better.</p> + +<p>But one day the Advocate rudely shook my equanimity.</p> + +<p>“You must have some of your family—some good woman—to be with Irma. +Write at once!”</p> + +<p>I could only look at him in amazement.</p> + +<p>“Why, Irma is very well,” I said; “she never looked better in her life.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_281" id="pg_281">281</a></span>“My boy,” said the Advocate, laying his hand gently on my arm, “I have +loved a wife, and I have lost a wife who loved me; I do not wish to +stand by and let you do the same for the want of a friend’s word. Write +to-night!”</p> + +<p>And he turned on his heel and marched off. At twenty steps’ distance he +turned. “Duncan,” he said, “we will need all your time at the <i>Review</i>; +you had better give up the Secretary’s office. I have spoken to Morrison +about it. I shall be so much in London for a year or two that you will +be practically in charge. We will get a smart young colleger to take +your place.”</p> + +<p>That night I wrote to my Aunt Janet. It was after Irma, fatigued more +easily than was usual with her, had gone to bed. Four days afterwards, I +was looking over some manuscript sheets which that day had to go to the +printer. Mistress Pathrick, who had just arrived to prepare the +breakfast (I had lit the kitchen fire when I got up), burst in upon me +with the announcement that there was “sic a gathering o’ folk” at the +door, and a “great muckle owld woman coming in!”</p> + +<p>I hastened down, and there in the little lobby stood—my grandmother. +She was arrayed in her oldest black bombazine. A travel-crushed beaver +bonnet was clapped tightly on her head. The black velvet band about her +white hair had slipped down and now crossed her brow transversely a +little above one bushy eyebrow, giving an inconceivably rakish +appearance to her face. She held a small urchin, evidently from the +Grassmarket or the Cowgate, firmly by the cuff of his ragged jacket. She +was threatening him with her great blue umbrella.</p> + +<p>“If ye hae led me astray, ye skirmishing blastie, I’ll let ye ken the +weight o’ this!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_282" id="pg_282">282</a></span>The youth was guarding himself with one hand and declaring alternately +that, “This is the hoose, mem,” and, “I want my saxpence!”</p> + +<p>A little behind two sturdy porters, laden with a box apiece, blocked up +the doorway, and loomed large across the garden.</p> + +<p>“Eh, Duncan, but this is an awesome place,” cried my grandmother. “So +many folk, and it’s pay this, and so much for that! It’s a fair +disgrace. There’s no man in Eden Valley that wadna hae been pleased to +gie me a lift from the coach wi’ my bit boxes. But here, certes, it’s +sae muckle for liftin’ them up and sae muckle more for settin’ them +doon, and to crown a’ a saxpence to a laddie for showin’ me the road to +your house! It’s a terrible difference to Heathknowes, laddie. Now, I +wadna wonder if ye hae to pay for your very firewood!”</p> + +<p>I assured her that we had neither peat nor woodcutting privileges on the +Meadows, and to change the subject asked her if she would not go up and +see Irma.</p> + +<p>“A’ in guid time,” she said. “I hae a word or two to ask ye first, +laddie. No that muckle is to be expected o’ a man that wad write to puir +Janet Lyon instead o’ to <i>me</i>, Duncan MacAlpine!”</p> + +<p>As I did not volunteer anything, she exclaimed, stamping her foot, +“Dinna stand there glowering at me. Man alive, Duncan lad, ye can hae no +idea how like an eediot ye can look when ye put your mind to it!”</p> + +<p>I had been reared in the knowledge that it was a vain thing to argue +with my grandmother, so I listened patiently to all she had to say, and +I answered, to the best of my ability, all the questions she asked. Most +she seemed to have no need to ask at all, for she knew the answers +before they were out of my mouth, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_283" id="pg_283">283</a></span>and paid no attention to my words +when I did get in a word.</p> + +<p>“Humph, you are stupider than most men, and that’s saying no trifle!” +was her comment when all was finished.</p> + +<p>I asked Mary Lyon if there was nothing I could do to assist her—help +with her unpacking, or any trifle like that.</p> + +<p>“Aye, there is,” she answered, with her old verve, “get out o’ the +house, man, and leave me to my work while you do yours.”</p> + +<p>I took my hat, the cane which the Advocate had given me, and with them +my way to the office of the <i>Universal Review.</i> I had a busy day, which +perhaps was as well, for all the time my mind was wandering disconsolate +about the little white house above the Meadows.</p> + +<p>I returned to find all well, my supper laid in the kitchen and the +contents of grandmother’s trunks apparently filling the rest of the +house. Irma gave me a little, perfunctory kiss; said, “Oh, if you could +only——!” and so vanished to where my grandmother was unfolding still +more things and other treasures to the rustle of fine tissue paper, and +the gasps and little hand-clappings of Irma.</p> + +<p>Those who know my grandmother do not need to be told that she took +possession of our house and all that was therein, of Irma so completely +that practically I was only allowed to bid my wife “Good-morning” under +the strictest supervision, and of Mistress Pathrick—who, after one sole +taste of my grandmother’s tongue, had retired defeated with the muttered +criticism that “that tongue o’ the auld leddy’s could ding a’ the +Luckenbooths—aye, and the West Bow as weel.” However, once subjected, +she proved a kindly <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_284" id="pg_284">284</a></span>and a willing slave. I have, however, my suspicions +that in these days Mr. Pathrick McGrier, ex-janitor of the Latin +classroom, had but a poor time of it so far as the preparation of his +meals went, and as to housekeeping she was simply not there.</p> + +<p>For she slept now under the stairs in a lair she had rigged up for +herself, which she said was “rale comfortable,” but certainly to the +unaccustomed had an air of great stuffiness.</p> + +<p>But I need not write at large what, after all, is no unique experience. +One night, upon my grandmother’s pressing invitation, I walked out on +Bruntsfield Links, and kicked stones into the golfers’ holes for +something to do. It was full moon, I remember, and away to the north the +city slept while St. Giles jangled fitfully. I had come there to be away +from the little white house, where Irma was passing through the first +peril of great waters which makes women’s faces different ever after—a +few harder, most softer, none ever the same.</p> + +<p>Ten times I came near, stumbling on the short turf, my feet numb and +uncertain beneath me, my limbs flageolating, and my heart rent with a +man’s helplessness. I called upon God as I had not done in my life +before. I had been like many men—so long as I could help myself, I saw +no great reason for troubling the Almighty who had already so much on +His hands. But now I could do nothing. I had an appalling sense of +impotence. So I remembered that He was All-powerful, and just because I +had never asked anything with true fervour before, He would the more +surely give this to me. So at least I argued as I prayed.</p> + +<p>And, sure enough, the very next time I coasted the northern shore of the +Meadows, as near as I dared, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_285" id="pg_285">285</a></span>there came one running towards me, clear +in the moonlight—Mistress Pathrick it was and no other.</p> + +<p>“A laddie—a fine laddie!” she panted, waving both her hands in her +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“And Irma?” I cried, for that did not interest me at that moment, no, +not a pennyworth.</p> + +<p>“A bhoy—as foine a bhoy——”</p> + +<p>“Tell me, how is Irma?” I shouted—“quick!”</p> + +<p>“Wud turn the scale at eleven, divil a ounce less——”</p> + +<p>“Woman, tell me how is my wife!” I thundered, lifting up my hands, “or +I’ll twist your foolish neck!”</p> + +<p>“Keep us!” said Mrs. Pathrick, “why, how should she be? Did ye expect +she would be up and bating the carpets?”</p> + +<p>In half-a-dozen springs, as it seemed, I was within the gate. Then the +clear, shrill wail with which a new soul prisoned in an unfamiliar body +trumpets its discontent with the vanities of this world stopped me dead. +Scarce knowing what I did, I took off my boots. I trod softly.</p> + +<p>There was a hush now in the house—a sudden stoppage of that shrill +bugle-note. I came upon my grandmother, as it seemed, moulding a little +ruddy bundle, with as much apparent ease and absence of fuss as if it +had been a pat of butter in the dairy at home.</p> + +<p>And when she put my firstborn son into my arms, I had no high thoughts. +I trembled, indeed, but it was with fear lest I should drop him.</p> + +<p>Presently his nurse took him again, grumbling at the innate and +incurable handlessness of men. Could I see Irma? Certainly not. What +would I be doing, disturbing the poor thing? Very likely she was asleep. +Oh, I had promised to go, had I? Well, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_286" id="pg_286">286</a></span>she had nothing to do with that. +But Irma would be expecting me! Oh, as to that, lad, lad, do not trouble +yourself. She will be resting in a peace like the peace of the Lord, as +you might know, if ever a man could know anything about such things.</p> + +<p>Just for a minute? Well, then—a minute, and no more. Mind, she, Mary +Lyon, would be at the door. I was not to speak even.</p> + +<p>As I went in, Irma lifted her arms a little way and then let them fall. +There was a kind of shiny dew on her face, little but chill to the touch +of my lips. And, ah, how wistful her smile!</p> + +<p>“Your ... little ... girl,” she whispered, “has deserved ... well ... of +her country. I hope he will be brave ... like his father. I prayed all +might be well ... for your sake, my dear. His name is to be Duncan.... +Yes, Duncan Louis Maitland!”</p> + +<p>I had been kneeling at the bedside, kneeling and, well—perhaps sobbing. +But at that moment I felt a hand on my collar. The next I was on my +feet, and so, with only one glimpse of Irma’s smile at my fate, I found +myself outside the room.</p> + +<p>“What was it I telled ye?—Not to excite her! Was it no?”</p> + +<p>And Mary Lyon showed me the way down to the kitchen, which I had +forgotten, where, on condition of not making a noise, I was to be +permitted for the present to abide.</p> + +<p>“But mind you,” she added, threateningly, “not a foot-sole are ye to set +on thae stairs withoot my permission. Or, my certes, lad, but ye will +hear aboot it!”</p> + +<p>Decidedly I was a man under authority. The extraordinary thing was that +I was cautioned to make no noise, and there in the next room was that +red <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_287" id="pg_287">287</a></span>imp yelling the roof off, yet neither of his female relatives +seemed to mind in the least, though his remarks interfered very +seriously with the article on “Irrigation Systems of Southern Europe,” +which I was working up for the <i>Universal</i>.</p> + +<p>But when was a mere man (and breadwinner) considered at such times?</p> + +<p>In all truly Christian and charitable cities refuges should be built for +temporarily dispossessed, homeless, and hungry heads of families.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_SUPPLANTER_9383" id="THE_SUPPLANTER_9383"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_288" id="pg_288">288</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +<h3>THE SUPPLANTER</h3> +</div> + +<p>Never did I realize so clearly the difference between what interests the +people in a great city and those inhabiting remote provinces as when, in +mid-August, I took Irma and my firstborn son down to the wholesome +breath and quiet pine shadows of Heathknowes. I had seen the autumnal +number of the <i>Universal</i> safe into its wrapper of orange and purple. In +Edinburgh the old town and the new alike thrilled and hummed with the +noise of a contested election. There were processions, hustings, battles +royal everywhere, the night made hideous, the day insupportable.</p> + +<p>But here, looking from the door out of the sheltering arms of Marnhoul +wood into the peace of the Valley, the ear could discern only the hum of +the pirn-mill buzzing like a giant insect in the greenest of the shade, +and farther off the whisper of the sea on the beaches and coves about +Killantringan.</p> + +<p>Now we had taken rather a roundabout road and rested some nights on the +way, for I had business at Glasgow—a great and notable professor to +visit at the college, and in the library several manuscripts to consult. +So Irma remained with the Wondrous Duncan the Second at the inn of the +White Horse, where the coach stopped.</p> + +<p>When I came back I thought that Irma’s face looked a trifle flushed. I +discovered that, having asked the hostler to polish her shoes, he had +refused with the rudeness common to his class when only rooms of the +cheaper sort are engaged. Whereupon <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_289" id="pg_289">289</a></span>Irma, who would not let her temper +get the better of her, had forthwith gone down to the pantry, taken the +utensils and done them herself.</p> + +<p>I said not much to her, but to the landlord and especially to the man +himself I expressed myself with fulness and a vigour which the latter, +at least, was not likely to forget for some time.</p> + +<p>It was as well, however, that my grandmother was not there. For in that +case murder might have been done, had she known of the scullion’s answer +and what Irma had done. Well also, on the whole, for us that she had +refused to keep us company. For having been only once in a great city in +her life, and never likely to be there again, Mary Lyon made the most of +her time. She had had two trunks when she came to our gate. Four would +not have held all that she travelled with on her way back. And when we +remonstrated on the cost, she said, “Oh, fidget! ’Tis many a day since I +cost anything to speak of to the goodman. He can brave and weel afford +to pay for a trifle o’ luggage.”</p> + +<p>Accordingly she never passed a fruit stall without yearning to buy the +entire stock-in-trade “for the neighbours that have never seen siccan a +thing as a sweet orange in their lives—lemons being the more marketable +commodity in Eden Valley.”</p> + +<p>She had also as many commissions, for which she looked to be paid, as if +she had been a commercial traveller. There were half-a-dozen “swatches” +to be matched for Aunt Jen—cloth to supply missing “breadths,” yarn to +mend the toes of stockings, ribbons which would transform the ancient +dingy bonnet into a wonder of beauty on the day of the summer communion. +She had “patterns” to buy dress-lengths of—from the byre-lasses brown +or drab <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_290" id="pg_290">290</a></span>to stand the stress of out-of-door—checked blue and white for +the daintier dairy-worker among her sweet milk and cheese.</p> + +<p>Even groceries, and a taste of the stuff they sell in town for “bacon +ham”—to be sniffed at and to become the butt for all the goodwives in +the parish—no tea, for Mary Lyon knew where that could be got better +and cheaper, but a <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> for a neighbour lad who was +known to be fond of the reading and deserved to be encouraged—lastly, +as a vast secret, a gold wedding-ring which could not be bought without +talk in Eden Valley itself. Grandmother did not tell us for whom this +was intended. Nor did we know, till the little smile lurking at the +corner of her mouth revealed the mystery, when Agnes Anne came home from +the kirk and named who had been “cried” that day. It was no other than +our sly Eben—and Miss Gertrude Greensleeves was the name of the +bride—far too young for him, of course, but—he had taken his mother +into his confidence and not a man of us dared say a word. Doubtless the +women did, but even they not in the hearing of Mary Lyon.</p> + +<p>But now we were at rest, and quite ten days ago grandmother had arrived +with her cargo. The commissions were all distributed. The parish had had +a solid week to get over its amazement. And, to put all in the +background, there had been a successful run into Portowarren and another +the same night to Balcary—a thing not often done in the very height of +summer. Yet, because the preventive men were not expecting it, perhaps +safer then than at any other time.</p> + +<p>And above all and swamping all the endless talk of a busy, heartsome +farm-town! Ah, how good it <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_291" id="pg_291">291</a></span>was. Even the little god in the “ben” room, +Master Duncan Maitland MacAlpine, had times and seasons without a +worshipper, all because there was a young farmer’s son in the kitchen +telling of his experiences “among the hills,” with the gaugers behind +them, and the morn breaking fast ahead.</p> + +<p>How they must get to a place where they could hide, a place with water, +where they could restore their beasts and repose themselves, a place of +great shadowing rocks in a weary land. For of a certainty the sun would +smite by day, even if the moon afforded them guidance over the waste by +night.</p> + +<p>Or Boyd Connoway would tell of the <i>Golden Hind</i> having been seen out in +the channel, of rafts of “buoyed” casks sunk to within three foot of the +bottom, to be fished up when on a dark night the herring craft slipped +out of Balcary or the Scaur, silent as a shadow.</p> + +<p>Or mayhap (and this, married or single, Irma liked best of all) there +came in some shy old farmer from the uplands, or perhaps a herd, to +whose boy or girl “out at service” the mistress of Heathknowes had +brought home a Bible. These had come to thank Mary Lyon, but could not +get a word out. They sipped their currant wine as if it were medicine +and moved uneasily on the edges of their chairs. They had excellent +manners stowed away somewhere—the natural well-bredness of the hill and +the heather, but in a place like that, with so many folk, it seemed as +if they had somehow mislaid them.</p> + +<p>Then was Irma’s time. She would glide in, her face still pale, of +course, but with such a gracious sweetness upon it that the shyest was +soon at his ease. Here was a cup, an embarrassment to the hand. She +would fill its emptiness, not with Aunt Jen’s currant <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_292" id="pg_292">292</a></span>wine, but with +good Hollands—not to the brim, because the owner would spill it over +and so add the finishing touch to his bashfulness. She sat down by the +oldest, the shaggiest, the roughest, and in a moment (as if, like a +fairy of Elfland, she had waved her wand) old Glencross of Saltflats, +who only talked in monosyllables to his own wife, was telling Irma all +about the prospects of his hay crop, and the bad look-out there was +along the Colvend shore owing to the rabbits breeding on the green hill +pastures.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I’ll thin them, missie,” he affirmed, in response to her look +of sympathy, “ow aye, there are waur things than hare soup and rabbit +pie. Marget” (his wife) “is a great hand at the pie. Ye maun come ower +some day and taste—you and your guidman. I will send ye word by that +daft loon Davie.”</p> + +<p>Then with hardly an effort, now that the ice was broken, turning to my +grandmother, “Eh, mistress, but it was awesome kind and mindfu’ o’ you +to fetch the laddie a Bible a’ the road frae Enbra. I hae juist been +promising him a proper doing, a regular flailing if he doesna read in it +every nicht afore he says his prayers.”</p> + +<p>Needless to say Davie had promised—but as to Davie’s after performance +no facts have been put on record. Still, he had his Bible and was proud +of it.</p> + +<p>Then Irma, safe in her married state, would set herself down by some +shy, horny-fisted fellow, all nose and knuckles. She would draw him away +from his consciousness of the Adam’s apple in his throat (which he +privately felt every one must be looking at) and give him a good +sympathetic quarter of an hour all to himself. She would smile and smile +and be a villain to her heart’s content, till the lad’s tongue would at +last be loosened, and he would tell how he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_293" id="pg_293">293</a></span>tried for first prize at the +last ploughing match, and boast how he would have been first only for +his “coulter blunting on a muckle granite stane.” He would relate with +exactness how many queys his father had, the records of mortality among +the wintering sheep, the favourable prospects of the spring +lambs—“abune the average—aye, I will not deny, clean abune the +average.”</p> + +<p>So he would sit and talk, and gaze and gaze, till there entered into his +soul the strong desire to work, to rise up and conquer fate and narrow +horizons—so that in time, like a certain Duncan MacAlpine (whom very +likely, as a big country fellow, he had thrashed at school), it might +happen to him to have by his fireside something dainty and sweet and +with great sympathetic eyes and a smile—<i>like that</i>!</p> + +<p>We had only a little while of this, however, for on the morrow Louis was +to arrive from school, safely escorted by Freddy Esquillant and +half-a-dozen students, who had made a jovial party all the way from +Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>Now I may write myself down a selfish brute by the confession I am going +to make. But all the same, the thing is true and had better be owned up +to, all the more in the light of what afterwards happened. I had no +great wish that Louis should join our little party, which with the +advent of little Master Red Knuckles, had been rendered quite complete. +It was, I admit, an unworthy jealousy. But I thought that as Irma had +always been so passionately devoted to Louis—and also because she had, +as I sometimes teased myself by imagining, only come to me because she +had lost Louis—his coming back would—<i>might</i>, I had the grace to say +on second thoughts, deprive me of some part of my hard-earned +heritage—the love of the woman who was all to me. For with me, his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_294" id="pg_294">294</a></span>unworthy father, even Duncan Maitland had not yet begun to count. With +a man that comes later.</p> + +<p>This is my confession, and once made, let us pass on. I had even then +the grace to be ashamed—at least, rather.</p> + +<p>Louis arrived. He had grown into a tall lad with long hair of +straw-coloured gold, that shone with irregular reflections like muffled +moonlight on a still but gently rippling sea. He was quieter, and seemed +somehow different. He was now all for his books and solitude, and sat +long in the room that had been given him for a bedroom and study—that +with the window looking out on the wood. It was the quietest in the +house—not only because of our youthful bull of Bashan and his roaring, +but because it was at the farthest end of the long rambling house, away +from the stables and cattle sheds.</p> + +<p>However, he seemed delighted to see Irma, and sat a long time with her +hand in his. But I, who knew her well, noticed that there was not now on +her face the old strained attention to all that her brother said or did. +It was in another direction that her ears and thoughts were turned, and +at the first cry from baby’s cot she rose quietly, disengaging her hand +without remark before disappearing into the bedroom-nursery. In another +moment I could see my grandmother pass the window drying her hands on +her apron. I knew from the ceasing of the plunging thud of the dasher +that she had called a substitute to the churning. The dasher was now in +the hands of Aunt Jen, who handled it with a shorter, more irrascible +stroke.</p> + +<p>Left alone with him, I talked to Louis a while of his studies, of the +games the boys played at school, of the length of the holidays. But to +all these openings and questionings he responded in a dull and +uninterested fashion. I could not but feel that he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_295" id="pg_295">295</a></span>resented bitterly +the marriage which had come between his sister and himself. He had had, +of course, a place to come to on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons, but I +had seen little of him then. My work was generally absorbing, and when I +had time to give to Irma, I wanted her all to myself. So I had fallen +into a habit, neither too kind nor yet too wise, of taking to my writing +or my proofs as often as Louis came to our house.</p> + +<p>Now, from the glances he cast at the door by which Irma had gone out, I +saw that he too was suffering from jealousy—even as I had done. He was +jealous of that inarticulate Jacob which comes into so many houses as a +tiny Supplanter—the first baby!</p> + +<p>After a quarter of an hour he rose and got out of the room quickly. I +could hear him go to his own room and shut the door. When Irma and Mary +Lyon had reduced our small bundle of earthquake to a sulky and plaintive +reason, she came back to talk to her brother. Finding him gone, she +asked where Louis was, and immediately followed him to his chamber, +doubtless to continue their conversation.</p> + +<p>But she returned after a while with a curious gleam on her face, saying +that doubtless travel had given her brother a headache. He had shut his +door with the bolt, and was lying down.</p> + +<p>I was on the point of asking Irma if he had answered when she called to +him, but remembered in time that I had better not meddle in what did not +concern me. If Louis behaved like a bear, it would only throw Irma the +more completely upon me. And this, at the time, I was selfish enough to +wish for.</p> + +<p>Afterwards—well, I had, as all men have, many things to reproach myself +for—this stupid jealousy being by no means the least or the lightest.</p> + +<p>Still, on the whole I had a great deal of peace and <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_296" id="pg_296">296</a></span>the composure of +the quiet mind during these first days at Heathknowes. My father, almost +for the first time in his life, withdrew himself from his desk, and took +a walk beyond the confines of the Academy Wood to see his grandson, +keeping, however, his hands still behind him according to his custom in +school. My mother, even, arranged with Agnes Anne to take the +post-office duties during her absence, and seemed pleased in her quiet +way to hold the boy in her arms. In this, however, she was not +encouraged by Mary Lyon, who soon took Duncan away on the plea that he +cried, except with her. Duncan the Second certainly stopped as soon as +he felt my grandmother’s strong, well-accustomed hands grasp him. Yet +she was not in the least tender with him. On the contrary, she heaved +him, as it were promiscuously, over one shoulder with his head hanging +down her back, and tucking his swathed legs under one armpit she +proceeded about her household business, as if wholly disembarrassed—all +the while Duncan never uttering a word.</p> + +<p>But through all the talk of the weather and the crops, the night runs to +Kirk Anders and the Borgue shore, the capture made by the preventives at +the Hass of the Dungeon, the misdoings of Tim Cleary who had got seven +days for giving impudence to the Provost of Dumfries in his own +court-room, there pierced the strange sough of politics.</p> + +<p>The elections were upon us also in Galloway, and the Government +candidate was reported to be staying at Tereggles with the Lord +Lieutenant. He had not yet been seen, but (it was, of course, Boyd +Connoway who brought us word) his name was the Honourable Lalor +Maitland, late Governor of the Meuse—a province in the Low Countries.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_RETURN_OF_THE_SERPENT_TO_EDEN_VALLEY_9661" id="THE_RETURN_OF_THE_SERPENT_TO_EDEN_VALLEY_9661"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_297" id="pg_297">297</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +<h3>THE RETURN OF THE SERPENT TO EDEN VALLEY</h3> +</div> + +<p>I did not tell Irma, and I enjoined silence on all about the house. But +there was no keeping such a thing, and perhaps it was as well. Jo +Kettle’s father, always keen to show his wit at the expense of his +betters, cried out to me in the hearing of Irma, “How much, besides his +pardon, has that uncle of yours gotten in guineas for his treachery?”</p> + +<p>And when I protested ignorance, he added, “I mean the new grand +Government candidate, that has been sae lang in the Netherlands, and was +a rebel not so long ago—many is the braw lad’s head that he has garred +roll in the sawdust, I warrant.”</p> + +<p>For it was currently reported of Lalor in his own day that he had been a +spy for the King of France as well as for King George—aye, and +afterwards against the emigrants at Coblentz in the service of the +Revolution. Indeed, I do think there is little doubt but that, at some +time of his life, the man had been in such a desperate way that he had +spied and betrayed whoever trusted him to whomsoever would pay for his +treachery.</p> + +<p>“Lalor Maitland—is he, then, in the country?” said Irma, with a white +and frightened look. “I must get home—to Baby!”</p> + +<p>So completely had her heart changed its magnetic pole. Poor Louis, small +wonder he was jealous—and rightly, not of me, but of the small and +leathern-lunged person who from his cot ruled the order of the house, +and made even the cheerful hum of the fireside, the yard cock-crowing of +the fowls, and the egg-kekkling <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_298" id="pg_298">298</a></span>in the barn yield to his imperious +will. For he had them banished the precincts and shut up till his +highness should please to awaken.</p> + +<p>But when we got to the Heathknowes road-end, we beheld a yellow coach, +with four horses, a coachman and two outriders, all three in +canary-coloured suits.</p> + +<p>It was early days for such equipages to be seen in Galloway, where, +excluding the post-road on which the Irish mail ran from Dumfries to +Stranraer, there were few roads and fewer bridges which would bear a +coach-and-four. Owing to the pirn-mill, our bridges were a little +stronger than usual, though the roads were worn into deep ruts by the +“jankers,” or great two-wheeled wagons for the transport of trees out of +the woods.</p> + +<p>The carriage drove right up to the outer gate of the yard of +Heathknowes, half the idle laddies of Eden Valley running shouting after +it. The “yett,” as usual, was barred, and it is more than doubtful +whether, even if open, the coach could safely have passed within—so +narrow was the space between post and post.</p> + +<p>But the man inside put his head out of the window and gave a short, +sharp order. Whereupon the postilions leaped down and stood to their +horses’ heads. The canary coachman held his hands high, with the reins +drooping upon his knees. A footman jumped out of a little niche by the +side of one window in which his life must have been almost shaken out of +him. He opened the door with the deepest respect, and out there stepped +the bravest and finest-dressed gentleman that had ever been seen.</p> + +<p>He was middle-sized and slight, no longer young, but of an uncertain +age. He wore a powdered wig, with sky-blue coat and shorts, a white +waistcoat <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_299" id="pg_299">299</a></span>embroidered with dainty sprig patterns of lavender and +forget-me-not. He had on white silk stockings and the most fashionable +shoes, tied with blue-and-gold governmental favours instead of ordinary +buckles. By his side was a sword with a golden hilt—in short, such a +cavalier had never been seen in Galloway within living memory.</p> + +<p>And at the sight of him Louis ran forward, calling, “Uncle, uncle!” But +Irma sank gently down on my shoulder, so that I had to take her in my +arms and carry her to her chamber.</p> + +<p>At first I stood clean dumfounded, as indeed well I might. When Lalor +came last to Eden Valley he had been one of the Black Smugglers, a great +man on the <i>Golden Hind</i>—little better, to be brief, than a common +pirate. He and his had assaulted the house of Marnhoul, with a pretence +of legal purpose, no doubt, but really merely levying war in a peaceful +country.</p> + +<p>Now here he was back, arrayed sumptuously, the favourite of the +Government at London, the guest of the Lord Lieutenant of the county.</p> + +<p>I could not explain it, and, indeed, till Irma came to herself, I had +little time or inclination to think the matter out. But afterwards many +things which had been dark became clear, while others, though still +remaining mysterious, began to have a certain dim light cast upon them.</p> + +<p>What seemed clear was that Lalor had all along benefited by mysterious +protections, and the authorities, though apparently anxious for his +capture, never really put themselves about in the least. They did not +want to catch or imprison Lalor Maitland. He was much more useful to +them elsewhere. Whereas the children of a disaffected rebel, considered +as claimants to the Maitland estates, were of little account.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_300" id="pg_300">300</a></span>But the action of Louis Maitland for the first time opened my eyes to +another matter. A corner of the veil which had hid a plot was lifted. +During all the time that Irma had been with her Aunt Kirkpatrick, ever +since Louis entered Sympson’s Classic Academy (kept by Dr. Sympson, +grandson of the old Restoration Curate of Kirkmabreek), Lalor had been +in Edinburgh, pursuing his plans in secret, perhaps (who knows?) with +the learned assistance and council of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole, that +expert with the loaded riding-whip.</p> + +<p>We had been far too busy with our own affairs—the marriage, the little +house, my work at the <i>Review</i>, and more recently the appearance and +providing for of Duncan the Second. We had seen Louis on Saturdays, and +on Sundays, too, at times. But, to our shame be it said, we knew very +little about his life at school, who were his friends, what his actual +thoughts. For this I shall never cease to reproach myself—at least +occasionally, when I think about it.</p> + +<p>But Lalor had appeared in splendour at Dr. Sympson’s, had introduced +himself as an uncle from abroad. He was in high favour with the +Government. He had the most magnificent coach in the city, and, +apparently, plenty of money. He had early warned Louis that we—that is, +Irma and I—must hear nothing of his visits, otherwise these pleasant +jaunts would be stopped—the afternoon treats to Duddingstone and +Lochend, the sails on the Firth with young Walter, the Doctor’s son, as +his companion. For Lalor was so wise that he never asked him out alone. +So Louis had been silent, bribed by the liberty and the golden guineas, +which were as plentiful with Lalor as they were scarce with Irma and +myself. The Doctor was <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_301" id="pg_301">301</a></span>charmed with his visitor, the ex-governor of a +great province in the Netherlands (which he looked out in the +Encyclopædia and lectured upon)—and as for Walter, his son, at that +date he would have bartered his soul for five hours’ absence from the +paternal academy and a dozen sticks of toffee.</p> + +<p>Then with what unwonted and flattering deference the boy’s entertainer +had treated him. To him he was Sir Louis, the head of the house. He +would heir its great properties, the value and extent of which had been +hidden from him by Irma and myself. Doubtless we had our own reasons for +thus concealing the truth, but Uncle Lalor’s position with the +Government enabled him to assure Sir Louis that, through his influence, +all its ancient dignities would be restored to the family.</p> + +<p>Hence it was that, at the first sight of the slim man with the powdered +wig tied in a gay favour behind his back, Louis had run and flung +himself into his arms. Perhaps, also, it had something to do with his +disappointment in Irma, and it was in this open way that he chose to +punish her.</p> + +<p>Yet when Lalor Maitland had come into the parlour, and I had spoken with +him, the man’s frank and smiling recognition of the circumstances, his +high, easy manner, an old-world politeness as of one long familiar with +courts, yet a kindly gentleman withal, prepossessed me in his favour +even against myself.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, with that rare smile which distinguished him, “here we +have the fortune of war. You and I have met before, sir, and there are +few that have faced me as you did, being at the time only a boy—and not +myself only, but Dick, the boldest man on the <i>Golden Hind</i>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_302" id="pg_302">302</a></span>He tapped a careless tattoo on the table with his fingers.</p> + +<p>“Ah, they were good days, after all,” he said; “mad days—when it was +win ten thousand or walk the plank every time the brig put her nose +outside the harbour bar!”</p> + +<p>“It turned out the ten thousand, I presume?” I said, without too much +unbending.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he answered lightly, “as to myself, I was never very deeply +entered. I had ever an anchor out to windward. It was rare that I acted +without orders, and, having been in a high official position, it was in +my power to render certain important services to the Government of this +country—for which, I may say, they have not proved themselves less +ungrateful than is the way of governments.”</p> + +<p>“So it would seem,” I answered.</p> + +<p>“But,” he continued, “I called chiefly to renew my acquaintance with my +sometime wards—though one of them has sought another and a better +guardian” (here he bowed very gracefully to me), “and the other—well, +Louis lad, what have you to say to your old uncle?”</p> + +<p>The boy came bounding up, and stood close by his chair, smoothing the +lace of Lalor’s sleeve, his eyes full of happiness and confidence. It +was a pretty sight, and for a moment I confess I was baffled. Could it +be that after all Louis was right and Irma wrong? Could this man have +supposed that the children were being held against their will and +interest, or at least fraudulently removed from their legal guardian, +when he assaulted the old house of Marnhoul?</p> + +<p>Perhaps, as I began to surmise, we had on that occasion really owed our +lives to him. For had the <i>Golden <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_303" id="pg_303">303</a></span>Hinds</i> all come on at a time, they +would undoubtedly, being such a crew of cut-throats, have rushed us and +eaten us up in no time.</p> + +<p>Women, I tried to persuade myself, had dislikes even more inexplicable +than their likings. Some early, unforgiven, childish prejudice, perhaps. +Women do not easily forgive, except those whom they love, and even these +only so long as they continue to love them. For many women the phrase in +the Lord’s Prayer, “as we forgive them that trespass against us,” had +better be expunged. It is a dead letter. The exceptions are so rare as +to prove the rule—and even they, though they may forgive their enemies, +draw the line at forgiving their neighbours.</p> + +<p>“And am I not to see my fair enemy, Madame—ah, Duncan MacAlpine? I wish +to have the honour of felicitating her infinite happiness, and I have +taken the liberty of bringing her an old family jewel for her +acceptance.”</p> + +<p>“My wife, sir,” I said, “is not yet well. She is subject to sudden +shock, and I fear——”</p> + +<p>“Ah, I understand,” he said, bowing gravely, and with a touch of +melancholy which became him vastly; “I never had the good fortune to +please the lady—as you have done.”</p> + +<p>He smiled again, and waved away a clumsy attempt of mine to reply.</p> + +<p>“But that is my misfortune—perhaps, though unconsciously, my fault. +Still, there is the trinket. I leave it in your hands, in trust for +those of your wife. My respectful duty and service to her and—to the +heir of your house! Come, Louis, will you have a ride in the coach as +far as the bridge and back? I have left my Lord Lieutenant there +visiting some of his doubtful tenants. I will pick him up when he is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_304" id="pg_304">304</a></span>ready, and then bring this little friend of mine back.”</p> + +<p>That night Louis wept and stamped in a black anger.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to stop here,” he said; “I want to go with Uncle Lalor in +the gilded coach.”</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="BY_WATER_AND_THE_WORD_9892" id="BY_WATER_AND_THE_WORD_9892"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_305" id="pg_305">305</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII</h2> +<h3>BY WATER AND THE WORD</h3> +</div> + +<p>During my holidays at Heathknowes I found myself necessarily in frequent +communication with my Lord Advocate. For though I was the actual, he was +the ultimate editor of the <i>Universal Review</i>. I felt that he had done +so much for me, and that we were now on such terms that I might without +presumption ask him a private question about Lalor Maitland. Because, +knowing the man to have been mixed with some very doubtful business, I +wondered that a man of such honour and probity as the Advocate would in +any circumstances act by such means—much less countenance his being put +forward in the Government interest at a contested election.</p> + +<p>I will give the text of the Advocate’s reply in so far as it deals with +Lalor: “Have as little as possible to do in a private capacity with +‘your Connection by Marriage’” (for so he continued to style him). “In +public affairs we must often use sweeps to explore dark and tortuous +passages. Persons who object to fyle themselves cannot be expected to +clean drains. You take my metaphor? Your ‘Relative by Marriage’ has +proved himself a useful artist in cesspools. That is all. He has not +swept clean, but he has swept. He has, on several occasions, been useful +to the Government when a better man would never have earned salt to his +kail. Publicly, therefore, he is an estimable servant of the Government. +Privately I would not touch him with the point of my shoe. For in +personal relations such men are always dangerous. <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_306" id="pg_306">306</a></span>See to it that you +and yours have as little to do with him as possible.”</p> + +<p>There in a nutshell was the whole philosophy of politics. “For dirty +jobs use dirty tools”—and of such undoubtedly was Lalor Maitland.</p> + +<p>But I judged that, having come through so many vicissitudes, and moving +now with a certain name and fame, he would, for his own sake, do us no +open harm. Rather, as witness little Louis, he would exploit the ancient +renown of the Maitlands, their standing in Galloway, and his friendship +with the heir of their estates.</p> + +<p>It seemed to me that Louis was entirely safe, especially in the good +hands of the Lord Lieutenant, and that the great rewards which Lalor +Maitland had received from the Government constituted in some measure +the best security against any dangerous plotting.</p> + +<p>And in all the electoral campaign that followed, certain it is that +Lalor showed only his amiable side, taking all that was said against him +with a smiling face, yet as ready with his sword as with his tongue, and +so far as courage went (it must be allowed) in no way disgracing the old +and well-respected name of the Maitlands of Marnhoul. But I must tell +you of the fate which befell the jewel he had left in my hands for Irma. +Whether it had ever belonged to the family of Maitland or not, I should +greatly doubt. It was a hoop of rubies set with brilliants, which at +will could make a bracelet for the wrist, or a kind of tiara for the +hair. It was placed in a lined box of morocco leather, called an +“ecrin,” and stood out as beautifully against the faded blue of the +velvet as a little tangled wisp of sunset cloud lost in an evening sky.</p> + +<p>But Irma flashed out when I showed it her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_307" id="pg_307">307</a></span>“How dare you?” she cried, and seizing the box she shut it with a snap +like her own white teeth. Then, the window being open, she threw it into +the low shrubbery at the orchard end, whence, after she had gone to +baby, I had no great trouble in recovering it. For it seemed to me too +good to waste, and would certainly be of more use to me than to the +first yokel who should pass that way.</p> + +<p>Under ordinary circumstances Lalor would certainly have been defeated. +First of all, though doubtless belonging to an ancient family of the +country, he was, with his gilded coach and display of wealth gotten no +one could just say how or where, in speech and look an outsider. His +opponent, Colonel MacTaggart of the Stroan, called familiarly “The +Cornel” was one of the brave, sound, stupid, jovial country gentlemen +who rode once a week to market at Dumfries, never missed a Court day at +Kirkcudbright, did his duty honourably in a sufficiently narrow round, +and was worshipped by his tenantry, with whose families he was on terms +of extraordinary fondness and friendship. Altogether, to use the vulgar +idiom, “The Cornel” was felt to be a safe man to “bring back Galloway +fish-guts to Galloway sea-maws.” Or, in other words, he would see to it +that patronage, like charity, should begin at home—and stop there.</p> + +<p>To set off against this, there was a strong feeling that Galloway had +been long enough in opposition. There appeared to be (and indeed there +was) no chance of overturning the Government. Why, then, should Galloway +dwell for seven more years in the cold and hungry shades of +opposition—able to growl, but quite unable to get the bone?</p> + +<p>Lalor was brim-full of promises. He had been, if not <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_308" id="pg_308">308</a></span>a smuggler, at +least an associate of smugglers, and all along Solwayside that was no +disadvantage to him—in a country where all either dabbled in the +illicit traffic, or, at best, looked the other way as the jingling +caravans went by.</p> + +<p>Briefly, then, his Excellency Lalor Maitland, late Governor of the +Province of the Meuse, now a law-abiding subject of King George, was +duly elected and sent to Westminster to take his seat as representing +the lieges. The excitement calmed down almost at once. The gold coach +was seen no more. The preventive men and supervisors of excise were +neither up nor down. Galloway felt vaguely defrauded. I think many of +those who voted for Lalor imagined that the excisemen and coastguards +would at once be recalled, and that henceforward cargoes from the Isle +of Man and Rotterdam would be unloaded in broad daylight, instead of by +the pale light of the moon, without a single question being asked on +behalf of the revenue officers of King George.</p> + +<p>After Lalor’s disappearance Louis Maitland was heavy and depressed for +several days, staying long in his room and returning the shortest +answers when spoken to. Suddenly one morning he declared his intention +of going to Dumfries, and so on the following Wednesday my grandfather +and he drove thither by the coach road while I followed behind on +horseback. It was the purpose of Louis Maitland to have speech with the +lawyers. So, knowing the temper in which he had been since his uncle’s +departure, I let him go up alone, but afterwards had speech with the +younger Mr. Smart on my own account.</p> + +<p>He smiled when I mentioned Sir Louis and his mission.</p> + +<p>“He wishes to go up to London to his cousin—he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_309" id="pg_309">309</a></span>calls him his uncle, +Mr. Lalor, your fine new Government member for the county!”</p> + +<p>“I judged as much,” said I, “but I hope you have not given him any such +permission.”</p> + +<p>“He can take all the permission he wishes after he is twenty-one,” said +Mr. Smart; “at present he has a good many years before him at Sympson’s +Academy. There he may occupy himself in turning the old curate’s <i>Three +Patriarchs</i> into Latin. As to his holidays, he can spend them with his +sister or stay on in Edinburgh with the Doctor. But London is not a +place for a young gentleman of such exalted notions of his own +importance—‘You bury me at a farmhouse with a family of boors!’—was +what he said. Now, that smells Mr. Lalor a mile off. But the lad is not +much to blame, and I hope you will not let it go any farther.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” said I, “the boy was only quoting!”</p> + +<p>I returned from this interview considerably relieved, but for some days +Sir Louis was visibly cast down.</p> + +<p>However, I said nothing to Irma, only advising her to devote herself a +little more to her brother, at times when the exigencies of Duncan the +Second would leave her time and opportunity.</p> + +<p>“Why!” she said, with a quick gasp of astonishment, “I never forget +Louis—but of course baby needs me sometimes. I can’t help that!”</p> + +<p>If I had dared, I should have reminded her that baby appeared to need +every woman about the house of Heathknowes—to whom may be added my +mother from the school-house, Mrs. Thomas Gallaberry (late Anderson), +and a great and miscellaneous cloud of witnesses, to all of whom the +commonest details of toilet—baby’s bath, his swathing and unbandaging, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_310" id="pg_310">310</a></span>the crinkling of his face and the clenching of his fists, the curious +curdled marbling upon his fat arms, even the inbending of his toes, were +objects of a cult to which that of the Lama of Thibet was a common and +open secret.</p> + +<p>Even fathers were excluded as profane on such occasions, and the gasps +of feminine delight at each new evidence of genius were the only sounds +that might be heard even if you listened at the door, as, I admit, I was +often mean enough to do. Yet the manifestations of the object of +worship, as overheard by me, appeared sufficiently human and ordinary to +be passed over in silence.</p> + +<p>I admit, however, that such was not the opinion of any of the regular +worshippers at the shrine, and that the person of the opposite sex who +was permitted to warm the hero’s bath-towel at the fire, became an +object of interest and envy to the whole female community. As for my +grandmother, I need only say that while Duncan the Second abode within +the four walls of Heathknowes, not an ounce of decent edible butter +passed out of her dairy. Yet not a man of us complained. We knew better.</p> + +<p>There still remained, however, a ceremony to be faced which I could not +look forward to with equanimity. It had been agreed upon between us, +that, though by the interference of our good friend the Advocate, we had +been married in the old private chapel attached to the Deanery, we +should defer the christening of Duncan the Second till “the Doctor” +could perform the office—there being, of course, but one “Doctor” for +all Eden Valley people—Doctor Gillespie, erstwhile Moderator of the +Kirk of Scotland.</p> + +<p>I had long been under reproach for my slackness in this matter. +Inuendoes were mixed with odious <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_311" id="pg_311">311</a></span>comparisons upon Mary Lyon’s tongue. +If her daughter had only married a Cameronian, the bairn would have been +baptized within seven days! Never had she seen an unchristened bairn so +long about a house! But for them that sit at ease in an Erastian +Zion—she referred to my father, who was not only precentor but also +session-clerk, and could by no means be said to sit at ease—she +supposed anything was good enough. It was different in her young days. +She, at least, had been properly brought up.</p> + +<p>Finally, however, I went and put the case to the Doctor. He was ready to +come up to Heathknowes for the baptism. After his usual protest that +according to rule it ought to be performed in sight of all the +congregation, he accepted the good reason that my grandfather and +grandmother, being ardent Cameronians, could not in that case be +present. The Doctor had, of course, anticipated this objection. For he +knew and respected the “kind of people” reared by four generations of +“Societies,” and often (in private) held them up as ensamples to his own +flock.</p> + +<p>So to Heathknowes, the house of the Cameronian elder, there came, with +all befitting solemnity, Doctor Gillespie, ex-Moderator of the Kirk of +Scotland. Stately he stepped up the little loaning, followed by his +session, their clerk, my father at their head. At the sight of the +Doctor arrayed in gown and bands, his white hair falling on his neck and +tied with a black ribbon, the whole family of us instinctively uncovered +and stood bareheaded. My grandfather had gone down to the foot of the +little avenue to open the gate for the minister. The Doctor smilingly +invited him to walk by his side, but William Lyon had gravely shaken his +head and said, “I thank you, Doctor, but to-day, if you will grant me +the privilege, I will <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_312" id="pg_312">312</a></span>walk with my brethren, the other elders of the +Kirk of God.”</p> + +<p>And so he did, and as they came within sight of the house I took Irma by +the hand. For she trembled, and tears rose to her eyes as she saw that +simple but dignified procession (like to that which moved out of the +vestry on the occasion of the Greater Sacrament) approaching the house. +The lads stood silent with bared heads. For once Duncan lay quiet in the +arms of Mary Lyon—who that day would yield her charge to none, till she +gave him to the mother, when the time should come, according to the +Presbyterian rite, to stand up and place the firstborn in his father’s +arms.</p> + +<p>There was only one blank in that gathering. Louis had gone to his own +room, pretexing a headache, but really (as he blurted out afterwards) +because his Uncle Lalor had said that Presbyterianism was no religion +for a gentleman.</p> + +<p>However, it was only afterwards that he was missed.</p> + +<p>The Doctor was great on such occasions. A surprising soft radiance, +almost like a halo, surrounded his smooth snowy locks. A holy calm, +exhaling from half a century of spotless life lived in the sight of all +men, spoke in every word, moved in every gesture. The elders stood about +grave and quiet. The great Bible lay open. The psalm of dedication was +sung—of which the overword is, “Lo, children are God’s heritage,” and +the conclusion the verse which no Scot forgets the world over, perhaps +because it contains, quite unintentionally, so delightful a revelation +of his own national character—</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em;">“O happy is the man that hath<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His quiver filled with those:</span><br /> +<i>They unashamed in the gate</i><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Shall speak unto their foes.</i>”</span></p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_WICKED_FLAG_10140" id="THE_WICKED_FLAG_10140"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_313" id="pg_313">313</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX</h2> +<h3>THE WICKED FLAG</h3> +</div> + +<p>“There’s Boyd Connoway has been sitting on my front doorstep,” cried my +Aunt Jen, “and if I’ve telled the man once, I’ve telled him twenty +times!”</p> + +<p>“But how do ye ken, Janet?” said her mother out of the still-room where +she was brewing nettle-beer. “He is not there now!”</p> + +<p>“How do I ken—fine that!” snapped Jen. “Do I no see my favourite check +pattern on his trousers!” said Jen, which, indeed, being plain to the +eye of every beholder, admitted of no denial—except perhaps, owing to +point of view, by the unconscious wearer himself. He had sat down on +these mystic criss-crossings and whorls dear to the Galloway housewife +for her floor ornaments, while the whiting was still wet.</p> + +<p>“It’s no wonder,” Jen pursued vengefully, “they may say what they like. +An I were that man’s wife, I wad brain him. Here he has been the +livelong day. Twa meals has he eaten. Six hours has he hung about +malingering. He came to roof the pigstye. He tore off the old thatch, +and there it lies, and there will lie for him. If there is frost, +Girzie’s brood will be stiff by the morning. Then he ‘had a look’ at my +roasting-jack and ... there it is!”</p> + +<p>She indicated with an indignant sweep of the hand what she designated “a +rickle o’ rubbish” as the net proceeds of Boyd’s industry.</p> + +<p>The artist explained himself between the mouthfuls at his third repast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_314" id="pg_314">314</a></span>“Ye see, Miss Lyon, there’s nocht that spoils good work like worry on +the mind. The pigs will do fine. I’ll put a branch or two over them and +a corn-sack over that. If a drap o’ rain comes through it will only +harden the wee grunties for the trials o’ life. Aye” (here Boyd relapsed +into philosophy), “life is fu’ o’ trials, for pigs as weel as men. But +men the worst—for as for pigs, their bread is given them and their +water is sure. Now as for myself——”</p> + +<p>“Yourself,” cried Aunt Jen, entering into one of her sudden rages, “if +ye were half as much worth to the world as our old sow Girzie, ye wad be +salted and hanging up by the heels now! As it is, ye run the country +like Crazy, our collie, a burden to yourself and a nuisance to the world +at lairge!</p> + +<p>“Eh, Miss Jen, but it’s the word ye have, as I was sayin’ to Rob McTurk +up at the pirn-mill last Tuesday week. ‘If only our Miss Jen there had +been a man,’ says I, ‘it’s never Lalor Maitland that would have been +sent to sit in King George’s High House o’ Parliament.’”</p> + +<p>Again Boyd Connoway took up his burden of testimony.</p> + +<p>“Aye, Miss Jen, there’s some that’s born to trouble as the sparks fly +upward. That’s me, Miss Jen. Now there’s my brother that’s a farmer in +County Donegal. Niver a market night sober—and <i>yet</i> he’s not to say +altogether content. An’ many is the time I say to our Bridget, ‘What +would you do if I was Brother Jerry of Ballycross, coming home to ye in +the box of the gig, and the reins on the horse’s neck?’</p> + +<p>“‘Ye never <i>had</i> a horse,’ says she, and thinks that an answer! Women’s +heads are born void of logic, and what they fill them with—axing your +pardon, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_315" id="pg_315">315</a></span>Mistress Lyon, ah, if they were all like you—’tis a happier +place this world would be!”</p> + +<p>“Finish, and let us get the dishes cleared away!” said my grandmother, +who did not stand upon fashions of speech, least of all with Boyd +Connoway.</p> + +<p>Boyd hastened to obey, ladling everything within reach into his mouth as +fast as knife and spoon could follow each other.</p> + +<p>He concluded, crooning over his eternal ditty, by way of thanksgiving +after meat—</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em;">“If I was in bed and fast asleep<br /> +I wouldn’t get up for a score of sheep.”</p> + +<p>This distich had the gift of always infuriating Aunt Janet.</p> + +<p>“You may well say so,” she cried, clattering away with an armful of +dishes in a way that was a protest in itself; “considering all you are +good for when you <i>do</i> get up, you might just as well be in bed fast +asleep, and——”</p> + +<p>“Now there you’re wrong, Miss Janet,” said Boyd. “It was only last +Sunday that I gave up all my evil courses and became one of Israel +Kinmont’s folk. My heart is changed,” he added solemnly; “I gave it to +the Lord, and He seen fit to convart me!”</p> + +<p>The whole household looked up. Anything bearing on personal religion +instantly touched Scots folk of the humble sort. But Aunt Jen was +obdurate. Long experience had rendered her sceptical with regard to Boyd +Connoway.</p> + +<p>“We’ll soon see if you are converted to the Lord,” she said. “<i>He</i> is a +hard worker. There are no idlers on His estates. If it’s true, we may +get these pigs covered in to-night yet.”</p> + +<p>“Never trouble your head about the pigs, Miss Janet,” said Boyd, “they +will surely sleep safe under <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_316" id="pg_316">316</a></span>a roof this night. Strive to fix your mind +on higher things, Miss Jen. There’s such a thing as makin’ a god of this +here transient evil world, as I said to Bridget when the potatoes went +bad just because I got no time to ‘pit’ them, having had to play the +fiddle at four kirns’<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> in different parishes during potato-lifting +week!”</p> + +<p>“Never mind about that,” said my grandfather from his seat in the +chimney corner, “tell us about your ‘conversion’!”</p> + +<p>For the word was then a new one in Galloway, and of no good savour +either among orthodox Cameronians or pillars of the Kirk as by law +established. But Israel Kinmont had been a sailor to far ports. In his +youth he had heard Whitefield preach. He had followed Wesley’s folk afar +off. The career of a humble evangelist attracted him, and when in his +latter days he had saved enough to buy the oldest and worst of all +luggers that ever sailed the sea, he devoted himself, not to the gainful +traffic of smuggling, but to the unremunerative transport of sea-coal +and lime from Cockermouth and Workington to the small ports and inlets +of the Galloway coast.</p> + +<p>No excisemen watching on the cliffs gave more than a single glance at +“Israel’s Tabernacle,” as, without the least irreverence, he had named +his boat. But, using the same ports as the smugglers, he was often +brought into close relations with them. They asked him for information +which was freely given, as from one friend to another. They trusted him, +for though often interrogated by the supervisor and riding officers, +Israel could develop upon occasion an extraordinary deafness, so that +the questions to which he <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_317" id="pg_317">317</a></span>could give a clear answer were never such as +to commit any one. In exchange for this the smugglers would go aboard +the Tabernacle and allow Israel to preach to them. And woe betide the +irreverent on these occasions! Black Rob o’ Garlies or Roaring Imrie +from Douglas-ha’ thought nothing of taking such a one by convenient +parts of his clothing and dropping him overboard.</p> + +<p>“Aye,” said Boyd, encouraged by my grandfather’s request, “Israel +Kinmont has made a new man of many a hardened sinner!”</p> + +<p>“I dare you to say so,” cried my grandmother; “only the Lord that is on +High can do that.”</p> + +<p>“But He can make use of instruments,” argued Boyd, who had learned his +lesson, “and Israel Kinmont is one of them. He has showed me where to +get grace.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” snapped Jen, that unswerving Calvinist, “seeing is believing. +Boyd Connoway <i>may</i> have got grace. I put no limit to the Almighty’s +power. But it takes more than grace to convert a man from laziness!”</p> + +<p>Boyd lifted his hand with a gesture so dignified that even from the +good-for-nothing it commanded respect.</p> + +<p>“’Tis from the Lord, Miss Jen, and it behoves us poor mortals noways to +resist. Israel Kinmont never would smuggle, as ye know, and yet he never +had any luck till the highest tide of the year brought the ‘Old +Tabernacle’ up, with a cargo of sea-coal in her, half-way between +Killantringan Village and the Nitwood.</p> + +<p>“‘She’s settling, Israel,’ said his son Jacob, that’s counted soft, but +can raise the tune at meeting—none like him for that.</p> + +<p>“‘Even so,’ said Israel, ‘the will of the Lord be done!’</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_318" id="pg_318">318</a></span>“‘She’s settling fast! Both my feet are wet!’ said Jacob, holding on to +a rope.</p> + +<p>“‘Amen!’ cried Israel, ‘if it only were His will that she should come +ten yards higher up, she would be on the very roadside. Then I would +open a door into the hold of her after the coal is out, and you and I, +Jacob, could rig up seats and windows like a proper Tabernacle—fit for +Mr. Whitefield himself to preach in! Truly the service of the Lord is +joyful. His law doth rejoice the heart.’</p> + +<p>“So said Israel, and, just as I am tellin’ you, there came a great +inward swirling of the tide, a very merracle, and lo! the <i>Tabernacle</i> +was laid down as by compass alongside the Nitwood road, whence she will +never stir till the day of Final Judgment, as the scripture is. And +Israel, he cuts the door, and Jacob, he gets out the coals and sells +them to the great folk, and the supervisor, he stands by, watching in +vain till he was as black as a sweep, for the brandy that was not there. +But he petitioned Government that Israel should have a concession of +that part of the foreshore—being against all smuggling and maybe +thinking to have him as a sort of spiritual exciseman.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Lyon,” Boyd went on, gratified by the interest in his tale, +“’tis wonderful, when you think on’t. Empty from stem to stern she is, +with skylights in her deck and windows in her side! Why, there are +benches for the men and a pulpit for Israel. As for Jacob, he has +nothing but his tuning-fork and a seat with the rest.</p> + +<p>“And indeed there’s more chance that Israel will put a stop to the +Free-trading than all the preventives in the land. He preaches against +it, declaring that it makes the young men fit for nothing else, like +every other way of making money without working for it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_319" id="pg_319">319</a></span>“Ah, Israel’s right there!” came from my grandfather.</p> + +<p>“But every light has its shadow, and he’s made a failure of it with Dick +Wilkes, and may do the like with my wife, Bridget.</p> + +<p>“For Bridget, she will be for ever crying at me these days, ‘Here, you +Tabernacle man, have you split the kindling wood?’ Or ‘No +praise-the-Lord for you, lad, till your day’s work is done! Go and mend +that spring-cart of the General’s that his man has been grumbling about +for a month!’</p> + +<p>“And sometimes I have to fill my mouth with the hundred and twenty-first +psalm to keep from answering improper, and after all, Bridget will only +ask if I don’t know the tune to that owld penny ballad. ’Tis true enough +about the tune” (Boyd confessed), “me having no pitch-pipe, but Bridget +has no business to miscall scripture, whether said or sung!</p> + +<p>“As to Dick Wilkes, that got his lame leg at the attack on—well, we +need not go opening up old scores, but we all know where—has been +staying with us, and that maybe made Bridget worse. Aye, that he has. +There’s no one like Bridget for drawing all the riff-raff of the +countryside about her—I know some will say that comes of marrying me. +But ’tis the ould gennleman’s own falsehood. You’ll always find Boyd +Connoway in the company of his betters whenever so be he can!</p> + +<p>“But Dick Wilkes had our ‘ben’ room, and there were a little, light, +active man that came to see him—not that I know much of him, save from +the sound of voices and my wife Bridget on the watch to keep me in the +kitchen, and all that.</p> + +<p>“But Old Israel would never give up Dick Wilkes. He kept coming and +coming to our house, and what <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_320" id="pg_320">320</a></span>he called ‘wrestling for Dick’s soul.’ +Sometimes he went away pleased, thinking he had gotten the upper hand. +Then the little light man would come again, and there was Dick just as +bad as ever. ‘Backsliding’ was what Israel called it, and a good name, I +say, for then the job was all to do over again from the beginning. But +it was the Adversary that carried off Dick Wilkes at the long and last.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” came a subdued groan from all the kitchen. Boyd gloomily nodded +his head.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “’tis a great and terrible warning to Bridget, and so I +tell her. ’Twas the night of the big meeting at the Tabernacle, when +Israel kept it up for six hours, one lot coming and another going—the +Isle o’ Man fleet being in—that was the night of all nights in the year +that Dick Wilkes must choose for to die in. Aught more contrary than +that man can’t be thought of.</p> + +<p>“It happened just so, as I say. About four o’clock we were all of us +shut up in the kitchen, and by that we knew (Jerry and I, at least) that +Dick Wilkes had company—also that so far as repentance went, old +Israel’s goose was cooked till he had another turn at his man. And then +after six we heard him shouting that he was going to die—which seemed +strange to us. For we could hear him tearing at his sea-chest and +stamping about his room, which is not what is expected of a dying man.</p> + +<p>“But Dick knew better. For when we went down and peeped at the keyhole, +he heard us, and called on us all to come our ways in. And—you will +never guess in a thousand years—he had routed a flag out of his +sea-chest. The ‘Wicked Flag’ it was,—the pirates’ flag—black, with the +Death’s Head and cross-bones done in white upon it, the same that he had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_321" id="pg_321">321</a></span>hoisted on seas where no questions were asked, when he commanded the +old <i>Golden Hind</i>. And wrapping himself in that, he said, ‘Tell old +Israel that I died <i>so</i>!’ And we, thinking it was, as one might say, +braving the Almighty and his poor old servant, kept silence. And then he +shouted, ‘Promise, ye white-livered rascals, or I’ve strength to slit +your wizzards yet. Tell him I died under the Black!’</p> + +<p>“And Bridget, who was feared herself, said, ‘Whist, for God’s sake, do +not bring a curse on the house!’</p> + +<p>“And then he just cursed the house from flooring to roof-tree, and so +went to his own place!</p> + +<p>“Dead? Well, yes—dead and buried is old Dickie Wilkes. But poor Israel +Kinmont is quite brokenhearted. He says that Dick was the first that +ever broke away, and that he is not long for this world himself now that +he has lost Dick. It was always cut-and-come-again when you were +converting Dick.</p> + +<p>“But Israel has an explanation, poor old fellow.</p> + +<p>“‘It was not Grace that missed fire,’ he says, ‘but me, the unworthy +marksman. And for that I shall be smitten like the men who, with +unanointed eyes, looked on the ark of God that time it went up the +valley from Ekron to Bethshemish, with the cows looking back and lowing +for their calves all the way. I were always main sorry for them cows!‘ +old Israel says.”</p> + +<div class="footnote"> +<hr style='text-align: left; margin: 0 auto 0 0; width:6em; border:1px solid #eee; margin-top:1em;' /> +<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Harvest home merrymakings.</p></div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_GREAT_TABERNACLE_REVIVAL_10430" id="THE_GREAT_TABERNACLE_REVIVAL_10430"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_322" id="pg_322">322</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XL</h2> +<h3>THE GREAT “TABERNACLE” REVIVAL</h3> +</div> + +<p>Though Boyd Connoway had not said anything directly threatening the +house of Heathknowes or its inmates, his story of his own “conversion” +and the death of Dick Wilkes under the Black Flag somehow made us +vaguely uneasy. The door of the house was locked at eight. The gates of +the yard barricaded as in the old time of the sea raids from the <i>Golden +Hind</i>.</p> + +<p>So strong was the feeling that Irma would gladly have returned before +our time to the little White House above the meadow flats, and to the +view of the Pentlands turning a solid green butt towards the Archers’ +Hall of the Guid Toon of Edinburgh.</p> + +<p>But it was not so easy to quit Heathknowes. My grandmother held tightly +to Duncan the Second. I found myself in good case, after the fatigues of +the town, to carry out some work on my own account. This, of course, for +the sake of my wife’s happiness, I would have given up, but after all +Irma’s plans went to pieces upon the invincible determination of Sir +Louis to remain. He was now a lad of seventeen, but older looking than +his age. He had his own room at Heathknowes, his books, his occupations. +Indeed we seldom saw him except at meals, and even then often in the +middle of dinner he would rise, bow haughtily to the company, and retire +without uttering a word. He had learned the lesson from Lalor that plain +farm people were no society for such as he. He went as far as he could +in the way of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_323" id="pg_323">323</a></span>insolence, making us pay for the refusal of the lawyers +to let him go to London with the member for the county.</p> + +<p>I could see the blush rise crimson to Irma’s neck and face after such a +performance. But by some mysterious divine law of compensation, no +sooner had she Baby in her arms, than she forgot all about the sulky +boy, sitting moping among his books in the wood parlour, looking out on +the red-boled firs of Marnhoul forest.</p> + +<p>Israel Kinmont used to frequent us a good deal about this time. He never +preached to us, nor indeed would he talk freely of his “experiences” +amongst such Calvinists as my grandfather and grandmother.</p> + +<p>“The gold of the kingdom doth not need the refiner’s art!” he had said +once when this remissness was made a reproach to him. Since the loss of +his boat, the <i>Tabernacle</i>, he had bought first one donkey and then two +with his little savings. These he loaded with salt for Cairn Edward and +the farms on the way, and so by a natural transition, took to the trade +of itinerant voyager on land instead of on the sea, bringing back a +store of such cloths and spices as were in most request among the +goodwives of the farm-towns.</p> + +<p>He had been so long a sailor man that he could not help it, if a certain +flavour of the brine clung to him still. Besides, there were jerseys and +great sea-boots to be worn out. Neddy and Teddy, his two fine donkeys, +were soon fitted with “steering gear,” among the intricacies of which +their active heels often got “foul.” They “ran aground” with alarming +frequency, scraping their pack-saddles against the walls of narrow +lanes. Their master knew no peace of mind till, having passed the +narrows, he found on <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_324" id="pg_324">324</a></span>some moor or common “plenty o’ sea-room,” +notwithstanding the danger that “plenty o’ sea-room” might induce the +too artful Teddy to “turn topsails under,” or in other words indulge in +a roll upon the grass.</p> + +<p>Finally, Neddy and Teddy were “brought to anchor” in some friendly +stable, in none oftener than in ours of Heathknowes, where cargo was +unloaded and sometimes even the ships themselves “docked” and laid up +for repairs. For this merciful Israel was merciful to his beasts, and +often went into repairing dock for a saddle gall, which another would +never have even noticed.</p> + +<p>When the pair were browsing free in the field he would call them “to +receive cargo,” and hoist the Blue Peter by a sounding, “Neddy, ahoy! +Ahoy there, Teddy!” And if, as was likely, they only flourished their +heels and refused with scorn to come and be saddled, he uttered his +sternest summons, “Ship’s company, all hands on deck!” which meant that +his son Jacob—starboard watch, must come and help port watch—Israel +himself, to capture Teddy and Neddy.</p> + +<p>Neddy was generally willing enough, unless when led from the plain +course of maritime duty by Teddy. On these occasions Israel used to +quote from the “articles” relating to the Mutiny Act, and has even been +known to go so far as threaten Teddy with “a round dozen” at the +main-mast as soon as he could lay hands on a “rope’s end.”</p> + +<p>The which was all the same to Teddy.</p> + +<p>It was beautiful to see the flotilla navigating the level surface of +Killantringan moor—level, that is, by comparison. For first there were +the little waves of the sheep-tracks, then the gentle rollers of the +moss-hags, and, last of all, certain black dangerous Maélstroms <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_325" id="pg_325">325</a></span>from +which last year’s peats had been dug, in which a moment’s folly on the +part of Neddy or Teddy might engulf the Armada for ever.</p> + +<p>As they set sail Jacob Kinmont was first and second mate, but in +particular, look-out-man. He went ahead, keeping a wary eye for dangers +and obstacles, and on the whole the donkeys followed docilely enough in +his wake. Israel’s post as captain was behind at the tiller-ropes, +whence he shouted exact instructions with nautical exactitude, such as +“A point to the west, Neddy!” Or, pathetically, “DID I say +nor’-nor’-east, Teddy, or didn’t I?”</p> + +<p>This last had a ring of affection in it, for, in spite of his naughty +habits (or because of them) Teddy was distinctly the favourite. Also he +had a habit of nuzzling his moist nose into the breast of the old man’s +reefer coat in search of sweet things, a trick which the more patient +and reliable Neddy never acquired. And if Teddy forgot to come inquiring +after the hidden sweets, Israel was quite heart-broken.</p> + +<p>At first the boys from the village would follow and perhaps imitate +these naval manœuvres—in the hope, never fulfilled, of catching +“Ranter Israel” using some nautical language, such as old Pirate Wilkes +had made but too familiar to their ears. But they never caught him, for +Israel’s “yea” remained “yea” and his “nay” “nay,” even when navigating +donkeys over the trackless waste of Killantringan Common. But in +revenge, every now and then, Israel would get hold of a village lad and +lead him triumphantly to his meeting, whence he would not come forth +till, as like as not, “he had gotten the blessin’.”</p> + +<p>The fathers of Eden Valley held in utter contempt the theology of “Old +Tabernacle Israel,” but the mothers, seeing a troublesome boy forsaking +the error <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_326" id="pg_326">326</a></span>of his ways and settling down to be the comfort of his +folk—looked more to results, and thanked God for old Israel and his +Tabernacle. After a while the fathers also came to be of his opinion. +And on one memorable occasion, the great Doctor Gillespie himself went +in by the door of Israel’s tar-smelling Tabernacle, and seated himself +in all the glory of his black coat and ruffled shirt on the back seat +among the riff-raff of the port, just as if he were nobody at all.</p> + +<p>At first Israel did not see him, so quietly had he entered. He went on +with his prayer that “sinners might be turned from their way, and saints +confirmed in their most holy faith.”</p> + +<p>But when he had opened his eyes, and beheld the white head and reverend +countenance of Doctor Gillespie the human soul within him trembled a +little. Nevertheless, commanding himself, he descended the narrow aisle +till he came to where the minister was seated. Then with head humbly +bent and a voice that shook, he begged that “the Doctor might to-day +open up the Word of Life to them.” Which accordingly, with the simplest +directness, the Doctor did, using as his pulpit the middle section of a +longboat, which had been sawn across and floored for Israel. The Doctor +told the story of Peter walking on the waters, and of the hand stretched +out to save. And this the Doctor, as Israel said afterwards, “fastened +into them with nails.”</p> + +<p>“Some of you will believe anything except the Gospel,” was one of these. +Yet all he said was the simplest evangel. The Doctor was a Justice of +the Peace, but this time he spoke of another peace—that of believing. +He had an audience of smugglers, but he never mentioned Cæsar. He only +advised them to “Render unto God the things that are God’s.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_327" id="pg_327">327</a></span>And when he finished, after the last solemn words of exhortation, he +added very quietly, “I will again preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ in +the Parish Kirk, next Sabbath at noonday.”</p> + +<p>And so when the Sabbath came and in the Tabernacle those of Israel’s +sowing and gleaning were gathered together, the old Ranter addressed +them thus: “All hands on deck to worship with the Doctor! He hath kept +his watch with us—let us do the like by him!”</p> + +<p>And so the astonishing thing was seen. The great Spence gallery of Eden +Valley Parish Kirk was filled with such a mixed assembly as had never +been seen there before. Smugglers, privateersmen, the sweepings of +ports, home and foreign, some who had blood on their hands—though with +the distinction that it had been shed in encounters with excisemen. But +the blessing had come upon some of them—others a new spirit had +touched, lighted at the fire of an almost apostolic enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>It was the proudest moment in Israel Kinmont’s life when he heard the +Doctor, in all the panoply of his gown and bands, hold up his hands and +ask for a blessing upon “the new shoot of Thy Vine, planted by an aged +servant of Thine in this parish. Make it strong for Thyself, that the +hills may be covered with the shadow of it, and that, like the goodly +cedar, many homeless and wayfaring men under it may rest and find +shelter.”</p> + +<p>And in the Spence gallery these sea- and wayfaring men nudged each +other, not perhaps finding the meaning so clear as they did at the +Tabernacle, but convinced, nevertheless, that “He means us—and our old +Israel!”</p> + +<p>And so in faith, if not wholly in understanding, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_328" id="pg_328">328</a></span>they listened to the +sermon in which the Doctor, all unprepared for such an invasion, +inculcated with much learning the doctrine of submission to the civil +magistrate with the leading cases of Saint Paul and Saint Augustine +illustrated by copious quotations from the original.</p> + +<p>They sat with fixed attention, never flinching even when the Doctor, +doing his duty, as he said, both as a magistrate and as a Christian man, +gave the Free Traders many a word to make their ears sing. They were in +his place, and every man had the right to speak as he chose in his own +house. But when Israel led them back to the old Tabernacle, with its +pleasant smell of tar obscuring the more ancient bilge, and had told +them that they were all “a lot of hell-deserving sinners who, if they +missed eternal damnation, it would be with their rags badly singed,” +they sighed a blissful sigh and felt themselves once more at home, +sitting under a man who understood them and their needs.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, when Israel gave out the closing hymn it was one which, as +he explained, “prays for the Church of God visible upon the earth, as +well in the Parish Kirk as in their own little Tabernacle.” “Now then, +men,” he concluded, “let us have it with a will. Put all that you have +got between your beards and your shoulder-blades into it. If I see a man +hanging in stays, he shall sing it by himself!”</p> + +<p>So the Ranters sang till the sound went from the little dissenting +Bethel on the shore up to the stately Kirk of the parish cinctured with +its double acre of ancient grave-stones—</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em;">“I love Thy Kingdom, Lord,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The house of Thine abode:</span><br /> +The Church our blest Redeemer saved<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With His own precious blood.</span></p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em;">For her my tears shall fall,<br /><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_329" id="pg_329">329</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For her my prayers ascend:</span><br /> +To her my cares and toils be given<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till toils and cares shall end!“</span></p> + +<p>“<i>And</i> three cheers for the Doctor!” shouted swearing Imrie, who had +been worked up by the events of the day to such a pitch of excitement +that only the sound of his own thunderous voice had power to calm him.</p> + +<p>And douce Cameronians coming over Eden Valley hill stood still and +wondered at the profanation of the holy day, not knowing. Even sober +pillars of the Kirk Erastian going homeward smiled and shook their heads +pityingly.</p> + +<p>“It was doubtless a good thing,” said my father to a fellow elder, a +certain McMinn of the Croft, “to see so many of the wild and regardless +at the Kirk, but I’m sore mistaken if there’s not some of the old Adam +left in the best of them yet, to judge by the noise they are making down +yonder.”</p> + +<p>“Except Israel himsel’!” said McMinn of the Croft, “man, dominie, since +he converted Jock, my ploughman, he hasna been drunk yince, and I get +twice the work oot o’ the craitur for the same wage.”</p> + +<p>Which, being the proof of the pudding, settled the question.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="IN_THE_WOOD_PARLOUR_10675" id="IN_THE_WOOD_PARLOUR_10675"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_330" id="pg_330">330</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XLI</h2> +<h3>IN THE WOOD PARLOUR</h3> +</div> + +<p>On the 19th of October the sky overhead was clear as sapphire, but all +round the circle of the horizon the mists of autumn blurred the +landscape. The hills stood no more in their places. Gone were the Kips, +with their waving lines. Of the Cruives, with the heather thick and +purple upon them, not a trace. Gone the graceful swirl of the Cooran +Hill, which curls over like a wave just feathering to break.</p> + +<p>To Irma it had been a heavy and a sorrowful day. She had actually wept, +and even gone on her knees to her brother to beg him tell her what +strange thing had come between them. He would only answer, “You have +chosen your path without consulting me. Now I choose mine.”</p> + +<p>She charged him with listening to one who had always been an enemy of +all who had been good to him ever since he was a little child—of +setting himself against those on whose bounty they had lived.</p> + +<p>He replied, “If I have lived on their bounty, they know very well that +they will not lose by it.”</p> + +<p>She mentioned Lalor Maitland’s name, and told him the history of the +early attacks on the house of Marnhoul. Louis answered, “He has +explained all that. It was done to save me from these people who were +already besetting me, in order to rob me.”</p> + +<p>When she mentioned all that I had done for him, he put on an air of +frigid detachment.</p> + +<p>“You are right, no doubt, to stand up for your <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_331" id="pg_331">331</a></span>husband,” he said; “but, +then, I have not the same reasons. I can judge for myself.”</p> + +<p>Then she went on to show that there was no motive for the Lyons of +Heathknowes showing them any interested kindness. As for me, she had +only brought me herself and her love—no money, nor would she ever have +any money—I had married her for herself.</p> + +<p>“So would Lalor Maitland,” he retorted, “and he is a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>After this Irma discussed no more. She felt it to be useless. Naturally, +also, she was hurt to the heart that Louis, once her own little Louis, +should compare her husband to Lalor Maitland. Well, for that I do not +blame her.</p> + +<p>All day long Louis stayed in the Wood Parlour with his books. I was busy +with an important article on the “Moors in Spain,” suggested by my +recent researches into the history of the irrigation of fields and +gardens in the south of Europe.</p> + +<p>Louis came down to dinner at twelve, or a few minutes after. He seemed +somewhat more cheerful than was usual with him, and actually spoke a +little to me, asking me lend him my grandfather’s shotgun, to put it in +order for him, and that powder and ball might be placed in his chamber. +He had seen game-birds feeding quite close, and thought that by opening +the window he might manage to shoot some of them.</p> + +<p>I did as he asked me before going back to my work. Irma smiled at me, +being well pleased. For it seemed to her that Louis’s ill-temper was +wearing away. Now my grandmother and Aunt Jen were inveterate +tea-lovers, which was then not so common a drink in the country as it is +now. Irma sometimes took a cup with them for company, and, because it +also refreshed <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_332" id="pg_332">332</a></span>me in my labours, I also joined them. But with me it was +done chiefly for the sake of the pleasant talk, being mostly my +grandmother’s reminiscences, and sometimes for a sight of my mother, who +would run across of a sunny afternoon for a look at baby.</p> + +<p>That day we sat and talked rather longer than usual. A certain strain +seemed to have departed from the house. I think all of us believed that +the humour of Louis, execrable as it had been, was the effect of the +insinuations of a wicked man, and that after a time he would be restored +to us again the simple, pleasant-faced boy he had been in former years.</p> + +<p>He did not come down to tea, but then he seldom did so. Indeed, none of +the men-folk except myself had taken to the habit, and I (as I say) +chiefly for the sake of the talk, which sharpened my wits and refreshed +my working vocabulary. But as I passed back to my writing-den I could +hear my brother-in-law moving restlessly about his room, and talking to +himself, which was a recently-acquired habit of his. However, I took +this as a good sign. Anything in the way of occupation was better than +his former chill indifference to all that went forward about +Heathknowes.</p> + +<p>It was, as it chanced, a busy day at the pirn-mill. The labours of the +farm being fairly over for the year, the mill had been shut down for +hasty repairs, which Alec McQuhirr had come down from Ironmacannie to +superintend. He was, so they said, the best mill-wright in the +half-dozen counties of the south and west. He had, however, the one +fault common to all his tribe, that of dilatoriness. So my grandfather, +who had his “pirn” contracts to be shipped for England on certain days, +used to call his sons about him, and devote himself and all of them to +the service of <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_333" id="pg_333">333</a></span>repairing. Boyd Connoway, also, usually gave us the +benefit of his universal genius for advice, and, when he chose, for +handiness also.</p> + +<p>After tea some provisions had been carried to the mill by my mother on +her way home. “One of the boys”—meaning my uncles—was to bring back +the basket.</p> + +<p>That night, also, supper was somewhat later than usual. Up in the mill +men were still crawling about along the machinery with carefully +protected lanterns. Buckets of water stood handy. For a pirn-mill is no +place in which to play with fire. The sound of male voices and the thud +of wooden mallets did not cease till long after dark. Supper was, +therefore, later than usual, and the moon had risen before the sound of +their footsteps was heard coming down among the tree-roots in the +clearing which they themselves had made. The kitchen, which was also the +living-room of Heathknowes, glowed bright, and the supper-table was +a-laying. Aunt Jen bustled about. I had laid aside my writing, satisfied +with a goodly tale of sheets to my credit. My grandmother was in the +milk-house, but every now and then made darts out to the fire on which +the precious “het supper” was cooking—roast fowl, bacon, and +potatoes—traditional on occasions when the men had been “working late +at the mill and had brought home company.”</p> + +<p>It was a bright and cheerful sight. The high dresser, the kitchen pride +of Galloway, was in a state of absolute perfection. Aunt Jen despised +men, but she had a way of reproving their congenital untidiness by the +shine of her plates and the mirror-like polish of her candlesticks. She +had spent a couple of hours over the dresser that afternoon, answering +all the taunts of her mother as to her occupation, “It’s true, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_334" id="pg_334">334</a></span>mither, +<i>they</i> will never ken the difference; but, then, I will!”</p> + +<p>“Go up, Irma, and tell your brother that we are waiting,” said my +grandmother. But as Irma was busy with Duncan the Second, I offered +myself instead. I remember still the long corridor, and I wondered at +the moment why no ray of light penetrated through the keyhole of Sir +Louis’s door. He must be sitting in the dark, and I smiled to myself as +I thought how I had been wasting a couple of my grandmother’s best +candles for an hour. The explanation was that Louis, in fear of being +spied upon, had carefully plugged up the keyhole and every crack of the +door. But this I only knew later.</p> + +<p>I stood a moment in the passage, keeping very still. I could hear his +voice. He seemed in some way indignant. But the sound was dulled by the +thickness of the walls and the care with which the chinks of the door +had been “made up.” Then I also heard—what sent the blood chill to my +heart—another voice, shorter, harsher, older. For a moment I was struck +dumb, and then—I laughed at myself. Of course the lad was simply +stage-struck. For some time he had been reading and declaiming Hamlet, +Julius Cæsar, and anything he could lay his hands upon, as well as +scraps of the Greek tragedies he had learnt at school.</p> + +<p>But as I leaned nearer, there pierced sharp as a pang to my heart the +certainty that the other voice which I heard was not that of any of the +characters of <i>Julius Cæsar</i>. A trembling horror of what I had once seen +in that very room, and a memory of the great hearty Richard Poole +entering there in all his amplitude of vivid life, quickly arrested me.</p> + +<p>I rapped and called vehemently, trying the latch and feeling that the +door resisted. I could hear a <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_335" id="pg_335">335</a></span>trampling beneath me. Men were on the way +to my assistance. At the door I sprang. The bolts were as old as the +door, and the nails of the lintel fastening only knocked in after its +former rough handling.</p> + +<p>I got one waft of light as the door opened, half from the candle on the +table, half from the moonlight falling dim without. I saw something that +crouched—manlike indeed, but with bearded face and head held between +its shoulders—leap from the window into the darkness. I did not see +Louis clearly. His head was lying on the table, and immediately all the +circumstances of the former drama came back to me. But this time I +wasted no time. Something glittered on the table, hilt towards me—knife +or sword, I hardly knew which. I only knew that with it in my hand I was +armed. I sprang through the window and gave chase.</p> + +<p>Then very loud in my ears I heard the crack of a pistol, but felt no +wound. I now think it had not even been fired at me. I pursued with the +energy of a young stag. My mornings on the hills with Eben looking for +the sheep now stood me in good stead—that is, good or bad according as +to whether the man in front of me had another loaded pistol ready or +not.</p> + +<p>Behind me, but alas, too far to be any help, I could hear the shouting +of men. Heathknowes was alarmed. Then came the pounding of feet, but I +knew that none of them could run with me, while the thing or man in +front proved fresher, and, as I feared at first, fleeter.</p> + +<p>But, after all, I was young, and though I panted, and had a burning pain +in my side, I held to it till I began to get my second wind. Then I made +sure that, barring accidents, I could run him down. What should happen +then I did not know. I had a vision, only for a moment but yet very +clear and distinct, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_336" id="pg_336">336</a></span>of Irma in the black gown of a young widow. But +even this did not make me slacken in my stride.</p> + +<p>Somehow the shine of the steel in my hand gave me courage, as also the +crying of the men behind, albeit they did not seem to gain but rather to +lose ground. Thirty yards ahead I could see my man running, his head +very low, his arms close to his sides, a slender figure with a certain +look of deformity. A long beard of some indeterminate colour like hay +was blown back over one shoulder. Ever and anon he glanced round as he +ran to measure my progress.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the root of a tree tripped him and he went headlong. But he was +agile too, for before I could be upon him, he was up again, and with +something that shone like a long thin dagger in his hand, he threw +himself upon me as if to take me by surprise. Now, it is very difficult +when running hard to put oneself at once into a proper position of +defence. And so, as it happened, I was nearly done. But I had been +carrying the sword in my hand almost at arm’s length. I was conscious of +no shock. Only all suddenly my assailant doubled and lay writhing, his +dagger still shining in his hand.</p> + +<p>I stopped and kept wide circling about him, fearing a trick. The moon +was shining full on the open clearing of the glade where he had fallen. +It was the little lawyer—he who had called himself Wringham Pollixfen +Poole. Yet somehow he was different. His beard had grown to be of a +curious foreign fashion and colour—but that perhaps might be the effect +of the moonlight.</p> + +<p>He never took his eyes off the shining steel in my hand.</p> + +<p>“It is poisoned,” he groaned, his hand clapped to his breast, “I am a +dead man—poisoned, poisoned!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_337" id="pg_337">337</a></span>And looking more carefully at what I had simply snatched in haste, I +saw that I had in my hand the golden-hilted sword of honour which Lalor +Maitland had given to the boy Louis to seal their friendship.</p> + +<p>But immediately a greater wonder oppressed me, and rendered speechless +those who now came panting up—my uncles and Boyd Connoway. The +hay-coloured beard and disguises came away, snatched off in the man’s +death-agony. The shiny brown coat opened to show a spotless ruffled +shirt beneath. The wounded man never ceased to exclaim, “It is poisoned! +It is poisoned! I am a dead man!” The wig fell off, and as life gave +place to the stillness of death, out of the lined and twisted lineaments +of the half-deformed lawyer Poole emerged the pale, calm, clear-cut +features of Lalor Maitland.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="THE_PLACE_OF_DREAMS_10911" id="THE_PLACE_OF_DREAMS_10911"></a> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_338" id="pg_338">338</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XLII</h2> +<h3>THE PLACE OF DREAMS</h3> +</div> + +<p>The key of the mystery was brought us by one who seemed the most +unlikely person in the world, Boyd Connoway.</p> + +<p>“And her to come of decent folk down there by Killibegs,” he exclaimed +in opening the matter; “no rapparees out of Connemara—but O’Neil’s +blood to a man, both Bridget and all her kindred before her!”</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter now?” said the Fiscal, who with much secret +satisfaction had come to have that made plain which had troubled him so +sorely before. So Boyd and Jerry brought Bridget Connoway in to the +outhouse where the dead man lay.</p> + +<p>“Tis all my fault—my fault,” wailed Bridget, “yet ’twas because him +that’s me husband gave me no help with the arning of money to bring up +the childer. So I was tempted and took in this man after the Black +Smugglers had tried to burn the great house of Marnhoul.</p> + +<p>“Well might I think so, indeed, your honours. For wounded the man was +right sore, and I nursed him for the sake of the goold he gave me. +Lashin’s of goold, and the like had never been seen in our house since +before Boyd Connoway there, that now has the face to call himself a +convarted man, was the head of it.”</p> + +<p>“What did this man call himself?” the Fiscal demanded.</p> + +<p>“Sure, he called himself Wringham Pollixfen Poole, my lord, and it was +not for me to be disbelievin’ him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_339" id="pg_339">339</a></span>“And after, when he was under strong suspicion of having wilfully made +away with Mr. Richard Poole of Dumfries, why did you say nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Now, your honour,” exclaimed Bridget, holding up her hands, “wad I be +telling aught like that to bring worse and worse on the head of any man +in trouble? If it had been yourself, now, how wad you have liked that, +your honour?”</p> + +<p>“Leave me alone, Bridget. Answer what you are asked,” said the Fiscal; +“when did you find out that this man was not what he pretended to be?”</p> + +<p>“Is it the name he gave you mean, sorr?” said Bridget.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Fiscal, watching her.</p> + +<p>“Faith, then, just when he towld it me!” was the unexpected answer. And +then, moving a little nearer, she added confidentially in the Fiscal’s +ear, “Would you have believed yourself, my lord, that a Black Smuggler, +newly off the <i>Golden Hind</i>, and a shipmate of old Dick Wilkes, that +died under the Wicked Flag, would be likely to give his true name and +address?”</p> + +<p>“Then, by your story, you never knew that the deceased was in truth Mr. +Lalor Maitland, a member of his Majesty’s present loyal parliament?”</p> + +<p>“Faith, as to that, no,” said Bridget, “and it’s the saints’ own pity, +for if I had known that in time—it’s independent I would have been. No +more wash-tubs for Bridget Connoway!”</p> + +<p>“For shame on you, Bridget, you that are an O’Neil, and the wife of a +Connoway!” cried Boyd indignantly.</p> + +<p>“And the less you say of that, the better will the butter lie on your +bread!” said Bridget, advancing a step towards him threateningly. “Your +lordship, hearken to me—not an honest day’s work has that <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_340" id="pg_340">340</a></span>man done +from January to December—nay, nor dishonest either, for the matter o’ +that! ’Tis ashamed of himself he ought to be.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said the Fiscal, “it is a very good thing for you, Mrs. +Connoway, that young Sir Louis is likely to recover after the knock on +the head he got from your friend. But the wonder to me is that you did +not speak more plainly when there was a former fatal assault in the same +place.”</p> + +<p>“Now, I put it to ye, sorr, what was a poor woman like me to know about +the affairs of the great, my lord?” said Bridget. “Now, in my country, +two gentlemen sit late at the wine, and maybe there’s a little +difference of opinion, the cartes, or politics, or a lady—or maybe just +a differ for the sake of a differ. And wan gives t’other a skelp on the +side of the head, and if the man’s skull’s sound, where’s the harm? ’Tis +done every day in Donegal and nobody a bit the worse! For it’s O’Neil’s +country, my lord, and the skulls there are made thicker on purpose—such +being the intintion of a merciful providence that created nothing in +vain.”</p> + +<p>“And can you give us no light on why Mr. Lalor Maitland wished harm to +Mr. Richard Poole?”</p> + +<p>Bridget shook her head slowly.</p> + +<p>“Doubtless,” she said, “’twas something about property and a lass. For +if money’s the root of all evil, as the Book says, sure and +t’other—(that’s the woman) is the trunk and branches, the flowers, and +the fruit!”</p> + +<p>The mystery of the death of Mr. Richard Poole was never wholly cleared +up. If anything was found among the private correspondence of the late +member of the firm of Smart, Poole and Smart, certainly the firm did not +allow it to transpire. It is practically <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_341" id="pg_341">341</a></span>certain that Bridget told all +she knew. But, poring over the mystery afterwards, and putting all +things carefully together, I became convinced that, under the name of +Wringham Pollixfen Poole, Mr. Richard had mixed himself up in some +highly treasonable business, which put his life within the power of the +informer and traitor Lalor.</p> + +<p>Consequently when the latter, an expert in disguises, found it necessary +to take refuge with Bridget Connoway after the failure of the attack on +Marnhoul, he could not have chosen a safer name or disguise.</p> + +<p>Mr. Richard, he knew, could not betray him. If any trouble befell he +would come at once and see him. So, in fact, when Richard Poole arrived, +he demanded that, by the influence of his firm, the children should be +at once returned to his tutelage. That Lalor dreamed of marrying Irma is +evident, and what he meant to do with little Louis is equally clear—for +his death would leave him heir to the properties.</p> + +<p>But Richard proved unexpectedly stubborn. He refused flatly to have +anything to do with Lalor’s schemes—whereupon the wild beast in the man +broke loose. He struck and escaped. But it was a sudden fit of anger, +probably repented of as soon as done, because it rendered unsafe a +useful disguise.</p> + +<p>In the case of Sir Louis the plot was deeper laid. From the boy’s +borrowing of the gun, I believe that Louis had made up his mind to +escape with his so-called uncle. But some condition or chance word of +Lalor’s had caused a shadow of suspicion to arise in Louis’s mind. He +had drawn back at the last moment. Whereupon, exasperated by failure, +and possibly shaken by hearing me thundering at the door, Lalor had +smitten, just as he had done in the case of Mr. Richard. Happily, +however, with less result. The <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_342" id="pg_342">342</a></span>necessary weapon was not to his hand. +The poisoned sword, with which he no doubt expected the boy to play till +he pricked himself, was lying with the handle turned away from him.</p> + +<p>At any rate he missed his stroke. But it was only by a hair’s breadth, +and had it not been for his own sword and my fleetness of foot, the +false Wringham Pollixfen might for the second time have vanished as +completely as before, while if Louis had died, no one would have +suspected as his murderer a man so important as his Excellency Lalor +Maitland, Member of Parliament for the county, and presently carrying +out the commission of the lieges within the precincts of the city of +Westminster.</p> + +<p>As to Sir Louis, it was many months before we could obtain any account +of his experiences from him, and even then he shrank from all reference +to that night in the Wood Parlour. Indeed, he grew up to be a silent, +rather moody young man, and as soon as he could obtain permission from +the lawyers he went abroad, where at the University of Heidelberg he +settled himself with his books and fencing foils. All this happened ten +years ago, yet he manifested not the least desire to come home. His +affairs are safe in the hands of the Dumfries lawyers, while my +grandfather, not to all appearance aged by a day, cares on the spot for +his more immediate concerns. Sir Louis has, however, made Duncan the +Second laird of the farm and lands of Heathknowes, on the condition that +during the tenancy of my grandfather and grandmother they are to sit +rent free. Irma and I are still in the house above the meadows, and +Duncan has just begun to attend Dr. Carson at the High School. We have +been able to buy the Little White House, and have made many +improvements, including a couple <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_343" id="pg_343">343</a></span>of servants’ bedrooms. But we were +just as happy when I rose to make the fire in the morning, and Mrs. +Pathrick came over early on washing days to “get them clothes out on the +line at a respectable hour!”</p> + +<p>My father still teaches his Ovid, and looks to Freddy Esquillant to +succeed him. He is now first assistant and has taken a house for Agnes +Anne. In a year or two they expect to begin thinking about getting +married. But really there is no hurry. They have only been engaged +twelve years, and an immediate purpose of marriage would be considered +quite indecent haste in Eden Valley. And Aunt Jen ... is still Aunt Jen. +No man, she says, has ever proved himself worthy of her, but I myself +think that, if there is no infringement of the table of consanguinity on +the first page of the Bible after “James, by the Grace of God, King of +Great Britain, France, and Ireland,” she has an eye on Duncan the +Second, when he shall shed the trappings of the school-boy and endue +himself with the virility of knee-breeches, cocked hat, and a coat with +adult tails.</p> + +<p>At least she certainly shows more partiality to him than to any one, and +wonders incessantly how he managed to pick up so unworthy and +harum-scarum a father.</p> + +<p>For the rest, Heathknowes stands where it did, excepting always the Wood +Parlour, which <i>my</i> grandfather had pulled down. And where it stood the +full-rounded corn-stacks almost lean against the blind wall, so that the +maids will not pass that way unattended—for fear of Wringham Pollixfen, +or poor hot-blooded, turbulent Richard, his victim, or perhaps more +exactly the victim of his own unstable will.</p> + +<p>And as for Irma, years have not aged her. She has the invincible gift of +youth, of lightsome, winsome, <span class="pagenum"><a name="pg_344" id="pg_344">344</a></span>buoyant youth. She still has that way of +poising herself for flight, like a tit on a thistle, or a plume of +dandelion-down, ready to break off and float away on any wind, which I +tell her is not respectable in a married woman of her age and standing. +But my Lord Advocate does not agree with me. He rests from his +labours—not in the grave, thank goodness, but in his house on the +bright slopes of Corstorphine.</p> + +<p>Also the Dean sings an “Amen” to his praises of Irma, but neither of the +Kirkpatricks has ever deigned to cross our doorstep.</p> + +<p>“They were glad to be rid of you!” I tell Irma.</p> + +<p>“Dear place!” she answers. And she does not mean either the house at +Sciennes or the Kirkpatrick mansion near the Water of Leith. She is +thinking of that once open space by the Greyfriars where, to the +accompaniment of keen chisel-stroke and dull mallet-thud, once on a day +she came to me, more dream-like than my dream, and said, “<i>I have found +it, the Little White House!</i>”</p> + +<p style="margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:3em; text-align:center;">THE END</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class="c s"><i>Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.</i></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<table summary="" style="font-size: smaller; border: 1px solid black; padding:0.5em"> +<tr><td colspan="2" style="text-align:center;"> +<i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i> +</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><hr style="width:25%" /></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">ROSE OF THE WILDERNESS</td><td align="right">6/-</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">PRINCESS PENNILESS</td><td align="right">6/-</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">DEEP MOAT GRANGE</td><td align="right">6d.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE CHERRY RIBBAND</td><td align="right">net 1/-</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">LAD’S LOVE</td><td align="right">6d.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="c s">Transcriber’s Note: block relocated from front matter.</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Dew of Their Youth, by S. 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