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diff --git a/23766.txt b/23766.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2e53ba7 --- /dev/null +++ b/23766.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12227 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Out in the Forty-Five, by Emily Sarah Holt + +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: Out in the Forty-Five + Duncan Keith's Vow + +Author: Emily Sarah Holt + +Release Date: December 7, 2007 [EBook #23766] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT IN THE FORTY-FIVE *** + + + + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + + + + +Out in the Forty-Five, or Duncan Keith's Vow, by Emily Sarah Holt. + +________________________________________________________________________ +This book is written in the style of a diary written by the youngest of +four sisters. She is a very sensitive young girl, and her observations +are very acute. Most of them are of a religious nature, and the +description of the work of a preacher called Whitefield is very well +worth reading. I felt quite emotional while reading it. + +As you may gather from the title the book is set in the time of 1745, at +the time the Bonny Prince Charlie landed in an attempt to claim his +title to the throne, currently held by the Elector of Hanover, who was +not very popular among the people we meet in this book, most of whom +would be called Jacobites. It is interesting to see that Jacobite +families like this one were more or less left alone, except when they +actually took up arms. + +The book takes about 10 hours to read aloud. Some of the speech is in +broad lowland Scots, but you will probably have little difficulty in +understanding it. + +You will probably come away from reading this book resolved upon an +amendment of life. If so then the book has done its work. This is the +first book by this author that we have come across (lent to us for the +occasion) and I am sure we shall add a few more by her in due course. + +________________________________________________________________________ +OUT IN THE FORTY-FIVE, OR DUNCAN KEITH'S VOW, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT. + + + +CHAPTER ONE. + +WE ALIGHT AT BROCKLEBANK FELLS. + + "Sure, there is room within our hearts good store; + For we can lodge transgressions by the score: + Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door + We leave Thee." + + GEORGE HERBERT. + +"Girls!" said my Aunt Kezia, looking round at us, "I should just like to +know what is to come of the whole four of you!" + +My Aunt Kezia has an awful way of looking round at us. She begins with +Sophy--she is our eldest--then she goes to Fanny, then to Hatty, and +ends up with me. As I am the youngest, I have to be ended up with. She +generally lays down her work to do it, too; and sometimes she settles +her spectacles first, and that makes it feel more awful than ever. +However, when she has gone round, she always takes them off--spectacles, +I mean--and wipes them, and gives little solemn shakes of her head while +she is doing it, as if she thought we were all four going to ruin +together, and had got very near the bottom. + +This afternoon, when she said that, instead of sitting quiet, as we +generally do, Hatty--she is the pert one amongst us--actually spoke up. + +"I should think we shall be married, Aunt Kezia, one of these days-- +shan't we?" + +"My dear, if you are," was my Aunt Kezia's reply, more solemn than ever, +"the only wedding present that I shall be conscientiously able to give +to those four misguided men will be a rope a-piece to hang themselves +with." + +"Oh dear! I do wish she would not!" said Fanny in a plaintive whisper +behind me. + +"Considering who brought us up, Aunt Kezia," replied impertinent Hatty, +"I should have thought they would have had better bargains than that." + +"Hester, you forget yourself," said my aunt severely. Then, though she +had only just finished wiping her spectacles, she took them off, and +wiped them again, with more little shakes of her head. "And I did not +bring you all up, neither." + +My cheeks grew hot, for I knew that meant me. My Aunt Kezia did not +bring me up, as she did the rest. I was thought sickly in my youth, and +as Brocklebank Fells is but a bleak place, I was packed off to Carlisle, +where Grandmamma lived, and there I have been with her until six weeks +back, when she went to live with Uncle Charles down in the South, and I +came home to Brocklebank, being thought to have now outgrown my +sickliness. My Aunt Kezia is Father's sister, and has kept house for +him since Mamma died, so of course she is no kin to Grandmamma at all. +I know it sounds queer to say "Father and Mamma," instead of "Father and +Mother," but I cannot help it. Grandmamma would never let me say +"Mother;" she said it was old-fashioned and vulgar: and now, when I come +back, Father will not hear of my calling him "Papa," which he says is +new-fangled finnicking nonsense. I did not get used, either, to saying +"Papa," as I did "Mamma," for Grandmamma never seemed to care to hear +about him; I don't believe she liked him. She never seemed to want to +hear about anything at Brocklebank. I don't think she ever took even to +the girls, except Fanny. They all came to see me in turns, but +Grandmamma said Sophy was only fit to be a country parson's wife; she +knew nothing except things about the house and sewing and mending: she +said fine breeding would be thrown away upon her. She might do very +well, Grandmamma said, with her snuff-box elegantly held in her left +hand, and taking a pinch out of it with the mittened fingers of her +right--that is, Grandmamma, not Sophy--she said Sophy might do very well +for a country squire's eldest daughter and some parson's wife, to cut +out clothes and roll pills and make dumplings, but that was all she was +good for. Then Hatty's pert speeches she could not bear one bit. +Grandmamma said it was perfectly dreadful, and that her great glazed red +cheeks--that is what she called them--were insufferably vulgar; she +wouldn't like anybody to hear that such a creature was her +grand-daughter. She wanted Hatty to take a lot of castor oil or some +such horrid stuff, to bring down her red cheeks and make her slender and +ladylike; she was ever so much too fat, Grandmamma said, and she thought +it so vulgar to be fat. She wanted to pinch her in with stays, too, but +it was all of no use. Hatty would not be pinched, and she would not +take castor oil, and she would eat and drink--like a plough-boy, +Grandmamma said--so at last she gave her up as a bad job. Then Fanny +came, and she is more like Grandmamma in her ways, and she did not mind +the castor oil, but swallowed bottles of it; and she did not mind the +stays, but let Grandmamma pinch her anyhow she pleased, so I think she +rather liked Fanny. I was pale and thin enough without castor oil, so +she did not give me any, for which I am thankful, for I could not have +swallowed it as meekly as Fanny. + +It looked very queer to me, after Grandmamma's houseful of servants, to +come home and find only four at Brocklebank, and but three of those in +the house, and my Aunt Kezia doing half the work herself, and expecting +us girls to help her. Grandmamma would hardly let me pick up my +kerchief, if I dropped it; I had to call Willet, her woman, to give it +to me. And here, my Aunt Kezia looks as if she thought I ought to want +no telling how to dust a table or make an apple pie. She has only +cook-maid and chambermaid,--Maria and Bessy, their names are,--and Sam +the serving-man. There is the old shepherd, Will, but he only comes +into the house by nows and thens. Grandmamma had a black man who waited +on us. She said it gave the place an air, and that there were +gentlewomen in Carlisle who would scarce have come to see her if she had +not had a black man to look genteel. I don't fancy I should care much +for people who would not come to see me unless I had a black servant. I +should think they came to visit him, not me. But Grandmamma said that +my old Lady Mary Garsington, in the Close, never came to see anybody who +had less than a thousand a year, and did not keep a black. She was the +grandest person Grandmamma knew at Carlisle, for most of her friends +live in the South. + +I do not know exactly where the South is, nor what it is like. Of +course London is in the South; I know that. But Grandmamma used to talk +about the South as if she thought it so fine; and my Uncle Charles once +said nobody could be a gentleman who had not lived in the South. They +were all clodhoppers up here, he said, and you could only get any proper +polish in the South. Fanny was there then, and she was quite hurt with +it. She did not like to think Father a clodhopper; and I am sure he is +not. Besides, our ancestors did come from the South. Our grandfather, +William Courtenay, who bought the land and built Brocklebank, belonged +[Note 1.] Wiltshire, and his father was a Devonshire man, and a +Courtenay of Powderham, whatever that may mean: Father knows more about +it than I do, and so, I think, does Fanny. Grandmamma once told me she +would never have thought of allowing Mamma to marry Father, if he had +not been a Courtenay and a man of substance. She said all his other +relations were so very mean and low, she could not have condescended so +far as to connect herself with them. Why, I believe one of them was +only a farmer's daughter: and I think, from what I have heard Grandmamma +and my Uncle Charles say, that another of them had something to do with +those low people called Dissenters. I don't suppose she really was +one--that would be too shocking; but Grandmamma always went into the +clouds when she mentioned these vulgar ancestors of mine, so I never +heard more than "that poor wretched mother of your grandfather's, my +dear," or "that dreadful farming creature whom your grandfather +married." I once asked my Aunt Dorothea--that is, Uncle Charles's +wife--if this wretched great-grandmother of mine had been a very bad +woman. But she said, "Oh no, not _bad_"--and I think she might have +told me something more, but my Uncle Charles put in, in that commanding +way he has, "Could not have been worse, my dear Dorothea--connected with +those Dissenters,"--so I got to know no more, and I was sorry. + +Father once had two more sisters, who were both married, one in +Derbyshire, and one in Scotland. They both left children, so we have +two lots of cousins on Father's side. Our cousins in Derbyshire are +both girls; their names are Charlotte and Amelia Bracewell: and there +are two of our Scotch cousins, but they are a boy and a girl, and they +have queer Scotch names, Angus and Flora Drummond. At least, they were +boy and girl, I suppose; for Angus Drummond must be over twenty now, and +Flora is not far off it. It is more than ten years since we saw the +Drummonds, but the Bracewells have been to visit us several times. +Amelia Bracewell is Fanny made hotter, or Fanny is Amelia and water-- +which you like. She makes me laugh, and my Aunt Kezia sniff. The other +day, my Aunt Kezia came into the room while we were talking about +Amelia, and she heard Fanny say,-- + +"She is so full of sympathy. She always comes and wants you to +sympathise with her. She just lives upon sympathy." + +"So full of sympathy!" said my Aunt Kezia, turning round on Fanny. "So +empty, child, you mean. What poor weak thing are you talking about?" + +"Cousin Amelia Bracewell," answered Fanny. "She is such a charming +creature. Don't you think so, Aunt Kezia? Such a dear sympathetic +darling!" + +"It is well you told me whom you meant, Fanny," said my Aunt Kezia, +pursing up her lips. "I should never have guessed you meant Amelia +Bracewell, from what you said. Well, how differently two people can see +the same thing, to be sure!" + +"Don't you like her, Aunt Kezia?" returned Fanny in an astonished tone. + +"If I am to speak the full truth, my dear," said my Aunt Kezia, "I am +afraid I come as near to despising her as a Christian woman and a +communicant has any business to do. I never had any fancy for birds of +prey." + +"Birds of prey!" exclaimed Fanny, blankly. + +"Birds of prey," repeated my aunt in a very different tone. "She is one +of those folks who are for ever drawing twopenny cheques upon your +feelings, and there are no funds in my bank to meet them. I can stand a +bucketful of feeling drawn out of me, but I hate to let it waste away in +a drop here and a driblet there about nothing at all. Now I will just +tell you, girls--I once went to see a woman who had lost fifteen hundred +a year, all at a blow, without a bit of warning. What she had to say +was--`The Lord has taken it, and He knows best. I can trust Him to care +for me.' Well, about a week afterwards, I had a visit from another +woman, who had let a pan boil over, and had spoilt a lot of jam. She +wanted me to say she was the most tried creature since Adam. And I +could not, girls--I really could not. I have not the slightest doubt +there have been a million women worse tried since the battle of Prague, +never mention Adam. As to Amelia Bracewell, who carries her fan as if +it were a sceptre, and slurs her r's like a Londoner, silly chit! I +have hardly any patience with her. Charlotte's bad enough, but Amelia! +My word, she takes some standing, I can tell you!" + +Now, I always admired the way Amelia sounds her r's, or, I suppose I +ought to say, the way she does not sound them. It is so soft and +pretty. Then she writes poetry,--all about the blue sea and the silver +moon, or else the gleaming sunbeams and the hoary hills--so grand! I +never read anything so beautiful as Amelia's poetry. She told me once +that a gentleman from London, who was fourth cousin to a peer of some +sort, had told her she wrote as well as Mr Pope. Only think! + +Charlotte is as different as she can be. Her notion of things is to go +down to the stable and saddle her own horse, and scamper all over the +country, all by herself. Father says she is a fine girl, but she will +break her neck some day. My Aunt Kezia says, Saint Paul told women to +be keepers at home, and she thinks that page must have dropped out of +Charlotte's Bible. She does some other things, too, that I do not fancy +she would care for my Aunt Kezia to hear. She calls her father "the old +gentleman," and sometimes "the old boy." I do not know what my Aunt +Kezia would say, if she did hear it. + +I wonder what Flora Drummond is like now. I used to think she had not +much in her. Perhaps it was only that she did not let it come out. +However, I shall have a chance of finding out soon; for she and Angus +are coming to stay with us, on his way to York, where his father is +sending him on some kind of business. I do not know what it is, and I +don't care. Business is always dry, uninteresting stuff. Flora will +stay with us while Angus goes on to York, and then he will pick her up +again as he comes back. I wish the Bracewells might be here at the same +time. I should like Flora and Amelia to know one another, and I do not +think they do at all. + +It is shocking dull here at Brocklebank. I dare say I feel it more than +my sisters, having lived in Carlisle all my life, so to speak: and as to +my Aunt Kezia, I do believe, if she had her garden, and orchard, and +kitchen, and dairy, and her work-box, and a Bible, and Prayer-book, and +The Compleat Gentlewoman, she would be satisfied to live at the North +Pole or anywhere. But I am perfectly delighted when anybody comes to +see us, if 'tis only Ephraim Hebblethwaite. He is the son of Farmer +Hebblethwaite, lower down the valley, and I believe he admires Fanny. +Fanny cannot bear him; she says he has such an ugly name. But I think +he is very pleasant, and I suppose he could change his name, though I +can't see why it signifies. Beside him, and Ambrose Catterall, and +Esther Langridge, we know no young people except our cousins. Father +being Squire of Brocklebank, we cannot mix with the common folks. + +Old Mr Digby is the Vicar, and I do not think he is far short of a +hundred years old. He is an old bachelor, and has nobody to keep his +house but our Sam's mother, a Scotchwoman--old Elspie they call her. He +does not often preach of late years--except on Good Friday and Easter +Sunday, and such high days. A pleasant old man he used to be, but he +grows forgetful now, for the last time we met him, he patted my head +just as if I were still a little child, and I shall be seventeen in +March. He has been Vicar over sixty years, and christened Father and +married my grand-parents. + +I do wish we had just a few more friends. It really is too bad, for we +might have known the family at Seven Stones, only two miles off, if they +had not been Whigs, and there are five sons and four daughters there. +Father would no more think of shaking hands with a Whig (if he knew it) +than he would eat roast beef on Good Friday. I should not care. Why +should one not have some fun, because old Mr Outhwaite is a Whig? + +I shall have to keep my book locked up if I tell it all I think, as I +have been doing now. I would not have Hatty get hold of it for all the +world. And as to my Aunt Kezia--I believe she would whip me and send me +to bed if she read only the last page. + +Here comes Ambrose Catterall up the walk, and I must go down, though I +do not expect there will be any fun. He will stay supper, I dare say, +and then he and Father will have a game of whist with Sophy and Fanny, +and I shall sit by with my sewing, and Hatty will knit and whisper into +my ear things that I want to laugh at and dare not. If I did, Father +would look up over his cards with a black brow and say "Silence!" in +such a tone that I shall wish I was somebody else. Who I don't know-- +only not Caroline Courtenay. + +Father does not like our names--at least mine and Sophy's. Mamma named +us, and he says we have both fine romantic silly names. Hatty was +called after his mother, and that he likes; and Fanny is after a sister +of Mamma's who died young. But Father never gives over growling because +one of us was not a boy. + +"Four girls!" he says: "four girls, and never a lad! Who on earth wants +four girls? I'll sell one or two of you cheap, if I can find him." + +But I don't think he would, if it came to the point. I know, for all +his queer speeches sometimes, he is proud of Fanny's good looks, and +Sophy's good housekeeping, and even Hatty's pert sayings. I know by the +way he chuckles now and then when she says anything particularly smart. +I don't know what he is proud of in me, unless it is my manners. Of +course, having lived in Carlisle with Grandmamma, I have the best +manners of any. And I speak the best, I know. Sophy talks shockingly +broad; she says, "Aw wanted him to coom, boot he would not." Fanny has +found that will not do, so she tries to imitate my Aunt Dorothea and +Amelia Bracewell, but she goes on the other side of her pattern, and +does not sound the u full where she ought to do it, but says, "The basin +is fell of shegar." Hatty laughs at them both, and lets her u go where +it likes, but she is not so bad as Sophy. + +I think I shall try and put the notion into my Aunt Kezia's head to have +the Bracewells here for Christmas. I know Angus and Flora will be here +then, and later. That would make a decent party, if we got Ephraim +Hebblethwaite, and Ambrose Catterall too. + +After all, I went on writing so late, that I only got down-stairs in +time to see Ambrose Catterall's back as he went down the drive. He +could not stay for some reason--I did not hear what. Father growled as +he heard him go off, singing, down the walk. + +"Where on earth did the fellow get hold of that piece of whiggery?" said +he. "Just listen to him!" + +I listened, and heard the refrain of the Whigs' favourite song,-- + + "Send him victorious, + Happy and glorious, + Long to reign over us--" + +"Disgusting stuff!" said Father, with some stronger words which I know +my Aunt Kezia would not let me put down if she were looking. "Where did +the fellow get hold of it? His father is a decent Tory enough. What is +he at now? Listen, girls." + +Ambrose's tune had changed to,-- + + "King George he was born in the month of October,-- + 'Tis a sin for a subject that month to be sober!" + +"I'll forbid him my house!" cries Father, starting up. "I'll send a +bullet through his head! I'll October him, and sober him too, if he has +not a care! Fan! Where's Fan? Go to the spinnet, girl, and sing me a +right good Tory song, to take the taste of that abominable stuff out of +my mouth." + +"Nay, Brother," saith my Aunt Kezia, who was pinning a piece of work on +the table, "surely a man may use respect to the powers that be, though +they be not the powers he might wish to be?" + +"`Powers that be!'" saith Father. "Powers that shouldn't be, you mean. +I'll tell you what, Kezia,--you may have been bred a Tory, but you were +born a Puritan. Whereon earth you got it--! As for that fellow, I'll +forbid him my house. `King George,' forsooth! Let me hear one of you +call the Elector of Hanover by that name, and I'll--I'll--. Come along, +Fan, and give me a Tory song." + +So Fanny sat down to the spinnet, and played the new song that all the +Tories are so fond of. How often she made Britain arise from out the +azure waves, I am sure I don't know, but she, and Father with her, sang +it so many times that all that day I had "Britons never shall be +slaves!" ringing in my ears till I heartily wished they would be slaves +and have done with it. + +At night, when we were going to bed, after Father had blessed us, Hatty +runs round to his back and whispers in his ear. + +"Don't send Ambrose Catterall away, there's a good Father!" says she: +"there will be two of us old maids as it is." + +Father laughed, and pinched Hatty's ear. So I saw my gentlewoman had +been thinking the same thing I had. But I don't think she ought to have +said it out. + +Stay, now! Why should it be worse to say things than to think them? Is +it as bad to think them as to say them? Oh dear! but if one were for +ever sifting one's thoughts in that way,--why, it would be just +dreadful! Not many people are careful about their words, but one's +thoughts! + +No, I don't think I could do it, really. I suppose my Aunt Kezia would +say I ought. I do so dislike my Aunt Kezia's oughts. She always thinks +you ought to do just what you do not want. If only people would say, +now and then, that you ought to eat plum-pudding, or you ought to dance, +or you ought to wear jewels! But no! it is always you ought to sew, or +you ought to carry some broken victuals to old Goody Branscombe, or you +ought to be as sweet as a rosebud when Hatty says things at you. + +Stop! would it be so if I always wanted to do the things I ought? I +suppose not. Then why don't I? + +But why ought I? There's another question. + +I wish we either wanted to do what we ought, or else that we ought to do +what we want! + +I was obliged to stop last night all at once, because I heard Hatty +coming up the garret stairs. I always write in the garret and keep my +book there, so that none of the girls shall get hold of it--Hatty +particularly. She would make such shocking game of it. I had only just +put my book away safely when in she came. + +"What on earth are you doing up here?" cried she. + +"What are you doing?" said I. + +"Looking for you," she says. + +"Then why should not I be looking for you?" said I. + +"Because you weren't, Miss Caroline Courtenay!" and she makes a swimming +courtesy. "Oh yes, you don't need to tell me you have a secret, my +young gentlewoman. I know as well as if I had seen it. O Pussy, have +you come too? Do you know what it is, Pussy? Does she come up here to +read her love-letters--does she? Oh, how charming! Wouldn't I like to +see them! How does she get them, Pussy? She has been rather fond of +going to see Elspie this past week or two; is that it, Pussy? Won't you +tell me, my pretty, pretty cat?" + +"Hatty, don't be so absurd!" cried I. + +"We know, don't we, Pussy?" says Hatty in a provoking whisper to the cat +in her arms. "I thought there would be somebody at Carlisle that she +would be sorry to leave--didn't you, Pussy-cat? What is he like, Pussy? +Tall and dark, I'll wager, with a pair of handsome mustachios, and the +most beautiful black eyes you ever saw! Won't that be about it, Pussy?" + +I could have thrown the cat at her. How could any mortal creature be +sweet, or keep quiet, talked to in that way? I flew out. + +"Hatty, you are the most vexatious tease that ever lived! Do, for +pity's sake, go down and let me alone. You know perfectly well it is +all stuff and nonsense!" + +"Oh, how angry she is, my pretty pussy!" says Hatty, hiding her laughing +face behind the cat. "It was all nonsense, you know; but really, when +she gets into such a tantrum, I begin to think I must have hit the +white. What do you say, Pussy?" + +I stamped on the garret floor. + +"Hatty, will you take that hideous cat down and be quiet?" cried I. + +"Dear, dear! To think of her calling you a hideous cat! Doesn't that +show how angry she is? People should not get angry--should they, Pussy? +She will box our ears next. I really think we had better go, my +darling tabby." + +So off went Hatty with the cat in her arms, but as she was going down +the stairs, she said, I am sure for me to hear,-- + +"We will come some other time, won't we, Pussy? when the dragon is out +of her den: and we will have a quiet rummage, you and I; and we'll find +her love-letters!" + +Now is not that too bad? What is one to do? Job could not have kept +his temper if he had lived with Hatty. I wish she would get married--I +do! Fanny never interferes with any one--she just goes her way and lets +you go yours. And when Sophy interferes, it is only because something +is left untidy, or you have not done something you promised to do. She +does not tease for teasing's sake, like Hatty. + +And then, when I came down, after having composed my face, and passed +Hatty on my way into the parlour, what should she say but,-- + +"Didn't you wish I was in Heaven just now?" + +"I should not have cared where you were, if you had kept out of the +garret!" said I. + +Hatty gave one of her odious giggles, and away she went. + +Now, how can I live at peace with Hatty, will anybody tell me? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I am so delighted! My Aunt Kezia has come into my plan for having the +Bracewells here at Christmas, along with the Drummonds. + +"It might be as well," said she, "if we could do some good to that poor +frivolous thing Amelia; but don't you get too much taken up with her, +Caroline, my dear. She is a silly maid at best." + +"Oh, Amelia is Fanny's friend, not mine, Aunt Kezia," said I. "And +Charlotte is Sophy's." + +"And is Flora to be yours?" said Aunt Kezia. + +"I have not made one yet," I answered. "I do not know what Flora is +like." + +"As well to wait and see, trow," says my Aunt Kezia. + +Sam was bringing in breakfast while this was said; and as soon as he had +set down the cold beef he turned to my Aunt Kezia and said,-- + +"Then she's just a braw lassie, Miss Flora, nae mair and nae less; and +she'll bring ye a' mickle gude, and nae harm." + +"Why, how do you know, Sam?" asked my Aunt Kezia. + +"Hoots! my mither's sister's daughter was her nurse," said he. "Helen +Raeburn they ca' her, and her man's ane o' the Macdonalds. Trust me, +but I ha'e heard monie a tale o' thae Drummonds,--their faither and +mither and their gudesire and minnie an' a'." + +"What is Angus like, Sam?" said I. + +"Atweel, he's a bonnie laddie; but no just--" + +Sam stopped short and pulled a face. + +"Not just what?" says my Aunt Kezia. + +"Ye'll be best to find oot for yersel, Mrs Kezia, I'm thinkin'." + +And off trudged Sam after jelly, and we got no more out of him. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I wonder where the living creature is that could stand Hatty! There was +I at work this morning in the parlour, when in she came--there were +Sophy and Fanny too--holding up something above her head. + +"`Busk ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride!'" sang Hatty. "Look what +I've found, just now, in the garret! Oh yes, Miss Caroline, you can +look too." + +"Hatty, if you don't give me that book this minute--!" cried I. "I did +think I had hidden it out of search of your prying fingers." + +"Dear, yes, and of my bright eyes, I feel no doubt," laughed Hatty. +"You are not quite so clever as you fancy, Miss Caroline. Carlisle is a +charming city, but it does not hold all the brains in the world." + +"What is it, Hatty?" said Sophy. "Don't tease the child." + +"Wait a little, Miss Sophia, if you please. This is a most interesting +and savoury volume, wherein Miss Caroline Courtenay sets down her +convictions on all manner of subjects in general, and her unfortunate +sisters in particular. I find--" + +"Hatty, do be reasonable, and give the child her book," said Fanny. "It +is a shame!" + +"Oh, you keep one too, do you, Miss Frances?" laughed Hatty. "I had my +suspicions, I will own." + +"What do you mean?" said Fanny, flushing. + +"Only that the rims of your pearly ears would not be quite so ruddy, my +charmer, if you were not in like case. Well, I find from this book that +we are none of us perfect, but so far as I can gather, Fanny comes +nearest the angelic world of any of us. As to--" + +"Hatty, you ought to be ashamed of yourself if you have been so +dishonourable as to read what was not meant for any one to see." + +"My beloved Sophy, don't halloo till you are out of the wood. And you +are not out, by any means. You are vulgar and ill-bred, my dear; you +say `coom' and `boot,' and you are only fit to marry a country curate, +and cut out shirts and roll pills." + +"I say what?" asked Sophy, disregarding the other particulars. + +"You say `coom' and `boot,' my darling, and it ought to be `kem' and +`bet'," said Hatty, with such an affected pronunciation that Sophy and +Fanny both burst out laughing. + +"What do you mean?" said Sophy amid her laughter. + +"Then--Fanny, my dear, you are not to escape! You are better bred than +Sophy, because you take castor oil--" + +"Hatty, what nonsense you are talking!" I cried, unable to endure any +longer. But Hatty went on, taking no notice. + +"But you drop your r's, deah, and say deah Caroline,--(can't manage it +right, my dear!)--and you are slow and affected." + +"Hatty, you know I never said so!" I screamed. + +"Then as to me," pursued Hatty, casting her eyes up to the ceiling, "as +to poor me, I am--well, not one of the angels, on any consideration. I +tease my sweetest sister in the most cruel manner--" + +"Well, that is true, Hatty, if nothing else is," said Fanny. + +"I have `horrid glazed red cheeks,' and I eat like a plough-boy; and I +don't take castor oil. Castor oil is evidently one of the Christian +graces." + +"How can you be so ridiculous!" said Sophy. "See, you have made the +poor child cry." + +"With passion, my dear, which is a very wicked thing, as I am sure my +Aunt Kezia would tell her. A little castor oil would--" + +"What is that about your Aunt Kezia?" came in another voice from the +doorway. + +Oh, I was so glad to see her! + +"Hoity-toity! why, what is all this, girls?" said she, severely. +"Hester, what are you doing? What is Cary crying for?" + +"Hatty is teasing her, Aunt," said Fanny. "She is always doing it, I +think." + +"Give me that book, Hester," said my Aunt Kezia; and Hatty passed it to +her without a word. "Now, whom does this book belong?" + +"It is mine, Aunt Kezia," I said, as well as my sobs would let me; "and +Hatty has found it, and she is teasing me dreadfully about it." + +"What is it, my dear?" said my Aunt Kezia. + +"It is my diary, Aunt Kezia; and I did not want Hatty to get hold of +it." + +"She says such things, Aunt Kezia, you can't imagine, about you and all +of us." + +"I am sure I never said anything about you, Aunt Kezia," I sobbed. + +"If you did, my dear, I dare say it was nothing worse than all of you +have thought in turn," saith my Aunt Kezia, drily. "Hester, you will go +to bed as soon as the dark comes. Take your book, Cary; and remember, +my dear, whenever you write in it again, that God is looking at every +word you write." + +Hatty made a horrid face at me behind my Aunt Kezia's back; but I don't +believe she really cared anything about it. She went to bed, of course; +and it is dark now by half-past five. But she was not a bit daunted, +for I heard her singing as she lay in bed, "Fair Rosalind, in woful +wise," [Note 2.] and afterwards, "I ha'e nae kith, I ha'e nae kin." +[Note 3.] If Father had heard that last, my Aunt Kezia would have had +to forgive her and let her off the rest of her sentence. + +I have found a new hiding-place for my book, where I do not think Hatty +will find it in a hurry. But when I sit down to write now, my Aunt +Kezia's words come back to me with an awful sound. "God is looking at +every word you write!" I suppose it is so: but somehow I never rightly +took it in before. I hardly think I should have written some words if I +had. Was that what my Aunt Kezia meant? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. This and similar expressions are Northern provincialisms. + +Note 2. + + "Fair Rosalind, in woful wise, + Six hearts has bound in thrall; + As yet she undetermined lies + Which she her spouse shall call." + +Note 3. Perhaps the most plaintive and poetical of all the popular +Jacobite ballads. + + + +CHAPTER TWO. + +TAWNY EYES. + + "She has two eyes so soft and brown, + Take care! + She gives a side-glance and looks down,-- + Beware! Beware! + Trust her not, + She is fooling thee!" + + LONGFELLOW. + +Here they all are at last, and the house is as full as it will hold. +The Bracewells came first in their great family coach and four-- +Charlotte and Amelia and a young friend whom they had with them. Her +name is Cecilia Osborne, and she is such a genteel-looking girl! She +moves about, not languidly like Amelia, but in such a graceful, airy way +as I never saw. She has dark hair, nearly black, and brown eyes with a +sort of tawny light in them,--large eyes which gleam out on you just +when you are not expecting it, for she generally looks down. Amelia +appears more listless and affected than ever by the side of her, and +Charlotte's hoydenish romping seems worse and more vulgar. + +The Drummonds did not come for nearly a week afterwards. I was rather +afraid what Cecilia would think of them for I expected they would talk +Scotch--I know Angus used to do--and Cecilia is from the South, and I +thought she would be quite shocked. But I find they talk just as we do, +only with a little Scots accent, as if they were walking over sandhills +in their throats--as least that is how it sounds to me. Flora has +rather more of it than Angus, but then her voice is so clear and soft +that it sounds almost pretty. A young gentleman came with them, named +Duncan Keith, who was going with Angus about that business he has to do. +They only stayed one night, didn't [Note 4.] Mr Keith and Angus, and +then went on about their business; but Father was so pleased with Mr +Keith, that he invited him to come back when Angus does, which will be +in about three weeks or a month. So here we are, eight girls instead of +four, with never a young man among us. Father says, when Angus and Mr +Keith come back, we will have Ephraim Hebblethwaite and Ambrose +Catterall to spend the evening, and perhaps Esther Langridge too. I +don't feel quite sure that I should like Esther to come. She is not +only as bad as Sophy with her "buts" and her "comes" but she does not +behave quite genteelly in some other ways: and I don't want Cecilia +Osborne to fancy that we are a set of vulgar creatures who do not know +how to behave. I don't care half so much what Flora thinks. + +Cecilia has not been here a fortnight, and yet I keep catching myself +wondering what she will think about everything. It is not that I have +made a friend of her: in fact, I am not sure that I quite like her. She +seems to throw a sort of spell over me, does Cecilia, as if I were +afraid of her and must obey her. I don't half like it. + +My Aunt Kezia has put us into rooms in pairs, while they are here. In +Sophy's chamber, where I generally sleep, are Sophy and Charlotte. In +Fanny's, which she and Hatty have when we are by ourselves, are Fanny +and Amelia. In the green spare chamber are Hatty and Cecilia; and in +the blue one, Flora and me. My Aunt Kezia said she thought we should +find that the pleasantest arrangement; but I do wish she had given Flora +to Hatty, and put Cecilia with me. I am sure I should have understood +Cecilia much better than Hatty, who will persist in calling her Cicely, +which she says she does not like because it is such a vulgar name--and +so common, too. Cecilia says she wishes she had not been called by a +name which had a vulgar short one to it: she would like to have been +either Camilla or Henrietta. She thinks my name sweetly pretty; but she +wonders why we call Hester, Hatty, which she says is quite low and ugly, +and hardly, is the proper short for Hester. She says Hatty and Gatty +are properly short for Harriet, and Hester should be Essie, which is +much prettier. But then we call Esther Langridge, Essie, and we could +not do with two Essies. I know Father used to call Mamma, Gatty, but +Grandmamma said she always thought it so vulgar. + +Grandmamma was always talking about things being vulgar, and so is +Cecilia. I notice that some people--for instance, my Aunt Kezia and +Flora--never seem to think whether things are vulgar or not. Cecilia +says that is because they are so vulgar they don't know it. I wonder if +it be. But Cecilia says--she said I was not to repeat it, though--that +my Aunt Kezia and Sophy are below vulgarity. When we were dressing one +morning, I asked Flora what she thought. She is as genteel in her +manners as Cecilia herself, only in quite a different way. Cecilia +behaves as if she wanted you to notice how genteel she is. Flora is +just herself: it seems to come natural to her, as if she never thought +about it. So I asked Flora what she thought "vulgarity" meant, and if +people could be below vulgarity. + +"I should not think they could get below it," said she. "It is easy to +get above it, if you only go the right way. How can you get below a +thing which is down at the bottom?" + +"But how would you do, Flora, not to be vulgar?" + +"Learn good manners and then never think about them." + +"But you must keep, up your company manners," said I. + +"Why have any?" said she. + +"What, always have one's company manners on!" cried I, "and be +courtesying and bowing to one's sisters as if they were people one had +never seen before?" + +"Nay, those are ceremonies, not manners," said Flora. "By manners, I do +not understand ceremonies, but just the way you behave to anybody at any +time. It is not a ceremony to set a chair for a lame man, nor to shut a +door lest the draught blow on a sick woman. It is not a ceremony to eat +with a knife and fork, or to see that somebody else is comfortable +before you make yourself so." + +"Why, but that is just kindness!" cried I. + +"What are manners but kindness?" said Flora. "Let a maiden only try to +be as kind as she can to every creature of God, and she will not find +much said in reproof of her manners." + +"Are you always trying to be kind to everybody, Flora?" + +"I hope so, Cary," she said, gravely. + +"Flora, have you any friend?" said I. "I mean a particular friend--a +girl friend like yourself." + +"Yes," she said. "My chief friend is Annas Keith." + +"Mr Duncan Keith's sister?" + +"Yes," said Flora. + +"Do tell me what she is like," said I. + +"I am not sure that I could," said Flora. "And if I did, it would only +be like looking at a map. Suppose somebody showed you a map of the +British Isles, and put his finger on a little pink spot, and told you +that was Selkirk. How much wiser would you be? You could not see the +Yarrow and Ettrick, and breathe the caller air and gather the purple +heather. And I don't think describing people is much better than to +show places on a map. Such different things strike different people." + +"How?" said I. "I don't see how they could, in the same face." + +"As we were coming from Carlisle with Uncle Courtenay," said Flora, +smiling, "I asked him to tell me what you were like, Cary." + +"Well, what did Father say?" I said, and I felt very much amused. + +"He said, `Oh, a girl with a pale face and a lot of light thatch on it, +with fine ways that she picked up in Carlisle.' But when I came to see +you, I thought that if I had had to describe you, those were just the +things I should not have mentioned." + +"Come, then, describe me, Flora," said I, laughing. "What do you see?" + +"I see two large, earnest-looking blue eyes," she said, "under a broad +white forehead; eyes that look right at you; clear, honest eyes,--not-- +at least, the sort of eyes I like to look at me. Then I see a small +nose--" + +"Let my nose alone, please," said I: "I know it turns up, and I don't +want to hear you say so." + +Flora laughed. "Very well; I will leave your nose alone. Underneath +it, I see two small red lips, and a little forward chin; a rather +self-willed little chin, if you please, Cary--and a good figure, which +has learned to hold itself up and to walk gracefully. Will that do for +a description?" + +"Yes," I said, looking in the glass; "I suppose that is me." + +"Is it, Cary? That may be all I see; but is it you? Why, it is only +the morocco case that holds you. You are the jewel inside, and what +that is, really and fully, I cannot see. God can see it; and you can +see some of it. But I can see only what you choose to show me, or, now +and then, what you cannot help showing me." + +"Do you know that you are a very queer girl, Flora? Girls don't talk in +that way. Cecilia Osborne told me yesterday she thought you a very +curious girl indeed." + +"I think my match might be found," said Flora, rather drily. "For one +thing, Cary, you must remember I have had nothing to do with other girls +except Annas Keith. Father and Angus have been my only companions; and +a girl who has neither mother nor sisters perhaps gets out of girls' +ways in some respects." + +"But you are not the only `womankind,' as Father calls it, in the +house?" said I. + +"Oh, no, there is Helen Raeburn," answered Flora: "but she is an old +woman, and she is not in my station. She would not teach me girls' +ways." + +"Then who taught you manners, Flora?" + +"Oh, Father saw to all that Helen could not," she said. "Helen could +teach me common decencies, of course; such as not to eat with my +fingers, and to shake hands, and so forth: but the little niceties of +ladylike behaviour that were beyond her--Father saw to those." + +"Well, I think you have very pleasant manners, Flora. I only wish you +were not quite so grave." + +"Thank you for the compliment, Miss Caroline Courtenay," said Flora, +dropping me a courtesy. "I would rather be too grave than too giddy." + +That very afternoon, Cecilia Osborne asked me to walk up the Scar with +her. Somehow, when she asks you to do a thing, you feel as if you must +do it. I do not like that sort of enchanted feeling at all. However, I +fetched my hood and scarf, and away we went. We climbed up the Scar +without much talk--in fact, it is rather too steep for that: but when we +got to the top, Cecilia proposed to sit down on the bank. It was a +beautiful day, and quite warm for the time of the year. So down we sat, +and Cecilia pulled her sacque carefully on one side, that it should not +get spoiled--she was very charmingly dressed in a sacque of purple +lutestring, with such a pretty bonnet, of red velvet with a gold pompoon +in front--and then she began to talk, as if she had come for that, and I +believe she had. It was not long before I felt pretty sure that she had +brought me there to pump me. + +"How long have you known Miss Drummond?" she began. + +"Well, all my life, in a fashion," I said; "but it is nearly ten years +since we met." + +"Ten years is a good deal of your life, is it not?" said Cecilia, +darting at me one of those side-glances from her tawny eyes. + +I tried to do it last night, and made my eyes feel so queer that I was +not sure they would get right by morning. + +"Well, I suppose it is," said I; "I am not quite seventeen yet." + +"You dear little thing!" said Cecilia, imprisoning my hand. "What is +Miss Drummond's father?" + +"A minister," said I. + +"A Scotch Presbyterian, I suppose?" she said, turning up her nose. I +did not think she looked any prettier for it. + +"Well," said I, "I suppose he is." + +"And Mr Angus--what do they mean to make of him, do you know?" + +"Flora hopes he will be a minister too. His father wishes it; but she +is not sure that Angus likes the notion himself." + +"Dear me! I should think not," said Cecilia, "He is fit for something +far better." + +"What can be better?" I answered. + +"You have such charming ideas!" replied Cecilia. She put in another +word, which I never heard before, and I don't know what it means. She +brought it with her from the South, I suppose. Unso--unsophy--no, +unsophisticated--I think that was it. It sounded uncommon long and +fine, I know. + +"I suppose Scotch ministers have not much money?" continued Cecilia. + +"I don't know--I think not," I answered. "But I rather fancy my Uncle +Drummond has a little of his own." + +Cecilia darted another look at me, and then dropped her eyes as if she +were studying the grass. + +"And Mr Keith?" she said presently, "is he a relation?" + +"I don't know much about him," said I, "only what I have heard Flora +say. He is no relation of theirs, I believe. I think he is the +squire's son." + +"The squire's son!" cried Cecilia, in a more interested tone. "And who +is the squire?--is he rich?--where is the place?" + +"As to who he is," said I, "he is Mr Keith, I suppose. I don't know a +bit whether he is rich or poor. I forget the name of the place--I think +it is Abbotsmuir, or something like that. Either an abbot or a monk has +something to do with it." + +"And you don't know if Mr Keith is a rich man?" said Cecilia, I thought +in rather a disappointed tone. + +"No, I don't," said I. "I can ask Flora, if you want to know." + +"Not for the world!" cried Cecilia, laying her hand again on mine. +"Don't on any account let Miss Drummond know that I asked you such a +question. If you like to ask from yourself, you know--well, that is +another matter; but not from me, on any consideration." + +"I don't understand you, Miss Osborne," said I. + +"No, you dear little thing, I believe you don't understand me," said +Cecilia, kissing me. "What pretty hair you have, and how nice you keep +it, to be sure!--so smooth and glossy! Come, had we not better be going +down, do you think?" + +So down we came, and found dinner ready; and I do not think I ever +thought of it again till I was going to bed. Then I said to Flora,--"Do +you like Cecilia Osborne?" + +"I--think we had better not talk about people, Cary, if you please." + +But there was such a pause where I have drawn that long stroke, that I +am sure that was not what she intended to say at first. + +"Then you don't," said I, making a hit at the truth, and, I think, +hitting it in the bull's eye. "Well, no more do I." + +Flora looked at me, but did not speak. Oh, how different her look is +from Cecilia's sudden flashes! + +"She has been trying to pump me, I am sure, about you and Angus, and Mr +Keith," said I; "and I think it is quite as well I knew so little." + +"What about?" said Flora. + +"Oh, about money, mostly," said I. "Whether Uncle had much money, and +if Mr Keith was a rich man, and all on like that. I can't bear girls +who are always thinking about money." + +Flora drew a long breath. "That is it, is it?" she said, in a low +voice, as she tied her nightcap, but it was rather as if she were +speaking to herself than to me. "Cary, perhaps I had better answer you. +I am afraid Miss Osborne is a very dangerous girl; and she would be +more so than she is if she were a shade more clever, so as to hide her +cards a little better. Don't tell her anything you can help." + +"But what shall I say if she asks me again? because she wanted me not to +tell you that she had asked, but to get to know as if I wanted it +myself." + +"Tell her to ask me," said Flora, with more spirit than I had expected +from her. + +When Cecilia began again (as she did) asking me the same sort of things, +I said to her, "Why don't you ask Cousin Flora instead of me? She knows +so much more about it than I do." + +Cecilia put her hands on my shoulders and kissed me. + +"Because I like to ask you," said she, "and I should not like to ask +her." + +My Aunt Kezia was just coming into the room. + +"Miss Cecilia, my dear," said she, "do you always think what you like?" + +"Of course, Mrs Kezia," said Cecilia, smiling at her. + +"Then you will be a very useless woman," said my aunt, "and not a very +happy one neither." + +"Happy--ah!" said Cecilia, with a long sigh. "This world is not the +place to find happiness." + +"No, it isn't," said my Aunt Kezia, "for people who spend all their time +hunting for it. It is a deal better to let happiness hunt for you. You +don't go the right way to get it, child." + +"I do not, indeed!" answered Cecilia, with a very sorrowful look. "Ah, +Mrs Kezia, `the heart knoweth his own bitterness.' That is Scripture, +I believe." + +"Yes, it does," said my aunt, "and it makes a deal of it, too." + +"Oh dear, Mrs Kezia!" cried Cecilia. "How could anybody make +unhappiness?" + +"If you don't, you are the first girl I have met of your sort," saith my +Aunt Kezia, turning down the hem of a kerchief. Then, when she came to +the end of the hem, she looked up at Cecilia. "My dear, there is a +lesson we all have to learn, and the sooner you learn it, the better and +happier woman you will be. The end of selfishness is not pleasure, but +pain. You don't think so, do you? Ah, but you will find as you go +through life, that always you are not only better, but happier, with +God's blessing on the thing you don't like, than without it on the thing +you do. Ay, it always turns to ashes in your mouth when you will have +the quails instead of the manna. I've noted many a time--for when I was +a girl, and later than that, I was as self-willed as any of you--that +sometimes when I have set my heart upon a thing, and would have it, +then, if I may speak it with reverence, God has given way to me. Like a +father with an obstinate child, He has said to me, as it were, `Poor +foolish child! You will have this glittering piece of mischief. Well, +have your way: and when you have cut yourself badly with it, and are +bleeding and smarting as I did not wish to see you, come back to your +Father and tell Him all about it, and be healed and comforted.' Ah dear +me, the dullest of us is quite as clever as she need be in making rods +for her own back. And then, if our Father keep us from hurting +ourselves, and won't let us have the bright knife to cut our fingers +with, how we do mewl and whine, to be sure! We are just a set of silly +babes, my dear--the best of us." + +"My Aunt Dorothea once told me," said I, "that the Papists have what +they call `exercises of detachment.' Perhaps you would think them good +things, Aunt Kezia. For instance, if an abbess sees a nun who seems to +have a fancy for any little thing particularly, she will take it from +her and give it to somebody else." + +"Eh, poor foolish things!" said Aunt Kezia. "Bits of children playing +with the Father's tools! They are more like to hurt themselves a deal +than to get His work done. Ay, God has His exercises of detachment, and +they are far harder than man's. He knows how to do it. He can lay a +finger right on the core of your heart, the very spot where it hurts +worst. Men can seldom do that. They would sometimes if they could, I +believe; but they cannot, except God guides them to it. Many's the time +I've been asked, with a deal of hesitation and apology, to do a thing +that did not cost me a farthing's worth of grief or labour; and as +lightly as could be, to do another which would have gone far to break +either my back or my heart. Different folks see things in such +different ways. I'll be bound, now, if each of us were asked to pick +out for one another the thing in this house that each cared most about, +we should well-nigh all of us guess wrong. We know so little of each +other's inmost hearts. That little kingdom, your own heart, is a thing +that you must keep to yourself; you can't let another into it. You can +bring him to the gate, and let him peep in, and show him a few of your +treasures; but you cannot give him the freedom of the city. Depend upon +it, you would think very differently of me from what you do, and I +should think differently of each of you, if we could see each other's +inmost hearts." + +"Better or worse, Mrs Kezia?" said Cecilia. + +"May be the one, and may be the other, my dear. It would hang a little +on the heart you looked at, and a great deal on the one who looked at +it. I dare say we should all get one lesson we need badly--we might +learn to bear with each other. 'Tis so easy to think, `Oh, she cannot +understand me! she never had this pain or that sorrow.' Whereas, if you +could see her as she really is, you would find she knew more about it +than you did, and understood some other things beside, which were dark +riddles to you. That is often a mountain to one which is only a +molehill to another. And trouble is as it is taken. If there were no +more troubles in this world than what we give each other in pure +kindness or in simple ignorance, girls, there would be plenty left." + +"Then you think there were troubles in Eden?" said Cecilia, +mischievously. + +"I was not there," said my Aunt Kezia. "After the old serpent came +there were troubles enough, I'll warrant you. If Adam came off +scot-free for saying, `The woman whom Thou gavest to be with me,' Eve +must have been vastly unlike her daughters." + +I was quite unable to keep from laughing, but Cecilia did not seem to +see anything to laugh at. She never does, when people say funny things; +and she never says funny things herself. I cannot understand her. She +only laughs when she does something; and, nine times out of ten, it is +something in which I cannot see anything to laugh at--something which-- +well, if it were not Cecilia, I should say was rather silly and babyish. +I never did see any fun in playing foolish tricks on people, and +worrying them in all sorts of ways. Hatty just enjoys it; but I don't. + +However, before anything else was said, Father came in, and a young +gentleman with him, whom he introduced as Mr Anthony Parmenter, the +Vicar's nephew (He turned out to be the Vicar's grand-nephew, which, I +suppose, is the same thing.) I am sure he must have come from the +South. He did not shake hands, nor profess to do it. He just touched +the hand you gave him with the tips of his fingers, and then with his +lips, as if you were a china tea-dish that he was terribly frightened of +breaking. Cecilia seemed quite used to this sort of thing, but I did +not know what he was going to do; and, as for my Aunt Kezia, she just +seized his hand, and gave it a good old-fashioned shake, at which he +looked very much put out. Then she asked him how the Vicar was, and he +did not seem to know; and how long he was going to stay, and he did not +know that; and when he came, to which he said Thursday, in a very +hesitating way, as if he were not at all sure that it was not Wednesday +or Friday. One thing he knew--that it was hawidly cold--there, that is +just how he said it. I suppose he meant horribly. My Aunt Kezia gave +him up after a while, and went on sewing in silence. Then Cecilia took +him up, and they seemed to understand each other exactly. They talked +about all sorts of things and people that I never heard of before; and I +sat and listened, and so did my Aunt Kezia, only that she put in a word +now and then, and I did not. + +Before they had been long at it, Fanny and Amelia came in from a walk, +in their bonnets and scarves, and Mr Parmenter bowed over their hands +in the same curious way that he did before. Amelia took it as she does +everything--that is, in a languid, limp sort of way, as if she did not +care about anything; but Fanny looked as if she did not know what he was +going to do to her, and I saw she was puzzled whether she ought to shake +hands or not. Then Fanny went away to take her things off, but Amelia +sat down, and pulled off her scarf, and laid it beside her on the sofa, +not neatly folded, but all huddled up in a heap, and there it might have +stayed till next week if my Aunt Kezia (who hates Amelia's untidy ways) +had not said to her,-- + +"My dear, had you not better take your things up-stairs?" + +Amelia rose with the air of a martyr, threw the scarf on her arm, and +carrying her bonnet by one string, went slowly up-stairs. When they +came down together, my Aunt Kezia said to Fanny,-- + +"My dear, you had better take a shorter walk another time." + +"We have not had a long one, Aunt," said Fanny, looking surprised. "We +only went up by the Scar, and back by Ellen Water." + +"I thought you had been much farther than that," says my Aunt Kezia, in +her dry way. "Poor Emily [Note 1.] seemed so tired she could not get +up-stairs." + +Fanny stared, and Amelia gave a faint laugh. My Aunt Kezia said no +more, but went on running tucks: and Amelia joined in the conversation +between Cecilia and Mr Parmenter. I hardly listened, for I was trying +the new knitting stitch which Flora taught me, and it is rather a +difficult one, so that it took all my mind: but all at once I heard +Amelia say,-- + +"The beauty of self-sacrifice!" + +My Aunt Kezia lapped up the petticoat in which she was running the +tucks, laid it on her knee, folded her hands on it, and looked full at +Amelia. + +"Will you please, Miss Emily Bracewell, to tell me what you mean?" + +"Mean, Aunt?" + +"Yes, my dear, mean." + +"How can the spirit of that sweet poetical creature," murmured Fanny, +behind me, "be made plain to such a mere thing of fact as my Aunt +Kezia?" + +"Well," said Amelia, in a rather puzzled tone, "I mean--I mean--the +beauty of self-sacrifice. I do not see how else to put it." + +"And what makes it beautiful, think you?" said my Aunt Kezia. + +"It is beautiful in itself," said Amelia. "It is the fairest thing in +the moral world. We see it in all the analogies of creation." + +"My dear Emily," said my Aunt Kezia, "you may have learned Latin and +Greek, but I have not. I will trouble you to speak plain, if you +please. I am a plain English woman, who knows more about making shirts +and salting butter than about moral worlds and the analogies of +creation. Please to explain yourself--if you understand what you are +talking about. If you don't, of course I wouldn't wish it." + +"Well, a comparison, then," answered Amelia, in a slightly peevish tone. + +"That will do," said my Aunt Kezia. "I know what a comparison is. +Well, let us hear it." + +"Do we not see," continued Amelia, with kindling eyes, "the beauty of +self-sacrifice in all things? In the patriot daring death for his +country, in the mother careless of herself, that she may save her child, +in the physician braving all risks at the bedside of his patient? Nay, +even in the lower world, when we mark how the insect dies in laying her +eggs, and see the fresh flowers of the spring arise from the ashes of +the withered blossoms of autumn, can we doubt the loveliness of +self-sacrifice?" + +"How beautiful!" murmured Fanny. "Do listen, Cary." + +"I am listening," I said. + +"Charming, Madam!" said Mr Parmenter, stroking his mustachio. +"Undoubtedly, all these are lessons to those who have eyes to see." + +I did not quite like the glance which was shot at him just then out of +Cecilia's eyes, nor the look in his which replied. It appeared to me as +if those two were only making game of Amelia, and that they understood +each other. But almost before I had well seen it, Cecilia's eyes were +dropped, and she looked as demure as possible. + +"Some folk's eyes don't see things that are there," saith my Aunt Kezia, +"and some folk's eyes are apt to see things that aren't. My Bible tells +me that God hath made everything beautiful in its season. Not out of +its season, you see. Your beautiful self-sacrifice is a means to an +end, not the end itself. And if you make the means into the end, you +waste your strength and turn your action into nonsense. Take the +comparisons Amelia has given us. Your patriot risks death in order to +obtain some good for his country; the mother, that she may save the +child; the physician, that he may cure his patient. What would be the +good of all these sacrifices if nothing were to be got by them? My +dears, do let me beg of you not to be caught by claptrap. There's a +deal of it in the world just now. And silly stuff it is, I assure you. +Self-sacrifice is as beautiful as you please when it is a man's duty, +and as a means of good; but self-sacrifice for its own sake, and without +an object, is not beautiful, but just ridiculous nonsense." + +"Then would you say, Aunt Kezia," asked Amelia, "that all those grand +acts of mortification of the early Christians, or of the old monks, were +worthless and ridiculous? They were not designed to attain any object, +but just for discipline and obedience." + +"As for the early Christians, poor souls! they had mortifications enough +from the heathen around them, without giving themselves trouble to make +troubles," said my Aunt Kezia. "And the old monks, poor misguided dirty +things! I hope you don't admire them. But what do you mean by saying +they were not means to an end, but only discipline? If that were so, +discipline was the end of them. But, my dear, discipline is a +sharp-edged tool which men do well to let alone, except for children. +We are prone to make sad blunders when we discipline ourselves. That +tool is safer in God's hands than in ours." + +"But there is so much poetry in mortification!" sighed Amelia. + +"I am glad if you can see it," said my Aunt Kezia. "I can't. Poetry in +cabbage-stalks, eaten with all the mud on, and ditch water scooped up in +a dirty pannikin! There would be a deal more poetry in needles and +thread, and soap and water. Making verses is all very well in its +place; but you try to make a pudding of poetry, and you'll come badly +off for dinner." + +"Dinner!" said Amelia, contemptuously. + +"Yes, my dear, dinner. You dine once a day, I believe." + +"Dear, I never care what I eat," cried Amelia. "The care of the body is +entirely beneath those who have learned to prize the superlative value +of the mind." + +My Aunt Kezia laughed. "My dear," said she, "if you were a little older +I might reason with you. But you are just at that age when girls take +up with every silly notion they come across, and carry it ever so much +farther, and just make regular geese of themselves. 'Tis a comfort to +hope you will grow out of it. Ten years hence, if we are both alive, I +shall find you making pies and cutting out bodices like other sensible +women. At least I hope so." + +"Never!" cried Amelia. "I never could demean myself to be just an +every-day creature like that!" + +"I am sorry for your husband," said my Aunt Kezia, bluntly, "and still +more for yourself. If you set up to be an uncommon woman, the chances +are that instead of rising above the common, you will just sink below +it, into one of those silly things that spend their time sipping tea and +flirting fans, and making men think all women foolish and unstable. And +if you do that--well, all I have to say is, may God forgive you!--Cary, +I want some jumballs for tea. Just go and see to them." + +So away I went to the kitchen, and heard no more of the talk. But what +was I to do? I knew how to eat jumballs very well indeed, but how to +make them I knew no more than Mr Parmenter's eyeglass. She forgets, +does my Aunt Kezia, that I have lived all my life in Carlisle, where +Grandmamma would as soon have thought of my building a house as making +jumballs. + +"Maria," said I, "my Aunt Kezia has sent me to make jumballs, and I +don't know how, not one bit!" + +"Don't you, Miss Cary?" said Maria, laughing: "well, I reckon I do. +Half a pound of butter--will you weigh it yourself, Miss?--and the same +of white sugar, and a pound of flour, and three ounces of almonds, and +three eggs, and a little lemon peel--that's what you'll want." [Note +2.] + +We were going about the buttery, as she spoke, gathering up and weighing +these things, and putting them together on the kitchen table. Then +Maria tied a big apron on me, which she said was Fanny's, and gave me a +little pan in which she bade me melt the butter. Then I had to beat the +sugar into it, and then came the hard part--breaking the eggs, for only +the yolks were wanted. I spoiled two, and then I said,-- + +"Maria, do break them for me! I shall never manage this business." + +"Oh yes, you will, Miss Cary, in time," says she, cheerily. "It comes +hard at first, till you're used to it. Most things does. See now, you +pound them almonds--I have blanched 'em--and I'll put the eggs in." + +So we put in the yolks of eggs, and the almonds, and the flour, and the +lemon peel, till it began to smell uncommon good, and then Maria showed +me how to make coiled-up snakes of it on the baking-tin, as jumballs +always are: and I washed my hands, and took off Fanny's apron, and went +back into the parlour. + +I found there all whom I had left, and Hatty and Flora as well. When +tea came, and my jumballs with it, my Aunt Kezia says very calmly,-- + +"Pass me those jumballs, my dear, will you? Amelia won't want any; she +is an uncommon woman, and does not care what she eats. You may give me +some, because I am no better than other folks." + +"O Aunt Kezia, but I like jumballs!" said Amelia. + +"You do?" says my Aunt Kezia. "Well, but, my dear, they don't grow on +trees. Somebody has to make them, if they are to be eaten; and 'tis +quite as well we are not all uncommon women, or I fear there would be +none to eat.--Cary, you deserve a compliment, if you made these all by +yourself." + +I hastened to explain that I deserved none at all, for Maria had helped +me all through; but my Aunt Kezia did not seem at all vexed to hear it; +she only laughed, and said, "Good girl!" + +"Isn't it horrid work?" said Cecilia, who sat next me, in a whisper. + +"Oh no!" said I; "I rather like it." + +She shrugged her shoulders in what Hatty calls a Frenchified way. +"Catch me at it!" she said. + +"You can come to the kitchen and catch me at it, if you like," said I, +laughing. "But it is all as new to me as to you. Till a few months +ago, I lived with my grandmother in Carlisle, and she never let me do +anything of that sort." + +"What was her name?" said Cecilia. + +"Desborough," said I; "Mrs General Desborough." + +"Oh, is Mrs Desborough your grandmother?" cried she. "I know Mrs +Charles Desborough so well." + +"That is my Aunt Dorothea," said I. "Grandmamma is gone to live with my +Uncle Charles." + +"How pleasant!" said Cecilia. "You are such a sweet little darling!" +and she squeezed my hand under the table. + +I began to wonder if she meant it. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +"O Cary!" cried Cecilia the next morning, "do come here and tell me who +this is." + +"Who what is?" said I, for I looked out of the window, and could see +nobody but Ephraim Hebblethwaite. + +"Oh, that handsome young man coming up the drive," returned she. + +"That?" I said. "Is he handsome? Why, 'tis but Ephraim +Hebblethwaite." + +"Whom?" cried Cecilia, with one of her little shrieking laughs. "You +never mean to say that fine young man has such a horrid name as Ephraim +Hebblethwaite!" + +Hatty had come to look over my shoulder. + +"Well, I am afraid he has," said I. + +"Just that exactly, my dear," returned Hatty, in her teasing way. "Poor +creature! He is sweet on Fanny." + +"Is he?" asked Cecilia, in an interested tone. "Surely she will not +marry a man with such a name as that?" + +"Well, if you wish to have my private opinion about it," said Hatty, in +her coolest, that is to say, her most provoking manner, "I rather-- +think--she--will." + +"I wouldn't do such a thing!" disdainfully cried Cecilia. + +"Nobody asked you, my dear," was Hatty's answer. "I hope you would not, +unless you are prepared to provide another admirer for Fanny. They are +scarce in these parts." + +"I cannot think how you can live up here in these uncivilised regions!" +cried Cecilia. "The country people are all just like bears--" + +"Do they hug you so very hard?" said Hatty. + +"They are so rough and unpolished," continued Cecilia, "so--so--really, +I could not bear to live in Cumberland or any of these northern +counties. It is just horrid!" + +"Then hadn't you better go back again?" said Hatty, coolly. + +"I am sure I shall be thankful when the time comes," answered Cecilia, +rather sharply. "Except you in this family, I do think--" + +"Oh, pray don't except us!" laughed Hatty, turning round the next minute +to speak to Ephraim Hebblethwaite. "Mr Ephraim Hebblethwaite, this is +Miss Cecilia Osborne, a young lady from the South Pole or somewhere on +the way, who does not admire us Cumbrians in the smallest degree, and +will be absolutely delighted to turn her back upon the last of us." + +"You know I never said that!" said Cecilia, rather affectedly, as she +rose and courtesied to Ephraim. + +Ephraim is the only person I know who can get along with Hatty. He +always seems to see through what she says to what she means; and he +never answers any of her pert speeches, nor tries to explain things, nor +smooth her down, as many others do. + +"Miss Osborne must stay and learn to like us a little better," said he, +good-humouredly. "Where is Fanny?" + +"Looking in the glass, I imagine," said Hatty, calmly. + +"Hatty!" said I. "She is in the garden with Sophy." + +"You are the Nymphs of the Winds," laughed Ephraim, "and Hatty is the +North Wind." + +"Are you sure she is not the East?" said I, for I was vexed. And as I +turned away, I heard Hatty say, laughing,-- + +"I do enjoy teasing Cary!" + +"For shame, Hatty!" answered Ephraim, who speaks to us all as if we were +his sisters. + +"I assure you I do," pursued Hatty, in a voice of great glee, +"particularly when my lady puts on her grand Carlisle air, and sweeps +out of the room as she did just now. It is such fun!" + +I had slipped into the next window, where they could not see me, and I +suppose Hatty thought I had gone out of the door beyond. I had not the +least idea of eavesdropping, and what I might hear when they fancied me +gone never came into my head till I heard it. + +"You see," Hatty went on, "there is no fun in teasing Sophy, for she +just laughs with you, and gives you as good as you bring; and Fanny +melts into tears as if she were a lump of sugar, and Father wants to +know why she has been crying, and my Aunt Kezia sends you to bed before +dark--so teasing her comes too expensive. But Cary is just the one to +tease; she gets into a tantrum, and that is rich!" + +Was it really Cecilia's voice which said, "She is rather vain, +certainly, poor thing!" + +"She is just as stuck-up as a peacock!" replied Hatty: "and 'tis all +from living with Grandmamma at Carlisle--she fancies herself ever so +much better than we are, just because she learned French and dancing." + +"Well, if I had a sister, I would not say things of that sort about +her," said Ephraim, bluntly. "Hatty, you ought to be ashamed." + +"Thank you, Mr Hebblethwaite, I don't feel so at all," answered +laughing Hatty. + +"And she really has no true polish--only a little outside varnish," said +Cecilia. "If she were to be introduced at an assembly in Town, she +would be set down directly as a little country girl who did not know +anything. It is a pity she cannot see herself better." + +"There are some woods that don't take polish nearly so well as others," +said Ephraim, in a rather curious tone. I felt hurt; was he turning +against me too? + +"So there are," said Cecilia. "I see, Mr Hebblethwaite, you understand +the matter." + +"Pardon me, Miss Osborne," was Ephraim's dry answer. "I am one of those +that do not polish well. Compliments are wasted on me--particularly +when the shaft is pointed with poison for my friends. And as to seeing +one's self better--I wish, Madam, we could all do that." + +As Ephraim walked away, which he did at once, I am sure he caught sight +of me. His eyes gave a little flash, and the blood mounted in his +cheek, but he kept on his way to the other end of the room, where Fanny +and Amelia sat talking together. I slipped out of the door as soon as I +could. + +That wicked, deceitful Cecilia! How many times had she told me that I +was a sweet little creature--that my life at Carlisle had given me such +a polish that I should not disgrace the Princess's drawing-room! [Note +3.] And now--! I went into my garret, and told my book about it, and +if I must confess the truth, I am afraid I cried a little. But my eyes +do not show tears, like Fanny's, for ever so long after, and when I had +bathed them and become a little calmer, I went down again into the +parlour. I found my Aunt Kezia there now, and I was glad, for I knew +that both Cecilia and Hatty would be on their best behaviour in her +presence. Ephraim was talking with Fanny, as he generally does, and +there was that "hawid" creature Mr Parmenter, with his drawl and his +eyeglass and all the rest of it. + +"Indeed, it is very trying!" he was saying, as I came in; but he never +sounds an r, so that he said, "vewy twying." I don't know whether it is +that he can't, or that he won't. "Very trying, truly, Madam, to see men +give their lives for a falling cause. Distressing--quite so." + +"I don't know that it hurts me to see a man give his life for a falling +cause," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Sometimes, that is one of the grandest +things a man can do. But to see a man give his life up for a false +cause--a young man especially, full of hope and fervency, whose life +might have been made a blessing to his friends and the world--that is +trying, Mr Parmenter, if you like." + +"Are we not bound to give our lives for the cause of truth and beauty?" +asked Amelia, in that low voice which sounds like an Aeolian harp. + +"Truth--yes," saith my Aunt Kezia. "I do not know what you mean by +beauty, and I am not sure you do. But, my dear, we do give our lives, +always, for some cause. Unfortunately, it is very often a false one." + +"What do you mean, Aunt?" said Amelia. + +"Why, when you give your life to a cause, is it not the same thing in +the end as giving it for one?" answered my Aunt Kezia. "I do not see +that it matters, really, whether you give it in twenty minutes or +through twenty years. The twenty years are the harder thing to do--that +is all." + +"Duncan Keith says--" Flora began, and stopped. + +"Let us hear it, my dear, if it be anything good," quoth my Aunt Kezia. + +"I cannot tell if you will think it good or not, Aunt," said Flora. "He +says that very few give their lives to or for any cause. They nearly +always give them for a person." + +"Mr Keith must be a hero of chivalry," drawled Mr Parmenter, showing +his white teeth in a lazy laugh. + +(Why do people always simper when they have fine teeth?) + +"Chivalry ought to be another name for Christian courage and charity," +saith my Aunt Kezia. "Ay, child--Mr Keith is right. It is a pity it +isn't always the right person." + +"How are you to know you have found the right person, Aunt?" said Hatty, +in her pert way. + +My Aunt Kezia looked round at her in her awful fashion. Then she said, +gravely, "You will find, Hatty, you have always got the wrong one, +unless you aim at the Highest Person of all." + +I heard Cecilia whisper to Mr Parmenter, "Oh, dear! is she going to +preach a sermon?" and he hid a laugh under a yawn. Somebody else heard +it too. + +"Mrs Kezia's sermons are as short as some parsons' texts," said +Ephraim, quietly, and not in a whisper. + +"But you would not say," observed Mr Parmenter, without indicating to +whom he addressed himself, "that this cause, now--ha--of which we were +speaking,--that the lives, I mean--ha--were sacrificed to any particular +person?" + +"I never saw one plainer, if you mean me," said my Aunt Kezia, bluntly. +"What do nine-tenths of the men care about monarchy or commonwealth-- +absolute kings or limited ones--Stuart or Hanoverian? They just care +for Prince Charles, and his fine person and ringing voice, and his +handsome dress: what else? And the women are worse than the men. Some +men will give their lives for a cause, but you don't often see a woman +do it. Mostly, with women, it is father or brother, lover or husband, +that carries the day: at least, if you have seen women of another sort, +they haven't come my way." + +"But, Aunt, that is so ignoble a way of acting!" cried Amelia, as though +she wanted to show that she was one of the other sort. "Love and +devotion to a holy or chivalrous cause should be free from all petty +personal considerations." + +"You can get yours free, my dear, if you like--and find you can manage +it," said my Aunt Kezia. "I couldn't. As to ignoble, that hangs much +on the person. When Queen Margaret of Scotland was drowning in yonder +border river, and the good knight rode into the water and held forth his +hand to her, and said, `Grip fast!' was that a petty, ignoble +consideration? It was a purely personal matter." + +"Oh, of course, if you--" said Amelia, and did not go on. + +"Things look very different, sometimes, according to the side on which +you see them," saith my Aunt Kezia. + +I could not help thinking that people did so. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Emily was used during the last century as a diminutive for +Amelia. There is really no etymological connection between the two +names. + +Note 2. In and about London, the name of jumbles is given to a common +kind of gingerbread, to be obtained at the small sweet-shops: but these +are not the old English jumball of the text. + +Note 3. There was no Queen at this time. Augusta of Saxe Gotha was +Princess of Wales, and the King had three grown-up unmarried daughters. + +Note 4. This provincialism is correct for Lancashire, and as far as I +know for Cumberland. + + + +CHAPTER THREE. + +THE HUNT-SUPPER. + + "Alas! what haste they make to be undone!" + + GEORGE HERBERT. + +Before he went away, Ephraim came up into the window where I sat with my +knitting. Mr Parmenter was gone then, and Cecilia was up-stairs with +Fanny and Amelia. + +"Cary," said he, "may I ask you a question?" + +"Why, Ephraim, I thought you did that every day," I said, feeling rather +diverted at his saying such a thing. + +"Ah, common questions that do not signify," said he, with a smile. "But +this is not an insignificant question, Cary; and it is one that I have +no right to ask unless you choose to give it me." + +"Go on, Ephraim," said I, wondering what he meant. + +"Are you very fond of Miss Osborne?" + +"I never was particularly fond of her," I said, rather hotly, and I felt +my cheeks flush; "and if I had been, I think this morning would have put +an end to it." + +"She is not true," he said. "She rings like false metal. Those who +trust in her professions will find the earth open and let them in. And +I should not like you to be one, Cary." + +"Thank you, Ephraim," said I. "I think there is no fear." + +"Your Cousin Amelia is foolish," he went on, "but I do not think she is +false. She will grow out of most of her nonsense. But Cecilia Osborne +never will. It is ingrain. She is an older woman at this moment than +Mrs Kezia." + +"Older than my Aunt Kezia!" I am afraid I stared. + +"I do not mean by the parish register, Cary," said Ephraim, with a +smile. "But she is old in Satan's ways and wiles, in the hard +artificial fashions of the world, in everything which, if I had a +sister, I should pray God she might never know anything about. Such +women are dangerous. I speak seriously, Caroline." + +I thought it had come to a serious pass, when Ephraim called me +Caroline. + +"It is not altogether a bad thing to know people for what they are," he +continued. "It may hurt you at the time to have the veil taken off; and +that veil, whether by the people themselves or by somebody else, is +often pulled off very roughly. But it is better than to have it on, +Cary, or to see the ugly thing through beautiful coloured glass, which +makes it look all kinds of lovely hues that it is not. The plain white +glass is the best. When you do come to something beautiful, then, you +see how beautiful it is." Then, changing his tone, he went on,--"Esther +Langridge sent you her love, Cary, and told me to say she was coming up +here this afternoon." + +I did not quite wish that Esther would keep away, and yet I came very +near doing it. She is not a beautiful thing--I mean in her ways and +manners. She speaks more broadly than Sophy, and much worse than the +rest of us, and she eats her peas with a knife, which Grandmamma used to +say was the sure sign of a vulgar creature. Esther is as kind-hearted a +girl as breathes; but--oh dear, what will Cecilia say to her! I felt +quite uncomfortable. + +And yet, why should I care what Cecilia says? She has shown me plainly +enough that she does not care for me. But somehow, she seemed so above +us with those dainty ways, and that soft southern accent, and all she +knew about etiquette and the mode, and the stories she was constantly +telling about great people. Sir George Blank had said such a fine thing +to her when she was at my Lady Dash's assembly; and my Lady Camilla +Such-an-one was her dearest friend; and the Honourable Annabella This +carried her to drive, and my Lord Herbert That held her cloak at the +opera. It was so grand to hear her! + +Somehow, Cecilia never said things of that kind when my Aunt Kezia was +in the room, and I noted that her grand stories were always much tamer +in Flora's or Sophy's presence. She did not seem to care about Hatty +much either way. But when there were only Amelia, Fanny, Charlotte and +me, then, I could not help seeing, she laid the gilt on much thicker. +Charlotte used to sit and stare, and then laugh in a way that I thought +very rude; but Cecilia did not appear to mind it. When Father came into +the parlour, she did so change. Oh, then she was so sweet and +amiable!--so delicately attentive!--so anxious that he should be made +comfortable, and have everything just as he liked it! I did think, +considering that he had four daughters, she might have left that to us. +To Ephraim Hebblethwaite she was very attentive and charming, too, but +in quite a different way. But she wasted no attention at all on Mr +Parmenter, except for those side-glances now and then out of the tawny +eyes, which seemed to say that they perfectly understood one another, +and that no explanations of any sort were necessary between them. + +I cannot make out what Mr Parmenter does for his living. He is not a +man of property, for the Vicar told Father that his nephew, Mr +Parmenter's father, left nothing at all for his children. Yet Mr +Anthony never seems to do anything but look through his eyeglass, and +twirl his mustachios, and talk. I asked Amelia if she knew, for one of +the Miss Parmenters, who is married now, lives not far from Bracewell +Hall. Amelia, however, applied to Cecilia, saying she would be more +likely to know. + +"Oh, he does nothing," said Cecilia; "he is a beau." + +"Now what does that mean?" put in Hatty. + +"I'll tell you what it means," said Charlotte. "Emily, you be quiet. +It means that his income is twenty pence a year, and he spends two +thousand pounds; that he is always dressed to perfection, that he is +ready to make love to anybody at two minutes' notice--that is, if her +fortune is worth it; that he is never at home in an evening, nor out of +bed before noon; that he spends four hours a day in dressing, and would +rather ten times lose his wife (when he has one) than break his clouded +cane, or damage his gold snuff-box. Isn't that it, Cicely?" + +"You are so absurd!" said Amelia, languidly. + +"I told you to keep quiet," was Charlotte's answer. "Never mind whether +it is absurd; is it true?" + +"Well, partly." + +"But I don't understand," I said. "How can a man spend two thousand +pounds, if he have but twenty pence?" + +"Know, ignorant creature," replied Charlotte, with mock solemnity, "that +lansquenet can be played, and that tradesmen's bills can be put behind +the fire." + +"Then you mean, I suppose, that he games, and does not pay his debts?" + +"That is about the etiquette, [Note 1.] my charmer." + +"Well, I don't know what you call that down in the South," said I, "but +up here in Cumberland we do not call it honesty." + +"The South! Oh, hear the child!" screamed Charlotte. "She thinks +Derbyshire is in the South!" + +"They teach the children so, my dear, in the Carlisle schools," +suggested Hatty. + +"I don't know what they teach in the Carlisle schools," I said, "for I +did not go there. But if Derbyshire be not south of Cumberland, I +haven't learned much geography." + +"Oh dear, how you girls do chatter!" cried Sophy, coming up to us. "I +wish one or two of you would think a little more about what wants doing. +Cary, you might have made the turnovers for supper. I am sure I have +enough on my hands." + +"But, Sophy, I do not know how," said I. + +"Then you ought, by this time," she answered. "Do not know how to make +an apple turnover! Why, it is as easy as shutting your eyes." + +"When you know how to do it," put in Hatty. + +"That is more than you do," returned Sophy, "for you are safe to leave +something out." + +Hatty made her a low courtesy, and danced away, humming, "Cease your +funning," just as we heard the sound of horses' feet on the drive +outside. There were all sorts of guesses as to who was coming, and none +of them the right one, for when the door opened at last, in walked Angus +Drummond and Mr Keith. + +"Well, you did not expect us, I suppose?" said Angus. + +"Certainly not to-night," was Sophy's answer. + +"We finished our business sooner than we expected, and now we are ready +to begin our holiday," said he. + +Father came in then, and there was a great deal of kissing and +hand-shaking all round; but my Aunt Kezia and Flora were not in the +room. They came in together, nearly half an hour later; but I think I +never saw such a change in any girl's face as in Flora's, when she saw +what had happened. She must be very fond of Angus, I am sure. Her +cheeks grew quite rosy--she is generally pale--and her eyes were like +stars. I did not think Angus seemed nearly so glad to see her. + +Essie Langridge was very quiet all the evening; I fancy she was rather +frightened of Cecilia. She said very little. + +Father had a long day's hunting yesterday, and Angus Drummond went with +him. Mr Keith would not go, though Father laughed about it, and asked +if he were afraid of the hares eating him up. Neither would he go to +the hunt-supper, afterwards. There were fourteen gentlemen at it, and a +pretty racket they made. My Aunt Kezia does not like these hunt-suppers +a bit; she would be glad if they were anywhere else than here; but +Father being the squire, of course they cannot be. She always packs us +girls out of the way, and will not allow us to show our heads. So we +sat up-stairs, in Sophy's chamber, which is the largest and most out of +the way; and we had some good fun, first in finding seats, for there +were only two chairs in the room, and then in playing hunt the slipper +and all sorts of games. I am afraid we got rather too noisy at last, +for my Aunt Kezia looked in with,-- + +"Girls, are you daft? I protest you make nigh as much racket as the +gentlemen themselves!" + +What Mr Keith did with himself I do not know. I think he went off for +a walk somewhere. I know he tried to persuade Angus to go with him, but +Angus said he wanted his share of the fun. I heard Mr Keith say, in a +low voice,-- + +"What would your father say, Angus?" + +"Oh, my father's a minister, and they are bound to be particular," said +Angus, carelessly. "I can't pretend to make such a fash as he would." + +I did not hear what Mr Keith answered, but I believe he went on talking +about it. When I got up-stairs with the rest, however, I missed Flora; +and going to our room to look for her, I found her crying. I never saw +Flora weep before. + +"Why, Flora!" said I, "what is the matter with you?" + +"Nothing with me, Cary," she said, "but a great deal with Angus." + +"You do not like his being at the supper?" I said. I hardly knew what +to say, and I felt afraid of saying either too much or too little. It +seems so difficult to talk without hurting people. + +"Not only that," she said. "I do not like the way he is going on +altogether. I know my father would be in a sad way if he knew it." + +I told Flora what I had heard Angus say to Mr Keith. + +"Ah!" she said, with another sob, "Angus would not have said that three +months ago. I was sure it must have been going on for some time. He +has been in bad company, I feel certain. And Angus always was one to +take the colour of his company, just as a glass takes the colour of +anything you pour in. What can I do? Oh, what can I do? If he will +not listen to Duncan--" + +"Ambrose Catterall says that young men must always sow their wild oats," +I said, when she stopped thus. + +"That is one of the Devil's maxims," exclaimed Flora, earnestly. "God +calls it sowing to the flesh: and He says the harvest of it is +corruption. Some flowers seed themselves: thistles do. Did you ever +know roses grow from thistle seed? No: `whatsoever a man soweth, that +shall he reap.' Ah me, for Angus's harvest!" + +"Well, I don't see what you can do," said I. + +"There is the sting," she replied. "It would be silly to weep if I did. +No, in such cases, I think there is only one thing a woman can do--and +that is to cry mightily unto God to loose the bonds of the oppressor, +and let the oppressed go free. I don't know--I may be mistaken--but I +hardly think it is of much use for women to talk to such a man. It is +not talking that he needs. He knows his own folly, very often, at least +as well as you can tell him, and would be glad enough to be loosed from +his bonds, if only somebody would come and tear them asunder. He +cannot: and you cannot. Only God can. Some evil spirits can be cast +out by nothing but prayer. Cary--" Flora broke off suddenly, and looked +up earnestly in my face. "Don't mention this, will you, dear? I should +not have said a word to you nor any one if you had not surprised me." + +I promised her I would not, unless somebody first spoke to me. She +would not come to Sophy's room. + +"Tell the girls," she said, "that I want to write home; for I shall do +it presently, when I feel a little calmer." + +Something struck me as I was turning away. "Flora," I said, "why do you +not tell my Aunt Kezia all about it? I am sure she would help you, if +any one could." + +"Yes, dear, I think she would," said Flora, gently; "but you see no one +could. And remember, Cary!" she called me back as I was leaving the +chamber, and came to me, and took both my hands; and her great sorrowful +eyes, which looked just like brown velvet, gazed into mine like the eyes +of a dog which is afraid of a scolding: "remember, Cary, that Angus is +not wicked. He is only weak. But how weak he is!" + +She broke down with another sob. + +"But men should be stronger than women," said I, "not weaker." + +"They are, in body and mind," replied Flora: "but sex, I suppose, does +not extend to soul. There, some men are far weaker than some women. +Look at Peter. I dare say the maid who kept the door would have been +less frightened of the two, if he had taunted her with being one of +`this man's disciples.'" + +"Well, I should feel ashamed!" I said. + +"I am not sure if women do not feel moral weakness a greater shame than +men do," replied Flora. "Men seem to think so much more of want of +physical bravery. Many a soldier will not stand an ill-natured laugh, +who would want to fight you in a minute if you hinted that he was afraid +of being hurt. Things seem to look so different to men from what they +do to women; and, I think, to the angels, and to God." + +I did not like to leave her alone in her trouble: but she said she +wanted nothing, and was going to write to her father; so I went back to +Sophy's room, and gave Flora's message to the girls. + +"Dear! I am sure we don't want her," said Hatty: and Charlotte added, +"She is more of a spoil-sport than anything else." + +So we played at "Hunt the slipper," and "Questions and commands," and +"The parson has lost his cloak," and "Blind man's buff": and then when +we got tired we sat down--on the beds or anywhere--Hatty took off the +mirror and perched herself on the dressing-table, and Charlotte wanted +to climb up and sit on the mantel-shelf, but Sophy would not let her-- +and then we had a round of "How do you like it?" and then we went to +bed. + +In the middle of the night I awoke with a start, and heard a great +noise, and Sam's voice, and old Will's, and a lot of queer talking, as +if something were being carried up-stairs that was hard to pull along; +and there were a good many words that I am sure my Aunt Kezia would not +let me write, and--well, if He do look at what I am writing, I should +not like God to see them neither. I felt sure that the gentlemen were +being carried up to bed--such of them as could not walk--and such as +could were being helped along. I rather wonder that gentlemen like to +drink so much, and get themselves into such a queer condition. I do not +think they would like it if the ladies began to do such things. I could +not help wondering if Angus were among them. Flora, who had lain awake +for a long while, and had only dropped asleep, as she told me +afterwards, about half an hour before, for she heard the clock strike +one, slept on at first, and I hoped she would not awake. But as the +last lot were being dragged past our door, Flora woke up with a start, +and cried,-- + +"What is that? O Cary, what can be the matter?" + +I wanted to make as light of it as I could. + +"Oh, go to sleep," I said; "there is nothing wrong." + +"But what is that dreadful noise?" she persisted. + +"Well, it is only the gentlemen going to bed," said I. + +Just then, sounds came through the door, which showed that they were +close outside. Somebody--so far as I could guess from what we heard-- +was determined to sit down on the stairs, and Sam was trying to prevail +upon him to go quietly to bed. All sorts of queer things were mixed up +with it--hunting cries, bits of songs, invectives against Hanoverians +and Dissenters, and I scarcely know what else. + +"Who is that wretched creature?" whispered Flora to me. + +I had recognised the voice, and was able to answer. + +"It is Mr Bagnall," said I, "the vicar of Dornthwaite." + +"A minister!" was Flora's answer, in an indescribable tone. + +"Oh, that does not make any difference," I replied, "with the clergy +about here. Mr Digby is too old for it now, but I have heard say that +when he was a younger man, he used to be as uproarious as anybody." + +At last Sam's patience seemed to be exhausted, and he and Will between +them lifted the reverend gentleman off his feet, and carried him to bed +despite his struggles. At least I supposed so from what I heard. About +ten minutes later, Sam and Will passed our door on their way back. + +"Yon's a bonnie loon to ca' a minister," I heard Sam say as he went +past. "But what could ye look for in a Prelatist?" + +"He gets up i' t' pu'pit, and tells us our dooty, of a Sunda', but who +does hisn of a Monda, think ye?" was old Will's response. + +The footsteps passed on, and I was just going to relieve my feelings by +a good laugh, when I was stopped and astonished by Flora's voice. + +"O Cary, how dreadful!" + +"Dreadful!" said I, "what is dreadful?" + +"That wretched man!" she said in a tone which matched her words. + +"He does not think himself a wretched man, by any means," I said. "His +living is worth quite two hundred a year, and he has a little private +property beside. They say he does not stand at all a bad chance for a +deanery. His wife is not a pleasant woman, I believe; she has a temper: +but his son is carrying all before him at college, and his daughters are +thought to be among the prettiest girls in the county." + +"Has he children? Poor things!" sighed Flora. + +"Why, Flora, I cannot make you out," said I. "I could understand your +being uncomfortable about Angus; but what is Mr Bagnall to you?" + +"Cary!" I cannot describe the tone. + +"Well?" said I. + +"Is the Lord nothing to me?" she said, almost passionately; "nor the +poor misguided souls committed to that man's charge, for which he will +have to give account at the last day?" + +"My dear Flora, you do take things so seriously!" I said, trying to +laugh; but her tone and words had startled me, for all that. + +"It is well to take sin seriously," said she. "Men are serious enough +in Hell; and sin is its antechamber." + +"You don't suppose poor Mr Bagnall will be sent there, for a little too +much champagne at a hunt-supper?" said I. I did not like it, for I +thought of Father. I have heard him singing "Old King Cole" and half a +dozen more songs, all mixed up in a heap, after a hunt-supper. "Men +always do it there. And I can assure you Mr Bagnall is thought a +first-class preacher. People go to hear him even from Cockermouth." + +"That is worse than ever," said Flora, "A man who preaches the truth and +serves the Devil--that must be awful!" + +"Flora, you do say the queerest things!" said I. "Does your father +never do so?" + +"My father?" she answered in an astonished, indignant voice. "_My +father_! Cary! but,"--with a change in the tone--"you do not know him, +of course. Why, Cary, if he knew that Angus had been for once in the +midst of such a scene as that, I think it would break my father's +heart." + +I wondered how Angus had fared, and if he were singing snatches of +Scotch songs in some bed-chamber at the other end of the long gallery, +but I had not the cruelty to say it to Flora. + +When we came down the next morning, I was curious to peep into the +dining-room, just to see what it was like. The wreck of a ship is the +only thing I can think of, which might look like it. Half the chairs +were flung over in all directions, and two broken to pieces; a quantity +of broken glass was heaped both on the floor and the table; dark wine +stains on the carpet, and pools upon the table, not yet dry, were +sufficient signs of what the night had been. Bessy stood in the window, +duster in hand, picking up the chairs, and setting them in their places. + +"Didn't the gentlemen enjoy theirselves, Miss Cary?" said she. "My +word, but they made a night on't! I'd like to ha' been wi' 'em, just +for to see!" + +I made no answer beyond nodding my head. Flora's words came back to +me,--"It is well to take sin seriously." I could not laugh and jest, as +I dare say I should have done but for them. + +When I came into the parlour, I only found three of all the gentlemen in +the house,--Father, Mr Keith, and Ambrose Catterall. I thought Father +seemed rather cross, and he was finding fault with everybody for +something. Sophy's hair was rough, and Hatty had put on a gown he did +not like, and Fanny's ruffle had a hole in it; and then he turned round +and scolded my Aunt Kezia for not having us in better order. My Aunt +Kezia said never a word, but I felt sure from her drawn brow and set +lips, as she stood making tea, that she could have said a great many. +Mr Keith was silent and grave. Ambrose Catterall seemed to think it +his duty to make fun for everybody, and he laughed and joked and +chattered away finely. I asked where old Mr Catterall was. + +"Oh, in bed with a headache," laughed Ambrose, "like everybody else this +morning." + +"Speak for yourself," said Mr Keith. "I have not one." + +"Well, mine's going," returned Ambrose, gaily. "A cup of Mrs Kezia's +capital tea will finish it off." + +"Finish what off?" asked my Aunt Kezia. + +"My last night's headache," said he. + +"That tea must have come from Heaven, then, instead of China," replied +she. "Nay, Ambrose Catterall; it will take blood to finish off the +consequence of your doings last night." + +"Why, Mrs Kezia, are you going to fight me?" asked he, laughing. + +"Young man, why don't you fight the Devil?" answered my Aunt Kezia, +looking him full in the face. "He does not pay good wages, Ambrose." + +"Never saw the colour of his money yet," said Ambrose, who seemed +extremely amused. + +"I wish you never may," quoth my aunt. "But I sadly fear you are going +the way to do it." + +The more Ambrose laughed, the graver my Aunt Kezia seemed to grow. +Before we had finished breakfast, Angus came languidly into the room. + +"What ails you, old comrade?" said Ambrose; and Flora's eyes looked up +with the same question, but I think there were tears on the brown +velvet. + +"Oh, my head aches conf--I mean--abominably," said Angus, flushing. + +"Take a hair of the dog that bit you," suggested Ambrose; "unless you +think humble pie will agree with you better. I fancy Miss Drummond +would rather help you to that last." + +I saw a flash in Mr Keith's eyes, which gave me the idea that he might +not be a pleasant person to meet alone in a glen at midnight, if he had +no scruples as to what he did. + +"You hold your tongue!" growled Angus. + +"By all means, if you prefer it," said Ambrose, lightly. + +One after another, the gentlemen strolled in,--all but two who stayed in +bed till afternoon, and of these Mr Catterall was one. Among the last +to appear was Mr Bagnall; but he looked quite fresh and gay when he +came, like Ambrose. + +"We had to say grace for ourselves, Mr Bagnall," said Father. "Sit +down, and let me help you to some of this turkey pie." + +"Thanks--if you please. What a lovely morning!" was Mr Bagnall's +answer. "The young ladies look like fresh rosebuds with the dew on +them." + +"We have not you gentlemen to thank for it, if we do," broke in Hatty. +"Our slumbers were all the less profound for your kind assistance. Oh +yes, you can look, Mr Bagnall! I mean _you_. I heard `Sally in our +Alley' about one o'clock this morning." + +"No, was I singing that, now?" said Mr Bagnall, laughing. "I did not +know I got quite so far. But at a hunt-supper, you know, everything is +excusable." + +"Would you give me a reference to the passage which says so, Mr +Bagnall?" came from behind the tea-pot. "I should like to note it in my +Bible." + +Mr Bagnall laughed again, but rather uncomfortably. + +"My dear Mrs Kezia, you do not imagine the Bible has anything to do +with a hunt-supper?" + +"It is to be hoped I don't, or I should be woefully disappointed," she +answered. "But I always thought, Mr Bagnall, that the Word of God and +the ministers of God should have something to do with one another." + +"Kezia, keep your Puritan notions to yourself!" roared Father from the +other end of the table; and he put some words before it which I would +rather not write. "I can't think," he went on, looking round, "wherever +Kezia can have picked up such mad whims as she has. For a sister of +mine to say such a thing to a clergyman--I declare it makes my hair +stand on end!" + +"Your hair may lie down again, Brother. I've done," said my Aunt Kezia, +coolly. "As to where I got it, I should think you might know. It runs +in the blood. And I suppose Deborah Hunter was your grandmother as well +as mine." + +Father's reply was full of the words I do not want to write, but it was +not a compliment to his grandmother. + +"Come, Mrs Kezia," said Mr Bagnall, "let us make it up by glasses all +round, and a toast to the sweet Puritan memory of Mrs Deborah Hunter." + +"No, thank you," said my Aunt Kezia. "As to Deborah Hunter, she has +been a saint in Heaven these thirty years, and finely she'd like it (if +she knew it) to have you drinking yourselves drunk in her honour. But +let me tell you--and you can say what you like after it--she taught me +that `the chief end of man was to glorify God, and to enjoy Him for +ever.' Your notion seems to be that the chief end of man is to glorify +himself, and to enjoy him for ever. I think mine's the better of the +two: and as to yours, the worst thing I wish any of you is that you may +get mine instead of it. Now then, Brother, I've had my say, and you can +have yours." + +And not another word did my Aunt Kezia say, though Father stormed, and +the other gentlemen laughed and joked, and paid her sarcastic +compliments, all the while breakfast lasted. There were two who were +silent, and those were Angus and Mr Keith. Angus seemed too poorly and +unhappy to take any interest in the matter; and as to Mr Keith, I +believe in his heart (if I read it right in his eyes) that he was +perfectly delighted with my Aunt Kezia. + +"The young ladies did not honour us by riding to the meet," said Mr +Bagnall at last, looking at that one of us who sat nearest him--which, +by ill luck, happened to be Flora. + +"No, Sir. I do not think my aunt would have allowed it; but--" Flora +stopped, and cast her eyes on her plate. + +"But if she had, you would have been pleased to come?" suggested Mr +Bagnall, rubbing his hands. + +He spoke in that disagreeable way in which some men do speak to girls--I +do not know what to call it. It is a condescending, patronising kind of +manner, as if--yes, that is it!--as if they wanted to amuse themselves +by hearing the opinion of something so totally incapable of forming one. +I wish they knew how the girls long to shake the nonsense out of them. + +But Flora did not lose her temper, as I should have done: she held her +own with a quiet dignity which I envied, but could never have imitated. + +"Pardon me, Sir. I was about to say the direct contrary--that if my +aunt had allowed it, I for one would rather not have gone." + +"Afraid of a fall, eh?" laughed Mr Bagnall. "Well, ladies are not +expected to be as venturesome as men." + +Now, why do men always fancy that it is a woman's duty to do what men +expect her? I cannot see it one bit. + +"I was not afraid of that, Sir," said Flora. + +Father, with whom Flora is a favourite, was listening with a smile. I +believe Aunt Drummond was his pet sister. + +"No? Why, what then?" said Mr Bagnall, shaking the pepper over his +turkey pie until I wondered what sort of a throat he would have when he +had finished it. + +"I am afraid of hardening my heart, Sir," said Flora, in her calm +decisive way. + +"Hardening your heart, girl! What do you mean?" said Father. +"Hardening your heart by riding to hounds!" + +"A little puzzling, certainly," said Sir Robert Dacre, who sat opposite. +"We must ask Miss Drummond to explain." + +He did not speak in that disagreeable way that Mr Bagnall did; but +Flora flushed up when she found three gentlemen looking at her, and +asking her for an explanation. + +"I mean," she answered, "that one hardens one's heart by taking pleasure +in anything which gives another creature pain. But I beg your pardon; +indeed I did not mean to put myself forward." + +"No, no, child; we drew you forward," said Father, kindly. He gets over +his tempers in a moment, and he seemed to have quite forgotten the +passage at arms with my Aunt Kezia. + +"Still, I do not quite understand," said Sir Robert, not at all +unkindly. "Who is the injured creature in this case, Miss Drummond?" + +Flora's colour rose again. "The hare, Sir," she said. + +"The hare!" cried Mr Bagnall, leaning back in his chair to laugh. +"Well, Miss Flora, you are quixotic." + +"May I quote my father, Sir?" was her reply. "He says that Don Quixote +(supposing him a real person, which I take it he was not) was one of the +noblest men the world ever saw, only the world was not ready for him." + +"The world not ready for him? No, I should think not!" laughed Father. +"Not just yet, my little lady-errant." + +Flora smiled quietly. "Perhaps it will be, some day. Uncle Courtenay," +she said. + +"When the larks fall from the sky--eh, Miss Flora?" said Mr Bagnall, +rubbing his hands again in that odious way he has. + +"When `they shall not hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain,'" was +Flora's soft answer. + +"Surely you don't suppose that literal?" replied Mr Bagnall, laughing. +"Why, you must be as bad--I had nearly said as _mad_--as my next +neighbour, Everard Murthwaite (of Holme Cultram, you know," he explained +aside to Father). "Why, he has actually got a notion that the Jews are +to be restored to Palestine! Whoever heard of such a mad idea? Only +think--the Jews!" + +"Ridiculous nonsense!" said Father. + +"Is it not usually the case," asked Mr Keith, who till then had hardly +spoken, "that the world counts as mad the wisest men in it?" + +"Why, Mr Keith, you must be one of them!" cried Mr Bagnall. + +"Of the wise men? Thank you!" said Mr Keith, drily. + +There was a laugh at this. + +"But I can tell you of something queerer still," Mr Bagnall went on. +"Old Cis Crosthwaite, in my parish, says she knows her sins are +forgiven." + +Such exclamations came from most of the gentlemen at that! +"Preposterous!" said one. "Ridiculous!" said another. "Insufferable +presumption!" cried a third. + +"Cis Crosthwaite!" said Sir Robert Dacre, more quietly. + +"Yes, Cis Crosthwaite," repeated Mr Bagnall; "an old wretch of a woman +who has never been any better than she should be, and whom I met +sticking hedges only last winter. Her son Joe is the worst poacher in +the parish." + +All the gentlemen seemed to think that most dreadful. I do not know why +it is they always appear to reckon snaring wild game which belongs +nobody a more wicked thing than breaking all the Ten Commandments. +Would it not have been in them if it were? + +Only Sir Robert Dacre said, "Poor old creature! don't let us saddle her +with Joe's sins. I dare say she has plenty of her own." + +"Plenty? I should think so. She is a horrid old wretch," answered Mr +Bagnall. "And do but think, if this miserable creature has not the +arrogance and presumption to say that her sins are forgiven!" + +"I suppose Christ died that somebody's sins might be forgiven?" said Mr +Keith, in his quiet way. + +"Of course, but those are respectable people," Mr Bagnall said, rather +indignantly. + +"Before or after the forgiveness?" asked Mr Keith. + +"Sir," said Mr Bagnall, rather stiffly, "I am not accustomed to discuss +such matters as these at table." + +"Are you not? I am," said Mr Keith, quite simply. + +"But," continued Mr Bagnall, "I thought every one understood the +orthodox view--namely, that a man must do his best, and practise virtue, +and lead a proper sort of life, and then, when God Almighty sees you a +decent and fit person, and endeavouring to be good He helps you with His +grace." [Note 2.] + +"Of course!" said the Vicar of Sebergham--I suppose by way of Amen. + +"Men are to do their best, then, and practise these virtues, in the +first instance, without any assistance from God's grace? That Gospel +sounds rather ill tidings," was Mr Keith's answer. + +Everybody was listening by this time. Sir Robert Dacre, I thought, +seemed secretly diverted; and Hatty's eyes were gleaming with fun. +Father looked uncomfortable, and as if he did not know what Mr Keith +would be at. From my Aunt Kezia little nods of satisfaction kept coming +to what he said. + +"Sir," demanded Mr Bagnall, looking his adversary straight in the face, +"are you not orthodox?" + +He spoke rather in the tone in which he might have asked, "Are you not +honest?" + +"May I ask you to explain the word, before I answer?" was Mr Keith's +response. + +"I mean, are you one of these Methodists?" + +"Certainly not. I belong to the Kirk of Scotland." + +Mr Bagnall's "Oh!" seemed to say that some at any rate of Mr Keith's +queer notions might be accounted for, if he were so unfortunate as to +have been born in a different Church. + +"But," pursued Mr Keith, "seeing that the Church of England, and the +Kirk of Scotland, and the Methodists, all accept the Word of God as the +rule of faith, they should all, methinks, be sound in the faith, if that +be what you mean by `orthodox.'" + +"By `orthodox,'" said the Vicar of Sebergham, after a sonorous clearing +of his throat, "I understand a man who keeps to the Articles of the +Church, and does not run into any extravagances and enthusiasm." + +"Hear him!" cried Mr Bagnall, as if he were at a Tory meeting. Hatty +burst out laughing, but immediately smothered it in her handkerchief. + +"I do hear him, and with pleasure," said Mr Keith. "I am no friend to +extravagance, I assure you. Let a Churchman keep to the Bible and the +Articles, and I ask no more of him. But excuse me if I say that we are +departing from the question before us, which was the propriety, or +impropriety, of one saying that his sins were forgiven. May I ask why +you object to that?--and is the objection to the forgiveness, or to the +proclamation of it?" + +"Sir," said Mr Bagnall, warmly, "I think it presumption--arrogance-- +horrible self-conceit." + +"To have forgiveness?--or to say so?" + +"I cannot answer such a question, Sir!" said Mr Bagnall, getting red in +the face, and seizing the pepper-box once more, with which he dusted his +pie recklessly. "When a man sets himself up to be better than his +neighbours in that way, it is scandalous--perfectly scandalous, Sir!" + +"`Better than his neighbours!'" repeated Mr Keith, as if he were +considering the question. "If a pardoned criminal be better than his +neighbours, I suppose the neighbours are worse criminals?" + +"Sir, you misunderstand me. They fancy themselves better than others." +Mr Bagnall was getting angry. + +"But seeing all are criminals alike, and they own it every Sunday," was +Mr Keith's answer, "does it not look rather odd that an objection +should be made to one of them stating that he has been pardoned? Is it +because the rest are unpardoned, and are conscious of it?" + +"Come, friends!" said Sir Robert, before Mr Bagnall could reply. "Let +us not lose our tempers, I beg. Mr Keith is a Scotsman, and such are +commonly good reasoners and love a tilt; and 'tis but well in a young +man to keep his wits in practice. But we must not get too far, you +know." + +"Just so! just so!" saith Father, who I think was glad to have a stop +put to this sort of converse. "Mr Bagnall, I am sure, bears no malice. +Sir Robert, when do the Holme Cultram hounds meet next?" + +Mr Bagnall growled something, I know not what, and gave himself up to +his pie for the rest of the time, Mr Keith smiled, and said no more. +But I know in whose hands I thought the victory rested. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The word "ticket" was still spelt "etiquette." + +Note 2. These exact expressions are quoted in Whitefield's sermons. + + + +CHAPTER FOUR. + +THINGS BEGIN TO HAPPEN. + + "The untrue liveth only in the heart + Of vain humanity, which fain would be + Its own poor centre and circumference." + + REV HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. + +This afternoon I went up the Scar by myself. First I climbed right to +the top, and after looking round a little, as I always like to do on the +top of a mountain, I went down a few yards to the flat bit where the old +Roman wall runs, and sat down on the grass just above. It was a lovely +day. I had not an idea that any one was near the place but myself, and +I was just going to sing, when to my surprise I heard a voice on the +other side of the Roman wall. It was Angus Drummond's. + +"Duncan Keith, why don't you say something?" He broke out suddenly, in +a petulant tone--rather the tone of a child who knows it has been +naughty, and wants to get the scolding over which it feels sure is +coming some time. + +"What do you wish me to say?" + +Mr Keith's tone was cold and constrained, I thought. + +"Why don't you tell me I am an unhanged reprobate, and that you are +ashamed to be seen walking with me? You know you are thinking it." + +"No, Angus. I was thinking something very different." + +"What, then?" asked Angus, sulkily. + +"`Doth He not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after +that which is lost, _until He find it_?'" + +There was no coldness in Mr Keith's tone now. + +"What has that got to do with it?" growled Angus in his throat. + +"Angus," was the soft answer, "the sheep sometimes makes it a very hard +journey for Him." + +I know I ought to have risen and crept away long before this: but I did +not. It was not right of me, but I sat on. I knew they could not see +me through the wall, nor could they get across it at any place so near +that I could not be gone far enough before they could catch sight of me. + +"I suppose," said Angus, in the same sort of sulky murmur, "that is your +way of telling me, Mr Keith, that I am a miserable sinner." + +"Are you not?" + +"Miserable enough, Heaven knows! But, Duncan, I don't see why you, and +Flora, and Mrs Kezia, and all the good folks, or the folks who think +themselves extra good, which comes to the same thing--" + +"Does it? I was not aware of that," said Mr Keith. + +"I can't see," Angus went on, "why you must all turn up the whites of +your eyes like a duck in thunder, and hold up your hands in pious horror +at me, because I have done just once what every gentleman in the land +does every week, and thinks nothing of it. If you had not been brought +up in a hen-coop, and ruled like a copy-book, you would not be so con-- +so hideously strict and particular! Just ask Ambrose Catterall whether +there is any weight on his conscience; or ask that jolly parson, who +tackled you and Flora at breakfast, what he has to say to it. I'll be +bound he will read prayers next Sabbath with as much grace and unction +as if he had never been drunk in his life. And because I get let in +just once, why--" + +Angus paused as if to consider how to finish his sentence, and Mr Keith +answered one point of his long speech, letting all the rest, go. + +"Is it just this once, Angus?" + +"I suppose you mean that night at York, when I got let in with those +fellows of Greensmith's," growled Angus, more grumpily than ever. "Now, +Duncan, that's not generous of you. I did the humble and penitent for +that, and you should not cast it up to me. Just that time and this!" + +"And no more, Angus?" + +Angus muttered something which did not reach me. + +"Angus, you know why I came with you?" + +"Yes, I know well enough why you came with me," said Angus, bitterly. +"Just because that stupid old meddler, Helen Raeburn, took it into her +wooden head that I could not take care of myself, and talked my father +into sending me with you now, instead of letting me go the other way +round by myself! Could not take care of myself, forsooth!" + +"Have you done it?" + +"I hadn't it to do. Mr Duncan Keith was to take care of me, just as if +I had been a baby--stuff! There is no end to the folly of old women!" + +"I think young men might sometimes match them. Well, Angus, I have +taken as much care as you let me. But you deceived me, boy. I know +more about it than you think. It was not one or two transgressions that +let you down to this pitch. I know you had a private key from Rob +Greensmith, and let yourself in and out when I believed you asleep." + +Angus sputtered out some angry words, which I did not catch. + +"No. You are mistaken. Leigh did not tell of you or his brother. Your +friend Robert told me himself. He wanted to get out of the scrape, and +he did not care about leaving you in it. The friendship of the wicked +is not worth much, Angus. But if I had not known it, I should still +have felt perfectly sure that there had been more going on than you ever +confessed to me. Three months since, Angus, you would not have used +words which you have used this day. You would not have spoken so +lightly of being `let in'--let into what? Just stop and think. And +twice to-day--once in Flora's presence--you have only just stopped your +tongue from a worse word than that. Would you have said such a thing to +your father before we left Abbotscliff?" + +"Uncle Courtenay was as drunk as any of them last night," Angus blurted +out. + +I did not like to hear that of Father. Till now I never thought much +about such things, except that they were imperfections which men had and +women had not, and the women must put up with them. Sins?--well, yes, I +suppose getting drunk is a sin, if you come to think about it; but so is +getting into a passion, and telling falsehoods, and plenty more things +which one thinks little or nothing about, because one sees everybody do +them every day. It is only the extra good people, like my Aunt Kezia, +and Flora, and Mr Keith, that put on grave faces about things of that +kind. + +But stay! God must be better than the extra good people. Then will He +not think even worse of such things than they do? + +It was just because those three seemed to think it so awful, and to be +inclined to make a fuss over it, that I did not like to hear what Angus +said about Father. Grandmamma never thought anything about it; she +always said drinking and gaming were gentlemanly vices, which the King +himself--(I mean, of course, the Elector, but Grandmamma said the +King)--need not be ashamed of practising. + +I listened rather uneasily for Mr Keith's answer. I am beginning to +feel a good deal of respect for his opinion and himself, and I did not +want to hear him say anything about Father that was not agreeable. But +he put it quietly aside. + +"If you please, Angus, we will let other people alone. Both you and I +shall find our own sins quite enough to repent of, I expect. You have +not answered my question, Angus." + +"What question?" grumbled Angus. I fancy he did not want to answer it. + +"Would you, three months since, have let your father see and hear what +you have let me do within even the last week?" + +Angus growled something in the bottom of his throat which I could not +make out. + +Mr Keith's tone changed suddenly. + +"Angus, dear old fellow, are you happier now than you were then?" + +"Duncan, I am the most miserable wretch that ever lived! I want no +preaching to, I can tell you. That last text my father preached from +keeps tolling in my ear like a funeral bell--and it is all the worse +because it comes in his voice: `Remember from whence thou art fallen!' +Don't I remember it? Do I want telling whence I have fallen? Haven't I +made a thousand resolves never, _never_ to fail again, and the next time +I get into company, all my resolves melt away and my hard knots come +undone, and I feel as strong as a spoonful of water, and any of them can +lead me that tries, like an animal with a ring through his nose?" + +"Water is not a bad comparison, Angus, if you look at both sides of it. +What is stronger than water, when the wind blows it with power? And you +know who is compared to the wind. `Awake, O North Wind, and come, Thou +South; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.' It +is the wind of God's Spirit that we want, to blow the water--powerless +of itself--in the right direction. It will carry all before it then." + +"Oh, yes, all that sounds very well," said Angus, but in a pleasanter +tone than before--not so much like a big growling dog. "But you don't +know, Duncan--you don't know! You have no temptations. What can you +know about it? I tell you I _can't_ keep out of it. It is no good +talking." + +"`No temptations!' I wish that were true. But you are quite right as +to yourself; you cannot keep out of it. Do you mean to add that God +cannot keep you?" + +I did not hear Angus's reply, and I fancy it came in a gesture, and not +in words. But Mr Keith said, very softly,-- + +"Angus, will you let Him keep you?" + +Instead of the answer for which I was eagerly listening, another sound +came to my ear, which made me jump up in a hurry, almost without caring +whether I was heard or not. That was the clock of Brocklebank Church +striking twelve. I should be ever so much too late for dinner; and what +would my Aunt Kezia say? I got away as quietly as I could for a few +yards, and then ran down the Scar as fast as I dared for fear of +falling, and came into the dining-room, feeling hot and breathless, just +as Cecilia, looking fresh and bright as a white lily, was entering it +from the other end. The rest were seated at the table. Of course Mr +Keith and Angus were not there. + +"Caroline, where have you been?" saith my Aunt Kezia. + +I trembled, for I knew what I had to expect when my Aunt Kezia said +Caroline in full. + +"I am very sorry, Aunt," said I. "I went up the Scar, and--well, I am +afraid I forgot all about the time." + +My Aunt Kezia nodded, as if my frank confession satisfied her, and +Father said, "Good maid!" as I slipped into the chair where I always +sit, on his left hand. But Cecilia, who was arranging her skirts just +opposite, said in that way which men seem to call charming, and women +always see through and despise (at least my Aunt Kezia says so),-- + +"Am I a little late?" + +"Don't name it!" said Father. + +"Dear, no, my charmer!" cried Hatty. "Cary's shockingly late, of +course: but you are not--quite impossible." + +Cecilia gave one of her soft smiles, and said no more. + +I really am beginning to wish the Bracewells gone. Yet it is not so +much on their own account, Amelia is vain and silly, and Charlotte rude +and romping; but I do not think either of them is a hypocrite. +Charlotte is not, I am sure; she lets you see the very worst side of +her: and Amelia's affectation is so plain and unmistakable, that it +cannot be called insincerity. It is on account of that horrid Cecilia +that I want them to go, because I suppose she will go with them. Yes, +truth is truth, and Cecilia is horrid. I am getting quite frightened of +her. I do not know what she means to do next: but she seems to me to be +always laying traps of some sort, and for somebody. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I wonder if people ever do what you expect of them? If somebody had +asked me to make a list of things that could not happen, I expect that I +should have put on it one thing that has just happened. + +Sophy and I went up this morning to Goody Branscombe's cot, to take her +some wine and eggs from my Aunt Kezia. Anne Branscombe thinks she is +failing, poor old woman, and my Aunt Kezia told her to beat up an egg +with a little wine and sugar, and give it to her fasting of a morning: +she thinks it a fine thing for keeping up strength. We came round by +the Vicarage on our way back, and stepped in to see old Elspie. We +found her ironing the Vicar's shirts and ruffles, and she put us in +rocking-chairs while we sat and talked. + +Old Elspie wanted to know all we could tell her about Flora and Angus, +and I promised I would bring Flora to see her some day. She says Mr +Keith--Mr Duncan Keith's father, that is--is the squire of Abbotscliff, +a very rich man, and a tremendous Tory. + +"You're vara nigh strangers, young leddies," said Elspie, as she ironed +away. "Miss Fanny, she came to see me a twa-three days back, and Miss +Bracewell wi' her; and there was anither young leddy, but I disremember +her name." + +"Was it Charlotte Bracewell?" said Sophy. + +"Na, na, I ken Miss Charlotte ower weel to forget her, though she has +grown a deal sin' I saw her afore. This was a lassie wi' black hair, +and e'en like the new wood the minister has his dinner-table, wi' the +fine name--what ca' ye that, now?" + +"Mahogany?" said I. + +"Ay, it has some sic fremit soun'," said old Elspie, rather scornfully. +"I ken it was no sae far frae muggins [mugwort]. Mrs Sophy, my dear, +ha'e ye e'er suppit muggins in May? 'Tis the finest thing going for +keeping a lassie in gude health, and it suld be drinkit in the spring. +Atweel, what's her name wi' the copper-colourit e'en?" + +"Cecilia Osborne," said I. "What did you think of her, Elspie?" + +The iron went up and down the Vicar's shirt-front, and I saw a curious +gathering together of old Elspie's lips--still she did not speak. At +last Sophy said,-- + +"Couldn't you make up your mind about her, Elspie?" + +"I had nae mickle fash about _that_, Mrs Sophy," said Elspeth, setting +down her iron on the stand with something like a bang. "And gin I can +see through a millstane a wee bittie, she'll gi'e ye the chance to make +up yourn afore lang." + +"Nay, mine's made up long since," answered Sophy. "I shall see the back +of her with a deal more pleasure than I did her face a month ago. Won't +you, Cary?" + +"I don't like her the least bit," said I. + +"Ye'll be wiser lassies, young leddies, gin ye're no ower ready to say +it," said Elspie, coolly. "It was no ane o' _your_ white days when she +came to Brocklebank Fells. Ay, weel, weel! The Lord's ower a'." + +As we went down the road, I said to Sophy, "What did old Elspie mean, do +you suppose?" + +"I am afraid I can guess what she meant, Cary." + +Sophy's tone was so strange that I looked up at her; and I saw her eyes +flashing and her lips set and white. + +"Sophy! what is the matter?" I cried. + +"Don't trouble your little head, Cary," she said, kindly enough. "It +will be trouble in plenty when it comes." + +I could not get her to say more. As we reached the door, Hatty came +dancing out to meet us. + + "`The rose is white, the rose is red,'-- + The sun gives light, Queen Anne is dead: + Ladies with white and rosy hues, + What will you give me for my news?" + +"Hatty, you must have made that yourself!" said Sophy. + +"I have, just this minute," laughed Hatty. "Now then, who'll bid for my +news?" + +"I dare say it isn't worth a farthing," said Sophy. + +"Well, to you, perhaps not. It may be rather mortifying. My sweet +Sophia, you are the eldest of us, but your younger sister has stolen a +march on you. You have played your cards ill, Miss Courtenay. Fanny is +going to be the first of us married, unless I contrive to run away with +somebody in the interval. I don't know whom--there's the difficulty." + +"Well, I always thought she would be," said Sophy, quite +good-humouredly. "She is the prettiest of us, is Fanny." + +"So much obliged for the compliment!" gleefully cried Hatty. "Cary, +don't you feel delighted?" + +"Is Ephraim here now?" I said, for of course I never thought of anybody +else. + +"Ephraim!" Hatty whirled round, laughing heartily. "Ephraim, my dear, +will have to break his heart at leisure. Ambrose Catterall has stolen a +march on _him_." + +"You don't mean that Fanny and Ambrose are to be married!" cried Sophy, +with wide-open eyes. + +"I do, Madam; and my Aunt Kezia is as mad as a hatter about it. She +would have liked Ephraim for her nephew ever so much better than +Ambrose." + +"Well, I do think!" exclaimed Sophy. "If Ephraim did really care for +Fanny, she has used him shamefully." + +"So _I_ think!" said Hatty. "I mean to present him on his next birthday +with a dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, embroidered in the corner with an urn +and a willow-tree." + +"An urn, you ridiculous child!" returned Sophy. "That means that +somebody is dead." + +"Don't throw cold water on my charming conceits!" pleaded Hatty. "Now +go in and face my Aunt Kezia--if you dare." + +We found her cutting out flannel petticoats in the parlour. My Aunt +Kezia's brows were drawn together, and my Aunt Kezia's lips were thin; +and I trembled. However, she took no note of us, but went on tearing up +flannel, and making little piles of it upon the table end. + +Sophy, with heroic bravery, attacked the citadel at once. + +"Well, Aunt, this is pretty news!" + +"What is?" said my Aunt Kezia, standing up straight and stiff. + +"Why, this about Fanny and Ambrose Catterall." + +"Oh, that! I wish there were nothing worse than that in _this_ world." +My Aunt Kezia spoke as if she would have preferred some other world, +where things went straighter than they do in this. + +"Hatty said you were put out about it, Aunt." + +"That's all Hatty knows. I think 'tis a blunder, and Fanny will find it +out, likely enough. But if that were all--Girls, 'tis nigh dinner-time. +You had better take your bonnets off." + +"What is the matter with my Aunt Kezia?" said I to Sophy, as we went +up-stairs. + +"Don't ask _me_!" said that young lady. + +Half-way up-stairs we met Charlotte. + +"Oh, what fun you have missed, you two!" cried she. "Why didn't you +come home a little sooner? I would not have lost it for a hundred +pounds." + +"Lost what, Charlotte?" + +"Lost _what_? Ask my Aunt Kezia--now just you _do_!" + +"My Aunt Kezia seems unapproachable," said Sophy. + +Charlotte went off into a fit of laughter, and then slid down the +banister to the hall--a feat which my Aunt Kezia has forbidden her to +perform a dozen times at least. We went forward, made ourselves ready +for dinner, and came down to the dining-parlour. + +In the dining-room we found a curious group. My Aunt Kezia looked as +stiff as whalebone; Father, pleased and radiant; Flora and Mr Keith +both seemed rather puzzled. Angus was in a better temper than usual. +Charlotte was evidently full of something very funny, which she did not +want to let out; Cecilia, soft, serene, and velvety; Fanny looked +nervous and uncomfortable; Hatty, scornful; while Amelia was her usual +self. + +When dinner was over, we went back to the parlour. My Aunt Kezia +gathered up her heaps of flannel, gave one to Flora and another to me, +and began to stitch away at a third herself. Amelia threw herself on +the sofa, saying she was tired to death; and I was surprised to see that +my Aunt Kezia took no notice. Fanny sat down to draw; Hatty went on +with her knitting; Charlotte strolled out into the garden; and Cecilia +disappeared, I know not whither. + +For an hour or more we worked away in solemn silence. Hatty tried to +whisper once or twice to Fanny, making her blush and look uncomfortable; +but Fanny did not speak, and I fancy Hatty got tired. Amelia went to +sleep. + +At last, and all at once, Flora--honest, straightforward Flora--laid her +work on her knee, and looked up at my Aunt Kezia's grim set face. + +"Aunt Kezia, will you tell me, is something the matter?" + +"Yes, my dear," my Aunt Kezia seemed to snap out. "Satan's the matter." + +"I don't know what you mean, Aunt," said Flora. + +"'Tis a mercy if you don't. No, child, there is not much the matter for +you. The matter's for me and these girls here. Well, to be sure! +there's no fool like an old f--Caroline! (I fairly jumped) can't you +look what you are doing? You are herring-boning that seam on the wrong +side!" + +Alas! the charge was true. I cannot tell how or why it is, but if there +are two seams to anything, I am sure to do one of them on the wrong +side. It is very queer. I suppose there is something wanting in my +brains. Hatty says--at least she did once when I said that--the brains +are wanting. + +However, we sat on and sewed away, till at last Amelia woke up and went +up-stairs; Flora finished her petticoat, and my Aunt Kezia told her to +go into the garden. Only we four sisters were left. Then my Aunt Kezia +put down her flannel, wiped her spectacles, and looked round at us. + +I knew something was coming, and I felt quite sure that it was something +disagreeable; but I could not form an idea what it was. + +"Girls," said my Aunt Kezia, "I think you may as well hear at once that +I am going to leave Brocklebank." + +I fairly gasped in astonishment. Brocklebank without my Aunt Kezia! It +sounded like hearing that the sun was going out of the sky. I could not +imagine such a state of things. + +"Is Sophy to be mistress, then?" said Fanny, blankly. + +"Aunt Kezia, are you going to be married?" our impertinent Hatty wanted +to know. + +"No, Hester," said my Aunt Kezia, shortly. "At my time of life a woman +has a little sense left; or if she have not, she is only fit for Bedlam. +I do not think Sophy will be mistress, Fanny. Somebody else is going +to take that place. Otherwise, I should have stayed in it." + +"What do you mean, Aunt Kezia?" said Fanny, speaking very slowly, and in +a bewildered sort of way. + +Sophy said nothing. I think she knew. And all at once it seemed to +come over me--as if somebody had shut me up inside a lump of ice--what +it was that was going to happen. + +"I mean, my dear," my Aunt Kezia replied quietly, "that your father +intends to marry again." + +Sophy's face and tongue gave no sign that she had heard anything which +was news to her. Fanny cried, "Never, surely!" Hatty said, "How +jolly!" and then in a whisper to me, "Won't I lead her a life!" I +believe I said nothing. I felt shut up in that lump of ice. + +"But, Aunt Kezia, what is to become of us all? Are we to stay here, or +go with you?" asked Fanny. + +"Your father desires me to tell you, my dears," said my Aunt Kezia, +"that he wishes to leave you quite free to please yourselves. If you +choose to remain here, he will be glad to have you; and if any of you +like to come with me to Fir Vale, you will be welcome, and you know what +to expect." + +"What are we to expect if we stop here?" asked Sophy, in a hard, dry +voice. + +"That is more than I can say," was my Aunt Kezia's answer. + +"But who is it?" said Fanny, in the same bewildered way. + +"O Fanny, what a bat you are!" cried Hatty. + +"I wonder you ask," answered Sophy. "I have seen her fishing-rod for +ever so long. Cecilia, of course." + +"Cecilia!" screamed Fanny. "I thought it was some middle-aged, +respectable gentlewoman." + +Hatty burst out laughing. I never felt less inclined to laugh. My Aunt +Kezia had taken off her spectacles, and was going on with her tucks as +if nothing had happened. + +"Well, I will think about it," said Sophy. "I am not sure I shall +stay." + +"_I_ shall stay," announced Hatty. "I expect it will be grand fun. She +will fill the house with company--that will suit me; and I shall just +look sharp after her and keep her in order." + +"Hatty!" cried Fanny, in a shocked tone. + +"I hope you will keep yourself in order," said my Aunt Kezia, drily. +"Little Cary, you have not spoken yet. What do you want to do?" + +Her voice softened as I had never heard it do before when she spoke to +me. It touched me very much; yet I think I should have said the same +without it. + +"O Aunt Kezia, please let me go with you!" + +"Thank you, Cary," said my Aunt Kezia in the same tone. "The old woman +is not to be left quite alone, then? But it will be dull, child, for a +young thing like you." + +"I would rather have it dull than lively the wrong way about," said I; +and Hatty broke out again. + +"Would you!" said she, when she had done laughing. "I wouldn't, I +promise you. Sophy, don't you know a curate you could marry? You had +better, if you can find one." + +"Not one that has asked me," was Sophy's dry answer. "You don't want +me, then, Miss Hatty?" + +"You would be rather meddlesome, I am afraid," said Hatty, with charming +frankness. "You would always be doing conscience." + +"Don't you intend to keep one?" returned Sophy. + +"I mean to lay it up in lavender," said Hatty, "and take it out on +Sundays." + +"Hatty, if you haven't a care--" + +"Please go on, Aunt Kezia. Unfinished sentences are always awful +things, because you don't know how they are going to end." + +"_You_'ll end in the lock-up, if you don't mind," said my Aunt Kezia; +"and if I were you, I wouldn't." + +"I'll try to keep on this side the door," said Hatty, as lightly as +ever. "And when is it to be, Aunt Kezia?" + +"The month after next, I believe." + +"Isn't Cecilia going home first, to see what her friends say about it?" + +"She has none belonging to her, except an uncle and his family, and she +says they will be delighted to hear it. Hatty, you had better get out +of the way of calling her Cecilia. It won't do now, you know." + +"But you don't mean, Aunt Kezia, that we are to call her Mother!" cried +Fanny, in a most beseeching tone. + +"My dear, that must be as your father wishes. He may allow you to call +her Mrs Courtenay. That is what I shall call her." + +"Isn't it dreadful!" said poor Fanny. + +"One thing more I have to say," continued my Aunt Kezia, laying down her +flannel again and putting on her spectacles. "Your father does not wish +you to be present at his marriage." + +"Aunt Kezia!" came, I think, from us all--indignantly from Sophy, +sorrowfully from Fanny, petulantly from Hatty, and from me in sheer +astonishment. + +"I suppose he has his reasons," said my Aunt Kezia; "but that being so, +I think Sophy had better go home for a while with the Bracewells, and +Hatty, too. You, Cary, may go with Flora instead, if you like. Fanny, +of course, is arranged for already, as she will be married by then, and +will only have to stop at home." + +I thought I would very much rather go with Flora. + +"I have had a letter from your Aunt Dorothea lately," my Aunt Kezia went +on, "in which she asks for Cary to pay her a visit next June. But now +we are only in March. So, as Cary must be somewhere between times, and +I think she would be better out of the way, she will go to Abbotscliff +with Flora--unless, my dear," she added, turning to me, "you would +rather be at Bracewell Hall? You may, if you like." + +"I would rather be at Abbotscliff, very much, Aunt Kezia," said I; and I +think Aunt Kezia was pleased. + +"Aunt Kezia, don't send me away!" pleaded Sophy. "Do let me stay and +help you to settle at Fir Vale. I should hate to stay at Bracewell, and +I should just like bustling about and helping you in that way. Won't +you let me?" + +"Well, my dear, we will see," said my Aunt Kezia; and I think she was +pleased with Sophy too. Hatty declared that Bracewell would just suit +her, and she would not stay at any price, if she had leave to choose. +So it seems to be settled in that way. Fanny will be married on the +30th,--that is three weeks hence; and the week after, Hatty goes with +the Bracewells, and I with Flora, to their own homes; and my Aunt Kezia +and Sophy will remain here, and only leave the house on the evening +before the marriage. + +It seems very odd that Father should have wished not to have us at his +wedding. Was it Cecilia who did not wish it? But I am not to call her +Cecilia any more. + +When my cousins came in for tea, they were told too. Charlotte cried, +"Well, I never!" for which piece of vulgarity she was sharply pulled up +by my Aunt Kezia. Amelia fanned herself--she always does, whatever time +of year it may be--and languidly remarked, "Dear!" Angus said, "Castor +and Pollux!" for which he also got rebuked. And after a sort of "Oh!" +Flora said nothing, but looked very sorrowfully at us. Cec--I mean Miss +Osborne--did not appear at all until tea was nearly over, and then she +came in from the garden, and Mr Parmenter with her, that everlasting +eyeglass stuck in his eye. I do so dislike the man. + +Father never comes to tea. He says it is only women's rubbish, and +laughs at Ephraim Hebblethwaite because he says he likes it. I fancy +few men drink tea. My Uncle Charles never does, I know; but my Aunt +Dorothea says she could not exist a day without tea and cards. + +I wonder if it will be pleasant to stay with my Aunt Dorothea. I +believe she and my Uncle Charles are living in London now. I should +like dearly to see London, and the fine shops, and the lions in the +Tower, and Ranelagh, and all the grand people. And yet, somehow, I feel +just a little bit uneasy about it, as if I were going into some place +where I did not know what I should find, and it might be something that +would hurt me. I do not feel that about Abbotscliff. I expect it will +be pleasant there, only perhaps rather dull. And I want to see my Uncle +Drummond, and Flora's friend, Annas Keith. I wonder if she is like her +brother. And I never saw a Presbyterian minister, nor indeed a minister +of any sort. I do hope my Uncle Drummond will not be like Mr Bagnall, +and I hope all the gentlemen in the South are not like that odious Mr +Parmenter. + +Flora seems very much pleased about my going back with her. I do not +know why, but I fancied Angus did not quite like it. Can he be afraid +of my telling his father the story of the hunt-supper? He knows nothing +of what I heard up on the Scar. + +I do hope Ephraim Hebblethwaite is not very unhappy about Fanny. I +should think it must be dreadful, when you love any one very much, to +see her go and give herself quite away to somebody else. And Ambrose +thinks of going to live in Cheshire, where his uncle has a large farm, +and he has no children, so the farm will come to Ambrose some day; and +his uncle, Mr Minshull, would like him to come and live there now. Of +course, if that be settled so, we shall lose Fanny altogether. + +Must there always be changes and break-ups in this world? I do not mean +the change of death: that, we know, must come. But why must there be +all these other changes? Why could we not go on quietly as we were? It +seems now as if we should never be the same any more. + +If that uncle of Cecilia's would only have tied her to the leg of a +table, or locked her up in her bed-chamber, or done something to keep +her down there in the South, so that she had never come to torment us! + +I suppose I ought not to wish that, if she makes Father happier. Ay, +but will she make him happy? That is just what I am uncomfortable +about! I don't believe she cares a pin for him, though I dare say she +likes well enough to be the Squire's lady, and queen it at Brocklebank. +Somehow, I cannot trust those tawny eyes, with their sidelong glances. +Am I very wicked, or is she? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Will things never give over happening? + +This morning, just after I came down--there were only my Aunt Kezia, Mr +Keith, Flora, and me in the dining-parlour--we suddenly heard the great +bell of Brocklebank Church begin to toll. My Aunt Kezia set down the +chocolate-pot. + +"It must be somebody who has died suddenly, poor soul!" cried she. +"Maybe, Ellen Armathwaite's baby: it looked very bad when I saw it last, +on Thursday. Hark!" + +The bell stopped tolling, and we listened for the sound which would tell +us the sex and age of the departed. + +"One!" Then silence. + +That meant a man. Ellen Armathwaite's baby girl it could not be. Then +the bell began again, and we counted. It tolled on up to twenty-- +thirty--forty: we could not think who it could be. + +"Surely not Farmer Catterall!" said my Aunt Kezia, "I have often felt +afraid of an apoplexy for him." + +But the bell went on past sixty, and we knew it was not Farmer +Catterall. + +"Is it never going to stop?" said Flora, when it had passed eighty. + +My Aunt Kezia went to the door, and calling Sam, bade him go out and +inquire. Still the bell tolled on. It stopped just as Sam came in, at +ninety-six. + +"Who is it, Sam?--one of the old bedesmen?" + +"Nay, Mrs Kezia; puir soul, 'tis just the auld Vicar!" + +"Mr Digby!" we all cried together. + +"Ay; my mither found him deid i' his bed early this morrow. She's come +up to tell ye, an' to ask gin' ye can spare me to go and gi'e a haun', +for that puir witless body, Mr Anthony Parmenter, seems all but daft." + +Miss Osborne and Amelia came in together, and I saw Cecilia turn very +white. (Oh dear! how shall I give over calling her Cecilia?) My Aunt +Kezia told them what had happened, and I thought she looked relieved. + +"What ails Mr Parmenter?" asked my Aunt Kezia. + +"'Deed, and what ails a fule onie day?" said Sam, always more honest +than soft-spoken. "He's just as ill as a bit lassie--fair frichtened o' +his auld uncle, now he is deid, that ne'er did him a bawbee's worth o' +harm while he was alive. My mither says she's vara sure he'll be here +the morn, begging and praying ye to tak' him in and keep him safe frae +his puir auld uncle's ghaist. Hech, sirs! I'll ghaist him, gin' he +comes my way." + +"Now, Sam, keep a civil tongue in your head," quoth my Aunt Kezia, "and +don't let me hear of your playing tricks on Mr Parmenter or any one +else. You should be old enough to have some sense by this time. I will +come out and speak to your mother in a moment. Yes, I suppose we must +let you go. What cuckoos there are in this world, to be sure!" + +But Mr Parmenter did not wait till to-morrow--he came up this +afternoon, just as Sam said he would. Father was not at home, and to my +surprise my Aunt Kezia would not take him in, but sent him on to Farmer +Catterall's. I do not think the tawny eyes liked it, for though they +were mostly bent on the ground, I saw them give one sidelong flash at my +Aunt Kezia which did not look to me like loving-kindness. + +I feel to-night what I think Angus means when he says that he is flat. +Everything feels flat. Fanny is gone--she was married on Saturday. +Amelia, Charlotte, and Hatty set forth on Tuesday, and they are gone. I +thought that Ce--Miss Osborne would have gone with them, and have +returned by-and-by; but she stays on, and will do so, I hear, almost +till my Aunt Kezia goes, when Mrs Hebblethwaite has asked her to stay +at the Fells Farm for the last few days before the wedding. It is +settled now that my Aunt Kezia and Sophy stay here till the day before +it. It does seem so queer for Sophy to be here till then, and not be at +the wedding! I don't believe it is Father's doing. It is not like him. +Flora, Angus, Mr Keith, and I are to start to-morrow; but Mr Keith +only goes with us as far as Carlisle--that is, the first day's journey; +then he leaves us for Newcastle, where he has some sort of business +(that horrid word!), and I go on with my cousins to Abbotscliff. We +shall be met at Carlisle by a Scots gentleman who is travelling thence +to Selkirk, and is a friend of my Uncle Drummond. He goes in his own +chaise, with two mounted servants, and both he and they are armed, so I +hope we shall get clear of freebooters on the Border. He has nobody +with him, and says he shall have plenty of room in the chaise. It is +very lucky that this Mr Cameron should just be going at the same time +as we are. I don't think Angus would be much protection, though I +should not wish him to know I said so. + +If Ephraim Hebblethwaite have broken his heart, he behaves very funnily. +He was not only at Fanny's wedding, but was best man; and he looks +quite well and happy. I begin to think that we must have been mistaken +in guessing that he cared for Fanny. Perhaps it only amused him to talk +to her. + +Fanny's wedding was very smart and gay, and everybody came to it. The +bridesmaids were we three, Esther Langridge, and two cousins of +Ambrose's, whose names are Annabel Catterall and Priscilla Minshull. I +rather liked Annabel, but Priscilla was horrid. (Sophy says I say +"horrid" too often, and about all sorts of things. But if people and +things are horrid, how am I to help saying it?) I am sure Priscilla +Minshull was horrid. She reminded me of Angus's saying about turning up +one's eyes like a duck in thunder. I never watched a duck in thunder, +and I don't know whether it turns up its eyes or it does not: only +Priscilla did. She seemed to think us all (my Aunt Kezia said) no +better than the dirt she walked on. And I am sure she need not be so +stuck-up, for Mr James Minshull, her father, is only a parson, and not +only that, but a chaplain too: so Priscilla is not anybody of any +consequence. I said so to Flora, and she replied that Priscilla would +be much less likely to be proud if she were. + +I was dreadfully tired on Sunday. We had been so hard at work all the +fortnight before, first making the wedding dress, and then dressing the +wedding-dinner; and when I went to bed on Saturday night, I thought I +never wanted to see another. Another wedding, of course, I mean. +However, everything went off very well; and Fanny looked charming in her +pink silk brocaded with flowers, with white stripes down it here and +there, and a pink quilted slip beneath. She had pink rosettes, too, in +her shoes, and a white hood lined with pink and trimmed with pink bows. +Her hoop came from Carlisle, and was the biggest I have seen yet. The +mantua-maker from Carlisle, who was five days in the house, said that +hoops were getting very much larger this year, and she thought they +would soon be as big as they were in Queen Anne's time. We had much +smaller hoops--of course it would not have been seemly to have the +bridesmaids as smart as the bride--and we were dressed alike, in white +French cambric, with light green trimmings. Of course we all wore white +ribbons. I think Father would have stormed at us if we had put on any +other colour. I should not like to be the one to wear a red ribbon when +he was by! [Note 1.] We wore straw milk-maid hats, with green ribbon +mixed with the white; and just a sprinkle of grey powder in our hair. +Cecilia would not be a bridesmaid, though she was asked. I don't think +she liked the dress chosen; and indeed it would not have suited her. +But wasn't she dressed up! She wore--I really must set it down--a +purple lutestring, [Note 2.] over such a hoop that she had to lift it on +one side when she went in at the church door; this was guarded with gold +lace and yellow feathers. She had a white laced apron, purple velvet +slippers with red heels, and her lace ruffles were something to look at! +And wasn't she patched! and hadn't she powdered her hair, and made it +as stiff with pomatum as if it had been starched! Then on the top of +this head went a lace cap--it was not a hood--just a little, light, +fly-away cap, with purple ribbons and gold embroidery, and in the middle +of the front a big gold pompoon. + +What a contrast there was between her and my Aunt Kezia! She wore a +silk dress too, only it was a dark stone-colour, as quiet as a +Quakeress, just trimmed with two rows of braid, the same colour, round +the bottom, and a white silk scarf, with a dark blue hood, and just a +little rosette of white lace at the top of it. Aunt Kezia's hood was a +hood, too, and was tied under her chin as if she meant it to be some +good. And her elbow-ruffles were plain nett, with long dark doe-skin +gloves drawn up to meet them. Cecilia wore white silk mittens. I hate +mittens; they are horrid things. If you want to make your hands look as +ugly as you can, you have only to put on a pair of mittens. + +The wedding-dinner, which was at noon, was a very grand one. It should +have been, for didn't my arms ache with beating eggs and keeping pans +stirred! Hatty said we were martyrs in a good cause. But I do think +Fanny might have taken a little more trouble herself, seeing it was her +wedding. Now, let us see, what had we? There was a turkey pie, and a +boar's head, chickens in different ways, and a great baron of roast +beef; cream beaten to snow (Sophy did that, I am glad to say), candied +fruits, and ices, and several sorts of pudding, for dessert. Then for +drink, there were wine, and mead, purl, and Burton ale. + +Well! it is all over now, and Fanny is gone. There will never be four +of us any more. There seems to me something very sad about it. Poor +dear Fanny, I hope she will be happy! + +"I dare guess she will, in her way," says my Aunt Kezia. "She does not +keep a large cup for her happiness. 'Tis all the easier to fill when +you don't; but a deal more will go in when you do. There are advantages +and disadvantages on each side of most things in this world." + +"Is there any advantage, Aunt Kezia, in my having just pricked my finger +shockingly?" + +"Yes, Cary. Learn to be more careful in future." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The white ribbon, like the white cockade, distinguished a +Jacobite; the red ribbon and the black cockade were Hanoverian. + +Note 2. A variety of silk then fashionable. + + + +CHAPTER FIVE. + +LEAVING THE NEST. + + "I've kept old ways, and loved old friends, + Till, one by one, they've slipped away; + Stand where we will, cling as we like, + There's none but God can be our stay. + 'Tis only by our hold on Him + We keep a hold on those who pass + Out of our sight across the seas, + Or underneath the churchyard grass." + + ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO. + + Carlisle, April the 5th, 1744 or 5. +I really feel that I must put a date to my writing now, when this is the +first time of my going out into the great world. I have never been +beyond Carlisle before, and now I am going, first into a new country, +and then to London itself, if all go well. + +News came last night, just before we started, that my Lord Orford is +dead--he that was Sir Robert Walpole, and the Elector's Prime Minister. +Father says his death is a good thing for the country, for it gives more +hope that the King may come by his own. I don't know what would happen +if he did. I suppose it would not make much difference to us. Indeed, +I rather wish things would not happen, for the things that happen are so +often disagreeable ones. I said so this evening, and Mr Keith smiled, +and answered, "You are young to have reached that conviction, Miss +Caroline." + +"Oh, rubbish!" said Angus. "Only old women talk so!" + +"Angus, will you please tell me," said I, "whether young men have +generally more sense than old women?" + +"Of course they have!" replied he. + +"The young men are apt to think so," added Flora. + +"But have young women more sense than old ones?" said I. "Because I +see, whenever people mean to speak of anything as particularly silly, +they always say it is worthy of an old woman. Now why an old woman? +Have I more commonsense now than I shall have fifty years hence? And if +so, at what age may I expect it to take leave of me?" + +"You are not talking sense now, at any rate," replied Angus--who might +be my brother, instead of my cousin, for the way in which he takes me +up, whatever I say. + +"Pardon me," said Mr Keith. "I think Miss Caroline is talking very +good sense." + +"Then you may answer her," said Angus. + +"Nay," returned Mr Keith. "The question was addressed to you." + +"Oh, all women are sillies!" was Angus's flattering answer. "They're +just a pack of ninnies, the whole lot of them." + +"It seems to me, Angus," observed Mr Keith, quite gravely, "that you +must have paid twopence extra for manners." + +Flora and I laughed. + +"I was not rich enough to go in for any," growled Angus. "I'm not a +laird's son, Mr Duncan Keith, so you don't need to throw stones at me." + +"Did I, Angus? I beg your pardon." + +Angus muttered something which I did not hear, and was silent. I +thought I had better let the subject drop. + +But before we went to bed, something happened which I never saw before. +Mr Keith took a book from his pocket, and sat down at the table. Flora +rose and went to the sofa, motioning to me to come beside her. Even +Angus twisted himself round, and sat in a more decorous way. + +"What are we going to do?" I asked of Flora. + +"The exercise, dear," said she. + +"Exercise!" cried I. "What are we to exercise?" + +A curious sort of gurgle came from Angus's part of the room, as if a +laugh had made its way into his throat, and he had smothered it in its +cradle. + +"The word is strange to Miss Caroline," said Mr Keith, looking round +with a smile. "We Scots people, Madam, speak of exercising our souls in +prayer. We are about to read in God's Word, and pray, if you please. +It is our custom, morning and evening." + +"But how can we pray?" said I. "There is no clergyman." + +"Though I am not a minister," replied Mr Keith, "yet I trust I have +learned to pray." + +It seemed to me so strange that anybody not a clergyman should think of +praying before other people! However, I sat down, of course, on the +sofa by Flora, and listened while Mr Keith read something out of the +Gospel of Saint John, about the woman of Samaria, and what our Lord said +to her. But I never heard such reading in my life! I thought I could +have gone on listening to him all night. The only clergymen that I ever +heard read were Mr Bagnall and poor old Mr Digby, and the one always +read in a high singsong tone, which gave me the idea that it was nothing +I need listen to; and the other mumbled indistinctly, so that I never +heard what he said. But Mr Keith read as if the converse were really +going on, and you actually heard our Lord and the woman talking to one +another at the well. He made it seem so real that I almost fancied I +could hear the water trickling, and see the cool wet green mosses round +the old well. Oh, if clergymen would always read and preach as if the +things were real, how different going to church would be! + +Then we knelt down, and Mr Keith prayed. It was not out of the +Prayer-Book. And I dare say, if I were to hear nothing but such +prayers, I might miss the dear old prayers that have been like sweet +sounds floating around me ever since I knew anything. But this evening, +when it was all new, it came to me as so solemn and so real! This was +not saying one's prayers; it was talking to one's Friend. And it seemed +as if God really were Mr Keith's Friend--as if they knew each other, +and were not strangers at all, but each understood what the other would +like or dislike, and they wanted to please one another. I hope I am not +irreverent in writing so, but really it did seem like that. And I never +saw anything like it before. + +I suppose, to the others, it was an old worn-out story--all this which +came so new and fresh to me. When we rose up, Angus said, without any +pause,-- + +"Well! I am off to bed. Good-night, all of you." + +Flora went up to him and offered him a kiss, which he took as if it were +a condescension to an inferior creature; and then, without saying +anything more to Mr Keith or me, lighted his candle and went away. +Flora sighed as she looked after him, and Mr Keith looked at her as if +he felt for her. + +"I shall be glad to get him home," said Flora, answering Mr Keith's +look, I think. "If he can only get back to Father, then, perhaps--" + +"Aye," said Mr Keith, meaningly, "it is all well, when we do get back +to the Father." + +Flora shook her head sorrowfully. "Not that!" she answered. "O Duncan, +I am afraid, not that, yet! I feel such terrible fear sometimes lest he +should never come back at all, or if he do, should have to come over +sharp stones and through thorny paths." + +"`So He bringeth them unto their desired haven,'" was Mr Keith's gentle +answer. + +"I know!" she said, with a sigh. "I suppose I ought to pray and wait. +Father does, I am sure. But it is hard work!" + +Mr Keith did not answer for a moment; and when he did, it was by +another bit of the Bible. At least I think it was the Bible, for it +sounded like it, but I should not know where to find it. + +"`Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen thine +heart; wait, I say, on the Lord.'" + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Castleton, April the sixth. +Mr Keith left us so early this morning that there was not time for +anything except breakfast and good-bye. I feel quite sorry to lose him, +and wish I had a brother like him. (Not like Angus--dear me, no!) Why +could we four girls not have had one brother? + +About half an hour after Mr Keith was gone, the Scots gentleman with +whom we were to travel--Mr Cameron--came in. He is a man of about +fifty, bald-headed and rosy-faced, pleasant and chatty enough, only I do +not quite always understand him. By six o'clock we were all packed into +his chaise, and a few minutes later we set forth from the inn door. The +streets of Carlisle felt like home; but as we left them behind, and came +gradually out into the open country, it dawned upon me that now, indeed, +I was going out into the great world. + +We sleep here to-night, where Flora and I have a little bit of a +bed-chamber next door to a larger one where Mr Cameron and Angus are. +On Monday we expect to reach Abbotscliff. I am too tired to write more. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Abbotscliff Manse, April the ninth. +I really could not go on any sooner. We reached the manse--what an odd +name for a vicarage!--about four o'clock yesterday afternoon. The +church (which Flora calls the kirk) and the manse, with a few other +houses, stand on a little rising ground, and the rest of the village +lies below. + +But before I begin to talk about the manse, I want to write down a +conversation which took place on Monday morning as we journeyed, in +which Mr Cameron told us some curious things that I do not wish to +forget. We were driving through such a pretty little village, and in +one of the doorways an old woman sat with her knitting. + +"Oh, look at that dear old woman!" cries Flora. "How pleasant she +looks, with her clean white apron and mutch!" + +"Much, Flora?" said I. "What do you mean?" I thought it such an odd +word to use. What was she much? + +Flora looked puzzled, and Mr Cameron answered for her, with amusement +in his eyes. + +"A mutch, young lady," said he, "is what you in the South call a cap." + +"The South!" cried I. "Why, Mr Cameron, you do not think we live in +the South?" + +I felt almost vexed that he should fancy such a thing. For all that +Grandmamma and my Aunt Dorothea used to say, I always look down upon the +South. All the people I have seen who came from the South seemed to me +to have a great deal of wiliness and foolishness, and no commonsense. I +suppose the truth is that there are agreeable people, and good people, +in the South, only they have not come my way. + +When I cried out like that, Mr Cameron laughed. + +"Well," said he, "north and south are comparative terms. We in Scotland +think all England `the South,'--and so it is, if you will think a +moment. You in Cumberland, I suppose, draw the line at the Trent or the +Humber; lower down, they employ the Thames; and a Surrey man thinks +Sussex is the South. 'Tis all a matter of comparison." + +"What does a Sussex man call the South?" said Angus. + +"Spain and Portugal, I should think," said Mr Cameron. + +"But, Mr Cameron," said I, "asking your pardon, is there not some +difference of character or disposition between those in the North and in +the South--I mean, of England?" + +"Quite right, young lady," said he. "They are different tribes; and the +Lowland Scots, among whom you are now coming, have the same original as +yourself. There were two tribes amongst those whom we call +Anglo-Saxons, that peopled England after the Britons were driven into +Wales--namely, as you might guess, the Angles and the Saxons. The +Angles ran from the Frith of Forth to the Trent; the Saxons from the +Thames southward. The midland counties were in all likelihood a mixture +of the two. There are, moreover, several foreign elements beyond this, +in various counties. For instance, there is a large influx of Danish +blood on the eastern coast, in parts of Lancashire, in Yorkshire and +Lincolnshire, and in the Weald of Sussex; there was a Flemish settlement +in Lancashire and Norfolk, of considerable extent; the Britons were left +in great numbers in Cumberland and Cornwall; the Jutes--a variety of +Dane--peopled Kent entirely. Nor must we forget the Romans, who left a +deep impress upon us, especially amongst Welsh families. 'Tis not easy +for any of our mixed race to say, I am this, or that. Why, if most of +us spoke the truth (supposing we might know it), we should say, `I am +one-quarter Saxon, one-eighth British, one-sixteenth Iberian, one-eighth +Danish, one-sixteenth Flemish, one-thirty-secondth part Roman,'--and so +forth. Now, Miss Caroline, how much of that can you remember?" + +"All of it, I hope, Sir," said I; "I shall try to do so. I like to hear +of those old times. But would you please to tell me, what is an +Iberian?" + +"My dear," said Mr Cameron, smiling, "I would gladly give you fifty +pounds in gold, if you could tell me." + +"Sir!" cried I, in great surprise. + +He went on, more as if he were talking to himself, or to some very +learned man, than to me. + +"What is an Iberian? Ah, for the man who could tell us! What is a +Basque?--what is an Etruscan?--what is a Magyar?--above all, what is a +Cagot? Miss Caroline, my dear, there are deep questions in all arts and +sciences; and, without knowing it, you have lighted on one of the +deepest and most interesting. The most learned man that breathes can +only answer you, as I do now (though I am far from being a learned +man)--I do not know. I will, nevertheless, willingly tell you what +little I do know; and the rather if you take an interest in such +matters. All that we really know of the Iberii is that they came from +Spain, and that they had reached that country from the East; that they +were a narrow-headed people (the Celts or later Britons were +round-headed); that they dwelt in rude houses in the interior of the +country, first digging a pit in the ground, and building over it a kind +of hut, sometimes of turf and sometimes of stone; that they wore very +rude clothing, and were generally much less civilised than the Celts, +who lived mainly on the coast; that they loved to dwell, and especially +to worship, on a mountain top; that they followed certain Eastern +observances, such as running or leaping through the fire to Bel,--which +savours of a Phoenician or Assyrian origin; and that it is more than +likely that we owe to them those stupendous monuments yet standing-- +Stonehenge, Avebury, the White Horse of Berkshire, and the White Man of +Wilmington." + +"But what sort of a religion had they, if you please, Sir?" said I; for +I wanted to get to know all I could about these strange fathers of ours. + +"Idolatry, my dear, as you might suppose," answered Mr Cameron. "They +worshipped the sun, which they identified with the serpent; and they +had, moreover, a sacred tree--all, doubtless, relics of Eden. They +would appear also to have had some sort of woman-worship, for they held +women in high honour, loved female sovereignty, and practised +polyandry--that is, each woman had several husbands." + +"I never heard of such queer folks!" said I. "And what became of them, +Sir?" + +"The Iberians and Celts together," he answered, "made up the people we +call Britons. When the Saxons invaded the country, they were driven +into the remote fastnesses of Wales, Cumberland, and Cornwall. Some +antiquaries think the Picts had the same original, but this is one of +the unsettled points of history." + +"I wish it were possible to settle all such questions!" said Flora. + +"So do the antiquaries, I can assure you," returned Mr Cameron, with a +smile. "But it is scarce possible to come to a conclusion with any +certainty as to the origin of a people of whom we cannot recover the +language." + +"If you please, Sir," said I, "what has the language to do with it?" + +"It has everything to do with it, Miss Caroline. You did not know that +languages grew, like plants, and could be classified in groups after the +same manner?" + +"Please explain to us, Mr Cameron," said Flora. "It all sounds so +strange." + +"But it is very interesting," I said. "I want to know all about it." + +"If you want to know _all_ about it," answered our friend, "you must +consult some one else than me, for I do not know nearly all about it. +In truth, no one does. For myself, I have only arrived at the stage of +knowing that I know next to nothing." + +"That's easy enough to know, surely," said Angus. + +"Not at all, Angus. It is one of the most difficult things to ascertain +in this world. No man is so ready to give an off-hand opinion on any +and every subject, as the man who knows absolutely nothing. But we must +not start another hare while the young ladies' question remains +unanswered. Languages, my dears, are not made; they grow. The first +language--that spoken in Eden--may have been given to man ready-made, by +God; but I rather imagine, from the expressions of Holy Writ, that what +was granted to Adam was the inward power of forming a tongue which +should be rational and consistent with itself; and, if so, no doubt it +was granted to Eve that she should understand him--perhaps that she +should possess a similar power." + +"The woman made the language, Sir, you may be sure," said Angus. "They +are shocking chatterers." + +"Unfortunately, my boy, Scripture is against you. `Whatsoever Adam'-- +not Eve--`called the name of every living creature, that was the name +thereof.' To proceed:--The confusion of tongues at Babel seems, from +what we can gather, to have called into being a number of languages +quite separate from each other, yet all having a certain affinity. The +structure differs; but some of the words are alike, or at least so +nearly alike that the resemblance can be traced. Take the word for +`father' in all languages: cut down to its root, there is the same root +found in all. Ab in Hebrew, abba in Syriac, pater in Greek and Latin, +vater in Low Dutch, pere in French, padre in Spanish and Italian, father +in English--ay, even the child's papa and the infant's daddy--all come +from one root. But this cutting away of superfluities to get at the +root, is precisely what a 'prentice hand should not attempt; like an +unskilled gardener, he will prune away the wrong branches." + +"Then, Sir," I asked, "what are the languages which belong to the same +class as ours?" + +"Ours, young lady, is a composite language. It may almost be said to be +made up of bits of other languages. German or Low Dutch is its mother, +and the Scandinavian group--Swedish, Danish, and so forth--may be termed +its aunts. It belongs mostly to what is called the Teutonic group; but +there are in it traces of Celtic, and though more dimly perceptible, +even of Latin and Oriental tongues. We are altogether a made-up +nation--to which fact some say that we owe those excellences on which we +are so fond of priding ourselves." + +"Please, Sir, what are they?" I asked. + +Mr Cameron seemed much amused at the question. + +"What are the excellences we have?" said he; "or, what are those on +which we pride ourselves? They are often not the same. And--notice it, +young ladies, as you go through life--the virtue on which a man plumes +himself the most highly is very frequently one which he possesses in +small measure. (I do not say, in no measure.) Well, I suppose the +qualities on which we English--" + +"We are not English!" cried Angus, hotly. + +"For this purpose we are," was Mr Cameron's answer. "As I observed +before, the Lowland Scots and the northern English are one tribe. But I +was going to say, when you were so rude as to interrupt me, English and +Scots, young gentleman." + +Angus growled out, "Beg your pardon." + +"Take it," said Mr Cameron, pleasantly. "Now for the question. On +what good qualities do we plume ourselves? Well, I think, on +steadiness, independence, loyalty, truthfulness, firmness, honesty, and +love of fair play. How far we are justified in doing so, perhaps other +nations are the better judges. They, I believe, generally regard us as +a proud and surly race--qualities on which there is no occasion to plume +ourselves." + +"Much loyalty we have got to glory in!" said Angus. + +"We have always tried," replied Mr Cameron, "to run loyalty and liberty +together; and when the two pull smoothly, undoubtedly the national +chaise gets along the best. Unhappily, when harnessed to the same +chariot, one of those steeds is very apt to kick over the traces. But +we will not venture on such delicate ground, seeing that our political +colours differ; nor is this the time to do it, for here is the inn where +we are to dine." + +When we drove up to the manse on Wednesday, the floor stood open, and in +the doorway was Helen Raeburn, who had evidently seen our chaise, and +was waiting for us. Flora was out the first, and she and Helen flew +into one another's arms, and hugged and kissed each other as if they +could never leave off. I was surprised to find Helen so old. I thought +Elspie's niece would have been between thirty and forty; and she looks +more like sixty. Then Flora flew into the house to find her father, and +Helen turned to me. + +"You're vara welcome, young leddy," said she, "and the Lord make ye a +blessin' amang us. Will ye come ben the now? Miss Flora, she's aff to +find the minister, bless her bonnie face!--but if ye'll please to come +awa' wi' me, I'll show ye the way.--Maister Angus, my laddie, welcome +hame!--are ye grown too grand to kiss your auld nursie, my callant?" + +Angus gave her a kiss, but not at all like Flora; rather as if he had it +to do, and wanted to get it over. + +"Well, Helen!" said Mr Cameron, as he came down from the chaise, "and +how goes the world with you, my woman?" + +"I wish ye a gude evening, Mr Alexander," said she. "The warld gaes +vara weel wi' me, thanks to ye for speirin'. No that the warld's onie +better, but the Lord turns all to gude for His ain. The minister's in +his study, and he'll be blithe to see ye. Now, my lassie--I ask your +pardon, but ye see I'm used to Miss Flora." + +"Please call me just what you like," I said, and I followed Helen up a +little passage paved with stone, and into a room on the right hand, +where I found Flora standing by a tall fine-looking man, who had his arm +round her shoulders, and who was so like her that he could only be her +father. Flora's face was lighted up as I had seen it but once before-- +so bright and happy she looked! + +"And here is our young guest, your cousin," said my Uncle Drummond, +turning to me with a very kind smile. "My dear, may your stay be +profitable and pleasant among us,--ay, and mayest thou find favour in +the eyes of the God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to +trust!" + +It sounded very strange to me. Did these people pray about everything? +I had heard Father speak contemptuously of "praying Presbyters," and I +thought Uncle Drummond must be one of that sort. But I could not see +that a minister looked at all different from a clergyman. They seemed +to me very much the same sort of creature. + +Mr Cameron was to stay the night at the manse, and to go on in the +morning to his own home, which is about fourteen miles further. Flora +carried me off to her chamber, where she and I were to sleep, and we +changed our travelling dresses, and had a good wash, and then came down +to supper. During the evening Mr Cameron said, laughingly,-- + +"Well, my fair maid who objects to the South, have you digested the +Iberii?" + +"I think I have remembered all you told us, Sir," said I; "but if you +please, I am very sorry, but I am afraid we do come from the South. Our +family, I mean. My father's father, I believe, belonged Wiltshire; and +his father, who was a captain in the navy, was a Courtenay of Powderham, +whatever that means. My sister Fanny knows all about it, but I don't +understand it--only I am afraid we must have come from the South." + +Mr Cameron laughed, and so did my Uncle Drummond and Flora. + +"Don't you, indeed, young lady?" said the first. "Well, it only means +that you have half the kings of England and France, and a number of +emperors of the East, among your forefathers. Very blue blood indeed, +Miss Caroline. I do not see how, with that pedigree, you could be +anything but a Tory. Mr Courtenay is rather warm that way, I +understand." + +"Oh, Father is as strong as he can be," said I. "I should not dare to +talk of the Elector of Hanover by any other name if he heard me." + +"Well, you may call that gentleman what you please here," said Mr +Cameron; "but I usually style him King George." + +"Nay, Sandy, do not teach the child to disobey her father," said my +Uncle Drummond. "The Fifth Command is somewhat older than the Brunswick +succession and the Act of Settlement." + +"A little," said Mr Cameron, drily. + +"Little Cary," said my uncle, softly, turning to me, "do you know that +you are very like somebody?" + +"Like whom, Uncle?" said I. + +"Somebody I loved very much, my child," he answered, rather sadly; "from +whom Angus has his blue eyes, and Flora her smile." + +"You mean Aunt Jane," said I, speaking as softly as he had done, for I +felt that she had been very dear to him. + +"Yes, my dear," he replied; "I mean my Jeannie. You are very like her. +I think we shall love each other, Cary." + +I thought so too. + +Mr Cameron left us this morning. To-day I have been exploring with +Flora, who wants to go all over the house and garden and village--speaks +of her pet plants as if they were old friends, and shakes hands with +everyone she meets, and pats every dog and cat in the place. And they +all seem so glad to see her--the dogs included; I do not know about the +cats. As we went down the village street, it was quite amusing to hear +the greetings from every doorway. + +"Atweel, Miss Flora, ye've won hame!" said one. + +"How's a' wi' ye, my bairn?" said another. + +"A blessing on your bonnie e'en, my lassie!" said a third. + +And Flora had the same sort of thing for all of them. It was, "Well, +Jeannie, is your Maggie still in her place?" or, "I hope Sandy's better +now?" or, "Have you lost your pains, Isabel?" She seemed to know all +about each one. I was quite diverted to hear it all. They all appeared +rather shy with me, only very kindly; and when Flora introduced me as +"her cousin from England," which she did in every cottage, they had all +something kind to say: that they hoped I was well after my journey, or +they trusted I should like Scotland, or something of that sort. Two +told me I was a bonnie lassie. But at last we came to a shut door--most +were open--and Flora knocked and waited for an answer. She said gravely +to me,-- + +"A King's daughter lies here, Cary, waiting for her Father's chariot to +take her home." + +A fresh-coloured, middle-aged woman came to the door, and I was +surprised to hear Flora say, "How is your grandmother, Elsie?" + +"She's mickle as ye laft her, Miss Flora, only weaker; I'm thinkin' +she'll no be lang the now. But come ben, my bonnie lassie; you're as +welcome as flowers in May. And how's a' wi' ye?" + +Flora answered as we were following Elsie down the chamber and round a +screen which boxed off the end of it. Behind the screen was a bed, and +on it lay, as I thought, the oldest woman on whom I ever set my eyes. +Her face was all wrinkled up, yet there was a fresh colour in her +cheeks, and her eyes, though much sunk, seemed piercingly bright. + +"Ye're come at last," she said, in a low clear voice, as Flora sat down +on the bed, and took the wrinkled brown hand in hers. + +"Yes, dear Mirren, come at last," said she. "I'm very glad to get +home." + +"Ay, and that's what I'll be the morn." + +"So soon, Mirren?" + +"Ay, just sae soon. I askit Him to let me bide while ye came hame. I +ay thocht I wad fain see ye ance mair--my Miss Flora's lad's lassie. +He's gi'en me a' that ever I askit Him--but ane thing, an' that was the +vara desire o' my heart." + +"You mean," said Flora, gently, "you wanted Ronald to come home?" + +"Ay, I wanted him to come hame frae the far country!" said old Mirren +with a sigh. "I'd ha'e likit weel to see him come hame to Abbotscliff-- +vara weel. But I longed mickle mair to see him come hame to the +Father's house. It's no for his auld minnie to see that. But if it's +for the Lord to see some ither day, I'm content. And He has gi'en me +sae monie things that I ne'er askit Him wi' ane half the longing that I +did for that, I dinna think He'll say me nay the now." + +"Is He with you, Mirren dear?" + +I could not imagine how Flora thought Mirren was to know that. But she +answered, with a light in those bright eyes,-- + +"Ay, my doo. `His left haun is under my heid, and His richt haun doth +embrace me.'" + +I sat and listened in wonder. It all sounded so strange. Yet Flora +seemed to understand. And I had such an unpleasant sense of being +outside, and not understanding, as I never felt before, and I did not +like it a bit. I knew quite well that if Father had been there, he +would have said it was all stuff and cant. But I did not feel so sure +of my Aunt Kezia. And suppose it were not cant, but was something +unutterably real,--something that I ought to know, and must know some +day, if I were ever to get to Heaven! I did not like it. I felt that I +was among a new sort of people--people who lived, as it were, in a +different place from me--a sort of whom I had never seen one before +(that did not come from Abbotscliff) except my Aunt Kezia, and there +were differences between her and them. My Uncle Drummond and Flora, and +Mr Keith, and this old Mirren, and I thought Helen Raeburn and Mr +Cameron, all belonged this new sort of people. The one who did not seem +to belong them was Angus. Yet I did not like Angus nearly so well as +the rest. And yet he belonged my sort of people. It was a puzzle +altogether, and not a pleasant puzzle. And how anybody was to get out +of the one set into the other set, I could not tell at all. + +Stop! I did know one other person at Brocklebank who belonged this new +sort of people. It was Ephraim Hebblethwaite. He was not, I thought-- +well, I don't know how to put it--he did not seem so far on the road as +the others; only he was on that road, and not on this road. And then it +struck me, too, whether old Elspie, and perhaps Sam, were not on the +road as well. I ran over in my mind, as I was walking back to the manse +with Flora, who was very silent, all the people I knew; and I could not +think of one other who might be on Flora's road. Father and my sisters, +Esther Langridge, the Catteralls, the Bracewells, Cecilia--oh dear, +no!--Mr Digby, Mr Bagnall (yet they were parsons), Mr Parmenter--no, +not one. At all the four I named last, my mind gave a sort of jump as +if it were quite astonished to be asked the question. But where did the +roads lead? Flora and her sort, I felt quite sure, were going to +Heaven. Then where were Angus and I and all the rest going? + +And I did not like the answer at all. + +But I felt that the two roads led in opposite ways, and they could not +both go to one place. + +As we walked up the path to the manse, Helen came out to meet us. + +"My lassie," she said to Flora, "there's Miss Annas i' the garden, and +Leddy Monksburn wad ha'e ye gang till Monksburn for a dish o' tea, and +Miss Cary wi' ye." + +Flora's face lighted up. + +"Oh, how delightful!" she said. "Come, Cary--come and see Annas Keith." + +I was very curious to see Annas, and I followed willingly. Under the +old beech at the bottom of the garden sat a girl-woman--she was not +either, but both--in a gown of soft camlet, which seemed as if it were +part of her; I do not mean so much in the fit of it, as in the complete +suitableness of it and her. Her head was bent down over a book, and I +could not see her face at first--only her hair, which was neither light +nor dark, but had a kind of golden shimmer. Her hat lay beside her on +the seat. Flora ran down the walk with a glad cry of "Annas!" and then +she stood up, and I saw Annas Keith. + +A princess! was my first thought. I saw a tall, slight figure, a +slender white throat, a pure pale face, dark grey eyes with black +lashes, and a soul in them. Some people have no souls in their eyes, +Annas Keith has. + +Yet I could not have said then, and I cannot say now, when I try to +recall her picture in my mind's eye, whether Annas Keith is beautiful. +It does not seem the right word to describe her: and yet "ugly" would be +much further off. She is one of those women about whose beauty or want +of beauty you never think unless you are trying to describe them, and +then you cannot tell what to say about it. She takes you captive. +There is a charm about her that I cannot put into words. Only it is as +different from the spell that Cecilia Osborne threw over me (at first) +as light differs from darkness. The charm about Annas feels as if it +lifted me higher, into a purer air. Whenever I had been long with +Cecilia, my mind felt soiled, as if I had been breathing bad air. + +When Flora introduced me, Miss Keith turned and kissed me, and I felt as +if I had been presented to a queen. + +"We want to know you," she said. "All Flora's friends are our friends. +You will come, both of you?" + +"I thank you, Miss Keith," said I. "I should like to come very much." + +"Annas, please," she said quietly, with that sweet smile of hers. It is +only when she smiles that she reminds me of her brother. + +"And how are the Laird and Lady Monksburn?" said Flora. + +I did not know that the Laird (as they always seem to call the squires +here) had been a titled gentleman: and I said so. Annas smiled. + +"Our titles will seem odd to you," said she. "We call a Scots gentleman +by the name of his estate, and every laird's wife is `Lady'--only by +custom and courtesy, you understand. My mother really is only Mrs +Keith, but you will hear everybody call her Lady Monksburn." + +"Then if my father were here, they would call him--" I hesitated, and +Flora ended the sentence for me. + +"The Laird of Brocklebank; and if you had a mother she would be Lady +Brocklebank." + +I thought it sounded rather pleasant. + +"And when is Duncan coming home?" asked Flora. + +"To-morrow, or the day after, we hope," said Annas. + +I noticed that she had less of the Scots accent than Flora; and Mr +Keith has it scarcely at all. I found after a while that Lady Monksburn +is English, and that Annas has spent much of her life in England. I +wanted to know what part of England it was, and she said, "The Isle of +Wight." + +"Why, then you do really come from the South!" cried I. "Do tell me +something about it. Are there any agreeable people there?--I mean, +except you." + +Annas laughed. "I hope you have seen few people from the South," said +she, "if that be your impression of them." + +"Only two," said I; "and I did not like either of them one bit." + +"Well, two is no large acquaintance," said Annas. "Let me assure you +that there are plenty of agreeable people in the South, and good people +also; though I will not say that they are not different from us in the +North. They speak differently, and their manners are more polished." + +"But it is just that polish I feel afraid of," I replied. "It looks to +me so like a mask. If we are bears in the North, at least we mean what +we say." + +"I do not think you need fear a polished Christian," said Annas. "A +worldly man, polished or unpolished, may do you hurt." + +"But are we not all Christians?" said I. And the words were scarcely +out of my lips when the thoughts came back to me which had been +tormenting me as we walked up from old Mirren's cottage. Those two +roads! Did Annas mean that only those were Christians who took the +higher one? Only, what was there in the air of Abbotscliff which seemed +to make people Christians? or in that of Brocklebank, which seemed +unfavourable to it? + +"Those are Christians who follow Christ," said Annas. "Do you think +they who do not, have a right to the name?" + +"I should like to think more about it," I answered. "It all looks +strange to me." + +"Do think about it," replied Annas. + +When we came to Monksburn, which is about a mile from the manse, I found +it was a most charming place on the banks of the Tweed. The lawn ran +sloping down to the river; and the house was a lovely old building of +grey stone, in some places almost lost in ivy. Annas said it had been +the Abbots grange belonging to the old Abbey which gives its name to +Abbotscliff and Monksburn, and several other estates and villages in the +neighbourhood. Here we found Lady Monksburn in the drawing-room, busied +with some soft kind of embroidered work; and I thought I could have +guessed her to be the mother of Mr Keith. Then when the Laird came in, +I saw that his grey eyes were Annas's, though I should not call them +alike in other respects. + +Lady Monksburn is a dear old lady; and as she comes from the South, I +must never say a word against Southerners again. She took both my hands +in her soft white ones, and spoke to me so kindly that before I had +known her ten minutes I was almost surprised to find myself chattering +away to her as if she were quite an old friend--telling her all about +Brocklebank, and my sisters, and Father, and my Aunt Kezia. I could not +tell how it was,--I felt so completely at home in that Monksburn +drawing-room. Everybody was so kind, and seemed to want me to enjoy +myself, and yet there was no fuss about it. If those be southern +manners, I wish I could catch them, like small-pox. But perhaps they +are Christian manners. That may be it. And I don't suppose you can +catch that like the small-pox. However, I certainly did enjoy myself +this afternoon. Mr Keith, I find, can draw beautifully, and they let +me look through some of his portfolios, which was delightful. And when +Annas, at her mother's desire, at down to the harpsichord, and sang us +some old Scots songs, I thought I never heard anything so charming-- +until Flora joined in, and then it was more delicious still. + +I think it would be easy to be good, if one lived at Monksburn! + +Those grey eyes of Annas's seem to see everything. I am sure she saw +that Flora would like a quiet talk with Lady Monksburn, and she carried +me to see her peacocks and silver pheasants, which are great pets, she +says; and they are so tame that they will come and eat out of her hand. +Of course they were shy with me. Then we had a charming little walk on +the path which ran along by the side of the river, and Annas pointed out +some lovely peeps through the trees at the scenery beyond. When we came +in, I saw that Flora had been crying; but she seemed so much calmer and +comforted, that I am sure her talk had done her good. Then came supper, +and then Angus, who had cleared up wonderfully, and was more what he +used to be as a boy, instead of the cross, gloomy young man he has +seemed of late. Lady Monksburn offered to send a servant with arms to +accompany us home, but Angus appeared to think it quite unnecessary. He +had his dirk and a pistol, he said; and surely he could take care of two +girls! I am not sure that Flora would not rather have had the servant, +and I know I would. However, we came safe to the manse, meeting nothing +more terrific than a white cow, which wicked Angus tried to persuade us +was a lady without a head. + + + +CHAPTER SIX. + +NEW IDEAS FOR CARY. + + "O Jesu, Thou art pleading, + In accents meek and low, + I died for you, My children, + And will ye treat Me so? + O Lord, with shame and sorrow, + We open now the door: + Dear Saviour, enter, enter, + And leave us never more!" + + BISHOP WALSHAM HOW. + +As we drank our tea, this evening, I said,-- + +"Uncle, will you please tell me something?" + +"Surely, my dear, if I can," answered my Uncle Drummond kindly, laying +down his book. + +"Are all the people at Abbotscliff going to Heaven?" + +I really meant it, but my Uncle Drummond put on such a droll expression, +and Angus laughed so much, that I woke up to see that they thought I had +said something very queer. When my uncle spoke, it was not at first to +me. + +"Flora," said he, "where have you taken your cousin?" + +"Only into the cottages, Father, and to Monksburn," said Flora, in a +diverted tone, as if she were trying not to laugh. + +"Either they must all have had their Sabbath manners on," said my Uncle +Drummond, "or else there are strange folks at Brocklebank. No, my dear; +I fear not, by any means." + +"I am afraid," said I, "we must be worse folks at Brocklebank than I +thought we were. But these seem to me, Uncle, such a different kind of +people--as if they were travelling on another road, and had a different +end in view. Nearly all the people I see here seem to think more of +what they ought to do, and at Brocklebank we think of what we like to +do." + +I did not, somehow, like to say right out what I really meant--to the +one set God seemed a Friend, to the other He was a Stranger. + +"Do you hear, Angus, what a good character we have?" said my Uncle +Drummond, smiling. "We must try to keep it, my boy." + +Of course I could not say that I did not think Angus was included in the +"we." But the momentary trouble in Flora's eyes, as she glanced at him, +made me feel that she saw it, as indeed I could have guessed from what I +had heard her say to Mr Keith. + +"Well, my lassie," my Uncle Drummond went on, "while I fear we do not +all deserve the compliment you pay us, yet have you ever thought what +those two roads are, and what end they have in view?" + +"Yes, Uncle, I can see that," said I. "Heaven is at the end of one, I +am sure." + +"And of the other, Cary?" + +I felt the tears come into my eyes. + +"Uncle, I don't like to think about that. But do tell me, for that is +what I want to know, what is the difference? I do not see how people +get from the one road to the other." + +I did not say--but I feel sure that my Uncle Drummond did not need it-- +that I felt I was on the wrong one. + +"Lassie, if you had fallen into a deep tank of water, where the walls +were so high that it was not possible you could climb out by yourself, +for what would you hope?" + +"That somebody should come and help me, I suppose." + +"True. And who is the Somebody that can help you in this matter?" + +I thought, and thought, and could not tell. It seems strange that I did +not think what he meant. But I had been so used to think of our Lord +Jesus Christ as a Person who had a great deal to do with going to church +and the Prayer-book, but nothing at all to do with me, that really I did +not think what my uncle meant me to say. + +"There is but one Man, my child, who can give you any help. And He +longed to help you so much, that He came down from Heaven to do it. You +know who I mean now, Cary?" + +"You mean our Lord Jesus Christ," I said. "But, Uncle, you say He +longed to help? I never knew that, I always thought--" + +"You thought He did not wish to help you at all, and that you would have +very hard work to persuade Him?" + +"Well--something like it," I said, hesitatingly Flora had left the room +a moment before, and now she put her head in at the door and called +Angus. My Uncle Drummond and I were left alone. + +"My dear lassie," said he, as tenderly as if I had been his own child, +"you would never have wished to be helped if He had not first wished to +help you. But remember, Cary, help is not the right word. The true +word is save. You are not a few yards out of the path, and able to turn +back at any moment. You are lost. Dear Cary, will you let the Lord +find you?" + +"Can I hinder Him?" I said. + +"Yes, my dear," was the solemn answer. "He allows Himself to be +hindered, if you choose the way of death. He will not save you against +your will. He demands your joining in that work. Take, again, the +emblem of the tank: the man holds out his hands to you; you cannot help +yourself out; but you can choose whether you will put your hands in his +or not. It will not be his fault if you are drowned; it will be your +own." + +"Uncle, how am I to put my hands in _His_?" + +"Hold them out to Him, Cary. Ask Him, with all your heart, to take you, +and make you His own. And if He refuse, let me know." + +"I will try, Uncle," I answered. "But you said--does God _never_ save +anybody against his will?" + +My Uncle Drummond was silent for a moment. + +"Well, Cary, perhaps at times He does. But it is not His usual way of +working. And no man has any right to expect it in his own case, though +we may be allowed to hope for it in that of another." + +I wonder very much now, as I write it all down, how I ever came to say +all this to my Uncle Drummond. I never meant it at all when I began. I +suppose I got led on from one thing to another. When I came to think of +it, I was very grateful to Flora for going away and calling Angus after +her. + +"But, Uncle," I said, recollecting myself suddenly, "how does anybody +know when the Lord has heard him?" + +He smiled. "If you were lifted out of the tank and set on dry ground, +Cary, do you think you would have much doubt about it?" + +"But I could see that, Uncle." + +"Take another emblem, then. You love some people very dearly, and there +are others whom you do not like at all. You cannot see love and hate. +But have you any doubt whom you love, or whom you dislike?" + +"No," said I,--"at least, not when I really love or dislike them very +much. But there are people whom I cannot make up my mind about; I +neither like nor dislike them exactly." + +"Those are generally people of whom you have not seen much, I think," +said my Uncle Drummond; "or else they are those colourless men and women +of whom you say that they have nothing in them. You could not feel so +towards a person of decided character, and one whom you knew well." + +"No, Uncle; I do not think I could." + +"You may rest assured, my dear, that unless He be an utter Stranger, you +will never feel so towards the Lord. When you come to know Him, you +must either love or hate Him. You cannot help yourself." + +It almost frightened me to hear my Uncle Drummond say that. It must be +such a dreadful thing to go wrong on that road! + +"Cary," he added suddenly, but very softly, "would you find it difficult +to love a man who was going to die voluntarily instead of you?" + +"I do not see how I could help it, Uncle," cried I. + +"Then how is it," he asked in the same tone, "that you have any +difficulty in loving the Man who has died in your stead?" + +I thought a minute. + +"Uncle," I said, "it does not seem real. The other would." + +"In other words, Cary--you do not believe it." + +"Do not believe it!" cried I. "Surely, Uncle, I believe in our Lord! +Don't I say the Creed every Sunday?" + +"Probably you do, my dear." + +"But I do believe it!" cried I again. + +"You do believe--what?" said my Uncle Drummond. + +"Why, I believe that Christ came down from Heaven, and was crucified, +dead, and buried, and rose again, and ascended into Heaven. Of course I +believe it, Uncle--every bit of it." + +"And what has it to do with you, my dear? It all took place a good +while ago, did it not?" + +I thought again. "I suppose," I said slowly, "that Christ died to save +sinners; and I must be a sinner. But somehow, I don't quite see how it +is to be put together. Uncle, it seems like a Chinese puzzle of which I +have lost a piece, and none of the others will fit properly. I cannot +explain it, and yet I do not quite know why." + +"Listen, Cary, and I will tell you why." + +I did, with both my ears and all my mind. + +"Your mistake is a very common one, little lassie. You are trying to +believe what, and you have got to believe whom. If you had to cross a +raging torrent, and I offered to carry you over, it would signify +nothing whether you knew where I was born, or if I were able to speak +Latin. But it would signify a great deal to you whether you knew me; +whether you believed that I would carry you safe over, or that I would +take the opportunity to drop you into the water and run away. Would it +not?" + +"Of course it would," I said; "the whole thing would depend on whether I +trusted you." + +My Uncle Drummond rose and laid his hand on my head--not as Mr Digby +used to do, as though he were condescending to a little child; but as if +he were blessing me in God's name. Then he said, in that low, soft, +solemn tone which sounds to me so very high and holy, as if an angel +spoke to me:--"Cary, dear child, the whole thing depends--your soul and +your eternity depend--on whether you trust the Lord Jesus." Then he +went out of the room, and left me alone, as if he wanted me to think +well about that before he said anything more. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I think something is coming to help me. My Uncle Drummond was late for +supper last night--a thing which I could see was very unusual. And when +he did come, he was particularly silent and meditative. At length, when +supper was over, as we turned our chairs round from the table, and were +sitting down again to our work, my Uncle Drummond, who generally goes to +his study after supper, sat down among us. + +"Young people," said he, with a look on his face which it seemed to me +was partly grave and partly diverted, "considering that you are more +travelled persons than I, I come to you for information. Have you--any +of you--while in England, either seen or heard anything of one Mr +George Whitefield, a clergyman of the Church of England, who is commonly +reckoned a Methodist?" + +Angus made a grimace, and said, "Plenty!" + +Flora was doubtful; she thought she had heard his name. + +I said, "I have heard his name too, Uncle; but I do not know much about +him, only Father seemed to think it a good joke that anybody should +fancy him a wise man." + +"Angus appears to be the best informed of you," said my uncle. "Speak +out, my boy, and tell us what you know." + +"Well, he is a queer sort of fellow, I fancy," said Angus. "He was one +of the Methodists; but they say those folks have had a split, and +Whitefield has broken with them. He travels about preaching, though, as +they do; and they say that the reason why he took to field-preaching was +because no church would hold the enormous congregations which gathered +to hear him. He has been several times to the American colonies, where +they say he draws larger crowds than John Wesley himself." + +"A good deal of `They say'," observed Uncle Drummond, with a smile. "Do +`they say' that the bishops and clergy are friendly to this remarkable +preacher, or not?" + +"Well, I should rather think not," answered Angus. "There is one bishop +who has stuck to him through thick and thin--the Bishop of Gloucester, +who gave him his orders to begin with; but the rest of them look askance +at him over their shoulders, I believe. It is irregular, you know, to +preach in fields--wholly improper to save anybody's soul out of church; +and these English folks take the horrors at anything irregular. The +women like him because he makes them cry so much." + +"Angus!" cried Flora and I together. + +"That's what I was told, I assure you, young ladies," returned Angus, "I +am only repeating what I have heard." + +"Well, that you may shortly have an opportunity of judging," said my +Uncle Drummond; "for this gentleman has come to Selkirk, and has asked +leave of the presbytery to preach in certain kirks of this +neighbourhood. There was some demur at first to the admission of a +Prelatist; but after some converse with him this was withdrawn, and he +will preach next Sabbath morning at Selkirk, and in the afternoon at +Monks' Brae. You can go to Monks' Brae to hear him, if you will; I, of +course, shall not be able to accompany you, but I trust to find an +opportunity when he preaches in the fields, if there be one. I should +like to hear this great English preacher, I confess. What say you?" + +"They'll go, you may be sure, Sir," said Angus, before we could answer. +"Trust a lassie to gad about if she has the chance. Mind you take all +the pocket-handkerchiefs you have with you. They say 'tis dreadful the +way this man gars you greet. 'Tis true, you English are more given that +way than we Scots; but folks say you cannot help yourself,--you must +cry, whether you will or no." + +"I should like to go, I think, Uncle," said I. "Only--I suppose he is a +real clergyman?" + +"There goes a genuine Englishwoman!" said Angus. "If Paul himself were +to preach, she would not go to hear him till she knew what bishop had +ordained him." + +"Yes, Cary," answered my Uncle Drummond, smiling; "he is a real +clergyman. More `real' than you think me, I fear." + +"Oh, you are different, Uncle," said I; "but I am sure Father would not +like me to hear any preacher who was not--at least--I don't know--he did +not seem to think this Mr Whitefield all right, somehow. Perhaps he +did not know he was a proper person." + +"`A proper person!'" sighed Angus, casting up his eyes. + +"My dear," said my Uncle Drummond, kindly, "you are a good lassie to +think of your father's wishes. Never mind Angus; he is only making fun, +and is a foolish young fellow yet. Of course, not having spoken with +your father, I cannot tell so well as yourself what his wishes are; and +'tis quite possible he may think, for I hear many do, that this +gentleman is a schismatic, and may disapprove of him on that account +only. If so, I can tell you for certain, 'tis a mistake. But as to +anything else, you must judge for yourself, and do what you think +right." + +"You see no objection to our going, Father?" asked Flora, who had not +spoken hitherto. + +"Not at all, my dear," said my Uncle. "Go by all means, if you like it. +You may never have another opportunity, and 'tis very natural you +should wish it." + +"Thank you," answered Flora. "Then, if Angus will take me, I will go." + +"Well, I don't know," said Angus. "I am afraid some of my handkerchiefs +are at the wash. I should not like to be quite drowned in my tears. I +might wash you away, too; and that would be a national calamity." + +"Don't jest on serious subjects, my boy," said Uncle; and Angus grew +grave directly. "I am no enemy to honest, rational fun; 'tis human, and +natural more especially to the young. But never, never let us make a +jest of the things that pertain to God." + +"I beg your pardon, Father," said Angus, in a low voice. "I'll take +you, Flora. What say you, Cary?" + +"Yes, I should like to go," I said. And I wondered directly whether I +had said right or wrong. But I do so want to hear something that would +help me. + +I found that Monks' Brae was on the Monksburn road, but nearly two miles +further on. 'Tis the high road from Selkirk to Galashiels, after you +leave Monksburn, and pretty well frequented; so that Angus was deemed +guard enough. But last night the whole road was so full of people going +to hear Mr Whitefield, that it was like walking in a crowd all the way. +The kirk was crammed to the very doors, and outside people stood +looking in and listening through the doors and the open windows. Mr +Lundie, the minister of Monks' Brae, led the worship (as they say here); +and when the sermon came, I looked with some curiosity at the great +preacher who did such unusual things, and whom some people seemed to +think it so wrong to like. Mr Whitefield is not anything particular to +look at: just a young man in a fair wig, with a round face and rosy +cheeks. He has a most musical voice, and he knows how to put it to the +best advantage. Every word is as distinct as can be, and his voice +rings out clear and strong, like a well-toned bell. But he had not +preached ten minutes before I forgot his voice and himself altogether, +and could think of nothing but what he was preaching about. And I never +heard such a sermon in my life. My Uncle Drummond's are the only ones I +have heard which even approach it, and he does not lift you up and carry +you away, as Mr Whitefield does. + +All the other preachers I ever heard, except those two, are always +telling you to do something. Come to church, and say your prayers, and +take the Sacrament; but particularly, do your duty. Now it always seems +to me that there are two grand difficulties in the way of doing one's +duty. The first is, to find out what is one's duty. Of course there is +the Bible; but, if I may say it with reverence, the Bible has never +seemed to have much to do with me. It is all about people who lived +ever so long ago, and what they did; and what has that to do with me, +Cary Courtenay, and what I am doing? Then suppose I do know what my +duty is--and certainly I do in some respects--I am not sure that I can +express it properly, but I feel as if I wanted something to come and +make me do it. I am like a watch, with all the wheels and springs +there, ready to go, but I want somebody to come and wind me up. And I +do not know how that is to be done. But Mr Whitefield made me wish, oh +so much! that that unknown somebody would come and do it. I never +thought much about it before, until that talk with my Uncle Drummond, +and now it feels to be what I want more than anything else. + +I cannot write the sermon down: not a page of it. I think you never can +write down on paper the things that stir your very soul. It is the +things which just tickle your brains that you can put down in elegant +language on paper. When a thing comes close to you, into your real +self, and grapples with you, and leaves a mark on you for ever +hereafter, whether for good or evil, you cannot write or talk about +that,--you can only feel it. + +The text was, "What think ye of Christ?" + +Mr Whitefield saith any man that will may have his sins forgiven, and +may know it. I have heard Mr Bagnall speak of this doctrine, which he +said was shocking and wicked, for it gave men licence to live in sin. +Mr Whitefield named this very thing (whereby I saw it had been brought +as a charge against him), and showed plainly that it did not tend to +destroy good works, but only built them up on a safer and surer +foundation. We work, saith he, not for that we would be saved by our +works, but out of gratitude that we have been saved by Christ, who +commands these works to such as would follow Him. And he quoted an +Article of the Church, [Note 4] saying that he desired men to see that +he was no schismatic preaching his own fancies, but that the Church +whereof he was a minister held the same doctrine. I wonder if Mr +Bagnall knows that, and if he ever reads the Articles. + +He spoke much, also, of the new birth, or conversion. I never heard any +other preacher, except Uncle, mention that at all. I know Mr Digby +thought it a fanatical notion only fit for enthusiasts. But certainly +there are texts in the Bible that speak plainly of it. And Mr +Whitefield saith that we do not truly believe in Christ, unless we so +believe as to have Him dwelling in us, and to receive life and +nourishment from Him as the branch does from the vine. And Saint John +says the same thing. How can it be enthusiasm to say what the Bible +says? + +People seem so dreadfully frightened of what they call enthusiasm [Note +1]. Grandmamma used to say there was nothing more vulgar. But the +queer thing is that many of these very people will let you get as +enthusiastic as ever you like about a game of cards, or one horse coming +in before another in a race, or about politics, or poaching, and things +of that sort that have to do with this world. It is about the things of +real consequence--things which have to do with your soul and the next +world--that you must not get enthusiastic! + +May one not have too little enthusiasm, I wonder, as well as too much? +Would it not be reasonable to be enthusiastic about things that really +signify, and cool about the things that do not? + +I want to write down a few sentences which Mr Whitefield said, that I +may not forget them. I do not know how they came in among the rest. +They stuck to me just as they are. [Note 2]. He says:-- + +"Our senses are the landing-ports of our spiritual enemies." + +"We must take care of healing before we see sinners wounded." + +"The King of the Church has all its adversaries in a chain." + +"If other sins have slain their thousands of professing Christians, +worldly-mindedness has slain its ten thousands." + +"How can any say, `Lead us not into temptation,' in the morning, when +they are resolved to run into it at night?" + +"How many are kept from seeing Christ in glory, by reason of the press!" +(That is, he explained, that people are ashamed of being singularly +good [Note 3], unless their acquaintances are on the same side.) + +"Christ will thank you for coming to His feast." + +When Mr Whitefield came near the end of his sermon, I thought I could +see why people said he made them cry so much. His voice sank into a +soft, pleading, tender accent, as if he yearned over the souls before +him. His hands were held out as if he were just holding out Jesus +Christ to us, and we must take Him or turn away and be lost. And he +begged us all so pitifully not to turn away. I saw tears running down +the cheeks of many hard-looking men and women. Flora cried, and so did +I. But Angus did not. He did not look as though he felt at all +inclined to do it. + +This is one of the last sermons, we hear, that Mr Whitefield will +preach on this side the sea. He sails for the American colonies next +month. He is said to be very fond of his American friends, and very +much liked by them. [Note 5]. + +As we were coming away, we came upon our friends from Monksburn, whom we +had not seen before. + +"This is preaching!" said Annas, as she clasped our hands. + +"Eh, puir laddie, he'll just wear himself out," said the Laird. "I hope +he has a gude wife, for sic men are rare, and they should be well taken +care of while they are here." + +"He has a wife, Sir," observed Angus, "and the men of his own kidney +think he would be rather better off if he had none." + +"Hoots, but I'm sorry to hear it," said the Laird. "What ails her, ken +ye, laddie?" + +"As I understood, Sir, she had three grave drawbacks. In the first +place, she is a widow with a rich jointure." + +"That's a queer thing to call a drawback!" said the Laird. + +"In the second place, she is a widow with a temper, and a good deal of +it." + +"Dinna name it!" cried the Laird, lifting up his hands. "Dinna name it! +Eh, puir laddie, but I'm wae for him, gin he's fashed wi' ane o' that +sort." + +"And in the third place," continued Angus, "I have been told that he may +well preach against worldly-mindedness, for he gets enough of it at +home. Mrs Whitefield knows what are trumps, considerably better than +she knows where to look in the Bible for her husband's text." + +"Dear, dear!" cried Lady Monksburn in her soft voice. "What could the +good man be thinking of, to bind such a burden as that upon his life?" + +"He thought he had converted her, I believe," said Angus, "but she came +undone." + +"I should think," remarked Mr Keith, "that he acted as Joshua did with +the Gibeonites." + +"How was that?" said Angus. + +"It won't hurt you to look for it," was the answer. + +I don't know whether Angus looked for it, but I did as soon as I got in, +and I saw that Mr Keith thought there had been too much hastiness, and +perhaps a little worldly-mindedness in Mr Whitefield himself. That may +be why he preaches so earnestly against it. We know so well where the +slippery places are, when we have been down ourselves. And when we have +been down once, we are generally very, very careful to keep off that +slide for the future. + +Mr Whitefield said last night that it was not true to say, as some do, +"that a man may be in Christ to-day, and go to the Devil to-morrow." +Then if anybody is converted, how can he, as Angus said, "come undone"? +I only see one explanation, and it is rather a terrible one: namely, +that the conversion was not real, but only looked like it. And I am +afraid that must be the truth. But what a pity it is that Mr +Whitefield did not find it out sooner! + +"Well, Helen, and how did you like the great English preacher?" I said +to Flora's nurse. + +"Atweel, Miss Cary, the discourse was no that ill for a Prelatist," was +the answer. + +And that was as much admiration as I could get from Helen. + +There was more talk about Mr Whitefield this morning at breakfast. I +cannot tell what has come to Angus. Going to hear Mr Whitefield preach +at Monks' Brae seems to have made him worse instead of better. Flora +and I both liked it so much; but Angus talks of it with a kind of bitter +hardness in his voice, and as if it pleased him to let us know all the +bad things which had been said about the preacher. He told us that they +said--(I wish they would give over saying!)--that Mr Whitefield had got +his money matters into some tangle, in the business of building his +Orphan House in Georgia; and "they said" he had acted fraudulently in +the matter. My Uncle Drummond put this down at once, with-- + +"My son, never repeat a calumny against a good man. You may not know +it, but you do Satan's very work for him." + +Angus made a grimace behind his hand, which I fancy he did not mean his +father to see. Then, he went on, "`They say' that Mr Whitefield is so +fanatical and extravagant in preaching against worldliness, that he +counts it sinful to smell to a rose, or to eat anything relishing." + +"Did he say so?" asked my Uncle: "or did `they' say it for him?" + +"Well, Sir," answered Angus with a laugh, "I heard Mr Whitefield had +said that he would give his people leave to smell to a rose and a pink +also, so long as they would avoid the appearance of sin: and, quoth he, +`if you can find any diversion which you would be willing to be found at +by our Lord in His coming, I give you free licence to go to it and +welcome.'" + +"Then we have disposed of that charge," saith my Uncle. "What next?" + +"Well, they say he hath given infinite displeasure to the English gentry +by one of his favourite sayings--that `Man is half a beast and half a +devil.' He will not allow them to talk of `passing the time'--how dare +they waste the time, saith he, when they have the devil and the beast to +get out of their souls? Folks don't like, you see, to be painted in +those colours." + +"No, we rarely admire a portrait that is exactly like us," saith my +Uncle Drummond. + +"Pray, Sir, think you that is a likeness?" said Angus. + +"More like, my son, than you and I think. Some of us have more of the +one, and some of the other: but in truth I cannot contradict Mr +Whitefield. 'Tis a just portrait of what man is by nature." + +"But, Sir!" cried Angus, "do you allow nothing for a man's natural +virtues?" + +"What are they?" asked my Uncle. "I allow that `there is none that +doeth good, no, not one.' You were not taught, Angus, that a man had +virtues natural to him, except as the Spirit of God implanted them in +him." + +"No, Sir; but when I go forth into the world, I cannot help seeing that +it is so." + +"I wish I could see it!" said my Uncle. "It would be a much more +agreeable sight than many things I do see." + +"Well, Sir, take generosity and good temper," urged Angus. "Do you not +see much of these in men who, as Mr Whitefield would say, are worldly +and ungodly?" + +"I often see the Lord's restraining grace," answered my Uncle, quietly; +"but am I to give the credit of it to those whom He restrains?" + +"But think you, Sir, that it is wise--" Angus paused. + +"Go on, my boy," said my Uncle. "I like you to speak out, like an +honest man. By all means have courage to own your convictions. If they +be right ones, you may so have them confirmed; and if they be wrong, you +stand in better case to have them put right." + +I did not think Angus looked quite comfortable. He hesitated a moment, +and then, I suppose, came out with what he had meant to say. + +"Think you not, Sir, that it is wise to leave unsaid such things as +offend people, and make them turn away from preaching? Should we not be +careful to avoid offence?" + +"Unnecessary offence," saith my Uncle. "But the offence of the cross is +precisely that which we are warned not to avoid. `Not with wisdom of +words,' saith the Apostle, `lest the cross of Christ should be made of +none effect.' In his eyes, `then is the offence of the cross ceased,' +was sufficient to condemn the preaching whereof he spoke. And that +policy of keeping back truth is the Devil's policy; 'tis Jesuitical. +`Will ye speak wickedly for God, and talk deceitfully for Him?' `Shall +the throne of iniquity have fellowship with _Thee_?' Never, Angus: +never!" + +"But our Lord Himself seems to have kept things back from His +disciples," pleaded Angus, uneasily. + +"Yes, what they were not ready for and could not yet understand. But +never that which offended them. He offended them terribly when He told +them that the Son of Man was about to be crucified. So did the Jesuits +to the Chinese: and when they found the offence, they altered their +policy, and said the story of the crucifixion was an invention of +Christ's enemies. Did He?" + +Angus made no answer: and breakfast being over, we separated to our +several work. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. "Enthusiasm" was the term then usually applied to the doctrines +of grace, when the word was used in a religious sense. + +Note 2. These sentences are not taken from any one of Whitefield's +sermons exclusively, but are gathered from the gems of thought scattered +through his works. + +Note 3. Singular still meant alone in Whitefield's day. + +Note 4. Articles twelve and thirteen. All the members of the Church of +England ought to be perfectly familiar with the Articles and Homilies, +as the Reformers intended them to be. How else can they know what they +profess to hold, when they call themselves members of the Church? If +they do not share her opinions, they have no right to use her name. + +Note 5. He died at Newbury Port, in New England, in September 1770. +America has no nobler possession than the grave of George Whitefield. + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN. + +RUMOURS OF WAR. + + "They've left their bonnie Highland hills, + Their wives and bairnies dear, + To draw the sword for Scotland's Lord, + The young Chevalier." + + CAROLINE, LADY NAIRN. + +Yesterday, when Flora and I sat at our sewing in the manse parlour, +something happened which has set everything in a turmoil. We had been +talking, but we were silent just then: and I was thinking over what my +Uncle Drummond and Mr Whitefield had said, when all at once we heard +the gate dashed open, and Angus came rushing up the path with his plaid +flying behind him. Flora sprang up and ran to meet him. + +"What is the matter?" she said. "'Tis so unlike Angus to come dashing +up in that way. I do hope nothing is wrong with Father." + +I dropped my sewing and ran after her. + +"Angus, what is wrong?" she cried. + +"Why should anything be wrong? Can't something be right?" cried Angus, +as he came up; and I saw that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes +flashing. "The Prince has landed, and the old flag is flying at +Glenfinnan. Hurrah!" + +And Angus snatched off his cap, and flung it up so high that I wondered +if it would come down again. + +"The Prince!" cried Flora; and looking at her, I saw that she had caught +the infection too. "O Angus, what news! Who told you? Is it true? +Are you quite sure?" + +"Sure as the hills. Duncan told me. I have been over to Monksburn, and +he has just come home. All the clans in Scotland will be up to-morrow. +That was the one thing we wanted--our Prince himself among us. You will +hear of no faint hearts now." + +"What will the Elector do?" said Flora. "He cannot, surely, make head +against our troops." + +"Make head! We shall be in London in a month. Sir John Cope has gone +to meet Tullibardine at Glenfinnan. I expect he will come back a trifle +faster than he went. Long live the King, and may God defend the right!" + +All at once, Angus's tone changed, as his eyes fell upon me. "Cary, I +hope you are not a traitor in the camp? You look as if you cared +nothing about it, and you rather wondered we did." + +"I know next to nothing about it, Angus," I answered. "Father would +care a great deal; and if I understood it, I dare say I might. But I +don't, you see." + +"What do I hear!" cried Angus, in mock horror, clasping his hands, and +casting up his eyes. "The daughter of Squire Courtenay of Brocklebank +knows next to nothing about Toryism! Hear it, O hills and dales!" + +"About politics of any sort," said I. "Don't you know, I was brought up +with Grandmamma Desborough, who is a Whig so far as she is anything--but +she always said it was vulgar to get warm over politics, so I never had +the chance of hearing much about it." + +"Poor old tabby!" said irreverent Angus. + +"But have you heard nothing since you came to Brocklebank?" asked Flora, +with a surprised look. + +"Oh, I have heard Father toast `the King over the water,' and rail at +the Elector; and I have heard Fanny chant that `Britons never shall be +slaves' till I never wanted to hear the tune again; and I have heard +Ambrose Catterall sing Whig songs to put Father in a pet, and heard lots +of people talk about lots of things which are to be done when the King +has his own again. That is about all I know. Of course I know how the +Revolution came about, and all that: and I have heard of the war thirty +years ago, and the dreadful executions after it--" + +"Executions! Massacres!" cried Angus, hotly. + +"Well, massacres if you like," said I. "I am sure they were shocking +enough to be called any ugly name." + +Angus seemed altogether changed. He could not keep to one subject, nor +stand still for one minute. I was not much surprised so long as it was +only he; but I was astonished when I saw the change which came over my +Uncle Drummond. I never supposed he could get so excited about anything +which had to do with earth. And yet his first thought was to connect it +with Heaven. [Note 1.] + +I shall never forget the ring of his prayer that night. An exile within +sight of home, a prisoner to whom the gates had just been opened, might +have spoken in the words and tones that he did. + +"Lord, Thou hast been gracious unto Thy land!" "Let them give thanks +whom the Lord hath redeemed, and delivered from the hand of the enemy!" +That was the key-note of every sentence. + +I found, before long, that I had caught the complaint myself. I went +about singing, "The King shall ha'e his ain again," and got as hot and +eager for fresh news as anybody. + +"Oh dear, I hope the Prince will conquer the Elector before I go to +London," I said to Flora: "for I do not know whatever Grandmamma will +say if I go to her in this mood. She always says there is nothing so +vulgar as to get enthusiastic over anything. You ought to be calm, +composed, collected, and everything else which is cold and begins with +C." + +Flora laughed, but was grave again directly. + +"I expect, Cary, your journey to London is a long way off," said she. +"How are you to travel, if all the country be up, and troops going to +and fro everywhere?" + +"I am sure I don't care if it be," said I. "I would rather stay here, a +great deal." + +I thought we were tolerably warm about the Prince's landing, at +Abbotscliff; but when I got to Monksburn, I found the weather still +hotter. The Laird is almost beside himself; Mr Keith as I never saw +him before. Annas has the air of an inspired prophetess, and even Lady +Monksburn is moved out of her usual quietude, though she makes the least +ado of any. News came while we were there, that Sir John Cope had been +so hard pressed by the King's army that he was forced to fall back on +Inverness; and nothing would suit the Laird but to go out and make a +bonfire on the first hill he came to, so as to let people see that +something had happened. The Elector, we hear, has come back from +Hanover, and his followers are in a panic, I hope they will stay there. + +Everybody agrees that the army will march southwards at once after this +victory, and that unless my journey could take place directly, I shall +have to stay where I am, at least over the winter. The Laird wishes he +could get Annas out of the way. If I were going, I believe he would +send her with me, to those friends of Lady Monksburn in the Isle of +Wight. I thought Lady Monksburn looked rather anxious, and wistful too, +when he spoke about it. Annas herself did not seem to care. + +"The Lord will not go to the Isle of Wight," she said, quietly. + +Oh, if I could feel as they do--that God is everywhere, and that +everywhere He is my Friend! And then, my Uncle Drummond's words come +back upon me. But how do you trust Christ? What have you to do? If +people would make things plain! + +Well, it looks as if I should have plenty of time for learning. For it +seems pretty certain, whatever else is doubtful, that I am a fixture at +Abbotscliff. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I wonder if things always happen just when one has made up one's mind +that they are not going to happen? + +About ten o'clock this morning, Flora and I were sewing in the parlour, +just as we have been doing every day since I came here. My Uncle +Drummond was out, and Angus was fixing a white cockade in his bonnet. +Helen Raeburn put in her head at the door. + +"If you please, Miss Cary," said she, "my cousin Samuel wad be fain to +speak wi' ye." + +For one moment I could not think who she meant. What had I to do with +her cousin Samuel? And then, all at once, it flashed upon me that +Helen's cousin Samuel was our own old Sam. + +"Sam!" I almost screamed. "Has he come from Brocklebank? Oh, is +anything wrong at home?" + +"There's naething wrang ava, Miss Cary, but a hantle that's richt--only +ane thing belike--and that's our loss mair than yours. But will ye see +Samuel?" + +"Oh, yes!" I cried. And Flora bade Helen bring him in. + +In marched Sam--the old familiar Sam, though he had put on a flowered +waistcoat and a glossy green tie which made him look rather like a Merry +Andrew. + +"Your servant, ladies! Your servant, Maister Angus! I trust all's weel +wi' ye the morn?" + +And Sam sighed, as if he felt relieved after that speech. + +"Sam, is all well at home? Who sent you?" + +"All's weel, Miss Cary, the Lord be thanked. And Mrs Kezia sent me." + +"Is my Aunt Kezia gone to her new house? Does she want me to come +back?" + +"Thank goodness, na!" said Sam, which at first I thought rather a poor +compliment; but I saw the next minute that it was the answer to my first +question. "Mrs Kezia's gone nowhere. Nor they dinna want ye back at +Brocklebank nae mair. I'm come to ha'e a care of ye till London town. +The Lord grant I win hame safe mysel' at after!" + +"Is the country so disturbed, Sam?" said Flora. + +"The country's nae disturbed, Miss Flora. I was meanin' temptations and +sic-like. Leastwise, ay--the country is a bit up and down, as ye may +say; but no sae mickle. We'll win safe eneuch to London, me and Miss +Cary, if the Lord pleases. It's the comin' haim I'm feared for." + +"And is--" I hardly knew how to ask what I wanted to know. Flora helped +me. I think she saw I needed it. + +"Was the wedding very grand, Sam?" + +"Whose wedding, Miss Flora? There's been nae weddings at Brocklebank, +but Ben Dykes and auld Bet Donnerthwaite, and I wish Ben joy on't. I am +fain he's no me." + +"Nay, you are fain you are no he," laughed Angus. + +"I'm fain baith ways, Maister Angus. The Laird 'd hae his table ill +served gin Ben tried his haun." + +"But what do you mean, Sam?" cried I. "Has not--" + +I stopped again, but Sam helped me out himself. + +"Na, Miss Cary, there's nae been siccan a thing, the Lord be thanked! +She took pepper in the nose, and went affa gude week afore it suld ha'e +been; and a gude riddance o' ill rubbish, say I. Mrs Kezia and Miss +Sophy, they are at hame, a' richt: and Miss Hatty comes back in a +twa-three days, without thae young leddies suld gang till London toun, +and gin they do she'll gang wi' 'em." + +"Father is not married?" I exclaimed. + +"He's better aff," said Sam, determinedly. "I make na count o' thae +hizzies." + +How glad I felt! Though Father might be sorry at first, I felt so sure +he would be thankful afterwards. As for the girl who had jilted him, I +thought I could have made her into mincemeat. But I was so glad of his +escape. + +"The Laird wad ha'e had ye come wi' yon lanky loon wi' the glass of his +e'e," went on Sam: "he was bound frae Carlisle to London this neist +month. But Mrs Kezia, she wan him o'er to send me for ye. An' I was +for to say that gin the minister wad like Miss Flora to gang wi' ye, I +micht care ye baith, or onie ither young damsel wha's freens wad like to +ha'e her sent soothwards." + +"O Flora," I cried at once--"Annas!" + +"Yes, we will send word to Monksburn," answered Flora: and Angus jumped +up and said he would walk over. + +"As for me," said Flora, turning to Sam, "I must hear my father's +bidding. I do not think I shall go--not if I may stay with him. But +the Laird of Monksburn wishes Miss Keith to go south, and I think he +would be glad to put her in your care." + +"And I'd be proud to care Miss Annas," said Sam, with a pull at his +forelock. "I mind her weel, a bit bonnie lassie. The Laird need nae +fear gin she gangs wi' me. But I'd no ha'e said sae mickle for yon puir +weak silken chiel wi' the glass in his e'e." + +"Why, Sam, who do you mean?" said I. + +"Wha?" said Sam. "Yon pawky chiel, the auld Vicar's nevey--Maister +Parchmenter, or what ye ca him--a bonnie ane to guard a pair o' lassies +he'd be!" + +"Mr Parmenter!" cried I. "Did Father think of sending us with him?" + +"He just did, gin Mrs Kezia had nae had mair wit nor himsel'. She sent +ye her loving recommend, young leddies, and ye was to be gude lassies, +the pair o' ye, and no reckon ye kent better nor him that had the charge +o' ye." + +"Sam, you put that in yourself," said Angus. + +"Atweel, Sir, Mrs Kezia said she hoped they'd be gude lassies, and +discreet--that's as true as my father's epitaph." + +"Where is Miss Osborne gone, Sam?" asked Flora. + +"Gin naebody wants to ken mair than me, Miss Flora, there'll no be +mickle speiring. I'm only sure o' ane place where she'll no be gane, +I'm thinkin', and that's Heaven." + +"You don't seem to me to have fallen in love with her, Sam," said Angus, +who appeared exceedingly amused. + +"Is't me, Sir? Ma certie, but gin there were naebody in this haill +warld but her an' me, I'd tak' a lodging for her in the finest street I +could find i' London toun, an' I'd be aff mysel' to the Orkneys by the +neist ship as left the docks. I wad, sae!" + +Angus laughed till he cried, and Flora and I were no much better. He +went at once to Monksburn, and came back with tidings that the Laird was +very glad of the opportunity to send Annas southwards. And when my +Uncle Drummond came in, though his lip trembled and her eyes pleaded +earnestly, he said Flora must go too. + +And to-night Mr Keith brought news that men were up all over the +Highlands, and that the Prince was marching on Perth. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +My Uncle Drummond says we must go at once--there is not to be a day's +delay that can be helped. Mr Keith and Angus are both to join the +Prince as soon as they can be ready. My Uncle will go with us himself +to Hawick, and then Sam will go on with us to Carlisle, where we are to +wait one day, while Sam rides over to Brocklebank to fetch and exchange +such things as we may need, and if we can hear of any friend of Father's +or my Uncle's who is going south, we are to join their convoy. The +Laird of Monksburn sends one of his men with us; and both he and Sam +will be well armed. I am sure I hope there will be no occasion for the +arms. + +Angus is in a mental fever, and dashes about, here, there, and +everywhere, without apparent reason, and also without much +consideration. I mean consideration in both senses--reflection, and +forbearance. Flora is grave and anxious--I think, a little frightened, +both for herself and Angus. Mr Keith takes the affair very seriously; +that I can see, though he does not say much. Annas seems (now that the +first excitement is over) as calm as a summer eve. We are to start, if +possible, on Friday, and sleep at Hawick the first night. + +"Hech, Sirs!" was Helen's comment, when she heard it. "My puir bairns, +may the Lord be wi' ye! It's ill setting forth of a Friday." + +"Clashes and clavers!" cries Sam, turning on her. "Helen Raeburn, ye're +just daft! Is the Lord no sae strang o' Friday as ither days? What +will fules say neist?" + +"Atweel, ye may lauch, Sam, an' ye will," answered Helen: "but I tell +ye, I ne'er brake my collar-bone of a journey but ance, and that was +when I'd set forth of a Friday." + +"And I ne'er brake mine ava, and I've set forth monie a time of a +Friday," returned Sam. "Will ye talk sense, woman dear, gin women maun +talk?" + +I do feel so sorry to leave Abbotscliff. I wish I were not going to +London. And I do not quite like to ask myself why. I should not mind +going at all, if it were only a change of place. Abbotscliff is very +lovely, but there is a great deal in London that I should like to see. +If I were to lead the same sort of life as here, and with the same sort +of people, I should be quite satisfied to go. But I know it will be +very different. Everything will be changed. Not only the people, but +the ways of the people. Instead of breezy weather there will be hot +crowded rooms, and instead of the Tweed rippling over the pebbles there +will be noisy music and empty chatter. And it is not so much that I am +afraid it will be what I shall not like. It will at first, I dare say: +but I am afraid that in time I shall get to like it, and it will drive +all the better things out of my head, and I shall just become one of +those empty chatterers. I am sure there is danger of it. And I do not +know how to help it. It is pleasant to please people, and to make them +laugh, and to have them say how pretty, or how clever you are: and then +one gets carried away, and one says things one never meant to say, and +the things go and do something which one never meant to do. And I +should not like to be another of my Aunt Dorothea! + +I do not think there is half the fear for Flora that there is for me. +She does not seem to get carried off her mind's feet, as it were: there +is something solid underneath her. And it is not at all certain that +Flora will be there. If she be asked to stay, Uncle says, she may +please herself, for he knows she can be trusted: but if Grandmamma or my +Aunt Dorothea do not ask her, then she goes on with Annas to her +friends, who, Annas says, will be quite delighted to see her. + +I do so wish that Flora might stay with me! + +This afternoon we went over to Monksburn to say farewell. + +Flora and Annas had a good deal to settle about our journey, and all the +people and things we were leaving behind. They went into the garden, +but I asked leave to stay. I did so want a talk with Lady Monksburn on +two points. I thought, I hardly know why, that she would understand me. + +I sat for a few minutes, watching her bright needles glance in and out +among the soft wools: and at last I brought out the less important of my +two questions. If she answered that kindly, patiently, and as if she +understood, the other was to come after. If not, I would keep it to +myself. + +"Will you tell me, Madam--is it wrong to pray about anything? I mean, +is there anything one ought not to pray about?" + +Lady Monksburn looked up, but only for a moment. + +"Dear child!" she said, with a gentle smile, "is it wrong to tell your +Father of something you want?" + +"But may one pray about things that do not belong to church and Sunday +and the Bible?" said I. + +"Everything belongs to the Bible," said she. "It is the chart for the +voyage of life. You mean, dear heart, is it right to pray about earthly +things which have to do with the body? No doubt it is. `Give us this +day our daily bread.'" + +"But does that mean real, common bread?" I asked. "I thought people +said it meant food for the soul." + +"People say very foolish things sometimes, my dear. It may include food +for the soul, and very likely does. But I think it means food for the +body first. `Your Father knoweth that ye have need of all these +things.' That, surely, was said of meat and drink and clothing." + +I thought a minute. "But I mean more than that," I said; "things that +one wishes for, which are not necessaries for the body, and yet are not +things for the soul." + +"Necessaries for the mind?" suggested Lady Monksburn. "My dear, your +mind is a part of you as much as your body and spirit. And `He careth +for you,' body, soul, and spirit--not the spirit only, and not the +spirit and body only." + +"For instance," I said, "suppose I wanted very much to go somewhere, or +not to go somewhere--for reasons which seemed good ones to me--would it +be wicked to ask God to arrange it so?" + +Lady Monksburn looked up at me with her gentle, motherly eyes. + +"Dear child," she said, "you may ask God for anything in all the world, +if only you will bear in mind that He loves you, and is wiser than you. +`Father, if it be possible,--nevertheless, not My will, but Thine, be +done.' You cannot ask a more impossible thing than that which lay +between those words. If the world were to be saved, if God were to be +glorified, it was not possible. Did He not know that who asked it with +strong crying and tears? Was not the asking done to teach us two +things--that He was very man, like ourselves, shrinking from pain and +death as much as the very weakest of us can shrink, and also that we may +ask anything and everything, if only we desire beyond it that God's will +be done?" + +"Thank you," I said, drawing a long breath. Yes, I might ask my second +question. + +"Lady Monksburn, what is it to trust the Lord Jesus?" + +"Do you want to know what trust is, Cary,--or what He is? My child, I +think I can tell you the first, but I can never attempt to paint the +glory of the second." + +"_I_ want to know what people mean by _trusting_ Him. How are you to +trust somebody whom you do not know?" + +"It is hard. I think you must know a little before you can trust. And +by the process of trusting you learn to know. Trust and love are very +near akin. You must talk with Him, Cary, if you want to know Him." + +"You mean, pray, I suppose?" + +"That is talking to Him. It is a poor converse where all the talk is on +one side." + +"But what is the other side--reading the Bible?" + +"That is part of it." + +"What is the other part of it?" + +Lady Monksburn looked up at me again, with a smile which I do not know +how to describe. I can only say that it filled me with a sudden +yearning for my dead mother. She might have smiled on me like that. + +"My darling!" she answered, "there are things which can be described, +and there are things which can but be felt. No man can utter the secret +of the Lord--only the Lord Himself. Ask Him to whisper it to you. You +will care little for the smiles or the frowns of the world when He has +done so." + +Is not that just what I want? "But will He tell it to any one?" I +said. + +"He tells it to those who long for it," she replied. "His smile may be +had by any who will have it. It costs a great deal, sometimes. But it +is worth the cost." + +"What does it cost, Madam?" + +"It costs what most men think very precious, and yet is really worth +nothing at all. It costs the world's flatteries, which are as a net for +the feet; and the world's pleasures, which are as the crackling of +thorns under the pot; and the world's honours, which are empty air. It +often costs these. There are few men who can be trusted with both." + +There was a minute's silence, and then she said,-- + +"The Scottish Catechism, my dear, saith that `Man's chief end is to +glorify God, and to enjoy Him for ever.' Grander words were never +penned out of God's own Word. And among the most striking words in it +are those of David, which may be called the response thereto--`When I +awake up after Thy likeness, I shall be satisfied with it.'" + +Then Annas and Flora came in. + +But I had got what I wanted. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Bloomsbury Square, London, September 23rd 1745. +While we were travelling, I could not get at my book to write anything; +and had I been able, I doubt whether I should have found time. We +journeyed from early morning till late at night, really almost as though +we were flying from a foe: though of course we should have had nothing +to fear, had the royal army overtaken us. It was only the Elector's +troops who would have meddled with us; and they were in Scotland +somewhere. There is indeed a rumour flying abroad to-night (saith my +Uncle Charles), that the Prince has entered Edinburgh: but we know not +if it be true or no. If so, he will surely push on straight for London, +since the rebellious troops must have been driven quite away, before he +could do that. So my Uncle Charles says; and he saith too, that they +are a mere handful of raw German mercenaries, who would never stand a +moment against the courage, the discipline, and the sense of right, +which must animate the King's army. + +Oh dear! where shall I begin, if I am to write down all about the +journey? And if I do not, it will look like a great gap in my tale. +Well, my Uncle Drummond took us to Hawick--but stop! I have not left +Abbotscliff yet, and here I am coming to Hawick. That won't do. I must +begin again. + +Mr Keith and Angus marched on Thursday night, with a handful of +volunteers from Tweedside. It was hard work parting. Even I felt it, +and of course Angus is much less to me than the others. Mr Keith said +farewell to my Uncle and me, and he came last to Flora. She lifted her +eyes to him full of tears as she put her hand in his. + +"Duncan," she said, "will you make me a promise?" + +"Certainly, Flora, if it be anything that will ease your mind." + +"Indeed it will," she said, with trembling lips. "Never lose sight of +Angus, and try to keep him safe and true." + +"True to the Cause, or true to God?" + +"True to both. I cannot separate between right and right." + +I thought there was just one second's hesitation--no more--before Mr +Keith gave his solemn answer. + +"I will, so help me God!" + +Flora thanked him amidst her sobs. He held her hand a moment longer, +and I almost thought that he was going to ask her for something. But +suddenly there came a setting of stern purpose into his lips and eyes, +and he kissed her hand and let it go, with no more than--"God bless you, +dear Flora. Farewell!" + +Then Angus came up, and gave us a much warmer (and rougher) good-bye: +but I felt there was something behind Mr Keith's, which he had not +spoken, and I wondered what it was. + +We left Abbotscliff ourselves at six o'clock next morning. Flora and I +were in the chaise; my Uncle Drummond, Sam, and Wedderburn (the Laird's +servant) on horseback. At the gates at Monksburn we took up Annas, and +Wedderburn joined us there too. The Laird came to see us off, and +nearly wrung my hand off as he said, to Flora and me, "Take care of my +bairn. The Lord's taking them both from their auld father. If I be +bereaved of my children, I am bereaved." + +"The Lord will keep them Himself, dear friend," said my Uncle Drummond. +"Surely you see the need to part with them?" + +"Oh ay, I see the need clear enough! And an auld noodle I am, to be +lamenting to you, who are suffering the very same loss." Then he turned +to Annas. "God be with thee, my bonnie birdie," he said: "the auld +Grange will be lone without thy song. But thou wilt let us hear a word +of thy welfare as oft as thou canst." + +"As often as ever I can, dear Father," said Annas: and as he turned +back, and we drove away, she broke down as I had never imagined Annas +would do. + +We slept that night at the inn at Hawick. On the Saturday morning, my +Uncle Drummond left us, and we went on to Carlisle, which we reached +late at night. Here we were to stay with Dr and Mrs Benn, friends of +Father's, who made much of us, and seemed to think themselves quite +honoured in having us: and Sam went off at once on a fresh horse to +Brocklebank, which he hoped to reach by midnight. They would be looking +for him. I charged him with all sorts of messages, which he said grimly +that he would deliver if he recollected them when he got there: and I +gave him a paper for my Aunt Kezia, with a list of things I would have +sent. + +On Sunday we went to the Cathedral with our hosts, and spent the day +quietly. + +But on Monday morning, what was my astonishment, as I was just going +into the parlour, to hear a familiar voice say-- + +"Did you leave your eyes at Abbotscliff, my dear?" + +"Aunt Kezia!" I cried. + +Yes, there stood my Aunt Kezia, in her hood and scarf, looking as if +only an hour had passed since I saw her before. I was glad to see her, +and I ventured to say so. + +"Why, child, did you think I was going to send my lamb out into the +wilderness, with never a farewell?" + +"But how early you must have had to rise, Aunt Kezia!" + +"Mrs Kezia, this is an unlooked-for pleasure," said the Doctor, coming +forward. "I could never have hoped to see you at this hour." + +"This hour! Why, 'tis but eight o'clock!" cries my Aunt Kezia. "What +sort of a lig-a-bed do you think me, Doctor?" + +"Madam, I think you the flower of creation!" cries he, bowing over her +hand. + +"You must have been reading the poets," saith she, "and not to much good +purpose.--Flora, child, you look but white! And is this Miss Annas +Keith, your friend? I am glad to see you, my dear. Don't mind an old +woman's freedom: I call all girls `my dear'." + +Annas smiled, and said she was very pleased to feel as though my Aunt +Kezia reckoned her among her friends. + +"My friends' friends are mine," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Well, Cary, I +have brought you all the things in your minute, save your purple +lutestring scarf, which I could not find. It was not in the bottom +shelf, as you set down." + +"Why, where could I have put it?" said I. "I always keep it on that +shelf." + +I was sorry to miss it, because it is my best scarf, and I thought I +should want it in London, where I suppose everybody goes very fine. +However, there was no more to be said--on my side. I found there was on +my Aunt Kezia's. + +"Here, hold your hand, child," saith she. "Your father sends you ten +guineas to spend; and here are five more from me, and this pocket-piece +from Sophy. You can get a new scarf in London, if you need it, or +anything else you like better." + +"Oh, thank you, Aunt Kezia!" I cried. "Why, how rich I shall be!" + +"Don't waste your money, Cary: lay it out wisely, and then we shall be +pleased. I will give you a good rule: Never buy anything without +sleeping on it. Don't rush off and get it the first minute it comes +into your head. You will see the bottom of your purse in a veek if you +do." + +"But it might be gone, Aunt Kezia." + +"Then it is something you can do without." + +"Is Hatty come home, Aunt?" said Flora. + +"Not she," saith my Aunt Kezia. "Miss Hatty's gone careering off, the +deer know where. I dare be bound you'll fall in with her. She is gone +with Charlotte and Emily up to town." + +I was sorry to hear that. I don't much want to meet Hatty--above all if +Grandmamma be there. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The great majority of Scottish Jacobites were Episcopalians and +"Moderates," a term equivalent to the English "High and Dry." There +were, however, a very few Presbyterians among them. + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT. + +RULES AND RIBBONS. + + "No fond belief can day and night + From light and darkness sever; + And wrong is wrong, and right is right, + For ever and for ever." + +Last evening, as we were drawing our chairs up for a chat round the fire +in our chamber, who should walk in but my Aunt Kezia. + +"Nay, I'll not hold you long," saith she, as I arose and offered my +seat. "I come but to give a bit of good counsel to my nieces here. +Miss Annas, my dear, it will very like not hurt you too." + +"I shall be very glad of it, Mrs Kezia," said Annas. + +"Well,"--saith my Aunt, and broke off all at once. "Eh, girls, girls! +Poor unfledged birds, fluttering your wings on the brim of the nest, and +pooh-poohing the old bird behind you, that says, `Take care, my dears, +or you will fall!' She never flew out of the nest, did she?--she never +preened her wings, and thought all the world lay before her, and she +could fly as straight as any lark of them all, and catch as many flies +as any swallow? Ay, nor she never tumbled off into the mire, and found +she could not fly a bit, and all the insects went darting past her as +safe as if she were a dead leaf? Eh, my lassies, this would be a poor +world, if it were all. I have seen something of it, though you thought +not, likely enough. But flowers are flowers, and dirt is dirt, whether +you find them on the banks of the Thames or of Ellen Water. And I have +not dwelt all my life at Brocklebank: though if I had, I should have +seen men and women, and they are much alike all the world over." + +I could not keep it in, and out it came. + +"Please, Aunt Kezia, don't be angry, but what is become of Cecilia +Osborne?" + +"I dare say you will know, Cary, before I do. She went to London, I +believe." + +"Oh, I don't want to see her, Aunt Kezia." + +"Then you are pretty sure to do it." + +"But why did she not--" I was afraid to go on. + +"Why did she not keep her word? You can ask her if you want to know. +Don't say I wanted to know, that's all. I don't." + +"But how was it, Aunt Kezia?" said I, for I was on fire with curiosity. +Flora made an attempt to check me. + +"You are both welcome to know all I know," said my Aunt: "and that is, +that she spent one evening at the Fells with us, and the Hebblethwaites +and Mr Parmenter were there: the next day we saw nothing of her, and on +the evening of the third there came a little note to me--a dainty little +pink three-cornered note, all over perfume--in which Miss Cecilia +Osborne presented her compliments to Mrs Kezia Courtenay, and begged to +say that she found herself obliged to go to London, and would have set +out before the note should reach me. That is as much as I know, and +more than I want to know." + +"And she did not say when she was coming back?" + +"Not in any hurry, I fancy," said my Aunt Kezia, grimly. + +"Going to stop away altogether?" + +"She's welcome," answered my Aunt, in the same tone. + +"Then who will live at Fir Vale?" asked Flora. + +"Don't know. The first of you may that gets married. Don't go and do +it on purpose." + +Annas seemed much diverted. I wanted very much to know how Father had +taken Cecilia's flight, but I did not feel I could ask that. + +"Any more questions, young ladies?" saith my Aunt Kezia, quizzically. +"We will get them done first, if you please." + +"I beg your pardon, Aunt," said I. "Only I did want to know so much." + +My Aunt Kezia gave a little laugh. "My dear, curiosity is Eve's legacy +to her daughters. You might reasonably feel it in this instance. I +should almost have thought you unfeeling if you had not. However, that +business is all over; and well over, to my mind. I am thankful it is no +worse. Now for what I want to say to you. I have been turning over in +my mind how I might say to you what would be likely to do you good, in +such a way that you could easily bear it in mind. And I have settled to +give you a few plain rules, which you will find of service if you follow +them. Now don't you go saying to yourselves that Aunt Kezia is an old +country woman who knows nothing of grand town folks. As I was beginning +to say when you interrupted me, Cary--there, don't look abashed, child; +I am not angry with you--manners change, but natures don't. Dress men +and women how you will, and let them talk what language you please, and +have what outside ways you like, they are men and women still. Wherever +you go, you will find human nature is unchanged; and the Devil that +tempts men is unchanged; and the God that saves them is unchanged. +There are more senses than one, lassies, in which the things that are +seen are temporal; but the things that are not seen are eternal." + +My Aunt Kezia began to feel in her bag--that great print bag with the +red poppies and blue cornflowers, and the big brass top, by which I +should know my Aunt Kezia was near if I saw it in the American +plantations, or in the moon, for that matter--and out came three little +books, bound in red sheepskin. Such pretty little books! scarcely the +size of my hand, and with gilded leaves. + +"Now, girls," she said, "I brought you these for keepsakes. They are +only blank paper, as you see, and you can put down in them what you +spend, or what you see, or any good sayings you meet with, or the like-- +just what you please: but you will find my rules written on the first +leaf, so you can't say you had not a chance to bear them in mind. Miss +Annas, my dear, I hope I don't make too free, but you see I did not like +to leave you out in the cold, as it were. Will you accept one of them? +They are good rules for any young maid, though I say it." + +"How kind of you, Mrs Kezia!" said Annas. "Indeed I will, and value it +very much." + +I turned at once--indeed, I think we all did--to my Aunt Kezia's rules. +They were written, as she said, on the first page, in her neat, clear +handwriting, which one could read almost in the dark. This is what she +had written. + +"Put the Lord first in everything. + +"Let the approval of those who love you best come second. + +"Judge none by the outside, till you have seen what is within. + +"Never take compliment for earnest. + +"Never put off doing a right or kind thing. + +"If you doubt a thing being right, it is safe not to do it. + +"If you know a thing to be right, go on with it, though the world stand +in your way. + +"`If sinners entice thee, consent thou not.' + +"`If any man sin, we have an Advocate with the Father.' Never wait to +confess sin and be forgiven. + +"In all that is not wrong, put the comfort of others before your own. + +"Think it possible you may be mistaken. + +"Test everything by the Word of God. + +"Remember that the world passeth away." + +Flora was the first of us to speak. + +"Thank you, indeed, Aunt Kezia for taking so much trouble for us. If we +govern ourselves by your rules, we can hardly go far wrong." + +I tried to say something of the same sort, but I am afraid I bungled it. + +"I cannot tell when we shall meet again, my lassies," saith my Aunt +Kezia. "Only it seems likely to be some time first. Of course, if +things fall out ill, and Mrs Desborough counts it best to remove from +London, or to send you elsewhere, you must be ruled by her, as you +cannot refer to your father. Remember, Cary--your grandmother and uncle +will stand to you in place of father and mother while you are with them. +Your father sends you to them, and puts his authority into their hands. +Don't go to think you know better--girls so often do. A little +humility and obedience won't hurt you, and you need not be afraid there +will ever be too much of them in this world." + +"But, Aunt!" said I, in some alarm, "suppose Grandmamma tells me to do +something which I know you would not allow?" + +"Follow your rule, Cary: set the Lord always before you. If it is +anything which He would not allow, then you are justified in standing +out. Not otherwise." + +"But how am I to know, Aunt?" It was a foolish question of mine, for I +might have known what my Aunt Kezia would say. + +"What do you think the Bible was made for, Cary?" + +"But, Aunt, I can't go and read through the Bible every time Grandmamma +gives me an order." + +"You must do that first, my dear. The Bible won't jump down your +throat, that is certain. You must be ready beforehand. You will learn +experience, children, as the time goes on--ay, whether you choose or no. +But there are two sorts of experience--sweet and bitter: and `they that +will not be ruled by the rudder must be ruled by the rock.' Be ruled by +the rudder, lassies. It is the wisest plan." + +My Aunt Kezia said more, but it does not come back to me as that does. +And the next morning we said good-bye, and went out into the wide world. + +I cannot profess to tell the whole of our journey. We slept the first +night at Kendal--and a cold bleak journey it was, by Shap Fells--the +second at Bolton, the third at Bakewell, the fourth at Leicester, the +fifth at Bedford, and on the Saturday evening we reached London. + +I believe Annas was very much diverted at some of my speeches during the +journey. When I cried, after we had passed Bolton, and were going over +a moor, that I did not know there was heather in the South, she said, +"You have been a very short time in coming to the South, Cary." + +"What do you mean, Annas?" said I. + +"Only that a Midland man would think we were still in the North," said +she. + +"What, is this not the South?" said I. "I thought everything was South +after we passed Lancaster." + +"England is a little longer than that," said Annas, laughing. "No, +Cary: we do not get into the Midlands on this side of Derby, nor into +the South on this side of Bedford." + +So I had to wait until Friday before I saw the South. When I did, I +thought it very flat and very woody. I could scarcely see anything for +trees; only [Note 2.] there were no hills to see. And how strange the +talk sounded! They seemed to speak all their u's as if they were e's, +and their a's the same. Annas laughed when I said that "take up the +mat" sounded in the South like "teek ep the met." It really did, to me. + +"I suppose," said Flora, "our words sound just as queer to these +people." + +"O Flora, they can't!" I cried. + +Because we say the words right; and how can that sound queer? + +It was nearly six o'clock when the chaise drew up before the door of my +Uncle Charles's house in Bloomsbury Square. These poor Southerners +think, I hear, that Bloomsbury Square is one of the wonders of the +world. The world must be very short of wonders, and so I said. + +"O Cary, you are a bundle of prejudices!" laughed Annas. + +Flora--who never can bear a word of disagreement--turned the discourse +by saying that Mr Cameron had told her Bloomsbury came from Blumond's +bury, the town of some man called Blumond. + +And just then the door opened, and I felt almost terrified of the big, +grand-looking man who stood behind it. However, as it was I who was the +particularly invited guest, I had to jump down from the chaise, after a +boy had let down the steps, and to tell the big man who I was and whence +I came: when he said, in that mincing way they have in the South, as if +they must cut their words small before they could get them into their +mouths, that Madam expected me, and I was to walk up-stairs. My heart +went pit-a-pat, but up I marched, Annas and Flora following; and if the +big man did not call out my name to another big man, just the copy of +him, who stood at the top of the stairs, so loud that I should think it +must have been heard over half the house. I felt quite ashamed, but I +walked straight on, into a grand room all over looking-glasses and +crimson, where a circle of ladies and gentlemen were sitting round the +fire. We have not begun fires in the North. I do think they are a nesh +[Note 3.] lot of folks who live in the South. + +Grandmamma was at one end of the circle, and my Aunt Dorothea at the +other. I went straight up to Grandmamma. + +"How do you, Grandmamma?" said I. "This is my cousin, Flora Drummond, +and this is our friend, Annas Keith. Fa--Papa, I mean, and Aunt Kezia, +sent their respectful compliments, and begged that you would kindly +allow them to tarry here for a night on their way to the Isle of Wight." + +Grandmamma looked at me, then at Flora, then at Annas, and took a pinch +of snuff. + +"How dusty you are, my dear!" said she. "Pray go and shift your gown. +Perkins will show you the way." + +She just gave a nod to the other two, and then went back to her +discourse with the gentleman next her. Those are what Grandmamma calls +easy manners, I know: but I think I like the other sort better. My Aunt +Kezia would have given the girls a warm grasp of the hand and a kiss, +and told them they were heartily welcome, and begged them to make +themselves at home. Grandmamma thinks that rough and coarse and +country-bred: but I am sure it makes me feel more as if people really +were pleased to see me. + +I felt that I must just speak first to my Aunt Dorothea; and she did +shake hands with Flora and me, and courtesied to Annas. Then we +courtesied to the company, and left the room, I telling the big man that +Grandmamma wished Perkins to attend us. The big man looked over the +banisters, and said, "Harry, call Perkins." When Perkins came, she +proved, as I expected, to be Grandmamma's waiting-maid; and she carried +us off to a little chamber on the upper floor, where was hardly room for +anything but two beds. + +Flora, I saw, seemed to feel strange and uncomfortable, as if she were +somewhere where she had no business to be; but Annas behaved like one to +the manner born, and handed her gloves to Perkins with the air of a +princess--I do not mean proudly, but easily, as if she knew just what to +do, and did it, without any feeling of awkwardness. + +We had to wait till the trunks were carried up, and Perkins had unpacked +our tea-gowns; then we shifted ourselves, and had our hair dressed, and +went back to the withdrawing room. Perkins is a stranger to me, and I +was sorry not to see Willet, Grandmamma's old maid: but Grandmamma never +keeps servants long, so I was not surprised. I don't believe Willet had +been with her above six years, when I left Carlisle. + +Annas sat down on an empty chair in the circle, and began to talk with +the lady nearest to her. Flora, apparently in much hesitation, took a +chair, but did not venture to talk. I knew what I had to do, and I felt +as if my old ways would come back if I called them. I sat down near my +Aunt Dorothea. + +"That friend of yours, Cary, is quite a distinguished-looking girl," +said my Aunt Dorothea, in a low voice. "Really presentable, for the +country, you know." + +I said Annas came of a high Scots family, and was related to Sir James +De Lannoy, of the Isle of Wight. I saw that Annas went up directly in +my Aunt Dorothea's thermometer. + +"De Lannoy!" said she. "A fine old Norman line. Very well connected, +then? I am glad to hear it." + +Flora, I saw, was getting over her shyness--indeed, I never knew her +seem shy before--and beginning to talk a little with her next neighbour. +I looked round, but could not see any one I knew. I took refuge in an +inquiry after my Uncle Charles. + +"He is very well," said my Aunt Dorothea. "He is away somewhere--men +always are. At the Court, I dare say." + +How strange it did sound! I felt as if I had come into a new world. + +"I hope that is not your best gown, child?" said my Aunt Dorothea. + +"But it is, Aunt--my best tea-gown," I answered. + +"Then you must have a better," replied she. "It is easy to see that was +made in the country." + +"Certainly it was, Aunt. Fanny and I made it." + +My Aunt Dorothea shrugged her shoulders, gave me a glance which said +plainly, "Don't tell tales out of school!" and turned to another lady in +the group. + +At Brocklebank we never thought of not saying such things. But I see I +have forgotten many of my Carlisle habits, and I shall have to pick them +up again by degrees. + +When we went up to bed, I found that Grandmamma had asked Annas to stay +in London. Annas replied that her father had given her leave to stay a +month if she wished it and were offered the chance, and she would be +very pleased: but that as Flora was her guest, the invitation would have +to include both. Grandmamma glanced again at Flora, and took another +pinch of snuff. + +"I suppose she has some Courtenay blood in her," said she. "And +Drummond is not a bad name--for a Scotswoman. She can stay, if she be +not a Covenanter, and won't want to pray and preach. She must have a +new gown, and then she will do, if she keep her mouth shut. She has a +fine pair of shoulders, if she were only dressed decently." + +"I am glad," said I, "for I know what that means. Grandmamma likes +Annas, and will like Flora in time. Don't be any shyer than you can +help, Flora; that will not please her." + +"I do not think I am shy," said Flora; "at least, I never felt so +before. But to-night--Cary, I don't know what it looked like! I could +only think of a great spider's web, and we three poor little flies had +to walk straight into it." + +"I wonder where Duncan and Angus are to-night," said Annas; "I hope no +one is playing spider there." + +Flora sighed, but made no answer. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Our new gowns had to be made in a great hurry, for Grandmamma had +invited an assembly for the Thursday night, and she wished Flora and me +to be decently dressed, she said. I am sure I don't know how the +mantua-maker managed it, for the cloth was only bought on Monday +morning; I suppose she must have had plenty of apprentices. The gowns +were sacques of cherry damask, with quilted silk petticoats of black +trimmed with silver lace. I find hoops are all the mode again, and very +large indeed--so big that when you enter a door you have to double your +hoop round in front, or lift it on one side out of the way. The cap is +a little scrap of a thing, scarce bigger than a crown-piece, and a +flower or pompoon is stuck at the side; stomachers are worn, and very +full elbow-ruffles; velvet slippers with high heels. Grandmamma put a +little grey powder in my hair, but when Flora said she was sure that her +father would disapprove, she did not urge her to wear it. But she did +want us both to wear red ribbons mixed with our white ones. I did not +know what to do. + +"I did not know Mrs Desborough was a trimmer," said Annas, in the +severest tone I ever heard from her lips. + +"What shall we do?" said I. + +"I shall not wear them," said Flora. "Mrs Desborough is not my +grandmother; nor has my father put me in her care. I do not see, +therefore, that I am at all bound to obey her. For you, Cary, it is +different. I think you will have to submit." + +"But only think what it means!" cried I. + +"It means," said Annas, "that you are indifferent in the matter of +politics." + +"If it meant only that," I said, "I should not think much about it. But +surely it means more, much more. It means that I am disloyal; that I do +not care whether the King or the Elector wins the day; or even that I do +care, and am willing to hide my belief for fashion's or money's sake. +This red ribbon on me is a lie; and an acted lie is no better than a +spoken one." + +My Aunt Dorothea came in so immediately after I had spoken that I felt +sure she must have heard me. + +"Dear me, what a fuss about a bit of ribbon!" said she. "Cary, don't be +a little goose." + +"Aunt, I only want to be true!" cried I. "It is my truth I make a fuss +about, not my ribbons. I will wear a ribbon of every colour in the +rainbow, if Grandmamma wish it, except just this one which tells +falsehoods about me." + +"My dear, it is so unbecoming in you to be thus warm!" said my Aunt +Dorothea. "Enthusiasm is always in bad taste, no matter what it is +about. You will not see half-a-dozen ladies in the room in white +ribbons. Nobody expects the Prince to come South." + +"But, Aunt, please give me leave to say that it will not alter my +truthfulness, whether the Prince comes to London or goes to the North +Pole!" cried I. "If the Elector himself--" + +"'Sh-'sh!" said my Aunt Dorothea. "My dear, that sort of thing may be +very well at Brocklebank, but it really will not do in Bloomsbury +Square. You must not bring your wild, antiquated Tory notions here. +Tories are among the extinct animals." + +"Not while my father is alive, please, Aunt." + +"My dear, we are not at Brocklebank, as I told you just now," answered +my Aunt Dorothea. "It may be all very well to toast the Chevalier, and +pray for him, and so forth--(I am sure I don't know whether it do him +any good): but when you come to living in the world with other people, +you must do as they do.--Yes, Perkins, certainly, put Miss Courtenay a +red ribbon, and Miss Drummond also.--My dear girls, you must." + +"Not for me, Mrs Charles, if you please," said Flora, very quietly: "I +should prefer, if you will allow it, to remain in this room." + +My Aunt Dorothea looked at her, and seemed puzzled what to do with her. + +"Miss Keith," said she, "do you wear the red?" + +"Certainly not, Madam," replied Annas. + +"Well!" said my Aunt Dorothea, shrugging her shoulders, "I suppose we +must say you are Scots girls, and have not learnt English customs.--You +can let it alone for Miss Drummond, Perkins.--But that won't do for you, +Cary; you must have one." + +"Aunt Dorothea, I will wear it if you bid me," said I: "but I shall tell +everybody who speaks to me that my red ribbon is a lie." + +"Then you had better have none!" cried my Aunt Dorothea, petulantly. +"That would be worse than wearing all white. Cary, I never knew you +were so horribly obstinate." + +"I suppose I am older, Aunt, and understand things better now," said I. + +"Dear, I wish girls would stay girls!" said my Aunt Dorothea. "Well, +Perkins, let it alone. Just do up that lace a little to the left, that +the white ribbon may not show so much. There, that will do.--Cary, if +your Grandmamma notices this, I must tell her it is all your fault." + +Well, down-stairs we went, and found the company beginning to come. My +Aunt Dorothea, I knew, never cares much about anything to last, but I +was in some fear of Grandmamma. (By the way, I find this house is +Grandmamma's, not my Uncle Charles's, as I thought.) There was one lady +there, a Mrs Francis, who was here the other evening when we came, and +she spoke kindly to us, and began to talk with Annas and Flora. I +rather shrank into a corner by the window, for I did not want Grandmamma +to see me. People were chattering away on all sides of me; and very +droll it was to listen first to one and then to another. + +I was amusing myself in this way, and laughing to myself under a grave +face, when all at once I heard three words from the next window. Who +said "By no means!" in that soft velvet voice, through which ran a +ripple of silvery laughter? I should have known that voice in the +desert of Arabia. And the next moment she moved away from the window, +and I saw her face. + +We stood fronting each other, Cecilia and I. That she knew me as well +as I knew her, I could not doubt for an instant. For one moment she +hesitated whether to speak to me, and I took advantage of it. Dropping +the lowest courtesy I could make, I turned my back upon her, and walked +straight away to the other end of the room. But not before I had seen +that she was superbly dressed, and was leaning on the arm of Mr +Parmenter. Not, also, before I caught a fiery flash gleaming at me out +of the tawny eyes, and knew that I had made an enemy of the most +dangerous woman in my world. + +But what could I have done else? If I had accepted Cecilia's hand, and +treated her as a friend, I should have felt as though I were conniving +at an insult to my father. + +At the other end of the room, I nearly ran against a handsome, +dark-haired girl in a yellow satin slip, who to my great astonishment +said to me,-- + +"Well played, Miss Caroline Courtenay! I have been watching the little +drama, and I really compliment you on your readiness and spirit. You +have taken the wind out of her Ladyship's sails." + +"Hatty!" I cried, in much amazement. "Is it you?" + +"Well, I fancy so," said she, in her usual mocking way. "My beloved +Cary, do tell me, have you brought that delicious journal? Do let me +read to-night's entry!" + +"Hatty!" I cried all at once. "You--" + +"Yes, Madam?" + +If she had not on my best purple scarf--my lost scarf, that my Aunt +Kezia could not find! But I did not go on. I felt it was of no earthly +use to talk to Hatty. + +"Seen it before, haven't you?" said Hatty, in her odious teasing way. +"Yes, I thought I had better have it: mine is so shabby; and you are +only a little Miss--it does not matter for you. Beside, you have +Grandmamma to look after you. You shall have it again when I have done +with it." + +I had to bite my tongue terribly hard, but I did manage to hold it. I +only said, "Where are you staying, Hatty?" + +"At Mrs Crossland's, in Charles Street, where I shall be perfectly +delighted to see my youngest sister." + +"Oh! Not with the Bracewells?" + +"With the Bracewells, certainly. Did you suppose they had pitch-forked +me through the window into Mrs Crossland's drawing-room?" + +"But who is Mrs Crossland?" + +"A friend of the Bracewells," said Hatty, with an air of such studied +carelessness that I began to wonder what was behind it. + +"Has Mrs Crossland daughters?" I asked. + +"One--a little chit, scarce in her teens." + +"Is there a Mr Crossland?" + +"There isn't a Papa Crossland, if you mean that. There is a young Mr +Crossland." + +"Oh!" said I. + +"Pray, Miss Caroline, what do you mean by `Oh'?" asked Hatty, whose eyes +laughed with fun. + +"Oh, nothing," I replied. + +"Oh!" replied Hatty, so exactly in my tone that I could not help +laughing. "Take care, her Ladyship may see you." + +"Hatty, why do you call Cecilia `her Ladyship'?" + +"Well, it doesn't know anything, does it?" replied Hatty, in her teasing +way. "Only just up from the country, isn't it? Madam, Mr Anthony +Parmenter as was (as old Will says) is Sir Anthony Parmenter; and Miss +Cecilia Osborne as was, is her Ladyship." + +"Do you mean to say Cecilia has married Mr Parmenter?" + +"Oh dear, no! she has married Sir Anthony." + +"Then she jilted our father for a title? The snake!" + +"Don't use such charming language, my sweetest; her Ladyship might not +admire it. And if I were you, I would make myself scarce; she is coming +this way." + +"Then I will go the other," said I, and I did. + +To my astonishment, as soon as I had left her, what should Hatty do but +walk up and shake hands with Cecilia, and in a few minutes they and Mr +Parmenter were all laughing about something. I was amazed beyond words. +I had always thought Hatty pert, teasing, disagreeable; but never +underhand or mean. But just then I saw a good-looking young man join +them, and offer his arm to Hatty for a walk round the room; and it +flashed on me directly that this was young Mr Crossland, and that he +was a friend of Mr--I mean Sir Anthony--Parmenter. + +When we were undressing that night, I said,-- + +"Annas, can a person do anything to make the world better?" + +"What person?" asked she, and smiled. + +"Well, say me. Can I do anything?" + +"Certainly. You can be as good as you know how to be." + +"But that won't make other people better." + +"I do not know that. Some other people it may." + +"But that will be the people who are good already. I want to mend the +people who are bad." + +"Then pray for them," said Annas, gravely. + +Pray for Cecilia Osborne! It came upon me with a feeling of intense +aversion. I could not pray for her! + +Nor did I think there would be a bit of good in praying for Hatty. And +yet--if she were getting drawn into Cecilia's toils--if that young Mr +Crossland were not a good man--I might pray for her to be kept safe. I +thought I would try it. + +But when I began to pray for Hatty, it seemed unkind to leave out Fanny +and Sophy. And then I got to Father and my Aunt Kezia; and then to +Maria and Bessy; and then to Sam and Will; and then to old Elspie; and +then to Helen Raeburn, and my Uncle Drummond, and Angus, and Mr Keith, +and the Laird, and Lady Monksburn--and so on and on, till the whole +world seemed full of people to be prayed for. + +I suppose it is so always--if we only thought of it! + +Grandmamma never noticed my ribbons--or rather my want of them. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It really is of no use my trying to keep to dates. I have begun several +times, and I cannot get on with it. That last piece, dated the 23rd, +took me nearly a week to write; so that what was to-morrow when I began, +was behind yesterday before I had finished. I shall just go right on +without any more pother, and put a date now and then when it is very +particular. + +Grandmamma has an assembly every week,--Tuesday is her day [Note 1.]-- +and now and then an extra one on Thursday or Saturday. I do not think +anything would persuade her to have an assembly, or play cards, on a +Friday. But on a Sunday evening she always has her rubber, to Flora's +horror. It does not startle me, because I remember it always was so +when I lived with her at Carlisle: nor Annas, because she knew people +did such things in the South. I find Grandmamma usually spends the +winter at the Bath: but she has not quite made up her mind whether to go +this year or not, on account of all the tumults in the North. If the +royal army should march on London (and Annas says of course they will) +we may be shut up here for a long while. But Annas says if we heard +anything certain of it, she and Flora would set off at once to "the +island", as she always calls the Isle of Wight. + +Last Tuesday, I was sitting by a young lady whom I have talked with more +than once; her name is Newton. I do not quite know how we got on to the +subject, but we began to talk politics. I said I could not understand +why it was, but people in the South did not seem to care for politics +nearly so much as I was accustomed to see done. Half the ladies in the +room appeared to be trimmers; and many more wore the red ribbon alone. +Such people, with us, would never be received into a Tory family. + +"We do not take things so seriously as you," said she, with a diverted +look. "That with us is an opinion which with you is an enthusiasm. I +suppose up there, where the sun never shines, you have to make some sort +of noise and fuss to keep yourselves alive." + +"`The sun never shines!'" cried I. "Now, really, Miss Newton! You +don't mean to say you believe that story?" + +"I am only repeating what I have been told," said she. "I never was +north of Barnet." + +"We are alive enough," said I. "I wonder if you are. It looks to me +much more like living, to make beds and boil puddings and stitch shirts, +than to sit on a sofa in a satin gown, flickering a fan and talking +rubbish." + +"Oh, fie!" said Miss Newton, laughing, and tapping me on the arm with +her fan. "That really will not do, Miss Courtenay. You will shock +everybody in the room." + +"I can tell you, most whom I see here shock me," said I. "They seem to +have no honour and no honesty. They think white and they wear red, or +the other way about, just as it happens. If the Prince were to enter +London on Monday, what colour would all these ribbons be next Tuesday +night?" + +"The colour of yours, undoubtedly," she said, laughing. + +"And do you call that honesty?" said I. "These people could not change +their opinions and feelings between Monday and Tuesday: and to change +their ribbons without them would be simply falsehood." + +"I told you, you take things so seriously!" she answered. + +"But is it not a serious thing?" I continued. "And ought we to take +serious things any way but seriously? Miss Newton, do you not see that +it is a question of right--not a question of taste or convenience? Your +allegiance is not a piece of jewellery, that you can give to the person +you like best; it is a debt, which you can only pay to the person to +whom you owe it. Do you not see that?" + +"My dear Miss Courtenay," said Miss Newton, in a low voice, "excuse me, +but you are a little too warm. It is not thought good taste, you know, +to take up any subject so very decidedly as that." + +"And is right only to be thought a matter of taste?" cried I, quite +disregarding her caution. "Am I to rule my life, as I do my trimmings, +by the fashion-book? We have not come to that yet in the North, I can +assure you! We are a sturdy race there, Madam, and don't swallow our +opinions as we do pills, of whatever the apothecary likes to put into +them. We prefer to know what we are taking." + +"Do excuse me," said Miss Newton, with laughter in her eyes, and laying +her hand upon my arm; "but don't you see people are looking round?" + +"Let them look round!" cried I. "I am not ashamed of one word that I +have spoken." + +"Dear Miss Courtenay, I am not objecting to your words. Every one, of +course, has his opinions: yours, I suppose, are your father's." + +"Not a bit of it!" cried I; "they are my own!" + +"But young ladies of your age should not have strong opinions," said +she. She is about five years older than I am. + +"Will you tell me how to help it?" said I. "I must go through the world +with my eyes shut, if I am not to form opinions." + +"Oh yes, moderately," she replied. + +"Shut my eyes moderately?" I asked; "or, form opinions moderately?" + +"Both," answered Miss Newton, laughing. + +"Your advice is worse than wasted, my dear Miss Newton," said a voice +behind us. "That young person will never do anything in moderation." + +"You know better, Hatty!" said I. + +"And, as your elder sister, my darling, let me give you a scrap of +advice. Men never like contentious, arguing women. Don't be a little +goose." + +I don't know whether I am a goose or a duck, but I am afraid I could +have done something to Hatty just then which I should have found +agreeable, and she would not. That elder-sister air of hers is so +absurd, for she is not eighteen months older than I am; I can stand it +well enough from Sophy, but from Hatty it really is too ridiculous. But +that was nothing, compared with the insult she had offered, not so much +to me, as through me to all womanhood. "Men don't like!" Does it +signify three halfpence what they like? Are women to make slaves of +themselves, considering what men fancy or don't fancy? Men, mark you! +Not, your father, or brother, or husband: that would be right and +reasonable enough: but, men! + +"Hatty," I said, after doing battle with myself for a moment, "I think I +had better give you no answer. If I did, and if my words and tones +suited my feelings, I should scream the house down." + +She burst out laughing behind her fan. I walked away at once, lest I +should be tempted to reply further. I am afraid I almost ran, for I +came bolt against a gentleman in the corner, and had to stop and make my +apologies. + +"Don't run quite over me, Cary, if it suit you," said somebody who, I +thought, was in Cumberland. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The assemblies on a lady's visiting day required no +invitations. The rooms were open to any person acquainted with members +of the family. + +Note 2. Southerners are respectfully informed that the use of only for +but is a Northern peculiarity. + +Note 3. Sensitive, delicate. + + + +CHAPTER NINE. + +DIFFICULTIES. + + "And 't was na for a Popish yoke + That bravest men came forth + To part wi' life and dearest ties, + And a' that life was worth." + + JACOBITE BALLAD. + +"Ephraim Hebblethwaite!" I cried out. + +"I believe so," he said, laughing. + +"Where did you come from?" + +"From a certain place in the North, called Brocklebank." + +"But what brought you to London?" I cried. + +"What brought me to London?" he repeated, in quite a different tone,--so +much softer. "Well, Cary, I wanted to see something." + +"Have you been to see it?" I asked, more to give myself time to cool +down than because I cared to know. + +"Yes, I have been to see it," he said, and smiled. + +"And did you find it as agreeable as you expected?" + +"Quite. I had seen it before, and I wanted to know if it were spoiled." + +"Oh, I hope it is not spoiled!" said I. + +"Not at all," said he, his voice growing softer and softer. "No, it is +not spoiled yet, Cary." + +"Do you expect it will be?" I was getting cooler now. + +"I don't know," he answered, very gravely for him, for Ephraim is not at +all given to moroseness and long faces. "God grant it never may!" + +I could not think what he meant, and I did not like to ask him. Indeed, +I had not much opportunity, for he began talking about our journey, and +Brocklebank, and all the people there, and I was so interested that we +did not get back to what Ephraim came to see. + +There is a new Vicar, he says, whose name is Mr Liversedge, and he has +quite changed things in the parish. The people are divided about him; +some like him, and some do not. He does not read his sermons, which is +very strange, but speaks them out just as if he were talking to you; and +he has begun to catechise the children in an afternoon, and to visit +everybody in the parish; and he neither shoots, hunts, nor fishes. His +sermons have a ring in them, says Ephraim; they wake you up, Old John +Oakley complains that he can't nap nigh so comfortable as when th' old +Vicar were there; and Mally Crosthwaite says she never heard such goings +on--why, th' parson asked her if she were a Christian!--she that had +always kept to her church, rain and shine, and never missed once! and it +was hard if she were to miss the Christmas dole this year, along o' not +being a Christian. She'd always thought being Church was plenty good +enough--none o' your low Dissenting work: but, mercy on us, she didn't +know what to say to this here parson, that she didn't! A Christian, +indeed! The parson was a Christian, was he? Well, if so, she didn't +make much 'count o' Christians, for all he was a parson. Didn't he tell +old John he couldn't recommend him for the dole, just by reason he +rapped out an oath or two when his grand-daughter let the milk-jug +fall?--and if old Bet Donnerthwaite had had a sup too much one night at +the ale-house, was it for a gentleman born like the parson to take note +of that? + +"But he has done worse things than that, Cary," said Ephraim, with grave +mouth and laughing eyes. + +"What? Go on," said I, for I saw something funny was coming. + +"Why, would you believe it?" said Ephraim. "He called on Mr Bagnall, +and asked him if he felt satisfied with the pattern he was setting his +flock." + +"I am very glad he did!" said I. "What did Mr Bagnall say?" + +"Got into an awful rage, and told it to all the neighbourhood--as +bearing against Mr Liversedge, you understand." + +"Well, then, he is a greater simpleton than I took him for," said I. + +"I am rather afraid," said Ephraim, in a hesitating tone, "that he will +call at the Fells: and if he say anything that the Squire thinks +impertinent or interfering, he will make an enemy of him." + +"Oh, Father would just show him the door," said I, "without more ado." + +"Yes, I fear so," replied Ephraim. "And I am sure he is a good man, +Cary. A little rash and incautious, perhaps; does not take time to +study character, and so forth; but I am sure he means to do right." + +"It will be a pity," said I. "Ephraim, do you think the Prince will +march on London?" + +"I have not a doubt of it, Cary." + +"Oh!" said I. I don't quite know whether I felt more glad or sorry. +"But you will not stay here if he do?" + +"Yes, I think I shall," said he. + +"You will join the army?" + +"No, not unless I am pressed." + +I suppose my face asked another question, for he added with a smile, "I +came to keep watch of--that. I must see that it is not spoiled." + +I wonder what _that_ is! If Ephraim would tell me, I might take some +care of it too. I should not like anything he cared for to be spoiled. + +As I sat in a corner afterwards, I was looking at him, and comparing him +in my own mind with all the fine gentlemen in the chamber. Ephraim was +quite as handsome as any of them; but his clothes certainly had a +country cut, and he did not show as easy manners as they. I am afraid +Grandmamma would say he had no manners. He actually put his hand out to +save a tray when Grandmamma's black boy, Caesar, stumbled at the +tiger-skin mat: and I am sure no other gentleman in the room would have +condescended to see it. There are many little things by which it is +easy to tell that Ephraim has not been used to the best society. And +yet, I could not help feeling that if I were ill and wanted to be helped +up-stairs, or if I were wretched and wanted comforting, it would be +Ephraim to whom I should appeal, and not one of these fine gentlemen. +They seemed only to be made for sunshine. He would wear, and stand +rain. If Hatty's "men" were all Ephraims, there might be some sense in +caring for their opinions. But these fellows--I really can't afford a +better word--these "chiels with glasses in their e'en," as Sam says, who +seem to have no opinions beyond the colour of their coats and paying +compliments to everything they see with a petticoat on--do they expect +sensible women to care what they think? Let them have a little more +sense themselves first--that's what I say! + +I said so, one morning as we were dressing: and to my surprise, Annas +replied,-- + +"I fancy they have sense enough, Cary, when there are no women in the +room. They think we only care for nonsense." + +"Yes, I expect that is it," added Flora. + +I flew out. I could not stand that. What sort of women must their +mothers and sisters be? + +"Card-playing snuff-takers and giddy flirts," said Annas. "Be just to +them, Cary. If they never see women of any other sort, how are they to +know that such are?" + +"Poor wretches! do you think that possible. Annas?" said I. + +"Miserably possible," she said, very seriously. "In every human heart, +Cary, there is a place where the man or the woman dwells inside all the +frippery and mannerism; the real creature itself, stripped of all +disguises. Dig down to that place if you want to see it." + +"I should think it takes a vast deal of digging!" + +"Yes, in some people. But that is the thing God looks at: that is it +for which Christ died, and for which Christ's servants ought to feel +love and pity." + +I thought it would be terribly difficult to feel love or pity for some +people! + +My Uncle Charles has just come in, and he says a rumour is flying that +there has been a great battle near Edinburgh, and that the Prince (who +was victorious) is marching on Carlisle. Flora went very white, and +even Annas set her lips: but I do not see what we have to fear--at least +if Angus and Mr Keith are safe. + +"Charles," said Grandmamma, "where are those white cockades we used to +have?" + +"I haven't a notion, Mother." + +Nor had my Aunt Dorothea. But when Perkins was asked, she said, "Isn't +it them, Madam, as you pinned in a parcel, and laid away in the garret?" + +"Oh, I dare say," said Grandmamma. "Fetch them down, and let us see if +they are worth anything." + +So Perkins fetched the parcel, and the cockades were looked over, and +pronounced useable by torchlight, though too bad a colour for the +day-time. + +"Keep the packet handy, Perkins," said Grandmamma. + +"Shall I give them out now, Madam?" asked Perkins. + +"Oh, not yet!" said Grandmamma. "Wait till we see how things turn out. +White soils so soon, too: we had much better go on with the black ones, +at any rate, till the Prince has passed Bedford." + +It is wicked, I suppose, to despise one's elders. But is it not +sometimes very difficult to help doing it? + +I have been reading over the last page or two that I writ, and I came on +a line that set me thinking. Things do set me thinking of late in a way +they never used to do. It was that about Ephraim's not being used to +the best society. What is the best society? God and the angels; I +suppose nobody could question that. Yet, if an angel had been in +Grandmamma's rooms just then, would he not have cared more that Caesar +should not fall and hurt himself, and most likely be scolded as well, +than that he should be thought to have fine easy manners himself? And I +suppose the Lord Jesus died even for Caesar, black though he be. Well, +then, the next best society must be those who are going to Heaven: and +Ephraim is one of them, I believe. And those who are not going must be +bad society, even if they are dressed up to the latest fashion-book, and +have the newest and finest breeding at the tips of their fingers. The +world seems to be turned round. Ah, but what was that text Mr +Whitefield quoted? "Love not the world, neither the things that are in +the world. If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in +him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust +of the eyes, and the pride of life, are not of the Father, but are of +the world." Then must we turn the world round before we get things put +straight? It looks like it. I have just been looking at another text, +where Saint Paul gives a list of the works of the flesh; [Note: +Galatians five 19 to 21.] and I find, along with some things which +everybody calls wicked, a lot of others which everybody in "the world" +does, and never seems to think of as wrong. "Hatred, variance, +emulations, ... envyings, ... drunkenness, revellings, and such like:" +and he says, "They which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of +God." That is dreadful. I am afraid the world must be worse than I +thought. I must take heed to my Aunt Kezia's rules--set the Lord always +before me, and remember that this world passeth away. I suppose the +world will laugh at me, if I be not one of its people. What will that +matter, if it passeth away? The angels will like me all the better: and +they are the best society. + +And I was thinking the other night as I lay awake, what an awful thing +it would be to hear the Lord Jesus, the very Man who died for me, say, +"Depart from Me!" I think I could stand the world's laughter, but I am +sure I could never bear that. Christ could help and comfort me if the +world used me ill; but who could help me, or comfort me, when He had +cast me out? There would be nothing to take refuge in--not even the +world, for it would be done with then. + +Oh, I do hope our Saviour will never say that to me! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I seem bound to get into fights with Miss Newton. I do not mean +quarrels, but arguments. She is a pleasant, good-humoured girl, but she +has such queer ideas. I dare say she thinks I have. I do not know what +my Aunt Kezia would say to her. She does not appear to see the right +and wrong of things at all. It is only what people will think, and what +one likes. If everybody did only what they liked,--is that proper +grammar, I wonder? Oh, well, never mind!--I think it would make the +world a very disagreeable place to live in, and it is not too pleasant +now. And as to people thinking, what on earth does it signify what they +think, if they don't think right? If one person thinking that two and +two make three does not alter the fact, why should ten thousand people +thinking so be held to make any difference? How many simpletons does it +take to be equal to a wise man? I wonder people do not see how +ridiculous such notions are. + +We hear nothing at all from the North--the seat of war, as they begin to +call it now. Everybody supposes that the Prince is marching southwards, +and will be here some day before long. It diverts me exceedingly to sit +every Tuesday in a corner of the room, and watch the red ribbons +disappearing and the white ones coming instead. Grandmamma's two +footmen, Morris and Dobson, have orders to take the black cockade out of +their hats and clap on a white one, the minute they hear that the royal +army enters Middlesex. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + November 22nd. +The Prince has taken Carlisle! It is said that he is marching on Derby +as fast as his troops can come. Everybody is in a flutter. I can guess +where Father is, and how excited he will be. I know he would go to wait +on his Royal Highness directly, and I should not wonder if a number of +the officers are quartered at Brocklebank--were, I should say. I almost +wish we were there! But when I said so to Ephraim, who comes every +Tuesday, such a strange look of pain came into his eyes, and he said, +"Don't, Cary!" so sadly. I wonder what the next thing will be! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +After I had written this, came one of Grandmamma's extra assemblies--Oh, +I should have altered my date! it is so troublesome--on Thursday +evening, and I looked round, and could not see one red ribbon that was +not mixed with white. A great many wore plain white, and among them +Miss Newton. I sat down by her. + +"How do you this evening, Miss Newton?" I mischievously asked. "I am +so delighted to see you become a Tory since I saw you last Tuesday." + +"How do you know I was not one before?" asked she, laughing. + +"Your ribbons were not," said I. "They were red on Tuesday." + +"Well, you ought to compliment me on the suddenness of my conversion," +said she: "for I never was a trimmer. Oh, how absurd it is to make +ribbons and patches mean things! Why should one not wear red and white +just as one does green and blue?" + +"It would be a boon to some people, I am sure," said I. + +"Perhaps we shall, some day, when the world has become sensible," said +Miss Newton. + +"Can you give me the date, Madam?" + +It was a strange voice which asked this question. I looked up over my +shoulder, and saw a man of no particular age, dressed in gown and +cassock. [Note 1.] Miss Newton looked up too, laughing. + +"Indeed I cannot, Mr Raymond," said she. "Can you?" + +"Only by events," he answered. "I should expect it to be after the King +has entered His capital." + +I felt, rather than saw, what he meant. + +"I am a poor hand at riddles," said Miss Newton, shaking her head. "I +did not expect to see you here, Mr Raymond." + +"Nor would you have seen me here," was the answer, "had I not been +charged to deliver a message of grave import to one who is here." + +"Not me, I hope?" said Miss Newton, looking graver. + +"Not you. I trust you will thank God for it. And now, can you kindly +direct me to the young lady for whom I am to look? Is there here a Miss +Flora Drummond?" + +I sprang up with a smothered cry of "Angus!" + +"Are you Miss Drummond?" he asked, very kindly. + +"Flora Drummond is my cousin," I answered. "I will take you to her. +But is it about Angus?" + +"It is about her brother, Lieutenant Drummond. He is not killed--let me +say so at once." + +We were pressing through the superb crowd, and the moment afterwards we +reached Flora. She was standing by a little table, talking with Ephraim +Hebblethwaite, who spoke to Mr Raymond in a way which showed that they +knew each other. Flora just looked at him, and then said, quietly +enough to all appearance, though she went very white-- + +"You have bad news for some one, and I think for me." + +"Lieutenant Drummond was severely wounded at Prestonpans, and has fallen +into the hands of the King's troops," said Mr Raymond, gently, as if he +wished her to know the worst at once. "He is a prisoner now." + +Flora clasped her hands with a long breath of pain and apprehension. +"You are sure, Sir? There is no mistake?" + +"I think, none," he replied. "I have the news from Colonel Keith." + +"If you heard it from him, it must be true," she said. "But is he in +London?" + +"Yes; and he ran some risk, as you may guess, to send that message to +you." + +"Duncan is always good," said Flora, with tears in her eyes. "He was +not hurt, I hope? Will you see him again?" + +"He said he was not hurt worth mention." (I began to wonder what size +of a hurt Mr Keith would think worth mention.) "Yes, I shall see him +again this evening or to-morrow." + +"Oh, do give him the kindest words and thanks from me," said Flora, +commanding her voice with some difficulty. "I wish I could have seen +him! Let me tell Annas--she may wish--" and away she went to fetch +Annas, while Mr Raymond looked after her with a look which I thought +half sad and half diverted. + +"Will you tell me," I said, "how Mr Keith ran any risk?" + +"Why, you do not suppose, young lady, that London is in the hands of the +rebels?" + +"The rebels!--Oh, you are a Whig; I see. But the Prince is coming, and +fast. Is he not?" + +"Not just yet, I think," said Mr Raymond, with an odd look in his eyes. + +"Why, we hear it from all quarters," said I; "and the red ribbons are +all getting white." + +Mr Raymond smiled. "Rather a singular transformation, truly. But I +think the ribbons will be well worn before the young Chevalier reviews +his army in Hyde Park." + +"I will not believe it!" cried I. "The Prince must be victorious! God +defends the right!" + +"God defends His own," said Mr Raymond. "Do you see in history that He +always defends the cause which you account to be right?" + +No; I could not say that. + +"How can you be an opponent of the Cause?" I cried--I am afraid, +shifting my ground. + +He smiled again. "I can well understand the attraction of the Cause," +said he, "to a young and enthusiastic nature. There is something very +enticing in the son of an exiled Prince, come to win back what he +conceives to be the inheritance of his fathers. And in truth, if the +Old Pretender were really the son of King James,--well, it might be more +difficult to say what a man's duty would be in that case. But that, as +you know, is thought by many to be at best very doubtful." + +"You do not believe he is?" cried I. + +"I do not believe it," said Mr Raymond. + +I wondered how he could possibly doubt it. + +"Nor is that all that is to be considered," he went on. "I can tell +you, young lady, if he were to succeed, we should all rue it bitterly +before long. His triumph is the triumph of Rome--the triumph of +persecution and martyrdom and agony for God's people." + +"I know that," said I. "But right is right, for all that! The Crown is +his, not the Elector's. On that principle, any man might steal money, +if he meant to do good with it." + +"The Crown is neither George's nor James's, as some think," said Mr +Raymond, "but belongs to the people." + +Who could have stood such a speech as that? + +"The people!" I cried. "The mob--the rabble--the Crown is theirs! How +can any man imagine such a thing?" + +"You forget, methinks, young lady," said Mr Raymond, as quietly as +before, "that you are one of those of whom you speak." + +"I forget nothing of the kind," cried I, too angry to be civil. "Of +course I know I am one of the people. What do you mean? Am I to +maintain that black beetles are cherubim, because I am a black beetle? +Truth is truth. The Crown is God's, not the people's. When He chose to +make the present King--King James of course, not that wretched Elector-- +the son of his father, He distinctly told the people whom He wished them +to have for their king. What right have they to dispute His ordinance?" + +I was quite beyond myself. I had forgotten where I was, and to whom I +was talking--forgotten Mr Raymond, and Angus, and Flora, and even +Grandmamma. It seemed to me as if there were only two parties in the +world, and on the one hand were God and the King, and on the other a +miserable mass of silly nobodies called The People. How could such +contemptible insects presume to judge for themselves, or to set their +wills up in opposition to the will of him whom God had commanded them to +obey? + +The softest, lightest of touches fell on my shoulder. I looked up into +the grave grey eyes of Annas Keith. And feeling myself excessively rude +and utterly extinguished,--(and yet, after all, right)--I slipped out of +the group, and made my way into the farthest corner. Mr Raymond, of +course, would think me no gentlewoman. Well, it did not much matter +what he thought; he was only a Whig. And when the Prince were actually +come, which would be in a very few days at the furthest--then he would +see which of us was right. Meantime, I could wait. And the next minute +I felt as if I could not wait--no, not another instant. + +"Sit down, Cary. You look tired," said Ephraim beside me. + +"I am not a bit tired, thank you," said I, "but I am abominably angry." + +"Nothing more tiring," said he. "What about?" + +"Oh, don't make me go over it! I have been talking to a Whig." + +"That means, I suppose, that the Whig has been talking to you. Which +beat? I beg pardon--you did, of course." + +"I was right and he was wrong, if you mean that," said I. "But whether +he thinks he is beaten--" + +"If he be an Englishman, he does not," said Ephraim. "Particularly if +he be a North Country man." + +"I don't know what country he comes from," cried I. "I should like to +make mincemeat of him." + +"Indigestible," suggested Ephraim, quite gravely. + +"Ephraim, what are we to do for Angus?" said I, as it came back to me: +and I told him the news which Mr Raymond had brought. Ephraim gave a +soft whispered whistle. + +"You may well ask," said he. "I am afraid, Cary, nothing can be done." + +"What will they do to him?" + +His face grew graver still. + +"You know," he said, in a low voice, "what they did to Lord +Derwentwater. Colonel Keith had better lie close." + +"But that Whig knows where he is!" cried I. "He--Ephraim, do you know +him?" + +"Know whom, Cary?" + +"Mr Raymond." + +"Is he your Whig?" asked Ephraim, laughing. "Pray, don't make him into +mincemeat; he is one of the best men in England." + +"He need be," said I; "he is a horrid Whig! What do you, being friends +with such a man?" + +"He is a very good man, Cary. He was one of my tutors at school. I +never knew what his politics were before to-night." + +We were silent for a while; and then Grandmamma sent for me, not, as I +feared, to scold me for being loud-spoken and warm, but to tell me that +one of my lappets hung below the other, and I must make Perkins alter it +before Tuesday. I do not know how I bore the rest of the evening. + +When I went up at last to our chamber, I found it empty. Lucette, +Grandmamma's French woman, who waits on her, while Perkins is rather my +Aunt Dorothea's and ours, came in to tell me that Perkins was gone to +bed with a headache, and hoped that we would allow her to wait on us +to-night, when she was dismissed by the elder ladies. + +"Oh, I want no waiting at all," said I, "if somebody will just take the +pins out of my head-dress carefully. Do that, Lucette, and then I shall +need nothing else, I cannot speak for the other young ladies." + +Lucette threw a wrapping-cape over my shoulders, and began to remove the +pins with deft fingers. Grandmamma had not yet come up-stairs. + +"Mademoiselle Agnes looks charmante to-night," said she: "but then she +is always charmante. But what has Mademoiselle Flore? So white, so +white she is! I saw her through the door." + +I told her that Flora's brother had been taken prisoner. + +"Ah, this horrible war!" cried she. "Can the grands Seigneurs not leave +alone the wars? or else fight out their quarrels their own selves?" + +"Oh, the Prince will soon be here," said I, "and then it will all be +over." + +"All be over? Ah, _sapristi_! Mademoiselle does not know. The Prince +means the priests: and the priests mean--_Bon_! have I not heard my +grandmother tell?" + +"Tell what, Lucette? I thought you were a Papist, like all +Frenchwomen." + +"A Catholic--I? Why then came my grandfather to this country, and my +father, and all? Does Mademoiselle suppose they loved better +Spitalfields than Blois? Should they then leave a country where the sun +is glorious and the vines _ravissantes_, for this black cold place where +the sun shine once a year? _Vraiment! Serait-il possible_?" + +I laughed. "The sun shines oftener in Cumberland, Lucette. I won't +defend Spitalfields. But I want to know what your grandmother told you +about the priests." + +"The priests have two sides, Mademoiselle. On the one is the +confessional: you must go--you shall not choose. You kneel; you speak +out all--every thought in your heart, every secret of your dearest +friend. You may not hide one little thought. The priest hears you +hesitate? The questions come:--Mademoiselle, terrible questions, +questions I could not ask, nor you understand. You learn to understand +them. They burn up your heart, they drag down to Hell your soul. That +is one side." + +"Would they see me there twice!" said I. + +"Then, if not so, there is the other side. The chains, the +torture-irons, the fire. You can choose, so: you tell, or you die. +There is no more choice. Does Mademoiselle wonder that we came?" + +"No, indeed, Lucette. How could I? But that was in France. This is +England. We are a different sort of people here." + +"You--yes. But the Church and the priests are the same everywhere. +Everywhere! May the good God keep them from us!" + +"Why, Lucette! you are praying against the Prince, if it be as you say!" + +"Ah! would I then do harm to _Monseigneur le Prince_? Let him leave +there the priests, and none shall be more glad to see him come than I. +I love the right, always. But the priests! No, no." + +"But if it be right, Lucette?" + +"The good God knows what is right. But, Mademoiselle, can it be right +to bring in the priests and the confessions?" + +"Is it not God who brings them, Lucette? We only bring the King. If +the King choose to bring the priests--" + +"Ah! then the Lord will bring the fires. But the Lord bring the +priests! The Lord shut up the preches and set up the mass? The Lord +burn His poor servants, and clothe the servants of Satan in gold and +scarlet? The Lord forbid His Word, and set up images? _Comment_, +Mademoiselle! It would not be possible." + +"But, Lucette, the King has the right." + +"The Lord Christ has the right," said Lucette, solemnly. "Is it not He +whose right it is? Mademoiselle, He stands before the King!" + +We heard Grandmamma saying good-night to my Uncle Charles at the foot of +the stairs, and Lucette ran off to her chamber. + +I felt more plagued than ever. What _is_ right? + +Just then Annas and Flora came up; Annas grave but composed, Flora with +a white face and red eyes. + +"O Cary, Cary!" She came and put her arms round me. "Pray for Angus; +we shall never see him again. And he is not ready--he is not ready." + +"My poor Flora!" I said, and I did my best to soothe her. But Annas +did better. + +"The Lord can make him ready," she said. "He healed the paralytic man, +dear, as some have it, entirely for the faith of them that bore him. +And surely the daughter of the Canaanitish woman could have no faith +herself." + +"Pray for him, Annas!" sobbed Flora. "You have more faith than I." + +"I am not so hard tried--yet," was the grave reply. + +"You do not think Mr Keith in danger?" said I. + +"I think the Lord sitteth above the water-floods, Cary; and I would +rather not look lower. Not till I must, and that may be very soon." + +"Annas," said I, "I wish you would tell me what right is. I do get so +puzzled." + +"What puzzles you, Cary? Right is what God wills." + +"But would the Prince not have the right, if God did not will him to +succeed?" + +"The Lawgiver can always repeal His own laws. We in the crowd, Cary, +can only judge when they be repealed by hearing Him decree something +contrary to them. And there are no precedents in that Court. +`Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He.' We can only wait and see. +Until we do see it, we must follow our last orders." + +"My Father says," added Flora, "that this question was made harder than +it need have been, by the throwing out of the Exclusion Bill. The House +of Commons passed it, but the Bishops and Lord Halifax threw it out; if +that had been passed, making it impossible for a Papist to be King, then +King James would never have come to the throne at all, and all the +troubles and persecutions of his reign would not have happened. That, +my Father says, was where they went wrong." + +"Well," said I, "it does look like it. But how queer that the Bishops +should be the people to go wrong!" + +Annas laughed. + +"You will find that nothing new, Cary, if you search," said she. "`They +that lead thee cause thee to err' is as old a calamity as the Prophets. +And where priests or would-be priests are the leaders, they very +generally do go wrong." + +"I wish," said I, "there were a few more `Thou shalt nots' in the +Bible." + +"Have you finished obeying all there are?" + +I considered that question with one sleeve off. + +"Well, no, I suppose not," I said at length, pulling off the other. + +Annas smiled gravely, and said no more. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Glorious news! The Prince is at Derby. I am sure there is no more need +to fear for Angus. His Royal Highness will be here in a very few days +now: and then let the Whigs look to themselves! + +Grandmamma has bought some more white cockades. She says Hatty has +improved wonderfully; her cheeks are not so shockingly red, and she +speaks better, and has more decent manners. She thinks the Crosslands +have done her a great deal of good. I thought Hatty looking not at all +well the last time she was here; and so grave for her--almost sad. And +I am afraid the Crosslands, or somebody, have done her a great deal of +bad. But somehow, Hatty is one of those people whom you cannot question +unless she likes. Something inside me will not put the questions. I +don't know what it is. + +I wish I knew everything! If I could only understand myself, I should +get on better. And how am I going to understand other people? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. A clergyman always wore his cassock at this time. Whitefield +was very severe on those worldly clergy who laid it aside, and went +"disguised"--namely, in the ordinary coat--to entertainments of various +kinds. + + + +CHAPTER TEN. + +SPIDERS' WEBS. + + "Why does he find so many tangled threads, + So many dislocated purposes, + So many failures in the race of life?" + + REV HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. + +We had a grand time of it last night, to celebrate the Prince's entry +into Derby. I did not see one red ribbon. Grandmamma is very much put +out at the forbidding of French cambrics; she says nobody will be able +to have a decent ruffle or a respectable handkerchief now: but what can +you expect of these Hanoverians? And I am sure she looked smart enough +last night. We had dancing--first, the minuet, and then a +round--"Pepper's black," and then "Dull Sir John," and a country dance, +"Smiling Polly." Flora would not dance, and Grandmamma excused her, +because she was a minister's daughter: Grandmamma always says a +clergyman when she tells people: she says minister is a low word only +used by Dissenters, and she does not want people to know that any guest +of hers has any connection with those creatures. "However, thank +Heaven! (says she) the girl is not my grand-daughter!" I don't know +what she would say if I were to turn Dissenter. I suppose she would cut +me off with a shilling. Ephraim said so, and I asked him what it meant. +Shillings are not very sharp, and what was I to be cut off? Ephraim +seemed excessively amused. + +"You are too good, Cary," said he. "Did you think the shilling was a +knife to cut you off something? It means she will only leave you a +shilling in her will." + +"Well, that will be a shilling more than I expect," said I: and Ephraim +went off laughing. + +I asked Miss Newton, as she seemed to know him, who Mr Raymond was. +She says he is the lecturer at Saint Helen's, and might have been a +decent man if that horrid creature Mr Wesley had not got hold of him. + +"Oh, do you know anything about Mr Wesley, or Mr Whitefield?" cried I. +"Are they in London now?" + +If I could hear them again! + +"I am sure I cannot tell you," said Miss Newton, laughing. "I have +heard my father speak of them with some very strong language after it-- +that I know. My dear Miss Courtenay, does everything rouse your +enthusiasm? For how you can bring that brilliant light into your eyes +for the Prince, and for Mr Wesley, is quite beyond me. I should have +thought they were the two opposite ends of a pole." + +"I don't know anything about Mr Wesley," I said, "and I have only heard +Mr Whitefield preach once in Scotland." + +"You have heard him?" she asked. + +"Yes, and liked him very much," said I. + +Miss Newton shrugged her shoulders in that little French way she has. +"Why, some people think him the worse of the two," she said. "I don't +know anything about them, I can tell you--only that Mr Wesley makes +Dissenters faster than you could make tatting-stitches." + +"What does he do to them?" said I. + +"I don't know, and I don't want to know," said she. "If he had lived in +former times, I am sure he would have been taken up for witchcraft. He +is a clergyman, or they say so; but I really wonder the Bishops have not +turned him out of the Church long ago." + +"A clergyman, and makes people Dissenters!" cried I. "Why, Mr +Whitefield quoted the Articles in his sermon." + +"They said so," she replied. "I know nothing about it; I never heard +the man, thank Heaven! but they say he goes about preaching to all sorts +of dreadful creatures--those wild miners down in Cornwall, and +coal-heavers, and any sort of mobs he can get to listen. Only fancy a +clergyman--a gentleman--doing any such thing!" + +I thought a moment, and some words came to my mind. + +"Do you think Mr Wesley was wrong?" I said. "`The common people heard +Him gladly.' And I suppose you would not say that our Lord was not a +gentleman." + +"Dear Miss Courtenay, forgive me, but what very odd things you say! +And--excuse me--don't you know it is not thought at all good taste to +quote the Bible in polite society?" + +"Is the Bible worse off for that?" said I. "Or is it the polite +society? The best society, I suppose, ought to be in Heaven: and I +fancy they do not shut out the Bible there. What think you?" + +"Are you very innocent?" she answered, laughing; "or are you only making +believe? You must know, surely, that religion is not talked about +except from the pulpit, and on Sundays." + +"But can we all be sure of dying on a Sunday?" I answered. "We shall +want religion then, shall we not?" + +"Hush! we don't talk of dying either--it is too shocking!" + +"But don't we do it sometimes?" I said. + +Miss Newton looked as if she did not know whether to laugh or be angry-- +certainly very much disturbed. + +"Let us talk of something more agreeable, I beg," said she. "See, Miss +Bracewell is going to sing." + +"Oh, she will sing nothing worth listening to," said I. + +"I suppose you think only Methodist hymns worth listening to," responded +Miss Newton, rather sneeringly. + +I don't like to be sneered at. I suppose nobody does. But it does not +make me feel timid and yield, as it seems to do many: it only makes me +angry. + +"Well," said I, "listen how much this is worth." + +Amelia drew off her gloves with a listless air which I believe she +thought exceedingly genteel. I cannot undertake to describe her song: +it was one of those queer lackadaisical ditties which always remind me +of those tunes which go just where you don't expect them to go, and end +nowhere. I hate them. And I don't like the songs much better. Of +course there was a lady wringing her hands--why do people in ballads +wring their hands so much? I never saw anybody do it in my life--and a +cavalier on a coal-black steed, and a silvery moon; what would become of +the songwriters if there were no moon and no sea?--and "she sat and +wailed," and he did something or other, I could not exactly hear what; +and at last he, or she, or both of them (only that would not suit the +grammar) "was at rest," and I was thankful to hear it, for Amelia +stopped singing. + +"How sweet and sad!" said Miss Newton. + +"Do you like that kind of song? I think it is rubbish." + +She laughed with that little deprecating air which she often uses to me. +I looked up to see who was going to sing next: and to my extreme +surprise, and almost equal pleasure, I saw Annas sit down to the harp. + +"Oh, Miss Keith is going to sing!" cried I. "I should like to hear +hers." + +"A Scottish ballad, no doubt," replied Miss Newton. + +There was a soft, low, weird-like prelude: and then came a voice like +that of a thrush, at which every other in the room seemed to hush +instinctively. Each word was clear. + +This was Annas's song. + + "She said,--`We parted for a while, + But we shall meet again ere long; + I work in lowly, lonely room, + And he amid the foreign throng: + But here I willingly abide,-- + Here, where I see the other side. + + "`Look to those hills which reach away + Beyond the sea that rolls between; + Here from my casement, day by day, + Their happy summits can be seen: + Happy, although they us divide,-- + I know he sees the other side. + + "`The days go on to make the year-- + A year we must be parted yet-- + I sing amid my crosses light, + For on those hills mine eyes are set: + You say, those hills our eyes divide? + Ay, but he sees the other side! + + "`So these dividing hills become + Our point of meeting, every eve; + Up to the hills we look and pray + And love--our work so soon we leave; + And then no more shall aught divide-- + We dwell upon the other side.'" + +"Pretty!" said Miss Newton, in the tone which people use when they do +not think a thing pretty, but fancy that you expect them to say so: "but +not so charming as Miss Bracewell's song." + +"Wait," said I; "she has not finished yet." + +The harp was speaking now--in a sad low voice, rising gradually to a +note of triumph. Then it sank low again, and Annas's voice continued +the song. + + "She said,--`We parted for a while, + But we shall meet again ere long; + I dwell in lonely, lowly room, + And he hath joined the heavenly throng: + Yet here I willingly abide, + For yet I see the Other Side. + + "`I look unto the hills of God + Beyond the life that rolls between; + Here from my work by faith each day + Their blessed summits can be seen; + Blessed, although they us divide,-- + I know he sees the Other Side. + + "`The days go on, the days go on,-- + Through earthly life we meet not yet; + I sing amid my crosses light, + For on those hills mine eyes are set: + 'Tis true, those hills our eyes divide-- + Ay, but he sees the Other Side! + + "`So the eternal hills become + Our point of meeting, every eve; + Up to the hills I look and pray + And love--soon all my work I leave: + And then no more shall aught divide-- + We dwell upon the Other Side.'" + +I turned to Miss Newton with my eyes full, as Annas rose from the harp. +The expression of her face was a curious mixture of feelings. + +"Was ever such a song sung in Mrs Desborough's drawing-room!" she +cried. "She will think it no better than a Methodist hymn. I am afraid +Miss Keith has done herself no good with her hostess." + +"But Grandmamma would never--" I said, hesitatingly. "Annas Keith's +connections are--" + +"I advise you not to be too sure what she could never," answered Miss +Newton, with a little capable nod. "Mrs Desborough would scarce be +civil to the Princess herself if she sang a pious song in her +drawing-room on a reception evening." + +"But it was charming!" I said. + +Miss Newton shrugged her shoulders. "The same things do not charm +everybody," said she. "It seemed to me no better than that Methodist +doggerel. The latter half, at least; the beginning promised better." + +When we went up to bed, Annas came to me as I stood folding my +shoulder-knots, and laid a hand on each of my shoulders from behind. + +"Cary, we must say `good-bye,' I think. I scarce expected it. But Mrs +Desborough's face, when my song was ended, had `good-bye' in it." + +"O Annas!" said I. "Surely she would never be angry with you for a mere +song! Your connections are so good, and Grandmamma thinks so much of +connections." + +"If my song had only had a few wicked words in it," replied Annas, with +that slight curl of her lip which I was learning to understand, "I dare +say she would have recovered it by to-morrow. And if my connections had +been poor people,--or better, Whigs,--or better still, disreputable +rakes--she might have got over that. But a pious song, and a sisterly +connection of spirit with Mr Whitefield and the Scottish Covenanters. +No, Cary, she will not survive that. I never yet knew a worldly woman +forgive that one crime of crimes--Calvinism. Anything else! Don't you +see why, my dear? It sets her outside. And she knows that I know she +is outside. Therefore I am unforgivable. However absurd the idea may +be in reality, it is to her mind equivalent to my setting her outside. +She is unable to recognise that she has chosen to stay without, and I am +guilty of nothing worse than unavoidably seeing that she is there. That +I should be able to see it is unpardonable. I am sorry it should have +happened just now; but I suppose it was to be." + +"Are you going to tell her so?" I asked, wondering what Annas meant. + +"I expect she will tell me before to-morrow is over," said Annas, with a +peculiar smile. + +"But what made you choose that song, then? I thought it so pretty." + +"I chose the one I knew, to which I supposed she would object the +least," replied Annas. "She asked me to sing." + +When we came down to breakfast, the next morning, I felt that something +was in the air. Grandmamma sat so particularly straight up, and my Aunt +Dorothea looked so prim, and my Uncle Charles fidgetted about between +the fire and the window, like a man who knew of something coming which +he wanted to have over. My Aunt Dorothea poured the chocolate in +silence. When all were served, Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff. + +"Miss Keith!" + +"Madam!" + +"Do you think the air of the Isle of Wight wholesome at this season of +the year?" + +"So much so, Madam, that I am inclined to propose we should resume our +journey thither." + +Grandmamma took another pinch. + +"I will beg you, then, to make my compliments to Sir James, and tell him +how much entertained I have been by your visit, and especially by your +performance on the harp. You have a fine finger, Miss Keith, and your +choice of a song is unexceptionable." + +"I thank you for the compliment, Madam, which I shall be happy to make +to Sir James." + +There was nothing but dead silence after that until breakfast was over. +When we were back in our room, I broke down. To lose both Annas and +Flora was too much. + +"O Annas! why did you take the bull by the horns?" I cried. + +She laughed. "It is always the best way, Cary, when you see him put his +head down!" + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Annas and Flora are gone, and I feel like one shipwrecked. I wander +about the house, and do not know what to do. I might read, but +Grandmamma has no books except dreary romances in huge volumes, which +date, I suppose, from the time when she was a girl at school; and my +Uncle Charles has none but books about farming and etiquette. I have +looked up and mended all my clothes, and cannot find any sewing to do. +I wrote to Sophy only last week, and they will not expect another letter +for a while. I wish something pleasant would happen. The only thing I +can think of to do is to go in a chair to visit Hatty and the +Bracewells, and I am afraid that would be something unpleasant. I have +not spoken to Mr Crossland, but I do not like the look of him; and Mrs +Crossland is a stranger, and I am tired of strangers. They so seldom +seem to turn out pleasant people. + +Just as I had written that, as if to complete my vexation, my Aunt +Dorothea looked in and told me to put on my cherry satin this evening, +for Sir Anthony and my Lady Parmenter were expected. If there be a +creature I particularly wish not to see, he is sure to come! I wish I +knew why things are always going wrong in this world! There are two or +three people that I would give a good deal for, and I am quite sure they +will not be here; and I should think Cecilia dear at three-farthings, +with Sir Anthony thrown in for the penny. + +I wish I were making jumballs in the kitchen at Brocklebank, and could +have a good talk with my Aunt Kezia afterwards! Somehow, I never cared +much about it when I could, and now that I cannot, I feel as if I would +give anything for it. Are things always like that? Does nothing in +this world ever happen just as one would like it in every point? + +In my cherry-coloured satin, with white shoulder-knots, a blue pompoon +in my hair, and my new hoop (I detest these hoops; they are horrid), I +came down to the withdrawing room, and cast my eye round the chamber. +Grandmamma, in brocaded black silk, sat where she always does, at the +side of the fire, and my Uncle Charles--who for a wonder was at home-- +and my Aunt Dorothea were receiving the people as they came in. The +Bracewells were there already, and Hatty, and Mr Crossland, and a +middle-aged lady, who I suppose was his mother, and Miss Newton, and a +few more whose faces and names I know. Sir Anthony and my Lady +Parmenter came in just after I got there. + +What has come over Hatty? She does not look like the same girl. +Grandmamma can never talk of her glazed red cheeks now. She is whiter +almost than I am, and so thin! I am quite sure she is either ill, or +unhappy, or both. But I cannot ask her, for somehow we never meet each +other except for a minute. Several times I have thought, and the +thought grows upon me, that somebody does not want Hatty and me to have +a quiet talk with each other. At first I thought it was Hatty who kept +away from me herself, but I am beginning to think now that somebody else +is doing it. I do not trust that young Mr Crossland, not one bit. +Yet, why he should wish to keep us apart, I cannot even imagine. I made +up my mind to get hold of Hatty and ask her when she were going home; I +think she would be safer there than here. But it was a long, long while +before I could reach her. So many people seemed to be hemming her in. +I sat on an ottoman in the corner, watching my opportunity, when all at +once a voice called me back to something else. + +"Dear little Cary, I have been so wishing for a chat with you." + +Hatty used to say that you may always know something funny is coming +when you see a cat wag her tail. I had come to the conclusion that +whenever one person addressed me with endearing phrases, something +sinister was coming. I looked up this time: I did not courtesy and walk +away, as I did on the last occasion. I wanted to avoid an open quarrel. +If she had sought me out after that, I could not avoid it. But to +speak to me as if nothing had happened!--how could the woman be so +brazen as that? + +I looked up, and saw a large gold-coloured fan, most beautifully painted +with birds of all the hues of the rainbow, from over which those tawny +eyes were glancing at me; and for one moment I wished that hating people +were not wicked. + +"For what purpose, Madam?" I replied. + +"Dear child, you are angry with me," she said, and the soft, warm, +gloved hand pressed mine, before I could draw it away. "It is so +natural, for of course you do not understand. But it makes me very +sorry, for I loved you so much." + +O serpent, how beautiful you are! But you are a serpent still. + +"Did you?" I said, and my voice sounded hard and cold to my own ears. +"I take the liberty of doubting whether you and I give that name to the +same thing." + +The light gleamed and flashed, softened and darkened, then shot out +again from those wonderful, beautiful eyes. + +"And you won't forgive me?" she said, in a soft sad voice. How she can +govern that voice, to be sure! + +"Forgive you? Yes," I answered. "But trust you? No. I think never +again, my Lady Parmenter." + +"You will be sorry some day that you did not." + +Was it a regret? was it a threat? The voice conveyed neither, and might +have stood for both. I looked up again, but she had vanished, and where +she had been the moment before stood Mr Raymond. + +"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Courtenay." + +"You shall have my past thoughts, if you please," said I, trying to +speak lightly. "I would rather not sell my present ones at the price." + +He smiled, and drew out a new penny. "Then let me make the less +valuable purchase." + +Even Mr Raymond was a welcome change from her. + +"Then tell me, Mr Raymond," said I, "do things ever happen exactly as +one wishes them to do?" + +"Once in a thousand times, perhaps," said he. "I should imagine, +though, that the occasion usually comes after long waiting and bitter +pain. Generally there is something to remind us that this is not our +rest." + +"Why?" I said, and I heard my soul go into the word. + +"Why not?" answered he, pithily. "Is the servant so much greater than +his Lord that he may reasonably look for things to be otherwise? Cast +your mind's eye over the life of Christ our Master, and see on how many +occasions matters happened in a way which you would suppose entirely to +His liking? Can you name one?" + +I thought, and could not see anything, except when He did a miracle, or +when He spent a night in prayer to God. + +"I give you those nights of prayer," said Mr Raymond. "But I think you +must yield me the miracles. Unquestionably it must have given Him +pleasure to relieve pain; but see how much pain to Himself was often +mixed in it!--`Looking up to Heaven, He sighed' ere He did one; He wept, +just before performing another; He cried, `How long shall I be with you, +and suffer you!' ere he worked a third. No, Miss Courtenay, the +miracles of our Divine Master were not all pleasure to Himself. Indeed, +I should be inclined to venture further, and ask if we have no hint that +they were wrought at a considerable cost to Himself. He `took our +infirmities, and bare our sicknesses'; He knew when `virtue had gone out +of Him.' That may mean only that His Divine knowledge was conscious of +it; but taking both passages together, is it not possible that His +wonderful works were wrought at personal expense--that His human body +suffered weakness, faintness, perhaps acute pain, as the natural +consequence of doing them? You will understand that I merely throw out +the hint. Scripture does not speak decisively; and where God does not +decide, it is well for men to be cautious." + +"Mr Raymond," I exclaimed, "how can you be a Whig?" + +"Pardon me, but what is the connection?" asked he, looking both +astonished and diverted. + +"Don't you see it? You are much too good for one." + +Mr Raymond laughed. "Thank you; I fear I did not detect the +compliment. May I put the counter question, and ask how you came to be +a Tory?" + +"Why, I was born so," said I. + +"And so was I a Whig," replied he. + +"Excuse me!" came laughingly from my other hand, in Miss Newton's voice. +"The waters are not quite so smooth as they were, and I thought I had +better be at hand to pour a little oil if necessary. Mr Raymond, I am +afraid you are getting worldly. Is that not the proper word?" + +"It is the proper word for an improper thing," said Mr Raymond. "On +what evidence do you rest your accusation, Miss Theresa?" + +"On the fact that you have twice in one week made your appearance in +Mrs Desborough's rooms, which are the very pink of worldliness." + +"Have I come without reason?" + +"You have not given it me," said the young lady, laughing. "You cannot +always come to tell one of the guests that his (or her) relations have +been taken prisoner." + +I looked up so suddenly that Mr Raymond answered my eyes before he +replied to Miss Newton's words. + +"No, Miss Courtenay, I did not come with ill news. I suppose a man may +have two reasons at different times for the same action?" + +"Where is our handsome friend of the dreadful name?" asked Miss Newton. + +"Mr Hebblethwaite? He told me he could not be here this evening." + +"That man will have to change his name before anybody will marry him," +said Miss Newton. + +"Then, if he takes my advice, he will continue in single blessedness," +was Mr Raymond's answer. + +"Now, why?" + +"Do you not think it would be preferable to marrying a woman whose +regard for you was limited by the alphabet?" + +"Mr Raymond, you and Miss Courtenay do say such odd things! Is that +because you are religious people?" + +Oh, what a strange feeling came over me when Miss Newton said that! +What made her count me a "religious person"? Am I one? I should not +have dared to say it. I should like to be so; I am afraid to go +further. To reckon myself one would be to sign my name as a queen, and +I am not sufficiently sure of my royal blood to do it. + +But what had I ever said to Miss Newton that she should entertain such +an idea? Mr Raymond glanced at me with a brotherly sort of smile, +which I wished from my heart that I deserved, (for all he is a Whig!) +and was afraid I did not. Then he said,-- + +"Religious people, I believe, are often very odd things in the eyes of +irreligious people. Do you count yourself among the latter class, Miss +Theresa?" + +"Oh, I don't make any profession," said she. "I have but one life, and +I want to enjoy it." + +"That is exactly my position," said Mr Raymond, smiling. + +"Now, what do you mean?" demanded she. "Don't the Methodists label +everything `wicked' that one wants to do?" + +"`One' sometimes means another," replied Mr Raymond, with a funny look +in his eyes. "They do not put that label on anything I want to do. I +cannot answer for other people." + +"I am sure they would put it on a thousand things that I should," said +Miss Newton. + +"Am I to understand that speaks badly for them?--or for you?" + +"Mr Raymond! You know I make no profession of religion. I think it is +much better to be free." + +The look in Mr Raymond's eyes seemed to me very like Divine compassion. + +"Miss Theresa, your remark makes me ask two questions: Do you suppose +that `making no profession' will excuse you to the Lord? Does your +Bible read, `He that maketh no profession shall be saved'? And also-- +Are you free?" + +"Am I free? Why, of course I am!" she cried. "I can do what I like, +without asking leave of priest or minister." + +"God forbid that you should ask leave of priest or minister! But I can +do what I like, also. What the Lord likes, I like. No priest on earth +shall come between Him and me." + +"That sounds very grand, Mr Raymond. But just listen to me. I know a +young gentlewoman who says the same thing. She is dead against +everything which she thinks to be Popery. Submit to the Pope?--no, not +for a moment! But this dear creature has a pet minister, who is to her +exactly what the Pope is to his subjects. She won't dance, because Mr +Gardiner disapproves of it; she can't sing a song, of the most innocent +sort, because Mr Gardiner thinks songs naughty; she won't do this, and +she can't go there, because Mr Gardiner says this and that. Now, what +do you call that?" + +"Human nature, Miss Theresa. Depend upon it, Popery would never have +the hold it has if there were not in it something very palatable to +human nature. Human nature is of two varieties, and Satan's two grand +masterpieces appeal to both. To the proud man, who is a law unto +himself, he brings infidelity as the grand temptation: `Ye shall be as +gods'--`Yea, hath God said?'--and lastly, `There is no God.' To the +weaker nature, which demands authority to lean on, he brings Popery, +offering to decide for you all the difficult questions of heart and life +with authority--offering you the romantic fancy of a semi-goddess in its +worship of the Virgin, in whose gentle bosom you may repose every +trouble, and an infallible Church which can set everything right for +you. Now just notice how far God's religion is from both. It does not +say, `Ye shall be as gods;' but, `This Man receiveth sinners': not, +`Hath God said?' but, `Thus saith the Lord.' Turn to the other side, +and instead of your compassionate goddess, it offers you Jesus, the +God-man, able to succour them that are tempted, in that He Himself hath +suffered being tempted. Infallibility, too, it offers you, but not +resident in a man, nor in a body of men. It resides in a book, which is +not the word of man, but the Word of God, and effective only when it is +interpreted and applied by the living Spirit, whose guidance may be had +by the weakest and poorest child that will ask God for Him." + +"We are not in church, my dear Mr Raymond!" said Miss Newton, shrugging +her shoulders. "If you preach over the hour, Mrs Desborough will be +sending Caesar to show you the clock." + +"I have not exceeded it yet, I think," said Mr Raymond. + +"Well, I wish you would talk to Eliza Wilkinson instead of me. She says +she has been--is `converted' the word? I am ill up in Methodist terms. +And ever since she is converted, or was converted, she does not commit +sin. I wish you would talk to her." + +"I am not fit to talk to such a seraph. I am a sinner." + +"Oh, but I think there is some distinction, which I do not properly +understand. She does not wilfully sin; and as to those little things +which everybody does, that are not quite right, you know,--well, they +don't count for anything. She is a child of God, she says, and +therefore He will not be hard upon her for little nothings. Is that +your creed, Mr Raymond?" + +"Do you know the true name of that creed, Miss Theresa?" + +"Dear, no! I understand nothing about it." + +Mr Raymond's voice was very solemn: "`So hast thou also them that hold +the doctrine of the Nicolaitanes, _which thing I hate_.' `Turning the +grace of our God into lasciviousness.' Antinomianism is the name of it. +It has existed in the Church of God from a date, you see, earlier than +the close of the inspired canon. Essentially the same thing survives in +the Popish Church, under the name of mortal and venial sins; and it +creeps sooner or later into every denomination, in its robes of an angel +of light. But it belongs to the darkness. Sin! Do we know the meaning +of that awful word? I believe none but God knows rightly what sin is. +But he who does not know something of what sin is can have very poor +ideas of the Christ who saves from sin. He does not save men in sin, +but from sin: not only from penalty,--from sin. Christ is not dead, but +alive. And sin is not a painted plaything, but a deadly poison. God +forgive them who speak lightly of it!" + +I do not know what Miss Newton said to this, for at that minute I caught +sight of Hatty in a corner, alone, and seized my opportunity at once. +Threading my way with some difficulty among bewigged and belaced +gentlemen, and ladies with long trains and fluttering fans, I reached my +sister, and sat down by her. + +"Hatty," said I, "I hardly ever get a word with you. How long do you +stay with the Crosslands?" + +"I do not know, Cary," she answered, looking down, and playing with her +fan. + +"Do you know that you look very far from well?" + +"There are mirrors in Charles Street," she replied, with a slight curl +of her lip. + +"Hatty, are those people kind to you?" I said, thinking I had better, +like Annas, take the bull by the horns. + +"I suppose so. They mean to be. Let it alone, Cary; you are not old +enough to interfere--hardly to understand." + +"I am only eighteen months younger than you," said I. "I do not wish to +interfere, Hatty; but I do want to understand. Surely your own sister +may be concerned if she see you looking ill and unhappy." + +"Do I look so, Cary?" + +I thought, from the tone, that Hatty was giving way a little. + +"You look both," I said. "I wish you would come here." + +"Do you wish it, Cary?" The tone now was very unlike Hatty. + +"Indeed I do, Hatty," said I, warmly. "I don't half believe in those +people in Charles Street; and as to Amelia and Charlotte, I doubt if +either of them would see anything, look how you might." + +"Oh, Charlotte is not to blame; thoughtlessness is her worst fault," +said Hatty, still playing with her fan. + +"And somebody is to blame? Is it Amelia?" + +"I did not say so," was the answer. + +"No," I said, feeling disappointed; "I cannot get you to say anything. +Hatty, I do wish you would trust me. Nobody here loves you except me." + +"You did not love me much once, Cary." + +"Oh, I get vexed when you tease me, that is all," said I. "But I want +you to look happier, Hatty, dear." + +"I should not tease you much now, Cary." + +I looked up, and saw that Hatty's eyes were full of tears. + +"Do come here, Hatty!" I said, earnestly. + +"Grandmamma has not asked me," she replied. + +"Then I will beg her to ask you. I think she will. She said the other +day that you were very much improved." + +"At all events, my red cheeks and my plough-boy appetite would scarcely +distress her now," returned Hatty, rather bitterly. "Mr Crossland is +coming for me--I must go." And while she held my hand, I was amazed to +hear a low whisper, in a voice of unutterable longing,--"Cary, pray for +me!" + +That horrid Mr Crossland came up and carried her off. Poor dear Hatty! +I am sure something is wrong. And somehow, I think I love her better +since I began to pray for her, only that was not last night, as she +seemed to think. + +This morning at breakfast, I asked Grandmamma if she would do me a +favour. + +"Yes, child, if it be reasonable," said she. "What would you have?" + +"Please, Grandmamma, will you ask Hatty to come for a little while? I +should so like to have her; and I cannot talk to her comfortably in a +room full of people." + +Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff, as she generally does when she wants +to consider a minute. + +"She is very much improved," said she. "She really is almost +presentable. I should not feel ashamed, I think, of introducing her as +my grand-daughter. Well, Cary, if you wish it, I do not mind. You are +a tolerably good girl, and I do not object to give you a pleasure. But +it must be after she has finished her visit to the Crosslands. I could +not entice her away." + +"I asked her how long she was going to stay there, Grandmamma, and she +said she did not know." + +"Then, my dear, you must wait till she do." [Note 1.] + +But what may happen before then? I knew it would be of no use to say +any more to Grandmamma: she is a perfect Mede and Persian when she have +once declared her royal pleasure. And my Aunt Dorothea will never +interfere. My Uncle Charles is the only one who dare say another word, +and it was a question if he would. He is good-natured enough, but so +careless that I could not feel at all certain of enlisting him. Oh +dear! I do feel to be growing so old with all my cares! It seems as if +Hatty, and Annas, and Flora, and Angus, and Colonel Keith, and the +Prince,--I beg his pardon, he should have come first,--were all on my +shoulders at once. And I don't feel strong enough to carry such a lot +of people. + +I wish my Aunt Kezia was here. I have wished it so many times lately. + +When I had written so far, I turned back to look at my Aunt Kezia's +rules. And then I saw how foolish I am. Why, instead of putting the +Lord first, I had been leaving Him out of the whole thing. Could He not +carry all these cares for me? Did He not know what ailed Hatty, and how +to deliver Angus, and all about it? I knelt down there and then (I +always write in my own chamber), and asked Him to send Hatty to me, and +better still, to bring her to Him; and to show me whether I had better +speak to my Uncle Charles, or try to get things out of Amelia. As to +Charlotte, I would not ask her about anything which I did not care to +tell the town crier. + +The next morning--(there, my dates are getting all wrong again! It is +no use trying to keep them straight)--as my Uncle Charles was putting on +his gloves to go out, he said,-- + +"Well, Cary, shall I bring you a fairing of any sort?" + +"Uncle Charles," I said, leaping to a decision at once, "do bring me +Hatty! I am sure she is not happy. Do get Grandmamma to let her come +now." + +"Not happy!" cried my Uncle Charles, lifting his eyebrows. "Why, what +is the matter with the girl? Can't she get married? Time enough, +surely." + +Oh dear, how can men be so silly! But I let it pass, for I wanted Hatty +to come, much more than to make my Uncle Charles sensible. In fact, I +am afraid the last would take too much time and labour. There, now, I +should not have said that. + +"Won't you try, Uncle Charles? I do want her so much." + +"Child, I cannot interfere with my mother. Ask Hatty to spend the day. +Then you can have a talk with her." + +"Uncle, please, will you ask Grandmamma?" + +"If you like," said he, with a laugh. + +I heard no more about it till supper-time, when my Uncle Charles said, +as if it had just occurred to him (which I dare say it had),--"Madam, I +think this little puss is disappointed that Hatty cannot come at once. +Might she not spend the day here? It would be a treat for both girls." + +Grandmamma's snuff-box came out as usual. I sat on thorns, while she +rapped her box, opened it, took a pinch, shut the box with a snap, and +consigned it to her pocket. + +"Yes," she said, at last. "Dorothea, you can send Caesar with a note." + +"Oh, thank you, Grandmamma!" cried I. + +Grandmamma looked at me, and gave an odd little laugh. + +"These fresh girls!" she said, "how they do care about things, to be +sure!" + +"Grandmamma, is it pleasanter not to care about things?" said I. + +"It is better, my dear. To be at all warm or enthusiastic betrays +under-breeding." + +"But--please, Grandmamma--do not well-bred people get very warm over +politics?" + +"Sometimes well-bred people forget themselves," said Grandmamma, "But it +is more allowable to be warm over some matters than others. Politics +are to some degree an exception. We do not make exhibitions of our +personal affections, Caroline, and above all things we avoid showing +warmth on religious questions. We do not talk of such things at all in +good society." + +Now--I say this to my book, of course, not to Grandmamma--is not that +very strange? We are not to be warm over the most important things, +matters of life and death, things we really care about in our inmost +hearts: but over all the little affairs that we do not care about, we +may lose our tempers a little (in an elegant and reasonable way) if we +choose to do so. Would it not be better the other way about? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The use of the subjunctive with _when_ and _until_, now +obsolete, was correct English until the present century was some thirty +years old. + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN. + +CARY IN A NEW CHARACTER. + + "God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear." + + BROWNING. + +I feel more and more certain that something is wrong in Charles Street. +The invitation is declined, not by Hatty herself, but in a note from +Mrs Crossland: "Miss Hester Courtenay has so sad a catarrh that it will +not be safe for her to venture out for some days to come." [Note 1.] + +"Why, Cary, that is a disappointment for you," said my Uncle Charles, +kindly. "I think, Madam, as Hester cannot come, Mrs Crossland might +have offered a counter-invitation to Caroline." + +"It would have been well-bred," said Grandmamma. "Mrs Crossland is not +very well connected. She was the daughter or niece of an archdeacon, I +believe; rather raised by her marriage. I am sorry you are +disappointed, child." + +This was a good deal for Grandmamma to say, and I thanked her. + +Well, one thing had failed me; I must try another. At the next evening +assembly I watched my chance, and caught Charlotte in a corner. I asked +how Hatty was. + +"Hatty?" said Charlotte, looking surprised. "She is well enough, for +aught I know." + +"I thought she had a bad catarrh?" said I. + +"Didn't know she had one. She is going to my Lady Milworth's assembly +with Mrs Crossland." + +I felt more sure of ill-play than ever, but to Charlotte I said no more. +The next person whom I pinned to the wall was Amelia. With her I felt +more need of caution in one sense, for I did not know how far she might +be in the plot, whatever it was. That no living mortal with any shadow +of brains would have trusted Charlotte with a secret, I felt as sure as +I did that my ribbons were white, and not red. + +"Emily," I said, "why did not Hatty come with you to-night?" + +"I did not ask," was Amelia's languid answer. I do think she gets more +and more limp and unstarched as time goes on. + +"Is she better?" + +"What is the matter with her?" Amelia's eyes betrayed no artifice. + +"A catarrh, I understand." + +"Oh, you heard that from Miss Newton. The Newtons asked her for an +assembly, and Mrs Crossland did not want to give up my Lady Milworth, +so she sent word Hatty had a catarrh, I believe. It is all nonsense." + +"And it is not telling falsehoods?" said I. + +"My dear, I have nothing to do with it," said Amelia, fanning herself. +"Mrs Crossland may carry her own shortcomings." + +I felt pretty sure now that Amelia was not in the plot. + +"Will you give a message to Hatty?" I said. + +"If it be not too long to remember." + +"Tell her I wanted her to spend the day, and my Aunt Dorothea writ to +ask her to come, and Mrs Crossland returned answer that she had too bad +a catarrh, and must keep indoors for some days." + +"Did she--to Mrs Desborough?" said Amelia, with a surprised look. "I +rather wonder at that, too." + +"Emily, help me!" I said. "These Crosslands want to keep Hatty and me +apart. There is something wrong going on. Do help us, if you ever +cared for either of us." + +Amelia looked quite astonished and nuzzled. + +"Really, I knew nothing about it! Of course I care for you, Cary. But +what can I do?" + +"Give that message to Hatty. Bid her, from me, break through the +snares, and come. Then we can see what must be done next." + +"I will give her the message," said Amelia, with what was energy for +her. "Cary, I have had nothing to do with it, if something be wrong. I +never even guessed it." + +"I don't believe you have," said I. "But tell me one thing, Emily: are +they scheming to make Hatty marry Mr Crossland?" + +"Most certainly not!" cried Amelia, with more warmth than I had thought +was in her. "Impossible! Why, Mr Crossland is engaged to Marianne +Newton." + +"Is Miss Marianne Newton a friend of yours?" + +"Yes, the dearest friend I have." + +"Then you will be on my side. Keep your eyes and ears open, and find +out what it is. I tell you, something is wrong. Put yourself in the +breach; help Miss Marianne, if you like; but, for pity's sake, save +Hatty!" + +"But what makes you suppose that what is wrong has anything to do with +Mr Crossland?" + +"I do not know why I fancy it; but I do. I cannot let the idea go. I +do not like the look of him. He does not look like a true man." + +"Cary, you have grown up since you came to London." + +"I feel like somebody's grandmother," said I. "But I think I have been +growing; to it, Amelia, since I left Brocklebank." + +"Well, you certainly are much less of a child than you were. I will do +my best, Cary." And Amelia looked as if she meant it. + +"But take no one into your confidence," said I.--"Least of all +Charlotte." + +"Thank you, I don't need that warning!" said Amelia, with her languid +laugh, as she furled her fan and turned away. And as I passed on the +other side I came upon Ephraim Hebblethwaite. + +All at once my resolution was taken. + +"Come this way, Ephraim," said I; "I want to show you my Uncle Charles's +new engravings." + +I lifted down the large portfolio, with Ephraim's help,--I don't think +Ephraim would let a cat jump down by itself if he thought the jump too +far,--set it on a little table, and under cover of the engravings I told +him the whole story, and all my uneasiness about Hatty. He listened +very attentively, but without showing either the surprise or the +perplexity which Amelia had done. + +"If you suspect rightly," said he, when I had finished my tale, "the +first thing to be done is to get her out of Charles Street." + +"Do you think me too ready to suspect?" I replied. + +"No," was his answer; "I am afraid you are right." + +"But what do they want to do with her, or to her?" cried I, under my +breath. + +"Cary," said Ephraim, gravely, "I am very glad you have told me this. I +will go so far as to tell you in return that I too have my suspicions of +young Crossland, though they are of rather a different kind from yours. +You suspect him, so far as I understand you, of matrimonial designs on +Hatty, real or feigned. I am afraid rather that these appearances are a +blind to hide something deeper and worse. I know something of this man, +not enough to let me speak with certainty, but just sufficient to make +me doubt him, and to guide me in what direction to look. We must walk +carefully on this path, for if I mistake not, the ground is strewn with +snares." + +"What do you mean?" I cried, feeling terrified. + +"I would rather not tell you till I know more. I will try to do that as +soon as possible." + +"I never thought of anything worse," said I, "than that knowing, as he +is likely to do, that Hatty will some day have a few hundreds a year of +her own, he is trying to inveigle her to marry him, and is not a man +likely to be kind to her and make her happy." + +"He is certainly likely to make her very unhappy," replied Ephraim. +"But I do not believe that he has any intentions of marriage, towards +Hatty or anybody else." + +"But don't you think he may make her think so? Amelia told me he was +engaged in marriage with a gentlewoman she knows." + +"I am sorry for the gentlewoman. Make her think so? Yes, and under +cover of that, work out his plot. I would advise Miss Bracewell to +beware that she is not made a catspaw." + +I told Ephraim what I had said to Amelia. + +"Then she is put on her guard: so far, well." + +"Ephraim, have you heard anything more of Angus?" + +"Nothing but what you know already." + +"Nor, I suppose, of Colonel Keith? I wish I knew what he is doing." + +"He has not had much chance of doing anything yet," said Ephraim, rather +drily. "A sick-bed is not the most favourable place for helping one's +friends out of prison." + +"Has Colonel Keith been ill?" cried I. + +"Mr Raymond did not tell you?" + +"He never told me a word. I do not know what he may have said to +Annas." + +"A broken arm, and a fever on the top of it," said Ephraim. "The doctor +talks of letting him go out to-morrow, if the weather suit." + +"O Ephraim!" cried I. "But where is he?" + +"Don't tell any one, if I tell you. Remember, Colonel Keith is a +proscribed man." + +"I will do no harm to Annas's brother, trust me!" said I. + +"He is at Raymond's house, where he and I have been nursing him." + +"In a fever!" + +"Oh, it is not a catching fever. Think you either of us would have come +here if it were?" + +"Ephraim, is Mr Raymond to be trusted?" said I. "I am sure he is a +good man, but he is a shocking Whig. And I do believe one of the +queerest things in this queer world is the odd notions that men take of +what it is their duty to do." + +"Have you found that out?" said he, looking much diverted. + +"I am always finding things out," I answered. "I had no idea there was +so much to be found. But, don't you see, Mr Raymond might fancy it his +duty to betray Colonel Keith? Is there no danger?" + +"Not the slightest," said Ephraim, warmly. "Mr Raymond would be much +more likely to give up his own life. Don't you know, Cary, that +Scripture forbids us to betray a fugitive? And all the noblest +instincts of human nature forbid it too." + +"I know all one's feelings are against it," said I, "but I did not know +that there was anything about it in the Bible." + +"Look in the twenty-third of Deuteronomy," replied Ephraim, "the +fifteenth verse. The passage itself refers to a slave, but it must be +equally applicable to a political fugitive." + +"I will look," I answered. "But tell me, Ephraim, can nothing be done +for Angus?" + +"If it can, it will be done," he made answer. + +He said no more, but from his manner I could not but fancy that somebody +was trying to do something. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I never had two letters at once, by the same post, in my life: but this +morning two came--one from Flora, and one from my Aunt Kezia. Flora's +is not long: it says that she and Annas have reached the Isle of Wight +in safety, and were but three hours a-crossing from Portsmouth; and she +begs me, if I can obtain it, to send her some news of Angus. My Lady De +Lannoy was extreme kind to them both, and Flora says she is very +comfortable, and would be quite happy but for her anxiety about my Uncle +Drummond and Angus. My Uncle Drummond has not writ once, and she is +very fearful lest some ill have befallen him. + +My Aunt Kezia's letter is long, and full of good counsel, which I am +glad to have, for I do find the world a worse place than I thought it, +and yet not in the way I expected. She warns me to have a care lest my +tongue get me into trouble; and that is one of the dangers I find, and +did not look for. Father is well, and all other friends: and I am not +to be surprised if I should hear of Sophy's marriage. Fanny gets on +very well, and makes a better housekeeper than my Aunt Kezia expected. +But I have spent much thought over the last passage of her letter, and I +do not like it at all:-- + +"Is Hatty yet in Charles Street? We have had but one letter from the +child in all this time, and that was short and told nothing. I hope you +see her often, and can give us some tidings. Squire Bracewell writ to +your father a fortnight gone that he was weary of dwelling alone, and as +the Prince's army is in retreat, he thinks it now safe to have the girls +home. If this be so, we shall soon have Hatty here. I have writ to +her, by your father's wish, that she is not to tarry behind." + +I cried aloud when I came to this: "The Prince in retreat from Derby! +Uncle Charles, do you know anything of it? Sure, it can never be true!" + +"Nonsense!" he made answer. "Some silly rumour, no doubt." + +"But my Uncle Bracewell writ it to my Aunt Kezia, and he dwells within +fifteen miles," I said. + +My Uncle Charles looked much disturbed. + +"I must go forth and see about this," answered he. + +"With your catarrh, Mr Desborough!" cried my Aunt Dorothea. + +For above a week my Uncle Charles has not ventured from the door, having +a bad catarrh. + +"My catarrh must take care of itself," he made answer. "This is serious +news. Dobson, have you heard aught about the Prince being in retreat?" + +Dobson, who was setting down the chocolate-pot, looked up and smiled. + +"Yes, Sir, we heard that yesterday." + +"You idiot! why did you not tell me?" cried my Uncle Charles. "In +retreat! I cannot believe it." + +"Run to the coffee-house, Dobson," said Grandmamma, "and ask what news +they have this morning." + +So Dobson went off, and has not yet returned. My Aunt Dorothea laughs +all to scorn, but my Uncle Charles is uneasy, and I am sure Grandmamma +believes the report. It is dreadful if it is true. Are we to sit down +under another thirty years of foreign oppression? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Before Dobson could get back, Mrs Newton came in her chair. She is a +very stout old lady, and she puffed and panted as she came up the +stairs, leaning on her black footman, with her little Dutch pug after, +which is as fat as its mistress, and it panted and puffed too. Her two +daughters came in behind her. + +"Oh, my dear--Mrs Desborough! My--dear creature! This is--the +horridest news! We must--go back to our--red ribbons and--black +cockades! Could I ever have--thought it! Aren't you--perfectly +miserable? Dear, dear me!" + +"Ma is miserable because red does not suit her," said Miss Marianne. "I +can wear it quite well, so I don't need to be." + +"Marianne!" said her sister, laughing. + +"Well, you know, Theresa, you don't care two pins whether the Prince +wins or loses. Who does?" + +"The Prince and my Lord Tullibardine," said Miss Newton. + +"Oh, of course, those who looked to the Prince to make their fortunes +are disappointed enough. I don't." + +"I rather thought Mr Crossland did," said Miss Newton, with a +mischievous air. + +"Well, I hope there are other people in the world beside Mr Crossland," +said Miss Marianne. + +"All right, my dear," replied her sister. "If you don't care, I am sure +I need not. I am not in love with Mr Crossland--not by any means. I +never did admire the way in which his nose droops over his mouth. He +has fine teeth--that is a redeeming point." + +"Is it? I don't want him to bite me," observed Miss Marianne. + +Miss Newton went off into a little (subdued) burst of silvery laughter, +and I sat astonished. Was this the sort of thing which girls called +love?--and was this the way in which fashionable women spoke of the men +whom they had pledged themselves to marry? I am sure I like Mr +Crossland little enough; but I felt almost sorry for him as I listened +to the girl who professed to love him. + +Meanwhile, Grandmamma and Mrs Newton were lamenting over the news--as I +supposed: but when I began to listen, I found all that was over and done +with. First, the merits of Puck, the fat pug, were being discussed, and +then the wretchedness of being unable to buy or wear French cambrics, +and the whole history of Mrs Newton's last cambric gown: they washed +it, and mended it, and ripped it, and made it up again. And then +Grandmamma's brocaded silk came on, and how much worse it wore than the +last: and when I was just wondering how many more gowns would have to be +taken to pieces, Mrs Newton rose to go. + +"Really, Mrs Desborough, I ought to make my apologies for coming so +early. But this sad news, you know,--the poor Prince! I could not bear +another minute. I knew you would feel it so much. I felt as if I must +come. Now, my dear girls." + +"Ma, you haven't asked Mrs Desborough what you came for," said Miss +Marianne. + +"What I--Oh!" and Mrs Newton turned back. "This absurd child! Would +you believe it, she gave me no peace till I had asked if you would be so +good as to allow your cook to give mine her receipt for Paradise +pudding. Marianne dotes on your Paradise puddings. Do you mind? I +should be so infinitely obliged to you." + +"Dear, no!" said Grandmamma, taking a pinch of snuff, just as Dobson +tapped at the door. "Dobson, run down and tell Cook to send somebody +over to Mrs Newton's with her receipt for Paradise pudding. Be sure it +is not forgotten." + +"Yes, Madam," said Dobson. "If you please, Madam, the army is a-going +back; all the coffee-houses have the news this morning." + +"Dear, it must be true, then," said Grandmamma, taking another pinch. +"What a pity!--Be sure you do not forget the Paradise pudding." + +"Yes, Madam. They say, Madam, the Prince was nigh heart-broke that he +couldn't come on." + +"Ah, I dare say. Poor young gentleman!" said Mrs Newton. "Dear Mrs +Desborough, do excuse me, but where did you meet with that lovely crewel +fringe on your curtains? It is so exactly what I wanted and could not +get anywhere." + +"I got it at Cooper and Smithson's--Holborn Bars, you know," said +Grandmamma. "This is sad news, indeed. But your curtains, my dear, +have an extreme pretty trimming." + +"Oh, tolerable," said Mrs Newton, gathering up her hoop. + +Away they went, with another lament over the Prince and the news; and I +sat wondering whether everybody in this world were as hollow as a +tobacco-pipe. I do think, in London, they must be. + +Then my thoughts went back to my Aunt Kezia's letter. + +"Grandmamma," I said, after a few minutes' reflection, "may I have a +chair this afternoon? I want to go and see Hatty." + +Grandmamma nodded. She had come, I think, to an awkward place in her +tatting. + +"Take Caesar with you," was all she said. + +So after dinner I sent Caesar for the chair, and, dressed in my best, +went over to Charles Street to see Hatty. I sent in my name, and waited +an infinite time in a cold room before any one appeared. At last +Charlotte bounced in--I cannot use another word, for it was just what +she did--saying,-- + +"O Cary, you here? Emily is coming, as soon as she can settle her +ribbons. Isn't it fun? They are all coming out in red now." + +"I don't think it is fun at all," said I. "It is very sad." + +"Oh, pother!--what do you and I care?" cried she. + +"You do not care much, it seems," said I: but Charlotte was off again +before I had finished. + +A minute later, the door opened much more gently, and Amelia entered in +her calm, languid way. But as soon as she saw me, her eyes lighted up, +and she closed the door and sat down. + +Amelia spoke in a hurried whisper as she kissed me. + +"One word, before any one comes," she said. "Insist on seeing Hatty. +Don't go without it." + +"Will they try to prevent me?" I replied. + +Before she could answer, Mrs Crossland sailed in, all over +rose-coloured ribbons. + +"Why, Miss Caroline, what an unexpected pleasure!" said she, and if she +had added "an unwelcome one," I fancy she would have spoken the truth. +"Dear, what was Cicely thinking of to put you in this cold room? Pray +come up-stairs to the fire." + +"Thank you," said I, and rose to follow her. + +The room up-stairs was warm and comfortable, but Hatty was not there. A +girl of about fourteen, in a loose blue sacque, which looked very cold +for the weather, came forward and shook hands with me. + +"My daughter," said Mrs Crossland. "Annabella, my dear, run up and ask +Miss Hester if she feels well enough to come down. Tell her that her +sister is here." + +"Allow me to go up with Miss Annabella, and perhaps save her a journey," +said I. "Messages are apt to be returned and to make further errands." + +"Oh, but--pray do not give yourself that trouble," said Miss Annabella, +glancing at her mother. + +"Certainly not. I cannot think of it," answered Mrs Crossland, +hastily. "Poor Miss Hester has been suffering so much from toothache--I +beg you will not disturb her, Miss Caroline." + +I suppose I was rude: but how could I help it? + +"Why should I disturb her more than Miss Crossland?" I replied. +"Sisters do not make strangers of each other." + +"Oh, she does not expect you: and indeed, Miss Caroline,--do let me beg +of you,--Dr Summerfield did just hint yesterday--just a hint, you +understand,--about small-pox. I could not on any account let you go up, +for your own sake." + +"Is my sister so ill as that?" I replied. "I think we might have +expected to be told it sooner. Then, Madam, I shall certainly go up. +Miss Crossland, will you show me the way?" + +I do not know whether Mrs Crossland thought me bold and unladylike, but +if she had known how every bit of me was trembling, she might perhaps +have changed that view. + +"O Miss Caroline, how can you? I could not allow Annabella to do such a +thing. Think of the clanger!--Annabella, come back! You shall not go +into an infected air." + +"Pardon me, Madam, but I thought you proposed yourself to send Miss +Annabella. Then I will not trouble any one. I can find the way +myself." + +And resolutely closing the door behind me, up-stairs I walked. I did +not believe a word about Hatty having the small-pox: but if I had done, +I should have done the same. I heard behind me exclamations of--"That +bold, brazen thing! She will find out all. Annabella, call Godfrey! +call him! That hussy must not--" + +I was up-stairs by this time. I rapped at the first door, and had no +answer; the second was the same. From the third I heard the sound of +weeping, and a man's voice, which I thought I recognised as that of Mr +Crossland. + +"I shall not allow of any more hesitation," he was saying. "You must +make your choice to-day. You have given me trouble enough, and have +made far too many excuses. I shall wait no longer." + +"Oh, once more!--only once more!" was the answer, interrupted by +heartrending sobs,--in whose voice I rather guessed than heard. + +Neither would I wait any longer. I never thought about ceremony and +gentility, any more than about the possible dangers, known and unknown, +which I might be running. I opened the door and walked straight in. + +Mr Crossland stood on the hearth, clad in a queer long black gown, and +a black cap upon his head. On a chair near him sat a girl, her head +bowed down in her hands upon the table, weeping bitterly. Her long dark +hair was partly unfastened, and falling over her shoulder: what I could +see of her face was white as death. Was this white, cowed creature our +once pert, bright Hatty? + +"What do you want?" said Mr Crossland, angrily, as he caught sight of +me. "Oh, I beg pardon, Miss Caroline. Your poor sister is suffering so +much to-day. I have been trying to divert her a little, but her pain is +so great. How very good of you to come! Was no one here to show you +anywhere, that you had to come by yourself?" + +The bowed head had been lifted up, and the face that met my eyes was one +of the extremest misery. She held out her arms to me with a low, sad, +wailing cry-- + +"O Cary, Cary, save me! Cannot you save me?" + +I walked past that black-robed wretch, and took poor Hatty in my arms, +drawing her head to lie on my bosom. + +"Yes, my dear, you shall be saved," I said,--I hope, God said through +me. "Mr Crossland, will you have the goodness to leave my sister to +me?" + +If looks had power to kill, I think I should never have spoken again in +this world. Mr Crossland turned on his heel, and walked out of the +room without another word. The moment he was gone, I made a rush at the +door, drew out the key (which was on the outside), locked it, and put +the key on the table. Then I went back to Hatty. + +"My poor darling, what have they done to you?" + +Somehow, I felt as if I were older than she that day. + +But she could not tell me at first. "O Cary, Cary!" seemed to be all +that she could say. I rang the bell, and when somebody tried the door, +I asked the unknown helper to send Miss Amelia Bracewell. + +"I beg your pardon, Madam, I dare not," answered a girl's voice. +"Nobody is allowed to enter this chamber but my mistress and Fa--and my +master." + +It seemed as if an angel must be helping me, and whispering what to do. +Perhaps it was so. + +"Will you be so good as to take a message to the black servant who came +with me?" I said. + +"Certainly, Madam." + +"Then please to tell him that I wish to speak with him at the door of +this room." + +"Madam, forgive me, but I dare not bring any one here." + +I tore a blank leaf out of a book on the table. I had a pencil in my +pocket. "Give him this, then; and let no one take it from you. You +shall have a guinea to do it." + +"Gemini!" I heard the girl whisper to herself in amazement. + +I wrote hastily:--"Beg my Uncle Charles to come this moment, and bring +Dobson. Tell him, if he ever loved either me or Miss Hester, he will do +this. It is a matter of life and death." + +"Promise me," I said, unlocking the door to give it to her, "that this +piece of paper shall be in my black servant's hands directly, and that +no one else shall see it." + +I spoke to a young girl, apparently one of the lower servants of the +house. Her round eyes opened wide. + +"Please do it, Betty!" sobbed poor Hatty. "Do it, for pity's sake!" + +"I'll do it for yours, Miss Hester," said the girl, and her kindly, +honest-looking face reassured me. She hid the paper in her bosom, and +ran down. I locked the door again, and went back to Hatty. + +"O Cary, dear, God sent you!" she sobbed. "I thought I must give in." + +"What are they trying to make you do, Hatty?" + +To my amazement, she replied,--"To be a nun." + +"To be what?" I shrieked. "Are these people Papists, then?" + +"Not to acknowledge it. I had not an idea when we came--nor the +Bracewells, I am sure." + +"And did they want all three of you to be nuns?" + +"No--only me, I believe. I heard Father Godfrey saying to the Mother +that neither Charlotte nor Amelia would answer the purpose: but what the +purpose was, I don't know." + +"Who are you talking about? Who is Father Godfrey?--Mr Crossland?" + +"Yes. He is a Jesuit priest." + +"You mean his mother, then, by `_the_ Mother'?" + +"Oh, she is not his mother. I don't think they are related." + +"What is she?" + +"The Abbess of a convent of English nuns at Bruges." + +"And is that poor little girl, Miss Annabella, one of the conspirators?" + +"She is the decoy. I think her wits have been terrified out of her; she +only does as she is told." + +"Hatty," I said, "you do not believe the doctrines of Popery?" + +"I don't know what I believe, or don't believe," she sobbed. "If you +can get me out of here and back home, I shall think there is a God +again. I was beginning to doubt that and everything else." + +A voice came up the stairs, raised rather loudly. + +"You must pardon me, Madam, but I am quite sure both my nieces are +here," said my Uncle Charles's welcome tones. + +I rushed to the door again. + +"This way, Uncle Charles!" I cried. "Hatty, where is your bonnet?" + +"I don't know. They took all my outdoor things away." + +"Tie my scarf over your head, and get into the chair. As my Uncle +Charles is here, I can walk very well." + +He had come up now, and stood looking at Hatty's white, miserable face. +If he had seen it a few minutes earlier, he would have thought the +misery far greater. + +"Well, this is a pretty to-do!" cried my Uncle. "Hatty, child, these +wretches have used you ill. Why on earth did you stay with them?" + +"At first I did not want to get away, Uncle," she said, "and afterwards +I could not." + +We went down-stairs. Mrs Crossland was standing in the door of the +drawing-room, with thin, shut-up lips, and a red, angry spot on either +cheek. Inside the room I caught a glimpse of Annabella, looking +woefully white and frightened. Mr Crossland I could nowhere see. + +"Madam," said my Uncle Charles, sarcastically, "I will thank you to give +up those other young ladies, my nieces' cousins. If they wish to remain +in London, they can do so, but it will not be in Charles Street. Did +you not tell me, Cary, that their father wished them to come home?" + +"My Aunt Kezia said that he intended to write to them to say so," I +answered, feeling as though it were about a year since I had received my +Aunt Kezia's letter. + +"Really, Sir!" Mrs Crossland began, "the father of these gentlewomen +consigned them to my care--" + +"And I take them out of your care," returned my Uncle Charles. "I will +take the responsibility to Mr Bracewell." + +"I'll take all the responsi-what's-its-name," said Charlotte, suddenly +appearing among us. "Thank you, Mr Desborough; I'd rather not stop +here when Hatty is gone. Emily!" she shouted. + +Amelia came down-stairs with her bonnet on, and Charlotte's in her hand. +"You can't go without a bonnet, my dear child." + +"Oh, pother!" cried Charlotte, seizing her bonnet by the strings, and +sticking it on the top of her head anyhow it liked. + +"One word before we leave, Mr Desborough, if you please," said Amelia, +with more dignity than I had thought she possessed. "I have strong +reason to believe these persons to be Popish recusants, and the last to +whom my father would have confided us, had he known their real +character. They have not used any of us so kindly that I need spare +them out of any tenderness." + +"I thank you, Miss Bracewell," said my Uncle Charles, who also, I +thought, was showing qualities that I had not known to be in him. (How +scenes like these do bring one's faculties out!) "I rather thought there +was some sort of Jesuitry at work. Madam," he turned to Mrs Crossland, +"I am sure there is no necessity for me to recall the penal laws to your +mind. So long as these young ladies are left undisturbed in my care, in +any way,--so long, Madam,--they will not be put in force against you. +You understand me, I feel sure. Now, girls, let us go." + +So, we three girls walking, and Hatty in the chair, with Dobson and +Caesar as a guard behind, we reached Bloomsbury Square. + +"Charles, what is it all about?" said Grandmamma, taking a bigger pinch +than usual, and spilling some of it on her lace stomacher. + +"A spider's web, Madam, from which I have been freeing four flies. But +one was a blue-bottle, and broke some of the threads," said my Uncle +Charles, laughing, and patting my shoulder. + +"Really!" said Grandmamma. "I am pleased to see you, young ladies. +Hester, my dear, are you sure you are quite well?" + +"I shall be better now," Hatty tried to say, in a trembling voice,--and +fainted away. + +There was a great commotion then, four or five talking at once, making +impossible recommendations, and getting in each other's way; but at the +end of it all we got poor Hatty into bed in my chamber, and even +Grandmamma said that rest was the best thing for her. My Aunt Dorothea +mixed a cordial draught, which she gave her to take; and as Hatty's head +sank on the pillow, she said to my surprise,-- + +"Oh, the rest of being free again! Cary, I never expected you to be the +heroine of the family." + +"I think you are the heroine, Hatty." + +"Most people would have thought I should be. But I have proved weak as +water--yet not till after long suffering and hard pressure. You will +never see the old Hatty again, Cary." + +"Oh yes, dear!" said I. "Wait a few days, till you have had a good +rest, and we have fed you up. You will feel quite different a week +hence." + +"My body will, I dare say, but me--that inside feeling and thinking +machine--that will never be the same again. I want to tell you +everything." + +"And I want to hear it," I replied. "But don't talk now, Hatty; go to +sleep, like a good girl. You will be much better for a long rest." + +I drew the curtains, and asked Amelia to stay until Hatty was asleep. I +knew she would not talk much, and Hatty would not care to tell her +things as she would me. Going down-stairs, my Uncle Charles greeted me, +laughing, with,-- + +"Here she comes, the good Queen Bess! Cary, you deserve a gold medal." + +Grandmamma bade me come to her, and tell her all I knew. She exclaimed +several times, and took ever so many pinches of snuff, till she had to +call on my Aunt Dorothea to refill the box. At the end of it she called +me a good child, and the Jesuits traitors and scoundrels, to which my +Uncle Charles added some rather stronger language. + +Charlotte seems to have known nothing of what was going on; or, I should +rather say, to have noticed nothing. She is such a careless girl in +every way that I am scarce surprised. Amelia did notice things, but she +had a mistaken notion of what they meant. She fancied that Hatty was in +love with Mr Crossland, and that she, not knowing of his engagement in +marriage with Miss Marianne Newton, was very jealous of what she thought +his double-dealing. Until after I spoke to her, she had no notion that +there might be any sort of Popish treachery. Something which happened +soon after that, helped to turn her mind in that direction. But Hatty +says she knew next to nothing. + +"But," says my Uncle Charles, "how could a Jesuit priest marry anybody? +It seems to be all in a muddle." + +That I cannot answer. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Hatty is better to-day, after a quiet night's rest. She still looks +woefully ill, and Grandmamma will not let her speak yet. Now that +Grandmamma is roused about it, she is very kind to Hatty and me also. I +do hope, now, that things have done happening! The poor Prince is a +fugitive somewhere in Scotland, and everybody says, "the rebellion is +quashed." They did not call it a rebellion until he turned back from +Derby. My Uncle Bracewell has writ to my Uncle Charles again with news, +and has asked him to see Amelia and Charlotte sent off homeward. Hatty +will tarry here till we can return together. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +At last our poor Hatty has told her story: and a sad, sad story it is. +It seems that Mr Crossland was pretending to make court to her at +first, and she believed in him, and loved him. At that time, she says, +she would not have brooked a word against him; and as to believing him +to be the wretch he has turned out, she would as soon have thought the +sun created darkness. There was no show of Popery at all in the family. +They went to church like other people, and talked just like others. +From a word dropped by Miss Theresa Newton, Hatty began to think that +Mr Crossland's heart was not so undividedly her own as she had hoped; +and she presently discovered that he was not to be trusted on that +point. They had a quarrel, and he professed penitence, and promised to +give up Miss Marianne; and for a while Hatty thought all was right +again. Then, little by little, Mrs Crossland (whose right name seems +to be Mother Mary Benedicta of the Annunciation--what queer names they +do use, to be sure!)--well, Mrs Crossland began to tell Hatty all kinds +of strange stories about the saints, and miracles, and so forth, which +she said she had heard from the Irish peasantry. At first she told them +as things to laugh at; then she began to wonder if there might be some +truth in one or two of them; there were strange things in this world! +And so she went on from little to little, always drawing back and +keeping silence for a while if she found that she was going too fast for +Hatty to follow. + +"I can see it all now, looking back," said Hatty. "It was all one great +whole; but at the time I did not see it at all. They seemed mere +passing remarks, bits of conversation that came in anyhow." + +Hatty felt sure that Mrs Crossland was a concealed Papist long before +she suspected the young man. And when, at last, both threw the mask +off, they had her fast in their toils. She was strictly warned never to +talk with me except on mere trifling subjects; and she had to give an +account of every word that had been said when she returned. If she hid +the least thing from them, she was assured it would be a terrible sin. + +"But you don't mean to say you believed all that rubbish?" cried I. + +"It was not a question of belief," she answered. "I loved him. I would +have done anything in all the world to win a smile from him; and he knew +it. As to belief--I do not know what I believed: my brain felt like a +chaos, and my heart in a whirl." + +"And now, Hatty?" said I. I meant to ask what she believed now: but she +answered me differently. + +"Now," she said, in a low, hopeless voice, "the shrine is deserted, and +the idol is broken, and the world feels a great wide, empty place where +there is no room for me--a cold, hard place that I must toil through, +and the only hope left is to get to the end as soon as possible." + +Oh, I wish Flora or Annas were here! I do not know how to deal with my +poor Hatty. Thoughts which would comfort me seem to fall powerless with +her; and I have nobody to counsel me. I suppose my Aunt Kezia would say +I must set the Lord before me; but I do not see how to do it in this +case. I am sure I have prayed enough. What I want is an angel to +whisper to me what to do again; and my angel has gone back into Heaven, +I suppose, for I feel completely puzzled now. At any rate, I do hope +things have done happening. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. Our forefathers thought colds a much more serious affair than +we do. They probably knew much less about them. + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE. + +BOUGHT WITH A PRICE. + + _Host._ "Trust me, I think 'tis almost day." + _Julia._ "Not so; but it hath been the longest night + That e'er I watched, and the most heaviest." + + SHAKESPEARE. + +I am writing four days later than my last sentence, and I wonder whether +things have finished beginning to happen. + +Grandmamma's Tuesday was the day after I writ. The Newtons were +there,--at least Mrs Newton and Miss Theresa,--and ever so many people +whom I knew and cared nothing about. My Lady Parmenter came early, but +did not stay long; and very late, long after every one else, Ephraim +Hebblethwaite. Mr Raymond I did not see, and have not done so for +several times. + +I was not much inclined to talk, and I got into a corner with some +pictures which I had seen twenty times, and turned them over just as an +excuse for keeping quiet. All at once I heard Ephraim's voice at my +side: + +"Cary, I want to speak to you. Go on looking at those pictures: other +ears are best away. How is Hatty?" + +"She is better," I said; "but she is not the old Hatty." + +"I don't think the old Hatty will come back," he said. "Perhaps the new +one may be better. Are the Miss Bracewells gone home?" + +"They start to-morrow," said I. + +"Cary, I am going to ask you something. Don't show any surprise. Are +you a brave girl?" + +"I hardly know," said I, resisting the temptation to look up and see +what he meant. "Why?" + +"Because a woman is wanted for a piece of work, and we think you would +answer." + +"What piece of work?--and who are `we'?" I asked, turning over some +views of Rome with very little notion what they were. + +"`We' are Colonel Keith, Raymond, and myself." + +"And what `piece of work'?" I asked again. + +"To attempt the rescue of Angus." + +"How?--what am I to do?" + +"Did you ever try to personate anybody?" + +"Well, we used to act little pieces sometimes at Carlisle, I and the +Grandison girls and Lucretia Carnwath. There has never been anything of +the sort here." + +"Did they think you did it well?" + +"Lucretia Carnwath and Diana Grandison were thought the best performers; +but once they said I made a capital housemaid." + +"Were you ever a laundress?" + +"No, but I dare say I could have managed it." + +"Are you willing to try?" + +"I am ready to do anything, if it will help Angus. I don't see at +present how my playing the laundress is to do that." + +"You will not play it on a mock stage in a drawing-room, but in reality. +Neither you nor I are to do the hardest part of the work; Colonel Keith +takes that." + +"What have I to do?" + +"To carry a basket of clothes into the prison, and bring it out again." + +"I hope Angus will not be in the basket," said I, trying to smother my +laughter; "I could not carry him." + +"Oh, no," replied Ephraim, laughing too. "Now listen." + +"I am all attention," said I. + +"Next Tuesday evening, about nine o'clock, slip out of this room, and +throw a large cloak over your dress--one that will quite hide you. You +will find me at the foot of the back-stairs. We shall go out of the +back-door, and get to Raymond's house. A lady, whom you will find +there, will help you to put on the dress which is prepared. Then you +and I (who are brother and sister, if you please) will carry the basket +to the prison. Just before reaching it, I shall pretend to hear +something, and run off to see what is the matter. You will be left +alone (in appearance), and will call after me in vain, and abuse me +roundly when I do not return, declaring that you cannot possibly carry +that heavy basket in alone. Then, but not before, you will descry a +certain William standing close by,--who will be Colonel Keith,--and +showing surprise at seeing him there, will ask him to help you with the +basket. He and you will carry the basket into the prison, and you will +stand waiting a little while, during which time he will (with the +connivance of a warder in our pay) visit Angus's cell. Presently +`William' will return to you, but it will be Angus and not Keith. You +are to scold him for having kept you such an unconscionable time, and, +declaring that you will have no more to do with him, to take up the +empty basket and walk off. Our warder will then declare that he cannot +do with all this row,--you must make as much noise as you can,--and push +you both out of the prison door. Angus will follow you, expressing +penitence and begging to be allowed to carry the basket, but you are not +to let him. A few yards from the prison, I shall come running out of a +side-street, seize the basket, give Angus a thump or two with it and bid +him be off, for I am not going to have such good-for-noughts loitering +about and making up to my sister. He will pretend to be cowed, and run +away, and you will then abuse me in no measured terms for having left +you without protector, in the first place, and for having behaved so +badly to your dear Will in the second. When we are out of sight, we may +gradually drop our pretended quarrel; and when we reach Mr Raymond's +house, you will return to Caroline Courtenay, and I shall be Ephraim +Hebblethwaite. There is the programme. Can you carry out your part?-- +and are you willing?" + +My heart stood still a moment, and then came up and throbbed violently +in my throat. + +"Could I? Yes, I think I could. But I want to know something first. +How far I am willing will depend on circumstances. What is going to +become of Colonel Keith in this business?" + +"He takes Angus's place--don't you see?" + +"Yes, but when Angus has got away, how is he to escape?" + +"God knoweth. It is not likely that he can." + +"And do you mean to say that Colonel Keith is to be sacrificed to save +Angus?" + +"The sacrifice is his own. The proposal comes from himself." + +"And you mean to _let_ him?" + +"Not if I could do it myself," was the quiet answer. + +"I don't want you to do it. Is there nobody else?" + +"No one except Keith, Raymond, and myself. Raymond is too tall, and I +am not tall enough. Keith and Angus are just of a height." + +"And if Colonel Keith cannot escape, what will become of him?" + +Silence answered me,--a silence which said far more than words. + +"Ephraim, Colonel Keith is worth fifty of Angus." + +"I have not spent these weeks at his bedside, Cary, without finding that +out." + +"And is the worse to be bought with the better?" + +"It was done once, upon the hill of Calvary. And `This is My +commandment, that ye love one another as I have loved you.'" + +I was silent. I did not like the idea at all. + +"You must talk to Keith about it before we leave the house," said +Ephraim. "But I am afraid it will be of no use. We have all tried in +vain." + +I said no more. + +"Well, Cary,--will you undertake it?" + +"Ephraim," I said, looking up at last, "I cannot bear to think of +sacrificing Colonel Keith. I could do it, I think, for anything but +that. It would be hard work, no doubt, at the best; but I would go +through with it to save Angus. But cannot it be done in some other +way?" + +Ephraim shook his head. + +"We can see no other way at all. There are only three men who could do +it--Colonel Keith, Mr Raymond, and myself; and Keith is far the best +for personal reasons. Beside the matter of height, he has, or at any +rate could easily put on, a slight Scots accent, which we should find +difficult, and might very likely do it wrong. He is acquainted with all +the places and people that Angus is; we are not. And remember, it is +not only the getting Angus out of the place that is of consequence: +whoever takes his place must personate Angus for some hours, till he can +get safely away. [Note 3.] Only Keith can do this with any chance of +success. As to sacrifice, why, soldiers sacrifice themselves every day, +and he is a soldier. I can assure you, it seems to him a natural, +commonplace affair. He is very anxious to do it." + +"He must be fonder of Angus--" I stopped. + +"Than we are?" answered Ephraim, with a smile. "Perhaps he is. But I +think he has other reasons, Cary." + +"What made you think of me?" + +"Well, we must have a girl in the affair, and we were very much puzzled +whom to ask. If Miss Keith had been here, we should certainly have +asked her." + +"Annas? Oh, how could she?" I cried. + +"She has pluck enough," said Ephraim. "Of course, Miss Drummond would +have been the most natural person to play the part, but Keith would not +hear of that, and Raymond doubted if she were a suitable person. With +her, the Scots accent would be in the way, and rouse suspicion; and I am +not sure whether she could manage such a thing in other respects. Then +we thought of Hatty and you; but Hatty, I suppose, is out of the +question at present." + +"Oh yes, quite," said I. + +"She would have been the very one if she had been well and strong. She +has plenty of go and dash in her. But Raymond and Keith both wanted +you." + +"And you did not?" said I, feeling rather mortified that Ephraim should +seem to think more of Hatty than of me. + +"No, I did not, Cary," he said, in a changed voice. "You think I am +paying you a poor compliment. Perhaps, some day, you will know better." + +"Does anyone in this house know of the rescue plot?" + +"Mr Desborough knows that an attempt may be made, but not that you are +in it. Lucette is engaged to keep the coast clear while we get away. +And now, Cary, what say you?" + +"Yes, Ephraim, I will do it, though I almost wish it were anything else. +May God help Colonel Keith!" + +"Amen, with all my heart!" + +We had no opportunity to say more. + +So now I wait for next Tuesday, not knowing what it may bring forth. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It was about a quarter of an hour before the fated moment, when Miss +Theresa Newton sat down by me. + +"Very serious to-night, Miss Caroline!" said she, jestingly. + +I thought I had good cause, considering what was about to happen. But I +turned it off as best I could. + +"Where is our handsome friend this evening?" said she. + +"Have we only one?" replied I. + +Miss Newton laughed that musical laugh of hers. + +"I should hope we are rather happier. I meant Mr Hebblethwaite-- +horrible name!" + +"I saw him a little while ago," said I, wondering if he were then at the +foot of the back-stairs. + +"What has become of the Crosslands? Have you any idea? I have not seen +them here now for--ever so long." + +"Nor have I. I do not know at all," said I, devoutly hoping that I +never should see them again. + +"My sister is perfectly in despair. Her intended never comes to see her +now. I tell her she had better find somebody else. It is too tiresome +to keep on and off with a man in that way. Oh, you don't know anything +about it. Your time has not come yet." + +"When it do," said I, "I will either be on or off, if you please. I +should not like to be on and off, by any means." + +Miss Newton hid her laughing face behind her fan. + +"My dear child, you are so refreshing! Don't change, I beg of you. It +is charming to meet any one like you." + +"I thank you for your good opinion," I replied; and, my Aunt Dorothea +just then coming up, I resigned my seat to her, and dropped the +conversation. + +For a minute or two I wandered about,--asked Hatty if she were tired +(this was her first evening in the drawing-room with company), and when +she said, "Not yet," I inquired after Puck's health from Mrs Newton, +told Miss Emma Page that Grandmamma had been admiring her sister's +dress, and slipped out of the door when I arrived at it. In my room +Lucette was standing with the cloak ready to throw over me. + +"Monsieur Ebate is at the _escalier derobe_," said she. Poor Lucette +could get no nearer Hebblethwaite. "He tell me, this night, +Mademoiselle goes on an errand for the good Lord. May the Lord keep +safe His messenger!" + +"Mr Hebblethwaite goes with me," said I. "He will take all the care of +me he can." + +"I will trust him for that!" said Lucette, with a little nod. "He is +good man, _celui-la_. But, Mademoiselle, `except the Lord keep the +city--' you know." + +"`The watchman waketh but in vain.' Yes, Lucette, I know, in every +sense. But how do you know that Mr Hebblethwaite is a good man?" + +"Ah! I know, I. And I know what makes him stay in London, all same. +Now Mademoiselle is ready, and Caesar is at the door, la-bas." + +Down-stairs I ran, joined Ephraim, who also wore a large cloak over his +evening dress, and we went out of the back-door, which was guarded by +Caesar, whose white teeth and gleaming eyes were all I could see of him +in the dusk. + +"Lucette asked leave to take Caesar into the affair," said Ephraim. +"She promised to answer for him as for herself. Now, Cary, we must step +out: there is no time to lose." + +"As fast as you please," said I. + +In a few minutes, we came to Mr Raymond's house. I never knew before +where he lived. It is in a small house in Endell Street. An elderly +woman opened the door, who evidently expected us, and ushered us at once +into a living-room on the right hand. Here I saw Mr Raymond and a +lady--a lady past her youth, who had, as I could not help seeing, been +extreme beautiful. I thought there was no one else till I heard a voice +beside me: + +"I fear I am almost a stranger, Miss Cary." + +"Mr Keith!" I did not feel him a stranger, but a very old friend +indeed. But how ill he looked! I told him so, and he said he was +wonderfully better,--quite well again,--with that old, sweet smile that +he always had. My heart came up into my throat. + +"Mr Keith, must you go into this danger?" + +"If I fail to go where my Master calls me, how can I look for His +presence and blessing to go with me? They who go with God are they with +whom God goes." + +"Are you quite sure He has called you?" + +"Quite sure." His fine eyes lighted up. + +"Have you thought--" + +"Forgive my interruption. I have thought of everything. Miss Cary, you +heard the vow which I took to God and Flora Drummond--never to lose +sight of Angus, and to keep him true and safe. I have kept it so far as +it lay in me, and I will keep it to the end. Come what may, I will be +true to God and her." + +And looking up into his eyes, I saw--revealed to me as by a flash of +lightning--what was Duncan Keith's most precious thing. + +"Now, Miss Caroline," said Mr Raymond, "will you kindly go up with this +lady,"--I fancied I heard the shortest possible sign of hesitation +before the last two words,--"and she will be so good as to help you to +assume the dress you are to wear." + +I went up-stairs with the beautiful woman, who gave a little laugh as +she shut the door. + +"Poor Mr Raymond!" said she; "I feel so sorry for the man. Nature +meant him to be a Tory, and education has turned him into a Whig. He +has the kindest of hearts, and the most unmanageable of consciences. He +will help us to free a prisoner, but he would not call me anything but +`Mistress' to save his life." + +"And your Ladyship--?" said I, guessing in an instant what she ought to +be called, and that she was the wife of a peer--not a Hanoverian peer. + +"Oh, my Ladyship can put up with it very well," said she, laughing, as +she helped me off with my evening dress. "I wish I may never have +anything worse. The man would not pain me for the world. It is only +his awful Puritan conscience; Methodist, perhaps, Puritan was the word +in my day. When one lives in exile, one almost loses one's native +tongue." + +And I thought I heard a light sigh. Her Ladyship, however, said no +more, except what had reference to our business. When the process was +over, I found myself in a printed linen gown, with a linen hood on my +head, a long white apron made quite plain, and stout clumsy shoes. + +"Now, be as vulgar as you possibly can," said her Ladyship. "Try to +forget all your proprieties, and do everything th' wrong way. You are +Betty Walkden, if you please, and Mr Hebblethwaite is Joel Walkden, and +your brother. You are a washerwoman, and your mistress, Mrs +Richardson, lives in Chelsea. Don't forget your history. Oh! I am +forgetting one thing myself. Colonel Keith, and therefore Lieutenant +Drummond, as they are the same person for this evening, is Will Clowes, +a young gardener at Wandsworth, who is your lover, of whom your brother +Joel does not particularly approve. Now then, keep up your character. +And remember,"--her Ladyship was very grave now--"to call any of them by +his real name may be death to all of you." + +I turned round and faced her. + +"Madam, what will become of Colonel Keith?" + +I thought her Ladyship looked rather keenly at me. + +"`The sword devoureth one as well as another,'" was her reply. "You +know whence that comes, Miss Courtenay." + +"Is that all?" I answered. "If any act of mine lead to his death, how +shall I answer it to his father and mother, and to Annas?" + +"They gave him up to the Cause, my dear, when they sent him forth to +join the Prince. A soldier must always do his duty." + +"Forgive me, Madam. I was not questioning his duty, but my own." + +"Too late for that, Miss Courtenay. My dear, he is ready for death. I +would more of us were!" + +I read in the superb eyes above me that she was not. + +"Forward!" she said, as if giving a word of command. + +Somehow, I felt as if I must go. Her Ladyship was right: it was too +late to draw back. So Ephraim and I set forth on our dangerous errand. + +I cannot undertake to say how we went, or where. It all comes back to +me as if I had walked it in a dream: and I felt as if I were dreaming +all the while. At last, as we went along, carrying the basket, Ephraim +suddenly set it down with, "Hallo! what's that?" I knew then that we +must be close to the prison, and that he was about to leave me. + +"I say, I must see after that. You go on, Bet!" cried Ephraim; and he +was off in a minute--in what direction I could not even see. + +"Gemini!" cried I, catching up the word I had heard from Mrs Cropland's +Betty. "Joel! I say, Joel! You bad fellow, can't you come back? How +am I to lift this great thing, I should like to know?" + +A dark shadow close to the wall moved a little. + +"Come now, can't one of you lads help a poor maid?" said I. "It's a +shame of Joel to leave me in the lurch like this. Come, give us a +hand!" + +I was trembling like an aspen leaf. Suppose the wrong man offered to +help me! What could I do then? + +"Want a hand, my pretty maid?" said a voice which certainly was not +Colonel Keith's. "I'm your man! Give us hold!" + +Oh, what was I to do! This horrid man would carry the basket, and how +could I explain to the warder? How could I know which warder was the +right one? + +"Now then, hold hard, mate!" said a second voice, which I greeted with +delight. "Just you let this here young woman be. How do, Betty? Why, +wherever's Joel? He's no call to let the likes o' you carry things o' +thisn's." + +What had the Colonel done with his Scots accent? I did not hear a trace +of it. + +"Oh, Will Clowes, is that you?" said I, giving a little toss of my head, +which I thought would be in character. "Well, I don't know whether I +shall let you carry it." + +The next minute I felt how wrong I was to say so. + +"Yes, you will," said Colonel Keith, and took the basket out of my +hands. I should never have known him, dressed in corduroy, and with a +rake over his shoulder. He shouted something, and the great prison door +opened slowly, and a warder put his head out. + +"Who goes there?" + +"Washing for Cartwright's ward." + +"Ay, all right. Come within. Cartwright!" shouted the porter. + +We went in, and stood waiting a moment just inside the door, till a +warder appeared, who desired Colonel Keith to "bring that 'ere basket +up, now." + +"You can wait a bit, Betty," said the Colonel, turning to me. "Don't be +afraid, my girl. Nobody 'll touch you, and Will 'll soon be back." + +They say it is unlucky to watch people out of sight. I hope it is not +true. True or untrue, I watched him. Yes, Will Clowes might be back +soon; but would Duncan Keith ever return any more? + +And then a feeling came, as if a tide of fear swept over me,--Was it +right of Flora to ask him to make that promise? I have wondered vaguely +many a time: but in that minute, with all my senses sharpened, I seemed +to see what a blunder it was. Is it ever right to ask people for such +unconditional pledges to a distinct course of action, when we cannot +know what is going to happen? To what agony--nay, even to what +wrong-doing--may we pledge them without knowing it! It seems to me that +influence is a very awful thing, for it reaches so much farther than you +can see. May it not be said sometimes of us all, "They know not what +they do"? And then to think that when we come out of that Valley of the +Shadow into the clear light of the Judgment Bar, all our unknown sins +may burst upon us like a great army, more than we can count or imagine-- +it is terrible! + +O my God, save me from unknown sins! O Christ, be my Help and Advocate +when I come to know them! + +How I lived through the next quarter of an hour I can never say to +anybody. I sat upon a settle near the door of the prison, praying--how +earnestly!--for both of those in danger, but more especially for Colonel +Keith. At last I saw a man coming towards me with the empty basket, in +which he had inserted his head, like a bonnet, so that it rather veiled +his face. I remembered then that I was to "make as much noise as I +could," and quarrel with my supposed lover. + +"Well, you are a proper young man!" said I, standing up. "How long do +you mean to keep me waiting, I should like to know? You think I've +nothing in the world to do, don't you, now? And Missis 'll say nought +to me, will she, for coming home late? Just you give me that basket-- +men be such dolts!" + +"Come, my girl,"--in a deprecating tone--said a voice, which I +recognised as that of Angus. I hoped nobody else would. + +"I'm not your girl, and I'll not come unless I've a mind, neither!" +cried I, loudly, trying to put in practice her Ladyship's advice to be +as vulgar as I could. "I'm not a-going to have fellows dangling at my +heels as keeps me a-waiting--" + +"Come, young woman, you just clear out," said the warder Cartwright. +"My word, lad, but she's a spitfire! You be wise, and think better of +it. Now then, be off, both of you!" + +And he laid his hand on my shoulder, as if to push me through the door, +which I pretended to resent very angrily, and Angus flung down the +basket and began to strip up his sleeves, as if he meant to fight the +warder. + +"Now, we can't do with that kind of thing here!" cried another man, +coming forward, whom I took to be somewhat above the rest. "Be off at +once--you must not offer to fight the King's warders. Turn them out, +Cartwright, and shut the door on them." + +Angus caught up the basket and dashed through the door, and I followed, +making all the noise I could, and scolding everybody. We had only just +got outside the gate when Ephraim came running up, and snatched the +basket from Angus. There was a few minutes' pretended struggle between +them, and then Ephraim chased Angus into a side-street, and came back to +me, whom he began to scold emphatically for encouraging such idle +ne'er-do-wells as that rascal Clowes. I tried to give him as good as he +brought; and so we went on, jangling as we walked, until nearly within +sight of Mr Raymond's door. Then, declaring that I would not speak to +him if he could not behave better, and that I was not going to walk in +his leading-strings, I marched on with my head held very high, and +Ephraim trudged after me, looking as sulky as he knew how. We rapped on +the back-door, and Mr Raymond's servant let us in. In the parlour we +found Mr Raymond and her Ladyship. + +"I am thankful to see you safe back!" cried the former; and his manner +suggested to me the idea that he had not felt at all sure of doing so. +"Is all well accomplished?" + +"Angus Drummond is out, and Keith is in," replied Ephraim. "As to the +rest, we must leave it for time to reveal. I am frightfully tired of +quarrelling; I never did so much in my life before." + +"Has Miss Courtenay done her part well?" asked her Ladyship. + +"Too well, if anything," said Ephraim. "I was sadly afraid of a slip +once. If that fellow had insisted on carrying in the basket, Cary, we +should have had a complete smash of the whole thing." + +"Why, did you see that?" said I. + +"Of course I did," he answered. "I was never many yards from you. I +lay hidden in a doorway, close to. Cary, you make a deplorably good +scold! I never guessed you would do that part of the business so well." + +"I am glad to hear it, for I found it the hardest part," said I. + +Her Ladyship came up and helped me to change my dress. + +"The Cause owes something to you to-night, Miss Courtenay," said she. +"At least, if Colonel Keith can escape." + +"And if not, Madam?" + +"If not, my dear, we shall but have done our duty. Good-night. Will +you accept a little reminder of this evening--and of Lady Inverness?" + +I looked up in astonishment. Was this beautiful woman, with her tinge +of sadness in face and voice, the woman who had so long stood first at +the Court of Montefiascone--the Mistress of the Robes to Queen +Clementina, and as some said, of the heart of King James? + +My Lady Inverness drew from her finger a small ring of chased gold. "It +will fit you, I think, my dear. You are a brave maid, and I like you. +Farewell." + +I am not at all sure that my Aunt Kezia would have allowed me to accept +it. Some, even among the Tories, thought my Lady Inverness a wicked +woman; others reckoned her an injured and a slandered one. I gave her +what Father calls "the benefit of the doubt," thanked her, and accepted +the ring. I do not know whether I did right or wrong. + +To run down-stairs, say good-bye to Mr Raymond,--by the way, would Mr +Raymond have allowed my Lady to enter his house, if he had believed the +tales against her?--and hasten back with Ephraim to Bloomsbury Square, +took but few minutes. Lucette let us in; I think she had been watching. + +"The good Lord has watched over Mademoiselle," said she, as she took my +cloak from me. + +Ephraim had gone back to the drawing-room, and I followed. I glanced at +the French clock on the mantelpiece, where a gold Cupid in a robe of +blue enamel was mowing down an array of hearts with a scythe, and saw +that we had been away a little over an hour. Could that be all? How +strange it seemed! People were chattering, and flirting fans, and +playing cards, as if nothing at all had happened. Miss Newton was +sitting where I had left her, talking to Mr Robert Page. Grandmamma +sat in her chair, just as usual. Nobody seemed to have missed us, +except Hatty, who said with a smile,--"I had lost you, Cary, for the +last half-hour." + +"Yes," said I, "something detained me out of the room." + +I only exchanged one other sentence in the course of the evening with +Ephraim: + +"You will let me know how things go on? I shall be very anxious." + +"Of course. Yes, I will take care of that." + +And then the company broke up, and I helped Hatty to bed, and prayed +from my heart for Colonel Keith and Angus, and did not fall asleep till +I had heard Saint Olave's clock strike two. When I woke, I had been +making jumballs in the drawing-room with somebody who was both my Lady +Inverness and my Aunt Kezia, and who told me that Colonel Keith had been +appointed Governor of the American plantations, and that he would have +to be dressed in corduroy. + +When I arose in the morning, I could--and willingly would--have thought +the whole a dream. But there on my finger, a solid contradiction, was +my Lady Inverness's ring. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +For four days I heard nothing more. On the Friday, my Uncle Charles +told us that rumours were abroad of the escape of a prisoner, and he +hoped it might be Angus. My Aunt Dorothea wanted to hear all the +particulars. I sat and listened, looking as grave as I could. + +"Why, it seems they must have bribed some fellow to carry in a basket of +foul clothes, and then to change clothes with the prisoner, and so let +him get out. There appears to have been a girl in it as well--a girl +and a man. I suppose they were both bribed, very likely. Anyhow, the +prisoner is set free, I only hope it is young Drummond, Cary." + +I said I hoped so too. + +"But, dear me, what will become of the man that went in?" asked my Aunt +Dorothea. + +"Oh, he'll be hanged, sure enough," said my Uncle Charles. "Only some +low fellow, I suppose, that was willing to sell himself." + +"A man does not sell his life in a hurry," said my Aunt Dorothea. + +"My dear," replied my Uncle Charles, "there are men who would sell their +own mothers and children." + +"Oh, I dare say, but not themselves," said she. + +"I suppose somebody cared for him," observed Hatty. + +I found it hard work to keep silence. + +"Only low people like himself," said Grandmamma. "Those creatures will +do anything for money." + +And then, Caesar bringing in a note with Mrs Newton's compliments, the +talk went off to something else. + +On the Saturday evening there was an extra assembly, and I caught +Ephraim as soon as ever I could. + +"Ephraim, they have found it out!" I said, in a whisper. + +"Turn your back on the room," said he, quietly. "Yes, Cary, they have. +There goes Keith's first chance of safety--yet it was a poor one from +the beginning." + +"Can nobody intercede for him?" + +"With whom? The Electress is dead: and they say she was the only one +who had much influence with the Elector." + +"He has daughters," I suggested. + +Ephraim shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that was a very poor +hope. + +"Your friend Mr Raymond, being a Whig," I urged, "might be able to do +something." + +"I will see," said he. "Do you know that Miss Keith is to be in London +this evening?" + +"Annas? No! I have never heard a word about it." + +"I was told so," said Ephraim, looking hard at an engraving which he had +taken up. + +I wondered very much who told him. + +"She might possibly go to the Princess Caroline. People say she is the +best of the family. Bad is the best, I am afraid." [Note 2.] + +"How did Mr Raymond come to know my Lady Inverness?" + +"Oh, you discovered who she was, did you?" + +"She told me herself." + +"Ah!--I cannot say; I am not sure that he knew anything of her before +Tuesday night. She was our superior officer, and gave orders which we +obeyed--that was all." + +"I cannot understand how Mr Raymond could have anything to do with it!" +cried I. + +"Nor I, precisely. I believe there are wheels within wheels. Is he not +a friend of your uncle, Mr Drummond?--an old friend, I mean, when they +were young men." + +"Possibly," said I; "I do not know." + +Somebody came up now, and drew Ephraim away. I had no more private talk +with him. But how could he come to know anything about Annas? And +where is she going to be? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +The next morning Caesar brought me a little three-cornered note. I +guessed at once from whom it came, and eagerly tore it open. + + "We arrived in London last night, my dear Caroline, and are very + desirous of seeing you. Could you meet me at Mr Raymond's house this + afternoon? Mr Hebblethwaite will be so good as to call for you, if + you can come. Love from both to you and Hester. Your affectionate + friend, A. K." + +Come! I should think I would come! I only hoped Annas already knew of +my share in the plot to rescue Angus. If not, what would she say to me? + +I read the note again. "We"--who were "we"?--and "love from both." +Surely Flora must be with her! I kept wishing--and I could not tell +myself why--that Ephraim had less to do with it. I did not like his +seeming to be thus at the beck and call of Annas; and I did not know why +it vexed me. I must be growing selfish. That would never do! Why +should Ephraim not do things for Annas? I was an older friend, it is +true, but that was all. I had no more claim on him than any one else. +I recognised that clearly enough: yet I could not banish the feeling +that I was sorry for it. + +When Ephraim came, I thought he looked exceeding grave. I had told +Grandmamma beforehand that Annas (and I thought Flora also) had returned +to London, and asked me to go and see them, which I begged her leave to +do. Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff over it, and then said that Caesar +might call me a chair. + +"Could I not walk, Grandmamma? It is very near." + +"Walk!" cried Grandmamma, and looked at me much as if I had asked if I +might not lie or steal. "My dear, you must not bring country ways to +Town like that. Walk, indeed!--and you a Courtenay of Powderham! Why, +people would take you for a mantua-maker." + +"But, Grandmamma, please,--if I am a Courtenay, does it signify what +people take me for?" + +"I should like to know, Caroline," said Grandmamma, with severity, +"where you picked up such levelling ideas? Why, they are Whiggery, and +worse. I cannot bear these dreadful mob notions that creep about now o' +days. We shall soon be told that a king may as well sell his crown and +sceptre, because he would be a king without them." + +"He would not, Madam?" I am afraid I spoke mischievously. + +"My dear, of course he would. Once a king, always a king. But the +common people need to have symbols before their eyes. They cannot take +in any but common notions of what they see. A monarch without a crown, +or a judge without robes, or a bishop without lawn sleeves, would never +do for them. Why, they would begin to think they were just men like +themselves! They do think so, a great deal too much." + +And Grandmamma took two pinches in rapid succession, which proceeding +with her always betrays uneasiness of mind. + +"Dear, dear!" she muttered, as she snapped her box again, and dropped it +into her pocket. "It must be that lamentable mixture in your blood. +Whatever a Courtenay could be thinking of, to marry a Dissenter,--a +Puritan minister's daughter, too,--he must have been mad! Yet she was +of good blood on the mother's side." + +I believe Grandmamma knows the pedigree of every creature in this mortal +world, up to the seventh generation. + +"Was that Deborah Hunter, Grandmamma?" + +"What do you know about Deborah Hunter?" returned Grandmamma pulling out +her snuff-box, and taking a third pinch in a hurry, as if the mere +mention of a Dissenter made her feel faint. "Who has been talking to +you about such a creature? The less you hear of her the better." + +"Oh, we always knew her name, Madam," said Hatty, "and that she was a +presbyter's daughter." + +"Well, that is as much as you will know of her with my leave!" said +Grandmamma. + +I do not know what more she might have said, if my Uncle Charles had not +come in: but he brought news that the Prince's army had been victorious +at Falkirk, and the Cause is looking up again. + +"They say the folks at Saint James's are very uneasy," said my Uncle +Charles, "and the Elector's son is to be sent against the Prince with a +larger army. I hear he set forth for Edinburgh last night." + +"What, Fred?" said Grandmamma. + +"Fred? No,--Will," [Note 1.] answered my Uncle Charles. + +"That is the lad who was wounded at Dettingen?" replied she. + +"The same," he made answer. "Oh, they are not without pluck, this +family, foreigners though they be. The old blood is in them, though +there's not much of it." + +"They are a pack of rascals!" said Grandmamma, with another pinch. I +thought the box would soon be empty if she were much more provoked. + +"Nay, Madam, under your pleasure: the lad is great-grandson to the Queen +of Bohemia, and she was without reproach. I would rather have Fred or +Will than Oliver." + +Grandmamma sat extreme upright, and spoke in those measured tones, and +with that nice politeness, which showed that she was excessively put +out. + +"May I trouble you, Charles, if you please, never to name that--person-- +in my hearing again!" + +"Certainly, Madam," said my Uncle Charles, with a naughty look at me +which nearly upset my gravity. If I had dared to laugh, I do not know +what would have happened to me. + +"The age is quite levelling enough, and the scoundrels quite numerous +enough, without your joining them, Mr Charles Carlingford Desborough!" + +Saying which, Grandmamma arose, and as Hatty said afterwards, "swept +from the room"--my Uncle Charles offering her his arm, and assuring her, +with a most disconcerting look over his shoulder at us, that he would do +his very best to mend his manners. + +"Your manners are good enough, Sir," said Grandmamma severely: "'tis +your morals I wish to mend." + +When we thought Grandmamma out of hearing, we did laugh: and my Uncle +Charles, coming down, joined us,--which I am afraid neither he nor we +ought to have done. + +"My mother's infinitely put out," said he. "Her snuff-box is empty: and +she never gave me my full name but twice before, that I remember. When +I am Charles Desborough, she is not pleased; when I am Mr Charles +Desborough, she is gravely annoyed; but when I become Mr Charles +Carlingford Desborough, matters are desperate indeed. I shall have to +go to the cost of a new snuff-box, I expect, before I get forgiven. Yet +I have no doubt Oliver was a pretty decent fellow--putting his politics +on one side." + +"I am afraid, Uncle Charles," said Hatty, "a snuff-box would hardly make +your peace for that." + +"Oh, that's for you maids, not for her. She is not a good forgiver," +said my Uncle Charles, more gravely. "She takes after her mother, my +Lady Sophia. Don't I remember my Lady Sophia!" + +And I should say, from the expression of my Uncle Charles's face, that +his recollections of my Lady Sophia Carlingford were not among the +pleasantest he had. + +Hatty is growing much more like herself, with the pertness left out. +She looks a great deal better, and can smile and laugh now; but her old +sharp, bright ways are gone, and only show now and then, in a little +flash, what she was once. + +The Crosslands have disappeared--nobody knows where. But I do not think +Miss Marianne Newton has broken her heart; indeed, I am not quite sure +that she has one. + +In the afternoon, Ephraim came, and I went in a chair under his escort +to Mr Raymond's house. Hatty declined to come; she seemed to have a +dislike to go out of doors, further than just to take the air in the +square, with Dobson behind her. I should not like that at all. It +would make me feel as if the constable had me in custody. But +Grandmamma insists on it; and Hatty does not seem to feel safe without +somebody. + +In Mr Raymond's parlour, I found Annas and Flora, alone. I do not know +what to say they looked like. Both are white and worn, as if a great +strain had been on their hearts: but Flora is much the more broken-down +of the two. Annas is more queenly than ever, with a strange, far-away +look in the dear grey eyes, that I can hardly bear to see. I ran up to +her first thing. + +"O Annas, tell me!" I cried, amidst my kisses, "tell me, did I do right +or wrong?" + +I felt sure she would need no explanation. + +"You did right, Cary,"--and the dark grey eyes looked full into mine. +"Who are we, to refuse our best to the Master when He calls? But it is +hard, hard to bear it!" + +"Is there _any_ hope of escape?" I asked. + +"There is always hope where God is," said Annas. "But it is not always +hope for earth." + +Flora kissed me, and whispered, "Thank you for Angus!" but then she +broke down, and cried like a child. + +"Have you heard anything of Angus?" I asked. + +"Yes," said Annas, who shed no tears. "He is safe in France, with +friends of the Cause." + +"In France!" cried I. + +"Yes. Did you think he could stay in England? Impossible, except now +and then in disguise, for a stolen visit, perhaps, when some years are +gone." + +"Then if Colonel Keith could escape--" + +"That would be his lot. Of course, unless the Prince were entirely +successful." + +I felt quite dismayed. I had never thought of this. + +"And how long do you stay here?" said I. + +"Only till I can obtain a hearing of the Princess Caroline. That is +arranged by Mr Raymond, through some friends of his. He and Mr +Hebblethwaite have been very, very good to us." + +"I do not know what we should have done without them," said Flora, +wiping her eyes. + +"And is the day fixed for you to see the Princess?" + +"Not quite, but I expect it will be Thursday next. Pray for us, Cary, +for that seems the last hope." + +"And you have heard nothing, I suppose, from the Colonel?" + +"Yes, I have." Annas put her hand into her bosom, and drew forth a +scrap of paper. "You may read it, Cary. It will very likely be the +last." + +My own eyes were dim as I carried the paper to the window. I could have +read it where I was, but I wanted an excuse to turn my back on every +one. + + "My own dear Sister,--If it make you feel happier, do what you will + for my release: but beyond that do nothing. I have ceased even to + wish it. I am so near the gates of pearl, that I do not want to turn + back unless I hear my Master call me. And I think He is calling from + the other side. + + "That does not mean that I love you less: rather, if it be possible, + the more. Tell our father and mother that we shall soon meet again, + and in the meantime they know how safe their boy must be. Say to + Angus, if you have the opportunity, that so far as in him lies, I + charge him to be to God and man all that I hoped to have been. Thank + Miss C. Courtenay and Mr Hebblethwaite for their brave help: they + both played their part well. And tell Flora that I kept my vow, and + that she shall hear the rest when we meet again. + + "God bless you, every one. Farewell, darling Annas. + + "Your loving brother, not till, but beyond, death, Duncan Keith." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cumberland. The former +distinguished himself by little beyond opposition to his father, and an +extremely profligate life. The Jacobite epitaph written on his death, +five years later, will show the light in which he and his relatives were +regarded by that half of the nation: + + "Here lies Fred, + Who was alive and is dead. + Had it been his father, + I had much rather; + Had it been his sister, + No one would have missed her; + Had it been his brother, + Still better than another: + But since 'tis only Fred, + Who was alive and is dead, + Why, there's no more to be said." + +Note 2. Ephraim does the Princess Caroline an injustice. She was a +lily among the thorns. + +Note 3. How far such a personation is consistent with truth and +righteousness may be reasonably questioned. But very few persons would +have thought of raising the question in 1745. + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN. + +STEPPING NORTHWARDS. + + "It were to be wished the flaws were fewer + In the earthen vessels holding treasure + Which lies as safe in a golden ewer: + But the main thing is, does it hold good measure?" + + BROWNING. + +I turned back to the table, and dropping the letter on it, I laid my +head down upon my arms and wept bitterly. He who wrote it had done with +the world and the world's things for ever. Words such as these were not +of earth. They had come from the other side of the world-storm and the +life's fever. And he was nearly there. + +I wondered how much Flora understood. Did she guess anything of that +unwhispered secret which he promised to tell her in the courts of +Heaven? Had she ever given to Duncan Keith what he had given her? + +I rose at last, and returned the letter to Annas. + +"Thank you," I said. "You will be glad some day to have had that +letter." + +"I am glad now," said Annas, quietly, as she restored it to its place. +"And ere long we shall be glad together. The tears help the journey, +not hinder it." + +"How calm you are, Annas!" I said, wondering at her. + +"The time for Miss Keith to be otherwise has not come yet," said Mr +Raymond's voice behind me. "I think, Miss Courtenay, you have not seen +much sorrow." + +"I have not, Sir," said I, turning to him. "I think I have seen--and +felt--more in the last six months than ever before." + +"And I dare say you have grown more in that period," he made answer, +"than in all the years before. You know in what sort of stature I +mean." + +He left us, and went up-stairs, and Ephraim came in soon after. I had +no words with Flora alone, and only a moment with Annas. She came with +us to the door. + +"Does Flora understand?" I whispered, as I kissed Annas for good-bye. + +"I think not, Cary. I hope not. It would be far better." + +"_You_ do?" said I. + +"I knew it long ago," she answered. "It is no new thing." + +We went back to Bloomsbury Square, where I found in the drawing-room a +whole parcel of visitors--Mrs Newton and her daughters, and a lot of +the Pages (there are twelve of them), Sir Anthony Parmenter, and a young +gentleman and gentlewoman who were strangers to me. Grandmamma called +me up at once. + +"Here, child," said she, "come and speak to your cousins. These are my +brother's grandchildren--your second cousins, my dear." And she +introduced them--Mr Roland and Miss Hilary Carlingford. + +What contrasts there are in this world, to be sure! As my Cousin Hilary +sat by me, and asked me if I went often to the play, and if I had seen +Mrs Bellamy, [A noted actress of that day] and whether I loved music, +and all those endless questions that people seem as if they must ask you +when they first make acquaintance with you,--all at once there came up +before me the white, calm face of Annas Keith, and the inner vision of +Colonel Keith in his prison, waiting so patiently and heroically for +death. And oh, how small did the one seem, and how grand the other! +Could there be a doubt which was nearer God? + +A lump came up in my throat, which I had to swallow before I could tell +Hilary that I loved old ballads and such things better than what they +call classical music, much of which seems to me like running up and down +without any aim or tune to it--and she was giving me a tap with her fan, +and saying,-- + +"Oh, fie, Cousin Caroline! Don't tell the world your taste is so bad as +that!" + +Suddenly a sound broke across it all, that sent everything vanishing +away, present and future, good and ill, and carried me off to the old +winter parlour at Brocklebank. + +"Bless me, man! don't you know how to carry a basket?" said a voice, +which I felt as ready and as glad to welcome as if it had been that of +an angel. "Well, you Londoners have not much pith. We Cumberland folks +don't carry our baskets with the tips of our fingers--can't, very often; +they are a good heft." + +"Madam," said Dobson at the door, looking more uncomfortable than I had +ever seen him, "here is a--a person--who--" + +"Woman, man! I'm a woman, and not ashamed of it! Mrs Desborough, +Madam, I hope you are well." + +What Grandmamma was going to do or say, I cannot tell. She sat looking +at her visitor from head to foot, as if she were some kind of curiosity. +I am afraid I spoilt the effect completely, for with a cry of "Aunt +Kezia!" I rushed to her and threw my arms round her neck, and got a +warmer hug than I expected my Aunt Kezia to have given me. Oh dear, +what a comfort it was to see her! She was what nobody else was in +Bloomsbury Square--something to lean on and cling to. And I did cling +to her: and if I went down in the esteem of all the big people round me, +I felt as if I did not care a straw about it, now that I had got my own +dear Aunt Kezia again. + +"Here's one glad to see me, at any rate!" said my Aunt Kezia; and I +fancy her eyes were not quite dry. + +"Here are two, Aunt Kezia," said Hatty, coming up. + +"Mrs Kezia Courtenay, is it not?" said Grandmamma, so extra graciously +that I felt sure she was vexed. "I am extreme glad to see you, Madam. +Have you come from the North to-day? Hester, my dear, you will like to +take your aunt to your chamber. Caroline, you may go also, if you +desire it." + +Thus benignantly dismissed, we carried off my Aunt Kezia as if she had +been a casket of jewels. And as to what the fine folks said behind our +backs, either of her or of us, I do not believe either Hatty or I cared +a bit. I can answer for one of us, anyhow. + +"Now sit down and rest yourself, Aunt Kezia," said I, when we reached +our chamber. "Oh, how delightful it is to have you! Is Father well? +Are we to go home?" + +And then it flashed upon me--to go home, leaving Colonel Keith in +prison, and Annas and Flora in such a position! Must we do that? I +listened somewhat anxiously for my Aunt Kezia's answer. + +"It is pleasant to see you, girls, I can tell you. And it is double +pleasant to have such a hearty welcome to anybody. Your Father and +Sophy are quite well, and everybody else. You are to go home?--ay: but +when, we'll see by-and-by. But now I want my questions answered, if you +please. I shall be glad to know what has come to you both? I sent off +two throddy, rosy-cheeked maids to London, that did a bit of credit to +Cumberland air and country milk, and here are two poor, thin, limp, +white creatures, that look as if they had lost all the sunshine out of +them. What have you been doing to yourselves?--or what has somebody +else been doing to you? Which is it?" + +"Cary must speak for herself," said Hatty, "Hatty must speak for +herself," said I. + +Hatty laughed. + +"It is somebody else, with Hatty," I went on, "and I don't quite know +how it is with me, Aunt Kezia. I have been feeling for some weeks past +as if I had the world on my shoulders." + +"Your shoulders are not strong enough for that, child," replied my Aunt +Kezia. "There is but one shoulder which can carry the world. `The +government shall be upon His shoulder.' You may well look poor if you +have been at that work. Where are Flora and Miss Keith?--and what has +become of their brothers, both?" + +"Annas and Flora have just come back to London," said Hatty. "But Angus +is in dreadful trouble, Aunt; and I do not know where Colonel Keith is-- +with the Prince, I suppose." + +"No, Hatty," said I. "Aunt Kezia, Angus is safe, but an exile in +France; and Colonel Keith lies in Newgate Prison, waiting for death." + +"What do you know about it?" asked Hatty, in an astonished tone. + +My Aunt Kezia looked from one of us to the other. + +"You cannot both be right," said she. "I hope you are mistaken, Cary." + +"I have no chance to be so," I answered; and I heard my voice tremble. +"Colonel Keith bought Angus's freedom with his own life. At least, +there is every reason to fear that result, and none to hope." + +"Then that man who escaped was Angus?" asked Hatty. + +I bowed my head. I felt inclined to burst out crying if I spoke. + +"But who told you? and how come you to be so sure it is true?" + +"I was the girl who carried the basket into the prison." I just managed +to say so much without breaking down, though that tiresome lump in my +throat kept teasing me. + +"You!" cried Hatty, in more tones than the word has letters. "Cary, you +must be dreaming! When could you have done it?" + +"In the evening, on one of Grandmamma's Tuesdays, and I was back before +any one missed me, except you." + +"Who went with you?--who was in the plot? Do tell us, Cary!" + +"Yes, I suppose you may know now," I said, for I could now speak more +calmly. "Ephraim took me to the place where I put on the disguise, and +forward to the prison. Then Colonel Keith and I carried in the basket, +and Angus brought it out. Ephraim came to us after we left the prison, +and brought me back here." + +"Ephraim Hebblethwaite helped _you_ to do _that_?" + +I did not understand Hatty's tone. She was astonished, undoubtedly so, +but she was something else too, and what that was I could not tell. + +My Aunt Kezia listened silently. + +"Why, Cary, you are a heroine! I could not have believed that a timid +little thing like you--" Hatty stopped. + +"There was nobody else," said I. "You were not well enough, you know. +I had to do it; but I can assure you, Hatty, I felt like anything but a +hero." + +"They are the heroes," said my Aunt Kezia, softly, "who feel unlike +heroes, but have to do it, and go and do it therefore. Colonel Keith +and Cary seem to be of that sort. And there is only one other kind of +heroes--those who stand by and see their best beloved do such things, +and, knowing it to be God's will, bid them God-speed with cheerful +countenance, and cry their own hearts out afterwards, when no one sees +them but Himself." + +"That is Annas' sort," said I. + +"Yes, and one other," replied my Aunt Kezia. + +"But Hatty did not know till afterwards," said I. + +"Child, I did not mean Hatty. Do Flora and Miss Keith look as white as +you poor thin things?" + +"Much worse, I think," said I. "Annas keeps up, and does not shed a +tear, and Flora cries her eyes out. But they are both white and sadly +worn." + +"Poor souls!" said my Aunt Kezia. "Maybe they would like to go home +with us. Do you know when they wish to go?" + +"Annas has been promised a hearing of Princess Caroline, to intercede +for her brother," I made answer. "I think she will be ready to go as +soon as that is over. There would be no good in waiting." And my voice +choked a little as I remembered for what our poor Annas would otherwise +wait. + +"Cary Courtenay, do you know you have got ten years on your head in six +months?" + +"I feel as if I were a good deal older," I said, smiling. + +"You are the elder of the two now," said my Aunt Kezia, drily. "Not but +what Hatty has been through the kiln too; but it has softened her, and +hardened you." + +"Then Hatty is gold, and I am only clay," I said, and I could not help +laughing a little, though I have not laughed much lately. + +"There is some porcelain sells for its weight in gold," said my Aunt +Kezia. + +"Thank you for the compliment, Aunt Kezia." + +"Nay, lass, I'm a poor hand at compliments; but I know gold when I see +it--and brass, too. You'll be home in good time for Sophy's wedding." + +"Aunt Kezia, who does Sophy marry?" + +"Mr Liversedge, the Rector." + +"Is not he rather rough?" + +"Rough? Not a bit of it. He is a rough diamond, if he be." + +"I fancied from what Sam said when he came back to Carlisle--" + +"Oh, we had seen nought of him then. He has done more good at +Brocklebank than Mr Digby did all the years he was there. You'll see +fast enough when you get back. 'Tis the nature of the sun to shine." + +"What do you mean by that, Aunt Kezia?" + +"Keep your eyes open--that's what I mean. Girls, your father bade me +please myself about tarrying a bit before I turned homeward. I doubt +I'm not just as welcome to your grandmother as to you; but I think we +shall do best to bide till we see if the others can come with us. Maybe +Ephraim may be ready to go home by then, too. 'Tis a bad thing for a +young man to get into idle habits." + +"O Aunt Kezia, Ephraim is not idle!" I cried. + +"Pray, who asked you to stand up for him, Miss?" replied my Aunt Kezia. +"`A still tongue makes a wise head,' lass. I'll tell you what, I rather +fancy Mrs Desborough thinks me rough above a bit. If I'm to be stroked +alongside of these fine folks here, I shall feel rough, I've no doubt. +That smart, plush fellow, with his silver clocks to his silk stockings, +took up my basket as if he expected it to bite his fingers. We don't +take hold of baskets that road in our parts. I haven't seen a pair of +decent clogs since I passed Derby. They are all slim French finnicking +pattens down here. How many of those fine lords-in-waiting have you in +the house?" + +"Three, and a black boy, Aunt." + +"And how many maids?" + +"I must count. Lucette and Perkins, and the cook-maid, and the kitchen +girl, four; and two chambermaids, six, and a seamstress, seven." + +"What, have you a mantua-maker all to yourselves?" + +"Oh, she does not make gowns; she only does plain sewing." + +"And two cook-maids, and two chambermaids, and two beside! Why, +whatever in all the world can they find to do?" + +"Lucette is Grandmamma's woman, and Perkins is my Aunt Dorothea's," said +I. + +"But what have they got to do? That's what I want to know," said my +Aunt Kezia. + +"Well, Lucette gets up Grandmamma's laces and fine things," said I, "and +quills the nett for her ruffles, and dresses her hair, and alters her +gowns--" + +"What's that for?" said my Aunt Kezia. + +"When a gown has been worn two or three times," said Hatty, "they turn +it upside down, Aunt, and put some fresh trimming on it, so that it +looks like a new one." + +"But what for?" repeated my Aunt Kezia. + +"Why, then, you see, people don't remember that you had it on last +week." + +"I'll be bound I should!" + +"We have very short memories in London," said Hatty, laughing. + +"Seems so! But why should not folks remember? I am fairly dumfoozled +with it all. How any mortal woman can get along with four men and seven +maids to look after, passes me. I find Maria and Bessy and Sam enough, +I can tell you: too many sometimes. Mrs Desborough must be up early +and down late; or does Mrs Charles see to things?" + +I began to laugh. The idea of Grandmamma "seeing to" anything, except +fancy work and whist, was so extreme diverting. + +"Why, Aunt Kezia, nobody ever sees to anything here," said Hatty. + +"And do things get done?" asked my Aunt Kezia with uplifted eyebrows. + +"Sometimes," said Hatty, again laughing. "They don't do much dusting, I +fancy. I could write my name on the dust on the tables, now and then, +and generally on the windows." + +My Aunt Kezia glanced at the window, and set her lips grimly. + +"If I were mistress in this house for a week," said she, "I reckon those +four men and seven maids would scarce send up a round robin begging me +to stop another!" + +"Lucette does her work thoroughly," said I, "and so does Cicely, the +under chambermaid; and Caesar, the black boy, is an honest lad. I am +afraid I cannot say much for the rest. But really, Aunt, it seemed to +me when I came that people hadn't a notion what work was in the South." + +"I guess it'll seem so to me, coming and going too," said my Aunt Kezia, +in the same tone as before. "No wonder. I couldn't work in silk +stockings with silver clocks, and sleeves with lace ruffles, and ever so +many yards of silk bundled up of a heap behind me. I like gowns I can +live in. I've had this on a bit over three times, Hatty." + +"I should think so, Aunt!" said Hatty, laughing something like her old +self. "Why, I remember your making it the winter before last. Did not +I run the seams?" + +"I dare say you did, child. When you see me bedecked in the pomps and +vanities of this wicked world, you may expect to catch larks by the sky +falling. At least, I hope so." + +"Mademoiselle!" said Lucette's voice at the door, "Madame bids me say +the company comes from going, and if Madame and Mesdemoiselles will +descend, she will be well at ease." + +"That's French lingo is it?" said my Aunt Kezia. "Poor lass!" + +So down we went to the drawing-room, where we found Grandmamma, my Aunt +Dorothea, and my Uncle Charles, who came forward and led my Aunt Kezia +to a chair. (Miss Newton told me that ceremony was growing out of date, +and was only practised now by nice old-fashioned people; but Grandmamma +likes it, and I fancy my Uncle Charles will keep it up while she lives.) + +"Madam," said Grandmamma, "I trust Mr Courtenay is well, and that you +had a prosperous journey." + +"He is better than ever he was, I thank you, Madam," answered my Aunt +Kezia. "As for my journey, I did not much enjoy it, but here I am, and +that is well." + +"Your other niece, Miss Drummond, is in Town, as I hear," said +Grandmamma. "Dorothea, my dear, it would doubtless be agreeable to Mrs +Kezia if that young gentlewoman came here. Write a line and ask her to +tarry with us while Mrs Kezia stays." + +"I thank you, Madam," said my Aunt Kezia. + +"If Miss Keith be with her, she may as well be asked too," observed +Grandmamma, after she had refreshed her faculties with a pinch of snuff. + +My Aunt Dorothea sat down and writ the note, and then, bidding me ring +the bell, sent Caesar with it. He returned with a few lines from Flora, +accepting the invitation for herself, but declining it for Annas. I was +less surprised than sorry. Certainly, were I Annas, I should not care +to come back to Bloomsbury Square. + +"Poor white thing!" said my Aunt Kezia, when she saw Flora in the +evening. "Why, you are worse to look at than these girls, and they are +ill enough." + +Flora brings news that Annas is to see the Princess next Thursday, but +she has made up her mind to tarry longer in London, and will not go back +with us. I asked where she was going to be, and Flora said at Mr +Raymond's. + +"What, all alone?" said Hatty. + +"Oh, no!" answered Flora; "Mr Raymond's mother is there." + +I did not know that Mr Raymond had a mother. + +Annas had a letter this morning from Lady Monksburn: the loveliest +letter, says Flora, that ever woman penned. Mr Raymond said, when he +had read it (which she let him do) that it was worthy of a martyr's +mother. + +"Is Mr Raymond coming round?" said I. + +"What, in politics?" replied Flora, with a smile. "I don't quite know, +Cary. I doubt if he will turn as quickly as you did." + +"As I did? What can you mean, Flora?" + +"Did you not know you had become of a very cool politician a very warm +one?" she said. "I remember, when you first went with me to +Abbotscliff, Angus used to tease you about being a Whig: and you once +told me you knew little about such matters, and cared less." + +I looked back at myself, as it were, and I think Flora must be right. I +certainly thought much less of such things six months ago. I suppose +hearing them always talked of has made a change in me. + +There is another thing that I have been thinking about to-night. What +is it in my Aunt Kezia that makes her feel so strong and safe to lean +upon--so different from other people? I should never dream of feeling +in that way to Grandmamma: and even Father,--though it is pleasant to +rely on his strength and kindness, when one wants something done beyond +one's own strength,--yet he is not restful to lean on in the same way +that she is. Is she so safe to hold by, because she holds by God? + +This is Grandmamma's last Tuesday, as Lent begins to-morrow, and I +believe she would as soon steal a diamond necklace as have an assembly +in Lent. I had been walking a great deal, as I have carried my Aunt +Kezia these last few days to see all manner of sights, and I was very +tired; so I crept into a little corner, and there Ephraim found me. + +By the way, it is most diverting to carry my Aunt Kezia to see things. +My Uncle Charles has gone with us sometimes, and Ephraim some other +times: but it is so curious to watch her. She is the sight, to me. In +the first place, she does not care a bit about going to see a thing just +because everybody goes to see it. Then she has very determined ideas of +her own about everything she does see. I believe she quite horrified my +Uncle Charles, one day, when he carried us to see a collection of +beautiful paintings. We stopped before one, which my Uncle Charles told +us was thought a great deal of, and had cost a mint of money. + +"What's it all about?" said my Aunt Kezia. + +"'Tis a picture of the Holy Family," he answered, "by the great painter +Rubens." + +"Now, stop a bit: who's what?" said my Aunt Kezia, and set herself to +study it. "Who is that old man that hasn't shaved himself?" + +"That, Madam, is Saint Joseph." + +"Never heard of him before. Oh, do you mean Joseph the carpenter? I +see. Well, and who is that woman with the child on her knee? Why ever +does not she put him some more clothes on? He'll get his death of +cold." + +"My dear Madam, that is the Blessed Virgin!" + +"I hope it isn't," said my Aunt Kezia, bluntly. "I'll go bail she kept +her linen better washed than that. But what's that queer thing +sprawling all over the sky?" + +"The Angel Gabriel, Madam." + +"I hope he hasn't flown in here and seen this," said my Aunt Kezia. "I +should say, if he have, he didn't feel flattered by his portrait." + +My Aunt Kezia did not seem to care for fine things--smart clothes, +jewels, and splendid coaches, or anything like that. She was interested +in the lions at the Tower, and she liked to see any famous person of +whom my Uncle Charles could tell her; but for Ranelagh she said she did +not care twopence. There were men and women plenty wherever you went, +and as to silks and laces, she could see them any day over a mercer's +counter. Vauxhall was still worse, and Spring Gardens did not please +her any better. + +But when, in going through the Tower, we came to the axe which beheaded +my Lady Jane Grey, she showed no lack of interest in that. And the next +day, when my Uncle Charles said he would show us some of the fine things +in the City, and we were driving in Grandmamma's coach towards Newgate, +my Aunt Kezia wanted to know what the open space was; and my Uncle +Charles told her,--"Smithfield." + +"Smithfield!" cried she. "Pray you, Mr Desborough, bid your coachman +stop. I would liever see this than a Lord Mayor's Show." + +"My dear Madam, there is nothing to see," answered my Uncle Charles, who +seemed rather perplexed. "This is not a market-day." + +"There'll be plenty I can see!" was my Aunt Kezia's reply; and, my Uncle +Charles pulling the check-string, we alighted. My Aunt Kezia stood a +moment, looking round. + +"You see, there is nothing to see," he observed. + +"Nothing to see!" she made answer. "There are the fires to see, and the +martyrs, and the angels around, and the devils, and the men well-nigh as +ill as devils. There is the land to see that they saved, and the Church +that their blood watered, and the greatness of England that they +preserved. Ay, and there is the Day of Judgment, when martyrs and +persecutors will have their reward--and you and I, Mr Desborough, shall +meet with ours. My word, but there is enough to see for them that have +eyes to see it!" + +"Oh!--ah!" said my Uncle Charles. + +My Aunt Kezia said no more, except a few words which I heard her whisper +softly to herself,--"`They shall reign for ever and ever.' `The noble +army of martyrs praise Thee.'" Then, as she turned back to the coach, +she added, "I thank you, Sir. It was worth coming to London to look at +that. It makes one feel as if one got nearer to them." + +And I thought, but did not say, that I should never be nearer to them +than I had been that winter night, when Colonel Keith helped me to carry +the basket into the gates of that grim, black pile beyond. He was there +yet. If I had been a bird, to have flown in and sung to him!--or, +better, a giant, to tear away locks and bars, and let him out! And I +could do _nothing_. + +But here I am running ever so far from Grandmamma's Tuesday, and the +news Ephraim brought. + +Annas has seen the Princess Caroline. She liked her, and thought her +very gentle and good. But she held out no hope at all, and did not seem +to think that anything which she could say would influence her father. +She would lay the matter before him, but she could promise no more. +However, she appointed another day, about a month hence, when Annas may +go to her again, and hear the final answer. So Annas must wait for +that. + +Ephraim and Annas seem to be great friends. Is it not shockingly +selfish of me to wish it otherwise? I do not quite know why I wish it. +But sometimes I wonder--no, I won't wonder. It will be all right, of +course, however it be arranged. Why should I always want people to care +for me, and think of me, and put me first? Cary Courtenay, you are +growing horribly vain and selfish! I wonder at you! + +It is settled now that we go home the week after Easter Day. We, means +my Aunt Kezia, and Flora, and Hatty, and me. I do not know how four +women are to travel without a gentleman, or even a serving-man: but I +suppose we shall find out when the time comes. I said to my Aunt Kezia +that perhaps Grandmamma would lend us Dobson. + +"Him!" cried she. "Dear heart, but I'd a vast deal liever be without +him! He would want all the coach-pockets for his silk stockings, and +would take more waiting on than Prince Charlie himself. I make no +account of your grand gentlemen in plush, that pick up baskets with the +tips of their fingers! (My Aunt Kezia cannot get over that.) Give me a +man, or a woman either, with some brains in his head, and some use in +his hands. These southern folks seem to have forgotten how to use +theirs. I watched that girl Martha dusting the other day, and if I did +not long to snatch the duster out of her hands and whip her with it! +She just drew it lazily across the top of the table,--never troubled +herself about the sides,--and gave it one whisk across the legs, and +then she had done. I'd rather do my work myself, every bit of it, than +have such a pack of idle folks about me--ay, ten times over, I would! +They don't seem to have a bit of gumption. They say lawyers go to +Heaven an inch every Good Friday; but if those lazy creatures get there +or anywhere else in double the time, I wonder! And just look at the way +they dress! A good linsey petticoat and a quilted linen bed-gown was +good enough for a woman that had her work to do, when I was young; but +now, dear me! my ladies must have their gowns, and their muslin aprons +of an afternoon, and knots of ribbon in their hair. I do believe they +will take to wearing white stockings, next thing! and gloves when they +go to church! Eh dear, girls! I tell you what, this world is coming to +something!" + +Later in the evening, Miss Newton came up to me, with her fan held +before her laughing face. + +"My dear Miss Courtenay, what curious things your worthy Aunt does say! +She asked me just now why I came into the world. I told her I did not +know, and the idea had never before occurred to me: and she said, `Well, +then, it is high time it did, and some to spare!' Do all the people in +Cumberland ask you such droll questions?" + +I said I thought not, but my Aunt Kezia did, often enough. + +"Well, she is a real curiosity!" said Miss Newton, and went away +laughing. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Brocklebank Fells, April the 10th, 1746. +At least I begin on the 10th, but when I shall finish is more than I can +tell. Things went on happening so fast after the last page I writ, that +I neither had time to set them down, nor heart for doing it. Prince +William of Hanover (whom the Whigs call Duke of Cumberland) left +Edinburgh with a great army, not long after I writ; but no news has yet +reached us of any hostile meeting betwixt him and the Prince. Mr +Raymond saith Colonel Keith's chances may depend somewhat upon the +results of the battle, which is daily expected. Nevertheless, he adds, +there is no chance, for the Lord orders all things. + +My Aunt Kezia and Mr Raymond have taken wonderfully to one another. +Hatty said to her that she could not think how they got on when they +chanced on politics. + +"Bless you, child, we never do!" said my Aunt Kezia. "We have got +something better to talk about. And why should two brothers quarrel +because one likes red heels to his shoes and the other admires black +ones?" + +"Ah, if that were all, Aunt!" said I. "But how can you leave it there? +It seems to me not a matter for opinion, but a question of right. We +have to take sides; and we may choose the wrong one." + +"I don't see that a woman need take any side unless she likes," quoth my +Aunt Kezia. "I can bake as tasty a pie, and put on as neat a patch, +whether I talk of Prince Charles or the Young Pretender. And patches +and pies are my business: the Prince isn't. I reckon the Lord will +manage to see that every one gets his rights, without Kezia Courtenay +running up to help Him." + +"But somebody has it to do, Aunt." + +"Let them do it, then. I'm glad I'm not somebody." + +"But, Aunt Kezia, don't you want people to have their rights?" + +"Depends on what their rights are, child. Some of us would be very +sadly off if we got them. I should not like my rights, I know." + +"Ah, you mean your deserts, Aunt," said Hatty. "But rights are not just +the same thing, are they?" + +"Let us look it in the face, girls, if you wish," saith my Aunt Kezia. +"I hate seeing folks by side-face. If you want to see anybody, or +understand anything, look right in its face. What are rights? They are +not always deserts,--you are right there, Hatty,--for none of us hath +any rights as regards God. Rights concern ourselves and our fellow-men. +I take it, every man hath a right to what he earns, and to what is +given him,--whether God or man gave it to him,--so long as he that gave +had the right over what he gave. Now, as to this question, it seems to +me all lies in a nut-shell. If King James be truly the son of the old +King (which I cannot doubt), then God gave him the crown of England, of +which no man can possibly have any right to deprive him. Only God can +do that. Then comes the next question, Has God done that? Time must +answer. Without a revelation from Heaven, we cannot find it out any +other way." + +"But until we do find it out, where are we to stand?" + +"Keep to your last orders till you get fresh ones. A servant will make +sad blunders who goes contrary to orders, just because he fancies that +his master may have changed his mind." + +I see that for all practical purposes my Aunt Kezia agrees with Annas. +And indeed what they say sounds but reasonable. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It was the second of April when we left London. It had been arranged +that we should travel by the flying machine [Note. Stage-coaches +originally bore this hyperbolical name.] which runs from London to +Gloucester, setting forth from the Saracen's Head on Snow Hill. The +last evening before we set out, my Aunt Kezia, Hatty, and I, spent at +Mr Raymond's with Annas. His mother is a very pleasant old +silver-haired gentlewoman, with a soft, low voice and gentle manner that +reminded me of Lady Monksburn. + +I felt it very hard work to say farewell to Annas. What might not have +happened before we met again? Ephraim was there for the last hour or +so, and was very attentive to her. I do think--And I am rather afraid +the Laird, her father, will not like it. But Ephraim is good enough for +anybody. And I hope, when he marry Annas, which I think is coming, that +he will not quite give over being my friend. He has been more like our +brother than anybody else. I should not like to lose him. I have +always wished we had a brother. + +"No, not good-bye just yet, Cary," said Ephraim, in answer to my +farewell. "You will see me again in the morning." + +"Oh, are you coming to see us off?" + +He nodded; and we only said good-night. + +Grandmamma was very kind when we took leave of her. She gave each of us +a keepsake--a beautiful garnet necklace to Hatty, and a handsome pearl +pin to me. + +"And, my dear," said she to Hatty, "I do hope you will try to keep as +genteel as you are now. Don't, for mercy's sake, go and get those +blowzed red cheeks again. They are so unbecoming a gentlewoman. And +garnets, though they are the finest things in the world for a pale, +clear complexion, look horrid worn with great red cheeks. Cary, your +manners had rather gone back when you came, from what they used to be; +but you have improved again now. Mind you keep it up. Don't get warm +and enthusiastic over things,--that is your danger, my dear,--especially +things of no consequence, and which don't concern you. A young +gentlewoman should not be a politician; and to be warm over anything +which has to do with religion, as I have many times told you, is +exceeding bad taste. You should leave those matters to public men and +the clergy. It is their business--not yours. My dears," and out came +Grandmamma's snuff-box, "I wish you to understand, once for all, that if +one of you ever joins those insufferable creatures, the Methodists, I +will cut her off with a shilling! I shall wash my hands of her +completely. I would not even call her my grand-daughter again! But I +am sure, my dears, you have too much sense. I shall not insult you by +supposing such a thing. Make my compliments to your father, and tell +him I think you both much improved by your winter in Town. Good-bye, my +dears. Mrs Kezia, I wish you a safe and pleasant journey." + +"I thank you, Madam, and wish you every blessing," said my Aunt Kezia, +with a warm clasp of Grandmamma's hand, which I am sure she would think +sadly countrified. "But might I ask you, Madam, to explain something +which puzzled me above a bit in what you have just said?" + +"Certainly, Mrs Kezia," said Grandmamma, in her most gracious manner. + +"Then, Madam, as I suppose the clergy are going to Heaven (and I am sure +you would be as sorry to think otherwise as I should), if the way to get +there is their business and not yours, where are you going, if you +please?" + +Grandmamma looked at my Aunt Kezia as if she thought that she must have +taken leave of her wits. + +"Madam! I--I do not understand--" + +My Aunt Kezia did not flinch in the least. She stood quietly looking +into Grandmamma's face, with an air of perfect simplicity, and waited +for the answer. + +"Of course, we--we are all going to Heaven," said Grandmamma, in a +hesitating way. "But it is the business of the clergy to see that we +do. Excuse me, Madam; I am not accustomed to--to talk about such +subjects." + +And Grandmamma took two pinches, one after the other. + +"Well, you see, I am," coolly said my Aunt Kezia. "Seems to me, Madam, +that going to Heaven is every bit as much my business as going to +Gloucester; and I have not left that for the clergy to see to, nor do I +see why I should the other. Folks don't always remember what you trust +them with, and sometimes they can't manage the affair. And I take the +liberty to think they'll find that matter rather hard to do, without I +see to it as well, and without the Lord sees to it beside. Farewell, +Madam; I shall be glad to meet you up there, and I do hope you'll make +sure you've got on the right road, for it would be uncommon awkward to +find out at last that it was the wrong one. Good-morrow, and God bless +you!" + +Not a word came in answer, but I just glanced back through the crack of +the door, and saw Grandmamma sitting with the reddest face I ever did +see to her, and two big wrinkles in her forehead, taking pinch after +pinch in the most reckless manner. + +My Aunt Dorothea, who stood in the door, said acidly,--"I think, Madam, +it would have been as well to keep such remarks till you were alone with +my mother. I do not know how it may be in Cumberland, but they are not +thought becoming to a gentlewoman here. Believe me, I am indeed sorry +to be forced to the discourtesy of saying so; but you were the first +offender." + +"Ay," said my Aunt Kezia. "Folks that tell the naked truth generally +meet with more kicks than halfpence. But I would have spoken out of +these girls' hearing, only I got never a chance. And you see I shall +have to give in my account some day, and I want it to be as free from +blots as I can." + +"I suppose you thought you were doing a good work for your own soul!" +said my Aunt Dorothea, sneeringly. + +"Eh, no, poor soul!" was my Aunt Kezia's sorrowful reply. "My soul's +beyond my saving, but Christ has it safe. And knowing that, Madam, +makes one very pitiful to unsaved souls." + +"Upon my word, Madam!" cried my Aunt Dorothea. "You take enough upon +you! `Unsaved souls,' indeed! Well, I am thankful I never had the +presumption to say that my soul was safe. I have a little more humility +than that." + +"It would indeed be presumption in some cases," said my Aunt Kezia, +solemnly. "But, Madam, if you ask a princess whose daughter she is, it +is scarce presuming that she should answer you, `The King's.' What else +can she answer? `We know that we have eternal life.'" + +"An apostle writ that, I suppose," said my Aunt Dorothea, in a hard +tone. + +"They were not apostles he writ to," said my Aunt Kezia. "And he says +he writ on purpose that they might know it." + +"Now, ladies, 'tis high time to set forth," called my Uncle Charles's +voice from the hall; and I was glad to hear it. I and Hatty ran off at +once, but I could not but catch my Aunt Kezia's parting words,-- + +"God bless you, Madam, and I thank you for all your kindness. And when +I next see you, I hope you will know it." + +We drove to Snow Hill in Grandmamma's coach, and took our seats +(bespoken some days back) in the flying machine, where our company was +two countrywomen with baskets, a youth that looked very pale and +cadaverous, and wore his hair uncommon long, a lady in very smart +clothes, and a clergyman in his cassock. My Uncle Charles bade us +farewell very kindly, and wished us a safe journey. Mr Raymond was +there also, and he bade God bless us. Somehow, in all the bustle, I had +not a right chance to take leave of Ephraim. The coach set forth rather +sooner than I expected, while Flora and I were charging Mr Raymond with +messages to Annas; and he had only time to step back with a bow and a +smile. I looked for Ephraim, but could not even see him. I was so +sorry, and I thought of little else until we got to Uxbridge. + +At Uxbridge we got out, and went into the inn to dine at the ordinary, +which is always spread ready for the coming of the flying machine on a +Wednesday. As I sat down beside my Aunt Kezia, a man came and took the +chair on the other side of me. + +"Tired, Cary?" he said, to my amazement. + +"Ephraim!" I cried. "Wherever have you come from?" + +"Did you think I had taken up my abode in London?" said he, looking +diverted. + +"But I thought you went after some business," I said, feeling very much +puzzled that he should be going home just now, and leaving poor Annas in +all her trouble. + +"I did," he answered. "Business gets done some time. It would be a sad +thing if it did not. Will you have some of this rabbit pie?" + +I accepted the pie, for I did not care what I had. + +"Then your business is done?" I said, in some surprise. + +His business could hardly have any connection with Annas, in that case. +It must be real business--something that concerned his father. + +"Yes, Cary; my business was finished last night, so I was just in time +to come with you." And the look of fun came into his eyes again. + +"Oh, I am glad!" said I. "I wondered how my Aunt Kezia would manage all +by herself." + +"Had you three made up your minds to be particularly naughty?" asked he, +laughing. + +"Now, Ephraim!" said I. + +"Sounded like it," he replied. "Well, Cary, are you glad to go home?" + +"Well, yes--I think--I am," answered I. + +"Then certainly I think you are not." + +"Well. I am glad for some reasons." + +"And not for others. Yes, I understand that. And I guess one of the +reasons--you are sorry to leave Miss Keith." + +I wondered if he guessed that because he was sorry. + +"Yes, I am very sorry to leave her in this trouble. Do you think it +likely that Colonel Keith can escape?" + +Ephraim shook his head. + +"Is it possible?" + +"`Possible' is a Divine word, not fit for the lips of men. What God +wills is possible. And it is not often that He lets us see long +beforehand what He means to do." + +"Then you think all lies with God?" I said--I am afraid, in a rather +hopeless tone. + +"Does not everything, at all times, lie with God? That means hope, +Cary, not despair. `Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He.'" + +"Oh dear! that sounds as if--Ephraim, I don't mean to say anything +wicked--as if He did not care." + +"He cares for our sanctification: that is, in the long run, for our +happiness. Would you rather that He cared just to rid you of the pain +of the moment, and not for your eternal happiness?" + +"Oh no! But could I not have both?" + +"No, Cary, I don't suppose you could." + +"But if God can do everything, why can He not do that? Do you never +want to know the answers to such questions? Or do they not trouble you? +They are always coming up with me." + +"Far too often. Satan takes care of that." + +"You think it is wicked to want the answers?" + +"It is rebellion, Cary. The King is the best judge of what concerns His +subjects' welfare." + +I felt in a corner, so I ate my pie and was silent. + +We slept at Reading, and the next day we dined at Wallingford, and slept +at the Angel at Oxford. Next morning, which was Saturday, we were up +before the sun, to see as much as we could of the city before the +machine should set forth. I cannot say that I got a very clear idea of +the place, for when I try to remember it, my head seems a confused +jumble of towers and gateways, colleges and churches, stained windows +and comical gargoyles--at least that is what Ephraim called the funny +faces which stuck out from some of the walls. I don't know where he got +the word. + +This day's stage was the longest. We dined at Lechlade; and it had long +been dark when we rattled into the courtyard of the Bell Inn at +Gloucester, where we were to pass the Sunday. Oh, how tired I was! +almost too tired to sleep. + +On Sunday, we went to church at the Cathedral, where we had a very dull +sermon from a Minor Canon. In the afternoon, as we sat in the host's +parlour, Ephraim said to me,-- + +"Cary, did you ever hear of George Whitefield?" + +"Oh yes, Ephraim!" I cried, and I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, and +my eyes light up. "I heard him preach in Scotland, when I was there +with Flora. Have you heard him?" + +"Yes, many times, and Mr Wesley also." + +I was pleased to hear that. "And what were you going to say about him?" + +"That if you knew his name, it would interest you to hear that he was +born in this inn. His parents kept it." + +"And he chose to be a field-preacher!" cried I. "Why, that was coming +down in the world, was it not?" [Note 1.] + +"It was coming down, in this world," said he. "But there is another +world, Cary, and I fancy it was going up in that. You must remember, +however, that he did not choose to be a field-preacher nor a Dissenter: +he was turned out of the Church." + +"But why should he have been turned out?" + +"I expect, because he would not hold his tongue." + +"But why did anybody want him to hold his tongue?" + +"Well, you see, he let it run to awkward subjects. Ladies and gentlemen +did not like him because he set his face against fashionable diversions, +and told them that they were miserable sinners, and that there was only +one way into Heaven, which they would have to take as well as the poor +in the almshouses. The neighbouring clergy did not like him because he +was better than themselves. And the bishops did not like him because he +said they ought to do their duty better, and look after their dioceses, +instead of setting bad examples to their clergy by hunting and +card-playing and so forth; or, at the best, sitting quiet in their +closets to write learned books, which was not the duty they promised +when they were ordained. But, as was the case with another Preacher, +`the common people heard him gladly.'" + +"And he was really turned out?" + +"Seven years ago." + +"I wonder if it were a wise thing," said I, thinking. + +"Mr Raymond says it was the most unwise thing they could have done. +And he says so of the turning forth under the Act of Uniformity, eighty +years ago. He thinks the men who were the very salt of the Church left +her then: and that now she is a saltless, soulless thing, that will die +unless God's mercy put more salt in her." + +"But suppose it do, and the bishops get them turned out again?" + +"Then, says Raymond, let the bishops look to themselves. There is such +a thing as judicial blindness: and there is such a thing as salt that +has lost its savour, and is trodden under foot of men. If the Church +cast out the children of God, God may cast out the Church of England. +There are precedents for it in the Books of Heaven. And in all those +cases, God let them go on for a while: over and over again they grieved +His Spirit and persecuted His servants; but at last there always came +one time which was the last time, and after that the Spirit withdrew, +and that Church, or that nation, was left to the lot which it had +chosen." + +"Oh, Ephraim, that sounds dreadful." + +"It will be dreadful," he answered, "if we provoke it at the Lord's +hand." + +"One feels as if one would like to save such men," I said. + +"Do you? I feel as if I should like to save such Churches. It is like +a son's feeling who sees his own mother going down to the pit of +destruction, and is utterly powerless to hold out a hand to save her. +She will not be saved. And I wonder, sometimes, whether any much sorer +anguish can be on this side Heaven!" + +I was silent. + +"It makes it all the harder," he said, in a troubled voice, "when the +Father's other sons, whose mother she is not, jeer at the poor falling +creature, and at her own children for their very anguish in seeing it. +I do not think the Father can like them to do that. It is hard enough +for the children without it. And surely He loves her yet, and would +fain save her and bring her home." + +And I felt he spoke in parables. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. At this date, an innkeeper stood higher in the estimation of +society than at present, and a clergyman considerably lower, unless the +latter were a dignitary, or a man whose birth and fortune were regarded +as entitling him to respect apart from his profession. + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN. + +HOW THINGS CAME ROUND. + + "They say, when cities grow too big, + Their smoke may make the skies look dim; + And so may life hide God from us, + But still it cannot alter Him. + And age and sorrow clear the soul, + As night and silence clear the sky, + And hopes steal out like silver stars, + And next day brightens by and by." + + ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO. + +On the Monday morning, we left Gloucester on horseback, with two +baggage-horses beside those we rode. We dined at Worcester, and lay +that night at Bridgenorth. On the Tuesday, we slept at Macclesfield; on +the Wednesday, at Colne; on the Thursday, at Appleby; and on Friday, +about four o'clock in the afternoon, we reached home. + +On the steps, waiting for us, stood Father and Sophy. + +I had not been many minutes in the house before I felt, in some inward, +indescribable way, that things were changed. I wonder what that is by +which we feel things that we cannot know? It was not the house which +was altered. The old things, which I had known from a child, all seemed +to bid me welcome home. It was Father and Sophy in whom the change was. +It was not like Sophy to kiss me so warmly, and call me "darling." And +I was not one bit like Father to stroke my hair, and say so solemnly, +"God bless my lassie!" I have had many a kiss and a loving word from +him, but I never heard him speak of God except when he repeated the +responses in church, or when-- + +I wondered what had come to Father. And how I did wonder when after +supper Sam brought, not a pack of cards, but the big Bible which used to +lie in the hall window with such heaps of dust on it, and he and Maria +and Bessy sat down on the settle at the end of the hall, and Father, in +a voice which trembled a little, read a Psalm, and then we knelt down, +and said the Confession, and the General Thanksgiving, and the Lord's +Prayer. I looked at my Aunt Kezia, and saw that this was nothing new to +her. And then I remembered all at once that she had hinted at something +which we should see when we came home, and had bidden us keep our eyes +open. + +The pack of cards did not come out at all. + +The next morning I was the first to come down. I found Sam setting the +table in the parlour. We exchanged good-morrows, and Sam hoped I was +not very tired with the journey. Then he said, without looking up, as +he went on with his work-- + +"Ye'll ha'e found some changes here, I'm thinking, Miss." + +"I saw one last night, Sam," said I, smiling. + +"There's mair nor ane," he replied. "There's three things i' this warld +that can ne'er lie hidden: ye may try to cover them up, but they'll ay +out, sooner or later. And that's blood, and truth, and the grace o' +God." + +"I am not so sure the truth of things always comes out, Sam," said I. + +"Ye've no been sae lang i' this warld as me, Miss Cary," said Sam. "And +'deed, sometimes 'tis a lang while first. But the grace o' God shows up +quick, mostly. 'Tis its nature to be hard at wark. Ye'll no put barm +into a batch o' flour, and ha'e it lying idle. And the kingdom o' +Heaven is like unto leaven: it maun wark. Ay, who shall let it?" + +"Is Mr Liversedge well liked, Sam?" I asked, when I had thought a +little. + +"He's weel eneuch liked o' them as is weel liking," said Sam, setting +his forks in their places. "The angels like him, I've nae doubt; and +the lost sheep like him: but he does nae gang doun sae weel wi' the +ninety and nine. They'd hae him a bit harder on the sinners, and a bit +safter wi' the saints--specially wi' theirsels, wha are the vara crown +and flower o' a' the saints, and ne'er were sinners--no to speak o', ye +ken, and outside the responses. And he disna gang saft and slippy doun +their throats, as they'd ha'e him, but he is just main hard on 'em. He +tells 'em gin they're saints they suld live like saints, and they'd like +the repute o' being saints without the fash o' living. He did himsel a +main deal o' harm wi' sic-like by a discourse some time gane--ye'll +judge what like it was when I tell ye the Scripture it was on: `He that +saith he abideth in Him ought himself also so to walk even as He +walked.' And there's a gey lot of folks i' this warld 'd like vara weel +to abide, but they're a hantle too lazy to walk. And the minister, he +comes and stirs 'em up wi' the staff o' the Word, and bids 'em get up +and gang their ways, and no keep sat down o' the promises, divertin' +theirsels wi' watching ither folk trip. He's vara legal, Miss Cary, is +the minister; he reckons folk suld be washed all o'er, and no just dip +their tongues in the fountain, and keep their hearts out. He disna make +much count o' giving the Lord your tongue, and ay hauding the De'il by +the hand ahint your back. And the o'er gude folks disna like that. +They'd liever keep friendly wi' baith." + +"Then you think the promises were not made to be sat on, Sam?" said I, +feeling much diverted with Sam's quaint way of putting things. + +Sam settled the cream-jug and sugar-bowl before he answered. + +"I'll tell ye how it is, Miss. The promises was made to be lain on by +weary, heavy-laden sinners that come for rest, and want to lay down both +theirsels and their burden o' sins on the Lord's heart o' love: but they +were ne'er made for auld Jeshurun to sit on and wax fat, and kick the +puir burdened creatures as they come toiling up the hill. Last time I +was in Carlisle, I went to see a kinsman o' mine there as has set up i' +the cabinet-making trade, and he showed me a balk o' yon bonnie new wood +as they ha'e getten o'er o' late--the auld Vicar used to ha'e his +dining-table on't; it comes frae some outlandish pairts, and they call +it a queer name; I canna just mind it the noo--I reckon I'm getting too +auld to tak' in new notions." + +"Mahogany?" + +"Ay, maybe that's it: I ken it minded me o' mud and muggins. Atweel, my +cousin tauld me they'd a rare call for siccan wood, and being vara +costly, they'd hit o' late in the trade on a new way o' making +furniture, as did nae come to sae mickle--they ca' it veneer." + +"Oh yes, I know," said I. + +"Ay, ye'll hae seen it i' London toun, I daur say? all that's bad's safe +to gang there." I believe Sam thinks all Londoners a pack of thieves. +"Atweel, Miss Cary, there's a gran' sicht o' veneered Christians i' this +country. They look as spic-span, and as glossy, and just the richt +shade o' colour, and bonnily grained, and a' that--till ye get ahint +'em, and then ye see that, saving a thin bit o' facing, they're just +common deal, like ither folk. Ay, and it's maistly the warst bits o' +the deal as is used up ahint the veneer. It is, sae! Ye see, 'tis no +meant to last, but only to sell. And there's a monie folks 'll gi'e the +best price for sic-like, and fancy they ha'e getten the true thing. But +I'm thinkin' the King 'll no gi'e the price. His eyes are as a flame o' +fire, and they'll see richt through siccan rubbish, and burn it up." + +"And Mr Liversedge, I suppose, is the real mahogany?" + +"He is sae: and he's a gey awkward way of seeing ahint thae bits o' +veneered stuff, and finding out they're no worth the money. And they +dinna like him onie better for 't." + +"But I hope he does not make a mistake the other way, Sam, and take the +real thing for the veneer?" + +"You trust him for that. He was no born yestre'en. There's a hantle o' +folk makes that blunder, though." + +Away went Sam for the kettle. When he brought it back, he said,--"Miss +Cary, ye'll mind Annie Crosthwaite, as lives wi' auld Mally?" + +Ah, did I not remember Annie Crosthwaite?--poor, fragile, pretty spring +flower, that some cruel hand plucked and threw away, and men trod on the +bemired blossom as it lay in the mire, and women drew their skirts aside +to keep from touching the torn, soiled petals? "Yes, Sam," I said, in a +low voice. + +"Ay, the minister brought yon puir lassie a message frae the gude +Lord--`Yet return again to Me'--and she just took it as heartily as it +was gi'en, and went and fand rest--puir, straying, lost sheep!--but when +she came to the table o' the Lord, the ninety and nine wad ha'e nane o' +her--she was gude eneuch for Him in the white robe o' His richteousness, +but she was no near gude eneuch for them, sin she had lost her ain--and +not ane soul i' a' the parish wad kneel down aside o' her. Miss Cary, I +ne'er saw the minister's e'en flash out sparks o' fire as they did when +he heard that! And what, think ye, said he?" + +"I should like to hear, Sam." + +"`Vara gude,' says he. `I beg,' he says, `that none o' ye all will come +to the Table to-morrow. Annie Crosthwaite and I will gang thither our +lane: but there'll be three,' says he, `for the blessed Lord Himsel' +will come and eat wi' us, and we wi' Him, for He receiveth sinners, and +eateth with them.' And he did it, for a' they tald him the Bishop wad +be doun on him. `Let him,' says he, `and he shall hear the haill +story': and not ane o' them a' wad he let come that morn. They were no +worthy, he said." + +"And did the Bishop hear of it?" + +"Ay, did he, and sent doun a big chiel, like an auld eagle, wi' a' his +feathers ruffled the wrang way. But the minister, he stood his ground: +`There were three, Mr Archdeacon,' says he, as quiet as a mill-tarn, +`and the Lord Himsel' made the third.' `And how am I to ken that?' says +the big chiel, ruffling up his feathers belike. `Will ye be sae gude as +to ask Him?' says the minister. I dinna ken what the big chiel made o' +the tale to the Bishop, but we heard nae mair on't. Maybe he did ask +Him, and gat the auld answer,--`Touch not Mine anointed, and do My +prophet no harm.'" + +"Still, rules ought to be kept, Sam." + +"Rules ought to be kept in ordinar'. But this was bye-ordinar', ye see. +If a big lad has been tauld no to gang frae the parlour till his +faither comes back, and he sees his little brither drooning in the pond +just afore the window, I reckon his faither 'll no be mickle angered if +he jumps out of the window and saves him. Any way, I wad nae like to +ha'e what he'd get, gin he said,--`Faither, ye bade me tarry in this +chalmer, and sae I could nae do a hand's turn for Willie.' Rules are +man's, Miss Cary, but truth and souls belang to God." + +My Aunt Kezia and Sophy had come in while Sam was talking, and Father +and Hatty followed now, so we sat down to breakfast. + +"Sam has told you one story, girls," said my Aunt Kezia, "and I will +tell you another. You will find the singers changed when you go to +church. Dan Oldfield and Susan Nixon are gone." + +"Dan and Susan!" cried Hatty. "The two best voices in the gallery!" + +"Well, you know, under old Mr Digby, there always used to be an anthem +before the service began, in which Dan and Susan did their best to show +off. The second week that Mr Liversedge was here, he stopped the +anthem. Up started the singers, and told him they would not stand it. +It wasn't worth their while coming just for the psalms. Mr Liversedge +heard them out quietly, and then said,--`Do you mean what you have just +said?' Yes, to be sure they meant it. `Then consider yourselves +dismissed from the gallery without more words,' says he. `You are not +worthy to sing the praises of Him before whom multitudes of angels veil +their faces. Not worth your while to praise God!--but worth your while +to show man what fine voices He gave you whom you think scorn to thank +for it!' And he turned them off there and then." + +The next time I was alone with Sophy, she said to me, with tears in her +eyes,--"Cary, I don't want you to reckon me worse than I am. That is +bad enough, in all conscience. I would have knelt down with Annie +Crosthwaite, and so, I am sure, would my Aunt Kezia; but it was while +she was up in London with you, and Father was so poorly with the gout, I +could not leave him. You see there was nobody to take my place, with +all of you away. Please don't fancy I was one of those that refused, +for indeed it was not so." + +"I fancy you are a dear, good Sophy," said I, kissing her; "and I +suppose, if Mr Liversedge asked you to shake hands with a chimney-sweep +just come down the chimney, you would be delighted to do it." + +"Well, perhaps I might," said Sophy, laughing. "But that, Cary, I +should have done, not for him, but for our Master." + +I found that I liked Mr Liversedge very much, as one would wish to like +a brother-in-law that was to be. His whole heart seems to be in his +Lord's work: and if, perhaps, he is a little sharp and abrupt at times, +I think it is simply because he sees everything quickly and distinctly, +and speaks as he sees. I was afraid he would have something of the pope +about him, but I find he is not like that at all. He lets you alone for +all mere differences of opinion, though he will talk them over with you +readily if he sees that you wish it. But let those keen, black eyes +perceive something which he thinks sin, and down he comes on you in the +very manner of the old prophets. Yet show him that he has made a +mistake, and that your action was justified, and he begs your +forgiveness in a moment. And I never saw a man who seemed more fitted +to deal with broken-hearted sinners. To them he is tenderness and +comfort itself. + +"He just takes pattern frae his Maister; that's whaur it is," said old +Elspie. "Mind ye, He was unco gentle wi' the puir despised publicans, +and vara tender to the wife that had been a sinner. It was the +Pharisees He was hard on. And that's just what the minister is. Miss +Cary, he's just the best blessing the Lord ever sent till Brocklebank!" + +"I hardly thought, Elspie," said I, a little mischievously, "to hear you +speak so well of a Prelatist clergyman." + +"Hoot awa', we a' ha'e our bees in our bonnets, Miss Cary," said the old +woman, a trifle testily. "The minister's no pairfect, I daur say. But +he's as gran' at praying as John Knox himself and he gars ye feel the +loue and loueliness o' Christ like Maister Rutherford did. And sae lang +'s he'll do that, I'm no like to quarrel wi' him, if he do ha'e a fancy +for lawn sleeves and siccan rubbish, I wish him better sense, that's a'. +Maybe he'll ha'e it ane o' thae days." + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +I cannot understand Hatty as she is now. For a while after that affair +with the Crosslands she was just like a drooping, broken-down flower; +all her pertness, and even her brightness, completely gone. Now that is +changed, and she has become, not pert again, but hard--hard and bitter. +Nobody can do anything to suit her, and she says things now and then +which make me jump. Things, I mean, as if she believed nothing and +cared for nobody. When Hatty speaks in that way, I often see my Aunt +Kezia looking at her with a strange light in her eyes, which seems to be +half pain and half hopefulness. Mr Liversedge, I fancy, is studying +her; and I am not sure that he knows what to make of her. + +Yesterday evening, Fanny and Ambrose came in and sat a while. Fanny is +ever so much improved. She has brightened up, and lost much of that +languid, limp, fanciful way she used to have; and, instead of writing +odes to the stars, she seems to take an interest in her poultry-yard and +dairy. My Aunt Kezia says Fanny wanted an object in life, and I suppose +she has it now. + +When they had been there about an hour, Mr Liversedge came in. He does +not visit Sophy often; I fancy he is too busy; but Tuesday evening is +usually his leisure time, so far as he can be said to have one, and he +generally spends it here when he can. He and Ambrose presently fell +into discourse upon the parish, and somehow they got to talking of what +a clergyman's duties were. Ambrose thought if he baptised and married +and buried people, and administered the sacrament four times a year, and +preached every month or so, and went to see sick people when they sent +for him, he had done all that could be required, and might quite +reasonably spend the rest of his time in hunting either foxes or Latin +and Greek, according as his liking led him. + +"You think Christ spent His life so?" asked Mr Liversedge, in that very +quiet tone in which he says his sharpest things, and which reminds me so +often of Colonel Keith. + +Ambrose looked as if he did not know what to say; and before he had +found out, Mr Liversedge went on,-- + +"Because, you see, He left me an example, that I should follow His +steps." + +"Mr Liversedge, I thought you were orthodox." + +"I certainly should have thought so, as long as I quoted Scripture," +said the Vicar. + +"But, you know, nobody does such a thing," said Ambrose. + +"Then is it not high time somebody should?" + +"Mr Liversedge, you will never get promotion, if that be the way you +are going on." + +"In which world?" + +"`Which world'! There is only one." + +"I thought there were two." + +Ambrose fidgetted uneasily on his chair. + +"I tell you what, my good Sir, you are on the way to preach your church +empty. The pews have no souls to be saved, I believe,"--and Ambrose +chuckled over his little joke. + +"What of the souls of the absent congregation?" asked Mr Liversedge. + +"Oh, they'll have to get saved elsewhere," answered Ambrose. + +"Then, if they do get saved, what reason shall I have to regret their +absence? But suppose they do not, Mr Catterall,--is that my loss or +theirs?" + +"Why couldn't you keep them?" said Ambrose. + +"At what cost?" was the Vicar's answer. + +"A little more music and rather less thunder," said Ambrose, laughing. +"Give us back the anthem--you have no idea how many have taken seats at +All Saints' because of that. And do you know your discarded singers are +there?" + +"All Saints' is heartily welcome to everybody that has gone there," +replied Mr Liversedge. "If I drive them away by preaching error, I +shall answer to God for their souls. But if men choose to go because +they find truth unpalatable, I have no responsibility for them. The +Lord has not given me those souls; that is plain. If He have given them +to another sower of seed, by all means let them go to him as fast as +they can." + +"Mr Liversedge, I do believe,"--Ambrose drew his chair back an inch--"I +do almost think--you must be--a--a Calvinist." + +"It is not catching, I assure you, Mr Catterall." + +"But are you?" + +"That depends on what you mean. I certainly do not go blindly over +hedge and ditch after the opinions of John Calvin. I am not sure that +any one does." + +"No, but--you believe that people are--a--are elect or non-elect; and if +they be elect, they will be saved, however they live, and if they be +not, they must needs be lost, however good they are. Excuse my speaking +so freely." + +"I am very much obliged to you for it. No, Mr Catterall, I do not +believe anything of the sort. If that be what you mean by Calvinism, I +abhor it as heartily as you do." + +"Why, I thought all Calvinists believed that!" + +"I answer most emphatically, No. I believe that men are elect, but that +they are elected `unto sanctification': and a man who has not the +sanctification shows plainly--unless he repent and amend--that he is not +one of the elect." + +"Now I know a man who says, rolling the whites of his eyes and clasping +his palms together as if he were always saying his prayers, like the +figures on that old fellow's tomb in the chancel--he says he was elected +to salvation from all eternity, and cannot possibly be lost: and he is +the biggest swearer and drinker in the parish. What say you to that? +Am I to believe him?" + +"Can you manage it?" + +"I can't: that is exactly the thing." + +"Don't, then. I could not." + +"But now, do you believe, Mr Liversedge,--I have picked up the words +from this fellow--that God elected men because He foreknew them, or that +He foreknew because He had elected them?" + +Ambrose gave a little wink at Fanny and me, sitting partly behind him, +as if he thought that he had driven the Vicar completely into a corner. + +"When the Angel Gabriel is sent to tell me, Mr Catterall, I shall be +most happy to let you know. Until then, you must excuse my deciding a +question on which I am entirely ignorant." + +Ambrose looked rather blank. + +"Well, then, Mr Liversedge, as to free-will. Do you think that every +man can be saved, if he likes, or not?" + +"Let Christ answer you--not me. `No man can come to Me, except the +Father which hath sent Me draw him.'" + +"Ah! then man has no responsibility?" And Ambrose gave another wink at +us. + +"Let Christ answer you again. `Ye will not come unto Me, that ye might +have life.' If they had come, you see, they might have had it." + +"But how do you reconcile the two?" said Ambrose, knitting his brows. + +"When the Lord commands me to reconcile them, He will show me how. But +I do not expect Him to do either, in this world. To what extent our +knowledge on such subjects may be enlarged in Heaven, I cannot venture +to say." + +"But surely you must reconcile them?" + +"Pardon me. I must act on them." + +"Can you act on principles you cannot reconcile?" + +"Certainly--if you can put full trust in their proposer. Every child +does it, every day. You will be a long while in the dark, Mr +Catterall, if you must know why a candle burns before you light it. +Better be content to have the light, and work by it." + +"There are more sorts of light than one," said my Aunt Kezia. + +"That is the best light by which you see clearest," was the Vicar's +answer. + +"What have you got to see?" asked Ambrose. + +"Your sins and your Saviour," was the reply. "And till you have looked +well at both those, Mr Catterall, and are sure that you have laid the +sins upon the Sacrifice, it is as well not to look much at anything +else." + +I think Ambrose found that he was in the corner this time, and just the +kind of corner that he did not care to get in. At any rate, he said no +more. + +Sophy's wedding, which took place this evening, was the quietest I ever +saw. She let Mr Liversedge say how everything should be, and he seemed +to like it as plain and simple as possible. No bridesmaids, no favours, +no dancing, no throwing the stocking, no fuss of any sort! I asked him +if he had any objection to a cake. + +"None at all," said he, "so long as you don't want me to eat it. And +pray don't let us have any sugary Cupids on the top, nor any rubbish of +that sort." + +So the cake was quite plain, but I took care it should be particularly +good, and Hatty made a wreath of spring flowers to put round it. + +The house feels so quiet and empty now, when all is over, and Sophy +gone. Of course she is not really gone, because the Vicarage is only +across a couple of fields, and ten minutes will take us there at any +time. But she is not one of us any longer, and that always feels sad. + +I do feel, somehow, very sorrowful to-night--more, I think, than I have +any reason. I cannot tell why sometimes a sort of tired, sad feeling +comes over one, when there seems to be no cause for it. I feel as if I +had not something I wanted: and yet, if anybody asked me what I wanted, +I am not sure that I could tell. Or rather, I am afraid I could tell, +but I don't want to say so. There is something gone out of my life +which I wanted more of, and since we came home I have had none of it, or +next to none. No, little book, I am not going to tell you what it is. +Only there is a reason for my feeling sad, and I must keep it to myself, +and never let anybody know it. I suppose other women have had to do the +same thing many a time. And some of them, perhaps, grow hard and cold, +and say bitter things, and people dislike and avoid them, not knowing +that if they lifted up the curtain of their hearts they would see a +grave there, in which all their hopes were buried long ago. Well, God +knows best, and will do His best for us all. How can I wish for +anything more? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + 22nd. +When we went up to bed last night, to my surprise Hatty came to me, and +put her arms round me. + +"There are only us two left now, Cary," she said. "And I know I have +been very bitter and unloving of late. But I mean to try and do better, +dear. Will you love me as much as you can, and help me? I have been +very unhappy." + +"I was afraid so, and I was very sorry for you," I answered, kissing +her. "Must I not ask anything, Hatty?" + +"You can ask what you like," she replied. "I think, Cary, that Christ +was knocking at my door, and I did not want to open it; and I could not +be happy while I knew that I was keeping Him outside. And at last--it +was last night, in the sermon--He spoke to me, as it were, through that +closed door; and I could not bear it any longer--I had to rise and open +it, and let Him in. And before that, with Him, I kept everybody out; +and now I feel as if, with Him, I wanted to take everybody in." + +Dear Hatty! She seems so changed, and so happy, and I am so thankful. +But my prospect looks very dark. It ought not to do so, for I let Him +in before Hatty did; and I suppose some day it will be clearer, and I +shall have nobody but Him, and shall be satisfied with it. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + 25th. +You thought you knew a great deal of what was going to happen, did you +not, Cary Courtenay? Such a wise girl you were! And how little you did +know! + +This evening, Esther Langridge came in, and stayed to supper. She said +Ephraim had gone to the Parsonage on business, and had promised to call +for her on his way home. He came rather later than Esther expected. +(We have only seen him twice since we returned from London, except just +meeting at church and so forth: he seemed to be always busy.) He said +he had had to see Mr Liversedge, and had been detained later than he +thought. He sat and talked to all of us for a while, but I thought his +mind seemed somewhere else. I guessed where, and thought I found myself +right whet after a time, when Father had come in, and Ambrose with him, +and they were all talking over the fire, Ephraim left them, and coming +across to my corner, asked me first thing if I had heard anything from +Annas. + +I have not had a line from her, nor heard anything of her, and he looked +disappointed when I said so. He was silent for a minute, and then he +said,-- + +"Cary, what do you think I have been making up my mind to do?" + +"I do not know, Ephraim," said I. I did not see how that could have to +do with Annas, for I believed he had made up his mind on that subject +long ago. + +"Would you be very much surprised if I told you that I mean to take holy +orders?" + +"Ephraim!" I was very, very much surprised. How would Annas like it? + +"Yes, I thought you would be," said he. "It is no new idea to me. But +I had to get my father's consent, and smooth away two or three +difficulties, before I thought it well to mention it to any one but the +Vicar. He will give me a title. I am to be ordained, Cary, next +Trinity Sunday." + +"Why, that is almost here!" cried I. + +"Yes, it is almost here," he replied, with that far-away look in his +eyes which I had seen now and then. + +Then Annas had been satisfied, for of course she was one of the +difficulties which had to be smoothed away. + +"I shall hope to see more of my friends now," he went on, with a smile. +"I know I have seemed rather a hermit of late, while this matter has +been trembling in the balance. I hope the old friend will not be +further off because he is the curate. I should not like that." + +"I do not think you need fear," said I, trying to speak lightly. But +how far my heart went down! The future master of the Fells Farm was a +fixture at Brocklebank: but the future parson of some parish might be +carried a hundred miles away from us. A few months, and we might see +him no more. Just then, Father set his foot on one of the great logs, +and it blazed and crackled, sending a shower of sparkles up the chimney, +and a ruddy glow all over the room. But my fire was dying out, and the +sparkles were gone already. + +Perhaps it was as well that just at that moment a rather startling +diversion occurred, by the entrance of Sam with a letter, which he gave +to Flora. + +"Here's ill tidings, Sir!" said Sam to Father. "Miss Flora's letter was +brought by ane horseman, that's ridden fast and far; the puir beastie's +a' o'er foam, and himsel's just worn-out. He brings news o' a gran' +battle betwixt the Prince and yon loon they ca' Cumberland,--ma certie, +but Cumberland's no mickle beholden to 'em!--and the Prince's army's +just smashed to bits, and himsel' a puir fugitive in the Highlands. Ill +luck tak' 'em!--though that's no just becoming to a Christian man, but +there's times as a chiel disna stop to measure his words and cut 'em off +even wi' scissors. 'Twas at a place they ca' Culloden, this last week +gane: and they say there's na mair chance for the Prince the now than +for last year's Christmas to come again." + +Father, of course, was extreme troubled by this news, and went forth +into the hall to speak with the horseman, whom Sam had served with a +good supper. Ambrose followed, and so did my Aunt Kezia, for she said +men knew nought about airing beds, and it was as like as not Bessy would +take the blankets from the wrong chest if she were not after her. Hatty +was not in the room, and Flora had carried off her letter, which was +from my Uncle Drummond. So Ephraim and I were left alone, for, somewhat +to my surprise, he made no motion to follow the rest. + +"Cary," he said, in a low tone, as he took the next chair, "I have had +news, also." + +It was bad news--in a moment I knew that. His tone said so. I looked +up fearfully. I felt, before I heard, the terrible words that were +coming. + +"Duncan Keith rests with God!" + +Oh, it was no wonder if I let my work drop, and hid my face in my hands, +and wept as if my heart were breaking. Not for Colonel Keith. He +should never see evil any more. For Annas, and for Flora, and for the +stricken friends at Monksburn, and for my Uncle Drummond, who loved him +like another son,--and--yes, let me confess it, for Cary Courtenay, who +had just then so much to mourn over, and must not mourn for it except +with the outside pretence of something else. + +"Did you care so much for him, Cary?" + +What meant that intense pain in Ephraim's voice? Did he fancy--And what +did it matter to him, if he did? I tried to wipe away my tears and +speak. + +"Did you care so little?" I said, as well as I could utter. "Think of +Annas, and his parents, and--And, Ephraim, we led him to his death--you +and I!" + +"Nay, not so," he answered. "You must not look at it in that light, +Cary. We did but our duty. It is never well to measure duties by +consequences. Yes, of course I think of his parents and sister, poor +souls! It will be hard for them to bear. Yet I almost think I would +change with them rather than with Angus, when he comes to know. Cary, +somebody must write to Miss Keith: and it ought to be either Miss +Drummond or you." + +I felt puzzled. Would he not break it best to her himself? If all were +settled betwixt them, and it looked as if it were, was he not the proper +person to write? + +"You have not written to her?" I said. + +"Why, no," he answered. "I scarce like to intrude myself on her. She +has not seen much of me, you know. Besides, I think a woman would know +far better how to break such news. Men are apt to touch a wound +roughly, even when they wish to act as gently as possible. No, Cary--I +am unwilling to place such a burden on you, but I think it must be one +of you." + +Could he speak of Annas thus, if--I felt bewildered. + +"Unless," he said, thoughtfully, looking out of the window, where the +moon was riding like a queen through the somewhat troubled sky, "unless +you think--for you, as a girl, can judge better than I--that Raymond +would be the best breaker. Perhaps you do not know that Raymond is not +at home? My Lady Inverness writ the news to him, and said she had not +spoken either to Mrs Raymond or Miss Keith. She plainly shrank from +doing it. Perhaps he would help her to bear it best." + +"How should he be the best?" I said. "Mrs Raymond might--" + +"Why, Cary, is it possible you do not know that Raymond and Miss Keith +are troth-plight?" + +"Troth-plight! Mr Raymond! Annas!" + +I started up in my astonishment. Here was a turning upside down of all +my notions! + +"So that is news to you?" said Ephraim, evidently surprised himself. +"Why, I thought you had known it long ago. Of course I must have +puzzled you! I see, now." + +"I never heard a word about it," I said, feeling as though I must be +dreaming, and should awake by-and-by. "I always thought--" + +"You always thought what?" + +"I thought you cared for Annas," I forced my lips to say. + +"You thought I cared for Miss Keith?" Ephraim's tone was a stronger +negative than any words could have been. "Yes, I cared for her as your +friend, and as a woman in trouble, and a woman of fine character: but if +you fancied I wished to make her my wife, you were never more mistaken. +No, Cary; I fixed on somebody else for that, a long while ago--before I +ever saw Miss Keith. May I tell you her name?" + +Then we were right at first, and it was Fanny. I said, "Yes," as well +as I could. + +"Cary, I never loved, and never shall love, any one but you." + +I cannot tell you, little book, either what I said, or exactly what +happened after that. I only know that the moaning wind outside chanted +a triumphal march, and the dying embers on my hearthstone sprang up into +a brilliant illumination, and I did not care a straw for all the battles +that ever were fought, and envied neither Annas Keith nor anybody else. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +"Well, Hatty! I did not think you were going to be the old maid of the +family!" said my Aunt Kezia. + +"I did not, either, once," was Hatty's answer, in a low tone, but not a +sad one. "Perhaps I was the best one for it, Aunt. At any rate, you +and Father will always have one girl to care for you." + +We did not see Flora till the next morning. I knew that my Uncle +Drummond's letter must be that in which he answered the news of Angus's +escape, and I did not wonder if it unnerved her. She let me read it +afterwards. The Laird and Lady Monksburn had plainly given up their son +for ever when they heard what he had done. And knowing what I knew, I +felt it was best so. I had to tell Flora my news:--to see the light die +suddenly out of her dear brown velvet eyes,--will it ever come back +again? And I wondered, watching her by the light of my own new-born +happiness, whether Duncan Keith were as little to her as I had supposed. + +I knew, somewhat later, that I had misunderstood her, that we had +misinterpreted her. Her one wish seemed to be to get back home. And +Father said he would take her himself as far as the Border, if my Uncle +Drummond would come for her to the place chosen. + +When the parting came, as we took our last kiss, I told her I prayed God +bless her, and that some day she might be as happy as I was. There was +a moment's flash in the brown eyes. + +"Take that wish back, Cary," she said, quietly. "Happy as you are, the +woman whom Duncan Keith loved can never be, until she meet him again at +the gates of pearl." + +"That may be a long while, dear." + +"It will be just so long as the Lord hath need of me," she answered: +"and I hope, for his sake, that will be as long as my father needs me. +And then--Oh, but it will be a blithe day when the call comes to go +home!" + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + The Fells Farm, September 25th. +Five months since I writ a word! And how much has happened in them--so +much that I could never find time to set it down, and now I must do it +just in a few lines. + +I have been married six weeks. Father shook his head with a smile when +Ephraim first spoke to him, and said his lass was only in the cradle +yesterday: but he soon came round. It was as quiet a wedding as +Sophy's, and I am sure I liked it all the better, whatever other people +might think. We are to live at the Fells Farm during the year of +Ephraim's curacy, and then Father thinks he can easily get him a living +through the interest of friends. Where it will be, of course we cannot +guess. + +Flora has writ thrice since she returned home. She says my Uncle +Drummond was very thankful to have her back again: but she can see that +Lady Monksburn is greatly changed, and the Laird has so failed that he +scarce seems the same man. Of herself she said nothing but one +sentence,-- + +"Waiting, dear Cary,--always waiting." + +From Angus we do not hear a word. Mr Raymond and Annas are to be +married when their year of mourning is out. I cannot imagine how they +will get along--he a Whig clergyman, and she a Tory Presbyterian! +However, that is their affair. I am rather thankful 'tis not mine. + +My Aunt Dorothea has writ me one letter--very kind to me--(it was writ +on the news of my marriage), but very stiff toward my Aunt Kezia. I see +she cannot forgive her easily, and I do not think Grandmamma ever will. + +Grandmamma sent me a large chest from London, full of handsome +presents,--a fine set of Dresden tea china (which travelled very well-- +only one saucer broke); a new hoop, so wide round that methinks I shall +never dare to wear it in the country; a charming piece of dove-coloured +damask, and a petticoat, to wear with it, of blue quilted satin; two +calico gowns from India, a beautiful worked scarf from the same country, +six pair pearl-coloured silk stockings, a new fan, painted with flowers, +most charmingly done, a splendid piece of white and gold brocade, and a +superb set of turquoise and pearl jewellery. I cannot think when or how +I am to wear them; they seem so unfit for the wife of a country curate. + +"Oh, wait till I am a bishop," says Ephraim, laughingly; "then you can +make the Dean's lady faint away for envy of all your smart things. And +as to the white and gold brocade, keep it till the King comes to stay +with us, and it will be just the thing for a state bed for him." + +"I wonder what colour it will be!" said I. "Which king?" + +Ephraim makes me a low bow--over the water bottle. [Note 1.] + +I must lay down my pen, for I hear a shocking smash in the kitchen. +That girl Dolly is so careless! I don't believe I shall ever have much +time for writing now. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + Langbeck Rectory, under the Cheviots, August the 28th, 1747. +Nearly a whole year since I writ one line! + +Our lot is settled now, and we moved in here in May last. I am very +thankful that the lines have fallen to me still in my dear North--I have +not pleasant recollections of the South. And I fancy--but perhaps +unjustly--that we Northerners have a deeper, more yearning love for our +hills and dales than they have down there. We are about midway between +Brocklebank and Abbotscliff, which is just where I would have chosen to +be, if I could have had the choice. It is not often that God gives a +man all the desires of his heart; perhaps to a woman He gives it even +less often. How thankful I ought to be! + +My Aunt Kezia was so good as to come with us, to help me to settle down. +I should not have got things straight in twice the time if she had not +been here. Sophy spent the days with Father while my Aunt Kezia was +here, and just went back to the Vicarage for the night. Father is very +much delighted with Sophy's child, and calls him a bouncing boy, and a +credit to the family; and Sophy thinks him the finest child that ever +lived, as my Aunt Kezia saith every mother hath done since Eve. + +The night before my Aunt Kezia went home, as she and I sat together,--it +was not yet time for Ephraim to come in from his work in the parish, for +he is one of the few parsons who do work, and do not pore over learned +books or go a-hunting, and leave their parishes to take care of +themselves--well, as my Aunt and I sat by the window, she said something +which rather astonished me. + +"Cary, I don't know what you and Ephraim would say, but I am beginning +to think we made a mistake." + +"Do you mean about the Chinese screens, Aunt?" said I. "The gold +lacquer would have gone very well with the damask, but--" + +"Chinese screens!" saith my Aunt, with a hearty laugh. "Why, whatever +is the girl thinking about? No, child! I mean about the Prince." + +"Aunt Kezia!" I cried. "You never mean to say we did wrong in fighting +for our King?" + +"Wrong? No, child, for we meant to do right. I gather from Scripture +that the Lord takes a deal more account of what a man means than of what +he does. Thank God it is so! For if a man means to come to Christ, he +does come, no matter how: ay, and if a man means to reject Christ, he +does that too, however fair and orthodox he may look in the eyes of the +world. Therefore, as to those matters that are in doubt, and cannot be +plainly judged by Scripture, but Christian men may and do lawfully +differ about them, if a man honestly meant to do God's will, so far as +he knew it, I don't believe he will be judged as if he had not cared to +do it. But what I intend to say is this--that it is plain to me now +that the Lord hath repealed the decree whereby He gave England to the +House of Stuart. There is no right against Him, Cary. He doeth as He +will with all the kingdoms of the world. Maybe it's not so plain to +you--if so, don't you try to see through my eyes. Follow your own +conscience until the Lord teaches yourself. If our fathers had been +truer men, and had passed the Bill of Exclusion in 1680, the troubles of +1688 would never have come, nor those of 1745 neither. They ate sour +grapes, and set our teeth on edge--ay, and their own too, poor souls! +It was the Bishops and Lord Halifax that did it, and the Bishops paid +the wyte, as Sam says. It must have been a bitter pill to those seven +in the Tower, to think that all might have been prevented by lawful, +constitutional means, and that they--their Order, I mean--had just +pulled their troubles on their own heads." + +"Aunt Kezia," I cried in distress, "you never mean to say that Colonel +Keith died for a wrongful cause?" + +"God forbid!" she said, gravely. "Colonel Keith did not die for that +Cause. He died for right and righteousness, for truth and honour, for +faithfulness, for loyalty and love--no bad things to die for. Not for +the Prince--only for God and Flora, and a little, perhaps, for Angus. +God forbid that I should judge any true and honourable man--most of all +that man who gave his life for those we love. Only, Cary, the Cause is +dead and gone. The struggle is over for ever: and we may thank God it +is so. On the wreck of the old England a new England may arise--an +England standing fast in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made her +free, free from priestly yoke and priest-ridden rulers, free not to +revolt but to follow, not to disobey, but to obey. If only--ah! if only +she resolve, and stand to it, never to be entangled again with the yoke +of bondage, never to forget the lessons which God has taught her, never +again to eat the sour grapes, and set the children's teeth on edge. Let +her once begin to think of the tiger's beauty, and forget its deathly +claws--once lay aside her watchword of `No peace with Rome'--and she +will find it means no peace with God, for His scourge has always pursued +her when she has truckled to His great enemy. Eh, but men have short +memories, never name short sight. Like enough, by a hundred years are +over, they'll be looking at Roman sugar-sticks as the Scarlet Woman +holds them out, and thinking that she is very fair and fine-spoken, and +why shouldn't they have a few sweets? Well! it is well the government +of the world isn't in old Kezia's hands, for if it were, some people +would find themselves uncommonly uncomfortable before long." + +"You don't mean me, I hope?" I said, laughing. + +"Nay, child, I don't mean you, nor yet your husband. Very like you'll +not see it as I do. But you'll live to see it--if only you live long +enough." + +Well, my Aunt Kezia may be right, though I do not see it. Only that I +do think it was a sad blunder to throw out the Bill of Exclusion. It +had passed the Commons, so they were not to blame. But one thing I +should like to set down, for any who may read this book a hundred years +hence, if it hath not been tore up for waste-paper long ere that--that +we Protestants who fought for the Prince never fought nor meant to fight +for Popery. We hated it every bit as much as any who stood against him. +We fought because the contrary seemed to us to be doing evil that good +might come. But I won't say we may not live to be thankful that we lost +our cause. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +It has been a warm afternoon, and I sat with the window open in the +parlour, singing and sewing; Ephraim was out in the parish. I was +turning down a hem when a voice in the garden spoke to me,-- + +"An't like you, Madam, to give a drink of whey to a poor soldier?" + +There was a slight Scots accent with the words. + +"Whence come you?" I said. + +"I fought at Prestonpans," he answered. He looked a youngish man, but +very ragged and bemired. + +"On which side?" I said, as I rose up. Of course I was not going to +refuse him food and drink, however that might be, but I dare say I +should have made it a little more dainty for one of Prince Charlie's +troops than for a Hanoverian, and I felt pretty sure he was the former +from his accent. + +I fancied I saw a twinkle in his eyes. + +"The side you are on, Madam," said he. + +"How can you know which side I am on?" said I. "Come round to the +back-door, friend, and I will find you a drink of whey." + +"I suppose," said my beggar, looking down at himself, "I don't look +quite good enough for the front door. But I am an officer for all that, +Madam." + +"Sir, I beg your pardon," I made answer. "I will let you in at the +front,"--for when he spoke more, I heard the accent of a gentleman. + +"Pray don't give yourself that trouble, Cousin Cary." + +And to my utter amazement, the beggar jumped in at the window, which was +low and easily scaled. + +"Angus!" I almost screamed. + +"At your service, Madam." + +"When did you leave France? Where are you come from? Have you been to +Abbotscliff? Are--" + +"Halt! Can't fight more than three men at once. And I won't answer a +question till I have had something to eat. Forgive me, Cary, but I am +very nearly starving." + +I rushed into the kitchen, and astonished Caitlin by laying violent +hands on a pan of broth which she was going to serve for supper. I +don't know what I said to her. I hastily poured the broth into a basin, +and seizing a loaf of bread and a knife, dashed back to Angus. + +"Eat that now, Angus. You shall have something better by-and-by." + +He ate like a man who was nearly starving, as he had said. When he had +finished, he said,-- + +"Now! I left France a fortnight since. I have not been to Abbotscliff. +I know nothing but the facts that you are married, and where you live, +which I learned by accident, and I instantly thought that your house, if +you would take me in, would be a safer refuge than either Brocklebank or +Abbotscliff. Now tell me some thing in turn. Are my father and Flora +well?" + +"Yes, for anything I know." + +"And all at Brocklebank?" + +"Quite." + +"And the Keiths? Has Annas bagged her pheasant?" + +"What do you mean, Angus?" + +"Why, is she Mrs Raymond? I saw all that. I suppose Duncan got away +without any difficulty?" + +"Annas is Mr Raymond's wife," I said. "But, Angus, I cannot think how +it is, but--I am afraid you do not understand." + +"Understand what?" + +"Is it possible you do not know what price was paid for your ransom?" + +Angus rose hastily, and laid his hand on my arm. + +"Speak out, Cary! What do I not know?" + +"Angus, Colonel Keith bought your life with his own." + +In all my life I never saw a man's face change as the face of Angus +Drummond changed then. It was plainly to be read there that he had +never for a moment understood at what cost he had been purchased. A low +moan of intense sorrow broke from him, and he hid his face upon the +table. + +"I think he paid the price very willingly, Angus," I said, softly. "And +he sent Annas a last message for you--he bade you, to the utmost of what +your opportunities might be, to be to God and man what he hoped to have +been." + +"O Duncan, Duncan!" came in anguish from the white lips. "And I never +knew--I never thought--" + +Ah, it was so like Angus, "never to think." + +He lifted his head at last, with the light of a settled purpose shining +in his eyes. + +"To man I can never be what he would have been. I am a proscribed +fugitive. You harbour me at a risk even now. But to God! Cary, I have +been a rebel: but I never was a deserter from that service. God helping +me, I will enlist now. If my worthless life have cost the most precious +life in Scotland, it shall not have been given in vain." + +"There was Another who gave His life for you, Angus," I could not help +saying. + +"Ay, I have been bought twice over," was the trembling answer. "God +help me to live worthy of the cost!" + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +We all keep the name of Duncan Keith in our inmost hearts--unspoken, but +very dear. But I think it is dearest of all in a little house in the +outskirts of Amsterdam, where, now that my Uncle Drummond has been +called to his reward, our Flora keeps home bright for a Protestant +pastor who works all the day through in the prisons of Amsterdam, among +the lowest of the vile; who knows what exile and imprisonment are; and +who, once in every year, as the day of his substitute's death comes +round, pleads with these prisoners from words which are overwhelming to +himself,--"Ye are not your own; for ye are bought with a price." + +Many of those men and women sink back again into the mire. But now and +then the pastor knows that a soul has been granted to his pleadings,-- +that in one more instance, as in his own case, the price was not paid in +vain. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + +Note 1. The recognised Jacobite way of answering:--"The King _over the +water_." + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Out in the Forty-Five, by Emily Sarah Holt + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT IN THE FORTY-FIVE *** + +***** This file should be named 23766.txt or 23766.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/6/23766/ + +Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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