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diff --git a/old/66580-h/66580-h.htm b/old/66580-h/66580-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 1c89b87..0000000 --- a/old/66580-h/66580-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11590 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Colville of the Guards, Volume II, -by James Grant -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Colville of the Guards, Volume I (of 3), by James Grant</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Colville of the Guards, Volume I (of 3)</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James Grant</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 20, 2021 [eBook #66580]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Al Haines</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLVILLE OF THE GUARDS, VOLUME I (OF 3) ***</div> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - COLVILLE OF THE GUARDS<br /> -</h1> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - JAMES GRANT<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - AUTHOR OF<br /> - "THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "THE CAMERONIANS,"<br /> - "THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER,"<br /> - ETC., ETC.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - IN THREE VOLUMES.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - VOL. I.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON:<br /> - HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,<br /> - 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.<br /> - 1885.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - <i>All rights reserved.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CONTENTS<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - I. <a href="#chap01">Birkwoodbrae</a><br /> - II. <a href="#chap02">Mary's Adventure</a><br /> - III. <a href="#chap03">The Introduction</a><br /> - IV. <a href="#chap04">Robert Wodrow</a><br /> - V. <a href="#chap05">The Dunkeld Family</a><br /> - VI. <a href="#chap06">The Visit</a><br /> - VII. <a href="#chap07">Dreams and Doubts</a><br /> - VIII. <a href="#chap08">A Truce</a><br /> - IX. <a href="#chap09">Colville's Warning</a><br /> - X. <a href="#chap10">A Garden-Party at Craigmhor</a><br /> - XI. <a href="#chap11">In the Conservatory</a><br /> - XII. <a href="#chap12">After Thoughts</a><br /> - XIII. <a href="#chap13">The Last Appeal</a><br /> - XIV. <a href="#chap14">Gretchen and Faust</a><br /> - XV. <a href="#chap15">How Faust Succeeded</a><br /> - XVI. <a href="#chap16">Evil Tidings</a><br /> - XVII. <a href="#chap17">Mary's Preparations</a><br /> - XVIII. <a href="#chap18">On the Brink</a><br /> - XIX. <a href="#chap19">The Departure</a><br /> - XX. <a href="#chap20">The Heir of Entail</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -COLVILLE OF THE GUARDS. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I. -<br /><br /> -KIRKWOODBRAE. -</h3> - -<p> -'You are a dear and good-hearted jewel, -Mary!' said Ellinor. 'How you can -constantly face and soothe the sorrows and -miseries of all these poor people, I cannot -conceive; I am not selfish, I hope, and -yet the frequent task would he too much -for me.' -</p> - -<p> -'You are not without a tender heart,' -replied Mary, as she set down her little -hand-basket, now empty. 'I have paid -but one visit to-day—a very sorrowful -one—and I am glad to be back again in our -own pretty home. When I saw old Elspat -the funeral was over, and dear Dr. Wodrow -had brought her back to the little -lonely cottage from which her husband -had been borne away. It was so sad and -strange to see the empty bed, with a plate -of salt upon the pillow, and the outline -of his coffin still on the coverlet, and the -now useless drugs and phials on a little -table, close by—sad reminiscences that only -served to torture poor Elspat, whose grey -head the minister patted kindly, while -telling her, in the usual stereotyped way, -that whom He loved He chastened—that -man is cut down like a reed—all flesh is -grass, and so forth. But old Elspat shall -not live alone now—she is to come here, -and be a kind of factotum for us.' -</p> - -<p> -'That is like your kind, considerate -heart, Mary; always thinking of others -and never of yourself.' -</p> - -<p> -'When I think of the brightness of -our own home, Ellinor—though death has -twice darkened it—and compare it with -that of old Elspat, my heart throbs with -alternate gratitude and sorrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Elspat Gordon.' -</p> - -<p> -The speakers were sisters, two bright -and handsome girls, one of whom had just -returned from an errand of charity and -benevolence, while the younger was seated -in a garden before her easel and paint-block, -on which she was depicting, for -perhaps the twentieth time, the features -of their home, Birkwoodbrae—works of -art in which their favourite fox-terrier -Jack always bore a prominent part; and -Jack, his collar duly garlanded with fresh -rosebuds and daisies, was now crouched -at the feet of the fair artist. -</p> - -<p> -Mary Wellwood was fair-haired, with -darkly-lashed eyes of violet-blue. Many -would call her very handsome, but few -merely pretty. She was far beyond the -latter phrase. With all its soft beauty -and dimples, there were too much decision -and character in her face to justify the -simple term prettiness, while it was a face -to haunt one a life long! -</p> - -<p> -Two years younger than Mary, Ellinor -was now twenty. Her dark hazel eyes -were winning in expression, and, like -Mary's, longly-lashed, and what lovely -lips she had for kisses! Hers was no -button of a mouth, however. Critics -might say that it was a trifle too large; -but her lips were beautifully curved, red, -and alluring, often smiling, and showing -the pure, pearl-like teeth within; and yet, -when not smiling, the normal expression -of Ellinor's face was thoughtful. -</p> - -<p> -The orphan daughters of Colonel -Wellwood—a Crimean veteran—the two girls -lived alone in their pretty sequestered -home at Birkwoodbrae. They had not -a female relation in the world whom they -could have invited to share it; and though -sometimes propriety suggested a matron -or chaperone as a necessity to two -handsome and ladylike girls, living almost -under the shadow of the manse, and -as the minister, Dr. Wodrow, had been -left by their father on his death-bed a -species of guardian to them, 'why hamper -themselves with some uncomfortable old -frump, when they could be perfectly happy -without her, with their father's old servants -about them?' was always the after reflection -of each. -</p> - -<p> -Thus for three years the time had glided -away, and Mary's life we shall show to -have been a busy, active, and useful one, -adding to and nearly doubling indeed the -little income left them by their father, -through her own efforts in the production -and sale of the agricultural produce of the -few acres of Birkwoodbrae, with a skill -and independence of spirit that won the -admiration and respect of all who knew her. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the house they loved so well, and the -patch of land around it, did not belong -to the orphan sisters. -</p> - -<p> -The heir of the entail—for, according to -'Shaw's Index,' small though the property -of Birkwoodbrae might be, it had been -entailed as far back as 1696, with date of -tailzie 1694, by Ronald Wellwood, a -remote ancestor, who was one of the many -victims of King William's treachery at -Darien—the heir of entail, we say, held a -lucrative diplomatic appointment abroad, -and left his two nieces in undisturbed -enjoyment of the house and lands. -</p> - -<p> -Thus the latter, in Mary's care, had -become quite a little farm, the produce of -which, in grazing—even in grain—butter, -eggs, and poultry, doubled, as we have -said, the pittance left to her and her sister -by their father, the improvident old -colonel. -</p> - -<p> -In the words of Herbert's <i>Jacula -Prudentum</i>, Mary Wellwood's motto had ever -been, 'Help thyself and God will help -thee.' -</p> - -<p> -The house of Birkwoodbrae was a little -two-storied villa, with pretty oriel -windows, about which the monthly roses, -clematis, and Virginia creeper clambered: -and it had been engrafted by the colonel -on an old farmhouse, the abode of his -ancestors, which had two crow-stepped -gables and a huge square ingle-lum—the -later being now the ample kitchen fireplace -of the new residence, and in the remote -quarter of the little household. -</p> - -<p> -A lintel over the door that now led to -the barnyard told the date of this portion -of the mansion, as it bore the legend often -repeated by Mary:— -</p> - -<p> - 'BLISSIT BE GOD FOR AL HIS GIFTIS. R. W. 1642,'<br /> -</p> - -<p> -and showed that it had outlived the wars -of the Covenant and the strife that ended -at Killiecrankie; and by its wall there -grew a hoary pear-tree, called a longovil—the -name of a kind of pear introduced -into Scotland by Queen Mary of Guise, the -Duchess of Longueville. -</p> - -<p> -This part of the house was, or used to -be haunted by a goblin known as 'the -Darien Ghost,' a spectre that used to -appear during the blustering winds of -March, on the anniversary of the storming -and sack of Fort St. Andrew by the -Spaniards, when a thousand Scotsmen perished, -among them, Ronald, the Laird or -Gudeman of Birkwoodbrae. This ghost was -a heavily-booted one, with spurs that were -heard to jingle as it went; and it was -wont to appear by the bedside of some -sleeping visitor, over whom it would bend -with pallid face and gleaming eyes; and -those who had found courage enough to -strike at the figure with hand or sword, -found, to their dismay, that notwithstanding -his heavy-heeled boots, by some -idiosyncrasy, peculiar perhaps to ghosts, the -stroke passed unimpeded <i>through it</i>; but -Mary averred that since the railway had -come through Strathearn, less and less had -been seen of the Darien spectre, and now -it came no more. -</p> - -<p> -Around the house were groups of lovely -silver birches, the 'siller birks' that gave -the place its name; in front the ground -sloped gently downward, till the little -garden, with its well-kept plots and parterres -of flowers, ended in a park of emerald -green grass, where the spotlessly white -sheep and brindled cattle grazed amid the -sweetest sylvan scenery, the vivid colours -of which were now brought forth by the -fleecy whiteness of the clouds, the deep -blue of the sky, and the brilliance of the -sunshine; and, as William Black has it, 'I -have heard Mr. Millais declare that three -hours' sunshine in Scotland is worth three -months of it at Cairo.' -</p> - -<p> -When Mary came forth into the garden -again, she wore an old straw hat to save -her complexion from the glares and had -the smartest and most becoming of lawn-tennis -aprons pinned over her dress, with -Swedish gloves upon her hands, as she -proceeded to snip and train some -straggling sprays of roses about the walls of -the house, and seemed to do so with -loving and gentle care, as if the said house -was a thing of life, and sensible of the -love she bore it; while uttering many a -yelp and gurgle, Jack, the fox-terrier, -overwhelmed her with the wildest of -canine caresses. -</p> - -<p> -Now Jack was deemed a wonderful -'doggie' in his way, and had been the -gift of Elspat's husband, an old Gordon -Highlander, who had followed Roberts to -victory, and had Jack by his side in more -than one battle in Afghanistan. Jack was -all muscle, and white as snow, save two -tan-coloured spots, one over the right eye -and the other in the centre of his back. -He was the perilous enemy of all dogs, -and cats too, and at the sight of one or -other his muscles grew tense, his hair -bristled up, and he showed his molar -tusks; but otherwise he was absurdly -meek and gentle, and in appearance -belied his combative nature. -</p> - -<p> -'Is it not strange, Ellinor,' said Mary, -resuming the subject of their conversation, -'that Elspat's husband, who never -recovered from the wound received three -years ago in a battle in India, had a -presentiment that he would die of it, and on -the anniversary of the very day, hour, and -moment he was hit, he expired? Yes, -Jack, and you, my dear little doggie, were -there too,' she added, nestling Jack's head -in her pretty neck. 'In spite of all that -Dr. Wodrow said and inveighed against -superstition, the piper would lead the -funeral party thrice <i>deisal-wise</i> round the -burial-ground before entering it.' -</p> - -<p> -'And no doubt the doctor would quote -his ancestor's famous <i>Analecta</i>?' said -Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'On that occasion he did not,' replied -Mary; 'but it's too bad of you, Ellinor, to -quiz the dear old man, who does his duty -so well. I always recall what papa used -to say, that no one who does not try -with all the strength one possesses to do -some good to those about them, can -possibly say they do their best to live -usefully and honestly. Oh, Ellinor, what a -delicate arum lily you have there!' Mary -suddenly exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -'I am putting it in my foreground. It -came with some lovely peaches.' -</p> - -<p> -'From Robert Wodrow?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' replied Ellinor, with a soft and -pleased smile, for thereby hung a tale, as -young Robert Wodrow (of whom more -anon), the minister's only son, from his -boyhood had sighed for Ellinor, and was -never perfectly happy but when with her, -and, like the lover of Rosamund Gray, -'he could make her admire the scenes he -admired, fancy the wild flowers he -fancied, watch the clouds he was watching, -and not unfrequently repeat to her the -poetry which he loved, and make her love -it too.' -</p> - -<p> -And so, in early youth, the boy and girl -had grown fond of each other—far fonder -than either of them at first suspected. -</p> - -<p> -'By the way,' said Mary, suddenly, and -pausing in the act of snipping off a -decayed rose with her garden scissors, 'the -Dunkeld family are back at Craigmhor.' -</p> - -<p> -'With visitors, of course?' -</p> - -<p> -'As usual—gentlemen to shoot when -the season opens in a week or two; and -one, a Captain Colville—a very handsome -man—is, I hear, the intended of that -haughty girl, Blanche Galloway.' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, I am not ill-natured,' said -Ellinor, with her pretty head on one side, as -she reproduced Robert Wodrow's lily in -flake-white; 'but the man who marries -Blanche won't have his sorrows to seek. -However, we shall not call, unless they do -so first, of course; so these people are -nothing to us.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay,' said Mary; 'with visitors at -Craigmhor, the housekeeper must necessarily -require more eggs, fowls, flowers, -and I know not what.' -</p> - -<p> -'Sending these things to market at -Perth or Forteviot is all very well, but -I do dislike orders from the great folks -at the manor house.' -</p> - -<p> -'So do I, but needs must, you know, -Ellinor.' -</p> - -<p> -'What would papa have thought?' -</p> - -<p> -'Had he thought more at times we had -not been reduced to such shifts—not that -I upbraid him, poor old man.' -</p> - -<p> -'I detest catering for these great folks, -who ignore our existence, save by a bow—more -often a stare—at church,' persisted -Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'I care not—together we are independent, -and happy here as the day is long: -are not you so, Ellinor?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; but how if one of us were to get -married? Such things happen.' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't speculate on that, though I think -Robert Wodrow does,' said Mary, with -something between a laugh and a sigh, as -she took her way to the hen-court to see -after her fowls. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II. -<br /><br /> -MARY'S ADVENTURE. -</h3> - -<p> -On the following day, after seeing old -Elspat duly installed in one of the cosiest -rooms of the old portion of the mansion -as a kind of housekeeper, Mary Wellwood -put on her garden-hat, brought forth her -fishing-tackle, tied a pretty basket round -her waist, and, taking her rod, a dainty -little one—the gift of Ellinor's admirer, -Robert Wodrow—set forth, accompanied -by Jack, to get a trout or two from the -May, for Mary was an expert angler, -giving, ere she departed, a last look at her -favourite hen, with a callow brood of -primrose-coloured chickens, over which she -clucked noisily in the sunshine amid a -wisp of straw, while eyeing Jack the -terrier with keen alarm and antagonism. -</p> - -<p> -Mary left Ellinor again at her easel, and -smiled when she saw that the latter had -given some finishing touches to her -costume, and had stuck a sprig in her lace -collarette, in expectation of a visit from -Robert Wodrow and his mother. She -knew well of the loving friendship and -incipient regard that had long existed -between Rob and Ellinor; and that as -friends of years' standing each had begun—she -hoped—to feel that in all the world -the other was the dearest, and a union for -life would of course follow. -</p> - -<p> -But young Wodrow, who was now past -his twentieth year, had 'his way to make' -in the world, and, till he had graduated -in medicine, matrimony was not to be -seriously thought of. -</p> - -<p> -She had one or two errands of mercy -to fulfil ere she reached the river side, -and began to put her rod together, and -deftly did so with purpose-like little hands, -that were cased in her garden-gloves, while -Jack kept close by her side. In the woods -there were no cats to worry, but he had -sharp eyes for the rabbits that scudded -about—sharp as any poacher or -gamekeeper could have. -</p> - -<p> -The day was a bright and lovely one -in summer. The pale primrose had come -and gone, and the bluebells were already -fading out of the woods; the sorrel was -becoming redder, and the wild strawberry, -with its little white flowerets, was peeping -out in unlikely places. The grass in the -meadows was green and studded with -golden buttercups, and the voice of the -cushat dove could be heard at times -among the silver birches—the 'siller birks' -that cast their quivering and aspen-like -shadows on the waters of the bonnie May, -which is a fine stream for trout, ten miles -in length, from its rise among the Ochils -to its confluence with the lovely Earn. -</p> - -<p> -Everywhere here the scenery is rich and -beautiful, and the banks of the May are -very varied. In one part a long and deep -channel has been worn by its waters -through the living rocks which almost -close above it, and far down below they -gurgle in obscurity with a deep and -mysterious sound. At another place they pour -in silver spray over a linn, thirty feet in -height, and form a beautiful cascade, and -everywhere the glen scenery is picturesque -and richly wooded with the graceful silver -birch, which is so characteristic of the -Scottish Highlands, where it climbs -boldly the brows of the steepest hills and -rocks, though the oak prevails in the -valleys of the Grampians. -</p> - -<p> -There had been recently a 'spate,' or -summer flood in the river, so the trout -took to the fly greedily, and intent on her -task Mary had nearly filled the little -basket that hung at her waist with -fish—two or three of which weighed -heavily—and cost her little fingers no small trouble -to disengage the hook from their gills, ere -she became aware that she had a companion -in her sport, of which she was very -fond. But though Mary loved to dangle -a little rod over a brook that teemed with -finny denizens, it was, of course, quite -beyond her strength or skill to hold a big -rod over a river for the chance of hooking -a 'pounder.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary Wellwood had reached a part of -the stream where it was more difficult to -fish, as its banks were thickly wooded, -when she saw near her, similarly occupied, -a gentleman, who, though he did not seem -to watch her, certainly did so, for to his -eyes angling seemed an odd amusement -for a young girl—a lady especially—though -it is not more so than archery, and -certainly not so much as bringing down a -grouse upon the wing, a feat attempted by -some damsels now-a-days. -</p> - -<p> -Clad in a rough tweed suit, with fishing-boots -that came above his knees, a straw -hat, the band of which was garnished with -flies and lines, he was a man above the -middle height, apparently nearer thirty -than twenty, handsome in figure and in -face. The latter was of a rich, dark -complexion, with regular features; a heavy, -dark brown moustache, and unmistakably -keen hazel eyes. He was a man with a -fine air and of decided presence. -</p> - -<p> -He had been observing Mary Wellwood -for some time before she was aware of his -presence or vicinity, and the consequence -was that for each trout he caught the -girl caught three; for while she was solely -intent on making the fly, with which her -hook was baited, alight on the eddying -water in the most delicate manner directly -above where she supposed the fish to be, -he was, as he would have phrased it, -'taking stock' of her lissom and graceful -figure, which her tight costume showed to -the utmost advantage as she stooped over -the stream; the perfect form of her -'thoroughbred' ears and hands, and the -exceeding fairness of her skin, which was -of that snowy kind which usually accompanies -light brown hair, and Mary's was of -a brilliant light brown, shot with gold, -when the ruddy flakes of sunshine struck -it through the trees aslant. -</p> - -<p> -Desirous of getting away alike from his -observation and vicinity, Mary lifted her -line in haste, but, alas! it was caught by -the root of a silver birch, which held it fast -a little beneath the water, and from which, -after drawing off her gloves, she sought -in vain to disentangle it. Here was a -dilemma. -</p> - -<p> -'Permit me?' said the stranger, planting -his rod in the turf, and lifting his hat -as he came towards her. He at once -succeeded in releasing her hook and line, -while Jack at once fraternised with him. -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks—thank you so much,' said -Mary, colouring a little, as she quickly -wound the line up, and with a bow passed -on to a part of the stream some yards -further down; the stranger had looked -at her shapely white hand, as if he longed -to take it within his own, and, as if by -magnetism, was strongly attracted -towards it. -</p> - -<p> -But Mary—who intended to catch just -one more fish—had barely resumed her -operations before a most unforeseen mishap -occurred to her. After a 'spate,' the -water of the May is often dark in some -places, and to reach a pool wherein she -knew by past experience some fine trout -were sure to be lurking, by the assistance -of a stone she reached a flat boulder fully -six feet from the bank, but her foot—light -thought it was—had barely left the -former ere it turned over in the current -and vanished, leaving her isolated amid -the stream, whereat her terrier yelped and -barked furiously. -</p> - -<p> -The distance was too great for her to -leap; moreover, the bank was steep there, -and to fall would end in a complete -immersion, and, gathering her skirts above -her little booted feet, she looked around -her with a comical air of perplexity and -dismay, which her companion of the rod -was not slow to perceive, and again he -instantly approached, but this time with -an absolute smile rippling all over his -face. -</p> - -<p> -'You cannot leap this distance without -risk, and so must permit me to assist you -again,' said he, stepping at once into -the water, which rose midway up his long -fishing-boots. He put an arm round -her—a strong arm she felt it to be—and at -once lifted her to the bank. -</p> - -<p> -'I have to thank you again, sir,' said -Mary, blushing in earnest now. -</p> - -<p> -'I am so glad that I was within sight—you -were quite in a scrape, perched on -that fragment of rock, with the dark water -eddying round you,' said he, again lifting -his hat; 'but perhaps you can repay me -by indicating the nearest path to Craigmhor?' -</p> - -<p> -Mary did so, on which, still lingering -near, he remarked, -</p> - -<p> -'And so these are the Birks of Invermay, -so famed in Scottish song, and story, -too, I believe? It is indeed a lovely spot!' -</p> - -<p> -'Lovely, indeed,' replied Mary, as the -praise of her native glen went straight to -her heart; 'even we, who live here all the -year round, never tire of its beauty.' -</p> - -<p> -'I am here for the first time; I came to -this quarter only yesterday, and the -alternately bold and sylvan nature of the -scenery impressed me greatly. You must -be fond of fishing,' he added, with a -well-bred smile, 'and seem more expert with -your rod than I.' -</p> - -<p> -'But I only know the May,' replied -Mary, taking her rod to pieces as a hint -that she was about to withdraw, on which -the stranger began to do the same. -</p> - -<p> -'I have fished for trout in many places—even -in the Lake of Geneva,' said he, -'and, curiously enough, the fish there -are precisely the same as those in Lough -Neagh in Ireland.' -</p> - -<p> -'In weather so clear and light as this—even -after flood—it is no easy task to -lure them to destruction here,' replied -Mary, 'and a light enough basket is often -carried home, even from the best parts of -the stream.' -</p> - -<p> -'Such has been my fortune to-day,' said -he, as he quietly proceeded by her side; -but now Mary remembered that the path -she had indicated to him as leading to -Craigmhor was also the one she had to -pursue to reach Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -'Our May trout are very beautiful, and -are as good in quality as in appearance,' -remarked Mary, scarcely knowing what to -say. -</p> - -<p> -'I hope you do not venture to such -places as this in winter,' said he, pointing -to some rocks that overhung the shaded -stream. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' asked Mary, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -'Because, when the water freezes—as I -suppose it does—and these rocks are -covered with snow, there must be danger.' -</p> - -<p> -'I fear you look at them with a -Londoner's eyes.' -</p> - -<p> -'I am a Londoner—in one fashion—Captain -Colville of the Guards.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, I do not fear the snow,' said Mary; -'I have been up on the summit of yonder -hill when it was covered deep with snow,' -she added, pointing to a spur of the Ochils, -while her eyes kindled, for under the -shadow of those mountains she was born; -'but I was only a child then.' -</p> - -<p> -'And what object took you up at such a -time, may I ask?' -</p> - -<p> -'To save a wee pet lamb, that else must -have perished in the snow.' -</p> - -<p> -'And did you carry it down?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—of course.' -</p> - -<p> -'By Jove!' exclaimed the Guardsman, -twirling his moustache. -</p> - -<p> -'We call that place Crow Court,' said -Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Because sometimes in summer the -crows collect there in such numbers that -the green hillside is blackened with them, -as if they had all been summoned for -the occasion; and sometimes they have -been known to wait for a day or two -while other crows were winging their way -hither from every quarter of the sky. -Then a great clamour and noise ensue -among them, and the whole will fall upon -one or two crows that have been guilty of -something, and after picking and rending -them to death they disperse in flights as -they came.' -</p> - -<p> -The Guardsman knew not what to make -of this bit of natural history, and could -only stroke his moustache again. -</p> - -<p> -Something in this girl's sweet but -determined profile—something in the -freshness of her character, and her slightly -grave manner, as that of one already -accustomed, but gently, to rule others, had a -strange charm for Leslie Colville—for -such was his name—though he was -evidently a man accustomed to the ways of -West-End belles and Belgravian mammas. -Yet this girl never flattered him even by a -smile, and her violet-blue eyes met his -keen dark hazel ones as calmly as if their -sexes were reversed, while her whole -manner had the provoking indifference and the -conscious air of self-possession which can -only be acquired in the best society; and -yet, to his very critical eye, her costume -was rather unsuited to the atmosphere of -Regent Street and Tyburnia, being extremely -plain, and destitute of every accessory -in the way of brooch, bracelet, ring, or -even the inevitable bow. -</p> - -<p> -To him it seemed quite refreshing to -talk to a girl who, with all her loveliness, -evidently seemed not to know how to flirt -or even think about it. -</p> - -<p> -'I must now bid you good-morning,' -said Mary, on reaching a hedge-bordered -path that led to her home. -</p> - -<p> -'What is the name of that house so -charmingly embosomed among birches?' -he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -'Birkwoodbrae—indeed!' he repeated, -with a start that Mary detected, but -believed it to be simulated, and felt -somewhat offended in consequence. -</p> - -<p> -'The name seems to interest you,' said -she, coldly, almost with hauteur. -</p> - -<p> -'Do you reside there?' he asked, while -regarding her so curiously that Mary felt -her natural colour deepen. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, and have done so since my father's -death,' and, bowing again, she quickly -withdrew, while he, with hat in hand, -looked after her. -</p> - -<p> -'These are the last trout we shall -have for a time—of my own fishing at -least, Ellinor,' said Mary, as she relieved -herself of the basket and told of the -forenoon adventures. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'I have no wish to be escorted by any of -the visitors at Craigmhor; least of all by -Captain Colville, the <i>fiancé</i>, as I -understand he is, of that intolerable girl, -Blanche Galloway.' -</p> - -<p> -'I should think not,' replied Ellinor, -laughing at her sister's unusual air of -annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -But the sisters had not heard the last of -Captain Leslie Colville. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III. -<br /><br /> -THE INTRODUCTION. -</h3> - -<p> -A day or two after the rencontre we have -narrated, when the sisters were quietly -reading in their little drawing-room, the -curtained windows of which opened to the -lovely glen, through which May flows, -visitors were announced—two strangers -and their old friend the parish minister. -</p> - -<p> -The latter entered, hat in hand, with the -cheery confidence of one who knew he was -welcome, saying, -</p> - -<p> -'My dear girls, allow me to introduce -two new friends—Captain Colville and Sir -Redmond Sleath—Miss Wellwood—Miss -Ellinor Wellwood.' -</p> - -<p> -A few well-bred bows, with the -subsequent inevitable remarks about the -weather followed, and as all seated -themselves, Dr. Wodrow said, -</p> - -<p> -'We have had a long ramble by the -Linn, and even as far as the King's -Haugh, and have just dropped in to have -a cup of afternoon tea, my dears.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary sweetly gave a smile of welcome -and assent, as her hand went to the bell. -</p> - -<p> -The old minister, who knew that for -reasons yet to be explained, Captain -Colville was anxious to see once more the -fair girl whom he had met and succoured -by Mayside, had artfully arranged -the proper introduction, which had now -come to pass, and the end of which -he—good, easy, and unthinking man—could -little then foresee. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond, as he was introduced to -Mary, took his glass out of his right eye, -where it had hitherto been, and placed it -in his left to focus Ellinor when introduced -to her, each time bowing very low, yet -with an expression of appreciative scrutiny -in his face. -</p> - -<p> -The transference of his glass from eye -to eye was perhaps a small matter in -one way, yet in another it was very -indicative of the man's cool <i>insouciance</i> of -character and bearing. -</p> - -<p> -On the unexpected arrival of these -visitors, the first thoughts of the sisters -were that their household furniture was -decidedly the worse for the wear, that it -was all old-fashioned, and that the curtains, -carpets, and chairs were all toned -down by time; yet everything was -scrupulously clean, and in all its details -Birkwoodbrae was evidently the home of -gentlewomen of taste and refinement. Flowers, -artistically sorted, were distributed -whereever they might be placed with propriety, -with all the pretty trifles and nick-nacks -peculiar to the atmosphere of 'the British -drawing-room,' while the newest music lay -upon the open piano, and Colville's observant -eye quickly detected the latest novels -and illustrated papers too. -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Wellwood and I are already old -friends,' said Captain Colville, with a -pleasant smile, as he slid at once into -conversation with Mary, laughingly, about -their meeting by the river. -</p> - -<p> -'You have not been fishing for some -days past, Miss Wellwood,' he remarked, -incidentally. -</p> - -<p> -'No, I have been otherwise occupied,' -replied Mary, as she thought 'he has been -looking for me, or has missed me,' and she -knew not whether to be flattered or -provoked by the discovery, while, with secret -pleasure, Colville was looking into her -minute and handsome face, with its starry -blue eyes, and tender, mobile mouth—a -face as rare in its candour and innocence -of expression as in its delicate beauty. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond Sleath—of whom more -anon—was tall, fair-haired, and undoubtedly -handsome, with a tawny or blonde -moustache, and regular features. He was -every way the style of man to please a -woman's fancy, yet to those who watched -him closely it was evident that his blue -eyes—for they were a species of cold -China blue rather than grey—had a shifty, -almost dishonest expression, and that no -smile ever pervaded them, even when his -lips laughed. -</p> - -<p> -He was in morning costume, with accurately -fitting, light-coloured gloves, and a -dainty 'button-hole' in the lapel of his -black coat; while Colville wore a dark -velvet shooting-coat and tan gaiters, his -thick, brown hair carefully dressed, his -dark moustache pointed, a plain signet -ring glittering on his strong brown hand—an -onyx, which bore, as Ellinor's sharp, -artistic eye observed, the Wellwood crest, -or one uncommonly like it—a demi-lion -rampant; but then the crests of so many -families are the same. -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Wodrow, the minister of Invermay -(called of old the Kirktown of Mailler), -was a tall, stout, and more than -fine-looking man, with aquiline features, and -a massive forehead, from which his hair, -very full in quantity, and now silvery -white, seemed to start up in Jove-like -spouts, to fall behind over his ears and -neck. He had keen, dark-grey eyes, -always a pleasant smile, with a calm, -kind, and dignified, if not somewhat -pompous, manner, born, perhaps, of the -consciousness that, after the laird, he was a -chief man in the parish. -</p> - -<p> -His one little vanity, or pet weakness, -was pride in his descent from the pious -but superstitious old author of 'Analecta -Scotica,' and other almost forgotten works, -but who was a great man in his time, -before and after the Treaty of Union, and -in honour of whom he had named his -only son 'Robert.' -</p> - -<p> -The afternoon tea proceeded in due -course, served in fine old dragon china, -brought in by old Elspat, a hard-featured -little woman, in deep black, owing to her -recent bereavement, who curtseyed in an -old-fashioned way to each and all, and -with whom the minister shook hands, -somewhat to the surprise of his London friends. -</p> - -<p> -'What a splendid type of dog you have -here, Miss Wellwood—all muscle and -sinew—half bull, half fox terrier,' said -Colville, in a pause of the conversation, -patting Jack, who was nestling close to -Mary's skirt, for the captain deemed -rightly that her dog was a safe thing to -enlarge upon. -</p> - -<p> -'He is indeed a pet—the dearest of -dogs,' she replied, tickling Jack's ears, -and getting a lick of his red tongue in return. -</p> - -<p> -'Are you not afraid of him?' asked Sir -Redmond, a little nervously. -</p> - -<p> -'Afraid of Jack—I should think not!' -replied Mary, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -But somehow Jack seemed to have an -antipathy for the baronet, and growled and -showed his molar tusks very unmistakably -each time that personage focussed him -with his eyeglass. -</p> - -<p> -The cabinet portrait of an old officer, in -uniform with epaulettes and one or two -medals, seemed to attract the interest of -Leslie Colville. -</p> - -<p> -'That is papa,' said Mary, in an explanatory -tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, he was in the service, then,' said -the captain, smiling. 'So am I—in the -Scots Guards.' -</p> - -<p> -'The Scots Guards! Then perhaps -you know our cousin, Captain Wellwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course I know him intimately,' he -replied, with some hesitation, while -colouring deeply. -</p> - -<p> -Mary thought there was something -strange in his manner, as he spoke in a -low and indistinct voice, heard by herself -alone, so she pursued the, to her, rather -distasteful subject no further, but the -captain added, -</p> - -<p> -'A lucky dog—he has succeeded lately -to a pot of money—quite a fortune, in fact.' -</p> - -<p> -'Lucky indeed,' assented Sir Redmond. -'By Jove, there is nothing like money for -enabling one to enjoy life. Don't you -think so, doctor?' -</p> - -<p> -'No,' replied the minister, shaking his -white head, 'I agree with my worthy -ancestor, who remarks, in the third -volume of his <i>Analecta</i>, that "wealth is apt to -abate the godly habits of a people." Of -course, Sir Redmond, you have read -Wodrow's <i>Analecta</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'Sorry to say, my dear sir, that I never -heard of it.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed. It was the labour of twenty-seven -years. Thus, you may see that he -was unlike Hué, the learned Bishop of -Avranches, who used to say that all human -learning could be comprised in one volume -folio.' -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond felt himself somewhat at a -loss here, and ignoring the minister, -whom he deemed 'an old parish pump,' -he turned again to Ellinor Wellwood, -some of whose framed landscapes drew -attention to her merits as an amateur -artist, and led to the production of a -portfolio of her sketches, over which the -baronet hung, as well as over herself, in -real or well-simulated admiration. -</p> - -<p> -The latter could scarcely be, as Ellinor -had so many personal attractions, her -long lashes imparted such softness to her -dark hazel eyes, and the contour of her -head and neck seemed so graceful and -ladylike as Sir Redmond stooped over -her, and complimented her artistic efforts. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile Jack, with his hair bristling -up, and his bandy legs planted firmly on -the carpet, was growling, snarling, and -showing such manifestations of making -his tusks acquainted with the baronet's -calves or ankles, that he had to be -ignominiously taken out of the room by -Elspat. -</p> - -<p> -'Dogs have strange instincts and -antipathies,' said Dr. Wodrow, rather -unluckily, and unaware of all his words implied. -'Ah,' he added, as Ellinor displayed one -of her drawings, 'that is the Holy Hill of -Forteviot, and these stones you see -depicted among the turf possess a curious -legend—the story of a miller's daughter -who married a king—a story you must -get Miss Wellwood to tell you one of these -days. And so you have given old Elspat -a home here, Mary,' he added, smoothing -her bright hair with his hand, as he had -been wont to do when she was a child, -caressingly. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, for Ellinor and I both love the -poor old creature.' -</p> - -<p> -'You are one after God's own heart, -Mary,' said the minister, his grey eyes -kindling as he spoke. -</p> - -<p> -'We have never forgotten the strange -weird dream—if dream it was—she had -in the winter night before dear papa died.' -</p> - -<p> -'And this dream?' said Captain Colville, -inquiringly, and regarding the girl's face -with genuine interest. -</p> - -<p> -'Was a waking one—tell him, Mary,' -said Dr. Wodrow, seeing that she hesitated -to speak of such things to an utter -stranger. -</p> - -<p> -'When papa was on his death-bed,' said -she, 'the winter snow covered all the hills; -it lay deep in the glen there, and even the -great cascade at the Linn hung frozen -like a giant's beard in mid-air. About -the solemn gloaming time Elspat saw from -her cottage window a strange, dim, flickering -light leave our house here, and proceed -slowly towards the village church, by a -line where no road lies, and pass through -the churchyard wall at a place where no -gates open, and then, at a certain point, -it vanished! At that precise time papa -died, and when the funeral day came—a -day never to be forgotten by us—the -roads were so deep with snow that the -procession took the way traversed by the -light, and, as the gates were buried deep, -the wall was crossed at the point -indicated by the light, and the grave was -found to have been dug where the light -vanished.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary's gentle voice broke as she told -this little story, and whatever Colville -thought of it, though a town-bred Scotsman, -no unbelief was traceable in his -face. -</p> - -<p> -'We know not what to think of such -things,' said Dr. Wodrow, with one of his -soft smiles; 'but, as Sir William Hamilton -says in his metaphysics, "to doubt and be -astonished is to recognise our own ignorance. -Hence it is that the lover of wisdom -is to a certain extent a lover of the -mythic, for the subject of the mythic is -the astonishing and the marvellous." But -the corpse-light is a common superstition -here, as the tomb-fires of the Norse used -to be of old.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV. -<br /><br /> -ROBERT WODROW. -</h3> - -<p> -Leaving Ellinor and Sir Redmond -occupied with the contents of the portfolio, -Mary, accompanied by the other two -visitors, issued into the garden, where all -the flowers of summer were in their -brilliance. They lingered for a time at the -door of the barnyard, surmounted by the -quaint legend, and beyond which they -could see Mary's cow standing mid-leg -deep among luxuriant clover, while at the -sight of her all the fowls, expectant of a -feed, came towards her noisily in flights; -nor were they quite disappointed, as the -pockets of her lawn-tennis apron were -not without some handfuls of corn, and -Colville could not help thinking what a -charming picture she made at that -moment, as she stood with her sheeny hair -in the sunshine expatiating on the good -qualities of her feathered subjects, among -whom many of Lord Dunkeld's pheasants -came to feed as usual, but the birds -looked so beautiful in their brown and -golden-tinted plumage that Mary had -never the heart to drive them away. -</p> - -<p> -'That is a beautiful Cochin China,' said -she to Colville; 'she consumes a gallon of -barley every ten days; and is not that -black Spanish cock a splendid fellow? His -feathers are like the richest satin, and how -strongly his plumage contrasts with my -snow-white dorkings; and are not these -chickens like balls of golden fluff—dear -wee darlings!' -</p> - -<p> -And as she spoke, and scattered some -grains among them from her quick white -hands, the birds fluttered in flights about -her, as if she was the mother of them all; -and, as she gave Colville some corn to -throw among them, the Guardsman, with -all his admiration of her, could not resist -a covert smile at himself and his -surroundings. -</p> - -<p> -She looked so fresh and so innocent, -and so ready to tell him all her little plans -and of her local interests. -</p> - -<p> -To him, a club man—a man of the -world—accustomed to the giddy whirl of -London life, the Parks, the Row, Hurlingham -and Lillie Bridge; Lord's Cricket -Ground, garden and water-parties, 'feeds' -at the 'Star and Garter,' and heaven only -knows all what more—it was a new -sensation this, and a wonderfully pleasant -one. -</p> - -<p> -He was next obliged to visit her ducks -as they swam to and fro in an artificial -pond— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'With glassy necks of emerald hue,<br /> - And wings barred with deepest blue<br /> - That sapphire gives; and ruddy breast<br /> - By the clear dimpling waters pressed,'<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -as Dr. Wodrow quoted the poet; and then -her brown owl, which had been caught by -Robert Wodrow, nearly at the risk of his -life, in the ruined tower of Invermay, and -now sat in a hollow of the garden wall -secured by a net, behind which it winked -and blinked and waited for a sparrow or a -field-mouse; and the girl seemed so bright -and independent, so happy and so busy -with all the objects which formed her -little cares, that Leslie Colville surveyed -her with a kind of wonder and curiosity, -for, while being perfectly ladylike, perfectly -bred and delicately nurtured, she was so -unlike any woman he had ever met before; -her world was, in many respects, one -altogether apart from his. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile Sir Redmond, the very picture -of bland laziness, though secretly -keen as a ferret, with his glass in his left -eye and his hands thrust into his trousers -pockets, and his hair parted like a woman's -in the middle, was standing before Ellinor, -and contemplating her with evident -satisfaction, for he was a <i>vaurien</i> by nature. -</p> - -<p> -'And you have come here to shoot?' -said she, as the portfolio was relinquished -at last. -</p> - -<p> -'To shoot—yes,' he replied; 'this will -be my first turn at the game in Scotland.' -</p> - -<p> -'Robert tells me that the gleds have -sucked half the grouse eggs this season.' -</p> - -<p> -'Gleds—what are they—nasty little boys?' -</p> - -<p> -'They are a kind of crow,' replied Ellinor, -laughing excessively. -</p> - -<p> -'And who is Robert?' asked Sir Redmond, -slowly, readjusting his eyeglass. -</p> - -<p> -'The son of Dr. Wodrow,' replied Ellinor, -colouring a little, as he could perceive. -</p> - -<p> -'He prognosticates a bad look-out for -us on the 12th of next month?' -</p> - -<p> -The normal expression of Sir Redmond's -face, which was perhaps lazy insolence, -seemed to change when a smile spread -over it, and then the sensual lips, partly -hidden by their fair moustache, became -almost handsome. In Ellinor's sketches -there had been ample food for ready -conversation. Sir Redmond had seen all the -picture galleries in Europe, and, whether -he understood it or not, could talk of art -with all the ease and fluency of a well-bred -man of the world who was desirous of -pleasing, and he had watched with -growing interest her changing face and the -brightening expression of her sweet eyes -that had become trained to observe all -things; but now that the portfolio was -closed, the conversation had begun to flag a little. -</p> - -<p> -'Robert also told me,' said Ellinor, to -fill up an awkward pause, 'that as the -grouse had been seen close to the barn -and orchard walls, it is a sign of a severe winter.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is too soon to think of winter yet; -but he seems to be an authority in -zoological matters, this Mr.—Mr.——' -</p> - -<p> -'Wodrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, yes—Robert Wodrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'He is here to speak for himself,' said -Ellinor, with just the slightest <i>soupçon</i> of -confusion or of annoyance in her manner -as a young man entered unannounced, and -was at once introduced to Sir Redmond -Sleath, who, in responding to his bow, -proceeded at once to focus him with his -eyeglass. -</p> - -<p> -With a well-knit, well-set-up figure, -Robert Wodrow was an active-looking -young fellow, somewhat less in stature -than Sir Redmond, less dignified in air -and bearing, yet not less like a gentleman. -He had his father's regular features, his -open character of face, and honest dark-grey -eyes, in which at times there was a -thoughtful expression, the result of hard -study. At others a merry, devil-may-carish -one, the result of life among the -rollicking medical students of a great -University. -</p> - -<p> -Without adverting to any subject on -which the two had been talking with -reference to himself, he proceeded at once -to address Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'I have brought the ferns you wished -for,' said he, placing in her hand a tuft of -sprays. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, thanks; my wish was so slightly -expressed.' -</p> - -<p> -'It was a command to me,' he said, in a -low voice. -</p> - -<p> -'How far did you walk for them?' -</p> - -<p> -'More than ten miles down Earn side.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ten miles!' -</p> - -<p> -'Near to Strath Allan.' -</p> - -<p> -'Dear me—the Allan Water!' said Sir -Redmond. 'Is that the place where the -miller's lovely daughter so sadly misconducted -herself in the sweet spring time of -the year?' -</p> - -<p> -Robert's reply to this question was only -a cold and haughty stare, under which -even the baronet's <i>insouciance</i> nearly failed -him, but from that moment the two men -instinctively felt themselves enemies. -</p> - -<p> -'Why did you take so much trouble for -a mere trifle, Robert?' asked the girl. -</p> - -<p> -'Because I heard you express a wish to -have that particular fern, Ellinor,' replied -the young fellow, whose eyes seemed to -say that he would have gone ten times -the distance ungrudgingly for one of her -old smiles, or for the smile she was now -according, not to him, but to her strange -visitor, whose eyebrows were slightly and -inquiringly elevated, as he glanced at the -speaker, who seemed so much <i>en famille</i> at -Birkwoodbrae, and called Ellinor by her -Christian name, and who saw that she -placed the fern leaves on the table, and -soon—Robert Wodrow thought too soon—forgot -all about them apparently. -</p> - -<p> -'You have known Robert long, I presume, -Miss Ellinor?' said Sir Redmond, -with a twinkle in his cold, china-blue eyes, -and as he would have spoken of a boy or a -child. -</p> - -<p> -'I have known him all my life,' she replied. -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed!' drawled the other, who now -rose and took up his hat, as Colville and -Dr. Wodrow appeared, and were about to -depart, and, bidding adieu to the ladies, -the two visitors from Craigmhor bent their -steps in that direction, while the minister -lingered behind. -</p> - -<p> -'Isn't she pretty!' exclaimed Sir -Redmond, as they proceeded along the -highway that seemed like a private avenue, so -thickly was it bordered and over-arched -by beautiful and drooping silver birches. -</p> - -<p> -'She—who—which?' asked Captain -Colville, with a slightly ruffled tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor—the youngest sister.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Miss</i> Ellinor Wellwood,' said Colville, -with an accent on the word, 'is downright -lovely, man; but you think every girl -pretty, especially when in the country.' -</p> - -<p> -'And away from contrasts, you mean; -but excuse me; I am neither so facile nor -so inflammable as that comes to; yet I do -know a handsome girl when I see one; and -by Jove, little Ellinor is one to cultivate. -Two such girls living there alone seems a -singular proceeding.' -</p> - -<p> -'In your eyes, I have no doubt,' replied -Colville, stooping to light a cigar, and hide -the expression of annoyance that crossed -his face; 'but it is not so much, perhaps, -in the place where their parents have been -respected; and where all know them well, -and seem to love them.' -</p> - -<p> -'Dressed as I could dress her,' continued -Sleath, still pursuing one thought, and -that an evil one, 'she would make quite a -sensation—never saw such hair and eyes, -by Jove.' -</p> - -<p> -'What do you mean?' asked Leslie -Colville, coldly. -</p> - -<p> -'Well, among other things, I mean that -she is a deal too pretty to be thrown away -upon that Scotch country clodhopper, who -is evidently spoony upon her—has known -her all her life, and all that sort of thing, -don't you know.' -</p> - -<p> -'Whom do you mean now?' -</p> - -<p> -'This—well—ah—what's his deuced -name—Robert Wodrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'The son of a very worthy man—a -friend of mine, Sir Redmond.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh—ah—indeed.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville's face darkened and grew rather -stern. -</p> - -<p> -Why? -</p> - -<p> -We shall be able to let a little light on -his secret emotion in time to come. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile the speakers were the source -of some speculation among those they had -just quitted. -</p> - -<p> -'Who are those gentlemen, Dr. Wodrow?' -asked Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Colville, of the Household -Brigade, and Sir Redmond Sleath, a -baronet, and wealthy, I believe, friends -of the Dunkeld family, come here for -the Twelfth. Are you pleased with them?' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, yes,' replied Ellinor, but Mary -remained silent. -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps one may prove like the hunter -who came in the olden time to hunt here, -and wooed the pretty maid of Forteviot,' -said the doctor, laughing, and pinching -her soft cheek. -</p> - -<p> -'And Captain Colville is engaged to -Blanche Galloway, is he not?' she asked. -</p> - -<p> -'So I believe. A man of undoubted -wealth, he has lately succeeded to -property of various kinds, and means, it is -said, to urge his claim in the female line -to the peerage of Ochiltree, which has -been dormant since the death of David, -fourth lord, in 1782. He has thus -assumed the name of Colville.' -</p> - -<p> -'Lord Colville of Ochiltree,' said Mary, -softly and thoughtfully. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—he claims that peerage, my dear,' -replied Dr. Wodrow. 'I have a great and -melancholy respect for our dormant, -extinct, and—more than all—for our -attainted peerages. The men who held -them were generally, if not all, true to -Scotland, which is more than we can say -for our mongrel and often cockney-born -peers of the present day; but Captain -Colville would be one, good, honest, and -true, I doubt not.' -</p> - -<p> -'And his own name?' -</p> - -<p> -'I do not precisely know,' replied the -minister, whose son listened to all this -with a lowering brow, but lingered a little -behind his father, and, while the latter -was striding along the green lanes towards -the manse, Robert was telling Ellinor over -again of all his hopes and plans, and his -expectation of certainly graduating in -medicine at Edinburgh, and that he would -get his diploma very shortly; and then—and -then—what then? -</p> - -<p> -A kiss given in secret seemed more -than a reward for all his labours and -consumption of the midnight oil in a lonely -lodging up a common stair near the old -'<i>Academia Jacobi VI. Scotorum Regis</i>,' and -where he had pored for many a weary -hour over 'Quain's Anatomy,' 'Christison's -Dispensatory,' 'Balfour's Botany,' and so -forth, inspired by his love for Ellinor -Wellwood, and now he left her, with his -heart full of happy dreams of the future. -</p> - -<p> -'Why did Dr. Wodrow bring those two -strange gentlemen here?' remarked Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'You may well surmise,' said Mary; 'to -visit two girls living alone as we do. It -is so unlike him and his usual care.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>That</i> Captain Colville struck me as -being very inquisitive about us and our -surroundings.' -</p> - -<p> -'I do not think so,' replied Mary; 'but -his friend appeared a very <i>blasé</i> man of -the world indeed, if I am a correct judge. -But, if afternoon tea was merely their -object, why not have gone to the manse?' -</p> - -<p> -Gentlemen visitors—especially of such -a style as these two—one a baronet, the -other a Guardsman and claimant of a -peerage—were not very usual at -Birkwoodbrae; so, apart from the natural -surmises as to why the old minister, usually -so wary, chary, and shy about all -introductions, should have brought these two -to pass, the two girls had much to -speculate upon that proved of considerable -interest to both. -</p> - -<p> -Old Colonel Wellwood, as we have said, -when on his death-bed, had verbally left -his two orphan daughters in the care and -custody of his old friend the minister, and -faithfully and kindly had the latter and his -worthy better-half taken the trust upon -them. -</p> - -<p> -But no influence could induce the sisters, -Mary especially, to quit Birkwoodbrae and -reside at the manse. There was a strong -spirit of independence in the girls, and -believing in self-help they continued to -reside in the house wherein their parents -died, undisturbed, as we have said, by -their kinsman, who was far away abroad. -</p> - -<p> -Till the next Sunday in church the -sisters of Birkwoodbrae saw nothing of -their two visitors. The latter—ignoring -the service, or seeming at least rather -indifferent about it—were in Lord Dunkeld's -pew, a large, old-fashioned one, panelled -with carved oak, lined with crimson velvet, -and having a little oak table in the centre -of it. An arched window, in which some -fragments of the original stained glass of -pre-Reformation times remained, was near, -and through it the sunshine streamed on -the handsome face and unexceptionable -bonnet of Blanche Galloway, who barely -accorded the sisters a bow, and then bent -her over her book, which she shared with -Captain Colville. -</p> - -<p> -Her father, the old lord—of whom more -anon—seemed to doze, while Sir Redmond, -when not glancing towards Mary and -Ellinor Wellwood, seemed to occupy -himself with studying the faces, not of the -hard-featured country congregation, but of -the Scoto-Norman chancel arch, which -exhibited elaborate zig-zag rows of heads of -fabulous figures and animals, characteristic -of church architecture in the days of -William the Lion and Alexander I. A -few coats armorial were discernible here -and there, emblems of races, conquests, -honours, and dignities of later times, all of -which had passed away; tombs where -whilom hung the helmets, banners, and -swords of those who defended Scotland -when Scotland was true to herself, and the -days when she would sink to be a neglected -province were unforeseen. -</p> - -<p> -Of Dr. Wodrow's sermon Ellinor took -little heed. With the watchful and loving -eyes of Robert upon her she was only -anxious to get away from church without -being addressed by Sir Redmond Sleath, -and as the latter and his friend the -captain were on 'escort duty' with the -fair Blanche, Mary fully shared her -anxiety and wish; thus both sisters were on -the wing by the close of the last psalm, -that sound so welcome to the shepherd-dogs, -who were coiled under their -master's pews, and at the first notes -thereof were seen to yawn and stretch -forth their legs in anticipation of a fight -in the churchyard, or a scamper after the -sheep on the breezy sides of the hills. -</p> - -<p> -Leslie Colville and Sir Redmond were -not, however, though we have said it, -'friends.' Their natures were too -dissimilar for that; they were merely -acquaintances, and, like some other guests, -had met for perhaps the first time at -Craigmhor. -</p> - -<p> -Both were—to the casual eye—unexceptionable -in manner and appearance; -but Colville's nature and disposition were -open, manly, candid, and genuinely honest; -while those of Sir Redmond, whose baronetcy -dated from 'yesterday,' were crooked, -selfish, and secretly prone to many kinds -of dissipation and evil. He had gone -through the worst curriculum of both that -the worlds of London and Paris can -furnish. His very eyes and lips, at times, -told as much. -</p> - -<p> -Discovering speedily that Leslie Colville -resented any loose or slighting remarks -concerning the young ladies at Birkwoodbrae, -and that he still more would be disposed -to resent any attentions on his part -towards them, though why or wherefore -seemed very mysterious, Sir Redmond -Sleath contrived to pay more than one -visit, and to bestow more than one -attention in secret, at least unknown to -Colville; he, a sly Englishman of the worst -type, conceiving that the other was only -a 'sly Scotsman,' with views of his own, -as he himself had. -</p> - -<p> -On the pretence of bringing books, -music, flowers, and so forth to the sisters, -but more particularly Ellinor, Sir Redmond -had found his way to the little villa rather -oftener than Dr. Wodrow, and still more -than the latter's son, would have relished. -Hence, one day when Robert came to -Birkwoodbrae, he saw the wished-for ferns -he had gone so far and so lovingly to -procure—not planted in her little fernery, -but—lying dead, withered, and forgotten -in a walk of the garden. -</p> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow made no remark on -this, but the neglect seemed somehow to -tell a bitter tale to his heart. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V. -<br /><br /> -THE DUNKELD FAMILY. -</h3> - -<p> -'Ah, London is the true place for life! -One exists only in the country, but in -London we live!' exclaimed Lady Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -'You are right, my Lady Dunkeld!' -exclaimed Sir Redmond Sleath; but life in -London had for him some elements to his -listener unknown—or, if so, not cared -for—flirtations with pretty actresses, dinners -to fast fair ones at the 'Star and Garter,' -cards, billiards, pool, and pyramid, all -very nice things in their way, but ruinous -if carried to excess, even by a bachelor of -Sir Redmond's means. -</p> - -<p> -'I agree with you also, mamma,' said -her daughter; 'but what is it to be—a -ball, or dinner-party, or a garden-party we -must give, if not all the three?' -</p> - -<p> -'A garden-party by all means, Blanche.' -</p> - -<p> -And Blanche shrugged her shoulders -with the quaint foreign gesture which she -inherited with her French blood, and took -a sheet of paper from her desk to make -out a list of names, to which her father, -the old peer, listened with perfect -indifference, if he listened at all. -</p> - -<p> -Though descended from Patrick Galloway, -who was minister of the Gospel at -Edinburgh in the reign of James VI., the -Dunkeld family, as the Scottish Peerage -tells us, were first ennobled in the person -of Sir James Galloway of Carnbee, in -Fifeshire, who was Master of the Requests to -James VI. and Charles I., Secretary of -State and Clerk to the Bills, and was -'created Lord Dunkeld by patent on the -15th of May, 1645.' After intermarriages -with the families of Duddingston and -Dudhope, we come to 'James, third Lord -Dunkeld, who was bred to the army, and -was accounted a very good officer,' says -Douglas; 'he joined Lord Dundee when -he raised forces for King James VII., and -was with him at the battle of Killiecrankie.' -</p> - -<p> -There he was one of the foremost in -that heroic charge, before which -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'Horse and man went down like drift-wood<br /> - When the floods are black at Yule,<br /> - And their carcases were whirling<br /> - In the Garry's deepest pool.'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Outlawed, he became a colonel in the -French service, and fell in battle but long -after; his name appears as 'my Lord -Dunkell' in the <i>Liste des Officiers Genereaux</i> -for May 10, 1748. -</p> - -<p> -James, the fourth lord, was also a -general in the French army, and was a Grand -Cross of St. Louis. -</p> - -<p> -His grandson, the present lord, proved—untrue -to the old traditions of his race—a -very different, useless, and mediocre -Scottish peer, of the type too well known -in our day. He had no property in -Scotland, and no more interest in her people, -morally, practically, or politically, than a -Zulu chief. He was proud of his descent -and title, nothing more, and, not being -very wealthy, thought, like his wife, that -Leslie Colville would be a very eligible -son-in-law; while at his death his title -would inevitably pass to a second cousin, -Colonel Charles Edward Galloway, <i>chef -d'escadron</i> of a cavalry regiment, then -quartered at Chalons-sur-Marne. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Dunkeld had one pet vanity—a -real or fancied resemblance in his profile -to those of the Grand Monarque and the -later Louis of France; a facial angle -indicative of weakness certainly, if not of -worse; but, if the idea pleased him, it did -no one any harm. -</p> - -<p> -Though thoroughly English bred, and -English in all her ideas, as taken from her -mother, the Hon. Blanche Gabrielle—so -called from her grandmother, Gabrielle de -Fontaine-Martel (daughter of the marquis -of that name)—had considerable French -espièglerie in her manner, and many pretty -foreign tricks of it, with her eyebrows and -hands, but she was naturally cold, -ambitious, selfish, and vain. -</p> - -<p> -It was the luncheon-time at Craigmhor, -which Lord Dunkeld only rented. The -shooting had not yet begun; the circle -therefore had some difficulty in getting -through the days, and the necessity for some -amusement being devised, 'something being -done,' was on the tapis. -</p> - -<p> -Blanche wore a dress of plain blue serge, -with a simple linen collar and lace collarette -encircling her slender neck. Her hair, of -a light golden tint, was dressed in the -most perfect taste by the deft fingers of -Mademoiselle Rosette, her French maid. -In contrast to her hair, her eyes were -dark—large eyes, full of observation and -expressive of sensitiveness; she had delicately -cut lips, which always seemed to droop -when she did not smile. -</p> - -<p> -She had a general air of great softness -and sweetness, which was most deceptive, -as Blanche Galloway was secretly strong, -with all the strength of one who in love, -hate, or ambition could be fearless, and -wily as fearless. Lastly, she had that -which so often comes with foreign blood -in a girl's veins, the faintest indication of -a moustache, or down, at the corners of -her red and mobile lips. -</p> - -<p> -Luncheon, we say, was in progress. -Colville, Sir Redmond, and some other -guests (who have no part in our story) -were busy thereat; and the old family -butler—in some respects an old family tyrant, -who resented any alteration in the daily -domestic arrangements as something -bordering on a personal affront—was carving -at the sideboard. -</p> - -<p> -It was high summer now. The chestnuts -were in full leaf, and their shadows -were lightened by the silver birches. The -garden around Craigmhor was red with -roses; the stone vases on the paved -terrace were teeming with fragrant blossoms, -and the stately peacocks, their tails studded -with the fabled eyes of Argus, iridescent -and flashing in the sunshine, strutted to -and fro. -</p> - -<p> -Craigmhor (or the Great Rock) was -neither a Highland stronghold of the -middle ages nor a Scoto-French chateau of -the latter James's, but a very handsome -modern villa, with all the appurtenances -and appliances that wealth and luxury can -supply in the present day, otherwise my -Lady Dunkeld could not have endured it. -</p> - -<p> -Once a belle in Mayfair, she had many -remains of beauty still, as she was not -over her fortieth year. Sooth to say—and -we are sorry to record it—she did -not like Scotsmen very much, but she -rather approved of Leslie Colville. He -was now very rich—the probable inheritor -of a title nearly as old as that borne by -her husband; and having been educated -at Rugby, and being now in the Guards, -he was a kind of Englishman by naturalization, -a view which perhaps Colville would -have resented. -</p> - -<p> -For many reasons Lady Dunkeld did -not care about a ball in the country; it -was so difficult where to draw the line -with regard to the invitations. -</p> - -<p> -In London her balls were always a -success—no one knew precisely how or -why—yet they were so, though organised just -like those of other people. Her cards of -invitation were always in keen request, -and, though she had the reputation of -yearly launching into society, and getting -excellent matches for a bevy of lovely -girls, her daughter Blanche, now in her -twenty-fourth year, was still upon her -hands. -</p> - -<p> -So the idea of a garden-party was -carried <i>nem. con.</i>, as suitable to 'all sorts.' -</p> - -<p> -They might have in the garden and -lawn those with whom they could not -be intimate in the house. It was easy -to entertain with ices, wine, and fruit, -music, and chit-chat those whom they -cared not to have at their mahogany, or -to meet in the tolerably perfect equality -of a ball-room. Oh, yes, a garden-party -was just the sort of thing to have for -the people about Craigmhor, who were not -county people. -</p> - -<p> -So, while some of the gentlemen withdrew -to smoke and idle in the gun-room -or stables, Blanche seated herself at her -davenport, and, with a dainty gold pencil, -proceeded to make out the list for her -mamma. -</p> - -<p> -Certain names were put down as a -matter of course; those of adjacent -landholders or the renters of shootings—many -of whom were English idlers of good -position; also 'a paper lord,' who lived -in the vicinity, for, in absence of the -real article, as Sir Redmond said, with a -laugh, 'the factitious rank that accrues -to the Scottish bench was always -acceptable in Scotland.' But though Sir -Redmond was a baronet, he came of a family -which, like that of Mrs. Grizzle Pickle, -'was not to be traced two generations -back by all the powers of heraldry or -tradition.' -</p> - -<p> -A country doctor and a clergyman or -two, with their families, come next, -including the Rev. Dr. Wodrow, of course. -</p> - -<p> -'The Misses Wellwood, mamma?' said -Blanche, inquiringly, as she looked up -from her list. 'I saw them at church on -Sunday.' -</p> - -<p> -'Are these girls living alone—still?' -asked Lady Dunkeld, 'without even an -old maid to play propriety.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is clearly against the rules of society, -mamma.' -</p> - -<p> -'As laid down by Mrs. Grundy. Have -them, by all means,' said Lord Dunkeld; -'but for their extreme goodness, charity, -and spotless lives, uncharitable people -might say uncharitable things. We must -have them, Blanche; their father was a -brave old officer.' -</p> - -<p> -Whether it was some French associations -and his half-blood that influenced -him, we cannot say; but Lord Dunkeld -by no means shared in the prejudices -of his wife and daughter against the two -orphan girls at Birkwoodbrae, more especially, -as he admitted, their father had been, -like himself and his fathers before him, a -man of the sword. -</p> - -<p> -'Put their names down, Blanche,' said -Lady Dunkeld; adding mentally, 'men like -Sir Redmond will be sure to get up a -flirtation, which these cottage girls will be -sure to misunderstand.' -</p> - -<p> -'But will they come, mamma?' said -Blanche. 'You know we have never -called on them.' -</p> - -<p> -'That is a matter easily remedied—deliver -your invitations in person,' said old -Lord Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -'And if we invite them here, are we -also to invite the elder girl's shadow?' -asked Blanche. -</p> - -<p> -'Her shadow!' exclaimed Lady Dunkeld. -Who do you mean?' -</p> - -<p> -'That young man—I do not rightly -know his name—to whom she is, Rosette -tells me, engaged.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course not; where would your list -end if we went on thus?' -</p> - -<p> -Blanche either meant Ellinor's lover, or -made a mistake; but somehow both -Colville and Sir Redmond Sleath noted her -words. -</p> - -<p> -After a time it was discovered that 'the -young man' referred to was Dr. Wodrow's -only son, so his name was included in the list. -</p> - -<p> -'How many such acquaintances as these -people are made in a year and then -dropped,' observed Blanche, unaware that -Captain Colville coloured with something -of pain and even annoyance at her remark. -</p> - -<p> -To all this sort of thing Sir Redmond -Sleath listened with attention. We need -not conceal the fact or circumstance that -this enterprising baronet had marked out -the soft, dreamy, artistic, and gentle -Ellinor for a kind of <i>affaire du cÅ“ur</i> -peculiarly his own. Mary Wellwood, from her -natural strength of character, he knew to -be beyond the range of his nefarious views -or schemes; and eventually, the warmth -of his attentions to Ellinor were only -curbed in public or veiled by a wholesome -fear of his new acquaintance, Captain -Colville, who, he thought, was 'idiotically -smitten' by a fancy for or interest in -Mary, for a time, of course, he supposed, -'as these things never lasted;' and he -hoped, when the Guardsman went back to -town and was fully under the influence of -Blanche and her mother, to return to the -vicinity of Birkwoodbrae on any pretence, -and then have the field to himself. -</p> - -<p> -For a man like Sir Redmond there was -a strange fascination in achieving the -conquest of, or in 'running to earth,' as he -would have phrased it, a girl so pure and -confiding as Ellinor, and whose beauty -and helplessness inspired him with a kind -of love, as he thought it, but a selfish love -peculiarly his own. -</p> - -<p> -It may excite surprise that such -worldlings as Lord and Lady Dunkeld did not -prefer a baronet as a <i>parti</i> for their -daughter's hand; but Leslie Colville was -by far the richer of the two, and possessed -landed property in various directions; -and, however Sir Redmond might admire -Blanche Galloway, he dared not raise his -eyes to her, for very sufficient reasons yet -to be explained. -</p> - -<p> -Finding that Colville, as we have said, -was curiously disposed to resent some of -his off-hand remarks about Mary and -Ellinor Wellwood, he began to take refuge -in professions of the greatest esteem for -them both, and occasionally urged his -regard for the youngest. -</p> - -<p> -'In love again—you—and with a little -country lass?' said Colville, laughing. -'You who were over head and ears, as the -saying is, with Lady Sarah, all last season, -as repute said.' -</p> - -<p> -'When she loved me—if she was capable -of it,' replied Sleath, with a dark look, -'she was indeed my Queen of Hearts.' -</p> - -<p> -'And now, having married that millionaire -fellow, she is Queen of Diamonds. -But what could you expect of a girl who -was engaged to two men at once, and wore -the engagement rings of <i>both</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course her heart was no longer her -own when the millionaire solicited. She -accepted him, and made a hecatomb of my -letters and those of another fool, who is -now broiling with his regiment in South -Africa. 'The world well lost for love' -is poetic, certainly, but devilish stupid -practically.' -</p> - -<p> -Though entirely opposite and different -in character and disposition, both these -men looked forward with pleasure to the -anticipated garden-party—Colville with -real satisfaction to the hope of meeting -Mary Wellwood once more; and Sir Redmond -to the chances of furthering his -own particular views. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI. -<br /><br /> -THE VISIT. -</h3> - -<p> -Putting some constraint upon themselves, -we are sorry to say, Lady Dunkeld and -her daughter on the following afternoon -drove over to Birkwoodbrae, and sent in -their cards to Mary and Ellinor Wellwood, -who were busy in their little drawing-room -with some piles of freshly-cut flowers; and -though both were startled—or certainly -surprised—by this unusual visit, nothing -of that emotion was perceptible in their -manner; yet the arrival of the London -carriage, with its showy hammercloth, -with the Dunkeld arms on the panels, a -row of plated coronets round the top, the -elaborate 'snobbery,' if we may call it so, -of rank—Scottish rank, too often without -patriotism—was there—excited something -akin to terror among the old servants; -and the way in which one of the tall -'matched footmen' pulled the door bell, -and the other banged down the carriage -steps, went quite 'upon the nerves' of -old Elspat Gordon, and the visitors sailed -in, displaying those perfect toilettes which -were suited to the Row, and which London -alone can produce. -</p> - -<p> -The beauty of the day, of the weather -generally, more than all the beauty of -Birkwoodbrae and its garden, 'which -seemed quite a love of a place, with all -its roses and flowers,' were all discoursed -on rapidly and fluently by Lady Dunkeld -and Blanche Galloway, while their -observant eyes took in every detail of the -sisters, their appearance, dress, and -surroundings, with all of which they felt -secretly bound to admit that no solid fault -could be found, though the carpets, hangings, -and so forth had certainly seen better -times. -</p> - -<p> -'We are to have a garden-party in a -few days, Miss Wellwood,' said Lady -Dunkeld, 'and hope to have the pleasure -of seeing you and Miss Ellinor. Lest you -might be out, I have brought your cards; -but, being a country gathering, it will be, -I fear, rather a tame affair,' she added, -smiling, as she laid the embossed and -scented missives on the table. -</p> - -<p> -Mary's long lashes quivered as she -glanced at Ellinor. Both bowed an assent, -and murmured thanks, adding that they -led very quiet lives now, and seldom went -much abroad. -</p> - -<p> -'What are you making with all these -beautiful flowers?' asked Blanche Galloway; -'two funeral chaplets apparently.' -</p> - -<p> -'They are so—green ivy leaves, white -roses, and lily of the valley,' replied Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'For what purpose?' -</p> - -<p> -'To lay on the graves of papa and -mamma. To-morrow is the anniversary -of her death—she died in summer, papa -in winter,' she added, with the slightest -perceptible break in her voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, indeed; how good of you!' -murmured Lady Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -'How pretty!' cooed her daughter, one -of those young ladies so carefully trained -as to think it 'awfully bad form' to betray -any emotion or feeling that was in any -way natural. -</p> - -<p> -'Sir Redmond Sleath was so enchanted -with your drawings, Miss Ellinor,' said -Lady Dunkeld, to change the subject, as -woful ones were eminently distasteful to -her. 'He is never weary of singing their -praises.' -</p> - -<p> -This was not strictly true, for the -baronet had just barely mentioned the -matter once, but poor Ellinor blushed with -real pleasure. -</p> - -<p> -'He is very good-natured,' said Miss -Galloway, lest the listener might value Sir -Redmond's praises too highly; 'but -fastidious—oh, very fastidious. Don't you -think he has handsome eyes?' -</p> - -<p> -'I did not observe them.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed! They are a lovely blue.' -</p> - -<p> -'I never before heard a man's eyes called -lovely,' said Mary, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -'And he is such a flirt!' -</p> - -<p> -'Blanche, child!' expostulated her mother. -</p> - -<p> -'But he has strange ideas—people say -he will never marry,' added the 'child,' -who was determined that, whatever -Ellinor might think, she was not to flatter -herself that she had made anything -approaching a conquest. 'He has been -everywhere, and, of course, has seen -everything.' -</p> - -<p> -'And is a male flirt, you say?' said Mary, -smiling. -</p> - -<p> -'Too awfully so; but then, most of the -young ladies he knows are not disinclined -to a little flirtation, and can take very good -care of themselves.' -</p> - -<p> -As Miss Galloway spoke, there was the -slightest derisive erection of her delicate -eyebrows, and the pointed intonation of -mockery in her well-bred voice. All this -was meant for Ellinor's edification, and -she did not entirely forget it; but to Mary -there seemed something discordant, flippant, -and strange in thus discussing a -visitor's ways or character. -</p> - -<p> -'We all travelled together,' said Lady -Dunkeld, 'and came straight from London -to Perth. As for tarrying in Edinburgh, -that was not to be thought of.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course not,' added Blanche, shrugging -her shoulders. 'I don't think even -Captain Colville with all his patriotism -could stand the dulness, the narrow ideas, -and the bad style of people there. All -provincial towns are so unbearable after -London.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary Wellwood resented, but silently, -their ungracious remarks. Her memories -of Edinburgh were experiences never to -be forgotten; and she thought of the lovely -valley gardens, the veritable river of -greenery under the vast Castle Rock, the -glorious white terraces of the New Town, the -dark and history-haunted masses of the -Old—the Regalia, Mons Meg, and all the -rest of it, as she had seen them in the -happiest days of her girlhood; and she -felt pleased when Lady Dunkeld said: -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Colville had not been there for -years; and he <i>was</i> disposed to stay a day -or two behind us.' -</p> - -<p> -'Surely not for the sake of any beauty -he saw,' exclaimed Blanche, laughing; -'but in many ways he is very different from -Sir Redmond.' -</p> - -<p> -He was indeed, we are glad to say; but -in what particular manner the Hon. Blanche -referred to, the sisters were not -fated to know, as Lady Dunkeld now rose, -the carriage was summoned, and saying -with one of her sweet but stereotyped -smiles, 'we shall expect to see you at our -little affair, gave them the tips of her -gloved fingers and swept away. -</p> - -<p> -Mary and Ellinor looked at each other -with a little expression of surprise and -bewilderment in their faces, and both felt -that Blanche Galloway had, to say the -least of it, disappointed them by her -general style. -</p> - -<p> -Their emotions varied—one moment -they felt flattered and pleased by the -recognition of their own position and that -once held by their parents in society which -the sudden visit from the ladies of the -great house implied. -</p> - -<p> -At another moment they felt the reverse—feared -they were being patronised, and -thought they should decline the invitation. -</p> - -<p> -Yet why? -</p> - -<p> -To do so would be, perhaps, to adopt -the position of an inferior; and the invitation -might be the result of real kindness -of heart, after all. -</p> - -<p> -They knew not that they were indebted -for the whole affair chiefly to a few friendly -remarks made by Lord Dunkeld, and more -especially by Leslie Colville, though those -of the latter caused some afterthoughts. -</p> - -<p> -'Men are very weak,' surmised Lady -Dunkeld; 'but, of course, a man in -Captain Colville's position can mean nothing -more than simplest kindness, but the girls -are pretty—unfortunately for themselves, -I think, more than pretty.' -</p> - -<p> -The pride, admiration, and half-alarm -of Elspat Gordon and other old servitors -on the subject of the visit, which proved -their nine days' wonder, amused while it -annoyed Mary. She had her own ideas—it -might be fears for the future—and, -though she said little, she thought a good deal. -</p> - -<p> -The acceptances were written and -despatched; and costumes were the next -thing to be considered for the entertainment, -of which Robert Wodrow heard the -tidings with a very dark expression in his -face indeed. -</p> - -<p> -'Of what are you thinking, Ellinor?' -asked Mary, softly, seeing the dark eyes -of her sister fixed apparently on vacancy. -</p> - -<p> -'Only of how differently the lives of -some of us are allotted, and how pleasantly -some people are circumstanced, compared -with others.' -</p> - -<p> -'Meaning ourselves and such as Blanche -Galloway?' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'Never mind, Ellinor dear,' replied -Mary; 'I always say, blessed be God for -all His gifts,' she added, thinking of the -legend over the old doorway. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII. -<br /><br /> -DREAMS AND DOUBTS. -</h3> - -<p> -The sun of a soft and balmy summer -afternoon was, as the song has it, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'Glinting bright<br /> - On Invermay's sweet glen and stream,'<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -on all the silver birches that grow thereby, -on the rocky gullies through which the -stream gurgles and babbles as it forces a -passage towards the Earn, and on the -green mound of the Holy Hill, of which -its ceaseless current has swept so much -away, when Mary Wellwood, alone, or -attended only by her dog, and full of her -own happy and innocent day-dreams, took -a narrow path that leads northward down -the side of the sylvan strath. -</p> - -<p> -Her dress was plain, but fitted well her -lithe and slender figure. She had on the -daintiest of white cuffs and collar; a -sunshade over her head lined with pink -imparted to her soft face a glow that it did -not naturally possess, and over her left -arm were the two chaplets she and Ellinor -had been so lately preparing. -</p> - -<p> -No sound but the rustle of leaves and -the twitter of birds broke the sunny -stillness, till she eventually heard Jack, her -fox-terrier, who was careering in front -of her, barking and yelping with all the -satisfaction of a joyous dog that has met -with a friend, and almost immediately -afterwards a turn of the rocky path -brought her face to face with Captain -Colville, who, rod in hand and basket -on shoulder, had just quitted his fishing -in the May after a satisfactory day's sport, -and about whose well-gaitered legs Jack -was leaping and bounding noisily. -</p> - -<p> -'When Jack was here, I knew his -mistress could not be far off,' said -Colville, lifting his fly-garnished wideawake -and presenting a hand with his brightest -smile. 'You know the saw, Miss Wellwood, -"Love me, love my dog," but it -would seem that Jack loves me. And -Jack is a travelled dog, I understand—one -who has seen the world?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; Jack was a soldier's dog—was -with Roberts' army in India, and in more -than one battle,' replied Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'I too have been in India—a bond -between Jack and me,' said Colville, as he -produced a biscuit from his pocket, and -the dog caught it with a snap. -</p> - -<p> -'He wags his dear old tail quite as if -he recognised a comrade,' said Mary, -laughing, while Colville accompanied her -along the narrow path over which the -silver birches drooped their graceful foliage. -</p> - -<p> -'And so you and your sister, Miss -Ellinor, are cousins of my brother-officer, -Wellwood?' said Colville, after a pause, -and a little abruptly, as Mary thought. -</p> - -<p> -'I am sorry to say we are.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why sorry—he is not half a bad -fellow?' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, I have no reason to be otherwise -than quite indifferent on the subject of -his existence. It was some family matter. -Our parents were never friends, and -he—he——' -</p> - -<p> -'What?' -</p> - -<p> -'Has chosen to forget there were such -persons in the world as Ellinor and I; -and considering that we have so few -relations—none else nearly now——' Mary -paused, and her eyes fell on the chaplets -through which her slender arm was passed. -</p> - -<p> -'He could never have seen you,' said -Colville, earnestly; 'had he done so he -would never have forgotten you, believe -me; and when I tell him——' -</p> - -<p> -'Tell him nothing, pray.' -</p> - -<p> -'As you please, Miss Wellwood. I knew -him in India, before I was in the Guards.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; I remember his first dinner with -our mess at Lahore—got screwed, as the -phrase is; and how do you think he was -taken to his bungalow?' -</p> - -<p> -'In a cab, perhaps,' suggested Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'We carried him through the lines -shoulder-high upon a door, with the bugles -playing the "Dead March in Saul," before -him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Then he is dissipated?' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh—awfully—a wild fellow, in that -sense.' -</p> - -<p> -'He was wounded in an affair with a -hill tribe?' -</p> - -<p> -'So was I. Had your odious cousin -been shot, I suppose you would not have -cared much?' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay—nay—<i>nay</i>,' exclaimed Mary; 'can -you think so vilely of me? Perhaps I -might have wept for him?' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed. Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'In the knowledge that, like Ellinor and -myself, he had no father, mother, or other -kindred to sorrow for him.' -</p> - -<p> -Her voice, musical at all times, and -sweetly modulated—for a chord seemed to -run through every word—broke a little -just then; and she coloured on seeing -how earnestly her companion was -regarding her. -</p> - -<p> -'For what purpose are those wreaths of -flowers?' he asked, softly, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -'To lay upon our graves.' -</p> - -<p> -'Our graves,' he repeated. -</p> - -<p> -'Papa and mamma's graves, I mean.' -</p> - -<p> -'A melancholy duty.' -</p> - -<p> -'The only one that is left us now.' -</p> - -<p> -'May I accompany you?' -</p> - -<p> -'If you choose, Captain Colville.' -</p> - -<p> -'And where are they buried?' -</p> - -<p> -'Here,' replied Mary, as she gently -opened the gate of the churchyard, and -they entered together. -</p> - -<p> -It was an old and sequestered -burying-ground—older than the days when -Fordoun, the Father of Scottish History, -wrote of the district as Fortevioch, a -supposed corruption of the Gaelic for -distant and remote. Old headstones, spotted -with lichens and green with moss, were -there half sunk in the ground amid the -long rank grass; but the two graves that -Mary sought so lovingly, were smoothly -turfed and adorned with flowers planted -by the hands of herself and Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -As she knelt to deposit a chaplet at the -head of each, Colville read the inscription -on the modest tombstone to the memory -of Colonel Wellwood, of the Scots -Fusiliers, and Ellinor his wife, and Mary, -glancing upwards, saw that as he read a -soft expression stole into his face, while he -hastily, almost surreptitiously, lifted his -hat, and then looked more kindly, if -possible, at her. -</p> - -<p> -'Well,' thought the girl, 'he is, at least, -the best of good fellows to feel this -interest in total strangers. It is, I suppose, -what poor papa used to call "the -Freemasonry of the service."' -</p> - -<p> -Anon came other thoughts that were -less pleasing to her. Did real emotion -and kindness prompt all this, or was it but -a cunning attempt, by an affectation of -sympathy and friendly interest, to gain her -favour. -</p> - -<p> -But she repelled the suspicion as -something unworthy of him and of herself. -</p> - -<p> -Quitting the churchyard in silence, he -softly closed the gate, and they continued -to walk on slowly a little way together, -and Colville was silently recalling Mary's -curious legendary story of the funereal -light seen by Elspat, the old soldier's -widow. -</p> - -<p> -Mary Wellwood's manner and bearing -proved to Colville wonderfully attractive. -Easy, unaffected, and apparently -unconscious of her own beauty, she was -charming. She was equal, in all the attributes -of good society, to any girl he had met, -and Leslie Colville was no bad judge, as -he had been brought up in an exclusive -set, among whom any faults of breeding -were discrepancies never to be atoned for. -</p> - -<p> -And she—how was she affected towards -him? Stealing a glance at his handsome -face and figure from time to time, and -listening to his very pleasant voice, -Mary—somewhat of a day-dreamer—was -thinking how delightful it would have been had -God given her and Ellinor such a man as -a brother to guide, love, and protect them. -</p> - -<p> -It began to seem to both that they had -been friends—companions certainly—for a -longer time than they had known each -other; they discovered so much in -common between them, so far as sentiment -and opinion went; but remembering -Mr. Wodrow's assurance that Captain Colville -was engaged to Blanche Galloway, she -compelled herself to be somewhat reserved -in her manner towards him, yet more -than once it thawed unconsciously. However, -she was a little startled when, after -a pause, he said suddenly, in a low and -earnest tone, while looking down into her -face, -</p> - -<p> -'Tell me something of your life here at -Invermay, Miss Wellwood?' -</p> - -<p> -'Something of my life—what a strange -request!' exclaimed Mary, her dark blue -eyes dilating as she spoke. 'What can I -tell you that could be of interest to you?' -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me—how your time passes, for -instance, I mean.' -</p> - -<p> -'As you see,' she replied, smiling, 'and -as you have seen; my daily duties but -repeat themselves. I have my little -household to look after, accounts and taxes to -pay—thanks to our kind kinsman abroad -(for Birkwoodbrae is entailed) we have -no rent to pay; I have my feathered -family in the yard to supervise; my garden -with its flowers and fruits; my poor -pensioners in the village and all round about.' -</p> - -<p> -'A grey life for one so young and -winning,' thought Colville; 'and with -you,' he added aloud, 'so runs the world -away?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'And all your people love you, -Dr. Wodrow tells me?' -</p> - -<p> -'I hope so—nay, I am sure they do,' -replied Mary, with one of her brightest -smiles. -</p> - -<p> -'And you love the scenery here?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—every rock and tree and stream; -they have all their old stories and young -associations to me.' -</p> - -<p> -'And your old home at Birkwoodbrae?' -he added, smiling at her enthusiasm. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—dearly, every stone of it!' -</p> - -<p> -He paused a little, as if lost in thought, -and then said, -</p> - -<p> -'But surely you must miss something -in your life, Miss Wellwood—you must be -lonely amid these birchen woods?' -</p> - -<p> -'Lonely with Ellinor and all my work? -Oh! no. I assure you I am not.' -</p> - -<p> -'But you cannot expect to have her—a -girl so very handsome—always with you?' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps not,' said Mary, and her long -dark lashes drooped, as her thoughts -hovered between poor Robert Wodrow and -his probable rival, the tawny-haired -Englishman. -</p> - -<p> -'Nor can she always have you; and -what then?' said Colville, lightly touching -her hand, and lowering his voice in a way -that to some there would have been no -mistaking; but Mary, devoid of vanity, -was all unconscious of it, and, disliking to -talk about herself, now talked of other -things. -</p> - -<p> -Again and again Colville thought, in -her perfect sweetness, humility, and -composure, how utterly dissimilar she was in -many ways from the town-bred girls he -had been wont to meet in his London life -especially, where the beautiful was so -often combined with the artificial, and -even youth with utter hollowness of heart. -Amid dinners, garden-parties, the Row, -and the general <i>rôle</i> of his life as a -Guardsman, the pet of many a woman and her -fair brood, all the more that he was now -the inheritor of a revenue that was great, -he had been conscious of all that. -</p> - -<p> -To Mary—who was a close observer in -her way—it sometimes seemed that there -was in Captain Colville's face, when he -addressed her, a half-amused expression, -mingling with much of undoubted admiration. -The first was occasionally a source -of pique to her; and the other was a -source of pique, too, rather than pleasure; -for, if he was the <i>fiancé</i> of Miss Galloway, -he had no business to amuse himself with, -or bestow admiration on, any other young -lady, and these ideas made her manner to -him reserved at times. -</p> - -<p> -In being assisted over an awkward stone -stile, though she required no aid, yet she -was compelled to take his proffered grasp, -but even then unconsciously her -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'Very coldness still was kind,<br /> - And tremulously gentle her small hand<br /> - Withdrew itself from his, but left behind<br /> - A little pressure, thrilling, and so bland<br /> - And slight, that to the mind 'twas but a doubt.'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -As her slim hand was quickly withdrawn -from his, and she murmured her 'thanks,' -Mary's first thought was that it was cased -in a somewhat too well-worn glove, and -Colville perhaps remarked this too, for he said, -</p> - -<p> -'Do you always wear gauntlet gloves?' -</p> - -<p> -'No; but then I am so much in the -garden among thorns and bushes that -ordinary gloves are useless, and I used to -get through so many of six and a quarter.' -</p> - -<p> -'Surely even that is too large for a -hand like yours,' said he; and Mary now -fairly blushed at the tenor of the -conversation, and when he attempted again -to take her shapely little hand in his -she resolutely withheld it, and, thinking -of Blanche Galloway, said, -</p> - -<p> -'Please don't, Captain Colville; and now -I must bid you farewell, with many thanks -for your escort.' -</p> - -<p> -And Colville, who was under the -impression, from Blanche Galloway's -mistaken remark, that Robert Wodrow was -'the lover of the elder sister,' thought he -would not just then press his society -further upon Mary Wellwood. Nor could -he have done so, for just where the little -wooded path they had been pursuing -opened upon the highway, a well-appointed -little park phaeton, drawn by a pair of -beautiful ponies, and driven by Blanche -Galloway, was seen drawn up under the -trees about forty yards off. -</p> - -<p> -'The time has passed so quickly when -with you, Miss Wellwood,' said Colville, -lifting his hat with an air of positive -confusion, 'that I forgot—I quite forgot——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, Captain Colville?' -</p> - -<p> -'That Miss Galloway's pony carriage -was to meet me here, and drive me home. -Ah, there it is——' -</p> - -<p> -'And she too, I think,' said Mary, -turning, and growing pale with absolute pain -and annoyance at the whole situation; yet, -after all, there was nothing in it. -However, the Honourable Blanche, after a -glance at Mary from under her tied veil, -turned away also; and Mary, with pride -awakened and a sense of mortification, -pursued the path to Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -But Jack, as if loth that the two should -part, scoured backwards and forwards -between them, till, after a time, he finally -followed his mistress, and even from this, -probably, Blanche angrily drew deductions. -</p> - -<p> -We fear the captain did not enjoy much -his drive home, though driven by a Park -beauty in that luxurious pony phaeton, as -Blanche put her own construction on the -meeting and sudden parting—a construction -far apart from the reality. She was -sorely piqued, and he was not surprised -by her taciturnity, though he strove to -ignore it, and expatiated on the beauty of -the scenery, on lights and shades, tints -and effects, as if he had been a Royal -Academician; nor was he surprised when -she remarked to him very pointedly and -plainly in the drawing-room after dinner, -when she was idling over the piano, -</p> - -<p> -'I don't think mamma will approve -much of your cultivating those strange -girls at Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -'I do not do so,' said he, stooping close -to her pretty head; 'but did not you and -Lady Dunkeld call for them the other -day?' -</p> - -<p> -'Out of curiosity—and urged, perhaps, -by Dr. Wodrow, who greatly affects to -favour them.' -</p> - -<p> -'Surely this is severe?' urged Colville, -gently. -</p> - -<p> -'Men, like women, cannot be too wary -of chance medley acquaintances,' persisted -Blanche, cresting up her handsome head. -</p> - -<p> -'I have somewhere read,' said her -mamma, who was now <i>au fait</i> of the whole -episode, 'that men may study women as -they do a barometer, but only understand -them on a subsequent day.' -</p> - -<p> -'It may be so,' said Colville, 'but what -then?' -</p> - -<p> -'I agree with Blanche in her views of -these Wellwood girls. People may do -much in town that they cannot do in -country places, where everyone's actions -are, as it were, under a microscope; where -every trivial movement is known, freely -commented upon, and often exaggerated -by menials and the vulgar. Thus,' -continued Lady Dunkeld, with a very set -expression on her usually placid face, 'I am -not sure—nay, I am quite certain—it does -not agree with what society calls <i>les -convenances</i>, visiting these young girls.' -</p> - -<p> -'In some respects you are right,' replied -Colville, colouring with real pain; 'but I -was not visiting. I only met Miss -Wellwood near the old burying-ground—moreover, -they are ladies, she and her sister, -perfect ladies!' he urged, with a gleam in -his dark eyes, which Lady Dunkeld was -not slow to detect. -</p> - -<p> -'But living so eccentrically alone?' -</p> - -<p> -'So independently, let us say,' he continued. -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Colville is quite their -champion,' said Blanche, with a laugh that was -not very genuine; and then the subject -dropped. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Dunkeld exchanged a quick glance -with her daughter, and slowly fanned -herself with an inscrutable expression on her -certainly aristocratic face, and adopting -the imperturbable placidity generally -peculiar to her class and style. -</p> - -<p> -Her somewhat unmotherly and selfish -views deeply pained Colville, for reasons -peculiarly his own, but had quite an -opposite and most encouraging effect upon the -enterprising mind of Sleath, who had -listened in attentive silence. -</p> - -<p> -A day or two subsequently a parcel -came for Mary, addressed to Birkwoodbrae, -but having with it no other clue than the -vague one of the Edinburgh postmark. It -contained, for both sisters, two beautiful -boxes of gloves, all of the most delicate -tints and finest quality. Each box was a -miracle of carved white Indian ivory, lined -with blue satin, a sachet of perfume on -the under side of each lid, and their initials -in silver on the upper. -</p> - -<p> -Remembering what had passed at the -stile, Mary Wellwood could not doubt who -the donor was, and she flushed hotly with -pleasure; yet it could all mean -nothing—nothing but gallantry. -</p> - -<p> -To decline the gifts would seem churlish -and ungracious. She could not write, and -resolved to wait for the first meeting with -Colville to thank him. -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor was quite in a flutter about the -gifts—more so than Mary, who really felt, -after a time, some confusion and dismay, -for in the course of her simple life no such -episode had occurred before; and she was -all unlike the fair Blanche, to whom boxes -of gloves were as nothing, and who could -book her bets for far more than gloves on -the winner of the Oaks or the Derby with -the prettiest air of <i>sang froid</i> in the world. -</p> - -<p> -Mary's mind became filled with pleasant -dreams, that joined with unpleasant -doubts. -</p> - -<p> -Was Colville really becoming an admirer -of hers; or dared he be so, if the rumour -about Blanche Galloway was true? -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII. -<br /><br /> -A TRUCE. -</h3> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow, full of thought, pursuing -his way through a green hedge-bordered -lane that led to Birkwoodbrae from the -manse, suddenly heard the shrill yelp of a -dog, followed by an execration, and at a -little distance perceived Sir Robert Sleath, -issuing from the garden gate at the mansion, -in the act of picking up a large stone -to hurl at Jack—Mary Wellwood's pet. -Jack, by dashing through the hedge, -shirked the stone, as all wise dogs do, but -if the baronet had bestowed upon him a -kick, as Robert never doubted, the terrier -had enough of the bull in his blood to -remember it well, as Sleath found to his -cost when the time came. -</p> - -<p> -Closing the garden gate, he found himself -face to face with young Wodrow. He -had his hat partly on the back of his head, -his hands thrust into the back pockets of -his morning coat, a cigar in his mouth, and -with an <i>insouciant</i> stare, and a species of -dry nod that was supremely insolent and -infinitely worse than no recognition at all, -he passed on his way without speaking. -Robert Wodrow, whose heart was already -sore enough in more ways than one, felt it -swell with passion as he entered the -garden, which was still in all the beauty of -summer. -</p> - -<p> -He had lately felt in many ways that a -change had come over Ellinor, but he had -been, as yet, too proud to notice it to -herself. -</p> - -<p> -The baronet was shooting now every -day, and Wodrow thought that, even if -Ellinor was under that person's influence, -she might give him a little more of her -society, as of old—even twenty minutes; -but no, he could seldom or never see her -alone; and while love and sorrow made -him humble at one time, jealousy and -disappointment made him proud and -rancorous at others. -</p> - -<p> -The sweetness of his disposition had -departed; his studies were becoming -confused or neglected; and none saw the -change that was coming over him with -more pain and anger than his mother. -</p> - -<p> -Of all the men that had seen and -admired Ellinor, his instinct told him that -this man Sleath would prove the most -dangerous; yet to his own sex the manners -of the latter seemed far from winning. -</p> - -<p> -And already Elspat Gordon and other -old servants, with the keen observance and -love of gossip peculiar to their class, had -begun to prognosticate a more brilliant -future for Ellinor Wellwood than the -obscure career of a country doctor's wife, -and saw her the lady of 'a real live -baronet,' and riding in a chariot to which -that of Cinderella was as nothing in -comparison; and, as if to make the mischief -worse, rumours of <i>their</i> surmises and of -their hopes reached somehow—but readily -enough in a sequestered district—the ears -of Robert Wodrow, and were as gall and -wormwood to his soul. -</p> - -<p> -All this might be mere wretched gossip; -and though Ellinor might not actually -have any regard for Sir Redmond, yet -Robert Wodrow feared that somehow she -was already in a dumb way yielding to or -feeling his influence and power. -</p> - -<p> -The subtle homage, the studied phraseology, -and flattering air of gallantry and -devotion which Sir Redmond infused into -his conversation when alone—but only -when alone—with Ellinor, had somewhat -turned the girl's little head, and led her to -draw comparisons between all that kind of -thing and poor Robert Wodrow's 'use and -wont' style of attention and 'matter of -course' position, as the lover of her -maidenhood expanded from the playmate -of her childhood. -</p> - -<p> -Mary was away on some of her errands -of mercy or work; Ellinor was alone when -Robert approached, and found her idling -in the garden, with a sunshade over her -head; and his heart, of course, foreboded -that there she must have been with the -obnoxious visitor who had just departed. -</p> - -<p> -Elspat bad been brushing out her long -and flowing dark brown hair, that was so -rich and heavy as to seem almost a burden -to her shapely head and slender neck; and -Robert reflected savagely that thus she -must have appeared before 'that fellow.' -</p> - -<p> -She was adjusting with slender and -deft little fingers, while a sweet, soft, -self-satisfied smile rippled over her face, in her -lace collarette, a tuft of stephenotis with -two buds of a particular kind of rose that -Robert knew grew in the conservatory of -Craigmhor alone; and his eyes fastened -angrily on them at once, though she made -no reference to them, or how they came -to be there. The presence of the personage -he had just passed fully accounted for -that; he had doubtless transferred them -from his own buttonhole to her hand, and -Robert knew quite enough of 'the -language of the flowers' to know what two -rosebuds, so given, implied. And now -her face wore—so Robert thought—just -such a smile as that of Faust's Marguerite, -when plucking the mystical rose-leaves in -her garden. -</p> - -<p> -Robert felt that the gap between them -was widening; he did not present his -hand, nor did she offer hers, but continued -to adjust her little bouquet, while he stood -before her with his hands thrust into the -pockets of his grey morning-coat, and -kicked away a pebble or two that lay in -the gravelled walk. -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor!' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, Robert,' she replied, a little -nervously; 'you have come to tell me that -you have passed, I suppose?' -</p> - -<p> -'No.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why—what then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Because I have not passed.' -</p> - -<p> -'Not passed!' said Ellinor, looking at -him with genuine regret. -</p> - -<p> -'No—on the first of this month the -medical degrees were conferred as usual, -but not on me—not perhaps that you care -much now,' he added, in a thickening -voice. 'I shall have to try again—if, -indeed, I ever try more.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why, Robert, what has come to you -that you talk to me thus? I am most -sorry for you indeed.' She looked him -earnestly, but Robert thought not -honestly, in the face. -</p> - -<p> -'You are more intent on your own flirtations -than my failure—a failure perhaps -caused by yourself.' -</p> - -<p> -'Who can I flirt with here?' -</p> - -<p> -'You know best,' replied Robert, sulkily. -</p> - -<p> -'Really, Robert, you are very unpleasant!' -exclaimed the girl, tears almost starting -to her eyes, though there was a -provoking twinkle in their hazel depths, -nevertheless. -</p> - -<p> -'Now perhaps I am; but how long do -you think I am going to stand this sort of -thing?' -</p> - -<p> -'What sort of thing?' -</p> - -<p> -'The dangling after you of that English -fool who has just left.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is going from bad to worse, -Robert,' replied Ellinor, with a pout on -her beautiful lip. 'It is being downright -rude, and national reflections are in the -worst possible taste.' -</p> - -<p> -'You have not been treating me well -for some time past, Ellinor; you seem to -grudge every moment you give me, and -the little time you do spend with me, you -seem no longer your old pleasant and -hopeful self, but abstracted and <i>distraite</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'You are always worrying me,' retorted -the girl, 'and hinting of broken promises -when I have never made any.' -</p> - -<p> -'Between us, they were scarcely necessary, -Ellinor, and yet you have made me -scores.' -</p> - -<p> -'I—when?' -</p> - -<p> -'Since we were children.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh—of course, when we played at being -sweethearts, and all that sort of thing.' -</p> - -<p> -'Played! It has been no child's play -with me at least.' -</p> - -<p> -'Such child's play is ended now—and I -won't be scolded thus.' -</p> - -<p> -She had never adopted this tone to him -before, and young Wodrow was shocked, -startled, and enraged; but still he -dissembled, for love will tame and subdue the -proudest heart, and his was full of great -love for the girl who now stood before -him, biting her nether lip, and shuffling -the gravel with a little impatient foot. -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor,' said Robert, yet without -attempting to take her hand, 'if you did -not quite encourage my love, you permitted -and adopted it—you accepted it since -we were happy little children that toddled -and played about together—and that love -has gone on, growing with my growth and -strengthening with my strength; and I -never dreamed of, never thought of -picturing the time when you might cast me -off. And now I never doubted that when -I graduated——' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Robert,' interrupted the girl, -nervously, 'you are too romantic; too much -of a boy——' -</p> - -<p> -'I am not a boy now, and I won't be -called one! and as for a romance—certainly -you have become very matter-of-fact, -when I have heard you laugh at even -a competence as not being sufficient.' -</p> - -<p> -'Shall I tell you what I think it should -be?' said Ellinor, a little defiantly. -</p> - -<p> -'Do,' he responded, gloomily. -</p> - -<p> -'I think it means a handsome -house—not a cottage (love in that is all very well, -but may be apt to fly out of the windows); -fine furniture—beautiful pictures and -dresses—lots of servants—a carriage——' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, stop, please! Since when have -you found all these things necessary for -existence? Dear Ellinor, people can be -very happy together with less.' -</p> - -<p> -'Quiet as our lives have been here, -Robert, poor Mary and I have often had -wrung hearts and harassed spirits to keep -up an outward and an empty show.' -</p> - -<p> -'What is enough for one, as mother -often says, is enough for two.' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps, and perhaps not,' said Ellinor, -with a waggish expression. -</p> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow did not reflect just then -that erelong there might be more mouths -than two to feed. -</p> - -<p> -'And all these new views of our prospects -and of life generally, have occurred -to you because——' -</p> - -<p> -'Because what?' -</p> - -<p> -'This man Sleath has come to Invermay.' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor grew pale. There were a few -moments' silence, and when Robert Wodrow -spoke again his voice sounded strange -even to himself. -</p> - -<p> -'I was never half good enough for you, -Ellinor—I know that,' said he, humbly, -'yet I will never give you up until—until -I hear you are fully engaged to him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Engaged! How your tongue does run -on, Robert,' replied Ellinor, with a curious -laugh. 'He has never even spoken to me -in any very pointed manner; but rather -than be worried thus,' she added, with a -swelling in her slender throat, 'I must ask -you to forget me—do.' -</p> - -<p> -'Men such as I am do not forget so -easily, Ellinor.' The angry colour died -out of Wodrow's dark face, and, clenching -his hands, he muttered under his thick -moustache—'Curse him!' -</p> - -<p> -'He would not speak thus, Robert, if it -is Sir Redmond you mean. He has seen a -great deal of the best of society.' -</p> - -<p> -'And a great deal more of the worst, I -suspect,' said her lover, more exasperated -by the slightest defence of his supposed -rival; but, nerving himself to be calm, he -asked—'Am I, then, to suppose that you -have not promised your future—the future -that I have a right to say was not yours to -assign—to this stranger—to this sudden -interloper?' -</p> - -<p> -'I have not. But why be so mysterious, -tragic, and absurd, Robert?' she exclaimed, -with a little gasping laugh that nearly -became a sob; for, sooth to say, Ellinor's -secret heart upbraided her, and she felt -that she was treating the lover of her -girlhood and the friend of all her years with -duplicity. -</p> - -<p> -'Then,' said he, 'why do you permit -attentions that are purposeless to you, and -most distasteful to me?' -</p> - -<p> -'Robert, what do you mean?' she asked, -plaintively. -</p> - -<p> -'I mean, why do you permit that tawny-haired -fellow to flirt with you, and excite -the comment of lookers-on?' -</p> - -<p> -'He does not flirt with me, Robert.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do you mean to say that his attentions -are more serious than what is called -flirtation?' -</p> - -<p> -'I say nothing about them,' said Ellinor, -annoyed and alarmed by his vehemence and -categorical questioning. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah—indeed!' he hissed through his -clenched teeth. -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot prevent him saying things -sometimes—without—without making a -scene. Do not be hard upon me, Robert—I -do love you—I always loved you; not -perhaps as you wish—but—but——' -</p> - -<p> -She paused, sobbed, and laid her sweet -face upon his arm, which went caressingly -round her bent and beautiful head, with -all its wealth of dark brown flowing hair. -</p> - -<p> -'You love me!' he whispered, softly. -</p> - -<p> -'As an old friend—oh, yes.' -</p> - -<p> -He withdrew, and again eyed her gloomily -and silently. -</p> - -<p> -'Advise me, Robert,' said she, imploringly. -</p> - -<p> -'In what can I advise you, if your own -heart does not?' -</p> - -<p> -'We are both so miserably poor.' -</p> - -<p> -'And your new admirer is so rich?' -</p> - -<p> -They were drifting among shoals again, -so Ellinor made no reply. -</p> - -<p> -'I suppose he loves you? To judge by -my own heart, Ellinor, I don't wonder at -it—but if so, why does he not at once come -to the point and end his dangling? Why -delay, and why conceal?' -</p> - -<p> -'Do not let us quarrel, Robert,' said the -girl, gently and sweetly, with her soft hazel -eyes full of unshed tears; 'we have always -been such chums—such friends. Some -one is coming—kiss me once more—and -kiss me quickly!' -</p> - -<p> -A light step was heard on the ground -near the garden gate, and the welcoming -bark of Jack announced it was that of Mary -returning. -</p> - -<p> -The mutual kiss was swiftly given and -taken; but to neither did it seem like the -kisses of old. -</p> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow felt that it sealed only -a truce between him and Ellinor Wellwood; -that neither were happy now, and -that her heart was drifting away from him. -Their farewell seemed to be like the -summary of Lord Lytton's advice, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'In short, my deary, kiss me and be quiet.'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX. -<br /><br /> -COLVILLE'S WARNING. -</h3> - -<p> -Despite the disparaging remarks or -comments so ungenerously made by Lady -Dunkeld and her daughter, a subsequent -afternoon saw both Sir Redmond Sleath -and Leslie Colville seated in the pretty -drawing-room of the sisters at Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond had inadvertently dropped -a hint that he meant to visit there, and, -greatly to his annoyance, Colville proposed -to accompany him. -</p> - -<p> -It was an early day in August, and -every breath of air was still; not a leaf -was stirring in the silver birches without, -or among the monthly roses that clambered -round the open windows which faced the -pretty garden. Within the room all was -arranged with care and taste, while the -polished grate, filled with fresh flowers, -the bouquets in jars and vases, the -snow-white curtains, and other etcetera bore -token of feminine diligence and skill. -</p> - -<p> -Stretched on a deer-skin, Jack lay with -sleepy eyes, half open to watch the movements -of his mistress, when 'visitors' were -announced by Elspat, with a peculiar and -provoking smirk of satisfaction on her -hard Scotch visage, and the costumes for -the forthcoming garden-party, on which -those clever fingers of the sisters were -busy, were hastily tossed aside; the two -gentlemen were ushered in, and Jack -snarled and barked so furiously at Sir -Redmond that he had to be carried bodily -out of the room by Elspat. -</p> - -<p> -The baronet affected to laugh, but felt -in his heart that nothing would please him -better than to get 'a quiet pot-shot at that -d——d cur!' -</p> - -<p> -'We merely dropped in when passing,' -said Sir Redmond, who, strange to say, -seemed to be constrained, even awkward, -in manner, and Ellinor was somewhat -silent and abashed too. -</p> - -<p> -'It is kind of you to visit us,' replied -Mary, addressing herself, however, to -Colville; 'we have so little amusement to -offer; there is so little attraction; we live -so quietly here at Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville looked as if he thought there -was a good deal to attract, and his dark -eyes seemed to say so as he looked into -Mary's, which drooped beneath his gaze. -</p> - -<p> -'Your presents came, Captain Colville. -They are beautiful, and fit to perfection. -Ellinor and I cannot sufficiently thank -you,' she said, in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Oho!' thought Sir Redmond, 'he has -been sending them presents. Eh! a sly -dog.' -</p> - -<p> -'A few gloves are not worth mentioning,' -replied Colville, hurriedly. And then -he added—'How beautiful is the view all -round this place, especially that with the -silver birches and the stream glittering -under their shadow. Ere I leave this, -Miss Wellwood, you must show me some -of your favourite places, your pet nooks—the -scenery here is so full of picturesque -spots.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor knows all such places hereabout -better than I do. They employ her pencil -freely,' said Mary, diffidently; 'and they -are the very abode of old legends, fairies, -and so forth.' -</p> - -<p> -'I know that she is an artist possessed -of both taste and skill,' said Colville; 'but -is she also the musician?' he asked, -turning to the piano, which was open. -</p> - -<p> -'I am chiefly,' replied Mary, smiling; -'but I think you should hear Ellinor sing -the "Birks of Invermay."' -</p> - -<p> -'Who—or what are they?' asked Sir -Redmond, with a drawl. -</p> - -<p> -'Those very birches you see from the -window,' replied Mary, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -'And there is a song about them?' -</p> - -<p> -'There are several.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do let us hear at least one, Miss -Ellinor,' urged Sir Redmond, as he placed -the piano stool before the instrument. -</p> - -<p> -Accordingly Ellinor, without further -preface or pressing, seated herself, and -sang with great sweetness and pathos -neither David Mallet's affected stanzas nor -Bryce's ludicrous lines, but the simple old -song of the sixteenth century to its -wonderfully beautiful air:— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'The evening sun was glinting bright<br /> - On Invermay's sweet glen and stream;<br /> - The woods and rocks in ruddy light<br /> - Appeared as in a fairy dream.<br /> - In loving fear I took my path<br /> - To seek the tryst that happy day,<br /> - With bonnie Mary, young and fair,<br /> - Among the Birks of Invermay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'It wasna till the pale moonshine<br /> - Was glancing deep in Mary's e'e,<br /> - That with a smile she said, "I'm thine,<br /> - And ever true to thee will be!"<br /> - One kiss—the lover's pledge—and then<br /> - We spoke of all that lovers say,<br /> - And wandered hameward through the glen,<br /> - Among the Birks of Invermay.'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -At the mention of Mary's name in the -song, the eyes of Colville involuntarily -sought those of her who bore it, and she -coloured perceptibly. The performance of -Ellinor was duly applauded by Sir -Redmond, though he afterwards confided to -Colville it was 'the silliest piece of Scotch -twaddle' he had ever heard. Yet his -admiration of Ellinor personally was open -and unconcealed, perhaps too much so, -and of its own kind was no doubt genuine -enough, and while she sang, Ellinor was -inwardly hoping her hair was tidy and -looked well, as she felt conscious he was -gazing straight down on it; while Mary -had an uncomfortable feeling that visits -from these gentlemen might be -misconstrued by Lady Dunkeld, their hostess, -and still more so by her daughter—a -conviction that at times made her almost -cold in her manner to Captain Colville, -whom she believed to be that young lady's -especial property. And she blamed -herself, and blushed for herself, in the -consciousness that she sometimes treasured -up, and repeated to herself, little things -he had said—appeals to her taste, her -opinion, and so forth. While Colville, -however he was situated with regard to -Miss Galloway, made no secret of how he -delighted in the quaint frankness of Mary -Wellwood since the afternoon he had first -met her, when both were fishing in the May. -</p> - -<p> -'And so this locality is full of old -legends of fairies and so forth?' said -Colville, referring to a previous remark of Mary's. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; but then every foot of ground in -Scotland has about it something historical -or legendary—all teems with the past.' -</p> - -<p> -'The present is more to my taste, Miss -Wellwood,' said Sleath, twirling out his -straw-coloured moustache. -</p> - -<p> -'It would not be so if you lived always, -as we do, under the shadow of the Ochil -mountains.' -</p> - -<p> -'I agree with you, by Jove.' -</p> - -<p> -But Mary did not perceive that they -misunderstood each other. -</p> - -<p> -'Sir Redmond is guiltless of romance as -any man living, I believe, Miss Wellwood,' -said Captain Colville, 'but London life -makes one sadly prosaic and incredulous.' -</p> - -<p> -'Has it made you so?' -</p> - -<p> -'I hope not—I can scarcely say. But -did not my old friend Dr. Wodrow hint -that some old legend is connected with -those stones, or the ruin, on yonder knoll -by the river?' -</p> - -<p> -'The Holy Hill?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ah,' said Mary, as a smile rippled over -her bright face, 'that is not a legend—it -is history.' -</p> - -<p> -'About what?' -</p> - -<p> -'A miller's daughter who married a king.' -</p> - -<p> -'Then it is a tale of the days -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "When King Cophetua loved the beggar maid."'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -'Something of that kind. But in the -remoter ages of Scottish history the Holy -Hill was the site of a royal residence; for -there King Kenneth II. died, and there -Malcolm III. was born—he who married -Margaret of England.' -</p> - -<p> -'These things didn't happen yesterday,' -said Colville, smiling down into her earnest -and animated face. -</p> - -<p> -'In those days there was an old miller -here in Forteviot who had one daughter -named Edana, a girl of rare beauty, and -who was famed therefor throughout all the -land between the Earn and Forth.' -</p> - -<p> -'And, of course, she had lovers in plenty?' -</p> - -<p> -'So the story says; but she would listen -to none, nor was her heart stirred, till -one morning, about Beltane time, when -filling a jar with water at the May, there -came riding under the silver birches—for -silver birches were here then as now—a -marvellously handsome young knight on a -white horse, alone and unattended, and -courteously he besought her for a draught -of water, saying that he had ridden that -morning from the Moathill of Scone, and -was sorely athirst. -</p> - -<p> -'He wore an eagle's feather in his helmet, -from under which his golden hair fell -upon his shoulders like that of a girl. His -mantle of striped scarlet, violet, and blue -was fastened on his breast by a brooch of -gold, and the rings of his coat-of-mail -shone like silver in the morning sun. -</p> - -<p> -'Edana had never looked on such a face -and figure before, and he seemed equally -taken by her great, if rustic, loveliness. -He lingered with her long in the birchen -wood; thither he came again and again, -and love between them ripened fast, as it -seems always to have done in the olden -time, if we are to believe song, ballad, and -story. -</p> - -<p> -'The miller ere long heard of these -stolen meetings, and his heart filled with -alarm lest the so-called handsome stranger -who had bewitched or won his daughter's -heart might prove some evil spirit of the -Flood or Fell; but Edana said he could -be no evil spirit who wore a crucifix round -his neck, and daily said his prayers in the -old chapel of Kirktoun Mailler. -</p> - -<p> -'But the miller uttered an execration -under his silver beard, put his battle-axe -to the grindstone, and kept watch when -next the young knight came; and then, -behold, his heart seemed to die within him -as he recognised—the king! -</p> - -<p> -'And so in time it quickly came to pass -that Edana became the wife of Duncan, -King of Scotland—the same king who was -slain at Cawdor—and the mother of -Malcolm III., who was born at the Holy Hill, -and hence an ancestress of Queen Victoria.' -</p> - -<p> -With a soft yet strange smile on his -face, Colville listened to this old story, -and, brief though it was, Sleath, as it was -not to his taste, would have yawned, had -not good breeding forbade him. -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps love and romance, too, still -linger among the Birks of Invermay,' -said he, laughingly, and with some point -in his manner; and there came a time -when Mary recalled these words and saw -their meaning; and now, deeming that -their visit had been protracted long -enough, the gentlemen rose to depart—Sleath -only lingering to kiss his hand to -Ellinor—surreptitiously, as he thought, -but the jaunty action was detected by -Colville. -</p> - -<p> -Somehow, Mary thought she wished that -Captain Colville—Miss Blanche Galloway's -<i>fiancé</i>—had not called that afternoon; -yet, if asked, she could not have told the -reason why. -</p> - -<p> -Was an interest in him growing in her -heart unknown to herself—one beyond the -wish that she and Ellinor had such a -brother? It almost seemed so, for she -felt altered in some way, but in what way -she knew not, though the present and the -future became curiously mingled in her -thoughts, as they were just then in those -of Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -Sleath was fast winning the fancy of the -latter, if not her heart. She had been -content with the love of Robert Wodrow -and the prospect of a future with him; she -thought now how different it would be to -become the wife of a man who would give -her rank, position, wealth, and she thought -the time and 'the prince' had now come. -Yet with all this it was strange that her -heart never thrilled at his voice or -approach, nor did her pulses quicken at the -touch of his hand, as they had often done -at the honest clasp of Robert Wodrow. -</p> - -<p> -'Why was this?' she asked of herself. -</p> - -<p> -'You are very silent, Colville,' observed -Sleath, as they walked homeward together -cigar in mouth. -</p> - -<p> -'There is something in that girl's face -which seems familiar to me, as if I had -foreshadowed it in some dream!' exclaimed -Colville. -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Which</i> girl's face?' asked Sleath, -sharply. -</p> - -<p> -'Mary's—Miss Wellwood,' replied Colville, -colouring with annoyance at having -been betrayed into confidence with a man -he disliked. -</p> - -<p> -'Stuff,' said Sir Redmond; 'as if people -foreshadowed faces in the Row or Regent -Street! What would the fair Blanche -think of this idea? And what a -cock-and-bull yarn that was about the -"gracious Duncan" and the miller's daughter.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why doubt it?—the story is a pretty -one, any way,' said Colville, with -annoyance in his tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Let us skip Mary—it is her sister I -admire.' -</p> - -<p> -'Your demeanour to that young lady is -rather strange, Sir Redmond,' said -Colville, with a gravity of manner and eye -that did not fail to strike his listener. -</p> - -<p> -'Strange—how?' -</p> - -<p> -'A very short intimacy seems to have -placed you on rather friendly terms.' -</p> - -<p> -'Rather,' replied Sir Redmond, tugging -at the end of his moustachios, with a very -self-satisfied smile on his <i>blasé</i> face. 'She -is an unsophisticated kind of Jeanie -Deans, or Effie rather, whom one may flirt -with, patronise, or quarrel with and make -it up again; treating her with any amount -of chic when so inclined, and——' -</p> - -<p> -Whatever in his profound vanity or -spirit of insolence Sir Redmond was about -to add, he paused. There was a dark, -stern, and indignant expression in the face -of Leslie Colville that there was no -misunderstanding just then. -</p> - -<p> -'Hey—how—what the deyvil—are you -smitten in that quarter too?' asked Sleath. -</p> - -<p> -'No—what do you mean?' -</p> - -<p> -'Thought you were, perhaps, that's all,' -was the somewhat sulky response. -</p> - -<p> -'I am not what you think,' replied Colville, -quietly. 'I only warn you to adopt -a different tone in reference to these young -ladies, and to take care what you are about!' -</p> - -<p> -'Now, what the devil is all this to <i>him</i>?' -thought the baronet, malevolently; and he -had hardihood enough to give his thought -expression, on which Colville's face grew -darker still. -</p> - -<p> -'Sir Redmond,' said he, 'there is no use -in beating about the bush with you. I -have often heard you say that there was -but one excuse in this world for matrimony.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—well?' -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Ellinor Wellwood is poor, as you -may say, yet you seem very attentive in -that quarter.' -</p> - -<p> -Confounded at what he deemed the -presumption of all these queries, Sleath -stuck his glass into his right eye, and -glared through it at his companion with -undoubted surprise. -</p> - -<p> -'Attention,' he muttered; 'not at all! -Who is thinking of matrimony? And if -I were so, may I ask what it is to <i>you</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -'More than you think,' replied Colville, -with suppressed passion, as he adjusted -his shirt cuffs; 'but enough of this -subject—here is the gate of Craigmhor.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville said no more; but he thought -a good deal, and he muttered to himself a -Spanish proverb, -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Puerto abierta, al santo tiento</i>—the open -door tempts the saint; and, by Jove, this -fellow is no saint—so I shall keep my eye -on him!' -</p> - -<p> -Hitherto it had seemed to Ellinor, but to -Mary chiefly (as she had no special -admirer), that life had been dull and -colourless—if a happy and contented one—at -Birkwoodbrae; and already the days -thereof—before these visitors came—seemed -to be part of another and remoter -existence; for love and the illusions of -love were shedding their haloes over the -present. -</p> - -<p> -'I hope dear Mary Wellwood will not -make a fool of herself with that Captain -Colville,' said Mrs. Wodrow to her spouse, -with reference to this very subject. 'I -hear that he has been calling at Birkwoodbrae -again, though engaged, they say, to -Miss Galloway. She is old enough to -know that officers are the greatest flirts in -the world—men not to be trusted. When -<i>I</i> was a girl, I always heard so.' -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Wodrow laughed softly, as he looked -up from the notes of his next sermon, and -said, -</p> - -<p> -'I don't think, my dear, you ever had -much experience of them out of novels; -but I will own to you that officers -now-a-days are not like what they were at -one time. Even my worthy ancestor, in -1724, deplores in his 'Analecta' that -Christian officers had left no successors -to such men as Colonel Blackadder, of the -Cameronians, Colonel Erskine, and Major -Gardiner, of Stair's Grey Dragoons—all -men who could expound on the Gospel -better than I.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X. -<br /><br /> -THE GARDEN-PARTY AT CRAIGMHOR. -</h3> - -<p> -It was the afternoon of a hot day early -in August, when the sunlight bathed in -glory all the scenery—green mountain -and rocky glen, wood and water—about -Craigmhor, giving alternately strong light -and deep shadow, with a warmth of colouring -over all, turning into a sheet like -molten gold an artificial lochlet, where the -ducks and coots swam together among -the great white water-lilies. -</p> - -<p> -On the balustraded terrace before the -house, the rustic baskets of carved stone -were ablaze with beautiful flowers; the -hum of bees and the twitter of birds were -all about, but were unheard amid the buzz -of many voices and the music of a rifle -volunteer band that played on the -smoothly-mown lawn that stretched away before -the house till it ended in the woodland -greenery of the park, or 'policy,' as it is -called in Scotland—greenery that now -showed blotches of yellow and russet upon -the ferns, that whilom had seemed great -green fans of emerald hue, amid which the -dun deer rested when dewy evening fell. -</p> - -<p> -But now the deer had all gone to the -hill-sides, for promenading on the lawn -and in the beautiful gardens, or seated -near the tall, French windows that opened -on the terrace, and the lace curtains of -which were wafted gently on the breeze, -were the many guests of Lady Dunkeld, -whose garden-party was now, as Sir Redmond -Sleath slangily said, 'in full blast.' -</p> - -<p> -Mellowed by distance among the trees -came the murmur of the unseen May over -its rocky bed. -</p> - -<p> -There were lawn-tennis courts, and the -all but obsolete croquet, for those who -were so minded; and in a gaudy-striped -marquee ices, creams, jellies, champagne-cup, -et cetera, distributed by solemn -valets in showy liveries with powdered -heads. -</p> - -<p> -There were winding paths between -beautifully-trimmed shrubberies, bordered by -flowers of gorgeous hues; there were leafy, -tunnel-like vistas, and long and stately -conservatories with tesselated floors, -wherein to flirt when the heat of the day proved -too great; and there were bright-coloured -rugs and soft cushions spread upon the -grass, whereon the lazy might lounge or -loll; and, as the guests were pouring in -from carriage, phaeton, and dogcart, Lady -Dunkeld, in the richest of London toilettes, -received them with the same insipid and -stereotyped smile for each and all—her -words of welcome or offer of her hand -varying only according to the social -position of those who approached her. -</p> - -<p> -'The second of the Wellwood girls who -are coming here to-day is something of an -artist, I hear,' observed Lord Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -'I believe so,' replied his lady; 'and I -hope she will not make her appearance a -limp figure, æsthetically-dressed in a -large-patterned gown of Anglo-Saxon fashion, -with a lily in her hand. Oh, here they -are! Dressed in the best taste, too!' -</p> - -<p> -Weak, yet aristocratic though his profile, -Lord Dunkeld looked every inch a peer in -style and bearing. He was undoubtedly a -striking-looking, elderly man, with hair -now white as the thistledown, his person -erect and unbroken as when he led his -battalion against the Russian trenches at -Sebastopol, and he received the two sisters, -Mary and Ellinor Wellwood, with a warmth -and courtesy that nearly made them forget -the limp hand and wan smile of Lady -Dunkeld, and the ill-concealed coldness, -annoyance, and secret pique of Blanche -Galloway, though she veiled them under a -well-bred smile of welcome, while resolved -it should be their last, as it was their first, -entertainment at Craigmhor, and such it -eventually proved to be. -</p> - -<p> -Nor were her emotions lessened by seeing -how Colville hurriedly quitted a group -to welcome them, and how smilingly Sir -Redmond approached Ellinor from a -conservatory, adjusting as he came a -button-hole bouquet which he had recently -received from the hand of her—Blanche -Galloway, who was quite inclined to attract -both gentlemen if she could. -</p> - -<p> -Whatever views Lady Dunkeld and her -daughter, the fair Blanche, may have had -in the matter of the now wealthy Captain -Colville and Sir Redmond Sleath, two -little episodes in which these gentlemen -were concerned developed themselves -during the garden-party, which were rather -beyond the calculations of the two ladies, -and proceeded to some extent unknown to -them—but to some extent only, as Mademoiselle -Rosette was abroad in the grounds, -and had her shrewd French eyes -remarkably wide open. -</p> - -<p> -And Blanche Galloway became disagreeably -surprised when she learned on what -'friendly terms' the sisters were with -those two gentlemen, who as visitors at -Craigmhor she had rather been disposed -to consider as her own peculiar property. -</p> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow was there too, not to -enjoy himself, but to watch Sir Redmond -and Ellinor, as the latter could read -only too distinctly in his lowering and -upbraiding yet tender eyes, though he -affected to converse gaily with Colville and -others. -</p> - -<p> -'Let me get you some iced champagne -cup,' said Sir Redmond, in a low voice, as -he offered Ellinor his arm and led her -away, adding, with one of his unpleasant -laughs, 'Here is old Dr. Wodrow, with his -Sabbath-day smile, and his wife, in her -awful toilette—our sulking friend the son -too. They have been among the first to -come, and will be the last to go away—like -all stupid people. How like fish out of -the water they look!' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor, to do her justice, felt a swelling -in her throat at these remarks on those -she had been so long accustomed to view -as her dearest friends, and fanned herself -almost angrily. -</p> - -<p> -'And how is Jack, that surliest of curs, -who always snaps and snarls at me as if I -were a tramp or a beggar?' asked Sir -Redmond. -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor laughed now, and soon found -herself chatting away with the glib Sir -Redmond as if she had known him not only a -few days, but a few years. How different -he was in his fluency of speech, his -perfect tone of manner and softness of voice, -from Robert Wodrow. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Robert Wodrow! -</p> - -<p> -'What smooth tongues these southron -fellows have,' he was thinking, savagely, -as his eyes followed the pair; 'and -how she seems to listen to him, drinking in -every word, like a moonstruck fool!' -</p> - -<p> -And already he felt all the tortures of -jealousy, 'the injured lover's hell.' -</p> - -<p> -A suspicion that he was watched or suspected -by Colville, after the latter's very -distinct and open warning, inspired Sir -Redmond Sleath with a secret emotion of -revenge against him—a curiously mingled -hatred and desire to triumph in his love -affair with Ellinor; and since that warning -had been given a coolness had ensued -between the baronet and the guardsman—a -coolness that outlasted their visit to Lord -Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -To Sir Redmond it seemed, as he -thought over and over again, that a -couple of fatherless and motherless girls -living as they curiously did together, and -alone 'with no one to look after them but -an infernal old pump of a Presbyterian -parson,' were fair game to be run after in -his own fashion, and Ellinor, as the one -possessing less firmness of purpose, was -certain to be the most easily netted. -</p> - -<p> -As Sir Redmond led Ellinor away, Colville's -brow grew dark as that of Robert -Wodrow, and the baronet was not slow to -detect this emotion and defy it. -</p> - -<p> -'Was this jealousy and love of -Ellinor? Did he admire her and Mary -too?' thought the baronet. 'By Jove, it -seems so.' -</p> - -<p> -They were long absent from the main -body of the guests, none of whom missed -them perhaps, save Robert Wodrow and -Miss Galloway. How long Colville did -not precisely know, as he contrived to be -elsewhere engaged himself. -</p> - -<p> -While Mary was talking to old Mrs. Wodrow, -who was indulging the while in -a few peculiar and not very well-bred, if -knowing, nods and smiles in the direction -of Miss Galloway, over whose chair on the -terrace Captain Colville was stooping, she -overheard him say, while the former was -prettily making up for him a button-hole -of stephenotis, with a white rosebud and -maiden-hair fern—and say—with <i>empressement</i> -but laughingly, -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'If lusty love should go in search of beauty,<br /> - Where should he find it fairer than in Blanche?<br /> - If zealous love should go in quest of virtue,<br /> - Where should he find it purer than in Blanche?<br /> - If love, ambitious, sought a match of birth,<br /> - Whose veins bound richer blood than Lady Blanche?'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -He was only quoting Shakespeare, and -did so laughingly, and not at all with the -tenderness of love, Mary thought; but -Blanche Galloway was evidently delighted, -tapped him with her fan in mock anger, -and then adjusted her bouquet in his -lapelle. -</p> - -<p> -On <i>what</i> terms were they, these two? -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Wodrow had evidently no doubt -about it, as she whispered to Mary, -</p> - -<p> -'How sweet it is to watch young lovers! -I was right, you see.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary felt something closely akin to pique -and pain, and resolved to be upon her -guard, while Mrs. Wodrow was, woman-like, -appraising the cost of Lady Dunkeld's -dress—'The best Lyons purple—must have -cost a guinea a yard.' -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Colville has been in love, or -fancied himself so, a great many times, I -hear,' resumed gossipy Mrs. Wodrow, 'but -never got the length of being engaged until -lately, I believe.' -</p> - -<p> -'Then he <i>is</i> her <i>fiancé</i>,' thought Mary; -'but what matters it?' -</p> - -<p> -Sooth to say, it was for her behoof, -perhaps, that Mrs. Wodrow pressed these hints -upon her. -</p> - -<p> -'Come with me, Miss Wellwood,' said -Captain Colville, suddenly approaching -her; 'permit me to show you some of the -Grounds—the rosaries are indeed beautiful—after -we have visited the refreshment -marquee.' -</p> - -<p> -He lightly touched her hand, -and—followed the while by a somewhat cloudy and -inquiring glance from Blanche Galloway—she -permitted herself to be led away from -the terrace, and though resolved to be, as -we have said, on her guard, and studiously -indifferent, she could not help the increased -beating of her heart, for the voice and eyes -of Colville were very winning. -</p> - -<p> -From the refreshment marquee they -wandered through the rosaries, round the -shrubbery, and past the artificial pond, till -they reached the skirts of the lawn, and -the hum of the voices there, and even the -music of the band, became faint, and -conversing with her, she scarcely knew on -what, he led her to a seat—a rustic -sofa—under the trees that formed the boundary -of the pleasure-grounds. -</p> - -<p> -'Do you know that in the sunshine your -hair is quite like gold, Miss Wellwood?' -said he, gazing upon her with -unmistakable admiration. -</p> - -<p> -'I would it were real gold,' replied -Mary, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -'I would rather possess it as it is, and -so would any man,' said Colville, while -Mary cast a restless glance at the distant -groups of gaily-dressed promenaders, as -aught approaching tenderness just then -alarmed and annoyed her. -</p> - -<p> -After a pause he said, -</p> - -<p> -'Those scarlet berries do not become -your complexion. They are suited to a -dark beauty, not a fair one.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor pinned them in my collarette,' -replied Mary, colouring now. -</p> - -<p> -'Give me the berries, and I shall -substitute <i>this</i>,' he urged, taking the little -bouquet of stephenotis buds and ferns -from his lapelle. 'Do exchange with me,' -he added, softly and tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -'But Miss Galloway—her gift to you—what -will she think?' urged Mary, timidly. -</p> - -<p> -'She will never notice the change; and -if she does, what then?' -</p> - -<p> -Mary thought this strange and ungallant, -but ere she could prevent him, his -deft hands had quickly achieved the -exchange, and her scarlet berries were in his -button-hole. -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot have you wear these, even if -I wear your rosebuds. Give them back to -me, please, Captain Colville.' -</p> - -<p> -And she stretched out her hand imploringly, -but he shook his head and smiled -with a curious satisfied smile; and again -Mary insisted on a re-exchange of the -flowers. -</p> - -<p> -'Please, do not urge me,' said he, also -adopting an imploring tone. 'I wish to -keep them—to keep them for ever, if you -will permit me; whatever has touched -your cheek—your hand, must be sacred to -me,' he added, with perfect earnestness of -manner. -</p> - -<p> -'Do not talk to me thus—for your own -amusement, Captain Colville,' said Mary, -her eyes suffused with tears. -</p> - -<p> -'Amusement!' he repeated, with a low -tone of pain. 'Can you think so meanly -of me? If you knew the genuine emotion -of my heart towards you, Mary Wellwood, -and the true regard with which you have -inspired me——' -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot, must not, listen to this,' said -poor Mary, attempting to rise in alarm, -and most loth to precipitate a scene, but a -touch of his hand restrained her. -</p> - -<p> -'Not listen to me! And why not?' -asked Colville; and then he remembered -Blanche Galloway's insinuation about -young Wodrow, and paused. -</p> - -<p> -'It is unbecoming your position and -mine, I feel that you are but amusing -yourself with me,' continued Mary, -repressing a sob in her slender white throat -with difficulty. 'You are a rich man of -fashion—a man about town, I believe the -term is; I am but the orphan daughter of -a very poor one——' -</p> - -<p> -'Of a gallant old officer,' said Colville, -softly. -</p> - -<p> -'True.' -</p> - -<p> -'And you actually think me a snob? It -is very hard. Ere long I shall get another -to plead for me,' he added, laughing. -</p> - -<p> -'What can he mean?' thought Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'You pardon me just now,' said he, -looking down upon her with great tenderness. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' said Mary, sweetly and simply; -'but do not offend me again.' -</p> - -<p> -And bright though the sunny landscape -around her, it seemed for a moment to -grow brighter to her eyes, and her pulses -quickened, for she felt a thrill at the tone -of his voice and the expression of his eyes. -She felt too, somehow, as if the world -would never seem quite the same to her -afterwards; and with this was blended an -emotion of pain that these feelings were -excited in her breast aimlessly and uselessly -by the affianced of another! -</p> - -<p> -It was almost a relief to her when he -laughed, and, breaking the silence of a full -minute or so, said, -</p> - -<p> -'Now, I am about to rival your sister, -Miss Ellinor, in the achievement of something -artistic,' and, opening a pocket-knife, -he proceeded to carve on the fine smooth -bark of a tree that overshadowed the rustic -sofa the letters 'M.W.' -</p> - -<p> -'My initials,' said Mary, watching his work. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'I don't think Lord Dunkeld will thank -you for injuring his timber thus.' -</p> - -<p> -'I don't care about Dunkeld's timber. -I've a good mind to be like that fellow in -Shakespeare—what's his name?—Orlando, -and -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Carve on every tree<br /> - The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she."<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Queer phrase that—means inexpressible, I -suppose. See!' he added, as he quickly -cut three other initials beside -Mary's—L.W.C.—and the date. -</p> - -<p> -'Please, don't—please, don't,' urged Mary, -almost with tears in her tremulous tones. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' he asked, looking down upon -her with a bright and winning smile. -</p> - -<p> -'These initials may be seen.' -</p> - -<p> -'By whom—and what then?' -</p> - -<p> -Mary was silent, but thought only of -Miss Galloway, though that young lady -seldom favoured the woods with her -society; and now Colville completed his -work with a most orthodox true lovers' -knot, Mary growing more and more -appalled as it proceeded. -</p> - -<p> -'You have a middle name?' she asked, -timidly. -</p> - -<p> -'Every fellow has now-a-days—snobbish, -isn't it? In my case I cannot help it.' -</p> - -<p> -'And the middle name?' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't ask it—you know me but as -Leslie Colville, and that is my genuine -baptismal appelation.' -</p> - -<p> -'This bit of wood engraving may be -deuced unfair to <i>her</i> if young Wodrow sees -it,' was the not ungenerous thought of -Leslie Colville. -</p> - -<p> -'What if Blanche sees it?' was the timid -reflection of Mary; thus, mentally, these -two were at cross-purposes. 'Do restore -to me or cast away that bunch of berries,' -she again said to him. -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot think of it; but I shall conceal -it, if you will permit me,' said he, as -he kissed her little bouquet, and placed it -in his breast-pocket. -</p> - -<p> -His tenderness seemed very true, but -might be—nay, Mary thought, must be—mere -flirtation. He had said, 'Ere long I -shall get another to plead for me.' Who -was that <i>other</i>; and to plead for <i>what</i>? -</p> - -<p> -It was all very mysterious, and for a -moment or two Mary felt as one in a -dream. Under the old trees where they -lingered were cool and grateful shadows, -and on the soft breeze from the gardens -and shrubberies came the perfume of roses -and heliotrope, with the drowsy hum of -modulated voices and the music of the -band. -</p> - -<p> -'Listen,' said he, touching her hand -lightly, while his features brightened; 'do -you hear the sweet low air?' -</p> - -<p> -'It is "The Birks of Invermay."' -</p> - -<p> -'How it brings the words of the sweet -song back to me— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "It wasna till the pale moonshine<br /> - Was glancing deep in Mary's e'e;<br /> - That with a smile she said 'I'm thine,'<br /> - And ever true to thee will be!"<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -You see how it and the name have -impressed me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't, please, Captain Colville,' said -Mary, withdrawing her hand; 'you should -not go on this way. It is not honourable -in you, and is annoying to me.' -</p> - -<p> -'What a puzzle you are!' said he, -looking at her with undisguised admiration, -mingled with—to her annoyance—the -slightest <i>soupçon</i> of amusement in his -handsome eyes, as she proceeded slowly -across the lawn to rejoin the garden-party, -from which Mary felt he had purposely -lured her. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile, he was closely scrutinising -the soft and downcast face of Mary—downcast -because she was too conscious -of the fervour of his regard. -</p> - -<p> -With all her beauty, Mary Wellwood -had not yet had a lover. No man had -addressed her in terms of admiration or -love, and this fact, together with the -somewhat secluded life she led, made the -(perhaps passing) attentions of Colville of -more importance than they would have -seemed to a young lady living in the -world like Miss Galloway, and, if the -gallant Guardsman was only amusing himself, -it was rather cruel of him; so Mary's -emotions were of a somewhat mixed nature. -</p> - -<p> -Could she but fashion her little tell-tale -face for a brief period, and make it stony -as that of a sphinx! -</p> - -<p> -A curious sense of wrong, of deception—even -probable sorrow and affront, -possessed her, mingled with that of a new and -timid delight. -</p> - -<p> -The touch of his hand seemed to magnetise -her, and yet she longed to get away -from the reach of his eyes, his subtle and -detaining voice, for were they not the -property of Blanche Galloway! -</p> - -<p> -'Why should he wrong her and love me, -as I actually think he does?' surmised -Mary. 'What can I be to him more than -a flower perhaps by his wayside of life, to -be passed and forgotten when he goes -back to that gay world which is peculiarly -his—the great whirling world of -"Society." Worthy of him; I so poor can -never hope to be, and that proud, imperious -girl would soon teach him to forget me!' -</p> - -<p> -So thought and mused the girl—fondly, -sadly, and bitterly—and turning from the -music of the band, and the gay groups -that laughed and chatted around her, she -gazed down a vista of silver birches that -led towards the house, and saw their stems -glittering like silver columns in the flecks -of sunshine. -</p> - -<p> -Blanche Galloway was not long in -discovering that the little bouquet her own -hands had assorted for Colville was now in -the breast of Mary Wellwood's dress, and -as she turned bluntly away from the -latter, Dr. Wodrow, who knew not the cause -thereof, remarked to his better-half that -their young hostess had given Mary 'a -dark look—such a look as Jael, the wife -of Heber the Kenite, might have given.' -</p> - -<p> -Leslie Colville too ere long detected dark -looks in the face of Robert Wodrow, who -abruptly took his departure; and the -former felt piqued and annoyed to find -himself, as he believed, the rival of a mere -'bumpkin,' all unaware that Ellinor was -the cause of Robert's wrath; and -meanwhile where was that young lady? -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI. -<br /><br /> -IN THE CONSERVATORY. -</h3> - -<p> -In an atmosphere of drooping acacias, -little palms, curious ferns, cacti, and other -exotics in tubs and pots, where the light -was subdued by the greenery overhead -and around, and where the plashing of a -beautiful bronze fountain alone broke the -stillness, for in the nook of that great -conservatory to which Sir Redmond Sleath -had successfully drawn Ellinor alone, the -music of the band and the merry voices of -the garden party were scarcely heard, they -were seated together on a blue velvet -lounge; and he, having possessed himself -of her fan, was slowly fanning her, while -he hung admiringly over her—a process -to which she submitted with a soft, -dreamy smile in her speaking hazel eyes; -while with every motion of the fan the -ripples of her fine dark hair were blown -slightly to and fro. -</p> - -<p> -Certainly a short intimacy had put these -two on terms of familiarity, for he said, as -he ceased to fan her, and settled down on -the lounge by her side, with one arm, -casually, as it were, thrown along the back -thereof, -</p> - -<p> -'I am not a stranger to you now.' -</p> - -<p> -His voice was pleasantly modulated as -he stooped over her, and looked down on -her drooping eyelashes. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, no—not now,' replied Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'I am so happy to hear you admit this.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor felt her question to be foolish, as -it was a leading one. -</p> - -<p> -'Can you ask me?' said Sir Redmond, -in a still lower voice, and venturing; to -touch—just to pat—her hand; 'there are -many persons whom we may know for -years, and yet find them somehow -strangers, but it is not so with you and I.' -</p> - -<p> -He now took her hand in his, and saw -that it was delicately white—for she had -drawn a glove off—and felt soft as velvet; -he saw, too, that her white-veined eyelids -with their long lashes drooped under his -earnest gaze, and that her red lips -quivered. Was he actually influencing her -already? He could scarcely believe it, -even with all his unparalleled assurance. -</p> - -<p> -She glanced nervously round her. -</p> - -<p> -'Do not be alarmed, dear girl—darling -Ellinor, let me say,' whispered Sleath, in -his most honeyed accents, for who was to -call him to account for his impertinence, -if impertinence it really was? 'I shall be -content to wait—to wait and win your -love, if you will but let me hope. Some -day—say one day you will listen to me, -and I shall tell you more freely, more -boldly how I love you—how I shall make -you my own!' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor trembled as she listened to these -stilted phrases that came so glibly from -his tongue—how often he had said them -to others she little knew; and—even -Robert Wodrow apart—she had never -played with a man's heart as Sleath was -now playing with hers. -</p> - -<p> -He said much more, running on in the -same inflated style, feeling quite a zest in -the, to him, well-nigh worn-out game of -love-making; and Ellinor listened. She -was far from being a fool, yet she failed to -realise that his tones were very second-hand -indeed, and that the real expression -of his blue eyes, if triumphant, was also -false. -</p> - -<p> -Her voice trembled so that she made no -response, and the flowers in the breast of -her dress rose and fell with the quickened -beating of her fluttered and, we are sorry -to say, happy heart. -</p> - -<p> -A conviction troubled her, nevertheless, -and would not be put aside—that he would -master her and compel her to love him -blindly by the mere force of his—practised—will, -and she strove to resist it. -</p> - -<p> -'You are over-confident, though flattering -me, Sir Redmond,' said she, a little -defiantly at last. -</p> - -<p> -'And what does that prove?' -</p> - -<p> -'That you are not, perhaps, what you -really profess to be—in love.' -</p> - -<p> -'With you?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' she replied, in a breathless voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Have you ere this learned what love is?' -</p> - -<p> -'I know what it should be like—timid -and diffident,' she replied, uneasily, as her -thoughts flashed sorrowfully to poor studious -Robert Wodrow. -</p> - -<p> -'You fear I do not love you?' he asked, -reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -'I do not fear it.' -</p> - -<p> -'Look into my eyes.' -</p> - -<p> -She did look, and her own lowered, for -she saw that which so often passes for love -with the unthinking or unwary—deep and -burning passion; and again she glanced -nervously around her, but felt impelled to -remain where she was. Sir Redmond -detected the motion, and, misconstruing it, -said, with a contemptuous smile that was -too subtle for her to perceive, -</p> - -<p> -'You and that—a—Mr. Robert Wodrow -were sweethearts, as it is called, when you -were children, I have heard.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed!' -</p> - -<p> -'Well?' -</p> - -<p> -'The very reason, if true, that we should -wish to be no more to each other,' replied -Ellinor, with some annoyance, remembering -certain angry and bitter speeches of -Robert's when last they met and parted, -and some of his dark looks within the last -hour. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond was radiant at this response. -She drew on her gloves, and was -about to rise, when he detained her, and, -drawing her suddenly towards him, boldly -kissed her, not once, but twice! -</p> - -<p> -She grew very pale, and drew back, and -felt as if about to weep. -</p> - -<p> -'Why do you shrink from me, Ellinor?' -he asked, with tenderness, while detaining her hands. -</p> - -<p> -'I do not shrink; but—but all this has -been so sudden.' -</p> - -<p> -'Listen to me, dearest—dearest Ellinor. -With all your artistic tastes, you must of -course appreciate pretty things?' -</p> - -<p> -'I do,' she replied, tremblingly, not -knowing what was coming next. -</p> - -<p> -'Do you admire this?' he asked, drawing -from a pocket and unclasping a scarlet -morocco case, on the blue satin lining of -which there reposed a necklace of virgin -gold, with a locket attached, studded with -coral and diamonds, both miracles of the -jeweller's art. -</p> - -<p> -'It is lovely!' exclaimed the girl. -</p> - -<p> -'I am glad you like it, for it is yours.' -</p> - -<p> -'Mine!' said the girl, in a breathless -voice, as she felt herself grow pale, and -recognised the costliness of the jewel, but -scarcely knowing what she did or what she -said, while a curious mixture of dumb joy -in her new lover and remorse for the -former one seized her. -</p> - -<p> -She heard hurried and passionate words -poured into her ear; she felt the firm, -warm clasp of Sir Redmond's hands on -hers as he begged permission to clasp the -necklet round her slender throat, while -yieldingly she turned towards him, and -deftly—he was not unused to episodes -such as this—as he touched her soft, white -skin, he clasped it on, his eyes glowing -with fire and animation as he bent over -her sweet little face. -</p> - -<p> -The latter was pale rather than flushed, -and her mobile lips were quivering as he -pressed his to them, pursuing his advantage -with all the courage, skill, and tact -his past rascally experience had given him; -while the force of his sudden love, if it -scared, also delighted Ellinor, though the -upbraiding and set visage of Robert -Wodrow seemed to rise between them. -</p> - -<p> -'One day I shall see the family -diamonds of the house of Sleath sparkling -on your brow and bosom, love,' said he, -kissing her eyes, as gravely as if the said -house of Sleath had come in with the -European rabble of the Conqueror. 'And -you promise to be mine, Ellinor?' he -added, pressing her close to him. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' she replied, in a scarcely audible -whisper. -</p> - -<p> -'There are some men who can love -several women in succession—or imagine -they do so. I am not one of these, believe -me, darling! I have never—could never -have done that. You, Ellinor, are the -first love of my heart—my first and only -one!' -</p> - -<p> -How he talked, this man who knew well -what passion was, but never loved, and -the girl was too truthful generally herself -to doubt; so her heart throbbed as his -honeyed words fell on her willing ear. -</p> - -<p> -'And so, love, we shall soon be made -one now,' he whispered, with another -caress. -</p> - -<p> -After a time she said, timidly and blushingly, -</p> - -<p> -'You will tell—you will talk with -Dr. Wodrow about all this, Redmond?' -</p> - -<p> -'How delicious to hear my name on -your lips! But—Dr. Wodrow—why—is -he a relation?' -</p> - -<p> -'Why then—what then?' -</p> - -<p> -'He is a kind of guardian; papa, on his -deathbed, bequeathed Mary and me to his -care.' -</p> - -<p> -'Consult him—impossible!' said Sir -Redmond, whose face darkened. 'Why should -we condescend to consult that old pump -with the Sabbath-day face, when our own -hearts agree? Besides, if my uncle, from -whom I have great expectations, knew that -I had married a Scotch girl—he has such -curious prejudices——' -</p> - -<p> -'Your uncle?' queried Ellinor, timidly. -</p> - -<p> -'I have, unfortunately, an old and -strangely-tempered relation in that degree. -He is dying under an incurable disease, -and probably cannot live out this -winter—certainly not next spring. I am the -heir to all his estates, and it is his fancy -that I should marry into a family of title—' -</p> - -<p> -'Otherwise?' -</p> - -<p> -'I shall lose every shilling—every one!' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor man! If the end is so near, -surely we can wait, Redmond—nay, of -course, we must wait,' she added, coyly -and fondly. -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot wait, my love for you will not -permit me, yet I am, though well enough -off, not so rich that I can afford to lose a -great inheritance. Could we—can we—but -keep our marriage from his knowledge? -But we will talk of all this another -time, darling. I am too hasty, too -impetuous, with you. People are coming -this way. Take my arm; let us go!' -</p> - -<p> -And he led her out into the sunlighted -lawn in such a state of bewilderment that -but for the chain and locket, of which, to -avoid explanations, she divested herself, -she would have deemed the whole episode a dream. -</p> - -<p> -So 'the song was sung, the tale was -told, and the heart was given away.' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor, on rejoining her friends, looked -about her, and felt somewhat of a relief -that she could nowhere see Robert -Wodrow, who, as we have said, had abruptly -taken his departure, and even amid the -splendour of Sir Redmond's proposal—for -a splendid one it seemed to poor Ellinor—an -emotion of reproach for unloyalty to -Robert Wodrow, the first and early lover -of her girlish life, rose up in her mind. -</p> - -<p> -While her soul was yet loaded with the -memory of that, to her, most naturally -great episode in the conservatory, on -which all her future life was to turn, we -may wonder what she would have thought -had she overheard a few bantering words -that passed between Sir Redmond Sleath -and the Honourable Blanche Galloway as -they were looking towards her and -evidently talking about her, while Mrs. Wodrow, -who was near, strained her ears to -listen. -</p> - -<p> -'A wife, you say? No, my dear Miss -Galloway; I can't afford such a luxury -in these times, and consequently cannot be -a marrying man, unless——' -</p> - -<p> -'Unless what?' -</p> - -<p> -'I found one facile enough to have me, -and with the necessary amount of acreage, -coalpits, money in the Funds, or elsewhere.' -</p> - -<p> -'If so, why are you so attentive in that -absurd quarter, where there is no money -certainly?' asked the lady, pointing to -Ellinor with her fan. -</p> - -<p> -'Why, indeed!' thought Mrs. Wodrow, -exasperated about her son Robert. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond paused. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' asked the young lady again, -categorically. -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Pour passer le temps</i>,' replied Sir Redmond, -with one of his insolent smiles, as he -twirled out the ends of his tawny -moustachios. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Wodrow did not hear his answer, -though she saw the expression of his face; -and at this reply Miss Galloway smiled -triumphantly and disdainfully while slowly -fanning herself. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII. -<br /><br /> -AFTER THOUGHTS. -</h3> - -<p> -There are generally two distinct sets of -people at every country entertainment -carrying out the principle of 'pig-iron -that looks down on tenpenny nails;' but -Lady Dunkeld's garden-party was voted a -charming gathering. She had a special -skill for assorting her guests, and did so -accordingly, though some of our <i>dramatis -personæ</i> assorted themselves; and the -result was so far harmony, apparently—we -say apparently, for it was not universal. -</p> - -<p> -Thus Blanche Galloway was displeased -with the manner in which Leslie Colville -hovered about Mary Wellwood, while -Colville, and more especially Robert Wodrow, -were both displeased by the conspicuous -absence of Sir Redmond and Ellinor. -Robert knew not where they had been, -and somehow never thought of looking in -the conservatories, and probably would -not have done so had the idea occurred to -him. -</p> - -<p> -He had not been near her all day, and -he was now, more than ever, beginning to -realise bitterly that the girl he had loved -so well all these years past, and who, he -certainly thought, loved him, was going -out of his life as completely as if she had -never existed. Yet he could not relinquish -her without another effort—another -last appeal; though he quitted the gaieties -of Craigmhor early with a sore and swollen -heart. -</p> - -<p> -The evening was far advanced when the -sisters returned to Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -There was a letter lying on the dining-room -table addressed to Ellinor in the -familiar handwriting of Robert Wodrow. -Why did he write to her now when he -lived so close by, as a hedge only -separated Birkwoodbrae from the glebe? unless -to tell her what he dared not trust his lips -to do; and her heart foreboded this. -</p> - -<p> -The letter lay almost beneath her hand -white and glaring in the last flush of the -sunset; but, until Elspat had retired and -Mary had followed on some household -matter intent, she did not trust herself to -open it. -</p> - -<p> -Then when there was no one by to observe -her, she slowly opened the letter of -the lover who too truly feared he had been -supplanted by another. -</p> - -<p> -Line after line—though it was brief—the -words were loving and tender, but -ended in bitterness and upbraiding; -passion made them eloquent, and they burned -into the heart of the girl as the eyes and -voice of Robert haunted her; but she felt -besotted by this new and showy admirer, -he was so different from homely, honest, -Robert Wodrow—so different from any -man she had ever met before; and why -should Robert, who was only her friend—her -old playmate, she strove to think, but -with much sophistry, attempt to compete -with him and control her movements. -</p> - -<p> -'I must give you up, Robert,' she half -whispered to herself; and then the idea -occurred to her, 'would she have done so -had she never met Sir Redmond Sleath?' -</p> - -<p> -The letter had a postscript:— -</p> - -<p> -'My darling, the windows of your room -face mine over the orchard wall. If you -have not cast me utterly out of your -heart, for pity sake give me some sign -then to-morrow—place a vase of flowers -upon your window-sill, and I shall know -the token.' -</p> - -<p> -But Robert Wodrow next day, from -earliest dawn till morn was long past, -looked and watched in vain for the sign, -but none was given to him; for though -the heart of Ellinor Wellwood was wrung -within her, she was too completely under -a new and baleful influence now, and the -old love was fast being forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -To do her a little justice, we must admit -that her first impulse had been to accord -the poor fellow the token for which his -soul thirsted. -</p> - -<p> -A vase of flowers, sent to her but that -morning from Sir Redmond by the hands -of his valet, was on the mantelpiece. She -put her hands towards it mechanically, as -if she would have placed it on her window -sill in obedience to that pitiful letter; but -strange to say the flowers were all -dead—already dead and withered! -</p> - -<p> -Why was this? -</p> - -<p> -Something superstitious crept over the -girl's heart as she looked on them; she -turned away—and the token was not -given. -</p> - -<p> -Robert, we have said, watched with -aching heart and aching eyes in vain. -Had the postscript escaped her notice? It -might be so; and to this straw, like a -drowning man, he clung. So the day -passed on; and Ellinor began to think -she had done wisely in not raising hopes -only to crush them, and gave herself up to -thoughts of Sir Redmond, and the secret -contemplation of his beautiful gift. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Redmond had poured into her ear -much of love, of passion, of admiration, -and so forth, certainly; but even to -Ellinor's unsophisticated mind his -proposal of marriage seemed a strange one. -</p> - -<p> -Each sister had ample food for her own -thoughts. Mary was rehearsing over and -over again the cutting of the initials on -the tree, and the manner of Colville to -herself. If he really was engaged to -Blanche Galloway (of which she had no -positive proof), it was not flattering to -either of them; yet the expression of his -eyes seemed ever sweet, candid, and honest; -and she gave fully her confidence to Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -The latter, who had never a secret to -keep from her sister before, felt with -shame and compunction that she had one -now—one of vast importance to them -both; but Sir Redmond had bound her to -secrecy for a little time, and she could but -trust; so fondly she thought over that -scene in the conservatory—his proposal, a -dazzling one, for would she not one day be -Lady Sleath, proud, wealthy, and -independent of all the world? -</p> - -<p> -Even her parents, who were lying in -their graves, with all their love of her, had -never in their proudest and most exultant -moments pictured for either of their -children a future like this! -</p> - -<p> -So she seemed to live in an enchanted -world, out of which the figure of Robert -Wodrow faded. 'Once in our lives,' says -a writer, 'Paradise opens for all of us out -of the dull earth, and moments, golden -with the light of romance, shine upon us -with a radiance like unto no other radiance -of time, and we do not stay to count the -cost of the bitter desolation that follows. -For Eve herself would scarcely have -surrendered one memory of Eden for all the -joys to be found upon earth.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville, when in the solitude of his own -room, overlooking the woods of Craigmhor, -was full of his own thoughts, some of -which were not very pleasant, as he was -dissatisfied with himself. He had a little -plan he wished to carry out, as we shall -show in time, and he felt perhaps that he -was acting foolishly. He had come from -London with the Dunkeld family, who -evidently expected more from him in -regard to Blanche than he had yet evinced, -and the rumour of their engagement was a -false one. -</p> - -<p> -He had also come with his mind inspired -with doubt, indifference, even prejudice -against some of those he had met, the -Wellwood sisters in particular; and, instead -of finding them objectionable in any way, -they were far more refined than himself, -the 'curled pet' of many a Belgravian -drawing-room. -</p> - -<p> -Many a fair face in these regions was -forgotten now, and his thoughts were all -of Mary Wellwood—more than he dared -acknowledge to himself. Though he had -seen so little of her, he felt—was it the -result of some magnetic affinity?—as if he -had known her all his life; as if a full -knowledge of her character had suddenly -crept into his heart, and yet this was -impossible just then. -</p> - -<p> -'Mary Wellwood!' he murmured to -himself. -</p> - -<p> -He had heard of Colonel Wellwood's -daughters in London more than once, from -one who should have befriended them, but -always omitted to do so, and whose views -and opinions of two friendless girls were -ever slighting and hostile; and now that -he met and knew them, Colville despised -himself for some of the thoughts in which -he had first indulged concerning them, and -the more tenderly he thought of Mary the -more reproachful of himself he grew. -</p> - -<p> -He had made no declaration—no; he was -neither so rash nor so foolish as that yet, -with all his romance, if the object of her -regard was Mr. Robert Wodrow. -</p> - -<p> -Of her feelings towards himself he could -not form the slightest idea, and her manner -was a source of perplexity. One moment -she was frank, genial, and without -restraint; but the next, if he became in the -least degree tender, she grew retiring, -distant, and cold; and, though he knew it -not, this bearing was born of the rumours -concerning Blanche Galloway, and he was -all unaware how local gossip had mixed up -his name with that of this young lady. -</p> - -<p> -On one occasion he suspected that Mary -avoided him, and once she seemed nearly -to dislike him; thus he was pleased that -he had not too formally committed himself, -and so, until he could put the matter -'to the touch, to win or lose it all,' he -would but torment himself with doubts -and fears in the way usual to all lovers; -but ere the time came, events were to occur -which, though in some measure caused by -himself, the bitter issue of them he could -never have foreseen. -</p> - -<p> -The two chief episodes of the garden-party -were of course well known to the -two ladies at Craigmhor, as Mademoiselle -Rosette had two bright and sharp French -eyes in her head, and knew perfectly well -how to use them. -</p> - -<p> -'I don't like the conduct of Sir Redmond, -of course, Blanche,' said Lady Dunkeld, -'and have no wish that he should -involve himself with an obscure girl whom -he met in our house.' -</p> - -<p> -'I believe it to be all nothing more than -a mere <i>coquetterie de salon</i>,' said Lord -Dunkeld. 'Sleath is not a marrying man.' -</p> - -<p> -'And Captain Colville's conduct with -the other sister, wandering away into -remote parts of the ground; I suppose -that was a <i>coquetterie de salon</i> too, mamma,' -said Blanche, her eyes sparkling with -anger, while she shrugged her shoulders, -and briskly used her dark blue and bronzy -green fan of peacocks' feathers. -</p> - -<p> -'What—how?' -</p> - -<p> -'They strolled away from everyone -together, and were absent ever so long.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is intolerable; but men will be -men, you see, Blanche. If Miss Wellwood -had been a married lady it would not have -mattered so much. I think when a young -man is attached to a married lady it keeps -him out of harm's way,' said Lady Dunkeld; -'however, we must take some decided -measures with Miss Wellwood, and with -Captain Colville too.' -</p> - -<p> -'Dear mamma!' cooed Miss Blanche -Galloway, and she laughed that worldly -little laugh of hers, which was so indicative -of her character. -</p> - -<p> -The result of all this was that, when -Mary and Ellinor called ceremoniously -shortly after the garden-party, Lady -Dunkeld, who was seated at one of the -drawing-room windows, on seeing them -approach, rose hastily and retired. -</p> - -<p> -'No one was at home.' -</p> - -<p> -Next day the sisters were scarcely -noticed by Lady Dunkeld and her daughter -at church. -</p> - -<p> -Other persons were not slow to remark -this, and the surmises thereon—though -the two girls knew nothing about them—were -the reverse of pleasant or flattering. -</p> - -<p> -Mary observed the absence of Captain -Colville, who was not in the Dunkeld -pew; and on the following day she felt a -keen pang on learning that he was gone -for a few days to shoot with Lord Dunkeld -in the Forest of Alyth. -</p> - -<p> -So he had gone without paying her a -farewell visit, thought Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'He is to return in a fortnight,' said -her informant, Mrs. Wodrow, near whose -chair Mary was seated on a tabourette in -the cosy manse parlour, making up a gala-cap -for the old lady; and near her crouched -Jack, watching the process. -</p> - -<p> -The parlour was a pretty apartment, -neither morning-room nor boudoir, though -somewhat of both, with many indications -of a woman's presence. -</p> - -<p> -Rare old china was disposed in odd -nooks, and china bowls with roses freshly -gathered from the garden; and the furniture, -if old-fashioned, and pertaining to -the early days of Mrs. Wodrow's -homecoming to the manse as a young wedded -wife, was all polished to perfection. On a -shelf was an imposing row of the 'Wodrow -Society's' religious publications, including -'The Last Words of My Lady Coltness,' -'Of My Lady Anne Elcho,' the life of the -gallant Covenanter, Sergeant John Nisbet -of Hardhill, and so forth. -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Apropos</i> of Captain Colville,' said the -old lady, looking down on her young -friend, 'I hope you have not lost your -heart to him, Mary?' -</p> - -<p> -'I should think not,' replied Mary, -stoutly, but colouring so deeply, nevertheless, -that Mrs. Wodrow could see how the -crimson suffused even her delicate neck. -</p> - -<p> -'That is well, Mary; mischief enough -has been wrought among us already,' -resumed Mrs. Wodrow, her benign old face becoming cloudy. -</p> - -<p> -Mary knew to what she referred, but -seemed, or affected to seem, wholly intent -on the cap; and Mrs. Wodrow looked -admiringly and affectionately down on her -dimpled wrists and little white hands. -</p> - -<p> -'I do wish I had something nice and -fresh for trimming!' she exclaimed, as she -twirled round the cap for inspection. 'I -think these rosebuds will do with this -spray of ivy,' she added, searching a -flower-box, and putting her head -meditatively on one side. -</p> - -<p> -'Then, Mrs. Wodrow,' she exclaimed, -'if I fail to please you, you must be a -dreadful coquette, you old dear!' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, pet Mary; when did you ever -fail to please me?' said the old lady, -caressing the girl's head, and adding, anxiously, -'You do not look well, Mary; where were -you this morning? Not in the clachan, I -hope, as I hear there is scarlatina there.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have no fear; I took a kind message -from Robert about a sick baby. I fear it -is dying, and God pity the poor mother, -the only light of whose life is likely to go -out in darkness.' -</p> - -<p> -'You have a tender heart, Mary. -Robert, poor Robert; you know he has -failed to pass, Mary?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; I am so sorry, and so is Ellinor.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor may well be,' said Mrs. Wodrow, -with some asperity. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' asked Mary, her colour deepening again. -</p> - -<p> -'Because her fair face has come between -him and his wits, poor fellow, and -I shouldn't wonder if we lose him altogether.' -</p> - -<p> -'Lose him!' repeated Mary, in a breathless -voice; 'how?' -</p> - -<p> -'He seems desperate and says that -rather than slave for another session at -college he will go for a soldier.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, never, never think of such a thing!' -</p> - -<p> -'He and Ellinor seem to have quarrelled.' -</p> - -<p> -'Quarrelled—surely not! About what -or who?' -</p> - -<p> -'That man Sir Redmond Sleath, and his -attentions to her.' -</p> - -<p> -'They will make up this quarrel as they -have made up others long ago,' said poor -Mary, cheerfully, as she little knew to -what a crisis the baronet's admiration for -her sister was coming—nay, had come. -She knew nothing of the scene in the -conservatory and other minor scenes, of the -present of jewellery, of utterances and -promises. She believed the whole affair -was only a lovers' quarrel, stimulated by -jealousy on Robert's part, and vanity on -that of Ellinor; and meantime she -sympathised with Mrs. Wodrow, and would have -done so with Robert had he been there, -but he was fully and painfully occupied -elsewhere at that precise time. -</p> - -<p> -'As children—as boy and girl, they may -have quarrelled, Mary; but this affair will -be a serious one for both, for Robert -especially. His studies are neglected, his -appetite is gone, and he looks the ghost of -himself.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary knew not what more to urge, as -she had seen, with some anxiety, Sir -Redmond's admiration of her sister, and said, -after a pause, -</p> - -<p> -'I wonder what manner of man Sir Redmond is?' -</p> - -<p> -'Judging by the little I saw of him at -the garden-party—where the mischief -seems to have been done—not a good -man, Mary dear—not a good man, though -a handsome one in his way, and to a young -girl, I doubt not, fascinating. Yet I would -rather see my daughter dead, if I had one, -than married to a man with eyes so cold, -so cruel and shifty.' -</p> - -<p> -'But <i>who</i> is thinking of marriage?' said -Mary, with a slight laugh, little knowing -that it was a contingency as remote from -the thoughts of Sir Redmond as her own. -</p> - -<p> -'And I don't think that Captain -Colville—for all that Dr. Wodrow seems -to like him so much—can be good in every -way if he has such a friend or companion -as Sir Redmond Sleath,' said the old lady, -shaking her head. -</p> - -<p> -These provoking words haunted Mary -for weeks after, as the tormenting -fragment of a song or air will haunt us—not -because we like it, though it will recur -again and again. Then he had gone without -the formality of a farewell visit. Had -the Dunkeld ladies aught to do with that? -Mary's heart foreboded that they had. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Wodrow was full of indignation -at the worry and humiliation undergone -by her son, and even the doctor was not -disinclined to inveigh against garden-parties -and such-like gatherings, as his -ancestor did against theatres—'those seminaries -of idleness, looseness, and sin,' as he -termed them in <i>Analecta Scotica</i>. -</p> - -<p> -The peaceful current of the sisters' life—the -life they led at bonnie Birkwoodbrae, -was soon to be roughly disturbed now, -and events were to occur which they could -never have foreseen. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII. -<br /><br /> -THE LAST APPEAL. -</h3> - -<p> -Robert Wodrow, on the afternoon referred -to in our last chapter, was, we have said, -engaged elsewhere than at the manse, and -yet he was not very far away. -</p> - -<p> -Incidents trivial at the time had now -recurred with convincing and accumulating -force to his feverish mind on one -hand; on the other, he feared that he -might have been too hasty in his condemnation, -and too summary in his suspicions, -in quitting the party at Craigmhor as he -had done; yet where were these two all the -time he had missed them, and what was -the subject of their discourse while he had -been lingering amid the gay groups in the -sunshine, and was grotesquely tortured by -the music of the band? -</p> - -<p> -And the token he had prayed for had -not been accorded! How he loathed the -little world in which he lived; how he -longed to eschew everyone there, and get -far away from the Birks of Invermay, for -to see Ellinor among these with another, -and that other 'the slimy Sleath,' as he -thought, would drive him mad. -</p> - -<p> -To think of Ellinor—to meet and hang -about her; to anticipate her every wish -and want, so far as lay in his humble -power, had been for years—in the intervals -of his hard studies—the daily occupation -of Robert Wodrow's life; and now all this -was at an end; his 'occupation,' like -Othello's, seemed gone. -</p> - -<p> -Knowing that Mary was at the manse, -he thought he would find Ellinor at home -alone, and he was right, so he ventured -near Birkwoodbrae to make a 'last appeal;' -and yet even in this he had been, to a -certain extent, interfered with by his rival. -</p> - -<p> -The latter, well aware of the time when -Mary Wellwood was generally abroad -among her poor people, or otherwise -employed, had sent his valet, John Gaiters—a -well-trained rascal—with a beautiful -bouquet and a perfumed note to Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -In the note he urged her by every -means in her power to preserve secrecy -close as the grave concerning the terms on -which they were, lest his expectations -might be destroyed, and with them her -own; and then he pressed her to meet him -at a certain point near the Linn on the -May, at a given time, when he would tell -her more. -</p> - -<p> -This missive was curiously and most -warily worded to be the production of one -who professed to be such an ardent lover. -It did not bear even his signature, but -only his initials mysteriously twisted into -a species of monogram. To one more -worldly wise or less foolish than Ellinor, -some doubts would have been inspired by -its tenor alone, but she had none, and -simply felt joy and tumult in her breast. -</p> - -<p> -She clasped the golden locket round her -neck, and with brightness spreading over -her sweet face, contemplated herself in a -hand mirror, while indulging in daydreams -of her future as Lady Sleath, being -driven in a splendid carriage to Buckingham -Palace, or down St. James's Street, -with bare shoulders in broad daylight, -with a train some yards long and diamonds -in profusion, to be presented at the -drawing-room in the gloomy old palace of -the Tudors, surrounded by handsome -fellows in snowy uniforms, who murmured -compliments about her beauty. -</p> - -<p> -Had 'dear Redmond' not described to -her, too, something of the life they would -lead together? Returning from Tyburnian -and Belgravian balls at 6 a.m., breakfasting -at mid-day, and then going for 'a -spin' in the Row, where cavaliers would -surround her, or canter by her side and -beg for waltzes at Lady A.'s and the -Countess of B.'s. Then dress again for -a flower <i>fête</i> at the Botanical Gardens; for -pigeon-shooting at Hurlingham (wherever -that was—poor Ellinor had not the ghost -of an idea!) Sunday at the Zoo, and a -dinner at the 'Star and Garter,' or it might -be at the 'Trafalgar' in Greenwich, which -she supposed to be one of H.M. ships. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly, amid visions such as these, -unheard or unannounced, Robert Wodrow -stood before her, hat in hand, and in his -eyes, keen and dark grey, a brooding light -that boded evil to some one! -</p> - -<p> -He was pale almost to ghastliness, and -her eyes drooped, as if a weight oppressed -their full white lids when they met his -fixed gaze. However, he took her proffered -hand mechanically, and then she tried -to talk gaily, not knowing what she said; -but the talk proved a miserable failure. -</p> - -<p> -How he longed to take her in his arms -once again; to kiss her glossy brown hair, -her damask cheek, her rosy lips; to -implore her to love him still and share his -humble future! But no; it would be -more cowardly to take any advantage then -of any passing remorse she might feel; -and better was it, perhaps, that she should -marry this other man, if he really loved -her, and forget—if she could—that there -was such a poor fellow as Robert Wodrow -in the secluded world she would leave -behind her; and he said something of this -to her in faltering accents, and for a time -the heart of Ellinor faltered too—but for -a time only. -</p> - -<p> -The new vision was too bright to fade -quickly away! -</p> - -<p> -'I am eating my heart out with sorrow -and uncertainty—I am sick of suspense, -Ellinor,' he said, after a pause; 'our happy -meetings, our walks, our talks, our plans -for the future—are they all as nothing to -you now, Ellinor?' -</p> - -<p> -'That is it, Robert,' she said, making a -prodigious effort to be calm and cool; -'you see, Robert, we have been so much -together.' -</p> - -<p> -'All our days, Ellinor!' -</p> - -<p> -'Too much so—yes, all our days; so it -never struck me that—that——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, darling?' -</p> - -<p> -'You cared for me in <i>that</i> way.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed! Your doubts come too late.' -</p> - -<p> -'Or I might have learned to care too,' -she said, with confusion. -</p> - -<p> -'You did love me, and care for me too, -before that fellow Sleath came among us,' -said Robert, gloomily; for it seemed hard -indeed that, after the happiness of their -boyhood and girlhood, after all the budding -hopes of riper years, under this man's -new and hateful influence, she made light -of him and his love—mocked him, it -seemed, laughed at him for being so -foolish to care for her 'in that way,' as she -phrased it. -</p> - -<p> -'Robert,' said she, after a pause, 'why -be so angry about a little flirtation?' -</p> - -<p> -She spoke deprecatingly, and her face -wore a sickly smile. -</p> - -<p> -'To flirt was never your wont, and I -have read that the essence of flirting is -that it is a stolen pleasure, the future -results of which cannot be foreseen.' -</p> - -<p> -'It would be tame between such old -friends as you and I, Robert.' -</p> - -<p> -'Tame indeed—and unnatural,' said he, -huskily. -</p> - -<p> -His eyes, which hitherto had been fixed -upon her colourless face, now fell upon the -ornament she was wearing—an ornament -he had never seen before; and from its -apparent value his heart too surely -foreboded who the donor was; yet he -disdained to refer to it, though he said, -upbraidingly, -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Ellinor, how I have loved, and still -love you, is known only to Heaven and -myself; yet never again shall my hand -touch yours; never again my arm go round -you; never more shall my lips touch yours, -though yearning—oh, God only knows -how intensely—longing to do so once -again—only once again!' -</p> - -<p> -She evinced no sign of a truce in this -position, and was devoutly hoping that -Robert Wodrow would adopt some other -<i>rôle</i> than that of lover. -</p> - -<p> -'Robert,' she said, nervously, 'are we -not friends?' -</p> - -<p> -'No.' -</p> - -<p> -'Can we not be friends again?' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Friends!</i> How can you ask me? It -was, you well know, always understood,' -he continued, making an effort to be calm, -'that when I could afford to marry, you, -Ellinor, would be my wife. Why take all -my love and give me back not an atom -now?' -</p> - -<p> -She accorded no answer. -</p> - -<p> -'You have ceased to be true to me. I -have known and felt it for weeks past,' he -continued, 'and yet I cannot regain my -freedom of heart.' -</p> - -<p> -Her head was weary, but her heart was -beating wildly and painfully; and Robert's -eyes, as he surveyed her with all their -sadness of expression, were expressive of -the fondest love. -</p> - -<p> -Never before had these two spoken or -confronted each other with bitterness of -heart until now, and each felt that for the -other all was over, and that the tender -past, 'the grace of a day that was dead,' -would never come again. -</p> - -<p> -'Robert, I have always hated the idea of -being poor,' urged Ellinor, as if to -extenuate herself, 'and with you, a young, -struggling, country practitioner, supposing the -summit of your ambition won, I should -never be otherwise. Pardon me,' she -added, recalling the Alnaschar visions his -visit had interrupted, 'if I speak unkindly.' -</p> - -<p> -'Say, rather, cruelly, and you will be -nearer the truth, Ellinor Wellwood; yet I -am sorry for you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Be not so, Robert. I repeat that I -would never be happy poor—now,' she -added, involuntarily. -</p> - -<p> -'You have made that discovery since -this interloper came!' -</p> - -<p> -She was silent, but her silence was assent, -and he took it as such. -</p> - -<p> -'Not happy even at dear old Birkwoodbrae -or the home I meant to provide close -by it?' he said, reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -'Be reasonable, Robert; happen what -may, we can always be dear friends.' -</p> - -<p> -'Friends—again!' he exclaimed, sternly; -'you and I, Ellinor?' -</p> - -<p> -Then his manner changed, for the greatness -of his love made him very humble, and -he said, -</p> - -<p> -'Do you know what you are doing—do -you fully think of it even? You cannot -love this man, Ellinor, whom, I suppose, -you are going to marry, as you loved me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Marriage, Robert!' said she, blushing -deeply now; 'how fast your thoughts run.' -</p> - -<p> -'How?' -</p> - -<p> -'If that is to be, it is in the future, of -course—but just now——' -</p> - -<p> -She paused with some confusion, as she -thought of the injunctions laid by Sleath -upon her. -</p> - -<p> -'You cannot love him?' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps not quite exactly yet, Robert,' -replied Ellinor, not knowing really what -to say, and feeling some shame at -the part she was acting; 'but think of -his position, and the place he can give -me—a poor, almost penniless, girl—in -society.' -</p> - -<p> -'And in that place you expect to be happy?' -</p> - -<p> -'I shall have substantial grounds for -happiness, and I think, Robert dear, you -wish me well.' -</p> - -<p> -'Heaven knows I do, though you are -learning fast to forget. Search your heart, -Ellinor,' he continued, piteously; 'think -over our past, darling—of our mutually -anticipated future, in which each seemed -to see only the other. Against reason, -hope, and all I hear I cannot forget, and -hence I love you—love you still, Ellinor.' -</p> - -<p> -He stretched out his hands to her, and -his eyes grew very dim. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment she was tempted to throw -herself upon his loving breast, and there -sob out her remorse and seek his forgiveness; -but the demons of pride and ambition -ruled her heart too strongly now, and -she withheld or crushed the emotions of -pity and generosity that so fleetly inspired -her. -</p> - -<p> -When that emotion came again they -were far apart, and it came too late—too -late! -</p> - -<p> -How this last meeting <i>might</i> have ended -it is difficult to say; but Robert Wodrow, -thinking it was useless to protract the -agony he felt, pressed his tremulous lips -to her right hand, and, without trusting -himself to look again in her face, swiftly -withdrew, and quitted the house. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Robert! She was indeed sorry for -him—sorry that the old friendly relations, -as she strove to deem them now, should be -broken up. 'They had been such chums'—Robert, -more justly, deemed it 'lovers'—in -the dear past time that would -never—could never—come again! -</p> - -<p> -Better a thousand times, if it was to be, -that they parted now, and that it was -over—all over and done with, thought Ellinor, -after a time. -</p> - -<p> -Amid all this there was a strange and -conflicting—a mysterious foreboding in -her mind, that by casting off the honest -love of Robert Wodrow she might be -entailing future misery on herself. -</p> - -<p> -The last appeal had been made, and, -though in vain, young Wodrow did not -regret that he had made it, but he feared -that Ellinor might be following a shadow -and missing the substance. So true it is -that 'the golden moments in the stream -of life rush past us, and we see nothing -but sand; that angels come to visit us, -and we only know them when they are -gone.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV. -<br /><br /> -GRETCHEN AND FAUST. -</h3> - -<p> -'And you have quarrelled with poor -Robert?' said Mary, somewhat reproachfully, -to her sister. -</p> - -<p> -'Nay—not quarrelled, exactly,' replied -Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'What, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Agreed to part.' -</p> - -<p> -'After—<i>all</i>; oh, Ellinor!' -</p> - -<p> -'All what?' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, you know what I mean.' -</p> - -<p> -'We have always been in the habit of -calling each other by our Christian names, -and by pet names, too, such as Robbie -and Ellie—a bad system—and—and—in -fact, you know, Mary, we regarded each -other rather as brother and sister than -as—as——' -</p> - -<p> -'Lovers—and in this new view of the -situation you are no doubt influenced by -Sir Redmond Sleath?' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps,' replied Ellinor, doggedly, as -she watched the hands of the clock. -</p> - -<p> -'If he means honourably—and he dare -not mean otherwise—you are perhaps -worldly-wise. But poor Robert!' -</p> - -<p> -The exclamation, though uttered low, -found an echo in the heart of Ellinor. -Yet she was inexorably intent on keeping -her invited appointment, of which Mary -had not, of course, the least suspicion. -</p> - -<p> -'I do not like Sir Redmond,' said Mary, -with a tone of decision. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' asked Ellinor, changing colour. -</p> - -<p> -'He never looks me straight in the face, -and at times, with all his insouciance, he -can do nothing but tug out his moustache, -as if to show off his white, useless hands. -He certainly has hung about you, Ellinor, -more than I—considering our friendless -and lonely position—have quite relished.' -</p> - -<p> -'Not perhaps more than Captain Colville -has hung about you, Mary,' retorted -Ellinor, softly; 'and I may as well admit -that Sir Redmond always speaks to me of -his love, and has asked me to love him in -return.' -</p> - -<p> -'He has done this?' exclaimed Mary, -growing pale. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' replied Ellinor, kissing her sister, -perhaps to hide her own face. -</p> - -<p> -'Has he asked you to be his wife?' -</p> - -<p> -The look of unrest—sorrowful unrest—she -had detected more than once in Ellinor's -face crept over it now. The latter -cast her sweet eyes down and made no -reply, as in this important matter she was -as yet tongue-tied. -</p> - -<p> -'Be wary—be wary, pet Ellinor, for it -has been truly said that common-sense -and honesty bear so small a proportion to -folly and knavery that human life at least -is but a paltry province.' -</p> - -<p> -'Is this out of one of Dr. Wodrow's -sermons?' asked Ellinor, with some -annoyance. 'Surely I am the best judge of -what is for my own happiness.' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps; but remember the proverb,' -said Mary, thinking of the absent Colville -and fading hopes. 'Happiness is like an -echo which answers to the call, but does -not come.' -</p> - -<p> -'What an old croaker it is!' said Ellinor, -as she laughingly kissed her sister again -and slipped away from her. -</p> - -<p> -She re-read Sir Redmond Sleath's letter—the -first love-letter she had ever received, -if we except the sorrowful and -upbraiding epistle from Robert Wodrow. -It seemed orthodox enough, as it began -'My darling,' but had no genuine signature, -and there was very little devotion -expressed in it, and was brief and curt. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps Sir Redmond disliked -letter-writing—most men do; but there seemed -something wanting in this letter—something -she could not define, and the lack of -which she felt and sighed over. Were -Mary's words of warning affecting her? -It almost seemed so; but she put the -document carefully away in the most -secret recess of her desk, and hastened to -hold the meeting it solicited—and like the -Gretchen of Goethe hastening to meet -Faust, took her way to the trysting-place -near the Linn, and long after in Ellinor's -mind was the sound of the May, as it -poured over the steep cascade, associated -with this meeting and all the pain it -caused her. -</p> - -<p> -When she arrived, Sir Redmond was not -there, and was ungallantly late in keeping -his appointment; but he and Lord -Dunkeld had lately betaken themselves to -wiling away the evenings at écarté, though -the baronet had a way of turning a king -that would have made the fortune of -anyone compelled to pluck wealthy pigeons. -He came just when Ellinor was very -much disposed to pout, and framed the -most humble of apologies, as he was -resolved to lose no time in carrying out his -nefarious plans in absence of the -Guardsman, who seemed to have—he knew not -why, unless for evil schemes of his own—a -mysterious interest in these two girls, of -one of whom he stood somehow rather in -awe. -</p> - -<p> -Pressing Ellinor close to his heart, with -her face nestled in his neck, he told her -why he had asked for this meeting, and -what he had now to propose for their own -happiness, and that to deceive his wealthy -uncle, from whom their marriage must be -kept a secret—there could be no public -ceremony—no notice in the newspapers, -more than all! -</p> - -<p> -'Dare you trust yourself to me, darling -Ellinor, and marry me privately; and then—then, -before spring comes, assuredly—' -</p> - -<p> -'My heart recoils from such treachery -to Mary—from all this secrecy; is it—can -it be necessary?' asked the girl, weeping. -</p> - -<p> -'Most necessary for our future, if it is -to be a brilliant one, as I have no doubt -you wish,' he continued, caressing her, -and then added, with a sophistry that -would have been plain to anyone less -simple or less easily deluded than Ellinor, -'I am quite prepared to acknowledge our -marriage to all the world, provided it does -not, as it must not, reach my uncle's ears.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have heard that trusting to Providence -in the shape of elderly relations is -often fatal,' said Ellinor, with a sickly -smile. -</p> - -<p> -'I shall get a special licence, if that will -satisfy you, Ellinor darling!' he urged, -ignorant of the fact that in Scotland such -a document was unknown, and that there -the Archbishop of Canterbury had no more -power than 'General Booth.' -</p> - -<p> -He left nothing unsaid to play upon her -weakness, but it was long before he could -obtain a half silent consent from her, and, -ere he did so, more than once an ugly -gleam came into his eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Though not unhandsome, the face of -Sir Redmond was not always a pleasant -one to look upon. A certain force about -it there was, and those who watched it -felt that its owner was not a man to be -trifled with in anything that touched his -self-interest or his evil purposes; that he -was a man ready for emergencies and heedless -of obstacles if he had an end in view. -</p> - -<p> -Like a character recently described by -a novelist, 'his great weapon was his -inflexible will, aided by the reputation he -had achieved of never allowing himself to -be defeated. I need not say that he held -women in the most supreme contempt, and -openly expressed his opinion that every -woman had her price. The only merit he -assumed was in knowing the exact article -of barter each had set her heart on.' -</p> - -<p> -Such was the pleasant personage who -had supplanted Robert Wodrow, and even -while he was softly caressing the girl and -subjecting her to his endearments, he was -thinking of the time to come—the time -when she would find herself separated -from her loving sister, her only tie on -earth—alone in the world, penniless and -in his power, her character and position -utterly lost, and when none would believe -her most solemn protestations of innocence; -then would be his hour of supreme -triumph, when, like a bruised and wounded -bird, she would come fluttering to him for -succour and protection, and when he might -be generous, and make her over to 'that -yahoo, Robert Wodrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'I shall have a splendid house in which -to enshrine you when the time comes and -I am free,' continued the tempter; 'you, -my darling, have known no home but this -sequestered one—apart from all the -world—a world of which you know nothing.' -</p> - -<p> -'And poor Mary—how can I leave her?' -</p> - -<p> -'Nor need you do so—once we are away -and have been made one we shall send for -her; it will only be the matter of a post or -two. I shall so love and cherish you both,' -urged Sleath, half laughing in his mind at -the conviction that she would never see -Mary again until—well, until he was tired -of her. 'Courage, little one, and you will -be Lady Sleath—it is a second edition of -the miller's lovely daughter.' -</p> - -<p> -'I am not quite so humble as she was,' -said Ellinor, making a little <i>moue</i>. -</p> - -<p> -'Nor I so exalted as the "gracious -Duncan." To-morrow night, then, dearest -Ellinor, at this hour—nine o'clock, I shall -await you with a hired carriage at the -corner of the lane below Birkwoodbrae, -and a short drive will take us to the station, -where we shall get the up train for London -and the south!' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor answered only by her tears, and -the silently-accorded kiss that gave consent, -and went shudderingly back to her home, -feeling as if she was hovering on the verge -of an abyss. -</p> - -<p> -And she was so in more ways than one! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV. -<br /><br /> -HOW FAUST SUCCEEDED. -</h3> - -<p> -The day, an eventful one, indeed, to -Ellinor—wore on; the 'to-morrow night' of -Sir Redmond's arrangements had become -'to-night,' and the hour of nine seemed to -be approaching swiftly. -</p> - -<p> -Mary's warnings to Ellinor to 'be wary' -recurred to the latter persistently and -reproachfully, yet she never wavered or -swerved from her purpose, though with -reference to marriage there came to her -memory the words of a writer who says -it <i>is</i> a solemn thing when you come to -think of it, that if you make a mistake in -the matter you are in for it, and nothing -can pull you out again. -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor's ambition was, as we have -shown, dazzled on one hand, while love -and novelty lured her on the other. Her -heart was wrung by the duplicity with -which she was treating her sister, and the -contemplation of what that sister's -emotions would be when she was missed; but -Sleath's brilliant promises and visions of -the future that was before them, deadened -the sense of the present for a time. -</p> - -<p> -She wrote a farewell letter to Mary, -which the latter would in time find on her -toilet table. -</p> - -<p> -'The first step is taken now, I cannot -retrace it,' thought Ellinor, as she closed -this letter, a very incoherent and blurred -one; 'and now to begone—to steal away -without seeing darling Mary, whom I could -not look in the face.' -</p> - -<p> -Nervously and hurriedly she went -through her drawers and repositories, -selecting and thrusting into a hand-bag those -articles which she thought were necessary -for her journey or flight. Now and then -something turned up which reminded her -of happy past hours, of Mary's love, and -their parents' memory; she gazed with -tear-blinded eyes on some faded photographs, -and kissed them passionately as if -she could neither look on them long enough -nor part with them. -</p> - -<p> -At last her assortment was made, and, -fearful of meeting Mary, she threw on her -hat and cloak, grasped her bag, slipped -softly from the house by a back way, -and passing through the old doorway with -the date and legend on its lintel, went -quickly towards the place of meeting, with -her heart beating wildly, painfully, and all -her pulses tingling. -</p> - -<p> -The anxiety—the craving that had -possessed her at times to get away from the -reproachful eyes of Robert Wodrow and -the upbraiding speeches of his mother, was -about to be relieved now; for under the -mal-influence of Sleath the girl's nature -seemed to have been changed, but the last -words Mrs. Wodrow had said to her were -in her memory then:— -</p> - -<p> -'You took the love of my boy—the one -deep love of his life it seemed to -be—made a plaything of his heart, and then -cast it aside to break and wither, it may -be to die!' -</p> - -<p> -Anyone who saw Ellinor at this juncture -would have found a curious rigidity -in the usually soft outline of her sweet -face, and a perplexed and troubled -expression in her hazel eyes as she walked -onward, feeling it was not yet too late to -return. -</p> - -<p> -But she had passed her word, plighted -her troth, given her promise to this man, -and why should she not redeem her -pledge? She was leaving a homely and -dull, a grey and sequestered, if perfectly -peaceful life, for the new and brilliant -one to be shared with him, who loved her -so well, and she would fulfil her contract. -</p> - -<p> -Some—no doubt many—there would be -who might have no pity for the rash -imprudence of a motherless girl yielding to -the temptation given her and eloping thus; -and her name, her story, and her transgression, -in many a false version, might be -bandied from lip to lip, a conviction that -galled and fretted her naturally proud -spirit; but the consciousness of all this -was inferior to a sense of what she knew -Mary would feel, on finding herself deceived -thus and left alone—alone to face the -scandal, gossip, <i>esclandre</i>, and reprehension -to which her act would give rise; and -the knowledge gave Ellinor acute mental -agony. -</p> - -<p> -She had been that morning at the -churchyard, as if to bid her parents -farewell in spirit, and saw the last chaplets -that she and Mary had woven lying on -their graves, all withered now, and she had -marvelled when flowers from her hands -would be laid there again. -</p> - -<p> -All was still around her now; she could -hear, however, the voice of Mary's tame -owl in its nest in the garden wall, and the -rush of the May over its rocky bed. -</p> - -<p> -When might she hear that familiar -sound in the sweet moonlight again? Ay, -Ellinor, when? -</p> - -<p> -Perfectly cool and audacious Sir -Redmond Sleath was at the appointed place -betimes, and though an intrigue or -adventure of this kind was nothing new to him, -his heart was certainly beating faster than -usual under his well-cut coat as he quitted -the hired brougham at the end of the lane -which diverged from the highway towards -Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -The moon, a sickly and slender one, -was waning, and the chill, pale light of its -crescent cast the shadows of the tall silver -birches across the pathway as he picked -his way forward to where the outline of -the house at Birkwoodbrae came before -him, with its grey walls and windows half -covered by masses of monthly roses and -Virginia creepers. The house and all -around it seemed still as the grave. He had -come betimes, we say, and was thus at his -post a little before Ellinor came forth to -meet him. -</p> - -<p> -He heard no sound and saw no sign, and -to him seconds seemed like minutes—minutes -hours. Could anything have -happened? Had Mary baffled the plans -of Ellinor, or had the courage of the latter -failed her at the last moment? He had -known of such things; and there was a -curious suppressed gleam—a latent glitter -in his cold blue eyes that would not have -been pleasant to see. -</p> - -<p> -He heard the house clock strike the -hour of nine, and just as the last stroke -sounded he saw the waving of a dress and -of a white skirt, the wearer of which -turned into the lane, and he smiled as -such men smile over the triumph of their -own selfishness and heartlessness; but now -Ellinor, for she it was, paused in her -approach, for something between a yell -and a hoarse oath escaped Sir Redmond, -blended with fierce growling, and he felt -as if his right leg had been caught in the -sharpest of mantraps. -</p> - -<p> -True to the instincts of hate and -vengeance for more than one kick administered -by Sleath, Jack, the bull terrier, who -had been upon the prowl, had caught the -baronet by the calf of the leg and held -him fast! -</p> - -<p> -Now, whether it was a dog, a cat, a -hare, or a rabbit on which Jack fastened, -he never relaxed his hold while life remained -in his victim; and so, after tearing -Sir Redmond's trousers from heel to -waistband, Jack's sharp teeth were closed -nigh to meeting in the muscles of his -enemy's right leg. -</p> - -<p> -And well might Ellinor pause in wonder -and affright as she shrank under the -shadow of a hedge, for to the fierce -imprecations of Sir Redmond, and the angry -snarling of the dog, were added the -swearing of the valet, John Gaiters, and the -shouts of the brougham driver. -</p> - -<p> -By the time the dog let go and trotted -leisurely to the house, there was nothing -left for Sir Redmond and his two attendants -but an ignominious retreat, and they -drove off accordingly. -</p> - -<p> -To Sleath it was a matter for the fiercest -exasperation that his carefully matured -and well-laid scheme to entrap a beautiful -and well-nigh friendless girl—a scheme on -the very verge of its fruition—had been -baffled, and baffled so absurdly, so -grotesquely, and with so much physical -agony, by 'an accursed cur which he -would yet shoot like a rat,' as he hissed -through his clenched teeth. -</p> - -<p> -And Sleath was, strange to say, the -more furious because he had meditated a -perfidy towards Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -Terror of the dog's bite and probable -hydrophobia made her would-be lover -nearly beside himself. He came no more -near Birkwoodbrae, so, for the present, she -was safe from him. His pedestrianism was -effectually marred for several days, and -even had he been able to concoct any -fresh nefarious scheme, events were about -to occur at Birkwoodbrae beyond the -conception of all. -</p> - -<p> -However, on the day of the projected -elopement, he had made all his arrangements -for leaving Craigmhor, and, having -formally bade adieu to Lord Dunkeld's -household, he could not return, and had -to carry out his plans for travelling south -without the fair companion whom he -intended should accompany him. In the -snug comfort of a Pullman car he gave -loose to the rage and mortification naturally -inspired by his most humiliating and -grotesque defeat. He drank heavily, and -there was a fiendish expression of -determination in his face that terrified even his -usually stolid valet, Mr. John Gaiters. -</p> - -<p> -Though she heard the shrill voice of -Elspat crying, -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Miss Wellwood, Jack's been up to -mischief—fighting with something; his -jaws are all over with blood!' -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor knew not precisely what had -happened: she only felt that all was over, -how or why she knew not; but a revulsion -of feeling took possession of her, a -flood of tears relieved her, and on her -knees by her bedside she thanked Heaven -for her escape! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI. -<br /><br /> -EVIL TIDINGS. -</h3> - -<p> -That night before retiring to rest, when -seated near Mary, and affecting to read -to Ellinor quietly by the light of a -pleasantly shaded lamp, all the stirring and -startling events of the recent hour or two -seemed a kind of dream—an unreality—though -the illusion was apt to be dispelled -by Mary's wondering surmises as to what -Jack had been fighting with, and who -made all the noise prior to the dog's return -with somewhat ensanguined teeth and -jaws! -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor, as she looked furtively from time -to time at Mary's sweet and placid face, -with its downcast looks and soft, yet firm -expression, felt inclined to cast herself on -her breast and confess all the story of the -late escape. But her heart failed her; it -was too full of shame for her duplicity, -with doubt, bewilderment, and a strange -kind of hope in the future. -</p> - -<p> -Her day-dreams, as we have described -them, were too bright and too recent to -be quite dispelled or abandoned yet. -</p> - -<p> -And both sisters were quite unaware -that they owed the fact of their being -placidly seated as usual together at that -time to Jack the terrier, who lay asleep -with his head resting on Mary's feet, yet -snarling from time to time and showing -his teeth; for he was dreaming—as dogs -will dream—of his late encounter and -revenge. For though Jack had snarled -fiercely when assailed by Gaiter's foot and -the driver's whip, he had made his first -attack 'with that savage and insidious -silence' which, as Bell in his British -quadrupeds says, indicate the character -of the bull-dog; and, though called a -fox-terrier, the gallant Jack had a strong cross -of the bull in him. -</p> - -<p> -Betimes next morning Ellinor sought -the spot where she was to have met Sir -Redmond. There the wayside grass was -bruised, torn, and spotted with blood, -which the dew of the August night had -failed to wash away, and there lay a -half-smoked cigar and a gentleman's kid glove. -On the latter, Jack, who accompanied her, -with cocked ears and tail, and with his -bandy legs looking more impudent and -confident than usual, pounced with a snort -of triumph, and tore it to shreds with his -teeth and paws, thus giving Ellinor the -first light she had on last night's mystery. -</p> - -<p> -There were marks close by where horses' -hoofs had been planted, and the deep ruts -of carriage wheels—a carriage brought for -her; all silent witnesses that Sir Redmond -had been there! -</p> - -<p> -And all this had happened but last -night—exactly twelve hours ago; yet it -looked as if a score of years had passed -since she stole silently from her room and -approached the shaded lane! -</p> - -<p> -Troubles and hopes always look brighter -by day than by night, in sunshine than -under clouds and rain; so Ellinor began -to consider the whole affair with more -composure. -</p> - -<p> -To her it had seemed that, 'although -love in a cottage is a very fine thing, love -in a Belgravian mansion was decidedly -preferable;' but all that just then seemed to -be over and done with, when, during the -day, she heard incidentally through old -Elspat of Sir Redmond's sudden departure -from Craigmhor—the departure in which -she was to have shared! -</p> - -<p> -She loved Sir Redmond with her head -only, and not with her heart; and though -Robert Wodrow might not have quite -divined the difference, yet a difference in -such love there is. -</p> - -<p> -And Ellinor as she reflected, vowed to -herself that never again would she risk -the loss of position as Colonel Wellwood's -daughter (even to be a baronet's wife), or -place herself so foolishly in a comparative -stranger's power, till he was free to claim -and wed her, despite relations and wealth. -</p> - -<p> -Little did the simple Ellinor know the -reality of the escape she had so narrowly -made from the pitfall prepared for her. -'<i>Væ victis!</i> is the watchword of civilisation,' -says a writer; 'a trustful, loving -girl succumbs to the artifices of a -scoundrel, and society punishes her by averting -the light of its countenance from her, -while the man who has committed a crime -only next to murder in atrocity is let off -scot-free. And so the world wags, my -venerable masters! and it is a jolly one, -take it at its worst aspect.' -</p> - -<p> -Ignorant of the baffled elopement, of -course, and perhaps of Sir Redmond's -departure from the neighbourhood of -Invermay, Robert Wodrow, intent on plans of -his own, came near Ellinor no more, and -seemed to ignore her existence. -</p> - -<p> -And, strange to say, ere long she became -indignant that he made no sign or -advance; while rumour said he was perhaps -going away, no one knew whither. There -has seldom been a woman who liked to see -a once avowed lover slip from her grasp; -and Robert Wodrow certainly had been -Ellinor's lover till the serpent entered her -paradise in the shape of rank and -ambition. -</p> - -<p> -But we are somewhat anticipating the -events of the day subsequent to her -intended flight. -</p> - -<p> -Mary, after evening fell, and having -been round among some of her poor -people, was seated somewhat thoughtfully -alone, and seemed to have lost most of her -usual buoyancy of spirit. Was it a -prevision of coming evil, she thought, or the -result of the weather? The sun had sunk -like a red, glowing ball behind the hills, -and there was in the air an extraordinary -stillness which produced a depressing -effect upon her spirits. -</p> - -<p> -The recent visits of Captain Colville and -Sir Redmond Sleath, on the one hand, and -the cold and haughty demeanour of Lady -Dunkeld and her daughter, on the other, -had begun to impress upon her the -necessity for making a change in their little -household, and having some pleasant, -motherly, and elderly lady to reside with -them as a chaperone; and her mind was -full of thought on this matter when -Dr. Wodrow was announced. She welcomed -him with pleasure, as usual, all unaware -that he was the bearer of tidings that -would render all her plans for the future -unavailing! -</p> - -<p> -He noticed the cloud on Mary's face -through her smile of welcome, and, taking -her hand kindly in his own, he said, -</p> - -<p> -'Mary dear, is there anything you -particularly dread?' -</p> - -<p> -'How strange that you should ask me -this,' replied Mary, 'for I am rather -ashamed to say that I feel as if something -of evil were about to happen—but the -emotion is vague and undefined.' -</p> - -<p> -'Then you believe in presentiments?' -</p> - -<p> -'I do—sometimes—do not you, Dr. Wodrow?' -</p> - -<p> -'I am afraid I do,' said he, with increasing -kindness and gravity of manner. 'So -Robert and Ellinor have completely quarrelled?' -</p> - -<p> -'I fear so.' -</p> - -<p> -'George Eliot says that "Every man -who is not a monster, a mathematician, or -a moral philosopher is the slave of some -woman or other." But I came not to speak -of Robert, poor fellow, but of something -concerning yourself.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of me!' said Mary, startled by the -growing gravity of his manner. -</p> - -<p> -'Yourself and Ellinor! I have wanted -much to see you all day, my dear.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'I have news for you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Good news or bad?' -</p> - -<p> -'Bad, I grieve to say, my dear bairn,' -said he, as he paused again with something -pitiful in his handsome old face, while -Mary's colour changed, and her heart -began to beat quicker with pain and -apprehension. -</p> - -<p> -'Have you had a letter from a Mr. Luke -Sharpe?' -</p> - -<p> -'No—who is he?' -</p> - -<p> -'A lawyer—a writer to the signet in -Edinburgh—who is the legal agent of your -cousin Wellwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'What is all this to me—to us?' -</p> - -<p> -'Your uncle is dead. Your cousin is -the next male heir—heir of entail—so -Birkwoodbrae, and everything else of -which your uncle died possessed that is -entailed, goes to him, and you and Ellinor -can reside here no longer—so Mr. Sharpe -has written me.' -</p> - -<p> -He evidently said this with an effort—with -manifest difficulty, and as if he dreaded -to look in the face of Mary, who for -some moments felt as if stunned, and gazed -at the lawyer's letter, which he placed -before her, as she would at a serpent, and -scarcely taking in its meaning. -</p> - -<p> -'Understand me, child. Your father's -elder brother, who permitted you to live -unmolested here—as Birkwoodbrae was -but a moiety of the entailed property—is -dead, and young Wellwood, the guardsman -of whom Captain Colville spoke so often, -claims all.' -</p> - -<p> -'And we must go away?' said Mary, in -a low, strange, wailing voice, all unlike -her own. -</p> - -<p> -'Away—yes—but where?' -</p> - -<p> -'God only knows!' -</p> - -<p> -And as she spoke the girl wrung her -slender interlaced fingers, while the old -minister kindly patted her head, as he had -often done in her childhood. After a -pause, Mary said, in a voice broken more -than once by a hard dry sob, -</p> - -<p> -'Our uncle in Australia would seem to -have died months ago according to this -letter, yet we only hear of the event now.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'And we have been living here in another -person's house, though we deemed it -our own—another person's, and not thinking -of rent?' she added, bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -Mary thought the doctor took the matter -somewhat placidly, and felt indignation -mingle with her grief. -</p> - -<p> -'And for the roof that covered us, Ellinor -and I have actually been indebted for -months to our cousin Wellwood, the -cold-blooded son of a cold-blooded father, who -died at feud with ours, and amid the whirl -of London life never troubled himself -about our existence, even when we were -left as orphan girls upon the world. So -we have been living here in dear, dear -Birkwoodbrae in a fool's paradise, after -all—after all!' continued Mary, with growing -bitterness of tone and heart. -</p> - -<p> -'"The paradise of fools—to few unknown," -as Milton has it,' said the doctor, -sententiously. -</p> - -<p> -'To turn us out of Birkwoodbrae is -nothing less than the most cruel injustice!' -resumed Mary, with anger. -</p> - -<p> -'But legal. It is the law of entail.' -</p> - -<p> -'Birkwoodbrae is twice as valuable now -as it was when poor papa settled here, -some twenty years ago, and he and we -have made it so. It is hard, it is bitter, -our home—our dear home—we have known -no other; and so near where they lie—papa -and mamma—so near this house in which -I closed their eyes.' -</p> - -<p> -'I doubt not that if your cousin -Wellwood were properly appealed to——' -</p> - -<p> -'We should die rather than appeal to -him!' interrupted Mary, impetuously, -while stamping her little foot upon the -floor. 'To do so would be enough to -make papa turn in his grave. Though -Birkwoodbrae is inexpressibly dear to -Ellinor and to me. Papa used to say of -cousin Wellwood as a boy, though he -never saw him, that he was a puzzle to -the whole family.' -</p> - -<p> -'How, Mary?' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, as—as—like a treacherous -cuckoo's egg that is dropped into a -sparrow's nest and becomes a puzzle to the -poor sparrow, which wonders and -compares it with her own little brood.' -</p> - -<p> -'What an odd simile, my dear,' said -Dr. Wodrow, his face actually rippling over -with a smile brighter than Mary relished -under the circumstances, and recalled the -aphorism of that unpleasant fellow, -J. J. Rousseau, that many people feel an -internal satisfaction at the troubles of even -their best friends. -</p> - -<p> -'Then you will not trust a little to -humanity and to Wellwood?' -</p> - -<p> -'Death were preferable, I repeat!' -exclaimed Mary, though her tears were falling -fast now. -</p> - -<p> -'Consider—blood is thicker than water, -among us in Scotland particularly.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor and I will never stoop so low,' -replied Mary, alternately interlacing her -fingers in her lap, and mechanically -caressing the head of Jack, who had placed his -nose on her knee, and regarded her -wistfully with his great black eyes, as if he -knew instinctively that something distressed -his mistress by the expression of her face. -</p> - -<p> -'Well, what will be, will be!' said -Dr. Wodrow, from his fatalist or Presbyterian -point of view, as he cast his eye upward -to the ceiling. -</p> - -<p> -Mary heard his voice as one hears in a -dream. The flies buzzed in the window -curtains, the last of the birds still twittered -about among the climbing creepers at the -open sash, the roses sent forth their -fragrance still, and the drooping foliage of -the silver birches was gently stirred by -the soft evening breeze. -</p> - -<p> -The old clock ticked loudly on the -mantelpiece—unnaturally so—as Mary -thought it seemed to do 'when mamma -and papa died;' but when the minister -urged again that she should attempt to -temporise, -</p> - -<p> -'No,' she exclaimed, emphatically, 'we -shall not accept a farthing or a farthing's -worth of what belonged to our common -ancestors. It would ill become Colonel -Wellwood's daughters to do so now.' -</p> - -<p> -'Lady Dunkeld, I doubt not, has great -influence with your cousin Wellwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'She knows him, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; people in "Society," as it is -called, all know something of each other.' -</p> - -<p> -'And you would have me seek his -interest through her? Enough of this, dear -Dr. Wodrow. I think you should know -me better,' said Mary, covering her eyes -with white and tremulous fingers, as if -she would thrust back her tears. -</p> - -<p> -'The recognition of the inevitable in -human affairs often brings composure when -all else fails, we read somewhere,' said the -minister. -</p> - -<p> -'Whatever <i>is</i>, is doubtless best, and this -apparent stroke of evil fortune may—nay, -must be so,' said Mary; 'yet it is hard to -bear just now—hard to bear.' -</p> - -<p> -Dr. Wodrow regarded her bowed head -with a soft, kind, and admiring smile. -</p> - -<p> -'All will come right in the end, dear -Mary,' said he, confidently, and then -added, almost laughingly, 'I am sure Captain -Colville's advice may prevail with you; -and he will be back before I can return -from Edinburgh, whither I must go on the -morrow morning early. -</p> - -<p> -Mary's pallor increased at the mention -of Captain Colville's name; but she said, -firmly and doggedly, -</p> - -<p> -'He is the last man in the world whose -advice I would seek.' -</p> - -<p> -But before the well-meaning old minister -came back from his journey the crisis -in the sisters' affairs seemed ended and over. -</p> - -<p> -At last he was gone, and Mary sat for a -time in the twilighted old dining-room as -one who was stunned or in a dream, while -the beloved and reverend figures of her -dead parents seemed once again to occupy -in fancy their favourite places by the -hearth. -</p> - -<p> -The good old honest furniture of the -room was all of the 'old school,' and had -been familiar to her from her childhood; -the vast sofa with its wide arms and cosy -cushions; the dark mahogany sideboard -that was like a mural monument, with two -urn-like knife-boxes thereon, and over -which hung an old, old circular convex -mirror, surmounted by an eagle with a -glass ball in its beak. The horsehair -chairs were ranged in rank and file along -the wall; and all these household features -spoke to Mary's heart so much of the past -and of home that the details of the room -gave her a sensation of acute agony, as -she caught them at a glance and covered -her face with her hands. -</p> - -<p> -She tried to realise the new life—the -homeless life—that must lie before her and -Ellinor now, and the rocks, the shoals, -and pitfalls that too probably would be -ahead. -</p> - -<p> -Her first emotion of relief—if it could -be called so—came when she shared her -grief with the startled Ellinor; and far into -the August night sat the two crushed -creatures talking over the storm-cloud -that had so suddenly enveloped them—a -cloud that must have descended at some -time, though as yet they had not quite -foreseen it. -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot believe it—I cannot realise -it!' said they both, conjunctly and -severally, again and again, as they mingled -their tears and caresses together, each -clinging to the other as if for consolation -and help. -</p> - -<p> -'What on earth will become of us!' -exclaimed Ellinor, pushing back the masses -of dark brown hair from her forehead. -</p> - -<p> -'We shall go away, and at once, in -search of a new home—a little nest -somewhere far away from all who know us, -Ellinor; for the condolence, the wonder, -surmises, and pity of neighbours would -prove intolerable to me!' exclaimed Mary. -'We shall have to put our shoulders to -the wheel, as poor papa used to say when -in money straits. I must turn my French -and music to account.' -</p> - -<p> -'And I my drawing,' said Ellinor. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, dearest,' added Mary, kissing her, -'my few accomplishments will require -some brushing up, but your pencil is -always a ready one; and people never know -what they can do till they try. But then, -Birkwoodbrae—dear, bonnie Birkwoodbrae—to -think we shall never see it more!' -exclaimed Mary, relapsing into a storm of -grief again; after which she became more -composed, and began resolutely to think of -the future that must be faced—the future -which would necessarily begin for them on -the morrow; and as Mary was by nature -independent and self-reliant, as she thought -on the pittance left them by their father, -she said that, by God's help, they might -battle with the world yet; and battle with -it too in London. -</p> - -<p> -The human mind, it has been said, is -naturally pliable, and, provided it has the -most slender hope to lean upon, adapts -itself to the exigencies of fortune, -especially if the imagination be a gay and -luxuriant one. -</p> - -<p> -The dreary night of their new and great -sorrow wore on till the small hours of the -morning came, and at last the sisters -slept; and 'sleep is a generous robber that -gives in strength what it takes in time.' -</p> - -<p> -So the worthy old minister had gone to -Edinburgh. -</p> - -<p> -Mary conceived not unnaturally that -this visit to the Scottish metropolis meant -one to Mr. Luke Sharpe with reference to -her cousin Wellwood, and the monetary -affairs of herself and Ellinor; but she was -determined on having no temporising, no -patronage, or half-measure from that -quarter; and resolved to leave Birkwoodbrae -and to go forth to find another home -in another land, and to this end she began -restlessly, but resolutely, to take the -means at once. -</p> - -<p> -Strange to say, Ellinor, the romantic -and volatile, did not seemed so much cast -down after a time. She had her own -secret hopes, thoughts, and ambition, in -which Mary had no share, or of which she -had no exact knowledge as yet; but to the -latter to leave Birkwoodbrae, to see no -more the kind old folks at the cosy manse; -to see no more her pensioners, her -feathered pets, and flowers, the hills, the -glen, the rockbound stream, and the 'siller -birks' that shaded it—to be far away from -all and everything that was dear—to lose, -more than all, the dawning love of her -young heart—was indeed a catastrophe -hitherto unlooked for, and at times her -soul seemed to die within her. But she -was more often in those moods to which -the young are said to be subject in time of -trouble—'in which the existing alone seems -unendurable, and anything better than -what is.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVII. -<br /><br /> -MARY'S PREPARATIONS. -</h3> - -<p> -Greatly to the chagrin of Lady Dunkeld, -there seemed no chance of extracting a -proposal from Captain Colville, the rumour -of whose engagement to her daughter was -simply provincial gossip, and as for Sir -Redmond Sleath, for certain cogent reasons -of his own, perhaps he dared not make -one, even if dazzled by the fair Blanche -Galloway. -</p> - -<p> -The invitation to Craigmhor seemed to -be a failure as yet, so far as the former -was concerned, for after the shooting -began on the 12th of August, when not -on the moors, he spent much of his time -most provokingly immersed in correspondence -concerning the property to which he -had succeeded and his peerage claim—both -circumstances that greatly enhanced -his value in the eyes of such a -match-making mother as my Lady Dunkeld. -</p> - -<p> -He was often found closeted in consultation -with Doctor Wodrow, with whom he -seemed to stand high in favour, and it was -noted that they always separated in high -good humour; so the supposition was, that -the latter was seeking the wealthy Guardsman's -good offices for his son Robert. -What other matter could they have in -hand? -</p> - -<p> -Lady Dunkeld was therefore not sorry -when Captain Colville took his temporary -departure to shoot in the forest of Alyth, -trusting to a change on his return. -</p> - -<p> -If she had flattered herself that, amid -the somewhat secluded life all led at -Craigmhor, any fancy Colville had for Blanche -would speedily manifest itself, she was -doomed to disappointment—angry -disappointment, and worse; for, if the stories -Mademoiselle Rosette told were true, the -captain had spent somewhat too much of -his time wandering, rod in hand, on the -banks of the May, and tarrying for -afternoon tea at Birkwoodbrae. -</p> - -<p> -The result of all this was that Mary and -Ellinor had become painfully conscious -that many who were their friends before -had now begun to view them coldly and -distantly, why or wherefore, in their -innocence, they knew not, because they were -ignorant of malevolent hints regarding -them dropped to chance visitors at -Craigmhor, by elevation of the eyebrows, shrugs -of the shoulder, or the impatient wave of -a fan, if their names were mentioned; the -ladies there—mother and daughter—were -leaving nothing undone to injure them in -the estimation of all, and even spoke of -them as 'young women who were above -doing their duty in that state of life -to which Providence had called them.' -</p> - -<p> -A consciousness of all this added to -their new mortification, and increased their -anxiety to be gone, and they worked away -at their arrangements in a species of -suppressed excitement, and Dr. Wodrow was -still in Edinburgh. -</p> - -<p> -It was neither a Sacramental Fast-day -nor a Sunday at Birkwoodbrae, yet a -strange stillness, as if death were there -again, brooded over all the place; the -house with its roses and creepers, the -garden with its now untended flowers, the -empty meadow, and the lovely silver -birches; and poor Robert Wodrow, as -sadly he approached the house for the -last time, felt conscious of this as he -passed, and with a bitter sigh looked -around him. -</p> - -<p> -Even Jack's bark was unheard; the -scythe lay among the rich clover, the gate -that led to the highway stood wide open, -and near it lingered some cottar people, -with mouths agape, old and young, with -grave and anxious faces, even with tears, -for some of the young girls' 'belongings' -had already been sent away, the gazers -knew not where. -</p> - -<p> -Something strange they thought had -come to pass, yet the sunshine of the first -of September lay golden on the woods, the -pastures, the cattle, and the flower-gardens, -though beneath was a great shadow -like that of death over all, and Robert -Wodrow, impressionable at all times, felt -it; for the sisters were on the eve of -departure, and another day or two—so -quickly had Mary's preparations been -made—would see all ended. -</p> - -<p> -The bright sunshine of the autumn -evening was touching, we have said, with -fiery light the smooth silver stems of the -tall birch-trees, and the birds still sang -sweetly under the feather-like foliage that -hung gracefully downward, unstirred by -the faintest breeze, when, looking from -an open window on the scene she loved so -well, Mary Wellwood paused in the bitter -task of making up a list of their household -effects ere she left the roof of Birkwoodbrae -for ever. After she was fairly gone, -a letter to Dr. Wodrow would inform him -of all their wishes, she was thinking, when -suddenly Robert stood by her side, and put -an arm kindly round her. -</p> - -<p> -'Why, you will kill yourself with all -this work and anxiety; dear Mary, let me -help you,' said he. -</p> - -<p> -'I am nearly done,' said she, wearily, -and with a quivering lip; 'there are but a -few relics, books and so forth, I wish to -keep——' -</p> - -<p> -'Leave it with me; save you, Mary, and -the old folks at the manse, I have no one -left to care for now.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Robert!' said she, kissing his -cheek, for she knew his meaning well. -</p> - -<p> -No one can 'minister to a mind diseased' -like a mother, it has been said; but -Mrs. Wodrow, to her sorrow, had signally failed -to so minister to her son Robert. -</p> - -<p> -'And you have failed at the University, -Robert?' said Mary, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -'Utterly!' -</p> - -<p> -'How—and why?' -</p> - -<p> -'I don't know—at the last moment, -somehow,' said he, despondently, looking -down on the carpet. -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor, no doubt, was the cause?' said -Mary, softly. -</p> - -<p> -He smiled bitterly, but made no reply. -</p> - -<p> -'You will try again, Robert dear?' said -Mary, patting his hand. -</p> - -<p> -'Never, Mary,' he replied, in a low, -husky voice; 'God only knows how I toiled -and toiled, at botany, anatomy, and -chemistry—Balfour and Quain and Miller, and -with <i>what</i> object; but I have taken my last -shot, and shall grind no more.' -</p> - -<p> -'And what do you mean to do, Robert?' -</p> - -<p> -'Heaven knows—you will hear in time, Mary.' -</p> - -<p> -She eyed him wistfully and sorrowfully, -and then said, -</p> - -<p> -'After your quarrel with Ellinor——' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't call it a quarrel, Mary—say coldness. -Well?' -</p> - -<p> -'It is very kind of you to take the trouble -to come here now.' -</p> - -<p> -'Kind—trouble; why, what has come to -you, Mary, that you speak thus, and to -<i>me</i>? A farewell letter might have done, -but I—I preferred to come to the old place -once again.' -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me, Robert, but I am so -crushed—so confused—that I scarcely know -what I say.' -</p> - -<p> -'But is the step you are about to take -absolutely necessary, and in such hot haste -too?' -</p> - -<p> -'What step?' asked Mary, as if to delay -the bitterness of the admission. -</p> - -<p> -'Leaving Birkwoodbrae! I can't make -out the mystery of it at all!' -</p> - -<p> -'Alas! we must go; this house was -never ours—we dwelt here on sufferance; -and the place is another's now—another -whom we know only by name and in family -feud.' -</p> - -<p> -'Can it be that God's world belongs -only to rascals!' exclaimed young Wodrow, -bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -'Well, the rich and cruel seem to thrive -best, for a time at least,' said Mary, a -little infected by his mood. -</p> - -<p> -'But to go away so far—so far as London?' -he urged, with an air of bewilderment. -</p> - -<p> -'The further the better now, Robert.' -</p> - -<p> -'But the idea of making your own livelihood -in that awful human wilderness, you -and Ellinor, seems so strange—so perilous -and unnatural.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why so—don't thousands work?' -</p> - -<p> -'And starve and die of broken hearts!' -</p> - -<p> -'Robert, you are not encouraging.' -</p> - -<p> -'I would that I could be so.' -</p> - -<p> -'We must make the attempt as others -do and have done. We are well-nigh -penniless now; without Birkwoodbrae and its -accessories we could not live alone on the -pittance poor papa left us, and here we -could not add a penny to it. I don't think -I am fit for much, Robert,' continued Mary, -sadly and humbly, with tears in her soft, -sweet eyes. 'No one will give me a -high-class situation, my education has been so -very simple, and beyond a little music'—her -voice broke fairly now—'and Ellinor's -pencil, she is very clever, you know——' -</p> - -<p> -'I wish I could see this infernally -grasping cousin of yours!' surmised Robert, -angrily and reflectively. -</p> - -<p> -'Don't think of it—I would not accept -a favour from his father's son; for that -father was—through life—the enemy of -mine!' -</p> - -<p> -'Why—and about what?' asked Robert. -</p> - -<p> -'Some quarrel about a lady in their -youth, as subalterns, I believe.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oho—the old, old story!' said Robert, -gnawing his nether lip, and taking up his -hat, but lingering still. -</p> - -<p> -'You will see Ellinor, Robert dear,' said -Mary, timidly and pleadingly. 'I can -call her from her room—it will be for the -last time.' -</p> - -<p> -The cloud on young Wodrow's face -deepened, as he said, in a low voice, -</p> - -<p> -'No, Mary—thank you—I dare not—would -rather not see her again.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' asked Mary, taking his hands -caressingly between her own. -</p> - -<p> -'All my love for her might—nay, would -break out for her with renewed force, for -I am in some ways weak and unstable of -purpose. Better not—better not—never -again—never again,' he muttered, huskily, -and Mary kissed him with her eyes full of -tears, for just then her heart was very -sore indeed. -</p> - -<p> -'Besides, Mary, I have schooled myself -for the future.' -</p> - -<p> -'And that <i>future</i>, Robert.' -</p> - -<p> -'You will learn in time. Curse that -fellow,' he suddenly exclaimed, his eyes -flashing, as he referred to Sleath, 'what -evil chance brought him among us here? -How I can recall his eyes, alternately -sleepy and shifty, and the air of would-be -high-bred tolerance and boredom with -which he condescended to survey us all -and everything here!' -</p> - -<p> -In the gust of jealous anger that now -possessed him, Mary knew that it was -useless to urge again that he should see -Ellinor, and after making her all offers of -assistance and proffers of kindness, he -strode suddenly away, muttering to himself -the lines of Edmondstoune Aytoun. -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'Woman's love is writ in water,<br /> - Woman's faith is traced in sand,<br /> - Backwards, backwards let me wander,<br /> - To the noble northern land.'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The little money that Mary could spare -from what she had been able to realise by -the hasty sale of two pet cows and the -stock of her fowl-yard, she bestowed, as far -as she could, upon Elspat and other old -servants, all of whom were bowed down -with wonder, grief and alarm at movements -and changes so unexpected; and she -felt that she would be glad when the -parting with all—the final wrench—was over. -</p> - -<p> -Between her and these subordinates -there was a closer bond of sympathy than -usually exists between mistress and -servant—even in Scotland—now-a-days, and -can scarcely be found south of the Tweed. -'My English readers,' says an English -writer on this subject, 'will probably -ridicule such a feeling on the part of a -servant, for the majority of them are of the -belief that money is the only connecting -link of a household. So long as wages are -regularly paid and the ordinary meals -provided, a servant has only to do her -duty properly, and leaves it as utter a -stranger as when she entered it. There is -no obligation on either side, and, if she goes, -some one will be found to take her place.' -</p> - -<p> -But it is not quite so yet in the kindly -north country, especially the further north -we go; for the influences of the old feudal -system, and of the still older and dearer -ties of clanship, linger among the hills -and glens, knitting all ranks and conditions -of men together, and long, long may -they continue to do so. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVIII. -<br /><br /> -ON THE BRINK. -</h3> - -<p> -Of a more nervous organisation than Mary, -Ellinor, suffering from reaction of spirits -and a keen sense of all she had recently -undergone, was far from well, and, amid -the bustle of preparation for departure, -remained much in the seclusion of her -own room. -</p> - -<p> -It was September now, we have said. -The autumnal weather and autumnal tints -had come somewhat early, and occasional -showers brought coolness and freshness to -the birchen woods, and pleasant odours -came from them and even from the dusty -highway and the parched meadows, where -the rich after-grass was ready for the -scythe, and the grouse on the Perthshire -hills had become but too fatally familiar -with the crack and clatter of the breech-loader -in the heathery glens. -</p> - -<p> -Mary Wellwood had of late worked hard, -very hard, rising earlier and going to bed -later—so much so that her sweet face was -beginning to look thin and careworn, and -old Elspat remonstrated that she did not -give herself time to take her meals, but -'was for ever think, think, thinking and -worrying over accounts and market-books.' -</p> - -<p> -She had neither Dr. Wodrow nor Robert -to advise or assist her then. The former -was detained in Edinburgh on clerical or -other business, and the latter absented -himself for obvious reasons; so Mary -worked alone, but no new or growing -cares could change the sweet and grave -expression of her face or the calm steadfastness -of her violet eyes, yet a startled -expression certainly came into them when -one evening Captain Colville was suddenly -ushered in upon her, looking so handsome, -brown, and ruddy from exposure among -the hills. -</p> - -<p> -There flashed upon Mary's mind the time, -but a short space ago, when she had been -thinking of a chaperone for herself and -Ellinor: but all was changed since then, -and there would be no need of one now. -</p> - -<p> -He had just returned that morning from -shooting in the forest of Alyths had heard -a rumour of their approaching departure, -which the half-dismantled aspect of the -drawing-room seemed to confirm. Why -was it so? -</p> - -<p> -He spoke so pleasantly and sympathetically -as he seated himself near her, and she -felt all the glamour of his proximity, of -his presence, and her breast heaved -tumultuously in spite of herself. She became -nervous, and her eyes suffused deeply. -</p> - -<p> -'Tears, Miss Wellwood?' said he, inquiringly. -</p> - -<p> -'We are going far away, Captain -Colville—leaving this place for ever.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have heard something of it; but -why leave Birkwoodbrae?' he asked, smilingly. -</p> - -<p> -Mary told him why. -</p> - -<p> -'And, on leaving, whither do you mean -to go?' -</p> - -<p> -'London.' -</p> - -<p> -'Is that not a rash scheme?' -</p> - -<p> -'When the will is strong the heart is -willing; and we never know what a day -may bring forth.' -</p> - -<p> -He gazed down upon her tenderly, -admiringly, and, making a half effort to take -her hand, paused and said, -</p> - -<p> -'You surely did not mean to spend all -your life in this old tumbledown place, -Miss Wellwood?' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't call it tumbledown, please,' said -Mary. -</p> - -<p> -'I beg your pardon; but——' -</p> - -<p> -'It is very dear to me, as the place -where they lived and died,' interrupted -Mary, with a little break in her voice. -</p> - -<p> -'They—who?' -</p> - -<p> -'Papa and mamma. It seems like -yesterday when he died in the room above -us, and when he said in a low, weak -voice—"Don't cry, Mary darling—don't cry so; -our separation is only for a time;" and -then added, "Is that the daybreak?" "No," -said I. "It is—it is—and <i>so bright</i>!" -he exclaimed, and then died. Oh, Captain -Colville, the light he saw must have been -that of the other world, for just as he -expired the clock struck midnight, and the -lamp was burning very low.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor old gentleman! But take courage,' -said Colville, with a soft smile, as he -patted her shoulder; 'you have not yet -left Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -'What can he mean by this!' thought -Mary, with a slight sense of annoyance, as -she woke up from her dark dreamland. -</p> - -<p> -'And your father, the colonel—he—he—pardon -me, left you little more than -Birkwoodbrae when he died?' -</p> - -<p> -'His blessing was the best he had: -Birkwoodbrae, I have said, was not his to -leave. We have lived here on -sufferance—Ellinor and I.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville sat for a time silent, and Mary -thought his question a very strange one, -unless he had a deeper interest in them -both than she thought he could possibly -have; and, still pursuing a personal theme, -he said, -</p> - -<p> -'I have heard from Dr. Wodrow that -his son Robert was your sister's admirer, -and that they have quarrelled. Is not this -to be regretted?' -</p> - -<p> -'Regretted indeed!' -</p> - -<p> -'You always seemed interested in him.' -</p> - -<p> -'As Ellinor's lover—yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'I always thought he was <i>yours</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'Mine—who said so?' -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Galloway, repeatedly.' -</p> - -<p> -'She had no authority for any such -statement,' said Mary, upon whom a kind -of light was beginning to break, and -Colville drew a little nearer, as he seemed -very much disposed to take up the thread -of the 'old story' where he had left it off -on the afternoon when he carved their -initials on the tree, carried off the bunch -of berries, and gave her in exchange the -bouquet of Blanche Galloway, before he -went to Alyth. -</p> - -<p> -'Is it not strange, Captain Colville,' -said Mary, 'that day after day passes, and -yet we hear nothing more of this new -heir—this usurper of our poor little home—or -of any special notice to quit Birkwoodbrae?' -</p> - -<p> -'Amid the world he lives in, he may forget.' -</p> - -<p> -'He and his father before forgot us always. -But still, there is one patrimony -of which he cannot deprive us—one near -the churchyard wall!' said Mary, bitterly. -'However, things are at the worst with us -now, and they will be sure to mend.' -</p> - -<p> -He was observing the rare delicacy of -her hand, as she caressed the head of Jack -resting on her knee. -</p> - -<p> -'How you must loathe that cousin!' -said he. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, no! Heaven forbid! He has -never done us any active harm; yet we -Wellwoods are very unforgiving in our -feuds.' -</p> - -<p> -'So it would seem.' -</p> - -<p> -'I must never, never see him, and am -most anxious to get away before he comes -here, if he cares at all to visit so poor a -place.' -</p> - -<p> -'He might fall in love with you—nay, -would be sure to do so,' said Colville, -stooping nearer her, and lowering his voice. -'Love, with cousinship, soon develops, and -he might marry you.' -</p> - -<p> -'I would not marry him if there was -not another man in the world!' exclaimed -Mary, reddening in positive anger, with -a choking and half smothered sob in her -throat; and Colville laughed excessively at -her increased but momentary annoyance -at his suggestion, which indeed was far -from being an unnatural one. -</p> - -<p> -'If he saw you, he would certainly leave -you in undisturbed possession of Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -'A speech meant to be gallant; but he -shall not see me if I can help it.' -</p> - -<p> -He laughed again, and Mary felt piqued. -</p> - -<p> -'From what I hear of all the matter,' he -began, 'from what I know of you——' -</p> - -<p> -'Of me, Captain Colville—what can you -know of <i>me</i>?' asked Mary, almost petulantly. -</p> - -<p> -'Shall I say, then, from what I know of -your cousin Wellwood——' -</p> - -<p> -'Well—quick; from what you know of him?' -</p> - -<p> -'Which I do as well as one fellow can -know another in the same battalion, I am -sure he would never dispossess so -charming—two such charming cousins.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed! you have said something like -this already.' -</p> - -<p> -'Would you not write to him and ask—' -</p> - -<p> -'Emphatically—no!' -</p> - -<p> -'Allow me, then?' asked Colville, in his -most persuasive tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Never! I—we shall be beholden to -none! I thought, small as it is, that -Birkwoodbrae was almost our patrimony; -it proves to be his, so let him have it.' -</p> - -<p> -'And you——' -</p> - -<p> -'Have the world wide before me,' she -replied, with a quiver of her sweet upper -lip; 'with us—Ellinor and me—it may be -as in <i>Strathallan's Lament</i>— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - "Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,<br /> - Not a hope may now attend;<br /> - The world wide is all before us,<br /> - But a world without a friend."<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -'Heaven! I hope not,' said he. -</p> - -<p> -'Why does he continue on this distasteful -subject,' thought Mary, 'unless to -prolong the conversation?' -</p> - -<p> -He now proceeded to pat Jack's head. -and as he did so his hand came more than -once in contact with hers, and each touch -sent a thrill to his heart, while with that -mysterious instinct which tells a girl of -the emotions with which she is inspiring -an admirer, Mary, without turning her -head, knew that the fond gaze of Leslie -Colville was bent upon her. -</p> - -<p> -What did he mean? To desert Blanche -Galloway, or was he simply amusing -himself with her, or with both? Her pride -revolted at the idea. However, their -acquaintanceship would soon be at an end, -as he would be leaving like herself; and -as if he divined her thoughts, he said -something of his approaching departure. -</p> - -<p> -'I hope you will have some pleasant -memories to carry away with you?' said -Mary, and then she could have bitten her -tongue for making the surmise, and added, -'I shall have none but sad ones—though -Invermay is so lovely.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; but there are some memories of -it that will ever be dear to me—the hours -I have spent here at Birkwoodbrae.' -</p> - -<p> -If he was betraying himself, he paused, -and Mary could feel how her heart was -vibrating. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment her long dark lashes -flickered as she glanced at him timidly, -and thought how happy his avowed love -would make her was he at liberty to do -so; and she remembered that when he was -away at Alyth how she had felt a void in -her heart, till adversity brought her other -things to think of. -</p> - -<p> -As Colville looked down on the ripples -of the girl's golden hair and on her -saddened face, a great pity that was allied -with something warmer and dearer stirred -his heart, and bending over her downcast -head, he lightly touched her hair with his -lips. -</p> - -<p> -'Poor child!' said he, and Mary drew -haughtily back. She saw there was a -smile on his face; it was a very fond one, -but she misjudged it, and felt assured that -no lover would smile at such a time. -Thus his manner perplexed her, so she -said, -</p> - -<p> -'Do not forget yourself, Captain Colville, -and that you are engaged to Miss -Galloway.' -</p> - -<p> -'Engaged—to—Miss Galloway!' be -repeated, with genuine surprise and -annoyance. 'Not at all. Who on earth put -that into your little head?' he added, with -a laugh. -</p> - -<p> -'Mrs. Wodrow always told me so,' -replied Mary, covered with confusion, but -feeling very happy nevertheless. -</p> - -<p> -'Silly, gossiping old woman! No, Miss -Wellwood: I am, thank Heaven, a free -man—as yet.' -</p> - -<p> -Here was a revelation—if true. -</p> - -<p> -He was gazing on her now with eyes -that were full of admiration and ardour, -while the clasp of his hand seemed to -infuse through her veins some of the force -and love that inspired him. In the glance -they exchanged each read the other's -secret, and he drew her towards him and -kissed her. 'There are moments in life,' -it is said, 'when joy makes us afraid: and -this was one'—to Mary at least, and she -shrank back—all the more quickly and -confusedly that a visitor was approaching; -and a half-suppressed malediction hovered -on the lips of Colville as the portly -Mrs. Wodrow was ushered in—ushered in at -that moment! -</p> - -<p> -He rose with annoyance, and still retaining -Mary's hand in his, said hurriedly, -and in a low tone, with a little laugh -that was assumed to cover her confusion, -</p> - -<p> -'Promise me that in the matter of leaving -Birkwoodbrae you will do no more till -I see you again <i>to-morrow</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'I promise,' replied Mary, trembling -very much, and scarcely knowing what -she said; and, bowing to Mrs. Wodrow, -Colville took his departure, while the -pressure of his hand seemed to linger on -Mary's heart. 'Who does not know,' says -the authoress of 'Nadine,' 'the magnetic -thrill—the strange and subduing sense of -soul-communion, which sometimes lingers -in a hand-clasp;' and with this thrill in her -veins Mary addressed herself to the task -of talking commonplace to old Mrs. Wodrow. -</p> - -<p> -He had been on the brink of a proposal -without doubt, yet none had been made. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIX; -<br /><br /> -THE DEPARTURE. -</h3> - -<p> -To-morrow came, and the next day, and -the next, but there was no sign of, or -letter from, Captain Colville, so Mary -resumed her arrangements all the more briskly -and bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor had heard of his interview with -Mary, and felt much tender interest and -concern. Had he spoken of Sir Redmond -Sleath, or his movements, she marvelled -sorely; but failed to ask. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile May's recent thoughts were -of a very mingled and somewhat painful -kind. The memory of his great tenderness -of manner, of the kiss he had snatched, -and the assertion that he was not the -<i>fiancé</i> of Blanche Galloway were all ever -before her in constant iteration, with the -consciousness that no distinct avowal had -preceded, and no proposal had followed -the episode. -</p> - -<p> -A kiss! Their lips had met but once, -yet the memory of such a meeting often -abides for ever. -</p> - -<p> -'How dared he kiss me! Why did I -not prevent him?' she thought, while her -cheeks burned, and the conviction that he -had been only amusing himself with her -grew hourly stronger in her heart. She -remembered, too, that he had laughed -once or twice during the most earnest -parts of her conversation about her -troubles, and she thought that most people -could hear of the misfortunes of others -with tolerable equanimity. -</p> - -<p> -Was he really engaged to Blanche Galloway -after all? and was she the means of -preventing the promised visit on 'the -morrow'—the visit that never took place? -</p> - -<p> -His visit to Birkwoodbrae on the very -day of his return from Alyth was certainly -duly reported to that young lady by -Mademoiselle Rosette, who had watched and -followed him—and smiled brightly as she -did so—for where is the French soubrette -to be found who does not feel a malicious -pleasure in knowing that her master or -her mistress is being deceived? -</p> - -<p> -The first day of Colville's absence after -that thrilling visit dragged wearily on, -and, when evening came and the sun set, -Mary marvelled was it eight hours since -she rose that morning. It looked more -like eight hundred, and still longer looked -the days that followed, till anger began to -mingle with her depression, anxiety, and -sense of unmerited humiliation, all of -which enhanced her desire to be gone. -</p> - -<p> -How little could she conceive that, -wounded in the right hand by the explosion -of a friend's fowling-piece when shooting, -he was confined at first to bed, and -then to his room at Craigmhor; that he -was thus unable to write to or communicate -with her; and that thus, too, probably -she would never see him again, for -by the evening of the third day the -arrangements for the departure of Ellinor -and herself were finally completed. -</p> - -<p> -'Would that I could peep into our -future, Mary,' said Ellinor, tearfully, on -their last evening in their old home. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah! the future is indeed a mystery to -us,' said Mary; 'but blessed be God for all -His gifts!' she added, in a broken voice, -as she thought of the legend over the old -doorway, through which they would pass -no more. -</p> - -<p> -Many relics were packed and sent to -the manse, there to be kept till better -times came; everything else was left in -care of the still absent Dr. Wodrow, to be -sold for their behoof; but, for reasons to -be given, strange to say, nothing was <i>sold</i>. -</p> - -<p> -Though the apparently strange conduct -of Captain Colville in teaching her to love -him, and exciting brilliant hopes in her -heart only to let them fade, had so deeply -mortified Mary that already his image was -passing out of her busy thoughts, or -seemed as only something to be forgotten -as soon as possible, she was not without -strong though vague hope of the future -for Ellinor and herself; but hope has often -been likened to the mirage of the desert, -and as being often quite as illusory. -</p> - -<p> -Ellinor, we have said, had thanked -heaven for her escape from what must have -proved a great and perilous <i>esclandre</i>; yet -by one of those idiosyncracies of the female -heart she also thanked heaven that London -was to be the place of their exile; Sir -Redmond was there, no doubt, and she -felt assured that he loved her still. Mighty -though the modern Babylon was—and of -that mightiness she had not the slightest -conception—they might meet again; and -even, if not, it would be pleasant to walk -in the same streets where he walked or -rode; to breathe the same air that was -breathed by him: to be in the same place -where <i>he</i> was. -</p> - -<p> -So she had, to enliven the path before -her, a little element of romance that was -unknown to, and denied to the poor but -more practical Mary; and to her, foolish -girl, it seemed that perhaps the dear old -tale might conclude, after all, with wedding -bells and vows of wedded love. -</p> - -<p> -Why she should have indulged in these -dreams it is difficult to say. Days upon -days had passed, and, like Colville, the -impassioned baronet, with whom she had -been on the point of sharing her future, -gave no sign, and she could make none. -But she was yet to learn that; all the fine -old Grandisonian notions of honour and -delicacy towards woman held by our -grandfathers were exploded, or else deemed -absolutely antediluvian and absurd.' -</p> - -<p> -Now she longed to be gone—gone even -from Birkwoodbrae. 'She wanted to see -life' (she thought), 'as poets and painters -and young ladies picture it—a sort of -misty, delicious paradisiacal existence of -excitement, unfailing amusement, and -perpetual delight.' -</p> - -<p> -The old peace of mind was gone; she -wished to leave all connected with it -behind; and, poor girl, she little knew what -was before her—it might be of penury, -struggle, and despair! -</p> - -<p> -Every movement, as the hour of departure -approached, brought a fresh pang to -the tender heart of Mary. She had parted -with her pets and household cares. Her -tame owl she had cast loose, and she -watched him as he winged his way back -to his eyrie in the ruined tower, from which -Robert Wodrow in happier times had -brought him. -</p> - -<p> -Wearily and sadly she had all the dear -familiar spots, and the cottars who dwelt -among them, to visit for the last time—hard -and shrivelled hands to press and -children to kiss. How should she ever get -through it all? -</p> - -<p> -She picked up a few daisies from the -graves where her parents lay, and placed -them between the leaves of her Bible, and -then it seemed as if there was nothing -more to do. -</p> - -<p> -The evening seemed painfully sweet and -silent and still when the sisters quitted -their home for the last time, and to Mary -it seemed that even 'the grasshoppers were -silent in the grass.' -</p> - -<p> -The keys were to be handed over by -Elspat Gordon to a clerk of Mr. Luke -Sharpe's when he chose to come for them. -Elspat received the instructions drowned -in tears, and as a spell against evil put in -her pocket some grains of wheat, as it is, -or was, a superstition in Scotland that -in every grain there is the representation -of a human face, said to be that of the -Saviour, and hence the efficacy of the spell. -</p> - -<p> -In the railway-carriage Jack crouched at -Mary's feet, and, looking up in her eyes, -whined and whimpered, for dogs have -strange instincts. All that was left to the -sisters of Birkwoodbrae was the bunch of -freshly-gathered roses which each carried -in her hand, and many times did Mary -bury her hot and tear-stained face among -their cool and fragrant leaves. -</p> - -<p> -'Good-bye!' she whispered in her heart -to many an inanimate but familiar object, -as it seemed to fly past and vanish, till the -darkness of descending night shrouded all -the scenery. Then Mary closed her eyes, -and strove to think, while the clanking -train glided swiftly and monotonously on. -</p> - -<p> -The past, the present, and the future, -so far as Colville was concerned, seemed -to have melted into thinest air; or perhaps -the past alone, with its brief life and glow -of love and hope, thrust itself poignantly -forward. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XX. -<br /><br /> -THE HEIR OF ENTAIL. -</h3> - -<p> -The sudden departure of the sisters from -Birkwoodbrae, few knew precisely for -where, caused something like consternation—at -least, a great deal of commiseration—in -the place they had left behind -them. Their sweet, soft, ladylike faces -and presence were missed erelong from -the pew in which they had sat on -Sundays from childhood; countless acts of -kindness, goodness, charity, and -benevolence were remembered now and rehearsed -by cottage hearths and 'ingle-lums' again -and again, and all deplored that the places -which knew them once would know them -no more! -</p> - -<p> -When, two days after their departure, -Captain Colville, with a magnificent -diamond ring for Mary, and intent on taking -up the story of his love where he had left -it off, rode over to Birkwoodbrae, he went -in hot haste to the manse for intelligence, -and then he and Dr. Wodrow looked -blankly in each other's face. -</p> - -<p> -'Gone—what does it all mean?' impetuously -asked the captain, whose wounded -hand was in a black silk sling, and who -looked pale and thin. -</p> - -<p> -'It simply means that they have abruptly -left us, and we may never see them -again,' replied Dr. Wodrow, with -unconcealed grief and irritation. -</p> - -<p> -'Gone—gone!' exclaimed Colville, changing -colour, or losing it rather; 'why did I -not sooner tell them who I was—why act -the part I did, and lure you into doing so, -too?' -</p> - -<p> -'Ay—why, indeed,' groaned the poor -minister. 'You see what strength of -character they both possess—Mary, certainly, -at least.' -</p> - -<p> -'And they have left no address—no clue?' -</p> - -<p> -'None.' -</p> - -<p> -'Mary wrote a farewell note to Mrs. Wodrow, -saying she had not the heart to -bid her good-bye verbally. Her friends of -the past, she wrote, were no longer for -her now—she had a new sphere of action -to enter upon, a new life to lead, and new -duties to fulfil, with much more to the -same purpose, and that erelong she would -write from London.' -</p> - -<p> -'London!' exclaimed Colville, striking -his right heel on the floor. -</p> - -<p> -It would be an insult, perhaps, to the -intelligence of the reader to assume that -he or she has not already suspected that -Leslie Colville and the encroaching cousin -Leslie Wellwood were one and the same -person. Apart from his entailed property, -he had succeeded to other possessions, -requiring him with reference to his peerage -claim to add to his own the name of Colville, -and hence the <i>incognito</i> he had—for -reasons of his own—been enabled to -assume to his cousins, to Mrs. Wodrow, and -others, including even that very acute -party Sir Redmond Sleath. In short, save -the minister, no one knew the part he -wished to play. -</p> - -<p> -'The little drama from which you promised -yourself so much interest, generous -and romantic pleasure has been thoroughly -overdone,' said Dr. Wodrow, somewhat -reproachfully. -</p> - -<p> -'Overdone, indeed!' -</p> - -<p> -'And doubtless has caused, and is causing -great pain.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor girl! Could I have believed that -Mary——' -</p> - -<p> -'Possessed so much individuality, decision, -and independence of character.' -</p> - -<p> -'Most true; the drama has been -overdone, but can be quickly amended by a -pleasant epilogue. And it would have -been so some days ago but for this -wretched accident to my right hand, which -prevented me from writing to Mary or to -you. Prejudiced, as you know, by my -father against them, I wished to learn -the real disposition and character of these -girls before befriending them, as I -intended to do; and, even while learning to -love Mary, I carried my romantic schemes -too far. Why the devil did we make all -this mystery!' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>We</i>. It was your own suggestion and -wish—not mine,' said Dr. Wodrow, testily; -'and now they have anticipated everything -by going forth into the wide waste of the -world and leaving us no clue.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville bit his nether lip, twisted his -moustache, and remained silent and -perplexed. So the minister spoke again. -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Colville, I feared you meant -to go on for ever playing at cross-purposes -with the poor girls. How I wish -I had interposed, as it was my duty to -have done, ere it was too late; but you -bound me to secresy, as you know, and -now they have gone far away, and with -sore, sore hearts, you may be assured.' -</p> - -<p> -And this secret, of which the Dunkeld -family knew nothing, may explain the -curious and laughing manner of Dr. Wodrow -when speaking of Mr. Luke Sharpe -the lawyer, and announcing to Mary the -existence and intentions of the heir of entail. -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Mary—poor darling!' said -Colville, in a low voice. 'Why did I play -with her feelings and my own so long! -Fool that I was not to declare my love -and propose to her on the spot?' -</p> - -<p> -'Ay, fool indeed!' commented Dr. Wodrow, -roughly. 'Think of all this worry, -mischief, pain, and separation!' -</p> - -<p> -'In studying her character I shall have -deceived her as to my own.' -</p> - -<p> -'She always seemed to think you were -engaged to Miss Galloway.' -</p> - -<p> -'I know that now. Why did you not -undeceive her?' -</p> - -<p> -'I had not your permission to move or -explain in the matter.' -</p> - -<p> -'And we have parted like strangers -almost! What must Mary have thought -of me—what can she think of me still?' -</p> - -<p> -'That you were only amusing yourself -with her.' -</p> - -<p> -'Hence the strangeness and coolness of -her manner towards me at times. Oh, -Dr. Wodrow, I never knew how much I -loved that girl till now!' exclaimed Colville, -as he now realised fully in that time -of pain and surprise that Mary Wellwood -was the one woman in all the world for -him. -</p> - -<p> -About her there was an originality which -struck him. She was unlike any other -girl he had seen; she had a freshness and -depth of thought which delighted as much -as her beauty bewildered him; and he -must have loved her as a cousin if he had -not loved her as something more. -</p> - -<p> -And now she and Ellinor had gone—fled, -as it were—to London in a kind of -desperation and sorrow, brought about by -his own folly and mismanagement—to -London, of all places in the world for girls -ignorant of it—beautiful, helpless, and -poor! -</p> - -<p> -'But they will soon discover the trick -we have played them, Dr. Wodrow,' said -Colville, looking up after a silent pause. -</p> - -<p> -'How?' -</p> - -<p> -'If they look in the Army List they will -see that there is only one Wellwood in the -Guards—myself, Leslie Wellwood Colville.' -</p> - -<p> -'That is where they will never think of -looking,' replied Dr. Wodrow; and he was -right—the sisters never did; besides, Army -Lists were seldom in their way. -</p> - -<p> -'Had that confounded old gossip, -Mrs. Wodrow, not come in at the time she did -all would have been explained—I was on -the point of telling my darling all!' thought -Colville, bitterly and angrily; 'all would -have been so different now, and I should -have won the confidence, as I had evidently -won the love of Mary Wellwood. And now -to follow and to find her!' -</p> - -<p> -'Where?' asked Dr. Wodrow, pithily -and sharply. -</p> - -<p> -'True—true; I must be patient, and -wait for tidings through you,' said Colville, -with something like a groan. 'By the by, -doctor, your son seems cut up about the -departure of my cousins.' -</p> - -<p> -'No wonder, poor fellow—since boyhood -Miss Ellinor was the apple of his eye.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ellinor?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—and they both seemed happy -enough in their hope of each other till Sir -Redmond Sleath came hovering about her.' -</p> - -<p> -Colville's face grew very dark. -</p> - -<p> -'I did not like your friend's character,' -said the minister. -</p> - -<p> -'Friend—he was no friend of mine!' said -Colville, bluntly. -</p> - -<p> -'I saw through him soon after he first -came here; I have had my experience of -evil faces, and I could read his like a book.' -</p> - -<p> -'And what were his views regarding Ellinor?' -</p> - -<p> -'Matrimony, on the death of an uncle, -I have heard, from whom he has great expectations.' -</p> - -<p> -'He has no uncle by male or female side. -This was some specious falsehood!' -exclaimed Colville, with knitted brows. -</p> - -<p> -'How do you know this?' -</p> - -<p> -'As you may know it—by looking in the -Baronetage.' -</p> - -<p> -In the days that succeeded the departure -of Mary and Ellinor most eagerly were -letters looked for at the manse of -Kirktoun-Mailler, but none came from either, -though both sisters had promised to write -whenever they had found a new home, -however temporary, and periodically the -path through the fields, by which the -postman always came, was watched by anxious -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -How was this?—what had happened? were -the constant surmises of Dr. and -Mrs. Wodrow, as they looked gravely in -each other's face, while more than once -each day Colville came to the manse in -hope of having tidings. Were both -ill—stricken down by some sudden ailment and -among strangers—they so gentle, so -tenderly nurtured, and so refined in nature? -</p> - -<p> -The doubt and perplexity were intolerable! -And the upbraiding, almost despairing -looks of Dr. Wodrow cut Colville -to the heart. -</p> - -<p> -With their departure by railway all clue -was lost, and as the days ran on to weeks -the anxiety that preyed on the minds of -the good people at the manse became sore -indeed, and to Colville, who knew what -London is, doubt was simply maddening! -From the heir of entail Mr. Luke Sharpe -received instructions that everything was -to remain intact and untouched at Birkwoodbrae -till the sisters should come back -and once more sit by its hearthstone; and -old Elspat, who had been installed there -in charge, held for a time a kind of daily -levee of humble neighbours, whose -inquiries, comments, and regrets were -reiterated and ever recurrent. -</p> - -<p> -But days, we have said, passed on and -became weeks and more, and no tidings -came of the lost ones, for so those among -the Birks of Invermay began to consider -them. -</p> - -<p> -Captain Colville had rejoined his -regiment in London; Sir Redmond Sleath was -no one knew precisely where, and Robert -Wodrow, whose evil genius he had been, -abandoning his studies in a kind of despair, -had disappeared. Thus a great gloom -reigned over the old manse, and the worthy -descendant of the author of 'Analecta -Scotica' could not find in any page thereof -a passage to soothe him in his great -sorrow. -</p> - -<p> -With Colville's return to London a -slight hope had grown in the old minister's -heart that he might be the means of casting -a little light on this painful mystery, -but ere long that hope died away too. -</p> - -<p> -September stole on, and October came, -with its red, yellow, and russet autumnal -hues; the leaves were falling on the empty -air; hardy apples yet hung in the -otherwise bare orchards for the coming frosts -to ripen; dark berries clustered on the -elder-trees; long rushes waved in the -wind by the banks of the May, which -careered the same as ever through its bed -of rock towards the Earn; the call of the -partridge and the few notes uttered by the -remaining birds of the season came on the -low sighing breeze; winter was close at -hand, and yet there came no tidings of -Mary Wellwood or her sister. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COLVILLE OF THE GUARDS, VOLUME I (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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