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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc31d97 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #61916 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61916) diff --git a/old/61916-0.txt b/old/61916-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b93ae9f..0000000 --- a/old/61916-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8330 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Effie Ogilvie (Complete), by Margaret Oliphant - -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/license - - -Title: Effie Ogilvie (Complete) - the story of a young life - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 24, 2020 [EBook #61916] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE (COMPLETE) *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE. - - - - - PUBLISHED BY - JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW. - - * * * * * - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. - _London_, _Hamilton, Adams and Co._ - _Cambridge_, _Macmillan and Bowes_. - _Edinburgh_, _Douglas and Foulis_. - - * * * * * - - MDCCCLXXXVI. - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT, - AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES. - - COMPLETE - - GLASGOW: - JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS, - Publishers to the University. - LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1886. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -The family consisted of Effie’s father, her stepmother, her brother Eric -who was in the army, and a little personage, the most important of all, -the only child of the second Mrs. Ogilvie, the pet and plaything of the -house. You may think it would have been more respectful and becoming to -reverse this description, and present Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie first to the -notice of the reader, which we shall now proceed to do. The only excuse -we can offer for the irregularity of the beginning consists in the fact -that it is the nature of their proceedings in respect to the young -people, and particularly to Mr. Ogilvie’s daughter Effie, which induces -us to disturb the decorous veil which hangs over the doors of every -respectable family, in the case of these worthy persons. - -In their own lives, had we time and space to recount all that befell -them, there would, no doubt, be many interesting particulars, as in the -lives of most other people: but when a country gentleman has attained -the age of fifty or a little more, with enough of money for his -necessities, and no more ambition than can be satisfied by the -regulation of the affairs of the parish, it is inevitably through the -fortunes of a son or daughter that he comes within reach of the -sympathies of the world. These troublesome productions, of whom we take -so little thought at first, who are nothing but playthings and -embellishments of our own estate for so many years, have a way of -pushing us out of our commanding position as the chief actors in our -own lives, setting us aside into a secondary place, and conferring upon -us a quite fictitious interest as influences upon theirs. It is an -impertinence of fate, it is an irony of circumstance; but still it is -so. And it is, consequently, as Effie’s father, a character in which he -by no means knew himself, that Mr. Ogilvie of Gilston, a gentleman as -much respected as any in his county, the chief heritor in his parish, -and a deputy-lieutenant, has now to be presented to the world. - -He was a good man in his way, not perfect, as in the general he was -himself very willing to allow, though he did not, any more than the rest -of us, like that niggling sort of criticism which descends to -particulars. He was a man who would have suffered a little personal -inconvenience rather than do anything which he was convinced was wrong, -which most of us, who are old enough to be acquainted with our own ways, -will be aware is no small thing to say. But, ordinarily, also like most -of us, his wrong acts were done without taking time to identify them as -wrong, on the spur of the moment, in the heat of a present impulse which -took from them all the sting of premeditation. - -Thus, when he gave good Glen, the virtuous collie, as he came forward -smiling and cheerful, with a remark upon the beauty of the morning -glistening in his bright eyes and waving majestically in his tail, that -sudden kick which sent the good fellow off howling, and oppressed his -soul all day with a sense of crime, Mr. Ogilvie did not do it by -intention, did not come out with the purpose of doing it, but only did -it because he had just got a letter which annoyed him. Glen, who had a -tender conscience, lived half the day under a weight of unnecessary -remorse, convinced that he must himself have done something very wicked, -though a confused moral sense and the absence of a recognized code made -him sadly incapable of discovering what it was; but his master had not -the slightest intention of inflicting any such mental torture. - -He treated his human surroundings in something of the same way, -convincing Effie sometimes, by a few well-chosen words, of her own -complete mental and physical incompetency; as, for example, when she ran -into his library to call his attention to something quite unimportant at -the very moment when he was adding up his “sundries,” and had nearly -arrived at a result. - -“If you had any sense of propriety in you, and were not a born idiot -that never can be taught there’s a time for everything, you would know -better than to dart in like a whirlwind in your high heels, and all that -nonsense in your mouth, to drive a man frantic!” - -Effie would withdraw in tears. But Mr. Ogilvie had not really meant any -harm. - -He had succeeded to his father’s little estate when he was still in his -twenties, and had many aspirations. He had not intended to withdraw from -the bar, although he had few clients to speak of. He had indeed fully -intended to follow up his profession, and it had not seemed impossible -that he might attain to the glorious position of Lord Advocate, or, if -not, to that of Sheriff-Substitute, which was perhaps more probable. But -by degrees, and especially after his marriage, he had found out that -professional work was a great “tie,” and that there were many things to -be done at home. - -His first wife had been the only daughter of the minister, which -concentrated his affections still more and more in his own locality. -When she died, leaving him with two children, who had never been -troublesome to him before, the neighbourhood was moved with the deepest -sympathy for poor Ogilvie. Some people even thought he would not survive -it, they had been so united a couple, and lived so entirely for each -other: or, at least, that he would go away, abandoning the scene of his -past happiness. - -But, on the contrary, he stayed at home, paying the tribute of the -profoundest dulness for one year to the lost partner of his life, -cheering up a little decorously afterwards, and at the end of the second -year marrying again. All this was done, it will be seen, in the most -respectable and well-regulated way, as indeed was everything that Mr. -Ogilvie did when he took time to think of it, being actuated by a -conscientious desire to do his duty, and set an example to all honest -and virtuous men. - -Mrs. Ogilvie was not too young to be the second wife of a gentleman of -fifty. She was “quite suitable,” everybody said--which, seeing that he -might have married a chit of twenty, as mature widowers have been known -to do, was considered by everybody a virtuous abstinence and concession -to the duties of the position. She was thirty-five, good-looking, even -handsome, and very conscientious. If it was her husband’s virtuous -principle to submit to personal inconvenience rather than do anything -that he knew to be wrong, she went many steps farther in the way of -excellence, and seldom did anything unless she was convinced that it was -right. - -With this high meaning she had come to Gilston, and during the four -years of her reign there had, not sternly--for she was not stern: but -steadily, and she was a woman of great steadiness of mind and -purpose--adhered to it. - -These years had been very important years, as may be supposed, in the -life of the two young people whom Mrs. Ogilvie described as “the first -family.” The boy had been seventeen and the girl fifteen when she came -home a bride. And their mother had been dead only two years: an age at -which criticism is more uncompromising, or circumstances under which it -would be more difficult to begin married life, could scarcely be. They -gazed at her with two pairs of large eyes, and countenances which did -not seem able to smile, noting everything she did, putting a mute -criticism upon the silent record, objecting dumbly to everything, to her -entrance there at all, to her assumption of their mother’s chair, their -mother’s name, all that was now legally and honourably hers. - -Can any one imagine a more terrible ordeal for a woman to go through? -She confided to her sister afterwards that if she had acted upon -impulse, as Robert, poor dear, so often did, the house would have become -a hell on earth. - -“I would have liked to have put that boy to the door a hundred times a -day: and as for Effie!--I never can tell till this day how it was that -I kept my hands off her,” she said, reddening with the recollection of -many exasperations past. Women who have filled the office of stepmother, -aunt, or any other such domestic anomaly, will understand and -sympathize. And yet, of course, there was a great deal to be said on the -other side too. - -The children had heard with an indignation beyond words of their -father’s intention. It had been said to them, with that natural -hypocrisy which is so transparent and almost pardonable, that he took -this step very much for their sakes, to give them a new mother. - -A new mother! Seven and five might have taken this in with wondering -ears and made no remark; but seventeen and fifteen! The boy glowed with -fierce wrath; the girl shed torrents of hot tears. They formed plans of -leaving Gilston at once, going away to seek their fortunes--to America, -to Australia, who could tell where? Effie was certain that she would -mind no hardship, that she could cook and wash, and do everything in the -hut, while Eric (boys are always so much luckier than girls!) spent the -day in the saddle after the cattle in the ranche. - -Or they would go orange-farming, ostrich-farming--what did it matter -which?--anything, in fact, but stay at home. Money was the great -difficulty in this as in almost all other cases, besides the dreadful -fact that Effie was a girl, a thing which had always been hard upon her -in all their previous adventures, but now more than ever. - -“We might have gone to sea and worked our passages before the mast, if -you had only been a laddie and not a lassie,” Eric said with a sigh and -a profound sense of the general contrariety of events. This unalterable -misfortune, which somehow seemed (though it was she who suffered from it -most) her fault, stopped Effie’s tears, and brought instead a look of -despair into her round face. There flashed through her mind an idea of -the possibility of neutralizing this disability by means of costume. -Rosalind did so in Shakespeare, and Viola, and so had other heroines in -less distant regions. - -But at the idea of _trousers_ Effie’s countenance flamed, and she -rejected the thought. It was quite possible to endure being unhappy, -even in her small experience she was well aware of that--but unwomanly! -Oh, what would mamma say? That utterance of habit, the words that rose -to her lips without thinking, even now when mamma was about to have a -successor--a new mother! brought back the tears in torrents. She flung -herself upon Eric’s shoulder, and he, poor fellow, gave her with -quivering lips a little furtive kiss, the only consolation he could -think of, though they were not at all used to caressing each other. Poor -children! and yet Mr. Ogilvie had done nothing cruel, and Mrs. Ogilvie -was the best-intentioned woman in the world. - -It was lucky that they were found at this critical moment by an -individual who is of great importance in this little record of events, -as he was in the parish and the neighbourhood generally,--that is Uncle -John. He was the minister of Gilston; he was their mother’s brother; and -he was one of the men selected by Providence for the consolation of -their fellow-creatures. - -Perhaps he was not always very wise. He was too much under the sway of -his heart to be infallible in the way of advice, although that heart was -so tender and full of sympathy that it often penetrated secrets which -were undiscoverable to common men. But in his powers of comfort-giving -he was perfect. The very sight of him soothed the angry and softened the -obdurate, and he dried the tears of the young by some inspiration given -to him alone. - -“What is the matter?” he said in his large soft voice, which was deep -bass and very masculine, yet had something in it too of the -wood-pigeon’s brooding tones. They were seated at the foot of a tree in -the little wood that protected Gilston House from the east, on the roots -of the big ash which were like gray curves of rock among the green moss -and the fallen leaves. He came between them, sitting down too, raising -Effie with his arm. - -“But I think I can guess. You are just raging at Providence and your -father, you two ungrateful bairns.” - -“Ungrateful!” cried Effie. She was the most speechless of the two, the -most prostrate, the most impassioned, and therefore was most ready to -reply. - -“Oh, what have we to be grateful for?--our own mamma gone away and we’ll -never see her more; and another woman--another--a Mistress Ogilvie----” -In her rage and despair she pronounced every syllable, with what -bitterness and burning scorn and fury! Uncle John drew her little hands -down from her face and held them in his own, which were not small, but -very firm, though they were soft. - -“Your own mother was a very good woman, Effie,” said Uncle John. - -The girl paused and looked at him with those fiery eyes which were not -softened, but made more angry, by her tears, not seeing how this bore -upon the present crisis of affairs. - -“Have you any reason to suppose that being herself, as we know she is, -with the Lord whom she loved”--and here Uncle John took off his hat as -if he were saluting the dearest and most revered of friends--“that she -would like you and the rest to be miserable all your lives because she -was away?” - -“Miserable!” cried Effie. “We were not miserable; we were quite happy; -we wanted nothing. Papa may care for new people, but we were happy and -wanted nothing, Eric and me.” - -“Then, my little Effie,” said Uncle John, “it is not because of your -own mother that you are looking like a little fury--for you see you have -learned to let her go, and do without her, and be quite contented in a -new way--but only because your father has done the same after his -fashion, and it is not the same way as yours.” - -“Oh, Uncle John, I am not contented,” cried Effie, conscience-stricken; -“I think of mamma every day.” - -“And are quite happy,” he said with a smile, “as you ought to be. God -bless her up yonder, behind the veil. She is not jealous nor angry, but -happy too. And we will be very good friends with Mistress Ogilvie, you -and me. Come and see that everything is ready for her, for she will not -have an easy handful with you two watching her night and day.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Though Mr. Moubray said this, it is not to be supposed that he liked his -brother-in-law’s second marriage. It was not in flesh and blood to do -that. - -Gilston House must always be the most important house in that parish to -the minister; for it is at once nearest to the manse, and the house in -which he is most likely to find people who have at least the outside -gloss of education. And he had been used to go there familiarly for -nearly twenty years. He had been a favourite with the old people, Mr. -Ogilvie’s father and mother, and when their son succeeded them he was -already engaged to the minister’s young sister. There was therefore a -daily habit of meeting for nearly a lifetime. The two men had not always -agreed. Indeed it was not in human nature that they should not have -sometimes disagreed strenuously, one being the chief heritor, -restraining every expenditure, and the other the minister, who was -always, by right of his position, wanting to have something done. - -But after all their quarrels they “just ’greed again,” which is the best -and indeed the only policy in such circumstances. And though the laird -would thunder against that “pig-headed fellow, your brother John,” Mrs. -Ogilvie had always been able to smile, knowing that on the other hand -she would hear nothing worse from the minister than a recommendation to -“remind Robert that schoolhouse roofs and manse windows are not -eternal.” - -And then the children had woven another link between the two houses. -Eric had been Uncle John’s pupil since the boy had been old enough to -trot unattended through the little wood and across the two fields which -separated the manse from the House; and Effie had trotted by his side -when the days were fine, and when she pleased--a still more important -stipulation. They had been the children of the manse almost as much as -of the House. - -The death of the mother had for a time drawn the tie still closer, -Ogilvie in his first desolation throwing himself entirely upon the -succour and help of his brother-in-law; and the young ones clinging with -redoubled tenderness to the kind Uncle John, whom for the first time -they found out to be “so like mamma!” There never was a day in which he -did not appear on his way to his visiting, or to a session meeting, or -some catechising or christening among the hills. They were dependent -upon him, and he upon them. But now this constant association had come -to an end. No, not to an end--that it could never do; but, in all -likelihood, it must now change its conditions. - -John Moubray was an old bachelor without chick or child: so most people -thought. In reality, he was not a bachelor at all; but his married life -had lasted only a year, and that was nearly thirty years ago! The little -world about might be excused for forgetting--or himself even--for what -is one year out of fifty-four? Perhaps that one year had given him more -insight into the life of men; perhaps it had made him softer, tenderer -to the weak. That mild celibacy, which the Church of Rome has found so -powerful an instrument, was touched perhaps to a more benignant outcome -still in this Scotch minister, by the fact that he had loved like his -fellows, and been as other men in his time, a triumphant bridegroom, a -woman’s husband. But the experience itself was long past, and had left -no trace behind; it was to him as a dream. Often he felt uncertain -whether there had been any reality in it at all--whether it was not a -golden vision such as is permitted to youth. - -In these circumstances, it may be supposed that the closing upon him in -any degree of the house which had been his sister’s, which belonged to -the most intimate friend of everyday life, and which was the home of -children who were almost his own children, was very serious to Uncle -John. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, to do her justice, was anxious to obviate any feeling of -this kind. The very first time he dined there after her marriage, she -took him aside into a corner of the drawing-room, and talked to him -privately. - -“I hope there will be no difference, Mr. Moubray,” she said; “I hope you -will not let it make any difference that I am here.” - -“Difference?” said John, startled a little. He had already felt the -difference, but had made up his mind to it as a thing that must be. - -“I know,” said the lady, “that I’m not clever enough to take your -sister’s place; but so far as a good meaning goes, and a real desire to -be a mother to the children, and a friend to you, if you will let me, -nobody could be better disposed than I am, if you will just take me at -my word.” - -The minister was so unprepared for any such speech that he stammered a -little over his reply. - -“My sister,” he said, “had no pretensions to be clever. That was never -the ground my poor Jeanie took up. She was a good woman, and very dear -to----very dear to those she belonged to,” he said, with a huskiness in -his voice. - -“That’s just what I say. I come here in a way that is hard upon a woman, -with one before me that I will always be compared to. But this one thing -I must say, that I hope you will come about the house just as often as -you used to do, and in the same way, coming in whenever it enters your -head to do so, and believing that you are always welcome. Always -welcome. I don’t say I will always be here, for I think it only right to -keep up with society (if it were but for Effie’s sake) more than the -last Mrs. Ogilvie did. But I will never be happy if you don’t come out -and in just in your ordinary, Mr. Moubray, just as you’ve always been -accustomed to do.” - -John Moubray went home after this address with a mingled sense of humour -and vexation and approval. It made him half angry to be invited to his -brother-in-law’s house in this way, as if he required invitation. But, -at the same time, he did not deny that she meant well. - -And she did mean well. She meant to make Effie one of the most complete -of young ladies, and Gilston the model country-seat of a Scots -gentleman. She meant to do her duty to the most minute particular. She -meant her husband to be happy, and her children to be clothed in scarlet -and prosperity, and comfort to be diffused around. - -All these preliminaries were long past at the point at which this -narrative begins. Effie had grown up, and Eric was away in India with -his regiment. He had not been intended for a soldier, but whether it was -that Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion, expressed very frankly, that the army was -the right thing for him, influenced the mind of the family in general, -or whether the lad found the new rule too unlike the old to take much -pleasure in his home, the fact was that he went into the army and -disappeared, to the great grief of Effie and Uncle John, but, so far as -appeared, of no one else, for little Roderick had just been born, and -Mr. Ogilvie was ridiculously delighted with the baby, which seemed to -throw his grown-up son altogether into the shade. - -It need scarcely be said that both before and after this event there -was great trouble and many struggles with Effie, who had been so used to -her own way, Mrs. Ogilvie said, that to train her was a task almost -beyond mortal powers. Yet it had been done. So long as Eric remained at -home, the difficulties had been great. - -And then there was all but the additional drawback of a premature love -story to make matters worse. But that had been happily, silently, -expeditiously smothered in the bud, a triumph of which Mrs. Ogilvie was -so proud that it was with difficulty she kept it from Effie herself; and -she did not attempt to keep it from Mr. Moubray, to whom, after the lads -were safely gone, she confided the fact that young Ronald Sutherland, -who had been constantly about the house before her marriage, and who -since that had spent as much of his time with the brother and sister -out-of-doors as had been possible, had come to Mr. Ogilvie a few days -before his departure--“What for, can you imagine?” the lady said. - -Now Ronald was a neighbour’s son, the companion by nature of the two -children of Gilston. He had got his commission in the same regiment, and -joined it at the same time as Eric. He was twenty when Eric was -eighteen, so much in advance and no more. The minister could have -divined, perhaps, had he set his wits to the task, but he had no desire -to forestall the explanation, and he shook his head in reply. - -“With a proposal for Effie, if you please!” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and she -only sixteen, not half-educated, nor anything like what I want her to -be. And, if you will believe me, Robert was half-disposed--well, not to -accept it; but to let the boy speak to her, and bring another bonny -business on my hands.” - -“They are too young,” said Uncle John. - -“Too young! They are too--everything that can be thought of--too -ridiculous I would say. Fortunately Robert spoke to me, and I got him -to make the lad promise not to say a word to Effie or to any one till he -comes back. It will be a long time before he can come back, and who -knows what may happen in the meantime? Too young! There is a great deal -more than being merely too young. I mean Effie to make a much better -match than that.” - -“He is a good boy,” said Mr. Moubray; “if he were older, and perhaps a -little richer, I would not wish a better, for my part.” - -“If all ministers were as unworldly as you!--it is what is sorely wanted -in the Church, as Robert always says. But parents may be pardoned if -they look a little more to interest in the case of their children. I -will very likely never have grown-up daughters of my own. And Effie must -make a good match; I have set my heart on that. She is growing up a -pretty creature, and she will be far more quiet and manageable for her -education now that, heaven be praised, those boys are away.” - -“As one of the boys carries a large piece of my heart with him, you will -not expect me to be so pious and so thankful,” the minister said. - -“O Uncle John! I am sure you would like Effie to get the best of -educations. She never would have settled down to it, never! if that lad -had got his way.” - -Mr. Moubray could not say a word against this, for it was all true; but -he could not meet Effie’s wistful eyes when she crept to his side, in -his study or out-of-doors whenever they met, and hung upon his arm, and -asked him where he thought they would be by now? It was Eric chiefly -they were both thinking of, yet Effie unawares said “they.” How far -would they be on their journey? It was not then the quick way such as we -are happily used to now, but a long, long journey round the stormy Cape, -three lingering months of sea, and so long, so long before any news -could come. - -The uncle and niece, who were now more close companions than ever, were -found in the minister’s study one day with a map stretched out before -them, their heads closely bent over it, his all clad with vigorous curls -of gray, hers shining in soft locks of brown, their eyes so intent that -they did not hear the opening door and the rustle of Mrs. Ogilvie’s silk -gown. - -“What are you doing with your heads so close together?” that lady said. -And the two started like guilty things. But Uncle John explained calmly -that Effie was feeble in her geography, and no more was said. - -And so everything settled down. Effie, it was true, was much more -manageable after her brother was away. She had to confine herself to -shorter walks, to give up much of that freedom of movement which a girl -can only be indulged in when she has a brother by her side. She was -very dull for a time, and rather rebellious; but that too wore out, as -everything will wear out if we but wait long enough. - -And now she was nineteen, on the threshold of her life--a pretty -creature, as her stepmother had said, not a great beauty like those that -bewitch the world when they are seen, which is but rarely. Effie was -pretty as the girls are by dozens, like the flowers, overflowing over -all the face of the country, making it sweet. Her hair and her eyes were -brown, like most other people’s. She was no wonder or prodigy, but fair -and honest and true, a pleasure to behold. And after all those youthful -tribulations she was still a happy girl enough at home. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, when all was said, was a well-meaning woman. There was no -tyranny nor unkindness in the house. - -So this young soul expanded in the hands of the people who had the care -of it, and who had cared for it so far well, though not with much -understanding; how it sped in the times of action, and in the crisis -that was approaching, and how far they did their duty by it, we have now -to see. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -The parish of Gilston is not a wealthy one. It lies not far from the -Borders, where there is much moorland and pasture-land, and not much -high farming. The farmhouses are distant and scattered, the population -small. The greatest house in the district, indeed, stands within its -boundaries, but that was shut up at this moment, and of use to nobody. -There were two or three country houses of the smaller sort scattered -about, at four and five miles’ distance from each other, and a cluster -of dwellings near the church, in which amid a few cottages rose the -solid square house of the doctor, which he called Gowanbrae, and the -cottage of the Miss Dempsters, which they called Rosebank. - -The doctor, whose name was Jardine, had a great deal to do, and rode -about the country early and late. The Miss Dempsters had nothing to do -except to keep up a general supervision of the proceedings of the -neighbours and of all that happened in the country side. It was a -supervision not unkind. - -They were good neighbours, always handy and ready in any case of family -affliction or rejoicing. They were ready to lend anything and everything -that might be required--pepper, or a lemon, or cloves, or soap, or any -of the little things that so generally give out before the storeroom is -replenished, when you are out of reach of co-operative stores or -grocers’ shops; or their glass and china, or knives, or lamps--or even a -fine pair of silver candlesticks which they were very proud of--when -their neighbours had company: or good advice to any extent, which -sometimes was not wanted. - -It was perhaps because everybody ran to them in case of need that they -were so well acquainted with everybody’s affairs. And then people were -so unreasonable as to find fault and call the Miss Dempsters gossips. It -was undeserved: they spoke ill of nobody unless there was good cause; -they made no mischief: but they did know everything, and they did more -or less superintend the life of the parish, having leisure and unbounded -interest in life. - -The neighbours grumbled and sometimes called them names--old maids, old -cats, and many other pretty titles: which did not prevent them from -borrowing the spoons or the candlesticks, or sending for Miss Robina -when anything happened. Had these excellent ladies died the parish would -have mourned sincerely, and they would have been universally missed: -but as they were alive and well they were called the old cats. Human -nature is subject to such perversities. - -The rural world in general had thus an affectionate hostility to the -all-seeing, all-knowing, all-aiding ladies of Rosebank; but between them -and Dr. Jardine the feeling was a great deal stronger. Hatred, it was -understood, was not too strong a word. Rosebank stood a little higher -than Gowanbrae: it was raised, indeed, upon a knoll, so that the house, -though in front only one storey, was two storeys behind, and in reality -a much larger house than it looked. The doctor’s house was on the level -of the village, and the Miss Dempsters from their point of vantage -commanded him completely. - -He was of opinion that they watched all his proceedings from the windows -of their drawing-room, which in summer were always open, with white -curtains fluttering, and baskets of flowers so arranged that it was -hopeless to attempt to return the inspection. There was a garden bench -on the path that ran in front of the windows, and on fine days Miss -Robina, who was not at all rheumatic, would sit there in order to see -the doctor’s doings more distinctly. So at least the doctor thought. - -“You may say it’s as good as a lady at the head of my table,” said the -doctor. “That old cat counts every bite I put into my mouth. She knows -what Merran has got for my dinner, and watches me eat. I cannot take a -glass of wine, when I’m tired, but they make a note of it.” - -“Then, doctor, you should draw down your blind,” said the minister, who -was always a peacemaker. - -“Me!” cried Dr. Jardine, with a fine Scotch contempt for the other -pronoun. “Me give the old hag that satisfaction. Not for the half of -Scotland! I am doing nothing that I am ashamed of, I hope.” - -Miss Robina on her side expressed other views. She had a soft, -slightly-indistinct voice, as if that proverbial butter that “would not -melt in her mouth” was held there when she spoke. - -“It’s a great vexation,” she said, in her placid way, “that we cannot -look out at our own windows without being affronted with the sight of -that hideous house. It’s just an offence: and a man’s house that is -shameless--that will come to the window and take off his dram, and nod -his head as if he were saying, Here’s to ye. It is just an offence,” -Miss Robina said. - -Miss Robina was the youngest. She was a large woman, soft and -imperfectly laced, like a cushion badly stuffed and bulging here and -there. Her hair was still yellow as it had been in her youth, but her -complexion had not worn so well. Her features were large like her -person. Miss Dempster was smaller and gray, which she considered much -more distinguished than the yellow braids of her sister. - -“It’s common to suppose Beenie dyes her hair; but I’m thankful to say -nobody can doubt me,” she would say. “It was very bonny hair when we -were young; but when the face gets old there’s something softening in -the white. I would have everybody gray at our age; not that Beenie -dyes--oh no. She never had that much thought.” - -Miss Beenie was always in the foreground, taking up much more room than -her sister, and able to be out in all weathers. But Miss Dempster, -though rheumatic, and often confined to the house, was the real head of -everything. It was she who took upon her chiefly the care of the manners -of the young people, and especially of Effie Ogilvie, who was the -foremost object of regard, inspection, and criticism to these ladies. -They knew everything about her from her birth. She could not have a -headache without their knowledge (though indeed she gave them little -trouble in this respect, her headaches being few); and as for her -wardrobe, even her new chemises (if the reader will not be shocked) had -to be exhibited to the sisters, who had an exasperating way of -investigating a hem, and inspecting the stitching, which, as they were -partly made by Effie herself, made that young lady’s brow burn. - -“But I approve of your trimmings,” Miss Dempster said; “none of your -common cotton stuff. Take my word for it, a real lace is ten times -thriftier. It will wear and wear--while that rubbish has to be thrown -into the fire.” - -“It was some we had in the house,” Mrs. Ogilvie said; “I could not let -her buy thread lace for her underclothes.” - -“Oh ay, it would be some of her mother’s,” and Miss Robina, with a nod -and a tone which as good as said, “That accounts for it.” And this made -Mrs. Ogilvie indignant too. - -The Miss Dempsters had taken a great interest in Ronald Sutherland. They -knew (of course) how it was that Mrs. Ogilvie so skilfully had baulked -that young hero in his intentions, and they did not approve. The lady -defended herself stoutly. - -“An engagement at sixteen!” she cried, “and with a long-legged lad in a -marching regiment, with not enough money to buy himself shoes.” - -“And how can ye tell,” said Miss Robina, “that she will ever get another -offer? He was a nice lad--and nice lads are not so plentiful as they -were in our days.” - -“For all so plentiful as they were, neither you nor me, Mrs. Ogilvie is -thinking, ever came to that advancement,” said Miss Dempster. “And -that’s true. But I’m not against young engagements, for my part. It is a -great divert to them both, and a very good thing for the young man; -where there’s land and sea between them that they cannot fash their -neighbours I can see no harm in it; and Ronald was a good lad.” - -“Without a penny!” - -“The pennies will come where there’s good conduct and a good heart. And -I would have let her choose for herself. It’s a great divert----” - -“I must do my own business my own way, Miss Dempster, and I think I am -the best judge of what is good for Effie. I and her father.” - -“Oh, no doubt--you, and her father; her mother might have been of a -different opinion. But that’s neither here nor there, for the poor thing -is dead and gone.” - -“Well, Sarah,” said Miss Robina, “it’s to be hoped so, or the laird, -honest man, would be in a sad position, and our friend here no better. -It’s unbecoming to discourse in that loose way. No, no; we are meaning -no interference. We’ve no right. We are not even cousins or kinswomen, -only old friends. But Ronald, ye see--Ronald is a kind of connection. We -are wae for Ronald, poor lad. But he’s young, and there’s plenty of -time, and there’s no saying what may happen.” - -“Nothing shall happen if I can help it; and I hope there will not be a -word said to put anything in Effie’s head,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. And ever -since this discussion she had been more severe than ever against the two -old ladies. - -“Take care that ye put no confidence in them,” she said to her -stepdaughter. “They can be very sweet when it suits their purpose. But I -put no faith in them. They will set you against your duties--they will -set you against me. No doubt I’m not your mother: but I have always -tried to do my duty by you.” - -Effie had replied with a few words of acknowledgment. Mrs. Ogilvie was -always very kind. It was Uncle John’s conviction, which had a great deal -of weight with the girl, that she meant sincerely to do her duty, as she -said. But, nevertheless, the doors of Effie’s heart would not open; they -yielded a little, just enough to warrant her in feeling that she had not -closed them, but that was all. - -She was much more at ease with the Miss Dempsters than with her -stepmother. Her relations with them were quite simple. They had scolded -her and questioned her all her life, and she did not mind what they said -to her. Sometimes she would blaze into sudden resentment and cry, or -else avenge herself with a few hot words. But as there was no bond of -duty in respect to her old friends, there was perfect freedom in their -intercourse. If they hurt her she cried out. But when Mrs. Ogilvie hurt -her she was silent and thought the more. - -Effie was just nineteen when it began to be rumoured over the country -that the mansion-house of Allonby was let. There was no place like it -within twenty miles. It was an old house, with the remains of a house -still older by its side--a proof that the Allonbies had been in the -countryside since the old days when life so near the Border was full of -disturbance. - -The house lay low on the side of a stream, which, after it had passed -decorously by the green lawns and park, ran into a dell which was famed -far and near. It was in itself a beautiful little ravine, richly wooded, -in the midst of a country not very rich in wood; and at the opening of -the dell or dene, as they called it, was one of those little lonely -churchyards which are so pathetic in Scotland, burying-places of the -past, which are to be found in the strangest unexpected places, -sometimes without any trace of the protecting chapel which in the old -times must have consecrated their loneliness and kept the dead like a -faithful watcher. - -In the midst of this little cluster of graves there were, however, the -ruins of a humble little church very primitive and old, which, but for -one corner of masonry with a small lancet window still standing, would -have looked like a mound somewhat larger than the rest; and in the -shadow of the ruin was a tombstone, with an inscription which recorded -an old tragedy of love and death; and this it was which brought pilgrims -to visit the little shrine. - -The proprietor of the house was an old Lady Allonby, widowed and -childless, who had long lived in Italy, and was very unlikely ever to -return; consequently it made a great excitement in Gilston when it -became known that at last she had been persuaded to let her house, and -that a very rich family, a very gay family, people with plenty of money, -and the most liberal inclinations in the way of spending, were coming to -Allonby. - -They were people who had been in business, rich people, people from -London. There were at least one son and some daughters. The inhabitants -of the smaller houses, the Ogilvies, the Johnstons, the Hopes, and even -the Miss Dempsters--all the families who considered themselves county -people,--had great talks and consultations as to whether they should -call. There were some who thought it was their duty to Lady Allonby, as -an old friend and neighbour; and there were some who thought it a duty -to themselves. - -The Diroms, which was the name of the strangers, were not in any case -people to be ignored. They gave, it was said, everything that could be -given in the way of entertainment; the sons and the daughters at least, -if not the father and mother, were well educated. - -But there were a few people who were not convinced by these arguments. -The Miss Dempsters stood in the front of this resisting party. They did -not care for entertainments, and they did not like _parvenoos_. The -doctor on the other hand, who had not much family to brag of, went to -Allonby at once. He said, in his rough way, that it was a providence -there was so much influenza fleeing about, which had made it necessary -to send for him so soon. - -“I went, you may be sure, as fast as Bess’s four legs could carry me. -I’m of opinion there are many guineas for me lying about there, and it -would be disgraceful not to take them,” the doctor said with a laugh. - -“There’s no guineas in the question for Beenie and me,” said Miss -Dempster. “I’m thinking we’ll keep our view of the question. I’m not -fond of new people, and I think Lady Allonby, after staying so long -away, might just have stayed to the end, and let the heirs do what they -liked. She cannot want the money; and it’s just an abomination to put -strange folk in the house of your fathers; and folk that would have -been sent down to the servants’ hall in other days.” - -“Not so bad as that,” said the minister, “unless perhaps you are going -back to feudal times. Money has always had its acknowledgment in modern -society--and has paid for it sweetly.” - -“We will give it no acknowledgment,” said the old lady. “We’re but -little likely to be the better for their money.” - -This conversation took place at a little dinner in Gilston House, -convened, in fact, for the settlement of the question. - -“That accounts for the difference of opinion,” said the doctor. “I’ll be -a great deal the better for their money; and I’m not minding about the -blood--so long as they’ll keep it cool with my prescriptions,” he added, -with a laugh. He was a coarse man, as the Rosebank ladies knew, and what -could you expect? - -“There is one thing,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that has a great effect upon -me, and that is, that there are young people in the house. There are not -many young people in the neighbourhood, which is a great disadvantage -for Effie. It would be a fine thing for her to have some companions of -her own age. But I would like to hear something more about the family. -Can anybody tell me who _she_ was? The man may be a _parvenoo_, but -these sort of persons sometimes get very nice wives. There was a friend -of my sister’s that married a person of the name of Dirom. And she was a -Maitland: so there is no telling.” - -“There are Maitlands and Maitlands,” said Miss Robina. “It’s a very good -name: but our niece that is married in the north had a butler that was -John Maitland. I said she should just call him John. But he did not like -that. And then there was a joke that they would call him Lauderdale. But -the man was just very much offended, and said the name was his own name, -as much as if was a duke: in which, no doubt, he was right.” - -“That’s the way with all Scots names,” said her sister. “There are -Dempsters that I would not hire to wait at my table. We are not setting -up to be better than our neighbours. I’m not standing on a name. But I -would not encourage these mere monied folk to come into a quiet -neighbourhood, and flaunt their big purses in our faces. They’ll spoil -the servants, they’ll learn the common folk ill ways. That’s always what -happens. Ye’ll see the very chickens will be dearer, and Nancy Miller at -the shop will set up her saucy face, and tell ye they’re all ordered for -Allonby; so they shall have no countenance from me.” - -“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we have plenty of -chickens of our own: I seldom need to buy. And then there is Effie to -take into consideration. They will be giving balls and parties. I have -Effie to think of. I am thinking I will have to go.” - -“I hope Effie will keep them at a distance,” said Miss Robina. Effie -heard this discussion without taking any part in it. She had no -objection to balls and parties, and there was in her mind the vague -excitement with which a girl always hears of possible companions of her -own age. - -What might be coming with them? new adventures, new experiences, eternal -friendship perhaps--perhaps--who can tell what? Whether the mother was a -Maitland or the father a _parvenoo_, as the ladies said, it mattered -little to Effie. She had few companions, and her heart was all on the -side of the new people with a thoughtlessness in respect to their -antecedents which perhaps was culpable. - -But then Effie was but nineteen, which made a difference, Miss Robina -herself was the first to allow. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -“We will just go without waiting any longer,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “We are -their nearest neighbours--and they will take it kind if we lose no time. -As for these old cats, it will be little matter to the Diroms what they -do--but your papa, that is a different affair. It can do no harm, for -everybody knows who _we_ are, Effie, and it may do good. So we will be -on the safe side, whatever happens. And there is nothing much doing for -the horses to-day. Be you ready at three o’clock, and we will take Rory -in the carriage for a drive.” - -Effie obeyed her stepmother with alacrity. She had not taken any part in -the argument, but her imagination had found a great deal to say. She -had seen the young Diroms out riding. She had seen them at church. There -were two girls about her own age, and there was a brother. The brother -was of quite secondary importance, she said to herself; nevertheless, -there are always peradventures in the air, and when one thinks that at -any moment one’s predestined companion--he whom heaven intends, whatever -men may think or say--may walk round the corner! - -The image of Ronald, which had never been very deeply imprinted, had -faded out of Effie’s imagination. It had never reached any farther than -her imagination. And in her little excitement and the pleasurable -quickening of her pulsations, as she set out upon this drive with her -stepmother, there was that vague sense that there was no telling what -might come of it which gives zest to the proceedings of youth. It was -the nearest approach to setting out upon a career of adventure which -had ever fallen to Effie’s share. She was going to discover a world. She -was a new little Columbus, setting her sail towards the unknown. - -Mrs. Ogilvie ran on all the way with a sort of monologue, every sentence -of which began with, “I wonder.” - -“Dear me, I wish I could have found out who _she_ was. I wonder if it -will turn out to be my sister’s friend. She was a great deal older than -I am, of course, and might very well have grown-up sons and daughters. -For Mary is the eldest of us all, and if she had ever had any children, -they would have been grown up by this time. We will see whether she will -say anything about Mary. And I wonder if you will like the girls. They -will always have been accustomed to more luxury than would be at all -becoming to a country gentleman’s daughter like you. And I wonder if the -young man--the brother--will be always at Allonby. We will have to ask -them to their dinner. And I wonder----” But here Mrs. Ogilvie’s -wonderings were cut short on her lips; and so great was her astonishment -that her lips dropped apart, and she sat gaping, incapable of speech. - -“I declare!” she cried at last, and could say no more. The cause of this -consternation was that, as they entered the avenue of Allonby, another -vehicle met them coming down. And this turned out to be the carriage -from the inn, which was the only one to be had for ten miles round, -conveying Miss Dempster and Miss Beenie, in their best apparel. The -Gilston coachman stopped, as was natural, and so did the driver of the -cab. - -“Well,” cried Miss Dempster, waving her hand, “ye are going, I see, -after all. We’ve just been having our lunch with them. Since it was to -be done, it was just as well to do it in good time. And a very nice -luncheon it was, and nicely set upon the table, that I must say--but -how can you wonder, with such a number of servants! If they’re not good -for that, they’re good for nothing. There was just too much, a great -deal too much, upon the table; and a fine set-out of plate, and----” - -“Sarah, Mrs. Ogilvie is not minding about that.” - -“Mrs. Ogilvie is like other folk, and likes to hear our first -impressions. And, Effie, you will need just to trim up your beaver; for, -though they are not what you can call fine, they are in the flower of -the fashion. We’ll keep you no longer. Sandy, you may drive on. Eh! -no--stop a moment,” cried the old lady, flourishing her umbrella. - -The Gilston coachman had put his horses in motion also; so that when the -two carriages were checked again, it was obliquely and from a distance, -raising her voice, that Miss Dempster shouted this piece of -information: “Ye’ll be gratified to hear that she _was_ a Miss -Maitland,” the old lady cried. - -“Well, if ever I heard the like!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, as they went on. -“There to their lunch, after vowing they would never give their -countenance----! That shows how little you can trust even your nearest -neighbours. They are just two old cats! But I am glad she is the person -I thought. As Mary’s sister, I will have a different kind of a standing -from ordinary strangers, and you will profit by that, Effie. I would not -wonder if you found them a great acquisition; and your father and me, we -would be very well pleased. We’ve heard nothing about the gentlemen of -the house. I wonder if they’re always at home. As I was saying, I wonder -if that brother of theirs is an idle man about the place, like so many. -I’m not fond of idle men. I wonder----” - -And for twenty minutes more Mrs. Ogilvie continued wondering, until the -carriage drew up at the door of Allonby, which was open, admitting a -view of a couple of fine footmen and two large dogs, which last got up -and came forward with lazy cordiality to welcome the visitors. - -“Dear me!” Mrs. Ogilvie said aside. “I am always distressed with Glen -for lying at the door. I wonder if it can be the fashion. I wonder----” - -There was time for these remarks, for there was a long corridor to go -through before a door was softly opened, and the ladies found -themselves, much to their surprise, in what Mrs. Ogilvie afterwards -called “the dark.” It was a room carefully shaded to that twilight which -is dear at the present period to fashionable eyes. The sun is never too -overpowering at Gilston; but the Miss Diroms were young women of their -generation, and scorned to discriminate. They had sunblinds without and -curtains within, so that the light was tempered into an obscurity in -which the robust eyes of country people, coming out of that broad vulgar -daylight to which they were accustomed, could at first distinguish -nothing. - -Effie’s young and credulous imagination was in a quiver of anticipation, -admiration, and wonder. It was all new to her--the great house, the -well-regulated silence, the poetic gloom. She held her breath, expecting -what might next be revealed to her, with the awe and entranced and -wondering satisfaction of a novice about to be initiated. The noiseless -figures that rose and came forward and with a soft pressure of her hand, -two of them mistily white, the other (only the mother, who didn’t count) -dark, impressed her beyond description. - -The only thing that a little diminished the spell was the voices, more -highly pitched than those native to the district, in unaccustomed -modulations of “high English.” Effie murmured quite unconsciously an -indistinct “Very well, thank you” in answer to their greetings, and -then they all sat down, and it became gradually possible to see. - -The two Miss Diroms were tall and had what are called fine figures. They -came and sat on either side of Effie, one clasping her hands round her -knees, the other leaning back in a corner of the deep sofa with her head -against a cushion. The sofa and the cushion were covered with yellow -damask, against which the white dress made a pretty harmony, as Effie’s -eyes got accustomed to the dimness. But Effie, sitting very straight and -properly in her chair, was much bewildered by the ease with which one -young lady threw her arms over her head, and the other clasped them -round her knees. - -“How good of you to come!” said the one on the sofa, who was the eldest. -“We were wondering if you would call.” - -“We saw you at church on Sunday,” said the other, “and we thought you -looked so nice. What a funny little church! I suppose we ought to say -k’k.” - -“Miss Ogilvie will tell us what to say, and how to talk to the natives. -Do tell us. We have been half over the world, but never in Scotland -before.” - -“Oh then, you will perhaps have been in India,” said Effie; “my brother -is there.” - -“Is he in the army? Of course, all Scotch people have sons in the army. -Oh no, we’ve never been in India.” - -“India,” said the other, “is not in the world--it’s outside. We’ve been -everywhere where people go. Is he coming back soon? Is he good at tennis -and that sort of thing? Do you play a great deal here?” - -“They do at Lochlee,” said Effie, “and at Kirkconnel: but not me. For I -have nobody to play with.” - -“Poor little thing!” said the young lady on the sofa, patting her on the -arm: and then they both laughed, while Effie grew crimson with shy pride -and confusion. She did not see what she had said that was laughable; but -it was evident that they did, and this is not an agreeable sensation -even to a little girl. - -“You shall come here and play,” said the other. “We are having a new -court made. And Fred--where is Fred, Phyll?--Fred will be so pleased to -have such a pretty little thing to play with.” - -“How should I know where he is?--mooning about somewhere, sketching or -something.” - -“Oh,” said Effie, “do you sketch?” Perhaps she was secretly mollified, -though she said to herself that she was yet more offended, by being -called a pretty little thing. - -“Not I; but my brother, that is Fred: and I am Phyllis, and she is -Doris. Now tell us your name, for we can’t go on calling each other -Miss, can we? Such near neighbours as we are, and going to see so much -of each other.” - -“No, of course we can’t go on saying Miss. What should you say was her -name, Phyll? Let us guess. People are always like their names. I should -say Violet.” - -“Dear no, such a mawkish little sentimental name. She is not sentimental -at all--are you? What is an Ogilvie name? You have all family names in -Scotland, haven’t you, that go from mother to daughter?” - -Effie sat confused while they talked over her. She was not accustomed to -this sudden familiarity. To call the girls by their names, when she -scarcely had formed their acquaintance, seemed terrible to -her--alarming, yet pleasant too. She blushed, yet felt it was time to -stop the discussion. - -“They call me Effie,” she said. “That is not all my name, but it is my -name at home.” - -“They call me Effie,” repeated Miss Doris, with a faint mockery in her -tone; “what a pretty way of saying it, just like the Italians! If you -are going to be so conscientious as that, I wasn’t christened Doris, I -must tell you: but I was determined Phyll should not have all the luck. -We are quite eighteenth century here--furniture and all.” - -“But I can’t see the furniture,” said Effie, making for the first time -an original remark. “Do you like to sit in the dark?” - -At this both the sisters laughed again, and said that she was a most -amusing little thing. “But don’t say that to mamma, or it will quite -strengthen her in her rebellion. She would like to sit in the sun, I -believe. She was brought up in the barbarous ages, and doesn’t know any -better. There she is moving off into the other room with your mother. -Now the two old ladies will put their heads together----” - -“Mrs. Ogilvie is not an old lady,” said Effie hastily; “she is my -stepmother. She is almost as young as----” Here she paused, with a -glance at Miss Phyllis on the sofa, who was still lying back with her -head against the cushion. Effie felt instinctively that it would not be -wise to finish her sentence. “She is a great deal younger than you would -suppose,” she added, once more a little confused. - -“That explains why you are in such good order. Have you to do what she -tells you? Mamma is much better than that--we have her very well in -hand. Oh, you are not going yet. It is impossible. There must be tea -before you go. Mamma likes everybody to have something. And then -Fred--you must see Fred--or at least he must see you----” - -“Here he is,” said the other, with a sudden grasp of Effie’s arm. - -Effie was much startled by this call upon her attention. She turned -round hastily, following the movement of her new friends. There could -not have been a more dramatic appearance. Fred was coming in by a door -at the end of the room. He had lifted a curtain which hung over it, and -stood in the dim light outside holding back the heavy folds--looking, it -appeared, into the gloom to see if any one was there. - -Naturally, coming out of the daylight his eyes at first made out -nothing, and he stood for some time in this highly effective attitude--a -spectacle which was not unworthy a maiden’s eye. He was tall and slim -like his sisters, dark, almost olive in his complexion, with black hair -clustering closely in innumerable little curls about his head. He was -dressed in a gray morning suit, with a red tie, which was the only spot -of colour visible, and had a great effect. He peered into the gloom, -curving his eyelids as if he had been shortsighted. - -Then, when sufficient time had elapsed to fix his sight upon Effie’s -sensitive imagination like a sun picture, he spoke: “Are any of you -girls there?” This was all, and it was not much that Fred said. He was -answered by a chorus of laughter from his sisters. They were very fond -of laughing, Effie thought. - -“Oh yes, some of us girls are here--three of us. You can come in and be -presented,” Phyllis said. - -“If you think you are worthy of it,” said Doris, once more grasping -Effie’s arm. - -They had all held their breath a little when the hero thus dramatically -presented himself. Doris had kept her hand on Effie’s wrist; perhaps -because she wished to feel those little pulses jump, or else it was -because of that inevitable peradventure which presented itself to them -too, as it had done to Effie. This was the first meeting, but how it -might end, or what it might lead to, who could tell? The girls, though -they were so unlike each other, all three held their breath. And then -the sisters laughed as he approached, and the little excitement dropped. - -“I wish you wouldn’t sit in the dark,” said Fred, dropping the curtain -behind him as he entered. “I can’t see where you are sitting, and if I -am not so respectful as I ought to be, I hope I may be forgiven, for I -can see nothing. Oh, here you are!” - -“It is not the princess; you are not expected to go on your knees,” said -his sisters, while Effie once more felt herself blush furiously at being -the subject of the conversation. “You are going to be presented to Miss -Ogilvie--don’t you know the young lady in white?--oh, of course, you -remember. Effie, my brother Fred. And now you know us all, and we are -going to be the best of friends.” - -“This is very familiar,” said Fred. “Miss Ogilvie, you must not visit it -upon me if Phyll and Dor are exasperating. They always are. But when you -come to know them they are not so bad as you might think. They have it -all their own way in this house. It has always been the habit of the -family to let the girls have their own way--and we find it works well on -the whole, though in point of manners it may leave something to be -desired.” - -He had thrown himself carelessly on the sofa beside his sister as he -spoke. Effie sat very still and erect on her chair and listened with a -dismay and amazement which it would be hard to put into words. She did -not know what to say to this strange group. She was afraid of them, -brother and sisters and altogether. It was the greatest relief to her -when Mrs. Ogilvie returned into the room again, discoursing in very -audible tones with the mistress of the house. - -“I am sure I am very glad to have met with you,” Mrs. Ogilvie was -saying. “They will be so pleased to hear everything. Poor thing! she is -but lonely, with no children about her, and her husband dead this five -years and more. He was a great loss to her--the kindest man, and always -at her call. But we must just make up our mind to take the bitter with -the sweet in this life. Effie, where are you? We must really be going. -We have Rory, that is my little boy, with us in the carriage, and he -will be getting very tired of waiting. I hope it will not be long before -we see you at Gilston. Good-bye, Mrs. Dirom; Effie, I hope you have said -to the young ladies that we will be glad to see them--and you too,” -giving her hand to Fred--“you especially, for we have but few young men -in the country.” - -“I accept your invitation as a compliment to the genus young man, Mrs. -Ogilvie--not to me.” - -“Well, that is true,” she said with a laugh; “but I am sure, from what I -can see of you, it will soon be as particular as you could wish. Young -people are a great want just in this corner of the country. Effie, poor -thing, has felt it all her life: but I hope better things will be coming -for her now.” - -“She shall not be lonely if we can help it,” said the sisters. They -kissed her as they parted, as if they had known her for years, and -called her “dear Effie!” waving their hands to her as she disappeared -into the light. They did not go out to the door with the visitors, as -Effie in the circumstances would have done, but yet sent her away -dazzled by their affectionateness, their offers of regard. - -She felt another creature, a girl with friends, a member of society, as -she drove away. What a thing it is to have friends! She had been assured -often by her stepmother that she was a happy girl to have so many people -who took an interest in her, and would always be glad to give her good -advice. Effie knew where to lay her hand upon a great deal of good -advice at any moment; but that is not everything that is required in -life. - -Phyllis and Doris! they were like names out of a book, and it was like a -picture in her memory, the slim figure in white sunk deep in the yellow -damask of the sofa, with her dark hair relieved against the big soft -puffy cushion. Exactly like a picture; whereas Effie herself had sat -straight up like a little country girl. Mrs. Ogilvie ran on like a -purling stream as they drove home, expressing her satisfaction that it -was Mary’s friend who was the mistress of the house, and describing all -the varieties of feeling in her own mind on the subject--her conviction -that this was almost too good to be true, and just more fortunate than -could be hoped. - -But Effie listened, and paid no attention. She had a world of her own -now to escape into. Would she ever be bold enough to call them Phyllis -and Doris?--and then Fred--but nobody surely would expect her to call -him Fred. - -Effie was disturbed in these delightful thoughts, and Mrs. Ogilvie’s -monologue was suddenly broken in upon by a sound of horses’ hoofs, and a -dust and commotion upon the road, followed by the apparition of Dr. -Jardine’s mare, with her head almost into the carriage window on Effie’s -side. The doctor’s head above the mare’s was pale. There was foam on his -lips, and he carried his riding whip short and savagely, as if he meant -to strike some one. - -“Tell me just one thing,” he said, without any preliminary greetings; -“have these women been there?” - -“Dear me, doctor, what a fright you have given me. Is anything wrong -with Robert; has anything happened? Bless me, the women! what women? You -have just taken my breath away.” - -“These confounded women that spoil everything--will ye let me know if -they were there?” - -“Oh, the Miss ---- Well, yes--I was as much surprised as you, doctor. -With their best bonnets on, and all in state in Mr. Ewing’s carriage; -they were there to their lunch.” - -The doctor swore a solemn oath--by----! something which he did not say, -which is always a safe proceeding. - -“You’ll excuse me for stopping you, but I could not believe it. The old -cats! And to their lunch!” At this he gave a loud laugh. “They’re just -inconceivable!” And rode away. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -The acquaintance thus formed between the houses of Allonby and Gilston -was followed by much and close intercourse. In the natural order of -things, there came two dinner parties, the first of which was given by -Mrs. Ogilvie, and was a very elaborate business. The lady of Gilston -began her preparations as soon as she returned from that first momentous -call. She spent a long time going over the list of possible guests, -making marks upon the sheet of paper on which Effie had written out the -names. - -“Johnstones--three--no, but that will never do. Him and her we must -have, of course: but Mary must just stay at home, or come after dinner; -where am I to get a gentleman for her? There will have to be two extra -gentlemen anyway for Effie, and one of the Miss Diroms. Do ye think I’m -just made of men? No, no, Mary Johnstone will have to stay at home. The -Duncans?--well, he’s cousin to the Marquis, and that is always -something; but he’s a foolish creature, and his wife is not much better. -Mrs. Heron and Sir John--Oh, yes; she is just a credit to see at your -table, with her diamonds; and though he is rather doited, poor man, he -is a great person in the county. Well, and what do you say to the -Smiths? They’re nobody in particular, so far as birth goes; but the -country is getting so dreadfully democratic that what does that matter? -And they’re monied people like the Diroms themselves, and Lady Smith has -a great deal to say for herself. We will put down the Smiths. But, -Effie, there is one thing that just drives me to despair----” - -“Yes?” said Effie, looking up from the list; “and what is that?” - -“The Miss Dempsters!” cried her stepmother in a tone which might have -touched the hardest heart. That was a question indeed. The Miss -Dempsters would have to be asked for the loan of their forks and spoons, -and their large lamp, and _both_ the silver candlesticks. How after that -would it be possible to leave them out? And how put them in? And how -provide two other men to balance the old ladies? Such questions as these -are enough to turn any woman’s hair gray, as Mrs. Ogilvie said. - -Then when that was settled there came the bill of fare. The entire -village knew days before what there was to be for dinner, and about the -fish that was sent for from Dumfries, and did not turn out all that -could have been wished, so that at the last moment a mere common salmon -from Solway, a thing made no account of, had to be put in the pot. - -Mrs. Moffatt at the shop had a sight of the pastry, which was “just -remarkable” she said. And a dozen little groups were admitted on the -afternoon of the great day to see the table set out, all covered with -flowers, with the napkins like snowy turrets round the edge, and the -silver and crystal shining. The Ogilvies possessed an epergne won at -some racing meeting long before, which was a great work of art, all in -frosted silver,--a huntsman standing between a leash of dogs; and this, -with the Dempster candlesticks on each side, made a brilliant centre. -And the schoolmaster recorded afterwards amid his notes of the rainfall -and other interesting pieces of information, that the fine smell of the -cooking came as far as the school, and distracted the bairns at their -lessons, causing that melting sensation in the jaws which is described -by the country folk as watering of the mouth. - -Effie was busy all the morning with the flowers, with writing out little -cards for the guests’ names, and other such ornamental arrangements. - -Glen, confused in his mind and full of curiosity, followed her about -everywhere, softly waving his great tail like a fan, sweeping off a -light article here and there from the crowded tables, and asking in his -superior doggish way, what all this fuss and excitement (which he rather -enjoyed on the whole) was about? till somebody sent him away with a kick -and an adjuration as being “in everybody’s gait”--which was a sad end to -his impartial and interested spectatorship. - -Little Rory toddled at his sister’s heels on the same errand, but could -not be kicked like Glen--and altogether there was a great deal of -confusion. But you never would have divined this when Mrs. Ogilvie came -sweeping down stairs in her pink silk, as if the dinner had all been -arranged by her major-domo, and she had never argued with the cook in -her life. - -It may easily be supposed that the members of the family had little -time to compare notes while their guests remained. And it was not till -the last carriage had rolled away and the lady of the house had made her -last smiling protestation that it was still just ridiculously early, -that this meritorious woman threw herself into her favourite corner of -the sofa, with a profound sigh of pleasure and relief. - -“Well!” she said, and repeated that long-drawn breath of satisfaction. -“Well!--it’s been a terrible trouble; but I cannot say but I’m -thoroughly content and pleased now that it’s past.” - -To this her husband, standing in front of the expiring fire (for even in -August a little fire in the evening is not inappropriate on the Border), -replied with a suppressed growl. - -“You’re easy pleased,” he said, “but why ye should take all this trouble -to fill people with good things, as the Scripture says, that are not -hungry and don’t want them--” - -“Oh, Robert, just you hold your peace! You’re always very well pleased -to go out to your dinner. And as for the Allonby family, it was a clear -duty. When you speak of Scripture you surely forget that we’re bidden to -entertain strangers unawares. No, that’s not just right, it’s angels we -entertain unawares.” - -“There’s no angels in that house, or I am mistaken,” said Mr. Ogilvie. - -“Well, there’s two very well-dressed girls, which is the nearest to it: -and there’s another person, that may turn out even more important.” - -“And who may that be?” - -“Whist,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, holding up a finger of admonition as the -others approached. “Well, Uncle John! And Effie, come you here and rest. -Poor thing, you’re done out. Now I would like to have your frank -opinion. Mine is that though it took a great deal of trouble, it’s been -a great success.” - -“The salmon was excellent,” said Mr. Moubray. - -“And the table looked very pretty.” - -“And yon grouse were not bad at all.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, throwing up her hands, “ye tiresome people! Am -I thinking of the salmon or the grouse; was there any chance they would -be bad in _my_ house? I am meaning the party: and my opinion is that -everybody was just very well pleased, and that everything went off to a -wish.” - -“That woman Lady Smith has a tongue that would deave a miller,” said the -master of the house. “I request you will put her at a distance from me, -Janet, if she ever dines here again.” - -“And what will you do when she asks us?” cried his wife. “If she gives -you anything but her right hand--my word! but you will be ill pleased.” - -To this argument her husband had no reply handy, and after a moment she -resumed-- - -“I am very glad to see you are going to be such friends with the Diroms, -Effie; they’re fine girls. Miss Doris, as they call her, might have had -her dress a little higher, but no doubt that’s the fault of those grand -dressmakers that will have their own way. But the one I like is Mr. -Fred. He is a very fine lad; he takes nothing upon him.” - -“What should he take upon him? He’s nothing or nobody, but only a rich -man’s son.” - -“Robert, you are just the most bigoted, inconsiderate person! Well, I -think it’s very difficult when you are just a rich person to be modest -and young like yon. If you are a young duke that’s different; but to -have nothing but money to stand upon--and not to stand upon that--” - -“It is very well said,” said Uncle John, making her a bow. “There’s both -charity and observation in what Mrs. Ogilvie says.” - -“Is there not?” cried the lady in a flush of pleasure. “Oh no, I’m not -meaning it is clever of me; but when a young man has nothing else, and -is just pleasant, and never seems to mind, but singles out a bit little -thing of a girl in a white frock--” - -This made them all look at Effie, who as yet said nothing. She was -leaning back in the other corner, tired yet flushed with the pleasure -and novelty of finding herself so important a person. Her white frock -was very simple, but yet it was the best she had ever had; and never -before had Effie been “singled out,” as her stepmother said. The dinner -party was a great event to her. Nothing so important had occurred -before, nothing in which she herself had been so prominent. A pretty -flush of colour came over her face. - -There had been a great deal in Fred Dirom’s eyes which was quite new, -mysterious, and even, in its novelty, delightful to Effie. She could -scarcely help laughing at the recollection, and yet it made a warmth -about her heart. To be flattered in that silent way--not by any mere -compliment, but by the homage of a pair of eloquent eyes--is startling, -strange, never unsweet to a girl. It is a more subtle coming of age than -any birthday can bring. It shows that she has passed out of the band of -little girls into that of those young princesses whom all the poets have -combined to praise. This first sensation of the awakening consciousness -has something exquisite in it not to be put into words. - -Her blush grew deeper as she saw the group round all looking at her--her -stepmother with a laugh of satisfaction, her father with a glance in -which the usual drawing together of his shaggy eyebrows was a very poor -simulation of a frown, and Uncle John with a liquid look of tender -sympathy not unmingled with tender ridicule and full of love withal. - -“Why do you all look at me like that?” Effie cried, to throw off the -growing embarrassment. “I am not the only one that had a white frock.” - -“Well, I would not call yon a white frock that was drooping off Doris -Dirom’s shoulders,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we’ll say no more about -that. So far as I could see, everybody was pleased: and they stayed a -most unconscionable time. Bless me! it’s past eleven o’clock. A little -license may always be given on a great occasion; but though it’s a -pleasure to talk it all over, and everything has been just a great -success, I think, Effie, you should go to your bed. It’s later than your -ordinary, and you have been about the most of the day. Good-night, my -dear. You looked very nice, and your flowers were just beautiful: -everybody was speaking of them, and I gave the credit where it was due.” - -“It is time for me to go too,” said Uncle John. - -“Oh, wait a moment.” Mrs. Ogilvie waited till Effie had gone out of the -room with her candle, very tired, very happy, and glad to get away from -so much embarrassing observation. The stepmother waited a little until -all was safe, and then she gave vent to the suppressed triumph. - -“You will just mark my words, you two gentlemen,” she cried. “They have -met but three times--once when we called, once when they were playing -their tennis, or whatever they call it--and to-night; but if Effie is -not Mrs. Fred Dirom before six months are out it will be her own fault.” - -“Fred Fiddlestick!” cried Mr. Ogilvie. “You’re just a silly woman, -thinking of nothing but love and marriages. I’ll have no more of that.” - -“If I’m a silly woman, there’s not far off from here a sillier man,” -said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You’ll have to hear a great deal more of it. And if -you do not see all the advantages, and the grand thing it would be for -Effie to have such a settlement so young--” - -“There was one at your hand if you had wanted to get rid of her, much -younger.” - -“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, clasping her hands together, “that men, who -are always said to be the cleverest and the wisest, should be so slow at -the uptake! Any woman would understand--but you, that are her father! -The one that was at my hand, as you say, what was it? A long-leggit lad -in a marching regiment! with not enough to keep him a horse, let alone a -wife. That would have been a bonnie business!--that would have been -taking a mother’s care of Effie! I am thankful her mother cannot hear -ye. But Fred Dirom is very different--the only son of a very rich man. -And no doubt the father, who perhaps is not exactly made for society, -would give them Allonby, and set them up. That is what my heart is set -on for Effie, I have always said, I will never perhaps have a grown-up -daughter of my own.” - -“I am sure,” said Mr. Moubray, “you have nothing but kindness in your -heart.” - -“You mean I am nothing but a well-intentioned haverel,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, with a laugh. “But you’ll see that I’m more than that. Effie! -bless me, what a start you gave me! I thought by this time that you were -in your bed.” - -Effie had come back to the drawing-room upon some trifling errand. She -stood there for a moment, her candle in her hand, her fair head still -decked with the rose which had been its only ornament. The light threw a -little flickering illumination upon her face, for her stepmother, always -thrifty, had already extinguished one of the lamps. Mr. Moubray looked -with eyes full of tender pity upon the young figure in the doorway, -standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a world unknown. He had no mind -for any further discussion. He followed her out when she had carried off -the gloves and little ornaments which she had left behind, and stood -with her a moment in the hall to say good-night. - -“My little Effie,” he said, “an evening like this is little to us, but -there is no saying what it may be to you. I think it has brought new -thoughts already, to judge by your face.” - -She looked up at him startled, with her colour rising. “No, Uncle John,” -she answered, with the natural self-defence of youth: then paused to -inquire after her denial. “What kind of new thoughts?” - -He stooped over her to kiss her, with his hand upon her shoulder. - -“We’ll not inquire too far,” he said. “Nothing but novelty, my dear, and -the rising of the tide.” - -Effie opened the door for him, letting in the fresh sweep of the -night-wind, which came so clear and keen over the moors, and the twinkle -of the stars looking down from the great vault of dark blue sky. The -world seemed to widen out round them, with the opening of that door, -which let in all the silence and hush of the deep-breathing night. She -put her candle upon the table and came out with him, her delicate being -thrilling to the influence of the sweet full air which embraced her -round and round. - -“Oh, Uncle John, what a night! to think we should shut ourselves up in -little dull rooms with all this shining outside the door!” - -“We are but frail human creatures, Effie, though we have big souls; the -dull rooms are best for us at this hour of the night.” - -“I would like to walk with you down among the trees. I would like to go -down the Dene and hear the water rushing, but not to Allonby -churchyard.” - -“No, nor to Allonby at all, Effie. Take time, my bonnie dear, let no one -hasten your thoughts. Come, I cannot have you out here in the night in -your white frock. You look like a little ghost; and what would Mrs. -Ogilvie say to me if you caught cold just at this crisis of affairs?” - -He stopped to laugh softly, but put his arm round her, and led her back -within the door. - -“The night is bonnie and the air is fresh, but home and shelter are the -best. Good-night, and God bless my little Effie,” he said. - -The people in the village, whose minds were now relieved from the strain -of counting all the carriages, and were going to sleep calmly in the -certainty that everybody was gone, heard his firm slow step going past, -and knew it was the minister, who would naturally be the last to go -home. They took a pleasure in hearing him pass, and the children, who -were still awake, felt a protection in the fact that he was there, -going leisurely along the road, sure to keep away any ghost or robber -that might be lurking in the stillness of the night. His very step was -full of thought. - -It was pleasant to him, without any sad work in hand, to walk through -the little street between the sleeping houses, saying a blessing upon -the sleepers as he passed. Usually when he was out so late, it was on -his way to some sickbed to minister to the troubled or the dying. He -enjoyed to-night the exemption and the leisure, and with a smile in his -eyes looked from the light in Dr. Jardine’s window, within which the Dr. -was no doubt smoking a comfortable pipe before he went to bed, to the -little inquisitive glimmer higher up in Rosebank, where the old ladies -were laying aside their old finery and talking over the party. He passed -between them with a humorous consciousness of their antagonism which did -not disturb the general peace. - -The stars shone with a little frost in their brightness, though it was -but August; the night-air blew fresh in his face; the village, with all -its windows and eyelids closed, slept deep in the silence of the night. -“God bless them all--but above all Effie,” he repeated, smiling to -himself. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -The Diroms belonged to a class now very common in England, the class of -very rich people without any antecedents or responsibilities, which it -is so difficult to classify or lay hold of, and which neither the -authorities of society nor the moralist have yet fully comprehended. -They had a great deal of money, which is popularly recognized to be -power, and they owed it to nobody but themselves. - -They owed nothing to anybody. They had no estates to keep up; no poor -people depended upon them; the clerks and porters at the office were not -to call dependents, though probably--out of good nature, when they were -ill or trouble arose in their families, if it happened to come under the -notice of the head of the firm, he would fling them a little money, -perhaps with an admonition, perhaps with a joke. But this was pure -liberality, generosity as his friends called it. He had nothing to “keep -up.” - -Even the sick gamekeeper who had been hurt by a fall, though he was in -the new tenant’s service, was Lady Allonby’s servant, and it was she who -had to support his family while he was ill. The rich people were -responsible for nobody. If they were kind--and they were not unkind--it -was all to their credit, for they had no duty to any one. - -This was how the head of the house considered his position. “I don’t -know anything about your land burdens, your feudal burdens,” he would -say; “money is what has made me. I pay taxes enough, I hope; but I’ve -got no sentimental taxes to pay, and I won’t have anything to say to -such rubbish. I am a working man myself, just like the rest. If these -fellows will take care of their own business as I did, they will get on -themselves as I have done, and want nothing from anybody. I’ve no call -even to ‘keep up’ my family; they ought to be working for themselves, as -I was at their age. If I do, it’s because the girls and their mother are -too many for me, and I have to yield to their prejudices.” - -These were Mr. Dirom’s principles: but he threw about his money very -liberally all the same, giving large subscriptions, with a determination -to stand at the head of the list when he was on it at all, and an -inclination to twit the others who did not give so liberally with their -stinginess; “What is the use of making bones of it?” he said, with a -flourish to Sir John, who was well known to be in straightened -circumstances; “I just draw a cheque for five hundred and the thing’s -done.” - -Sir John could no more have drawn a cheque for five hundred than he -could have flown, and Mr. Dirom knew it; and the knowledge gave an edge -to his pleasure. Sir John’s twenty-five pounds was in reality a much -larger contribution than Mr. Dirom’s five hundred, but the public did -not think of this. The public said that Sir John gave the twenty-five -because he could not help it, because his position demanded it; but Mr. -Dirom’s five hundred took away the breath of the spectators. It was more -than liberal; it was magnificent. - -Mr. Dirom was a man who wore white waistcoats and large well-blown roses -in his coat. He swaggered, without knowing it, in his walk, and in his -speech, wherever he was visible. The young people were better bred, and -were very conscious of those imperfections. They preferred, indeed, that -he should not “trouble,” as they said, to come home, especially to come -to the country when business prevented. There was no occasion for papa -to “trouble.” Fred could take his place if he was detained in town. - -In this way they showed a great deal of tender consideration for their -father’s engagements. Perhaps he was deceived by it, perhaps not; no one -could tell. He took his own way absolutely, appearing when it suited -him, and when it did not suit him leaving them to their own devices. -Allonby was too far off for him, too distant from town: though he was -quite willing to be known as the occupier of so handsome a “place.” He -came down for the first of the shooting, which is the right thing in the -city, but afterwards did not trouble his family much with his presence, -which was satisfactory to everybody concerned. It was not known exactly -what Mr. Dirom had risen from, but it was low enough to make his -present elevation wonderful, and to give that double zest to wealth -which makes the self-made man happy. - -Mrs. Dirom was of a different order. She was two generations at least -from the beginning of her family, and she too, though in a less degree -than her children, felt that her husband’s manners left something to be -desired. He had helped himself up by her means, she having been, as in -the primitive legend, of the class of the master’s daughters: at least -her father was the head of the firm under which Dirom had begun to “make -his way.” But neither was she quite up to the mark. - -“Mamma is dreadfully middle-class,” the girls said. In some respects -that is worse than the lower class. It made her a little timid and -doubtful of her position, which her husband never was. None of these -things affected the young people; they had received “every advantage.” - -Their father’s wealth was supposed to be immense; and when wealth is -immense it penetrates everywhere. A moderate fortune is worth very -little in a social point of view, but a great fortune opens every door. - -The elder brother, who never came to Allonby, who never went near the -business, who had been portioned off contemptuously by his father, as if -he had been a girl (and scorn could not go farther), had married an -earl’s daughter, and, more than that, had got her off the very steps of -the throne, for she had been a Maid of Honour. He was the most refined -and cultivated individual in the world, with one of the most lovely -houses in London, and everything about him artistic to the last degree. -It was with difficulty that he put up with his father at all. Still, for -the sake of his little boy, he acknowledged the relationship from time -to time. - -As for Fred and his sisters, they have already been made known to the -reader. Fred was by way of being “in the business,” and went down to the -office three or four times in the week when he was in town. But what he -wished to be was an artist. He painted more or less, he modelled, he had -a studio of his own in the midst of one of the special artistic -quarters, and retired there to work, as he said, whenever the light was -good. - -For his part Fred aspired to be a Bohemian, and did everything he could -in a virtuous way to carry out his intention. He scorned money, or -thought he did while enjoying every luxury it could procure. If he could -have found a beautiful milkmaid or farm girl with anything like the -Rossetti type of countenance he would have married her off-hand; but -then beauties of that description are rare. The country lasses on the -Border were all of too cheerful a type. But he had fully made up his -mind that when the right woman appeared no question of money or -ambition should be allowed to interfere between him and his -inclinations. - -“You may say what you will,” he said to his sisters, “and I allow my -principles would not answer with girls. You have nothing else to look -to, to get on in the world. But a man can take that sort of thing in his -own hands, and if one gets beauty that’s enough. It is more distinction -than anything else. I shall insist upon beauty, but nothing more.” - -“It all depends on what you call beauty,” said Miss Phyllis. “You can -make anything beauty if you stand by it and swear to it. Marrying a -painter isn’t at all a bad way. He paints you over and over again till -you get recognized as a Type, and then it doesn’t matter what other -people say.” - -“You can’t call Effie a Type,” said the young lady who called herself -Doris--her name in fact was a more humble one: but then not even the -Herald’s College has anything to do with Christian names. - -“She may not be a Type--but if you had seen her as I did in the half -light, coming out gradually as one’s eyes got used to it like something -developing in a camera--Jove! She was like a Burne-Jones--not strong -enough for the blessed Damozel or that sort of thing, but sad and sweet -like--like--” Fred paused for a simile, “like a hopeless maiden in a -procession winding down endless stairs, or--standing about in the wet, -or--If she had not been dressed in nineteenth-century costume.” - -“He calls that nineteenth-century costume!” said Phyllis with a mixture -of sympathy and scorn. - -“Poor Effie is not dressed at all,” said the other sister. “She has -clothes on, that is all: but I could make her look very nice if she -were in my hands. She has a pretty little figure, not spoiled at -all--not too solid like most country girls but just enough to drape a -pretty flowing stuff or soft muslin upon. I should turn her out that you -would not know her if she trusted herself to me.” - -“For goodness’ sake let her alone,” cried Fred; “don’t make a trollop of -my little maiden. Her little stiffness suits her. I like her just so, in -her white frock.” - -“You should have been born a milliner, Dor.” - -“Perhaps I was--and papa’s money has thwarted nature. If he should ever -lose it all, which I suppose is on the cards----” - -“Oh, very much on the cards,” said Fred. - -“There is always a smash some time or other in a great commercial -concern.” - -“What fun!” said Miss Phyllis. - -“Then I should set up directly. The sisters Dirom, milliners and -dressmakers. It would be exceedingly amusing, and we should make a great -fortune--all _good_ dressmakers do.” - -“It would be very amiable of you, Dor, to call your firm the sisters -Dirom--for I should be of no use. I shall spend the fortune if you -please, but I couldn’t help in any other way.” - -“Oh, yes, you could. You will marry, and have all your things from me. I -should dress you beautifully, and you would be the most delightful -advertisement. Of course you would not have any false pride. You would -say to your duchesses, I got this from my sister. She is the only -possible dressmaker nowadays.” - -“False pride--oh, I hope not! It would be quite a distinction--everybody -would go. You could set up afternoon teas, and let them try on all your -things. It would be delightful. But papa will not come to grief, he is -too well backed up,” said Phyllis with a sigh. - -“If I do not marry next season, I shall not wait for the catastrophe,” -said Doris. “Perhaps if the Opposition comes in we might coax Lord -Pantry to get me appointed milliner to the Queen. If Her Majesty had -once a dress from me, she would never look at Worth more.” - -“Worth!” said Phyllis, throwing up her hands in mild but indignant -amazement. - -“Well, then, Waley, or whatever you call him. Worth is a mere symbol,” -said Doris with philosophical calm. “How I should like it! but if one -marries, one’s husband’s family and all kinds of impossible people -interfere.” - -“You had better marry, you girls,” said Fred; “it is much your best -chance. Wipe out the governor with a title. That’s what I should do if I -could. But unfortunately I can’t--the finest of heiresses does not -communicate her family honours, more’s the pity. I shall always be Fred -Dirom, if I were to marry a duchess. But an artist’s antecedents don’t -matter. Fortunately he makes his own way.” - -“Fred,” said his mother, coming in, “I wish you would not talk of -yourself as an artist, dear. Papa does not like it. He indulges you all -a great deal, but there are some things that don’t please him at all.” - -“Quite unreasonably, mother dear,” said Fred, who was a good son, and -very kind to her on the whole. “Most of the fellows I know in that line -are much better born than I am. Gentlemen’s sons, most of them.” - -“Oh, Fred!” said Mrs. Dirom, with eyes of deep reproach. She added in a -tremulous voice, “My grandfather had a great deal of property in the -country. He had indeed, I assure you, although you think we have nothing -but money. And if that does not make a gentleman, what does?” - -“What indeed?” said her son: but he made no further reply. And the -sisters interposed. - -“We were talking of what we shall all do in case the firm should come to -grief, and all the money be lost.” - -“Oh, girls!” Mrs. Dirom started violently and put her hand to her heart. -“Fred! you don’t mean to say that there are rumours in the city, or a -word whispered--” - -“Not when I heard last--but then I have not been in the city for a -month. That reminds me,” said Fred, “that really I ought to put in an -appearance--just once in a way.” - -“You mean you want to have a run to town?” - -“Yes, dear,” said his mother, “go if you think you could be of any use. -Oh, you don’t know what it is you are talking of so lightly. I could -tell you things--Oh, Fred, if you think there is anything going on, any -danger--” - -“Nothing of the sort,” he said, with a laugh. “We were only wondering -what we should be good for mother--not much, I believe. I might perhaps -draw for the _Graphic_ fancy pictures of battles and that sort of thing; -or, if the worst came to the worst, there is the _Police News_.” - -“You have both got Vocations,” said Phyllis. “It is fine for you. You -know what to do, you two. But I can do nothing; I should have to Marry.” -She spoke with a languid emphasis as of capitals, in her speech. - -“Oh, children!” cried Mrs. Dirom, “what are you thinking of? You think -all that is clever, but it does not seem clever to me. It is just the -dreadful thing in business that one day you may be up at the top of the -tree, and next morning--” - -“Nowhere!” said Fred, with a burlesque groan. And then they all -laughed. The anxious middle-class mother looked at them as the hen of -the proverb looks at her ducklings. Silly children! what did they know -about it? She could have cried in vexation and distress. - -“You laugh,” she said, “but you would not laugh if you knew as much as I -do. The very name of such a thing is unlucky. I wouldn’t let myself -think of it lest it should bring harm. Things may be quite right, and I -hope and believe they are quite right: but if there was so much as a -whisper on the Exchange that his children--his own children--had been -joking on the subject. Oh, a whisper, that’s enough!” - -The young people were not in the least impressed by what she said--they -had not been brought up in her sphere. That alarm for exposure, that -dread of a catastrophe which was strong in her bosom, had no response in -theirs. They had no more understanding of poverty than of Paradise--and -to the girls in particular, the idea of a great event, a matter of much -noise and commotion, to be followed by new enchanting freedom and the -possibilities of adventure, was really “fun!” as they said. They were -not afraid of being dropped by their friends. - -Society has undergone a change in this respect. A young lady turned into -a fashionable dressmaker would be the most delightful of lions; all her -acquaintances would crowd round her. She would be celebrated as “a noble -girl” by the serious, and as _chic_ by the fast. - -Doris looked forward to the possibility with a delightful perception of -all the advantages that were in it. It was more exciting than the other -expedient of marrying, which was all that, in the poverty of her -invention, occurred to Phyllis. They made very merry, while their mother -trembled with an alarm for which there was no apparent foundation. She -was nervous, which is always a ready explanation of a woman’s troubles -and fears. - -There was, in fact, no foundation whatever for any alarm. Never had the -credit of Dirom, Dirom and Company stood higher. There was no cloud, -even so big as a finger, upon the sky. - -Mr. Dirom himself, though his children were ashamed of him, was not -without acceptance in society. In his faithfulness to business, staying -in town in September, he had a choice of fine houses in which to make -those little visits from Saturday to Monday which are so pleasant; and -great ladies who had daughters inquired tenderly about Fred, and learned -with the profoundest interest that it was he who was the Prince of -Wales, the heir-apparent of the house, he, and not Jack the married son, -who would have nothing to say to the business. - -When Fred paid a flying visit to town to “look up the governor,” as he -said, and see what was going on, he too was overwhelmed with invitations -from Saturday to Monday. And though he was modest enough he was very -well aware that he would not be refused, as a son-in-law, by some of the -finest people in England. - -That he was not a little dazzled by the perception it would be wrong to -say--and the young Lady Marys in English country houses are very fair -and sweet. But now there would glide before him wherever he went the -apparition of Effie in her white frock. - -Why should he have thought of Effie, a mere country girl, yet still a -country gentlewoman without the piquancy of a milkmaid or a nursery -governess? But who can fathom these mysteries? No blooming beauty of the -fields had come in Fred’s way, though he had piously invoked all the -gods to send him such a one: but Effie, who was scarcely a type at -all--Effie, who was only a humble representative of fair maidenhood, -not so perfect, perhaps, not so well dressed, not so beautiful as many -of her kind. - -Effie had come across his path, and henceforward went with him in spirit -wherever he went. Curious accident of human fate! To think that Mr. -Dirom’s money, and Fred’s accomplishments, and their position in society -and in the city, all things which might have made happy a duke’s -daughter, were to be laid at the careless feet of little Effie Ogilvie! - -If she had been a milkmaid the wonder would have been less great. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -And for all these things Effie cared nothing. This forms always a tragic -element in the most ordinary love-making, where one gives what the other -does not appreciate, or will not accept, yet the giver cannot be -persuaded to withdraw the gift, or to follow the impulse of that natural -resentment which comes from kindness disdained. - -There was nothing tragical, however, in the present circumstances, which -were largely composed of lawn tennis at Allonby, afternoon tea in the -dimness of an unnecessarily shaded room, or walks along the side of the -little stream. When Effie came for the favourite afternoon game, the -sisters and their brother would escort her home, sometimes all the way, -sometimes only as far as the little churchyard where the path struck off -and climbed the high river bank. - -Nothing could be more pleasant than this walk. The days were often gray -and dim; but the walkers were young, and not too thinly clad; the damp -in the air did not affect them, and the breezes stirred their veins. The -stream was small but lively, brown, full of golden lights. So far as the -park went the bank was low on the Allonby side, though on the other -picturesque, with rising cliffs and a screen of trees. In the lower -hollows of these cliffs the red of the rowan berries and the graceful -bunches of the barberry anticipated the autumnal tints, and waving -bracken below, and a host of tiny ferns in every crevice, gave an air of -luxuriance. The grass was doubly green with that emerald brightness -which comes from damp, and when the sun shone everything lighted up with -almost an artificial glow of excessive colour, greenness, and growth. -The little party would stroll along filling the quiet with their young -voices, putting even the birds to silence. - -But it was not Effie who talked. She was the audience, sometimes a -little shocked, sometimes bewildered, but always amused more or less; -wondering at them, at their cleverness, at their simplicity, at what the -country girl thought their ignorance, and at what she knew to be their -superior wisdom. - -Fred too was remarkable on these points, but not so remarkable as his -sisters; and he did not talk so much. He walked when he could by Effie’s -side, and made little remarks to her, which Effie accounted for by the -conviction that he was very polite, and thought it right to show her -those regards which were due to a young lady. She lent but a dull ear to -what he said, and gave her chief attention to Phyllis and Doris, whose -talk was more wonderful than anything else that Effie knew. - -“It is curious,” Miss Phyllis said, “that there never are two -picturesque banks to a river. Nature provides herself a theatre, don’t -you know. Here are we in the auditorium.” - -“Only there is nothing to hear,” said Doris, “except the birds--well, -that’s something. But music over there would have a fine effect. It -would be rather nice to try it, if it ever was warm enough here for an -open air party. You could have the orchestra hidden: the strings there, -the wind instruments here, don’t you see, violas in the foreground, and -the big ’cello booming out of that juniper.” - -“By Jove!” cried Fred from where he strolled behind with Effie, “how -astounded the blackbirds would be.” - -“It would be interesting to know what they thought. Now, what do you -suppose they would do? Stop and listen? or else be struck by the force -of the circumstances and set up an opposition?” - -“Burst their little throats against the strings.” - -“Or be deafened with your vulgar trombones. Fancy a brass band on the -side of the wan water!” - -“It would be very nice, though,” said Doris. “I said nothing about -trombones. It would be quite eighteenth century. And here on the lawn we -could sit and drink syllabubs. What are syllabubs? Probably most people -would prefer tea. Effie, what do you think? you never say a word. Shall -we have a garden party, and music over there under the cliff?” - -Effie had walked on softly, taking in everything with a mingled sense of -admiration and ridicule. She was quite apart, a spectator, listening to -the artificial talk about nothing at all, the conversation made up with -a distinct idea of being brilliant and interesting, which yet was -natural enough to these young people, themselves artificial, who made up -their talk as they made up their life, out of nothing. Effie laughed -within herself with involuntary criticism, yet was half impressed at the -same time, feeling that it was like something out of a book. - -“Oh, me?” she said in surprise at being consulted. “I have not any -opinion, indeed. I never thought of it at all.” - -“Then think now, and let us hear; for you should know best how the -people here would like it.” - -“Don’t you see, Dor, that she thinks us very silly, and would not talk -such nonsense as we are talking for the world? There is no sense in it, -and Effie is full of sense.” - -“Miss Ogilvie has both sense and sympathy,” said Fred. - -This discussion over her alarmed Effie. She grew red and pale; half -affronted, half pleased, wholly shy and uncomfortable. - -“No,” she said, “I couldn’t talk like you. I never talk except -when--except when--I have got something to say; that is, of course, I -mean something that is--something--not merely out of my head, like you. -I am not clever enough for that.” - -“Is she making fun of us, Phyll?” - -“I think so, Dor. She is fact, and we are--well, what are we?--not -fiction altogether, because we’re real enough in flesh and blood.” - -Effie was moved to defend herself. - -“You are like two young ladies in a book,” she said, “and I am just a -girl like anybody else. I say How-do-you-do? and Do you think it will be -a fine day? or I can tell you if anything has happened in the village, -and that Dr. Jardine was called away this morning to Fairyknowe, so that -somebody there must be ill. But you make up what is very nice to listen -to, and yet it makes one laugh, because it is about nothing at all.” - -“That is quite true,” said Doris; “that is our way. We don’t go in for -fact. We belong to the speculative side. We have nothing real to do, so -we have to imagine things to talk about.” - -“And I hope you think we do it well,” said Phyllis with a laugh. - -Effie was encouraged to laugh too; but her feelings were very -complicated; she was respectful and yet she was a little contemptuous. -It was all new to her, and out of her experience; yet the great house, -the darkened rooms, the luxury and ease, the way in which life went on, -apparently without any effort on the part of this cluster of people, who -had everything they wanted without even the trouble of asking for it, as -in a fairy tale, harmonized with the artificial talk, the speculations, -the studies which were entirely voluntary, without any use as Effie -thought, without any call for them. - -She herself was not indeed compelled to work as poor girls were, as -governesses were, even as the daughters of people within her own range, -who made their own dresses, and taught their little brothers and -sisters, had to do. But still there were certain needs which she -supplied, and cases in which she had a necessary office to fulfil. There -were the flowers for instance. Old Pirie always brought her in a -basketful whenever she wanted them; but if Pirie had to be trusted to -arrange the flowers! - -In Allonby, however, even that was done; the vases refilled themselves -somehow, as if by help of the fairies; the table was always magnificent, -but nobody knew when it was done or who did it--nobody, that is, of the -family. Phyllis and Doris decided, it was to be supposed, what they -should wear, but that was all the trouble they took even about their -dress. Numbers of men and women worked in the background to provide for -all their wants, but they themselves had nothing to do with it. And -they talked as they lived. - -Effie did not put all this into words, but she perceived it, by means of -a little humorous perception which was in her eyes though she did not -know it. And though they were so much finer than she was, knew so much -more, and possessed so much more, yet these young ladies were as the -comedians of life to little Effie, performing their drawing-room drama -for her amusement. They talked over the little churchyard which lay at -the opening of the glen in the same way. - -“The Americans have not found out Allonby yet,” they said to each other. -“We must ask Miss Greenwood up here--or, oh! let us have Henry Holland. -But no, he will not go into any raptures. He has gone through everything -in that way. He is more _blasé_ than the most _blasé_ of Englishmen; let -us have some one fresh. How they will hang over the _Hic jacet_! And we -must have some one who knows the ballad. Do you know the ballad, Effie? -but perhaps you never heard of it, as you were born here.” - -“Do you mean about Helen?” said Effie. And in her shyness she grew red, -up to her hair. - - “Oh Helen fair beyond compare, - I’ll make a garland of thy hair, - Shall bind my heart for ever mair.” - -“How delightful! the rural muse, the very genius of the country. Effie, -you shall recite it to us standing by the stone with a shepherd’s maud -thrown over you, and that sweet Scotch accent which is simply -delicious.” - -“And the blush, dear, just as it is,” said Phyllis, clapping her hands -softly; “you will have the most enormous success.” - -“Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Effie, her soft colour of -shyness and resentment turning into the hot red of shame. “I wish you -would not try to make a fool of me, as well as of the place.” - -“To make a fool of you! Don’t be angry, Effie, the phrase is enchanting. -Make a fool of--that is Scotch too. You know I am beginning to make a -collection of Scoticisms; they are one nicer than another. I only wish I -had the accent and the voice.” - -“And the blush, Dor; it would not be half so effective without that. -Could you pick up those little particulars which Effie doesn’t -appreciate, with your dramatic instinct into the bargain----” - -“Should I be able to recite Fair Helen as well as Effie? Oh no,” said -Doris, and she began, “Oh Helen fair beyond compare,” with an imitation -of that accent which Effie fondly hoped she was free of, which entirely -overcame the girl’s self-control. Her blush grew hotter and hotter till -she felt herself fiery red with anger, and unable to bear any more. - -“If I spoke like that,” she cried, “I should be ashamed ever to open my -mouth!” then she added with a wave of her hand, “Goodbye, I am going -home,” for she could not trust herself further. - -“Oh, Effie, Effie! Why goodness, the child’s offended,” cried Phyllis. - -“And I had just caught her tone!” said the other. - -Then they both turned upon Fred. “Why don’t you go after her? Why don’t -you catch her up? Why do you stand there staring?” - -“Why are you both so--disagreeable?” cried Fred, who had hurried on -while they spoke, and turned back to fling at them this very innocent -missile as he ran; nothing stronger occurred to him to say. He had not -the vocabulary of his sisters. They watched him while he rushed along -and saw him overtake the little fugitive. It was a sight which -interested these two young ladies. They became contemplative spectators -once more. - -“I wonder if he will know what to say?” Doris inquired of herself. “It -should be a capital opportunity for Fred if he knows how to take -advantage of it. He ought to throw us both overboard at once, and say we -were a couple of idiots, who did not know what we were talking about. I -should, in Fred’s place.” - -“Yes, I suppose that would be the right way; but a man does naturally -throw over his sisters,” said Phyllis. “You need not be afraid. It was -fine to see her blaze up. Fury is not pretty generally--in papa, for -instance.” - -“Ah, that’s beyond a sentiment. But in Effie it will only be a flare and -all over. She will be penitent. After a little while she will be awfully -sweet to Fred.” - -“And do you really want him to--propose to her, Dor?” - -“That is a strong step,” said the young lady, “because if he did he -would have to stick to it. I don’t see that I am called upon to consider -contingencies. In the meantime it’s very amusing to see Fred in love.” - -“In the absence,” said Phyllis, “of more exciting preoccupations.” - -“Ah! that’s true; you’re a marrying woman yourself,” was the remark her -sister made. - -Meanwhile Fred had overtaken Effie, who was already beginning to feel -ashamed and remorseful, and to say in her own ear that it was she who -was making a fool of herself. How could she have been so silly? People -always make themselves ridiculous when they take offence, and, of -course, they would only laugh at her for being so touchy, so absurd. But -nobody likes to be mocked, or to be mimicked, which comes to the same -thing, Effie said to herself. - -A hot tear had gathered into each eye, but the flush was softening down, -and compunction was more and more getting possession of her bosom, when -Fred, anxious, devoted, panting, came up to her. It was a moment or two -before he could get breath to speak. - -“I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Ogilvie. That is just my -difficulty with the girls,” said Fred, promptly throwing his sisters -over as they had divined. “They have so little perception. Not a bad -sort in themselves, and devoted to you: but without tact--without your -delicacy of feeling--without----” - -“Oh,” cried Effie, “you must not compare them with me; they are far, far -cleverer--far more instructed--far---- It was so silly of me to be -vexed----” - -“Not silly at all; just what you would naturally be with your refined -taste. I can’t tell you how I felt it,” said Fred, giving himself credit -for the perception that was wanting in his sisters. “But you will -forgive them, Miss Ogilvie? they will be so unhappy.” - -“Oh no,” cried Effie, with once more a sense of the ludicrous in this -assertion. But Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant every word he -said. - -“Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so; but if I may tell them that you -forgive them----” - -“It is not worth speaking about, Mr. Dirom; I was foolish too. And are -you really going to have Americans here? I never saw any Americans. What -interest would they take in our old churchyard, and Adam Fleming’s -broken old gravestone?” - -“They take more interest in that sort of thing than we do whom it -belongs to; that is to say, it doesn’t belong to us. I am as much a new -man as any Yankee, and have as little right. We are mere interlopers, -you know.” - -Fred said this with a charming smile he had, a smile full of frank -candour and openness, which forestalled criticism. Effie had heard the -same sentiment expressed by others with a very different effect. When -Fred said it, it seemed a delightful absurdity. He laughed a little, and -so, carried away by sympathetic feeling, did she, shame-faced and -feeling guilty in her heart at the remembrance of the many times in -which, without any sense of absurdity, she had heard the same words -said. - -“We are a queer family,” he continued in his pleasant explanatory way. -“My father is the money-maker, and he thinks a great deal of it; but we -make no money, and I think we are really as indifferent about it as if -we had been born in the backwoods. If anything happened at the office I -should take to my studio, and I hope I should not enjoy myself too much, -but there would be the danger. ‘Ah, freedom is a noble thing,’ as old -Barbour says.” - -Effie did not know who old Barbour was, and she was uncertain how to -reply. She said at last timidly, “But you could not do without a great -deal of money, Mr. Dirom. You have everything you want, and you don’t -know how it comes. It is like a fairy tale.” - -Fred smiled again with an acquiescence which had pleasure in it. Though -he made so little of his advantages, he liked to hear them recognized. - -“You are right,” he said, “as you always are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to -know things by instinct. But all the same we don’t stand on these -things; we are a little Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose you -would think it something dreadful if you had to turn out of Gilston. But -we should rather like any such twist of the whirligig of fortune. The -girls would think it fun.” - -To this Effie did not make any reply. To be turned out of Gilston was an -impossibility, for the family at least, whatever it might be for -individuals. And she did not understand about Bohemians. She made no -answer at all. When one is in doubt it is the safest way. But Fred -walked with her all the way home, and his conversation was certainly -more amusing than that with which she was generally entertained. There -ran through it a little vein of flattery. There was in his eyes a light -of admiration, a gleam from time to time of something which dazzled her, -which she could not meet, yet furtively caught under her drooping -eyelashes, and which roused a curious pleasure mixed with amusement, and -a comical sense of guilt and wickedness on her own part. - -She was flattered and dazzled, and yet something of the same laughter -with which she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her eyes. Did he -mean it all? or what did he mean? Was he making conversation like his -sisters, saying things that he meant to be pretty? Effie, though she was -so simple, so inexperienced, in comparison with those clever young -people, wondered, yet kept her balance, steadied by that native instinct -of humour, and not carried away by any of these fine things. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -“We were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little bit on his way. He is so kind -walking home with Effie that it was the least we could do. I never met -with a more civil young man.” - -“It appears to me that young Dirom is never out of your house. You’ll -have to be thinking what will come of it.” - -“What should come of it,” said Mrs. Ogilvie with a laugh, and a look of -too conscious innocence, “but civility, as I say? though they are new -people, they have kind, neighbour-like ways.” - -“I’ve no confidence,” said Miss Dempster, “in that kind of neighbours. -If he were to walk home with Beenie or me, that are about the oldest -friends they have in the district--Oh yes, their oldest friends: for I -sent my card and a request to know if a call would be agreeable as soon -as they came: it may be old-fashioned, but it’s my way; and I find it to -answer. And as I’m saying, if he had made an offer to walk home with me -or my sister, that would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is just -quite a different question. I hope if you let it go on, that you’re -facing the position, and not letting yourself be taken unawares.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that’s a thing that seldom happens, though I -say it myself. I can generally see as far as most folk. But whatever you -do, say nothing of this to Effie. We must just respect her innocence. -Experienced people see a great deal that should never be spoken of -before the young. I will leave her in your charge and Miss Beenie’s, for -I am going to Summerlaw, and she has had a long walk.” - -“Your stepmother is a very grand general, Effie,” said Miss Dempster, -as they watched Mrs. Ogilvie’s figure disappearing between the high -laurel hedges. - -It was a warm afternoon, though September had begun. Miss Beenie was -seated on the garden seat in front of the drawing-room window, which -afforded so commanding a prospect of the doctor’s sitting-room, with her -work-basket beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. But Miss -Dempster, who thought it was never safe, except perhaps for a day or two -in July, to sit out, kept walking about, now nipping off a withered -leaf, now gathering a sprig of heliotrope, or the scented verbena, -promenading up and down with a shawl upon her shoulders. She had taken -Effie’s arm with an instant perception of the advantages of an animated -walking-staff. - -The little platform of fine gravel before the door was edged by the -green of the sloping lawn in front, but on either side ended in deep -borders filled with every kind of old-fashioned and sweet-smelling -flower. The sloping drive had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel -which surrounded the entrance; but nothing interrupted the view from -this little height, which commanded not only the doctor’s mansion but -all the village. No scene could have been more peaceful in the sunny -afternoon. There were few people stirring below, there was nobody to be -seen at the doctor’s windows. - -The manse, which was visible at a distance, stood in the broad sunshine -with all its doors and windows open, taking in the warmth to its very -bosom. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a short time between the hedges, and -then came out again, moving along the white road till she was lost in -the distance, Glen slowly following, divided in his mind between the -advantages of a walk which was good for his health, and the pleasure of -lying in the sun and waiting for Effie, which he preferred as a matter -of taste. But the large mat at the door, which Glen was aware was the -comfortable spot at Rosebank, was already occupied by the nasty little -terrier to which the Miss Dempsters, much to Glen’s contempt, were -devoted, and the gravel was unpleasant. So he walked, but rather by way -of deference to the necessities of the situation than from any lively -personal impulse, and went along meditatively with only an occasional -slow switch of his tail, keeping well behind the trim and active figure -of his mistress. In the absence of other incidents these two moving -specks upon the road kept the attention of the small party of spectators -on the soft heights of Rosebank. - -“Your stepmother’s a grand general,” said Miss Dempster again; “but she -must not think that she deceives everybody, Effie. It’s a very -legitimate effort; but perhaps if she let things take their own course -she would just do as well at the end.” - -“What is she trying to do?” said Effie with indifference. “It is a pity -Mrs. Ogilvie has only Rory; for she is so active and so busy, she could -manage a dozen, Uncle John always says.” - -“She has you, my dear--and a great deal more interesting than Rory: who -is a nice enough bairn, if he were not spoilt, just beyond -conception--as, poor thing, some day, she’ll find out.” - -Effie did not pay any attention to the latter part of this speech. She -cried “Me!” in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss Dempster, and -less (had she been an English girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But -she was Scotch, and above reproof. - -“No,” she cried, “she has not me, Miss Dempster; you are making a -mistake. She says I am old enough to guide myself.” - -“A bonnie guide you would be for yourself. But, no doubt, ye think that -too; there is no end to the confidence of young folk in this generation. -And you are nineteen, which is a wise age.” - -“No,” said Effie, “don’t think it is a wise age. And then I have Uncle -John; and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I have nothing to do -that calls for any guiding, so I am quite safe.” - -“Oh, yes, that’s a grand thing,” said the old lady; “to be just -peaceable and quiet, like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to perplex -ye, nor the need of choosing one way or another. But that’s a blessing -that generally comes on later in life: and we’re seldom thankful for it -when it does come.” - -“No,” said Effie, “I have nothing to choose. What should I have to -choose? unless it was whether I would have a tweed or a velveteen for my -winter frock; or, perhaps----” here she stopped, with a soft little -smile dimpling about her mouth. - -“Ay,” said the old lady; “or perhaps----? The perhaps is just what I -would like to know.” - -“Sarah,” said Miss Beenie from behind, “what are you doing putting -things in the girlie’s head?” - -“Just darn your stockings and hold your tongue,” said the elder sister. -She leaned her weight more heavily on Effie’s arm by way of securing her -attention. - -“Now and then,” she said, “the road takes a crook before it divides. -There’s that marshy bit where the Laggan burn runs before you come to -Windyha’. If you are not thinking, it just depends on which side of the -road you take whether you go straight on the good highway to Dumfries, -or down the lane that’s always deep in dust, or else a very slough of -despond. You’re there before you know.” - -“But what has that to do with me?” said Effie; “and then,” she added, -with a little elevation of her head, “if I’m in any difficulty, there is -Uncle John.” - -“Oh, ay: he’s often very fine in the pulpit. I would not ask for a -better guide in the Gospel, which is his vocation. But in the ways of -this world, Effie Ogilvie, your Uncle John is just an innocent like -yourself.” - -“That is all you know!” said Effie, indignantly. “Me an innocent!” She -was accustomed to hear the word applied to the idiot of the parish, the -piteous figure which scarcely any parish is without. Then she laughed, -and added, with a sudden change of tone, “They think me very sensible at -Allonby. They think I am the one that is always serious. They say I am -fact: and they are poetry, I suppose,” she said, after a second pause, -with another laugh. - -“Poetry!” said Miss Dempster, “you’re meaning silly nonsense. They are -just two haverels these two daft-like girls with their dark rooms, and -all their affected ways; and as for the brother----” - -“What about the brother?” said Effie, with an almost imperceptible -change of tone. - -“Aha!” said the old lady, “now we see where the interest lies.” - -“It is nothing of the kind,” cried the girl, “it is just your -imagination. You take a pleasure in twisting every word, and making me -think shame. It is just to hear what you have got to say.” - -“I have not very much to say,” said Miss Dempster; “we’re great students -of human nature, both Beenie and me; but I cannot just give my opinion -off-hand. There’s one thing I will tell you, and that is just that he is -not our Ronald, which makes all the difference to me.” - -“Ronald!” cried the girl, wondering. “Well, no! but did anybody ever say -he was like Ronald?” - -She paused a little, and a soft suffusion of colour once more came over -her face. “What has Ronald to do with it? He is no more like Ronald than -he is like--me.” - -“And I don’t think him like you at all,” cried Miss Dempster quickly, -“which is just the whole question. He is not of your kind, Effie. We’re -all human creatures, no doubt, but there’s different species. Beenie, -what do you think? Would you say that young Fred Dirom--that is the son -of a merchant prince, and so grand and so rich--would you say he was of -our own kind? would you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald? Ronald’s -a young man about the same age; would you say he was of Ronald’s kind.” - -“Bless me, what a very strange question!” Miss Beenie looked up with -every evidence of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose; the stocking -in which her hand and arm were enveloped fell limp upon her lap. - -“I’ve no time to answer conundrums; they’re just things for winter -evenings, not for daylight. And when you know how I’ve been against it -from the very first,” she added, after a pause, with some warmth. “It -might be a grand thing from a worldly point of view; but what do we know -about him or his connections? And as for business, it is just a -delusion; it’s up to-day and down to-morrow. I’ve lived in Glasgow, and -I know what it means. Ye may be very grand, and who but you for a while; -and then the next moment nothing. No; if there was not another man in -the world, not the like of that man,” cried Miss Beenie, warming more -and more, gesticulating unconsciously with the muffled hand which was -all wrapped up in stocking; “and to compare him with our poor -Ronald----” She dropped suddenly from her excitement, as if this name -had brought her to herself. “You are making me say what I ought not to -say--and before Effie! I will never be able to look one of them in the -face again.” - -Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the speaker, notwithstanding the -impulse of Miss Dempster’s arm to lead her away. “I wish you would tell -me what you mean. I wish I knew what Ronald had to do with me,” she -said. - -“He’s just an old friend, poor laddie--just an old friend. Never you -mind what Beenie says. She’s a little touched in that direction, we all -know. Never you mind. It’s my own conviction that young Dirom, having no -connections, would be but a very precarious---- But no doubt your -parents know best. Ronald is just the contrary--plenty of connections, -but no money. The one is perhaps as bad as the other. And it’s not for -us to interfere. Your own people must know best.” - -“What is there to interfere about? and what has Ronald to do with it? -and, oh, what are you all talking about?” cried Effie, bewildered. What -with the conversation which meant nothing, and that which meant too -much, her little brain was all in a ferment. She withdrew herself -suddenly from Miss Dempster’s arm. - -“I will get you your stick out of the hall which will do just as well as -me: for I’m going away.” - -“Why should you go away? Your father is in Dumfries, your mother will be -getting her tea at Summerlaw. There is nobody wanting you at home; and -Beenie has ordered our honey scones that you are so fond of.” - -“I want no honey scones!” cried Effie. “You mean something, and you will -not tell me what you mean. I am going to Uncle John.” - -“She is a hot-headed little thing. She must just take her own gait and -guide herself. Poor innocent! as if it were not all settled and planned -beforehand what she was to do.” - -“Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness’ sake! You are putting things in -the girlie’s head, and that is just what we promised not to do.” - -“What things are you putting in my head? You are just driving me wild!” -cried Effie, stamping her foot on the gravel. - -It was not the first time by a great many that she had departed from -Rosebank in this way. The criticisms of old ladies are sadly apt to -irritate young ones, and this pretence of knowing so much more about her -than she knew about herself, has always the most exasperating effect. - -She turned her back upon them, and went away between the laurel hedges -with a conviction that they were saying, “What a little fury!” and “What -an ill brought-up girl!”--which did not mend matters. These were the -sort of things the Miss Dempsters said--not without a cackle of -laughter--of the rage and impatience of the young creature they had been -baiting. Her mind was in high commotion, instinctive rebellion flaming -up amid the curiosity and anxiety with which she asked herself what was -it that was settled and planned? - -Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that was one thing of which she -felt sure. If it had been her own mother, indeed! but who was Mrs. -Ogilvie, to settle for her what she ought to do? She would be her own -guide, whatever any one might settle. If she took counsel with any one, -it should be Uncle John, who was her nearest friend--when there was -anything to take counsel about. - -But at present there was nothing, not a question of any sort that she -knew, except whether the new tennis court that was making at Gilston -could possibly be ready for this season, which, of course, it could -not;--no question whatever; and what had Ronald to do with it? Ronald -had been gone for three years. There had been no news of him lately. If -there were a hundred questions, what could Ronald have to do with them? - -She went down very quickly between the laurel hedges and paused at the -gate, where she could not be seen from the terrace, to smooth down her -ruffled plumes a little and take breath. But as she turned into the road -her heart began to thump again, with no more reason for it than the -sudden appearance of Uncle John coming quietly along at his usual -leisurely pace. She had said she was going to him; but she did not -really wish to meet Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of seeing -through and through you, at this present excited moment, for she knew -that he would find her out. - -Whether he did so or not, he came up in his sober way, smiling that -smile which he kept for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world in -general, being very friendly and kind, and generally thinking well of -his neighbours. But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. He caught -in a moment the gleam in her eyes, the moisture, and the blaze of angry -feeling. - -“What, Effie,” he said, “you have been in the wars. What have the old -ladies been saying now?” - -“Oh, Uncle John,” she began eagerly; but then stopped all at once: for -the vague talk in which a young man’s name is involved, which does not -tell for very much among women, becomes uncomfortable and suspect when a -man is admitted within hearing. She changed her mind and her tone, but -could not change her colour, which rose high under her troubled eyes. - -“Oh, I suppose it was nothing,” she said, “it was not about me; it was -about Ronald--something about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom: though they -could not even know each other--could they know each other?” - -“I can’t tell you, Effie: most likely not; they certainly have not been -together here; but they may have met as young men meet--somewhere else.” - -“Perhaps that was what it was. But yet I don’t see what Ronald could -have to do with it.” - -Here Effie stopped again, and grew redder than ever, expecting that Mr. -Moubray would ask her, “To do with--what?” and bring back all the -confusion again. - -But the minister was more wise. He began to perceive vaguely what the -character of the suggestion, which had made Effie angry, must have been. -It was much clearer to him indeed than it was to her, through these two -names, which as yet to Effie suggested no connection. - -“Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here and Ronald away,” he said, “I know -no link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred Dirom, Effie? for I scarcely -know him at all.” - -“What sort of a fellow?” Mr. Moubray was so easy, and banished so -carefully all meaning from his looks, that Effie was relieved. She began -to laugh. - -“I don’t know what to say. He is like the girls, but not quite like the -girls.” - -“That does not give me much information, my dear.” - -“Oh, Uncle John, they are all so funny! What can I say? They talk and -they talk, and it is all made up. It is about nothing, about fancies -they take in their heads, about what they think--but not real thinking, -only fancies, thinking what to say.” - -“That’s the art of conversation, Effie,” the minister said. - -“Conversation? Oh no, oh, surely not!--conversation would mean -something. At Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means nothing at -all. They just make stories out of nothing, and talk for the sake of -talking. I laugh--I cannot help it, though I could not quite tell you -why.” - -“And the brother, does he do the same?” - -“Oh, the brother! No, he is not so funny, he does not talk so much. He -says little, really, on the whole, except”--here Effie stopped and -coloured and laughed softly, but in a different tone. - -“Except?” repeated Uncle John. - -“Well, when he is walking home with me. Then he is obliged to speak, -because there is no one else to say anything. When we are all together -it is they who speak. But how can he help it? He has to talk when there -is only me.” - -“And is his talk about fancies too? or does he say things that are more -to the purpose, Effie?” - -Effie paused a little before she replied, “I have to think,” she said; -“I don’t remember anything he said--except--Oh yes!--but--it was not to -the purpose. It was only--nothing in particular,” she continued with a -little wavering colour, and a small sudden laugh in which there was some -confusing recollection. - -“Ah!” said Uncle John, nodding his head. “I think I see what you mean.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -The young ladies at Allonby, though Effie thought they meant nothing -except to make conversation, had really more purpose in their -extravagances than that severe little critic thought. To young ladies -who have nothing to do a new idea in the way of entertainment is a fine -thing. - -And though a garden party, or any kind of a party, is not an affair of -much importance, yet it holds really a large place in unoccupied lives. -Even going to it may mean much to the unconcerned and uninterested: the -most philosophical of men, the most passive of women, may thus find -their fate. They may drift up against a partner at tennis, or hand a -cup of tea to the predestined individual who is to make or mar their -happiness for life. - -So that no human assembly is without its importance to some one, -notwithstanding that to the majority they may be collectively and -separately “a bore.” But to those who get them up they are still more -important, and furnish a much needed occupation and excitement, with the -most beneficial effect both upon health and temper. - -The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel a little low; the country was -more humdrum than they had expected. They had not been quite sure when -they came to Scotland that there were not deer-forests on the Border. -They had a lingering belief that the peasants wore the tartan. They had -hoped for something feudal, some remnant of the Middle Ages. - -But they found nothing of this sort they found a population which was -not at all feudal, people who were friendly but not over respectful, -unaccustomed to curtsy and disinclined to be patronized. They were -thrown back upon themselves. As for the aspect of the great people, the -Diroms were acquainted with much greater people, and thought little of -the county magnates. - -It was a providential suggestion which put that idea about the music -under the cliff into the head of Doris. And as a garden party in -September, in Scotland, even in the south, is a ticklish performance, -and wants every kind of organization, the sisters were immediately -plunged into business. There was this in its favour, that they had the -power of tempering the calm of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by visitors -from the greater world at that time scattered over all Scotland, and -open to variety wherever they could find it. Even of the Americans, for -whom the young ladies had sighed, there were three or four easily -attainable. And what with the story of Fair Helen and the little -churchyard and the ballad, these visitors would be fully entertained. - -Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the -house in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, -when, to the astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit. - -“I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself -described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his -watch-chain heavier, himself more beaming than ever. - -His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not -perhaps an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety--a new -element. The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at -everybody’s command, and with little resistance did what was told her, -became all at once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent -authority. She was housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and -to give, or pretend to give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well -as to the usual rulers of the house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. -Dirom herself, who had to pretend that the party was her own idea, and -that she had superintended the invitations, in a way which was very -painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and love of truth. - -“You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband -said--“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m -mistaken, and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The -dinners are the thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the -men’s opinions that tell. Females may think they have it their own way -in society, but it’s the men’s opinion that tells.” - -“You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word, -papa.” - -“Yes, Miss D., I mean the males--your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with -first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might -consider the word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.” - -“Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother -hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given -us. That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls -thought--for a little variety, to fill the house and amuse -everybody----” - -“With tea and toast--and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their -feet. I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the -keepers and gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the -trees; and have the laundresses out to iron the grass--by Jove, that’s -the thing to do; reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many -bad colds as possible. I shall say you did it when I get back to my -club.” - -Phyllis and Doris looked at each other. - -“It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you -think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours -would do some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He -is so practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.” - -This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment -the man of money. - -“It appears I am having a success,” he said. “Or perhaps instead of -taking all this trouble you would like me to send a consignment of fur -cloaks from town for the use of your guests. The Scotch ladies would -like that best, for it would be something,” he said with his big laugh, -“to carry away.” - -“And I believe,” said Mrs. Dirom, very anxious to be conciliatory, “you -could afford it, George.” - -“Oh, afford it!” he said with again that laugh, in which there was such -a sound of money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, that nobody -could have heard it, and remained unimpressed. But all the same it was -an offensive laugh, which the more finely strung nerves of his children -could scarcely bear. - -“After all,” said Fred, “we don’t want to insult our neighbours with our -money. If they are willing to run the risk, we may let them; and there -will always be the house to retire into, if it should be wet.” - -“Oh, of course there would always be the house. It is a very fine thing -to have a good house to retire into, whatever happens. I should like you -to realize that, all of you, and make your hay while the sun shines.” - -The room in which the family were sitting was not dark, as when they -were alone. The blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so often drawn -when there was no sun, elevated, though a ruddy westerly sky, in all the -force of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the front of the house. -The young people exchanged looks, in which there was a question. - -What did he mean? He meant nothing, it appeared, since he followed up -his remarks by opening a parcel which he had brought down stairs in his -hand, and from which he took several little morocco boxes, of shape and -appearance calculated to make the hearts of women--or at least such -hearts of women as Mr. Dirom understood--beat high. They were some -“little presents” which he had brought to his family. He had a way of -doing it--and “for choice,” as he said, he preferred diamonds. - -“They always fetch their price, and they are very portable. Even in a -woman’s useless pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever you call -it, she might carry a little fortune, and no one ever be the wiser,” Mr. -Dirom said. - -“When one has diamonds,” said Phyllis, “one wishes everybody to be the -wiser, papa; we don’t get them to conceal them, do we, Dor? Do you think -it will be too much to wear that pendant to-morrow--in daylight? Well, -it is a little ostentatious.” - -“And you are rather too young for diamonds, Phyll--if your papa was not -so good to you,” said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain voice. - -“She’s jealous, girls,” said her husband, “though hers are the best. -Young! nobody is ever too young; take the good of everything while you -have it, and as long as you have it, that’s my philosophy. And look -here, there’s the sun shining--I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, -to-morrow you were to have a fine day.” - -They had a fine day, and the party was very successful. Doris had -carried out her idea about the music on the opposite bank, and it was -very effective. The guests took up this phrase from the sisters, who -asked, “Was it not very effective?” with ingenuous delight in their own -success. - -It was no common band from the neighbourhood, nor even a party of -wandering Germans, but a carefully selected company of minstrels brought -from London at an enormous cost: and while half the county walked about -upon the tolerably dry lawn, or inspected the house and all the new and -elegant articles of art-furniture which the Diroms had brought, the -trembling melody of the violins quivered through the air, and the wind -instruments sighed and shouted through all the echoes of the Dene. The -whole scene was highly effective, and all the actors in it looking and -smiling their best. - -The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a compliment on his “splendid -hospitality,” and the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages to Adam -Fleming’s grave, and repeated tenderly his adjuration to “Helen fair, -beyond compare,” regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom in his white -waistcoat, with that mixture of veneration and condescension which -inspires the transatlantic bosom amid the immemorial scenery of old -England. - -“Don’t you feel the spell coming over you, don’t you feel the mosses -growing?” they cried. “See, this is English dust and damp--the ethereal -mould which comes over your very hands, as dear John Burroughs says. -Presently, if you don’t wash ’em, little plants will begin to grow all -along your line of life. Wonderful English country--mother of the ages!” - -This was what the American guests said to each other. It was the Miss -Dempsters, to whom Americans were as the South Sea Islanders, and who -were anxious to observe the customs and manners of the unknown race, -before whom these poetical exclamations were made. - -“The English country may be wonderful, though I know very little about -it; but you are forgetting it is not here,” Miss Dempster said. “This is -Scotland; maybe you may never have heard the name before.” - -It is needless to say that the ladies and gentlemen from across the -Atlantic smiled at the old native woman’s mistake. - -“Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,--almost best of all,--for has not -everybody read the Waverleys?--at least all our fathers and mothers read -them, though they may be a little out of date in our day.” - -“You must be clever indeed if Walter Scott is not clever enough for -you,” said the old lady grimly. “But here’s just one thing that a -foolish person like me, it seems, can correct you in, and that’s that -this countryside is not England. No, nor ever was; and Adam Fleeming in -his grave yonder could have told you that.” - -“Was he a Border chief? was he one of the knights in Branksome Hall? We -know all about that. And to think you should be of the same race, and -have lived here always, and known the story, and sung the song all your -life!” - -“I never was much addicted to singing songs, for my part. He must have -been a feckless kind of creature to let her get between him and the man -that wanted his blood. But he was very natural after that I will say. ‘I -hackit him in pieces sma’.’” said Miss Dempster; “that is the real -Border spirit: and I make little doubt he was English--the man with the -gun.” - -The pretty young ladies in their pretty toilettes gathered about the old -lady. - -“It is most interesting,” they said; “just what one wished to find in -the old country--the real accent--the true hereditary feeling.” - -“You are just behaving like an old haverel,” said Miss Beenie to her -sister in an undertone. It seldom occurred to her to take the command -of affairs, but she saw her opportunity and seized it. - -“For our part,” she said, “it is just as interesting to us to see real -people from America. I have heard a great deal about them, but I never -saw them before. It will be a great change to find yourselves in the -midst of ceevilization? And what was that about mosses growing on your -poor bit little hands? Bless me! I have heard of hair and fur, but never -of green growth. Will that be common on your side of the water?” - -She spoke with the air of one who was seeking information. Mr. John -Burroughs himself, that charming naturalist, might have been -disconcerted by so serious a question. And the two old ladies remained -in possession of the field. - -“I just answered a fool according to his folly,” Miss Beenie remarked, -with modest enjoyment of a triumph that seldom fell to her share, “for -you were carried away, Sarah, and let them go on with their impidence. A -set of young idiots out of a sauvage country that were too grand for -Walter Scott!” - -It was on the whole a great day for the Miss Dempsters. They saw -everybody, they explored the whole house, and identified every piece of -furniture that was not Lady Allonby’s. They made a private inspection of -the dining-room, where there was a buffet--erected not only for light -refreshments, but covered with luxuries and delicacies of a more serious -description. - -“Bless me, I knew there was tea and ices,” they said; “it’s like a ball -supper, and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires! they just cannot spend -money enough. But I like our own candlesticks,” said Miss Dempster, “far -better than these branchy things, like the dulse on the shore, the -candelawbra, or whatever they call it, on yon table.” - -“They’re bigger,” said Miss Beenie; “but my opinion is that the branches -are all hollow, not solid like ours.” - -“There’s not many like ours,” said Miss Dempster; “indeed I am disposed -to think they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that the doctor at the -side-table? He is eating up everything. The capacity that man has is -just extraordinary--both for dribblets of drink and for solid food.” - -“Is that you, ladies?” said the doctor. “I looked for you among the -first, and now you’re here, let me offer you some of this raised pie. -It’s just particularly good, with truffles as big as my thumb. I take -credit for suggesting a game pie. I said they would send the whole -parish into my hands with their cauld ices that are not adapted to our -climate.” - -“We were just saying ices are but a wersh provision, and make you -shiver to think of them at this time of the year; but many thanks to -you, doctor. We are not in the habit either of eating or drinking -between meals. Perhaps a gentleman may want it, and you have science to -help you down with it. But two women like us, we are just very well -content with a cup of tea.” - -“Which is a far greater debauch,” said the doctor hotly, “for you are -always at it.” But he put down his plate. “The auld cats,” he said to -himself; “there’s not a drop passes my lips but they see it, and it will -be over all the parish that I was standing guzzlin’ here at this hour of -the day.” - -But there were others beside the doctor who took advantage of the raised -pie and appreciated the truffles. People who have been whetted by music -and vague conversation and nothing to do or think of for a weary -afternoon, eat with enthusiasm when the chance occurs; they eat even -cake and bread and butter, how much more the luxurious _mayonnaise_ and -lobsters and _foie gras_. After the shiver of an ice it was grateful to -turn to better fare. And Mr. Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, -which was soon filled by a crowd more animated and genial than that -which had strolled about the lawn. - -“You will spoil your dinner,” the ladies said to their husbands, but -with small effect. - -“Never mind the dinner,” said the master of the house. “Have a little of -this Château Yquem. It is not a wine you can get every day. I call it -melted gold; but I never ask the price of a wine so long as it’s good; -and there’s plenty more where that came from.” - -His wealth was rampant, and sounded in his voice and in his laugh, till -you seemed to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris and Fred cast -piteous glances at each other when they met. - -“Oh, will nobody take him away!” they cried under their breath. “Fred, -can’t you pretend there is a telegram and dreadful news? Can’t you say -the Bank of England is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has -run away?” - -He wounded his children’s nerves and their delicacy beyond description, -but still it had to be allowed that he was the master of the house. And -so the party came to an end, and the guests, many of them with -indigestions, but with the most cordial smiles and applause and -hand-shakings, were gradually cleared away. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Mr. Ogilvie was one of those who carried away an incipient indigestion. -He was not accustomed to truffles nor to Château Yquem. But he did not -spoil his dinner--for as they were in the habit of dining rather early, -and it was now nearly seven o’clock, his wife promptly decided that a -cup of tea when he got home would be much the best thing for him, and -that no dinner need be served in Gilston House that day. She said, “You -must just look a little lively, Robert, till we get away. Don’t let -strangers think that you’ve been taking more than is good for you, -either of meat or drink.” - -“Drink!” said the good man. “Yon’s nectar: but I might have done without -the salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. I’m lively enough if -you would let me alone. And he’s a grand fellow the father of them. He -grudges nothing. I have not seen such a supper since my dancing days.” - -“It was no supper; it was just a tea party. I wish you would wake up, -and understand. Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put me into the -carriage. Rouse up, man, and say a civil word.” - -“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “We’ve had a most enjoyable evening, -Mr. Dirom, a good supper and a capital band, and---- But I cannot get it -out of my head that it’s been a ball--which is impossible now I see all -these young ladies with hats and bonnets upon their heads.” - -“I wish it had been a ball,” said the overwhelming host. “We ought to -have kept it up half through the night, and enjoyed another supper, eh? -at midnight, and a little more of that Clicquot. I hope there’s enough -for half-a-dozen balls. Why hadn’t you the sense to keep the young -people for the evening, Fred? Perhaps you thought the provisions -wouldn’t last, or that I would object to pay the band for a few hours -longer. My children make me look stingy, Mrs. Ogilvie. They have got a -number of small economical ways.” - -“And that’s an excellent thing,” said the lady, “for perhaps they may -not have husbands that will be so liberal as their father--or so well -able to afford it--and then what would they do?” - -“I hope to put them beyond the risk of all that,” said the man of money, -jingling his coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie into the -carriage as she had supposed, but looked on with his hands in his -pockets, and saw her get in. The Ogilvies were almost the last to leave, -and the last object that impressed itself upon them as they turned round -the corner of the house was Mr. Dirom’s white waistcoat, which looked -half as big as Allonby itself. When every one had disappeared, he took -Fred, who was not very willing, by the arm, and led him along the river -bank. - -“Is that the family,” he said, “my fine fellow, that they tell me you -want to marry into, Fred?” - -“I have never thought of the family. Since you bring it in so -suddenly--though I was scarcely prepared to speak on the subject--yes: -that’s the young lady whom in all the world, sir, I should choose for my -wife.” - -“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine what -you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, -not a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, -at your age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked -at her, Mr. Fred.” - -If there was in Fred’s mind the involuntary instinctive flash of a -comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be -forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word -upon difference of taste. - -“That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison. -My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s -always a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. -Bread and butter, that’s all that can be said.” - -To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at -all. - -“And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this -with no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing -else about them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch -squire, and a flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds -of her own that will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow, -there you have everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would -not be half so bad, for she would ask no questions and understand that -she got everything from you----” - -“There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence. - -“Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation, -that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in -your _milieu_. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything -out of her. They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to -go out of the beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s -unbecoming to do this or that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what -she knows. She’ll be no help to you if anything happens. She’ll set up -her principles; she’ll preach your duty to you. A pretty kind of wife -for the son of a man who has made his way to the top of the tree, by -Jove! and that may tumble down again some fine day.” - -“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will -most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours -will go for nought.” - -“I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you -what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the -banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. -No, Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like -insipidity, it’s your own concern: if you choose a wife in order to -carry her on your shoulders--and be well kicked while you do it: mind -that.” - -“I think, sir,” said Fred, who had grown very red, “that we had better -drop the subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of course, you can -oppose--but if not, this sort of thing does little good. It can never -alter my mind, and I don’t see even how it can relieve yours.” - -“Oh yes, it relieves mine,” said his father. “It shows you my opinion. -After that, if you choose to take your own way, why, you must do it. I -should have advised you to look out for a nice little fortune which -might have been a stand-by in case of anything happening. No, nothing’s -going to happen. Still you know---- Or I’d have married rank (you might -if you had liked), and secured a little family interest. Things might -change in a day, at any moment. Jack might tire of his blue china and -come and offer himself for the office. If he did, you have married -against my advice, and Jack being the eldest son---- Well, I don’t need -to say any more.” - -“I quite understand, sir,” Fred said. - -“Well, that’s a good thing; but you need not go too far on the other -side, and think I’m going to disinherit you, or any of that rubbish. -Did I disinherit Jack? I bring you up in the best way, spend no end of -money on you, teach you to think yourselves twice the man I am, and then -you take your own way.” - -“Indeed, sir,” cried Fred anxiously, “you are mistaken. I----” But -though he did not think he was twice the man his father was, yet he did -think he was a very different man from his father, and this -consciousness made him stammer and fall into confusion, not knowing what -to say. - -“Don’t trouble yourself to contradict me,” said Mr. Dirom. “_I_ don’t -think so. I think your father’s twice the man you are. Let each of us -keep his opinion. We shan’t convince each other. And if you insist on -marrying your insipidity, do. Tell the stupid old father to communicate -with my lawyers about the settlements, and get it over as soon as you -please.” - -“You are going a great deal too fast, sir,” said Fred. He was pale with -the hurry and rapid discussion. “I can’t calculate like this upon what -is going to happen. Nothing has happened as yet.” - -“You mean she mayn’t have you? Never fear; young fellows with a father -behind them ain’t so common. Most men in my position would put a stop to -it altogether. I don’t; what does it matter to me? Dirom and Co. don’t -depend upon daughters-in-law. A woman’s fortune is as nothing to what’s -going through my hands every day. I say, let every man please himself. -And you’ve got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, Fred. Thinking -of coming up to town to look after business a little? Well, don’t; -there’s no need of you just now. I’ve got some ticklish operations on, -but they’re things I keep in my own hands.” - -“I don’t pretend to be the business man you are,” said Fred with a -fervour which was a little forced, “but if I could be of use----” - -“No, I don’t think you could be of use. Go on with your love-making. By -the way, I’m going back to-night. When is the train? I’ll just go in and -mention it to your mother. I wanted to see what sort of a set you had -about. Poor lot!” said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as he looked -at his watch. “Not a shilling to spare among ’em--and thinking all the -world of themselves. So do I? Yes: but then I’ve got something to stand -upon. Money, my boy, that’s the only real power.” - -Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxiously on his way back. “What is -he going to do?” they both said; “what has he been talking to you about? -Have you got to give her up, you poor old Fred?” - -“I shouldn’t have given her up for a dozen governors; but he’s very good -about it. Really to hear him you would think---- He’s perhaps better -about it than I deserve. He’s going back to town by the fast train -to-night.” - -“To-night!” There was both relief and grievance in the tone of the -girls. - -“He might just as well have gone this morning, and much more comfortable -for him,” said Phyllis. - -“For us too,” said her sister, and the three stood together and indulged -in a little guilty laugh which expressed the relief of their souls. “It -is horrid of us, when he’s always so kind: but papa does not really -enjoy the country, nor perhaps our society. He is always much happier -when he’s in town and within reach of the club.” - -“And in the meantime we have got our diamonds.” - -“And I my freedom,” said Fred; then he added with a look of compunction, -“I say, though, look here. He’s as good to us as he knows how, and -we’re not just what you would call----” - -“Grateful,” said both the sisters in a breath. Then they began to make -excuses, each in her own way. - -“We did not bring up ourselves. We ought to have got the sort of -education that would have kept us in papa’s sphere. He should have seen -to that; but he didn’t, Fred, as you know, and how can we help it? I am -always as civil to him as it’s possible to be. If he were ill, or -anything happened--By-the-bye, we are always saying now, ‘If anything -happened:’ as if there was some trouble in the air.” - -“It’s all right; you needn’t be superstitious. He is in the best of -spirits, and says I am not wanted, and that he’s got some tremendous -operation in hand.” - -“I do not suppose you would make much difference, dear Fred, even if you -were wanted,” said Miss Phyllis sweetly. “Of course if he were ill we -should go to him wherever he was. If he should have an accident now, I -could bind up his arteries, or foment his foot if he strained it. I have -not got my ambulance certificate for nothing. But keeping very well and -quite rampant, and richer than anybody, what could we do for him?” - -“It’s the sentiment of the thing,” said Fred. - -“As if he ever thought of the sentiment; or minded anything about us.” - -They returned to the house in the course of this conversation--where -already the servants had cleared the dining-room and replaced it in its -ordinary condition. Here Doris paused to tell the butler that dinner -must be served early on account of her father’s departure: but her -interference was received by that functionary with a bland smile, which -rebuked the intrusion. - -“We have known it, miss, since master came,” a little speech which -brought back the young people to their original state of exasperated -satisfaction. - -“You see!” the girls said, while even Fred while he laughed felt a prick -of irritation. Williams the butler had a great respect for his master, a -respect by no means general in such cases. He had served a duke in his -day, but he had never met with any one who was so indifferent to every -one else, so masterful and easy in his egotism, as his present -gentleman. And that he himself should have known what Mr. Dirom’s -arrangements were, while the children did not know, was a thing that -pleased this regent of the household. It was putting things in their -proper place. - -All the arrangements were made in the same unalterable imperious way. -There was no hurry with Mr. Dirom. He dined and indulged in a great many -remarks upon county people, whom he thought very small beer, he who was -used to the best society. He would not in London have condescended to -notice such people. - -But in the country, if the girls liked, and as there was nothing better -to be had--“From time to time give them a good spread,” he said; “don’t -mind what’s the occasion--a good spread, all the delicacies of the -season; that’s the sort of thing to do. Hang economy, that’s the virtue -of the poor-proud. You’re not poor, thanks to me, and you have no call -to be humble, chicks. Give it ’em grand, regardless of expense. As long -as I’m there to pay, I like you to cut a figure. I like to feed ’em up -and laugh in their faces. They’ll call me vulgar, you bet. Never mind; -what I like is to let them say it, and then make them knuckle under. Let -’em see you’re rich,--that’s what the beggars feel,--and you’ll have -every one of them, the best of them, on their knees. Pity is,” he added -after a while, “that there’s nobody here that is any good. Nothing -marriageable, eh, Phyll? Ah, well, for that fellow there, who might -have picked up something better any day of his life; but nothing for you -girls. Not so much as a bit of a young baronet, or even a Scotch squire. -Nothing but the doctor; the doctor won’t do. I’m very indulgent, but -there I draw the line. Do you hear, mother? No doctor. I’ll not stand -the doctor--not till they’re forty at the least, and have got no other -hope.” - -The girls sat pale, and made no reply. Their mother gave a feeble laugh, -as in duty bound, and said, “That’s your fun, George.” Thus the -propriety of Doris’s statement that they ought to have been brought up -in papa’s sphere was made apparent: for in that case they would have -laughed too: whereas now they sat silent and pale, and looked at each -other, with sentiments unutterable: fortunately the servants had gone -away, but he was quite capable of having spoken before the servants. - -After dinner they waited with ill-restrained impatience the hour of the -train. _He_ had rarely made himself so offensive; he went on about the -doctor, who would probably be their fate as they got near forty, with -inexhaustible enjoyment, and elicited from their mother that little -remonstrating laugh, which they forgave her for pity, saying to each -other, “Poor mamma!” Decidedly it is much better when daughters, and -sons too, for that matter, are brought up in their father’s sphere. He -went away in great good humour, refusing Fred’s offer to drive him to -the station. - -“None of your dog-carts for me,” he said: “I’ve ordered the brougham. -Good-bye girls; take care of yourselves, and try to rummage out -something superior to that doctor. And, Fred, you’d better think better -of it, my fine fellow, or, if you won’t be warned, do as you like, and -be hanged to you. Good-bye, old lady; I expect to hear you’ve got -screwed up with rheumatism in this damp old den here.” - -“And when will you come back, George? They say the weather is fine up to -November. I hope you’ll soon come back.” - -“Not for some time--unless I should have worse luck,” said the rich man. -He was at the door when he said this, his wife accompanying him, while -Fred stood outside with his hair blown about his eyes, at the door of -the brougham. The girls, standing behind, saw it all like a picture. -Their father, still with his white waistcoat showing under his overcoat, -his heavy chain glittering, and the beam and the roll of triumphant -money in his eye and his gait--“Not soon, unless I have worse luck,” and -he paused a moment and gave a comprehensive look around him with sudden -gravity, as he spoke. - -Then there was a laugh, a good-bye--and the carriage rolled away, and -they all stood for a moment looking out into the blackness of the -night. - -“What does he mean by worse luck?” they said to their mother as she came -in from the door. - -“He means nothing; it is just his fun. He’s got the grandest operations -in hand he has ever had. What a father you have got, girls! and to think -he lets you do whatever you please, and keeps you rolling in wealth all -the same!” - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -The day of the party at Allonby had been a day of pleasure to Effie, but -of pleasure she was half afraid of and only half understood. The -atmosphere about her had been touched by something beyond her -experience,--softened, brightened, glorified, she could not tell how. -She did not understand it, and yet she did understand it, and this soft -conflict between knowing and not knowing increased its magical effect. -She was surrounded by that atmosphere of admiration, of adoration, which -is the first romantic aspect of a love-making. Everything in her and -about her was so beautiful and lovely in the eyes of her young and -undeclared lover, that somehow in spite of herself this atmosphere got -into her own eyes and affected her conception of herself. It was all an -effect of fancy, unreal, not meaning, even to Fred Dirom, what it had -seemed to mean. - -When love came to its perfection, when he had told it, and made sure of -a return (if he was to have a return), then Fred too, or any, the most -romantic of lovers, would so far return to common earth as to become -aware that it was a woman and not a poetical angel whom he was about to -marry. - -But at present fancy was supreme, and Effie was as no real creature ever -had been, lit up with the effulgence of a tender imagination, even in -her own consciousness. She was not vain, nor apt to take much upon -herself; neither was she by any means prepared to respond to the -sentiment with which Fred regarded her. She did not look at him through -that glorifying medium. But she became aware of herself through it in a -bewildering, dazzling, incomprehensible way. Her feet trod the air, a -suffusion of light seemed to be about her. It was a merely sympathetic -effect, although she was the glorified object; but for the moment it was -very remarkable and even sweet. - -“Well! it appears you were the queen of the entertainment, Effie, for -all so simple as you sit there,” said her stepmother. “I hope you were -content.” - -“Me!” said Effie, in those half bewildered tones, conscious of it, yet -incapable of acknowledging it, not knowing how it could be. She added in -a subdued voice: “They were all very kind,” blushing so deeply that her -countenance and throat rose red out of her white frock. - -“Her!” cried Mr. Ogilvie, still a little confused with the truffles; -“what would she be the queen of the feast for, a little thing like that? -I have nothing to say against you, Effie; but there were many finer -women there.” - -“Hold your tongue, Robert,” said his wife. “There may be some things on -which you’re qualified to speak: but the looks of his own daughter, and -her just turning out of a girl into a woman, is what no man can judge. -You just can’t realize Effie as anything more than Effie. But I’ve seen -it for a long time. That’s not the point of view from which she is -regarded there.” - -“I know no other point of view,” he said in his sleepy voice. “You are -putting rank nonsense into her head.” - -“Just you lean back in your corner and take a rest,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, -“you’ve been exposed to the sun, and you’ve had heating viands and -drinks instead of your good cup of tea; and leave Effie’s head to me. -I’ll put nothing into it that should not be there.” - -“I think Effie’s head can take care of itself,” said the subject of the -discussion, though indeed if she had said the truth she would have -acknowledged that the little head in question was in the condition -which is popularly described as “turned,” and not in a very fit -condition to judge of itself. - -“It is easy to see that Mr. Dirom is a most liberal person,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “and spares nothing. I would not wonder if we were to see him -at Gilston to-morrow. What for? Oh, just for civility, and to see your -father. There might be business questions arising between them; who can -tell? And, Effie, I hope you’ll be reasonable, and not set yourself -against anything that would be for your good.” - -“I hope not,” said Effie, “but I don’t know what it is that you think -would be for my good.” - -“That is just what I am afraid of,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “that’s what -young folk are always doing. I can remember myself in my young days the -chances I threw away. Instead of seeing what’s in it as a real serious -matter, you will just consider it as a joke, as a thing to amuse -yourself with. That is not what a reasonable person would do. You’re -young, to be sure, but you will not be always young; and it is just -silly to treat in that light way what might be such a grand settlement -for life.” - -“I wish,” cried Effie, reddening now with sudden anger,--“oh, I wish you -would----” - -“Mind my own business? But it is my own business. When I married your -father it was one of the first of my duties to look after you, and -consider your best interests. I hope I’ve always done my duty by you, -Effie. From seeing that your hair was cut regularly, which was just in a -heart-breaking tangle about your shoulders when I came home to Gilston, -to seeing you well settled, there is nothing I have had so much in my -mind. Now don’t you make me any answer, for you will just say something -you will regret. I shall never have grown-up daughters of my own, and if -I were not to think of you I would be a most reprehensible person. All -I have to ask of you is that you will not be a fool and throw away your -advantages. You need not stir a finger. Just take things pleasantly and -make a nice answer to them that ask, and everything else will come to -your hand. Lucky girl that you are! Yes, my dear, you are just a very -lucky girl. Scarcely nineteen, and everything you can desire ready to -drop into your lap. There is not one in a hundred that has a lot like -that. There are many that might do not amiss but for some circumstances -that’s against them; but there is no circumstance against you, and -nothing that can harm you, unless just some nonsense fancy that you may -take up at your own hand.” - -Thus Mrs. Ogilvie ran on during the drive home. After one or two murmurs -of protest Effie fell into silence, preferring, as she often did, the -soft current of her own thoughts to the weary words of her stepmother, -who indeed was by no means unaccustomed to carry on a monologue of this -description, in which she gave forth a great many sentiments that were a -credit to her, and gave full intimation, had any attention been paid to -her, of various plans which were hotly but ineffectually objected to -when she carried them out. - -Mr. Ogilvie in his corner, what with his truffles and the unusual -fatigue of an afternoon spent in the midst of a crowd, and the familiar -lullaby of his wife’s voice, and the swift motion of the horses glad to -get home, had got happily and composedly to sleep. And if Effie did not -sleep, she did what was better. She allowed herself to float away on a -dreamy tide of feeling, which indeed was partly caused by Fred Dirom’s -devotion, yet was not responsive to it, nor implied any enchantment of -her own in which he held a leading place. She mused, but not of Fred. -The pleasure of life, of youth, of the love shown to her, of perhaps, -though it is a less admirable sentiment, gratified vanity, buoyed her -up and carried her along. - -No doubt it was gratified vanity; yet it was something more. The feeling -that we are admired and beloved has a subtle delight in it, breathing -soft and warm into the heart, which is more than a vain gratification. -It brings a conviction that the world, so good to us, is good and kind -to its core--that there is a delightful communication with all lovely -things possible to humanity to which we now have got the key, that we -are entering into our heritage, and that the beautiful days are dawning -for us that dawn upon all in their time, in their hour and place. - -This, perhaps, has much to do with the elevation and ecstasy even of -true love. Without love at all on her own part, but only the reflected -glow of that which shone from her young lover, who had not as yet -breathed a word to her of hopes or of wishes, this soft uprising tide, -this consciousness of a new existence, caught Effie now. She ceased to -pay any attention to her stepmother, whose wise words floated away upon -the breezes, and perhaps got diffused into nature, and helped to -replenish that stock of wisdom which the quiet and silence garner up to -transmit to fit listeners in their time. Some other country girl, -perhaps, going out into the fields to ask herself what she should do in -similar circumstances, got the benefit of those counsels, adjuring her -to abandon fancy and follow the paths of prudence, though they floated -over Effie’s head and made no impression on her dreaming soul. - -This vague and delightful period lasted without being broken by anything -definite for some time longer. The Dirom family in general had been -checked and startled, they could scarcely tell how, by the visit of the -father. Not that its abruptness surprised them, or its brevity, to both -of which things they were accustomed. No one indeed could define what -was the cause, or indeed what was exactly the effect. It did not reach -the length of anxiety or alarm, and it was not produced by any special -thing which he had done or said; but yet they were checked, made -uncomfortable, they could not tell why. - -Mrs. Dirom herself retired to her room and cried, though she would not -or could not give any reason for it; and the young people, though none -of their pursuits had been blamed by their father, tacitly by one -impulse paused in them, renouncing their most cherished habits, though -with no cause they knew. - -The same indefinite check weighed upon Fred. He had received, to his own -surprise, full license from his father to do as he pleased, and make his -own choice, a permission indeed which he had fully calculated upon--for -Mr. Dirom’s sentiment of wealth was such that he had always -persistently scoffed at the idea of a wife’s fortune being any special -object on the part of his sons--but which he had not expected to receive -without asking for it, without putting forth his reasons, in this -prodigal way. - -But Fred did not at once take advantage of this permission to please -himself. Perhaps the mere fact that his father took it so entirely for -granted, gave the subject greater gravity and difficulty in the eyes of -the son, and he became doubtful in proportion as the difficulties seemed -smoothed away. He did not even see Effie for some days after. The first -touch of winter came with the beginning of October, and tennis became a -thing of the past. Neither was there much pleasure to be had either in -walks or rides. The outside world grew dark, and to the discouraged and -disturbed family it was almost an advantage to shut themselves up for a -day or two, to gather round the fire, and either mutely or by -implication consult with each other, and question that Sphinx of the -future which gives no reply. - -When this impression began to wear off, and the natural course of life -was resumed, Fred found another obstacle to the promotion of his suit. -Effie gave him no rebuff, showed no signs of dislike or displeasure, but -smiled to meet him, with a soft colour rising over her face, which many -a lover would have interpreted to mean the most flattering things. But -with all this, Fred felt a certain atmosphere of abstraction about her -which affected him, though his feelings were far from abstract. He had a -glimmering of the truth in respect to her, such as only a fairly -sympathetic nature and the perfect sincerity of his mind could have -conveyed to him. - -The girl was moved, he felt, by love, by something in the air, by an -ethereal sentiment--but not by him. She felt his love, thrilling somehow -sympathetically the delicate strings of her being, but did not share -the passion. This stopped him in the strangest way, re-acting upon him, -taking the words from his lips. It was too delicate for words. It seemed -to him that even a definite breath of purpose, much more the vulgar -question, Will you marry me? would have broken the spell. And thus a -little interval passed which was not without its sweetness. The nature -of their intercourse changed a little. It became less easy, yet almost -more familiar; instead of the lawns, the tennis, the walk through the -glen, the talk of Doris and Phyllis for a background, it was now in -Gilston chiefly that he met Effie. He came upon all possible and -impossible errands, to bring books or to borrow them, to bring flowers -from the conservatories, or grapes and peaches, or grouse; to consult -Mr. Ogilvie about the little farm, of which he knew nothing; or any -other pretext that occurred to him. And then he would sit in the homely -drawing-room at Gilston the whole afternoon through, while Effie did -her needlework, or arranged the flowers, or brought out the dessert -dishes for the fruit, or carried him, a pretty handmaiden, his cup of -tea. - -“Now just sit still,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and let Effie serve you. A -woman should always hand the tea. You’re fine for heavier things, but -tea is a girl’s business.” - -And Fred sat in bliss, and took that domestic nectar from the hand of -Effie, standing sweetly with a smile before him, and felt himself grow -nearer and nearer, and yet still farther and farther away. - -This state of affairs did not satisfy Mrs. Ogilvie at all. She asked -herself sometimes whether Fred after all was trifling with Effie? -whether it was possible that he might be amusing himself? whether her -father should interfere? This excellent woman was well aware that to get -Effie’s father to interfere was about as likely as that good Glen, -sweeping his mighty tail, should stop Fred upon the threshold, and ask -him what were his intentions. But then “her father” meant, of course, -her father’s wife, and the lady herself felt no reluctance, if Effie’s -interest required it, to take this step. - -Her objects were various. In the first place, as a matter of principle, -she had a rooted objection to shilly-shally in a question of this kind. -She had the feeling that her own prospects had suffered from it, as many -women have; and though Mrs. Ogilvie had not suffered much, and was very -well satisfied on the whole with her life, still she might, she felt, -have married earlier and married better but for the senseless delays of -the man in more cases than one. - -From a less abstract point of view she desired the question to be -settled in Effie’s interests, feeling sure both that Fred was an -excellent _parti_, and that he was that highly desirable thing--a good -young man. Perhaps a sense that to have the house to herself, without -the perpetual presence of a grown-up stepdaughter, might be an -advantage, had a certain weight with her; but a motive which had much -greater weight, was the thought of the triumph of thus marrying -Effie--who was not even her own, and for whom her exertions would be -recognized as disinterested--in this brilliant manner at nineteen--a -triumph greater than any which had been achieved by any mother in the -county since the time when May Caerlaverock married an English duke. -None of these, it will be perceived, were sordid reasons, and Mrs. -Ogilvie had no need to be ashamed of any of them. The advantage of her -husband’s daughter was foremost in her thoughts. - -But with all this in her, it may well be believed that Mrs. Ogilvie was -very impatient of the young people’s delays, of the hours that Fred -wasted in the Gilston drawing-room without ever coming to the point, -and of the total want of any anxiety or desire that he should come to -the point, on the part of Effie. - -“He will just let the moment pass,” this excellent woman said to herself -as she sat and frowned, feeling that she gave them a hundred -opportunities of which they took no heed, which they did not even seem -to be conscious of. - -It was all she could do, she said afterwards, to keep her hands off -them! the two silly things! just playing with their fate. She was moved -almost beyond her power of self-control, and would sit quivering with -the desire to hasten matters, ready every time she opened her lips to -address them on the subject, while Fred took his tea with every -appearance of calm, and Effie served him as if in a dream. - -“Oh ye two silly things!”--this was what was on her lips twenty times in -an afternoon; and she would get up and go out of the room, partly lest -she should betray herself, partly that he might have an opportunity. But -it was not till about the end of October, on a dusky afternoon after a -day of storm and rain, that Fred found his opportunity, not when Mrs. -Ogilvie, but when Effie happened to be absent, for it was, after all, to -the elder lady, not to the younger, that he at length found courage to -speak. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -“Mrs. Ogilvie, may I say a word to you?” he asked. - -“Dear me, Mr. Fred, a hundred if you like. I am just always most ready -to listen to what my friends have to say.” - -Which was true enough but with limitations, and implied the possibility -of finding an opening, a somewhat difficult process. She made a very -brief pause, looking at him, and then continued, “It will be something -of importance? I am sure I am flattered that you should make a confidant -of me.” - -“It is something of a great deal of importance--to me. I am going to ask -you as a kind friend, which you have always shown yourself----” - -“Hoots,” said the lady, “I’ve had nothing in my power. But what will it -be? for though I have the best will in the world, and would do anything -to serve you, I cannot think what power I have to be of any use, or what -I can do.” - -“Oh, of the greatest use. Tell me first,” cried the young man, who had -risen up and was standing before her with an evident tremor about him. -“Shall I have time to tell you everything? is Miss Effie coming back -directly? will she soon be here?” - -Mrs. Ogilvie felt as if her senses were abandoning her. It was evident -he wanted Effie to stay away in order that he might reveal something to -_her_. Dear, what could it be? Was it possible that she had been -mistaken all through? was it possible--? Mrs. Ogilvie was not a vain -woman, but the circumstances were such as to confuse the clearest head. - -“She has gone up to the manse to her Uncle John’s. Well, I would not -wonder if she was half-an-hour away. But, Mr. Dirom, you will excuse me, -I would sooner have believed you wanted me out of the way than Effie. I -could have imagined you had something to say to her: but me!” - -“Ah, that is just it,” said Fred, “I feel as if I dared not. I want you -to tell me, dear Mrs. Ogilvie, if it is any good. She is--well, not -cold--she is always sweetness itself. But I feel as if I were kept at a -distance, as if nothing of that sort had ever approached her--no -idea---- Other girls laugh about marriage and lovers and so forth, but -she never. I feel as if I should shock her, as if----” - -“Then it _is_ about Effie that you want to speak?” - -He was so full of emotion that it was only by a nod of his head that he -could reply. - -“You know this is just an extraordinary kind of proceeding, Mr. Fred. -It’s a thing nobody thinks of doing. She will perhaps not like it, for -she has a great deal of spirit--that you should first have spoken to -me.” - -“It is in many parts of the world the right thing to do. I--didn’t -know----” - -“Oh, it is just a very right thing, no doubt, in principle; but a girl -would perhaps think--Well, you must just say your mind, and I will help -you if I can. It may be something different from what I expect.” - -“What could it be, Mrs. Ogilvie? I have loved her since the first moment -I saw her. When I lifted the curtain and my eyes fell upon that fair -creature, so innocent, so gentle! I have never thought of any one in the -same way. My fate was decided in that moment. Do you think there is any -hope for me?” - -“Hope!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “well, I must say I think you are a very -humble-minded young man.” - -He came up to her and took her hand and kissed it. He was full of -agitation. - -“I am in no way worthy of such happiness. Humble-minded--oh no, I am not -humble-minded. But Effie--tell me! has she ever spoken of me, has she -said anything to make you think--has she----” - -“My dear Mr. Fred, of course we have spoken of you many a time; not that -I would say she ever said anything--oh no, she would not say anything. -She is shy by nature, and shyer than I could wish with me. But, dear me, -how is it likely she would be insensible? You’ve been so devoted that -everybody has seen it. Oh, yes, I expected.--And how could she help but -see? She has never met with anybody else, she is just fresh from the -nursery and the schoolroom, and has never had such a notion presented to -her mind. It would be very strange to me, just out of all possibility, -that she should refuse such an offer.” - -The pang of pleasure which had penetrated Fred’s being was here modified -by a pang of pain. He shrank a little from these words. This was not how -he regarded his love. He cried anxiously, “Don’t say that. If you think -it is possible that she may learn to--love me----” - -“And why not?” said this representative of all that was straightforward -and commonplace. “There is nobody before you, that is one thing I can -tell you. There was a young man--a boy I might say--but I would never -allow her to hear a word about it. No, no, there is nobody--you may feel -quite free to speak.” - -“You make me--very happy,” he said, but in a tone by no means so assured -as his words. Then he added, hesitating, “Perhaps I should not ask -more; but if she had ever shown--oh, I am sure you must know what I -mean--any interest--any----” - -“Toots!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “am I going to betray a bit girlie’s -secrets, even if I knew them. One thing, she will not perhaps be pleased -that you have spoken to me. I am but her stepmother when all is said. -Her father is in the library, and he is the right person. Just you step -across the passage and have a word with him. That will be far more to -the purpose than trying to get poor Effie’s little secrets out of me.” - -“But, Mrs. Ogilvie,” cried Fred-- - -“I will just show you the way. It would be awkward if she found you here -with me with that disturbed look; but her father is another matter -altogether. Now, don’t be blate, as we say here. Don’t be too modest. -Just go straight in and tell him--Robert, here is Mr. Fred Dirom that -is wishful to have a word with you.” - -Fred followed, altogether taken by surprise. He was not in the least -“wishful” to have a word with Mr. Ogilvie. He wanted to find out from a -sympathetic spectator whether Effie’s virginal thoughts had ever turned -towards him, whether he might tell his tale without alarming her, -without perhaps compromising his own interests; but his ideas had not -taken the practical form of definite proposals, or an interview with the -father. Not that Fred had the slightest intention of declaring his love -without offering himself fully for Effie’s acceptance; but to speak of -his proposal, and to commit him to a meeting of this sort before he knew -anything of Effie’s sentiments, threw a business air, which was half -ludicrous and half horrible, over the little tender romance. But what -can a young man do in such absurd circumstances? Mrs. Ogilvie did not -ask his opinion. She led the way, talking in her usual full round -voice, which filled the house. - -“Just come away,” she said. “To go to headquarters is always the best, -and then your mind will be at ease. As for objections on her part, I -will not give them a thought. You may be sure a young creature of that -age, that has never had a word said to her, is very little likely to -object. And ye can just settle with her father. Robert, I am saying this -is Mr. Dirom come to say a word to you. Just leave Rory to himself; he -can amuse himself very well if you take no notice. And he is as safe as -the kirk steeple, and will take no notice of you.” - -“I’m sure I’m very glad to see Mr. Dirom--at any time,” said Mr. -Ogilvie; but it was not a propitious moment. The room in which he sat, -and which was called the library, was a dreary dark gray room with a few -bookcases, and furniture of a dingy kind. The old armchairs, when they -were discarded from other regions, found their way there, and stood -about harshly, like so many old gentlemen, with an air of twirling their -thumbs and frowning at intruders. But to-day these old fogeys in -mahogany were put to a use to which indeed they were not unaccustomed, -but which deranged all the previous habitudes of a lifetime. They were -collected in the middle of the room to form an imaginary stage-coach -with its steeds, four in hand, driven with much cracking of his whip and -pulling of the cords attached to the unyielding old backs, by Master -Rory, seated on high in his white pinafore, and gee-wo-ing and -chirruping like an experienced coachman. Mr. Ogilvie himself, with much -appropriate gesture, was at the moment of Fred’s entry riding as -postilion the leader, which had got disorderly. The little drama -required that he should manifest all the alarm of a rider about to be -thrown off, and this he was doing with much demonstration when the door -opened. - -Fred thought that if anything could have added to the absurdity of his -own position it was this. Mr. Ogilvie was on ordinary occasions very -undemonstrative, a grave leathern-jawed senior, who spoke little and -looked somewhat frowningly upon the levities of existence. He got off -his horse, so to speak, with much confusion as the stranger came in. - -“You see,” he said, apologetically--but for the moment said no more. - -“Oh yes, we see. Rory, ye’ll tumble off that high seat; how have ye got -so high a seat? Bless me, ye’ll have a fall if ye don’t take care.” - -“You see,” continued Mr. Ogilvie, “the weather has been wet and the -little fellow has not got his usual exercise. At that age they must have -exercise. You’ll think it’s not very becoming for a man of my age----” - -“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “what does it matter about your age? You are -just a father whatever age you are, and Mr. Dirom will think no worse of -you for playing with your own little child. Come, Rory, come, my wee -man, and leave papa to his business.” - -“No, I’ll no go,” shouted the child. “We’re thust coming in to the inn, -and all the passengers will get out o’ the coach. Pappa, pappa, the off -leader, she’s runned away. Get hold o’ her, get hold o’ her; she’ll -upset the coach.” - -Fred looked on with unsympathetic eyes while the elderly -pseudo-postilion, very shamefaced, made pretence of arresting the -runaway steed, which bore the sedate form of a mahogany arm-chair. - -“You will just excuse me,” he said, “till the play’s played out. There, -now, Rory, fling your reins to the hostler, and go in and get your -dram--which means a chocolate sweetie,” he added, to forestall any -reproof. - -If Rory’s father had been a great personage, or even if being only Mr. -Ogilvie of Gilston he had been Rory’s grandfather, the situation would -have been charming; but as he was neither, and very commonplace and -elderly, the tableau was spoiled. (“Old idiot,” the Miss Dempsters would -have said, “making a fool of a bairn that should have been his son’s -bairn, and neglecting his own lawful children, at his age!” The -sentiment was absurd, but Fred shared it.) Perhaps it was the unrelaxing -countenance of the young man, as Mrs. Ogilvie seized and carried off the -charioteer which made the poor papa so ill at ease. He pulled the chairs -apart with an uneasy smile and gave one to his visitor. - -“No, I am not ashamed of it,” he said, “but I daresay I would look -ridiculous enough to a stranger:” and with this he sat down before his -table, on which, amid the writing things, were a child’s trumpet and -other articles belonging to a person of very tender years. “And in what -can I be of use to you?” he asked. - -It was Fred’s turn to grow red. He had been led into this snare against -his will. He felt rather disgusted, rather angry. - -“I don’t know,” he said, “that it was anything calling for your -attention to-day. It was a matter--still undecided. I should not have -disturbed you--at a moment of relaxation.” - -“Oh, if that is all,” said Mr. Ogilvie with a smile, “I have Rory -always, you know. The little pickle is for ever on my hands. He likes me -better than the weemen, because I spoil him more, my wife says.” - -Having said this with effusion, the good man awoke once more to the fact -that his audience was not with him, and grew dully red. - -“I am entirely at your service now,” he said; “would it be anything -about the wheat? Your grieve is, no doubt, a very trustworthy man, but -I would not leave your fields longer uncut if I was you. There is no sun -now to do them any good.” - -“Thanks, very much,” said Fred, “it was not about the wheat----” - -“Or perhaps the state of the woods? There will be a good deal of pruning -required, but it will be safest to have the factor over, and do nothing -but what he approves.” - -“It was not about the woods. It was an entirely personal question. -Perhaps another day would be more appropriate. I--have lost the thread -of what I was going to say.” - -“Dear me,” said the good man, “that’s a pity. Is there nothing that I -can suggest, I wonder, to bring it back to your mind?” - -He looked so honestly solicitous to know what the difficulty was, that -Fred’s irritation was stayed. An embarrassment of another kind took -possession of him. - -“Mr. Ogilvie,” he said, “I don’t know why I should have come to you, for -indeed I have no authority. I have come to ask you for--what I am sure -you will not give, unless I have another consent first. It is -about--your daughter that I want to speak.” - -Mr. Ogilvie opened his eyes a little and raised himself in his seat. - -“Ay!” he said, “and what will it be about Effie?” - -He had observed nothing, seeing his mind was but little occupied with -Effie. To be sure, his wife had worried him with talk about this young -fellow, but he had long accustomed himself to hear a great deal that his -wife said without paying any attention. He had an understanding that -there could be only one way in which Fred Dirom could have anything to -say to him about his daughter: but still, though he had heard a good -deal of talk on the subject, it was a surprise. - -“Sir,” said Fred, collecting himself, “I have loved her since the first -time I saw her. I want to know whether I have your permission to speak -to Miss Ogilvie--to tell her----” - -Poor Fred was very truly and sincerely in love. It was horrible to him -to have to discourse on the subject and speak these words which he -should have breathed into Effie’s ear to this dull old gentleman. So -strange a travesty of the scene which he had so often tenderly figured -to himself filled him with confusion, and took from him all power of -expressing himself. - -“This is very important, Mr. Dirom,” said Effie’s father, straightening -himself out. - -“It is very important to me,” cried the young man; “all my hopes are -involved in it, my happiness for life.” - -“Yes, it’s very important,” said Mr. Ogilvie, “if I’m to take this, as -I suppose, as a proposal of marriage to Effie. She is young, and you are -but young for that responsibility; and you will understand, of course, -that I would never force her inclinations.” - -“Good heavens, sir,” cried the young fellow, starting to his feet, “what -do you take me for?--do you think that I--I----” - -“No, no,” said Mr. Ogilvie, shaking his gray head. “Sit down, my young -friend. There could be no such thing as forcing her inclinations; but -otherwise if your good father and mother approve, there would not, so -far as I can see, be any objections on our part. No, so far as I can -see, there need be no objection. I should like to have an opportunity of -talking it over with my wife. And Effie herself would naturally require -to be consulted: but with these little preliminaries--I have heard -nothing but good of you, and I cannot see that there would be any -objections on our part.” - -At this point the door opened quickly, and Mrs. Ogilvie came in. - -“Well,” she said, “I hope ye have got it over and settled everything: -for, Mr. Fred, Effie is just coming down from the manse, and I thought -you would perhaps like to see her, not under my nose, as people say, but -where ye could have a little freedom. If ye hurry you will meet her -where the road strikes off into the little wood--and that’s a nice -little roundabout, where a great deal can be got through. But come away, -ye must not lose a moment; and afterwards ye can finish your talk with -papa.” - -If Fred could have disappeared through the dingy old carpet, if he could -have melted into thin air, there would have been no more seen of him in -Gilston house that day. But he could not escape his fate. He was hurried -along to a side door, where Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to him the little -path by which Effie would certainly return home. She almost pushed him -out into the waning afternoon to go and tell his love. - -When he heard the door close behind him and felt himself free and in the -open world, Fred for a moment had the strongest impulse on his mind to -fly. The enthusiasm of his youthful love had been desecrated by all -these odious prefaces, his tender dreams had been dispelled. How could -he say to Effie in words fit for her hearing what he had been compelled -to say to those horrible people to whom she belonged, and to hear resaid -by them in their still more horrible way? He stood for a moment -uncertain whether to go on or turn and fly--feeling ashamed, outraged, -irritated. It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that soiled and -desecrated story for her hearing now. - -But just then she appeared at the opening of the road, unconscious, -coming sweetly along, in maiden meditation, a little touched with -dreams. The sight of her produced another revolution in Fred’s thoughts. -Could it be for him that soft mist that was in her eyes? He went -forward, with his heart beating, to meet her and his fate. - - - END OF VOLUME I. - - ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW - - * * * * * - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE. - - - - - PUBLISHED BY - JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW. - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. - _London_, _Hamilton, Adams and Co._ - _Cambridge_, _Macmillan and Bowes_. - _Edinburgh_, _Douglas and Foulis_. - - MDCCCLXXXVI. - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT, - AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC. - - VOL. II. - - - GLASGOW: - JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS, - Publishers to the University. - LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO. - 1886. - - _All rights reserved._ - - - - - EFFIE OGILVIE: - - _THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE_. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Effie came towards him smiling, without apprehension. The atmosphere out -of doors had not the same consciousness, the same suggestion in it which -was inside. A young man’s looks, which may be alarming within the -concentration of four walls, convey no fear and not so much impression -in the fresh wind blowing from the moors and the openness of the country -road. To be sure it was afternoon and twilight coming on, which is -always a witching hour. - -He stood at the corner of the byeway waiting for her as she came along, -light-footed, in her close-fitting tweed dress, which made a dim setting -to the brightness of her countenance. She had a little basket in her -hand. She had been carrying a dainty of some kind to somebody who was -ill. The wind in her face had brightened everything, her colour, her -eyes, and even had, by a little tossing, found out some gleams of gold -in the brownness of her hair. She was altogether sweet and fair in -Fred’s eyes--a creature embodying everything good and wholesome, -everything that was simple and pure. She had a single rose in her hand, -which she held up as she advanced. - -“We are not like you, we don’t get roses all the year round; but here is -one, the last,” she said, “from Uncle John’s south wall.” - -It was not a highly-cultivated, scentless rose, such as the gardens at -Allonby produced by the hundred, but one that was full of fragrance, -sweet as all roses once were. The outer leaves had been a little caught -by the frost, but the heart was warm with life and sweetness. She held -it up to him, but did not give it to him, as at first he thought she was -going to do. - -“I would rather have that one,” he cried, “than all the roses which we -get all the year round.” - -“Because it is so sweet?” said Effie. “Yes, that is a thing that -revenges the poor folk. You can make the roses as big as a child’s head, -but for sweetness the little old ones in the cottage gardens are always -the best.” - -“Everything is sweet, I think, that is native here.” - -“Oh!” said Effie, with a deep breath of pleasure, taking the compliment -as it sounded, not thinking of herself in it. “I am glad to hear you say -that! for I think so too--the clover, and the heather, and the -hawthorn, and the meadow-sweet. There is a sweet-brier hedge at the -manse that Uncle John is very proud of. When it is in blossom he always -brings a little rose of it to me.” - -“Then I wish I might have that rose,” the young lover said. - -“From the sweet-brier? They are all dead long ago; and I cannot give you -this one, because it is the last. Does winter come round sooner here, -Mr. Dirom, than in--the South?” - -What Effie meant by the South was no more than England--a country, -according to her imagination, in which the sun blazed, and where the -climate in summer was almost more than honest Scots veins could bear. -That was not Fred’s conception of the South. - -He smiled in a somewhat imbecile way, and replied, “Everything is best -here. Dark, and true, and tender is the North: no, not dark, that is a -mistake of the poet. Fair, and sweet, and true--is what he ought to -have said.” - -“There are many dark people as well as fair in Scotland,” said Effie; -“people think we have all yellow hair. There is Uncle John, he is dark, -and true, and tender--and our Eric. You don’t know our Eric, Mr. Dirom?” - -“I hope I shall some day. I am looking forward to it. Is he like you, -Miss Effie?” - -“Oh, he is dark. I was telling you: and Ronald--I think we are just -divided like other people, some fair--some----” - -“And who is Ronald?--another brother?” - -“Oh, no--only a friend, in the same regiment.” - -Effie’s colour rose a little, not that she meant anything, for what was -Ronald to her? But yet there had been that reference of the Miss -Dempsters which she had not understood, and which somehow threw Ronald -into competition with Fred Dirom, so that Effie, without knowing it, -blushed. Then she said, with a vague idea of making up to him for some -imperceptible injury, “Have you ever gone through our little wood?” - -“I am hoping,” said Fred, “that you will take me there now.” - -“But the gloaming is coming on,” said Effie, “and the wind will be wild -among the trees--the leaves are half off already, and the winds seem to -shriek and tear them, till every branch shivers. In the autumn it is a -little eerie in the wood.” - -“What does eerie mean? but I think I know; and nothing could be eerie,” -said Fred half to himself, “while you are there.” - -Effie only half heard the words: she was opening the little postern -gate, and could at least pretend to herself that she had not heard them. -She had no apprehensions, and the young man’s society was pleasant -enough. To be worshipped is pleasant. It makes one so much more -disposed to think well of one’s self. - -“Then come away,” she said, holding the gate open, turning to him with a -smile of invitation. Her bright face looked brighter against the -background of the trees, which were being dashed about against an -ominous colourless sky. All was threatening in the heavens, dark and -sinister, as if a catastrophe were coming, which made the girl’s bright -tranquil face all the more delightful. How was it that she did not see -his agitation? At the crisis of a long alarm there comes a moment when -fear goes altogether out of the mind. - -If Effie had been a philosopher she might have divined that danger was -near merely from the curious serenity and quiet of her heart. The wooden -gate swung behind them. They walked into the dimness of the wood side by -side. The wind made a great sighing high up in the branches of the -fir-trees, like a sort of instrument--an Eolian harp of deeper compass -than any shrieking strings could be. The branches of the lower trees -blew about. There was neither the calm nor the sentiment that were -conformable to a love tale. On the contrary, hurry and storm were in the -air, a passion more akin to anger than to love. Effie liked those great -vibrations and the rushing flood of sound. But Fred did not hear them. -He was carried along by an impulse which was stronger than the wind. - -“Miss Ogilvie,” he said, “I have been talking to your father--I have -been asking his permission---- Perhaps I should not have gone to him -first. Perhaps--It was not by my own impulse altogether. I should have -wished first to---- But it appears that here, as in foreign countries, -it is considered--the best way.” - -Effie looked up at him with great surprise, her pretty eyebrows arched, -but no sense of special meaning as yet dawning in her eyes. - -“My father?” she said, wondering. - -Fred was not skilled in love-making. It had always been a thing he had -wished, to feel himself under the influence of a grand passion: but he -had never arrived at it till now; and all the little speeches which no -doubt he had prepared failed him in the genuine force of feeling. - -He stammered a little, looked at her glowing with tremulous emotion, -then burst forth suddenly, “O Effie, forgive me; I cannot go on in that -way. This is just all, that I’ve loved you ever since that first moment -at Allonby when the room was so dark. I could scarcely see you in your -white dress. Effie! it is not that I mean to be bold, to presume--I -can’t help it. It has been from the first moment. I shall never be happy -unless--unless----” - -He put his hand quickly, furtively, with a momentary touch upon hers -which held the rose, and then stood trembling to receive his sentence. -Effie understood at last. She stood still for a moment panic-stricken, -raising bewildered eyes to his. When he touched her hand she started and -drew a step away from him, but found nothing better to say than a low -frightened exclamation, “O Mr. Fred!” - -“I have startled you. I know I ought to have begun differently, not to -have brought it out all at once. But how could I help it? Effie! won’t -you give me a little hope? Don’t you know what I mean? Don’t you know -what I want? O Effie! I am much older than you are, and I have been -about the world a long time, but I have never loved any one but you.” - -Effie did not look at him now. She took her rose in both her hands and -fixed her eyes upon that. - -“You are very kind, you are too, too---- I have done nothing that you -should think so much of me,” she said. - -“Done nothing? I don’t want you to do anything; you are yourself, that -is all. I want you to let me do everything for you. Effie, you -understand, don’t you, what I mean?” - -“Yes,” she said, “I think I understand: but I have not thought of it -like that. I have only thought of you as a----” - -Here she stopped, and her voice sank, getting lower and lower as she -breathed out the last monosyllable. As a friend, was that what she was -going to say? And was it true? Effie was too sincere to finish the -sentence. It had not been quite as a friend: there had been something in -the air--But she was in no position to reply to this demand he made upon -her. It was true that she had not thought of it. It had been about her -in the atmosphere, that was all. - -“I know,” he said, breaking in eagerly. “I did not expect you to feel as -I do. There was nothing in me to seize your attention. Oh, I am not -disappointed--I expected no more. You thought of me as a friend. Well! -and I want to be the closest of friends. Isn’t that reasonable? Only let -me go on trying to please you. Only, only try to love me a little, -Effie. Don’t you think you could like a poor fellow who wants nothing so -much as to please you?” - -Fred was very much in earnest: there was a glimmer in his eyes, his face -worked a little: there was a smile of deprecating, pleading tenderness -about his mouth which made his lip quiver. He was eloquent in being so -sincere. Effie gave a furtive glance up at him and was moved. But it was -love and not Fred that moved her. She was profoundly affected, almost -awe-stricken at the sight of that, but not at the sight of him. - -“Oh,” she said, “I like you already very much: but that is not--that is -not--it is not--the same----” - -“No,” he said, “it is not the same--it is very different; but I shall be -thankful for that, hoping for more. If you will only let me go on, and -let me hope?” - -Effie knew no reply to make; her heart was beating, her head swimming: -they went on softly under the waving boughs a few steps, as in a dream. -Then he suddenly took her hand with the rose in it, and kissed it, and -took the flower from her fingers, which trembled under the novelty of -that touch. - -“You will give it to me now--for a token,” he said, with a catching of -his breath. - -Effie drew away her hand, but she left him the rose. She was in a tremor -of sympathetic excitement and emotion. How could she refuse to feel when -he felt so much? but she had nothing to say to him. So long as he asked -no more than this, there seemed no reason to thwart him, to -refuse--what? he had not asked for anything, only that she should like -him, which indeed she did; and that he might try to please her. To -please her! She was not so hard to please. She scarcely heard what he -went on to say, in a flood of hasty words, with many breaks, and looks -which she was conscious of, but did not resent. He seemed to be telling -her about herself, how sweet she was, how true and good, what a -happiness to know her, to be near her, to be permitted to walk by her -side as he was doing. Effie heard it and did not hear, walking on in her -dream, feeling that it was not possible any one could form such -extravagant ideas of her, inclined to laugh, half-inclined to cry, in a -strange enchantment which she could not break. - -She heard her own voice say after a while, “Oh no, no--oh no, no--that -is all wrong. I am not like that, it cannot be me you are meaning.” But -this protest floated away upon the air, and was unreal like all the -rest. As for Fred, he was in an enchantment more potent still. Her -half-distressed, half-subdued listening, her little protestation, her -surprise, yet half-consent, and above all the privilege of pouring forth -upon her the full tide of passionate words which surprised himself by -their fluency and force, entirely satisfied him. Her youth, her gentle -ignorance and innocence, which were so sweet, fully accounted for the -absence of response. - -He felt instinctively that it was sweeter that she should allow herself -to be worshipped, that she should not be ready to meet him, but have to -be wooed and entreated before she found a reply. These were all -additional charms. He felt no want, nor was conscious of any drawback. -The noise in the tops of the fir-trees, the waving of the branches -overhead, the rushing of the wind, were to Fred more sweet than any -sound of hidden brooks, or all the tender rustling of the foliage of -June. - -Presently, however, there came a shock of awakening to this rapture, -when the young pair reached the little gate which admitted into the -garden of Gilston. Fred saw the house suddenly rising before him above -the shrubberies, gray and solid and real, and the sight of it brought -him back out of that magic circle. They both stopped short outside the -door with a consciousness of reality which silenced the one and roused -the other. In any other circumstances Effie would have asked him to come -in. She stopped now with her hand on the gate, with a sense of the -impossibility of inviting him now to cross that threshold. And Fred too -stopped short. To go farther would be to risk the entire fabric of this -sudden happiness. - -He took her hand again, “Dear Effie, dearest Effie; good-night, darling, -good-night.” - -“O Mr. Fred! but you must not call me these names, you must not -think---- It is all such a surprise, and I have let you say too much. -You must not think----” - -“That I am to you what you are to me? Oh no, I do not think it; but you -will let me love you? that is all I ask: and you will try to think of me -a little. Effie, you will think of me--just a little--and of this sweet -moment, and of the flower you have given me.” - -“Oh, I will not be able to help thinking,” cried Effie. “But, Mr. Fred, -I am just bewildered; I do not know what you have been saying. And I did -not give it you. Don’t suppose--oh don’t suppose---- You must not go -away thinking----” - -“I think only that you will let me love you and try to please you. -Good-night, darling, good-night.” - -Effie went through the garden falling back into her dream. She scarcely -knew what she was treading on, the garden paths all dim in the fading -light, or the flower-beds with their dahlias. She heard his footstep -hurrying along towards the road, and the sound of his voice seemed to -linger in the air--Darling! had any one ever called her by that name -before? There was nobody to call her so. She was Uncle John’s darling, -but he did not use such words: and there was no one else to do it. - -Darling! now that she was alone she felt the hot blush come up -enveloping her from head to foot--was it Fred Dirom who had called her -that, a man, a stranger! A sudden fright and panic seized her. His -darling! what did that mean? To what had she bound herself? She could -not be his darling without something in return. Effie paused half-way -across the garden with a sudden impulse to run after him, to tell him -it was a mistake, that he must not think--But then she remembered that -she had already told him that he must not think--and that he had said -no, oh no, but that she was his darling. A confused sense that a great -deal had happened to her, though she scarcely knew how, and that she had -done something which she did not understand, without meaning it, without -desiring it, came over her like a gust of the wind which suddenly seemed -to have become chill, and blew straight upon her out of the colourless -sky which was all white and black with its flying clouds. She stood -still to think, but she could not think: her thoughts began to hurry -like the wind, flying across the surface of her mind, leaving no trace. - -There were lights in the windows of the drawing-room, and Effie could -hear through the stillness the voice of her stepmother running on in her -usual strain, and little Rory shouting and driving his coach in the big -easy-chair. She could not bear to go into the lighted room, to expose -her agitated countenance to the comments which she knew would attend -her, the questions, where she had been, and why she was so late? Effie -had not a suspicion that her coming was eagerly looked for, and that -Mrs. Ogilvie was waiting with congratulations; but she could not meet -any eye with her story written so clearly in her face. She hurried up to -her own room, and there sat in the dark pondering and wondering. “Think -of me a little.” Oh! should she ever be able to think of anything else -all her life? - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -Effie came down to dinner late--with eyes that betrayed themselves by -unusual shining, and a colour that wavered from red to pale. She had put -on her white frock hurriedly, forgetting her usual little ornaments in -the confusion of her mind. To her astonishment Mrs. Ogilvie, who was -waiting at the drawing-room door looking out for her, instead of the -word of reproof which her lateness generally called forth, met her with -a beaming countenance. - -“Well, Miss Effie!” she said, “so you’re too grand to mind that it’s -dinner-time. I suppose you’ve just had your little head turned with -flattery and nonsense.” And to the consternation of her stepdaughter, -Mrs. Ogilvie took her by the shoulders and gave her a hearty kiss upon -her cheek. “I am just as glad as if I had come into a fortune,” she -said. - -Mr. Ogilvie added a “humph!” as he moved on to the dining-room. And he -shot a glance which was not an angry glance (as it generally was when he -was kept waiting for his dinner) at his child. - -“You need not keep the dinner waiting now that she has come,” he said. -Effie did not know what to make of this extraordinary kindness of -everybody. Even old George did not look daggers at her as he took off -the cover of the tureen. It was inconceivable; never in her life had her -sin of being late received this kind of notice before. - -When they sat down at table Mrs. Ogilvie gave a little shriek of -surprise, “Why, where are your beads, Effie? Ye have neither a bow, nor -a bracelet, nor one single thing, but your white frock. I might well say -your head was turned, but I never expected it in this way. And why did -you not keep him to his dinner? You would have minded your ribbons that -are so becoming to you, if he had been here.” - -“Let her alone,” said Mr. Ogilvie, “she is well enough as she is.” - -“Oh yes, she’s well enough, and more than well enough, considering how -she has managed her little affairs. Take some of this trout, Effie. It’s -a very fine fish. It’s just too good a dinner to eat all by ourselves. I -was thinking we were sure to have had company. Why didn’t you bring him -in to his dinner, you shy little thing? You would think shame: as if -there was any reason to think shame! Poor young man! I will take him -into my own hands another time, and I will see he is not snubbed. Give -Miss Effie a little of that claret, George. She is just a little done -out--what with her walk, and what with----” - -“I am not tired at all,” said Effie with indignation. “I don’t want any -wine.” - -“You are just very cross and thrawn,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, making pretence -to threaten the girl with her finger. “You will have your own way. But -to be sure there is only one time in the world when a woman is sure of -having her own way, and I don’t grudge it to you, my dear. Robert, just -you let Rory be in his little chair till nurse comes for him. No, no, I -will not have him given things to eat. It’s very bad manners, and it -keeps his little stomach out of order. Let him be. You are just making a -fool of the bairn.” - -“Guide your side of the house as well as I do mine,” said Mr. Ogilvie, -aggrieved. He was feeding his little son furtively, with an expression -of beatitude impossible to describe. Effie was a young woman in whom it -was true he took a certain interest; but her marrying or any other -nonsense that she might take into her head, what were they to him? He -had never taken much to do with the woman’s side of the house. But his -little Rory, that was a different thing. A splendid little fellow, just -a little king. And what harm could a little bit of fish, or just a snap -of grouse, do him? It was all women’s nonsense thinking that slops and -puddings and that kind of thing were best for a boy. - -“My side of the house!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with a little shriek; “and -what might that be? If Rory is not my side of the house, whose side does -he belong to? And don’t you think that I would ever let you have the -guiding of him. Oh, nurse, here you are! I am just thankful to see you; -for Mr. Ogilvie will have his own way, and as sure as we’re all living, -that boy will have an attack before to-morrow morning. Take him away -and give him a little----. Yes, yes, just something simple of that kind. -Good-night, my bonnie little man. I would like to know what is my side -if it isn’t Rory? You are meaning the female side. Well, and if I had -not more consideration for your daughter than you have for my son----” - -“Listen to her!” said Mr. Ogilvie, “her son! I like that.” - -“And whose son may he be? But you’ll not make me quarrel whatever you -do--and on this night of all others. Effie, here is your health, my -dear, and I wish you every good. We will have to write to Eric, and -perhaps he might get home in time. What was that Eric said, Robert, -about getting short leave? It is a very wasteful thing coming all the -way from India, and only six weeks or so to spend at home. Still, if -there was a good reason for it----” - -“Is Eric coming home? have you got a letter? But you could not have got -a letter since the morning,” cried Effie. - -“No; but other things may have happened since the morning,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie with a nod and a smile. Effie could not understand the allusions -which rained upon her. She retreated more and more into herself, merely -listening to the talk that went on across her. She sat at her usual side -of the table, eating little, taking no notice. It did not occur to her -that what had happened in the wood concerned any one but herself. After -all, what was it? Nothing to disturb anybody, not a thing to be talked -about. To try to please her--that was all he had asked, and who could -have refused him a boon so simple? It was silly of her even, she said to -herself, to be so confused by it, so absorbed thinking about it, growing -white and red, as if something had happened; when nothing had happened -except that he was to try to please her--as if she were so hard to -please! - -But Effie was more and more disturbed when her stepmother turned upon -her as soon as the dining-room door was closed, and took her by the -shoulders again. - -“You little bit thing, you little quiet thing!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “To -think you should have got the prize that never took any thought of it, -whereas many another nice girl!--I am just as proud as if it was myself: -and he is good as well as rich, and by no means ill-looking, and a very -pleasant young man. I have always felt like a mother to you, Effie, and -always done my duty, I hope. Just you trust in me as if I were your real -mother. Where did ye meet him? And were you very much surprised? and -what did he say?” - -Effie grew red from the soles of her feet, she thought, to the crown of -her head, shame or rather shamefacedness, its innocent counterpart, -enveloping her like a mantle. Her eyes fell before her stepmother’s, but -she shook herself free of Mrs. Ogilvie’s hold. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. - -“Oh fie, Effie, fie! You may not intend to show me any confidence, which -will be very ill done on your part: but you cannot pretend not to know -what I mean. It was me that had pity upon the lad, and showed him the -way you were coming. I have always been your well-wisher, doing whatever -I could. And to tell me that you don’t know what I mean!” - -Effie had her little obstinacies as well as another. She was not so -perfect as Fred Dirom thought. She went and got her knitting,--a little -stocking for Rory,--work which she was by no means devoted to on -ordinary occasions. But she got it out now, and sat down in a corner at -a distance from the table and the light, and began to knit as if her -life depended upon it. - -“I must get this little stocking finished. It has been so long in hand,” -she said. - -“Well, that is true,” said Mrs, Ogilvie, who had watched all Effie’s -proceedings with a sort of vexed amusement; “very true, and I will not -deny it. You have had other things in your mind; still, to take a month -to a bit little thing like that, that I could do in two evenings! But -you’re very industrious all at once. Will you not come nearer to the -light?” - -“I can see very well where I am,” said Effie shortly. - -“I have no doubt you can see very well where you are, for there is -little light wanted for knitting a stocking. Still you would be more -sociable if you would come nearer. Effie Ogilvie!” she cried suddenly, -“you will never tell me that you have sent him away?” - -Effie looked at her with defiance in her eyes, but she made no reply. - -“Lord bless us!” said her stepmother; “you will not tell me you have -done such a thing? Effie, are you in your senses, girl? Mr. Fred Dirom, -the best match in the county, that might just have who he liked,--that -has all London to pick and choose from,--and yet comes out of his way to -offer himself to a--to a--just a child like you. Robert,” she said, -addressing her husband, who was coming in tranquilly for his usual cup -of tea, “Robert! grant us patience! I’m beginning to think she has sent -Fred Dirom away!” - -“Where has she sent him to?” said Mr. Ogilvie with a glance half angry, -half contemptuous from under his shaggy eyebrows. Then he added, “But -that will never do, for I have given the young man my word.” - -Effie had done her best to go on with her knitting, but the needles had -gone all wrong in her hands: she had slipped her stitches, her wool had -got tangled. She could not see what she was doing. She got up, letting -the little stocking drop at her feet, and stood between the two, who -were both eyeing her so anxiously. - -“I wish,” she said, “that you would let me alone. I am doing nothing to -anybody. I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. What have I done? I -have done nothing that is wrong. Oh, I wish--I wish Uncle John was -here!” she exclaimed suddenly, and in spite of herself and all her pride -and defensive instincts, suddenly began to cry, like the child she still -was. - -“It would be a very good thing if he were here; he would perhaps bring -you to your senses. A young man that you have kept dancing about you all -the summer, and let him think you liked his society, and was pleased to -see him when he came, and never a thought in your head of turning him -from the door. And now when he has spoken to your father, and offered -himself and all, in the most honourable way. Dear bless me, Effie, what -has the young man done to you that you have led him on like this, and -made a fool of him, and then to send him away?” - -“I have never led him on,” cried Effie through her tears. “I have not -made a fool of him. If he liked to come, that was nothing to anybody, -and I never--never----” - -“It is very easy to speak. Perhaps you think a young man has no pride? -when they are just made up of it! Yes--you have led him on: and now he -will be made a fool of before all the county. For everybody has seen it; -it will run through the whole countryside; and the poor young man will -just be scorned everywhere, that has done no harm but to think more of -you than you deserve.” - -“There’s far too much of this,” said Mr. Ogilvie, who prided himself a -little on his power to stop all female disturbances and to assert his -authority. “Janet, you’ll let the girl alone. And, Effie, you’ll see -that you don’t set up your face and answer back, for it is a thing I -will not allow. Dear me, is that tea not coming? I will have to go away -without it if it is not ready. I should have thought, with all the women -there are in this house, it might be possible to get a cup of tea.” - -“And that is true indeed,” said his wife, “but they will not keep the -kettle boiling. The kettle should be always aboil in a well-cared-for -house. I tell them so ten times in a day. But here it is at last. You -see you are late, George; you have kept your master waiting. And -Effie----” - -But Effie had disappeared. She had slid out of the room under cover of -old George and his tray, and had flown upstairs through the dim passages -to her own room, where all was dark. There are moments where the -darkness is more congenial than the light, when a young head swims with -a hundred thoughts, and life is giddy with its over-fulness, and a dark -room is a hermitage and place of refuge soothing in its contrast with -all that which is going through the head of the thinker, and all the -pictures that float before her (as in the present case--or his) eyes. -She had escaped like a bird into its nest: but not without carrying a -little further disturbance with her. - -The idea of Fred had hitherto conveyed nothing to her mind that was not -flattering and soothing and sweet. But now there was a harsher side -added to this amiable and tender one. She had led him on. She had given -him false hopes and made him believe that she cared for him. Had she -made him believe that she--cared for him? Poor Fred! He had himself put -it in so much prettier a way. He was to try to please her, as if she had -been the Queen. To try to please her! and she on her side was to try--to -like him. That was very different from those harsh accusations. There -was nothing that was not delightful, easy, soothing in all that. They -had parted such friends. And he had called her darling, which no one had -ever called her before. - -Her heart took refuge with Fred, who was so kind and asked for so -little, escaping from her stepmother with her flood of questions and -demands, and her father with his dogmatism. His word; he had given his -word. Did he think that was to pledge her? that she was to be handed -over to any one he pleased, because he had given his word? But Fred made -no such claim--he was too kind for that. He was to try to please her; -that was different altogether. - -And then Effie gradually forgot the episode downstairs, and began to -think of the dark trees tossed against the sky, and the road through the -wood, and the look of her young lover’s eyes which she had not ventured -to meet, and all the things he said which she did not remember. She did -not remember the words, and she had not met the look, but yet they were -both present with her in her room in the dark, and filled her again with -that confused, sweet sense of elevation, that self-pleasure which it -would be harsh to call vanity, that bewildered consciousness of worship. -It made her head swim and her heart beat. To be loved was so strange and -beautiful. Perhaps Fred himself was not so imposing. She had noticed in -spite of herself how the wind had blown the tails of his coat and almost -forced him on against his will. He was not the hero of whom Effie, like -other young maidens, had dreamed. But yet her young being was thrilled -and responsive to the magic in the air, and touched beyond measure by -that consciousness of being loved. - -Fred came next morning eager and wistful and full of suppressed ardour, -but with a certain courage of permission and sense that he had a right -to her society, which was half irksome and half sweet. He hung about all -the morning, ready to follow, to serve her, to get whatever she might -want, to read poetry to her, to hold her basket while she cut the -flowers--the late flowers of October--to watch while she arranged them, -saying a hundred half-articulate things that made her laugh and made her -blush, and increased every moment the certainty that she was no longer -little Effie whom everybody had ordered about, but a little person of -wonderful importance--a lady like the ladies in Shakespeare, one for -whom no comparison was too lofty, and no name too sweet. - -It amused Effie in the bottom of her heart, and yet it touched her: she -could not escape the fascination. And so it came about that without any -further question, without going any farther into herself, or perceiving -how she was drawn into it, she found herself bound and pledged for life. - -Engaged to Fred Dirom! She only realized the force of it when -congratulations began to arrive from all the countryside--letters full -of admiration and good wishes; and when Doris and Phyllis rushed upon -her and took possession of her, saying a hundred confusing things. Effie -was frightened, pleased, flattered, all in one. And everybody petted and -praised her as if she had done some great thing. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -“And when is it going to be?” Miss Dempster said. - -The ladies had come to call in their best gowns. Miss Beenie’s was puce, -an excellent silk of the kind Mrs. Primrose chose for wear--and Miss -Dempster’s was black satin, a little shiny by reason of its years, but -good, no material better. These dresses were not brought out for every -occasion; but to-day was exceptional. They did not approve of Effie’s -engagement, yet there was no doubt but it was a great event. They had -been absent from home for about three weeks, so that their -congratulations came late. - -“I don’t know what you mean by it; there is nothing going to be,” said -Effie, very red and angry. She had consented, it was true, in a way; but -she had not yet learnt to contemplate any practical consequences, and -the question made her indignant. Her temper had been tried by a great -many questions, and by a desire to enter into her confidence, and to -hear a great deal about Fred, and how it all came about, which her chief -friend Mary Johnston and some others had manifested. She had nothing to -say to them about Fred, and she could not herself tell how it all came -about; but it seemed the last drop in Effie’s cup when she was asked -when it was to be. - -“I should say your father and Mrs. Ogilvie would see to that; they are -not the kind of persons to let a young man shilly-shally,” said Miss -Dempster. “It is a grand match, and I wish ye joy, my dear. Still, I -would like to hear a little more about it: for money embarked in -business is no inheritance; it’s just here to-day and gone to-morrow. I -hope your worthy father will be particular about the settlements. He -should have things very tight tied down. I will speak to him myself.” - -“My sister has such a head for business,” Miss Beenie said. “Anybody -might make a fool of me: but the man that would take in Sarah, I do not -think he is yet born.” - -“No, I am not an easy one to take in,” said Miss Dempster. “Those that -have seen as much of the ways of the world as I have, seldom are. I am -not meaning that there would be any evil intention: but a man is led -into speculation, or something happens to his ships, or he has his money -all shut up in ventures. I would have a certain portion realized and -settled, whatever might happen, if it was me.” - -“And have you begun to think of your things, Effie?” Miss Beenie said. - -At this Miss Effie jumped up from her chair, ready to cry, her -countenance all ablaze with indignation and annoyance. - -“I think you want to torment me,” she cried. “What things should I have -to think of? I wish you would just let me be. What do I know about all -that? I want only to be let alone. There is nothing going to happen to -me.” - -“Dear me, what is this?” said Mrs. Ogilvie coming in, “Effie in one of -her tantrums and speaking loud to Miss Dempster! I hope you will never -mind; she is just a little off her head with all the excitement and the -flattery, and finding herself so important. Effie, will you go and see -that Rory is not troubling papa? Take him up to the nursery or out to -the garden. It’s a fine afternoon, and a turn in the garden would do him -no harm, nor you either, for you’re looking a little flushed. She is -just the most impracticable thing I ever had in my hands,” she added, -when Effie, very glad to be released, escaped out of the room. “She will -not hear a word. You would think it was just philandering, and no -serious thought of what’s to follow in her head at all.” - -“It would be a pity,” said Miss Dempster, “if it was the same on the -other side. Young men are very content to amuse themselves if they’re -let do it; they like nothing better than to love and to ride away.” - -“You’ll be pleased to hear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, responding instantly to -this challenge “that it’s very, very different on the other side. Poor -Fred, I am just very sorry for him. He cannot bring her to the point. -She slips out of it, or she runs away. He tells me she will never say -anything to him, but just ‘It is very nice now--or--we are very well as -we are.replace with’ He is anxious to be settled, poor young man, and -nothing can be more liberal than what he proposes. But Effie is just -very trying. She thinks life is to be all fun, and no changes. To be -sure there are allowances to be made for a girl that is so happy at home -as Effie is, and has so many good friends.” - -“Maybe her heart is not in it,” said Miss Dempster; “I have always -thought that our connection, young Ronald Sutherland----” - -“It’s a dreadful thing,” cried Miss Beenie, “to force a young creature’s -affections. If she were to have, poor bit thing, another Eemage in her -mind----” - -“Oh!” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, provoked. She would have liked to shake them, -the old cats! as she afterwards said. But she was wise in her -generation, and knew that to quarrel was always bad policy. “What Eemage -could there be?” she said with a laugh. “Effie is just full of fancies, -and slips through your fingers whenever you would bring her to look at -anything in earnest; but that is all. No, no, there is no Eemage, -unless it was just whim and fancy. As for Ronald, she never gave him a -thought, nor anybody else. She is like a little wild thing, and to catch -her and put the noose round her is not easy; but as for Eemage!” cried -Mrs. Ogilvie, exaggerating the pronunciation of poor Miss Beenie, which -was certainly old fashioned. The old ladies naturally did not share her -laughter. They looked at each other, and rose and shook out their -rustling silken skirts. - -“There is no human person,” said Miss Dempster, “that is beyond the -possibility of a mistake; and my sister and me, we may be mistaken. But -you will never make me believe that girlie’s heart is in it. Eemage or -no eemage, I’m saying nothing. Beenie is just a trifle romantic. She may -be wrong. But I give you my opinion; that girlie’s heart’s not in it: -and nothing will persuade me to the contrary. Effie is a delicate bit -creature. There are many things that the strong might never mind, but -that she could not bear. It’s an awful responsibility, Mrs. Ogilvie.” - -“I will take the responsibility,” said that lady, growing angry, as was -natural. “I am not aware that it’s a thing any person has to do with -except her father and me.” - -“If you take it upon that tone--Beenie, we will say good-day.” - -“Good-day to ye, Mrs. Ogilvie. I am sure I hope no harm will come of it; -but it’s an awfureplace with’ responsibility,” Miss Beenie said, -following her sister to the door. And we dare not guess what high words -might have followed had not the ladies, in going out, crossed Mr. -Moubray coming in. They would fain have stopped him to convey their -doubts, but Mrs. Ogilvie had followed them to the hall in the extreme -politeness of a quarrel, and they could not do this under her very eyes. -Uncle John perceived, with the skilled perceptions of a clergyman, that -there was a storm in the air. - -“What is the matter?” he said, as he followed her back to the -drawing-room. “Is it about Effie? But, of course, that is the only topic -now.” - -“Oh, you may be sure it’s about Effie. And all her own doing, and I wish -you would speak to her. It is my opinion that she cares for nobody but -you. Sometimes she _will_ mind what her Uncle John says to her.” - -“Poor little Effie! often I hope; and you too, who have always been kind -to her.” - -“I have tried,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, sitting down and taking out her -handkerchief. She appeared to be about to indulge herself in the luxury -of tears: she looked hard at that piece of cambric, as though -determining the spot which was to be applied to her eyes--and then she -changed her mind. - -“But I know it is a difficult position,” she said briskly. “I think it -very likely, in Effie’s place, that I should not have liked a stepmother -myself. But then you would think she would be pleased with her new -prospects, and glad to get into her own house out of my way. If that was -the case I would think it very natural. But no. I am just in that state -about her that I don’t know what I am doing. Here is a grand marriage -for her, as you cannot deny, and she has accepted the man. But if either -he or any one of us says a word about marriage, or her trousseau, or -anything, she is just off in a moment. I am terrified every day for a -quarrel: for who can say how long a young man’s patience may last?” - -“He has not had so very long to wait, nor much trial of his patience,” -said Uncle John, who was sensitive on Effie’s account, and ready to take -offence. - -“No; he has perhaps not had long to wait. But there is nothing to wait -for. His father is willing to make all the settlements we can desire: -and Fred is a partner, and gets his share. He’s as independent as a man -can be. And there’s no occasion for delay. But she will not hear a word -of it. I just don’t know what to make of her. She likes him well enough -for all I can see; but marriage she will not hear of. And if it is to be -at the New Year, which is what he desires, and us in November now--I -just ask you how are we ever to be ready when she will not give the -least attention, or so much as hear a word about her clothes?” - -“Oh, her clothes!” said Mr. Moubray, with a man’s disdain. - -“You may think little of them, but I think a great deal. It is all very -well for gentlemen that have not got it to do. But what would her father -say to me, or the world in general, or even yourself, if I let her go to -her husband’s house with a poor providing, or fewer things than other -brides? Whose fault would everybody say that was? And besides it’s like -a silly thing, not like a reasonable young woman. I wish you would speak -to her. If there is one thing that weighs with Effie, it is the thought -of what her Uncle John will say.” - -“But what do you want me to say?” asked the minister. His mind was more -in sympathy with Effie’s reluctance than with the haste of the others. -There was nothing to be said against Fred Dirom. He was irreproachable, -he was rich, he was willing to live within reach. Every circumstance was -favourable to him. - -But Mr. Moubray thought the young man might very well be content with -what he had got, and spare his Effie a little longer to those whose love -for her was far older at least, if not profounder, than his. The -minister had something of the soreness of a man who is being robbed in -the name of love. - -Love! forty thousand lovers, he thought, reversing Hamlet’s sentiment, -could not have made up the sum of the love he bore his little girl. -Marriage is the happiest state, no doubt: but yet, perhaps a man has a -more sensitive shrinking from transplanting the innocent creature he -loves into that world of life matured than even a mother has. He did not -like the idea that his Effie should pass into that further chapter of -existence, and become, not as the gods, knowing good and evil, but as -himself, or any other. He loved her ignorance, her absence of all -consciousness, her freedom of childhood. It is true she was no longer a -child; and she loved--did she love? Perhaps secretly in his heart he was -better pleased to think that she had been drawn by sympathy, by her -reluctance that any one should suffer, and by the impulse and influence -of everybody about her, rather than by any passion on her own side, into -these toils. - -“What do you want me to say?” He was a little softened towards the -stepmother, who acknowledged honestly (she was on the whole a true sort -of woman, meaning no harm) the close tie, almost closer than any other, -which bound Effie to him. And he would not fail to Mrs. Ogilvie’s trust -if he could help it; but what was he to say? - -Effie was in the garden when Uncle John went out. She had interpreted -her stepmother’s commission about Rory to mean that she was not wanted, -and she had been glad to escape from the old ladies and all their -questions and remarks. She was coming back from the wood with a handful -of withered leaves and lichens when her uncle joined her. Effie had been -seized with a fit of impatience of the baskets of flowers which Fred was -always bringing. She preferred her bouquet of red and yellow leaves, -which every day it was getting more difficult to find. This gave Mr. -Moubray the opening he wanted. - -“You are surely perverse,” he said, “my little Effie, to gather all -these things, which your father would call rubbitch, when you have so -many beautiful flowers inside.” - -“I cannot bear those grand flowers,” said Effie, “they are all made out -of wax, I think, and they have all the same scent. Oh, I know they are -beautiful! They are too beautiful, they are made up things, they are not -like nature. In winter I like the leaves best.” - -“You will soon have no leaves, and what will you do then? and, my dear, -your life is to be spent among these bonnie things. You are not to have -the thorns and the thistles, but the roses and the lilies, Effie; and -you must get used to them. It is generally a lesson very easily learnt.” - -To this Effie made no reply. After a while she began to show that the -late autumn leaves, if not a matter of opposition, were not -particularly dear to her--for she pulled them to pieces, unconsciously -dropping a twig now and then, as she went on. And when she spoke, it was -apparently with the intention of changing the subject. - -“Is it really true,” she said, “that Eric is coming home for Christmas? -He said nothing about it in his last letter. How do they know?” - -“There is such a thing as the telegraph, Effie. You know why he is -coming. He is coming for your marriage.” - -Effie gave a start and quick recoil. - -“But that is not going to be--oh, not yet, not for a long time.” - -“I thought that everybody wished it to take place at the New Year.” - -“Not me,” said the girl. She took no care at all now of the leaves she -had gathered with so much trouble, but strewed the ground with them as -if for a procession to pass. - -“Uncle John,” she went on quickly and tremulously, “why should it be -soon? I am quite young. Sometimes I feel just like a little child, -though I may not be so very young in years.” - -“Nineteen!” - -“Yes, I know it is not very young. I shall be twenty next year. At -twenty you understand things better; you are a great deal more -responsible. Why should there be any hurry? _He_ is young too. You might -help me to make them all see it. Everything is nice enough as it is now. -Why should we go and alter, and make it all different? Oh, I wish you -would speak to them, Uncle John.” - -“My dear, your stepmother has just given me a commission to bring you -over to their way of thinking. I am so loth to lose you that my heart -takes your side: but, Effie----” - -“To lose me!” she cried, flinging away the “rubbitch” altogether, and -seizing his arm with both her hands. “Oh no, no, that can never be!” - -“No, it will never be: and yet it will be as soon as you’re married: and -there is a puzzle for you, my bonnie dear. The worst of it is that you -will be quite content, and see that it is natural it should be so: but I -will not be content. That is what people call the course of nature. But -for all that, I am not going to plead for myself. Effie, the change has -begun already. A little while ago, and there was no man in the world -that had any right to interfere with your own wishes: but now you know -the thing is done. It is as much done as if you had been married for -years. You must now not think only of what pleases yourself, but of what -pleases him.” - -Effie was silent for some time, and went slowly along clinging to her -uncle’s arm. At last she said in a low tone, “But he is pleased. He -said he would try to please me; that was all that was said.” - -Uncle John shook his head. - -“That may be all that is said, and it is all a young man thinks when he -is in love. But, my dear, that means that you must please him. -Everything is reciprocal in this world. And the moment you give your -consent that he is to please you, you pledge yourself to consider and -please him.” - -“But he is pleased. Oh! he says he will do whatever I wish.” - -“That is if you will do what he wishes, Effie. For what he wishes is -what it all means, my dear. And the moment you put your hand in his, it -is right that he should strive to have you, and fight and struggle to -have you, and never be content till he has got you. I would myself think -him a poor creature if he thought anything else.” - -There was another pause, and then Effie said, clasping more closely her -uncle’s arm, “But it would be soon enough in a year or two--after there -was time to think. Why should there be a hurry? After I am twenty I -would have more sense; it would not be so hard. I could understand -better. Surely that’s very reasonable, Uncle John.” - -“Too reasonable,” he said, shaking his head. “Effie, lift up your eyes -and look me in the face. Are you sure that you are happy, my little -woman? Look me in the face.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -“No, Beenie,” said Miss Dempster solemnly, “her heart is not in it. Do -you think it is possible at her age that a young creature could resist -all the excitement and the importance, and the wedding presents and the -wedding clothes? It was bad enough in our own time, but it’s just twice -as bad now when every mortal thinks it needful to give their present, -and boxes are coming in every day for months. That’s a terrible bad -custom: it’s no better than the penny weddings the poor people used to -have. But to think a young thing would be quite indifferent to all that, -if everything was natural, is more than I can understand.” - -“That’s very true,” said Miss Beenie, “and all her new things. If it was -nothing but the collars and fichus that are so pretty nowadays, and all -the new pocket-handkerchiefs.” - -“It’s not natural,” the elder sister said. - -“And if you will remember, there was a wonderful look about the little -thing’s eyes when Ronald went away. To be sure there was Eric with him. -She was really a little thing then, though now she’s grown up. You may -depend upon it that though maybe she may not be conscious of it herself, -there is another Eemage in her poor bit little heart.” - -“Ye are too sentimental, Beenie. That’s not necessary. There may be a -shrinking without that. I know no harm of young Dirom. He’s not one that -would ever take my fancy, but still there’s no harm in him. The -stepmother is just ridiculous. She thinks it’s her that’s getting the -elevation. There will never be a word out of her mouth but Allonby if -this comes to pass. But the heart of the little thing is not in it. She -was angry; that was what her colour came from. It was no blush, yon; it -was out of an angry and an unwilling mind. I have not lived to my -present considerable age without knowing what a girl’s looks mean.” - -“You are not so old as you make yourself out. A person would think you -were just a Methusaleh; when it is well known there is only five years -between us,” said Miss Beenie in an aggrieved tone. - -“I always say there’s a lifetime--so you may be easy in your mind so far -as that goes. I am just as near a Methusaleh as I’ve any desire to be. I -wonder now if Mrs. Ogilvie knows what has happened about Ronald, and -that he’s coming home. To be a well-born woman herself, she has very -little understanding about inter-marriages and that kind of thing. It’s -more than likely that she doesn’t know. And to think that young man -should come back, with a nice property though it’s small, and in a -condition to marry, just when this is settled! Bless me! if he had come -three months ago! Providence is a real mystery!” said Miss Dempster, -with the air of one who is reluctant to blame, but cannot sincerely -excuse. “Three months more or less, what were they to auld Dauvid Hay? -He was just doited; he neither knew morning nor evening: and most likely -that would have changed the lives of three other folk. It is a great -mystery to me.” - -“He will maybe not be too late yet,” said Miss Beenie significantly. - -“Woman, you are just without conscience,” cried her sister. “Would that -be either right or fair? No, no, they must just abide by their lot as it -is shaped out. It would be a cruel thing to drop that poor lad now for -no fault of his--just because she did not know her own mind. No, no, I -have Ronald’s interest much at heart, and I’m fond in a way of that bit -little Effie, though she’s often been impertinent--but I would never -interfere. Bless me! If I had known there was to be so little -satisfaction got out of it, that’s a veesit I never would have paid. I -am turning terrible giddy. I can scarcely see where I’m going. I wish I -had stayed at home.” - -“If we had not just come away as it were in a fuff,” said Miss Beenie, -“you would have had your cup of tea, and that would have kept up your -strength.” - -“Ay, _if_,” said Miss Dempster. “That’s no doubt an argument for keeping -one’s temper, but it’s a little too late. Yes, I wish I had got my cup -of tea. I am feeling very strange; everything’s going round and round -before my eyes. Eh, I wish I was at my own door!” - -“It’s from want of taking your food. You’ve eaten nothing this two or -three days. Dear me, Sarah, you’re not going to faint at your age! Take -a hold of my arm and we’ll get as far as Janet Murray’s. She’s a very -decent woman. She will soon make you a cup of tea.” - -“No, no--I’ll have none of your arm. I can just manage,” said Miss -Dempster. But her face had grown ashy pale. “We’re poor creatures,” she -murmured, “poor creatures: it’s all the want of--the want of--that cup -oreplace with’ tea.” - -“You’ll have to see the doctor,” said Miss Beenie. “I’m no more disposed -to pin my faith in him than you are; but there are many persons that -think him a very clever man----” - -“No, no, no doctor. Old Jardine’s son that kept a shop in---- No, no; -I’ll have no doctor. I’ll get home--I’ll----” - -“Oh,” cried Miss Beenie. “I will just run on to Janet Murray’s and bid -her see that her kettle is aboil. You’ll be right again when you’ve had -your tea.” - -“Yes, I’ll be--all right,” murmured the old lady. The road was soft and -muddy with rain, the air very gray, the clouds hanging heavy and full of -moisture over the earth. Miss Beenie hastened on for a few steps, and -then she paused, she knew not why, and looked round and uttered a loud -cry; there seemed to be no one but herself on the solitary country road. -But after a moment she perceived a little heap of black satin on the -path. Her first thought, unconscious of the catastrophe, was for this -cherished black satin, the pride of Miss Dempster’s heart. - -“Oh, your best gown!” she cried, and hurried back to help her sister out -of the mire. But Miss Beenie soon forgot the best gown. Miss Dempster -lay huddled up among the scanty hawthorn bushes of the broken hedge -which skirted the way. Her hand had caught against a thorny bramble -which supported it. She lay motionless, without speaking, without making -a sign, with nothing that had life about her save her eyes. Those eyes -looked up from the drawn face with an anxious stare of helplessness, as -if speech and movement and every faculty had got concentrated in them. - -Miss Beenie gave shriek after shriek as she tried to raise up the -prostrate figure. “Oh, Sarah, what’s the matter? Oh, try to stand up; -oh, let me get you up upon your feet! Oh, my dear, my dear, try if ye -cannot get up and come home! Oh, try! if it’s only as far as Janet -Murray’s. Oh, Sarah!” she cried in despair, “there never was anything -but you could do it, if you were only to try.” - -Sarah answered not a word, she who was never without a word to say; she -did not move; she lay like a log while poor Beenie put her arms under -her head and laboured to raise her. Beenie made the bush tremble with -spasmodic movement, but did no more than touch the human form that lay -stricken underneath. And some time passed before the frightened sister -could realize what had happened. She went on with painful efforts trying -to raise the inanimate form, to drag her to the cottage, which was -within sight, to rouse and encourage her to the effort which Miss Beenie -could not believe her sister incapable of making. - -“Oh, Sarah, my bonnie woman!--oh, Sarah, Sarah, do you no hear me, do -you not know me? Oh, try if ye cannot get up and stand upon your feet. -I’m no able to carry you, but I’ll support you. Oh, Sarah, Sarah, will -you no try!” - -Then there burst upon the poor lady all at once a revelation of what had -happened. She threw herself down by her sister with a shriek that seemed -to rend the skies. “Oh, good Lord,” she cried, “oh, good Lord! I canna -move her, I canna move her; my sister has gotten a stroke----” - -“What are you talking about?” said a big voice behind her; and before -Miss Beenie knew, the doctor, in all the enormity of his big beard, his -splashed boots, his smell of tobacco, was kneeling beside her, examining -Miss Dempster, whose wide open eyes seemed to repulse him, though she -herself lay passive under his hand. He kept talking all the time while -he examined her pulse, her looks, her eyes. - -“We must get her carried home,” he said. “You must be brave, Miss -Beenie, and keep all your wits about you. I am hoping we will bring her -round. Has there been anything the matter with her, or has it just come -on suddenly to-day?” - -“Oh, doctor, she has eaten nothing. She has been very feeble and pale. -She never would let me say it. She is very masterful; she will never -give in. Oh that I should say a word that might have an ill meaning, and -her lying immovable there!” - -“There is no ill meaning. It’s your duty to tell me everything. She is a -very masterful woman; by means of that she may pull through. And were -there any preliminaries to-day? Yes, that’s the right thing to do--if it -will not tire you to sit in that position----” - -“Tire me!” cried Miss Beenie--“if it eases her.” - -“I cannot say it eases her. She is past suffering for the moment. Lord -bless me, I never saw such a case. Those eyes of hers are surely full of -meaning. She is perhaps more conscious than we think. But anyway, it’s -the best thing to do. Stay you here till I get something to carry her -on----” - -“What is the matter?” said another voice, and Fred Dirom came hastily -up. “Why, doctor, what has happened--Miss Dempster?”--he said this with -an involuntary cry of surprise and alarm. “I am afraid this is very -serious,” he cried. - -“Not so serious as it soon will be if we stand havering,” cried the -doctor. “Get something, a mattress, to put her on. Man, look alive. -There’s a cottage close by. Ye’ll get something if ye stir them up. Fly -there, and I’ll stay with them to give them a heart.” - -“Oh, doctor, you’re very kind--we’ve perhaps not been such good friends -to ye as we might----” - -“Friends, toots!” said the doctor, “we’re all friends at heart.” - -Meantime the stir of an accident had got into the air. Miss Beenie’s -cries had no doubt reached some rustic ears; but it takes a long time to -rouse attention in those regions. - -“What will yon be? It would be somebody crying. It sounded awfureplace -with’ like somebody crying. It will be some tramp about the roads; it -will be somebody frighted at the muckle bull----” Then at last there -came into all minds the leisurely impulse--“Goodsake, gang to the door -and see----” - -Janet Murray was the first to run out to her door. When her intelligence -was at length awakened to the fact that something had happened, nobody -could be more kind. She rushed out and ran against Fred Dirom, who was -hurrying towards the cottage with a startled face. - -“Can you get me a mattress or something to carry her upon?” he cried, -breathless. - -“Is it an accident?” said Janet. - -“It is a fit. I think she is dying,” cried the young man much excited. - -Janet flew back and pulled the mattress off her own bed. “It’s no a very -soft one,” she said apologetically. Her man had come out of the byre, -where he was ministering to a sick cow, an invalid of vast importance -whom he left reluctantly; another man developed somehow out of the -fields from nowhere in particular, and they all hurried towards the spot -where Miss Beenie sat on the ground, without a thought of her best gown, -holding her sister’s head on her breast, and letting tears fall over the -crushed bonnet which the doctor had loosened, and which was dropping off -the old gray head. - -“Oh, Sarah, can ye hear me? Oh, Sarah, do you know me? I’m your poor -sister Beenie. Oh if ye could try to rouse yourself up to say a word. -There was never anything you couldna do if ye would only try.” - -“She’ll not try this time,” said the doctor. “You must not blame her. -There’s one who has her in his grips that will not hear reason; but -we’ll hope she’ll mend; and in the meantime you must not think she can -help it, or that she’s to blame.” - -“To blame!” cried Beenie, with that acute cry. “I am silly many a time; -but she is never to blame.” In sight of the motionless figure which lay -in her arms, Miss Beenie’s thoughts already began to take that tinge of -enthusiastic loyalty with which we contemplate the dead. - -“Here they come, God be thanked!” said the doctor. And by and by a -little procession made its way between the fields. Miss Dempster, as if -lying in state on the mattress, Beenie beside her crying and mourning. -She had followed at first, but then it came into her simple mind with a -shiver that this was like following the funeral, and she had roused -herself and taken her place a little in advance. It was a sad little -procession, and when it reached the village street, all the women came -out to their doors to ask what was the matter, and to shake their heads, -and wonder at the sight. - -The village jumped to the fatal conclusion with that desire to heighten -every event which is common to all communities: and the news ran over -the parish like lightning. - -“Miss Dempster, Rosebank, has had a stroke. She has never spoken since. -She is just dead to this world, and little likelihood she will ever come -back at her age.” That was the first report; but before evening it had -risen to the distinct information--“Miss Dempster, Rosebank, is dead!” - -Fred Dirom had been on his way to Gilston, when he was stopped and -ordered into the service of the sick woman. He answered to the call with -the readiness of a kind heart, and was not only the most active and -careful executor of the doctor’s orders, but remained after the patient -was conveyed home, to be ready, he said, to run for anything that was -wanted, to do anything that might be necessary--nay, after all was done -that could be done, to comfort Miss Beenie, who almost shed her tears -upon the young man’s shoulder. - -“Eh,” she said, “there’s the doctor we have aye thought so rough, and -not a gentleman--and there’s you, young Mr. Dirom, that Sarah was not -satisfied with for Effie; and you’ve just been like two ministering -angels sent out to minister to them that are in sore trouble. Oh, but I -wonder if she will ever be able to thank you herself.” - -“Not that any thanks are wanted,” cried Fred cheerfully; “but of course -she will, much more than we deserve.” - -“You’ve just been as kind as--I cannot find any word to say for it, both -the doctor and you.” - -“He is a capital fellow, Miss Dempster.” - -“Oh, do not call me Miss Dempster--not such a thing, not such a thing! -I’m Miss Beenie. The Lord preserve me from ever being called Miss -Dempster,” she cried, with a movement of terror. But Fred neither -laughed at her nor her words. He was very respectful of her, full of -pity and almost tenderness, not thinking of how much advantage to -himself this adventure was to prove. It ran over the whole countryside -next day, and gained “that young Dirom” many a friend. - -And Effie, to whom the fall of Miss Dempster was like the fall of one of -the familiar hills, and who only discovered how much she loved those -oldest of friends after she began to feel as if she must lose -them--Effie showed her sense of his good behaviour in the most -entrancing way, putting off the shy and frightened aspect with which she -had staved off all discussion of matters more important, and beginning -to treat him with a timid kindness and respect which bewildered the -young man. Perhaps he would rather even now have had something warmer -and less (so to speak) accidental: but he was a wise young man, and -contented himself with what he could get. - -Effie now became capable of “hearing reason,” as Mrs. Ogilvie said. She -no longer ran away from any suggestion of the natural end of all such -engagements. She suffered it to be concluded that her marriage should -take place at Christmas, and gave at last a passive consent to all the -arrangements made for her. She even submitted to her stepmother’s -suggestions about the trousseau, and suffered various dresses to be -chosen, and boundless orders for linen to be given. That she should have -a fit providing and go out of her father’s house as it became a bride to -do, with dozens of every possible undergarments, and an inexhaustible -supply of handkerchiefs and collars, was the ambition of Mrs. Ogilvie’s -heart. - -She said herself that Miss Dempster’s “stroke,” from which the old lady -recovered slowly, was “just a providence.” It brought Effie to her -senses, it made her see the real qualities of the young man whom she had -not prized at his true value, and whose superiority as the best match -in the countryside, she could not even now be made to see. Effie -yielded, not because he was the best match, but because he had shown so -kind a heart, and all the preparations went merrily forward, and the -list of the marriage guests was made out and everything got ready. - -But yet for all that, there was full time for that slip between the cup -and the lip which so often comes in, contrary to the dearest -expectations, in human affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -The slip between the cup and the lip came in two ways. The first was the -arrival from India--in advance of Eric who was to get the short leave -which his stepmother thought such a piece of extravagance, in order to -be present at the marriage of his only sister--of Ronald Sutherland, in -order to take possession of the inheritance which had fallen to him on -the death of his uncle. - -It was not a very great inheritance--an old house with an old tower, the -old “peel” of the Border, attached to it; a few farms, a little money, -the succession of a family sufficiently well known in the countryside, -but which had never been one of the great families. It was not much -certainly. It was no more to be compared with the possessions in fact -and expectation of Fred Dirom than twilight is with day; but still it -made a great difference. - -Ronald Sutherland of the 111th, serving in India with nothing at all but -his pay, and Ronald Sutherland of Haythorn with a commission in her -Majesty’s service, were two very different persons. Mrs. Ogilvie allowed -that had old David Hay been so sensible as to die three years -previously, she would not have been so absolutely determined that -Ronald’s suit should be kept secret from Effie; but all that was over, -and there was no use thinking of it. It had been done “for the -best”--and what it had produced was unquestionably the best. - -If it had so happened that Effie had never got another “offer,” then -indeed there might have been something to regret; but as, on the -contrary, she had secured the best match in the county, her stepmother -still saw no reason for anything but satisfaction in her own diplomacy. -It had been done for the best; and it had succeeded, which is by no -means invariably the case. - -But Mrs. Ogilvie allowed that she was a little anxious about Ronald’s -first appearance at Gilston. It was inevitable that he should come; for -all the early years of his life Gilston had been a second home to him. -He had been in and out like one of the children of the house. Mrs. -Ogilvie declared she had always said that where there were girls this -was a most imprudent thing: but she allowed at the same time that it is -difficult to anticipate the moment when a girl will become marriageable, -and had better be kept out of knowing and sight of the ineligible, so -long as that girl is a child. Consequently, she did not blame her -predecessor, Effie’s mother, for permitting an intimacy which at six was -innocent enough, though it became dangerous at sixteen. - -“Even me,” she said candidly, “I cannot throw my mind so far forward as -to see any risks that little Annabella Johnston can run in seeing Rory -every day--though sixteen years hence it will be different; for Rory, to -be sure, will never be an eligible young man as long as his step-brother -Eric is to the fore--and God forbid that anything should happen to -Eric,” she added piously. - -On this ground, and also because Ronald had the latest news to give of -Eric, it was impossible to shut him out of Gilston, though Mrs. Ogilvie -could not but feel that it was very bad taste of him to appear with -these troubled and melancholy airs, and to look at Effie as he did. It -was not that he made any attempt to interfere with the settlement of -affairs. He made the proper congratulations though in a very stiff and -formal way, and said he hoped that they would be happy. But there was -an air about him which was very likely to make an impression on a silly, -romantic girl. - -He was handsomer than Fred Dirom--he was bronzed with Indian suns, which -gave him a manly look. He had seen a little service, he was taller than -Fred, stronger, with all those qualities which women specially esteem. -And he looked at Effie when she was not observing--oh, but Mrs. Ogilvie -said: “It is not an easy thing to tell when a girl is not -observing!--for all that kind of thing they are always quick enough.” - -And as a matter of fact, Effie observed keenly, and most keenly, -perhaps, when she had the air of taking no notice. The first time this -long, loosely clothed, somewhat languid, although well-built and manly -figure had come in, Effie had felt by the sudden jump of her heart that -it was no ordinary visitor. He had been something like a second brother -when he went away, Eric’s invariable companion, another Eric with -hardly any individual claim of his own: but everything now was very -different. She said to herself that this jump of her heart which had -surprised her so much, had come when she heard his step drawing near the -door, so that it must be surely his connection with Eric and not -anything in himself that had done it; but this was a poor and -unsatisfactory explanation. - -After that first visit in which he had hoped that Miss Effie would be -very happy, and said everything that was proper, Effie knew almost as -well as if she had been informed from the first, all that had passed: -his eyes conveyed to her an amount of information which he was little -aware of. She recognized with many tremors and a strange force of -divination, not only that there had been things said and steps taken -before his departure of which she had never been told, but also, as well -as if it had been put into words, that he had come home, happy in the -thought of the fortune which now would make him more acceptable in the -eyes of the father and stepmother, building all manner of castles in the -air; and that all these fairy fabrics had fallen with a crash, and he -had awakened painfully from his dream to hear of her engagement, and -that a few weeks more would see her Fred Dirom’s wife. - -The looks he cast at her, the looks which he averted, the thrill -imperceptible to the others which went over him when he took her hand at -coming and going, were all eloquent to Effie. All that she had felt for -Fred Dirom at the moment when the genuine emotion in him had touched her -to the warmest sympathy, was nothing like that which penetrated her -heart at Ronald’s hasty, self-restrained, and, as far as he was aware, -self-concealing glance. - -In a moment the girl perceived, with a mingled thrill of painful -pleasure and anguish, what might have been. It was one of those sudden -perceptions which light up the whole moral landscape in a moment, as a -sudden flash of lightning reveals the hidden expanse of storm and sea. - -Such intimations are most often given when they are ineffectual--not -when they might guide the mind to a choice which would secure its -happiness, but after all such possibilities are over and that happy -choice can never be made. When he had gone away Effie slid out of sight -too, and sought the shelter of her room, that little sanctuary which had -hid so many agitations within the last few weeks, but none so tremendous -as this. The discovery seemed to stun her. She could only sit still and -look at it, her bosom heaving, her heart beating loudly, painfully like -a funeral toll against her breast. - -So, she said to herself, _that_ might have been; and _this_ was. No, -she did not say it to herself: such discoveries are not made by any -rational and independent action of mind. It was put before her by that -visionary second which is always with us in all our mental operations, -the spectator, “qui me resemblait comme mon frère,” whom the poet saw in -every crisis of his career. That spiritual spectator who is so seldom a -counsellor, whose office is to show the might-have-beens of life and to -confound the helpless, unwarned sufferer with the sight of his mistakes -when they are past, set this swiftly and silently before her with the -force of a conviction. This might have been the real hero, this was the -true companion, the mate congenial, the one in the world for Effie. But -in the moment of beholding she knew that it was never to be. - -And this was not her fault--which made it the more confusing, the more -miserable. When it is ourselves who have made the mistake that spoils -our lives, we have, at least, had something for it, the gratification of -having had our own way, the pleasure of going wrong. But Effie had not -even secured this pleasure. She would be the sufferer for other people’s -miscalculations and mistakes. All this that concerned her so deeply she -had never known. She faced the future with all the more dismay that it -thus appeared to her to be spoiled for no end, destroyed at once for -herself and Ronald and Fred. For what advantage could it be to Fred to -have a wife who felt that he was not her chief good, that her happiness -was with another? Something doubly poignant was in the feeling with -which the poor girl perceived this. - -Fred even, poor Fred, whom she approved and liked and sympathized with -and did all but love--Fred would be none the better. He would be -wronged even in having his heart’s desire conceded to him, whereas--it -all came before Effie with another flash of realization--Fred would -never have thought of her in that way had she been pledged to Ronald. -They would have been friends--oh! such good friends. She would have been -able to appreciate all his good qualities, the excellence that was in -him, and no close and inappropriate relationship could have been formed -between the two who were not made for each other. - -But now all was wrong! It was Fred and she, who might have been such -excellent friends, who were destined to work through life together, -badly matched, not right, not right, whatever might happen. If trouble -came she would not know how to comfort him, as she would have known how -to comfort Ronald. She would not know how to help him. How was it she -had not thought of that before? They belonged to different worlds, not -to the same world as she and Ronald did, and when the first superficial -charm was over, and different habits, different associations, life, -which was altogether pitched upon a different key, began to tell! - -Alarm seized upon Effie, and dismay. She had been frightened before at -the setting up of a new life which she felt no wish for, no impulse to -embrace; but she had not thought how different was the life of Allonby -from that of Gilston, and her modest notions of rustic gentility from -the luxury and show to which the rich man’s son had been accustomed. -Doris and Phyllis and their ways of thought, and their habits of -existence, came before her in a moment as part of the strange shifting -panorama which encompassed her about. How was she to get to think as -they did, to accustom herself to their ways of living? She had wondered -and smiled, and in her heart unconsciously criticised these ways: but -that was Fred’s way as well as theirs. And how was she with her country -prejudices, her Scotch education, her limitations, her different -standard, how was she to fit into it? But with Ronald she would have -dwelt among her own people--oh, the different life! Oh, the things that -might have been! - -Poor Ronald went his way sadly from the same meeting with a -consciousness that was sharp and confusing and terrible. After the first -miserable shock of disappointment which he had felt on hearing of -Effie’s engagement, he had conversed much with himself. He had said to -himself that she was little more than a child when he had set his boyish -heart upon her, that since then a long time had passed, momentous years: -that he had changed in many ways, and that she too must have -changed--that the mere fact of her engagement must have made a great -difference--that she had bound herself to another kind of existence, not -anything he knew, and that it was not possible that the betrothed of -another man could be any longer the little Effie of his dreams. - -But he had looked at her, and he had felt that he was mistaken. She was -his Effie, not that other man’s: there was nothing changed in her, only -perfected and made more sweet. Very few were the words that passed -between them--few looks even, for they were afraid to look at each -other--but even that unnatural reluctance said more than words. He it -was who was her mate, not the stranger, the Englishman, the millionaire, -whose ways and the ways of his people were not as her ways. - -And yet it was too late! He could neither say anything nor do anything -to show to Effie that she had made a mistake, that it was he, Ronald, -whom Heaven had intended for her. The young man, we may be sure, saw -nothing ludicrous in this conviction that was in his mind; but he could -not plead it. He went home to the old-fashioned homely house, which he -said to himself no wife of his should ever make bright, in which he -would settle down, no doubt, like his old uncle, and grow into an old -misanthrope, a crotchety original, as his predecessor had done. Poor old -uncle David! what was it that had made him so? perhaps a fatal mistake, -occurring somehow by no fault of his--perhaps a little Effie, thrown -away upon a stranger, too-- - -“What made you ask him to his dinner, though I made you signs to the -contrary?” said Mrs. Ogilvie to her husband, as soon as, each in a -different direction, the two young people had disappeared. “You might -have seen I was not wanting him to his dinner; but when was there ever a -man that could tell the meaning of a look? I might have spared my -pains.” - -“And why should he not be asked to his dinner?” said Mr. Ogilvie. “You -go beyond my understanding. Ronald Sutherland, a lad that I have known -since he was _that_ high, and his father and his grandfather before him. -I think the woman is going out of her wits. Because you’re marrying -Effie to one of those rich upstarts, am I never to ask a decent lad -here?” - -“You and your decent lads!” said his wife; she was at the end of her -Latin, as the French say, and of her patience too. “Just listen to me, -Robert,” she added, with that calm of exasperation which is sometimes so -impressive. “I’m marrying Effie, since you like to put it that way (and -it’s a great deal more than any of her relations would have had the -sense to do), to the best match on all this side of Scotland. I’m not -saying this county; there’s nobody in the county that is in any way on -the same footing as Fred. There is rank, to be sure, but as for money he -could buy them all up, and settlements just such as were never heard of. -Well, that’s what I’m doing, if you give me the credit of it. But -there’s just one little hindrance, and that’s Ronald Sutherland. If he’s -to come here on the ground of your knowing him since he was _that_ high, -and being Eric’s friend--that’s to say, like a son of the house--I have -just this to say, Robert, that I will not answer for Effie, and this -great match may not take place after all.” - -“What do you mean, you daft woman? Do you mean to tell me there has been -any carrying on, any correspondence----” - -“Have some respect to your own child, Robert, if not to your wife. Am I -a woman to allow any carrying on? And Effie, to do her justice, though -she has very little sense in some respects, is not a creature of that -kind; and mind, she never heard a word of yon old story. No, no, it’s -not that. But it’s a great deal worse--it’s just this, that there’s an -old kindness, and they know each other far better than either Effie or -you or me knows Fred Dirom. They are the same kind of person, and they -have things to talk about if once they begin. And, in short, I cannot -tell you all my drithers--but I’m very clear on this. If you want that -marriage to come off, which is the best match that’s been made in -Dumfriess-shire for generations, just you keep Ronald Sutherland at -arm’s length, and take care you don’t ask him here to his dinner every -second day.” - -“I am not so fond of having strangers to their dinner,” said Mr. -Ogilvie, with great truth. “It’s very rarely that the invitation comes -from me. And as for your prudence and your wisdom and your grand -managing, it might perhaps be just as well, on the whole, for Effie if -she had two strings to her bow.” - -Mrs. Ogilvie uttered a suppressed shriek in her astonishment. “For any -sake! what, in the name of all that’s wonderful, are you meaning now?” - -“You give me no credit for ever meaning anything, or taking the least -interest, so far as I can see, in what’s happening in my own family,” -said the head of the house, standing on his dignity. - -“Oh, Robert, man! didn’t I send the young man to you, and would not -listen to him myself! I said her father is the right person: and so you -were, and very well you managed it, as you always do when you will take -the trouble. But what is this about a second string to her bow?” - -Mr. Ogilvie _se faisait prier_. He would not at first relinquish the -pride of superior knowledge. At last, when his wife had been tantalized -sufficiently, he opened his budget. - -“The truth is, that things, very queer things, are said in London about -Dirom’s house. There is a kind of a hint in the money article of the -_Times_. You would not look at that, even if we got the _Times_. I saw -it yesterday in Dumfries. They say ‘a great firm that has gone largely -into mines of late’--and something about Basinghall Street, and a hope -that their information may not be correct, and that sort of thing--which -means more even than it says.” - -“Lord preserve us!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. She sat down, in her -consternation, upon Rory’s favourite toy lamb, which uttered the squeak -peculiar to such pieces of mechanism. Probably this helped to increase -her annoyance. She seized it with impatient warmth and flung it on the -floor. - -“The horrible little beast!--But, Robert, this may be just a rumour. -There are plenty of firms that do business in mines, and as for -Basinghall Street, it’s just a street of offices. My own uncle had a -place of business there.” - -“You’ll see I’m right for all that,” said her husband, piqued to have -his information doubted. - -“Well, I’ll see it when I do see it; but I have just the most perfect -confidence--What is this, George? Is there no answer? Well, you need not -wait.” - -“I was to wait, mem,” said George, “to let the cook ken if there was -nobody expected to their dinner; for in that case, mem, there was yon -birds that was quite good, that could keep to another day.” - -“Cook’s just very impatient to send me such a message. Oh, well, you may -tell her that there will be nobody to dinner. Mr. Dirom has to go to -London in a hurry,” she said, half for the servant and half for her -husband. She turned a glance full of alarm, yet defiance, upon the -latter as old George trotted away. - -“Well, what do you say to that?” cried Mr. Ogilvie, with a mixture of -satisfaction and vexation. - -“I just say what I said before--that I’ve perfect confidence.” But -nevertheless a cloud hung all the rest of the day upon Mrs. Ogilvie’s -brow. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -Two or three days had passed after Fred’s departure, when Mrs. Ogilvie -stated her intention of going to Allonby to call upon his mother. - -“You have not been there for a long time, Effie. You have just contented -yourself with Fred--which is natural enough, I say nothing against -that--and left the sisters alone who have always been so kind to you. It -was perhaps not to be wondered at, but still I would not have done it. -If they were not just very good-natured and ready to make the best of -everything, they might think you were neglecting them, now that you have -got Fred.” - -As was natural, Effie was much injured and offended by this suggestion. - -“I have never neglected them,” she said. “I never went but when they -asked me, and they have not asked me for a long time. It is their -fault.” - -“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “it is winter weather, and there is nothing -going on. Your tennis and all that is stopped, and yet there’s no frost -for skating. But whether they have asked you or not, just put on your -new frock and come over with me. They are perhaps in some trouble, for -anything we can tell.” - -“In trouble? How could they be in trouble?” - -“Do you think, you silly thing, that they are free of trouble because -they’re so well off? No, no; there are plenty of things to vex you in -this world, however rich you may be: though you are dressed in silks and -satins and eat off silver plate, and have all the delicacies of the -season upon your table, like daily bread, you will find that you have -troubles with it, all the same, just like ordinary folk.” - -Effie thought truly that she had no need of being taught that lesson. -She knew far better than her stepmother what trouble was. She was going -to marry Fred Dirom, and yet if her heart had its way! And she could not -blame anybody, not even herself, for the position in which she was. It -had come about--she could not tell how or why. - -But she could not associate Phyllis and Doris with anything that could -be called trouble. Neither was her mind at all awake or impressionable -on this subject. To lose money was to her the least of all -inconveniences, a thing not to be counted as trouble at all. She had -never known anything about money, neither the pleasure of possession nor -the vexation of losing it. Her indifference was that of entire -ignorance; it seemed to her a poor thing to distress one’s self about. - -She put on her new frock, however, as she was commanded, to pay the -visit, and drove to Allonby with her stepmother, much as she had driven -on that momentous day when for the first time she had seen them all, and -when Mrs. Ogilvie had carried on a monologue, just as she was doing now, -though not precisely to the same effect and under circumstances so -changed. Effie then had been excited about the sisters and a little -curious about the brother, amused and pleased with the new acquaintances -to be made, and the novelty of the proceeding altogether. Now there was -no longer any novelty. She was on the eve of becoming a member of the -family, and it was with a very different degree of seriousness and -interest that she contemplated them and their ways. But still Mrs. -Ogilvie was full of speculation. - -“I wonder,” she said, “if they will say anything about what is going on? -You have had no right explanation, so far as I am aware, of Fred’s -hurrying away like yon; I think he should have given you more -explanation. And I wonder if they will say anything about that -report--And, Effie, I wonder----” It appeared to Effie as they drove -along that all that had passed in the meantime was a dream, and that -Mrs. Ogilvie was wondering again as when they had first approached the -unknown household upon that fateful day. - -Doris and Phyllis were seated in a room with which neither Effie nor her -stepmother were familiar, and which was not dark, and bore but few marks -of the amendments and re-arrangements which occupied the family so -largely on their first arrival at Allonby. Perhaps their interest had -flagged in the embellishment of the old house, which was no longer a -stranger to them; or perhaps the claims of comfort were paramount in -November. There was still a little afternoon sunshine coming in to help -the comfortable fire which blazed so cheerfully, and Lady Allonby’s old -sofas and easy chairs were very snug in the warm atmosphere. - -The young ladies were, as was usual to them, doing nothing in -particular, and they were very glad to welcome visitors, any visitor, to -break the monotony of the afternoon. There was not the slightest -diminution visible of their friendship for Effie, which is a thing that -sometimes happens when the sister’s friend becomes the _fiancée_ of the -brother. They fell upon her with open arms. - -“Why, it is Effie! How nice of you to come just when we wanted you,” -they cried, making very little count of Mrs. Ogilvie. Mothers and -stepmothers were of the opposite faction, and Doris and Phyllis did not -pretend to take any interest in them. “Mother will be here presently,” -they said to her, and no more. But Effie they led to a sofa and -surrounded with attentions. - -“We have not seen you for an age. You are going to say it is our fault, -but it is not our fault. You have Fred constantly at Gilston, and you -did not want us there too. No, three of one family would be -insufferable; you couldn’t have wanted us; and what was the use of -asking you to come here, when Fred was always with you at your own -house? Now that he is away we were wondering would you come--I said yes, -I felt sure you would; but Doris----” - -“Doris is never so confident as her sister,” said that young lady, “and -when a friendship that has begun between girls runs into a love affair, -one never can know.” - -“It was not any doing of mine that it ran into--anything,” said Effie, -indignant. “I liked you the----” She was going to say the best, which -was not civil certainly to the absent Fred, and would not have been -true. But partly prudence restrained her, and partly Phyllis, who gave -her at that moment a sudden kiss, and declared that she had always said -that Effie was a dear. - -“And no doubt you have heard from your brother,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, who -was not to be silenced, “and has he got his business done? I hope -everything is satisfactory, and nothing to make your good father and -mother anxious. These kind of cares do not tell upon the young, but when -people are getting up in years it’s then that business really troubles -them. We have been thinking a great deal of your worthy father--Mr. -Ogilvie and me. I hope he is seeing his way----” - -The young ladies stared at her for a moment, in the intervals of -various remarks to Effie; and then Doris said, with a little evident -effort, as of one who wanted to be civil, yet not to conceal that she -was bored: “Oh, you mean about the firm? Of course we are interested; it -would make such a change, you know. I have taken all my measures, -however, and I feel sure I shall be the greatest success.” - -“I was speaking of real serious business, Miss Doris. Perhaps I was just -a fool for my pains, for they would not put the like of that before you. -No, no, I am aware it was just very silly of me; but since it has been -settled between Effie and Mr. Fred, I take a great interest. I am one -that takes a great deal of thought, more than I get any thanks for, of -all my friends.” - -“I should not like to trouble about all my friends, for then one would -never be out of it,” said Doris, calmly. “Of course, however, you must -be anxious about Fred. There is less harm, though, with him than with -most young men; for you know if the worst comes to the worst he has got -a profession. I cannot say that I have a profession, but still it comes -almost to the same thing; for I have quite made up my mind what to do. -It is a pity, Effie,” she said, turning to the audience she preferred, -“if the Great Smash is going to come that it should not come before you -are married; for then I could dress you, which would be good for both of -us--an advantage to your appearance, and a capital advertisement for -me.” - -“That is all very well for her,” said Miss Phyllis, plaintively. “She -talks at her ease about the Great Smash; but I should have nothing to do -except to marry somebody, which would be no joke at all for me.” - -“The Great Smash,” repeated Mrs. Ogilvie, aghast. All the colour had -gone out of her face. She turned from one to the other with dismay. -“Then am I to understand that it has come to that?” she cried, with -despair in her looks. “Oh! Effie, Effie, do you hear them? The Great -Smash!” - -“Who said that?” said another voice--a soft voice grown harsh, sweet -bells jangled out of tune. There had been a little nervous movement of -the handle of the door some moments before, and now Mrs. Dirom came in -quickly, as if she had been listening to what was said, and was too much -excited and distracted to remember that it was evident that she had been -listening. She came in in much haste and with a heated air. - -“If you credit these silly girls you will believe anything. What do they -know? A Great Smash--!” Her voice trembled as she said the words. “It’s -ridiculous, and it’s vulgar too. I wonder where they learned such -words. I would not repeat them if I could help it--if it was not -necessary to make you understand. There will be no Smash, Mrs. Ogilvie, -neither great nor small. Do you know what you are talking of? The great -house of the Diroms, which is as sure as the Bank of England? It is -their joke, it is the way they talk; nothing is sacred for them. They -don’t know what the credit of a great firm means. There is no more -danger of our firm--no more danger--than there is of the Bank of -England.” - -The poor lady was so much disturbed that her voice, and, indeed, her -whole person, which was substantial, trembled. She dropped suddenly on a -chair, and taking up one of the Japanese fans which were everywhere -about, fanned herself violently, though it was late November, and the -day was cold. - -“Dear me,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I am sorry if I have put you about; I had -no thought that it was serious at all. I just asked the question for -conversation’s sake. I never could have supposed for a moment that the -great house, as you say, of Dirom and Co. could ever take it in a -serious light.” - -Upon this poor Mrs. Dirom put down her fan, and laughed somewhat -loudly--a laugh that was harsh and strained, and in which no confidence -was. - -“That is quite true,” she said, “Mrs. Ogilvie. You are full of sense, as -I have always said. It is only a thing to laugh at. Their papa would be -very much amused if he were to hear. But it makes me angry when I have -no occasion to be angry, for it is so silly. If it was said by other -people I should take it with a smile; but to hear my own children -talking such nonsense, it is this that makes me angry. If it was anyone -else I shouldn’t mind.” - -“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I understand that; for if other people -make fools of themselves it is of no particular consequence; but when -it’s your own it’s a different matter. But Miss Doris, I suppose, has -just taken a notion into her head, and she does not care what it costs -to carry it out. Effie, now, really we must go. It is getting quite -dark, the days are so short. No, I thank you, we’ll not take any tea; -for Mr. Ogilvie has taken a habit of coming in for his cup of tea, and -he just cannot bear us to be away. When a man takes a notion of that -kind, the ladies of his family just have to give in to it. Good-bye, -young ladies, good-bye. But I hope you’ll not be disappointed to find -that there’s no Great Smash coming; for I don’t think that I should -relish it at all if it was me.” - -They had a silent drive home. Effie had so many thoughts at that moment -that she was always glad, when she could, to return into them. She -thought no more of the Great Smash than of any other of the nonsensical -utterances which it might have pleased Doris to make. Indeed, the Great -Smash, even if it had been certain, would not have affected her mind -much, so entirely unconscious was she what its meaning might be. She -retired into her own thoughts, which were many, without having received -any impression from this new subject. - -But it vaguely surprised her that her stepmother should be so silent. -She was so accustomed to that lively monologue which served as a -background to all manner of thoughts, that Effie was more or less -disturbed by its failure, without knowing why. Mrs. Ogilvie scarcely -said a word all the way home. It was incredible, but it was true. Her -friends would scarcely have believed it--they would have perceived that -matters must have been very serious indeed, before she could be reduced -to such silence. But Effie was heedless, and did not ask herself what -the reason was. - -This was the evening that Ronald had been invited “to his dinner,” an -invitation which had called forth a protest from Mrs. Ogilvie; but, -notwithstanding, she was very kind to Ronald. It was Effie, not she, who -kept him at a distance, who avoided any conversation except the vaguest, -and, indeed, sat almost silent all the evening, as if her lover being -absent she had no attention to bestow upon another. That was not the -real state of Effie’s mind; but a delicate instinct drew her away, and -gave her a refuge in the silence which looked like indifference. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, however, showed no indifference to Ronald. She questioned -him about his house, and with all the freedom which old family -connection permitted, about the fortune which he had “come into,” about -what he meant to do, and many other subjects. Ronald gave her, with -much gravity, the information she asked. He told her no--that he did not -mean to remain--that he was going back to his regiment. Why should he -stay, there was nothing for him to do at Haythorne? - -“Hoot,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “there is always this to do, that you must -marry and settle; that is the right thing for a young man. To be sure, -when there is no place to take a wife home to, but just to follow the -regiment, that’s very different; for parents that are in their senses -would never let a girl do that. But when you have the house first, then -the wife must follow. It is just the right order of things.” - -“For some men,” said Ronald, “but not for me; it is either too early, -or, perhaps, too late.” - -“Oh, too late! a lad like you to speak such nonsense!--and there’s never -any saying what may happen,” the lady said. This strange speech made -two hearts beat: Ronald’s with great surprise, and devouring curiosity. -Had he perhaps been premature in thinking that all was settled--was it a -mistake? But oh, no, he remembered that he had made his congratulations, -and they had been received; that Eric was coming back to the marriage; -that already the wedding guests were being invited, and all was in -train. Effie’s heart beat too, where she sat silent at a distance, close -to the lamp, on pretence of needing light for her work; but it was with -a muffled, melancholy movement, no sign of hope or possibility in it, -only the stir of regret and trouble over what might have been. - -“Are you going to write letters, at this time of night?” said Mr. -Ogilvie, as he came back from the door, after seeing Ronald away. - -“Just one, Robert; I cannot bear this suspense if the rest of you can. I -am going to write to my cousin John, who is a business man, and has his -office, as his father had before him, in Basinghall Street in London -city. I am going to ask him a question or two.” - -“If I were you,” said Mr. Ogilvie, with some energy, “I would neither -make nor meddle in other folk’s affairs.” - -“What do you call other folk’s affairs? It is my own folk’s affairs. If -there ever was a thing that was our business and not another’s, it’s -this. Do you think I would ever permit--and there is very little time to -be lost. I wonder I never thought of John before--he is just the person -to let me know.” - -Mr. Ogilvie put his hands behind his back, and walked up and down the -room in great perturbation. - -“I cannot see my way to making that kind of inquiry. It might do harm, -and I don’t see what good it can do. It might set people thinking. It -might bring on just what we’re wanting to avoid.” - -“I am wanting to know, that is all,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “As for setting -people thinking, that’s done as you’re aware. And if it’s done down -here, what must it be in the city? But I must be at the bottom of it, -whether it’s false, or whether it’s true.” - -Mr. Ogilvie was not accustomed to such energy. He said, “Tchk, tchk, -tchk,” as people do so often in perplexity: and then he caught sight of -his daughter, holding Rory’s little stocking in the lamplight, and -knitting with nervous fingers. It was a good opportunity for getting rid -of the irritation which any new thing raised in him. - -“Surely,” he said, with an air of virtuous indignation, “it is high time -that Effie, at least, should be in her bed!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -“Yes, Ronald, my man. It was a great peety,” Miss Dempster said. - -She was lying on a sofa in the little drawing-room, between the -fireplace and the window, where she could both feel and see the fire, -and yet command a glimpse of the village and Dr. Jardine’s house. She -could still see the window to which the doctor came defiantly when he -took his mid-morning refreshment, to let the ladies at Rosebank see that -he was not afraid of them. - -The relations between the doctor and the ladies had modified a little, -but still that little conflict went on. He did not any longer nod at -them with the “Here’s to you!” of his old fury at what he thought their -constant _espionage_, but he still flaunted his dram before their eyes, -and still they made mental notes on the subject, and Miss Beenie shook -her head. She did not say, “There’s that abominable man with his dram -again. I am sure I cannot think how respectable people can put up with -that smell of whisky. Did you say sherry? Well, sherry is very near as -bad taken at all hours.” - -What Miss Beenie said now was: “I wish the doctor would take a cup of -tea or even a little broth instead of that wine. No doubt he wants -support with all he has to do; but the other would be far better for -him.” - -This will show how the relations had improved. He had brought Miss -Dempster “through.” Instead of her bedroom at the back of the house, -which allowed of little diversion, she had got so far as to be removed -to the drawing-room, and lie on the sofa for the greater part of the -day. It was a great improvement, and people who knew no better believed -that the old lady was getting better. Miss Beenie was warmly of this -opinion; she held it with such heat indeed that she might have been -supposed to be not so certain as she said. - -But Miss Dempster and the doctor knew better. The old lady was more than -ever distressed that Providence had not taken better care of the affairs -of Effie Ogilvie. It was this she was saying to Ronald, as he sat beside -her. He had come over with some birds and a great bunch of hothouse -grapes. He was, as the reader may remember, a connection--even, Miss -Beenie said, a _near_ connection: and the ladies had been good to him in -his early youth. - -“Yes, it was a great peety,” Miss Dempster said. “I am not grudging your -uncle Dauvid a day of his life, honest man--but the three last months is -never much of a boon, as I know by myself. It would have done him no -harm, and you a great deal of good. But there’s just a kind of a -blundering in these things that is very hard to understand.” - -“The chances are it would have made no difference,” said the young man, -“so there is nothing to be said.” - -“It would have made a great difference; but we’ll say nothing, all the -same. And so you’re asked to the wedding? Well, that woman is not blate. -She’s interfered with the course of nature and thinks no shame: but -perhaps she will get her punishment sooner than she’s looking for. They -tell me,” said the old lady, “that the Diroms have had losses, and that -probably they will have to leave Allonby, and come down in their grand -way of living. I will say that of Janet Ogilvie that she has a great -spirit; she’ll set her face like a rock. The wedding will be just as -grand and as much fuss made, and nobody will hear a word from her; she -is a woman that can keep her own counsel. But she’ll be gnashing her -teeth all the same. She will just be in despair that she cannot get out -of it. Oh, I know her well! If it had been three months off instead of -three weeks, she would have shaken him off. I have always said Effie’s -heart was not in it; but however her heart had been in it, her -stepmother would have had her way.” - -“We must be charitable, we must think ill of nobody,” said Miss Beenie. -“I’m too thankful, for my part, to say an ill word, now you’re getting -well again.” - -“She might have done all that and done nothing wrong,” said Miss -Dempster sharply. And then Ronald rose to go away; he had no desire to -hear such possibilities discussed. If it had not been for Eric’s -expected arrival he would have gone away before now. It was nothing but -misery, he said to himself, to see Effie, and to think that had he been -three months sooner, as his old friends said! - -But no, he would not believe that; it was injurious to Effie to think -that the first who appeared was her choice. He grew red and hot with -generous shame and contempt of himself when he thought that this was -what he was attributing to one so spotless and so true. The fact that -she had consented to marry Fred Dirom, was not that enough to prove his -merit, to prove that she would never have regarded any other? What did -it not say for a man, the fact that he had been chosen by Effie? It was -the finest proof that he was everything a man could be. - -Ronald had never seen this happy hero. No doubt there had been surgings -of heart against him, and fits of sorrowful fury when he first knew; but -the idea that he was Effie’s choice silenced the young man. He himself -could have nothing to do with that, he had not even the right to -complain. He had to stand aside and see it accomplished. All that the -old lady said about the chances of the three months too late was folly. -It was one of the strange ways of women that they should think so. It -was a wrong to Effie, who not by any guidance of chance, not because (oh -horror!) this Dirom fellow was the first to ask her, for nothing but -pure love and preference (of which no man was worthy) had chosen him -from the world. - -Ronald, thinking these thoughts, which were not cheerful, walked down -the slope between the laurel hedges with steps much slower and less -decided than his ordinary manly tread. He was a very different type of -humanity from Fred Dirom--not nearly so clever, be it said, knowing not -half so much, handsomer, taller, and stronger, without any subtlety -about him or power of divination, seeing very clearly what was before -him with a pair of keen and clear blue eyes, straightforward as an -arrow; but with no genius for complication nor much knowledge of the -modifying effect of circumstances. He liked or he did not like, he -approved or he did not approve: and all of these things strenuously, -with the force of a nature which was entirely honest, and knew no guile. - -Such a man regards a decision as irrevocable, he understands no playing -with possibilities. It did not occur to him to make any effort to shake -Effie’s allegiance to her betrothed, or to trouble her with any -disclosure of his own sentiments. He accepted what was, with that belief -in the certainty of events which belongs to what is called the -practical or positive nature in the new jargon, to the simple and -primitive mind, that is to say. Ronald, who was himself as honest as the -day, considered it the first principle in existence that his -fellow-creatures were honest too, that they meant what they said, and -when they had decided upon a course of action did not intend to be -turned from it, whatever it might cost to carry it out. - -Therefore it was not in this straightforward young man to understand all -the commotion which was in poor little Effie’s mind when she avoided -him, cast down her eyes not to meet his, and made the shortest answers -to the few remarks he ventured to address to her. It hurt him that she -should be so distant, making him wonder whether she thought so little of -him as to suppose that he would give her any annoyance, say anything or -even look anything to disturb her mind. - -How little she knew him! but not so little as he knew her. They met this -day, as fate would have it, at the gate of Rosebank, and were obliged to -stop and talk for a minute, and even to walk along with each other for -the few steps during which their road lay in the same direction. They -did not know what to say to each other; he because he knew his mind so -well, she because she knew hers so imperfectly, and felt her position so -much. - -Effie was in so strange a condition that it seemed to her she would like -to tell Ronald everything: how she was going to marry Fred she could not -tell why--because she had not liked to give him pain by refusing him, -because she seemed not to be able to do anything else. She did not know -why she wanted to tell this to Ronald, which she would not have done to -anyone else. There seemed to be some reason why he should know the real -state of affairs, a sort of apology to make, an explanation--she could -not tell what. - -But when they stood face to face, neither Ronald nor she could find -anything to say. He gave the report of Miss Dempster that she was a -little better; that was the bulletin which by tacit agreement was always -given--she was a little better, but still a great invalid. When that -subject was exhausted, they took refuge in Eric. When was he expected? -though the consciousness in both their minds that it was for the wedding -he was coming, was a sad obstacle to speech. - -“He is expected in three weeks. He is starting, I suppose, now,” Effie -said. - -“Yes, he must be starting now----” And then they both paused, with the -strongest realization of the scene that would ensue. Effie saw herself a -bride far more clearly at that moment through the eyes, so to speak, of -Ronald, than she ever had through those of the man who was to be her -husband. - -“I think I shall go back with him when he goes,” said Ronald, “if I -don’t start before.” - -“Are you going back?” - -He smiled as if it had been very ridiculous to ask him such a question. - -“What else,” he said--there seemed a sort of sad scorn in the -inquiry--“What else is left for me to do?” Perhaps he would have liked -to put it more strongly--What else have you left me to do? - -“I am very sorry,” said Effie, “I thought----” and then she abandoned -this subject altogether. “Do you think Eric will see much change?” she -said. - -“Eric! Oh, yes; he will see a great deal of change. The country and all -look the same to be sure; it is the people who alter. He will see a -great deal of change in you, Miss Ogilvie.” - -Effie looked up with tears starting in her eyes as if he had given her a -sudden blow. - -“Oh, Ronald! why do you call me that--am I not Effie--always----” And -there came a little sob in her throat, stopping further utterance. - -He looked as if he could have cried too, but smiled instead strangely, -and said, “When you have--another name, how am I to call you by that? I -must try and begin now.” - -“But I shall always be Effie, always,” she said. - -Ronald did not make any reply. He raised his hands in a momentary -protestation, and gave her a look which said more than he had ever said -in words. And then they walked on a few steps together in silence, and -then stopped and shook hands silently with a mutual impulse, and said to -each other “good-bye.” - -When Effie got near home, still full of agitation from this strange -little opening and closing of she knew not what--some secret page in her -own history, inscribed with a record she had known nothing of--she met -her stepmother, who was returning very alert and business-like from a -walk. - -“What have you been saying to Ronald?” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “to make him -look so grave? I saw him turn the corner, and I thought he had seen a -ghost, poor lad; but afterwards it proved to be only you. You should not -be so severe: for he has liked you long, though you knew nothing about -it; and it must have been very hard upon him, poor fellow, to find that -he had come home just too late, and that you had been snapped up, as a -person may say, under his very nose.” - -This was so strange an address that it took away Effie’s breath. She -gave her stepmother a look half stupified, half horrified. “I don’t know -what you mean,” she said. - -“Well, Effie, my dear, you must just learn; and I don’t think you will -find it very difficult, if you will give your attention to it. I have -been wanting to speak to you for two or three days, and your father too. -You must not trouble about Fred Dirom any more. I have never been quite -satisfied in my own mind that your heart was in it, if he had not been -so pressing and pushing, and, as we all thought, such a good match. But -you see it turns out that’s not the case, Effie. I got a letter -yesterday from my cousin John; and it’s all true about Dirom’s firm. -They are just going down hill as fast as can be, and probably by this -time they’ve failed. Though you don’t know about business, you know what -that means. It is just the end of all things; and to hold the young man -to his promise in such circumstances would be out of the question. We -are quite agreed upon that, both your father and me. So, my dear Effie, -you are free. It mightn’t have become you to take steps; so your father -and me--we have acted for you; and now you are free.” - -Effie stopped short in the road, and stared at the speaker aghast. If -her heart gave a little leap to hear that word, it was merely an -instinctive movement, and meant nothing. Her mind was full of -consternation. She was confounded by the suddenness, by the strangeness -of the communication. - -Free! What did it mean, and why was it? Free! She repeated the word to -herself after a while, still looking at her stepmother. It was but a -single little word. It meant--what? The world seemed to go round and -round with Effie, the dim November skies, the gray of the wintry -afternoon, the red shaft of the setting sun beyond--all whirled about -her. “Free!” She repeated it as an infant repeats a foreign word without -knowing what it means. - -“Now, Effie,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “don’t let us have any pretences: that -is all I ask of you. Just face the thing honestly, and don’t let us have -any make-believe. If you tell me that you are deep in love with Fred -Dirom and can’t give him up, I will just not believe you. All I will -think is that you are a little cutty, and have no heart at all. I was -very glad you should make such a good match; but I could see all along -your heart was not in it. And whatever he might say, I made no doubt but -you would be thankful. So let us have none of your little deceptions -here.” - -“I don’t think I understand,” said Effie, striving to speak. “I think I -must have lost my senses or my hearing, or something. What was it you -were saying? They say people call things by wrong names sometimes, and -can’t help it. Perhaps they hear wrong, too. What is it that you mean?” - -“You know perfectly well what I mean,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with some -exasperation; “I have just written breaking off your marriage--is that -plain enough? I’ve done it under your father’s orders. It was he that -accepted and I’m thinking it’s he that has a right to refuse--It’s all -broken off--I cannot speak any plainer. Now, do you understand what I -say?” - -Effie had grown very pale--she shivered as if with cold--her lips -quivered when she began to speak. - -“And that is,” she said, “because he has failed--because he is not a -good match now, but a poor man--is that what it is?” - -“If you like to put it in that broad way. Of course he is not in a -condition to marry any longer. It is the kindest thing we can do----” - -“Give me your letter,” said Effie, holding out her hand. There was -something threatening, something dangerous, about the girl, which made -Mrs. Ogilvie scream out. - -“My letter! I am not in the habit of showing my letters to anybody but -your father. And even if I was disposed to show it I cannot, for I’ve -just been to the post and put it in with my own hand. And by this time -it is stamped and in the bag to go away. So you must take my description -of it. I will be very happy to tell you all I have said.” - -“You have just been to the post to put it in!” Effie repeated the words, -her eyes growing larger every moment, her face more ghastly. Then she -gave a strange cry like a wounded creature, and turned and flew back -towards the village neither pausing nor looking behind her, without a -word more. Mrs. Ogilvie stood for a time, her own heart beating a little -faster than usual, and a choking sensation in her throat. - -“Effie, Effie!” she cried after her--but Effie took no notice. She went -along through the dim air like a flying shadow, and soon was out of -sight, taking no time either for breath or thought. Where had she gone? -wherever she went, what could she do? It was for her good; all through -it had been for her good. If she mistook at first, yet after she must -come round. - -Effie had fled in the opposite direction to Allonby. Where was she -going? what could she do? Mrs. Ogilvie made a rapid glance at the -possibilities and decided that there was really nothing which the girl -could do. She drew a long breath to relieve the oppression which in -spite of herself had seized upon her, the sudden panic and alarm. - -What could Effie do?--just nothing! She would run and tell her Uncle -John, but though the minister was a man full of crotchets he was still -more or less a man of sense, and he had never been very keen on the -match. He would speak to her sensibly and she would see it when he said -it, though not when Mrs. Ogilvie said it: and she would come home. - -And then Ronald would get another invitation to his dinner. It was all -as simple as A B C. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Mr. Moubray was in his study, in the gray of the winter’s afternoon. It -is never a very cheerful moment. The fire was burning brightly, the room -was warm and pleasant, with plenty of books, and many associations; but -it was a pensive moment, too dark for reading, when there is nothing to -do but to think. And though a man who has begun to grow old, and who is -solitary, may be very happy thinking, yet it is a pensive pleasure. He -was sitting very quietly, looking out at the shaft of red gold in the -west where the sun had disappeared, and watching the light as it stole -away, each moment a little less, a little less brilliant, till it sank -altogether in the gray. - -To eyes “that have kept watch o’er man’s mortality” there is always an -interest in that sight: one going out is so like another: the slow -lessening, the final disappearance have an interest that never fails. -And the minister can scarcely be said to have been thinking. He was -watching, as he had watched at many a death-bed, the slow extinction, -the going away. Whether it is a sun or a life that is setting, that last -ineffable moment of disappearance cannot but convey a thrill to the -heart. - -This was how he was seated, meditating in the profoundest tranquillity -when, all at once, the door flew open, and a young figure full of -agitation, in all the force of life and passion, a creature all alive to -the very finger points, to the hem of her skirts, to the crown of her -wind-blown hair, burst in breathless, an emblem of disturbance, of -conflict, in short, of existence in contrast with the calm of -contemplation. - -She stood for a moment before him, but only as if under protest, pausing -perforce for breath, “Uncle John,” she cried, panting, “come, come with -me! I want to tell you, I want to ask you--you must help me--to stop -something. But, oh, I can’t wait to explain; come with me, come with me! -and I’ll tell you on the way----” - -“What is it, Effie?” He got up hastily; but though her influence was -strong, it was not strong enough to prevent him from asking an -explanation before he obeyed it. - -She caught at his arm in her impatience, “Oh, Uncle John, come--come -away! I’ll tell you on the road--oh, come away--there is not a moment, -not a moment! to lose----” - -“Is anybody ill?” he said. She continued to hold his arm, not as a -means of support, but by way of pushing him on, which she did, scarcely -leaving him a moment to get his hat. Her impetuosity reminded him so -much of many a childish raid made into his house that, notwithstanding -his alarm, he smiled. - -“Oh, no, there is nobody ill, it is much, much worse than that, Uncle -John. Oh, don’t smile as if you thought I was joking! It’s just -desperation. There is a letter that Mrs. Ogilvie has written, and I -must, I must--get it back from the post, or I will die. Oh, come! come! -before it is too late.” - -“Get a letter back from the post!----” - -He turned in spite of Effie’s urgency at the manse door. It stood high, -and the cheerful lights were beginning to shine in the village windows -below, among which the shop and post-office was conspicuous with its two -bright paraffin lamps. - -“But that is impossible,” he said. - -“Oh, no,” said the girl. “Oh, Uncle John, come quick, come quick! and -you will see that we must have it. Mrs. Moffatt will give it when she -sees you. Not for me, perhaps, but for you. You will say that something -has been forgotten, that another word has to be put in, that--oh, Uncle -John when we are there it will come into our heads what to say----” - -“Take no thought beforehand what you shall speak, Effie,” said the -minister, half smiling, half admonishing; “is it so serious as that?” - -He suffered her to lead him down the slope of the manse garden, out upon -the road, her light figure foremost, clinging to his arm, yet moving him -along; he, heavier, with so much of passive resistance as his large -frame, and only half responsive will, gave. - -“Oh yes,” she cried, “it is as serious as that. Uncle John, was not -that what our Lord said when His men that He sent out were to stand for -Him and not to forsake Him? And to desert your friends when they are in -trouble, to turn your back upon them when they need you, to give them up -because they are poor, because they are unfortunate, because they have -lost everything but you----” - -She was holding his arm so closely, urging him on, that he felt the -heaving of her heart against his side, the tremor of earnestness in her -whole frame as she spoke. - -“Effie, my little girl! what strait are you in, that you are driven to -use words like these?” - -Her voice sounded like a sob in her throat, which was parched with -excitement. - -“I am in this strait, Uncle John, that he has lost everything, and they -have written to say I take back my word. No, no, no,” cried Effie, -forcing on with feverish haste the larger shadow by her side. “I will -never do it--it shall not be. They made me take him when he was rich, -and now that he is poor I will stand by him till I die.” - -“My little Effie!” was all the minister said. She still hurried him -along, but yet he half carried her with an arm round her slender figure. -What with agitation and the unaccustomed conflict in her mind, Effie’s -slight physical frame was failing her. It was her heart and soul that -were pushing on. Her brain swam, the village lights fluttered in her -eyes, her voice had gone altogether, lost in the climbing sob which was -at once breath and utterance. She was unconscious of everything save her -one object, to be in time, to recover the letter, to avert that cowardly -blow. - -But when Effie came to herself in the little shop with its close -atmosphere, the smell of the paraffin, the dazzling glare of the light, -under the astonished gaze of Mrs. Moffatt the postmistress, who stood at -her counter stamping the letters spread out before her, and who stopped -short, bewildered by the sudden entrance of so much passion, of -something entirely out of the ordinary, which she felt, but could not -understand--the girl could bring forth nothing from that slender, -convulsed throat but a gasp. It was Mr. Moubray who spoke. - -“My niece wishes you to give her back a letter--a letter in which -something must be altered, something added: a letter with the Gilston -stamp.” - -“Eh, Mr. Moubray! but I canna do that,” the postmistress cried. - -“Why can’t you do it? I am here to keep you free of blame. There is no -harm in it. Give her back her letter, and she will add what she wishes -to add.” - -“Is it Miss Effie’s own letter? I’m no sure it’s just right even in -that point of view. Folk should ken their own minds,” said Mrs. Moffatt, -shuffling the letters about with her hands, “before they put pen to -paper. If I did it for ane, I would have to do it for areplace with’ -that ask. And where would I be then? I would just never be done----” - -“Let us hope there are but few that are so important: and my niece is -not just any one,” said the minister, with a little natural -self-assertion. “I will clear you of the blame if there is any blame.” - -“I am not saying but what Miss Effie---- Still the post-office is just -like the grave, Mr. Moubray, what’s put in canna be taken out. Na, I do -not think I can do it, if it was for the Queen herselreplace with’.” - -Effie had not stood still while this conversation was going on; she had -taken the matter into her own hands, and was turning over the letters -with her trembling fingers without waiting for any permission. - -“Na, Miss Effie; na, Miss Effie,” said the postmistress, trying to -withdraw them from her. But Effie paid no attention. Her extreme and -passionate agitation was such that even official zeal, though -strengthened by ignorance, could not stand before it. Notwithstanding -all Mrs. Moffatt’s efforts, the girl examined everything with a swift -desperation and keenness which contrasted strangely with her incapacity -to see or know anything besides. It was not till she had turned over -every one that she flung up her hands with a cry of dismay, and fell -back upon the shoulder of the minister, who had held her all the time -with his arm. - -“Oh, Uncle John! oh, Uncle John!” she cried with a voice of despair. - -“Perhaps it has not been sent, Effie. It was only a threat perhaps. It -might be said to see how you felt. Rest a little, and then we will -think what to do----” - -“I will have to go,” she said, struggling from him, getting out to the -door of the shop. “Oh, I cannot breathe! Uncle John, when does the train -go?” - -“My dear child!” - -“Uncle John, what time does the train go? No, I will not listen,” said -the girl. The fresh air revived her, and she hurried along a little way: -but soon her limbs failed her, and she dropped down trembling upon the -stone seat in front of one of the cottages. There she sat for a few -minutes, taking off her hat, putting back her hair from her forehead -instinctively, as if that would relieve the pressure on her heart. - -She was still for a moment, and then burst forth again: “I must go. Oh, -you are not to say a word. Do you know what it is to love some one, -Uncle John? Yes, _you_ know. It is only a few who can tell what that -is. Well,” she said, the sob in her throat interrupting her, making her -voice sound like the voice of a child; “that is how he thinks of me; you -will think it strange. He is not like a serious man, you will say, to -feel so; but he does. Not me! oh, not me!” said Effie, contending with -the sob; “I am not like that. But he does. I am not so stupid, nor so -insensible, but I know it when I see it, Uncle John.” - -“Yes, Effie, I never doubted it; he loves you dearly, poor fellow. My -dear little girl, there is time enough to set all right----” - -“To set it right! If he hears just at the moment of his trouble that -I--that I---- What is the word when a woman is a traitor? Is there such -a thing as that a girl should be a traitor to one that puts his trust in -her? I never pretended to be like _that_, Uncle John. He knew that it -was different with me. But true--Oh, I can be true. More, more! _I can’t -be false._ Do you hear me? _You_ brought me up, how could I? I can’t be -false; it will kill me. I would rather die----” - -“Effie! Effie! No one would have you to be false. Compose yourself, my -dear. Come home with me and I will speak to them, and everything will -come right. There cannot be any harm done yet. Effie, my poor little -girl, come home.” - -Effie did not move, except to put back as before her hair from her -forehead. - -“I know,” she said, “that there is no hurry, that the train does not go -till night. I will tell you everything as if you were my mother, Uncle -John. You are the nearest to her. I was silly--I never thought:--but I -was proud too. Girls are made like that: and just to be praised and made -much of pleases us; and to have somebody that thinks there is no one in -the world like you--for that,” she said, with a little pause, and a -voice full of awe, “is what he thinks of me. It is very strange, but it -is true. And if I were to let him think for a moment--oh, for one -moment!--that the girl he thought so much of would cast him off, because -he was poor!----” - -Effie sprang up from her seat in the excitement of this thought. She -turned upon her uncle, with her face shining, her head held high. - -“Do you think I could let him think that for an hour? for a day? Oh, no! -no! Yes, I will go home to get my cloak and a bonnet, for you cannot go -to London just in a little hat like mine; but don’t say to me, Uncle -John, that I must not do it, for I WILL.” - -She took his arm again in the force of this resolution. Then she added, -in the tone of one who is conceding a great favour: “But you may come -with me if you like.” - -Between the real feeling which her words had roused in him and the -humour of this permission, Mr. Moubray scarcely knew how to reply. He -said: “I would not advise you to go, Effie. It will be better for me to -go in your place if anyone must go; but is that necessary? Let us go -quietly home in the meantime. You owe something to your father, my dear; -you must not take a step like this without his knowledge at least.” - -“If you are going to betray me to Mrs. Ogilvie, Uncle John----” - -“My little Effie, there is no question of betrayal. There is no need for -running away, for acting as if you were oppressed at home. You have -never been oppressed at home, my dear. If Mrs. Ogilvie has written to -Mr. Dirom, at least she was honest and told you. And you must be -honest. It must all be spoken of on the true ground, which is that you -can do only what is right, Effie.” - -“Uncle John,” cried Effie, “if to give up Fred is right, then I will not -do it--whatever you say, I will not do it. He may never want me in my -life again, but he wants me now. Abandon him because he is in need of -me! Oh, could you believe it of Effie? And if you say it is wrong, I do -not care, I will do it. I will not desert him when he is poor, not for -all the--not for anybody in the world----” - -“Is that Effie that is speaking so loud? is that you, John?” - -This was the voice of Mr. Ogilvie himself, which suddenly rose out of -the dim evening air close by. They had gone along in their excitement -scarce knowing where they went, or how near they were to the house, and -now, close to the dark shrubberies, encountered suddenly Effie’s -father, who, somewhat against his own will, had come out to look for -her. - -His wife had been anxious, which he thought absurd, and he had been -driven out rather by impatience of her continual inquiries: “I wonder -where that girl has gone. I wonder what she is doing. Dear me, Robert, -if you will not go out and look after her, I will just have to do it -myself,”--than from any other motive. Effie’s declaration had been made -accordingly to other ears than those she intended; and her father’s slow -but hot temper was roused. - -“I would like to know,” he said, “for what reason it is that you are out -so late as this, and going hectoring about the roads like a play-acting -woman? John, you might have more sense than to encourage her in such -behaviour. Go home to your mother this moment, Effie, and let me hear no -such language out of your head. I will not ask what it’s about. I have -nothing to say to women’s quarrels. Go home, I tell you, to your -mother.” - -Effie had caught with both her hands her uncle’s arm. - -“Oh, I wish that I could--Oh, if I only could,” she cried, “that would -make all clear.” - -“Ogilvie, she is in a state of great excitement--I hope you will set her -mind at rest. I tell her she shall be forced to nothing. You are not the -man, though you may be a little careless, to permit any tyranny over -your child.” - -“Me, careless! You are civil,” said the father. “Just you recollect, -John Moubray, that I will have no interference--if you were the minister -ten times over, and her uncle to the boot. I am well able to look after -my own family and concerns. Effie, go home.” - -Effie said nothing; but she stood still clinging to her uncle’s arm. -She would not advance though he tried to draw her towards the gate, nor -would she make any reply: she wound her arms about his, and held him -fast. She had carried him along with the force of her young passion; but -he could not move her. Her brain was whirling, her whole being in the -wildest commotion. Her intelligence had partially given way, but her -power of resistance was strong. - -“Effie,” he said softly, “come home. My dear, you must let your father -see what is in your mind. How is he to learn if you will not tell him? -Effie! for my part, I will do whatever you please,” he said in a low -tone in her ear. “I promise to go to him if you wish it--only obey your -father and come home.” - -“Go home this moment to your mother,” Mr. Ogilvie repeated. “Is this a -time to be wandering about the world? She may just keep her mind to -herself, John Moubray. I’ll have nothing to say to women’s quarrels, and -if you are a wise man you will do the same. Effie, go home.” - -Effie paused a moment between the two, one of whom repulsed her, while -the other did no more than soothe and still her excitement as best he -could. She was not capable of being soothed. The fire and passion in her -veins required an outlet. She was so young, unaccustomed to emotion. She -would not yield to do nothing, that hard part which women in so many -circumstances have to play. - -Suddenly she loosed her arms from that of the minister, and without a -word, in an instant, before anything could be said, darted away from -them into the gathering night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -“We were just bringing her back. No doubt she has darted in at the side -door--she was always a hasty creature--and got into her own room. That’s -where ye will find her. I cannot tell you what has come over the monkey. -She is just out of what little wits she ever had.” - -“I can tell very well what has come over her,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “She -is just wild that I have interfered, which it was my clear duty to do. -If she had been heart and soul in the matter it would have been -different--but she was never that. These old cats at Rosebank, they -thought there was nobody saw it but themselves; but I saw it well -enough.” - -“In that case,” said Mr. Moubray, “perhaps it would have been better to -interfere sooner. I wish you would send some one to see if Effie is -really there.” - -“Why should I have interfered sooner? If everything had gone well, it -was such a match as Effie had no chance of making; but when it turned -out that it was a mistake, and the other there breaking his heart, that -had always been more suitable, and her with no heart in it----” Mrs. -Ogilvie paused for a moment in the satisfaction of triumphant -self-vindication. “But if you’re just sentimental and childish and come -in my way, you bind her to a bankrupt that she does not care for, -because of what you call honour--honour is all very well,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “for men; but whoever supposes that a bit little creature of a -girl----” - -“Will ye go and see if Effie is in her room?” said her husband -impatiently. - -“Ye may just ring the bell, Robert, and send one of the maids to see; -what would I do with her? If I said anything it would only make her -worse. I am not one of the people that shilly shally. I just act, and am -done with it. I’m very glad I put in my letter myself that it might go -in the first bag. But if you will take my advice you will just let her -be: at this moment she could not bear the sight of me, and I’m not -blaming her. I’ve taken it in my own hands, at my own risk, and if she’s -angry I’m not surprised. Let her be. She will come to herself -by-and-bye, and at the bottom of her heart she will be very well -pleased, and then I will ask Ronald Sutherland to his dinner, and -then----” - -“I wish,” said Mr. Moubray, “you would ease my mind at least by making -sure that Effie has really come in. I have a misgiving, which is -perhaps foolish: I will go myself if you will let me.” - -“No need for that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, ringing the bell. “George, you -will send Margaret to tell Miss Effie--but what am I to tell her? that -is just the question. She will not want anything to say to me, and she -will perhaps think---- You will say just that her uncle wants her, that -will be the best thing to say.” - -There was a pause while George departed on his errand: not that Mrs. -Ogilvie had nothing to say or was affected by the anxiety of others. It -had indeed been a relief to her when her husband informed her that -Effie, no doubt, had come in and was in her own room. The stepmother, -who had been a little uneasy before, took this for granted with a sigh -of relief, and felt that a certain little danger which she had not -defined to herself was over. - -And now that the alarm was past, and that she had put forth her -defence, it seemed better not to dwell upon this subject. Better to let -it drop, she said to herself, better to let Effie think that it was over -and nothing more to be made of it. Mrs. Ogilvie was a woman without -temper and never ill-natured. She was very willing to let it drop. That -she should receive her stepdaughter as if nothing had happened was -clearly the right way. Therefore, though she had a thousand things now -to say, and could have justified her proceedings in volumes, she decided -not to do so; for she could also be self-denying when it was expedient -so to be. - -There was therefore a pause. Mr. Moubray sat with his eyes fixed on the -door and a great disquietude in his mind. He was asking himself what, if -she appeared, he could do. Must he promise her her lover, as he would -promise a child a plaything? must he ignore altogether the not -unreasonable reasons which Mrs. Ogilvie had produced in justification of -her conduct? They were abhorrent to his mind, as well as to that of -Effie, yet from her point of view they were not unreasonable. But if -Effie was not there? Mr. Ogilvie said nothing at all, but he walked from -one end of the room to another working his shaggy eyebrows. It was -evident he was not so tranquil in his mind as he had pretended to be. - -Presently Margaret the housemaid appeared, after a modest tap at the -door. “Miss Effie is not in her room, mem,” she said. - -“Not in her room? are you quite sure? Perhaps she is in the library -waiting for her papa; perhaps she is in the nursery with Rory. She may -even have gone into the kitchen, to speak a word to old Mary, or to -Pirie’s cottage to see if there are any flowers. You will find her -somewhere if you look. Quick, quick, and tell her the minister wants -her. You are sure, both of you gentlemen, that you saw her come in at -the gate?” - -“No doubt she came in,” said Mr. Ogilvie with irritation; “where else -would she go at this time of night?” - -“I am not sure at all,” said Mr. Moubray, rising up, “I never thought -so: and here I have been sitting losing time. I will go myself to -Pirie’s cottage--and after that----” - -“There is nothing to be frightened about,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, rising -too; “if she’s not at Pirie’s she will be at Rosebank, or else she will -be in one of the cottages, or else--bless me, there are twenty places -she may be, and nothing to make a panic about.” - -The minister went out in the middle of this speech waving his hand to -her as he went away, and she followed him to the door, calling out her -consolations across the passage. She met her husband, who was about to -follow, as she turned back, and caught his arm with her hands. - -“Robert, you’re not in this daft excitement too? Where in the world -would she go to, as you say? She’ll just have run somewhere in her pet, -not to see me. There can be nothing to be terrified about.” - -“You have a way,” cried the husband, “of talking, talking, that a person -would fly to the uttermost parts of the airth to get free oreplace with’ -ye. Let me go! Effie’s young and silly. She may run we know not where, -or she may catch a cold to kill her, which is the least of it. Let me -go.” - -“Sit down in your own chair by your own fireside, and listen to me,” -said the wife. “Why should you go on a fool’s errand? one’s enough for -that. Did Effie ever give you any real vexation all her life? No, -truly, and why should she begin now? She will be taking a walk, or she -will be complaining of me to the Miss Dempsters, or something of that -innocent kind. Just you let her be. What did she ever do to give you a -bad opinion of her? No, no, she’s come out of a good stock, and she’ll -come to no harm.” - -“There is something in that,” Mr. Ogilvie said. He was not ill disposed -to sit down in his own chair by his own fireside and take his ease, and -accept the assurance that Effie would come to no harm. - -But when she had thus quieted her husband and disposed of him, Mrs. -Ogilvie herself stole out in the dark, first to the house door, then -through the ghostly shrubberies to the gate, to see if there was any -trace visible of the fugitive. She was not so tranquil as she pretended -to be. Effie’s look of consternation and horror was still in her eyes, -and she had a sense of guilt which she could not shake off. But yet -there were so many good reasons for doing what she had done, so many -excuses, nay, laudable motives, things that called for immediate action. - -“To marry a man you don’t care about, when there is no advantage in it, -what a dreadful thing to do. How could I look on and let that little -thing make such a sacrifice? and when any person with the least -perception could see her heart was not in it. And Ronald, him that she -just had a natural bias to, that was just the most suitable match, not a -great _parti_ like what we all thought young Dirom, but well enough, and -her own kind of person!” - -It was thus she justified herself, and from her own point of view the -justification was complete. But yet she was not a happy woman as she -stood within the shadow of the big laurels, and looked out upon the -road, hoping every moment to see a slight shadow flit across the road, -and Effie steal in at the open gate. What could the little thing do? As -for running away, that was out of the question; and she was so young, -knowing nothing. What could she do? It was not possible she should come -to any harm. - -Mr. Moubray was more anxious still, for it seemed to him that he knew -very well what she would do. He walked about all the neighbouring roads, -and peeped into the cottages, and frightened the Miss Dempsters by going -up to their door, with heavy feet crushing the gravel at that -unaccustomed hour, for no reason but just to ask how the old lady was! - -“I must be worse than I think or the minister would never have come all -this way once-errand to inquire about me,” Miss Dempster said. - -“He would just see the light, and he would mind that he had made no -inquiries for three days,” said Miss Beenie; but she too was -uncomfortable, and felt that there was more in this nocturnal visitation -than met the eye. - -It did not surprise Mr. Moubray that in all his searches he could find -no trace of his little girl. He thought he knew where he would find -her--on the platform of the little railway station, ready to get into -the train for London. And in the meantime his mind was full of thoughts -how to serve her best. He was not like the majority of people who are -ready enough to serve others according to what they themselves think -best. Uncle John, on the contrary, studied tenderly how he could help -Effie in the way she wished. - -He paused at the post-office, and sent off a telegram to Fred Dirom, -expressed as follows:--“You will receive to-morrow morning a letter from -Gilston. E. wishes you to know that it does not express her feeling, -that she stands fast whatever may happen.” - -When he had sent this he felt a certain tranquillising influence, as if -he had propitiated fate, and said to himself that when she heard what he -had done, she might perhaps be persuaded to come back. Then the minister -went home, put a few things into his old travelling bag, and told his -housekeeper that he was going to meet a friend at the train, and that -perhaps he might not return that night, or for two or three nights. When -he had done this, he made his evening prayer, in which you may be sure -his little Effie occupied the first place, and then set off the long -half-hour’s walk to the station. - -By this time it was late, and the train was due: but neither on the -platform, nor in the office, nor among those who stood on the alert to -jump into the train, could he find her. He was at last constrained to -believe that she was not there. Had she gone further to escape pursuit, -to the next station, where there would be nobody to stop her? He -upbraided himself deeply for letting the train go without him, after he -had watched it plunging away in the darkness, into the echoes of the -night. It seemed to thunder along through the great silence of the -country, waking a hundred reverberations as he stood there with his bag -in his hand, aghast, not knowing what to do. There had been time enough -for that poor little pilgrim to push her way to the next stopping place, -where she could get in unobserved. - -Was this what she had done? He felt as if he had abandoned his little -girl, deserted her, left her to take her first step in life unprotected, -as he went back. And then, as he neared the village, a flicker of hope -returned that she might, when left to herself, have come to a more -reasonable conclusion and gone home. He went back to Gilston, walking -very softly that his step might not disturb them, if the family were all -composed to rest. And for a moment his heart gave a bound of relief when -he saw something moving among the laurels within the gate. - -But it was only Mrs. Ogilvie, who stole out into the open, with a -suppressed cry: “Have you not found her?” “Has she come home?” he asked -in the same breath: then in the mutual pang of disappointment they stood -for a moment and looked at each other, asking no more. - -“I have got Robert to go to his bed,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “God forgive -me, I just deceived him, saying she was at the manse with you--which was -what I hoped--for what would have been the use of him wandering about, -exposing himself and getting more rheumatism, when there was you and me -to do all we could? And, oh! what shall we do, or where can I send now? -I am just at my wit’s end. She would not do any harm to herself, oh! -never! I cannot think it; and, besides, what would be the use? for she -always had it in her power to write to him, and say it was only me.” - -Then the minister explained what he had anticipated, and how he had -proved mistaken. “The only thing is, she might have gone on to Lamphray -thinking it would be quieter, and taken the train there.” - -“Lord bless us!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “If she has done that we can hear -nothing till--there is no saying when we may hear.” - -And though they were on different sides, and, so to speak, hostile -forces, these two people stood together for a moment with but one -thought, listening to every little echo, and every rustle, and the -cracking of the twigs, and the sound of the burn, all the soft -unreckoned noises of a silent night, but Effie’s step or breath was not -among them all. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Effie had darted away from the side of her father and uncle in one of -those _accès_ of impatience which are common to the young and -inexperienced. She had no training in that science of endurance which is -one of the chief bulwarks of life. Everything had become intolerable to -her. She “could not bear it,” words which are so often said, but which -in most cases mean little more than the unavailing human cry against the -hardships to which we have all to submit, and which most of us learn -must be borne after all whatever may be the struggle. By times the -young, the unprepared, the undisciplined fly out and will not submit, -to the confusion of their own existence first, and that of all others -involved. - -Effie meant little more than this uncontrollable expression of -impatience, and sense of the intolerableness of the circumstances, when -she loosed her arm from that of Uncle John, and fled--she knew not -where. She was not far off, standing trembling and excited among the -shadows, while they called her and searched for her along the different -paths; and when they went hastily into the house on the supposition that -she had found her way there, her heart for a moment failed her, and an -inclination to realize their thoughts, to escape no farther than to the -seclusion and safety of her own room, crossed her mind like one of the -flying clouds that were traversing the sky. But not only her excitement -and rebellion against the treason which she was being compelled to, but -even her pride was now in arms, preventing any return. - -She stood among the trees, among the evening damps, for some time after -the gentlemen had disappeared, thought after thought coursing through -her brain. Her determination was unchanged to go South by the night -train, though she had no clear idea what was next to be done when she -should reach London, that great fabulous place where she had never been, -and of which she had not the faintest understanding. She would seek out -Fred, tell him that she would stand by him whatever his trouble might -be--that nothing should detach her from his side--that if he was poor -that was all the more reason. - -So far as this went, Effie knew what to say, her heart was full of -eloquence and fervour. The intermediate steps were difficult, but that -was easy. She had been shy with him and reticent, receiving what he -gave, listening to what he said, of herself giving little. But now a new -impulse possessed her. She would throw herself heart and soul into his -fortunes. She would help him now that he needed her. She would be true, -ah! more than that as she had said--she could not be false--it was an -impossibility. Now that he was in need she was all his to work or watch, -to console or to cheer as might be most needful--his by the securest, -most urgent of bonds, by right of his necessities. - -The enthusiasm which she had never felt for Fred came now at the thought -of his poverty and loss. She could smile in the force of her resolution -at the folly of the woman who thought this would break the tie between -them; break it! when it made it like steel. - -This fire in her heart kept Effie warm, and glowed about her with a -semblance of passion; but first there was a difficult moment which she -did not know how to pass. Had the train gone at once all would have -been easy; but it would not go yet for hours, and she could not pass the -time standing on the damp grass, her feet getting wet, her damp skirts -clinging about her, the wintry dews dropping upon her, under those -trees. She began to think and ask herself where she would go to wait and -get a little warm before it should be time for the train. - -To Rosebank? but they were on the other side she reflected, with a vague -pang and misty passing realization of all that the other side meant. She -had been on the other side herself, against her will, till to-day; but -not now, oh, not now! She felt the pang, like a cutting asunder, a -tearing away; but would not dwell upon it, felt it only in passing. No, -she would not go into the atmosphere of the other side. - -And how could she go to the manse where Uncle John would beg and pray to -go instead of her, which was so very different; for Effie required not -only to demonstrate her strong faithfulness, but to keep it up, to keep -it in the state of passion. - -Then there suddenly came upon her a gleam of illumination. Yes! that was -the only place to go. To whom but to those who would suffer with him, -who would have need also of strengthening and encouragement, who had -such a change before them, and so much occasion for the support of their -friends--could Effie betake herself? It did not occur to her that Doris -and Phyllis, under the influence of depression and loss, were almost -inconceivable, and that to cheer them by the sympathy and backing up of -a little girl like herself, was something which the imagination failed -to grasp. Not that thought, but the difficulties of the way chilled her -a little. The dark, dark road over the brae which reached the waterside -close to the churchyard, the little path by the river, the wide, -silent, solitary park--all this made her shiver a little. - -But she said to herself with a forlorn rallying of her forces that such -trifles mattered nothing, that she was beyond thinking of anything so -unimportant, that there was the place for her, that she must go to his -sisters to give them confidence, to comfort them on Fred’s account, to -say, “I am going to him, to stand by him.” They who knew him so well, -would know that when she said that, all was said, and Fred’s strength -and endurance secured. - -This decision was made very rapidly, the mental processes being so much -quicker than anything that is physical, so that the sound of the door -closing upon Mr. Ogilvie and Mr. Moubray had scarcely died out of the -echoes before she set forth. She walked very quickly and firmly so long -as it was the highroad, where there were cottage lights shining here -and there and an occasional passer-by, though she shrank from sight or -speech of any; but when she came to the darker by-way over the hill, it -was all Effie’s courage could do to keep her going. - -There was light in the sky, the soft glimmer of stars, but it did not -seem to get so far as the head of the brae, and still less down the -other side, where it descended towards the water. Down below at the -bottom of the ravine the water itself, indeed, was doubly clear; the sky -reflected in it with a wildness and pale light which was of itself -enough to frighten any one; but the descending path seemed to change and -waver in the great darkness of the world around, so that sometimes it -appeared to sink under Effie’s feet, receding and falling into an abyss -immeasurable, which re-acted upon the gloom, and made the descent seem -as steep as a precipice. - -Her little figure, not distinguishable in the darkness, stumbling -downwards, not seeing the stones and bushes that came in her way, seemed -a hundred times as if about to fall down, down, into the depths, into -that dark clearness, the cold gulf of the stream. Sometimes she slid -downward a little, and then thought for a dizzy moment that all was -over--sometimes stumbled and felt that she was going down headlong, -always feeling herself alone, entirely alone, between the clear stars -overhead and the line of keen light below. - -Then there came the passage of the churchyard, which was full of -solemnity. Effie saw the little huddled mass of the old chapel against -the dim opening out of the valley in which the house of Allonby lay--and -it looked to her like a crouching figure watching among the dead, like, -perhaps, some shadow of Adam Fleming or his murdered Helen in the place -where she fell. - -As soon as she got on level ground the girl flew along, all throbbing -and trembling with terror. Beyond lay the vague stretches of the park, -and the house rising in the midst of the spectral river mists, soft and -white, that filled it--the lights in the windows veiled and indistinct, -the whole silent, like a house of shadows. Her heart failed although she -went on, half flying, towards it, as to a refuge. Effie by this time had -almost forgotten Fred. She had forgotten everything except the terrors -of this unusual expedition, and the silence and solitude and all the -weird influences that seemed to be about her. She felt as if she was -outside of the world altogether, a little ghost wandering over the -surface of the earth. There seemed to be no voice in her to call out for -help against the darkness and the savage silence, through which she -could not even hear the trickle of the stream: nothing but her own -steps flying, and her own poor little bosom panting, throbbing, against -the unresponsive background of the night. - -Her footsteps too became inaudible as she got upon the turf and -approached close to Allonby. All was silent there also; there seemed no -sound at all as if any one was stirring, but only a dead house with -faint spectral lights in the windows. - -She stopped and took breath and came to herself, a little calmed by the -neighbourhood of a human habitation in which there must be some -inhabitants though she could not hear them. She came to herself more or -less, and the pulsations of terror in her ears beat less overwhelmingly, -so that she began to be able to think again, and ask herself what she -should do. To go to the great door, to wake all the echoes by knocking, -to be met by an unconcerned servant and ushered in as if she were an -ordinary visitor, all agitated and worn by emotion as she was, was -impossible. - -It seemed more natural, everything being out of rule, to steal round the -house till she found the window of the room in which the girls were -sitting, and make her little summons to them without those impossible -formalities, and be admitted so to their sole company. The lawn came -close up under the windows, and Effie crept round one side of the house, -finding all dark, with a feeling of discouragement as if she had been -repulsed. One large and broad window a little in advance showed, -however, against the darkness, and though she knew this could not be a -sitting-room, she stole on unconscious of any curiosity or possibility -of indiscretion, it being a matter of mere existence to find some one. - -The curtains were drawn half over the window, yet not so much but that -she could see in. And the sight that met the girl’s astonished eyes was -one so strange and incomprehensible that it affected her like a vision. - -Mrs. Dirom was sitting in the middle of the room in a deep easy chair, -with her head in her hands, to all appearance weeping bitterly, while a -man muffled in a rough loose coat stood with his back to her, opening -what seemed the door of a little cupboard in the wall close to the bed. -Effie gazed terror-stricken, wondering was it a robber, who was it? Mrs. -Dirom was making no resistance; she was only crying, her face buried in -her hands. - -The little door yielded at last, and showed to Effie dimly the shelves -of a safe crowded with dark indistinct objects. Then Mrs. Dirom rose up, -and taking some of these indistinct objects in her hands suddenly made -visible a blaze of diamonds which she seemed to press upon the man. - -He turned round to the light, as Effie, stooping, half kneeling on the -wet grass, gazed in, in a kind of trance, scarcely knowing what she did. -The coat in which he was muffled was large and rough, and a big muffler -hung loosely round his neck, but to the great astonishment of the young -spectator the face was that of Mr. Dirom himself. He seemed to laugh and -put away the case in which the diamonds were blazing. - -Then out of the further depths of the safe he brought a bundle of papers -over which he nodded his head a great many times as if with -satisfaction. At this moment something seemed to disturb them, some -sound apparently in the house, for they both looked towards the door, -and then the lamp was suddenly extinguished and Effie saw no more. It -was a curious scene--the diamonds lighting up the dim room, the woman -in tears offering them to the man, he refusing, holding his little -bundle of papers, the unusual dress, the air of excitement and emotion: -and then sudden darkness, nothing visible any more; yet the certainty -that these two people were there, without light, concealing themselves -and their proceedings, whatever these might be. - -Effie had looked on scarcely knowing why, unaware that she was prying -into other people’s concerns, suddenly attracted by the gleam of light, -by the comfort of feeling some one near. The putting out of the lamp -threw her back into her panic, yet changed it. She shrank away from the -window with a sudden fear of the house in which something strange, she -knew not what, was going on. Her mind was too much confused to ask what -it was, to make any representation to herself of what she had seen; but -the thought of these two people _in the dark_ seemed to give a climax to -all the nameless terrors of the night. - -She went on by the side of the house, not knowing what to do, afraid now -to ask admission, doubly afraid to turn back again, lost in confusion of -mind and fatigue of body, which dimmed and drove out her original -distress. - -Now, however, she had come to the back regions in which the servants -were stirring, and before she was aware a loud “Who’s that?” and the -flash of a lantern upon her, brought her back to herself. It was the -grooms coming back from the stable who thus interrupted her forlorn -round. - -“Who’s that?--it’s a woman--it’s a lassie! Lord bless us, it’s Miss -Ogilvie!” they cried. - -Effie had sufficient consciousness to meet their curious inspection with -affected composure. - -“I want to see Miss Dirom,” she said. “I lost my way in the dark; I -couldn’t find the door. Can I see Miss Dirom?” - -Her skirts were damp and clinging about her, her hair limp with the dews -of the night, her whole appearance wild and strange: but the eyes of the -grooms were not enlightened. They made no comments; one of them led her -to the proper entrance, another sent the proper official to open to her, -and presently she stood dazzled and tremulous in the room full of -softened firelight and taperlight, warm and soft and luxurious, as if -there was no trouble or mystery in the world, where Doris and Phyllis -sat in their usual animated idleness talking to each other. One of them -was lying at full length on a sofa, her arms about her head, her white -cashmere dress falling in the much esteemed folds which that pretty -material takes by nature; the other was seated on a stool before the -fire, her elbows on her knees. The sound of their voices discoursing -largely, softly, just as usual, was what Effie heard as the servant -opened the door. - -“Miss Ogilvie, did you say?--Effie!” They both gazed at her with -different manifestations of dramatic surprise--without, for the moment, -any other movement. Her appearance was astonishing at this hour, but -nothing else seemed to disturb the placidity of these young women. -Finally, Miss Phyllis rose from her stool in front of the fire. - -“She has eyes like stars, and her hair is all twinkling with dew--quite -a romantic figure. What a pity there is nobody to see it but Doris and -me! You don’t mean to say you have come walking all this way?” - -“Oh! what does it matter how I came?” cried Effie. “I came--because I -could not stay away. There was nobody else that was so near me. I came -to tell you--I am going to Fred.” - -“To Fred!” they both cried, Phyllis with a little scream of surprise, -Doris in a sort of inquiring tone, raising herself half from her sofa. -They both stared at her strangely. They had no more notion why she -should be going to Fred than the servant who had opened the door for -her--most likely much less--for there were many things unknown to the -young ladies which the servants knew. - -“Fred will be very much flattered,” said Doris. “But why are you going? -does he know? what is it for? is it for shopping? Have you made up your -mind, all at once, that you want another dress?--I should say two or -three, but that is neither here nor there. And what has put it so -suddenly into your head? And where are you going to stay? Are you sure -your friends are in London at this time of the year----?” - -“Oh!” cried Effie, restored out of her exhaustion and confusion in a -moment by this extraordinary speech, “is that all you think? a dress, -and shopping to do! when Fred is alone, when he is in trouble, when even -your father has deserted him--and his money gone, and his heart sore! -Oh, is that all you know? I am going to tell him that I will never -forsake him whatever others may do--that I am come to stand by him--that -I am come----” - -She stopped, not because she had no more to say, but because she lost -the control of her voice and could do nothing but sob--drawing her -breath convulsively, like a child that has wept its passion out, yet has -not recovered the spasmodic grip upon its throat. - -Phyllis and Doris looked at her with eyes more and more astonished and -critical. They spoke to each other, not to her. “She means it, do you -know, Dor!” - -“It is like a melodrama, Phyll--Goodness, look at her! If we should -ever go on the stage----!” - -Effie heard the murmur of their voices, and turned her eyes from one to -another: but her head was light with the fumes of her own passion, which -had suddenly flared so high; and though she looked from one to another, -instinctively, she did not understand what they said. - -“And did you come to tell us this, so late, and all alone, you poor -little Effie? And how did you manage to get away? and how are you to get -back?” - -“Of course,” said Doris, “we must send her back. Don’t ask so many silly -questions, Phyll.” - -“I am not going back,” said Effie. “They would stop me if they knew. Oh, -will you send me to the train? for it is very dark and very wet, and I’m -frightened, it’s all so lonely. I never meant to trouble anybody. But -your father will be going too, and I would just sit in a corner and -never say a word. Oh, will you ask him to let me go with him to the -train?” - -“What does she mean about papa? The train! there is no one going to the -train. Do you mean to say that you--to-night--oh, you know you must be -dreaming; nothing like this is possible, Effie! You must go home, child, -and go to bed----” - -“To bed! and let him think that I’ve forsaken him--to let him get up -to-morrow morning and hear that Effie, because he is poor, has gone back -from her word? Oh! no, no, I cannot do it. If you will not send me, I -will just walk as I meant to do! I was frightened,” said Effie, with her -piteous little sob. “And then if your father is going--But it does not -matter after all, I will just walk as I meant to do: and if you don’t -care, that was my mistake in coming--I will just say good-night.” - -She turned away with a childlike dignity, yet with a tremor she could -not subdue. She was not afraid to go out into the world, to carry the -sacrifice of her young existence to the man who loved her, whom she -would not forsake in his trouble: but she was frightened for the dark -road, the loneliness of the night--she was frightened, but yet she was -ready to do it. She turned away with a wave of her hand. - -Both of the girls, however, were roused by this time. Doris rose from -her sofa, and Phyllis seized Effie, half coaxingly, half violently, by -the arm. - -“Effie! goodness,” she cried, “just think for a moment. You musn’t do -this--what could Fred do with you? He would be frightened out of his -senses. You would put him in such a predicament. What _would_ he do?” - -“And where would you go?” said Doris. “To his lodgings? Only fancy, a -young man’s lodgings in Half Moon Street, just the sort of place where -they think the worst of everything. He would be at his wit’s end. He -would think it very sweet of you, but just awfully silly. For what would -he do with you? He could not keep you there. It would put him in the -most awkward position. For Fred’s sake, if you really care for him, -don’t, for heaven’s sake, do anything so extraordinary. Here is mother, -she will tell you.” - -“Mamma,” they both cried, as Mrs. Dirom came into the room, “Effie has -got the strangest idea. I think she must be a little wrong in her head. -She says she is going to Fred----” - -“To Fred!” the mother exclaimed with a voice full of agitation. “Has -anything happened to Fred----” - -“Don’t make yourself anxious, it is only her nonsense. She has heard -about the firm, I suppose. She thinks he is ruined, and all that, and -she wants to go to him to stand by him--to show him that she will not -forsake him. It’s pretty, but it’s preposterous,” said Doris, giving -Effie a sudden kiss. “Tell her she will only make Fred uncomfortable. -She will not listen to us.” - -Mrs. Dirom had a look of heat and excitement which her children never -remembered to have seen in her before, but which Effie understood who -knew. Her eyes were red, her colour high, a flush across her -cheek-bones: her lips trembled with a sort of nervous impatience. - -“Oh,” she cried, “haven’t I enough to think of? Do I want to be bothered -with such childish nonsense now? Going to Fred! What does she want with -Fred? He has other things in his mind. Let her go home, that is the only -thing to do----” - -“So we have told her: but she says she wants to go to the train; and -something about my father who is here, and will be going too.” - -“Nothing of the sort,” cried Mrs. Dirom, sharply. She gave Effie a look -of alarm, almost threatening, yet imploring--a look which asked her how -much she knew, yet defied her to know anything. - -“The poor little thing has got a fright,” she said, subduing her voice. -“I am not angry with you, Effie; you mean it kindly, but it would never, -never do. You must go home.” - -Effie’s strength had ebbed out of her as she stood turning her -bewildered head from one to another, hearing with a shock unspeakable -that Fred--Fred whom she had been so anxious to succour!--would not want -her, which made the strangest revolution in her troubled mind. But still -mechanically she held to her point. - -“I will not be any trouble. I will just sit in the corner and never say -a word. Let me go to the train with Mr. Dirom. Let me go--with him. He -is very kind, he will not mind.” - -“Mamma, do you hear what she says? She has said it again and again. Can -papa be here and none of us know?” - -“Nothing of the sort,” cried Mrs. Dirom once more. Her tone was angry, -but it was full of alarm. She turned her back on the others and looked -at Effie with eyes that were full of anguish, of secrecy and confidence, -warning her, entreating her, yet defying. - -“How should he be here when he has so much to do elsewhere?” she cried. -“The child has got that, with the other nonsense, into her head.” Then -with a sudden change of tone, “I will take her to my room to be quiet, -and you can order the brougham to take her home.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -“She was sent home in the brougham, that disturbed all our sleep just -dashing along the road at the dead of night. They were in a terrible -state before that. The minister, too, was here, looking like a ghost to -hear if we knew anything; and how could we say we knew anything, seeing -she had parted from here in the afternoon not over well pleased with -Beenie and me. And Mrs. Ogilvie--she is not a woman I am fond of, and -how far I think she’s to blame, I would just rather not say--but I will -say this, that I was sorry for her that night. She came, too, with a -shawl over her head, just out of herself. She had got the old man off -to his bed, never letting on that Effie was out of the house; and she -was in a terror for him waking, and the girl not there.” - -“No fear of him waking; he is just an old doited person,” said Miss -Beenie, with indignation. - -“Not so old as either you or me. But let alone till I’ve told my story. -And then, Ronald, my man, you’ve heard what’s followed. Not only a -failure, but worse and worse; and the father fled the country. They say -he had the assurance to come down here to get some papers that were laid -up in his wife’s jewel press, and that Effie saw him. But he got clean -away; and it’s a fraudulent bankruptcy--or if there’s anything worse -than a fraudulent bankruptcy, it’s that. Oh, yes, there has been a great -deal of agitation, and it is perhaps just as well that you were out of -the way. I cannot tell whether I feel for the family or not. There is -no look about them as if they thought shame. They’re just about the same -as ever, at kirk and at market, with their horses and carriages. They -tell me it takes a long time to wind up an establishment like that--and -why should they not take the good of their carriages and their horses as -long as they have them? But I’m perhaps a very old-fashioned woman. I -would not have kept them, not a day. I would never have ridden the one -nor driven about in the other, with my father a hunted swindler, and my -family’s honour all gone to ruin--never, never! I would rather have -died.” - -“Sarah, that is just what you will do, if you work yourself up like -this. Will ye not remember what the doctor says?” - -“Oh, go away with your doctors. I’m an old-fashioned woman, but I’m a -woman of strong feelings; I just cannot endure it! and to think that -Effie, my poor little Effie, will still throw in her lot with them, and -will not be persuaded against it!” - -“Why should she be persuaded against it?” said Ronald Sutherland, with a -very grave face. “Nobody can believe that the money would make any -difference to her: and I suppose the man was not to blame.” - -“The man--was nothing one way or another. He got the advantage of the -money, and he was too poor a creature ever to ask how it was made. But -it’s not that; the thing is that her heart was never in it--never! She -was driven--no, not driven--if she had been driven she would have -resisted. She was just pushed into it, just persuaded to listen, and -then made to see there was no escape. Didn’t I tell you that, Beenie, -before there was word of all this, before Ronald came home? The little -thing: had no heart for it. She just got white like a ghost when there -was any talk about marriage. She would hear of nothing, neither the -trou-so, as they call it now, nor any of the nonsense that girls take a -natural pleasure in. But now her little soul is just on fire. She will -stick to him--she will not forsake him. And here am I in my bed, not -able to take her by her shoulders and to tell her the man’s not worthy -of it, and that she’ll rue it just once, and that will be her life -long!” - -“Oh!” cried Miss Beenie, wringing her hands, “what is the use of a woman -being in her bed if she is to go on like that? You will just bring on -another attack, and where will we all be then? The doctor, he says----” - -“You are greatly taken up with what the doctor says: that’s one thing of -being in my bed,” said Miss Dempster, with a laugh, “that I cannot see -the doctor and his ways--his dram--that he would come to the window and -take off, with a nod up at you and me.” - -“Oh, Sarah, nothing of the kind. It was no dram, in the first place, but -just a small drop of sherry with his quinine----” - -“That’s very like, that’s very like,” said Miss Dempster, with a -satirical laugh, “the good, honest, innocent man! I wonder it was not -tea, just put in a wine glass for the sake of appearances. Are you sure, -Beenie, it was not tea?” - -“Oh, Sarah! the doctor, he has just been your diversion. But if you -would be persuaded what a regard he has for you--ay, and respect -too--and says that was always his feeling, even when he knew you were -gibing and laughing at him.” - -“A person that has the sense to have a real illness will always command -a doctor’s respect. If I recover, things will just fall into their old -way; but make your mind easy, Beenie, I will not recover, and the -doctor will have a respect for me all his days.” - -“Oh, Sarah!” cried Miss Beenie, weeping. “Ronald, I wish you would speak -to her. You have a great influence with my sister, and you might tell -her---- You are just risking your life, and what good can that do?” - -“I am not risking my life; my life’s all measured, and reeling out. But -I would like to see that bit little Effie come to a better understanding -before I die. Ye will be a better doctor for her than me, Ronald. Tell -her from me she is a silly thing. Tell her yon is not the right man for -her, and that I bid her with my dying breath not to be led away with a -vain conceit, and do what will spoil her life and break her heart. He’s -not worthy of it--no man is worthy of it. You may say that to her, -Ronald, as if it was the last thing I had to say.” - -“No,” said Ronald. His face had not at all relaxed. It was fixed with -the set seriousness of a man to whom the subject is far too important -for mirth or change of feature. “No,” he said, “I will tell Effie -nothing of the kind. I would rather she should do what was right than -gain an advantage for myself.” - -“Right, there is no question about right!” cried the old lady. “He’s not -worthy of it. You’ll see even that he’ll not desire it. He’ll not -understand it. That’s just my conviction. How should his father’s son -understand a point of honour like that? a man that is just nobody, a -parvenoo, a creature that money has made, and that the want of it will -unmake. That’s not a man at all for a point of honour. You need say -nothing from yourself; though you are an old friend, and have a right to -show her all the risks, and what she is doing; but if you don’t tell her -what I’m saying I will just--I will just--haunt you, you creature -without spirit, you lad without a backbone intil ye, you----” - -But here Miss Beenie succeeded in drawing Ronald from the room. - -“Why will ye listen to her?” cried the young sister; “ye will just help -her to her own destruction. When I’m telling you the doctor says--oh, -no, I’m pinning my faith to no doctor; but it’s just as clear as -daylight, and it stands to reason--she will have another attack if she -goes on like yon----” - -The fearful rush she made at him, the clutch upon his arm, his yielding -to the impulse which he could not resist, none of these things moved -Ronald. His countenance was as set and serious as ever, the humour of -the situation did not touch him. He neither smiled nor made any -response. Downstairs with Miss Beenie, out of sight of the invalid who -was so violent in the expression of her feelings, he retained the same -self-absorbed look. - -“If she thinks it right,” he said, “I am not the one to put any -difficulty before her. The thing for me to do is just to go away--” - -“Don’t go away and leave us, Ronald, when no mortal can tell what an -hour or a day may bring forth; and Sarah always so fond of you, and you -such a near connection, the nearest we have in this countryside----” - -“What should happen in a day or an hour, and of what service can I be?” -he asked. “Of course, if I can be of any use----” but he shook his head. -Ronald, like most people, had his mind fixed upon his own affairs. - -“Oh, have ye no eyes?” cried Miss Beenie, “have none of ye any eyes? You -are thinking of a young creature that has all her life before her, and -time to set things right if they should go wrong; but nobody has a -thought for my sister, that has been the friend of every one of you, -that has never missed giving you a good advice, or putting you in the -way you should go. And now here is she just slipping away on her last -journey, and none of you paying attention! not one, not one!” she cried, -wringing her hands, “nor giving a thought of pity to me that will just -be left alone in the world.” - -Miss Beenie, who had come out to the door with the departing visitor, -threw herself down on the bench outside, her habitual seat in happier -days, and burst into subdued weeping. - -“I darena even cry when she can see me. It’s a relief to get leave to -cry,” she said, “for, oh, cannot ye see, not one of ye, that she’s -fading away like the morning mist and like the summer flowers?” - -The morning mist and the summer flowers were not images very like Miss -Dempster, who lay like an old tree, rather than any delicate and fragile -thing; but Dr. Jardine, coming briskly up on his daily visit, was not -susceptible to appropriateness of metaphor. He came up to Miss Beenie -and patted her on the shoulder with a homely familiarity which a few -months ago would have seemed presumption to the ladies of Rosebank. - -“Maybe no,” he said, “maybe no, who can tell? And even if it was so, why -should you be alone? I see no occasion---- Come up, and we’ll see how -she is to-day.” - -Ronald Sutherland, left alone, walked down the slope very solemnly, with -his face as rigid as ever. Miss Dempster was his old and good friend, -but, alas, he thought nothing of Miss Dempster. - -“If she thinks it right, it must be so,” he was saying to himself. “If -she thinks it’s right, am I the one to put any difficulty in the way?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -To postpone the self-sacrifice of an enthusiast for weeks, or even for -days, is the hardest of all tests, and a trial almost beyond the power -of flesh and blood. Upheld by religious fervour, the human soul may be -equal to this or any other test; but in lesser matters, and specially in -those self-sacrifices prompted by generosity, which to the youthful hero -or heroine seem at the first glance so inevitable, so indispensable, -things which no noble mind would shrink from, the process of waiting is -a terrible ordeal. - -He, or still more, she, who would have given life itself, happiness, -anything, everything that is most prized in existence, with a light -heart, and the most perfect conviction at the moment, becomes, as the -days go by, the victim of a hundred chilling doubts and questions. Her -courage, like that of Bob Acres, oozes out at her finger-ends. She is -brought to the bar of a thousand suppressed, yet never extinguished, -reasonings. - -Is it right to feign love even for her lover’s sake?--is it right to do -another so great an injury as to delude him into the thought that he is -making you happy, while, in reality, you are sacrificing all happiness -for him? Is it right----? but these questions are so manifold and -endless that it is vain to enumerate them. - -Effie had been the victim of this painful process for three long -lingering weeks. She had little, very little, to support her in her -determination. The papers had been full of the great bankruptcy, of -details of Dirom’s escape, and of the valuable papers and securities -which had disappeared with him: and with a shiver Effie had understood -that the scene she had seen unawares through the window had meant far -more than even her sense of mystery and secrecy in it could have helped -her to divine. - -The incidents of that wonderful night--the arguments of the mother and -sisters, who had declared that the proposed expedition would be nothing -but an embarrassment to Fred--her return ashamed and miserable in the -carriage into which they had thrust her--had been fatal to the fervour -of the enthusiasm which had made her at first capable of anything. -Looking back upon it now, it was with an overwhelming shame that she -recognized the folly of that first idea. Effie had grown half-a-dozen -years older in a single night. She imagined what might have happened had -she carried out that wild intention, with one of those scathing and -burning blushes which seem to scorch the very soul. She imagined Fred’s -look of wonder, his uneasiness, perhaps his anger at her folly which -placed him in so embarrassing a position. - -Effie felt that, had she seen those feelings in his eyes even for a -moment, she would have died of shame. He had written to her, warmly -thanking her for her “sympathy,” for her “generous feeling,” for the -telegram (of which she knew nothing) which had been so consolatory to -him, for the “unselfishness,” the “beautiful, brave thought” she had for -a moment entertained of coming to him, of standing by him. - -“Thank you, dearest, for this lovely quixotism,” he had said; “it was -like my Effie,” as if it had been a mere impulse of girlish tenderness, -and not the terrible sacrifice of a life which she had intended it to -be. This letter had been overwhelming to Effie, notwithstanding, or -perhaps by reason of, its thanks and praises. He had, it was clear, no -insight into her mind, no real knowledge of her at all. He had never -divined anything, never seen below the surface. - -If she had done what she intended, if she had indeed gone to him, he -living as he was! Effie felt as if she must sink into the ground when -she realized this possibility. And as she did so, her heart failed her, -her courage, her strength oozed away: and there was no one to whom she -could speak. Doris and Phyllis came to see her now and then, but there -was no encouragement in them. They were going abroad; they had ceased to -make any reference to that independent action on their own part which -was to have followed disaster to the firm. There was indeed in their -conversation no account made of any downfall; their calculations about -their travels were all made on the ground of wealth. And Fred had taken -refuge in his studio they said--he was going to be an artist, as he had -always wished: he was going to devote himself to art: they said this -with a significance which Effie in her simplicity did not catch, for she -was not aware that devotion to Art interfered with the other -arrangements of life. And this was all. She had no encouragement on that -side, and her resolution, her courage, her strength of purpose, her -self-devotion oozed away. - -Strangely enough, the only moral support she had was from Ronald, who -met her with that preternaturally grave face, and asked for Fred, whom -he had never asked for before, and said something inarticulate which -Effie understood, to the effect that he for one would never put -difficulties in her way. What did he mean? No one could have explained -it--not even himself: and yet Effie knew. Ronald had the insight which -Fred, with those foolish praises of her generosity and her quixotism, -did not possess. - -And so the days went on, with a confusion in the girl’s mind which it -would be hopeless to describe. Her whole life seemed to hang in a -balance, wavering wildly between earth and heaven. What was to be done -with it? What was she to do with it? Eric was on his way home, and would -arrive shortly, for his sister’s marriage, and all the embarrassment of -that meeting lay before her, taking away the natural delight of it, -which at another moment would have been so sweet to Effie. Even Uncle -John was of little advantage to her in this pause. He accompanied her in -her walks, saying little. Neither of them knew what to say. All the -wedding preparations had come to a standstill, tacitly, without any -explanation made; and in the face of Fred’s silence on the subject -Effie could say nothing, neither could her champion say anything about -the fulfilment of her engagement. - -Mrs. Ogilvie, on the other hand, was full of certainty and -self-satisfaction. - -“He has just acted as I expected, like a gentleman,” she said, “making -no unpleasantness. He is unfortunate in his connections, poor young man; -but I always said that there was the makings of a real gentleman in -young Dirom. You see I have just been very right in my calculations. He -has taken my letter in the right spirit. How could he do otherwise? He -had the sense to see at once that Robert could never give his daughter -to a ruined man.” - -“There could not be two opinions on that subject,” said her husband, -still more satisfied with himself. - -“There might, I think, be many opinions,” the minister said, mildly. “If -two young people love each other, and stick to it, there is no father -but will be vanquished by them at the end.” - -“That’s all your sentimentality,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “Let them come and -tell me about their love as you call it, they would soon get their -answer. Any decent young woman, let alone a girl brought up like Effie, -would think shame.” - -“Effie will not think shame,” said Mr. Moubray: “if the young man is -equal to Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion of him. You will have to make up your -mind to encounter your own child, Robert--which is far harder work than -to meet a stranger--in mortal conflict. For Effie will never take your -view of the matter. She will not see that misfortune has anything to do -with it. She will say that what was done for good fortune was done for -bad. She will stand by him.” - -“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “I am not ashamed to name the name of love -for my part. There was no love on Effie’s side. No, no, her heart was -never in it. It is just a blaze of generosity and that kind of thing. -You need have no trouble so far as that is concerned. When she sees that -it’s not understood, her feeling will just die out, like that lowing of -thorns under the pot which is mentioned in Scripture: or most likely she -will take offence--and that will be still better. For he will not press -it, partly because he will think it’s not honourable, and partly because -he has to struggle for himself and has the sense to see it will be far -better not to burden himself with a wife.” - -“If you were so sure there was no love on Effie’s side, why did you let -it go on?” said Mr. Moubray with a little severity. - -“Why did I let it go on? just for the best reason in the world--because -at that time he was an excellent match. Was I to let her ruin the best -sitting down in all the countryside, for a childish folly? No, no; I -have always set my heart on doing my duty to Robert’s daughter, and that -was just the very best that could be done for her. It’s different now; -and here is another very fine lad, under our very hand. One that is an -old joe, that she has known all her life, and might have been engaged to -him but for--different reasons. Nothing’s lost, and he’s just turned up -in the very nick of time, if you do not encourage her in her daft ideas, -Uncle John.” - -“I do not consider them daft ideas: and that Effie should go from one to -another like a puppet when you pull the strings----” - -“Oh, I am not a clever person; I cannot meet you with your images and -your metaphors; but this I can say,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, solemnly, “that -it is just your niece’s happiness that is at stake, and if you come -between her and what is just and right, the blame will be yours and not -mine.” - -Mr. Moubray went away very much troubled, with this in his mind. Effie -had not loved Fred, and it was possible that she might love Ronald, that -she might have had an inclination towards him all along; but was it -possible that she should thus change--put down one and take up -another--resign even the man she loved not, as no longer a good match, -and accept the man she might love, because he was? - -Marriage without love is a horror to every pure mind; it was to the -minister the most abhorrent of all thoughts: and yet it was not so -degrading, so deplorable as this. He went home to his lonely house with -a great oppression on his soul. What could he say, what advise to the -young and tender creature who had been brought to such a pass, and who -had to find her way out of it, he could not tell how? He had nothing to -say to her. He could not give her a counsel; he did not even know how to -approach the subject. He had to leave her alone at this crisis of her -fate. - -The actual crisis came quite unexpectedly when no one thought it near. -It had come to be December, and Christmas, which should have witnessed -the marriage, was not far off. The Diroms were said to be preparing to -leave Allonby; but except when they were met riding or driving, they -were little seen by the neighbours, few of whom, to tell the truth, had -shown much interest in them since the downfall. Suddenly, in the -afternoon of one of those dull winter days when the skies had begun to -darken and the sun had set, the familiar dog-cart, which had been there -so often, dashed in at the open gates of Gilston and Fred Dirom jumped -out. He startled old George first of all by asking, not for Miss, but -Mrs. Ogilvie. - -“Miss Effie is in, sir. I will tell her in a moment,” George said, half -from opposition, half because he could not believe his ears. - -“I want to see Mrs. Ogilvie,” replied the young man, and he was ushered -in accordingly, not without a murmured protest on the part of the old -servant, who did not understand this novel method of procedure. - -The knowledge of Fred’s arrival thrilled through the house. It flitted -upstairs to the nursery, it went down to the kitchen. The very walls -pulsated to this arrival. Effie became aware of it, she did not herself -know how, and sat trembling expecting every moment to be summoned. But -no summons came. She waited for some time, and then with a strong quiver -of excitement, braced herself up for the final trial and stole -downstairs. George was lingering about the hall. He shook his gray head -as he saw her on the stairs, then pointed to the door of the -drawing-room. - -“He’s in there,” said the old man, “and I would bide for no careplace -with’. I would suffer nae joukery-pawkery, I would just gang ben!” - -Effie stood on the stairs for a moment like one who prepares for a fatal -plunge, then with her pulses loud in her ears, and every nerve -quivering, ran down the remaining steps and opened the door. - -Fred was standing in the middle of the room holding Mrs. Ogilvie’s hand. -He did not at first hear the opening of the door, done noiselessly by -Effie in her whirl of passionate feeling. - -“If you think it will be best,” he was saying, “I desire to do only what -is best for her. I don’t want to agitate or distress her--Effie!” - -In a moment he had dropped her stepmother’s hand and made a hurried step -towards the apparition, pale, breathless, almost speechless with -emotion, at the door. He was pale too, subdued, serious, very different -from the easy and assured youth who had so often met her there. - -“Effie! my dearest, generous girl!” - -“Oh, Fred! what has become of you all this time? did you think that I -was like the rest?” - -“Now, Effie,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “you are just spoiling everything both -for him and for yourself. What brought you here? you are not wanted -here. He has plenty on his mind without you. Just you go back again -where you came from. He has told me all he wants to say. You here just -makes everything worse.” - -Fred had taken her hands into his. He looked into her eyes with a gaze -which Effie did not understand. - -“To think you should be willing to encounter even poverty and misery for -me!” he said; “but I cannot take you at your word. I cannot expose you -to that struggle. It must be put off indefinitely, my sweetest girl: -alas, that I should have to say it! when another fortnight, only two -weeks more, should have made us happy.” - -He stooped down and kissed her hands. There was a tone, protecting, -compassionate, respectful in his voice. He was consoling her quite as -much as himself. - -“Postponed?” she said faltering, gazing at him with an astonishment -which was mingled with dismay. - -“Alas, yes, my generous darling: though you are willing, I am not able -to carry out our engagement: that is what I have been explaining. Don’t -think it is not as bad for me as for you.” - -“As bad for me, as for you,” the blood rushed to Effie’s countenance in -a wild flood of indignation and horror. As bad for him as for her! She -stood aghast, her eyes fixed upon his, in which there was, could it be? -a complaisance, a self-satisfaction mingled with regret. - -Fred had not the least conception of the feeling which had moved her. He -knew nothing about the revolution made in all her thoughts by the -discovery of his ruin, or of her impassioned determination to stand by -him, and sacrifice everything to his happiness. No idea of the truth had -entered his mind. He was sorry for her disappointment, which indeed was -not less to him than to her, though, to be sure, a girl, he knew, always -felt it more than a man. But when Effie, in her hurt pride and wounded -feeling, uttered a cry of astonishment and dismay, he took it for the -appeal of disappointment and replied to it hastily: - -“It cannot be helped,” he said. “Do you think it is an easy thing for -me to say so? but what can I do? I have given up everything. A man is -not like the ladies. I am going back to the studio--to work in earnest, -where I used only to play at working. How could I ask you to go there -with me, to share such a life? And besides, if I am to do anything, I -must devote myself altogether to art. If things were to brighten, then, -indeed, you may be sure---- without an hour’s delay!” - -She had drawn her hands away, but he recovered possession of one, which -he held in his, smoothing and patting it, as if he were comforting a -child. A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind as he stood there, -smiling at her pathetically, yet not without a touch of vanity, -comprehending nothing, without the faintest gleam of perception as to -what she had meant, sorry for her, consoling her for her loss, feeling -to his heart the value of what she had lost, which was himself. - -Her dismay, her consternation, the revulsion of feeling which sent the -blood boiling through her veins, were to him only the natural vexation, -distress, and disappointment of a girl whose marriage had been close at -hand, and was now put off indefinitely. For this--which was so -natural--he was anxious to console her. He wanted her to feel it as -little as possible--to see that it was nobody’s fault, that it could not -be helped. Of all the passionate impulses that had coursed through her -veins he knew nothing, nothing! He could not divine them, or understand, -even if he had divined. - -“At best,” he said, still soothing her, patting her hand, “the -postponement must be for an indefinite time. And how can I ask you to -waste your youth, dearest Effie? I have done you harm enough already. I -came to let you know the real state of affairs--to set you free from -your engagements to me, if,” he said, pressing her hand again, looking -into her face, “you will accept----” - -His face appeared to her like something floating in the air, his voice -vibrated and rang about her in circles of sound. She drew her hand -almost violently away, and withdrew a little, gazing at him half -stupified, yet with a keen impatience and intolerance in her disturbed -mind. - -“I accept,” she said hoarsely, with a sense of mortification and intense -indignant shame, which was stronger than any sensation Effie had ever -felt in her life before. - -_That_ was what he thought of her; this man for whom she had meant to -sacrifice herself! She began hastily to draw off the ring which he had -given her from her finger, which, slight as it was, seemed to grow -larger with her excitement and tremulousness, and made the operation -difficult. - -“Take it,” she said, holding out the ring to him. “It is yours, not -mine.” - -“No, no,” he said, putting back her extended hand softly, “not that. If -we part, don’t let it be in anger, Effie. Keep that at least, for a -recollection--for a token----” - -She scarcely heard what words he used. It was he who had the better of -it, she felt. She was angry, disappointed, rejected. Was not that what -everybody would think? She held the ring in her hand for a moment, then -let it drop from her fingers. It fell with a dull sound on the carpet at -his feet. Then she turned round, somehow controlling her impulse to cry -out, to rush away, and walked to the door. - -“I never expected she would have shown that sense and judgment,” said -Mrs. Ogilvie, after she had shown the visitor, whose exit was even more -hasty than his arrival, and his feelings far from comfortable, to the -door. She sat down at her writing table at once with that practical -sense and readiness which never forsook her. - -“Now I will just write and ask Ronald to his dinner,” she said. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -But things did not go so easily as Mrs. Ogilvie supposed. - -Effie had received a blow which was not easily forgotten. The previous -mistakes of her young career might have been forgotten, and it is -possible that she might have come to be tolerably happy in the settling -down and evaporation of all young thoughts and dreams, had she in the -fervour of her first impulse become Fred Dirom’s wife. It would not have -been the happiness of her ideal, but it often happens that an evanescent -splendour like that which illumines the early world dies away with -comparative harmlessness, and leaves a very good substitute of solid -satisfaction on a secondary level, with which all but the visionary -learn to be content. - -But the sharp and keen awakening with which she opened her eyes on a -disenchanted world, when she found her attempted sacrifice so -misunderstood, and felt herself put back into the common-place position -of a girl disappointed, she who had risen to the point of heroism, and -made up her mind to give up her very life, cannot be described. Effie -did not turn in the rebound to another love, as her stepmother fully -calculated. Though that other love was the first, the most true, the -only faithful, though she was herself vaguely aware that in him she -would find the comprehension for which she longed, as well as the -love--though her heart, in spite of herself, turned to this old playmate -and companion with an aching desire to tell him everything, to get the -support of his sympathy, yet, at the same time, Effie shrank from -Ronald as she shrank from every one. - -The delicate fibres of her being had been torn and severed; they would -not heal or knit together again. It might be that her heart was -permanently injured and never would recover its tone, it might be that -the recoil from life and heart-sickness might be only temporary. No one -could tell. Mrs. Ogilvie, who would not believe at first that the -appearance of Ronald would be ineffectual, or that the malady was more -than superficial, grew impatient afterwards. - -“It is all just selfishness,” she said; “it is just childish. Because -she cannot have what she wanted, she will not take what she can get; and -the worst of all is that she never wanted it when she could have it.” - -“That’s just the way with women,” said her husband; “ye are all alike. -Let her come to herself, and don’t bore me about her as you’re doing, -night and day. What is a girl and her sweetheart to me?” - -“Don’t you think,” said Mr. Moubray, “if you had been honest with Effie -from the first, if you had allowed her own heart to speak, if there had -been no pressure on one side, and no suppression on the other----” - -“In short,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, with a flush of anger, “if we had just -left everything to a bit silly thing that has not had the wit to guide -herself in the most simple, straightforward way! where ye would have -thought a fool could not go wrong----!” - -Mr. Ogilvie at this lifted his head. - -“Are ye quarrelling with John Moubray, Janet?” he said; “things must -have come to a pretty pass when you fling yourself upon the minister, -not content with putting me to silence. If ye’re ill-pleased with -Effie,” said the head of the family, “let Effie bear the wyte; but what -have we done, him and me?” - -The minister, however, was Effie’s resource and help. He opened his own -heart to her, showing her how it had bled and how it had been healed, -and by and by the girl came to see, with slowly growing perception and a -painful, yet elevating, knowledge, how many things lay hidden in the -lives and souls which presented often a common-place exterior to the -world. This was a moment in which it seemed doubtful whether the rending -of all those delicate chords in her own being might not turn to -bitterness and a permanent loss and injury. She was disposed to turn her -face from the light, to avoid all tenderness and sympathy, to find that -man delighted her not, nor woman either. - -It was in this interval that Eric’s brief but very unsatisfactory visit -took place, which the young fellow felt was as good as the loss of his -six weeksreplace with’ leave altogether. To be sure, there was a hard -frost which made him some amends, and in the delights of skating and -curling compensated him for his long journey home; and Ronald, his old -comrade, whom he had expected to lose, went back with him, which was -something to the credit side. But he could not understand Effie, and was -of opinion that she had been jilted, and could scarcely be kept from -making some public demonstration against Fred Dirom, who had used his -sister ill, he thought. This mistake, too, added to Effie’s injuries of -spirit a keener pang: and the tension was cruel. - -But when Eric and Ronald were gone again, and all had relapsed into -silence, the balance turned, and the girl began to be herself once more, -or rather to be a better and loftier self, never forgetful of the sudden -cross and conflict of the forces of life which had made so strong an -impression upon her youth. - -Miss Dempster, after some further suffering, died quite peacefully in -the ruddy dawn of a winter’s morning, after doing much to instruct the -world and her immediate surroundings from her sick bed, and much -enjoying the opportunity. She did not sleep very well the last few -nights, and the prospect of “just getting a good sleep in my coffin -before you bury me, and it all begins again,” was agreeable to her. - -She seemed to entertain the curious impression that the funeral of her -body would be the moment of re-awakening for her soul, and that till -that final incident occurred she would not be severed from this worldly -life, which thus literally was rounded by a sleep. It was always an -annoyance to her that her room was to the back, and she could not see -Dr. Jardine as formerly come to his window and take off his dram, but -perhaps it was rather with the sisterly desire to tease Beenie than from -any other reason that this lamentation (with a twinkle in her eyes) was -daily made. - -When she died, the whole village and every neighbour far and near joined -in the universal lamentation. Those who had called her an old cat in her -life-time wept over her when she was laid in the grave, and remembered -all her good deeds, from the old wives in the village, who had never -wanted their pickle tea or their pinch of snuff so long as Miss Dempster -was to the fore, to the laird’s wife herself, who thought regretfully of -the silver candlesticks, and did not hesitate to say that nobody need be -afraid of giving a party, whether it was a dinner or a ball supper that -had to be provided, so long as Miss Dempster was mistress of the many -superfluous knives and forks at Rosebank. - -“She was just a public benefactor,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, who had not -always expressed that opinion. - -As for Miss Beenie, her eyes were rivers of tears, and her sister’s -admirable qualities her only theme. She lived but to mourn and to praise -the better half of her existence, her soul being as much widowed by this -severance as if she had been a bereaved wife instead of a sister. - -“Nobody can tell what she was to me, just more than can be put into -words. She was mother and sister and mistress and guide all put into -one. I’m not a whole human creature. I am but part of one, left like a -wreck upon the shore--and the worst part,” Miss Beenie said. - -The doctor, who had been suspected of a tear himself at the old lady’s -funeral, and had certainly blown his nose violently on the way back, was -just out of all patience with Miss Beenie’s yammering, he said, and he -missed the inspection of himself and all his concerns that had gone on -from Rosebank. He was used to it, and he did not know how to do without -it. - -One spring morning, after the turn of the year, he went up with a very -resolute air the tidy gravel path between the laurel hedges. - -“Eh, doctor, I cannot bide to hear your step--and yet I am fain, fain to -hear it: for it’s like as if she was still in life, and ye were coming -to see her.” - -“Miss Beenie,” said the doctor, “this cannot go on for ever. She was a -good woman, and she has gone to a better place. But one thing is -certain, that ye cannot bide here for ever, and that I cannot bide to -leave you here. You must just come your ways across the road, and set up -your tabernacle with me.” - -At this, Miss Beenie uttered a cry of consternation: “Doctor! you must -be taking leave of your senses. Me!----” - -“And why not you?” said Dr. Jardine. “You would be far better over the -way. It’s more cheerful, and we would be company for one another. I am -not ill company when I am on my mettle. I desire that you will just -think it over, and fix a day----” - -And after a while, Miss Beenie found that there was sense in the -suggestion, and dried her eyes, and did as she was desired, having been -accustomed to do so, as she said, all her life. - -The Diroms disappeared from Allonby as if they had never been there, and -were heard of no more: though not without leaving disastrous traces at -least in one heart and life. - -But it may be that Effie’s wounds are not mortal after all. And one day -Captain Sutherland must come home---- - -And who knows? - - - THE END. - - _This work appeared originally in “The Scottish Church.”_ - - ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Effie Ogilvie (Complete), by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE (COMPLETE) *** - -***** This file should be named 61916-0.txt or 61916-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/1/61916/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -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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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/license - - -Title: Effie Ogilvie (Complete) - the story of a young life - -Author: Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: April 24, 2020 [EBook #61916] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE (COMPLETE) *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="310" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:2px solid gray;padding:1em;"> -<tr><td class="c"><a href="#Vol_I">VOL. I.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER: I., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"> XV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII.</a><br /> -<a href="#VOL_II">VOL. II.</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"> XX., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII"> XXII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII"> XXIII., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV"> XXIV., </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV"> XXV.</a> -</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-1" id="page_vol-1-1">{v.1-1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-2" id="page_vol-1-2">{v.1-2}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">E F F I E O G I L V I E.</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="font-size:85%;margin:2em auto;"> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">PUBLISHED BY</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr><tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>London</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Hamilton, Adams and Co.</i></td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Cambridge</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Macmillan and Bowes</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Edinburgh</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas and Foulis</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MDCCCLXXXVI.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-3" id="page_vol-1-3">{v.1-3}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> - -<i><small><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></small></i>.</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -MRS. OLIPHANT,<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC.</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN TWO VOLUMES.<br /> -<br /> -COMPLETE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -GLASGOW:<br /> -JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS,<br /> -<span class="eng">Publishers to the University</span>.<br /> -<small>LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO.</small><br /> -1 8 8 6.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-4" id="page_vol-1-4">{v.1-4}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-5" id="page_vol-1-5">{v.1-5}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c"><b><a id="Vol_I"></a>Vol. I.</b></p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> -<i><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></i>.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> family consisted of Effie’s father, her stepmother, her brother Eric -who was in the army, and a little personage, the most important of all, -the only child of the second Mrs. Ogilvie, the pet and plaything of the -house. You may think it would have been more respectful and becoming to -reverse this description, and present Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvie first to the -notice of the reader, which we shall now proceed to do. The only excuse -we can offer for the irregularity of the beginning consists in the fact -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-6" id="page_vol-1-6">{v.1-6}</a></span> it is the nature of their proceedings in respect to the young -people, and particularly to Mr. Ogilvie’s daughter Effie, which induces -us to disturb the decorous veil which hangs over the doors of every -respectable family, in the case of these worthy persons.</p> - -<p>In their own lives, had we time and space to recount all that befell -them, there would, no doubt, be many interesting particulars, as in the -lives of most other people: but when a country gentleman has attained -the age of fifty or a little more, with enough of money for his -necessities, and no more ambition than can be satisfied by the -regulation of the affairs of the parish, it is inevitably through the -fortunes of a son or daughter that he comes within reach of the -sympathies of the world. These troublesome productions, of whom we take -so little thought at first, who are nothing but playthings and -embellishments of our own estate for so many years, have a way of -pushing us out of our commanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-7" id="page_vol-1-7">{v.1-7}</a></span> position as the chief actors in our -own lives, setting us aside into a secondary place, and conferring upon -us a quite fictitious interest as influences upon theirs. It is an -impertinence of fate, it is an irony of circumstance; but still it is -so. And it is, consequently, as Effie’s father, a character in which he -by no means knew himself, that Mr. Ogilvie of Gilston, a gentleman as -much respected as any in his county, the chief heritor in his parish, -and a deputy-lieutenant, has now to be presented to the world.</p> - -<p>He was a good man in his way, not perfect, as in the general he was -himself very willing to allow, though he did not, any more than the rest -of us, like that niggling sort of criticism which descends to -particulars. He was a man who would have suffered a little personal -inconvenience rather than do anything which he was convinced was wrong, -which most of us, who are old enough to be acquainted with our own ways, -will be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-8" id="page_vol-1-8">{v.1-8}</a></span> aware is no small thing to say. But, ordinarily, also like most -of us, his wrong acts were done without taking time to identify them as -wrong, on the spur of the moment, in the heat of a present impulse which -took from them all the sting of premeditation.</p> - -<p>Thus, when he gave good Glen, the virtuous collie, as he came forward -smiling and cheerful, with a remark upon the beauty of the morning -glistening in his bright eyes and waving majestically in his tail, that -sudden kick which sent the good fellow off howling, and oppressed his -soul all day with a sense of crime, Mr. Ogilvie did not do it by -intention, did not come out with the purpose of doing it, but only did -it because he had just got a letter which annoyed him. Glen, who had a -tender conscience, lived half the day under a weight of unnecessary -remorse, convinced that he must himself have done something very wicked, -though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-9" id="page_vol-1-9">{v.1-9}</a></span> a confused moral sense and the absence of a recognized code made -him sadly incapable of discovering what it was; but his master had not -the slightest intention of inflicting any such mental torture.</p> - -<p>He treated his human surroundings in something of the same way, -convincing Effie sometimes, by a few well-chosen words, of her own -complete mental and physical incompetency; as, for example, when she ran -into his library to call his attention to something quite unimportant at -the very moment when he was adding up his “sundries,” and had nearly -arrived at a result.</p> - -<p>“If you had any sense of propriety in you, and were not a born idiot -that never can be taught there’s a time for everything, you would know -better than to dart in like a whirlwind in your high heels, and all that -nonsense in your mouth, to drive a man frantic!”</p> - -<p>Effie would withdraw in tears. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-10" id="page_vol-1-10">{v.1-10}</a></span> Mr. Ogilvie had not really meant any -harm.</p> - -<p>He had succeeded to his father’s little estate when he was still in his -twenties, and had many aspirations. He had not intended to withdraw from -the bar, although he had few clients to speak of. He had indeed fully -intended to follow up his profession, and it had not seemed impossible -that he might attain to the glorious position of Lord Advocate, or, if -not, to that of Sheriff-Substitute, which was perhaps more probable. But -by degrees, and especially after his marriage, he had found out that -professional work was a great “tie,” and that there were many things to -be done at home.</p> - -<p>His first wife had been the only daughter of the minister, which -concentrated his affections still more and more in his own locality. -When she died, leaving him with two children, who had never been -troublesome to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-11" id="page_vol-1-11">{v.1-11}</a></span> him before, the neighbourhood was moved with the deepest -sympathy for poor Ogilvie. Some people even thought he would not survive -it, they had been so united a couple, and lived so entirely for each -other: or, at least, that he would go away, abandoning the scene of his -past happiness.</p> - -<p>But, on the contrary, he stayed at home, paying the tribute of the -profoundest dulness for one year to the lost partner of his life, -cheering up a little decorously afterwards, and at the end of the second -year marrying again. All this was done, it will be seen, in the most -respectable and well-regulated way, as indeed was everything that Mr. -Ogilvie did when he took time to think of it, being actuated by a -conscientious desire to do his duty, and set an example to all honest -and virtuous men.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie was not too young to be the second wife of a gentleman of -fifty. She was “quite suitable,” everybody said—which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-12" id="page_vol-1-12">{v.1-12}</a></span> seeing that he -might have married a chit of twenty, as mature widowers have been known -to do, was considered by everybody a virtuous abstinence and concession -to the duties of the position. She was thirty-five, good-looking, even -handsome, and very conscientious. If it was her husband’s virtuous -principle to submit to personal inconvenience rather than do anything -that he knew to be wrong, she went many steps farther in the way of -excellence, and seldom did anything unless she was convinced that it was -right.</p> - -<p>With this high meaning she had come to Gilston, and during the four -years of her reign there had, not sternly—for she was not stern: but -steadily, and she was a woman of great steadiness of mind and -purpose—adhered to it.</p> - -<p>These years had been very important years, as may be supposed, in the -life of the two young people whom Mrs. Ogilvie described as “the first -family.” The boy had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-13" id="page_vol-1-13">{v.1-13}</a></span> seventeen and the girl fifteen when she came -home a bride. And their mother had been dead only two years: an age at -which criticism is more uncompromising, or circumstances under which it -would be more difficult to begin married life, could scarcely be. They -gazed at her with two pairs of large eyes, and countenances which did -not seem able to smile, noting everything she did, putting a mute -criticism upon the silent record, objecting dumbly to everything, to her -entrance there at all, to her assumption of their mother’s chair, their -mother’s name, all that was now legally and honourably hers.</p> - -<p>Can any one imagine a more terrible ordeal for a woman to go through? -She confided to her sister afterwards that if she had acted upon -impulse, as Robert, poor dear, so often did, the house would have become -a hell on earth.</p> - -<p>“I would have liked to have put that boy to the door a hundred times a -day: and as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-14" id="page_vol-1-14">{v.1-14}</a></span> for Effie!—I never can tell till this day how it was that -I kept my hands off her,” she said, reddening with the recollection of -many exasperations past. Women who have filled the office of stepmother, -aunt, or any other such domestic anomaly, will understand and -sympathize. And yet, of course, there was a great deal to be said on the -other side too.</p> - -<p>The children had heard with an indignation beyond words of their -father’s intention. It had been said to them, with that natural -hypocrisy which is so transparent and almost pardonable, that he took -this step very much for their sakes, to give them a new mother.</p> - -<p>A new mother! Seven and five might have taken this in with wondering -ears and made no remark; but seventeen and fifteen! The boy glowed with -fierce wrath; the girl shed torrents of hot tears. They formed plans of -leaving Gilston at once, going away to seek their fortunes—to America, -to Australia, who could tell where? Effie was certain that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-15" id="page_vol-1-15">{v.1-15}</a></span> would -mind no hardship, that she could cook and wash, and do everything in the -hut, while Eric (boys are always so much luckier than girls!) spent the -day in the saddle after the cattle in the ranche.</p> - -<p>Or they would go orange-farming, ostrich-farming—what did it matter -which?—anything, in fact, but stay at home. Money was the great -difficulty in this as in almost all other cases, besides the dreadful -fact that Effie was a girl, a thing which had always been hard upon her -in all their previous adventures, but now more than ever.</p> - -<p>“We might have gone to sea and worked our passages before the mast, if -you had only been a laddie and not a lassie,” Eric said with a sigh and -a profound sense of the general contrariety of events. This unalterable -misfortune, which somehow seemed (though it was she who suffered from it -most) her fault, stopped Effie’s tears, and brought instead a look of -despair into her round face. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-16" id="page_vol-1-16">{v.1-16}</a></span> flashed through her mind an idea of -the possibility of neutralizing this disability by means of costume. -Rosalind did so in Shakespeare, and Viola, and so had other heroines in -less distant regions.</p> - -<p>But at the idea of <i>trousers</i> Effie’s countenance flamed, and she -rejected the thought. It was quite possible to endure being unhappy, -even in her small experience she was well aware of that—but unwomanly! -Oh, what would mamma say? That utterance of habit, the words that rose -to her lips without thinking, even now when mamma was about to have a -successor—a new mother! brought back the tears in torrents. She flung -herself upon Eric’s shoulder, and he, poor fellow, gave her with -quivering lips a little furtive kiss, the only consolation he could -think of, though they were not at all used to caressing each other. Poor -children! and yet Mr. Ogilvie had done nothing cruel, and Mrs. Ogilvie -was the best-intentioned woman in the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-17" id="page_vol-1-17">{v.1-17}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was lucky that they were found at this critical moment by an -individual who is of great importance in this little record of events, -as he was in the parish and the neighbourhood generally,—that is Uncle -John. He was the minister of Gilston; he was their mother’s brother; and -he was one of the men selected by Providence for the consolation of -their fellow-creatures.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was not always very wise. He was too much under the sway of -his heart to be infallible in the way of advice, although that heart was -so tender and full of sympathy that it often penetrated secrets which -were undiscoverable to common men. But in his powers of comfort-giving -he was perfect. The very sight of him soothed the angry and softened the -obdurate, and he dried the tears of the young by some inspiration given -to him alone.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” he said in his large soft voice, which was deep -bass and very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-18" id="page_vol-1-18">{v.1-18}</a></span> masculine, yet had something in it too of the -wood-pigeon’s brooding tones. They were seated at the foot of a tree in -the little wood that protected Gilston House from the east, on the roots -of the big ash which were like gray curves of rock among the green moss -and the fallen leaves. He came between them, sitting down too, raising -Effie with his arm.</p> - -<p>“But I think I can guess. You are just raging at Providence and your -father, you two ungrateful bairns.”</p> - -<p>“Ungrateful!” cried Effie. She was the most speechless of the two, the -most prostrate, the most impassioned, and therefore was most ready to -reply.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what have we to be grateful for?—our own mamma gone away and we’ll -never see her more; and another woman—another—a Mistress Ogilvie——” -In her rage and despair she pronounced every syllable, with what -bitterness and burning scorn and fury! Uncle John drew her little hands -down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-19" id="page_vol-1-19">{v.1-19}</a></span> her face and held them in his own, which were not small, but -very firm, though they were soft.</p> - -<p>“Your own mother was a very good woman, Effie,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>The girl paused and looked at him with those fiery eyes which were not -softened, but made more angry, by her tears, not seeing how this bore -upon the present crisis of affairs.</p> - -<p>“Have you any reason to suppose that being herself, as we know she is, -with the Lord whom she loved”—and here Uncle John took off his hat as -if he were saluting the dearest and most revered of friends—“that she -would like you and the rest to be miserable all your lives because she -was away?”</p> - -<p>“Miserable!” cried Effie. “We were not miserable; we were quite happy; -we wanted nothing. Papa may care for new people, but we were happy and -wanted nothing, Eric and me.”</p> - -<p>“Then, my little Effie,” said Uncle John,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-20" id="page_vol-1-20">{v.1-20}</a></span> “it is not because of your -own mother that you are looking like a little fury—for you see you have -learned to let her go, and do without her, and be quite contented in a -new way—but only because your father has done the same after his -fashion, and it is not the same way as yours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, I am not contented,” cried Effie, conscience-stricken; -“I think of mamma every day.”</p> - -<p>“And are quite happy,” he said with a smile, “as you ought to be. God -bless her up yonder, behind the veil. She is not jealous nor angry, but -happy too. And we will be very good friends with Mistress Ogilvie, you -and me. Come and see that everything is ready for her, for she will not -have an easy handful with you two watching her night and day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-21" id="page_vol-1-21">{v.1-21}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Though</span> Mr. Moubray said this, it is not to be supposed that he liked his -brother-in-law’s second marriage. It was not in flesh and blood to do -that.</p> - -<p>Gilston House must always be the most important house in that parish to -the minister; for it is at once nearest to the manse, and the house in -which he is most likely to find people who have at least the outside -gloss of education. And he had been used to go there familiarly for -nearly twenty years. He had been a favourite with the old people, Mr. -Ogilvie’s father and mother, and when their son succeeded them he was -already engaged to the minister’s young sister. There was therefore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-22" id="page_vol-1-22">{v.1-22}</a></span> a -daily habit of meeting for nearly a lifetime. The two men had not always -agreed. Indeed it was not in human nature that they should not have -sometimes disagreed strenuously, one being the chief heritor, -restraining every expenditure, and the other the minister, who was -always, by right of his position, wanting to have something done.</p> - -<p>But after all their quarrels they “just ’greed again,” which is the best -and indeed the only policy in such circumstances. And though the laird -would thunder against that “pig-headed fellow, your brother John,” Mrs. -Ogilvie had always been able to smile, knowing that on the other hand -she would hear nothing worse from the minister than a recommendation to -“remind Robert that schoolhouse roofs and manse windows are not -eternal.”</p> - -<p>And then the children had woven another link between the two houses. -Eric had been Uncle John’s pupil since the boy had been old enough to -trot unattended through the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-23" id="page_vol-1-23">{v.1-23}</a></span> wood and across the two fields which -separated the manse from the House; and Effie had trotted by his side -when the days were fine, and when she pleased—a still more important -stipulation. They had been the children of the manse almost as much as -of the House.</p> - -<p>The death of the mother had for a time drawn the tie still closer, -Ogilvie in his first desolation throwing himself entirely upon the -succour and help of his brother-in-law; and the young ones clinging with -redoubled tenderness to the kind Uncle John, whom for the first time -they found out to be “so like mamma!” There never was a day in which he -did not appear on his way to his visiting, or to a session meeting, or -some catechising or christening among the hills. They were dependent -upon him, and he upon them. But now this constant association had come -to an end. No, not to an end—that it could never do; but, in all -likelihood, it must now change its conditions.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-24" id="page_vol-1-24">{v.1-24}</a></span></p> - -<p>John Moubray was an old bachelor without chick or child: so most people -thought. In reality, he was not a bachelor at all; but his married life -had lasted only a year, and that was nearly thirty years ago! The little -world about might be excused for forgetting—or himself even—for what -is one year out of fifty-four? Perhaps that one year had given him more -insight into the life of men; perhaps it had made him softer, tenderer -to the weak. That mild celibacy, which the Church of Rome has found so -powerful an instrument, was touched perhaps to a more benignant outcome -still in this Scotch minister, by the fact that he had loved like his -fellows, and been as other men in his time, a triumphant bridegroom, a -woman’s husband. But the experience itself was long past, and had left -no trace behind; it was to him as a dream. Often he felt uncertain -whether there had been any reality in it at all—whether it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-25" id="page_vol-1-25">{v.1-25}</a></span> was not a -golden vision such as is permitted to youth.</p> - -<p>In these circumstances, it may be supposed that the closing upon him in -any degree of the house which had been his sister’s, which belonged to -the most intimate friend of everyday life, and which was the home of -children who were almost his own children, was very serious to Uncle -John.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, to do her justice, was anxious to obviate any feeling of -this kind. The very first time he dined there after her marriage, she -took him aside into a corner of the drawing-room, and talked to him -privately.</p> - -<p>“I hope there will be no difference, Mr. Moubray,” she said; “I hope you -will not let it make any difference that I am here.”</p> - -<p>“Difference?” said John, startled a little. He had already felt the -difference, but had made up his mind to it as a thing that must be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-26" id="page_vol-1-26">{v.1-26}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know,” said the lady, “that I’m not clever enough to take your -sister’s place; but so far as a good meaning goes, and a real desire to -be a mother to the children, and a friend to you, if you will let me, -nobody could be better disposed than I am, if you will just take me at -my word.”</p> - -<p>The minister was so unprepared for any such speech that he stammered a -little over his reply.</p> - -<p>“My sister,” he said, “had no pretensions to be clever. That was never -the ground my poor Jeanie took up. She was a good woman, and very dear -to——very dear to those she belonged to,” he said, with a huskiness in -his voice.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I say. I come here in a way that is hard upon a woman, -with one before me that I will always be compared to. But this one thing -I must say, that I hope you will come about the house just as often as -you used to do, and in the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-27" id="page_vol-1-27">{v.1-27}</a></span> way, coming in whenever it enters your -head to do so, and believing that you are always welcome. Always -welcome. I don’t say I will always be here, for I think it only right to -keep up with society (if it were but for Effie’s sake) more than the -last Mrs. Ogilvie did. But I will never be happy if you don’t come out -and in just in your ordinary, Mr. Moubray, just as you’ve always been -accustomed to do.”</p> - -<p>John Moubray went home after this address with a mingled sense of humour -and vexation and approval. It made him half angry to be invited to his -brother-in-law’s house in this way, as if he required invitation. But, -at the same time, he did not deny that she meant well.</p> - -<p>And she did mean well. She meant to make Effie one of the most complete -of young ladies, and Gilston the model country-seat of a Scots -gentleman. She meant to do her duty to the most minute particular.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-28" id="page_vol-1-28">{v.1-28}</a></span> She -meant her husband to be happy, and her children to be clothed in scarlet -and prosperity, and comfort to be diffused around.</p> - -<p>All these preliminaries were long past at the point at which this -narrative begins. Effie had grown up, and Eric was away in India with -his regiment. He had not been intended for a soldier, but whether it was -that Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion, expressed very frankly, that the army was -the right thing for him, influenced the mind of the family in general, -or whether the lad found the new rule too unlike the old to take much -pleasure in his home, the fact was that he went into the army and -disappeared, to the great grief of Effie and Uncle John, but, so far as -appeared, of no one else, for little Roderick had just been born, and -Mr. Ogilvie was ridiculously delighted with the baby, which seemed to -throw his grown-up son altogether into the shade.</p> - -<p>It need scarcely be said that both before<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-29" id="page_vol-1-29">{v.1-29}</a></span> and after this event there -was great trouble and many struggles with Effie, who had been so used to -her own way, Mrs. Ogilvie said, that to train her was a task almost -beyond mortal powers. Yet it had been done. So long as Eric remained at -home, the difficulties had been great.</p> - -<p>And then there was all but the additional drawback of a premature love -story to make matters worse. But that had been happily, silently, -expeditiously smothered in the bud, a triumph of which Mrs. Ogilvie was -so proud that it was with difficulty she kept it from Effie herself; and -she did not attempt to keep it from Mr. Moubray, to whom, after the lads -were safely gone, she confided the fact that young Ronald Sutherland, -who had been constantly about the house before her marriage, and who -since that had spent as much of his time with the brother and sister -out-of-doors as had been possible, had come to Mr. Ogilvie a few days -before his departure<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-30" id="page_vol-1-30">{v.1-30}</a></span>—“What for, can you imagine?” the lady said.</p> - -<p>Now Ronald was a neighbour’s son, the companion by nature of the two -children of Gilston. He had got his commission in the same regiment, and -joined it at the same time as Eric. He was twenty when Eric was -eighteen, so much in advance and no more. The minister could have -divined, perhaps, had he set his wits to the task, but he had no desire -to forestall the explanation, and he shook his head in reply.</p> - -<p>“With a proposal for Effie, if you please!” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and she -only sixteen, not half-educated, nor anything like what I want her to -be. And, if you will believe me, Robert was half-disposed—well, not to -accept it; but to let the boy speak to her, and bring another bonny -business on my hands.”</p> - -<p>“They are too young,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Too young! They are too—everything that can be thought of—too -ridiculous I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-31" id="page_vol-1-31">{v.1-31}</a></span> say. Fortunately Robert spoke to me, and I got him -to make the lad promise not to say a word to Effie or to any one till he -comes back. It will be a long time before he can come back, and who -knows what may happen in the meantime? Too young! There is a great deal -more than being merely too young. I mean Effie to make a much better -match than that.”</p> - -<p>“He is a good boy,” said Mr. Moubray; “if he were older, and perhaps a -little richer, I would not wish a better, for my part.”</p> - -<p>“If all ministers were as unworldly as you!—it is what is sorely wanted -in the Church, as Robert always says. But parents may be pardoned if -they look a little more to interest in the case of their children. I -will very likely never have grown-up daughters of my own. And Effie must -make a good match; I have set my heart on that. She is growing up a -pretty creature, and she will be far more quiet and manageable for her -education now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-32" id="page_vol-1-32">{v.1-32}</a></span> that, heaven be praised, those boys are away.”</p> - -<p>“As one of the boys carries a large piece of my heart with him, you will -not expect me to be so pious and so thankful,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“O Uncle John! I am sure you would like Effie to get the best of -educations. She never would have settled down to it, never! if that lad -had got his way.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Moubray could not say a word against this, for it was all true; but -he could not meet Effie’s wistful eyes when she crept to his side, in -his study or out-of-doors whenever they met, and hung upon his arm, and -asked him where he thought they would be by now? It was Eric chiefly -they were both thinking of, yet Effie unawares said “they.” How far -would they be on their journey? It was not then the quick way such as we -are happily used to now, but a long, long journey round the stormy Cape, -three lingering months<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-33" id="page_vol-1-33">{v.1-33}</a></span> of sea, and so long, so long before any news -could come.</p> - -<p>The uncle and niece, who were now more close companions than ever, were -found in the minister’s study one day with a map stretched out before -them, their heads closely bent over it, his all clad with vigorous curls -of gray, hers shining in soft locks of brown, their eyes so intent that -they did not hear the opening door and the rustle of Mrs. Ogilvie’s silk -gown.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing with your heads so close together?” that lady said. -And the two started like guilty things. But Uncle John explained calmly -that Effie was feeble in her geography, and no more was said.</p> - -<p>And so everything settled down. Effie, it was true, was much more -manageable after her brother was away. She had to confine herself to -shorter walks, to give up much of that freedom of movement which a girl -can only be indulged in when she has a brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-34" id="page_vol-1-34">{v.1-34}</a></span> by her side. She was -very dull for a time, and rather rebellious; but that too wore out, as -everything will wear out if we but wait long enough.</p> - -<p>And now she was nineteen, on the threshold of her life—a pretty -creature, as her stepmother had said, not a great beauty like those that -bewitch the world when they are seen, which is but rarely. Effie was -pretty as the girls are by dozens, like the flowers, overflowing over -all the face of the country, making it sweet. Her hair and her eyes were -brown, like most other people’s. She was no wonder or prodigy, but fair -and honest and true, a pleasure to behold. And after all those youthful -tribulations she was still a happy girl enough at home.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, when all was said, was a well-meaning woman. There was no -tyranny nor unkindness in the house.</p> - -<p>So this young soul expanded in the hands of the people who had the care -of it, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-35" id="page_vol-1-35">{v.1-35}</a></span> who had cared for it so far well, though not with much -understanding; how it sped in the times of action, and in the crisis -that was approaching, and how far they did their duty by it, we have now -to see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-36" id="page_vol-1-36">{v.1-36}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> parish of Gilston is not a wealthy one. It lies not far from the -Borders, where there is much moorland and pasture-land, and not much -high farming. The farmhouses are distant and scattered, the population -small. The greatest house in the district, indeed, stands within its -boundaries, but that was shut up at this moment, and of use to nobody. -There were two or three country houses of the smaller sort scattered -about, at four and five miles’ distance from each other, and a cluster -of dwellings near the church, in which amid a few cottages rose the -solid square house of the doctor, which he called Gowanbrae, and the -cottage of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-37" id="page_vol-1-37">{v.1-37}</a></span> the Miss Dempsters, which they called Rosebank.</p> - -<p>The doctor, whose name was Jardine, had a great deal to do, and rode -about the country early and late. The Miss Dempsters had nothing to do -except to keep up a general supervision of the proceedings of the -neighbours and of all that happened in the country side. It was a -supervision not unkind.</p> - -<p>They were good neighbours, always handy and ready in any case of family -affliction or rejoicing. They were ready to lend anything and everything -that might be required—pepper, or a lemon, or cloves, or soap, or any -of the little things that so generally give out before the storeroom is -replenished, when you are out of reach of co-operative stores or -grocers’ shops; or their glass and china, or knives, or lamps—or even a -fine pair of silver candlesticks which they were very proud of—when -their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-38" id="page_vol-1-38">{v.1-38}</a></span> neighbours had company: or good advice to any extent, which -sometimes was not wanted.</p> - -<p>It was perhaps because everybody ran to them in case of need that they -were so well acquainted with everybody’s affairs. And then people were -so unreasonable as to find fault and call the Miss Dempsters gossips. It -was undeserved: they spoke ill of nobody unless there was good cause; -they made no mischief: but they did know everything, and they did more -or less superintend the life of the parish, having leisure and unbounded -interest in life.</p> - -<p>The neighbours grumbled and sometimes called them names—old maids, old -cats, and many other pretty titles: which did not prevent them from -borrowing the spoons or the candlesticks, or sending for Miss Robina -when anything happened. Had these excellent ladies died the parish would -have mourned sincerely, and they would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-39" id="page_vol-1-39">{v.1-39}</a></span> been universally missed: -but as they were alive and well they were called the old cats. Human -nature is subject to such perversities.</p> - -<p>The rural world in general had thus an affectionate hostility to the -all-seeing, all-knowing, all-aiding ladies of Rosebank; but between them -and Dr. Jardine the feeling was a great deal stronger. Hatred, it was -understood, was not too strong a word. Rosebank stood a little higher -than Gowanbrae: it was raised, indeed, upon a knoll, so that the house, -though in front only one storey, was two storeys behind, and in reality -a much larger house than it looked. The doctor’s house was on the level -of the village, and the Miss Dempsters from their point of vantage -commanded him completely.</p> - -<p>He was of opinion that they watched all his proceedings from the windows -of their drawing-room, which in summer were always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-40" id="page_vol-1-40">{v.1-40}</a></span> open, with white -curtains fluttering, and baskets of flowers so arranged that it was -hopeless to attempt to return the inspection. There was a garden bench -on the path that ran in front of the windows, and on fine days Miss -Robina, who was not at all rheumatic, would sit there in order to see -the doctor’s doings more distinctly. So at least the doctor thought.</p> - -<p>“You may say it’s as good as a lady at the head of my table,” said the -doctor. “That old cat counts every bite I put into my mouth. She knows -what Merran has got for my dinner, and watches me eat. I cannot take a -glass of wine, when I’m tired, but they make a note of it.”</p> - -<p>“Then, doctor, you should draw down your blind,” said the minister, who -was always a peacemaker.</p> - -<p>“Me!” cried Dr. Jardine, with a fine Scotch contempt for the other -pronoun. “Me give the old hag that satisfaction. Not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-41" id="page_vol-1-41">{v.1-41}</a></span> for the half of -Scotland! I am doing nothing that I am ashamed of, I hope.”</p> - -<p>Miss Robina on her side expressed other views. She had a soft, -slightly-indistinct voice, as if that proverbial butter that “would not -melt in her mouth” was held there when she spoke.</p> - -<p>“It’s a great vexation,” she said, in her placid way, “that we cannot -look out at our own windows without being affronted with the sight of -that hideous house. It’s just an offence: and a man’s house that is -shameless—that will come to the window and take off his dram, and nod -his head as if he were saying, Here’s to ye. It is just an offence,” -Miss Robina said.</p> - -<p>Miss Robina was the youngest. She was a large woman, soft and -imperfectly laced, like a cushion badly stuffed and bulging here and -there. Her hair was still yellow as it had been in her youth, but her -complexion had not worn so well. Her features<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-42" id="page_vol-1-42">{v.1-42}</a></span> were large like her -person. Miss Dempster was smaller and gray, which she considered much -more distinguished than the yellow braids of her sister.</p> - -<p>“It’s common to suppose Beenie dyes her hair; but I’m thankful to say -nobody can doubt me,” she would say. “It was very bonny hair when we -were young; but when the face gets old there’s something softening in -the white. I would have everybody gray at our age; not that Beenie -dyes—oh no. She never had that much thought.”</p> - -<p>Miss Beenie was always in the foreground, taking up much more room than -her sister, and able to be out in all weathers. But Miss Dempster, -though rheumatic, and often confined to the house, was the real head of -everything. It was she who took upon her chiefly the care of the manners -of the young people, and especially of Effie Ogilvie, who was the -foremost object<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-43" id="page_vol-1-43">{v.1-43}</a></span> of regard, inspection, and criticism to these ladies. -They knew everything about her from her birth. She could not have a -headache without their knowledge (though indeed she gave them little -trouble in this respect, her headaches being few); and as for her -wardrobe, even her new chemises (if the reader will not be shocked) had -to be exhibited to the sisters, who had an exasperating way of -investigating a hem, and inspecting the stitching, which, as they were -partly made by Effie herself, made that young lady’s brow burn.</p> - -<p>“But I approve of your trimmings,” Miss Dempster said; “none of your -common cotton stuff. Take my word for it, a real lace is ten times -thriftier. It will wear and wear—while that rubbish has to be thrown -into the fire.”</p> - -<p>“It was some we had in the house,” Mrs. Ogilvie said; “I could not let -her buy thread lace for her underclothes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh ay, it would be some of her mother’s,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-44" id="page_vol-1-44">{v.1-44}</a></span>” and Miss Robina, with a nod -and a tone which as good as said, “That accounts for it.” And this made -Mrs. Ogilvie indignant too.</p> - -<p>The Miss Dempsters had taken a great interest in Ronald Sutherland. They -knew (of course) how it was that Mrs. Ogilvie so skilfully had baulked -that young hero in his intentions, and they did not approve. The lady -defended herself stoutly.</p> - -<p>“An engagement at sixteen!” she cried, “and with a long-legged lad in a -marching regiment, with not enough money to buy himself shoes.”</p> - -<p>“And how can ye tell,” said Miss Robina, “that she will ever get another -offer? He was a nice lad—and nice lads are not so plentiful as they -were in our days.”</p> - -<p>“For all so plentiful as they were, neither you nor me, Mrs. Ogilvie is -thinking, ever came to that advancement,” said Miss Dempster. “And -that’s true. But I’m not against young engagements, for my part. It is a -great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-45" id="page_vol-1-45">{v.1-45}</a></span> divert to them both, and a very good thing for the young man; -where there’s land and sea between them that they cannot fash their -neighbours I can see no harm in it; and Ronald was a good lad.”</p> - -<p>“Without a penny!”</p> - -<p>“The pennies will come where there’s good conduct and a good heart. And -I would have let her choose for herself. It’s a great divert——”</p> - -<p>“I must do my own business my own way, Miss Dempster, and I think I am -the best judge of what is good for Effie. I and her father.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no doubt—you, and her father; her mother might have been of a -different opinion. But that’s neither here nor there, for the poor thing -is dead and gone.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Sarah,” said Miss Robina, “it’s to be hoped so, or the laird, -honest man, would be in a sad position, and our friend here no better. -It’s unbecoming to discourse in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-46" id="page_vol-1-46">{v.1-46}</a></span> loose way. No, no; we are meaning -no interference. We’ve no right. We are not even cousins or kinswomen, -only old friends. But Ronald, ye see—Ronald is a kind of connection. We -are wae for Ronald, poor lad. But he’s young, and there’s plenty of -time, and there’s no saying what may happen.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing shall happen if I can help it; and I hope there will not be a -word said to put anything in Effie’s head,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. And ever -since this discussion she had been more severe than ever against the two -old ladies.</p> - -<p>“Take care that ye put no confidence in them,” she said to her -stepdaughter. “They can be very sweet when it suits their purpose. But I -put no faith in them. They will set you against your duties—they will -set you against me. No doubt I’m not your mother: but I have always -tried to do my duty by you.”</p> - -<p>Effie had replied with a few words of ac<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-47" id="page_vol-1-47">{v.1-47}</a></span>knowledgment. Mrs. Ogilvie was -always very kind. It was Uncle John’s conviction, which had a great deal -of weight with the girl, that she meant sincerely to do her duty, as she -said. But, nevertheless, the doors of Effie’s heart would not open; they -yielded a little, just enough to warrant her in feeling that she had not -closed them, but that was all.</p> - -<p>She was much more at ease with the Miss Dempsters than with her -stepmother. Her relations with them were quite simple. They had scolded -her and questioned her all her life, and she did not mind what they said -to her. Sometimes she would blaze into sudden resentment and cry, or -else avenge herself with a few hot words. But as there was no bond of -duty in respect to her old friends, there was perfect freedom in their -intercourse. If they hurt her she cried out. But when Mrs. Ogilvie hurt -her she was silent and thought the more.</p> - -<p>Effie was just nineteen when it began to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-48" id="page_vol-1-48">{v.1-48}</a></span> rumoured over the country -that the mansion-house of Allonby was let. There was no place like it -within twenty miles. It was an old house, with the remains of a house -still older by its side—a proof that the Allonbies had been in the -countryside since the old days when life so near the Border was full of -disturbance.</p> - -<p>The house lay low on the side of a stream, which, after it had passed -decorously by the green lawns and park, ran into a dell which was famed -far and near. It was in itself a beautiful little ravine, richly wooded, -in the midst of a country not very rich in wood; and at the opening of -the dell or dene, as they called it, was one of those little lonely -churchyards which are so pathetic in Scotland, burying-places of the -past, which are to be found in the strangest unexpected places, -sometimes without any trace of the protecting chapel which in the old -times must have consecrated their loneliness and kept the dead like a -faithful watcher.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-49" id="page_vol-1-49">{v.1-49}</a></span></p> - -<p>In the midst of this little cluster of graves there were, however, the -ruins of a humble little church very primitive and old, which, but for -one corner of masonry with a small lancet window still standing, would -have looked like a mound somewhat larger than the rest; and in the -shadow of the ruin was a tombstone, with an inscription which recorded -an old tragedy of love and death; and this it was which brought pilgrims -to visit the little shrine.</p> - -<p>The proprietor of the house was an old Lady Allonby, widowed and -childless, who had long lived in Italy, and was very unlikely ever to -return; consequently it made a great excitement in Gilston when it -became known that at last she had been persuaded to let her house, and -that a very rich family, a very gay family, people with plenty of money, -and the most liberal inclinations in the way of spending, were coming to -Allonby.</p> - -<p>They were people who had been in busi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-50" id="page_vol-1-50">{v.1-50}</a></span>ness, rich people, people from -London. There were at least one son and some daughters. The inhabitants -of the smaller houses, the Ogilvies, the Johnstons, the Hopes, and even -the Miss Dempsters—all the families who considered themselves county -people,—had great talks and consultations as to whether they should -call. There were some who thought it was their duty to Lady Allonby, as -an old friend and neighbour; and there were some who thought it a duty -to themselves.</p> - -<p>The Diroms, which was the name of the strangers, were not in any case -people to be ignored. They gave, it was said, everything that could be -given in the way of entertainment; the sons and the daughters at least, -if not the father and mother, were well educated.</p> - -<p>But there were a few people who were not convinced by these arguments. -The Miss Dempsters stood in the front of this resisting party. They did -not care for entertainments,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-51" id="page_vol-1-51">{v.1-51}</a></span> and they did not like <i>parvenoos</i>. The -doctor on the other hand, who had not much family to brag of, went to -Allonby at once. He said, in his rough way, that it was a providence -there was so much influenza fleeing about, which had made it necessary -to send for him so soon.</p> - -<p>“I went, you may be sure, as fast as Bess’s four legs could carry me. -I’m of opinion there are many guineas for me lying about there, and it -would be disgraceful not to take them,” the doctor said with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“There’s no guineas in the question for Beenie and me,” said Miss -Dempster. “I’m thinking we’ll keep our view of the question. I’m not -fond of new people, and I think Lady Allonby, after staying so long -away, might just have stayed to the end, and let the heirs do what they -liked. She cannot want the money; and it’s just an abomination to put -strange folk in the house of your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-52" id="page_vol-1-52">{v.1-52}</a></span> fathers; and folk that would have -been sent down to the servants’ hall in other days.”</p> - -<p>“Not so bad as that,” said the minister, “unless perhaps you are going -back to feudal times. Money has always had its acknowledgment in modern -society—and has paid for it sweetly.”</p> - -<p>“We will give it no acknowledgment,” said the old lady. “We’re but -little likely to be the better for their money.”</p> - -<p>This conversation took place at a little dinner in Gilston House, -convened, in fact, for the settlement of the question.</p> - -<p>“That accounts for the difference of opinion,” said the doctor. “I’ll be -a great deal the better for their money; and I’m not minding about the -blood—so long as they’ll keep it cool with my prescriptions,” he added, -with a laugh. He was a coarse man, as the Rosebank ladies knew, and what -could you expect?</p> - -<p>“There is one thing,” said Mrs. Ogilvie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-53" id="page_vol-1-53">{v.1-53}</a></span> “that has a great effect upon -me, and that is, that there are young people in the house. There are not -many young people in the neighbourhood, which is a great disadvantage -for Effie. It would be a fine thing for her to have some companions of -her own age. But I would like to hear something more about the family. -Can anybody tell me who <i>she</i> was? The man may be a <i>parvenoo</i>, but -these sort of persons sometimes get very nice wives. There was a friend -of my sister’s that married a person of the name of Dirom. And she was a -Maitland: so there is no telling.”</p> - -<p>“There are Maitlands and Maitlands,” said Miss Robina. “It’s a very good -name: but our niece that is married in the north had a butler that was -John Maitland. I said she should just call him John. But he did not like -that. And then there was a joke that they would call him Lauderdale. But -the man was just very much offended, and said the name was his own name, -as much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-54" id="page_vol-1-54">{v.1-54}</a></span> as if was a duke: in which, no doubt, he was right.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way with all Scots names,” said her sister. “There are -Dempsters that I would not hire to wait at my table. We are not setting -up to be better than our neighbours. I’m not standing on a name. But I -would not encourage these mere monied folk to come into a quiet -neighbourhood, and flaunt their big purses in our faces. They’ll spoil -the servants, they’ll learn the common folk ill ways. That’s always what -happens. Ye’ll see the very chickens will be dearer, and Nancy Miller at -the shop will set up her saucy face, and tell ye they’re all ordered for -Allonby; so they shall have no countenance from me.”</p> - -<p>“There is something in that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we have plenty of -chickens of our own: I seldom need to buy. And then there is Effie to -take into consideration. They will be giving balls and parties. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-55" id="page_vol-1-55">{v.1-55}</a></span> have -Effie to think of. I am thinking I will have to go.”</p> - -<p>“I hope Effie will keep them at a distance,” said Miss Robina. Effie -heard this discussion without taking any part in it. She had no -objection to balls and parties, and there was in her mind the vague -excitement with which a girl always hears of possible companions of her -own age.</p> - -<p>What might be coming with them? new adventures, new experiences, eternal -friendship perhaps—perhaps—who can tell what? Whether the mother was a -Maitland or the father a <i>parvenoo</i>, as the ladies said, it mattered -little to Effie. She had few companions, and her heart was all on the -side of the new people with a thoughtlessness in respect to their -antecedents which perhaps was culpable.</p> - -<p>But then Effie was but nineteen, which made a difference, Miss Robina -herself was the first to allow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-56" id="page_vol-1-56">{v.1-56}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">We</span> will just go without waiting any longer,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “We are -their nearest neighbours—and they will take it kind if we lose no time. -As for these old cats, it will be little matter to the Diroms what they -do—but your papa, that is a different affair. It can do no harm, for -everybody knows who <i>we</i> are, Effie, and it may do good. So we will be -on the safe side, whatever happens. And there is nothing much doing for -the horses to-day. Be you ready at three o’clock, and we will take Rory -in the carriage for a drive.”</p> - -<p>Effie obeyed her stepmother with alacrity. She had not taken any part in -the argument, but her imagination had found a great deal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-57" id="page_vol-1-57">{v.1-57}</a></span> to say. She -had seen the young Diroms out riding. She had seen them at church. There -were two girls about her own age, and there was a brother. The brother -was of quite secondary importance, she said to herself; nevertheless, -there are always peradventures in the air, and when one thinks that at -any moment one’s predestined companion—he whom heaven intends, whatever -men may think or say—may walk round the corner!</p> - -<p>The image of Ronald, which had never been very deeply imprinted, had -faded out of Effie’s imagination. It had never reached any farther than -her imagination. And in her little excitement and the pleasurable -quickening of her pulsations, as she set out upon this drive with her -stepmother, there was that vague sense that there was no telling what -might come of it which gives zest to the proceedings of youth. It was -the nearest approach to setting out upon a career of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-58" id="page_vol-1-58">{v.1-58}</a></span> adventure which -had ever fallen to Effie’s share. She was going to discover a world. She -was a new little Columbus, setting her sail towards the unknown.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie ran on all the way with a sort of monologue, every sentence -of which began with, “I wonder.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, I wish I could have found out who <i>she</i> was. I wonder if it -will turn out to be my sister’s friend. She was a great deal older than -I am, of course, and might very well have grown-up sons and daughters. -For Mary is the eldest of us all, and if she had ever had any children, -they would have been grown up by this time. We will see whether she will -say anything about Mary. And I wonder if you will like the girls. They -will always have been accustomed to more luxury than would be at all -becoming to a country gentleman’s daughter like you. And I wonder if the -young man—the brother—will be always at Allonby. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-59" id="page_vol-1-59">{v.1-59}</a></span> will have to ask -them to their dinner. And I wonder——” But here Mrs. Ogilvie’s -wonderings were cut short on her lips; and so great was her astonishment -that her lips dropped apart, and she sat gaping, incapable of speech.</p> - -<p>“I declare!” she cried at last, and could say no more. The cause of this -consternation was that, as they entered the avenue of Allonby, another -vehicle met them coming down. And this turned out to be the carriage -from the inn, which was the only one to be had for ten miles round, -conveying Miss Dempster and Miss Beenie, in their best apparel. The -Gilston coachman stopped, as was natural, and so did the driver of the -cab.</p> - -<p>“Well,” cried Miss Dempster, waving her hand, “ye are going, I see, -after all. We’ve just been having our lunch with them. Since it was to -be done, it was just as well to do it in good time. And a very nice -luncheon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-60" id="page_vol-1-60">{v.1-60}</a></span> it was, and nicely set upon the table, that I must say—but -how can you wonder, with such a number of servants! If they’re not good -for that, they’re good for nothing. There was just too much, a great -deal too much, upon the table; and a fine set-out of plate, and——”</p> - -<p>“Sarah, Mrs. Ogilvie is not minding about that.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ogilvie is like other folk, and likes to hear our first -impressions. And, Effie, you will need just to trim up your beaver; for, -though they are not what you can call fine, they are in the flower of -the fashion. We’ll keep you no longer. Sandy, you may drive on. Eh! -no—stop a moment,” cried the old lady, flourishing her umbrella.</p> - -<p>The Gilston coachman had put his horses in motion also; so that when the -two carriages were checked again, it was obliquely and from a distance, -raising her voice, that Miss Dempster shouted this piece of -inform<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-61" id="page_vol-1-61">{v.1-61}</a></span>ation: “Ye’ll be gratified to hear that she <i>was</i> a Miss -Maitland,” the old lady cried.</p> - -<p>“Well, if ever I heard the like!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, as they went on. -“There to their lunch, after vowing they would never give their -countenance——! That shows how little you can trust even your nearest -neighbours. They are just two old cats! But I am glad she is the person -I thought. As Mary’s sister, I will have a different kind of a standing -from ordinary strangers, and you will profit by that, Effie. I would not -wonder if you found them a great acquisition; and your father and me, we -would be very well pleased. We’ve heard nothing about the gentlemen of -the house. I wonder if they’re always at home. As I was saying, I wonder -if that brother of theirs is an idle man about the place, like so many. -I’m not fond of idle men. I wonder——”</p> - -<p>And for twenty minutes more Mrs. Ogilvie continued wondering, until the -carriage<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-62" id="page_vol-1-62">{v.1-62}</a></span> drew up at the door of Allonby, which was open, admitting a -view of a couple of fine footmen and two large dogs, which last got up -and came forward with lazy cordiality to welcome the visitors.</p> - -<p>“Dear me!” Mrs. Ogilvie said aside. “I am always distressed with Glen -for lying at the door. I wonder if it can be the fashion. I wonder——”</p> - -<p>There was time for these remarks, for there was a long corridor to go -through before a door was softly opened, and the ladies found -themselves, much to their surprise, in what Mrs. Ogilvie afterwards -called “the dark.” It was a room carefully shaded to that twilight which -is dear at the present period to fashionable eyes. The sun is never too -overpowering at Gilston; but the Miss Diroms were young women of their -generation, and scorned to discriminate. They had sunblinds without and -curtains within, so that the light was tem<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-63" id="page_vol-1-63">{v.1-63}</a></span>pered into an obscurity in -which the robust eyes of country people, coming out of that broad vulgar -daylight to which they were accustomed, could at first distinguish -nothing.</p> - -<p>Effie’s young and credulous imagination was in a quiver of anticipation, -admiration, and wonder. It was all new to her—the great house, the -well-regulated silence, the poetic gloom. She held her breath, expecting -what might next be revealed to her, with the awe and entranced and -wondering satisfaction of a novice about to be initiated. The noiseless -figures that rose and came forward and with a soft pressure of her hand, -two of them mistily white, the other (only the mother, who didn’t count) -dark, impressed her beyond description.</p> - -<p>The only thing that a little diminished the spell was the voices, more -highly pitched than those native to the district, in unaccustomed -modulations of “high English.” Effie murmured quite unconsciously an -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-64" id="page_vol-1-64">{v.1-64}</a></span>distinct “Very well, thank you” in answer to their greetings, and -then they all sat down, and it became gradually possible to see.</p> - -<p>The two Miss Diroms were tall and had what are called fine figures. They -came and sat on either side of Effie, one clasping her hands round her -knees, the other leaning back in a corner of the deep sofa with her head -against a cushion. The sofa and the cushion were covered with yellow -damask, against which the white dress made a pretty harmony, as Effie’s -eyes got accustomed to the dimness. But Effie, sitting very straight and -properly in her chair, was much bewildered by the ease with which one -young lady threw her arms over her head, and the other clasped them -round her knees.</p> - -<p>“How good of you to come!” said the one on the sofa, who was the eldest. -“We were wondering if you would call.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-65" id="page_vol-1-65">{v.1-65}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“We saw you at church on Sunday,” said the other, “and we thought you -looked so nice. What a funny little church! I suppose we ought to say -k’k.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie will tell us what to say, and how to talk to the natives. -Do tell us. We have been half over the world, but never in Scotland -before.”</p> - -<p>“Oh then, you will perhaps have been in India,” said Effie; “my brother -is there.”</p> - -<p>“Is he in the army? Of course, all Scotch people have sons in the army. -Oh no, we’ve never been in India.”</p> - -<p>“India,” said the other, “is not in the world—it’s outside. We’ve been -everywhere where people go. Is he coming back soon? Is he good at tennis -and that sort of thing? Do you play a great deal here?”</p> - -<p>“They do at Lochlee,” said Effie, “and at Kirkconnel: but not me. For I -have nobody to play with.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-66" id="page_vol-1-66">{v.1-66}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Poor little thing!” said the young lady on the sofa, patting her on the -arm: and then they both laughed, while Effie grew crimson with shy pride -and confusion. She did not see what she had said that was laughable; but -it was evident that they did, and this is not an agreeable sensation -even to a little girl.</p> - -<p>“You shall come here and play,” said the other. “We are having a new -court made. And Fred—where is Fred, Phyll?—Fred will be so pleased to -have such a pretty little thing to play with.”</p> - -<p>“How should I know where he is?—mooning about somewhere, sketching or -something.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Effie, “do you sketch?” Perhaps she was secretly mollified, -though she said to herself that she was yet more offended, by being -called a pretty little thing.</p> - -<p>“Not I; but my brother, that is Fred:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-67" id="page_vol-1-67">{v.1-67}</a></span> and I am Phyllis, and she is -Doris. Now tell us your name, for we can’t go on calling each other -Miss, can we? Such near neighbours as we are, and going to see so much -of each other.”</p> - -<p>“No, of course we can’t go on saying Miss. What should you say was her -name, Phyll? Let us guess. People are always like their names. I should -say Violet.”</p> - -<p>“Dear no, such a mawkish little sentimental name. She is not sentimental -at all—are you? What is an Ogilvie name? You have all family names in -Scotland, haven’t you, that go from mother to daughter?”</p> - -<p>Effie sat confused while they talked over her. She was not accustomed to -this sudden familiarity. To call the girls by their names, when she -scarcely had formed their acquaintance, seemed terrible to -her—alarming, yet pleasant too. She blushed, yet felt it was time to -stop the discussion.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-68" id="page_vol-1-68">{v.1-68}</a></span></p> - -<p>“They call me Effie,” she said. “That is not all my name, but it is my -name at home.”</p> - -<p>“They call me Effie,” repeated Miss Doris, with a faint mockery in her -tone; “what a pretty way of saying it, just like the Italians! If you -are going to be so conscientious as that, I wasn’t christened Doris, I -must tell you: but I was determined Phyll should not have all the luck. -We are quite eighteenth century here—furniture and all.”</p> - -<p>“But I can’t see the furniture,” said Effie, making for the first time -an original remark. “Do you like to sit in the dark?”</p> - -<p>At this both the sisters laughed again, and said that she was a most -amusing little thing. “But don’t say that to mamma, or it will quite -strengthen her in her rebellion. She would like to sit in the sun, I -believe. She was brought up in the barbarous ages, and doesn’t know any -better. There she is moving off into the other room with your mother.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-69" id="page_vol-1-69">{v.1-69}</a></span> -Now the two old ladies will put their heads together——”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Ogilvie is not an old lady,” said Effie hastily; “she is my -stepmother. She is almost as young as——” Here she paused, with a -glance at Miss Phyllis on the sofa, who was still lying back with her -head against the cushion. Effie felt instinctively that it would not be -wise to finish her sentence. “She is a great deal younger than you would -suppose,” she added, once more a little confused.</p> - -<p>“That explains why you are in such good order. Have you to do what she -tells you? Mamma is much better than that—we have her very well in -hand. Oh, you are not going yet. It is impossible. There must be tea -before you go. Mamma likes everybody to have something. And then -Fred—you must see Fred—or at least he must see you——”</p> - -<p>“Here he is,” said the other, with a sudden grasp of Effie’s arm.</p> - -<p>Effie was much startled by this call upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-70" id="page_vol-1-70">{v.1-70}</a></span> her attention. She turned -round hastily, following the movement of her new friends. There could -not have been a more dramatic appearance. Fred was coming in by a door -at the end of the room. He had lifted a curtain which hung over it, and -stood in the dim light outside holding back the heavy folds—looking, it -appeared, into the gloom to see if any one was there.</p> - -<p>Naturally, coming out of the daylight his eyes at first made out -nothing, and he stood for some time in this highly effective attitude—a -spectacle which was not unworthy a maiden’s eye. He was tall and slim -like his sisters, dark, almost olive in his complexion, with black hair -clustering closely in innumerable little curls about his head. He was -dressed in a gray morning suit, with a red tie, which was the only spot -of colour visible, and had a great effect. He peered into the gloom, -curving his eyelids as if he had been shortsighted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-71" id="page_vol-1-71">{v.1-71}</a></span></p> - -<p>Then, when sufficient time had elapsed to fix his sight upon Effie’s -sensitive imagination like a sun picture, he spoke: “Are any of you -girls there?” This was all, and it was not much that Fred said. He was -answered by a chorus of laughter from his sisters. They were very fond -of laughing, Effie thought.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, some of us girls are here—three of us. You can come in and be -presented,” Phyllis said.</p> - -<p>“If you think you are worthy of it,” said Doris, once more grasping -Effie’s arm.</p> - -<p>They had all held their breath a little when the hero thus dramatically -presented himself. Doris had kept her hand on Effie’s wrist; perhaps -because she wished to feel those little pulses jump, or else it was -because of that inevitable peradventure which presented itself to them -too, as it had done to Effie. This was the first meeting, but how it -might end, or what it might lead to, who could tell? The girls, though -they were so unlike each other,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-72" id="page_vol-1-72">{v.1-72}</a></span> all three held their breath. And then -the sisters laughed as he approached, and the little excitement dropped.</p> - -<p>“I wish you wouldn’t sit in the dark,” said Fred, dropping the curtain -behind him as he entered. “I can’t see where you are sitting, and if I -am not so respectful as I ought to be, I hope I may be forgiven, for I -can see nothing. Oh, here you are!”</p> - -<p>“It is not the princess; you are not expected to go on your knees,” said -his sisters, while Effie once more felt herself blush furiously at being -the subject of the conversation. “You are going to be presented to Miss -Ogilvie—don’t you know the young lady in white?—oh, of course, you -remember. Effie, my brother Fred. And now you know us all, and we are -going to be the best of friends.”</p> - -<p>“This is very familiar,” said Fred. “Miss Ogilvie, you must not visit it -upon me if Phyll and Dor are exasperating. They always are. But when you -come to know them they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-73" id="page_vol-1-73">{v.1-73}</a></span> are not so bad as you might think. They have it -all their own way in this house. It has always been the habit of the -family to let the girls have their own way—and we find it works well on -the whole, though in point of manners it may leave something to be -desired.”</p> - -<p>He had thrown himself carelessly on the sofa beside his sister as he -spoke. Effie sat very still and erect on her chair and listened with a -dismay and amazement which it would be hard to put into words. She did -not know what to say to this strange group. She was afraid of them, -brother and sisters and altogether. It was the greatest relief to her -when Mrs. Ogilvie returned into the room again, discoursing in very -audible tones with the mistress of the house.</p> - -<p>“I am sure I am very glad to have met with you,” Mrs. Ogilvie was -saying. “They will be so pleased to hear everything. Poor thing! she is -but lonely, with no children<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-74" id="page_vol-1-74">{v.1-74}</a></span> about her, and her husband dead this five -years and more. He was a great loss to her—the kindest man, and always -at her call. But we must just make up our mind to take the bitter with -the sweet in this life. Effie, where are you? We must really be going. -We have Rory, that is my little boy, with us in the carriage, and he -will be getting very tired of waiting. I hope it will not be long before -we see you at Gilston. Good-bye, Mrs. Dirom; Effie, I hope you have said -to the young ladies that we will be glad to see them—and you too,” -giving her hand to Fred—“you especially, for we have but few young men -in the country.”</p> - -<p>“I accept your invitation as a compliment to the genus young man, Mrs. -Ogilvie—not to me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that is true,” she said with a laugh; “but I am sure, from what I -can see of you, it will soon be as particular as you could wish. Young -people are a great want just in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-75" id="page_vol-1-75">{v.1-75}</a></span> corner of the country. Effie, poor -thing, has felt it all her life: but I hope better things will be coming -for her now.”</p> - -<p>“She shall not be lonely if we can help it,” said the sisters. They -kissed her as they parted, as if they had known her for years, and -called her “dear Effie!” waving their hands to her as she disappeared -into the light. They did not go out to the door with the visitors, as -Effie in the circumstances would have done, but yet sent her away -dazzled by their affectionateness, their offers of regard.</p> - -<p>She felt another creature, a girl with friends, a member of society, as -she drove away. What a thing it is to have friends! She had been assured -often by her stepmother that she was a happy girl to have so many people -who took an interest in her, and would always be glad to give her good -advice. Effie knew where to lay her hand upon a great deal of good -advice at any moment;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-76" id="page_vol-1-76">{v.1-76}</a></span> but that is not everything that is required in -life.</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris! they were like names out of a book, and it was like a -picture in her memory, the slim figure in white sunk deep in the yellow -damask of the sofa, with her dark hair relieved against the big soft -puffy cushion. Exactly like a picture; whereas Effie herself had sat -straight up like a little country girl. Mrs. Ogilvie ran on like a -purling stream as they drove home, expressing her satisfaction that it -was Mary’s friend who was the mistress of the house, and describing all -the varieties of feeling in her own mind on the subject—her conviction -that this was almost too good to be true, and just more fortunate than -could be hoped.</p> - -<p>But Effie listened, and paid no attention. She had a world of her own -now to escape into. Would she ever be bold enough to call them Phyllis -and Doris?—and then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-77" id="page_vol-1-77">{v.1-77}</a></span> Fred—but nobody surely would expect her to call -him Fred.</p> - -<p>Effie was disturbed in these delightful thoughts, and Mrs. Ogilvie’s -monologue was suddenly broken in upon by a sound of horses’ hoofs, and a -dust and commotion upon the road, followed by the apparition of Dr. -Jardine’s mare, with her head almost into the carriage window on Effie’s -side. The doctor’s head above the mare’s was pale. There was foam on his -lips, and he carried his riding whip short and savagely, as if he meant -to strike some one.</p> - -<p>“Tell me just one thing,” he said, without any preliminary greetings; -“have these women been there?”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, doctor, what a fright you have given me. Is anything wrong -with Robert; has anything happened? Bless me, the women! what women? You -have just taken my breath away.”</p> - -<p>“These confounded women that spoil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-78" id="page_vol-1-78">{v.1-78}</a></span> everything—will ye let me know if -they were there?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the Miss —— Well, yes—I was as much surprised as you, doctor. -With their best bonnets on, and all in state in Mr. Ewing’s carriage; -they were there to their lunch.”</p> - -<p>The doctor swore a solemn oath—by——! something which he did not say, -which is always a safe proceeding.</p> - -<p>“You’ll excuse me for stopping you, but I could not believe it. The old -cats! And to their lunch!” At this he gave a loud laugh. “They’re just -inconceivable!” And rode away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-79" id="page_vol-1-79">{v.1-79}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> acquaintance thus formed between the houses of Allonby and Gilston -was followed by much and close intercourse. In the natural order of -things, there came two dinner parties, the first of which was given by -Mrs. Ogilvie, and was a very elaborate business. The lady of Gilston -began her preparations as soon as she returned from that first momentous -call. She spent a long time going over the list of possible guests, -making marks upon the sheet of paper on which Effie had written out the -names.</p> - -<p>“Johnstones—three—no, but that will never do. Him and her we must -have, of course: but Mary must just stay at home,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-80" id="page_vol-1-80">{v.1-80}</a></span> or come after dinner; -where am I to get a gentleman for her? There will have to be two extra -gentlemen anyway for Effie, and one of the Miss Diroms. Do ye think I’m -just made of men? No, no, Mary Johnstone will have to stay at home. The -Duncans?—well, he’s cousin to the Marquis, and that is always -something; but he’s a foolish creature, and his wife is not much better. -Mrs. Heron and Sir John—Oh, yes; she is just a credit to see at your -table, with her diamonds; and though he is rather doited, poor man, he -is a great person in the county. Well, and what do you say to the -Smiths? They’re nobody in particular, so far as birth goes; but the -country is getting so dreadfully democratic that what does that matter? -And they’re monied people like the Diroms themselves, and Lady Smith has -a great deal to say for herself. We will put down the Smiths. But, -Effie, there is one thing that just drives me to despair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-81" id="page_vol-1-81">{v.1-81}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Effie, looking up from the list; “and what is that?”</p> - -<p>“The Miss Dempsters!” cried her stepmother in a tone which might have -touched the hardest heart. That was a question indeed. The Miss -Dempsters would have to be asked for the loan of their forks and spoons, -and their large lamp, and <i>both</i> the silver candlesticks. How after that -would it be possible to leave them out? And how put them in? And how -provide two other men to balance the old ladies? Such questions as these -are enough to turn any woman’s hair gray, as Mrs. Ogilvie said.</p> - -<p>Then when that was settled there came the bill of fare. The entire -village knew days before what there was to be for dinner, and about the -fish that was sent for from Dumfries, and did not turn out all that -could have been wished, so that at the last moment a mere common salmon -from Solway, a thing made no account of, had to be put in the pot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-82" id="page_vol-1-82">{v.1-82}</a></span></p> - -<p>Mrs. Moffatt at the shop had a sight of the pastry, which was “just -remarkable” she said. And a dozen little groups were admitted on the -afternoon of the great day to see the table set out, all covered with -flowers, with the napkins like snowy turrets round the edge, and the -silver and crystal shining. The Ogilvies possessed an epergne won at -some racing meeting long before, which was a great work of art, all in -frosted silver,—a huntsman standing between a leash of dogs; and this, -with the Dempster candlesticks on each side, made a brilliant centre. -And the schoolmaster recorded afterwards amid his notes of the rainfall -and other interesting pieces of information, that the fine smell of the -cooking came as far as the school, and distracted the bairns at their -lessons, causing that melting sensation in the jaws which is described -by the country folk as watering of the mouth.</p> - -<p>Effie was busy all the morning with the flowers, with writing out little -cards for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-83" id="page_vol-1-83">{v.1-83}</a></span> guests’ names, and other such ornamental arrangements.</p> - -<p>Glen, confused in his mind and full of curiosity, followed her about -everywhere, softly waving his great tail like a fan, sweeping off a -light article here and there from the crowded tables, and asking in his -superior doggish way, what all this fuss and excitement (which he rather -enjoyed on the whole) was about? till somebody sent him away with a kick -and an adjuration as being “in everybody’s gait”—which was a sad end to -his impartial and interested spectatorship.</p> - -<p>Little Rory toddled at his sister’s heels on the same errand, but could -not be kicked like Glen—and altogether there was a great deal of -confusion. But you never would have divined this when Mrs. Ogilvie came -sweeping down stairs in her pink silk, as if the dinner had all been -arranged by her major-domo, and she had never argued with the cook in -her life.</p> - -<p>It may easily be supposed that the members<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-84" id="page_vol-1-84">{v.1-84}</a></span> of the family had little -time to compare notes while their guests remained. And it was not till -the last carriage had rolled away and the lady of the house had made her -last smiling protestation that it was still just ridiculously early, -that this meritorious woman threw herself into her favourite corner of -the sofa, with a profound sigh of pleasure and relief.</p> - -<p>“Well!” she said, and repeated that long-drawn breath of satisfaction. -“Well!—it’s been a terrible trouble; but I cannot say but I’m -thoroughly content and pleased now that it’s past.”</p> - -<p>To this her husband, standing in front of the expiring fire (for even in -August a little fire in the evening is not inappropriate on the Border), -replied with a suppressed growl.</p> - -<p>“You’re easy pleased,” he said, “but why ye should take all this trouble -to fill people with good things, as the Scripture says, that are not -hungry and don’t want them—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robert, just you hold your peace!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-85" id="page_vol-1-85">{v.1-85}</a></span> You’re always very well pleased -to go out to your dinner. And as for the Allonby family, it was a clear -duty. When you speak of Scripture you surely forget that we’re bidden to -entertain strangers unawares. No, that’s not just right, it’s angels we -entertain unawares.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no angels in that house, or I am mistaken,” said Mr. Ogilvie.</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s two very well-dressed girls, which is the nearest to it: -and there’s another person, that may turn out even more important.”</p> - -<p>“And who may that be?”</p> - -<p>“Whist,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, holding up a finger of admonition as the -others approached. “Well, Uncle John! And Effie, come you here and rest. -Poor thing, you’re done out. Now I would like to have your frank -opinion. Mine is that though it took a great deal of trouble, it’s been -a great success.”</p> - -<p>“The salmon was excellent,” said Mr. Moubray.</p> - -<p>“And the table looked very pretty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-86" id="page_vol-1-86">{v.1-86}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And yon grouse were not bad at all.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, throwing up her hands, “ye tiresome people! Am -I thinking of the salmon or the grouse; was there any chance they would -be bad in <i>my</i> house? I am meaning the party: and my opinion is that -everybody was just very well pleased, and that everything went off to a -wish.”</p> - -<p>“That woman Lady Smith has a tongue that would deave a miller,” said the -master of the house. “I request you will put her at a distance from me, -Janet, if she ever dines here again.”</p> - -<p>“And what will you do when she asks us?” cried his wife. “If she gives -you anything but her right hand—my word! but you will be ill pleased.”</p> - -<p>To this argument her husband had no reply handy, and after a moment she -resumed—</p> - -<p>“I am very glad to see you are going to be such friends with the Diroms, -Effie; they’re fine girls. Miss Doris, as they call<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-87" id="page_vol-1-87">{v.1-87}</a></span> her, might have had -her dress a little higher, but no doubt that’s the fault of those grand -dressmakers that will have their own way. But the one I like is Mr. -Fred. He is a very fine lad; he takes nothing upon him.”</p> - -<p>“What should he take upon him? He’s nothing or nobody, but only a rich -man’s son.”</p> - -<p>“Robert, you are just the most bigoted, inconsiderate person! Well, I -think it’s very difficult when you are just a rich person to be modest -and young like yon. If you are a young duke that’s different; but to -have nothing but money to stand upon—and not to stand upon that—”</p> - -<p>“It is very well said,” said Uncle John, making her a bow. “There’s both -charity and observation in what Mrs. Ogilvie says.”</p> - -<p>“Is there not?” cried the lady in a flush of pleasure. “Oh no, I’m not -meaning it is clever of me; but when a young man has nothing else, and -is just pleasant, and never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-88" id="page_vol-1-88">{v.1-88}</a></span> seems to mind, but singles out a bit little -thing of a girl in a white frock—”</p> - -<p>This made them all look at Effie, who as yet said nothing. She was -leaning back in the other corner, tired yet flushed with the pleasure -and novelty of finding herself so important a person. Her white frock -was very simple, but yet it was the best she had ever had; and never -before had Effie been “singled out,” as her stepmother said. The dinner -party was a great event to her. Nothing so important had occurred -before, nothing in which she herself had been so prominent. A pretty -flush of colour came over her face.</p> - -<p>There had been a great deal in Fred Dirom’s eyes which was quite new, -mysterious, and even, in its novelty, delightful to Effie. She could -scarcely help laughing at the recollection, and yet it made a warmth -about her heart. To be flattered in that silent way—not by any mere -compliment, but by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-89" id="page_vol-1-89">{v.1-89}</a></span> the homage of a pair of eloquent eyes—is startling, -strange, never unsweet to a girl. It is a more subtle coming of age than -any birthday can bring. It shows that she has passed out of the band of -little girls into that of those young princesses whom all the poets have -combined to praise. This first sensation of the awakening consciousness -has something exquisite in it not to be put into words.</p> - -<p>Her blush grew deeper as she saw the group round all looking at her—her -stepmother with a laugh of satisfaction, her father with a glance in -which the usual drawing together of his shaggy eyebrows was a very poor -simulation of a frown, and Uncle John with a liquid look of tender -sympathy not unmingled with tender ridicule and full of love withal.</p> - -<p>“Why do you all look at me like that?” Effie cried, to throw off the -growing embarrassment. “I am not the only one that had a white frock.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-90" id="page_vol-1-90">{v.1-90}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, I would not call yon a white frock that was drooping off Doris -Dirom’s shoulders,” said Mrs. Ogilvie; “but we’ll say no more about -that. So far as I could see, everybody was pleased: and they stayed a -most unconscionable time. Bless me! it’s past eleven o’clock. A little -license may always be given on a great occasion; but though it’s a -pleasure to talk it all over, and everything has been just a great -success, I think, Effie, you should go to your bed. It’s later than your -ordinary, and you have been about the most of the day. Good-night, my -dear. You looked very nice, and your flowers were just beautiful: -everybody was speaking of them, and I gave the credit where it was due.”</p> - -<p>“It is time for me to go too,” said Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Oh, wait a moment.” Mrs. Ogilvie waited till Effie had gone out of the -room with her candle, very tired, very happy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-91" id="page_vol-1-91">{v.1-91}</a></span> and glad to get away from -so much embarrassing observation. The stepmother waited a little until -all was safe, and then she gave vent to the suppressed triumph.</p> - -<p>“You will just mark my words, you two gentlemen,” she cried. “They have -met but three times—once when we called, once when they were playing -their tennis, or whatever they call it—and to-night; but if Effie is -not Mrs. Fred Dirom before six months are out it will be her own fault.”</p> - -<p>“Fred Fiddlestick!” cried Mr. Ogilvie. “You’re just a silly woman, -thinking of nothing but love and marriages. I’ll have no more of that.”</p> - -<p>“If I’m a silly woman, there’s not far off from here a sillier man,” -said Mrs. Ogilvie. “You’ll have to hear a great deal more of it. And if -you do not see all the advantages, and the grand thing it would be for -Effie to have such a settlement so young—”</p> - -<p>“There was one at your hand if you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-92" id="page_vol-1-92">{v.1-92}</a></span> had wanted to get rid of her, much -younger.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, clasping her hands together, “that men, who -are always said to be the cleverest and the wisest, should be so slow at -the uptake! Any woman would understand—but you, that are her father! -The one that was at my hand, as you say, what was it? A long-leggit lad -in a marching regiment! with not enough to keep him a horse, let alone a -wife. That would have been a bonnie business!—that would have been -taking a mother’s care of Effie! I am thankful her mother cannot hear -ye. But Fred Dirom is very different—the only son of a very rich man. -And no doubt the father, who perhaps is not exactly made for society, -would give them Allonby, and set them up. That is what my heart is set -on for Effie, I have always said, I will never perhaps have a grown-up -daughter of my own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-93" id="page_vol-1-93">{v.1-93}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I am sure,” said Mr. Moubray, “you have nothing but kindness in your -heart.”</p> - -<p>“You mean I am nothing but a well-intentioned haverel,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, with a laugh. “But you’ll see that I’m more than that. Effie! -bless me, what a start you gave me! I thought by this time that you were -in your bed.”</p> - -<p>Effie had come back to the drawing-room upon some trifling errand. She -stood there for a moment, her candle in her hand, her fair head still -decked with the rose which had been its only ornament. The light threw a -little flickering illumination upon her face, for her stepmother, always -thrifty, had already extinguished one of the lamps. Mr. Moubray looked -with eyes full of tender pity upon the young figure in the doorway, -standing, hesitating, upon the verge of a world unknown. He had no mind -for any further discussion. He followed her out when she had carried off -the gloves and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-94" id="page_vol-1-94">{v.1-94}</a></span> little ornaments which she had left behind, and stood -with her a moment in the hall to say good-night.</p> - -<p>“My little Effie,” he said, “an evening like this is little to us, but -there is no saying what it may be to you. I think it has brought new -thoughts already, to judge by your face.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him startled, with her colour rising. “No, Uncle John,” -she answered, with the natural self-defence of youth: then paused to -inquire after her denial. “What kind of new thoughts?”</p> - -<p>He stooped over her to kiss her, with his hand upon her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“We’ll not inquire too far,” he said. “Nothing but novelty, my dear, and -the rising of the tide.”</p> - -<p>Effie opened the door for him, letting in the fresh sweep of the -night-wind, which came so clear and keen over the moors, and the twinkle -of the stars looking down from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-95" id="page_vol-1-95">{v.1-95}</a></span> the great vault of dark blue sky. The -world seemed to widen out round them, with the opening of that door, -which let in all the silence and hush of the deep-breathing night. She -put her candle upon the table and came out with him, her delicate being -thrilling to the influence of the sweet full air which embraced her -round and round.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, what a night! to think we should shut ourselves up in -little dull rooms with all this shining outside the door!”</p> - -<p>“We are but frail human creatures, Effie, though we have big souls; the -dull rooms are best for us at this hour of the night.”</p> - -<p>“I would like to walk with you down among the trees. I would like to go -down the Dene and hear the water rushing, but not to Allonby -churchyard.”</p> - -<p>“No, nor to Allonby at all, Effie. Take time, my bonnie dear, let no one -hasten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-96" id="page_vol-1-96">{v.1-96}</a></span> your thoughts. Come, I cannot have you out here in the night in -your white frock. You look like a little ghost; and what would Mrs. -Ogilvie say to me if you caught cold just at this crisis of affairs?”</p> - -<p>He stopped to laugh softly, but put his arm round her, and led her back -within the door.</p> - -<p>“The night is bonnie and the air is fresh, but home and shelter are the -best. Good-night, and God bless my little Effie,” he said.</p> - -<p>The people in the village, whose minds were now relieved from the strain -of counting all the carriages, and were going to sleep calmly in the -certainty that everybody was gone, heard his firm slow step going past, -and knew it was the minister, who would naturally be the last to go -home. They took a pleasure in hearing him pass, and the children, who -were still awake, felt a protection in the fact that he was there,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-97" id="page_vol-1-97">{v.1-97}</a></span> -going leisurely along the road, sure to keep away any ghost or robber -that might be lurking in the stillness of the night. His very step was -full of thought.</p> - -<p>It was pleasant to him, without any sad work in hand, to walk through -the little street between the sleeping houses, saying a blessing upon -the sleepers as he passed. Usually when he was out so late, it was on -his way to some sickbed to minister to the troubled or the dying. He -enjoyed to-night the exemption and the leisure, and with a smile in his -eyes looked from the light in Dr. Jardine’s window, within which the Dr. -was no doubt smoking a comfortable pipe before he went to bed, to the -little inquisitive glimmer higher up in Rosebank, where the old ladies -were laying aside their old finery and talking over the party. He passed -between them with a humorous consciousness of their antagonism which did -not disturb the general peace.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-98" id="page_vol-1-98">{v.1-98}</a></span></p> - -<p>The stars shone with a little frost in their brightness, though it was -but August; the night-air blew fresh in his face; the village, with all -its windows and eyelids closed, slept deep in the silence of the night. -“God bless them all—but above all Effie,” he repeated, smiling to -himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-99" id="page_vol-1-99">{v.1-99}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> Diroms belonged to a class now very common in England, the class of -very rich people without any antecedents or responsibilities, which it -is so difficult to classify or lay hold of, and which neither the -authorities of society nor the moralist have yet fully comprehended. -They had a great deal of money, which is popularly recognized to be -power, and they owed it to nobody but themselves.</p> - -<p>They owed nothing to anybody. They had no estates to keep up; no poor -people depended upon them; the clerks and porters at the office were not -to call dependents, though probably—out of good nature, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-100" id="page_vol-1-100">{v.1-100}</a></span> they were -ill or trouble arose in their families, if it happened to come under the -notice of the head of the firm, he would fling them a little money, -perhaps with an admonition, perhaps with a joke. But this was pure -liberality, generosity as his friends called it. He had nothing to “keep -up.”</p> - -<p>Even the sick gamekeeper who had been hurt by a fall, though he was in -the new tenant’s service, was Lady Allonby’s servant, and it was she who -had to support his family while he was ill. The rich people were -responsible for nobody. If they were kind—and they were not unkind—it -was all to their credit, for they had no duty to any one.</p> - -<p>This was how the head of the house considered his position. “I don’t -know anything about your land burdens, your feudal burdens,” he would -say; “money is what has made me. I pay taxes enough, I hope; but I’ve -got no sentimental taxes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-101" id="page_vol-1-101">{v.1-101}</a></span> to pay, and I won’t have anything to say to -such rubbish. I am a working man myself, just like the rest. If these -fellows will take care of their own business as I did, they will get on -themselves as I have done, and want nothing from anybody. I’ve no call -even to ‘keep up’ my family; they ought to be working for themselves, as -I was at their age. If I do, it’s because the girls and their mother are -too many for me, and I have to yield to their prejudices.”</p> - -<p>These were Mr. Dirom’s principles: but he threw about his money very -liberally all the same, giving large subscriptions, with a determination -to stand at the head of the list when he was on it at all, and an -inclination to twit the others who did not give so liberally with their -stinginess; “What is the use of making bones of it?” he said, with a -flourish to Sir John, who was well known to be in straightened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-102" id="page_vol-1-102">{v.1-102}</a></span> -circumstances; “I just draw a cheque for five hundred and the thing’s -done.”</p> - -<p>Sir John could no more have drawn a cheque for five hundred than he -could have flown, and Mr. Dirom knew it; and the knowledge gave an edge -to his pleasure. Sir John’s twenty-five pounds was in reality a much -larger contribution than Mr. Dirom’s five hundred, but the public did -not think of this. The public said that Sir John gave the twenty-five -because he could not help it, because his position demanded it; but Mr. -Dirom’s five hundred took away the breath of the spectators. It was more -than liberal; it was magnificent.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dirom was a man who wore white waistcoats and large well-blown roses -in his coat. He swaggered, without knowing it, in his walk, and in his -speech, wherever he was visible. The young people were better bred, and -were very conscious of those imperfections. They preferred, indeed, that -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-103" id="page_vol-1-103">{v.1-103}</a></span> should not “trouble,” as they said, to come home, especially to come -to the country when business prevented. There was no occasion for papa -to “trouble.” Fred could take his place if he was detained in town.</p> - -<p>In this way they showed a great deal of tender consideration for their -father’s engagements. Perhaps he was deceived by it, perhaps not; no one -could tell. He took his own way absolutely, appearing when it suited -him, and when it did not suit him leaving them to their own devices. -Allonby was too far off for him, too distant from town: though he was -quite willing to be known as the occupier of so handsome a “place.” He -came down for the first of the shooting, which is the right thing in the -city, but afterwards did not trouble his family much with his presence, -which was satisfactory to everybody concerned. It was not known exactly -what Mr. Dirom had risen from, but it was low enough to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-104" id="page_vol-1-104">{v.1-104}</a></span> his -present elevation wonderful, and to give that double zest to wealth -which makes the self-made man happy.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom was of a different order. She was two generations at least -from the beginning of her family, and she too, though in a less degree -than her children, felt that her husband’s manners left something to be -desired. He had helped himself up by her means, she having been, as in -the primitive legend, of the class of the master’s daughters: at least -her father was the head of the firm under which Dirom had begun to “make -his way.” But neither was she quite up to the mark.</p> - -<p>“Mamma is dreadfully middle-class,” the girls said. In some respects -that is worse than the lower class. It made her a little timid and -doubtful of her position, which her husband never was. None of these -things affected the young people; they had received “every advantage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-105" id="page_vol-1-105">{v.1-105}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Their father’s wealth was supposed to be immense; and when wealth is -immense it penetrates everywhere. A moderate fortune is worth very -little in a social point of view, but a great fortune opens every door.</p> - -<p>The elder brother, who never came to Allonby, who never went near the -business, who had been portioned off contemptuously by his father, as if -he had been a girl (and scorn could not go farther), had married an -earl’s daughter, and, more than that, had got her off the very steps of -the throne, for she had been a Maid of Honour. He was the most refined -and cultivated individual in the world, with one of the most lovely -houses in London, and everything about him artistic to the last degree. -It was with difficulty that he put up with his father at all. Still, for -the sake of his little boy, he acknowledged the relationship from time -to time.</p> - -<p>As for Fred and his sisters, they have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-106" id="page_vol-1-106">{v.1-106}</a></span> already been made known to the -reader. Fred was by way of being “in the business,” and went down to the -office three or four times in the week when he was in town. But what he -wished to be was an artist. He painted more or less, he modelled, he had -a studio of his own in the midst of one of the special artistic -quarters, and retired there to work, as he said, whenever the light was -good.</p> - -<p>For his part Fred aspired to be a Bohemian, and did everything he could -in a virtuous way to carry out his intention. He scorned money, or -thought he did while enjoying every luxury it could procure. If he could -have found a beautiful milkmaid or farm girl with anything like the -Rossetti type of countenance he would have married her off-hand; but -then beauties of that description are rare. The country lasses on the -Border were all of too cheerful a type. But he had fully made up his -mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-107" id="page_vol-1-107">{v.1-107}</a></span> that when the right woman appeared no question of money or -ambition should be allowed to interfere between him and his -inclinations.</p> - -<p>“You may say what you will,” he said to his sisters, “and I allow my -principles would not answer with girls. You have nothing else to look -to, to get on in the world. But a man can take that sort of thing in his -own hands, and if one gets beauty that’s enough. It is more distinction -than anything else. I shall insist upon beauty, but nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“It all depends on what you call beauty,” said Miss Phyllis. “You can -make anything beauty if you stand by it and swear to it. Marrying a -painter isn’t at all a bad way. He paints you over and over again till -you get recognized as a Type, and then it doesn’t matter what other -people say.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t call Effie a Type,” said the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-108" id="page_vol-1-108">{v.1-108}</a></span> young lady who called herself -Doris—her name in fact was a more humble one: but then not even the -Herald’s College has anything to do with Christian names.</p> - -<p>“She may not be a Type—but if you had seen her as I did in the half -light, coming out gradually as one’s eyes got used to it like something -developing in a camera—Jove! She was like a Burne-Jones—not strong -enough for the blessed Damozel or that sort of thing, but sad and sweet -like—like—” Fred paused for a simile, “like a hopeless maiden in a -procession winding down endless stairs, or—standing about in the wet, -or—If she had not been dressed in nineteenth-century costume.”</p> - -<p>“He calls that nineteenth-century costume!” said Phyllis with a mixture -of sympathy and scorn.</p> - -<p>“Poor Effie is not dressed at all,” said the other sister. “She has -clothes on, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-109" id="page_vol-1-109">{v.1-109}</a></span> is all: but I could make her look very nice if she -were in my hands. She has a pretty little figure, not spoiled at -all—not too solid like most country girls but just enough to drape a -pretty flowing stuff or soft muslin upon. I should turn her out that you -would not know her if she trusted herself to me.”</p> - -<p>“For goodness’ sake let her alone,” cried Fred; “don’t make a trollop of -my little maiden. Her little stiffness suits her. I like her just so, in -her white frock.”</p> - -<p>“You should have been born a milliner, Dor.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I was—and papa’s money has thwarted nature. If he should ever -lose it all, which I suppose is on the cards——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very much on the cards,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“There is always a smash some time or other in a great commercial -concern.”</p> - -<p>“What fun!” said Miss Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“Then I should set up directly. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-110" id="page_vol-1-110">{v.1-110}</a></span> sisters Dirom, milliners and -dressmakers. It would be exceedingly amusing, and we should make a great -fortune—all <i>good</i> dressmakers do.”</p> - -<p>“It would be very amiable of you, Dor, to call your firm the sisters -Dirom—for I should be of no use. I shall spend the fortune if you -please, but I couldn’t help in any other way.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you could. You will marry, and have all your things from me. I -should dress you beautifully, and you would be the most delightful -advertisement. Of course you would not have any false pride. You would -say to your duchesses, I got this from my sister. She is the only -possible dressmaker nowadays.”</p> - -<p>“False pride—oh, I hope not! It would be quite a distinction—everybody -would go. You could set up afternoon teas, and let them try on all your -things. It would be delightful. But papa will not come to grief,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-111" id="page_vol-1-111">{v.1-111}</a></span> he is -too well backed up,” said Phyllis with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“If I do not marry next season, I shall not wait for the catastrophe,” -said Doris. “Perhaps if the Opposition comes in we might coax Lord -Pantry to get me appointed milliner to the Queen. If Her Majesty had -once a dress from me, she would never look at Worth more.”</p> - -<p>“Worth!” said Phyllis, throwing up her hands in mild but indignant -amazement.</p> - -<p>“Well, then, Waley, or whatever you call him. Worth is a mere symbol,” -said Doris with philosophical calm. “How I should like it! but if one -marries, one’s husband’s family and all kinds of impossible people -interfere.”</p> - -<p>“You had better marry, you girls,” said Fred; “it is much your best -chance. Wipe out the governor with a title. That’s what I should do if I -could. But unfortunately I can’t—the finest of heiresses does not -com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-112" id="page_vol-1-112">{v.1-112}</a></span>municate her family honours, more’s the pity. I shall always be Fred -Dirom, if I were to marry a duchess. But an artist’s antecedents don’t -matter. Fortunately he makes his own way.”</p> - -<p>“Fred,” said his mother, coming in, “I wish you would not talk of -yourself as an artist, dear. Papa does not like it. He indulges you all -a great deal, but there are some things that don’t please him at all.”</p> - -<p>“Quite unreasonably, mother dear,” said Fred, who was a good son, and -very kind to her on the whole. “Most of the fellows I know in that line -are much better born than I am. Gentlemen’s sons, most of them.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Fred!” said Mrs. Dirom, with eyes of deep reproach. She added in a -tremulous voice, “My grandfather had a great deal of property in the -country. He had indeed, I assure you, although you think we have nothing -but money. And if that does not make a gentleman, what does?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-113" id="page_vol-1-113">{v.1-113}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What indeed?” said her son: but he made no further reply. And the -sisters interposed.</p> - -<p>“We were talking of what we shall all do in case the firm should come to -grief, and all the money be lost.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, girls!” Mrs. Dirom started violently and put her hand to her heart. -“Fred! you don’t mean to say that there are rumours in the city, or a -word whispered—”</p> - -<p>“Not when I heard last—but then I have not been in the city for a -month. That reminds me,” said Fred, “that really I ought to put in an -appearance—just once in a way.”</p> - -<p>“You mean you want to have a run to town?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, dear,” said his mother, “go if you think you could be of any use. -Oh, you don’t know what it is you are talking of so <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-114" id="page_vol-1-114">{v.1-114}</a></span>lightly. I could -tell you things—Oh, Fred, if you think there is anything going on, any -danger—”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort,” he said, with a laugh. “We were only wondering -what we should be good for mother—not much, I believe. I might perhaps -draw for the <i>Graphic</i> fancy pictures of battles and that sort of thing; -or, if the worst came to the worst, there is the <i>Police News</i>.”</p> - -<p>“You have both got Vocations,” said Phyllis. “It is fine for you. You -know what to do, you two. But I can do nothing; I should have to Marry.” -She spoke with a languid emphasis as of capitals, in her speech.</p> - -<p>“Oh, children!” cried Mrs. Dirom, “what are you thinking of? You think -all that is clever, but it does not seem clever to me. It is just the -dreadful thing in business that one day you may be up at the top of the -tree, and next morning—”</p> - -<p>“Nowhere!” said Fred, with a burlesque<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-115" id="page_vol-1-115">{v.1-115}</a></span> groan. And then they all -laughed. The anxious middle-class mother looked at them as the hen of -the proverb looks at her ducklings. Silly children! what did they know -about it? She could have cried in vexation and distress.</p> - -<p>“You laugh,” she said, “but you would not laugh if you knew as much as I -do. The very name of such a thing is unlucky. I wouldn’t let myself -think of it lest it should bring harm. Things may be quite right, and I -hope and believe they are quite right: but if there was so much as a -whisper on the Exchange that his children—his own children—had been -joking on the subject. Oh, a whisper, that’s enough!”</p> - -<p>The young people were not in the least impressed by what she said—they -had not been brought up in her sphere. That alarm for exposure, that -dread of a catastrophe which was strong in her bosom, had no response in -theirs. They had no more under<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-116" id="page_vol-1-116">{v.1-116}</a></span>standing of poverty than of Paradise—and -to the girls in particular, the idea of a great event, a matter of much -noise and commotion, to be followed by new enchanting freedom and the -possibilities of adventure, was really “fun!” as they said. They were -not afraid of being dropped by their friends.</p> - -<p>Society has undergone a change in this respect. A young lady turned into -a fashionable dressmaker would be the most delightful of lions; all her -acquaintances would crowd round her. She would be celebrated as “a noble -girl” by the serious, and as <i>chic</i> by the fast.</p> - -<p>Doris looked forward to the possibility with a delightful perception of -all the advantages that were in it. It was more exciting than the other -expedient of marrying, which was all that, in the poverty of her -invention, occurred to Phyllis. They made very merry, while their mother -trembled with an alarm for which there was no ap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-117" id="page_vol-1-117">{v.1-117}</a></span>parent foundation. She -was nervous, which is always a ready explanation of a woman’s troubles -and fears.</p> - -<p>There was, in fact, no foundation whatever for any alarm. Never had the -credit of Dirom, Dirom and Company stood higher. There was no cloud, -even so big as a finger, upon the sky.</p> - -<p>Mr. Dirom himself, though his children were ashamed of him, was not -without acceptance in society. In his faithfulness to business, staying -in town in September, he had a choice of fine houses in which to make -those little visits from Saturday to Monday which are so pleasant; and -great ladies who had daughters inquired tenderly about Fred, and learned -with the profoundest interest that it was he who was the Prince of -Wales, the heir-apparent of the house, he, and not Jack the married son, -who would have nothing to say to the business.</p> - -<p>When Fred paid a flying visit to town to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-118" id="page_vol-1-118">{v.1-118}</a></span> “look up the governor,” as he -said, and see what was going on, he too was overwhelmed with invitations -from Saturday to Monday. And though he was modest enough he was very -well aware that he would not be refused, as a son-in-law, by some of the -finest people in England.</p> - -<p>That he was not a little dazzled by the perception it would be wrong to -say—and the young Lady Marys in English country houses are very fair -and sweet. But now there would glide before him wherever he went the -apparition of Effie in her white frock.</p> - -<p>Why should he have thought of Effie, a mere country girl, yet still a -country gentlewoman without the piquancy of a milkmaid or a nursery -governess? But who can fathom these mysteries? No blooming beauty of the -fields had come in Fred’s way, though he had piously invoked all the -gods to send him such a one: but Effie, who was scarcely a type at -all—Effie, who was only a humble represen<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-119" id="page_vol-1-119">{v.1-119}</a></span>tative of fair maidenhood, -not so perfect, perhaps, not so well dressed, not so beautiful as many -of her kind.</p> - -<p>Effie had come across his path, and henceforward went with him in spirit -wherever he went. Curious accident of human fate! To think that Mr. -Dirom’s money, and Fred’s accomplishments, and their position in society -and in the city, all things which might have made happy a duke’s -daughter, were to be laid at the careless feet of little Effie Ogilvie!</p> - -<p>If she had been a milkmaid the wonder would have been less great.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-120" id="page_vol-1-120">{v.1-120}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">And</span> for all these things Effie cared nothing. This forms always a tragic -element in the most ordinary love-making, where one gives what the other -does not appreciate, or will not accept, yet the giver cannot be -persuaded to withdraw the gift, or to follow the impulse of that natural -resentment which comes from kindness disdained.</p> - -<p>There was nothing tragical, however, in the present circumstances, which -were largely composed of lawn tennis at Allonby, afternoon tea in the -dimness of an unnecessarily shaded room, or walks along the side of the -little stream. When Effie came for the favourite afternoon game, the -sisters and their brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-121" id="page_vol-1-121">{v.1-121}</a></span> would escort her home, sometimes all the way, -sometimes only as far as the little churchyard where the path struck off -and climbed the high river bank.</p> - -<p>Nothing could be more pleasant than this walk. The days were often gray -and dim; but the walkers were young, and not too thinly clad; the damp -in the air did not affect them, and the breezes stirred their veins. The -stream was small but lively, brown, full of golden lights. So far as the -park went the bank was low on the Allonby side, though on the other -picturesque, with rising cliffs and a screen of trees. In the lower -hollows of these cliffs the red of the rowan berries and the graceful -bunches of the barberry anticipated the autumnal tints, and waving -bracken below, and a host of tiny ferns in every crevice, gave an air of -luxuriance. The grass was doubly green with that emerald brightness -which comes from damp, and when the sun shone everything lighted up with -almost an arti<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-122" id="page_vol-1-122">{v.1-122}</a></span>ficial glow of excessive colour, greenness, and growth. -The little party would stroll along filling the quiet with their young -voices, putting even the birds to silence.</p> - -<p>But it was not Effie who talked. She was the audience, sometimes a -little shocked, sometimes bewildered, but always amused more or less; -wondering at them, at their cleverness, at their simplicity, at what the -country girl thought their ignorance, and at what she knew to be their -superior wisdom.</p> - -<p>Fred too was remarkable on these points, but not so remarkable as his -sisters; and he did not talk so much. He walked when he could by Effie’s -side, and made little remarks to her, which Effie accounted for by the -conviction that he was very polite, and thought it right to show her -those regards which were due to a young lady. She lent but a dull ear to -what he said, and gave her chief attention to Phyllis and Doris, whose -talk was more wonderful than anything else that Effie knew.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-123" id="page_vol-1-123">{v.1-123}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is curious,” Miss Phyllis said, “that there never are two -picturesque banks to a river. Nature provides herself a theatre, don’t -you know. Here are we in the auditorium.”</p> - -<p>“Only there is nothing to hear,” said Doris, “except the birds—well, -that’s something. But music over there would have a fine effect. It -would be rather nice to try it, if it ever was warm enough here for an -open air party. You could have the orchestra hidden: the strings there, -the wind instruments here, don’t you see, violas in the foreground, and -the big ’cello booming out of that juniper.”</p> - -<p>“By Jove!” cried Fred from where he strolled behind with Effie, “how -astounded the blackbirds would be.”</p> - -<p>“It would be interesting to know what they thought. Now, what do you -suppose they would do? Stop and listen? or else be struck by the force -of the circumstances and set up an opposition?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-124" id="page_vol-1-124">{v.1-124}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Burst their little throats against the strings.”</p> - -<p>“Or be deafened with your vulgar trombones. Fancy a brass band on the -side of the wan water!”</p> - -<p>“It would be very nice, though,” said Doris. “I said nothing about -trombones. It would be quite eighteenth century. And here on the lawn we -could sit and drink syllabubs. What are syllabubs? Probably most people -would prefer tea. Effie, what do you think? you never say a word. Shall -we have a garden party, and music over there under the cliff?”</p> - -<p>Effie had walked on softly, taking in everything with a mingled sense of -admiration and ridicule. She was quite apart, a spectator, listening to -the artificial talk about nothing at all, the conversation made up with -a distinct idea of being brilliant and interesting, which yet was -natural enough to these young people, themselves artificial, who made up -their talk as they made up their life, out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-125" id="page_vol-1-125">{v.1-125}</a></span> of nothing. Effie laughed -within herself with involuntary criticism, yet was half impressed at the -same time, feeling that it was like something out of a book.</p> - -<p>“Oh, me?” she said in surprise at being consulted. “I have not any -opinion, indeed. I never thought of it at all.”</p> - -<p>“Then think now, and let us hear; for you should know best how the -people here would like it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see, Dor, that she thinks us very silly, and would not talk -such nonsense as we are talking for the world? There is no sense in it, -and Effie is full of sense.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie has both sense and sympathy,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>This discussion over her alarmed Effie. She grew red and pale; half -affronted, half pleased, wholly shy and uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, “I couldn’t talk like you. I never talk except -when—except when—I have got something to say; that is, of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-126" id="page_vol-1-126">{v.1-126}</a></span> I -mean something that is—something—not merely out of my head, like you. -I am not clever enough for that.”</p> - -<p>“Is she making fun of us, Phyll?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, Dor. She is fact, and we are—well, what are we?—not -fiction altogether, because we’re real enough in flesh and blood.”</p> - -<p>Effie was moved to defend herself.</p> - -<p>“You are like two young ladies in a book,” she said, “and I am just a -girl like anybody else. I say How-do-you-do? and Do you think it will be -a fine day? or I can tell you if anything has happened in the village, -and that Dr. Jardine was called away this morning to Fairyknowe, so that -somebody there must be ill. But you make up what is very nice to listen -to, and yet it makes one laugh, because it is about nothing at all.”</p> - -<p>“That is quite true,” said Doris; “that is our way. We don’t go in for -fact. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-127" id="page_vol-1-127">{v.1-127}</a></span> belong to the speculative side. We have nothing real to do, so -we have to imagine things to talk about.”</p> - -<p>“And I hope you think we do it well,” said Phyllis with a laugh.</p> - -<p>Effie was encouraged to laugh too; but her feelings were very -complicated; she was respectful and yet she was a little contemptuous. -It was all new to her, and out of her experience; yet the great house, -the darkened rooms, the luxury and ease, the way in which life went on, -apparently without any effort on the part of this cluster of people, who -had everything they wanted without even the trouble of asking for it, as -in a fairy tale, harmonized with the artificial talk, the speculations, -the studies which were entirely voluntary, without any use as Effie -thought, without any call for them.</p> - -<p>She herself was not indeed compelled to work as poor girls were, as -governesses<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-128" id="page_vol-1-128">{v.1-128}</a></span> were, even as the daughters of people within her own range, -who made their own dresses, and taught their little brothers and -sisters, had to do. But still there were certain needs which she -supplied, and cases in which she had a necessary office to fulfil. There -were the flowers for instance. Old Pirie always brought her in a -basketful whenever she wanted them; but if Pirie had to be trusted to -arrange the flowers!</p> - -<p>In Allonby, however, even that was done; the vases refilled themselves -somehow, as if by help of the fairies; the table was always magnificent, -but nobody knew when it was done or who did it—nobody, that is, of the -family. Phyllis and Doris decided, it was to be supposed, what they -should wear, but that was all the trouble they took even about their -dress. Numbers of men and women worked in the background to provide for -all their wants, but they them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-129" id="page_vol-1-129">{v.1-129}</a></span>selves had nothing to do with it. And -they talked as they lived.</p> - -<p>Effie did not put all this into words, but she perceived it, by means of -a little humorous perception which was in her eyes though she did not -know it. And though they were so much finer than she was, knew so much -more, and possessed so much more, yet these young ladies were as the -comedians of life to little Effie, performing their drawing-room drama -for her amusement. They talked over the little churchyard which lay at -the opening of the glen in the same way.</p> - -<p>“The Americans have not found out Allonby yet,” they said to each other. -“We must ask Miss Greenwood up here—or, oh! let us have Henry Holland. -But no, he will not go into any raptures. He has gone through everything -in that way. He is more <i>blasé</i> than the most <i>blasé</i> of Englishmen; let -us have some one fresh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-130" id="page_vol-1-130">{v.1-130}</a></span> How they will hang over the <i>Hic jacet</i>! And we -must have some one who knows the ballad. Do you know the ballad, Effie? -but perhaps you never heard of it, as you were born here.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean about Helen?” said Effie. And in her shyness she grew red, -up to her hair.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh Helen fair beyond compare,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I’ll make a garland of thy hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Shall bind my heart for ever mair.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“How delightful! the rural muse, the very genius of the country. Effie, -you shall recite it to us standing by the stone with a shepherd’s maud -thrown over you, and that sweet Scotch accent which is simply -delicious.”</p> - -<p>“And the blush, dear, just as it is,” said Phyllis, clapping her hands -softly; “you will have the most enormous success.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Effie, her soft colour of -shyness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-131" id="page_vol-1-131">{v.1-131}</a></span> resentment turning into the hot red of shame. “I wish you -would not try to make a fool of me, as well as of the place.”</p> - -<p>“To make a fool of you! Don’t be angry, Effie, the phrase is enchanting. -Make a fool of—that is Scotch too. You know I am beginning to make a -collection of Scoticisms; they are one nicer than another. I only wish I -had the accent and the voice.”</p> - -<p>“And the blush, Dor; it would not be half so effective without that. -Could you pick up those little particulars which Effie doesn’t -appreciate, with your dramatic instinct into the bargain——”</p> - -<p>“Should I be able to recite Fair Helen as well as Effie? Oh no,” said -Doris, and she began, “Oh Helen fair beyond compare,” with an imitation -of that accent which Effie fondly hoped she was free of, which entirely -overcame the girl’s self-con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-132" id="page_vol-1-132">{v.1-132}</a></span>trol. Her blush grew hotter and hotter till -she felt herself fiery red with anger, and unable to bear any more.</p> - -<p>“If I spoke like that,” she cried, “I should be ashamed ever to open my -mouth!” then she added with a wave of her hand, “Goodbye, I am going -home,” for she could not trust herself further.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Effie, Effie! Why goodness, the child’s offended,” cried Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“And I had just caught her tone!” said the other.</p> - -<p>Then they both turned upon Fred. “Why don’t you go after her? Why don’t -you catch her up? Why do you stand there staring?”</p> - -<p>“Why are you both so—disagreeable?” cried Fred, who had hurried on -while they spoke, and turned back to fling at them this very innocent -missile as he ran; nothing stronger occurred to him to say. He had not -the vocabulary of his sisters. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-133" id="page_vol-1-133">{v.1-133}</a></span> watched him while he rushed along -and saw him overtake the little fugitive. It was a sight which -interested these two young ladies. They became contemplative spectators -once more.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he will know what to say?” Doris inquired of herself. “It -should be a capital opportunity for Fred if he knows how to take -advantage of it. He ought to throw us both overboard at once, and say we -were a couple of idiots, who did not know what we were talking about. I -should, in Fred’s place.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I suppose that would be the right way; but a man does naturally -throw over his sisters,” said Phyllis. “You need not be afraid. It was -fine to see her blaze up. Fury is not pretty generally—in papa, for -instance.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that’s beyond a sentiment. But in Effie it will only be a flare and -all over. She will be penitent. After a little while she will be awfully -sweet to Fred.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-134" id="page_vol-1-134">{v.1-134}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“And do you really want him to—propose to her, Dor?”</p> - -<p>“That is a strong step,” said the young lady, “because if he did he -would have to stick to it. I don’t see that I am called upon to consider -contingencies. In the meantime it’s very amusing to see Fred in love.”</p> - -<p>“In the absence,” said Phyllis, “of more exciting preoccupations.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! that’s true; you’re a marrying woman yourself,” was the remark her -sister made.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Fred had overtaken Effie, who was already beginning to feel -ashamed and remorseful, and to say in her own ear that it was she who -was making a fool of herself. How could she have been so silly? People -always make themselves ridiculous when they take offence, and, of -course, they would only laugh at her for being so touchy, so absurd. But -nobody likes to be mocked, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-135" id="page_vol-1-135">{v.1-135}</a></span> to be mimicked, which comes to the same -thing, Effie said to herself.</p> - -<p>A hot tear had gathered into each eye, but the flush was softening down, -and compunction was more and more getting possession of her bosom, when -Fred, anxious, devoted, panting, came up to her. It was a moment or two -before he could get breath to speak.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say to you, Miss Ogilvie. That is just my -difficulty with the girls,” said Fred, promptly throwing his sisters -over as they had divined. “They have so little perception. Not a bad -sort in themselves, and devoted to you: but without tact—without your -delicacy of feeling—without——”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Effie, “you must not compare them with me; they are far, far -cleverer—far more instructed—far—— It was so silly of me to be -vexed——”</p> - -<p>“Not silly at all; just what you would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-136" id="page_vol-1-136">{v.1-136}</a></span> naturally be with your refined -taste. I can’t tell you how I felt it,” said Fred, giving himself credit -for the perception that was wanting in his sisters. “But you will -forgive them, Miss Ogilvie? they will be so unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” cried Effie, with once more a sense of the ludicrous in this -assertion. But Fred was as grave as an owl, and meant every word he -said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed, and they deserve to be so; but if I may tell them that you -forgive them——”</p> - -<p>“It is not worth speaking about, Mr. Dirom; I was foolish too. And are -you really going to have Americans here? I never saw any Americans. What -interest would they take in our old churchyard, and Adam Fleming’s -broken old gravestone?”</p> - -<p>“They take more interest in that sort of thing than we do whom it -belongs to; that is to say, it doesn’t belong to us. I am as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-137" id="page_vol-1-137">{v.1-137}</a></span> much a new -man as any Yankee, and have as little right. We are mere interlopers, -you know.”</p> - -<p>Fred said this with a charming smile he had, a smile full of frank -candour and openness, which forestalled criticism. Effie had heard the -same sentiment expressed by others with a very different effect. When -Fred said it, it seemed a delightful absurdity. He laughed a little, and -so, carried away by sympathetic feeling, did she, shame-faced and -feeling guilty in her heart at the remembrance of the many times in -which, without any sense of absurdity, she had heard the same words -said.</p> - -<p>“We are a queer family,” he continued in his pleasant explanatory way. -“My father is the money-maker, and he thinks a great deal of it; but we -make no money, and I think we are really as indifferent about it as if -we had been born in the backwoods. If anything happened at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-138" id="page_vol-1-138">{v.1-138}</a></span> office I -should take to my studio, and I hope I should not enjoy myself too much, -but there would be the danger. ‘Ah, freedom is a noble thing,’ as old -Barbour says.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not know who old Barbour was, and she was uncertain how to -reply. She said at last timidly, “But you could not do without a great -deal of money, Mr. Dirom. You have everything you want, and you don’t -know how it comes. It is like a fairy tale.”</p> - -<p>Fred smiled again with an acquiescence which had pleasure in it. Though -he made so little of his advantages, he liked to hear them recognized.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he said, “as you always are, Miss Ogilvie. You seem to -know things by instinct. But all the same we don’t stand on these -things; we are a little Bohemian, all of us young ones. I suppose you -would think it something dreadful if you had to turn out of Gilston. But -we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-139" id="page_vol-1-139">{v.1-139}</a></span> should rather like any such twist of the whirligig of fortune. The -girls would think it fun.”</p> - -<p>To this Effie did not make any reply. To be turned out of Gilston was an -impossibility, for the family at least, whatever it might be for -individuals. And she did not understand about Bohemians. She made no -answer at all. When one is in doubt it is the safest way. But Fred -walked with her all the way home, and his conversation was certainly -more amusing than that with which she was generally entertained. There -ran through it a little vein of flattery. There was in his eyes a light -of admiration, a gleam from time to time of something which dazzled her, -which she could not meet, yet furtively caught under her drooping -eyelashes, and which roused a curious pleasure mixed with amusement, and -a comical sense of guilt and wickedness on her own part.</p> - -<p>She was flattered and dazzled, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-140" id="page_vol-1-140">{v.1-140}</a></span> something of the same laughter -with which she listened to Phyllis and Doris was in her eyes. Did he -mean it all? or what did he mean? Was he making conversation like his -sisters, saying things that he meant to be pretty? Effie, though she was -so simple, so inexperienced, in comparison with those clever young -people, wondered, yet kept her balance, steadied by that native instinct -of humour, and not carried away by any of these fine things.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-141" id="page_vol-1-141">{v.1-141}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">We</span> were seeing young Mr. Dirom a little bit on his way. He is so kind -walking home with Effie that it was the least we could do. I never met -with a more civil young man.”</p> - -<p>“It appears to me that young Dirom is never out of your house. You’ll -have to be thinking what will come of it.”</p> - -<p>“What should come of it,” said Mrs. Ogilvie with a laugh, and a look of -too conscious innocence, “but civility, as I say? though they are new -people, they have kind, neighbour-like ways.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve no confidence,” said Miss Dempster, “in that kind of neighbours. -If he were to walk home with Beenie or me, that are about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-142" id="page_vol-1-142">{v.1-142}</a></span> the oldest -friends they have in the district—Oh yes, their oldest friends: for I -sent my card and a request to know if a call would be agreeable as soon -as they came: it may be old-fashioned, but it’s my way; and I find it to -answer. And as I’m saying, if he had made an offer to walk home with me -or my sister, that would have been neighbour-like; but Effie is just -quite a different question. I hope if you let it go on, that you’re -facing the position, and not letting yourself be taken unawares.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “that’s a thing that seldom happens, though I -say it myself. I can generally see as far as most folk. But whatever you -do, say nothing of this to Effie. We must just respect her innocence. -Experienced people see a great deal that should never be spoken of -before the young. I will leave her in your charge and Miss Beenie’s, for -I am going to Summerlaw, and she has had a long walk.”</p> - -<p>“Your stepmother is a very grand general,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-143" id="page_vol-1-143">{v.1-143}</a></span> Effie,” said Miss Dempster, -as they watched Mrs. Ogilvie’s figure disappearing between the high -laurel hedges.</p> - -<p>It was a warm afternoon, though September had begun. Miss Beenie was -seated on the garden seat in front of the drawing-room window, which -afforded so commanding a prospect of the doctor’s sitting-room, with her -work-basket beside her, and her spectacles upon her nose. But Miss -Dempster, who thought it was never safe, except perhaps for a day or two -in July, to sit out, kept walking about, now nipping off a withered -leaf, now gathering a sprig of heliotrope, or the scented verbena, -promenading up and down with a shawl upon her shoulders. She had taken -Effie’s arm with an instant perception of the advantages of an animated -walking-staff.</p> - -<p>The little platform of fine gravel before the door was edged by the -green of the sloping lawn in front, but on either side ended in deep -borders filled with every kind of old-fashioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-144" id="page_vol-1-144">{v.1-144}</a></span> and sweet-smelling -flower. The sloping drive had well-clipped hedges of shining laurel -which surrounded the entrance; but nothing interrupted the view from -this little height, which commanded not only the doctor’s mansion but -all the village. No scene could have been more peaceful in the sunny -afternoon. There were few people stirring below, there was nobody to be -seen at the doctor’s windows.</p> - -<p>The manse, which was visible at a distance, stood in the broad sunshine -with all its doors and windows open, taking in the warmth to its very -bosom. Mrs. Ogilvie disappeared for a short time between the hedges, and -then came out again, moving along the white road till she was lost in -the distance, Glen slowly following, divided in his mind between the -advantages of a walk which was good for his health, and the pleasure of -lying in the sun and waiting for Effie, which he preferred as a matter -of taste. But the large mat at the door, which Glen was aware was the -comfortable spot at Rosebank,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-145" id="page_vol-1-145">{v.1-145}</a></span> was already occupied by the nasty little -terrier to which the Miss Dempsters, much to Glen’s contempt, were -devoted, and the gravel was unpleasant. So he walked, but rather by way -of deference to the necessities of the situation than from any lively -personal impulse, and went along meditatively with only an occasional -slow switch of his tail, keeping well behind the trim and active figure -of his mistress. In the absence of other incidents these two moving -specks upon the road kept the attention of the small party of spectators -on the soft heights of Rosebank.</p> - -<p>“Your stepmother’s a grand general,” said Miss Dempster again; “but she -must not think that she deceives everybody, Effie. It’s a very -legitimate effort; but perhaps if she let things take their own course -she would just do as well at the end.”</p> - -<p>“What is she trying to do?” said Effie with indifference. “It is a pity -Mrs. Ogilvie has only Rory; for she is so active and so busy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-146" id="page_vol-1-146">{v.1-146}</a></span> she could -manage a dozen, Uncle John always says.”</p> - -<p>“She has you, my dear—and a great deal more interesting than Rory: who -is a nice enough bairn, if he were not spoilt, just beyond -conception—as, poor thing, some day, she’ll find out.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not pay any attention to the latter part of this speech. She -cried “Me!” in the midst of it, with little regard to Miss Dempster, and -less (had she been an English girl) to propriety in her pronouns. But -she was Scotch, and above reproof.</p> - -<p>“No,” she cried, “she has not me, Miss Dempster; you are making a -mistake. She says I am old enough to guide myself.”</p> - -<p>“A bonnie guide you would be for yourself. But, no doubt, ye think that -too; there is no end to the confidence of young folk in this generation. -And you are nineteen, which is a wise age.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Effie, “don’t think it is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-147" id="page_vol-1-147">{v.1-147}</a></span> wise age. And then I have Uncle -John; and then, what is perhaps the best of all, I have nothing to do -that calls for any guiding, so I am quite safe.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, that’s a grand thing,” said the old lady; “to be just -peaceable and quiet, like Beenie and me, and no cross roads to perplex -ye, nor the need of choosing one way or another. But that’s a blessing -that generally comes on later in life: and we’re seldom thankful for it -when it does come.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Effie, “I have nothing to choose. What should I have to -choose? unless it was whether I would have a tweed or a velveteen for my -winter frock; or, perhaps——” here she stopped, with a soft little -smile dimpling about her mouth.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” said the old lady; “or perhaps——? The perhaps is just what I -would like to know.”</p> - -<p>“Sarah,” said Miss Beenie from behind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-148" id="page_vol-1-148">{v.1-148}</a></span> “what are you doing putting -things in the girlie’s head?”</p> - -<p>“Just darn your stockings and hold your tongue,” said the elder sister. -She leaned her weight more heavily on Effie’s arm by way of securing her -attention.</p> - -<p>“Now and then,” she said, “the road takes a crook before it divides. -There’s that marshy bit where the Laggan burn runs before you come to -Windyha’. If you are not thinking, it just depends on which side of the -road you take whether you go straight on the good highway to Dumfries, -or down the lane that’s always deep in dust, or else a very slough of -despond. You’re there before you know.”</p> - -<p>“But what has that to do with me?” said Effie; “and then,” she added, -with a little elevation of her head, “if I’m in any difficulty, there is -Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, ay: he’s often very fine in the pulpit. I would not ask for a -better guide in the Gospel, which is his vocation. But in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-149" id="page_vol-1-149">{v.1-149}</a></span> ways of -this world, Effie Ogilvie, your Uncle John is just an innocent like -yourself.”</p> - -<p>“That is all you know!” said Effie, indignantly. “Me an innocent!” She -was accustomed to hear the word applied to the idiot of the parish, the -piteous figure which scarcely any parish is without. Then she laughed, -and added, with a sudden change of tone, “They think me very sensible at -Allonby. They think I am the one that is always serious. They say I am -fact: and they are poetry, I suppose,” she said, after a second pause, -with another laugh.</p> - -<p>“Poetry!” said Miss Dempster, “you’re meaning silly nonsense. They are -just two haverels these two daft-like girls with their dark rooms, and -all their affected ways; and as for the brother——”</p> - -<p>“What about the brother?” said Effie, with an almost imperceptible -change of tone.</p> - -<p>“Aha!” said the old lady, “now we see where the interest lies.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-150" id="page_vol-1-150">{v.1-150}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It is nothing of the kind,” cried the girl, “it is just your -imagination. You take a pleasure in twisting every word, and making me -think shame. It is just to hear what you have got to say.”</p> - -<p>“I have not very much to say,” said Miss Dempster; “we’re great students -of human nature, both Beenie and me; but I cannot just give my opinion -off-hand. There’s one thing I will tell you, and that is just that he is -not our Ronald, which makes all the difference to me.”</p> - -<p>“Ronald!” cried the girl, wondering. “Well, no! but did anybody ever say -he was like Ronald?”</p> - -<p>She paused a little, and a soft suffusion of colour once more came over -her face. “What has Ronald to do with it? He is no more like Ronald than -he is like—me.”</p> - -<p>“And I don’t think him like you at all,” cried Miss Dempster quickly, -“which is just the whole question. He is not of your kind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-151" id="page_vol-1-151">{v.1-151}</a></span> Effie. We’re -all human creatures, no doubt, but there’s different species. Beenie, -what do you think? Would you say that young Fred Dirom—that is the son -of a merchant prince, and so grand and so rich—would you say he was of -our own kind? would you say he was like Effie, or like Ronald? Ronald’s -a young man about the same age; would you say he was of Ronald’s kind.”</p> - -<p>“Bless me, what a very strange question!” Miss Beenie looked up with -every evidence of alarm. Her spectacles fell from her nose; the stocking -in which her hand and arm were enveloped fell limp upon her lap.</p> - -<p>“I’ve no time to answer conundrums; they’re just things for winter -evenings, not for daylight. And when you know how I’ve been against it -from the very first,” she added, after a pause, with some warmth. “It -might be a grand thing from a worldly point of view; but what do we know -about him or his connections? And as for business, it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-152" id="page_vol-1-152">{v.1-152}</a></span> just a -delusion; it’s up to-day and down to-morrow. I’ve lived in Glasgow, and -I know what it means. Ye may be very grand, and who but you for a while; -and then the next moment nothing. No; if there was not another man in -the world, not the like of that man,” cried Miss Beenie, warming more -and more, gesticulating unconsciously with the muffled hand which was -all wrapped up in stocking; “and to compare him with our poor -Ronald——” She dropped suddenly from her excitement, as if this name -had brought her to herself. “You are making me say what I ought not to -say—and before Effie! I will never be able to look one of them in the -face again.”</p> - -<p>Effie stood upon the gravel opposite to the speaker, notwithstanding the -impulse of Miss Dempster’s arm to lead her away. “I wish you would tell -me what you mean. I wish I knew what Ronald had to do with me,” she -said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-153" id="page_vol-1-153">{v.1-153}</a></span></p> - -<p>“He’s just an old friend, poor laddie—just an old friend. Never you -mind what Beenie says. She’s a little touched in that direction, we all -know. Never you mind. It’s my own conviction that young Dirom, having no -connections, would be but a very precarious—— But no doubt your -parents know best. Ronald is just the contrary—plenty of connections, -but no money. The one is perhaps as bad as the other. And it’s not for -us to interfere. Your own people must know best.”</p> - -<p>“What is there to interfere about? and what has Ronald to do with it? -and, oh, what are you all talking about?” cried Effie, bewildered. What -with the conversation which meant nothing, and that which meant too -much, her little brain was all in a ferment. She withdrew herself -suddenly from Miss Dempster’s arm.</p> - -<p>“I will get you your stick out of the hall which will do just as well as -me: for I’m going away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-154" id="page_vol-1-154">{v.1-154}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Why should you go away? Your father is in Dumfries, your mother will be -getting her tea at Summerlaw. There is nobody wanting you at home; and -Beenie has ordered our honey scones that you are so fond of.”</p> - -<p>“I want no honey scones!” cried Effie. “You mean something, and you will -not tell me what you mean. I am going to Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“She is a hot-headed little thing. She must just take her own gait and -guide herself. Poor innocent! as if it were not all settled and planned -beforehand what she was to do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah, stop woman, for goodness’ sake! You are putting things in -the girlie’s head, and that is just what we promised not to do.”</p> - -<p>“What things are you putting in my head? You are just driving me wild!” -cried Effie, stamping her foot on the gravel.</p> - -<p>It was not the first time by a great many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-155" id="page_vol-1-155">{v.1-155}</a></span> that she had departed from -Rosebank in this way. The criticisms of old ladies are sadly apt to -irritate young ones, and this pretence of knowing so much more about her -than she knew about herself, has always the most exasperating effect.</p> - -<p>She turned her back upon them, and went away between the laurel hedges -with a conviction that they were saying, “What a little fury!” and “What -an ill brought-up girl!”—which did not mend matters. These were the -sort of things the Miss Dempsters said—not without a cackle of -laughter—of the rage and impatience of the young creature they had been -baiting. Her mind was in high commotion, instinctive rebellion flaming -up amid the curiosity and anxiety with which she asked herself what was -it that was settled and planned?</p> - -<p>Whatever it was, Effie would not do it, that was one thing of which she -felt sure. If it had been her own mother, indeed! but who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-156" id="page_vol-1-156">{v.1-156}</a></span> was Mrs. -Ogilvie, to settle for her what she ought to do? She would be her own -guide, whatever any one might settle. If she took counsel with any one, -it should be Uncle John, who was her nearest friend—when there was -anything to take counsel about.</p> - -<p>But at present there was nothing, not a question of any sort that she -knew, except whether the new tennis court that was making at Gilston -could possibly be ready for this season, which, of course, it could -not;—no question whatever; and what had Ronald to do with it? Ronald -had been gone for three years. There had been no news of him lately. If -there were a hundred questions, what could Ronald have to do with them?</p> - -<p>She went down very quickly between the laurel hedges and paused at the -gate, where she could not be seen from the terrace, to smooth down her -ruffled plumes a little and take breath. But as she turned into the road -her heart began to thump again, with no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-157" id="page_vol-1-157">{v.1-157}</a></span> reason for it than the -sudden appearance of Uncle John coming quietly along at his usual -leisurely pace. She had said she was going to him; but she did not -really wish to meet Uncle John, whose kind eyes had a way of seeing -through and through you, at this present excited moment, for she knew -that he would find her out.</p> - -<p>Whether he did so or not, he came up in his sober way, smiling that -smile which he kept for Effie. He was prone to smile at the world in -general, being very friendly and kind, and generally thinking well of -his neighbours. But he had a smile which was for Effie alone. He caught -in a moment the gleam in her eyes, the moisture, and the blaze of angry -feeling.</p> - -<p>“What, Effie,” he said, “you have been in the wars. What have the old -ladies been saying now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John,” she began eagerly; but then stopped all at once: for -the vague talk in which a young man’s name is involved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-158" id="page_vol-1-158">{v.1-158}</a></span> which does not -tell for very much among women, becomes uncomfortable and suspect when a -man is admitted within hearing. She changed her mind and her tone, but -could not change her colour, which rose high under her troubled eyes.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I suppose it was nothing,” she said, “it was not about me; it was -about Ronald—something about Ronald and Mr. Fred Dirom: though they -could not even know each other—could they know each other?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you, Effie: most likely not; they certainly have not been -together here; but they may have met as young men meet—somewhere else.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps that was what it was. But yet I don’t see what Ronald could -have to do with it.”</p> - -<p>Here Effie stopped again, and grew redder than ever, expecting that Mr. -Moubray would ask her, “To do with—what?” and bring back all the -confusion again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-159" id="page_vol-1-159">{v.1-159}</a></span></p> - -<p>But the minister was more wise. He began to perceive vaguely what the -character of the suggestion, which had made Effie angry, must have been. -It was much clearer to him indeed than it was to her, through these two -names, which as yet to Effie suggested no connection.</p> - -<p>“Unless it is that Fred Dirom is here and Ronald away,” he said, “I know -no link. And what sort of a fellow is Fred Dirom, Effie? for I scarcely -know him at all.”</p> - -<p>“What sort of a fellow?” Mr. Moubray was so easy, and banished so -carefully all meaning from his looks, that Effie was relieved. She began -to laugh.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say. He is like the girls, but not quite like the -girls.”</p> - -<p>“That does not give me much information, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John, they are all so funny! What can I say? They talk and -they talk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-160" id="page_vol-1-160">{v.1-160}</a></span> and it is all made up. It is about nothing, about fancies -they take in their heads, about what they think—but not real thinking, -only fancies, thinking what to say.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the art of conversation, Effie,” the minister said.</p> - -<p>“Conversation? Oh no, oh, surely not!—conversation would mean -something. At Allonby it is all very pretty, but it means nothing at -all. They just make stories out of nothing, and talk for the sake of -talking. I laugh—I cannot help it, though I could not quite tell you -why.”</p> - -<p>“And the brother, does he do the same?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the brother! No, he is not so funny, he does not talk so much. He -says little, really, on the whole, except”—here Effie stopped and -coloured and laughed softly, but in a different tone.</p> - -<p>“Except?” repeated Uncle John.</p> - -<p>“Well, when he is walking home with me. Then he is obliged to speak, -because<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-161" id="page_vol-1-161">{v.1-161}</a></span> there is no one else to say anything. When we are all together -it is they who speak. But how can he help it? He has to talk when there -is only me.”</p> - -<p>“And is his talk about fancies too? or does he say things that are more -to the purpose, Effie?”</p> - -<p>Effie paused a little before she replied, “I have to think,” she said; -“I don’t remember anything he said—except—Oh yes!—but—it was not to -the purpose. It was only—nothing in particular,” she continued with a -little wavering colour, and a small sudden laugh in which there was some -confusing recollection.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Uncle John, nodding his head. “I think I see what you mean.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-162" id="page_vol-1-162">{v.1-162}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> young ladies at Allonby, though Effie thought they meant nothing -except to make conversation, had really more purpose in their -extravagances than that severe little critic thought. To young ladies -who have nothing to do a new idea in the way of entertainment is a fine -thing.</p> - -<p>And though a garden party, or any kind of a party, is not an affair of -much importance, yet it holds really a large place in unoccupied lives. -Even going to it may mean much to the unconcerned and uninterested: the -most philosophical of men, the most passive of women, may thus find -their fate. They may drift up against a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-163" id="page_vol-1-163">{v.1-163}</a></span> partner at tennis, or hand a -cup of tea to the predestined individual who is to make or mar their -happiness for life.</p> - -<p>So that no human assembly is without its importance to some one, -notwithstanding that to the majority they may be collectively and -separately “a bore.” But to those who get them up they are still more -important, and furnish a much needed occupation and excitement, with the -most beneficial effect both upon health and temper.</p> - -<p>The Miss Diroms were beginning to feel a little low; the country was -more humdrum than they had expected. They had not been quite sure when -they came to Scotland that there were not deer-forests on the Border. -They had a lingering belief that the peasants wore the tartan. They had -hoped for something feudal, some remnant of the Middle Ages.</p> - -<p>But they found nothing of this sort<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-164" id="page_vol-1-164">{v.1-164}</a></span> they found a population which was -not at all feudal, people who were friendly but not over respectful, -unaccustomed to curtsy and disinclined to be patronized. They were -thrown back upon themselves. As for the aspect of the great people, the -Diroms were acquainted with much greater people, and thought little of -the county magnates.</p> - -<p>It was a providential suggestion which put that idea about the music -under the cliff into the head of Doris. And as a garden party in -September, in Scotland, even in the south, is a ticklish performance, -and wants every kind of organization, the sisters were immediately -plunged into business. There was this in its favour, that they had the -power of tempering the calm of the Dumfriesshire aristocracy by visitors -from the greater world at that time scattered over all Scotland, and -open to variety wherever they could find it. Even of the Americans, for -whom the young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-165" id="page_vol-1-165">{v.1-165}</a></span> ladies had sighed, there were three or four easily -attainable. And what with the story of Fair Helen and the little -churchyard and the ballad, these visitors would be fully entertained.</p> - -<p>Everything was in train, the invitations sent out and accepted, the -house in full bustle of preparation, every one occupied and amused, -when, to the astonishment of his family, Mr. Dirom arrived upon a visit.</p> - -<p>“I thought I’d come and look you up,” he said. He was, as he himself -described it, “in great force,” his white waistcoat ampler, his -watch-chain heavier, himself more beaming than ever.</p> - -<p>His arrival always made a difference in the house, and it was not -perhaps an enjoyable difference. It introduced a certain anxiety—a new -element. The kind and docile mother who on ordinary occasions was at -everybody’s command, and with little resistance did what was told her, -be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-166" id="page_vol-1-166">{v.1-166}</a></span>came all at once, in the shadow of her husband, a sort of silent -authority. She was housekeeper no longer; she had to be consulted, and -to give, or pretend to give, orders, which was a trouble to her, as well -as to the usual rulers of the house. Nobody disliked it more than Mrs. -Dirom herself, who had to pretend that the party was her own idea, and -that she had superintended the invitations, in a way which was very -painful to the poor lady’s rectitude and love of truth.</p> - -<p>“You should have confined yourself to giving dinners,” her husband -said—“as many dinners as you like. You’ve got a good cellar, or I’m -mistaken, and plenty of handsome plate, and all that sort of thing. The -dinners are the thing; men like ’em, and take my word for it, it’s the -men’s opinions that tell. Females may think they have it their own way -in society, but it’s the men’s opinion that tells.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-167" id="page_vol-1-167">{v.1-167}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You mean the males, I suppose,” said Doris. “Keep to one kind of word, -papa.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Miss D., I mean the males—your superiors,” said Mr. Dirom, with -first a stare at his critic and then a laugh. “I thought you might -consider the word offensive; but if you don’t mind, neither do I.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what is the use of quarrelling about a word?” said the mother -hastily. “We have had dinners. We have returned all that have been given -us. That is all any one can expect us to do, George. Then the girls -thought—for a little variety, to fill the house and amuse -everybody——”</p> - -<p>“With tea and toast—and hot-water bottles, I hope to put under their -feet. I’ll tell you, Phyllis, what you ought to do. Get out all the -keepers and gardeners with warm towels to wipe off the rain off the -trees; and have the laundresses out to iron the grass—by Jove, that’s -the thing to do;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-168" id="page_vol-1-168">{v.1-168}</a></span> reduce rheumatic fevers to a minimum, and save as many -bad colds as possible. I shall say you did it when I get back to my -club.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris looked at each other.</p> - -<p>“It might be really a good thing to do. And it would be Fun. Don’t you -think the electric light put on night and day for forty-eight hours -would do some good? What an excellent thing it is to have papa here! He -is so practical. He sees in a moment the right thing.”</p> - -<p>This applause had the effect rarely attained, of confusing for a moment -the man of money.</p> - -<p>“It appears I am having a success,” he said. “Or perhaps instead of -taking all this trouble you would like me to send a consignment of fur -cloaks from town for the use of your guests. The Scotch ladies would -like that best, for it would be something,” he said with his big laugh, -“to carry away.”</p> - -<p>“And I believe,” said Mrs. Dirom, very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-169" id="page_vol-1-169">{v.1-169}</a></span> anxious to be conciliatory, “you -could afford it, George.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, afford it!” he said with again that laugh, in which there was such -a sound of money, of plenty, of a confidence inexhaustible, that nobody -could have heard it, and remained unimpressed. But all the same it was -an offensive laugh, which the more finely strung nerves of his children -could scarcely bear.</p> - -<p>“After all,” said Fred, “we don’t want to insult our neighbours with our -money. If they are willing to run the risk, we may let them; and there -will always be the house to retire into, if it should be wet.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course there would always be the house. It is a very fine thing -to have a good house to retire into, whatever happens. I should like you -to realize that, all of you, and make your hay while the sun shines.”</p> - -<p>The room in which the family were sitting was not dark, as when they -were alone. The blinds were all drawn up, the sunshades, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-170" id="page_vol-1-170">{v.1-170}</a></span> often drawn -when there was no sun, elevated, though a ruddy westerly sky, in all the -force of approaching sunset, blazed down upon the front of the house. -The young people exchanged looks, in which there was a question.</p> - -<p>What did he mean? He meant nothing, it appeared, since he followed up -his remarks by opening a parcel which he had brought down stairs in his -hand, and from which he took several little morocco boxes, of shape and -appearance calculated to make the hearts of women—or at least such -hearts of women as Mr. Dirom understood—beat high. They were some -“little presents” which he had brought to his family. He had a way of -doing it—and “for choice,” as he said, he preferred diamonds.</p> - -<p>“They always fetch their price, and they are very portable. Even in a -woman’s useless pocket, or in her bag or reticule, or whatever you call -it, she might carry a little fortune, and no one ever be the wiser,” Mr. -Dirom said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-171" id="page_vol-1-171">{v.1-171}</a></span></p> - -<p>“When one has diamonds,” said Phyllis, “one wishes everybody to be the -wiser, papa; we don’t get them to conceal them, do we, Dor? Do you think -it will be too much to wear that pendant to-morrow—in daylight? Well, -it is a little ostentatious.”</p> - -<p>“And you are rather too young for diamonds, Phyll—if your papa was not -so good to you,” said Mrs. Dirom in her uncertain voice.</p> - -<p>“She’s jealous, girls,” said her husband, “though hers are the best. -Young! nobody is ever too young; take the good of everything while you -have it, and as long as you have it, that’s my philosophy. And look -here, there’s the sun shining—I shouldn’t be surprised if, after all, -to-morrow you were to have a fine day.”</p> - -<p>They had a fine day, and the party was very successful. Doris had -carried out her idea about the music on the opposite bank, and it was -very effective. The guests took up this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-172" id="page_vol-1-172">{v.1-172}</a></span> phrase from the sisters, who -asked, “Was it not very effective?” with ingenuous delight in their own -success.</p> - -<p>It was no common band from the neighbourhood, nor even a party of -wandering Germans, but a carefully selected company of minstrels brought -from London at an enormous cost: and while half the county walked about -upon the tolerably dry lawn, or inspected the house and all the new and -elegant articles of art-furniture which the Diroms had brought, the -trembling melody of the violins quivered through the air, and the wind -instruments sighed and shouted through all the echoes of the Dene. The -whole scene was highly effective, and all the actors in it looking and -smiling their best.</p> - -<p>The Marquis kindly paid Mr. Dirom a compliment on his “splendid -hospitality,” and the eloquent Americans who made pilgrimages to Adam -Fleming’s grave, and repeated tenderly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-173" id="page_vol-1-173">{v.1-173}</a></span> his adjuration to “Helen fair, -beyond compare,” regarded everything, except Mr. Dirom in his white -waistcoat, with that mixture of veneration and condescension which -inspires the transatlantic bosom amid the immemorial scenery of old -England.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you feel the spell coming over you, don’t you feel the mosses -growing?” they cried. “See, this is English dust and damp—the ethereal -mould which comes over your very hands, as dear John Burroughs says. -Presently, if you don’t wash ’em, little plants will begin to grow all -along your line of life. Wonderful English country—mother of the ages!”</p> - -<p>This was what the American guests said to each other. It was the Miss -Dempsters, to whom Americans were as the South Sea Islanders, and who -were anxious to observe the customs and manners of the unknown race, -before whom these poetical exclamations were made.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-174" id="page_vol-1-174">{v.1-174}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The English country may be wonderful, though I know very little about -it; but you are forgetting it is not here,” Miss Dempster said. “This is -Scotland; maybe you may never have heard the name before.”</p> - -<p>It is needless to say that the ladies and gentlemen from across the -Atlantic smiled at the old native woman’s mistake.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we know Scotland very well,—almost best of all,—for has not -everybody read the Waverleys?—at least all our fathers and mothers read -them, though they may be a little out of date in our day.”</p> - -<p>“You must be clever indeed if Walter Scott is not clever enough for -you,” said the old lady grimly. “But here’s just one thing that a -foolish person like me, it seems, can correct you in, and that’s that -this countryside is not England. No, nor ever was; and Adam Fleeming in -his grave yonder could have told you that.”</p> - -<p>“Was he a Border chief? was he one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-175" id="page_vol-1-175">{v.1-175}</a></span> the knights in Branksome Hall? We -know all about that. And to think you should be of the same race, and -have lived here always, and known the story, and sung the song all your -life!”</p> - -<p>“I never was much addicted to singing songs, for my part. He must have -been a feckless kind of creature to let her get between him and the man -that wanted his blood. But he was very natural after that I will say. ‘I -hackit him in pieces sma’.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> said Miss Dempster; “that is the real -Border spirit: and I make little doubt he was English—the man with the -gun.”</p> - -<p>The pretty young ladies in their pretty toilettes gathered about the old -lady.</p> - -<p>“It is most interesting,” they said; “just what one wished to find in -the old country—the real accent—the true hereditary feeling.”</p> - -<p>“You are just behaving like an old haverel,” said Miss Beenie to her -sister in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-176" id="page_vol-1-176">{v.1-176}</a></span> an undertone. It seldom occurred to her to take the command -of affairs, but she saw her opportunity and seized it.</p> - -<p>“For our part,” she said, “it is just as interesting to us to see real -people from America. I have heard a great deal about them, but I never -saw them before. It will be a great change to find yourselves in the -midst of ceevilization? And what was that about mosses growing on your -poor bit little hands? Bless me! I have heard of hair and fur, but never -of green growth. Will that be common on your side of the water?”</p> - -<p>She spoke with the air of one who was seeking information. Mr. John -Burroughs himself, that charming naturalist, might have been -disconcerted by so serious a question. And the two old ladies remained -in possession of the field.</p> - -<p>“I just answered a fool according to his folly,” Miss Beenie remarked, -with modest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-177" id="page_vol-1-177">{v.1-177}</a></span> enjoyment of a triumph that seldom fell to her share, “for -you were carried away, Sarah, and let them go on with their impidence. A -set of young idiots out of a sauvage country that were too grand for -Walter Scott!”</p> - -<p>It was on the whole a great day for the Miss Dempsters. They saw -everybody, they explored the whole house, and identified every piece of -furniture that was not Lady Allonby’s. They made a private inspection of -the dining-room, where there was a buffet—erected not only for light -refreshments, but covered with luxuries and delicacies of a more serious -description.</p> - -<p>“Bless me, I knew there was tea and ices,” they said; “it’s like a ball -supper, and a grand one. Oh, those millionaires! they just cannot spend -money enough. But I like our own candlesticks,” said Miss Dempster, “far -better than these branchy things, like the dulse on the shore, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-178" id="page_vol-1-178">{v.1-178}</a></span> -candelawbra, or whatever they call it, on yon table.”</p> - -<p>“They’re bigger,” said Miss Beenie; “but my opinion is that the branches -are all hollow, not solid like ours.”</p> - -<p>“There’s not many like ours,” said Miss Dempster; “indeed I am disposed -to think they are just unique. Lord bless us, is that the doctor at the -side-table? He is eating up everything. The capacity that man has is -just extraordinary—both for dribblets of drink and for solid food.”</p> - -<p>“Is that you, ladies?” said the doctor. “I looked for you among the -first, and now you’re here, let me offer you some of this raised pie. -It’s just particularly good, with truffles as big as my thumb. I take -credit for suggesting a game pie. I said they would send the whole -parish into my hands with their cauld ices that are not adapted to our -climate.”</p> - -<p>“We were just saying ices are but a wersh<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-179" id="page_vol-1-179">{v.1-179}</a></span> provision, and make you -shiver to think of them at this time of the year; but many thanks to -you, doctor. We are not in the habit either of eating or drinking -between meals. Perhaps a gentleman may want it, and you have science to -help you down with it. But two women like us, we are just very well -content with a cup of tea.”</p> - -<p>“Which is a far greater debauch,” said the doctor hotly, “for you are -always at it.” But he put down his plate. “The auld cats,” he said to -himself; “there’s not a drop passes my lips but they see it, and it will -be over all the parish that I was standing guzzlin’ here at this hour of -the day.”</p> - -<p>But there were others beside the doctor who took advantage of the raised -pie and appreciated the truffles. People who have been whetted by music -and vague conversation and nothing to do or think of for a weary -afternoon, eat with enthusiasm when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-180" id="page_vol-1-180">{v.1-180}</a></span> the chance occurs; they eat even -cake and bread and butter, how much more the luxurious <i>mayonnaise</i> and -lobsters and <i>foie gras</i>. After the shiver of an ice it was grateful to -turn to better fare. And Mr. Dirom was in his glory in the dining-room, -which was soon filled by a crowd more animated and genial than that -which had strolled about the lawn.</p> - -<p>“You will spoil your dinner,” the ladies said to their husbands, but -with small effect.</p> - -<p>“Never mind the dinner,” said the master of the house. “Have a little of -this Château Yquem. It is not a wine you can get every day. I call it -melted gold; but I never ask the price of a wine so long as it’s good; -and there’s plenty more where that came from.”</p> - -<p>His wealth was rampant, and sounded in his voice and in his laugh, till -you seemed to hear the money tinkle. Phyllis and Doris<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-181" id="page_vol-1-181">{v.1-181}</a></span> and Fred cast -piteous glances at each other when they met.</p> - -<p>“Oh, will nobody take him away!” they cried under their breath. “Fred, -can’t you pretend there is a telegram and dreadful news? Can’t you say -the Bank of England is broke, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer has -run away?”</p> - -<p>He wounded his children’s nerves and their delicacy beyond description, -but still it had to be allowed that he was the master of the house. And -so the party came to an end, and the guests, many of them with -indigestions, but with the most cordial smiles and applause and -hand-shakings, were gradually cleared away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-182" id="page_vol-1-182">{v.1-182}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr. Ogilvie</span> was one of those who carried away an incipient indigestion. -He was not accustomed to truffles nor to Château Yquem. But he did not -spoil his dinner—for as they were in the habit of dining rather early, -and it was now nearly seven o’clock, his wife promptly decided that a -cup of tea when he got home would be much the best thing for him, and -that no dinner need be served in Gilston House that day. She said, “You -must just look a little lively, Robert, till we get away. Don’t let -strangers think that you’ve been taking more than is good for you, -either of meat or drink.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-183" id="page_vol-1-183">{v.1-183}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Drink!” said the good man. “Yon’s nectar: but I might have done without -the salad. Salad is a cold thing upon the stomach. I’m lively enough if -you would let me alone. And he’s a grand fellow the father of them. He -grudges nothing. I have not seen such a supper since my dancing days.”</p> - -<p>“It was no supper; it was just a tea party. I wish you would wake up, -and understand. Here is Mr. Dirom with Effie coming to put me into the -carriage. Rouse up, man, and say a civil word.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do that,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “We’ve had a most enjoyable evening, -Mr. Dirom, a good supper and a capital band, and—— But I cannot get it -out of my head that it’s been a ball—which is impossible now I see all -these young ladies with hats and bonnets upon their heads.”</p> - -<p>“I wish it had been a ball,” said the overwhelming host. “We ought to -have kept it up half through the night, and enjoyed another<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-184" id="page_vol-1-184">{v.1-184}</a></span> supper, eh? -at midnight, and a little more of that Clicquot. I hope there’s enough -for half-a-dozen balls. Why hadn’t you the sense to keep the young -people for the evening, Fred? Perhaps you thought the provisions -wouldn’t last, or that I would object to pay the band for a few hours -longer. My children make me look stingy, Mrs. Ogilvie. They have got a -number of small economical ways.”</p> - -<p>“And that’s an excellent thing,” said the lady, “for perhaps they may -not have husbands that will be so liberal as their father—or so well -able to afford it—and then what would they do?”</p> - -<p>“I hope to put them beyond the risk of all that,” said the man of money, -jingling his coins. He did not offer to put Mrs. Ogilvie into the -carriage as she had supposed, but looked on with his hands in his -pockets, and saw her get in. The Ogilvies were almost the last to leave, -and the last object that impressed itself upon them as they turned round -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-185" id="page_vol-1-185">{v.1-185}</a></span> corner of the house was Mr. Dirom’s white waistcoat, which looked -half as big as Allonby itself. When every one had disappeared, he took -Fred, who was not very willing, by the arm, and led him along the river -bank.</p> - -<p>“Is that the family,” he said, “my fine fellow, that they tell me you -want to marry into, Fred?”</p> - -<p>“I have never thought of the family. Since you bring it in so -suddenly—though I was scarcely prepared to speak on the subject—yes: -that’s the young lady whom in all the world, sir, I should choose for my -wife.”</p> - -<p>“Much you know about the world,” said Mr. Dirom. “I can’t imagine what -you are thinking of; a bit of a bread-and-butter girl, red and white, -not a fortune, no style about her, or anything out of the common. Why, -at your age, without a tithe of your advantages, I shouldn’t have looked -at her, Mr. Fred.”</p> - -<p>If there was in Fred’s mind the involun<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-186" id="page_vol-1-186">{v.1-186}</a></span>tary instinctive flash of a -comparison between his good homely mother and pretty Effie, may it be -forgiven him! He could do nothing more than mutter a half sulky word -upon difference of taste.</p> - -<p>“That’s true,” said his father; “one man’s meat is another man’s poison. -My Lady Alicia’s not much to look at, but she is Lady Alicia; that’s -always a point in her favour. But this little girl has nothing to show. -Bread and butter, that’s all that can be said.”</p> - -<p>To this Fred, with gathering curves upon his forehead, made no reply at -all.</p> - -<p>“And her people are barely presentable,” said the father. “I say this -with no personal feeling, only for your good; very Scotch, but nothing -else about them to remember them by. A sodden stagnant old Scotch -squire, and a flippant middle-class mother, and I suppose a few pounds -of her own that will make her think herself somebody. My dear fellow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-187" id="page_vol-1-187">{v.1-187}</a></span> -there you have everything that is most objectionable. A milkmaid would -not be half so bad, for she would ask no questions and understand that -she got everything from you——”</p> - -<p>“There is no question of any milkmaid,” said Fred in high offence.</p> - -<p>“Middle class is social destruction,” said Mr. Dirom. “Annihilation, -that’s what it is. High or low has some chance, but there’s no good in -your <i>milieu</i>. Whatever happens, you’ll never be able to make anything -out of her. They have no go in that position; they’re too respectable to -go out of the beaten way. That little thing, sir, will think it’s -unbecoming to do this or that. She’ll never put out a step beyond what -she knows. She’ll be no help to you if anything happens. She’ll set up -her principles; she’ll preach your duty to you. A pretty kind of wife -for the son of a man who has made his way to the top of the tree, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-188" id="page_vol-1-188">{v.1-188}</a></span> -Jove! and that may tumble down again some fine day.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean, sir,” said Fred. “You might add she will -most likely neither look nor listen to me, and all this sermon of yours -will go for nought.”</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean it for a sermon. I give it you in friendship to warn you -what’s before you. You think perhaps after this I’m going to forbid the -banns: though there’s no banns wanted in this free country, I believe. -No, Fred, that’s not it; I’m not going to interfere. If you like -insipidity, it’s your own concern: if you choose a wife in order to -carry her on your shoulders—and be well kicked while you do it: mind -that.”</p> - -<p>“I think, sir,” said Fred, who had grown very red, “that we had better -drop the subject. If you mean to oppose, why, of course, you can -oppose—but if not, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-189" id="page_vol-1-189">{v.1-189}</a></span> sort of thing does little good. It can never -alter my mind, and I don’t see even how it can relieve yours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, it relieves mine,” said his father. “It shows you my opinion. -After that, if you choose to take your own way, why, you must do it. I -should have advised you to look out for a nice little fortune which -might have been a stand-by in case of anything happening. No, nothing’s -going to happen. Still you know—— Or I’d have married rank (you might -if you had liked), and secured a little family interest. Things might -change in a day, at any moment. Jack might tire of his blue china and -come and offer himself for the office. If he did, you have married -against my advice, and Jack being the eldest son—— Well, I don’t need -to say any more.”</p> - -<p>“I quite understand, sir,” Fred said.</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s a good thing; but you need not go too far on the other -side, and think<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-190" id="page_vol-1-190">{v.1-190}</a></span> I’m going to disinherit you, or any of that rubbish. -Did I disinherit Jack? I bring you up in the best way, spend no end of -money on you, teach you to think yourselves twice the man I am, and then -you take your own way.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, sir,” cried Fred anxiously, “you are mistaken. I——” But -though he did not think he was twice the man his father was, yet he did -think he was a very different man from his father, and this -consciousness made him stammer and fall into confusion, not knowing what -to say.</p> - -<p>“Don’t trouble yourself to contradict me,” said Mr. Dirom. “<i>I</i> don’t -think so. I think your father’s twice the man you are. Let each of us -keep his opinion. We shan’t convince each other. And if you insist on -marrying your insipidity, do. Tell the stupid old father to communicate -with my lawyers about the settlements, and get it over as soon as you -please.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-191" id="page_vol-1-191">{v.1-191}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You are going a great deal too fast, sir,” said Fred. He was pale with -the hurry and rapid discussion. “I can’t calculate like this upon what -is going to happen. Nothing has happened as yet.”</p> - -<p>“You mean she mayn’t have you? Never fear; young fellows with a father -behind them ain’t so common. Most men in my position would put a stop to -it altogether. I don’t; what does it matter to me? Dirom and Co. don’t -depend upon daughters-in-law. A woman’s fortune is as nothing to what’s -going through my hands every day. I say, let every man please himself. -And you’ve got quiet tastes and all that sort of thing, Fred. Thinking -of coming up to town to look after business a little? Well, don’t; -there’s no need of you just now. I’ve got some ticklish operations on, -but they’re things I keep in my own hands.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t pretend to be the business man you are,” said Fred with a -fervour which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-192" id="page_vol-1-192">{v.1-192}</a></span> was a little forced, “but if I could be of use——”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t think you could be of use. Go on with your love-making. By -the way, I’m going back to-night. When is the train? I’ll just go in and -mention it to your mother. I wanted to see what sort of a set you had -about. Poor lot!” said Mr. Dirom, shaking his heavy chain as he looked -at his watch. “Not a shilling to spare among ’em—and thinking all the -world of themselves. So do I? Yes: but then I’ve got something to stand -upon. Money, my boy, that’s the only real power.”</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris met their brother anxiously on his way back. “What is -he going to do?” they both said; “what has he been talking to you about? -Have you got to give her up, you poor old Fred?”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have given her up for a dozen governors; but he’s very good -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-193" id="page_vol-1-193">{v.1-193}</a></span>about it. Really to hear him you would think—— He’s perhaps better -about it than I deserve. He’s going back to town by the fast train -to-night.”</p> - -<p>“To-night!” There was both relief and grievance in the tone of the -girls.</p> - -<p>“He might just as well have gone this morning, and much more comfortable -for him,” said Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“For us too,” said her sister, and the three stood together and indulged -in a little guilty laugh which expressed the relief of their souls. “It -is horrid of us, when he’s always so kind: but papa does not really -enjoy the country, nor perhaps our society. He is always much happier -when he’s in town and within reach of the club.”</p> - -<p>“And in the meantime we have got our diamonds.”</p> - -<p>“And I my freedom,” said Fred; then he added with a look of compunction, -“I say, though, look here. He’s as good to us as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-194" id="page_vol-1-194">{v.1-194}</a></span> he knows how, and -we’re not just what you would call——”</p> - -<p>“Grateful,” said both the sisters in a breath. Then they began to make -excuses, each in her own way.</p> - -<p>“We did not bring up ourselves. We ought to have got the sort of -education that would have kept us in papa’s sphere. He should have seen -to that; but he didn’t, Fred, as you know, and how can we help it? I am -always as civil to him as it’s possible to be. If he were ill, or -anything happened—By-the-bye, we are always saying now, ‘If anything -happened:’ as if there was some trouble in the air.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right; you needn’t be superstitious. He is in the best of -spirits, and says I am not wanted, and that he’s got some tremendous -operation in hand.”</p> - -<p>“I do not suppose you would make much difference, dear Fred, even if you -were wanted,” said Miss Phyllis sweetly. “Of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-195" id="page_vol-1-195">{v.1-195}</a></span> course if he were ill we -should go to him wherever he was. If he should have an accident now, I -could bind up his arteries, or foment his foot if he strained it. I have -not got my ambulance certificate for nothing. But keeping very well and -quite rampant, and richer than anybody, what could we do for him?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the sentiment of the thing,” said Fred.</p> - -<p>“As if he ever thought of the sentiment; or minded anything about us.”</p> - -<p>They returned to the house in the course of this conversation—where -already the servants had cleared the dining-room and replaced it in its -ordinary condition. Here Doris paused to tell the butler that dinner -must be served early on account of her father’s departure: but her -interference was received by that functionary with a bland smile, which -rebuked the intrusion.</p> - -<p>“We have known it, miss, since master came,” a little speech which -brought back<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-196" id="page_vol-1-196">{v.1-196}</a></span> the young people to their original state of exasperated -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“You see!” the girls said, while even Fred while he laughed felt a prick -of irritation. Williams the butler had a great respect for his master, a -respect by no means general in such cases. He had served a duke in his -day, but he had never met with any one who was so indifferent to every -one else, so masterful and easy in his egotism, as his present -gentleman. And that he himself should have known what Mr. Dirom’s -arrangements were, while the children did not know, was a thing that -pleased this regent of the household. It was putting things in their -proper place.</p> - -<p>All the arrangements were made in the same unalterable imperious way. -There was no hurry with Mr. Dirom. He dined and indulged in a great many -remarks upon county people, whom he thought very small beer, he who was -used to the best society.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-197" id="page_vol-1-197">{v.1-197}</a></span> He would not in London have condescended to -notice such people.</p> - -<p>But in the country, if the girls liked, and as there was nothing better -to be had—“From time to time give them a good spread,” he said; “don’t -mind what’s the occasion—a good spread, all the delicacies of the -season; that’s the sort of thing to do. Hang economy, that’s the virtue -of the poor-proud. You’re not poor, thanks to me, and you have no call -to be humble, chicks. Give it ’em grand, regardless of expense. As long -as I’m there to pay, I like you to cut a figure. I like to feed ’em up -and laugh in their faces. They’ll call me vulgar, you bet. Never mind; -what I like is to let them say it, and then make them knuckle under. Let -’em see you’re rich,—that’s what the beggars feel,—and you’ll have -every one of them, the best of them, on their knees. Pity is,” he added -after a while, “that there’s nobody here that is any good. Nothing -marriageable, eh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-198" id="page_vol-1-198">{v.1-198}</a></span> Phyll? Ah, well, for that fellow there, who might -have picked up something better any day of his life; but nothing for you -girls. Not so much as a bit of a young baronet, or even a Scotch squire. -Nothing but the doctor; the doctor won’t do. I’m very indulgent, but -there I draw the line. Do you hear, mother? No doctor. I’ll not stand -the doctor—not till they’re forty at the least, and have got no other -hope.”</p> - -<p>The girls sat pale, and made no reply. Their mother gave a feeble laugh, -as in duty bound, and said, “That’s your fun, George.” Thus the -propriety of Doris’s statement that they ought to have been brought up -in papa’s sphere was made apparent: for in that case they would have -laughed too: whereas now they sat silent and pale, and looked at each -other, with sentiments unutterable: fortunately the servants had gone -away, but he was quite capable of having spoken before the servants.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-199" id="page_vol-1-199">{v.1-199}</a></span></p> - -<p>After dinner they waited with ill-restrained impatience the hour of the -train. <i>He</i> had rarely made himself so offensive; he went on about the -doctor, who would probably be their fate as they got near forty, with -inexhaustible enjoyment, and elicited from their mother that little -remonstrating laugh, which they forgave her for pity, saying to each -other, “Poor mamma!” Decidedly it is much better when daughters, and -sons too, for that matter, are brought up in their father’s sphere. He -went away in great good humour, refusing Fred’s offer to drive him to -the station.</p> - -<p>“None of your dog-carts for me,” he said: “I’ve ordered the brougham. -Good-bye girls; take care of yourselves, and try to rummage out -something superior to that doctor. And, Fred, you’d better think better -of it, my fine fellow, or, if you won’t be warned, do as you like, and -be hanged to you. Good-bye, old lady; I expect to hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-200" id="page_vol-1-200">{v.1-200}</a></span> you’ve got -screwed up with rheumatism in this damp old den here.”</p> - -<p>“And when will you come back, George? They say the weather is fine up to -November. I hope you’ll soon come back.”</p> - -<p>“Not for some time—unless I should have worse luck,” said the rich man. -He was at the door when he said this, his wife accompanying him, while -Fred stood outside with his hair blown about his eyes, at the door of -the brougham. The girls, standing behind, saw it all like a picture. -Their father, still with his white waistcoat showing under his overcoat, -his heavy chain glittering, and the beam and the roll of triumphant -money in his eye and his gait—“Not soon, unless I have worse luck,” and -he paused a moment and gave a comprehensive look around him with sudden -gravity, as he spoke.</p> - -<p>Then there was a laugh, a good-bye—and the carriage rolled away, and -they all stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-201" id="page_vol-1-201">{v.1-201}</a></span> for a moment looking out into the blackness of the -night.</p> - -<p>“What does he mean by worse luck?” they said to their mother as she came -in from the door.</p> - -<p>“He means nothing; it is just his fun. He’s got the grandest operations -in hand he has ever had. What a father you have got, girls! and to think -he lets you do whatever you please, and keeps you rolling in wealth all -the same!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-202" id="page_vol-1-202">{v.1-202}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> day of the party at Allonby had been a day of pleasure to Effie, but -of pleasure she was half afraid of and only half understood. The -atmosphere about her had been touched by something beyond her -experience,—softened, brightened, glorified, she could not tell how. -She did not understand it, and yet she did understand it, and this soft -conflict between knowing and not knowing increased its magical effect. -She was surrounded by that atmosphere of admiration, of adoration, which -is the first romantic aspect of a love-making. Everything in her and -about her was so beautiful and lovely in the eyes of her young and -undeclared lover, that somehow in spite of herself<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-203" id="page_vol-1-203">{v.1-203}</a></span> this atmosphere got -into her own eyes and affected her conception of herself. It was all an -effect of fancy, unreal, not meaning, even to Fred Dirom, what it had -seemed to mean.</p> - -<p>When love came to its perfection, when he had told it, and made sure of -a return (if he was to have a return), then Fred too, or any, the most -romantic of lovers, would so far return to common earth as to become -aware that it was a woman and not a poetical angel whom he was about to -marry.</p> - -<p>But at present fancy was supreme, and Effie was as no real creature ever -had been, lit up with the effulgence of a tender imagination, even in -her own consciousness. She was not vain, nor apt to take much upon -herself; neither was she by any means prepared to respond to the -sentiment with which Fred regarded her. She did not look at him through -that glorifying medium. But she became aware of herself through it in a -bewildering, dazzling, incomprehensible way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-204" id="page_vol-1-204">{v.1-204}</a></span> Her feet trod the air, a -suffusion of light seemed to be about her. It was a merely sympathetic -effect, although she was the glorified object; but for the moment it was -very remarkable and even sweet.</p> - -<p>“Well! it appears you were the queen of the entertainment, Effie, for -all so simple as you sit there,” said her stepmother. “I hope you were -content.”</p> - -<p>“Me!” said Effie, in those half bewildered tones, conscious of it, yet -incapable of acknowledging it, not knowing how it could be. She added in -a subdued voice: “They were all very kind,” blushing so deeply that her -countenance and throat rose red out of her white frock.</p> - -<p>“Her!” cried Mr. Ogilvie, still a little confused with the truffles; -“what would she be the queen of the feast for, a little thing like that? -I have nothing to say against you, Effie; but there were many finer -women there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-205" id="page_vol-1-205">{v.1-205}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, Robert,” said his wife. “There may be some things on -which you’re qualified to speak: but the looks of his own daughter, and -her just turning out of a girl into a woman, is what no man can judge. -You just can’t realize Effie as anything more than Effie. But I’ve seen -it for a long time. That’s not the point of view from which she is -regarded there.”</p> - -<p>“I know no other point of view,” he said in his sleepy voice. “You are -putting rank nonsense into her head.”</p> - -<p>“Just you lean back in your corner and take a rest,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, -“you’ve been exposed to the sun, and you’ve had heating viands and -drinks instead of your good cup of tea; and leave Effie’s head to me. -I’ll put nothing into it that should not be there.”</p> - -<p>“I think Effie’s head can take care of itself,” said the subject of the -discussion, though indeed if she had said the truth she would have -acknowledged that the little head<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-206" id="page_vol-1-206">{v.1-206}</a></span> in question was in the condition -which is popularly described as “turned,” and not in a very fit -condition to judge of itself.</p> - -<p>“It is easy to see that Mr. Dirom is a most liberal person,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “and spares nothing. I would not wonder if we were to see him -at Gilston to-morrow. What for? Oh, just for civility, and to see your -father. There might be business questions arising between them; who can -tell? And, Effie, I hope you’ll be reasonable, and not set yourself -against anything that would be for your good.”</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” said Effie, “but I don’t know what it is that you think -would be for my good.”</p> - -<p>“That is just what I am afraid of,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “that’s what -young folk are always doing. I can remember myself in my young days the -chances I threw away. Instead of seeing what’s in it as a real serious -matter, you will just consider it as a joke, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-207" id="page_vol-1-207">{v.1-207}</a></span> a thing to amuse -yourself with. That is not what a reasonable person would do. You’re -young, to be sure, but you will not be always young; and it is just -silly to treat in that light way what might be such a grand settlement -for life.”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” cried Effie, reddening now with sudden anger,—“oh, I wish you -would——”</p> - -<p>“Mind my own business? But it is my own business. When I married your -father it was one of the first of my duties to look after you, and -consider your best interests. I hope I’ve always done my duty by you, -Effie. From seeing that your hair was cut regularly, which was just in a -heart-breaking tangle about your shoulders when I came home to Gilston, -to seeing you well settled, there is nothing I have had so much in my -mind. Now don’t you make me any answer, for you will just say something -you will regret. I shall never have grown-up daughters of my own, and if -I were not to think of you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-208" id="page_vol-1-208">{v.1-208}</a></span> I would be a most reprehensible person. All -I have to ask of you is that you will not be a fool and throw away your -advantages. You need not stir a finger. Just take things pleasantly and -make a nice answer to them that ask, and everything else will come to -your hand. Lucky girl that you are! Yes, my dear, you are just a very -lucky girl. Scarcely nineteen, and everything you can desire ready to -drop into your lap. There is not one in a hundred that has a lot like -that. There are many that might do not amiss but for some circumstances -that’s against them; but there is no circumstance against you, and -nothing that can harm you, unless just some nonsense fancy that you may -take up at your own hand.”</p> - -<p>Thus Mrs. Ogilvie ran on during the drive home. After one or two murmurs -of protest Effie fell into silence, preferring, as she often did, the -soft current of her own thoughts to the weary words of her stepmother, -who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-209" id="page_vol-1-209">{v.1-209}</a></span> indeed was by no means unaccustomed to carry on a monologue of this -description, in which she gave forth a great many sentiments that were a -credit to her, and gave full intimation, had any attention been paid to -her, of various plans which were hotly but ineffectually objected to -when she carried them out.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie in his corner, what with his truffles and the unusual -fatigue of an afternoon spent in the midst of a crowd, and the familiar -lullaby of his wife’s voice, and the swift motion of the horses glad to -get home, had got happily and composedly to sleep. And if Effie did not -sleep, she did what was better. She allowed herself to float away on a -dreamy tide of feeling, which indeed was partly caused by Fred Dirom’s -devotion, yet was not responsive to it, nor implied any enchantment of -her own in which he held a leading place. She mused, but not of Fred. -The pleasure of life, of youth, of the love shown to her, of perhaps, -though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-210" id="page_vol-1-210">{v.1-210}</a></span> it is a less admirable sentiment, gratified vanity, buoyed her -up and carried her along.</p> - -<p>No doubt it was gratified vanity; yet it was something more. The feeling -that we are admired and beloved has a subtle delight in it, breathing -soft and warm into the heart, which is more than a vain gratification. -It brings a conviction that the world, so good to us, is good and kind -to its core—that there is a delightful communication with all lovely -things possible to humanity to which we now have got the key, that we -are entering into our heritage, and that the beautiful days are dawning -for us that dawn upon all in their time, in their hour and place.</p> - -<p>This, perhaps, has much to do with the elevation and ecstasy even of -true love. Without love at all on her own part, but only the reflected -glow of that which shone from her young lover, who had not as yet -breathed a word to her of hopes or of wishes, this soft uprising tide, -this consciousness of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-211" id="page_vol-1-211">{v.1-211}</a></span> a new existence, caught Effie now. She ceased to -pay any attention to her stepmother, whose wise words floated away upon -the breezes, and perhaps got diffused into nature, and helped to -replenish that stock of wisdom which the quiet and silence garner up to -transmit to fit listeners in their time. Some other country girl, -perhaps, going out into the fields to ask herself what she should do in -similar circumstances, got the benefit of those counsels, adjuring her -to abandon fancy and follow the paths of prudence, though they floated -over Effie’s head and made no impression on her dreaming soul.</p> - -<p>This vague and delightful period lasted without being broken by anything -definite for some time longer. The Dirom family in general had been -checked and startled, they could scarcely tell how, by the visit of the -father. Not that its abruptness surprised them, or its brevity, to both -of which things they were accustomed. No one indeed could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-212" id="page_vol-1-212">{v.1-212}</a></span> define what -was the cause, or indeed what was exactly the effect. It did not reach -the length of anxiety or alarm, and it was not produced by any special -thing which he had done or said; but yet they were checked, made -uncomfortable, they could not tell why.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom herself retired to her room and cried, though she would not -or could not give any reason for it; and the young people, though none -of their pursuits had been blamed by their father, tacitly by one -impulse paused in them, renouncing their most cherished habits, though -with no cause they knew.</p> - -<p>The same indefinite check weighed upon Fred. He had received, to his own -surprise, full license from his father to do as he pleased, and make his -own choice, a permission indeed which he had fully calculated upon—for -Mr. Dirom’s sentiment of wealth was such that he had always -persistently<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-213" id="page_vol-1-213">{v.1-213}</a></span> scoffed at the idea of a wife’s fortune being any special -object on the part of his sons—but which he had not expected to receive -without asking for it, without putting forth his reasons, in this -prodigal way.</p> - -<p>But Fred did not at once take advantage of this permission to please -himself. Perhaps the mere fact that his father took it so entirely for -granted, gave the subject greater gravity and difficulty in the eyes of -the son, and he became doubtful in proportion as the difficulties seemed -smoothed away. He did not even see Effie for some days after. The first -touch of winter came with the beginning of October, and tennis became a -thing of the past. Neither was there much pleasure to be had either in -walks or rides. The outside world grew dark, and to the discouraged and -disturbed family it was almost an advantage to shut themselves up for a -day or two, to gather round the fire, and either mutely or by -implication consult with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-214" id="page_vol-1-214">{v.1-214}</a></span> each other, and question that Sphinx of the -future which gives no reply.</p> - -<p>When this impression began to wear off, and the natural course of life -was resumed, Fred found another obstacle to the promotion of his suit. -Effie gave him no rebuff, showed no signs of dislike or displeasure, but -smiled to meet him, with a soft colour rising over her face, which many -a lover would have interpreted to mean the most flattering things. But -with all this, Fred felt a certain atmosphere of abstraction about her -which affected him, though his feelings were far from abstract. He had a -glimmering of the truth in respect to her, such as only a fairly -sympathetic nature and the perfect sincerity of his mind could have -conveyed to him.</p> - -<p>The girl was moved, he felt, by love, by something in the air, by an -ethereal sentiment—but not by him. She felt his love, thrilling somehow -sympathetically the delicate strings of her being, but did not share -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-215" id="page_vol-1-215">{v.1-215}</a></span> passion. This stopped him in the strangest way, re-acting upon him, -taking the words from his lips. It was too delicate for words. It seemed -to him that even a definite breath of purpose, much more the vulgar -question, Will you marry me? would have broken the spell. And thus a -little interval passed which was not without its sweetness. The nature -of their intercourse changed a little. It became less easy, yet almost -more familiar; instead of the lawns, the tennis, the walk through the -glen, the talk of Doris and Phyllis for a background, it was now in -Gilston chiefly that he met Effie. He came upon all possible and -impossible errands, to bring books or to borrow them, to bring flowers -from the conservatories, or grapes and peaches, or grouse; to consult -Mr. Ogilvie about the little farm, of which he knew nothing; or any -other pretext that occurred to him. And then he would sit in the homely -drawing-room at Gilston the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-216" id="page_vol-1-216">{v.1-216}</a></span> afternoon through, while Effie did -her needlework, or arranged the flowers, or brought out the dessert -dishes for the fruit, or carried him, a pretty handmaiden, his cup of -tea.</p> - -<p>“Now just sit still,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “and let Effie serve you. A -woman should always hand the tea. You’re fine for heavier things, but -tea is a girl’s business.”</p> - -<p>And Fred sat in bliss, and took that domestic nectar from the hand of -Effie, standing sweetly with a smile before him, and felt himself grow -nearer and nearer, and yet still farther and farther away.</p> - -<p>This state of affairs did not satisfy Mrs. Ogilvie at all. She asked -herself sometimes whether Fred after all was trifling with Effie? -whether it was possible that he might be amusing himself? whether her -father should interfere? This excellent woman was well aware that to get -Effie’s father to interfere was about as likely as that good Glen, -sweeping his mighty tail, should stop Fred upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-217" id="page_vol-1-217">{v.1-217}</a></span> the threshold, and ask -him what were his intentions. But then “her father” meant, of course, -her father’s wife, and the lady herself felt no reluctance, if Effie’s -interest required it, to take this step.</p> - -<p>Her objects were various. In the first place, as a matter of principle, -she had a rooted objection to shilly-shally in a question of this kind. -She had the feeling that her own prospects had suffered from it, as many -women have; and though Mrs. Ogilvie had not suffered much, and was very -well satisfied on the whole with her life, still she might, she felt, -have married earlier and married better but for the senseless delays of -the man in more cases than one.</p> - -<p>From a less abstract point of view she desired the question to be -settled in Effie’s interests, feeling sure both that Fred was an -excellent <i>parti</i>, and that he was that highly desirable thing—a good -young man. Perhaps a sense that to have the house to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-218" id="page_vol-1-218">{v.1-218}</a></span> herself, without -the perpetual presence of a grown-up stepdaughter, might be an -advantage, had a certain weight with her; but a motive which had much -greater weight, was the thought of the triumph of thus marrying -Effie—who was not even her own, and for whom her exertions would be -recognized as disinterested—in this brilliant manner at nineteen—a -triumph greater than any which had been achieved by any mother in the -county since the time when May Caerlaverock married an English duke. -None of these, it will be perceived, were sordid reasons, and Mrs. -Ogilvie had no need to be ashamed of any of them. The advantage of her -husband’s daughter was foremost in her thoughts.</p> - -<p>But with all this in her, it may well be believed that Mrs. Ogilvie was -very impatient of the young people’s delays, of the hours that Fred -wasted in the Gilston drawing-room without ever coming to the point,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-219" id="page_vol-1-219">{v.1-219}</a></span> -and of the total want of any anxiety or desire that he should come to -the point, on the part of Effie.</p> - -<p>“He will just let the moment pass,” this excellent woman said to herself -as she sat and frowned, feeling that she gave them a hundred -opportunities of which they took no heed, which they did not even seem -to be conscious of.</p> - -<p>It was all she could do, she said afterwards, to keep her hands off -them! the two silly things! just playing with their fate. She was moved -almost beyond her power of self-control, and would sit quivering with -the desire to hasten matters, ready every time she opened her lips to -address them on the subject, while Fred took his tea with every -appearance of calm, and Effie served him as if in a dream.</p> - -<p>“Oh ye two silly things!”—this was what was on her lips twenty times in -an afternoon; and she would get up and go out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-220" id="page_vol-1-220">{v.1-220}</a></span> of the room, partly lest -she should betray herself, partly that he might have an opportunity. But -it was not till about the end of October, on a dusky afternoon after a -day of storm and rain, that Fred found his opportunity, not when Mrs. -Ogilvie, but when Effie happened to be absent, for it was, after all, to -the elder lady, not to the younger, that he at length found courage to -speak.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-221" id="page_vol-1-221">{v.1-221}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> - -<p class="nind">“<span class="smcap">Mrs. Ogilvie</span>, may I say a word to you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Dear me, Mr. Fred, a hundred if you like. I am just always most ready -to listen to what my friends have to say.”</p> - -<p>Which was true enough but with limitations, and implied the possibility -of finding an opening, a somewhat difficult process. She made a very -brief pause, looking at him, and then continued, “It will be something -of importance? I am sure I am flattered that you should make a confidant -of me.”</p> - -<p>“It is something of a great deal of importance—to me. I am going to ask -you as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-222" id="page_vol-1-222">{v.1-222}</a></span> kind friend, which you have always shown yourself——”</p> - -<p>“Hoots,” said the lady, “I’ve had nothing in my power. But what will it -be? for though I have the best will in the world, and would do anything -to serve you, I cannot think what power I have to be of any use, or what -I can do.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of the greatest use. Tell me first,” cried the young man, who had -risen up and was standing before her with an evident tremor about him. -“Shall I have time to tell you everything? is Miss Effie coming back -directly? will she soon be here?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie felt as if her senses were abandoning her. It was evident -he wanted Effie to stay away in order that he might reveal something to -<i>her</i>. Dear, what could it be? Was it possible that she had been -mistaken all through? was it possible—? Mrs. Ogilvie was not a vain -woman, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-223" id="page_vol-1-223">{v.1-223}</a></span> the circumstances were such as to confuse the clearest head.</p> - -<p>“She has gone up to the manse to her Uncle John’s. Well, I would not -wonder if she was half-an-hour away. But, Mr. Dirom, you will excuse me, -I would sooner have believed you wanted me out of the way than Effie. I -could have imagined you had something to say to her: but me!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, that is just it,” said Fred, “I feel as if I dared not. I want you -to tell me, dear Mrs. Ogilvie, if it is any good. She is—well, not -cold—she is always sweetness itself. But I feel as if I were kept at a -distance, as if nothing of that sort had ever approached her—no -idea—— Other girls laugh about marriage and lovers and so forth, but -she never. I feel as if I should shock her, as if——”</p> - -<p>“Then it <i>is</i> about Effie that you want to speak?”</p> - -<p>He was so full of emotion that it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-224" id="page_vol-1-224">{v.1-224}</a></span> only by a nod of his head that he -could reply.</p> - -<p>“You know this is just an extraordinary kind of proceeding, Mr. Fred. -It’s a thing nobody thinks of doing. She will perhaps not like it, for -she has a great deal of spirit—that you should first have spoken to -me.”</p> - -<p>“It is in many parts of the world the right thing to do. I—didn’t -know——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is just a very right thing, no doubt, in principle; but a girl -would perhaps think—Well, you must just say your mind, and I will help -you if I can. It may be something different from what I expect.”</p> - -<p>“What could it be, Mrs. Ogilvie? I have loved her since the first moment -I saw her. When I lifted the curtain and my eyes fell upon that fair -creature, so innocent, so gentle! I have never thought of any one in the -same way. My fate was decided in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-225" id="page_vol-1-225">{v.1-225}</a></span> that moment. Do you think there is any -hope for me?”</p> - -<p>“Hope!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “well, I must say I think you are a very -humble-minded young man.”</p> - -<p>He came up to her and took her hand and kissed it. He was full of -agitation.</p> - -<p>“I am in no way worthy of such happiness. Humble-minded—oh no, I am not -humble-minded. But Effie—tell me! has she ever spoken of me, has she -said anything to make you think—has she——”</p> - -<p>“My dear Mr. Fred, of course we have spoken of you many a time; not that -I would say she ever said anything—oh no, she would not say anything. -She is shy by nature, and shyer than I could wish with me. But, dear me, -how is it likely she would be insensible? You’ve been so devoted that -everybody has seen it. Oh, yes, I expected.—And how could she help but -see? She has never met with anybody else,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-226" id="page_vol-1-226">{v.1-226}</a></span> she is just fresh from the -nursery and the schoolroom, and has never had such a notion presented to -her mind. It would be very strange to me, just out of all possibility, -that she should refuse such an offer.”</p> - -<p>The pang of pleasure which had penetrated Fred’s being was here modified -by a pang of pain. He shrank a little from these words. This was not how -he regarded his love. He cried anxiously, “Don’t say that. If you think -it is possible that she may learn to—love me——”</p> - -<p>“And why not?” said this representative of all that was straightforward -and commonplace. “There is nobody before you, that is one thing I can -tell you. There was a young man—a boy I might say—but I would never -allow her to hear a word about it. No, no, there is nobody—you may feel -quite free to speak.”</p> - -<p>“You make me—very happy,” he said, but in a tone by no means so assured -as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-227" id="page_vol-1-227">{v.1-227}</a></span> his words. Then he added, hesitating, “Perhaps I should not ask -more; but if she had ever shown—oh, I am sure you must know what I -mean—any interest—any——”</p> - -<p>“Toots!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “am I going to betray a bit girlie’s -secrets, even if I knew them. One thing, she will not perhaps be pleased -that you have spoken to me. I am but her stepmother when all is said. -Her father is in the library, and he is the right person. Just you step -across the passage and have a word with him. That will be far more to -the purpose than trying to get poor Effie’s little secrets out of me.”</p> - -<p>“But, Mrs. Ogilvie,” cried Fred—</p> - -<p>“I will just show you the way. It would be awkward if she found you here -with me with that disturbed look; but her father is another matter -altogether. Now, don’t be blate, as we say here. Don’t be too modest. -Just go straight in and tell him—Robert,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-228" id="page_vol-1-228">{v.1-228}</a></span> here is Mr. Fred Dirom that -is wishful to have a word with you.”</p> - -<p>Fred followed, altogether taken by surprise. He was not in the least -“wishful” to have a word with Mr. Ogilvie. He wanted to find out from a -sympathetic spectator whether Effie’s virginal thoughts had ever turned -towards him, whether he might tell his tale without alarming her, -without perhaps compromising his own interests; but his ideas had not -taken the practical form of definite proposals, or an interview with the -father. Not that Fred had the slightest intention of declaring his love -without offering himself fully for Effie’s acceptance; but to speak of -his proposal, and to commit him to a meeting of this sort before he knew -anything of Effie’s sentiments, threw a business air, which was half -ludicrous and half horrible, over the little tender romance. But what -can a young man do in such absurd circumstances? Mrs. Ogilvie did not -ask his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-229" id="page_vol-1-229">{v.1-229}</a></span> opinion. She led the way, talking in her usual full round -voice, which filled the house.</p> - -<p>“Just come away,” she said. “To go to headquarters is always the best, -and then your mind will be at ease. As for objections on her part, I -will not give them a thought. You may be sure a young creature of that -age, that has never had a word said to her, is very little likely to -object. And ye can just settle with her father. Robert, I am saying this -is Mr. Dirom come to say a word to you. Just leave Rory to himself; he -can amuse himself very well if you take no notice. And he is as safe as -the kirk steeple, and will take no notice of you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure I’m very glad to see Mr. Dirom—at any time,” said Mr. -Ogilvie; but it was not a propitious moment. The room in which he sat, -and which was called the library, was a dreary dark gray room with a few -bookcases, and furniture of a dingy kind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-230" id="page_vol-1-230">{v.1-230}</a></span> The old armchairs, when they -were discarded from other regions, found their way there, and stood -about harshly, like so many old gentlemen, with an air of twirling their -thumbs and frowning at intruders. But to-day these old fogeys in -mahogany were put to a use to which indeed they were not unaccustomed, -but which deranged all the previous habitudes of a lifetime. They were -collected in the middle of the room to form an imaginary stage-coach -with its steeds, four in hand, driven with much cracking of his whip and -pulling of the cords attached to the unyielding old backs, by Master -Rory, seated on high in his white pinafore, and gee-wo-ing and -chirruping like an experienced coachman. Mr. Ogilvie himself, with much -appropriate gesture, was at the moment of Fred’s entry riding as -postilion the leader, which had got disorderly. The little drama -required that he should manifest all the alarm of a rider about to be -thrown off,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-231" id="page_vol-1-231">{v.1-231}</a></span> and this he was doing with much demonstration when the door -opened.</p> - -<p>Fred thought that if anything could have added to the absurdity of his -own position it was this. Mr. Ogilvie was on ordinary occasions very -undemonstrative, a grave leathern-jawed senior, who spoke little and -looked somewhat frowningly upon the levities of existence. He got off -his horse, so to speak, with much confusion as the stranger came in.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he said, apologetically—but for the moment said no more.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, we see. Rory, ye’ll tumble off that high seat; how have ye got -so high a seat? Bless me, ye’ll have a fall if ye don’t take care.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” continued Mr. Ogilvie, “the weather has been wet and the -little fellow has not got his usual exercise. At that age they must have -exercise. You’ll think it’s not very becoming for a man of my age<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-232" id="page_vol-1-232">{v.1-232}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “what does it matter about your age? You are -just a father whatever age you are, and Mr. Dirom will think no worse of -you for playing with your own little child. Come, Rory, come, my wee -man, and leave papa to his business.”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ll no go,” shouted the child. “We’re thust coming in to the inn, -and all the passengers will get out o’ the coach. Pappa, pappa, the off -leader, she’s runned away. Get hold o’ her, get hold o’ her; she’ll -upset the coach.”</p> - -<p>Fred looked on with unsympathetic eyes while the elderly -pseudo-postilion, very shamefaced, made pretence of arresting the -runaway steed, which bore the sedate form of a mahogany arm-chair.</p> - -<p>“You will just excuse me,” he said, “till the play’s played out. There, -now, Rory, fling your reins to the hostler, and go in and get your -dram—which means a chocolate sweetie,” he added, to forestall any -reproof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-233" id="page_vol-1-233">{v.1-233}</a></span></p> - -<p>If Rory’s father had been a great personage, or even if being only Mr. -Ogilvie of Gilston he had been Rory’s grandfather, the situation would -have been charming; but as he was neither, and very commonplace and -elderly, the tableau was spoiled. (“Old idiot,” the Miss Dempsters would -have said, “making a fool of a bairn that should have been his son’s -bairn, and neglecting his own lawful children, at his age!” The -sentiment was absurd, but Fred shared it.) Perhaps it was the unrelaxing -countenance of the young man, as Mrs. Ogilvie seized and carried off the -charioteer which made the poor papa so ill at ease. He pulled the chairs -apart with an uneasy smile and gave one to his visitor.</p> - -<p>“No, I am not ashamed of it,” he said, “but I daresay I would look -ridiculous enough to a stranger:” and with this he sat down before his -table, on which, amid the writing things, were a child’s trumpet and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-234" id="page_vol-1-234">{v.1-234}</a></span> -other articles belonging to a person of very tender years. “And in what -can I be of use to you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>It was Fred’s turn to grow red. He had been led into this snare against -his will. He felt rather disgusted, rather angry.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he said, “that it was anything calling for your -attention to-day. It was a matter—still undecided. I should not have -disturbed you—at a moment of relaxation.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if that is all,” said Mr. Ogilvie with a smile, “I have Rory -always, you know. The little pickle is for ever on my hands. He likes me -better than the weemen, because I spoil him more, my wife says.”</p> - -<p>Having said this with effusion, the good man awoke once more to the fact -that his audience was not with him, and grew dully red.</p> - -<p>“I am entirely at your service now,” he said; “would it be anything -about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-235" id="page_vol-1-235">{v.1-235}</a></span> wheat? Your grieve is, no doubt, a very trustworthy man, but -I would not leave your fields longer uncut if I was you. There is no sun -now to do them any good.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks, very much,” said Fred, “it was not about the wheat——”</p> - -<p>“Or perhaps the state of the woods? There will be a good deal of pruning -required, but it will be safest to have the factor over, and do nothing -but what he approves.”</p> - -<p>“It was not about the woods. It was an entirely personal question. -Perhaps another day would be more appropriate. I—have lost the thread -of what I was going to say.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me,” said the good man, “that’s a pity. Is there nothing that I -can suggest, I wonder, to bring it back to your mind?”</p> - -<p>He looked so honestly solicitous to know what the difficulty was, that -Fred’s irri<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-236" id="page_vol-1-236">{v.1-236}</a></span>tation was stayed. An embarrassment of another kind took -possession of him.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ogilvie,” he said, “I don’t know why I should have come to you, for -indeed I have no authority. I have come to ask you for—what I am sure -you will not give, unless I have another consent first. It is -about—your daughter that I want to speak.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie opened his eyes a little and raised himself in his seat.</p> - -<p>“Ay!” he said, “and what will it be about Effie?”</p> - -<p>He had observed nothing, seeing his mind was but little occupied with -Effie. To be sure, his wife had worried him with talk about this young -fellow, but he had long accustomed himself to hear a great deal that his -wife said without paying any attention. He had an understanding that -there could be only one way in which Fred Dirom could have anything to -say to him about his daughter: but still, though he had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-237" id="page_vol-1-237">{v.1-237}</a></span> heard a good -deal of talk on the subject, it was a surprise.</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Fred, collecting himself, “I have loved her since the first -time I saw her. I want to know whether I have your permission to speak -to Miss Ogilvie—to tell her——”</p> - -<p>Poor Fred was very truly and sincerely in love. It was horrible to him -to have to discourse on the subject and speak these words which he -should have breathed into Effie’s ear to this dull old gentleman. So -strange a travesty of the scene which he had so often tenderly figured -to himself filled him with confusion, and took from him all power of -expressing himself.</p> - -<p>“This is very important, Mr. Dirom,” said Effie’s father, straightening -himself out.</p> - -<p>“It is very important to me,” cried the young man; “all my hopes are -involved in it, my happiness for life.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s very important,” said Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-238" id="page_vol-1-238">{v.1-238}</a></span> Ogilvie, “if I’m to take this, as -I suppose, as a proposal of marriage to Effie. She is young, and you are -but young for that responsibility; and you will understand, of course, -that I would never force her inclinations.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens, sir,” cried the young fellow, starting to his feet, “what -do you take me for?—do you think that I—I——”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” said Mr. Ogilvie, shaking his gray head. “Sit down, my young -friend. There could be no such thing as forcing her inclinations; but -otherwise if your good father and mother approve, there would not, so -far as I can see, be any objections on our part. No, so far as I can -see, there need be no objection. I should like to have an opportunity of -talking it over with my wife. And Effie herself would naturally require -to be consulted: but with these little preliminaries—I have heard -nothing but good of you, and I cannot see that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-239" id="page_vol-1-239">{v.1-239}</a></span> there would be any -objections on our part.”</p> - -<p>At this point the door opened quickly, and Mrs. Ogilvie came in.</p> - -<p>“Well,” she said, “I hope ye have got it over and settled everything: -for, Mr. Fred, Effie is just coming down from the manse, and I thought -you would perhaps like to see her, not under my nose, as people say, but -where ye could have a little freedom. If ye hurry you will meet her -where the road strikes off into the little wood—and that’s a nice -little roundabout, where a great deal can be got through. But come away, -ye must not lose a moment; and afterwards ye can finish your talk with -papa.”</p> - -<p>If Fred could have disappeared through the dingy old carpet, if he could -have melted into thin air, there would have been no more seen of him in -Gilston house that day. But he could not escape his fate. He was hurried -along to a side door, where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-240" id="page_vol-1-240">{v.1-240}</a></span> Mrs. Ogilvie pointed out to him the little -path by which Effie would certainly return home. She almost pushed him -out into the waning afternoon to go and tell his love.</p> - -<p>When he heard the door close behind him and felt himself free and in the -open world, Fred for a moment had the strongest impulse on his mind to -fly. The enthusiasm of his youthful love had been desecrated by all -these odious prefaces, his tender dreams had been dispelled. How could -he say to Effie in words fit for her hearing what he had been compelled -to say to those horrible people to whom she belonged, and to hear resaid -by them in their still more horrible way? He stood for a moment -uncertain whether to go on or turn and fly—feeling ashamed, outraged, -irritated. It seemed an insult to Effie to carry that soiled and -desecrated story for her hearing now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-1-241" id="page_vol-1-241">{v.1-241}</a></span></p> - -<p>But just then she appeared at the opening of the road, unconscious, -coming sweetly along, in maiden meditation, a little touched with -dreams. The sight of her produced another revolution in Fred’s thoughts. -Could it be for him that soft mist that was in her eyes? He went -forward, with his heart beating, to meet her and his fate.</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF VOLUME I.<br /><br /><br /> -<small>ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW</small></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-1" id="page_vol-2-1">{v.2-1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-2" id="page_vol-2-2">{v.2-2}</a></span></p> - -<h1>EFFIE OGILVIE.</h1> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="font-size:85%;margin:2em auto;"> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">PUBLISHED BY</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr><tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>London</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Hamilton, Adams and Co.</i></td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Cambridge</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Macmillan and Bowes</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>Edinburgh</i>,</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas and Foulis</i>.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">—</td></tr> -<tr><td class="c" colspan="2">MDCCCLXXXVI.</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-3" id="page_vol-2-3">{v.2-3}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> - -<i><small><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></small></i>.</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -MRS. OLIPHANT,<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,” ETC.</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -IN TWO VOLUMES.<br /> -<br /> -COMPLETE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -GLASGOW:<br /> -JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS,<br /> -<span class="eng">Publishers to the University</span>.<br /> -<small>LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO.</small><br /> -1 8 8 6.<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-4" id="page_vol-2-4">{v.2-4}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-5" id="page_vol-2-5">{v.2-5}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c"><b><a id="VOL_II"></a>VOL. II.</b></p> - -<h1><span class="spc">EFFIE OGILVIE</span>:<br /> -<i><small>THE STORY OF A YOUNG LIFE</small></i>.</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Effie</span> came towards him smiling, without apprehension. The atmosphere out -of doors had not the same consciousness, the same suggestion in it which -was inside. A young man’s looks, which may be alarming within the -concentration of four walls, convey no fear and not so much impression -in the fresh wind blowing from the moors and the openness of the country -road. To be sure it was afternoon and twilight coming on, which is -always a witching hour.</p> - -<p>He stood at the corner of the byeway<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-6" id="page_vol-2-6">{v.2-6}</a></span> waiting for her as she came along, -light-footed, in her close-fitting tweed dress, which made a dim setting -to the brightness of her countenance. She had a little basket in her -hand. She had been carrying a dainty of some kind to somebody who was -ill. The wind in her face had brightened everything, her colour, her -eyes, and even had, by a little tossing, found out some gleams of gold -in the brownness of her hair. She was altogether sweet and fair in -Fred’s eyes—a creature embodying everything good and wholesome, -everything that was simple and pure. She had a single rose in her hand, -which she held up as she advanced.</p> - -<p>“We are not like you, we don’t get roses all the year round; but here is -one, the last,” she said, “from Uncle John’s south wall.”</p> - -<p>It was not a highly-cultivated, scentless rose, such as the gardens at -Allonby produced by the hundred, but one that was full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-7" id="page_vol-2-7">{v.2-7}</a></span> fragrance, -sweet as all roses once were. The outer leaves had been a little caught -by the frost, but the heart was warm with life and sweetness. She held -it up to him, but did not give it to him, as at first he thought she was -going to do.</p> - -<p>“I would rather have that one,” he cried, “than all the roses which we -get all the year round.”</p> - -<p>“Because it is so sweet?” said Effie. “Yes, that is a thing that -revenges the poor folk. You can make the roses as big as a child’s head, -but for sweetness the little old ones in the cottage gardens are always -the best.”</p> - -<p>“Everything is sweet, I think, that is native here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Effie, with a deep breath of pleasure, taking the compliment -as it sounded, not thinking of herself in it. “I am glad to hear you say -that! for I think so too—the clover, and the heather, and the -haw<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-8" id="page_vol-2-8">{v.2-8}</a></span>thorn, and the meadow-sweet. There is a sweet-brier hedge at the -manse that Uncle John is very proud of. When it is in blossom he always -brings a little rose of it to me.”</p> - -<p>“Then I wish I might have that rose,” the young lover said.</p> - -<p>“From the sweet-brier? They are all dead long ago; and I cannot give you -this one, because it is the last. Does winter come round sooner here, -Mr. Dirom, than in—the South?”</p> - -<p>What Effie meant by the South was no more than England—a country, -according to her imagination, in which the sun blazed, and where the -climate in summer was almost more than honest Scots veins could bear. -That was not Fred’s conception of the South.</p> - -<p>He smiled in a somewhat imbecile way, and replied, “Everything is best -here. Dark, and true, and tender is the North: no, not dark, that is a -mistake of the poet. Fair,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-9" id="page_vol-2-9">{v.2-9}</a></span> and sweet, and true—is what he ought to -have said.”</p> - -<p>“There are many dark people as well as fair in Scotland,” said Effie; -“people think we have all yellow hair. There is Uncle John, he is dark, -and true, and tender—and our Eric. You don’t know our Eric, Mr. Dirom?”</p> - -<p>“I hope I shall some day. I am looking forward to it. Is he like you, -Miss Effie?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he is dark. I was telling you: and Ronald—I think we are just -divided like other people, some fair—some——”</p> - -<p>“And who is Ronald?—another brother?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no—only a friend, in the same regiment.”</p> - -<p>Effie’s colour rose a little, not that she meant anything, for what was -Ronald to her? But yet there had been that reference of the Miss -Dempsters which she had not understood, and which somehow threw Ronald -into competition with Fred Dirom, so that Effie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-10" id="page_vol-2-10">{v.2-10}</a></span> without knowing it, -blushed. Then she said, with a vague idea of making up to him for some -imperceptible injury, “Have you ever gone through our little wood?”</p> - -<p>“I am hoping,” said Fred, “that you will take me there now.”</p> - -<p>“But the gloaming is coming on,” said Effie, “and the wind will be wild -among the trees—the leaves are half off already, and the winds seem to -shriek and tear them, till every branch shivers. In the autumn it is a -little eerie in the wood.”</p> - -<p>“What does eerie mean? but I think I know; and nothing could be eerie,” -said Fred half to himself, “while you are there.”</p> - -<p>Effie only half heard the words: she was opening the little postern -gate, and could at least pretend to herself that she had not heard them. -She had no apprehensions, and the young man’s society was pleasant -enough. To be worshipped is pleasant. It makes one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-11" id="page_vol-2-11">{v.2-11}</a></span> so much more -disposed to think well of one’s self.</p> - -<p>“Then come away,” she said, holding the gate open, turning to him with a -smile of invitation. Her bright face looked brighter against the -background of the trees, which were being dashed about against an -ominous colourless sky. All was threatening in the heavens, dark and -sinister, as if a catastrophe were coming, which made the girl’s bright -tranquil face all the more delightful. How was it that she did not see -his agitation? At the crisis of a long alarm there comes a moment when -fear goes altogether out of the mind.</p> - -<p>If Effie had been a philosopher she might have divined that danger was -near merely from the curious serenity and quiet of her heart. The wooden -gate swung behind them. They walked into the dimness of the wood side by -side. The wind made a great sighing high up in the branches of the -fir<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-12" id="page_vol-2-12">{v.2-12}</a></span>-trees, like a sort of instrument—an Eolian harp of deeper compass -than any shrieking strings could be. The branches of the lower trees -blew about. There was neither the calm nor the sentiment that were -conformable to a love tale. On the contrary, hurry and storm were in the -air, a passion more akin to anger than to love. Effie liked those great -vibrations and the rushing flood of sound. But Fred did not hear them. -He was carried along by an impulse which was stronger than the wind.</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie,” he said, “I have been talking to your father—I have -been asking his permission—— Perhaps I should not have gone to him -first. Perhaps—It was not by my own impulse altogether. I should have -wished first to—— But it appears that here, as in foreign countries, -it is considered—the best way.”</p> - -<p>Effie looked up at him with great surprise, her pretty eyebrows arched, -but no sense of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-13" id="page_vol-2-13">{v.2-13}</a></span> special meaning as yet dawning in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“My father?” she said, wondering.</p> - -<p>Fred was not skilled in love-making. It had always been a thing he had -wished, to feel himself under the influence of a grand passion: but he -had never arrived at it till now; and all the little speeches which no -doubt he had prepared failed him in the genuine force of feeling.</p> - -<p>He stammered a little, looked at her glowing with tremulous emotion, -then burst forth suddenly, “O Effie, forgive me; I cannot go on in that -way. This is just all, that I’ve loved you ever since that first moment -at Allonby when the room was so dark. I could scarcely see you in your -white dress. Effie! it is not that I mean to be bold, to presume—I -can’t help it. It has been from the first moment. I shall never be happy -unless—unless——”</p> - -<p>He put his hand quickly, furtively, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-14" id="page_vol-2-14">{v.2-14}</a></span> a momentary touch upon hers -which held the rose, and then stood trembling to receive his sentence. -Effie understood at last. She stood still for a moment panic-stricken, -raising bewildered eyes to his. When he touched her hand she started and -drew a step away from him, but found nothing better to say than a low -frightened exclamation, “O Mr. Fred!”</p> - -<p>“I have startled you. I know I ought to have begun differently, not to -have brought it out all at once. But how could I help it? Effie! won’t -you give me a little hope? Don’t you know what I mean? Don’t you know -what I want? O Effie! I am much older than you are, and I have been -about the world a long time, but I have never loved any one but you.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not look at him now. She took her rose in both her hands and -fixed her eyes upon that.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-15" id="page_vol-2-15">{v.2-15}</a></span></p> -<p>“You are very kind, you are too, too—— I have done nothing that you -should think so much of me,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Done nothing? I don’t want you to do anything; you are yourself, that -is all. I want you to let me do everything for you. Effie, you -understand, don’t you, what I mean?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “I think I understand: but I have not thought of it -like that. I have only thought of you as a——”</p> - -<p>Here she stopped, and her voice sank, getting lower and lower as she -breathed out the last monosyllable. As a friend, was that what she was -going to say? And was it true? Effie was too sincere to finish the -sentence. It had not been quite as a friend: there had been something in -the air—But she was in no position to reply to this demand he made upon -her. It was true that she had not thought of it. It had been about her -in the atmosphere, that was all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-16" id="page_vol-2-16">{v.2-16}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know,” he said, breaking in eagerly. “I did not expect you to feel as -I do. There was nothing in me to seize your attention. Oh, I am not -disappointed—I expected no more. You thought of me as a friend. Well! -and I want to be the closest of friends. Isn’t that reasonable? Only let -me go on trying to please you. Only, only try to love me a little, -Effie. Don’t you think you could like a poor fellow who wants nothing so -much as to please you?”</p> - -<p>Fred was very much in earnest: there was a glimmer in his eyes, his face -worked a little: there was a smile of deprecating, pleading tenderness -about his mouth which made his lip quiver. He was eloquent in being so -sincere. Effie gave a furtive glance up at him and was moved. But it was -love and not Fred that moved her. She was profoundly affected, almost -awe-stricken at the sight of that, but not at the sight of him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-17" id="page_vol-2-17">{v.2-17}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh,” she said, “I like you already very much: but that is not—that is -not—it is not—the same——”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, “it is not the same—it is very different; but I shall be -thankful for that, hoping for more. If you will only let me go on, and -let me hope?”</p> - -<p>Effie knew no reply to make; her heart was beating, her head swimming: -they went on softly under the waving boughs a few steps, as in a dream. -Then he suddenly took her hand with the rose in it, and kissed it, and -took the flower from her fingers, which trembled under the novelty of -that touch.</p> - -<p>“You will give it to me now—for a token,” he said, with a catching of -his breath.</p> - -<p>Effie drew away her hand, but she left him the rose. She was in a tremor -of sympathetic excitement and emotion. How could she refuse to feel when -he felt so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-18" id="page_vol-2-18">{v.2-18}</a></span> much? but she had nothing to say to him. So long as he asked -no more than this, there seemed no reason to thwart him, to -refuse—what? he had not asked for anything, only that she should like -him, which indeed she did; and that he might try to please her. To -please her! She was not so hard to please. She scarcely heard what he -went on to say, in a flood of hasty words, with many breaks, and looks -which she was conscious of, but did not resent. He seemed to be telling -her about herself, how sweet she was, how true and good, what a -happiness to know her, to be near her, to be permitted to walk by her -side as he was doing. Effie heard it and did not hear, walking on in her -dream, feeling that it was not possible any one could form such -extravagant ideas of her, inclined to laugh, half-inclined to cry, in a -strange enchantment which she could not break.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-19" id="page_vol-2-19">{v.2-19}</a></span></p> - -<p>She heard her own voice say after a while, “Oh no, no—oh no, no—that -is all wrong. I am not like that, it cannot be me you are meaning.” But -this protest floated away upon the air, and was unreal like all the -rest. As for Fred, he was in an enchantment more potent still. Her -half-distressed, half-subdued listening, her little protestation, her -surprise, yet half-consent, and above all the privilege of pouring forth -upon her the full tide of passionate words which surprised himself by -their fluency and force, entirely satisfied him. Her youth, her gentle -ignorance and innocence, which were so sweet, fully accounted for the -absence of response.</p> - -<p>He felt instinctively that it was sweeter that she should allow herself -to be worshipped, that she should not be ready to meet him, but have to -be wooed and entreated before she found a reply. These were all -additional charms. He felt no want, nor was conscious of any drawback. -The noise in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-20" id="page_vol-2-20">{v.2-20}</a></span> the tops of the fir-trees, the waving of the branches -overhead, the rushing of the wind, were to Fred more sweet than any -sound of hidden brooks, or all the tender rustling of the foliage of -June.</p> - -<p>Presently, however, there came a shock of awakening to this rapture, -when the young pair reached the little gate which admitted into the -garden of Gilston. Fred saw the house suddenly rising before him above -the shrubberies, gray and solid and real, and the sight of it brought -him back out of that magic circle. They both stopped short outside the -door with a consciousness of reality which silenced the one and roused -the other. In any other circumstances Effie would have asked him to come -in. She stopped now with her hand on the gate, with a sense of the -impossibility of inviting him now to cross that threshold. And Fred too -stopped short. To go farther would be to risk the entire fabric of this -sudden happiness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-21" id="page_vol-2-21">{v.2-21}</a></span></p> - -<p>He took her hand again, “Dear Effie, dearest Effie; good-night, darling, -good-night.”</p> - -<p>“O Mr. Fred! but you must not call me these names, you must not -think—— It is all such a surprise, and I have let you say too much. -You must not think——”</p> - -<p>“That I am to you what you are to me? Oh no, I do not think it; but you -will let me love you? that is all I ask: and you will try to think of me -a little. Effie, you will think of me—just a little—and of this sweet -moment, and of the flower you have given me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will not be able to help thinking,” cried Effie. “But, Mr. Fred, -I am just bewildered; I do not know what you have been saying. And I did -not give it you. Don’t suppose—oh don’t suppose—— You must not go -away thinking——”</p> - -<p>“I think only that you will let me love you and try to please you. -Good-night, darling, good-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-22" id="page_vol-2-22">{v.2-22}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Effie went through the garden falling back into her dream. She scarcely -knew what she was treading on, the garden paths all dim in the fading -light, or the flower-beds with their dahlias. She heard his footstep -hurrying along towards the road, and the sound of his voice seemed to -linger in the air—Darling! had any one ever called her by that name -before? There was nobody to call her so. She was Uncle John’s darling, -but he did not use such words: and there was no one else to do it.</p> - -<p>Darling! now that she was alone she felt the hot blush come up -enveloping her from head to foot—was it Fred Dirom who had called her -that, a man, a stranger! A sudden fright and panic seized her. His -darling! what did that mean? To what had she bound herself? She could -not be his darling without something in return. Effie paused half-way -across the garden with a sudden impulse to run after him, to tell him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-23" id="page_vol-2-23">{v.2-23}</a></span> -it was a mistake, that he must not think—But then she remembered that -she had already told him that he must not think—and that he had said -no, oh no, but that she was his darling. A confused sense that a great -deal had happened to her, though she scarcely knew how, and that she had -done something which she did not understand, without meaning it, without -desiring it, came over her like a gust of the wind which suddenly seemed -to have become chill, and blew straight upon her out of the colourless -sky which was all white and black with its flying clouds. She stood -still to think, but she could not think: her thoughts began to hurry -like the wind, flying across the surface of her mind, leaving no trace.</p> - -<p>There were lights in the windows of the drawing-room, and Effie could -hear through the stillness the voice of her stepmother running on in her -usual strain, and little Rory shouting and driving his coach in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-24" id="page_vol-2-24">{v.2-24}</a></span> big -easy-chair. She could not bear to go into the lighted room, to expose -her agitated countenance to the comments which she knew would attend -her, the questions, where she had been, and why she was so late? Effie -had not a suspicion that her coming was eagerly looked for, and that -Mrs. Ogilvie was waiting with congratulations; but she could not meet -any eye with her story written so clearly in her face. She hurried up to -her own room, and there sat in the dark pondering and wondering. “Think -of me a little.” Oh! should she ever be able to think of anything else -all her life?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-25" id="page_vol-2-25">{v.2-25}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Effie</span> came down to dinner late—with eyes that betrayed themselves by -unusual shining, and a colour that wavered from red to pale. She had put -on her white frock hurriedly, forgetting her usual little ornaments in -the confusion of her mind. To her astonishment Mrs. Ogilvie, who was -waiting at the drawing-room door looking out for her, instead of the -word of reproof which her lateness generally called forth, met her with -a beaming countenance.</p> - -<p>“Well, Miss Effie!” she said, “so you’re too grand to mind that it’s -dinner-time. I suppose you’ve just had your little head turned with -flattery and nonsense.” And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-26" id="page_vol-2-26">{v.2-26}</a></span> to the consternation of her stepdaughter, -Mrs. Ogilvie took her by the shoulders and gave her a hearty kiss upon -her cheek. “I am just as glad as if I had come into a fortune,” she -said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie added a “humph!” as he moved on to the dining-room. And he -shot a glance which was not an angry glance (as it generally was when he -was kept waiting for his dinner) at his child.</p> - -<p>“You need not keep the dinner waiting now that she has come,” he said. -Effie did not know what to make of this extraordinary kindness of -everybody. Even old George did not look daggers at her as he took off -the cover of the tureen. It was inconceivable; never in her life had her -sin of being late received this kind of notice before.</p> - -<p>When they sat down at table Mrs. Ogilvie gave a little shriek of -surprise, “Why, where are your beads, Effie? Ye have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-27" id="page_vol-2-27">{v.2-27}</a></span> neither a bow, nor -a bracelet, nor one single thing, but your white frock. I might well say -your head was turned, but I never expected it in this way. And why did -you not keep him to his dinner? You would have minded your ribbons that -are so becoming to you, if he had been here.”</p> - -<p>“Let her alone,” said Mr. Ogilvie, “she is well enough as she is.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, she’s well enough, and more than well enough, considering how -she has managed her little affairs. Take some of this trout, Effie. It’s -a very fine fish. It’s just too good a dinner to eat all by ourselves. I -was thinking we were sure to have had company. Why didn’t you bring him -in to his dinner, you shy little thing? You would think shame: as if -there was any reason to think shame! Poor young man! I will take him -into my own hands another time, and I will see he is not snubbed. Give -Miss Effie a little of that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-28" id="page_vol-2-28">{v.2-28}</a></span> claret, George. She is just a little done -out—what with her walk, and what with——”</p> - -<p>“I am not tired at all,” said Effie with indignation. “I don’t want any -wine.”</p> - -<p>“You are just very cross and thrawn,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, making pretence -to threaten the girl with her finger. “You will have your own way. But -to be sure there is only one time in the world when a woman is sure of -having her own way, and I don’t grudge it to you, my dear. Robert, just -you let Rory be in his little chair till nurse comes for him. No, no, I -will not have him given things to eat. It’s very bad manners, and it -keeps his little stomach out of order. Let him be. You are just making a -fool of the bairn.”</p> - -<p>“Guide your side of the house as well as I do mine,” said Mr. Ogilvie, -aggrieved. He was feeding his little son furtively, with an expression -of beatitude impossible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-29" id="page_vol-2-29">{v.2-29}</a></span> describe. Effie was a young woman in whom it -was true he took a certain interest; but her marrying or any other -nonsense that she might take into her head, what were they to him? He -had never taken much to do with the woman’s side of the house. But his -little Rory, that was a different thing. A splendid little fellow, just -a little king. And what harm could a little bit of fish, or just a snap -of grouse, do him? It was all women’s nonsense thinking that slops and -puddings and that kind of thing were best for a boy.</p> - -<p>“My side of the house!” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with a little shriek; “and -what might that be? If Rory is not my side of the house, whose side does -he belong to? And don’t you think that I would ever let you have the -guiding of him. Oh, nurse, here you are! I am just thankful to see you; -for Mr. Ogilvie will have his own way, and as sure as we’re all living, -that boy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-30" id="page_vol-2-30">{v.2-30}</a></span> will have an attack before to-morrow morning. Take him away -and give him a little——. Yes, yes, just something simple of that kind. -Good-night, my bonnie little man. I would like to know what is my side -if it isn’t Rory? You are meaning the female side. Well, and if I had -not more consideration for your daughter than you have for my son——”</p> - -<p>“Listen to her!” said Mr. Ogilvie, “her son! I like that.”</p> - -<p>“And whose son may he be? But you’ll not make me quarrel whatever you -do—and on this night of all others. Effie, here is your health, my -dear, and I wish you every good. We will have to write to Eric, and -perhaps he might get home in time. What was that Eric said, Robert, -about getting short leave? It is a very wasteful thing coming all the -way from India, and only six weeks or so to spend at home. Still, if -there was a good reason for it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-31" id="page_vol-2-31">{v.2-31}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Is Eric coming home? have you got a letter? But you could not have got -a letter since the morning,” cried Effie.</p> - -<p>“No; but other things may have happened since the morning,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie with a nod and a smile. Effie could not understand the allusions -which rained upon her. She retreated more and more into herself, merely -listening to the talk that went on across her. She sat at her usual side -of the table, eating little, taking no notice. It did not occur to her -that what had happened in the wood concerned any one but herself. After -all, what was it? Nothing to disturb anybody, not a thing to be talked -about. To try to please her—that was all he had asked, and who could -have refused him a boon so simple? It was silly of her even, she said to -herself, to be so confused by it, so absorbed thinking about it, growing -white and red, as if something had happened; when nothing had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-32" id="page_vol-2-32">{v.2-32}</a></span> happened -except that he was to try to please her—as if she were so hard to -please!</p> - -<p>But Effie was more and more disturbed when her stepmother turned upon -her as soon as the dining-room door was closed, and took her by the -shoulders again.</p> - -<p>“You little bit thing, you little quiet thing!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “To -think you should have got the prize that never took any thought of it, -whereas many another nice girl!—I am just as proud as if it was myself: -and he is good as well as rich, and by no means ill-looking, and a very -pleasant young man. I have always felt like a mother to you, Effie, and -always done my duty, I hope. Just you trust in me as if I were your real -mother. Where did ye meet him? And were you very much surprised? and -what did he say?”</p> - -<p>Effie grew red from the soles of her feet, she thought, to the crown of -her head, shame or rather shamefacedness, its innocent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-33" id="page_vol-2-33">{v.2-33}</a></span> counterpart, -enveloping her like a mantle. Her eyes fell before her stepmother’s, but -she shook herself free of Mrs. Ogilvie’s hold.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Oh fie, Effie, fie! You may not intend to show me any confidence, which -will be very ill done on your part: but you cannot pretend not to know -what I mean. It was me that had pity upon the lad, and showed him the -way you were coming. I have always been your well-wisher, doing whatever -I could. And to tell me that you don’t know what I mean!”</p> - -<p>Effie had her little obstinacies as well as another. She was not so -perfect as Fred Dirom thought. She went and got her knitting,—a little -stocking for Rory,—work which she was by no means devoted to on -ordinary occasions. But she got it out now, and sat down in a corner at -a distance from the table and the light, and began to knit as if her -life depended upon it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-34" id="page_vol-2-34">{v.2-34}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I must get this little stocking finished. It has been so long in hand,” -she said.</p> - -<p>“Well, that is true,” said Mrs, Ogilvie, who had watched all Effie’s -proceedings with a sort of vexed amusement; “very true, and I will not -deny it. You have had other things in your mind; still, to take a month -to a bit little thing like that, that I could do in two evenings! But -you’re very industrious all at once. Will you not come nearer to the -light?”</p> - -<p>“I can see very well where I am,” said Effie shortly.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt you can see very well where you are, for there is -little light wanted for knitting a stocking. Still you would be more -sociable if you would come nearer. Effie Ogilvie!” she cried suddenly, -“you will never tell me that you have sent him away?”</p> - -<p>Effie looked at her with defiance in her eyes, but she made no reply.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-35" id="page_vol-2-35">{v.2-35}</a></span></p> -<p>“Lord bless us!” said her stepmother; “you will not tell me you have -done such a thing? Effie, are you in your senses, girl? Mr. Fred Dirom, -the best match in the county, that might just have who he liked,—that -has all London to pick and choose from,—and yet comes out of his way to -offer himself to a—to a—just a child like you. Robert,” she said, -addressing her husband, who was coming in tranquilly for his usual cup -of tea, “Robert! grant us patience! I’m beginning to think she has sent -Fred Dirom away!”</p> - -<p>“Where has she sent him to?” said Mr. Ogilvie with a glance half angry, -half contemptuous from under his shaggy eyebrows. Then he added, “But -that will never do, for I have given the young man my word.”</p> - -<p>Effie had done her best to go on with her knitting, but the needles had -gone all wrong in her hands: she had slipped her stitches, her wool had -got tangled. She could not see what she was doing. She got<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-36" id="page_vol-2-36">{v.2-36}</a></span> up, letting -the little stocking drop at her feet, and stood between the two, who -were both eyeing her so anxiously.</p> - -<p>“I wish,” she said, “that you would let me alone. I am doing nothing to -anybody. I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that. What have I done? I -have done nothing that is wrong. Oh, I wish—I wish Uncle John was -here!” she exclaimed suddenly, and in spite of herself and all her pride -and defensive instincts, suddenly began to cry, like the child she still -was.</p> - -<p>“It would be a very good thing if he were here; he would perhaps bring -you to your senses. A young man that you have kept dancing about you all -the summer, and let him think you liked his society, and was pleased to -see him when he came, and never a thought in your head of turning him -from the door. And now when he has spoken to your father, and offered -himself and all, in the most honourable way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-37" id="page_vol-2-37">{v.2-37}</a></span> Dear bless me, Effie, what -has the young man done to you that you have led him on like this, and -made a fool of him, and then to send him away?”</p> - -<p>“I have never led him on,” cried Effie through her tears. “I have not -made a fool of him. If he liked to come, that was nothing to anybody, -and I never—never——”</p> - -<p>“It is very easy to speak. Perhaps you think a young man has no pride? -when they are just made up of it! Yes—you have led him on: and now he -will be made a fool of before all the county. For everybody has seen it; -it will run through the whole countryside; and the poor young man will -just be scorned everywhere, that has done no harm but to think more of -you than you deserve.”</p> - -<p>“There’s far too much of this,” said Mr. Ogilvie, who prided himself a -little on his power to stop all female disturbances and to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-38" id="page_vol-2-38">{v.2-38}</a></span> assert his -authority. “Janet, you’ll let the girl alone. And, Effie, you’ll see -that you don’t set up your face and answer back, for it is a thing I -will not allow. Dear me, is that tea not coming? I will have to go away -without it if it is not ready. I should have thought, with all the women -there are in this house, it might be possible to get a cup of tea.”</p> - -<p>“And that is true indeed,” said his wife, “but they will not keep the -kettle boiling. The kettle should be always aboil in a well-cared-for -house. I tell them so ten times in a day. But here it is at last. You -see you are late, George; you have kept your master waiting. And -Effie——”</p> - -<p>But Effie had disappeared. She had slid out of the room under cover of -old George and his tray, and had flown upstairs through the dim passages -to her own room, where all was dark. There are moments where the -darkness is more congenial than the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-39" id="page_vol-2-39">{v.2-39}</a></span> light, when a young head swims with -a hundred thoughts, and life is giddy with its over-fulness, and a dark -room is a hermitage and place of refuge soothing in its contrast with -all that which is going through the head of the thinker, and all the -pictures that float before her (as in the present case—or his) eyes. -She had escaped like a bird into its nest: but not without carrying a -little further disturbance with her.</p> - -<p>The idea of Fred had hitherto conveyed nothing to her mind that was not -flattering and soothing and sweet. But now there was a harsher side -added to this amiable and tender one. She had led him on. She had given -him false hopes and made him believe that she cared for him. Had she -made him believe that she—cared for him? Poor Fred! He had himself put -it in so much prettier a way. He was to try to please her, as if she had -been the Queen. To try to please her! and she on her side was to try—to -like him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-40" id="page_vol-2-40">{v.2-40}</a></span> That was very different from those harsh accusations. There -was nothing that was not delightful, easy, soothing in all that. They -had parted such friends. And he had called her darling, which no one had -ever called her before.</p> - -<p>Her heart took refuge with Fred, who was so kind and asked for so -little, escaping from her stepmother with her flood of questions and -demands, and her father with his dogmatism. His word; he had given his -word. Did he think that was to pledge her? that she was to be handed -over to any one he pleased, because he had given his word? But Fred made -no such claim—he was too kind for that. He was to try to please her; -that was different altogether.</p> - -<p>And then Effie gradually forgot the episode downstairs, and began to -think of the dark trees tossed against the sky, and the road through the -wood, and the look of her young lover’s eyes which she had not ven<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-41" id="page_vol-2-41">{v.2-41}</a></span>tured -to meet, and all the things he said which she did not remember. She did -not remember the words, and she had not met the look, but yet they were -both present with her in her room in the dark, and filled her again with -that confused, sweet sense of elevation, that self-pleasure which it -would be harsh to call vanity, that bewildered consciousness of worship. -It made her head swim and her heart beat. To be loved was so strange and -beautiful. Perhaps Fred himself was not so imposing. She had noticed in -spite of herself how the wind had blown the tails of his coat and almost -forced him on against his will. He was not the hero of whom Effie, like -other young maidens, had dreamed. But yet her young being was thrilled -and responsive to the magic in the air, and touched beyond measure by -that consciousness of being loved.</p> - -<p>Fred came next morning eager and wistful <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-42" id="page_vol-2-42">{v.2-42}</a></span>and full of suppressed ardour, -but with a certain courage of permission and sense that he had a right -to her society, which was half irksome and half sweet. He hung about all -the morning, ready to follow, to serve her, to get whatever she might -want, to read poetry to her, to hold her basket while she cut the -flowers—the late flowers of October—to watch while she arranged them, -saying a hundred half-articulate things that made her laugh and made her -blush, and increased every moment the certainty that she was no longer -little Effie whom everybody had ordered about, but a little person of -wonderful importance—a lady like the ladies in Shakespeare, one for -whom no comparison was too lofty, and no name too sweet.</p> - -<p>It amused Effie in the bottom of her heart, and yet it touched her: she -could not escape the fascination. And so it came about that without any -further question, without going any farther into herself, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-43" id="page_vol-2-43">{v.2-43}</a></span> perceiving -how she was drawn into it, she found herself bound and pledged for life.</p> - -<p>Engaged to Fred Dirom! She only realized the force of it when -congratulations began to arrive from all the countryside—letters full -of admiration and good wishes; and when Doris and Phyllis rushed upon -her and took possession of her, saying a hundred confusing things. Effie -was frightened, pleased, flattered, all in one. And everybody petted and -praised her as if she had done some great thing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-44" id="page_vol-2-44">{v.2-44}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“And</span> when is it going to be?” Miss Dempster said.</p> - -<p>The ladies had come to call in their best gowns. Miss Beenie’s was puce, -an excellent silk of the kind Mrs. Primrose chose for wear—and Miss -Dempster’s was black satin, a little shiny by reason of its years, but -good, no material better. These dresses were not brought out for every -occasion; but to-day was exceptional. They did not approve of Effie’s -engagement, yet there was no doubt but it was a great event. They had -been absent from home for about three weeks, so that their -congratulations came late.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-45" id="page_vol-2-45">{v.2-45}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean by it; there is nothing going to be,” said -Effie, very red and angry. She had consented, it was true, in a way; but -she had not yet learnt to contemplate any practical consequences, and -the question made her indignant. Her temper had been tried by a great -many questions, and by a desire to enter into her confidence, and to -hear a great deal about Fred, and how it all came about, which her chief -friend Mary Johnston and some others had manifested. She had nothing to -say to them about Fred, and she could not herself tell how it all came -about; but it seemed the last drop in Effie’s cup when she was asked -when it was to be.</p> - -<p>“I should say your father and Mrs. Ogilvie would see to that; they are -not the kind of persons to let a young man shilly-shally,” said Miss -Dempster. “It is a grand match, and I wish ye joy, my dear. Still, I -would like to hear a little more about it: for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-46" id="page_vol-2-46">{v.2-46}</a></span> money embarked in -business is no inheritance; it’s just here to-day and gone to-morrow. I -hope your worthy father will be particular about the settlements. He -should have things very tight tied down. I will speak to him myself.”</p> - -<p>“My sister has such a head for business,” Miss Beenie said. “Anybody -might make a fool of me: but the man that would take in Sarah, I do not -think he is yet born.”</p> - -<p>“No, I am not an easy one to take in,” said Miss Dempster. “Those that -have seen as much of the ways of the world as I have, seldom are. I am -not meaning that there would be any evil intention: but a man is led -into speculation, or something happens to his ships, or he has his money -all shut up in ventures. I would have a certain portion realized and -settled, whatever might happen, if it was me.”</p> - -<p>“And have you begun to think of your <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-47" id="page_vol-2-47">{v.2-47}</a></span>things, Effie?” Miss Beenie said.</p> - -<p>At this Miss Effie jumped up from her chair, ready to cry, her -countenance all ablaze with indignation and annoyance.</p> - -<p>“I think you want to torment me,” she cried. “What things should I have -to think of? I wish you would just let me be. What do I know about all -that? I want only to be let alone. There is nothing going to happen to -me.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, what is this?” said Mrs. Ogilvie coming in, “Effie in one of -her tantrums and speaking loud to Miss Dempster! I hope you will never -mind; she is just a little off her head with all the excitement and the -flattery, and finding herself so important. Effie, will you go and see -that Rory is not troubling papa? Take him up to the nursery or out to -the garden. It’s a fine afternoon, and a turn in the garden would do him -no harm, nor you either, for you’re looking a little flushed. She is -just the most impracticable thing I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-48" id="page_vol-2-48">{v.2-48}</a></span> ever had in my hands,” she added, -when Effie, very glad to be released, escaped out of the room. “She will -not hear a word. You would think it was just philandering, and no -serious thought of what’s to follow in her head at all.”</p> - -<p>“It would be a pity,” said Miss Dempster, “if it was the same on the -other side. Young men are very content to amuse themselves if they’re -let do it; they like nothing better than to love and to ride away.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be pleased to hear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, responding instantly to -this challenge “that it’s very, very different on the other side. Poor -Fred, I am just very sorry for him. He cannot bring her to the point. -She slips out of it, or she runs away. He tells me she will never say -anything to him, but just ‘It is very nice now—or—we are very well as -we are.’ He is anxious to be settled, poor young man, and nothing can -be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-49" id="page_vol-2-49">{v.2-49}</a></span> more liberal than what he proposes. But Effie is just very trying. -She thinks life is to be all fun, and no changes. To be sure there are -allowances to be made for a girl that is so happy at home as Effie is, -and has so many good friends.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe her heart is not in it,” said Miss Dempster; “I have always -thought that our connection, young Ronald Sutherland——”</p> - -<p>“It’s a dreadful thing,” cried Miss Beenie, “to force a young creature’s -affections. If she were to have, poor bit thing, another Eemage in her -mind——”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, provoked. She would have liked to shake them, -the old cats! as she afterwards said. But she was wise in her -generation, and knew that to quarrel was always bad policy. “What Eemage -could there be?” she said with a laugh. “Effie is just full of fancies, -and slips through your fingers whenever you would bring her to look at -anything in earnest;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-50" id="page_vol-2-50">{v.2-50}</a></span> but that is all. No, no, there is no Eemage, -unless it was just whim and fancy. As for Ronald, she never gave him a -thought, nor anybody else. She is like a little wild thing, and to catch -her and put the noose round her is not easy; but as for Eemage!” cried -Mrs. Ogilvie, exaggerating the pronunciation of poor Miss Beenie, which -was certainly old fashioned. The old ladies naturally did not share her -laughter. They looked at each other, and rose and shook out their -rustling silken skirts.</p> - -<p>“There is no human person,” said Miss Dempster, “that is beyond the -possibility of a mistake; and my sister and me, we may be mistaken. But -you will never make me believe that girlie’s heart is in it. Eemage or -no eemage, I’m saying nothing. Beenie is just a trifle romantic. She may -be wrong. But I give you my opinion; that girlie’s heart’s not in it: -and nothing will persuade me to the contrary. Effie is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-51" id="page_vol-2-51">{v.2-51}</a></span> delicate bit -creature. There are many things that the strong might never mind, but -that she could not bear. It’s an awful responsibility, Mrs. Ogilvie.”</p> - -<p>“I will take the responsibility,” said that lady, growing angry, as was -natural. “I am not aware that it’s a thing any person has to do with -except her father and me.”</p> - -<p>“If you take it upon that tone—Beenie, we will say good-day.”</p> - -<p>“Good-day to ye, Mrs. Ogilvie. I am sure I hope no harm will come of it; -but it’s an awfu’ responsibility,” Miss Beenie said, following her -sister to the door. And we dare not guess what high words might have -followed had not the ladies, in going out, crossed Mr. Moubray coming -in. They would fain have stopped him to convey their doubts, but Mrs. -Ogilvie had followed them to the hall in the extreme politeness of a -quarrel, and they could not do this under her very eyes. Uncle John -perceived, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-52" id="page_vol-2-52">{v.2-52}</a></span> the skilled perceptions of a clergyman, that there was -a storm in the air.</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” he said, as he followed her back to the -drawing-room. “Is it about Effie? But, of course, that is the only topic -now.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you may be sure it’s about Effie. And all her own doing, and I wish -you would speak to her. It is my opinion that she cares for nobody but -you. Sometimes she <i>will</i> mind what her Uncle John says to her.”</p> - -<p>“Poor little Effie! often I hope; and you too, who have always been kind -to her.”</p> - -<p>“I have tried,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, sitting down and taking out her -handkerchief. She appeared to be about to indulge herself in the luxury -of tears: she looked hard at that piece of cambric, as though -determining the spot which was to be applied to her eyes—and then she -changed her mind.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-53" id="page_vol-2-53">{v.2-53}</a></span></p> -<p>“But I know it is a difficult position,” she said briskly. “I think it -very likely, in Effie’s place, that I should not have liked a stepmother -myself. But then you would think she would be pleased with her new -prospects, and glad to get into her own house out of my way. If that was -the case I would think it very natural. But no. I am just in that state -about her that I don’t know what I am doing. Here is a grand marriage -for her, as you cannot deny, and she has accepted the man. But if either -he or any one of us says a word about marriage, or her trousseau, or -anything, she is just off in a moment. I am terrified every day for a -quarrel: for who can say how long a young man’s patience may last?”</p> - -<p>“He has not had so very long to wait, nor much trial of his patience,” -said Uncle John, who was sensitive on Effie’s account, and ready to take -offence.</p> - -<p>“No; he has perhaps not had long to wait. But there is nothing to wait -for. His<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-54" id="page_vol-2-54">{v.2-54}</a></span> father is willing to make all the settlements we can desire: -and Fred is a partner, and gets his share. He’s as independent as a man -can be. And there’s no occasion for delay. But she will not hear a word -of it. I just don’t know what to make of her. She likes him well enough -for all I can see; but marriage she will not hear of. And if it is to be -at the New Year, which is what he desires, and us in November now—I -just ask you how are we ever to be ready when she will not give the -least attention, or so much as hear a word about her clothes?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, her clothes!” said Mr. Moubray, with a man’s disdain.</p> - -<p>“You may think little of them, but I think a great deal. It is all very -well for gentlemen that have not got it to do. But what would her father -say to me, or the world in general, or even yourself, if I let her go to -her husband’s house with a poor providing, or fewer things than other -brides?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-55" id="page_vol-2-55">{v.2-55}</a></span> Whose fault would everybody say that was? And besides it’s like -a silly thing, not like a reasonable young woman. I wish you would speak -to her. If there is one thing that weighs with Effie, it is the thought -of what her Uncle John will say.”</p> - -<p>“But what do you want me to say?” asked the minister. His mind was more -in sympathy with Effie’s reluctance than with the haste of the others. -There was nothing to be said against Fred Dirom. He was irreproachable, -he was rich, he was willing to live within reach. Every circumstance was -favourable to him.</p> - -<p>But Mr. Moubray thought the young man might very well be content with -what he had got, and spare his Effie a little longer to those whose love -for her was far older at least, if not profounder, than his. The -minister had something of the soreness of a man who is being robbed in -the name of love.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-56" id="page_vol-2-56">{v.2-56}</a></span></p> - -<p>Love! forty thousand lovers, he thought, reversing Hamlet’s sentiment, -could not have made up the sum of the love he bore his little girl. -Marriage is the happiest state, no doubt: but yet, perhaps a man has a -more sensitive shrinking from transplanting the innocent creature he -loves into that world of life matured than even a mother has. He did not -like the idea that his Effie should pass into that further chapter of -existence, and become, not as the gods, knowing good and evil, but as -himself, or any other. He loved her ignorance, her absence of all -consciousness, her freedom of childhood. It is true she was no longer a -child; and she loved—did she love? Perhaps secretly in his heart he was -better pleased to think that she had been drawn by sympathy, by her -reluctance that any one should suffer, and by the impulse and influence -of everybody about her, rather than by any passion on her own side, into -these toils.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-57" id="page_vol-2-57">{v.2-57}</a></span></p> - -<p>“What do you want me to say?” He was a little softened towards the -stepmother, who acknowledged honestly (she was on the whole a true sort -of woman, meaning no harm) the close tie, almost closer than any other, -which bound Effie to him. And he would not fail to Mrs. Ogilvie’s trust -if he could help it; but what was he to say?</p> - -<p>Effie was in the garden when Uncle John went out. She had interpreted -her stepmother’s commission about Rory to mean that she was not wanted, -and she had been glad to escape from the old ladies and all their -questions and remarks. She was coming back from the wood with a handful -of withered leaves and lichens when her uncle joined her. Effie had been -seized with a fit of impatience of the baskets of flowers which Fred was -always bringing. She preferred her bouquet of red and yellow leaves, -which every day it was getting more difficult to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-58" id="page_vol-2-58">{v.2-58}</a></span> find. This gave Mr. -Moubray the opening he wanted.</p> - -<p>“You are surely perverse,” he said, “my little Effie, to gather all -these things, which your father would call rubbitch, when you have so -many beautiful flowers inside.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot bear those grand flowers,” said Effie, “they are all made out -of wax, I think, and they have all the same scent. Oh, I know they are -beautiful! They are too beautiful, they are made up things, they are not -like nature. In winter I like the leaves best.”</p> - -<p>“You will soon have no leaves, and what will you do then? and, my dear, -your life is to be spent among these bonnie things. You are not to have -the thorns and the thistles, but the roses and the lilies, Effie; and -you must get used to them. It is generally a lesson very easily learnt.”</p> - -<p>To this Effie made no reply. After a while she began to show that the -late autumn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-59" id="page_vol-2-59">{v.2-59}</a></span> leaves, if not a matter of opposition, were not -particularly dear to her—for she pulled them to pieces, unconsciously -dropping a twig now and then, as she went on. And when she spoke, it was -apparently with the intention of changing the subject.</p> - -<p>“Is it really true,” she said, “that Eric is coming home for Christmas? -He said nothing about it in his last letter. How do they know?”</p> - -<p>“There is such a thing as the telegraph, Effie. You know why he is -coming. He is coming for your marriage.”</p> - -<p>Effie gave a start and quick recoil.</p> - -<p>“But that is not going to be—oh, not yet, not for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“I thought that everybody wished it to take place at the New Year.”</p> - -<p>“Not me,” said the girl. She took no care at all now of the leaves she -had gathered with so much trouble, but strewed the ground with them as -if for a procession to pass.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-60" id="page_vol-2-60">{v.2-60}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Uncle John,” she went on quickly and tremulously, “why should it be -soon? I am quite young. Sometimes I feel just like a little child, -though I may not be so very young in years.”</p> - -<p>“Nineteen!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know it is not very young. I shall be twenty next year. At -twenty you understand things better; you are a great deal more -responsible. Why should there be any hurry? <i>He</i> is young too. You might -help me to make them all see it. Everything is nice enough as it is now. -Why should we go and alter, and make it all different? Oh, I wish you -would speak to them, Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“My dear, your stepmother has just given me a commission to bring you -over to their way of thinking. I am so loth to lose you that my heart -takes your side: but, Effie——”</p> - -<p>“To lose me!” she cried, flinging away<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-61" id="page_vol-2-61">{v.2-61}</a></span> the “rubbitch” altogether, and -seizing his arm with both her hands. “Oh no, no, that can never be!”</p> - -<p>“No, it will never be: and yet it will be as soon as you’re married: and -there is a puzzle for you, my bonnie dear. The worst of it is that you -will be quite content, and see that it is natural it should be so: but I -will not be content. That is what people call the course of nature. But -for all that, I am not going to plead for myself. Effie, the change has -begun already. A little while ago, and there was no man in the world -that had any right to interfere with your own wishes: but now you know -the thing is done. It is as much done as if you had been married for -years. You must now not think only of what pleases yourself, but of what -pleases him.”</p> - -<p>Effie was silent for some time, and went slowly along clinging to her -uncle’s arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-62" id="page_vol-2-62">{v.2-62}</a></span> At last she said in a low tone, “But he is pleased. He -said he would try to please me; that was all that was said.”</p> - -<p>Uncle John shook his head.</p> - -<p>“That may be all that is said, and it is all a young man thinks when he -is in love. But, my dear, that means that you must please him. -Everything is reciprocal in this world. And the moment you give your -consent that he is to please you, you pledge yourself to consider and -please him.”</p> - -<p>“But he is pleased. Oh! he says he will do whatever I wish.”</p> - -<p>“That is if you will do what he wishes, Effie. For what he wishes is -what it all means, my dear. And the moment you put your hand in his, it -is right that he should strive to have you, and fight and struggle to -have you, and never be content till he has got you. I would myself think -him a poor creature if he thought anything else.”</p> - -<p>There was another pause, and then Effie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-63" id="page_vol-2-63">{v.2-63}</a></span> said, clasping more closely her -uncle’s arm, “But it would be soon enough in a year or two—after there -was time to think. Why should there be a hurry? After I am twenty I -would have more sense; it would not be so hard. I could understand -better. Surely that’s very reasonable, Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“Too reasonable,” he said, shaking his head. “Effie, lift up your eyes -and look me in the face. Are you sure that you are happy, my little -woman? Look me in the face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-64" id="page_vol-2-64">{v.2-64}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“No</span>, Beenie,” said Miss Dempster solemnly, “her heart is not in it. Do -you think it is possible at her age that a young creature could resist -all the excitement and the importance, and the wedding presents and the -wedding clothes? It was bad enough in our own time, but it’s just twice -as bad now when every mortal thinks it needful to give their present, -and boxes are coming in every day for months. That’s a terrible bad -custom: it’s no better than the penny weddings the poor people used to -have. But to think a young thing would be quite indifferent to all that, -if everything was natural, is more than I can understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-65" id="page_vol-2-65">{v.2-65}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That’s very true,” said Miss Beenie, “and all her new things. If it was -nothing but the collars and fichus that are so pretty nowadays, and all -the new pocket-handkerchiefs.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not natural,” the elder sister said.</p> - -<p>“And if you will remember, there was a wonderful look about the little -thing’s eyes when Ronald went away. To be sure there was Eric with him. -She was really a little thing then, though now she’s grown up. You may -depend upon it that though maybe she may not be conscious of it herself, -there is another Eemage in her poor bit little heart.”</p> - -<p>“Ye are too sentimental, Beenie. That’s not necessary. There may be a -shrinking without that. I know no harm of young Dirom. He’s not one that -would ever take my fancy, but still there’s no harm in him. The -stepmother is just ridiculous. She thinks it’s her that’s getting the -elevation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-66" id="page_vol-2-66">{v.2-66}</a></span> There will never be a word out of her mouth but Allonby if -this comes to pass. But the heart of the little thing is not in it. She -was angry; that was what her colour came from. It was no blush, yon; it -was out of an angry and an unwilling mind. I have not lived to my -present considerable age without knowing what a girl’s looks mean.”</p> - -<p>“You are not so old as you make yourself out. A person would think you -were just a Methusaleh; when it is well known there is only five years -between us,” said Miss Beenie in an aggrieved tone.</p> - -<p>“I always say there’s a lifetime—so you may be easy in your mind so far -as that goes. I am just as near a Methusaleh as I’ve any desire to be. I -wonder now if Mrs. Ogilvie knows what has happened about Ronald, and -that he’s coming home. To be a well-born woman herself, she has very -little understanding about inter-mar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-67" id="page_vol-2-67">{v.2-67}</a></span>riages and that kind of thing. It’s -more than likely that she doesn’t know. And to think that young man -should come back, with a nice property though it’s small, and in a -condition to marry, just when this is settled! Bless me! if he had come -three months ago! Providence is a real mystery!” said Miss Dempster, -with the air of one who is reluctant to blame, but cannot sincerely -excuse. “Three months more or less, what were they to auld Dauvid Hay? -He was just doited; he neither knew morning nor evening: and most likely -that would have changed the lives of three other folk. It is a great -mystery to me.”</p> - -<p>“He will maybe not be too late yet,” said Miss Beenie significantly.</p> - -<p>“Woman, you are just without conscience,” cried her sister. “Would that -be either right or fair? No, no, they must just abide by their lot as it -is shaped out. It would be a cruel thing to drop that poor lad now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-68" id="page_vol-2-68">{v.2-68}</a></span> for -no fault of his—just because she did not know her own mind. No, no, I -have Ronald’s interest much at heart, and I’m fond in a way of that bit -little Effie, though she’s often been impertinent—but I would never -interfere. Bless me! If I had known there was to be so little -satisfaction got out of it, that’s a veesit I never would have paid. I -am turning terrible giddy. I can scarcely see where I’m going. I wish I -had stayed at home.”</p> - -<p>“If we had not just come away as it were in a fuff,” said Miss Beenie, -“you would have had your cup of tea, and that would have kept up your -strength.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, <i>if</i>,” said Miss Dempster. “That’s no doubt an argument for keeping -one’s temper, but it’s a little too late. Yes, I wish I had got my cup -of tea. I am feeling very strange; everything’s going round and round -before my eyes. Eh, I wish I was at my own door!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-69" id="page_vol-2-69">{v.2-69}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s from want of taking your food. You’ve eaten nothing this two or -three days. Dear me, Sarah, you’re not going to faint at your age! Take -a hold of my arm and we’ll get as far as Janet Murray’s. She’s a very -decent woman. She will soon make you a cup of tea.”</p> - -<p>“No, no—I’ll have none of your arm. I can just manage,” said Miss -Dempster. But her face had grown ashy pale. “We’re poor creatures,” she -murmured, “poor creatures: it’s all the want of—the want of—that cup -o’ tea.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to see the doctor,” said Miss Beenie. “I’m no more disposed -to pin my faith in him than you are; but there are many persons that -think him a very clever man——”</p> - -<p>“No, no, no doctor. Old Jardine’s son that kept a shop in—— No, no; -I’ll have no doctor. I’ll get home—I’ll——”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” cried Miss Beenie. “I will just<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-70" id="page_vol-2-70">{v.2-70}</a></span> run on to Janet Murray’s and bid -her see that her kettle is aboil. You’ll be right again when you’ve had -your tea.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ll be—all right,” murmured the old lady. The road was soft and -muddy with rain, the air very gray, the clouds hanging heavy and full of -moisture over the earth. Miss Beenie hastened on for a few steps, and -then she paused, she knew not why, and looked round and uttered a loud -cry; there seemed to be no one but herself on the solitary country road. -But after a moment she perceived a little heap of black satin on the -path. Her first thought, unconscious of the catastrophe, was for this -cherished black satin, the pride of Miss Dempster’s heart.</p> - -<p>“Oh, your best gown!” she cried, and hurried back to help her sister out -of the mire. But Miss Beenie soon forgot the best gown. Miss Dempster -lay huddled up among the scanty hawthorn bushes of the broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-71" id="page_vol-2-71">{v.2-71}</a></span> hedge -which skirted the way. Her hand had caught against a thorny bramble -which supported it. She lay motionless, without speaking, without making -a sign, with nothing that had life about her save her eyes. Those eyes -looked up from the drawn face with an anxious stare of helplessness, as -if speech and movement and every faculty had got concentrated in them.</p> - -<p>Miss Beenie gave shriek after shriek as she tried to raise up the -prostrate figure. “Oh, Sarah, what’s the matter? Oh, try to stand up; -oh, let me get you up upon your feet! Oh, my dear, my dear, try if ye -cannot get up and come home! Oh, try! if it’s only as far as Janet -Murray’s. Oh, Sarah!” she cried in despair, “there never was anything -but you could do it, if you were only to try.”</p> - -<p>Sarah answered not a word, she who was never without a word to say; she -did not move; she lay like a log while poor Beenie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-72" id="page_vol-2-72">{v.2-72}</a></span> put her arms under -her head and laboured to raise her. Beenie made the bush tremble with -spasmodic movement, but did no more than touch the human form that lay -stricken underneath. And some time passed before the frightened sister -could realize what had happened. She went on with painful efforts trying -to raise the inanimate form, to drag her to the cottage, which was -within sight, to rouse and encourage her to the effort which Miss Beenie -could not believe her sister incapable of making.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah, my bonnie woman!—oh, Sarah, Sarah, do you no hear me, do -you not know me? Oh, try if ye cannot get up and stand upon your feet. -I’m no able to carry you, but I’ll support you. Oh, Sarah, Sarah, will -you no try!”</p> - -<p>Then there burst upon the poor lady all at once a revelation of what had -happened. She threw herself down by her sister with a shriek that seemed -to rend the skies. “Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-73" id="page_vol-2-73">{v.2-73}</a></span> good Lord,” she cried, “oh, good Lord! I canna -move her, I canna move her; my sister has gotten a stroke——”</p> - -<p>“What are you talking about?” said a big voice behind her; and before -Miss Beenie knew, the doctor, in all the enormity of his big beard, his -splashed boots, his smell of tobacco, was kneeling beside her, examining -Miss Dempster, whose wide open eyes seemed to repulse him, though she -herself lay passive under his hand. He kept talking all the time while -he examined her pulse, her looks, her eyes.</p> - -<p>“We must get her carried home,” he said. “You must be brave, Miss -Beenie, and keep all your wits about you. I am hoping we will bring her -round. Has there been anything the matter with her, or has it just come -on suddenly to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, doctor, she has eaten nothing. She has been very feeble and pale. -She never would let me say it. She is very masterful;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-74" id="page_vol-2-74">{v.2-74}</a></span> she will never -give in. Oh that I should say a word that might have an ill meaning, and -her lying immovable there!”</p> - -<p>“There is no ill meaning. It’s your duty to tell me everything. She is a -very masterful woman; by means of that she may pull through. And were -there any preliminaries to-day? Yes, that’s the right thing to do—if it -will not tire you to sit in that position——”</p> - -<p>“Tire me!” cried Miss Beenie—“if it eases her.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say it eases her. She is past suffering for the moment. Lord -bless me, I never saw such a case. Those eyes of hers are surely full of -meaning. She is perhaps more conscious than we think. But anyway, it’s -the best thing to do. Stay you here till I get something to carry her -on——”</p> - -<p>“What is the matter?” said another voice, and Fred Dirom came hastily -up. “Why,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-75" id="page_vol-2-75">{v.2-75}</a></span> doctor, what has happened—Miss Dempster?”—he said this with -an involuntary cry of surprise and alarm. “I am afraid this is very -serious,” he cried.</p> - -<p>“Not so serious as it soon will be if we stand havering,” cried the -doctor. “Get something, a mattress, to put her on. Man, look alive. -There’s a cottage close by. Ye’ll get something if ye stir them up. Fly -there, and I’ll stay with them to give them a heart.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, doctor, you’re very kind—we’ve perhaps not been such good friends -to ye as we might——”</p> - -<p>“Friends, toots!” said the doctor, “we’re all friends at heart.”</p> - -<p>Meantime the stir of an accident had got into the air. Miss Beenie’s -cries had no doubt reached some rustic ears; but it takes a long time to -rouse attention in those regions.</p> - -<p>“What will yon be? It would be somebody crying. It sounded awfu’ like -some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-76" id="page_vol-2-76">{v.2-76}</a></span>body crying. It will be some tramp about the roads; it will be -somebody frighted at the muckle bull——” Then at last there came into -all minds the leisurely impulse—“Goodsake, gang to the door and -see——”</p> - -<p>Janet Murray was the first to run out to her door. When her intelligence -was at length awakened to the fact that something had happened, nobody -could be more kind. She rushed out and ran against Fred Dirom, who was -hurrying towards the cottage with a startled face.</p> - -<p>“Can you get me a mattress or something to carry her upon?” he cried, -breathless.</p> - -<p>“Is it an accident?” said Janet.</p> - -<p>“It is a fit. I think she is dying,” cried the young man much excited.</p> - -<p>Janet flew back and pulled the mattress off her own bed. “It’s no a very -soft one,” she said apologetically. Her man had come out of the byre, -where he was ministering to a sick cow, an invalid of vast importance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-77" id="page_vol-2-77">{v.2-77}</a></span> -whom he left reluctantly; another man developed somehow out of the -fields from nowhere in particular, and they all hurried towards the spot -where Miss Beenie sat on the ground, without a thought of her best gown, -holding her sister’s head on her breast, and letting tears fall over the -crushed bonnet which the doctor had loosened, and which was dropping off -the old gray head.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah, can ye hear me? Oh, Sarah, do you know me? I’m your poor -sister Beenie. Oh if ye could try to rouse yourself up to say a word. -There was never anything you couldna do if ye would only try.”</p> - -<p>“She’ll not try this time,” said the doctor. “You must not blame her. -There’s one who has her in his grips that will not hear reason; but -we’ll hope she’ll mend; and in the meantime you must not think she can -help it, or that she’s to blame.”</p> - -<p>“To blame!” cried Beenie, with that acute cry. “I am silly many a time; -but she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-78" id="page_vol-2-78">{v.2-78}</a></span> never to blame.” In sight of the motionless figure which lay -in her arms, Miss Beenie’s thoughts already began to take that tinge of -enthusiastic loyalty with which we contemplate the dead.</p> - -<p>“Here they come, God be thanked!” said the doctor. And by and by a -little procession made its way between the fields. Miss Dempster, as if -lying in state on the mattress, Beenie beside her crying and mourning. -She had followed at first, but then it came into her simple mind with a -shiver that this was like following the funeral, and she had roused -herself and taken her place a little in advance. It was a sad little -procession, and when it reached the village street, all the women came -out to their doors to ask what was the matter, and to shake their heads, -and wonder at the sight.</p> - -<p>The village jumped to the fatal conclusion with that desire to heighten -every event which is common to all communities: and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-79" id="page_vol-2-79">{v.2-79}</a></span> the news ran over -the parish like lightning.</p> - -<p>“Miss Dempster, Rosebank, has had a stroke. She has never spoken since. -She is just dead to this world, and little likelihood she will ever come -back at her age.” That was the first report; but before evening it had -risen to the distinct information—“Miss Dempster, Rosebank, is dead!”</p> - -<p>Fred Dirom had been on his way to Gilston, when he was stopped and -ordered into the service of the sick woman. He answered to the call with -the readiness of a kind heart, and was not only the most active and -careful executor of the doctor’s orders, but remained after the patient -was conveyed home, to be ready, he said, to run for anything that was -wanted, to do anything that might be necessary—nay, after all was done -that could be done, to comfort Miss Beenie, who almost shed her tears -upon the young man’s shoulder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-80" id="page_vol-2-80">{v.2-80}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Eh,” she said, “there’s the doctor we have aye thought so rough, and -not a gentleman—and there’s you, young Mr. Dirom, that Sarah was not -satisfied with for Effie; and you’ve just been like two ministering -angels sent out to minister to them that are in sore trouble. Oh, but I -wonder if she will ever be able to thank you herself.”</p> - -<p>“Not that any thanks are wanted,” cried Fred cheerfully; “but of course -she will, much more than we deserve.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve just been as kind as—I cannot find any word to say for it, both -the doctor and you.”</p> - -<p>“He is a capital fellow, Miss Dempster.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, do not call me Miss Dempster—not such a thing, not such a thing! -I’m Miss Beenie. The Lord preserve me from ever being called Miss -Dempster,” she cried, with a movement of terror. But Fred neither -laughed at her nor her words. He was very respectful of her, full of -pity and almost ten<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-81" id="page_vol-2-81">{v.2-81}</a></span>derness, not thinking of how much advantage to -himself this adventure was to prove. It ran over the whole countryside -next day, and gained “that young Dirom” many a friend.</p> - -<p>And Effie, to whom the fall of Miss Dempster was like the fall of one of -the familiar hills, and who only discovered how much she loved those -oldest of friends after she began to feel as if she must lose -them—Effie showed her sense of his good behaviour in the most -entrancing way, putting off the shy and frightened aspect with which she -had staved off all discussion of matters more important, and beginning -to treat him with a timid kindness and respect which bewildered the -young man. Perhaps he would rather even now have had something warmer -and less (so to speak) accidental: but he was a wise young man, and -contented himself with what he could get.</p> - -<p>Effie now became capable of “hearing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-82" id="page_vol-2-82">{v.2-82}</a></span> reason,” as Mrs. Ogilvie said. She -no longer ran away from any suggestion of the natural end of all such -engagements. She suffered it to be concluded that her marriage should -take place at Christmas, and gave at last a passive consent to all the -arrangements made for her. She even submitted to her stepmother’s -suggestions about the trousseau, and suffered various dresses to be -chosen, and boundless orders for linen to be given. That she should have -a fit providing and go out of her father’s house as it became a bride to -do, with dozens of every possible undergarments, and an inexhaustible -supply of handkerchiefs and collars, was the ambition of Mrs. Ogilvie’s -heart.</p> - -<p>She said herself that Miss Dempster’s “stroke,” from which the old lady -recovered slowly, was “just a providence.” It brought Effie to her -senses, it made her see the real qualities of the young man whom she had -not prized at his true value, and whose super<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-83" id="page_vol-2-83">{v.2-83}</a></span>iority as the best match -in the countryside, she could not even now be made to see. Effie -yielded, not because he was the best match, but because he had shown so -kind a heart, and all the preparations went merrily forward, and the -list of the marriage guests was made out and everything got ready.</p> - -<p>But yet for all that, there was full time for that slip between the cup -and the lip which so often comes in, contrary to the dearest -expectations, in human affairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-84" id="page_vol-2-84">{v.2-84}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> slip between the cup and the lip came in two ways. The first was the -arrival from India—in advance of Eric who was to get the short leave -which his stepmother thought such a piece of extravagance, in order to -be present at the marriage of his only sister—of Ronald Sutherland, in -order to take possession of the inheritance which had fallen to him on -the death of his uncle.</p> - -<p>It was not a very great inheritance—an old house with an old tower, the -old “peel” of the Border, attached to it; a few farms, a little money, -the succession of a family sufficiently well known in the countryside, -but which had never been one of the great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-85" id="page_vol-2-85">{v.2-85}</a></span> families. It was not much -certainly. It was no more to be compared with the possessions in fact -and expectation of Fred Dirom than twilight is with day; but still it -made a great difference.</p> - -<p>Ronald Sutherland of the 111th, serving in India with nothing at all but -his pay, and Ronald Sutherland of Haythorn with a commission in her -Majesty’s service, were two very different persons. Mrs. Ogilvie allowed -that had old David Hay been so sensible as to die three years -previously, she would not have been so absolutely determined that -Ronald’s suit should be kept secret from Effie; but all that was over, -and there was no use thinking of it. It had been done “for the -best”—and what it had produced was unquestionably the best.</p> - -<p>If it had so happened that Effie had never got another “offer,” then -indeed there might have been something to regret; but as, on the -contrary, she had secured the best match<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-86" id="page_vol-2-86">{v.2-86}</a></span> in the county, her stepmother -still saw no reason for anything but satisfaction in her own diplomacy. -It had been done for the best; and it had succeeded, which is by no -means invariably the case.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Ogilvie allowed that she was a little anxious about Ronald’s -first appearance at Gilston. It was inevitable that he should come; for -all the early years of his life Gilston had been a second home to him. -He had been in and out like one of the children of the house. Mrs. -Ogilvie declared she had always said that where there were girls this -was a most imprudent thing: but she allowed at the same time that it is -difficult to anticipate the moment when a girl will become marriageable, -and had better be kept out of knowing and sight of the ineligible, so -long as that girl is a child. Consequently, she did not blame her -predecessor, Effie’s mother, for permitting an intimacy which at six was -innocent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-87" id="page_vol-2-87">{v.2-87}</a></span> enough, though it became dangerous at sixteen.</p> - -<p>“Even me,” she said candidly, “I cannot throw my mind so far forward as -to see any risks that little Annabella Johnston can run in seeing Rory -every day—though sixteen years hence it will be different; for Rory, to -be sure, will never be an eligible young man as long as his step-brother -Eric is to the fore—and God forbid that anything should happen to -Eric,” she added piously.</p> - -<p>On this ground, and also because Ronald had the latest news to give of -Eric, it was impossible to shut him out of Gilston, though Mrs. Ogilvie -could not but feel that it was very bad taste of him to appear with -these troubled and melancholy airs, and to look at Effie as he did. It -was not that he made any attempt to interfere with the settlement of -affairs. He made the proper congratulations though in a very stiff and -formal way, and said he hoped that they would be happy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-88" id="page_vol-2-88">{v.2-88}</a></span> But there was -an air about him which was very likely to make an impression on a silly, -romantic girl.</p> - -<p>He was handsomer than Fred Dirom—he was bronzed with Indian suns, which -gave him a manly look. He had seen a little service, he was taller than -Fred, stronger, with all those qualities which women specially esteem. -And he looked at Effie when she was not observing—oh, but Mrs. Ogilvie -said: “It is not an easy thing to tell when a girl is not -observing!—for all that kind of thing they are always quick enough.”</p> - -<p>And as a matter of fact, Effie observed keenly, and most keenly, -perhaps, when she had the air of taking no notice. The first time this -long, loosely clothed, somewhat languid, although well-built and manly -figure had come in, Effie had felt by the sudden jump of her heart that -it was no ordinary visitor. He had been something like a second brother -when he went away, Eric’s invariable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-89" id="page_vol-2-89">{v.2-89}</a></span> companion, another Eric with -hardly any individual claim of his own: but everything now was very -different. She said to herself that this jump of her heart which had -surprised her so much, had come when she heard his step drawing near the -door, so that it must be surely his connection with Eric and not -anything in himself that had done it; but this was a poor and -unsatisfactory explanation.</p> - -<p>After that first visit in which he had hoped that Miss Effie would be -very happy, and said everything that was proper, Effie knew almost as -well as if she had been informed from the first, all that had passed: -his eyes conveyed to her an amount of information which he was little -aware of. She recognized with many tremors and a strange force of -divination, not only that there had been things said and steps taken -before his departure of which she had never been told, but also, as well -as if it had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-90" id="page_vol-2-90">{v.2-90}</a></span> put into words, that he had come home, happy in the -thought of the fortune which now would make him more acceptable in the -eyes of the father and stepmother, building all manner of castles in the -air; and that all these fairy fabrics had fallen with a crash, and he -had awakened painfully from his dream to hear of her engagement, and -that a few weeks more would see her Fred Dirom’s wife.</p> - -<p>The looks he cast at her, the looks which he averted, the thrill -imperceptible to the others which went over him when he took her hand at -coming and going, were all eloquent to Effie. All that she had felt for -Fred Dirom at the moment when the genuine emotion in him had touched her -to the warmest sympathy, was nothing like that which penetrated her -heart at Ronald’s hasty, self-restrained, and, as far as he was aware, -self-concealing glance.</p> - -<p>In a moment the girl perceived, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-91" id="page_vol-2-91">{v.2-91}</a></span> mingled thrill of painful -pleasure and anguish, what might have been. It was one of those sudden -perceptions which light up the whole moral landscape in a moment, as a -sudden flash of lightning reveals the hidden expanse of storm and sea.</p> - -<p>Such intimations are most often given when they are ineffectual—not -when they might guide the mind to a choice which would secure its -happiness, but after all such possibilities are over and that happy -choice can never be made. When he had gone away Effie slid out of sight -too, and sought the shelter of her room, that little sanctuary which had -hid so many agitations within the last few weeks, but none so tremendous -as this. The discovery seemed to stun her. She could only sit still and -look at it, her bosom heaving, her heart beating loudly, painfully like -a funeral toll against her breast.</p> - -<p>So, she said to herself, <i>that</i> might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-92" id="page_vol-2-92">{v.2-92}</a></span> been; and <i>this</i> was. No, -she did not say it to herself: such discoveries are not made by any -rational and independent action of mind. It was put before her by that -visionary second which is always with us in all our mental operations, -the spectator, “qui me resemblait comme mon frère,” whom the poet saw in -every crisis of his career. That spiritual spectator who is so seldom a -counsellor, whose office is to show the might-have-beens of life and to -confound the helpless, unwarned sufferer with the sight of his mistakes -when they are past, set this swiftly and silently before her with the -force of a conviction. This might have been the real hero, this was the -true companion, the mate congenial, the one in the world for Effie. But -in the moment of beholding she knew that it was never to be.</p> - -<p>And this was not her fault—which made it the more confusing, the more -mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-93" id="page_vol-2-93">{v.2-93}</a></span>erable. When it is ourselves who have made the mistake that spoils -our lives, we have, at least, had something for it, the gratification of -having had our own way, the pleasure of going wrong. But Effie had not -even secured this pleasure. She would be the sufferer for other people’s -miscalculations and mistakes. All this that concerned her so deeply she -had never known. She faced the future with all the more dismay that it -thus appeared to her to be spoiled for no end, destroyed at once for -herself and Ronald and Fred. For what advantage could it be to Fred to -have a wife who felt that he was not her chief good, that her happiness -was with another? Something doubly poignant was in the feeling with -which the poor girl perceived this.</p> - -<p>Fred even, poor Fred, whom she approved and liked and sympathized with -and did all but love—Fred would be none<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-94" id="page_vol-2-94">{v.2-94}</a></span> the better. He would be -wronged even in having his heart’s desire conceded to him, whereas—it -all came before Effie with another flash of realization—Fred would -never have thought of her in that way had she been pledged to Ronald. -They would have been friends—oh! such good friends. She would have been -able to appreciate all his good qualities, the excellence that was in -him, and no close and inappropriate relationship could have been formed -between the two who were not made for each other.</p> - -<p>But now all was wrong! It was Fred and she, who might have been such -excellent friends, who were destined to work through life together, -badly matched, not right, not right, whatever might happen. If trouble -came she would not know how to comfort him, as she would have known how -to comfort Ronald. She would not know how to help him. How was it she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-95" id="page_vol-2-95">{v.2-95}</a></span> -had not thought of that before? They belonged to different worlds, not -to the same world as she and Ronald did, and when the first superficial -charm was over, and different habits, different associations, life, -which was altogether pitched upon a different key, began to tell!</p> - -<p>Alarm seized upon Effie, and dismay. She had been frightened before at -the setting up of a new life which she felt no wish for, no impulse to -embrace; but she had not thought how different was the life of Allonby -from that of Gilston, and her modest notions of rustic gentility from -the luxury and show to which the rich man’s son had been accustomed. -Doris and Phyllis and their ways of thought, and their habits of -existence, came before her in a moment as part of the strange shifting -panorama which encompassed her about. How was she to get to think as -they did, to accustom herself to their ways of living?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-96" id="page_vol-2-96">{v.2-96}</a></span> She had wondered -and smiled, and in her heart unconsciously criticised these ways: but -that was Fred’s way as well as theirs. And how was she with her country -prejudices, her Scotch education, her limitations, her different -standard, how was she to fit into it? But with Ronald she would have -dwelt among her own people—oh, the different life! Oh, the things that -might have been!</p> - -<p>Poor Ronald went his way sadly from the same meeting with a -consciousness that was sharp and confusing and terrible. After the first -miserable shock of disappointment which he had felt on hearing of -Effie’s engagement, he had conversed much with himself. He had said to -himself that she was little more than a child when he had set his boyish -heart upon her, that since then a long time had passed, momentous years: -that he had changed in many ways, and that she too<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-97" id="page_vol-2-97">{v.2-97}</a></span> must have -changed—that the mere fact of her engagement must have made a great -difference—that she had bound herself to another kind of existence, not -anything he knew, and that it was not possible that the betrothed of -another man could be any longer the little Effie of his dreams.</p> - -<p>But he had looked at her, and he had felt that he was mistaken. She was -his Effie, not that other man’s: there was nothing changed in her, only -perfected and made more sweet. Very few were the words that passed -between them—few looks even, for they were afraid to look at each -other—but even that unnatural reluctance said more than words. He it -was who was her mate, not the stranger, the Englishman, the millionaire, -whose ways and the ways of his people were not as her ways.</p> - -<p>And yet it was too late! He could neither say anything nor do anything -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-98" id="page_vol-2-98">{v.2-98}</a></span> show to Effie that she had made a mistake, that it was he, Ronald, -whom Heaven had intended for her. The young man, we may be sure, saw -nothing ludicrous in this conviction that was in his mind; but he could -not plead it. He went home to the old-fashioned homely house, which he -said to himself no wife of his should ever make bright, in which he -would settle down, no doubt, like his old uncle, and grow into an old -misanthrope, a crotchety original, as his predecessor had done. Poor old -uncle David! what was it that had made him so? perhaps a fatal mistake, -occurring somehow by no fault of his—perhaps a little Effie, thrown -away upon a stranger, too—</p> - -<p>“What made you ask him to his dinner, though I made you signs to the -contrary?” said Mrs. Ogilvie to her husband, as soon as, each in a -different direction, the two young people had disappeared. “You might<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-99" id="page_vol-2-99">{v.2-99}</a></span> -have seen I was not wanting him to his dinner; but when was there ever a -man that could tell the meaning of a look? I might have spared my -pains.”</p> - -<p>“And why should he not be asked to his dinner?” said Mr. Ogilvie. “You -go beyond my understanding. Ronald Sutherland, a lad that I have known -since he was <i>that</i> high, and his father and his grandfather before him. -I think the woman is going out of her wits. Because you’re marrying -Effie to one of those rich upstarts, am I never to ask a decent lad -here?”</p> - -<p>“You and your decent lads!” said his wife; she was at the end of her -Latin, as the French say, and of her patience too. “Just listen to me, -Robert,” she added, with that calm of exasperation which is sometimes so -impressive. “I’m marrying Effie, since you like to put it that way (and -it’s a great deal more than any of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-100" id="page_vol-2-100">{v.2-100}</a></span> relations would have had the -sense to do), to the best match on all this side of Scotland. I’m not -saying this county; there’s nobody in the county that is in any way on -the same footing as Fred. There is rank, to be sure, but as for money he -could buy them all up, and settlements just such as were never heard of. -Well, that’s what I’m doing, if you give me the credit of it. But -there’s just one little hindrance, and that’s Ronald Sutherland. If he’s -to come here on the ground of your knowing him since he was <i>that</i> high, -and being Eric’s friend—that’s to say, like a son of the house—I have -just this to say, Robert, that I will not answer for Effie, and this -great match may not take place after all.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, you daft woman? Do you mean to tell me there has been -any carrying on, any correspondence——”</p> - -<p>“Have some respect to your own child,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-101" id="page_vol-2-101">{v.2-101}</a></span> Robert, if not to your wife. Am I -a woman to allow any carrying on? And Effie, to do her justice, though -she has very little sense in some respects, is not a creature of that -kind; and mind, she never heard a word of yon old story. No, no, it’s -not that. But it’s a great deal worse—it’s just this, that there’s an -old kindness, and they know each other far better than either Effie or -you or me knows Fred Dirom. They are the same kind of person, and they -have things to talk about if once they begin. And, in short, I cannot -tell you all my drithers—but I’m very clear on this. If you want that -marriage to come off, which is the best match that’s been made in -Dumfriess-shire for generations, just you keep Ronald Sutherland at -arm’s length, and take care you don’t ask him here to his dinner every -second day.”</p> - -<p>“I am not so fond of having strangers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-102" id="page_vol-2-102">{v.2-102}</a></span> to their dinner,” said Mr. -Ogilvie, with great truth. “It’s very rarely that the invitation comes -from me. And as for your prudence and your wisdom and your grand -managing, it might perhaps be just as well, on the whole, for Effie if -she had two strings to her bow.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie uttered a suppressed shriek in her astonishment. “For any -sake! what, in the name of all that’s wonderful, are you meaning now?”</p> - -<p>“You give me no credit for ever meaning anything, or taking the least -interest, so far as I can see, in what’s happening in my own family,” -said the head of the house, standing on his dignity.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Robert, man! didn’t I send the young man to you, and would not -listen to him myself! I said her father is the right person: and so you -were, and very well you managed it, as you always do when you will take -the trouble. But what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-103" id="page_vol-2-103">{v.2-103}</a></span> is this about a second string to her bow?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie <i>se faisait prier</i>. He would not at first relinquish the -pride of superior knowledge. At last, when his wife had been tantalized -sufficiently, he opened his budget.</p> - -<p>“The truth is, that things, very queer things, are said in London about -Dirom’s house. There is a kind of a hint in the money article of the -<i>Times</i>. You would not look at that, even if we got the <i>Times</i>. I saw -it yesterday in Dumfries. They say ‘a great firm that has gone largely -into mines of late’—and something about Basinghall Street, and a hope -that their information may not be correct, and that sort of thing—which -means more even than it says.”</p> - -<p>“Lord preserve us!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. She sat down, in her -consternation, upon Rory’s favourite toy lamb, which uttered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-104" id="page_vol-2-104">{v.2-104}</a></span> the squeak -peculiar to such pieces of mechanism. Probably this helped to increase -her annoyance. She seized it with impatient warmth and flung it on the -floor.</p> - -<p>“The horrible little beast!—But, Robert, this may be just a rumour. -There are plenty of firms that do business in mines, and as for -Basinghall Street, it’s just a street of offices. My own uncle had a -place of business there.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll see I’m right for all that,” said her husband, piqued to have -his information doubted.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll see it when I do see it; but I have just the most perfect -confidence—What is this, George? Is there no answer? Well, you need not -wait.”</p> - -<p>“I was to wait, mem,” said George, “to let the cook ken if there was -nobody expected to their dinner; for in that case, mem, there was yon -birds that was quite good, that could keep to another day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-105" id="page_vol-2-105">{v.2-105}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Cook’s just very impatient to send me such a message. Oh, well, you may -tell her that there will be nobody to dinner. Mr. Dirom has to go to -London in a hurry,” she said, half for the servant and half for her -husband. She turned a glance full of alarm, yet defiance, upon the -latter as old George trotted away.</p> - -<p>“Well, what do you say to that?” cried Mr. Ogilvie, with a mixture of -satisfaction and vexation.</p> - -<p>“I just say what I said before—that I’ve perfect confidence.” But -nevertheless a cloud hung all the rest of the day upon Mrs. Ogilvie’s -brow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-106" id="page_vol-2-106">{v.2-106}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Two</span> or three days had passed after Fred’s departure, when Mrs. Ogilvie -stated her intention of going to Allonby to call upon his mother.</p> - -<p>“You have not been there for a long time, Effie. You have just contented -yourself with Fred—which is natural enough, I say nothing against -that—and left the sisters alone who have always been so kind to you. It -was perhaps not to be wondered at, but still I would not have done it. -If they were not just very good-natured and ready to make the best of -everything, they might think you were neglecting them, now that you have -got Fred.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-107" id="page_vol-2-107">{v.2-107}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>As was natural, Effie was much injured and offended by this suggestion.</p> - -<p>“I have never neglected them,” she said. “I never went but when they -asked me, and they have not asked me for a long time. It is their -fault.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “it is winter weather, and there is nothing -going on. Your tennis and all that is stopped, and yet there’s no frost -for skating. But whether they have asked you or not, just put on your -new frock and come over with me. They are perhaps in some trouble, for -anything we can tell.”</p> - -<p>“In trouble? How could they be in trouble?”</p> - -<p>“Do you think, you silly thing, that they are free of trouble because -they’re so well off? No, no; there are plenty of things to vex you in -this world, however rich you may be: though you are dressed in silks and -satins and eat off silver plate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-108" id="page_vol-2-108">{v.2-108}</a></span> and have all the delicacies of the -season upon your table, like daily bread, you will find that you have -troubles with it, all the same, just like ordinary folk.”</p> - -<p>Effie thought truly that she had no need of being taught that lesson. -She knew far better than her stepmother what trouble was. She was going -to marry Fred Dirom, and yet if her heart had its way! And she could not -blame anybody, not even herself, for the position in which she was. It -had come about—she could not tell how or why.</p> - -<p>But she could not associate Phyllis and Doris with anything that could -be called trouble. Neither was her mind at all awake or impressionable -on this subject. To lose money was to her the least of all -inconveniences, a thing not to be counted as trouble at all. She had -never known anything about money, neither the pleasure of possession nor -the vexation of losing it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-109" id="page_vol-2-109">{v.2-109}</a></span> Her indifference was that of entire -ignorance; it seemed to her a poor thing to distress one’s self about.</p> - -<p>She put on her new frock, however, as she was commanded, to pay the -visit, and drove to Allonby with her stepmother, much as she had driven -on that momentous day when for the first time she had seen them all, and -when Mrs. Ogilvie had carried on a monologue, just as she was doing now, -though not precisely to the same effect and under circumstances so -changed. Effie then had been excited about the sisters and a little -curious about the brother, amused and pleased with the new acquaintances -to be made, and the novelty of the proceeding altogether. Now there was -no longer any novelty. She was on the eve of becoming a member of the -family, and it was with a very different degree of seriousness and -interest that she contemplated them and their ways. But still Mrs. -Ogilvie was full of speculation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-110" id="page_vol-2-110">{v.2-110}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I wonder,” she said, “if they will say anything about what is going on? -You have had no right explanation, so far as I am aware, of Fred’s -hurrying away like yon; I think he should have given you more -explanation. And I wonder if they will say anything about that -report—And, Effie, I wonder——” It appeared to Effie as they drove -along that all that had passed in the meantime was a dream, and that -Mrs. Ogilvie was wondering again as when they had first approached the -unknown household upon that fateful day.</p> - -<p>Doris and Phyllis were seated in a room with which neither Effie nor her -stepmother were familiar, and which was not dark, and bore but few marks -of the amendments and re-arrangements which occupied the family so -largely on their first arrival at Allonby. Perhaps their interest had -flagged in the embellishment of the old house, which was no longer a -stranger to them; or perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-111" id="page_vol-2-111">{v.2-111}</a></span> the claims of comfort were paramount in -November. There was still a little afternoon sunshine coming in to help -the comfortable fire which blazed so cheerfully, and Lady Allonby’s old -sofas and easy chairs were very snug in the warm atmosphere.</p> - -<p>The young ladies were, as was usual to them, doing nothing in -particular, and they were very glad to welcome visitors, any visitor, to -break the monotony of the afternoon. There was not the slightest -diminution visible of their friendship for Effie, which is a thing that -sometimes happens when the sister’s friend becomes the <i>fiancée</i> of the -brother. They fell upon her with open arms.</p> - -<p>“Why, it is Effie! How nice of you to come just when we wanted you,” -they cried, making very little count of Mrs. Ogilvie. Mothers and -stepmothers were of the opposite faction, and Doris and Phyllis did not -pretend to take any in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-112" id="page_vol-2-112">{v.2-112}</a></span>terest in them. “Mother will be here presently,” -they said to her, and no more. But Effie they led to a sofa and -surrounded with attentions.</p> - -<p>“We have not seen you for an age. You are going to say it is our fault, -but it is not our fault. You have Fred constantly at Gilston, and you -did not want us there too. No, three of one family would be -insufferable; you couldn’t have wanted us; and what was the use of -asking you to come here, when Fred was always with you at your own -house? Now that he is away we were wondering would you come—I said yes, -I felt sure you would; but Doris——”</p> - -<p>“Doris is never so confident as her sister,” said that young lady, “and -when a friendship that has begun between girls runs into a love affair, -one never can know.”</p> - -<p>“It was not any doing of mine that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-113" id="page_vol-2-113">{v.2-113}</a></span> ran into—anything,” said Effie, -indignant. “I liked you the——” She was going to say the best, which -was not civil certainly to the absent Fred, and would not have been -true. But partly prudence restrained her, and partly Phyllis, who gave -her at that moment a sudden kiss, and declared that she had always said -that Effie was a dear.</p> - -<p>“And no doubt you have heard from your brother,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, who -was not to be silenced, “and has he got his business done? I hope -everything is satisfactory, and nothing to make your good father and -mother anxious. These kind of cares do not tell upon the young, but when -people are getting up in years it’s then that business really troubles -them. We have been thinking a great deal of your worthy father—Mr. -Ogilvie and me. I hope he is seeing his way——”</p> - -<p>The young ladies stared at her for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-114" id="page_vol-2-114">{v.2-114}</a></span> moment, in the intervals of -various remarks to Effie; and then Doris said, with a little evident -effort, as of one who wanted to be civil, yet not to conceal that she -was bored: “Oh, you mean about the firm? Of course we are interested; it -would make such a change, you know. I have taken all my measures, -however, and I feel sure I shall be the greatest success.”</p> - -<p>“I was speaking of real serious business, Miss Doris. Perhaps I was just -a fool for my pains, for they would not put the like of that before you. -No, no, I am aware it was just very silly of me; but since it has been -settled between Effie and Mr. Fred, I take a great interest. I am one -that takes a great deal of thought, more than I get any thanks for, of -all my friends.”</p> - -<p>“I should not like to trouble about all my friends, for then one would -never be out of it,” said Doris, calmly. “Of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-115" id="page_vol-2-115">{v.2-115}</a></span> however, you must -be anxious about Fred. There is less harm, though, with him than with -most young men; for you know if the worst comes to the worst he has got -a profession. I cannot say that I have a profession, but still it comes -almost to the same thing; for I have quite made up my mind what to do. -It is a pity, Effie,” she said, turning to the audience she preferred, -“if the Great Smash is going to come that it should not come before you -are married; for then I could dress you, which would be good for both of -us—an advantage to your appearance, and a capital advertisement for -me.”</p> - -<p>“That is all very well for her,” said Miss Phyllis, plaintively. “She -talks at her ease about the Great Smash; but I should have nothing to do -except to marry somebody, which would be no joke at all for me.”</p> - -<p>“The Great Smash,” repeated Mrs. Ogil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-116" id="page_vol-2-116">{v.2-116}</a></span>vie, aghast. All the colour had -gone out of her face. She turned from one to the other with dismay. -“Then am I to understand that it has come to that?” she cried, with -despair in her looks. “Oh! Effie, Effie, do you hear them? The Great -Smash!”</p> - -<p>“Who said that?” said another voice—a soft voice grown harsh, sweet -bells jangled out of tune. There had been a little nervous movement of -the handle of the door some moments before, and now Mrs. Dirom came in -quickly, as if she had been listening to what was said, and was too much -excited and distracted to remember that it was evident that she had been -listening. She came in in much haste and with a heated air.</p> - -<p>“If you credit these silly girls you will believe anything. What do they -know? A Great Smash—!” Her voice trembled as she said the words. “It’s -ridiculous,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-117" id="page_vol-2-117">{v.2-117}</a></span> and it’s vulgar too. I wonder where they learned such -words. I would not repeat them if I could help it—if it was not -necessary to make you understand. There will be no Smash, Mrs. Ogilvie, -neither great nor small. Do you know what you are talking of? The great -house of the Diroms, which is as sure as the Bank of England? It is -their joke, it is the way they talk; nothing is sacred for them. They -don’t know what the credit of a great firm means. There is no more -danger of our firm—no more danger—than there is of the Bank of -England.”</p> - -<p>The poor lady was so much disturbed that her voice, and, indeed, her -whole person, which was substantial, trembled. She dropped suddenly on a -chair, and taking up one of the Japanese fans which were everywhere -about, fanned herself violently, though it was late November, and the -day was cold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-118" id="page_vol-2-118">{v.2-118}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Dear me,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I am sorry if I have put you about; I had -no thought that it was serious at all. I just asked the question for -conversation’s sake. I never could have supposed for a moment that the -great house, as you say, of Dirom and Co. could ever take it in a -serious light.”</p> - -<p>Upon this poor Mrs. Dirom put down her fan, and laughed somewhat -loudly—a laugh that was harsh and strained, and in which no confidence -was.</p> - -<p>“That is quite true,” she said, “Mrs. Ogilvie. You are full of sense, as -I have always said. It is only a thing to laugh at. Their papa would be -very much amused if he were to hear. But it makes me angry when I have -no occasion to be angry, for it is so silly. If it was said by other -people I should take it with a smile; but to hear my own children -talking such nonsense, it is this that makes me angry. If it was anyone -else I shouldn’t mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-119" id="page_vol-2-119">{v.2-119}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “I understand that; for if other people -make fools of themselves it is of no particular consequence; but when -it’s your own it’s a different matter. But Miss Doris, I suppose, has -just taken a notion into her head, and she does not care what it costs -to carry it out. Effie, now, really we must go. It is getting quite -dark, the days are so short. No, I thank you, we’ll not take any tea; -for Mr. Ogilvie has taken a habit of coming in for his cup of tea, and -he just cannot bear us to be away. When a man takes a notion of that -kind, the ladies of his family just have to give in to it. Good-bye, -young ladies, good-bye. But I hope you’ll not be disappointed to find -that there’s no Great Smash coming; for I don’t think that I should -relish it at all if it was me.”</p> - -<p>They had a silent drive home. Effie had so many thoughts at that moment -that she was always glad, when she could, to return<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-120" id="page_vol-2-120">{v.2-120}</a></span> into them. She -thought no more of the Great Smash than of any other of the nonsensical -utterances which it might have pleased Doris to make. Indeed, the Great -Smash, even if it had been certain, would not have affected her mind -much, so entirely unconscious was she what its meaning might be. She -retired into her own thoughts, which were many, without having received -any impression from this new subject.</p> - -<p>But it vaguely surprised her that her stepmother should be so silent. -She was so accustomed to that lively monologue which served as a -background to all manner of thoughts, that Effie was more or less -disturbed by its failure, without knowing why. Mrs. Ogilvie scarcely -said a word all the way home. It was incredible, but it was true. Her -friends would scarcely have believed it—they would have perceived that -matters must have been very serious indeed, before she could be reduced -to such silence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-121" id="page_vol-2-121">{v.2-121}</a></span> But Effie was heedless, and did not ask herself what -the reason was.</p> - -<p>This was the evening that Ronald had been invited “to his dinner,” an -invitation which had called forth a protest from Mrs. Ogilvie; but, -notwithstanding, she was very kind to Ronald. It was Effie, not she, who -kept him at a distance, who avoided any conversation except the vaguest, -and, indeed, sat almost silent all the evening, as if her lover being -absent she had no attention to bestow upon another. That was not the -real state of Effie’s mind; but a delicate instinct drew her away, and -gave her a refuge in the silence which looked like indifference.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, however, showed no indifference to Ronald. She questioned -him about his house, and with all the freedom which old family -connection permitted, about the fortune which he had “come into,” about -what he meant to do, and many other sub<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-122" id="page_vol-2-122">{v.2-122}</a></span>jects. Ronald gave her, with -much gravity, the information she asked. He told her no—that he did not -mean to remain—that he was going back to his regiment. Why should he -stay, there was nothing for him to do at Haythorne?</p> - -<p>“Hoot,” Mrs. Ogilvie said, “there is always this to do, that you must -marry and settle; that is the right thing for a young man. To be sure, -when there is no place to take a wife home to, but just to follow the -regiment, that’s very different; for parents that are in their senses -would never let a girl do that. But when you have the house first, then -the wife must follow. It is just the right order of things.”</p> - -<p>“For some men,” said Ronald, “but not for me; it is either too early, -or, perhaps, too late.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, too late! a lad like you to speak such nonsense!—and there’s never -any saying what may happen,” the lady said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-123" id="page_vol-2-123">{v.2-123}</a></span> This strange speech made -two hearts beat: Ronald’s with great surprise, and devouring curiosity. -Had he perhaps been premature in thinking that all was settled—was it a -mistake? But oh, no, he remembered that he had made his congratulations, -and they had been received; that Eric was coming back to the marriage; -that already the wedding guests were being invited, and all was in -train. Effie’s heart beat too, where she sat silent at a distance, close -to the lamp, on pretence of needing light for her work; but it was with -a muffled, melancholy movement, no sign of hope or possibility in it, -only the stir of regret and trouble over what might have been.</p> - -<p>“Are you going to write letters, at this time of night?” said Mr. -Ogilvie, as he came back from the door, after seeing Ronald away.</p> - -<p>“Just one, Robert; I cannot bear this suspense if the rest of you can. I -am going<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-124" id="page_vol-2-124">{v.2-124}</a></span> to write to my cousin John, who is a business man, and has his -office, as his father had before him, in Basinghall Street in London -city. I am going to ask him a question or two.”</p> - -<p>“If I were you,” said Mr. Ogilvie, with some energy, “I would neither -make nor meddle in other folk’s affairs.”</p> - -<p>“What do you call other folk’s affairs? It is my own folk’s affairs. If -there ever was a thing that was our business and not another’s, it’s -this. Do you think I would ever permit—and there is very little time to -be lost. I wonder I never thought of John before—he is just the person -to let me know.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie put his hands behind his back, and walked up and down the -room in great perturbation.</p> - -<p>“I cannot see my way to making that kind of inquiry. It might do harm, -and I don’t see what good it can do. It might<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-125" id="page_vol-2-125">{v.2-125}</a></span> set people thinking. It -might bring on just what we’re wanting to avoid.”</p> - -<p>“I am wanting to know, that is all,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “As for setting -people thinking, that’s done as you’re aware. And if it’s done down -here, what must it be in the city? But I must be at the bottom of it, -whether it’s false, or whether it’s true.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie was not accustomed to such energy. He said, “Tchk, tchk, -tchk,” as people do so often in perplexity: and then he caught sight of -his daughter, holding Rory’s little stocking in the lamplight, and -knitting with nervous fingers. It was a good opportunity for getting rid -of the irritation which any new thing raised in him.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” he said, with an air of virtuous indignation, “it is high time -that Effie, at least, should be in her bed!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-126" id="page_vol-2-126">{v.2-126}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“Yes</span>, Ronald, my man. It was a great peety,” Miss Dempster said.</p> - -<p>She was lying on a sofa in the little drawing-room, between the -fireplace and the window, where she could both feel and see the fire, -and yet command a glimpse of the village and Dr. Jardine’s house. She -could still see the window to which the doctor came defiantly when he -took his mid-morning refreshment, to let the ladies at Rosebank see that -he was not afraid of them.</p> - -<p>The relations between the doctor and the ladies had modified a little, -but still that little conflict went on. He did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-127" id="page_vol-2-127">{v.2-127}</a></span> any longer nod at -them with the “Here’s to you!” of his old fury at what he thought their -constant <i>espionage</i>, but he still flaunted his dram before their eyes, -and still they made mental notes on the subject, and Miss Beenie shook -her head. She did not say, “There’s that abominable man with his dram -again. I am sure I cannot think how respectable people can put up with -that smell of whisky. Did you say sherry? Well, sherry is very near as -bad taken at all hours.”</p> - -<p>What Miss Beenie said now was: “I wish the doctor would take a cup of -tea or even a little broth instead of that wine. No doubt he wants -support with all he has to do; but the other would be far better for -him.”</p> - -<p>This will show how the relations had improved. He had brought Miss -Dempster “through.” Instead of her bedroom at the back of the house, -which allowed of little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-128" id="page_vol-2-128">{v.2-128}</a></span> diversion, she had got so far as to be removed -to the drawing-room, and lie on the sofa for the greater part of the -day. It was a great improvement, and people who knew no better believed -that the old lady was getting better. Miss Beenie was warmly of this -opinion; she held it with such heat indeed that she might have been -supposed to be not so certain as she said.</p> - -<p>But Miss Dempster and the doctor knew better. The old lady was more than -ever distressed that Providence had not taken better care of the affairs -of Effie Ogilvie. It was this she was saying to Ronald, as he sat beside -her. He had come over with some birds and a great bunch of hothouse -grapes. He was, as the reader may remember, a connection—even, Miss -Beenie said, a <i>near</i> connection: and the ladies had been good to him in -his early youth.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-129" id="page_vol-2-129">{v.2-129}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, it was a great peety,” Miss Dempster said. “I am not grudging your -uncle Dauvid a day of his life, honest man—but the three last months is -never much of a boon, as I know by myself. It would have done him no -harm, and you a great deal of good. But there’s just a kind of a -blundering in these things that is very hard to understand.”</p> - -<p>“The chances are it would have made no difference,” said the young man, -“so there is nothing to be said.”</p> - -<p>“It would have made a great difference; but we’ll say nothing, all the -same. And so you’re asked to the wedding? Well, that woman is not blate. -She’s interfered with the course of nature and thinks no shame: but -perhaps she will get her punishment sooner than she’s looking for. They -tell me,” said the old lady, “that the Diroms have had losses, and that -probably they will have to leave<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-130" id="page_vol-2-130">{v.2-130}</a></span> Allonby, and come down in their grand -way of living. I will say that of Janet Ogilvie that she has a great -spirit; she’ll set her face like a rock. The wedding will be just as -grand and as much fuss made, and nobody will hear a word from her; she -is a woman that can keep her own counsel. But she’ll be gnashing her -teeth all the same. She will just be in despair that she cannot get out -of it. Oh, I know her well! If it had been three months off instead of -three weeks, she would have shaken him off. I have always said Effie’s -heart was not in it; but however her heart had been in it, her -stepmother would have had her way.”</p> - -<p>“We must be charitable, we must think ill of nobody,” said Miss Beenie. -“I’m too thankful, for my part, to say an ill word, now you’re getting -well again.”</p> - -<p>“She might have done all that and done nothing wrong,” said Miss -Dempster<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-131" id="page_vol-2-131">{v.2-131}</a></span> sharply. And then Ronald rose to go away; he had no desire to -hear such possibilities discussed. If it had not been for Eric’s -expected arrival he would have gone away before now. It was nothing but -misery, he said to himself, to see Effie, and to think that had he been -three months sooner, as his old friends said!</p> - -<p>But no, he would not believe that; it was injurious to Effie to think -that the first who appeared was her choice. He grew red and hot with -generous shame and contempt of himself when he thought that this was -what he was attributing to one so spotless and so true. The fact that -she had consented to marry Fred Dirom, was not that enough to prove his -merit, to prove that she would never have regarded any other? What did -it not say for a man, the fact that he had been chosen by Effie? It was -the finest proof that he was everything a man could be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-132" id="page_vol-2-132">{v.2-132}</a></span></p> - -<p>Ronald had never seen this happy hero. No doubt there had been surgings -of heart against him, and fits of sorrowful fury when he first knew; but -the idea that he was Effie’s choice silenced the young man. He himself -could have nothing to do with that, he had not even the right to -complain. He had to stand aside and see it accomplished. All that the -old lady said about the chances of the three months too late was folly. -It was one of the strange ways of women that they should think so. It -was a wrong to Effie, who not by any guidance of chance, not because (oh -horror!) this Dirom fellow was the first to ask her, for nothing but -pure love and preference (of which no man was worthy) had chosen him -from the world.</p> - -<p>Ronald, thinking these thoughts, which were not cheerful, walked down -the slope between the laurel hedges with steps much slower and less -decided than his ordinary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-133" id="page_vol-2-133">{v.2-133}</a></span> manly tread. He was a very different type of -humanity from Fred Dirom—not nearly so clever, be it said, knowing not -half so much, handsomer, taller, and stronger, without any subtlety -about him or power of divination, seeing very clearly what was before -him with a pair of keen and clear blue eyes, straightforward as an -arrow; but with no genius for complication nor much knowledge of the -modifying effect of circumstances. He liked or he did not like, he -approved or he did not approve: and all of these things strenuously, -with the force of a nature which was entirely honest, and knew no guile.</p> - -<p>Such a man regards a decision as irrevocable, he understands no playing -with possibilities. It did not occur to him to make any effort to shake -Effie’s allegiance to her betrothed, or to trouble her with any -disclosure of his own sentiments. He accepted what was, with that belief -in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-134" id="page_vol-2-134">{v.2-134}</a></span> certainty of events which belongs to what is called the -practical or positive nature in the new jargon, to the simple and -primitive mind, that is to say. Ronald, who was himself as honest as the -day, considered it the first principle in existence that his -fellow-creatures were honest too, that they meant what they said, and -when they had decided upon a course of action did not intend to be -turned from it, whatever it might cost to carry it out.</p> - -<p>Therefore it was not in this straightforward young man to understand all -the commotion which was in poor little Effie’s mind when she avoided -him, cast down her eyes not to meet his, and made the shortest answers -to the few remarks he ventured to address to her. It hurt him that she -should be so distant, making him wonder whether she thought so little of -him as to suppose that he would give her any annoy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-135" id="page_vol-2-135">{v.2-135}</a></span>ance, say anything or -even look anything to disturb her mind.</p> - -<p>How little she knew him! but not so little as he knew her. They met this -day, as fate would have it, at the gate of Rosebank, and were obliged to -stop and talk for a minute, and even to walk along with each other for -the few steps during which their road lay in the same direction. They -did not know what to say to each other; he because he knew his mind so -well, she because she knew hers so imperfectly, and felt her position so -much.</p> - -<p>Effie was in so strange a condition that it seemed to her she would like -to tell Ronald everything: how she was going to marry Fred she could not -tell why—because she had not liked to give him pain by refusing him, -because she seemed not to be able to do anything else. She did not know -why she wanted to tell this to Ronald, which she would not have done to -anyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-136" id="page_vol-2-136">{v.2-136}</a></span> else. There seemed to be some reason why he should know the real -state of affairs, a sort of apology to make, an explanation—she could -not tell what.</p> - -<p>But when they stood face to face, neither Ronald nor she could find -anything to say. He gave the report of Miss Dempster that she was a -little better; that was the bulletin which by tacit agreement was always -given—she was a little better, but still a great invalid. When that -subject was exhausted, they took refuge in Eric. When was he expected? -though the consciousness in both their minds that it was for the wedding -he was coming, was a sad obstacle to speech.</p> - -<p>“He is expected in three weeks. He is starting, I suppose, now,” Effie -said.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he must be starting now——” And then they both paused, with the -strongest realization of the scene that would ensue. Effie saw herself a -bride far more clearly at that moment through the eyes, so to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-137" id="page_vol-2-137">{v.2-137}</a></span> speak, of -Ronald, than she ever had through those of the man who was to be her -husband.</p> - -<p>“I think I shall go back with him when he goes,” said Ronald, “if I -don’t start before.”</p> - -<p>“Are you going back?”</p> - -<p>He smiled as if it had been very ridiculous to ask him such a question.</p> - -<p>“What else,” he said—there seemed a sort of sad scorn in the -inquiry—“What else is left for me to do?” Perhaps he would have liked -to put it more strongly—What else have you left me to do?</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry,” said Effie, “I thought——” and then she abandoned -this subject altogether. “Do you think Eric will see much change?” she -said.</p> - -<p>“Eric! Oh, yes; he will see a great deal of change. The country and all -look the same to be sure; it is the people who alter. He will see a -great deal of change in you, Miss Ogilvie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-138" id="page_vol-2-138">{v.2-138}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Effie looked up with tears starting in her eyes as if he had given her a -sudden blow.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Ronald! why do you call me that—am I not Effie—always——” And -there came a little sob in her throat, stopping further utterance.</p> - -<p>He looked as if he could have cried too, but smiled instead strangely, -and said, “When you have—another name, how am I to call you by that? I -must try and begin now.”</p> - -<p>“But I shall always be Effie, always,” she said.</p> - -<p>Ronald did not make any reply. He raised his hands in a momentary -protestation, and gave her a look which said more than he had ever said -in words. And then they walked on a few steps together in silence, and -then stopped and shook hands silently with a mutual impulse, and said to -each other “good-bye.”</p> - -<p>When Effie got near home, still full of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-139" id="page_vol-2-139">{v.2-139}</a></span> agitation from this strange -little opening and closing of she knew not what—some secret page in her -own history, inscribed with a record she had known nothing of—she met -her stepmother, who was returning very alert and business-like from a -walk.</p> - -<p>“What have you been saying to Ronald?” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “to make him -look so grave? I saw him turn the corner, and I thought he had seen a -ghost, poor lad; but afterwards it proved to be only you. You should not -be so severe: for he has liked you long, though you knew nothing about -it; and it must have been very hard upon him, poor fellow, to find that -he had come home just too late, and that you had been snapped up, as a -person may say, under his very nose.”</p> - -<p>This was so strange an address that it took away Effie’s breath. She -gave her stepmother a look half stupified, half horrified. “I don’t know -what you mean,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-140" id="page_vol-2-140">{v.2-140}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, Effie, my dear, you must just learn; and I don’t think you will -find it very difficult, if you will give your attention to it. I have -been wanting to speak to you for two or three days, and your father too. -You must not trouble about Fred Dirom any more. I have never been quite -satisfied in my own mind that your heart was in it, if he had not been -so pressing and pushing, and, as we all thought, such a good match. But -you see it turns out that’s not the case, Effie. I got a letter -yesterday from my cousin John; and it’s all true about Dirom’s firm. -They are just going down hill as fast as can be, and probably by this -time they’ve failed. Though you don’t know about business, you know what -that means. It is just the end of all things; and to hold the young man -to his promise in such circumstances would be out of the question. We -are quite agreed upon that, both your father and me. So, my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-141" id="page_vol-2-141">{v.2-141}</a></span> dear Effie, -you are free. It mightn’t have become you to take steps; so your father -and me—we have acted for you; and now you are free.”</p> - -<p>Effie stopped short in the road, and stared at the speaker aghast. If -her heart gave a little leap to hear that word, it was merely an -instinctive movement, and meant nothing. Her mind was full of -consternation. She was confounded by the suddenness, by the strangeness -of the communication.</p> - -<p>Free! What did it mean, and why was it? Free! She repeated the word to -herself after a while, still looking at her stepmother. It was but a -single little word. It meant—what? The world seemed to go round and -round with Effie, the dim November skies, the gray of the wintry -afternoon, the red shaft of the setting sun beyond—all whirled about -her. “Free!” She repeated it as an infant repeats a foreign word without -knowing what it means.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-142" id="page_vol-2-142">{v.2-142}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now, Effie,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “don’t let us have any pretences: that -is all I ask of you. Just face the thing honestly, and don’t let us have -any make-believe. If you tell me that you are deep in love with Fred -Dirom and can’t give him up, I will just not believe you. All I will -think is that you are a little cutty, and have no heart at all. I was -very glad you should make such a good match; but I could see all along -your heart was not in it. And whatever he might say, I made no doubt but -you would be thankful. So let us have none of your little deceptions -here.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I understand,” said Effie, striving to speak. “I think I -must have lost my senses or my hearing, or something. What was it you -were saying? They say people call things by wrong names sometimes, and -can’t help it. Perhaps they hear wrong, too. What is it that you mean?”</p> - -<p>“You know perfectly well what I mean,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-143" id="page_vol-2-143">{v.2-143}</a></span>” said Mrs. Ogilvie, with some -exasperation; “I have just written breaking off your marriage—is that -plain enough? I’ve done it under your father’s orders. It was he that -accepted and I’m thinking it’s he that has a right to refuse—It’s all -broken off—I cannot speak any plainer. Now, do you understand what I -say?”</p> - -<p>Effie had grown very pale—she shivered as if with cold—her lips -quivered when she began to speak.</p> - -<p>“And that is,” she said, “because he has failed—because he is not a -good match now, but a poor man—is that what it is?”</p> - -<p>“If you like to put it in that broad way. Of course he is not in a -condition to marry any longer. It is the kindest thing we can do——”</p> - -<p>“Give me your letter,” said Effie, holding out her hand. There was -something threatening, something dangerous, about the girl, which made -Mrs. Ogilvie scream out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-144" id="page_vol-2-144">{v.2-144}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My letter! I am not in the habit of showing my letters to anybody but -your father. And even if I was disposed to show it I cannot, for I’ve -just been to the post and put it in with my own hand. And by this time -it is stamped and in the bag to go away. So you must take my description -of it. I will be very happy to tell you all I have said.”</p> - -<p>“You have just been to the post to put it in!” Effie repeated the words, -her eyes growing larger every moment, her face more ghastly. Then she -gave a strange cry like a wounded creature, and turned and flew back -towards the village neither pausing nor looking behind her, without a -word more. Mrs. Ogilvie stood for a time, her own heart beating a little -faster than usual, and a choking sensation in her throat.</p> - -<p>“Effie, Effie!” she cried after her—but Effie took no notice. She went -along<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-145" id="page_vol-2-145">{v.2-145}</a></span> through the dim air like a flying shadow, and soon was out of -sight, taking no time either for breath or thought. Where had she gone? -wherever she went, what could she do? It was for her good; all through -it had been for her good. If she mistook at first, yet after she must -come round.</p> - -<p>Effie had fled in the opposite direction to Allonby. Where was she -going? what could she do? Mrs. Ogilvie made a rapid glance at the -possibilities and decided that there was really nothing which the girl -could do. She drew a long breath to relieve the oppression which in -spite of herself had seized upon her, the sudden panic and alarm.</p> - -<p>What could Effie do?—just nothing! She would run and tell her Uncle -John, but though the minister was a man full of crotchets he was still -more or less a man of sense, and he had never been very keen on the -match. He would speak to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-146" id="page_vol-2-146">{v.2-146}</a></span> sensibly and she would see it when he said -it, though not when Mrs. Ogilvie said it: and she would come home.</p> - -<p>And then Ronald would get another invitation to his dinner. It was all -as simple as A B C.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-147" id="page_vol-2-147">{v.2-147}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mr. Moubray</span> was in his study, in the gray of the winter’s afternoon. It -is never a very cheerful moment. The fire was burning brightly, the room -was warm and pleasant, with plenty of books, and many associations; but -it was a pensive moment, too dark for reading, when there is nothing to -do but to think. And though a man who has begun to grow old, and who is -solitary, may be very happy thinking, yet it is a pensive pleasure. He -was sitting very quietly, looking out at the shaft of red gold in the -west where the sun had disappeared, and watching the light as it stole -away, each moment a little less, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-148" id="page_vol-2-148">{v.2-148}</a></span> little less brilliant, till it sank -altogether in the gray.</p> - -<p>To eyes “that have kept watch o’er man’s mortality” there is always an -interest in that sight: one going out is so like another: the slow -lessening, the final disappearance have an interest that never fails. -And the minister can scarcely be said to have been thinking. He was -watching, as he had watched at many a death-bed, the slow extinction, -the going away. Whether it is a sun or a life that is setting, that last -ineffable moment of disappearance cannot but convey a thrill to the -heart.</p> - -<p>This was how he was seated, meditating in the profoundest tranquillity -when, all at once, the door flew open, and a young figure full of -agitation, in all the force of life and passion, a creature all alive to -the very finger points, to the hem of her skirts, to the crown of her -wind-blown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-149" id="page_vol-2-149">{v.2-149}</a></span> hair, burst in breathless, an emblem of disturbance, of -conflict, in short, of existence in contrast with the calm of -contemplation.</p> - -<p>She stood for a moment before him, but only as if under protest, pausing -perforce for breath, “Uncle John,” she cried, panting, “come, come with -me! I want to tell you, I want to ask you—you must help me—to stop -something. But, oh, I can’t wait to explain; come with me, come with me! -and I’ll tell you on the way——”</p> - -<p>“What is it, Effie?” He got up hastily; but though her influence was -strong, it was not strong enough to prevent him from asking an -explanation before he obeyed it.</p> - -<p>She caught at his arm in her impatience, “Oh, Uncle John, come—come -away! I’ll tell you on the road—oh, come away—there is not a moment, -not a moment! to lose——”</p> - -<p>“Is anybody ill?” he said. She con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-150" id="page_vol-2-150">{v.2-150}</a></span>tinued to hold his arm, not as a -means of support, but by way of pushing him on, which she did, scarcely -leaving him a moment to get his hat. Her impetuosity reminded him so -much of many a childish raid made into his house that, notwithstanding -his alarm, he smiled.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, there is nobody ill, it is much, much worse than that, Uncle -John. Oh, don’t smile as if you thought I was joking! It’s just -desperation. There is a letter that Mrs. Ogilvie has written, and I -must, I must—get it back from the post, or I will die. Oh, come! come! -before it is too late.”</p> - -<p>“Get a letter back from the post!——”</p> - -<p>He turned in spite of Effie’s urgency at the manse door. It stood high, -and the cheerful lights were beginning to shine in the village windows -below, among which the shop and post-office was conspicuous with its two -bright paraffin lamps.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-151" id="page_vol-2-151">{v.2-151}</a></span></p> - -<p>“But that is impossible,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” said the girl. “Oh, Uncle John, come quick, come quick! and -you will see that we must have it. Mrs. Moffatt will give it when she -sees you. Not for me, perhaps, but for you. You will say that something -has been forgotten, that another word has to be put in, that—oh, Uncle -John when we are there it will come into our heads what to say——”</p> - -<p>“Take no thought beforehand what you shall speak, Effie,” said the -minister, half smiling, half admonishing; “is it so serious as that?”</p> - -<p>He suffered her to lead him down the slope of the manse garden, out upon -the road, her light figure foremost, clinging to his arm, yet moving him -along; he, heavier, with so much of passive resistance as his large -frame, and only half responsive will, gave.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” she cried, “it is as serious as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-152" id="page_vol-2-152">{v.2-152}</a></span> that. Uncle John, was not -that what our Lord said when His men that He sent out were to stand for -Him and not to forsake Him? And to desert your friends when they are in -trouble, to turn your back upon them when they need you, to give them up -because they are poor, because they are unfortunate, because they have -lost everything but you——”</p> - -<p>She was holding his arm so closely, urging him on, that he felt the -heaving of her heart against his side, the tremor of earnestness in her -whole frame as she spoke.</p> - -<p>“Effie, my little girl! what strait are you in, that you are driven to -use words like these?”</p> - -<p>Her voice sounded like a sob in her throat, which was parched with -excitement.</p> - -<p>“I am in this strait, Uncle John, that he has lost everything, and they -have written to say I take back my word. No,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-153" id="page_vol-2-153">{v.2-153}</a></span> no, no,” cried Effie, -forcing on with feverish haste the larger shadow by her side. “I will -never do it—it shall not be. They made me take him when he was rich, -and now that he is poor I will stand by him till I die.”</p> - -<p>“My little Effie!” was all the minister said. She still hurried him -along, but yet he half carried her with an arm round her slender figure. -What with agitation and the unaccustomed conflict in her mind, Effie’s -slight physical frame was failing her. It was her heart and soul that -were pushing on. Her brain swam, the village lights fluttered in her -eyes, her voice had gone altogether, lost in the climbing sob which was -at once breath and utterance. She was unconscious of everything save her -one object, to be in time, to recover the letter, to avert that cowardly -blow.</p> - -<p>But when Effie came to herself in the little shop with its close -atmosphere, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-154" id="page_vol-2-154">{v.2-154}</a></span> smell of the paraffin, the dazzling glare of the light, -under the astonished gaze of Mrs. Moffatt the postmistress, who stood at -her counter stamping the letters spread out before her, and who stopped -short, bewildered by the sudden entrance of so much passion, of -something entirely out of the ordinary, which she felt, but could not -understand—the girl could bring forth nothing from that slender, -convulsed throat but a gasp. It was Mr. Moubray who spoke.</p> - -<p>“My niece wishes you to give her back a letter—a letter in which -something must be altered, something added: a letter with the Gilston -stamp.”</p> - -<p>“Eh, Mr. Moubray! but I canna do that,” the postmistress cried.</p> - -<p>“Why can’t you do it? I am here to keep you free of blame. There is no -harm in it. Give her back her letter, and she will add what she wishes -to add.”</p> - -<p>“Is it Miss Effie’s own letter? I’m no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-155" id="page_vol-2-155">{v.2-155}</a></span> sure it’s just right even in -that point of view. Folk should ken their own minds,” said Mrs. Moffatt, -shuffling the letters about with her hands, “before they put pen to -paper. If I did it for ane, I would have to do it for a’ that ask. And -where would I be then? I would just never be done——”</p> - -<p>“Let us hope there are but few that are so important: and my niece is -not just any one,” said the minister, with a little natural -self-assertion. “I will clear you of the blame if there is any blame.”</p> - -<p>“I am not saying but what Miss Effie—— Still the post-office is just -like the grave, Mr. Moubray, what’s put in canna be taken out. Na, I do -not think I can do it, if it was for the Queen hersel’.”</p> - -<p>Effie had not stood still while this conversation was going on; she had -taken the matter into her own hands, and was turning over the letters -with her trembling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-156" id="page_vol-2-156">{v.2-156}</a></span> fingers without waiting for any permission.</p> - -<p>“Na, Miss Effie; na, Miss Effie,” said the postmistress, trying to -withdraw them from her. But Effie paid no attention. Her extreme and -passionate agitation was such that even official zeal, though -strengthened by ignorance, could not stand before it. Notwithstanding -all Mrs. Moffatt’s efforts, the girl examined everything with a swift -desperation and keenness which contrasted strangely with her incapacity -to see or know anything besides. It was not till she had turned over -every one that she flung up her hands with a cry of dismay, and fell -back upon the shoulder of the minister, who had held her all the time -with his arm.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Uncle John! oh, Uncle John!” she cried with a voice of despair.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it has not been sent, Effie. It was only a threat perhaps. It -might<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-157" id="page_vol-2-157">{v.2-157}</a></span> be said to see how you felt. Rest a little, and then we will -think what to do——”</p> - -<p>“I will have to go,” she said, struggling from him, getting out to the -door of the shop. “Oh, I cannot breathe! Uncle John, when does the train -go?”</p> - -<p>“My dear child!”</p> - -<p>“Uncle John, what time does the train go? No, I will not listen,” said -the girl. The fresh air revived her, and she hurried along a little way: -but soon her limbs failed her, and she dropped down trembling upon the -stone seat in front of one of the cottages. There she sat for a few -minutes, taking off her hat, putting back her hair from her forehead -instinctively, as if that would relieve the pressure on her heart.</p> - -<p>She was still for a moment, and then burst forth again: “I must go. Oh, -you are not to say a word. Do you know what it is to love some one, -Uncle John? Yes, <i>you</i> know. It is only a few who can<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-158" id="page_vol-2-158">{v.2-158}</a></span> tell what that -is. Well,” she said, the sob in her throat interrupting her, making her -voice sound like the voice of a child; “that is how he thinks of me; you -will think it strange. He is not like a serious man, you will say, to -feel so; but he does. Not me! oh, not me!” said Effie, contending with -the sob; “I am not like that. But he does. I am not so stupid, nor so -insensible, but I know it when I see it, Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Effie, I never doubted it; he loves you dearly, poor fellow. My -dear little girl, there is time enough to set all right——”</p> - -<p>“To set it right! If he hears just at the moment of his trouble that -I—that I—— What is the word when a woman is a traitor? Is there such -a thing as that a girl should be a traitor to one that puts his trust in -her? I never pretended to be like <i>that</i>, Uncle John. He knew that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-159" id="page_vol-2-159">{v.2-159}</a></span> -was different with me. But true—Oh, I can be true. More, more! <i>I can’t -be false.</i> Do you hear me? <i>You</i> brought me up, how could I? I can’t be -false; it will kill me. I would rather die——”</p> - -<p>“Effie! Effie! No one would have you to be false. Compose yourself, my -dear. Come home with me and I will speak to them, and everything will -come right. There cannot be any harm done yet. Effie, my poor little -girl, come home.”</p> - -<p>Effie did not move, except to put back as before her hair from her -forehead.</p> - -<p>“I know,” she said, “that there is no hurry, that the train does not go -till night. I will tell you everything as if you were my mother, Uncle -John. You are the nearest to her. I was silly—I never thought:—but I -was proud too. Girls are made like that: and just to be praised and made -much of pleases us; and to have somebody that thinks there is no one in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-160" id="page_vol-2-160">{v.2-160}</a></span> -the world like you—for that,” she said, with a little pause, and a -voice full of awe, “is what he thinks of me. It is very strange, but it -is true. And if I were to let him think for a moment—oh, for one -moment!—that the girl he thought so much of would cast him off, because -he was poor!——”</p> - -<p>Effie sprang up from her seat in the excitement of this thought. She -turned upon her uncle, with her face shining, her head held high.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I could let him think that for an hour? for a day? Oh, no! -no! Yes, I will go home to get my cloak and a bonnet, for you cannot go -to London just in a little hat like mine; but don’t say to me, Uncle -John, that I must not do it, for I <small>WILL</small>.”</p> - -<p>She took his arm again in the force of this resolution. Then she added, -in the tone of one who is conceding a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-161" id="page_vol-2-161">{v.2-161}</a></span> favour: “But you may come -with me if you like.”</p> - -<p>Between the real feeling which her words had roused in him and the -humour of this permission, Mr. Moubray scarcely knew how to reply. He -said: “I would not advise you to go, Effie. It will be better for me to -go in your place if anyone must go; but is that necessary? Let us go -quietly home in the meantime. You owe something to your father, my dear; -you must not take a step like this without his knowledge at least.”</p> - -<p>“If you are going to betray me to Mrs. Ogilvie, Uncle John——”</p> - -<p>“My little Effie, there is no question of betrayal. There is no need for -running away, for acting as if you were oppressed at home. You have -never been oppressed at home, my dear. If Mrs. Ogilvie has written to -Mr. Dirom, at least she was honest and told you. And you must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-162" id="page_vol-2-162">{v.2-162}</a></span> -honest. It must all be spoken of on the true ground, which is that you -can do only what is right, Effie.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle John,” cried Effie, “if to give up Fred is right, then I will not -do it—whatever you say, I will not do it. He may never want me in my -life again, but he wants me now. Abandon him because he is in need of -me! Oh, could you believe it of Effie? And if you say it is wrong, I do -not care, I will do it. I will not desert him when he is poor, not for -all the—not for anybody in the world——”</p> - -<p>“Is that Effie that is speaking so loud? is that you, John?”</p> - -<p>This was the voice of Mr. Ogilvie himself, which suddenly rose out of -the dim evening air close by. They had gone along in their excitement -scarce knowing where they went, or how near they were to the house, and -now, close to the dark shrubberies, encountered suddenly Effie’s -father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-163" id="page_vol-2-163">{v.2-163}</a></span> who, somewhat against his own will, had come out to look for -her.</p> - -<p>His wife had been anxious, which he thought absurd, and he had been -driven out rather by impatience of her continual inquiries: “I wonder -where that girl has gone. I wonder what she is doing. Dear me, Robert, -if you will not go out and look after her, I will just have to do it -myself,”—than from any other motive. Effie’s declaration had been made -accordingly to other ears than those she intended; and her father’s slow -but hot temper was roused.</p> - -<p>“I would like to know,” he said, “for what reason it is that you are out -so late as this, and going hectoring about the roads like a play-acting -woman? John, you might have more sense than to encourage her in such -behaviour. Go home to your mother this moment, Effie, and let me hear no -such language out of your head. I will not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-164" id="page_vol-2-164">{v.2-164}</a></span> ask what it’s about. I have -nothing to say to women’s quarrels. Go home, I tell you, to your -mother.”</p> - -<p>Effie had caught with both her hands her uncle’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I wish that I could—Oh, if I only could,” she cried, “that would -make all clear.”</p> - -<p>“Ogilvie, she is in a state of great excitement—I hope you will set her -mind at rest. I tell her she shall be forced to nothing. You are not the -man, though you may be a little careless, to permit any tyranny over -your child.”</p> - -<p>“Me, careless! You are civil,” said the father. “Just you recollect, -John Moubray, that I will have no interference—if you were the minister -ten times over, and her uncle to the boot. I am well able to look after -my own family and concerns. Effie, go home.”</p> - -<p>Effie said nothing; but she stood still<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-165" id="page_vol-2-165">{v.2-165}</a></span> clinging to her uncle’s arm. -She would not advance though he tried to draw her towards the gate, nor -would she make any reply: she wound her arms about his, and held him -fast. She had carried him along with the force of her young passion; but -he could not move her. Her brain was whirling, her whole being in the -wildest commotion. Her intelligence had partially given way, but her -power of resistance was strong.</p> - -<p>“Effie,” he said softly, “come home. My dear, you must let your father -see what is in your mind. How is he to learn if you will not tell him? -Effie! for my part, I will do whatever you please,” he said in a low -tone in her ear. “I promise to go to him if you wish it—only obey your -father and come home.”</p> - -<p>“Go home this moment to your mother,” Mr. Ogilvie repeated. “Is this a -time to be wandering about the world? She may<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-166" id="page_vol-2-166">{v.2-166}</a></span> just keep her mind to -herself, John Moubray. I’ll have nothing to say to women’s quarrels, and -if you are a wise man you will do the same. Effie, go home.”</p> - -<p>Effie paused a moment between the two, one of whom repulsed her, while -the other did no more than soothe and still her excitement as best he -could. She was not capable of being soothed. The fire and passion in her -veins required an outlet. She was so young, unaccustomed to emotion. She -would not yield to do nothing, that hard part which women in so many -circumstances have to play.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she loosed her arms from that of the minister, and without a -word, in an instant, before anything could be said, darted away from -them into the gathering night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-167" id="page_vol-2-167">{v.2-167}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“We</span> were just bringing her back. No doubt she has darted in at the side -door—she was always a hasty creature—and got into her own room. That’s -where ye will find her. I cannot tell you what has come over the monkey. -She is just out of what little wits she ever had.”</p> - -<p>“I can tell very well what has come over her,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “She -is just wild that I have interfered, which it was my clear duty to do. -If she had been heart and soul in the matter it would have been -different—but she was never that. These old cats at Rosebank, they -thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-168" id="page_vol-2-168">{v.2-168}</a></span> there was nobody saw it but themselves; but I saw it well -enough.”</p> - -<p>“In that case,” said Mr. Moubray, “perhaps it would have been better to -interfere sooner. I wish you would send some one to see if Effie is -really there.”</p> - -<p>“Why should I have interfered sooner? If everything had gone well, it -was such a match as Effie had no chance of making; but when it turned -out that it was a mistake, and the other there breaking his heart, that -had always been more suitable, and her with no heart in it——” Mrs. -Ogilvie paused for a moment in the satisfaction of triumphant -self-vindication. “But if you’re just sentimental and childish and come -in my way, you bind her to a bankrupt that she does not care for, -because of what you call honour—honour is all very well,” said Mrs. -Ogilvie, “for men; but whoever supposes that a bit little creature of a -girl<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-169" id="page_vol-2-169">{v.2-169}</a></span>——”</p> - -<p>“Will ye go and see if Effie is in her room?” said her husband -impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Ye may just ring the bell, Robert, and send one of the maids to see; -what would I do with her? If I said anything it would only make her -worse. I am not one of the people that shilly shally. I just act, and am -done with it. I’m very glad I put in my letter myself that it might go -in the first bag. But if you will take my advice you will just let her -be: at this moment she could not bear the sight of me, and I’m not -blaming her. I’ve taken it in my own hands, at my own risk, and if she’s -angry I’m not surprised. Let her be. She will come to herself -by-and-bye, and at the bottom of her heart she will be very well -pleased, and then I will ask Ronald Sutherland to his dinner, and -then——”</p> - -<p>“I wish,” said Mr. Moubray, “you would ease my mind at least by making -sure that Effie has really come in. I have a mis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-170" id="page_vol-2-170">{v.2-170}</a></span>giving, which is -perhaps foolish: I will go myself if you will let me.”</p> - -<p>“No need for that,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, ringing the bell. “George, you -will send Margaret to tell Miss Effie—but what am I to tell her? that -is just the question. She will not want anything to say to me, and she -will perhaps think—— You will say just that her uncle wants her, that -will be the best thing to say.”</p> - -<p>There was a pause while George departed on his errand: not that Mrs. -Ogilvie had nothing to say or was affected by the anxiety of others. It -had indeed been a relief to her when her husband informed her that -Effie, no doubt, had come in and was in her own room. The stepmother, -who had been a little uneasy before, took this for granted with a sigh -of relief, and felt that a certain little danger which she had not -defined to herself was over.</p> - -<p>And now that the alarm was past, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-171" id="page_vol-2-171">{v.2-171}</a></span> that she had put forth her -defence, it seemed better not to dwell upon this subject. Better to let -it drop, she said to herself, better to let Effie think that it was over -and nothing more to be made of it. Mrs. Ogilvie was a woman without -temper and never ill-natured. She was very willing to let it drop. That -she should receive her stepdaughter as if nothing had happened was -clearly the right way. Therefore, though she had a thousand things now -to say, and could have justified her proceedings in volumes, she decided -not to do so; for she could also be self-denying when it was expedient -so to be.</p> - -<p>There was therefore a pause. Mr. Moubray sat with his eyes fixed on the -door and a great disquietude in his mind. He was asking himself what, if -she appeared, he could do. Must he promise her her lover, as he would -promise a child a plaything? must he ignore altogether the not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-172" id="page_vol-2-172">{v.2-172}</a></span> -unreasonable reasons which Mrs. Ogilvie had produced in justification of -her conduct? They were abhorrent to his mind, as well as to that of -Effie, yet from her point of view they were not unreasonable. But if -Effie was not there? Mr. Ogilvie said nothing at all, but he walked from -one end of the room to another working his shaggy eyebrows. It was -evident he was not so tranquil in his mind as he had pretended to be.</p> - -<p>Presently Margaret the housemaid appeared, after a modest tap at the -door. “Miss Effie is not in her room, mem,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Not in her room? are you quite sure? Perhaps she is in the library -waiting for her papa; perhaps she is in the nursery with Rory. She may -even have gone into the kitchen, to speak a word to old Mary, or to -Pirie’s cottage to see if there are any flowers. You will find her -somewhere<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-173" id="page_vol-2-173">{v.2-173}</a></span> if you look. Quick, quick, and tell her the minister wants -her. You are sure, both of you gentlemen, that you saw her come in at -the gate?”</p> - -<p>“No doubt she came in,” said Mr. Ogilvie with irritation; “where else -would she go at this time of night?”</p> - -<p>“I am not sure at all,” said Mr. Moubray, rising up, “I never thought -so: and here I have been sitting losing time. I will go myself to -Pirie’s cottage—and after that——”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing to be frightened about,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, rising -too; “if she’s not at Pirie’s she will be at Rosebank, or else she will -be in one of the cottages, or else—bless me, there are twenty places -she may be, and nothing to make a panic about.”</p> - -<p>The minister went out in the middle of this speech waving his hand to -her as he went away, and she followed him to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-174" id="page_vol-2-174">{v.2-174}</a></span> door, calling out her -consolations across the passage. She met her husband, who was about to -follow, as she turned back, and caught his arm with her hands.</p> - -<p>“Robert, you’re not in this daft excitement too? Where in the world -would she go to, as you say? She’ll just have run somewhere in her pet, -not to see me. There can be nothing to be terrified about.”</p> - -<p>“You have a way,” cried the husband, “of talking, talking, that a person -would fly to the uttermost parts of the airth to get free o’ ye. Let me -go! Effie’s young and silly. She may run we know not where, or she may -catch a cold to kill her, which is the least of it. Let me go.”</p> - -<p>“Sit down in your own chair by your own fireside, and listen to me,” -said the wife. “Why should you go on a fool’s errand? one’s enough for -that. Did Effie ever give you any real vexation all her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-175" id="page_vol-2-175">{v.2-175}</a></span> life? No, -truly, and why should she begin now? She will be taking a walk, or she -will be complaining of me to the Miss Dempsters, or something of that -innocent kind. Just you let her be. What did she ever do to give you a -bad opinion of her? No, no, she’s come out of a good stock, and she’ll -come to no harm.”</p> - -<p>“There is something in that,” Mr. Ogilvie said. He was not ill disposed -to sit down in his own chair by his own fireside and take his ease, and -accept the assurance that Effie would come to no harm.</p> - -<p>But when she had thus quieted her husband and disposed of him, Mrs. -Ogilvie herself stole out in the dark, first to the house door, then -through the ghostly shrubberies to the gate, to see if there was any -trace visible of the fugitive. She was not so tranquil as she pretended -to be. Effie’s look of consternation and horror was still in her eyes, -and she had a sense of guilt<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-176" id="page_vol-2-176">{v.2-176}</a></span> which she could not shake off. But yet -there were so many good reasons for doing what she had done, so many -excuses, nay, laudable motives, things that called for immediate action.</p> - -<p>“To marry a man you don’t care about, when there is no advantage in it, -what a dreadful thing to do. How could I look on and let that little -thing make such a sacrifice? and when any person with the least -perception could see her heart was not in it. And Ronald, him that she -just had a natural bias to, that was just the most suitable match, not a -great <i>parti</i> like what we all thought young Dirom, but well enough, and -her own kind of person!”</p> - -<p>It was thus she justified herself, and from her own point of view the -justification was complete. But yet she was not a happy woman as she -stood within the shadow of the big laurels, and looked out upon the -road, hoping every moment to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-177" id="page_vol-2-177">{v.2-177}</a></span> see a slight shadow flit across the road, -and Effie steal in at the open gate. What could the little thing do? As -for running away, that was out of the question; and she was so young, -knowing nothing. What could she do? It was not possible she should come -to any harm.</p> - -<p>Mr. Moubray was more anxious still, for it seemed to him that he knew -very well what she would do. He walked about all the neighbouring roads, -and peeped into the cottages, and frightened the Miss Dempsters by going -up to their door, with heavy feet crushing the gravel at that -unaccustomed hour, for no reason but just to ask how the old lady was!</p> - -<p>“I must be worse than I think or the minister would never have come all -this way once-errand to inquire about me,” Miss Dempster said.</p> - -<p>“He would just see the light, and he would mind that he had made no -inquiries<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-178" id="page_vol-2-178">{v.2-178}</a></span> for three days,” said Miss Beenie; but she too was -uncomfortable, and felt that there was more in this nocturnal visitation -than met the eye.</p> - -<p>It did not surprise Mr. Moubray that in all his searches he could find -no trace of his little girl. He thought he knew where he would find -her—on the platform of the little railway station, ready to get into -the train for London. And in the meantime his mind was full of thoughts -how to serve her best. He was not like the majority of people who are -ready enough to serve others according to what they themselves think -best. Uncle John, on the contrary, studied tenderly how he could help -Effie in the way she wished.</p> - -<p>He paused at the post-office, and sent off a telegram to Fred Dirom, -expressed as follows:—“You will receive to-morrow morning a letter from -Gilston. E. wishes you to know that it does not express her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-179" id="page_vol-2-179">{v.2-179}</a></span> feeling, -that she stands fast whatever may happen.”</p> - -<p>When he had sent this he felt a certain tranquillising influence, as if -he had propitiated fate, and said to himself that when she heard what he -had done, she might perhaps be persuaded to come back. Then the minister -went home, put a few things into his old travelling bag, and told his -housekeeper that he was going to meet a friend at the train, and that -perhaps he might not return that night, or for two or three nights. When -he had done this, he made his evening prayer, in which you may be sure -his little Effie occupied the first place, and then set off the long -half-hour’s walk to the station.</p> - -<p>By this time it was late, and the train was due: but neither on the -platform, nor in the office, nor among those who stood on the alert to -jump into the train, could he find her. He was at last constrained<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-180" id="page_vol-2-180">{v.2-180}</a></span> to -believe that she was not there. Had she gone further to escape pursuit, -to the next station, where there would be nobody to stop her? He -upbraided himself deeply for letting the train go without him, after he -had watched it plunging away in the darkness, into the echoes of the -night. It seemed to thunder along through the great silence of the -country, waking a hundred reverberations as he stood there with his bag -in his hand, aghast, not knowing what to do. There had been time enough -for that poor little pilgrim to push her way to the next stopping place, -where she could get in unobserved.</p> - -<p>Was this what she had done? He felt as if he had abandoned his little -girl, deserted her, left her to take her first step in life unprotected, -as he went back. And then, as he neared the village, a flicker of hope -returned that she might, when left to herself, have come to a more -reasonable<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-181" id="page_vol-2-181">{v.2-181}</a></span> conclusion and gone home. He went back to Gilston, walking -very softly that his step might not disturb them, if the family were all -composed to rest. And for a moment his heart gave a bound of relief when -he saw something moving among the laurels within the gate.</p> - -<p>But it was only Mrs. Ogilvie, who stole out into the open, with a -suppressed cry: “Have you not found her?” “Has she come home?” he asked -in the same breath: then in the mutual pang of disappointment they stood -for a moment and looked at each other, asking no more.</p> - -<p>“I have got Robert to go to his bed,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “God forgive -me, I just deceived him, saying she was at the manse with you—which was -what I hoped—for what would have been the use of him wandering about, -exposing himself and getting more rheumatism, when there was you and me -to do all we could? And, oh!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-182" id="page_vol-2-182">{v.2-182}</a></span> what shall we do, or where can I send now? -I am just at my wit’s end. She would not do any harm to herself, oh! -never! I cannot think it; and, besides, what would be the use? for she -always had it in her power to write to him, and say it was only me.”</p> - -<p>Then the minister explained what he had anticipated, and how he had -proved mistaken. “The only thing is, she might have gone on to Lamphray -thinking it would be quieter, and taken the train there.”</p> - -<p>“Lord bless us!” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “If she has done that we can hear -nothing till—there is no saying when we may hear.”</p> - -<p>And though they were on different sides, and, so to speak, hostile -forces, these two people stood together for a moment with but one -thought, listening to every little echo, and every rustle, and the -cracking<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-183" id="page_vol-2-183">{v.2-183}</a></span> of the twigs, and the sound of the burn, all the soft -unreckoned noises of a silent night, but Effie’s step or breath was not -among them all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-184" id="page_vol-2-184">{v.2-184}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Effie</span> had darted away from the side of her father and uncle in one of -those <i>accès</i> of impatience which are common to the young and -inexperienced. She had no training in that science of endurance which is -one of the chief bulwarks of life. Everything had become intolerable to -her. She “could not bear it,” words which are so often said, but which -in most cases mean little more than the unavailing human cry against the -hardships to which we have all to submit, and which most of us learn -must be borne after all whatever may be the struggle. By times the -young, the unprepared, the undisciplined fly out and will not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-185" id="page_vol-2-185">{v.2-185}</a></span> submit, -to the confusion of their own existence first, and that of all others -involved.</p> - -<p>Effie meant little more than this uncontrollable expression of -impatience, and sense of the intolerableness of the circumstances, when -she loosed her arm from that of Uncle John, and fled—she knew not -where. She was not far off, standing trembling and excited among the -shadows, while they called her and searched for her along the different -paths; and when they went hastily into the house on the supposition that -she had found her way there, her heart for a moment failed her, and an -inclination to realize their thoughts, to escape no farther than to the -seclusion and safety of her own room, crossed her mind like one of the -flying clouds that were traversing the sky. But not only her excitement -and rebellion against the treason which she was being compelled to, but -even her pride was now in arms, preventing any return.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-186" id="page_vol-2-186">{v.2-186}</a></span></p> - -<p>She stood among the trees, among the evening damps, for some time after -the gentlemen had disappeared, thought after thought coursing through -her brain. Her determination was unchanged to go South by the night -train, though she had no clear idea what was next to be done when she -should reach London, that great fabulous place where she had never been, -and of which she had not the faintest understanding. She would seek out -Fred, tell him that she would stand by him whatever his trouble might -be—that nothing should detach her from his side—that if he was poor -that was all the more reason.</p> - -<p>So far as this went, Effie knew what to say, her heart was full of -eloquence and fervour. The intermediate steps were difficult, but that -was easy. She had been shy with him and reticent, receiving what he -gave, listening to what he said, of herself giving little. But now a new -impulse<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-187" id="page_vol-2-187">{v.2-187}</a></span> possessed her. She would throw herself heart and soul into his -fortunes. She would help him now that he needed her. She would be true, -ah! more than that as she had said—she could not be false—it was an -impossibility. Now that he was in need she was all his to work or watch, -to console or to cheer as might be most needful—his by the securest, -most urgent of bonds, by right of his necessities.</p> - -<p>The enthusiasm which she had never felt for Fred came now at the thought -of his poverty and loss. She could smile in the force of her resolution -at the folly of the woman who thought this would break the tie between -them; break it! when it made it like steel.</p> - -<p>This fire in her heart kept Effie warm, and glowed about her with a -semblance of passion; but first there was a difficult moment which she -did not know how to pass. Had the train gone at once all would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-188" id="page_vol-2-188">{v.2-188}</a></span> have -been easy; but it would not go yet for hours, and she could not pass the -time standing on the damp grass, her feet getting wet, her damp skirts -clinging about her, the wintry dews dropping upon her, under those -trees. She began to think and ask herself where she would go to wait and -get a little warm before it should be time for the train.</p> - -<p>To Rosebank? but they were on the other side she reflected, with a vague -pang and misty passing realization of all that the other side meant. She -had been on the other side herself, against her will, till to-day; but -not now, oh, not now! She felt the pang, like a cutting asunder, a -tearing away; but would not dwell upon it, felt it only in passing. No, -she would not go into the atmosphere of the other side.</p> - -<p>And how could she go to the manse where Uncle John would beg and pray to -go in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-189" id="page_vol-2-189">{v.2-189}</a></span>stead of her, which was so very different; for Effie required not -only to demonstrate her strong faithfulness, but to keep it up, to keep -it in the state of passion.</p> - -<p>Then there suddenly came upon her a gleam of illumination. Yes! that was -the only place to go. To whom but to those who would suffer with him, -who would have need also of strengthening and encouragement, who had -such a change before them, and so much occasion for the support of their -friends—could Effie betake herself? It did not occur to her that Doris -and Phyllis, under the influence of depression and loss, were almost -inconceivable, and that to cheer them by the sympathy and backing up of -a little girl like herself, was something which the imagination failed -to grasp. Not that thought, but the difficulties of the way chilled her -a little. The dark, dark road over the brae which reached the waterside -close to the churchyard, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-190" id="page_vol-2-190">{v.2-190}</a></span> little path by the river, the wide, -silent, solitary park—all this made her shiver a little.</p> - -<p>But she said to herself with a forlorn rallying of her forces that such -trifles mattered nothing, that she was beyond thinking of anything so -unimportant, that there was the place for her, that she must go to his -sisters to give them confidence, to comfort them on Fred’s account, to -say, “I am going to him, to stand by him.” They who knew him so well, -would know that when she said that, all was said, and Fred’s strength -and endurance secured.</p> - -<p>This decision was made very rapidly, the mental processes being so much -quicker than anything that is physical, so that the sound of the door -closing upon Mr. Ogilvie and Mr. Moubray had scarcely died out of the -echoes before she set forth. She walked very quickly and firmly so long -as it was the highroad, where there were cot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-191" id="page_vol-2-191">{v.2-191}</a></span>tage lights shining here -and there and an occasional passer-by, though she shrank from sight or -speech of any; but when she came to the darker by-way over the hill, it -was all Effie’s courage could do to keep her going.</p> - -<p>There was light in the sky, the soft glimmer of stars, but it did not -seem to get so far as the head of the brae, and still less down the -other side, where it descended towards the water. Down below at the -bottom of the ravine the water itself, indeed, was doubly clear; the sky -reflected in it with a wildness and pale light which was of itself -enough to frighten any one; but the descending path seemed to change and -waver in the great darkness of the world around, so that sometimes it -appeared to sink under Effie’s feet, receding and falling into an abyss -immeasurable, which re-acted upon the gloom, and made the descent seem -as steep as a precipice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-192" id="page_vol-2-192">{v.2-192}</a></span></p> - -<p>Her little figure, not distinguishable in the darkness, stumbling -downwards, not seeing the stones and bushes that came in her way, seemed -a hundred times as if about to fall down, down, into the depths, into -that dark clearness, the cold gulf of the stream. Sometimes she slid -downward a little, and then thought for a dizzy moment that all was -over—sometimes stumbled and felt that she was going down headlong, -always feeling herself alone, entirely alone, between the clear stars -overhead and the line of keen light below.</p> - -<p>Then there came the passage of the churchyard, which was full of -solemnity. Effie saw the little huddled mass of the old chapel against -the dim opening out of the valley in which the house of Allonby lay—and -it looked to her like a crouching figure watching among the dead, like, -perhaps, some shadow of Adam Fleming or his murdered Helen in the place -where she fell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-193" id="page_vol-2-193">{v.2-193}</a></span></p> - -<p>As soon as she got on level ground the girl flew along, all throbbing -and trembling with terror. Beyond lay the vague stretches of the park, -and the house rising in the midst of the spectral river mists, soft and -white, that filled it—the lights in the windows veiled and indistinct, -the whole silent, like a house of shadows. Her heart failed although she -went on, half flying, towards it, as to a refuge. Effie by this time had -almost forgotten Fred. She had forgotten everything except the terrors -of this unusual expedition, and the silence and solitude and all the -weird influences that seemed to be about her. She felt as if she was -outside of the world altogether, a little ghost wandering over the -surface of the earth. There seemed to be no voice in her to call out for -help against the darkness and the savage silence, through which she -could not even hear the trickle of the stream: nothing but her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-194" id="page_vol-2-194">{v.2-194}</a></span> own -steps flying, and her own poor little bosom panting, throbbing, against -the unresponsive background of the night.</p> - -<p>Her footsteps too became inaudible as she got upon the turf and -approached close to Allonby. All was silent there also; there seemed no -sound at all as if any one was stirring, but only a dead house with -faint spectral lights in the windows.</p> - -<p>She stopped and took breath and came to herself, a little calmed by the -neighbourhood of a human habitation in which there must be some -inhabitants though she could not hear them. She came to herself more or -less, and the pulsations of terror in her ears beat less overwhelmingly, -so that she began to be able to think again, and ask herself what she -should do. To go to the great door, to wake all the echoes by knocking, -to be met by an unconcerned servant and ushered in as if she were an -ordinary visitor, all agitated and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-195" id="page_vol-2-195">{v.2-195}</a></span> worn by emotion as she was, was -impossible.</p> - -<p>It seemed more natural, everything being out of rule, to steal round the -house till she found the window of the room in which the girls were -sitting, and make her little summons to them without those impossible -formalities, and be admitted so to their sole company. The lawn came -close up under the windows, and Effie crept round one side of the house, -finding all dark, with a feeling of discouragement as if she had been -repulsed. One large and broad window a little in advance showed, -however, against the darkness, and though she knew this could not be a -sitting-room, she stole on unconscious of any curiosity or possibility -of indiscretion, it being a matter of mere existence to find some one.</p> - -<p>The curtains were drawn half over the window, yet not so much but that -she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-196" id="page_vol-2-196">{v.2-196}</a></span> could see in. And the sight that met the girl’s astonished eyes was -one so strange and incomprehensible that it affected her like a vision.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom was sitting in the middle of the room in a deep easy chair, -with her head in her hands, to all appearance weeping bitterly, while a -man muffled in a rough loose coat stood with his back to her, opening -what seemed the door of a little cupboard in the wall close to the bed. -Effie gazed terror-stricken, wondering was it a robber, who was it? Mrs. -Dirom was making no resistance; she was only crying, her face buried in -her hands.</p> - -<p>The little door yielded at last, and showed to Effie dimly the shelves -of a safe crowded with dark indistinct objects. Then Mrs. Dirom rose up, -and taking some of these indistinct objects in her hands suddenly made -visible a blaze of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-197" id="page_vol-2-197">{v.2-197}</a></span> diamonds which she seemed to press upon the man.</p> - -<p>He turned round to the light, as Effie, stooping, half kneeling on the -wet grass, gazed in, in a kind of trance, scarcely knowing what she did. -The coat in which he was muffled was large and rough, and a big muffler -hung loosely round his neck, but to the great astonishment of the young -spectator the face was that of Mr. Dirom himself. He seemed to laugh and -put away the case in which the diamonds were blazing.</p> - -<p>Then out of the further depths of the safe he brought a bundle of papers -over which he nodded his head a great many times as if with -satisfaction. At this moment something seemed to disturb them, some -sound apparently in the house, for they both looked towards the door, -and then the lamp was suddenly extinguished and Effie saw no more. It -was a curious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-198" id="page_vol-2-198">{v.2-198}</a></span> scene—the diamonds lighting up the dim room, the woman -in tears offering them to the man, he refusing, holding his little -bundle of papers, the unusual dress, the air of excitement and emotion: -and then sudden darkness, nothing visible any more; yet the certainty -that these two people were there, without light, concealing themselves -and their proceedings, whatever these might be.</p> - -<p>Effie had looked on scarcely knowing why, unaware that she was prying -into other people’s concerns, suddenly attracted by the gleam of light, -by the comfort of feeling some one near. The putting out of the lamp -threw her back into her panic, yet changed it. She shrank away from the -window with a sudden fear of the house in which something strange, she -knew not what, was going on. Her mind was too much confused to ask what -it was, to make any representation to herself of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-199" id="page_vol-2-199">{v.2-199}</a></span> what she had seen; but -the thought of these two people <i>in the dark</i> seemed to give a climax to -all the nameless terrors of the night.</p> - -<p>She went on by the side of the house, not knowing what to do, afraid now -to ask admission, doubly afraid to turn back again, lost in confusion of -mind and fatigue of body, which dimmed and drove out her original -distress.</p> - -<p>Now, however, she had come to the back regions in which the servants -were stirring, and before she was aware a loud “Who’s that?” and the -flash of a lantern upon her, brought her back to herself. It was the -grooms coming back from the stable who thus interrupted her forlorn -round.</p> - -<p>“Who’s that?—it’s a woman—it’s a lassie! Lord bless us, it’s Miss -Ogilvie!” they cried.</p> - -<p>Effie had sufficient consciousness to meet their curious inspection with -affected composure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-200" id="page_vol-2-200">{v.2-200}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want to see Miss Dirom,” she said. “I lost my way in the dark; I -couldn’t find the door. Can I see Miss Dirom?”</p> - -<p>Her skirts were damp and clinging about her, her hair limp with the dews -of the night, her whole appearance wild and strange: but the eyes of the -grooms were not enlightened. They made no comments; one of them led her -to the proper entrance, another sent the proper official to open to her, -and presently she stood dazzled and tremulous in the room full of -softened firelight and taperlight, warm and soft and luxurious, as if -there was no trouble or mystery in the world, where Doris and Phyllis -sat in their usual animated idleness talking to each other. One of them -was lying at full length on a sofa, her arms about her head, her white -cashmere dress falling in the much esteemed folds which that pretty -material takes by nature; the other was seated on a stool before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-201" id="page_vol-2-201">{v.2-201}</a></span> -fire, her elbows on her knees. The sound of their voices discoursing -largely, softly, just as usual, was what Effie heard as the servant -opened the door.</p> - -<p>“Miss Ogilvie, did you say?—Effie!” They both gazed at her with -different manifestations of dramatic surprise—without, for the moment, -any other movement. Her appearance was astonishing at this hour, but -nothing else seemed to disturb the placidity of these young women. -Finally, Miss Phyllis rose from her stool in front of the fire.</p> - -<p>“She has eyes like stars, and her hair is all twinkling with dew—quite -a romantic figure. What a pity there is nobody to see it but Doris and -me! You don’t mean to say you have come walking all this way?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! what does it matter how I came?” cried Effie. “I came—because I -could not stay away. There was nobody else that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-202" id="page_vol-2-202">{v.2-202}</a></span> was so near me. I came -to tell you—I am going to Fred.”</p> - -<p>“To Fred!” they both cried, Phyllis with a little scream of surprise, -Doris in a sort of inquiring tone, raising herself half from her sofa. -They both stared at her strangely. They had no more notion why she -should be going to Fred than the servant who had opened the door for -her—most likely much less—for there were many things unknown to the -young ladies which the servants knew.</p> - -<p>“Fred will be very much flattered,” said Doris. “But why are you going? -does he know? what is it for? is it for shopping? Have you made up your -mind, all at once, that you want another dress?—I should say two or -three, but that is neither here nor there. And what has put it so -suddenly into your head? And where are you going to stay? Are you sure -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-203" id="page_vol-2-203">{v.2-203}</a></span>your friends are in London at this time of the year——?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Effie, restored out of her exhaustion and confusion in a -moment by this extraordinary speech, “is that all you think? a dress, -and shopping to do! when Fred is alone, when he is in trouble, when even -your father has deserted him—and his money gone, and his heart sore! -Oh, is that all you know? I am going to tell him that I will never -forsake him whatever others may do—that I am come to stand by him—that -I am come——”</p> - -<p>She stopped, not because she had no more to say, but because she lost -the control of her voice and could do nothing but sob—drawing her -breath convulsively, like a child that has wept its passion out, yet has -not recovered the spasmodic grip upon its throat.</p> - -<p>Phyllis and Doris looked at her with eyes more and more astonished and -critical. They spoke to each other, not to her. “She means it, do you -know, Dor!”</p> - -<p>“It is like a melodrama, Phyll—Good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-204" id="page_vol-2-204">{v.2-204}</a></span>ness, look at her! If we should -ever go on the stage——!”</p> - -<p>Effie heard the murmur of their voices, and turned her eyes from one to -another: but her head was light with the fumes of her own passion, which -had suddenly flared so high; and though she looked from one to another, -instinctively, she did not understand what they said.</p> - -<p>“And did you come to tell us this, so late, and all alone, you poor -little Effie? And how did you manage to get away? and how are you to get -back?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said Doris, “we must send her back. Don’t ask so many silly -questions, Phyll.”</p> - -<p>“I am not going back,” said Effie. “They would stop me if they knew. Oh, -will you send me to the train? for it is very dark and very wet, and I’m -frightened, it’s all so lonely. I never meant to trouble anybody. But -your father will be going<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-205" id="page_vol-2-205">{v.2-205}</a></span> too, and I would just sit in a corner and -never say a word. Oh, will you ask him to let me go with him to the -train?”</p> - -<p>“What does she mean about papa? The train! there is no one going to the -train. Do you mean to say that you—to-night—oh, you know you must be -dreaming; nothing like this is possible, Effie! You must go home, child, -and go to bed——”</p> - -<p>“To bed! and let him think that I’ve forsaken him—to let him get up -to-morrow morning and hear that Effie, because he is poor, has gone back -from her word? Oh! no, no, I cannot do it. If you will not send me, I -will just walk as I meant to do! I was frightened,” said Effie, with her -piteous little sob. “And then if your father is going—But it does not -matter after all, I will just walk as I meant to do: and if you don’t -care, that was my mistake in coming—I will just say good-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-206" id="page_vol-2-206">{v.2-206}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She turned away with a childlike dignity, yet with a tremor she could -not subdue. She was not afraid to go out into the world, to carry the -sacrifice of her young existence to the man who loved her, whom she -would not forsake in his trouble: but she was frightened for the dark -road, the loneliness of the night—she was frightened, but yet she was -ready to do it. She turned away with a wave of her hand.</p> - -<p>Both of the girls, however, were roused by this time. Doris rose from -her sofa, and Phyllis seized Effie, half coaxingly, half violently, by -the arm.</p> - -<p>“Effie! goodness,” she cried, “just think for a moment. You musn’t do -this—what could Fred do with you? He would be frightened out of his -senses. You would put him in such a predicament. What <i>would</i> he do?”</p> - -<p>“And where would you go?” said Doris. “To his lodgings? Only fancy, a -young<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-207" id="page_vol-2-207">{v.2-207}</a></span> man’s lodgings in Half Moon Street, just the sort of place where -they think the worst of everything. He would be at his wit’s end. He -would think it very sweet of you, but just awfully silly. For what would -he do with you? He could not keep you there. It would put him in the -most awkward position. For Fred’s sake, if you really care for him, -don’t, for heaven’s sake, do anything so extraordinary. Here is mother, -she will tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma,” they both cried, as Mrs. Dirom came into the room, “Effie has -got the strangest idea. I think she must be a little wrong in her head. -She says she is going to Fred——”</p> - -<p>“To Fred!” the mother exclaimed with a voice full of agitation. “Has -anything happened to Fred——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t make yourself anxious, it is only her nonsense. She has heard -about the firm, I suppose. She thinks he is ruined,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-208" id="page_vol-2-208">{v.2-208}</a></span> and all that, and -she wants to go to him to stand by him—to show him that she will not -forsake him. It’s pretty, but it’s preposterous,” said Doris, giving -Effie a sudden kiss. “Tell her she will only make Fred uncomfortable. -She will not listen to us.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dirom had a look of heat and excitement which her children never -remembered to have seen in her before, but which Effie understood who -knew. Her eyes were red, her colour high, a flush across her -cheek-bones: her lips trembled with a sort of nervous impatience.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she cried, “haven’t I enough to think of? Do I want to be bothered -with such childish nonsense now? Going to Fred! What does she want with -Fred? He has other things in his mind. Let her go home, that is the only -thing to do——”</p> - -<p>“So we have told her: but she says she wants to go to the train; and -some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-209" id="page_vol-2-209">{v.2-209}</a></span>thing about my father who is here, and will be going too.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort,” cried Mrs. Dirom, sharply. She gave Effie a look -of alarm, almost threatening, yet imploring—a look which asked her how -much she knew, yet defied her to know anything.</p> - -<p>“The poor little thing has got a fright,” she said, subduing her voice. -“I am not angry with you, Effie; you mean it kindly, but it would never, -never do. You must go home.”</p> - -<p>Effie’s strength had ebbed out of her as she stood turning her -bewildered head from one to another, hearing with a shock unspeakable -that Fred—Fred whom she had been so anxious to succour!—would not want -her, which made the strangest revolution in her troubled mind. But still -mechanically she held to her point.</p> - -<p>“I will not be any trouble. I will just sit in the corner and never say -a word.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-210" id="page_vol-2-210">{v.2-210}</a></span> Let me go to the train with Mr. Dirom. Let me go—with him. He -is very kind, he will not mind.”</p> - -<p>“Mamma, do you hear what she says? She has said it again and again. Can -papa be here and none of us know?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the sort,” cried Mrs. Dirom once more. Her tone was angry, -but it was full of alarm. She turned her back on the others and looked -at Effie with eyes that were full of anguish, of secrecy and confidence, -warning her, entreating her, yet defying.</p> - -<p>“How should he be here when he has so much to do elsewhere?” she cried. -“The child has got that, with the other nonsense, into her head.” Then -with a sudden change of tone, “I will take her to my room to be quiet, -and you can order the brougham to take her home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-211" id="page_vol-2-211">{v.2-211}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">“She</span> was sent home in the brougham, that disturbed all our sleep just -dashing along the road at the dead of night. They were in a terrible -state before that. The minister, too, was here, looking like a ghost to -hear if we knew anything; and how could we say we knew anything, seeing -she had parted from here in the afternoon not over well pleased with -Beenie and me. And Mrs. Ogilvie—she is not a woman I am fond of, and -how far I think she’s to blame, I would just rather not say—but I will -say this, that I was sorry for her that night. She came, too, with a -shawl over her head, just out of herself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-212" id="page_vol-2-212">{v.2-212}</a></span> She had got the old man off -to his bed, never letting on that Effie was out of the house; and she -was in a terror for him waking, and the girl not there.”</p> - -<p>“No fear of him waking; he is just an old doited person,” said Miss -Beenie, with indignation.</p> - -<p>“Not so old as either you or me. But let alone till I’ve told my story. -And then, Ronald, my man, you’ve heard what’s followed. Not only a -failure, but worse and worse; and the father fled the country. They say -he had the assurance to come down here to get some papers that were laid -up in his wife’s jewel press, and that Effie saw him. But he got clean -away; and it’s a fraudulent bankruptcy—or if there’s anything worse -than a fraudulent bankruptcy, it’s that. Oh, yes, there has been a great -deal of agitation, and it is perhaps just as well that you were out of -the way. I cannot tell whether I feel for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-213" id="page_vol-2-213">{v.2-213}</a></span> the family or not. There is -no look about them as if they thought shame. They’re just about the same -as ever, at kirk and at market, with their horses and carriages. They -tell me it takes a long time to wind up an establishment like that—and -why should they not take the good of their carriages and their horses as -long as they have them? But I’m perhaps a very old-fashioned woman. I -would not have kept them, not a day. I would never have ridden the one -nor driven about in the other, with my father a hunted swindler, and my -family’s honour all gone to ruin—never, never! I would rather have -died.”</p> - -<p>“Sarah, that is just what you will do, if you work yourself up like -this. Will ye not remember what the doctor says?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, go away with your doctors. I’m an old-fashioned woman, but I’m a -woman of strong feelings; I just cannot endure it! and to think that -Effie, my poor little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-214" id="page_vol-2-214">{v.2-214}</a></span> Effie, will still throw in her lot with them, and -will not be persuaded against it!”</p> - -<p>“Why should she be persuaded against it?” said Ronald Sutherland, with a -very grave face. “Nobody can believe that the money would make any -difference to her: and I suppose the man was not to blame.”</p> - -<p>“The man—was nothing one way or another. He got the advantage of the -money, and he was too poor a creature ever to ask how it was made. But -it’s not that; the thing is that her heart was never in it—never! She -was driven—no, not driven—if she had been driven she would have -resisted. She was just pushed into it, just persuaded to listen, and -then made to see there was no escape. Didn’t I tell you that, Beenie, -before there was word of all this, before Ronald came home? The little -thing: had no heart for it. She just got white like a ghost when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-215" id="page_vol-2-215">{v.2-215}</a></span> there -was any talk about marriage. She would hear of nothing, neither the -trou-so, as they call it now, nor any of the nonsense that girls take a -natural pleasure in. But now her little soul is just on fire. She will -stick to him—she will not forsake him. And here am I in my bed, not -able to take her by her shoulders and to tell her the man’s not worthy -of it, and that she’ll rue it just once, and that will be her life -long!”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” cried Miss Beenie, wringing her hands, “what is the use of a woman -being in her bed if she is to go on like that? You will just bring on -another attack, and where will we all be then? The doctor, he says——”</p> - -<p>“You are greatly taken up with what the doctor says: that’s one thing of -being in my bed,” said Miss Dempster, with a laugh, “that I cannot see -the doctor and his ways—his dram—that he would come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-216" id="page_vol-2-216">{v.2-216}</a></span> to the window and -take off, with a nod up at you and me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah, nothing of the kind. It was no dram, in the first place, but -just a small drop of sherry with his quinine——”</p> - -<p>“That’s very like, that’s very like,” said Miss Dempster, with a -satirical laugh, “the good, honest, innocent man! I wonder it was not -tea, just put in a wine glass for the sake of appearances. Are you sure, -Beenie, it was not tea?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah! the doctor, he has just been your diversion. But if you -would be persuaded what a regard he has for you—ay, and respect -too—and says that was always his feeling, even when he knew you were -gibing and laughing at him.”</p> - -<p>“A person that has the sense to have a real illness will always command -a doctor’s respect. If I recover, things will just fall into their old -way; but make your mind easy, Beenie, I will not recover, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-217" id="page_vol-2-217">{v.2-217}</a></span> -doctor will have a respect for me all his days.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sarah!” cried Miss Beenie, weeping. “Ronald, I wish you would speak -to her. You have a great influence with my sister, and you might tell -her—— You are just risking your life, and what good can that do?”</p> - -<p>“I am not risking my life; my life’s all measured, and reeling out. But -I would like to see that bit little Effie come to a better understanding -before I die. Ye will be a better doctor for her than me, Ronald. Tell -her from me she is a silly thing. Tell her yon is not the right man for -her, and that I bid her with my dying breath not to be led away with a -vain conceit, and do what will spoil her life and break her heart. He’s -not worthy of it—no man is worthy of it. You may say that to her, -Ronald, as if it was the last thing I had to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-218" id="page_vol-2-218">{v.2-218}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ronald. His face had not at all relaxed. It was fixed with -the set seriousness of a man to whom the subject is far too important -for mirth or change of feature. “No,” he said, “I will tell Effie -nothing of the kind. I would rather she should do what was right than -gain an advantage for myself.”</p> - -<p>“Right, there is no question about right!” cried the old lady. “He’s not -worthy of it. You’ll see even that he’ll not desire it. He’ll not -understand it. That’s just my conviction. How should his father’s son -understand a point of honour like that? a man that is just nobody, a -parvenoo, a creature that money has made, and that the want of it will -unmake. That’s not a man at all for a point of honour. You need say -nothing from yourself; though you are an old friend, and have a right to -show her all the risks, and what she is doing; but if you don’t tell her -what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-219" id="page_vol-2-219">{v.2-219}</a></span> I’m saying I will just—I will just—haunt you, you creature -without spirit, you lad without a backbone intil ye, you——”</p> - -<p>But here Miss Beenie succeeded in drawing Ronald from the room.</p> - -<p>“Why will ye listen to her?” cried the young sister; “ye will just help -her to her own destruction. When I’m telling you the doctor says—oh, -no, I’m pinning my faith to no doctor; but it’s just as clear as -daylight, and it stands to reason—she will have another attack if she -goes on like yon——”</p> - -<p>The fearful rush she made at him, the clutch upon his arm, his yielding -to the impulse which he could not resist, none of these things moved -Ronald. His countenance was as set and serious as ever, the humour of -the situation did not touch him. He neither smiled nor made any -response. Downstairs with Miss Beenie, out of sight of the invalid who -was so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-220" id="page_vol-2-220">{v.2-220}</a></span> violent in the expression of her feelings, he retained the same -self-absorbed look.</p> - -<p>“If she thinks it right,” he said, “I am not the one to put any -difficulty before her. The thing for me to do is just to go away—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t go away and leave us, Ronald, when no mortal can tell what an -hour or a day may bring forth; and Sarah always so fond of you, and you -such a near connection, the nearest we have in this countryside——”</p> - -<p>“What should happen in a day or an hour, and of what service can I be?” -he asked. “Of course, if I can be of any use——” but he shook his head. -Ronald, like most people, had his mind fixed upon his own affairs.</p> - -<p>“Oh, have ye no eyes?” cried Miss Beenie, “have none of ye any eyes? You -are thinking of a young creature that has all her life before her, and -time to set things right if they should go wrong;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-221" id="page_vol-2-221">{v.2-221}</a></span> but nobody has a -thought for my sister, that has been the friend of every one of you, -that has never missed giving you a good advice, or putting you in the -way you should go. And now here is she just slipping away on her last -journey, and none of you paying attention! not one, not one!” she cried, -wringing her hands, “nor giving a thought of pity to me that will just -be left alone in the world.”</p> - -<p>Miss Beenie, who had come out to the door with the departing visitor, -threw herself down on the bench outside, her habitual seat in happier -days, and burst into subdued weeping.</p> - -<p>“I darena even cry when she can see me. It’s a relief to get leave to -cry,” she said, “for, oh, cannot ye see, not one of ye, that she’s -fading away like the morning mist and like the summer flowers?”</p> - -<p>The morning mist and the summer flowers were not images very like Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-222" id="page_vol-2-222">{v.2-222}</a></span> -Dempster, who lay like an old tree, rather than any delicate and fragile -thing; but Dr. Jardine, coming briskly up on his daily visit, was not -susceptible to appropriateness of metaphor. He came up to Miss Beenie -and patted her on the shoulder with a homely familiarity which a few -months ago would have seemed presumption to the ladies of Rosebank.</p> - -<p>“Maybe no,” he said, “maybe no, who can tell? And even if it was so, why -should you be alone? I see no occasion—— Come up, and we’ll see how -she is to-day.”</p> - -<p>Ronald Sutherland, left alone, walked down the slope very solemnly, with -his face as rigid as ever. Miss Dempster was his old and good friend, -but, alas, he thought nothing of Miss Dempster.</p> - -<p>“If she thinks it right, it must be so,” he was saying to himself. “If -she thinks it’s right, am I the one to put any difficulty in the way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-223" id="page_vol-2-223">{v.2-223}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">To</span> postpone the self-sacrifice of an enthusiast for weeks, or even for -days, is the hardest of all tests, and a trial almost beyond the power -of flesh and blood. Upheld by religious fervour, the human soul may be -equal to this or any other test; but in lesser matters, and specially in -those self-sacrifices prompted by generosity, which to the youthful hero -or heroine seem at the first glance so inevitable, so indispensable, -things which no noble mind would shrink from, the process of waiting is -a terrible ordeal.</p> - -<p>He, or still more, she, who would have given life itself, happiness, -anything, everything that is most prized in existence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-224" id="page_vol-2-224">{v.2-224}</a></span> with a light -heart, and the most perfect conviction at the moment, becomes, as the -days go by, the victim of a hundred chilling doubts and questions. Her -courage, like that of Bob Acres, oozes out at her finger-ends. She is -brought to the bar of a thousand suppressed, yet never extinguished, -reasonings.</p> - -<p>Is it right to feign love even for her lover’s sake?—is it right to do -another so great an injury as to delude him into the thought that he is -making you happy, while, in reality, you are sacrificing all happiness -for him? Is it right——? but these questions are so manifold and -endless that it is vain to enumerate them.</p> - -<p>Effie had been the victim of this painful process for three long -lingering weeks. She had little, very little, to support her in her -determination. The papers had been full of the great bankruptcy, of -details of Dirom’s escape, and of the valuable papers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-225" id="page_vol-2-225">{v.2-225}</a></span> and securities -which had disappeared with him: and with a shiver Effie had understood -that the scene she had seen unawares through the window had meant far -more than even her sense of mystery and secrecy in it could have helped -her to divine.</p> - -<p>The incidents of that wonderful night—the arguments of the mother and -sisters, who had declared that the proposed expedition would be nothing -but an embarrassment to Fred—her return ashamed and miserable in the -carriage into which they had thrust her—had been fatal to the fervour -of the enthusiasm which had made her at first capable of anything. -Looking back upon it now, it was with an overwhelming shame that she -recognized the folly of that first idea. Effie had grown half-a-dozen -years older in a single night. She imagined what might have happened had -she carried out that wild intention, with one of those scathing and -burning blushes which seem<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-226" id="page_vol-2-226">{v.2-226}</a></span> to scorch the very soul. She imagined Fred’s -look of wonder, his uneasiness, perhaps his anger at her folly which -placed him in so embarrassing a position.</p> - -<p>Effie felt that, had she seen those feelings in his eyes even for a -moment, she would have died of shame. He had written to her, warmly -thanking her for her “sympathy,” for her “generous feeling,” for the -telegram (of which she knew nothing) which had been so consolatory to -him, for the “unselfishness,” the “beautiful, brave thought” she had for -a moment entertained of coming to him, of standing by him.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, dearest, for this lovely quixotism,” he had said; “it was -like my Effie,” as if it had been a mere impulse of girlish tenderness, -and not the terrible sacrifice of a life which she had intended it to -be. This letter had been overwhelming to Effie, notwithstanding, or -perhaps<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-227" id="page_vol-2-227">{v.2-227}</a></span> by reason of, its thanks and praises. He had, it was clear, no -insight into her mind, no real knowledge of her at all. He had never -divined anything, never seen below the surface.</p> - -<p>If she had done what she intended, if she had indeed gone to him, he -living as he was! Effie felt as if she must sink into the ground when -she realized this possibility. And as she did so, her heart failed her, -her courage, her strength oozed away: and there was no one to whom she -could speak. Doris and Phyllis came to see her now and then, but there -was no encouragement in them. They were going abroad; they had ceased to -make any reference to that independent action on their own part which -was to have followed disaster to the firm. There was indeed in their -conversation no account made of any downfall; their calculations about -their travels were all made on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-228" id="page_vol-2-228">{v.2-228}</a></span> ground of wealth. And Fred had taken -refuge in his studio they said—he was going to be an artist, as he had -always wished: he was going to devote himself to art: they said this -with a significance which Effie in her simplicity did not catch, for she -was not aware that devotion to Art interfered with the other -arrangements of life. And this was all. She had no encouragement on that -side, and her resolution, her courage, her strength of purpose, her -self-devotion oozed away.</p> - -<p>Strangely enough, the only moral support she had was from Ronald, who -met her with that preternaturally grave face, and asked for Fred, whom -he had never asked for before, and said something inarticulate which -Effie understood, to the effect that he for one would never put -difficulties in her way. What did he mean? No one could have explained -it—not even himself: and yet Effie knew. Ronald had the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-229" id="page_vol-2-229">{v.2-229}</a></span> insight which -Fred, with those foolish praises of her generosity and her quixotism, -did not possess.</p> - -<p>And so the days went on, with a confusion in the girl’s mind which it -would be hopeless to describe. Her whole life seemed to hang in a -balance, wavering wildly between earth and heaven. What was to be done -with it? What was she to do with it? Eric was on his way home, and would -arrive shortly, for his sister’s marriage, and all the embarrassment of -that meeting lay before her, taking away the natural delight of it, -which at another moment would have been so sweet to Effie. Even Uncle -John was of little advantage to her in this pause. He accompanied her in -her walks, saying little. Neither of them knew what to say. All the -wedding preparations had come to a standstill, tacitly, without any -explanation made; and in the face of Fred’s silence<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-230" id="page_vol-2-230">{v.2-230}</a></span> on the subject -Effie could say nothing, neither could her champion say anything about -the fulfilment of her engagement.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Ogilvie, on the other hand, was full of certainty and -self-satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“He has just acted as I expected, like a gentleman,” she said, “making -no unpleasantness. He is unfortunate in his connections, poor young man; -but I always said that there was the makings of a real gentleman in -young Dirom. You see I have just been very right in my calculations. He -has taken my letter in the right spirit. How could he do otherwise? He -had the sense to see at once that Robert could never give his daughter -to a ruined man.”</p> - -<p>“There could not be two opinions on that subject,” said her husband, -still more satisfied with himself.</p> - -<p>“There might, I think, be many opinions,” the minister said, mildly. “If -two young people love each other, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-231" id="page_vol-2-231">{v.2-231}</a></span> stick to it, there is no father -but will be vanquished by them at the end.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all your sentimentality,” said Mr. Ogilvie. “Let them come and -tell me about their love as you call it, they would soon get their -answer. Any decent young woman, let alone a girl brought up like Effie, -would think shame.”</p> - -<p>“Effie will not think shame,” said Mr. Moubray: “if the young man is -equal to Mrs. Ogilvie’s opinion of him. You will have to make up your -mind to encounter your own child, Robert—which is far harder work than -to meet a stranger—in mortal conflict. For Effie will never take your -view of the matter. She will not see that misfortune has anything to do -with it. She will say that what was done for good fortune was done for -bad. She will stand by him.”</p> - -<p>“Hoots,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “I am not ashamed to name the name of love -for my<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-232" id="page_vol-2-232">{v.2-232}</a></span> part. There was no love on Effie’s side. No, no, her heart was -never in it. It is just a blaze of generosity and that kind of thing. -You need have no trouble so far as that is concerned. When she sees that -it’s not understood, her feeling will just die out, like that lowing of -thorns under the pot which is mentioned in Scripture: or most likely she -will take offence—and that will be still better. For he will not press -it, partly because he will think it’s not honourable, and partly because -he has to struggle for himself and has the sense to see it will be far -better not to burden himself with a wife.”</p> - -<p>“If you were so sure there was no love on Effie’s side, why did you let -it go on?” said Mr. Moubray with a little severity.</p> - -<p>“Why did I let it go on? just for the best reason in the world—because -at that time he was an excellent match. Was I to let her ruin the best -sitting down in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-233" id="page_vol-2-233">{v.2-233}</a></span> the countryside, for a childish folly? No, no; I -have always set my heart on doing my duty to Robert’s daughter, and that -was just the very best that could be done for her. It’s different now; -and here is another very fine lad, under our very hand. One that is an -old joe, that she has known all her life, and might have been engaged to -him but for—different reasons. Nothing’s lost, and he’s just turned up -in the very nick of time, if you do not encourage her in her daft ideas, -Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>“I do not consider them daft ideas: and that Effie should go from one to -another like a puppet when you pull the strings——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am not a clever person; I cannot meet you with your images and -your metaphors; but this I can say,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, solemnly, “that -it is just your niece’s happiness that is at stake, and if you come -between her and what is just<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-234" id="page_vol-2-234">{v.2-234}</a></span> and right, the blame will be yours and not -mine.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Moubray went away very much troubled, with this in his mind. Effie -had not loved Fred, and it was possible that she might love Ronald, that -she might have had an inclination towards him all along; but was it -possible that she should thus change—put down one and take up -another—resign even the man she loved not, as no longer a good match, -and accept the man she might love, because he was?</p> - -<p>Marriage without love is a horror to every pure mind; it was to the -minister the most abhorrent of all thoughts: and yet it was not so -degrading, so deplorable as this. He went home to his lonely house with -a great oppression on his soul. What could he say, what advise to the -young and tender creature who had been brought to such a pass, and who -had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-235" id="page_vol-2-235">{v.2-235}</a></span> find her way out of it, he could not tell how? He had nothing to -say to her. He could not give her a counsel; he did not even know how to -approach the subject. He had to leave her alone at this crisis of her -fate.</p> - -<p>The actual crisis came quite unexpectedly when no one thought it near. -It had come to be December, and Christmas, which should have witnessed -the marriage, was not far off. The Diroms were said to be preparing to -leave Allonby; but except when they were met riding or driving, they -were little seen by the neighbours, few of whom, to tell the truth, had -shown much interest in them since the downfall. Suddenly, in the -afternoon of one of those dull winter days when the skies had begun to -darken and the sun had set, the familiar dog-cart, which had been there -so often, dashed in at the open gates of Gilston and Fred Dirom jumped -out. He startled old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-236" id="page_vol-2-236">{v.2-236}</a></span> George first of all by asking, not for Miss, but -Mrs. Ogilvie.</p> - -<p>“Miss Effie is in, sir. I will tell her in a moment,” George said, half -from opposition, half because he could not believe his ears.</p> - -<p>“I want to see Mrs. Ogilvie,” replied the young man, and he was ushered -in accordingly, not without a murmured protest on the part of the old -servant, who did not understand this novel method of procedure.</p> - -<p>The knowledge of Fred’s arrival thrilled through the house. It flitted -upstairs to the nursery, it went down to the kitchen. The very walls -pulsated to this arrival. Effie became aware of it, she did not herself -know how, and sat trembling expecting every moment to be summoned. But -no summons came. She waited for some time, and then with a strong quiver -of excitement, braced herself up for the final trial<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-237" id="page_vol-2-237">{v.2-237}</a></span> and stole -downstairs. George was lingering about the hall. He shook his gray head -as he saw her on the stairs, then pointed to the door of the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>“He’s in there,” said the old man, “and I would bide for no ca’. I would -suffer nae joukery-pawkery, I would just gang ben!”</p> - -<p>Effie stood on the stairs for a moment like one who prepares for a fatal -plunge, then with her pulses loud in her ears, and every nerve -quivering, ran down the remaining steps and opened the door.</p> - -<p>Fred was standing in the middle of the room holding Mrs. Ogilvie’s hand. -He did not at first hear the opening of the door, done noiselessly by -Effie in her whirl of passionate feeling.</p> - -<p>“If you think it will be best,” he was saying, “I desire to do only what -is best for her. I don’t want to agitate or distress her—Effie!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-238" id="page_vol-2-238">{v.2-238}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>In a moment he had dropped her stepmother’s hand and made a hurried step -towards the apparition, pale, breathless, almost speechless with -emotion, at the door. He was pale too, subdued, serious, very different -from the easy and assured youth who had so often met her there.</p> - -<p>“Effie! my dearest, generous girl!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Fred! what has become of you all this time? did you think that I -was like the rest?”</p> - -<p>“Now, Effie,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “you are just spoiling everything both -for him and for yourself. What brought you here? you are not wanted -here. He has plenty on his mind without you. Just you go back again -where you came from. He has told me all he wants to say. You here just -makes everything worse.”</p> - -<p>Fred had taken her hands into his. He looked into her eyes with a gaze -which Effie did not understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-239" id="page_vol-2-239">{v.2-239}</a></span></p> - -<p>“To think you should be willing to encounter even poverty and misery for -me!” he said; “but I cannot take you at your word. I cannot expose you -to that struggle. It must be put off indefinitely, my sweetest girl: -alas, that I should have to say it! when another fortnight, only two -weeks more, should have made us happy.”</p> - -<p>He stooped down and kissed her hands. There was a tone, protecting, -compassionate, respectful in his voice. He was consoling her quite as -much as himself.</p> - -<p>“Postponed?” she said faltering, gazing at him with an astonishment -which was mingled with dismay.</p> - -<p>“Alas, yes, my generous darling: though you are willing, I am not able -to carry out our engagement: that is what I have been explaining. Don’t -think it is not as bad for me as for you.”</p> - -<p>“As bad for me, as for you,” the blood rushed to Effie’s countenance in -a wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-240" id="page_vol-2-240">{v.2-240}</a></span> flood of indignation and horror. As bad for him as for her! She -stood aghast, her eyes fixed upon his, in which there was, could it be? -a complaisance, a self-satisfaction mingled with regret.</p> - -<p>Fred had not the least conception of the feeling which had moved her. He -knew nothing about the revolution made in all her thoughts by the -discovery of his ruin, or of her impassioned determination to stand by -him, and sacrifice everything to his happiness. No idea of the truth had -entered his mind. He was sorry for her disappointment, which indeed was -not less to him than to her, though, to be sure, a girl, he knew, always -felt it more than a man. But when Effie, in her hurt pride and wounded -feeling, uttered a cry of astonishment and dismay, he took it for the -appeal of disappointment and replied to it hastily:</p> - -<p>“It cannot be helped,” he said. “Do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-241" id="page_vol-2-241">{v.2-241}</a></span> you think it is an easy thing for -me to say so? but what can I do? I have given up everything. A man is -not like the ladies. I am going back to the studio—to work in earnest, -where I used only to play at working. How could I ask you to go there -with me, to share such a life? And besides, if I am to do anything, I -must devote myself altogether to art. If things were to brighten, then, -indeed, you may be sure—— without an hour’s delay!”</p> - -<p>She had drawn her hands away, but he recovered possession of one, which -he held in his, smoothing and patting it, as if he were comforting a -child. A hundred thoughts rushed through her mind as he stood there, -smiling at her pathetically, yet not without a touch of vanity, -comprehending nothing, without the faintest gleam of perception as to -what she had meant, sorry for her, consoling her for her loss, feeling<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-242" id="page_vol-2-242">{v.2-242}</a></span> -to his heart the value of what she had lost, which was himself.</p> - -<p>Her dismay, her consternation, the revulsion of feeling which sent the -blood boiling through her veins, were to him only the natural vexation, -distress, and disappointment of a girl whose marriage had been close at -hand, and was now put off indefinitely. For this—which was so -natural—he was anxious to console her. He wanted her to feel it as -little as possible—to see that it was nobody’s fault, that it could not -be helped. Of all the passionate impulses that had coursed through her -veins he knew nothing, nothing! He could not divine them, or understand, -even if he had divined.</p> - -<p>“At best,” he said, still soothing her, patting her hand, “the -postponement must be for an indefinite time. And how can I ask you to -waste your youth, dearest Effie? I have done you harm enough already. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-243" id="page_vol-2-243">{v.2-243}</a></span> -came to let you know the real state of affairs—to set you free from -your engagements to me, if,” he said, pressing her hand again, looking -into her face, “you will accept——”</p> - -<p>His face appeared to her like something floating in the air, his voice -vibrated and rang about her in circles of sound. She drew her hand -almost violently away, and withdrew a little, gazing at him half -stupified, yet with a keen impatience and intolerance in her disturbed -mind.</p> - -<p>“I accept,” she said hoarsely, with a sense of mortification and intense -indignant shame, which was stronger than any sensation Effie had ever -felt in her life before.</p> - -<p><i>That</i> was what he thought of her; this man for whom she had meant to -sacrifice herself! She began hastily to draw off the ring which he had -given her from her finger, which, slight as it was, seemed to grow -larger with her excitement and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-244" id="page_vol-2-244">{v.2-244}</a></span> tremulousness, and made the operation -difficult.</p> - -<p>“Take it,” she said, holding out the ring to him. “It is yours, not -mine.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said, putting back her extended hand softly, “not that. If -we part, don’t let it be in anger, Effie. Keep that at least, for a -recollection—for a token——”</p> - -<p>She scarcely heard what words he used. It was he who had the better of -it, she felt. She was angry, disappointed, rejected. Was not that what -everybody would think? She held the ring in her hand for a moment, then -let it drop from her fingers. It fell with a dull sound on the carpet at -his feet. Then she turned round, somehow controlling her impulse to cry -out, to rush away, and walked to the door.</p> - -<p>“I never expected she would have shown that sense and judgment,” said -Mrs. Ogilvie, after she had shown the visitor, whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-245" id="page_vol-2-245">{v.2-245}</a></span> exit was even more -hasty than his arrival, and his feelings far from comfortable, to the -door. She sat down at her writing table at once with that practical -sense and readiness which never forsook her.</p> - -<p>“Now I will just write and ask Ronald to his dinner,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-246" id="page_vol-2-246">{v.2-246}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">But</span> things did not go so easily as Mrs. Ogilvie supposed.</p> - -<p>Effie had received a blow which was not easily forgotten. The previous -mistakes of her young career might have been forgotten, and it is -possible that she might have come to be tolerably happy in the settling -down and evaporation of all young thoughts and dreams, had she in the -fervour of her first impulse become Fred Dirom’s wife. It would not have -been the happiness of her ideal, but it often happens that an evanescent -splendour like that which illumines the early world dies away with -comparative harmlessness, and leaves<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-247" id="page_vol-2-247">{v.2-247}</a></span> a very good substitute of solid -satisfaction on a secondary level, with which all but the visionary -learn to be content.</p> - -<p>But the sharp and keen awakening with which she opened her eyes on a -disenchanted world, when she found her attempted sacrifice so -misunderstood, and felt herself put back into the common-place position -of a girl disappointed, she who had risen to the point of heroism, and -made up her mind to give up her very life, cannot be described. Effie -did not turn in the rebound to another love, as her stepmother fully -calculated. Though that other love was the first, the most true, the -only faithful, though she was herself vaguely aware that in him she -would find the comprehension for which she longed, as well as the -love—though her heart, in spite of herself, turned to this old playmate -and companion with an aching desire to tell him everything, to get the -support of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-248" id="page_vol-2-248">{v.2-248}</a></span> sympathy, yet, at the same time, Effie shrank from -Ronald as she shrank from every one.</p> - -<p>The delicate fibres of her being had been torn and severed; they would -not heal or knit together again. It might be that her heart was -permanently injured and never would recover its tone, it might be that -the recoil from life and heart-sickness might be only temporary. No one -could tell. Mrs. Ogilvie, who would not believe at first that the -appearance of Ronald would be ineffectual, or that the malady was more -than superficial, grew impatient afterwards.</p> - -<p>“It is all just selfishness,” she said; “it is just childish. Because -she cannot have what she wanted, she will not take what she can get; and -the worst of all is that she never wanted it when she could have it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s just the way with women,” said her husband; “ye are all alike. -Let her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-249" id="page_vol-2-249">{v.2-249}</a></span> come to herself, and don’t bore me about her as you’re doing, -night and day. What is a girl and her sweetheart to me?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think,” said Mr. Moubray, “if you had been honest with Effie -from the first, if you had allowed her own heart to speak, if there had -been no pressure on one side, and no suppression on the other——”</p> - -<p>“In short,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, with a flush of anger, “if we had just -left everything to a bit silly thing that has not had the wit to guide -herself in the most simple, straightforward way! where ye would have -thought a fool could not go wrong——!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Ogilvie at this lifted his head.</p> - -<p>“Are ye quarrelling with John Moubray, Janet?” he said; “things must -have come to a pretty pass when you fling yourself upon the minister, -not content with putting me to silence. If ye’re ill-pleased with -Effie,” said the head of the family,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-250" id="page_vol-2-250">{v.2-250}</a></span> “let Effie bear the wyte; but what -have we done, him and me?”</p> - -<p>The minister, however, was Effie’s resource and help. He opened his own -heart to her, showing her how it had bled and how it had been healed, -and by and by the girl came to see, with slowly growing perception and a -painful, yet elevating, knowledge, how many things lay hidden in the -lives and souls which presented often a common-place exterior to the -world. This was a moment in which it seemed doubtful whether the rending -of all those delicate chords in her own being might not turn to -bitterness and a permanent loss and injury. She was disposed to turn her -face from the light, to avoid all tenderness and sympathy, to find that -man delighted her not, nor woman either.</p> - -<p>It was in this interval that Eric’s brief but very unsatisfactory visit -took place, which the young fellow felt was as good as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-251" id="page_vol-2-251">{v.2-251}</a></span> the loss of his -six weeks’ leave altogether. To be sure, there was a hard frost which -made him some amends, and in the delights of skating and curling -compensated him for his long journey home; and Ronald, his old comrade, -whom he had expected to lose, went back with him, which was something to -the credit side. But he could not understand Effie, and was of opinion -that she had been jilted, and could scarcely be kept from making some -public demonstration against Fred Dirom, who had used his sister ill, he -thought. This mistake, too, added to Effie’s injuries of spirit a keener -pang: and the tension was cruel.</p> - -<p>But when Eric and Ronald were gone again, and all had relapsed into -silence, the balance turned, and the girl began to be herself once more, -or rather to be a better and loftier self, never forgetful of the sudden -cross and conflict of the forces of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-252" id="page_vol-2-252">{v.2-252}</a></span> life which had made so strong an -impression upon her youth.</p> - -<p>Miss Dempster, after some further suffering, died quite peacefully in -the ruddy dawn of a winter’s morning, after doing much to instruct the -world and her immediate surroundings from her sick bed, and much -enjoying the opportunity. She did not sleep very well the last few -nights, and the prospect of “just getting a good sleep in my coffin -before you bury me, and it all begins again,” was agreeable to her.</p> - -<p>She seemed to entertain the curious impression that the funeral of her -body would be the moment of re-awakening for her soul, and that till -that final incident occurred she would not be severed from this worldly -life, which thus literally was rounded by a sleep. It was always an -annoyance to her that her room was to the back, and she could not see -Dr. Jardine as formerly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-253" id="page_vol-2-253">{v.2-253}</a></span> come to his window and take off his dram, but -perhaps it was rather with the sisterly desire to tease Beenie than from -any other reason that this lamentation (with a twinkle in her eyes) was -daily made.</p> - -<p>When she died, the whole village and every neighbour far and near joined -in the universal lamentation. Those who had called her an old cat in her -life-time wept over her when she was laid in the grave, and remembered -all her good deeds, from the old wives in the village, who had never -wanted their pickle tea or their pinch of snuff so long as Miss Dempster -was to the fore, to the laird’s wife herself, who thought regretfully of -the silver candlesticks, and did not hesitate to say that nobody need be -afraid of giving a party, whether it was a dinner or a ball supper that -had to be provided, so long as Miss Dempster was mistress of the many -superfluous knives and forks at Rosebank.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-254" id="page_vol-2-254">{v.2-254}</a></span></p> - -<p>“She was just a public benefactor,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, who had not -always expressed that opinion.</p> - -<p>As for Miss Beenie, her eyes were rivers of tears, and her sister’s -admirable qualities her only theme. She lived but to mourn and to praise -the better half of her existence, her soul being as much widowed by this -severance as if she had been a bereaved wife instead of a sister.</p> - -<p>“Nobody can tell what she was to me, just more than can be put into -words. She was mother and sister and mistress and guide all put into -one. I’m not a whole human creature. I am but part of one, left like a -wreck upon the shore—and the worst part,” Miss Beenie said.</p> - -<p>The doctor, who had been suspected of a tear himself at the old lady’s -funeral, and had certainly blown his nose violently on the way back, was -just out of all patience with Miss Beenie’s yammering, he said, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-255" id="page_vol-2-255">{v.2-255}</a></span> he -missed the inspection of himself and all his concerns that had gone on -from Rosebank. He was used to it, and he did not know how to do without -it.</p> - -<p>One spring morning, after the turn of the year, he went up with a very -resolute air the tidy gravel path between the laurel hedges.</p> - -<p>“Eh, doctor, I cannot bide to hear your step—and yet I am fain, fain to -hear it: for it’s like as if she was still in life, and ye were coming -to see her.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Beenie,” said the doctor, “this cannot go on for ever. She was a -good woman, and she has gone to a better place. But one thing is -certain, that ye cannot bide here for ever, and that I cannot bide to -leave you here. You must just come your ways across the road, and set up -your tabernacle with me.”</p> - -<p>At this, Miss Beenie uttered a cry of consternation: “Doctor! you must -be taking leave of your senses. Me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vol-2-256" id="page_vol-2-256">{v.2-256}</a></span>!——”</p> - -<p>“And why not you?” said Dr. Jardine. “You would be far better over the -way. It’s more cheerful, and we would be company for one another. I am -not ill company when I am on my mettle. I desire that you will just -think it over, and fix a day——”</p> - -<p>And after a while, Miss Beenie found that there was sense in the -suggestion, and dried her eyes, and did as she was desired, having been -accustomed to do so, as she said, all her life.</p> - -<p>The Diroms disappeared from Allonby as if they had never been there, and -were heard of no more: though not without leaving disastrous traces at -least in one heart and life.</p> - -<p>But it may be that Effie’s wounds are not mortal after all. And one day -Captain Sutherland must come home——</p> - -<p>And who knows?</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END.<br /><br /><br /><small> -<i>This work appeared originally in “The Scottish Church.”</i><br /><br /><br /> -ROBERT MACLEHOSE, UNIVERSITY PRESS, GLASGOW.</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Effie Ogilvie (Complete), by Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EFFIE OGILVIE (COMPLETE) *** - -***** This file should be named 61916-h.htm or 61916-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/1/9/1/61916/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -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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