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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8944-0.txt b/8944-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1294c00 --- /dev/null +++ b/8944-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7361 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Elect Lady + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8944] +This file was first posted on August 28, 2003 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + +_(A Duplex Edition)_ + + +By George MacDonald + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + +In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its +appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse--for there were +utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually +grow upon a farm--with the corner of a white deal table between them, +sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no +level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which +seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or +five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark +hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, +but a little hard, and not a little regnant--as such features must be, +except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. +As to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of +education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its +share in the labor of production. + +As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than +falls to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature +than the young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior, +would have enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and +thin, but plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel +eye, not overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a +curious smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of +pinching his upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the +present moment he was unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small +farmer--in what part of Scotland is of little consequence--and his +companion for the moment was the daughter of the laird. + +“I have glanced over the poem,” said the lady, “and it seems to me quite +up to the average of what you see in print.” + +“Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?” asked the man, with +amused smile. + +“It would be for the editor to determine,” she answered, not perceiving +the hinted objection. + +“You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested--indeed I never +thought of such a thing!” + +“I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the +verses.” + +“I must speak to my mother!” he said, in a meditative way. + +“You can not object to _my_ seeing your work! She does not show it to +everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your +leisure.” + +“The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own--except my brother's.” + +“What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?” + +“The writing of it, ma'am.” + +“For the exercise, you mean?” + +“No; I hardly mean that.” + +“I am afraid then I do not understand you.” + +“Do _you_ never write anything but what you publish?” + +“Publish! _I_ never publish! What made you think of such a thing?” + +“That you know so much about it, ma'am.” + +“I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage +you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems +now!” + +“I wish it hadn't been just that one my mother gave you!” + +“Why?” + +“For one thing, it is not finished--as you will see when you read it +more carefully.” + +“I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but--” + +“Excuse me, ma'am; the want of rhythm there was intentional.” + +“I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! +The accent should always be made to fall in the right place.” + +“Beyond a doubt--but might not the right place alter with the sense?” + +“Never. The rule is strict” + +“Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?” + +“Not that I know.” + +“I have an idea, ma'am, that our great poets owe much of their music to +the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its +masters, and break it when they see fit.” + +“You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take +the liberties of a great poet.” + +“It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take +liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their +power, they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. +Every one must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others +have laid down he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to +truth, and his ear to measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the +light, and the music God gives him.” + +“That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!” said the lady, with a superior +smile. “But,” she continued, “I will mark what faults I see, and point +them out to you.” + +“Thank you, ma'am, but please do not send the verses anywhere.” + +“I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my +father's sake I will have an eye to your reputation.” + +“I am obliged to you, ma'am,” returned Andrew, but with his curious +smile, hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness +and humor, and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. +A heavenly smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it +neither offense nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a +girl, but he showed no rejection of the patronage forced upon him by the +lady. + +He rose and stood a moment. + +“Well, Andrew, what is it?” + +“When will you allow me to call for the verses?” + +“In the course of a week or so. By that time I shall have made up my +mind. If in doubt, I shall ask my father.” + +“I wouldn't like the laird to think I spend my time on poetry.” + +“You write poetry, Andrew! A man should not do what he would not have +known.” + +“That is true, ma'am; I only feared an erroneous conclusion.” + +“I will take care of that. My father knows that you are a hard-working +young man. There is not one of his farms in better order than yours. +Were it otherwise, I should not be so interested in your poetry.” + +Andrew wished her less interested in it. To have his verses read was +like having a finger poked in his eye. He had not known that his mother +looked at his papers. But he showed little sign of his annoyance, bade +the lady good-morning, and left the kitchen. + +Miss Fordyce followed him to the door, and stood for a moment looking +out. In front of her was a paved court, surrounded with low buildings, +between two of which was visible, at the distance of a mile or so, a +railway line where it approached a viaduct. She heard the sound of a +coming train, and who in a country place will not stand to see one pass! + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +AN ACCIDENT. + +While the two were talking, a long train, part carriages, part trucks, +was rattling through a dreary country, where it could never have been +were there not regions very different on both sides of it. For miles in +any direction, nothing but humpy moorland was to be seen, a gathering of +low hills, with now and then a higher one, its sides broken by +occasional torrents, in poor likeness of a mountain. No smoke proclaimed +the presence of human dwelling; but there were spots between the hills +where the hand of man had helped the birth of a feeble fertility; and in +front was a small but productive valley, on the edge of which stood the +ancient house of Potlurg, with the heath behind it: over a narrow branch +of this valley went the viaduct. + +It was a slow train, with few passengers. Of these one was looking from +his window with a vague, foolish sense of superiority, thinking what a +forgotten, scarce created country it seemed. He was a well-dressed, +good-looking fellow, with a keen but pale-gray eye, and a fine forehead, +but a chin such as is held to indicate weakness. More than one, however, +of the strongest women I have known, were defective in chin. The young +man was in the only first-class carriage of the train, and alone in it. +Dressed in a gray suit, he was a little too particular in the smaller +points of his attire, and lacked in consequence something of the look of +a gentleman. Every now and then he would take off his hard round hat, +and pass a white left hand through his short-cut mousey hair, while his +right caressed a far longer mustache, in which he seemed interested. A +certain indescribable heaviness and lack of light characterized his pale +face. + +It was a lovely day in early June. The air was rather cold, but youth +and health care little about temperature on a holiday, with the sun +shining, and that sweetest sense--to such at least as are ordinarily +bound by routine--of having nothing to do. To many men and women the +greatest trouble is to choose, for self is the hardest of masters to +please; but as yet George Crawford had not been troubled with much +choosing. + +A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure +to him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the +way out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for +however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed +who are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a +higher presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. +That every man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must +seem a paradox to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be +impossible without it. George had not arrived at the discovery of this +fact, and yet was for the present contented both with himself and with +his circumstances. + +The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land +made no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a +shadow of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to +his book, when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started +to his feet, and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the +line and turned over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and +one of the young man's legs was broken. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +HELP. + +“Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!” cried Miss Fordyce, +running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. “I +saw it from the door!” + +“Hush!” returned the old man, and listened. “I hear the train going on,” + he said, after a moment. + +“Part of it is come to grief, I am certain,” answered his daughter. “I +saw something fall.” + +“Well, my dear?” + +“What _shall_ we do?” + +“What would you have us do?” rejoined her father, without a movement +toward rising. “It is too far off for us to be of any use.” + +“We ought to go and see.” + +“I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for +it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me.” + +But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as +straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low +embankment. Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the +line, but convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the +same direction. + +It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her +father's indifference, she ran the faster--too fast for thinking, but +not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to +her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the +conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing +less and less neighborly. + +She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she +made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long +dark hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity +forgotten, and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the +heather, and in little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a +long moor-mile, reached the embankment, flushed and panting. + +Some of the carriages had rolled down, and the rails were a wreck. But +the engine and half the train had kept on: neither driver nor stoker was +hurt, and they were hurrying to fetch help from the next station. At the +foot of the bank lay George Crawford insensible, with the guard of the +train doing what he could to bring him to consciousness. He was on his +back, pale as death, with no motion and scare a sign of life. + +Alexa tried to give him brandy, but she was so exhausted, and her hand +shook so, that she had to yield the bottle to the guard, and, hale and +strong as she was, could but drag herself a little apart before she +fainted. + +In the meantime, as the train approached the station, the driver, who +belonged to the neighborhood, saw the doctor, slackened speed, and set +his whistle shrieking wildly. The doctor set spurs to his horse, and +came straight over everything to his side. + +“You go on,” he said, having heard what had happened; “I shall be there +sooner than you could take me.” + +He came first upon Andrew trying to make Miss Fordyce swallow a little +of the brandy. + +“There's but one gentleman hurt, sir,” said the guard. “The other's only +a young lady that's run till she's dropped.” + +“To bring brandy,” supplemented Andrew. + +The doctor recognized Alexa, and wondered what reception her lather +would give his patient, for to Potlurg he must go! Suddenly she came to +herself, and sat up, gazing wildly around. “Out of breath, Miss Fordyce; +nothing worse!” said the doctor, and she smiled. + +He turned to the young man, and did for him what he could without +splints or bandages; then, with the help of the guard and Andrew, +constructed, from pieces of the broken carriages, a sort of litter on +which to carry him to Potlurg. + +“Is he dead?” asked Alexa. + +“Not a bit of it. He's had a bad blow on the head, though. We must get +him somewhere as fast as we can!” + +“Do you know him?” + +“Not I. But we must take him to your house. I don't know what else to do +with him!” + +“What else should you want to do with him?” + +“I was afraid it might bother the laird.” + +“You scarcely know my father, Doctor Pratt!” + +“It would bother most people to have a wounded man quartered on them for +weeks!” returned the doctor. “Poor fellow! A good-looking fellow too!” + +A countryman who had been in the next carriage, but had escaped almost +unhurt, offering his service, Andrew and he took up the litter gently, +and set out walking with care, the doctor on one side, leading his +horse, and Miss Fordyce on the other. + +It was a strange building to which, after no small anxiety, they drew +near; nor did it look the less strange the nearer they came. It was +unsheltered by a single tree; and but for a low wall and iron rail on +one side, inclosing what had been a garden, but was now a grass-plot, it +rose straight out of the heather. From this plot the ground sloped to +the valley, and was under careful cultivation. The entrance to it was +closed with a gate of wrought iron, of good workmanship, but so wasted +with rust that it seemed on the point of vanishing. Here at one time had +been the way into the house; but no door, and scarce a window, was now +to be seen on this side of the building. It was very old, and consisted +of three gables, a great half-round between two of them, and a low tower +with a conical roof. + +Crawford had begun to recover consciousness, but when he came to himself +he was received by acute pain. The least attempt to move was torture, +and again he fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE LAIRD. + +Conducted by the lady, they passed round the house to the court, and +across the court to a door in one of the gables. It was a low, narrow +door, but large enough for the man that stood there--a little man, with +colorless face, and quiet, abstracted look. His eyes were cold and keen, +his features small, delicate, and regular. He had an erect little back, +and was dressed in a long-tailed coat, looking not much of a laird, and +less of a farmer, as he stood framed in the gray stone wall, in which +odd little windows, dotted here and there at all heights and distances, +revealed a wonderful arrangement of floors and rooms inside. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!” said the doctor. “This is a bad business, +but it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!” + +“Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!” returned the laird, with +a cold smile that was far from discourteous. “Stick to the body, doctor! +There you know something!” + +“It's a truth, laird!” answered the doctor--but added to himself--“Well! +it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!” + +The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the +poor fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where, +with the help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she +soon had a bed prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed +to fetch the appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the +bed, with a look of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of +opposition. + +It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a +room far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the +house, have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and, +having been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was +rapidly and silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor, +after an incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he +seemed both surprised and pleased at the change. + +“He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce,” he said, when +all was done. + +“I will myself,” she answered. “But you must give me exact directions, +for I have done no nursing.” + +“If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need +know. He will sleep now, I think--at least till you get back: I shall +not keep you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture,” + he continued, as they went. “It might have been much worse! We shall +have him about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while +the bones are uniting.” + +The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked up +and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with its +ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned from, +as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back to +the room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive of +a wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his unwelcome +guest with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike, and shook his +head slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving. + +His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat +as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it +up just ere Alexa reentered. + +“How is he, father?” she asked. + +“He is fast asleep,” answered the laid. “How long does the doctor think +he will have to be here?” + +“I did not ask him,” she replied. + +“That was an oversight, my child,” he returned. “It is of consequence we +should know the moment of his removal.” + +“We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of +weeks--or months--I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I +will attend to him.” + +“But I _am_ troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I have!” + +Again he retired--slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to search +the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery +concerning its owner. + +With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in a +half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable. +Chintz curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness, had +admitted too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of +footsteps on the creaking boards--for the bones of a house do not grow +silent with age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to +the chamber, which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick +that it took half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving to +and fro, kept shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in +the secret of some house-misery; but she was only indulging the funereal +temperament of an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the heather in the +morning, she looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her shoes were +strong, her dress was short; but now she came and went in a soft-colored +gown, neither ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem to belong to +what is called society, but she looked dignified, at times almost +stately, with an expression of superiority, not strong enough to make +her handsome face unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a +woman's, was cast in a larger mold. + +The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the doctor +minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when the +supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +AFTER SUPPER. + +They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no dining-room +in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned drawing-room. The +servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too much in the sick-room, +notwithstanding, to know that she was eating her porridge and milk. The +laird partook but sparingly, on the ground that the fare tended to +fatness, which affliction of age he congratulated himself on having +hitherto escaped. They eat in silence, but not a glance of her father +that might indicate a want escaped the daughter. When the meal was +ended, and the old man had given thanks, Alexa put on the table a big +black Bible, which her father took with solemn face and reverent +gesture. In the course of his nightly reading of the New Testament, he +had come to the twelfth chapter of St. Luke, with the Lord's parable of +the rich man whose soul they required of him: he read it beautifully, +with an expression that seemed to indicate a sense of the Lord's meaning +what He said. + +“We will omit the psalm this evening--for the sake of the sufferer,” he +said, having ended the chapter. “The Lord will have mercy and not +sacrifice.” + +They rose from their chairs and knelt on the stone floor. The old man +prayed with much tone and expression, and I think meant all he said, +though none of it seemed to spring from fresh need or new thankfulness, +for he used only the old stock phrases, which flowed freely from his +lips. He dwelt much on the merits of the Saviour; he humbled himself as +the chief of sinners, whom it must be a satisfaction to God to cut off, +but a greater satisfaction to spare for the sake of one whom he loved. +Plainly the man counted it a most important thing to stand well with Him +who had created him. When they rose, Alexa looked formally solemn, but +the wan face of her father shone: the Psyche, if not the Ego, had +prayed--and felt comfortable. He sat down, and looked fixedly, as if +into eternity, but perhaps it was into vacancy; they are much the same +to most people. + +“Come into the study for a moment, Lexy, if you please,” he said, rising +at length. His politeness to his daughter, and indeed to all that came +near him, was one of the most notable points in his behavior. + +Alexa followed the black, slender, erect little figure up the stair, +which consisted of about a dozen steps, filling the entrance from wall +to wall, a width of some twelve feet. Between it and the outer door +there was but room for the door of the kitchen on the one hand, and that +of a small closet on the other. At the top was a wide space, a sort of +irregular hall, more like an out-of-door court, paved with large flat +stones into which projected the other side of the rounded mass, bordered +by the grassy inclosure. + +The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had +but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of +old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils. +He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set +himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers. + +“This is a sore trial, Alexa!” he said with a sigh. + +“It is indeed, father--for the poor young man!” she returned. + +“True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his +suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious +matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the +present state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think--” + +“But, father,” interrupted Alexa, “how could we help it?” + +“He might have been carried elsewhere!” + +“With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered +to receive him.” + +“Why did he not take him then?” + +“The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either.” + +“It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done--though, alas! not +paid for.” + +“We must take the luck as it comes, father!” + +“Alexa,” rejoined the laird with solemnity, “you ought never to mention +luck. There is no such thing. It was either for the young man's sins, or +to prevent worse, or for necessary discipline, that the train was +overturned. The cause is known to _Him_. All are in His hands--and we +must beware of attempting to take any out of His hands, for it can not +be done.” + +“Then, father, if there be no chance, our part was ordered too. So there +is the young man in our spare room, and we must receive our share of the +trouble as from the hand of the Lord.” + +“Certainly, my dear! it was the expense I was thinking of. I was only +lamenting--bear me witness, I was not opposing--the will of the Lord. A +man's natural feelings remain.” + +“If the thing is not to be helped, let us think no more about it!” + +“It is the expense, my dear! Will you not let your mind rest for a +moment upon the fact? I am doing my utmost to impress it upon you. For +other expenses there is always something to show; for this there will be +nothing, positively nothing!” + +“Not the mended leg, father?” + +“The money will vanish, I tell you, as a tale that is told.” + +“It is our life that vanishes that way!” + +“The simile suits either. So long as we do not use the words of +Scripture irreverently, there is no harm in making a different +application of them. There is no irreverence here: next to the grace of +God, money is the thing hardest to get and hardest to keep. If we are +not wise with it, the grace--I mean money--will not go far.” + +“Not so far as the next world, anyhow!” said Alexa, as if to herself. + +“How dare you, child! The Redeemer tells us to make friends of the +mammon of unrighteousness, that when we die it may receive us into +everlasting habitations!” + +“I read the passage this morning, father: it is _they_, not _it_, will +receive you. And I have heard that it ought to be translated, 'make +friends _with_, or _by means of_ the mammon of unrighteousness.” + +“I will reconsider the passage. We must not lightly change even the +translated word!” + +The laird had never thought that it might be of consequence to him one +day to have friends in the other world. Neither had he reflected that +the Lord did not regard the obligation of gratitude as ceasing with this +life. + +Alexa had reason to fear that her father made a friend _of_, and never a +friend _with_ the mammon of unrighteousness. At the same time the +half-penny he put in the plate every Sunday must go a long way if it was +not estimated, like that of the poor widow, according to the amount he +possessed, but according to the difficulty he found in parting with it. + +“After weeks, perhaps months of nursing and food and doctor's stuff,” + resumed the laird, “he will walk away, and we shall see not a plack of +the money he carries with him. The visible will become the invisible, +the present the absent!” + +“The little it will cost you, father--” + +“Hold there, my child! If you call any cost little, I will not hear a +word more: we should be but running a race from different points to +different goals! It will cost--that is enough! How much it will cost +_me_, you can not calculate, for you do not know what money stands for +in my eyes. There are things before which money is insignificant!” + +“Those dreary old books!” said Alexa to herself, casting a glance on the +shelves that filled the room from floor to ceiling, and from wall to +wall. + +“What I was going to say, father,” she returned, “was, that I have a +little money of my own, and this affair shall cost you nothing. Leave me +to contrive. Would you tell him his friends must pay his board, or take +him away? It would be a nice anecdote in the annals of the Fordyces of +Potlurg!” + +“At the same time, what more natural?” rejoined her father. “His friends +must in any case be applied to! I learn from his pocket-book--” + +“Father!” + +“Content yourself, Alexa. I have a right to know whom I receive under my +roof. Besides, have I not learned thereby that the youth is a sort of +connection!” + +“You don't mean it, father?” + +“I do mean it. His mother and yours were first cousins.” + +“That is not a connection; it's a close kinship!” + +“Is it?” said the laird, dryly. + +“Anyhow,” pursued Alexa, “I give you my word you shall hear nothing more +of the expense.” + +She bade her father good-night, and returning to the bedside of her +patient, released Meg. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ABOUT THE LAIRD. + +Thomas Fordyce was a sucker from the root of a very old family tree, +born in poverty, and, with great pinching of father and mother, brothers +and sisters, educated for the Church. But from pleasure in scholarship, +from archaeological tastes, a passion for the arcana of history, and a +love of literature, strong, although not of the highest kind, he had +settled down as a school-master, and in his calling had excelled. By all +who knew him he was regarded as an accomplished, amiable, and worthy +man. + +When his years were verging on the undefined close of middle age he saw +the lives between him and the family property, one by one wither at the +touch of death, until at last there was no one but himself and his +daughter to succeed. He was at the time the head of a flourishing school +in a large manufacturing town; and it was not without some regret, +though with more pleasure, that he yielded his profession and retired to +Potlurg. + +Greatly dwindled as he found the property, and much and long as it had +been mismanaged, it was yet of considerable value, and worth a wise +care. The result of the labor he spent upon it was such that it had now +for years yielded him, if not a large rental, one far larger at least +than his daughter imagined. But the sinking of the school-master in the +laird seemed to work ill for the man, and good only for the land. I say +_seemed_, because what we call degeneracy is often but the unveiling of +what was there all the time; and the evil we could become, we are. If I +have in me the tyrant or the miser, there he is, and such am I--as +surely as if the tyrant or the miser were even now visible to the +wondering dislike of my neighbors. I do not say the characteristic is so +strong, or would be so hard to change as by the revealing development it +must become; but it is there, alive, as an egg is alive; and by no means +inoperative like a mere germ, but exercising real though occult +influence on the rest of my character. Therefore, except the growing +vitality be in process of killing these ova of death, it is for the good +of the man that they should be so far developed as to show their +existence. If the man do not then starve and slay them they will drag +him to the judgment-seat of a fiery indignation. + +For the laird, nature could ill replace the human influences that had +surrounded the school-master; while enlargement both of means and +leisure enabled him to develop by indulgence a passion for a peculiar +kind of possession, which, however refined in its objects, was yet but a +branch of the worship of Mammon. It suits the enemy just as well, I +presume, that a man should give his soul for coins as for money. In +consequence he was growing more and more withdrawn, ever filling less +the part of a man--which is to be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert +from the tempest. He was more and more for himself, and thereby losing +his life. Dearly as he loved his daughter, he was, by slow fallings +away, growing ever less of a companion, less of a comfort, less of a +necessity to her, and requiring less and less of her for the good or +ease of his existence. We wrong those near us in being independent of +them. God himself would not be happy without His Son. We ought to lean +on each other, giving and receiving--not as weaklings, but as lovers. +Love is strength as well as need. Alexa was more able to live alone than +most women; therefore it was the worse for her. Too satisfied with +herself, too little uneasy when alone, she did not know that then she +was not in good enough company. She was what most would call a strong +nature, nor knew what weaknesses belong to, and grow out of, such +strength as hers. + +The remoter scions of a family tree are not seldom those who make most +account of it; the school-master's daughter knew more about the Fordyces +of Potlurg, and cared more for their traditions, than any who of later +years had reaped its advantages or shared its honors. Interest in the +channel down which one has slid into the world is reasonable, and may be +elevating; with Alexa it passed beyond good, and wrought for evil. Proud +of a family with a history, and occasionally noted in the annals of the +country, she regarded herself as the superior of all with whom she had +hitherto come into relation. To the poor, to whom she was invariably and +essentially kind, she was less condescending than to such as came nearer +her own imagined standing; she was constantly aware that she belonged to +the elect of the land! Society took its revenge; the rich trades-people +looked down upon her as the school-master's daughter. Against their +arrogance her indignation buttressed her lineal with her mental +superiority. At the last the pride of family is a personal arrogance. +And now at length she was in her natural position as heiress of Potlurg! + +She was religious--if one may be called religious who felt no immediate +relation to the source of her being. She felt bound to defend, so far as +she honestly could, the doctrines concerning God and His ways +transmitted by the elders of her people; to this much, and little more, +her religion toward God amounted. But she had a strong sense of +obligation to do what was right. + +Her father gave her so little money to spend that she had to be very +careful with her housekeeping, and they lived in the humblest way. For +her person she troubled him as little as she could, believing him, from +the half statements and hints he gave, and his general carriage toward +life, not a little oppressed by lack of money, nor suspecting his +necessities created and his difficulties induced by himself. In this +regard it had come to be understood between them that the produce of the +poultry-yard was Alexa's own; and to some little store she had thus +gathered she mainly trusted for the requirements of her invalid. To this +her father could not object, though he did not like it; he felt what was +hers to be his more than he felt what was his to be hers. + +Alexa had not learned to place value on money beyond its use, but she +was not therefore free from the service of Mammon; she looked to it as +to a power essential, not derived; she did not see it as God's creation, +but merely as an existence, thus making of a creature of God the mammon +of unrighteousness. She did not, however, cling to it, but was ready to +spend it. At the same time, had George Crawford looked less handsome or +less of a gentleman, she would not have been so ready to devote the +contents of her little secret drawer. + +The discovery of her relationship to the young man waked a new feeling. +She had never had a brother, never known a cousin, and had avoided the +approach of such young men as, of inferior position in her eyes, had +sought to be friendly with her; here was one thrown helpless on her +care, with necessities enough to fill the gap between his real relation +to her, and that of the brother after whom she had sighed in vain! It +was a new and delightful sensation to have a family claim on a young +man--a claim, the material advantage of which was all on his side, the +devotion all on hers. She was invaded by a flood of tenderness toward +the man. Was he not her cousin, a gentleman, and helpless as any +new-born child? Nothing should be wanting that a strong woman could do +for a powerless man. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +THE COUSINS. + +George Crawford was in excellent health when the accident occurred, and +so when he began to recover, his restoration was rapid. The process, +however, was still long enough to compel the cousins to know more of +each other than twelve months of ordinary circumstance would have made +possible. + +George, feeling neither the need, nor, therefore, the joy of the new +relationship so much as Alexa, disappointed her by the coolness of his +response to her communication of the fact; and as they were both formal, +that is, less careful as to the reasonable than as to the conventional, +they were not very ready to fall in love. Such people may learn all +about each other, and not come near enough for love to be possible +between them. Some people approximate at once, and at once decline to +love, remaining friends the rest of their lives. Others love at once; +and some take a whole married life to come near enough, and at last +love. But the reactions of need and ministration can hardly fail to +breed tenderness, and disclose the best points of character. + +The cousins were both handsome, and--which was of more consequence--each +thought the other handsome. They found their religious opinions closely +coincident--nor any wonder, for they had gone for years to the same +church every Sunday, had been regularly pumped upon from the same +reservoir, and had drunk the same arguments concerning things true and +untrue. + +George found that Alexa had plenty of brains, a cultivated judgment, and +some knowledge of literature; that there was no branch of science with +which she had not some little acquaintance, in which she did not take +some small interest. Her father's teaching was beyond any he could have +procured for her, and what he taught she had learned; for she had a love +of knowing, a tendency to growth, a capacity for seizing real points, +though as yet perceiving next to nothing of their relation to human life +and hope. She believed herself a judge of verse, but in truth her +knowledge of poetry was limited to its outer forms, of which she had +made good studies with her father. She had learned the _how_ before the +_what_, knew the body before the soul--could tell good binding but not +bad leather--in a word, knew verse but not poetry. + +She understood nothing of music, but George did not miss that; he was +more sorry she did not know French--not for the sake of its literature, +but because of showing herself an educated woman. + +Diligent in business, not fervent in spirit, she was never idle. But +there are other ways than idleness of wasting time. Alexa was +continually “improving herself,” but it was a big phrase for a small +matter; she had not learned that to do the will of God is the _only_ way +to improve one's self. She would have scorned the narrowness of any one +who told her so, not understanding what the will of God means. + +She found that her guest and cousin was a man of some position, and +wondered that her father should never have mentioned the relationship. +The fact was that, in a time of poverty, the school-master had made to +George's father the absurd request of a small loan without security, and +the banker had behaved as a rich relation and a banker was pretty sure +to behave. + +George occupied a place of trust in the bank, and, though not yet +admitted to a full knowledge of its more important transactions, hoped +soon to be made a partner. + +When his father came to Potlurg to see him the laird declined to appear, +and the banker contented himself thereafter with Alexa's bulletins. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. + +Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been +devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor +allow him to return to business. + +One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry +and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible +burst of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to +lap the house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was +mingled with the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the +building. George sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise +and see what had happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet +Alexa, and a talk with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless +night. He got into his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked +softly from the room. + +His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and +listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came, +and lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When +the darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder +yet bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the +study, and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but +there was no answer. He pushed the door, and saw that the light came +from behind a projecting book-case. He hesitated a moment, and glanced +about him. + +A little clinking sound came from somewhere. He stole nearer the source +of the light; a thief might be there. He peeped round the end of the +book-case. With his back to him the laird was kneeling before an open +chest. He had just counted a few pieces of gold, and was putting them +away. He turned over his shoulder a face deathly pale, and his eyes for +a moment stared blank. Then with a shivering smile he rose. He had a +thin-worn dressing-gown over his night-shirt, and looked a thread of a +man. + +“You take me for a miser?” he said, trembling, and stood expecting an +answer. + +Crawford was bewildered: what business had he there? + +“I am _not_ a miser!” resumed the laird. “A man may count his money +without being a miser!” + +He stood and stared, still trembling, at his guest, either too much +startled or too gentle to find fault with his intrusion. + +“I beg your pardon, laird,” said George. “I knocked, but receiving no +answer, feared something was wrong.” + +“But why are you out of bed--and you an invalid?” returned Mr. Fordyce. + +“I heard a heavy fall, and feared the lightning had done some damage.” + +“We shall see about that in the morning, and in the meantime you had +better go to bed,” said the laird. + +They turned together toward the door. + +“What a multitude of books, you have, Mr. Fordyce!” remarked George. “I +had not a notion of such a library in the county!” + +“I have been a lover of books all my life,” returned the laird. “And +they gather, they gather!” he added. + +“Your love draws them,” said George. + +“The storm is over, I think,” said the laird. + +He did not tell his guest that there was scarcely a book on those +shelves not sought after by book-buyers--not one that was not worth +money in the book-market. Here and there the dulled gold of a fine +antique binding returned the gleam of the candle, but any gathering of +old law or worthless divinity would have looked much the same. + +“I should like to glance over them,” said George. “There must be some +valuable volumes among so many!” + +“Rubbish! rubbish!” rejoined the old man, testily, almost hustling him +from the room. “I am ashamed to hear it called a library.” + +It seemed to Crawford, as again he lay awake in his bed, altogether a +strange incident. A man may count his money when he pleases, but not the +less must it seem odd that he should do so in the middle of the night, +and with such a storm flashing and roaring around him, apparently +unheeded. The next morning he got his cousin to talk about her father, +but drew from her nothing to cast light on what he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +IN THE GARDEN. + +Of the garden which had been the pride of many owners of the place, only +a small portion remained. It was strangely antique, haunted with a +beauty both old and wild, the sort of garden for the children of heaven +to play in when men sleep. + +In a little arbor constructed by an old man who had seen the garden grow +less and less through successive generations, a tent of honeysuckle in a +cloak of sweet pease, sat George and Alexa, two highly respectable young +people, Scots of Scotland, like Jews of Judaea, well satisfied of their +own worthiness. How they found their talk interesting, I can scarce +think. I should have expected them to be driven by very dullness to +love-making; but the one was too prudent to initiate it, the other too +staid to entice it. Yet, people on the borders of love being on the +borders of poetry, they had got talking about a certain new poem, +concerning which George, having read several notices of it, had an +opinion to give. + +“You should tell my father about it, George,” said Alexa; “he is the +best judge I know.” + +She did not understand that it was a little more than the grammar of +poetry the school-master had ever given himself to understand. His best +criticism was to show phrase calling to phrase across gulfs of speech. + +The little iron gate, whose hinges were almost gone with rust, creaked +and gnarred as it slowly opened to admit the approach of a young +countryman. He advanced with the long, slow, heavy step suggestive of +nailed shoes; but his hazel eye had an outlook like that of an eagle +from its eyrie, and seemed to dominate his being, originating rather +than directing its motions. He had a russet-colored face, much freckled; +hair so dark red as to be almost brown; a large, well-shaped nose; a +strong chin; and a mouth of sweetness whose smile was peculiarly its +own, having in it at once the mystery and the revelation of Andrew +Ingram. He took off his bonnet as he drew near, and held it as low as +his knee, while with something of the air of an old-fashioned courtier, +he stood waiting. His clothes, all but his coat, which was of some blue +stuff, and his Sunday one, were of a large-ribbed corduroy. For a moment +no one spoke. He colored a little, but kept silent, his eyes on the +lady. + +“Good-morning, Andrew!” she said at length. “There was something, I +forget what, you were to call about! Remind me--will you?” + +“I did not come before, ma'am, because I knew you were occupied. And +even now it does not greatly matter.” + +“Oh, I remember!--the poem! I am very sorry, but I had so much to think +of that it went quite out of my mind.” + +An expression half amused, half shy, without trace of mortification, for +an instant shadowed the young man's face. + +“I wish you would let me have the lines again, ma'am! Indeed I should be +obliged to you!” he said. + +“Well, I confess they might first be improved! I read them one evening +to my father, and he agreed with me that two or three of them were not +quite rhythmical. But he said it was a fair attempt, and for a +working-man very creditable.” + +What Andrew was thinking, it would have been hard to gather from his +smile; but I believe it was that, if he had himself read the verses +aloud, the laird would have found no fault with their rhythm. His +carriage seemed more that of a patient, respectful amusement than +anything else. + +Alexa rose, but resumed her seat, saying: + +“As the poem is a religious one, there can be no harm in handing it you +on Sunday after church!--that is,” she added, meaningly, “if you will be +there!” + +“Give it to Dawtie, if you please, ma'am,” replied Andrew. + +“Ah!” rebuked Miss Fordyce, in a tone almost of rebuke. + +“I seldom go to church, ma'am,” said Andrew, reddening a little, but +losing no sweetness from his smile. + +“I understand as much! It is very wrong! _Why_ don't you?” + +Andrew was silent. + +“I wish you to tell me,” persisted Alexa, with a peremptoriness which +came of the school-master. She had known him too as a pupil of her +father's! + +“If you will have it, ma'am, I not only learn nothing from Mr. Smith, +but I think much that he says is not true.” + +“Still you ought to go for the sake of example.” + +“Do wrong to make other people follow my example? Can that be to do +right?” + +“_Wrong_ to go to church! What _do_ you mean? Wrong to pray with your +fellow-men?” + +“Perhaps the hour may come, ma'am, when I shall be able to pray with my +fellow-men, even though the words they use seem addressed to a tyrant, +not to the Father of Jesus Christ. But at present I can not. I might +endure to hear Mr. Smith say evil things concerning God, but the evil +things he says to God make me quite unable to pray, and I feel like a +hypocrite!” + +“Whatever you may think of Mr. Smith's doctrines, it is presumptuous to +set yourself up as too good to go to church.” + +“I most bear the reproach, ma'am. I can not consent to be a hypocrite in +order to avoid being called one!” + +Either Miss Fordyce had no answer to this, or did not choose to give +any. She was not troubled that Andrew would not go to church, but +offended at the unhesitating decision with which he set her counsel +aside. Andrew made her a respectful bow, turned away, put on his bonnet, +which he had held in his hand all the time, and passed through the +garden gate. + +“Who is the fellow?” asked George, partaking sympathetically of his +companion's annoyance. + +“He is Andrew Ingram, the son of a small farmer, one of my father's +tenants. He and his brother work with their father on the farm. They are +quite respectable people. Andrew is conceited, but has his good points. +He imagines himself a poet, and indeed his work has merit. The worst of +him is that he sets up for being better than other people.” + +“Not an unusual fault with the self-educated!” + +“He does go on educating himself, I believe, but he had a good start to +begin with. My father took much pains with him at school. He helped to +carry you here after the accident--and would have taken you to his +father's if I would have let him.” + +George cast on her a look of gratitude. + +“Thank you for keeping me,” he said. “But I wish I had taken some notice +of his kindness!” + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +ANDREW INGRAM. + +Of the persons in my narrative, Andrew Ingram is the simplest, therefore +the hardest to be understood by an ordinary reader. I must take up his +history from a certain point in his childhood. + +One summer evening, he and his brother Sandy were playing together on a +knoll in one of their father's fields. Andrew was ten years old, and +Sandy a year younger. The two quarreled, and the spirit of ancestral +borderers waking in them, they fell to blows. The younger was the +stronger for his years, and they were punching each other with +relentless vigor, when suddenly they heard a voice, and stopping their +fight, saw before them an humble-looking man with a pack on his back. He +was a peddler known in the neighborhood, and noted for his honesty and +his silence, but the boys had never seen him. They stood abashed before +him, dazed with the blows they had received, and not a little ashamed; +for they were well brought up, their mother being an honest +disciplinarian, and their father never interfering with what she judged +right. The sun was near the setting, and shone with level rays full on +the peddler; but when they thought of him afterward, they seemed to +remember more light in his face than that of the sun. Their conscience +bore him witness, and his look awed them. Involuntarily they turned from +him, seeking refuge with each other: his eyes shone so! they said; but +immediately they turned to him again. + +Sandy knew the pictures in the “Pilgrim's Progress,” and Andrew had read +it through more than once: when they saw the man had a book in his hand, +open, and heard him, standing there in the sun, begin to read from it, +they thought it must be Christian, waiting for Evangelist to come to +him. It is impossible to say how much is fact and how much imagination +in what children recollect; the one must almost always supplement the +other; but they were quite sure that the words he read were these: “And +lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world!” The next thing +they remembered was their walking slowly down the hill in the red light, +and all at once waking up to the fact that the man was gone, they did +not know when or where. But their arms were round each other's necks, +and they were full of a strange awe. Then Andrew saw something red on +Sandy's face. + +“Eh, Sandy!” he cried, “it's bluid!” and burst into tears. + +It was his own blood, not Sandy's!--the discovery of which fact relieved +Andrew, and did not so greatly discompose Sandy, who was less sensitive. + +They began at length to speculate on what had happened. One thing was +clear: it was because they were fighting that the man had come; but it +was not so clear who the man was. He could not be Christian, because +Christian went over the river! Andrew suggested it might have been +Evangelist, for he seemed to be always about. Sandy added, as his +contribution to the idea, that he might have picked up Christian's +bundle and been carrying it home to his wife. They came, however, to the +conclusion, by no ratiocination, I think, but by a conviction which the +idea itself brought with it, that the stranger was the Lord himself, and +that the pack on His back was their sins, which He was carrying away to +throw out of the world. + +“Eh, wasna it fearfu' He should come by jist when we was fechtin'!” said +Sandy. + +“Eh, na! it was a fine thing that! We micht hae been at it yet! But we +winna noo!--will we ever, Sandy?” + +“Na, that we winna!” + +“For,” continued Andrew, “He said 'Lo, I am with you always!' And +suppose He werena, we daurna be that ahint His back we would na be afore +His face!” + +“Do you railly think it _was_ Him, Andrew?” + +“Weel,” replied Andrew, “gien the deevil be goin' aboot like a roarin' +lion, seekin' whom he may devoor, as father says, it's no likely _He_ +would na be goin' aboot as weel, seekin' to haud him aff o' 's!” + +“Ay!” said Sandy. + +“And noo,” said the elder, “what are we to do?” + +For Andrew, whom both father and mother judged the dreamiest of mortals, +was in reality the most practical being in the whole parish--so +practical that by and by people mocked him for a poet and a heretic, +because he did the things which they said they believed. Most +unpractical must every man appear who genuinely believes in the things +that are unseen. The man called practical by the men of this world is he +who busies himself building his house on the sand, while he does not +even bespeak a lodging in the inevitable beyond. + +“What are we to do?” said Andrew. “If the Lord is going about like that, +looking after us, we've surely got something to do looking after _Him!_” + +There was no help in Sandy; and it was well that, with the reticence of +children, neither thought of laying the case before their parents; the +traditions of the elders would have ill agreed with the doctrine they +were now under! Suddenly it came into Andrew's mind that the book they +read at _worship_ to which he had never listened, told all about Jesus. + +He began at the beginning, and grew so interested in the stories that he +forgot why he had begun to read it One day, however, as he was telling +Sandy about Jacob--“What a shame!” said Sandy; and Andrew's mind +suddenly opened to the fact that he had got nothing yet out of the book. +He threw it from him, echoing Sandy's words, “What's a shame!”--not of +Jacob's behavior, but of the Bible's, which had all this time told them +nothing about the man that was going up and down the world, gathering up +their sins, and carrying them away in His pack! But it dawned upon him +that it was the New Testament that told about Jesus Christ, and they +turned to that. Here also I say it was well they asked no advice, for +they would probably have been directed to the Epistle to the Romans, +with explanations yet more foreign to the heart of Paul than false to +his Greek. They began to read the story of Jesus as told by his friend +Matthew, and when they had ended it, went on to the gospel according to +Mark. But they had not read far when Sandy cried out: + +“Eh, Andrew, it's a' the same thing ower again!” + +“No a'thegither,” answered Andrew. “We'll gang on, and see!” + +Andrew came to the conclusion that it was so far the same that he would +rather go back and read the other again, for the sake of some particular +things he wanted to make sure about So the second time they read St. +Matthew, and came to these words: + +“If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall +ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven.” + +“There's twa o' 's here!” cried Andrew, laying down the book. “Lat's try +'t!” + +“Try what?” said Sandy. + +His brother read the passage again. + +“Lat the twa o' 's speir Him for something!” concluded Andrew. “What +wull't be?” + +“I won'er if it means only ance, or may be three times, like 'The Three +Wishes!'” suggested Sandy, who, like most Christians, would rather have +a talk about it than do what he was told. + +“We _might_ ask for what would not be good for us!” returned Andrew. + +“And make fools of ourselves!” assented Sandy, with “The Three Wishes” + in his mind. + +“Do you think He would give it us then?” + +“I don't know.” + +“But,” pursued Andrew, “if we were so foolish as that old man and woman, +it would be better to find it out, and begin to grow wise!--I'll tell +you what we'll do: we'll make it our first wish to know what's best to +ask for; and then we can go on asking!” + +“Yes, yes; let us!” + +“I fancy we'll have as many wishes as we like! Doon upo' yer knees, +Sandy!” + +They knelt together. + +I fear there are not a few to say, “How ill-instructed the poor children +were!--actually mingling the gospel and the fairy tales!” “Happy +children,” say I, “who could blunder into the very heart of the will of +God concerning them, and _do_ the thing at once that the Lord taught +them, using the common sense which God had given and the fairy tale +nourished!” The Lord of the promise is the Lord of all true parables and +all good fairy tales. + +Andrew prayed: + +“Oh, Lord, tell Sandy and me what to ask for. We're unanimous.” + +They got up from their knees. They had said what they had to say: why +say more! + +They felt rather dull. Nothing came to them. The prayer was prayed, and +they could not make the answer! There was no use in reading more! They +put the Bible away in a rough box where they kept it among +rose-leaves--ignorant priests of the lovely mystery of Him who was with +them always--and without a word went each his own way, not happy, for +were they not leaving Him under the elder-tree, lonely and shadowy, +where it was their custom to meet! Alas for those who must go to church +to find Him, or who can not pray unless in their closet! + +They wandered about disconsolate, at school and at home, the rest of the +day--at least Andrew did; Sandy had Andrew to lean upon! Andrew had Him +who was with them always, but He seemed at the other end of the world. +They had prayed, and there was no more of it! + +In the evening, while yet it was light, Andrew went alone to the +elder-tree, took the Bible from its humble shrine, and began turning +over its leaves. + +“And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” He +read, and sunk deep in thought. + +This is the way his thoughts went: + +“What things? What had He been saying? Let me look and see what He says, +that I may begin to do it!” + +He read all the chapter, and found it full of _tellings_. When he read +it before he had not thought of doing one of the things He said, for as +plainly as He told him! He had not once thought He had any concern in +the matter! + +“I see!” he said; “we must begin at once to do what He tells us!” + +He ran to find his brother. + +“I've got it!” he cried: “I've got it!” + +“What?” + +“What we've got to do” + +“And what is it?” + +“Just what He tells us.” + +“We were doing that,” said Sandy, “when we prayed Him to tell us what to +pray for!” + +“So we were! That's grand!” + +“Then haven't we got to pray for anything more?” + +“We'll soon find out; but first we must look for something to do!” + +They began at once to search for things the Lord told them to do. And of +all they found, the plainest and easiest was: “Whosoever shall smite +thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” This needed no +explanation! it was as clear as the day to both of them! + +The very next morning the school-master, who, though of a gentle +disposition, was irritable, taking Andrew for the offender in a certain +breach of discipline, gave him a smart box on the ear. Andrew, as +readily as if it had been instinctively, turned to him the other cheek. + +An angry man is an evil interpreter of holy things, and Mr. Fordyce took +the action for one of rudest mockery, nor thought of the higher master +therein mocked if it were mockery: he struck the offender a yet smarter +blow. Andrew stood for a minute like one dazed; but the red on his face +was not that of anger; he was perplexed as to whether he ought now to +turn the former cheek again to the striker. Uncertain, he turned away, +and went to his work. + +Stops a reader here to say: “But do you really mean to tell us we ought +to take the words literally as Andrew did?” I answer: “When you have +earned the right to understand, you will not need to ask me. To explain +what the Lord means to one who is not obedient, is the work of no man +who knows his work.” + +It is but fair to say for the school-master that, when he found he had +mistaken, he tried to make up to the boy for it--not by confessing +himself wrong--who could expect that of only a school-master?--but by +being kinder to him than before. Through this he came to like him, and +would teach him things out of the usual way--such as how to make +different kinds of verse. + +By and by Andrew and Sandy had a quarrel. Suddenly Andrew came to +himself, and cried: + +“Sandy! Sandy! He says we're to agree!” + +“Does He?” + +“He says we're to love one another, and we canna do that if we dinna +agree!” + +There came a pause. + +“Perhaps after all you were in the right, Sandy!” said Andrew. + +“I was just going to say that; when I think about it, perhaps I wasn't +so much in the right as I thought I was!” + +“It can't matter much which was in the right, when we were both in the +wrong!” said Andrew. “Let's ask Him to keep us from caring which is in +the right, and make us both try to be in the right We don't often +differ about what we are to ask for, Sandy!” + +“No, we don't.” + +“It's me to take care of you, Sandy!” + +“And me to take care of you, Andrew!” + +Here was the nucleus of a church!--two stones laid on the +foundation-stone. + +“Luik here, Sandy!” said Andrew; “we maun hae anither, an' syne there'll +be four o' 's!” + +“How's that?” asked Sandy. + +“I won'er 'at we never noticed it afore! Here's what He says: 'For where +two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst +of them.' In that way, wharever He micht be walkin' aboot, we could aye +get Him! He likes twa, an' His Father 'ill hear the 'greed prayer, but +He likes three better--an' that stan's to rizzon, for three maun be +better 'n twa! First ane maun lo'e Him; an' syne twa can lo'e Him +better, because ilk ane is helpit by the ither, an' lo'es Him the mair +that He lo'es the ither ane! An' syne comes the third, and there's mair +an' mair throwin' o' lichts, and there's the Lord himsel' i' the mids' +o' them! Three maks a better mids' than twa!” + +Sandy could not follow the reasoning quite, but he had his own way of +understanding. + +“It's jist like the story o' Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!” he said. +“There was three o' them, an' sae He made four! Eh, jist think o' Him +bein' wi' 's His verra sel'!” + +Here now was a church indeed: the idea of a third was the very principle +of growth! They would meet together and say: “Oh, Father of Jesus +Christ, help us to be good like Jesus;” and then Jesus himself would +make one of them, and worship the Father with them! + +The next thing, as a matter of course, was to look about for a third. + +“Dawtie!” cried both at once. + +Dawtie was the child of a cotter pair, who had an acre or two of their +father's farm, and helped him with it. Her real name has not reached me; +_Dawtie_ means _darling_, and is a common term of endearment--derived, +Jamieson suggests, from the Gaelic _dalt_, signifying _a foster-child_. +Dawtie was a dark-haired, laughing little darling, with shy, merry +manners, and the whitest teeth, full of fun, but solemn in an instant. +Her small feet were bare and black--except on Saturday nights and Sunday +mornings--but full of expression, and perhaps really cleaner, from their +familiarity with the sweet all-cleansing air, than such as hide the +day-long in socks and shoes. + +Dawtie's specialty was love of the creatures. She had an undoubting +conviction that every one of them with which she came in contact +understood and loved her. She was the champion of the oppressed, without +knowing it. Every individual necessity stood on its own merits, and came +to her fresh and sole, as if she had forgotten all that went before it. +Like some boys she had her pockets as well as her hands at the service +of live things; but unlike any boy, she had in her love no admixture of +natural history; it was not interest in animals with her, but an +individual love to the individual animal, whatever it might be, that +presented itself to the love-power in her. + +It may seem strange that there should be three such children together. +But their fathers and mothers had for generations been poor--which was a +great advantage, as may be seen in the world by him who has eyes to see, +and heard in the parable of the rich man by him who has ears to hear. +Also they were God-fearing, which was a far greater advantage, and made +them honorable; for they would have scorned things that most Christians +will do. Dawtie's father had a rarely keen instinct for what is mean, +and that not in the way of abhorrence in others, but of avoidance in +himself. To shades and _nuances_ of selfishness, which men of high +repute and comfortable conscience would neither be surprised to find in +their neighbors nor annoyed to find in themselves, he would give no +quarter. Along with Andrew's father, he had, in childhood and youth, +been under the influence of a simple-hearted pastor, whom the wise and +prudent laughed at as one who could not take care of himself, incapable +of seeing that, like his master, he laid down his life that he might +take it again. He left God to look after him, that he might be free to +look after God. + +Little Dawtie had learned her catechism, but, thank God, had never +thought about it or attempted to understand it--good negative +preparation for becoming, in a few years more, able to understand the +New Testament with the heart of a babe. + +The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she +sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a +chicken with oatmeal paste. + +“What are you doin', Dawtie?” they asked. + +“I'm tryin',” she answered, without looking up, “to haud the life i' the +chuckie.” + +“What's the matter wi' 't?” + +“Naething but the want o' a mither.” + +“Is the mither o' 't deid?” + +“Na, she's alive eneuch, but she has ower mony bairns to hap them a'; +her wings winna cower them, and she drives this ane awa', and winna lat +it come near her.” + +“Sic a cruel mither!” + +“Na, she's no' cruel. She only wants to gar't come to me! She kenned I +would tak it. Na, na; Flappy's a guid mither! I ken her weel; she's ane +o' our ain! She kens me, or she would hae keepit the puir thing, and +done her best wi' her.” + +“I ken somebody,” said Andrew, “that would fain spread oot wings, like a +great big hen, ower a' the bairns, you an' me an' a', Dawtie!” + +“That's my mither!” cried Dawtie, looking up, and showing her white +teeth. + +“Na, it's a man,” said Sandy. + +“It's my father, than!” + +“Na, it's no. Would ye like to see Him?” + +“Na, I'm no carin'.” + +“Sandy and me's gaein' to see Him some day.” + +“I'll gang wi' ye. But I maun tak' my chuckie!” + +She looked down where she had set the little bird on the ground; it had +hobbled away and she could not see it! + +“Eh,” she cried, starting up, “ye made me forget my chuckie wi' yer +questions! It's mither 'ill peck it!” + +She darted off, and forsook the tale of the Son of Man to look after her +chicken. But presently she returned with it in her hands. + +“Tell awa',” she said, resuming her seat “What do they ca' Him?” + +“They ca' Him the Father o' Jesus Christ.” + +“I'll gang wi' ye,” she answered. + +So the church was increased by a whole half, and the fraction of a +chicken--type of the groaning creation, waiting for the sonship. + +The three gathered to read and pray. And almost always there was some +creature with them in the arms or hands of Dawtie. And if the Lord was +not there, too, then are we Christians most miserable, for we see a +glory beyond all that man could dream, and it is but a dream! Whose +dream? + +They went on at other times with the usual employments and games of +children. But there was this difference between them and most grown +Christians, that when anything roused thought or question they at once +referred it to the word of Jesus, and having discovered His will, made +haste to do it. It naturally followed that, seeing He gives the spirit +to them that obey Him, they grew rapidly in the modes of their Master, +learning to look at things as He looked at them, to think of them as He +thought of them, to value what He valued, and despise what He +despised--all in simplest order of divine development, in uttermost +accord with highest reason, the whole turning on the primary and +continuous effort to obey. + +It was long before they came to have any regular time of meeting. Andrew +always took the initiative in assembling the church. When he called they +came together. Then he would read from the story, and communicate any +discovery he had made concerning what Jesus would have them do. Next, +they would consult and settle what they should ask for, and one of them, +generally Andrew, but sometimes Sandy, would pray. They made no formal +utterance, but simply asked for what they needed. Here are some +specimens of their petitions: + +“Oh, Lord, Sandy canna for the life o' 'im un'erstan' the rule o' three; +please, Lord, help him.” + +“Oh, Lord, I dinna ken onything I want the day; please gi'e us what we +need, an' what ye want us to hae, wi'oot our askin' it.” + +“Lord, help us; we're ill-natnr'd (_bad-tempered_) the day; an' ye wadna +hae us that.” + +“Lord, Dawtie's mither has a sair heid (_headache_); mak her better, +gien ye please.” + +When their prayers were ended Andrew would say: “Sandy, have you found +anything He says?” and there-upon, if he had, Sandy would speak. Dawtie +never said a word, but sat and listened with her big eyes, generally +stroking some creature in her lap. + +Surely the part of every superior is to help the life in the lower! + +Once the question arose, in their assembly of three and a bird, whose +leg Dawtie had put in splints, what became of the creatures when they +died. They concluded that the sparrow that God cared for must be worth +caring for; and they could not believe He had made it to last only such +a little while as its life in this world. Thereupon they agreed to ask +the Lord that, when they died, they might have again a certain dog, an +ugly little white mongrel, of which they had been very fond. All their +days thereafter they were, I believe, more or less consciously, looking +forward to the fulfillment of this petition. For their hope strengthened +with the growth of their ideal; and when they had to give up any belief +it was to take a better in its place. + +They yielded at length the notion that the peddler was Jesus Christ, but +they never ceased to believe that He was God's messenger, or that the +Lord was with them always. They would not insist that He was walking +about on the earth, but to the end of their days they cherished the +uncertain hope that they might, even without knowing it, look upon the +face of the Lord in that of some stranger passing in the street, or +mingling in a crowd, or seated in a church; for they knew that all the +shapes of man belong to Him, and that, after He rose from the dead there +were several occasions on which He did not at first look like Himself to +those to whom He appeared. + +The child-like, the essential, the divine notion of serving, with their +every-day will and being, the will of the living One, who lived for them +that they might live, as once He had died for them that they might die, +ripened in them to a Christianity that saw God everywhere, saw that +everything had to be done as God would have it done, and that nothing +but injustice had to be forsaken to please Him. They were under no +influence of what has been so well called _other-worldliness_, for they +saw this world as much God's as that, saw that its work has to be done +divinely, that it is the beginning of the world to come. It was to them +all one world, with God in it, all in all; therefore the best work for +the other world was the work of this world. + +Such was the boyhood of that Andrew Ingram whom Miss Fordyce now +reproved for not setting the good example of going to church. + +The common sense of the children rapidly developed, for there is no +teacher like obedience, and no obstruction like its postponement. When +in after years their mothers came at length to understand that obedience +had been so long the foundation of their life, it explained to them many +things that had seemed strange, and brought them to reproach themselves +that they should have seemed strange. + +It ought not to be overlooked that the whole thing was wrought in the +children without directed influence of kindred or any neighbor. They +imitated none. The galvanism of imitation is not the life of the spirit; +the use of form where love is not is killing. And if any one is desirous +of spreading the truth let him apply himself, like these children, to +the doing of it; not obeying the truth, he is doubly a liar pretending +to teach it; if he obeys it already, let him obey it more. It is life +that awakes life. All form of persuasion is empty except in vital +association with regnant obedience. Talking and not doing is dry rot. + +Cottage children are sometimes more fastidious about their food than +children that have a greater variety; they have a more delicate +perception and discrimination in the simple dishes on which they thrive; +much choice, though little refusal. Andrew had a great dislike to lumps +in his porridge; and one day the mother having been less careful than +usual in cooking it, he made a wry face at the first spoonful. + +“Andrew,” said Sandy, “take no thought for what ye eat.” + +It was a wrong interpretation, but a righteous use of the word. Happy +the soul that mistakes the letter only to get at the spirit! + +Andrew's face smoothed itself, began to clear up, and broke at last into +a sunny smile. He said nothing, but eat his full share of the porridge +without a frown. This was practical religion; and if any one judge it +not worth telling, I count his philosophy worthless beside it. Such a +doer knows more than such a reader will ever know, except he take +precisely the same way to learn. The children of God do what He would +have them do, and are taught of Him. + +A report at length reached the pastor, now an old man, of ripe heart and +true insight, that certain children in his parish “played at the Lord's +Supper.” He was shocked, and went to their parents. They knew nothing of +the matter. The three children were sought, and the pastor had a private +interview with them. From it he reappeared with a solemn, pale face, and +silent tongue. They asked him the result of his inquiry. He answered +that he was not prepared to interfere: as he was talking with them, the +warning came that there were necks and mill-stones. The next Sunday he +preached a sermon from the text, “Out of the month of babes and +sucklings Thou hast perfected praise.” + +The fathers and mothers made inquisition, and found no desire to +conceal. Wisely or not, they forbade the observance. It cost Andrew much +thought whether he was justified in obeying them; but he saw that right +and wrong in itself was not concerned, and that the Lord would have them +obey their parents. + +It was necessary to tell so much of the previous history of Andrew, lest +what remains to be told should perhaps be unintelligible or seem +incredible without it. A character like his can not be formed in a day; +it must early begin to grow. + +The bond thus bound between the children, altering in form as they grew, +was never severed; nor was the lower creation ever cut off from its +share in the petitions of any one of them. When they ceased to assemble +as a community, they continued to act on the same live principles. + +Gladly as their parents would have sent them to college, Andrew and +Sandy had to leave school only to work on the farm. But they carried +their studies on from the point they had reached. When they could not +get further without help, they sought and found it. For a year or two +they went in the winter to an evening school; but it took so much time +to go and come that they found they could make more progress by working +at home. What help they sought went a long way, and what they learned, +they knew. + +When the day's work was over, and the evening meal, they went to the +room their own hands had made convenient for study as well as sleep, and +there resumed the labor they had dropped the night before. Together they +read Greek and mathematics, but Andrew worked mainly in literature, +Sandy in mechanics. On Saturdays, Sandy generally wrought at some model, +while Andrew read to him. On Sundays, they always, for an hour or two, +read the Bible together. + +The brothers were not a little amused with Miss Fordyce's patronage of +Andrew; but they had now been too long endeavoring to bring into +subjection the sense of personal importance, to take offense at it. + +Dawtie had gone into service, and they seldom saw her except when she +came home for a day at the term. She was a grown woman now, but the same +loving child as before. She counted the brothers her superiors, just as +they counted the laird and his daughter their superiors. But whereas +Alexa claimed the homage, Dawtie yielded where was no thought of +claiming it. The brothers regarded her as their sister. That she was +poorer than they, only made them the more watchful over her, and if +possible the more respectful to her. So she had a rich return for her +care of the chickens and kittens and puppies. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George went home the next day; and the following week sent Andrew a +note, explaining that when he saw him he did not know his obligation to +him, and expressing the hope that, when next in town, he would call upon +him. This was hardly well, being condescension to a superior. Perhaps +the worst evil in the sense of social superiority is the vile fancy that +it alters human relation. George did not feel bound to make the same +acknowledgment of obligation to one in humble position as to one in the +same golden rank with himself! It says ill for social distinction, if, +for its preservation, such an immoral difference be essential. But +Andrew was not one to dwell upon his rights. He thought it friendly of +Mr. Crawford to ask him to call; therefore, although he had little +desire to make his acquaintance, and grudged the loss of time, to no man +so precious as to him who has a pursuit in addition to a calling, +Andrew, far stronger in courtesy than the man who invited him, took the +first Saturday afternoon to go and see him. + +Mr. Crawford the elder lived in some style, and his door was opened by a +servant whose blatant adornment filled Andrew with friendly pity: no man +would submit to be dressed like that, he judged, except from necessity. +The reflection sprung from no foolish and degrading contempt for +household service. It is true Andrew thought no labor so manly as that +in the earth, out of which grows everything that makes the loveliness or +use of Nature; for by it he came in contact with the primaries of human +life, and was God's fellow laborer, a helper in the work of the +universe, knowing the ways of it and living in them; but not the less +would he have done any service, and that cheerfully, which his own need +or that of others might have required of him. The colors of a parrot, +however, were not fit for a son of man, and hence his look of sympathy. +His regard was met only by a glance of plain contempt, as the lackey, +moved by the same spirit as his master, left him standing in the +hall--to return presently, and show him into the library--a room of +mahogany, red morocco, and yellow calf, where George sat. He rose, and +shook hands with him. + +“I am glad to see you, Mr. Ingram,” he said. “When I wrote I had but +just learned how much I was indebted to you.” + +“I understand what you must mean,” returned Andrew, “but it was scarce +worth alluding to. Miss Fordyce had the better claim to serve you!” + +“You call it nothing to carry a man of my size over a mile of heather!” + +“I had help,” answered Andrew; “and but for the broken leg,” he added, +with a laugh, “I could have carried you well enough alone.” + +There came a pause, for George did not know what next to do with the +farmer fellow. So the latter spoke again, being unembarrassed. + +“You have a grand library, Mr. Crawford! It must be fine to sit among so +many books! It's just like a wine-merchant's cellars--only here you can +open and drink, and leave the bottles as full as before!” + +“A good simile, Mr. Ingram!” replied George. “You must come and dine +with me, and we'll open another sort of bottle!” + +“You must excuse me there, sir! I have no time for that sort of bottle.” + +“I understand you read a great deal?” + +“Weather permitting,” returned Andrew. + +“I should have thought if anything was independent of the weather, it +must be reading!” + +“Not a farmer's reading, sir. To him the weather is the Word of God, +telling him whether to work or read.” + +George was silent. To him the Word of God was the Bible! + +“But you must read a great deal yourself, sir!” resumed Andrew, casting +a glance round the room. + +“The books are my father's!” said George. + +He did not mention that his own reading came all in the library-cart, +except when he wanted some special information; for George was “a +practical man!” He read his Bible to prepare for his class in the +Sunday-school, and his Shakespeare when he was going to see one of his +plays acted. He would make the best of both worlds by paying due +attention to both! He was religious, but liberal. + +His father was a banker, an elder of the kirk, well reputed in and +beyond his circle. He gave to many charities, and largely to educational +schemes. His religion was to hold by the traditions of the elders, and +keep himself respectable in the eyes of money-dealers. He went to church +regularly, and always asked God's blessing on his food, as if it were a +kind of general sauce. He never prayed God to make him love his +neighbor, or help him to be an honest man. He “had worship” every +morning, no doubt; but only a Nonentity like his God could care for such +prayers as his. George rejected his father's theology as false in logic +and cruel in character: George knew just enough of God to be guilty of +neglecting Him. + +“When I am out all day, I can do with less reading; for then I have the +'book of knowledge fair,'” said Andrew, quoting Milton. “It does not +take _all_ one's attention to drive a straight furrow or keep the harrow +on the edge of the last bout!” + +“You don't mean you can read your Bible as you hold the plow!” said +George. + +“No, sir,” answered Andrew, amused. “A body could not well manage a book +between the stilts of the plow. The Bible will keep till you get home; a +little of it goes a long way. But Paul counted the book of creation +enough to make the heathen to blame for not minding it. Never a wind +wakes of a sudden, but it talks to me about God. And is not the sunlight +the same that came out of the body of Jesus at His transfiguration?” + +“You seem to have some rather peculiar ideas of your own, Mr. Ingram!” + +“Perhaps, sir! For a man to have no ideas of his own, is much the same +as to have no ideas at all. A man can not have the ideas of another man, +any more than he can have another man's soul, or another man's body!” + +“That is dangerous doctrine.” + +“Perhaps we are not talking about the same thing! I mean by _ideas_, +what a man orders his life by.” + +“Your ideas may be wrong!” + +“The All-wise is my judge.” + +“So much the worse, if you are in the wrong!” + +“It is the only good, whether I be in the right or the wrong. Would I +have my mistakes overlooked? What judge would I desire but the Judge of +all the earth! Shall He not do right? And will He not set me right?” + +“That is a most dangerous confidence!” + +“It would be if there were any other judge. But it will be neither the +Church nor the world that will sit on the great white throne. He who +sits there will not ask: 'Did you go to church?' or 'Did you believe in +this or that?' but' Did you do what I told you?'” + +“And what will you say to that, Mr. Ingram?” + +“I will say: 'Lord, Thou knowest!” + +The answer checked George a little. + +“Suppose He should say you did not, what would you answer?” + +“I would say: 'Lord, send me where I may learn.'” + +“And if He should say: 'That is what I sent you into the world for, and +you have not done it!' what would you say then?” + +“I should hold my peace.” + +“You do what He tells you then?” + +“I try.” + +“Does He not say: 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together?'” + +“No, sir.” + +“No?” + +“Somebody says something like it in the Epistle to the Hebrews.” + +“And isn't that the same?” + +“The Man who wrote it would be indignant at your saying so! Tell me, Mr. +Crawford, what makes a gathering a Church?” + +“It would take me some time to arrange my ideas before I could answer +you.” + +“Is it not the presence of Christ that makes an assembly a Church?” + +“Well?” + +“Does He not say that where two or three are met in His name, there is +He in the midst of them?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then thus far I will justify myself to you, that, if I do not go to +what you call _church_, I yet often make one of a company met in His +name.” + +“He does not limit the company to two or three.” + +“Assuredly not. But if I find I get more help and strength with a +certain few, why should I go with a multitude to get less? Will you draw +another line than the Master's? Why should it be more sacred to worship +with five hundred or five thousand than with three? If He is in the +midst of them, they can not be wrong gathered!” + +“It _looks_ as if you thought yourselves better than everybody else!” + +“If it were so, then certainly He would not be _one_ of the gathering!” + +“How are you to know that He is in the midst of you?” + +“If we are not keeping His commandments, He is not. But His presence can +not be _proved_; it can only be known. If He meets us, it is not +necessary to the joy of His presence that we should be able to prove +that He does meet us! If a man has the company of the Lord, he will care +little whether another does or does not believe that he has.” + +“Your way is against the peace of the Church! It fosters division.” + +“Did the Lord come to send peace on the earth? My way, as you call it, +would make division, but division between those who call themselves His +and those who are His. It would bring together those that love Him. +Company would merge with company that they might look on the Lord +together. I don't believe Jesus cares much for what is called the +visible Church; but He cares with His very Godhead for those that do as +He tells them; they are His Father's friends; they are His elect by whom +He will save the world. It is by those who obey, and by their obedience, +that He will save those who do not obey, that is, will bring them to +obey. It is one by one the world will pass to His side. There is no +saving in the lump. If a thousand be converted at once, it is every +single lonely man that is converted.” + +“You would make a slow process of it!” + +“If slow, yet faster than any other. All God's processes are slow. How +many years has the world existed, do you imagine, sir?” + +“I don't know. Geologists say hundreds and hundreds of thousands.” + +“And how many is it since Christ came?” + +“Toward two thousand.” + +“Then we are but in the morning of Christianity! There is plenty of +time. The day is before us.” + +“Dangerous doctrine for the sinner!” + +“Why? Time is plentiful for his misery, if he will not repent; plentiful +for the mercy of God that would lead him to repentance. There is plenty +of time for labor and hope; none for indifference and delay. God _will_ +have his creatures good. They can not escape Him.” + +“Then a man may put off repentance as long as he pleases!” + +“Certainly he may--at least as long as he can--but it is a fearful thing +to try issues with God.” + +“I can hardly say I understand you.” + +“Mr. Crawford, you have questioned me in the way of kindly anxiety and +reproof; that has given me the right to question you. Tell me, do you +admit we are bound to do what our Lord requires?” + +“Of course. How could any Christian man do otherwise?” + +“Yet a man may say: 'Lord, Lord,' and be cast out! It is one thing to +say we are bound to do what the Lord tells us, and another to do what He +tells us! He says: 'Seek ye _first_ the kingdom of God and His +righteousness:' Mr. Crawford, are you seeking the kingdom of God +_first_, or are you seeking money first?” + +“We are sent into the world to make our living.” + +“Sent into the world, we have to seek our living; we are not sent into +the world to seek our living, but to seek the kingdom and righteousness +of God. And to seek a living is very different from seeking a fortune!” + +“If you, Mr. Ingram, had a little wholesome ambition, you would be less +given to judging your neighbors.” + +Andrew held his peace, and George concluded he had had the best of the +argument--which was all he wanted; of the truth concerned he did not see +enough to care about it Andrew, perceiving no good was to be done, was +willing to appear defeated; he did not value any victory but the victory +of the truth, and George was not yet capable of being conquered by the +truth. + +“No!” resumed he, “we must avoid personalities. There are certain things +all respectable people have agreed to regard as right: he is a +presumptuous man who refuses to regard them. Reflect on it, Mr. Ingram.” + +The curious smile hovered about the lip of the plow-man; when things to +say did not come to him, he went nowhere to fetch them. Almost in +childhood he had learned that, when one is required to meet the lie, +words are given him; when they are not, silence is better. A man who +does not love the truth, but disputes for victory, is the swine before +whom pearls must not be cast. Andrew's smile meant that it had been a +waste of his time to call upon Mr. Crawford. But he did not blame +himself, for he had come out of pure friendliness. He would have risen +at once, but feared to seem offended. Crawford, therefore, with the +rudeness of a superior, himself rose, saying: + +“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ingram?” + +“The only thing one man can do for another is to be at one with him,” + answered Andrew, rising. + +“Ah, you are a socialist! That accounts for much!” said George. + +“Tell me this,” returned Andrew, looking him in the eyes: “Did Jesus +ever ask of His Father anything His Father would not give Him?” + +“Not that I remember,” answered George, fearing a theological trap. + +“He said once: 'I pray for them which shall believe in Me, that they all +may be one, as Thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also many +be one in us!' No man can be one with another, who is not one with +Christ.” + +As he left the house, a carriage drove up, in which was Mr. Crawford the +elder, home from a meeting of directors, at which a dividend had been +agreed upon--to be paid from the capital, in preparation for another +issue of shares. + +Andrew walked home a little bewildered. “How is it,” he said to himself, +“that so many who would be terrified at the idea of not being +Christians, and are horrified at any man who does not believe there is a +God, are yet absolutely indifferent to what their Lord tells them to do +if they would be His disciples? But may not I be in like case without +knowing it? Do I meet God in my geometry? When I so much enjoy my +Euclid, is it always God geometrizing to me? Do I feel talking with God +every time I dwell upon any fact of his world of lines and circles and +angles? Is it God with me, every time that the joy of life, of a wind or +a sky or a lovely phrase, flashes through me? Oh, my God,” he broke out +in speechless prayer as he walked--and those that passed said to +themselves he was mad; how, in such a world, could any but a madman wear +a face of joy! “Oh, my God, Thou art all in all, and I have everything! +The world is mine because it is Thine! I thank Thee, my God, that Thou +hast lifted me up to see whence I came, to know to whom I belong, to +know who is my Father, and makes me His heir! I am Thine, infinitely +more than mine own; and Thou art mine as Thou art Christ's!” + +He knew his Father in the same way that Jesus Christ knows His Father. +He was at home in the universe, neither lonely, nor out-of-doors, nor +afraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE CRAWFORDS. + + +Through strong striving to secure his life, Mr. Crawford lost it--both +in God's sense of loss and his own. He narrowly escaped being put in +prison, died instead, and was put into God's prison to pay the uttermost +farthing. But he had been such a good Christian that his +fellow-Christians mourned over his failure and his death, not over his +dishonesty! For did they not know that if, by more dishonesty, he could +have managed to recover his footing, he would have paid everything? One +injunction only he obeyed--he provided for his own; of all the widows +concerned in his bank, his widow alone was secured from want; and she, +like a dutiful wife, took care that his righteous intention should be +righteously carried out; not a penny would she give up to the paupers +her husband had made. + +The downfall of the house of cards took place a few months after +George's return to its business. Not initiated to the mysteries of his +father's transactions, ignorant of what had long been threatening, it +was a terrible blow to him. But he was a man of action, and at once +looked to America; at home he could not hold up his head. + +He had often been to Potlurg, and had been advancing in intimacy with +Alexa; but he would not show himself there until he could appear as a +man of decision--until he was on the point of departure. She would be +the more willing to believe his innocence of complicity in the +deceptions that had led to his ruin! He would thus also manifest +self-denial and avoid the charge of interested motives! he could not +face the suspicion of being a suitor with nothing to offer! George had +always taken the grand rôle--that of superior, benefactor, bestower. He +was powerful in condescension! + +Not, therefore, until the night before he sailed did he go to Potlurg. + +Alexa received him with a shade of displeasure. + +“I am going away,” he said, abruptly, the moment they were seated. + +Her heart gave a painful throb in her throat, but she did not lose her +self-possession. + +“Where are you going?” she asked. + +“To New York,” he replied. “I have got a situation there--in a not +unimportant house. _There_ at least I am taken for an honest man. From +your heaven I have fallen.” + +“No one falls from any heaven but has himself to blame,” rejoined Alexa. + +“Where have I been to blame? I was not in my father's confidence. I knew +nothing, positively nothing, of what was going on.” + +“Why then did you not come to see me?” + +“A man who is neither beggar nor thief is not willing to look either.” + +“You would have come if you had trusted me,” she said. + +“You must pardon pride in a ruined man,” he answered. “Now that I am +starting to-morrow, I do not feel the same dread of being +misunderstood!” + +“It was not kind of you, George. Knowing yourself fit to be trusted, why +did you not think me capable of trusting?” + +“But, Alexa!--a man's own father!” + +For a moment he showed signs of an emotion he had seldom had to repress. + +“I beg your pardon, George!” cried Alexa. “I am both stupid and selfish! +Are you really going so far?” + +Her voice trembled. + +“I am--but to return, I hope, in a very different position!” + +“You would have me understand--” + +“That I shall then be able to hold up my head.” + +“Why should an innocent man ever do otherwise?” + +“He can not help seeing himself in other people's thoughts!” + +“If we are in the right ought we to mind what people think of us?” said +Alexa. + +“Perhaps not. But I will make them think of me as I choose.” + +“How?” + +“By compelling their respect.” + +“You mean to make a fortune?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then it will be the fortune they respect! You will not be more worthy!” + +“I shall not.” + +“Is such respect worth having?” + +“Not in itself.” + +“In what then? Why lay yourself out for it?” + +“Believe me, Alexa, even the real respect of such people would be +worthless to me. I only want to bring them to their marrow-bones!” + +The truth was, Alexa prized social position so dearly that she did not +relish his regarding it as a thing at the command of money. Let George +be as rich as a Jew or an American, Alexa would never regard him as her +equal! George worshiped money; Alexa worshiped birth and land. + +Our own way of being wrong is all right in our own eyes; our neighbor's +way of being wrong is offensive to all that is good in us. We are +anxious therefore, kindly anxious, to pull the mote out of his eye, +never thinking of the big beam in the way of the operation. Jesus +labored to show us that our immediate business is to be right ourselves. +Until we are, even our righteous indignation is waste. + +While he spoke, George's eyes were on the ground. His grand resolve did +not give his innocence strength to look in the face of the woman he +loved; he felt, without knowing why, that she was not satisfied with +him. Of the paltriness of his ambition, he had no inward hint. The high +resolves of a puny nature must be a laughter to the angels--the bad +ones. + +“If a man has no ambition,” he resumed, feeling after her objection, +“how is he to fulfill the end of his being! No sluggard ever made his +mark! How would the world advance but for the men who have to make their +fortunes! If a man find his father has not made money for him, what is +he to do but make it for himself? You would not have me all my life a +clerk! If I had but known, I should by this time have been well ahead!” + +Alexa had nothing to answer; it all sounded very reasonable! Were not +Scots boys everywhere taught it was the business of life to rise? In +whatever position they were, was it not their part to get out of it? She +did not see that it is in the kingdom of heaven only we are bound to +rise. We are born into the world not to rise in the kingdom of Satan, +but out of it And the only way to rise in the kingdom of heaven is to do +the work given us to do. Whatever be intended for us, this is the only +way to it We have not to promote ourselves, but to do our work. It is +the master of the feast who says: “Go up.” If a man go up of himself, he +will find he has mistaken the head of the table. + +More talk followed, but neither cast any light; neither saw the true +question. George took his leave. Alexa said she would be glad to hear +from him. + +Alexa did not like the form of George's ambition--to gain money, and so +compel the respect of persons he did not himself respect But was she +clear of the money disease herself? Would she have married a poor man, +to go on as hitherto? Would she not have been ashamed to have George +know how she had supplied his needs while he lay in the house--that it +was with the poor gains of her poultry-yard she fed him? Did it improve +her moral position toward money that she regarded commerce with +contempt--a rudiment of the time when nobles treated merchants as a +cottager his bees? + +George's situation was a subordinate one in a house of large dealings in +Wall Street. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +DAWTIE. + +Is not the Church supposed to be made up of God's elect? and yet most of +my readers find it hard to believe there should be three persons, so +related, who agreed to ask of God, and to ask neither riches nor love, +but that God should take His own way with them, that the Father should +work His will in them, that He would teach them what He wanted of them, +and help them to do it! The Church is God's elect, and yet you can not +believe in three holy children! Do you say: “Because they are +represented as beginning to obey so young?” “Then,” I answer, “there can +be no principle, only an occasional and arbitrary exercise of spiritual +power, in the perfecting of praise out of the mouth of babes and +sucklings, or in the preference of them to the wise and prudent as the +recipients of divine revelation.” + +Dawtie never said much, but tried the more. With heartiness she accepted +what conclusions the brothers came to, so far as she understood +them--and what was practical she understood as well as they; for she had +in her heart the spirit of that Son of Man who chose a child to +represent Him and His Father. As to what they heard at church, their +minds were so set on doing what they found in the Gospel, that it passed +over them without even rousing their intellect, and so vanished without +doing any hurt. Tuned to the truth by obedience, no falsehood they heard +from the pulpit partisans of God could make a chord vibrate in response. +Dawtie indeed heard nothing but the good that was mingled with the +falsehood, and shone like a lantern through a thick fog. + +She was little more than a child when, to the trouble of her parents, +she had to go out to service. Every half year she came home for a day or +so, and neither feared nor found any relation altered. At length after +several closely following changes, occasioned by no fault of hers, she +was without a place. Miss Fordyce heard of it, and proposed to her +parents that, until she found another, she should help Meg, who was +growing old and rather blind: she would thus, she said, go on learning, +and not be idling at home. + +Dawtie's mother was not a little amused at the idea of any one idling in +her house, not to say Dawtie, whom idleness would have tried harder than +any amount of work; but, if only that Miss Fordyce might see what sort +of girl Dawtie was, she judged it right to accept her offer. + +She had not been at Potlurg a week before Meg began to complain that she +did not leave work enough to keep her warm. No doubt it gave her time +for her book, but her eyes were not so good as they used to be, and she +was apt to fall asleep over it, and catch cold! But when her mistress +proposed to send her away, she would not hear of it So Alexa, who had +begun to take an interest in her, set her to do things she had hitherto +done herself, and began to teach her other things. Before three months +were over, she was a necessity in the house, and to part with Dawtie +seemed impossible. A place about that time turning up, Alexa at once +offered her wages, and so Dawtie became an integral portion of the +laird's modest household. + +The laird himself at length began to trust her as he had never trusted +servant, for he taught her to dust his precious books, which hitherto he +had done himself, but of late had shrunk from, finding not a few of them +worse than Pandora-boxes, liberating asthma at the merest unclosing. + +Dawtie was now a grown woman, bright, gentle, playful, with loving eyes, +and a constant overflow of tenderness upon any creature that could +receive it. She had small but decided and regular features, whose +prevailing expression was confidence--not in herself, for she was scarce +conscious of herself even in the act of denying herself--but in the +person upon whom her trusting eyes were turned. She was in the world to +help--with no political economy beyond the idea that for help and +nothing else did any one exist. To be as the sun and the rain and the +wind, as the flowers that lived for her and not for themselves, as the +river that flowed, and the heather that bloomed lovely on the bare moor +in the autumn, such was her notion of being. That she had to take care +of herself was a falsehood that never entered her brain. To do what she +ought, and not do what she ought not, was enough on her part, and God +would do the rest! I will not say she reasoned thus; to herself she was +scarce a conscious object at all. Both bodily and spiritually she was in +the finest health. If illness came, she would perhaps then discover a +self with which she had to fight--I can not tell; but my impression is, +that she had so long done the true thing, that illness would only +develop unconscious victory, perfecting the devotion of her simple +righteousness. It is because we are selfish, with that worst selfishness +which is incapable of recognizing itself, not to say its own +loathsomeness, that we have to be made ill. That they may leave the last +remnants of their selfishness, are the saints themselves over-taken by +age and death. Suffering does not cause the vile thing in us--that was +there all the time; it comes to develop in us the knowledge of its +presence, that it may be war to the knife between us and it. It was no +wonder that Dawtie grew more and more of a favorite at Potlurg. + +She did not read much, but would learn by heart anything that pleased +her, and then go saying or singing it to herself. She had the voice of a +lark, and her song prevented many a search for her. Against that “rain +of melody,” not the pride of the laird, or the orderliness of the +ex-school-master ever put up the umbrella of rebuke. Her singing was so +true, came so clear from the fountain of joy, and so plainly from no +desire to be heard, that it gave no annoyance; while such was her +sympathy, that, although she had never get suffered, you would, to hear +her sing “My Nannie's awa'!” have thought her in truth mourning an +absent lover, and familiar with every pang of heart-privation. Her +cleanliness, clean even of its own show, was a heavenly purity; while so +gently was all her spiriting done, that the very idea of fuss died in +the presence of her labor. To the self-centered such a person soon +becomes a nobody; the more dependent they are upon her unfailing +ministration, the less they think of her; but they have another way of +regarding such in “the high countries.” Hardly any knew her real name; +she was known but by her pet name _Dawtie_. + +Alexa, who wondered at times that she could not interest her in things +she made her read, little knew how superior the girl's choice was to her +own! Not knowing much of literature, what she liked was always of the +best in its kind, and nothing without some best element could interest +her at all. But she was not left either to her “own sweet will” or to +the prejudices of her well-meaning mistress; however long the intervals +that parted them, Andrew continued to influence her reading as from the +first. A word now and a word then, with the books he lent or gave her, +was sufficient. That Andrew liked this or that, was enough to make +Dawtie set herself to find in it what Andrew liked, and it was thus she +became acquainted with most of what she learned by heart. + +Above two years before the time to which I have now brought my +narrative, Sandy had given up farming, to pursue the development of +certain inventions of his which had met the approval of a man of means +who, unable himself to devise, could yet understand a device: he saw +that there was use, and consequently money in them, and wisely put it in +Sandy's power to perfect them. He was in consequence but little at home, +and when Dawtie went to see her parents, as she could much oftener now, +Andrew and she generally met without a third. However many weeks might +have passed, they always met as if they had parted only the night +before. There was neither shyness nor forwardness in Dawtie. Perhaps a +livelier rose might tinge her sweet round cheek when she saw Andrew; +perhaps a brighter spark shone in the pupil of Andrew's eye; but they +met as calmly as two prophets in the secret of the universe, neither +anxious nor eager. The old relation between them was the more potent +that it made so little outward show. + +“Have you anything for me, Andrew?” Dawtie would say, in the strong +dialect which her sweet voice made so pleasant to those that loved her; +whereupon Andrew, perhaps without immediate answer more than a smile, +would turn into his room, and reappear with what he had got ready for +her to “chew upon” till they should meet again. Milton's sonnet, for +instance, to the “virgin wise and pure,” had long served her aspiration; +equally wise and pure, Dawtie could understand it as well as she for +whom it was written. To see the delight she took in it, would have been +a joy to any loving student of humanity. It had cost her more effort to +learn than almost any song, and perhaps therefore it was the more +precious. Andrew seldom gave her a book to learn from; in general he +copied, in his clearest handwriting, whatever poem or paragraph he +thought fit for Dawtie; and when they met, she would not unfrequently, +if there was time, repeat unasked what she had learned, and be rewarded +with his unfailing look of satisfaction. + +There was a secret between them--a secret proclaimed on the house-tops, +a secret hidden, the most precious of pearls, in their hearts--that the +earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; that its work is the work +of the Lord, whether the sowing of the field, the milking of the cow, +the giving to the poor, the spending of wages, the reading of the Bible; +that God is all in all, and every throb of gladness His gift; that their +life came fresh every moment from His heart; that what was lacking to +them would arrive the very moment He had got them ready for it. They +were God's little ones in God's world--none the less their own that they +did not desire to swallow it, or thrust it in their pockets. + +Among poverty-stricken Christians, consumed with care to keep a hold of +the world and save their souls, they were as two children of the house. +By living in the presence of the living One, they had become themselves +His presence--dim lanterns through which His light shone steady. Who +obeys, shines. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +SANDY AND GEORGE. + +Sandy had found it expedient to go to America, and had now been there a +twelvemonth; he had devised a machine of the value of which not even his +patron could be convinced--that is, he could not see the prospect of its +making money fast enough to constitute it a _good thing_. Sandy regarded +it as a discovery, a revelation for the uplifting of a certain +down-trodden portion of the community; and therefore, having saved a +little money, had resolved to make it known in the States, where insight +into probabilities is fresher. And now Andrew had a letter from him in +which he mentioned that he had come across Mr. Crawford, already of high +repute in Wall Street; that he had been kind to him, and having learned +his object in visiting the country, and the approximate risk in bringing +out his invention, had taken the thing into consideration. But the next +mail brought another letter to the effect that, having learned the +nature of the business done by Mr. Crawford, he found himself unable to +distinguish between it and gambling, or worse; it seemed to him a vortex +whose very emptiness drew money into it. He had therefore drawn back, +and declined to put the thing in Crawford's hands. This letter Andrew +gave Dawtie to read, that she might see that Sandy remained a true man. +He had never been anxious on the point, but was very glad that ignorance +had not drawn him into an evil connection. + +Dawtie took the letter with her to read at her leisure. Unable, however, +to understand something Sandy said concerning Mr. Crawford's business, +she asked a question or two of her mistress, which led to questions on +Alexa's part. Finding what was the subject of Sandy's letter, she wished +to see it. Dawtie asked leave of Andrew, and gave it her. + +Alexa was both distressed and indignant becoming at once George's +partisan. Her distress diminished and her indignation increased as she +reflected on the _airt_ whence the unfavorable report reached her; the +brothers were such peculiar men! She recalled the strange things she had +heard of their childhood; doubtless the judgment was formed on an +overstrained and quixotic idea of honesty! Besides, there had always +been a strong socialistic tendency in them, which explained how Sandy +could malign his benefactor! George was incapable of doing anything +dishonorable! She would not trouble herself about it. But she would like +to know how Andrew regarded the matter. + +She asked him therefore what he thought of Sandy's procedure. Andrew +replied that he did not know much about business; but that the only +safety must lie in having nothing to do with what was doubtful; +therefore Sandy had done right. Alexa said it was too bad of him to +condemn where he confessed ignorance. Andrew replied: + +“Ma'am, if Mr. Crawford is wrong he is condemned; if he is right my +private doubt can not hurt him. Sandy must act by his own doubt, not by +Mr. Crawford's confidence.” + +Alexa grew more distressed, for she began to recall things George had +said which at the time she had not liked, but which she had succeeded in +forgetting. If he had indeed gone astray, she hoped he would forget her; +she could do without him! But the judgment of such a man as Sandy could +settle nothing. Of humble origin and childish simplicity, he could not +see the thing as a man of experience must. George might be all right +notwithstanding. At the same time there was his father--whose reputation +remained under a thick cloud, whose failed character rather than his +ill-success had driven George to the other continent. Breed must go for +something in a question of probabilities. It was the first time Alexa's +thoughts had been turned into such a channel. She clung to the poor +comfort that something must have passed at the interview so kindly +sought by George to set the quixotical young farmer against him. She +would not utter his name to Andrew ever again! + +She was right in thinking that George cherished a sincere affection for +her. It was one of the spurs which drove him too eagerly after money. I +doubt if any man starts with a developed love of money for its own +sake--except indeed he be born of generations of mammon worshipers. +George had gone into speculation with the object of retrieving the +position in which he had supposed himself born, and in the hope of +winning the hand of his cousin--thinking too much of himself to offer +what would not in the eyes of the world be worth her acceptance. When he +stepped on the inclined plane of dishonesty he believed himself only +engaging in “legitimate speculation;” but he was at once affected by the +atmosphere about him. Wrapped in the breath of admiration and adulation +surrounding men who cared for _nothing_ but money-making, men who were +not merely dishonest, but the very serpents of dishonesty, against whom +pickpockets will “stick off” as angels of light; constantly under the +softly persuasive influence of low morals and extravagant appreciation +of cunning, he came by rapid degrees to think less and less of right and +wrong. At first he called the doings of the place dishonest; then he +called them sharp practice; then he called them a little shady; then, +close sailing; then he said this or that transaction was deuced clever; +then, the man was more rogue than fool; then he laughed at the success +of a vile trick; then he touched the pitch, and thinking all the time it +was but with one finger, was presently besmeared all over--as was +natural, for he who will touch is already smeared. + +While Alexa was fighting his battles with herself he had thrown down his +arms in the only battle worth fighting. When he wrote to her, which he +did regularly, he said no more about business than that his prospects +were encouraging; how much his reticence may have had to do with a sense +of her disapproval I can not tell. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + +One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from +the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was +setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it +touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the +sun, but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher +source, from the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, +ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and +daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their +faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed +between them. + +“But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?” said the mother. + +“No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's +to the fore. They tret me--I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as if +they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the +Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye +canna think!” + +“Then what's broucht ye the day?” + +“I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew.” + +“Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's +the best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's +the best man i' the warl'!” + +“What mean ye by that, mother?” said Dawtie, looking a little scared. +“Am I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae +him? Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God--to +lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I _wull_ lo'e +An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?” + +“What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye +maun hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!” + +“It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he +aye shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the +better? It's little ferly (_marvel_) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him +for my ain man, as ye hae my father!--mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' +to think o' ony sic a thing!--clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!” + +“Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til +ye! Only luik to yer hert.” + +“As for no' lo'ein' him, mither--me that canna luik at a blin' kittlin' +ohn lo'ed it!--lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me no' to lo'e +An'rew!” + +“Andrew!” she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's +worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd. + +Silence followed, but the mother was brooding. + +“Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!” she said at length. + +As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew +seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the +earl seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the +earl's had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than +did her mother. + +“You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks +o' nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik +doon. He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl +himsel'!” + +The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried +fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the +simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions +about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself +whom she loved and obeyed. + +“If Andrew wanted to marry me,” Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine +liberty of her teacher, “which never cam intil's heid--na, no ance--the +same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was +but a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the +Sabbath day, and we'll hae a walk thegither.” + +“I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day,” said the +mother. + +“Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!” + +“Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!” + +“And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!” + +“He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!” + +“And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this +His warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He +gae me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the +ooter mirk (_darkness_)!” + +“There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!” + +“I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be +mysel'.” + +“Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?” + +“Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad +be a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this +warl' or the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at +the lang last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will +be as sure o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus +tellin' me the same frae mornin' to nicht!” + +“Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!” + +“It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my +ain min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak +His mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, +and run ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!” + +“As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' +woman, for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp +the Lord winna be disappointit in ye.” + +Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she +had something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go +with him in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but +he did not say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk +from the press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her +with a sober joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes +off her, she sat looking so well and nice and trim. He was a +good-looking, work-worn man, his hands absolutely horny with labor. But +inside many such horny husks are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for +the time when “dear welcome Death” will loose and let us go from the +grave-clothes of the body that bind some of us even hand and foot. +Rugged father and withered mother were beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, +and she and God saw them better than any other. Good, endless good was +on the way to them all! It was so pleasant to be waiting for the best of +all good things. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +ANDREW AND DAWTIE. + +Dawtie slept in peace and happy dreams till the next morning, when she +was up almost with the sun, and out in his low clear light. For the sun +was strong again; the red labor and weariness were gone from his shining +face. Everything about her seemed to know God, or at least to have had a +moment's gaze upon Him. How else could everything look so content, +hopeful and happy. It is the man who will not fall in with the Father's +bliss to whom the world seems soulless and dull. Dawtie was at peace +because she desired nothing but what she knew He was best pleased to +give her. Even had she cherished for Andrew the kind of love her mother +feared, her Lord's will would have been her comfort and strength. If any +one say: “Then she could not know what love is!” I answer: “That person +does not know what the better love is that lifts the being into such a +serene air that it can fast from many things and yet be blessed beyond +what any other granted desire could make it.” The scent of the +sweet-pease growing against the turf wall entered Dawtie's soul like a +breath from the fields of heaven, where the children made merry with the +angels, the merriest of playfellows, and the winds and waters, and all +the living things, and all the things half alive, all the flowers and +all the creatures, were at their sportive call; where the little ones +had babies to play with, and did not hurt them, and where dolls were +neither loved nor missed, being never thought of. Suchlike were the +girl's imaginings as her thoughts went straying, inventing, discovering. +She did not fear the Father would be angry with her for being His child, +and playing at creation. Who, indeed, but one that in loving heart can +_make_, can rightly love the making of the Maker! + +When they had had their breakfast, and the old people were ready for +church--where they would listen a little, sleep a little, sing heartily, +and hear nothing to wake hunger, joy or aspiration, Dawtie put a piece +of oat-cake in her pocket, and went to join Andrew where they had made +their tryst and where she found him waiting--at his length in a bush of +heather, with Henry Vaughan's “Silex Scintillans,” drawing from it +“bright shoots of everlastingness” for his Sabbath day's delight. He +read one or two of the poems to Dawtie, who was pleased but not +astonished--she was never astonished at anything; she had nothing in her +to make anything beautiful by contrast; her mind was of beauty itself, +and anything beautiful was to her but in the order and law of +things--what was to be expected. Nothing struck her because of its +rarity; the rare was at home in her country, and she was at home with +it. When, for instance, he read: “Father of lights, what sunny seeds,” + she took it up at once and understood it, felt that the good man had +said the thing that was to be said, and loved him for it. She was not +surprised to hear that the prayer was more than two hundred years old; +were there not millions of years in front? why should it be wonderful +that a few years behind men should have thought and felt as she did, and +been able to say it as she never could! Had she not always loved the +little cocks, and watched them learning to crow? + +“But, An'rew,” she said at length, “I want to tell ye something that's +troublin' me; then ye can learn me what ye like.” + +“Tell on, Dawtie,” said Andrew; and she began. + +“Ae nicht aboot a fornight ago, I couldna sleep. I drave a' the sheep I +could gether i' my brain, ower ae stile efter anither, but the sleep +stack to the woo' o' them, an' ilk ane took o' 't awa' wi' him. I wadna +hae tried, but that I had to be up ear', and I was feared I wad sleep +in.” + +For the sake of my more polished readers--I do not say more _refined_, +for polish and refinement may be worlds apart--I will give the rest in +modern English. + +“So I got up, and thought to sweep and dust the hall and the stairs; +then if, when I lay down again, I should sleep too long, there would be +a part of the day's work done! You know, Andrew, what the house is like; +at the top of the stair that begins directly you enter the house, there +is a big irregular place, bigger than the floor of your barn, laid with +flags. It is just as if all the different parts of the house had been +built at different times round about it, and then it was itself roofed +in by an after-thought. That's what we call _the hall_. The spare room +opens on the left at the top of the stair, and to the right, across the +hall, beyond the swell of the short thick tower you see the half of +outside, is the door of the study. It is all round with books--some of +them, mistress says, worth their weight in gold, they are so scarce. But +the master trusts me to dust them. He used to do it himself; but now +that he is getting old, he does not like the trouble, and it makes him +asthmatic. He says books more need dusting than anything else, but are +in more danger of being hurt by it, and it makes him nervous to see me +touch them. I have known him stand an hour watching me while I dusted, +looking all the time as if he had just taken a dose of medicine. So I +often do a few books at a time, as I can, when he is not in the way to +be worried with it. But he always knows where I have been with my duster +and long-haired brush. And now it came across me that I had better dust +some books first of all, as it was a good chance, he being sound asleep. +So I lighted my lamp, went straight to the study, and began where I last +left off. + +“As I was dusting, one of the books I came to looked so new and +different from the rest that I opened it to see what it was like inside. +It was full of pictures of mugs, and gold and silver jugs and cups--some +of them plain and some colored; and one of the colored ones was so +beautiful that I stood and looked at it. It was a gold cup, I suppose, +for it was yellow; and all round the edge, and on the sides, it was set +with stones, like the stones in mistress's rings, only much bigger. They +were blue and red and green and yellow, and more colors than I can +remember. The book said it was made by somebody, but I forget his name. +It was a long name. The first part of it began with a _B_, and the +second with a _C_, I remember that much. It was like _Benjamin_, but it +wasn't _Benjamin_. I put it back in its place, thinking I would ask the +master whether there really were such beautiful things, and took down +the next. Now whether that had been passed over between two batches I +don't know, but it was so dusty that before I would touch another I gave +the duster a shake, and the wind of it blew the lamp out I took it up to +take it to the kitchen and kindle it again, when, to my astonishment, I +saw a light under the door of a press which was always locked, and where +master said he kept his most precious books. 'How strange!' I thought; +'a light inside a locked cupboard!' Then I remembered how in one place +where I had been there was, in a room over the stable, a press whose +door had no fastening except a bolt on the inside, which set me +thinking, and some terrible things came to me that made me remember it. +So now I said to myself: 'There's some one in there, after master's +books!' It was not a likely thing, but the night is the time for +fancies, and in the night you don't know what is likely and what is not. +One thing, however, was clear--I ought to find out what the light meant. +Fearful things darted one after the other through my head as I went to +the door, but there was one thing I dared not do, and that was to leave +it unopened. So I opened it as softly as I could, in terror lest the +thief should hear my heart beating. When I could peep in what do you +think I saw? I could not believe my eyes! There was a great big room! I +rubbed my eyes, and stared; and rubbed them again and stared--thinking +to rub it away; but there it was, a big odd-shaped room, part of it with +round sides, and in the middle of the room a table, and on the table a +lamp, burning as I had never seen lamp burn, and master at the table +with his back to me. I was so astonished I forgot that I had no business +there, and ought to go away. I stood like an idiot, mazed and lost. And +you will not wonder when I tell you that the laird was holding up to the +light, between his two hands, the very cup I had been looking at in the +book, the stones of it flashing all the colors of the rainbow. I should +think it a dream, if I did not _know_ it was not. I do not believe I +made any noise, for I could not move, but he started up with a cry to +God to preserve him, set the cup on the table, threw something over it, +caught up a wicked-looking knife, and turned round. His face was like +that of a corpse, and I could see him tremble. I stood steady; it was no +time then to turn away. I supposed he expected to see a robber, and +would be glad when he discovered it was only me; but when he did his +fear changed to anger, and he came at me. His eyes were flaming, and he +looked as if he would kill me. I was not frightened--poor old man, I was +able for him any day!--but I was afraid of hurting him. So I closed the +door quickly, and went softly to my own room, where I stood a long time +in the dark, listening, but heard nothing more. What am I to do, +Andrew?” + +“I don't know that you have to do anything. You have one thing not to +do, that is--tell anybody what you have seen.” + +“I was forced to tell _you_ because I did not know what to do. It makes +me _so_ sorry!” + +“It was no fault of yours. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and +could not help what came of it. Perhaps nothing more will come. Leave +the thing alone, and if he say anything tell him how it happened.” + +“But, Andrew, I don't think you see what it is that troubles me. I am +afraid my master is a miser. The mistress and he take their meals, like +poor people, in the kitchen. That must be the dining-room of the +house!--and though my eyes were tethered to the flashing cup, I could +not help seeing it was full of strange and beautiful things. Among them, +I knew, by pictures I had seen, the armor of knights, when they fought +on their horses' backs. Before people had money they must have misered +other things. Some girls miser their clothes, and never go decent!” + +“Suppose him a miser,” said Andrew, “what could you do? How are you to +help it?” + +“That's what I want to know. I love my master, and there must be a way +to help it. It was terrible to see him, in the middle of the night, +gazing at that cup as if he had found the most precious thing that can +ever have existed on the earth.” + +“What was that?” asked Andrew. + +He delighted in Dawtie's talk. It was like an angel's, he said, both in +its ignorance and its wisdom. + +“You can't have forgotten, Andrew. It's impossible!” she answered. “I +heard you say yourself!” + +Andrew smiled. + +“I know,” he said. + +“Poor man!” resumed Dawtie; “he looked at the cup as you might at that +manuscript! His soul was at it, feasting upon it! Now wasn't that +miserly?” + +“It was like it.” + +“And I love my master,” repeated Dawtie, thus putting afresh the +question what she was to do. + +“Why do you love him, Dawtie?” asked Andrew. + +“Because I'm set to love him. Besides, we're told to love our +enemies--then surely we're to love our friends. He has always been a +friend to me. He never said a hard word to me, even when I was handling +his books. He trusts me with them! I can't help loving him--a good deal, +Andrew! And it's what I've got to do!” + +“There's not a doubt about it, Dawtie. You've got to love him, and you +do love him!” + +“But there's more than that, Andrew. To hear the laird talk you would +think he cared more for the Bible than for the whole world--not to say +gold cups. He talks of the merits of the Saviour, that you would think +he loved Him with all his heart. But I can not get it out of my mind, +ever since I saw that look on his face, that he loves that cup--that +it's his graven image--his idol! How else should he get up in the middle +of the night to--to--to--well, it was just like worshiping it.” + +“You're afraid then that he's a hypocrite, Dawtie!” + +“No; I daren't think that--if it were only for fear I should stop loving +him--and that would be as bad!” + +“As bad as what, Dawtie?” + +“I don't always know what I'm going to say,” answered Dawtie, a little +embarrassed, “and then when I've said it I have to look what it means. +But isn't it as bad not to love a human being as it would be to love a +thing?” + +“Perhaps worse,” said Andrew. + +“Something must be done!” she went on. “He can't be left like that! But +if he has any love to his Master, how is it that the love of that Master +does not cast out the love of Mammon? I can't understand it.” + +“You have asked a hard question, Dawtie. But a cure may be going on, and +take a thousand years or ages to work it out.” + +“What if it shouldn't be begun yet.” + +“That would be terrible.” + +“What then am I to do, Andrew? You always say we must _do_ something! +You say there is no faith but what _does_ something!” + +“The apostle James said so, a few years before I was born, Dawtie!” + +“Don't make fun of me--please, Andrew! I like it, but I can't bear it +to-day, my head is so full of the poor old laird!” + +“Make fun of you, Dawtie! Never! But I don't know yet how to answer +you.” + +“Well, then, what _am_ I to do?” persisted Dawtie. + +“Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to +do, don't do anything--only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And +until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything.” + +With this answer Dawtie was content. + +Business was over, and they turned to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE CUP. + +The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric. Believing himself a true +lover of literature, and especially of poetry, he would lecture for ten +minutes on the right mode of reading a verse in Hilton or Dante; but as +to Satan or Beatrice, would pin his faith to the majority of the +commentators: Milton's Satan was too noble, and Beatrice was no woman, +but Theology. He was discriminative to a degree altogether admirable as +to the brightness or wrongness of a proposition with regard to conduct, +but owed his respectability to good impulses without any effort of the +will. He was almost as orthodox as Paul before his conversion, lacking +only the heart and the courage to persecute. Whatever the eternal wisdom +saw in him, the thing most present to his own consciousness was the love +of rare historic relics. And this love was so mingled in warp and woof, +that he did not know whether a thing was more precious to him for its +rarity, its money value, or its historico-reliquary interest. All the +time he was a school-master, he saved every possible half-penny to buy +books, not because of their worth or human interest, but because of +their literary interest, or the scarcity of the book or edition. In the +holidays he would go about questing for the prey that his soul loved, +hunting after precious things; but not even the precious things of the +everlasting hills would be precious to him until they had received the +stamp of curiosity. His life consisted in a continual search for +something new that was known as known of old. It had hardly yet occurred +to him that he must one day leave his things and exist without them, no +longer to brood over them, take them in his hands, turn, and stroke, and +admire them; yet, strange to say, he would at times anxiously seek to +satisfy himself that he was safe for a better world, as he _called_ +it--to feel certain, that is, that his faith was of the sort he supposed +intended by Paul--not that he had himself gathered anything from the +apostle, but all from the traditions of his church concerning the +teaching of the apostle. He was anxious, I say, as to his safety for the +world to come, and yet, while his dearest joy lay treasured in that +hidden room, he never thought of the hour when he must leave it all, and +go houseless and pocketless, empty-handed if not armless, in the wide, +closetless space, hearing ever in the winds and the rain and the sound +of the sea-waves, the one question--“Whose shall those things be which +thou hast provided?” Like the rich man to whom God said the words, he +had gathered much goods for many years--hundreds and hundreds of things, +every one of which he knew, and every one of which he loved. A new +scratch on the bright steel of one of his suits of armor was a scratch +on his heart; the moth and the rust troubled him sore, for he could not +keep them away; and where his treasure was, there was his heart, +devoured by the same moth, consumed by the same rust. He had much +suffering from his possessions--was more exposed to misery than the +miser of gold, for the hoarded coin of the latter may indeed be stolen, +but he fears neither moth nor rust nor scratch nor decay. The laird +cherished his things as no mother her little ones. Nearly sixty years he +had been gathering them, and their money-worth was great, but he had no +idea of its amount, for he could not have endured the exposure and +handling of them which a valuation must involve. + +His love for his books had somewhat declined in the growth of his love +for things, and now, by degrees not very slow, his love for his things +was graduating itself after what he supposed their money-value. His soul +not only clave to the dust but was going deeper and deeper in the dust +as it wallowed. All day long he was living in the past and growing old +in it--it is one thing to grow old in the past, and another to grow old +in the present! As he took his walk about his farms, or sat at his +meals, or held a mild, soulless conversation with his daughter, his +heart was growing old, not healthily in the present, which is to ripen, +but unwholesomely in the past, which is to consume with a dry rot. While +he read the Bible at prayers, trying hard to banish worldly things from +his mind, his thoughts were not in the story or the argument he read, +but hovering, like a bird over its nest, about the darlings of his +heart. Yea, even while he prayed, his soul, instead of casting off the +clay of the world, was loaded and dragged down with all the +still-moldering, slow-changing things that lined the walls and filled +the drawers and cabinets of his treasure-chamber. It was a place of +whose existence not even his daughter knew; for before ever she entered +the house, he had taken with him a mason from the town, and built up the +entrance to it from the hall, ever afterward keeping the other door of +it that opened from his study carefully locked, and leaving it to be +regarded as the door of a closet. + +It was as terrible as Dawtie felt it, that a live human soul should thus +haunt the sepulcher of the past, and love the lifeless, turning a room +hitherto devoted to hospitality and mirthful intercourse into the temple +of his selfish idolatry. It was as one of the rooms carved for the dead +in the Beban El Malook. Sure, if left to himself, the ghost that loved +it would haunt the place! But he could not surely be permitted! for it +might postpone a thousand years his discovery of the emptiness of a +universe of such treasures. Now he was moldering into the world of +spirits in the heart of an avalanche of the dust of ages, dust material +from his hoards, dust moral and spiritual from his withering soul +itself. + +The next day he was ill, which, common as is illness to humanity, was +strange, for it had never befallen him before. He was unable to leave +his bed. But he never said a word to his daughter, who alone waited on +him, as to what had happened in the night. He had passed it sleepless, +and without the possibility of a dream on which to fall back; yet, when +morning came, he was in much doubt whether what he had seen--the face, +namely, of Dawtie, peeping in at the door--was a reality, or but a +vision of the night. For when he opened the door which she had closed, +all was dark, and not the slightest sound reached his quick ear from the +swift foot of her retreat. He turned the key twice, and pushed two +bolts, eager to regard the vision as a providential rebuke of his +carelessness in leaving the door on the latch--for the first time, he +imagined. Then he tottered back to his chair, and sunk on it in a cold +sweat. For, although the confidence grew, that what he had seen was but + + a false creation + Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain, + +it was far from comfortable to feel that he could no longer depend upon +his brain to tell him only the thing that was true. What if he were +going out of his mind, on the way to encounter a succession of +visions--without reality, but possessed of its power! What if they +should be such whose terror would compel him to disclose what most he +desired to keep covered? How fearful to be no more his own master, but +at the beck and call of a disordered brain, a maniac king in a _cosmos +acosmos_! Better it had been Dawtie, and she had seen in his hands +Benvenuto Cellini's chalice made for Pope Clement the Seventh to drink +therefrom the holy wine--worth thousands of pounds! Perhaps she had seen +it! No, surely she had not! He must be careful not to make her suspect! +He would watch her and say nothing! + +But Dawtie, conscious of no wrong, and full of love to the old man, +showed an untroubled face when next she met him; and he made up his mind +that he would rather have her ignorant. Thenceforward, naturally though +childishly, he was even friendlier to her than before: it was so great a +relief to find that he had not to fear her! + +The next time Dawtie was dusting the books, she felt strongly drawn to +look again at the picture of the cup: it seemed now to hold in it a +human life! She took down the book, and began where she stood to read +what it said about the chalice, referring as she read from letterpress +to drawing. It was taken from an illumination in a missal, where the cup +was known to have been copied; and it rendered the description in the +letterpress unnecessary except in regard to the stones and _dessins +repoussés_ on the hidden side. She quickly learned the names of the +gems, that she might see how many were in the high-priest's breast-plate +and the gates of the new Jerusalem, then proceeded to the history of the +chalice. She read that it had come into the possession of Cardinal York, +the brother of Charles Edward Stuart, and had been by him intrusted to +his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Albany, from whose house it +disappeared, some said stolen, others said sold. It came next to the +historic surface in the possession of a certain earl whose love of +curiosities was well known; but from his collection again it vanished, +this time beyond a doubt stolen, and probably years before it was +missed. + +A new train of thought was presently in motion in the mind of the girl: +_The beautiful cup was stolen! it was not where it ought to be! it was +not at home! it was a captive, a slave_! She lowered the book, half +closed, with a finger between the leaves, and stood thinking. She did +not for a moment believe her master had stolen it, though the fear did +flash through her mind. It had been stolen and sold, and he had bought +it at length of some one whose possession of it was nowise suspicious! +But he must know now that it had been stolen, for here, with the cup, +was the book which said so! That would be nothing if the rightful owner +were not known, but he was known, and the thing ought to be his! The +laird might not be bound, she was not sure, to restore it at his own +loss, for when he bought it he was not aware that it was stolen; but he +was bound to restore it at the price he had paid for it, if the former +owner would give it! This was bare justice! mere righteousness! No theft +could make the owner not the rightful owner, though other claims upon +the thing might come in! One ought not to be enriched by another's +misfortune! Dawtie was sure that a noble of the kingdom of heaven would +not wait for the money, but would with delight send the cup where it +ought to have been all the time! She knew better, however, than require +magnificence in any shape from the poor wizened soul of her master--a +man who knew all about everything, and whom yet she could not but fear +to _be_ nothing: as Dawtie had learned to understand life, the laird did +not yet exist. But he well knew right from wrong, therefore the +discovery she just made affected her duty toward him! It might be +impossible to make impression on the miserliness of a miser, but upon +the honesty in a miser it might be possible! The goblet was not his! + +But the love of things dulls the conscience, and he might not be able, +having bought and paid for it, to see that the thing was not therefore +_his_! he might defend himself from seeing it! To Dawtie, this made the +horror of his condition the darker. She was one of God's babes, who can +not help seeing the true state of things. Logic was to her but the smoke +that rose from the burning truth; she saw what is altogether above and +beyond logic--the right thing, whose meanest servant, the hewer of its +wood, not the drawer of its water, the merest scullion and sweeper away +of lies from the pavement of its courts, is logic. + +With a sigh she woke to the knowledge that she was not doing her work, +and rousing herself, was about to put the book on its shelf. But, her +finger being still in the place, she would have one more glance at the +picture! To her dismay she saw that she had made a mark on the plate, +and of the enormity of making a dirty mark on a book her master had made +her well aware. + +She was in great distress. What was to be done? She did not once think +of putting it away and saying nothing. To have reasoned that her master +would never know, would have been an argument, pressing and imperative, +for informing him at once. She had done him an injury, and the injury +must be confessed and lamented; it was all that was left to be done! +“Sic a mischance!” she said, then bethought herself that there was no +such thing as mischance, when immediately it flashed upon her that here +was the door open for the doing of what was required of her. She was +bound to confess the wrong, and that would lead in the disclosure of +what she knew, rendering it comparatively easy to use some remonstrance +with the laird, whom in her mind's eye she saw like a beggar man +tottering down a steep road to a sudden precipice. Her duty was now so +plain that she felt no desire to consult Andrew. She was not one to ask +an opinion for the sake of talking opinion; she went to Andrew only when +she wanted light to do the right thing; when the light was around her, +she knew how to walk, and troubled no one. + +At once she laid down book and duster, and went to find the laird. But +he had slipped away to the town, to have a rummage in a certain little +shop in a back street, which he had not rummaged for a long time enough, +he thought, to have let something come in. It was no relief to Dawtie: +the thing would be all the day before her instead of behind her! It +burned within her, not like a sin, but like what it was, a confession +unconfessed. Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with +the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the +turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the _coup de +grâce_ to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of her +master, and yet she dreaded more his distress. + +She prepared the laird's supper with a strange mingling of hope and +anxiety: she feared having to go to bed without telling him. But he came +at last, almost merry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, over +which he was very careful. Poor man, he little knew there waited him at +the moment a demand from the eternal justice almost as terrible as: +“This night they require thy soul of thee!”--(What a _they_ is that! Who +are _they_?)--The torture of the moral rack was ready for him at the +hands of his innocent house-maid! In no way can one torture another more +than by waking conscience against love, passion, or pride. + +He laid his little parcel carefully on the supper-table, said rather a +shorter grace than usual, began to eat his porridge, praised it as very +good, spoke of his journey and whom he had seen, and was more talkative +than his wont He informed Alexa, almost with jubilation, that he had at +length found an old book he had been long on the watch for--a book that +treated, in ancient broad Scots, of the laws of verse, in full, even +exhaustive manner. He pulled it from his pocket. + +“It is worth at least ten times what I gave for it!” he said. + +Dawtie wondered whether there ought not to have been some division of +the difference; but she was aware of no call to speak. One thing was +enough for one night! + +Then came prayers. The old man read how David deceived the Philistines, +telling them a falsehood as to his raids. He read the narrative with a +solemnity of tone that would have graced the most righteous action: was +it not the deed of a man according to God's own heart?--how could it be +other than right! Casuist ten times a week, he made no question of the +righteousness of David's wickedness! Then he prayed, giving thanks for +the mercy that had surrounded them all the day, shielding them from the +danger and death which lurked for them in every corner. What would he +say when death did get him? Dawtie thought. Would he thank God then? And +would he see, when she spoke to him, that God wanted to deliver him from +a worse danger than any out-of-doors? Would he see that it was from much +mercy he was made more uncomfortable than perhaps ever in his life +before? + +At length his offering was completed--how far accepted who can tell! He +was God's, and He who gave him being would be his Father to the full +possibility of God. They rose from their knees; the laird took up his +parcel and book; his daughter went with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. + +As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her +master to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was +shut behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to +it, and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still +there was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little +fumbling with the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, +bedewed with drops of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little +back, and the eyes did not at once find the object they sought; then +suddenly they lighted on her, and the laird shook from head to foot. + +“What is it, Dawtie?” he faltered out in a broken voice. + +“Please, sir,” answered Dawtie, “I have something to confess: would ye +hearken to me?” + +“No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!” returned the +old man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the +importance of the room whose entrance she had discovered. “Or,” he went +on, finding she did not move, “if you have done anything, Dawtie, that +you ought not to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must +confess, not to a poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I +forgive you, and there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie.” + +“Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the +door o' this room, and sit till--” + +“What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I +say my prayers before I go to bed.” + +But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a +deliberate lie--two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the largest +room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since first he +entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, for he +had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to save +his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor +enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he +must hold to the lie! He _dared_ not confess it! He stood sick and +trembling. + +“I'll wait, sir,” said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more +distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was +further down the wrong road than she had supposed! + +Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face--for +did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?--she +turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and +closed the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her +power. + +Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she +remembered that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they +should speak; for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So +she began by simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. + +“Sir,” she said, “I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark +in one of your books!” + +Her words alarmed him a little, and made him forget for the instant his +more important fears. But he took care to be gentle with her; it would +not do to offend her! for was she not aware that where they stood was a +door by which he went in and out? + +“You make me uneasy, Dawtie!” he said. “What book was it? Let me see +it.” + +“I will, sir.” + +She turned to take it down, but the laird followed her, saying: + +“Point it out to me, Dawtie. I will get it.” + +She did so. It opened at the plate. + +“There is the mark!” she said. “I am right sorry.” + +“So am I!” returned the laird. “But,” he added, willing she should feel +his clemency, and knowing the book was not a rare one, “it is a book +still, and you will be more careful another time! For you must remember, +Dawtie, that you don't come into this room to read the books, but to +dust them. You can go to bed now with an easy mind, I hope!” + +Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that +the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What +would she not have encountered for his deliverance! + +“Please, sir,” she said, “let me show you a thing you never perhaps +happened to read!” And taking the book from his hand--he was too much +astonished to retain it--she turned over the engraving, and showed him +the passage which stated that the cup had disappeared from the +possession of its owner, and had certainly been stolen. + +Finding he said not a word, she ventured to lift her eyes to his, and +saw again the corpse-like face that had looked through the chink of the +door. + +“What do you mean?” he stammered. “I do not understand!” + +His lips trembled: was it possible he had had to do with the stealing of +it? + +The truth was this: he had learned the existence of the cup from this +very book; and had never rested until, after a search of more than ten +years, he at length found it in the hands of a poor man who dared not +offer it for sale. Once in his possession, the thought of giving it up, +or of letting the owner redeem it, had never even occurred to him. Yet +the treasure made him rejoice with a trembling which all his casuistry +would have found it hard to explain; for he would not confess to himself +its real cause--namely, that his God-born essence was uneasy with a +vague knowledge that it lay in the bosom of a thief. “Don't you think, +sir,” said Dawtie, “that whoever has that cup ought to send it back to +the place it was stolen from?” + +Had the old man been a developed hypocrite, he would have replied at +once: “He certainly ought.” But by word of mouth to condemn himself +would have been to acknowledge to himself that he ought to send the cup +home, and this he dared not do. Men who will not do as they know, make +strange confusion in themselves. The worst rancor in the vessel of peace +is the consciousness of wrong in a not all-unrighteous soul. The laird +was false to his own self, but to confess himself false would be to +initiate a change which would render life worthless to him! What would +all his fine things be without their heart of preciousness, the one +jewel that now was nowhere in the world but in his house, in the secret +chamber of his treasures, which would be a rifled case without it! As is +natural to one who will not do right, he began to argue the moral +question, treating it as a point of casuistry that troubled the mind of +the girl. + +“I don't know that, Dawtie!” he said. “It is not likely that the person +that has the cup, whoever he may be--that is, if the cup be still in +existence--is the same who stole it; and it would hardly be justice to +punish the innocent for the guilty?--as would be the case, if, supposing +I had bought the cup, I had to lose the money I paid for it. Should the +man who had not taken care of his cup have his fault condoned at my +expense? Did he not deserve, the many might say, to be so punished, +placing huge temptation in the path of the needy, to the loss of their +precious souls, and letting a priceless thing go loose in the world, to +work ruin to whoever might innocently buy it?” + +His logic did not serve to show him the falsehood of his reasoning, for +his heart was in the lie. “Ought I or he,” he went on, “to be punished +because he kept the thing ill? And how far would the quixotic obligation +descend? A score of righteous men may by this time have bought and sold +the cup!--is it some demon-talisman, that the last must meet the +penalty, when the original owner, or some descendant of the man who lost +it, chooses to claim it? For anything we know, he may himself have +pocketed the price of the rumored theft! Can you not see it would be a +flagrant injustice?--fit indeed to put an end to all buying and selling! +It would annihilate transfer of property! Possession would mean only +strength to keep, and the world would fall into confusion.” + +“It would be hard, I grant,” confessed Dawtie; “but the man who has it +ought at least to give the head of the family in which it had been the +chance of buying it back at the price it cost him. If he could not buy +it back--then the thing would have to be thought over.” + +“I confess I don't see the thing,” returned the laird. “But the question +needs not keep you out of bed, Dawtie! It is not often a girl in your +position takes an interest in the abstract! Besides,” he resumed, +another argument occurring to him, “a thing of such historical value and +interest ought to be where it was cared for, not where it was in danger +every moment.” + +“There might be something in that,” allowed Dawtie, “if it were where +everybody could see it. But where is the good if it be but for the eyes +of one man?” + +The eyes she meant fixed themselves upon her till their gaze grew to a +stony stare. She _must_ know that he had it! Or did she only suspect? He +must not commit himself! He must set a watch on the door of his lips! +What an uncomfortable girl to have in the house! Oh, those +self-righteous Ingrams! What mischief they did! His impulse was to dart +into his treasure-cave, lock himself in, and hug the radiant chalice. He +dared not. He must endure instead the fastidious conscience and probing +tongue of an intrusive maid-servant! + +“But,” he rejoined, with an attempt at a smile, “if the pleasure the one +man took in it should, as is easy to imagine, exceed immeasurably the +aggergate pleasure of the thousands that would look upon it and pass it +by--what then?” + +“The man would enjoy it the more that many saw it--except he loved it +for greed, when he would be rejoicing in iniquity, for the cup would not +be his. And anyhow, he could not take it with him when he died!” + +The face of the miser grew grayer; his lip trembled; but he said +nothing. He was beginning to hate Dawtie. She was an enemy! She sought +his discomfiture, his misery! He had read strange things in certain old +books, and half believed some of them: what if Dawtie was one of those +evil powers that haunt a man in pleasant shape, learn the secrets of his +heart, and gain influence over him that they may tempt him to yield his +soul to the enemy! She was set on ruining him! Certainly she knew that +cup was in his possession! He must temporize! He must _seem_ to listen! +But as soon as fit reason could be found, such as would neither +compromise him nor offend her, she must be sent away! And of all things, +she must not gain the means of proving what she now perhaps only +suspected, and was seeking assurance of! He stood thinking. It was but +for a moment; for the very next words from the lips of the girl that was +to him little more than a house-broom, set him face to face with +reality--the one terror of the unreal. + +“Eh, maister, sir,” said Dawtie, with the tears in her eyes, and now at +last breaking down in her English, “dinna ye _ken_ 'at ye _hae_ to gie +the man 'at aucht that gowden bicker, the chance o' buyin' 't back?” + +The laird shivered. He dared not say: “How do you know?” for he dared +not hear the thing proved to him. If she did know, he would not front +her proof! He would not have her even suppose it an acknowledged fact! + +“If I had the cup,” he began--but she interrupted him: it was time they +should have done with lying! + +“Ye ken ye hae the cup, sir!” she said. “And I ken tu, for I saw 't i' +yer han's!” + +“You shameless, prying hussy!” he began, in a rage at last--but the +eager, tearful earnestness of her face made him bethink himself: it +would not do to make an enemy of her! “Tell me, Dawtie,” he said, with +sudden change of tone, “how it was you came to see it.” + +She told him all--how and when; and he knew that he had seen her see +him. + +He managed to give a poor little laugh. + +“All is not gold that glitters, Dawtie!” he said. “The cup you saw was +not the one in the book, but an imitation of it--mere gilded tin and +colored glass--copied from the picture, as near as they could make +it--just to see better what it must have been like. Why, my good girl, +that cup would be worth thousands of pounds! So go to bed, and don't +trouble yourself about gold cups. It is not likely any of them will come +our way!” + +Simple as Dawtie was, she did not believe him. But she saw no good to be +done by disputing what he ought to know. + +“It wasna aboot the gold cup I was troublin' mysel'!” she said, +hesitatingly. + +“You are right there!” he replied, with another deathly laugh, “it was +not! But you have been troubling me about nothing half the night, and I +am shivering with cold! We really must, both of us, go to bed! What +would your mistress say!” + +“No,” persisted Dawtie, “it wasna aboot the cup, gowd or no gowd; it was +and is aboot my maister I'm troubled! I'm terrible feart for ye, sir! +Ye're a worshiper o' Mammon, sir!” + +The laird laughed, for the danger was over!--to Dawtie's deep dismay he +laughed! + +“My poor girl,” he said, “you take an innocent love of curious things +for the worship of Mammon! Don't imagine me jesting. How could you +believe an old man like me, an elder of the kirk, a dispenser of her +sacred things, guilty of the awful crime of Mammon worship?” + +He imagined her ignorantly associating the idea of some idolatrous +ritual with what to him was but a phrase--the worship of Mammon. “Do you +not remember,” he continued, “the words of Christ, that a man _can not_ +serve God and Mammon? If I be a Christian, as you will hardly doubt, it +follows that I am not a worshiper of Mammon, for the two can not go +together.” + +“But that's just the question, sir! A man who worships God, worships Him +with his whole heart and soul and strength and mind. If he wakes at +night, it is to worship God; if he is glad in his heart, it is because +God is, and one day he shall behold His face in brightness. If a man +worships God, he loves Him so that no love can come between him and God; +if the earth were removed, and the mountains cast into the midst of the +sea, it would be all one to him, for God would be all the same. Is it +not so, sir?” + +“You are a good girl, Dawtie, and I approve of every word you say. It +would more than savor of presumption to profess that I loved God up to +the point you speak of; but I deserve to love Him. Doubtless a man ought +to love God so, and we are all sinners just because we do not love God +so. But we have the atonement!” + +“But, sir,” answered Dawtie, the silent tears running down her face, “I +love God that way! I don't care a dust for anything without Him! When I +go to bed, I don't care if I never wake again in this world; I shall be +where He would have me!” + +“You presume, Dawtie! I fear me much you presume! What if that should be +in hell?” + +“If it be, it will be the best. It will be to set me right. Oh, sir, He +is so good! Tell me one thing, sir: when you die--” + +“Tut, tut, lass! we're not come to that yet! There's no occasion to +think about that yet awhile! We're in the hands of a reconciled God.” + +“What I want to know,” pursued Dawtie, “is how you will feel, how you +will get on when you haven't got anything!” + +“Not got anything, girl! Are you losing your senses? Of course we shall +want nothing then! I shall have to talk to the doctor about you! We +shall have you killing us in our beds to know how we like it!” + +He laughed; but it was a rather scared laugh. + +“What I mean,” she persisted, “is--when you have no body, and no hands +to take hold of your cap, what will you do without it?” + +“What if I leave it to you, Dawtie!” returned the laird, with a stupid +mixture of joke and avarice in his cold eye. + +“Please, sir, I didn't say what you would do with it, but what would you +do without it when it will neither come out of your heart nor into your +hands! It must be misery to a miser to _have_ nothing!” + +“A miser, hussy!” + +“A lover of things, more than a lover of God!” + +“Well, perhaps you have the better of me!” he said, after a cowed pause; +for he perceived there was no compromise possible with Dawtie: she knew +perfectly what she meant; and he could neither escape her logic, nor +change her determination, whatever that might be. “I dare say you are +right! I will think what ought to be done about that cup!” + +He stopped, self amazed: he had committed himself!--as much as confessed +the cup genuine! But Dawtie had not been deceived, and had not been +thinking about the cup. Only it was plain that, if he would consent to +part with it for its money-worth, that would be a grand beginning toward +the renouncing of dead _things_ altogether, toward the turning to the +living One the love that now gathered, clinging and haunting, about gold +cups and graved armor, and suchlike vapors and vanishings, that pass +with the sunsets and the snows. She fell on her knees, and, in the +spirit of a child and of the apostle of the Gentiles, cried, laying her +little red hands together and uplifting them to her master in purest +entreaty. + +“Oh, laird, laird, ye've been gude and kin' to me, and I lo'e ye, the +Lord kens! I pray ye for Christ's sake be reconciled to God, for ye hae +been servin' Mammon and no Him, and ye hae jist said we canna serve the +twa, and what 'ill come o' 't God only can tell, but it _maun_ be +misery!” + +Words failed her. She rose, and left the room, with her apron to her +eyes. + +The laird stood a moment or two like one lost, then went hurriedly into +his “closet,” and shut the door. Whether he went on his knees to God as +did Dawtie to Him, or began again to gloat over his Cellini goblet, I do +not know. + +Dawtie cried herself to sleep, and came down in the morning very pale. +Her duty had left her exhausted, and with a kind of nausea toward all +the ornaments and books in the house. A cock crew loud under the window +of the kitchen. She dropped on her knees, said “Father of lights!” not a +word beside, rose and began to rouse the fire. + +When breakfast-time came, and the laird appeared, he looked much as +usual, only a little weary, which his daughter set down to his journey +the day before. He revived, however, as soon as he had succeeded in +satisfying himself that Alexa knew nothing of what had passed. How +staid, discreet, and compact of common sense Alexa seemed to him beside +Dawtie, whose want of education left her mind a waste swamp for the +vagaries of whatever will-o'-the-wisp an overstrained religious fantasy +might generate! But however much the laird might look the same as +before, he could never, knowing that Dawtie knew what she knew, be again +as he had been. + +“You'll do a few of the books to-day, won't you, Dawtie,” he said, “when +you have time? I never thought I should trust any one! I would sooner +have old Meg shave me than let her dust an Elzevir! Ha! ha! ha!” + +Dawtie was glad that at least he left the door open between them. She +said she would do a little dusting in the afternoon, and would be very +careful. Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a +shoot of compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his +breakfast almost untasted. + +But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with +her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone +together. If he caught her eye, he would say--hurriedly, and as if +acknowledging a secret between them, “By and by, Dawtie;” or, “I'm +thinking about the business, Dawtie;” or, “I'm making up my mind, +Dawtie!” and so leave her. On one occasion he said, “Perhaps you will be +surprised some day, Dawtie!” + +On her part Dawtie never felt that she had anything more to say to him. +She feared at times that she had done him evil rather than good by +pressing upon him a duty she had not persuaded him to perform. She spoke +of this fear to Andrew, but he answered decisively: + +“If you believed you ought to speak to him, and have discovered in +yourself no wrong motive, you must not trouble yourself about the +result. That may be a thousand years off yet. You may have sent him into +a hotter purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We +know nothing but that God is righteous.” + +Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know +their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are +seldom to be pitied. Where people have not yet found their work, they +may be more to be pitied than those that beg their bread. When a man +knows his work and will not do it, pity him more than one who is to be +hanged to-morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +ANDREW AND ALEXA. + +Andrew had occasion to call on the laird to pay his father's rent, and +Alexa, who had not seen him for some time, thought him improved both in +carriage and speech, and wondered. She did not take into account his +intercourse with God, as with highest human minds, and his constant +wakefulness to carry into action what things he learned. Thus trained in +noblest fashions of freedom, it was small wonder that his bearing and +manners, the natural outcome and expression of his habits of being, +should grow in liberty. There was in them the change only of +development. By the side of such education as this, dealing with reality +and inborn dignity, what mattered any amount of ignorance as to social +custom! Society may judge its own; this man was not of it, and as much +surpassed its most accomplished pupils in all the essentials of +breeding, as the apostle Paul was a better gentleman than Mr. Nash or +Mr. Brummel. The training may be slow, but it is perfect. To him who has +yielded self, all things are possible. Andrew was aware of no +difference. He seemed to himself the same as when a boy. + +Alexa had not again alluded to his brother's letter concerning George +Crawford, fearing he might say what she would find unpleasant. But now +she wanted to get a definite opinion from him in regard to certain modes +of money-making, which had naturally of late occupied a good deal of her +thought. + +“What is your notion concerning money-lending--I mean at interest, Mr. +Ingram?” she said. “I hear it is objected to nowadays by some that set +up for teachers!” + +“It is by no means the first time in the world's history,” answered +Andrew. + +“I want to know what you think of it, Mr. Ingram?” + +“I know little,” replied Andrew, “of any matter with which I have not +had to deal practically.” + +“But ought not one to have his ideas ready for the time when we will +have to deal practically?” said Alexa. + +“Mine would be pretty sure to be wrong,” answered Andrew; “and there is +no time to spend in gathering wrong ideas and then changing them!” + +“On the contrary, they would be less warped by personal interest.” + +“Could circumstances arise in which it would not be my first interest to +be honest?” said Andrew. “Would not my judgment be quickened by the +compulsion and the danger? In no danger myself, might I not judge too +leniently of things from which I should myself recoil? Selfishly +smoother with regard to others, because less anxious about their honesty +than my own, might I not yield them what, were I in the case, I should +see at once I dared not allow to myself? I can perceive no use in making +up my mind how to act in circumstances in which I am not--probably will +never be. I have enough to occupy me where I find myself, and should +certainly be oftener in doubt how to act, if I had bothered my brains +how to think in circumstances foreign to me. In such thinking, duty is +of necessity a comparatively feeble factor, being only duty imagined, +not live duty, and the result is the more questionable. The Lord +instructed His apostles not to be anxious what they should say when they +were brought before rulers and kings: I will leave the question of duty +alone until action is demanded of me. In the meantime I will do the duty +now required of me, which is the only preparation for the duty that is +to come.” + +Although Alexa had not begun to understand Andrew, she had sense enough +and righteousness enough to feel that he was somehow ahead of her, and +that it was not likely he and George Crawford would be of one mind in +the matter that occupied her, so different were their ways of looking at +things--so different indeed the things themselves they thought worth +looking at. + +She was silent for a moment, then said: + +“You can at least tell me what you think of gambling!” + +“I think it is the meanest mode of gaining or losing money a man could +find.” + +“Why do you think so?” + +“Because he desires only to gain, and can gain only by his neighbor's +loss. One of the two must be the worse for his transaction with the +other. Each _must_ wish ill to his neighbor!” + +“But the risk was agreed upon between them.” + +“True--but in what hope? Was it not, on the part of each, that he would +be the gainer and the other the loser? There is no common cause, nothing +but pure opposition of interest.” + +“Are there not many things in which one must gain and the other lose?” + +“There are many things in which one gains and the other loses; but if it +is essential to any transaction that only one side shall gain, the thing +is not of God.” + +“What do you think of trading in stocks?” + +“I do not know enough about it to have a right to speak.” + +“You can give your impression!” + +“I will not give what I do not value.” + +“Suppose, then, you heard of a man who had made his money so, how would +you behave to him?” + +“I would not seek his acquaintance.” + +“If he sought yours?” + +“It would be time to ask how he had made his money. Then it would be my +business.” + +“What would make it your business?” + +“That he sought my acquaintance. It would then be necessary to know +something about him, and the readiest question would be--how he had made +his money!” + +Alexa was silent for some time. + +“Do you think God cares about everything?” she said at length. + +“Everything,” answered Andrew, and she said no more. + +Andrew avoided the discussion of moral questions. He regarded the thing +as _vermiculate_, and ready to corrupt the obedience. “When you have a +thing to do,” he would say, “you will do it right in proportion to your +love of right. But do the right, and you will love the right; for by +doing it you will see it in a measure as it is, and no one can see the +truth as it is without loving it. The more you _talk_ about what is +right, or even about the doing of it, the more you are in danger of +exemplifying how loosely theory may be allied to practice. Talk without +action saps the very will. Something you have to do is waiting undone +all the time, and getting more and more undone. The only refuge is _to +do_.” To know the thing he ought to do was a matter of import, to do the +thing he knew he ought to do was a matter of life and death to Andrew. +He never allowed even a cognate question to force itself upon him until +he had attended to the thing that demanded doing: it was merest common +sense! + +Alexa had in a manner got over her uneasiness at the report of how +George was making his money, and their correspondence was not +interrupted. But something, perhaps a movement from the world of spirit +coming like the wind, had given her one of those motions to betterment, +which, however occasioned, are the throb of the divine pulse in our +life, the call of the Father, the pull of home, and the guide thither to +such as will obey them. She had in consequence again become doubtful +about Crawford, and as to whether she was right in corresponding with +him. This led to her talk with Andrew, which, while it made her think +less of his intellect, influenced her in a way she neither understood +nor even recognized. There are two ways in which one nature may +influence another for betterment--the one by strengthening the will, the +other by heightening the ideal. Andrew, without even her suspicion of +the fact, wrought in the latter way upon Alexa. She grew more uneasy. +George was coming home: how was she to receive him? Nowise bound, they +were on terms of intimacy: was she to encourage the procession of that +intimacy, or to ward attempt at nearer approach? + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George returned, and made an early appearance at Potlurg. Dawtie met him +in the court. She did not know him, but involuntarily shrunk from him. +He frowned. There was a natural repugnance between them; the one was +simple, the other double; the one was pure, the other selfish; the one +loved her neighbor, the other preyed upon his. + +George was a little louder, and his manners were more studied. Alexa +felt him overblown. He was floridly at his ease. What little +“atmosphere” there had been about him was gone, and its place taken by a +colored fog. His dress was unobjectionable, and yet attracted notice; +perhaps it was only too considered. Alexa was disappointed, and a little +relieved. He looked older, yet not more manly--and rather fat. He had +more of the confidence women dislike to see a man without, than was +quite pleasant even to the confident Alexa. His speech was not a little +infected with the nasality--as easy to catch as hard to get rid +of--which I presume the Puritans carried from England to America. On the +whole, George was less interesting than Alexa had expected. + +He came to her as if he would embrace her, but an instinctive movement +on her part sufficed to check him. She threw an additional heartiness +into her welcome, and kept him at arm's-length. She felt as if she had +lost an old friend, and not gained a new one. He made himself very +agreeable, but that he made himself so, made him less so. + +There was more than these changes at work in her; there was still the +underlying doubt concerning him. Although not yet a live soul, she had +strong if vague ideas about right and wrong; and although she sought +many things a good deal more than righteousness, I do not see what +temptation would at once have turned her from its known paths. At the +same time I do not see what she had yet, more than hundreds of thousands +of well-meaning women, to secure her from slow decay and final ruin. + +They laughed and talked together very _like_ the way they used, but +“every like is not the same,” and they knew there was a difference. +George was stung by the sense of it--too much to show that he was vexed. +He laid himself out to be the more pleasing, as if determined to make +her feel what he was worth--as the man, namely, whom he imagined +himself, and valued himself on being. + +It is an argument for God, to see what fools those make of themselves +who, believing there is a God, do not believe _in_ Him--children who do +not know the Father. Such make up the mass of church and chapel goers. +Let an earthquake or the small-pox break loose among them, and they will +show what sort their religion is. George had got rid of the folly of +believing in the existence of a God, either interested in human affairs +or careless of them, and naturally found himself more comfortable in +consequence; for he never had believed _in_ God, and it is awkward to +believe and not believe at the same moment. What he had called his +_beliefs_ were as worthy of the name as those of most people, but +whether he was better or worse without them hardly interests me, and my +philanthropy will scarce serve to make me glad that he was more +comfortable. + +As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until +at last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in +Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the +wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where +the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to +the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge. + +“The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this +creature!” he was saying as they came near. + +“What rot!” said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: “Here's my old +friend, the farmer, I declare!” then to Andrew: “How do you do, Mr. +Ingram?” + +George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better +fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do +with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. “You seem to +like the look of the beast!” he said: “you ought to know what's what in +horses!” + +“He is one of the finest horses I ever saw,” answered Andrew. “The man +who owns him is fortunate.” + +“He ought to be a good one!” said George. “I gave a hundred and fifty +guineas for him yesterday.” + +Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought +him, if Sandy was right. + +Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His +presence seemed to protect her a little. + +“May I ask you, Mr. Ingram,” she said, “to repeat what you were saying +about the horse as we came up?” + +“I was saying,” answered Andrew, “that, to any one who understands a +horse it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed +through many generations to fashion such a perfection.” + +“Oh! you indorse the development theory--do you?” said George. “I should +hardly have expected that of you.” + +“I do not think it has anything to do with what I said; no one disputes +that this horse comes of many generations of horses. The development +theory, if I understand aright, concerns itself with how his first +ancestor in his own kind came to be a horse.” + +“And about that there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who +believes in the Bible!” said George. + +“God makes beautiful horses,” returned Andrew; “whether He takes the one +way or the other to make them, I am sure He takes the right way.” + +“You imply it is of little consequence what you believe about it.” + +“If I had to make them it would be of consequence. But what I think of +consequence to us is--that He makes them, not out of nothing, but out of +Himself. Why should my poor notion of God's _how_ be of importance, so +long as, when I see a horse like yours, Mr. Crawford, I say, God be +praised? It is of eternal importance to love the animal, and see in him +the beauty of the Lord; it is of none to fancy I know which way God took +to make him. Not having in me the power or the stuff to make a horse, I +can not know how God made the horse; I can know him to be beautiful.” + +“But,” said George, “the first horse was a very common-looking domestic +animal, which they kept to eat--nothing like this one.” + +“Then you think God made the first horse, and after that the horses made +themselves,” said Andrew. + +Alexa laughed; George said nothing; Andrew went on. + +“But,” he said, “if we have come up from the lower animals, through a +million of kinds, perhaps--against which theory I have nothing to +urge--then I am more than prepared to believe that the man who does not +do the part of a man will have to go down again, through all the stages +of his being, to a position beyond the lowest forms of the powers he has +misused, and there begin to rise once more, haunted perhaps with dim +hints of the world of humanity left so far above him.” + +“Bah! What's the use of bothering! Rubbish!” cried George, with rude +jollity. “You know as well as I do, Mr. Ingram, it's all bosh! Things +will go on as they're doing, and as they have been doing, till now from +all eternity--so far as we know, and that's enough for us.” + +“They will not go on so for long in our sight, Mr. Crawford. The worms +will have a word to say with us.” + +Alexa turned away. + +“You've not given up preaching and taken to the practical yet, Mr. +Ingram, I see,” said George. + +Andrew laughed. + +“I flatter myself I have not ceased to be practical, Mr. Crawford. You +are busy with what you see, and I am busy as well with what I don't see; +but all the time I believe my farm is in as good a state as your books.” + +George gave a start, and stole a look at the young farmer, but was +satisfied he “meant nothing.” The self-seeker will walk into the very +abyss protesting himself a practical man, and counting him unpractical +who will not with him “jump the life to come.” Himself, he neither +measures the width nor questions his muscle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +WHAT IS IT WORTH? + +Andrew, with all his hard work, harder since Sandy went, continued able +to write, for he neither sought company nor drank strong drink, and was +the sport of no passion. From threatened inroad he appealed to Him who +created to lift His child above the torrent, and make impulse the slave +of conscience and manhood. There were no demons riding the whirlwinds of +his soul. It is not wonderful then that he should be able to write a +book, or that the book should be of genuine and original worth. It had +the fortune to be “favorably” reviewed, scarce one of those who reviewed +it understanding it, while all of them seemed to themselves to +understand it perfectly. I mention the thing because, had the book not +been thus reviewed, Alexa would not have bought a copy, or been able to +admire it. + +The review she read was in a paper whose editor would not have admitted +it had he suspected the drift which the reviewer had failed to see; and +the passages quoted appealed to Alexa in virtue, partly, of her not +seeing half they involved, or anything whatever of the said drift. But +because he had got a book published, and because she approved of certain +lines, phrases and passages in it; but chiefly because it had been +praised by more than one influential paper, Andrew rose immensely in +Alexa's opinion. Although he was the son of a tenant, was even a laborer +on his farm, and had covered a birth no higher than that of Jesus Christ +with the gown of no university, she began, against her own sense of what +was fit, to look up to the plow-man. The plow-man was not aware of this, +and would have been careless had he been. He respected his landlord's +daughter, not ever questioned her superiority as a lady where he made no +claim to being a gentleman, but he recognized in her no power either to +help or to hurt. + +When they next met, Alexa was no longer indifferent to his presence, and +even made a movement in the direction of being agreeable to him. She +dropped in a measure, without knowing she had ever used it, her +patronizing carriage, but had the assurance to compliment him not merely +on the poem he had written, but on the way it had been received; she +could not have credited, had he told her, that he was as indifferent to +the praise or blame of what is called the public, as if that public were +indeed--what it is most like--a boy just learning to read. Yet it is the +consent of such a public that makes the very essence of what is called +fame. How should a man care for it who knows that he is on his way to +join his peers, to be a child with the great ones of the earth, the +lovers of the truth, the Doers of the Will. What to him will be the wind +of the world he has left behind, a wind that can not arouse the dead, +that can only blow about the grave-clothes of the dead as they bury +their dead. + +“Live, Dawtie,” said Andrew to the girl, “and ane day ye'll hae yer +hert's desire; for 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after +righteousness.'” + +Andrew was neither annoyed nor gratified with the compliments Alexa paid +him, for she did not know the informing power of the book--what he cared +for in it--the thing that made him write it. But her gentleness and +kindness did please him; he was glad to feel a little at home with her, +glad to draw a little nearer to one who had never been other than good +to him. And then was she not more than kind, even loving to Dawtie? + +“So, Andrew, you are a poet at last,” she said, holding out her hand to +him, which Andrew received in a palm that wrote the better verse that it +was horny. “Please to remember I was the first that found you out!” she +added. + +“I think it was my mother,” answered Andrew. + +“And I would have helped you if you would have let me.” + +“It is not well, ma'am, to push the bird off because he can't sit safe +on the edge of the nest.” + +“Perhaps you are right A failure then would have stood in the way of +your coming fame.” + +“Oh, for that, ma'am, believe me, I do not care a short straw.” + +“What do you not care for?” + +“For fame.” + +“That is wrong, Andrew. We ought to care what our neighbors think of +us.” + +“My neighbors did not set me to do the work, and I did not seek their +praise in doing it. Their friendship I prize dearly--more than tongue +can tell.” + +“You can not surely be so conceited, Andrew, as to think nobody capable +of judging your work.” + +“Far from it, ma'am. But you were speaking of fame, and that does not +come from any wise judgment.” + +“Then what do you write for, if you care nothing for fame? I thought +that was what all poets wrote for.” + +“So the world thinks; and those that do sometimes have their reward.” + +“Tell me then what you write for?” + +“I write because I want to tell something that makes me glad and strong. +I want to say it, and so try to say it. Things come to me in gleams and +flashes, sometimes in words themselves, and I want to weave them into a +melodious, harmonious whole. I was once at an oratorio, and that taught +me the shape of a poem. In a pause of the music, I seemed all at once to +see Handel's heavy countenance looking out of his great wig, as he sat +putting together his notes, ordering about in his mind, and fixing in +their places with his pen, his drums, and pipes, and fiddles, and +roaring bass, and flageolets, and hautboys--all to open the door for the +thing that was plaguing him with the confusion of its beauty. For I +suppose even Handel did not hear it all clear and plain at first, but +had to build his orchestra into a mental organ for his mind to let +itself out by, through the many music holes, lest it should burst with +its repressed harmonic delights. He must have felt an agonized need to +set the haunting angels of sound in obedient order and range, responsive +to the soul of the thing, its one ruling idea! I saw him with his white +rapt face, looking like a prophet of the living God sent to speak out of +the heart of the mystery of truth! I saw him as he sat staring at the +paper before him, scratched all over as with the fury of a holy anger at +his own impotence, and his soul communed with heavenliest harmonies! +Ma'am, will any man persuade me that Handel at such a moment was athirst +for fame? or that the desire to please a house full or world full of +such as heard his oratorios, gave him the power to write his music? No, +ma'am! he was filled, not with the longing for sympathy, and not even +with the good desire to give delight, but with the music itself. It was +crying in him to get out, and he heard it crying, and could not rest +till he had let it out; and every note that dropped from his pen was a +chip struck from the granite wall between the song-birds in their +prison-nest, and the air of their liberty. Creation is God's +self-wrought freedom. No, ma'am, I do not despise my fellows, but +neither do I prize the judgment of more than a few of them. I prize and +love themselves, but not their opinion.” + +Alexa was silent, and Andrew took his leave. She sat still for awhile +thinking. If she did not understand, at least she remembered Andrew's +face as he talked: could presumption make his face shine so? could +presumption make him so forget himself? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. + +Things went swimmingly with George. He had weathered a crisis, and was +now full of confidence, as well as the show of it. That he held himself +a man who could do what he pleased, was plain to every one. His +prosperity leaned upon that of certain princes of the power of money in +America: gleaning after them he found his fortune. + +But he did not find much increase of favor with Alexa. Her spiritual +tastes were growing more refined. There was something about the man, and +that not new, which she could no longer contemplate without +dissatisfaction. It cost her tears at night to think that, although her +lover had degenerated, he had remained true to her, for she saw plainly +that it was only lack of encouragement that prevented him from asking +her to be his wife. She must _appear_ changeable, but this was not the +man she had been ready to love! the plant had put forth a flower that +was not in sequence with the leaf. The cause of his appearing different +might lie in herself, but in any case he was not the gentleman she had +thought! Had she loved him, she would have stood by him bravely, but now +she could not help recalling the disgrace of the father, and shrunk from +sharing it with the son. Would it be any wonder if the son himself +proved less than honorable? She would have broken with him quite but for +one thing: he had become intimate with her father, and the laird enjoyed +his company. + +George had a large straggling acquaintance with things, and could +readily appear to know more than he did. He was, besides, that most +agreeable person to a man with a hobby, a good listener--when he saw +reason. He made himself so pleasant that the laird was not only always +glad to see him, but would often ask him to stay to supper, when he +would fish up from the wine-cellar he had inherited a bottle with a +history and a character, and the two would pass the evening together, +Alexa trying not to wish him away, for was not her poor old father happy +with him! Though without much pleasure of his own in such things, +George, moved by the reflection of the laird's interest, even began to +_collect_ a little, mainly in the hope of picking up what might gratify +the laird; nor, if he came upon a thing he _must_ covet, would hesitate +to spend on it a good sum. Naturally the old man grew to regard him as a +son of the best sort, one who would do anything to please his father and +indulge his tastes. + +It may seem surprising that such a man as George should have remained so +true; but he had a bull-dog tenacity of purpose, as indeed his +money-making indicated. Then there was good in him to the measure of +admiring a woman like Alexa, though not of admiring a far better. He saw +himself in danger of losing her; concluded influences at work to the +frustration of his own; surmised that she doubted the character of his +business; feared the clownish farmer-poet might have dazzled with his +new reputation her womanly judgment; and felt himself called upon to +make good his position against any and every prejudice she might have +conceived against him! He would yield nothing! If he was foiled he was +foiled, but it should not be his fault! His own phrase was, that he +would not throw up the sponge so long as he could come up grinning. He +had occasional twinges of discomfort, for his conscience, although +seared indeed, was not seared as with the hottest iron, seeing he had +never looked straight at any truth: it would ease those twinges, he +vaguely imagined, so to satisfy a good woman like Alexa, that she made +common cause with him, accepting not merely himself, but the money of +which he had at such times a slight loathing. Then Alexa was +handsome--he thought her _very_ handsome, and, true to Mammon, he would +gladly be true also to something better. There _might be_ another camp, +and it would be well to have friends in that too! + +So unlike Andrew, how could he but dislike him! and his dislike jealousy +fostered into hatred. Cowed before him, like Macbeth before Banquo, +because he was an honest man, how could he but hate him! He called him, +and thought him a canting, sneaking fellow--which he was, if canting +consist in giving God His own, and sneaking consist in fearing no +man--in fearing nothing, indeed, but doing wrong. How could George +consent even to the far-off existence of such a man! + +The laird also had taken a dislike to him. + +From the night when Dawtie made her appeal, he had not known an hour's +peace. It was not that it had waked his conscience, though it had made +it sleep a little less soundly; it was only that he feared she might +take further action in regard to the cup. She seemed to him to be taking +part with the owner of the cup against him; he could not see that she +was taking part with himself against the devil; that it was not the cup +she was anxious about, but the life of her master. What if she should +acquaint the earl's lawyer with all she knew! He would be dragged into +public daylight! He could not pretend ignorance concerning the identity +of the chalice! that would be to be no antiquarian, while Dawtie would +bear witness that he had in his possession a book telling all about it! +But the girl would never of herself have turned against him! It was all +that fellow Ingram, with his overstrained and absurd notions as to what +God required of His poor sinful creatures! He did not believe in the +atonement! He did not believe that Christ had given satisfaction to the +Father for our sins! He demanded in the name of religion more than any +properly educated and authorized minister would! and in his +meddlesomeness had worried Dawtie into doing as she did! The girl was a +good and modest girl, and would never of herself have so acted! Andrew +was righteous overmuch, therefore eaten up with self-conceit, and the +notion of pleasing God more than other men! He cherished old grudges +against him, and would be delighted to bring his old school-master to +shame! He was not a bad boy at school; he had always liked him; the +change in him witnessed to the peril of extremes! Here they had led to +spiritual pride, which was the worst of all the sins! The favorite of +heaven could have no respect for the opinion of his betters! The man was +bent on returning evil for all the good he had done the boy! It was a +happy thing young Crawford understood him! He would be his friend, and +defeat the machinations of his enemy! If only the fellow's lease were +out, that he might get rid of him! + +Moved by George's sympathy with his tastes, he drew nearer and nearer to +disclosing the possession which was the pride of his life. The +enjoyment, of connoisseur or collector rests much on the glory of +possession--of having what another has not, or, better still, what no +other can possibly have. + +From what he had long ago seen on the night of the storm, and now from +the way the old man hinted, and talked, and broke off; also from the +uneasiness he sometimes manifested, George had guessed that there was +something over whose possession he gloated, but for whose presence among +his treasures he could not comfortably account He therefore set himself, +without asking a single question, to make the laird unbosom. A hold on +the father would be a hold on the daughter! + +One day, in a pawnbroker's shop, he lighted upon a rarity indeed, which +might or might not have a history attributed to it, but was in itself +more than interesting for the beauty of both material and workmanship. +The sum asked for it was large, but with the chance of pleasing the +laird, it seemed to George but a trifle. It was also, he judged, of +intrinsic value to a great part of the price. Had he been then aware of +the passion of the old man for jewels in especial, he would have been +yet more eager to secure it for him. It was a watch, not very small, and +by no means thin--a repeater, whose bell was dulled by the stones of the +mine in which it lay buried. The case was one mass of gems of +considerable size, and of every color. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald were +judiciously parted by diamonds of utmost purity, while yellow diamonds +took the golden place for which the topaz had not been counted of +sufficient value. They were all crusted together as close as they could +lie, the setting of them hardly showing. The face was of fine opals, +across which moved the two larger hands radiant with rubies, while the +second-hand flitted flashing around, covered with tiny diamonds. The +numerals were in sapphires, within a bordering ring of emeralds and +black pearls. The jewel was a splendor of color and light. + +George, without preface, took it from his pocket, held it a moment in +the sunlight, and handed it to the laird. He glowered at it. He saw an +angel from heaven in a thing compact of earth-chips! As near as any +_thing_ can be loved of a live soul, the laird loved a fine stone; what +in it he loved most, the color, the light, the shape, the value, the +mystery, he could not have told!--and here was a jewel of many fine +stones! With both hands he pressed it to his bosom. Then he looked at it +in the sun, then went into the shadow of the house, for they were in the +open air, and looked at it again. Suddenly he thrust it into his pocket, +and hurried, followed by George, to his study. There he closed the +shutters, lighted a lamp, and gazed at the marvel, turning it in all +directions. At length he laid it on the table, and sunk with a sigh into +a chair. George understood the sigh, and dug its source deeper by +telling him, as he had heard it, the story of the jewel. + +“It may be true,” he said as he ended. “I remember seeing some time ago +a description of the toy. I think I could lay my hand on it!” + +“Would you mind leaving it with me till you come again?” faltered the +laird. + +He knew he could not buy it: he had not the money; but he would gladly +dally with the notion of being its possessor. To part with it, the +moment after having held it in his hand and gloated over it for the +first time, would be too keen a pain! It was unreasonable to have to +part with it at all! He _ought_ to be its owner! Who could be such an +owner to a thing like that as he! It was a wrong to him that it was not +his! Next to his cup, it was the most precious thing he had ever wished +to possess!--a thing for a man to take to the grave with him! Was there +no way of carrying _any_ treasure to the other world? He would have sold +of his land to secure the miracle, but, alas, it was all entailed! For a +moment the Cellini chalice seemed of less account, and he felt ready to +throw open the window of his treasure-room and pitch everything out. The +demon of _having_ is as imperious and as capricious as that of drink, +and there is no refuge from it but with the Father. “This kind goeth not +out by prayer.” + +The poor slave uttered, not a sigh now, but a groan. “You'll tell the +man,” he said, thinking George had borrowed the thing to show him, “that +I did not even ask the price: I know I can not buy it!” + +“Perhaps he would give you credit!” suggested George, with a smile. + +“No! I will have nothing to do with credit! I should not be able to call +it my own!”--Money-honesty was strong in the laird. “But,” he continued, +“do try and persuade him to let me have it for a day or two--that I may +get its beauty by heart, and think of it all the days, and dream of it +all the nights of my life after!” + +“There will be no difficulty about that,” answered George. “The owner +will be delighted to let you keep it as long as you wish!” + +“I would it were so!” + +“It is so!” + +“You don't mean to say, George, that that queen of jewels is yours, and +you will lend it me?” + +“The thing is mine, but I will not lend it--not even to you, sir!” + +“I don't wonder!--I don't wonder! But it is a great disappointment! I +was beginning to hope I--I--might have the loan of it for a week or two +even!” + +“You should indeed if the thing were mine!” said George, playing him; +“but--” + +“Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you said it was yours!” + +“So it was when I brought it, but it is mine no longer. It is yours. I +purchased it for you this morning.” + +The old man was speechless. He rose, and seizing George by both hands, +stood staring at him. Something very like tears gathered within the +reddened rims of his eyes. He had grown paler and feebler of late, ever +in vain devising to secure possession of the cup--possession moral as +well as legal. But this entrancing gift brought with it strength and +hope in regard to the chalice! “To him that hath shall be given!” quoted +the Mammon within him. + +“George!” he said, with a moan of ecstasy, “you are my good angel!” and +sat down exhausted. The watch was the key to his “closet,” as he +persisted in calling his treasury. + +In old times not a few houses in Scotland held a certain tiny room, +built for the head of the family, to be his closet for prayer: it was, I +believe, with the notion of such a room in his head, that the laird had +called his museum his closet; and he was more right than he meant to be; +for in that chamber he did his truest worship--truest as to the love in +it, falsest as to its object; for there he worshiped the god vilest bred +of all the gods, bred namely of man's distrust in the Life of the +universe. + +And now here also were two met together to worship; for from this time +the laird, disclosing his secret, made George free of his sanctuary. + +George was by this time able to take a genuine interest in the +collection. But he was much amused, sometimes annoyed, with the behavior +of the laird in his closet: he was more nervous and touchy over his +things than a she-bear over her cubs. + +Of all dangers to his darlings he thought a woman the worst, and had +therefore seized with avidity the chance of making that room a hidden +one, the possibility of which he had spied almost the moment he first +entered it. + +He became, if possible, fonder of his things than ever, and flattered +himself he had found in George a fellow-worshiper: George's exaggerated +or pretended appreciation enhanced his sense of their value. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +ON THE MOOR. + +Alexa had a strong shaggy pony, which she rode the oftener that George +came so often; taking care to be well gone before he arrived on his +beautiful horse. + +One lovely summer evening she had been across the moor a long way, and +was returning as the sun went down. A glory of red molten gold was +shining in her face, so that she could see nothing in front of her, and +was a little startled by a voice greeting her with a respectful +good-evening. The same moment she was alongside of the speaker in the +blinding veil of the sun. It was Andrew walking home from a village on +the other side of the moor. She drew rein, and they went together. + +“What has come to you, Mr. Ingram?” she said; “I hear you were at church +last Sunday evening!” + +“Why should I not be, ma'am?” asked Andrew. + +“For the reason that you are not in the way of going.” + +“There might be good reason for going once, or for going many times, and +yet not for going always!” + +“We won't begin with quarreling! There are things we shall not agree +about!” + +“Yes; one or two--for a time, I believe!” returned Andrew. + +“What did you think of Mr. Rackstraw's sermon? I suppose you went to +hear _him_.'” + +“Yes, ma'am--at least partly.” + +“Well?” + +“Will you tell me first whether you were satisfied with Mr. Rackstraw's +teaching? I know you were there.” + +“I was quite satisfied.” + +“Then I don't see reason for saying anything about it.” + +“If I am wrong, you ought to try to set me right!” + +“The prophet Elisha would have done no good by throwing his salt into +the running stream. He cast it, you will remember, into the spring!” + +“I do not understand you.” + +“There is no use in persuading a person to change an opinion.” + +“Why not?” + +“Because the man is neither the better nor the worse for it. If you had +told me you were distressed to hear a man in authority speak as Mr. +Rackstraw spoke concerning a being you loved, I would have tried to +comfort you by pointing out how false it was. But if you are content to +hear God so represented, why should I seek to convince you of what is +valueless to you? Why offer you to drink what your heart is not +thirsting after? Would you love God more because you found He was not +what you were quite satisfied He should be?” + +“Do tell me more plainly what you mean?” + +“You must excuse me. I have said all I will. I can not reason in defense +of God. It seems blasphemy to argue that His nature is not such as no +honorable man could love in another man.” + +“But if the Bible says so?” + +“If the Bible said so, the Bible would be false. But the Bible does not +say so.” + +“How is it then that it seems to say so?” + +“Because you were taught falsely about Him before you desired to know +Him.” + +“But I am capable of judging now!” + +Andrew was silent. + +“Am I not?” insisted Alexa. + +“Do you desire to know God?” said Andrew. + +“I think I do know Him.” + +“And you think those things true?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then we are where we were, and I say no more.” + +“You are not polite.” + +“I can not help it. I must let you alone to believe about God what you +can. You will not be blamed for not believing what you can not.” + +“Do you mean that God never punishes any one for what He can not help?” + +“Assuredly.” + +“How do you prove that?” + +“I will not attempt to prove it. If you are content to think He does, if +it do not trouble you that your God should be unjust, go on thinking so +until you are made miserable by it, then I will pour out my heart to +deliver you.” + +She was struck, not with any truth in what he said, but with the evident +truthfulness of the man himself. Right or wrong, there was that about +him--a certain radiance of conviction--which certainly was not about Mr. +Rackstraw. + +“The things that can be shaken,” said Andrew, as if thinking with +himself, “may last for a time, but they will at length be shaken to +pieces, that the things which can not be shaken may show what they are. +Whatever we call religion will vanish when we see God face to face.” + +For awhile they went brushing through the heather in silence. + +“May I ask you one question, Mr. Ingram?” said Alexa. + +“Surely, ma'am! Ask me anything you like.” + +“And you will answer me?” + +“If I am at liberty to answer you I will.” + +“What do you mean by being at liberty? Are you under any vow?” + +“I am under the law of love. I am bound to do nothing to hurt. An answer +that would do you no good I will not give.” + +“How do you know what will or will not do me good?” + +“I must use what judgment I have.” + +“Is it true, then, that you believe God gives you whatever you ask?” + +“I have never asked anything of Him that He did not give me.” + +“Would you mind telling me anything you have asked of Him?” + +“I have never yet required to ask anything not included in the prayer, +'Thy will be done.'” + +“That will be done without your praying for it.” + +“Pardon me; I do not believe it will be done, to all eternity, without +my praying for it. Where first am I accountable that His will should be +done? Is it not in myself? How is His will to be done in me without my +willing it? Does He not want me to love what He loves?--to be like +Himself?--to do His will with the glad effort of my will?--in a word, to +will what He wills? And when I find I can not, what am I to do but pray +for help? I pray, and He helps me.” + +“There is nothing strange in that!” + +“Surely not It seems to me the simplest common sense. It is my business, +the business of every man, that God's will be done by his obedience to +that will, the moment he knows it.” + +“I fancy you are not so different from other people as you think +yourself. But they say you want to die.” + +“I want nothing but what God wants. I desire righteousness.” + +“Then you accept the righteousness of Christ?” + +“Accept it! I long for it.” + +“You know that it is not what I mean!” + +“I seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness.” + +“You avoid my question. Do you accept the righteousness of Christ +instead of your own?” + +“I have no righteousness of my own to put it instead of. The only +righteousness there is is God's, and He will make me righteous like +Himself. He is not content that His one Son only should be righteous; He +wants all His children to be righteous as He is righteous. The thing is +plain; I will not argue about it.” + +“You do not believe in the atonement.” + +“I believe in Jesus Christ. He is the atonement. What strength God has +given me I will spend in knowing Him and doing what He tells me. To +interpret His plans before we know Himself is to mistake both Him and +His plans. I know this, that he has given His life for what multitudes +who call themselves by His name would not rise from their seats to share +in.” + +“You think me incapable of understanding the gospel?” + +“I think if you did understand the gospel of Christ you would be +incapable of believing the things about His Father that you say you do +believe. But I will not say a word more. When you are able to see the +truth, you will see it; and when you desire the truth you will be able.” + +Alexa touched her pony with her whip. But by and by she pulled him up, +and made him walk till Andrew overtook her. + +The sun was by this time far out of sight, the glow of the west was +over, and twilight lay upon the world. Its ethereal dimness had sunk +into her soul. + +“Does the gloaming make you sad, Mr. Ingram?” she asked. + +“It makes me very quiet,” he answered--“as if all my people were asleep, +and waiting for me.” + +“Do you mean as if they were all dead? How can you talk of it so +quietly?” + +“Because I do not believe in death.” + +“What _do_ you mean?” + +“I am a Christian!” + +“I hope you are, Mr. Ingram, though, to be honest with you, some things +make me doubt it Perhaps you would say I am not a Christian.” + +“It is enough that God knows whether you are a Christian or not. Why +should I say you are or you are not?” + +“But I want to know what you meant when you said you were a Christian. +How should that make you indifferent to the death of your friends? Death +is a dreadful thing, look at it how you like.” + +“The Lord says, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.' If +my friends are not dead, but living and waiting for me, why should I +wait for them in a fierce, stormy night, or a black frost, instead of +the calm of such a sleeping day as this--a day with the son hid, +Shakespeare calls it.” + +“How you do mix up things! Shakespeare and Jesus Christ!” + +“God mixed them first, and will mix them a good deal more yet,” said +Andrew. + +But for the smile which would hover like a heavenly Psyche about his +mouth, his way of answering would sometimes have seemed curt to those +who did not understand him. Instead of holding aloof in his superiority, +however, as some thought he did when he would not answer, or answered +abruptly, Andrew's soul would be hovering, watching and hoping for a +chance of lighting, and giving of the best he had. He was like a great +bird changing parts with a child--the child afraid of the bird, and the +bird enticing the child to be friends. He had learned that if he poured +out his treasure recklessly it might be received with dishonor, and but +choke the way of the chariot of approaching truth. + +“Perhaps you will say next there is no such thing as suffering,” resumed +Alexa. + +“No; the Lord said that in the world His friends should have +tribulation.” + +“What tribulation have you, who are so specially His friend?” + +“Not much yet It is a little, however, sometimes, to know such strong, +and beautiful, and happy-making things, and all the time my people, my +beloved humans, born of my Father in heaven, with the same heart for joy +and sorrow, will not listen and be comforted, I think that was what made +our Lord sorriest of all.” + +“Mr. Ingram, I have no patience with you. How dare you liken your +trouble to that of our Lord--making yourself equal with Him!” + +“Is it making myself equal with Him to say that I understand a little +how He felt toward His fellow-men? I am always trying to understand Him; +would it be a wonder if I did sometimes a little? How is a man to do as +He did, without understanding Him?” + +“Are you going to work miracles next?” + +“Jesus was always doing what God wanted Him to do. That was what He came +for, not to work miracles. He could have worked a great many more if He +had pleased, but He did no more than God wanted of Him. Am I not to try +to do the will of God, because He who died that I might, always +succeeded however hard it was, and I am always failing and having to try +again?” + +“And you think you will come to it in this life?” + +“I never think about that; I only think about doing His will now--not +about doing it then--that is, to-morrow or next day or next world. I +know only one life--the life that is hid with Christ in God; and that is +the life by which I live here and now. I do not make schemes of life; I +live. Life will teach me God's plans; I will take no trouble about them; +I will only obey, and receive the bliss He sends me. And of all things I +will not make theories of God's plans for other people to accept. I will +only do my best to destroy such theories as I find coming between some +poor glooming heart, and the sun shining in his strength. Those who love +the shade of lies, let them walk in it until the shiver of the eternal +cold drive them to seek the face of Jesus Christ. To appeal to their +intellect would be but to drive them the deeper into the shade to +justify their being in it. And if by argument you did persuade them out +of it, they would but run into a deeper and worse darkness.” + +“How could that be?” + +“They would at once think that, by an intellectual stride they had +advanced in the spiritual life, whereas they would be neither the better +nor the worse. I know a man, once among the foremost in denouncing the +old theology, who is now no better than a swindler.” + +“You mean--” + +“No one you know, ma'am. His intellectual freedom seems only to have +served his spiritual subjugation. Right opinion, except it spring from +obedience to the truth, is but so much rubbish on the golden floor of +the temple.” + +The peace of the night and its luminous earnestness were gleaming on +Andrew's face, and Alexa, glancing up as he ceased, felt again the +inroad of a sense of something in the man that was not in the other men +she knew--the spiritual shadow of a dweller in regions beyond her ken. +The man was before her, yet out of her sight! + +The whole thing was too simple for her, only a child could understand it +Instead of listening to the elders and priests to learn how to save his +soul, he cast away all care of himself, left that to God, and gave +himself to do the will of Him from whose heart he came, even as the +eternal Life, the Son of God, required of him; in the mighty hope of +becoming one mind, heart, soul, one eternal being, with Him, with the +Father, with every good man, with the universe which was his +inheritance--walking in the world as Enoch walked with God, held by his +hand. This is what man was and is meant to be, what man must become; +thither the wheels of time are roaring; thither work all the silent +potencies of the eternal world; and they that will not awake and arise +from the dead must be flung from their graves by the throes of a +shivering world. + +When he had done speaking Andrew stood and looked up. A few stars were +looking down through the limpid air. Alexa rode on. Andrew let her go, +and walked after her alone, sure that her mind must one day open to the +eternal fact that God is all in all, the perfect friend of His children; +yea, that He would cease to be God sooner than fail His child in his +battle with death. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +THE WOOER. + +Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined +toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to +open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her +father. But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in +doubt no longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had +gone there with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her +hand, from which she was storing her mind with arguments against what +she supposed the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of +his condescending to front them with counter-argument. His voice +returned ever to the ear of her mind in words like these: “If you are +content to think so, you are in no condition to receive what I have to +communicate. Why should I press water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let +us wait for the drought of the desert, when life is a low fever, and the +heart is dry; when the earth is like iron, and the heavens above it are +as brass.” + +She started at the sound of George's voice. + +“What lovely weather!” he said. + +Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium--the side of +nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy +summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making. + +“Yes?” answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and +held her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted +again to eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental. + +“Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too +much of your attention, Alexa!” + +“You have been very kind, George!” she answered. + +“Kind is not asking much of your attention?” + +“Yea--that, and giving my father so much of yours.” + +“I certainly have seen more of him than of you!” returned George, hoping +her words meant reproach. “But he has always been kind to me, and +pleased to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!” + +To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he +had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get +out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to +pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true +and right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one +way of doing a thing! + +“I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!” + +“You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!” + +“No; then you were going away!” + +“Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?” + +“Not when he does not seem content with having come back!” + +“I do not understand!” + +But Alexa gave no explanation. + +“You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?” + +“Perhaps.” + +“That is, if you were sure I was not coming back.” + +“I did not _say_ so.” + +“I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any +misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between +us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!” + +“There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, +George--that you did not say anything before you went.” + +“I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!” + +“I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!” + +This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. + +“You are cruel!” he said. “I should have made it the business of my life +that you never did!” + +Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost +as soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human +pressure in which he had grown up! + +“I am certain I should,” persisted Alexa. + +“Why are you so certain?” + +“Because I am so glad now to think I am free.” + +“Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know +where the stab comes from!” + +“The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you +talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened +more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had +deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then +thought characterized you!” + +“Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your +friend the farmer!” + +“Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?” rejoined Alexa, +with some heat. + +“I mean that I am an honest man.” + +“I am doubtful of you.” + +“I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!” + +“It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do +you believe yourself an honest man?” + +“As men go, yes.” + +“But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world +when hearts are as open as faces?” + +He was silent. + +“Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of--” + +She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying “_Jesus +Christ_,” but felt she had no right, and hesitated. + +“--Of our friend Andrew?” supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. +“The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his +muscles--the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better +market--not he!” + +“It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a +dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were +not to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world +to make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he +could get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire +to get more--and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and +the poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent +to grow corn for them!” + +“And what did your father say to that wisdom?” + +“That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only +know,” added Alexa, with a little laugh, “that he is consistent, for he +has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in +him that sets him apart from other men!” + +“And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought _my_ +position too humble!” + +“What am I to understand by that?” + +“What you think I mean.” + +“I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!” + +Alexa rose and left him. + +George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands +in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty +smile, and said: “At least I have made her angry, and that's something! +What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's +not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!--a clod-hopper +born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and +Potlurg will never let _him_ have it! _I_ will see to that! The laird +hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent +myself!” + +His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he +never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at +all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most +she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full +of respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her +superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself +at a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant +to know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel +that, as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young +farmer disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by +no means agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did +not see anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew +she was handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one +heart-throb more because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good +as told her she was one of the dead who would not come alive! It would +be something to be loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly +to think of making any man love her--and even if he loved her she could +not marry a man in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two +were the lack but a point or two, but there was no stretching points to +the marrying of a peasant, without education, who worked on his father's +farm! The thing was ridiculous!--of course she knew that!--the very idea +too absurd to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to +marry George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite +fat! And he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something +about him _not_ like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a +cheap-jack! + +She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony +looked elf-ridden. + +But George had no intention of forsaking the house--yet, at least. He +was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with +her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, +the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the +neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any +lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that +he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By +this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for +things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the +laird's wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to +become his daughter's husband. He _would not_ accept her dismissal as +final! + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +THE HEART OF THE HEART. + +The laird had been poorly for some weeks, and Alexa began to fear that +he was failing. Nothing more had passed between him and Dawtie, but he +knew that anxious eyes were often watching him, and the thought worried +him not a little. If he would but take a start, thought Dawtie, and not +lose all the good of this life! It was too late for him to rise very +high; he could not now be a saint, but he might at least set a foot on +the eternal stair that leads to the fullness of bliss! He would have a +sore fight with all those imps of things, before he ceased to love that +which was not lovely, and to covet that which was not good! But the man +gained a precious benefit from this world, who but began to repent +before he left it! If only the laird would start up the hill before his +body got quite to the bottom! Was there any way to approach him again +with her petition that he would be good to himself, good to God, good to +the universe, that he would love what was worth loving, and cast away +what was not? She had no light, and could do nothing! + +Suddenly the old man failed quite--apparently from no cause but +weakness. The unease of his mind, the haunting of the dread thought of +having to part with the chalice, had induced it. He was in his closet +one night late into the morning, and the next day did not get up to +breakfast He wanted a little rest, he said. In a day he would be well! +But the hour to rise again, much anticipated, never came. He seemed very +troubled at times, and very desirous of getting up, but never was able. +It became necessary to sit with him at night. In fits of delirium he +would make fierce endeavor to rise, insisting that he must go to his +study. His closet he never mentioned: even in dreams was his secrecy +dominant. Dawtie, who had her share in nursing him, kept hoping her +opportunity would come. He did not seem to cherish any resentment +against her. His illness would protect him, he thought, from further +intrusion of her conscience upon his! She must know better than irritate +a sick man with overofficiousness! Everybody could not be a saint! It +was enough to be a Christian like other good and salvable Christians! It +was enough for him if through the merits of his Saviour he gained +admission to the heavenly kingdom at last! He never thought now, once +in, he could bear to stay in; never thought how heaven could be to him +other than the dullest place in the universe of God, more wearisome than +the kingdom of darkness itself! And all the time the young woman with +the savior-heart was watching by his bedside, ready to speak; but the +Spirit gave her no utterance, and her silence soothed his fear of her. + +One night he was more restless than usual. Waking from his troubled +slumber, he called her--in the tone of one who had something important +to communicate. + +“Dawtie,” he said, with feeble voice but glittering eye, “there is no +one I can trust like you. I have been thinking of what you said that +night ever since. Go to my closet and bring me the cup.” + +Dawtie held a moment's debate whether it would be right; but she +reflected that it made little difference whether the object of his +passion was in his hand or in his chest, while it was all the same deep +in his heart. Then his words seemed to imply that he wanted to take his +farewell of it; and to refuse his request might only fan the evil love, +and turn him from the good motion in his mind. She said: “Yes, sir,” and +stood waiting. He did not speak. + +“I do not know where to find it,” she said. + +“I am going to tell you,” he replied, but seemed to hesitate. + +“I will not touch a single thing beside,” said Dawtie. + +He believed her, and at once proceeded: + +“Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me. There is the key of the +closet door!--and there, the key of all the bunch that looks the +commonest, but is in reality the most cunningly devised, is the key of +the cabinet in which I keep it!” + +Then he told her where, behind a little book-case, which moved from the +wall on hinges, she would find the cabinet, and in what part of it the +cup, wrapped in a piece of silk that had once been a sleeve, worn by +_Mme. de Genlis_--which did not make Dawtie much wiser. + +She went, found the chalice, and brought it where the laird lay +straining his ears, and waiting for it as a man at the point of death +might await the sacramental cup from absolving priest. + +His hands trembled as he took it; for they were the hands of a +lover--strange as that love was, which not merely looked for no return, +but desired to give neither pleasure nor good to the thing loved! It was +no love of the merely dead, but a love of the unliving! He pressed the +thing to his bosom; then, as if rebuked by the presence of Dawtie, put +it a little from him, and began to pore over every stone, every +_repoussé_ figure between, and every engraved ornament around the gems, +each of which he knew, by shape, order, quality of color, better than +ever face of wife or child. But soon his hands sunk on the counterpane +of silk patchwork, and he lay still, grasping tight the precious thing. + +He woke with a start and a cry, to find it safe in both his hands. + +“Ugh!” he said; “I thought some one had me by the throat! You didn't try +to take the cup from me--did you, Dawtie?” + +“No, sir,” answered Dawtie; “I would not care to take it out of your +hand, but I _should_ be glad to take it out of your heart!” + +“If they would only bury it with me!” he murmured, heedless of her +words. + +“Oh, sir! Would you have it burning your heart to all eternity? Give it +up, sir, and take the treasure thief never stole.” + +“Yes, Dawtie, yes! That is the true treasure!” + +“And to get it we must sell all that we have!” + +“He gives and withholds as He sees fit.” + +“Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will +never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you +strength to fling it from you?” + +He hugged the chalice. + +“Fling it from me!” he cried, fiercely. “Girl, who are you to torment me +before my time!” + +“Tell me, sir,” persisted Dawtie, “why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou +that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?” + +“No one _can_ move without God.” + +“Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the +power to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not +using the strength God gives us!” + +“I can not bear the strain of thinking!” gasped the laird. + +“Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?” + +She put out her hand as she spoke. + +“No! no!” he cried, grasping the cup tighter. “You shall not touch it! +You would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is +beautiful!” + +“I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!” + +“You want to see my cup--it _is_ my cup!--in the hands of that +spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!” + +“It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!” + +“Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!” + +“They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from +you! Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep.” + + +“I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my +confidence in you! I _may_ fall asleep, but if your hand come within a +foot of the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my +heart in the cup, and the least touch will wake me!” + +“I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!” + +“What's the matter with _him?_” + +“Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what +is right.” + +“Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such +foolery?” + +His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light +of mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had +spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and +lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! +_He_ would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know +it safe and not far from him! + +Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. +She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat +like an image, moving only her eyes. + +“What are you about, Dawtie?” he said at length. “You are after some +mischief, you are so quiet!” + +“I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up +your odds and ends, and take Him instead.” + +“How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are _you_ to +say to _Him_ that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so and +so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!” + +“We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was +saying what I could for you.” The laird was silent, and the rest of the +night passed quietly. + +His first words in the morning were: + +“Go and tell your mistress I want her.” + +When his daughter came, he told her to send for George Crawford. He was +worse, he said, and wanted to see him. + +Alexa thought it best to send Dawtie with the message by the next train. +Dawtie did not relish the mission, for she had no faith in Crawford, and +did not like his influence on her master. Not the less when she reached +his hotel, she insisted on seeing him and giving her message in person; +which done, she made haste for the first train back: they could not do +well without her! When she arrived, there was Mr. Crawford already on +the platform! She set out as fast as she could, but she had not got +further than half-way when he overtook her in a fly, and insisted she +should get in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. + +“What is the matter with your master?” he asked. + +“God knows, sir.” + +“What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what _you_ +know.” + +“I don't know anything, sir.” + +“What do you think then?” + +“I should think old age had something to do with it, sir.” + +“Likely enough, but you know more than that!” + +“I shouldn't wonder, sir, if he were troubled in his mind.” + +“What makes you think so?” + +“It is reasonable to think so, sir. He knows he must die before long, +and it is dreadful to leave everything you care for, and go where there +is nothing you care for!” + +“How do you know there is nothing he would care for?” + +“What is there, sir, he would be likely to care for?” + +“There is his wife. He was fond of her, I suppose, and you pious people +fancy you will see each other again.” + +“The thought of seeing her would give him little comfort, I am afraid, +in parting with the things he has here. He believes a little somehow--I +can't understand how.” + +“What does he believe?” + +“He believes a little--he is not sure--that what a man soweth he shall +also reap.” + +“How do you know what he is or is not sure off? It can't be a matter of +interest to you?” + +“Those that come of one Father must have interest in one another.” + +“How am I to tell we come of one Father--as you call Him? I like to have +a thing proved before I believe it. I know neither where I came from, +nor where I am going; how then can I know that we come from the same +father?” + +“I don't know how you're to know it, sir. I take it for granted, and +find it good. But there is one thing I am sure of.” + +“What is that?” + +“That if you were my master's friend you would not rest till you got him +to do what was right before he died.” + +“I will not be father-confessor to any man. I have enough to do with +myself. A good worthy old man like the laird must know better than any +other what he ought to do.” + +“There is no doubt of that, sir.” + +“What do you want then?” + +“To get him to do it. That he knows, is what makes it so miserable. If +he did not know he would not be to blame. He knows what it is and won't +do it, and that makes him wretched--as it ought, thank God!” + +“You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. +Well.” + +“Yes,” answered Dawtie. + +George thought a little. + +“What would you have me persuade him to?” he asked, for he might hear +something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no +inclination to tell him what she knew. + +“I only wish you would persuade him to do what he knows he ought to do,” + she replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +THE WATCH. + +George stayed with the laird a good while, and held a long, broken talk +with him. When he went Alexa came. She thought her father seemed +happier. George had put the cup away for him. Alexa sat with him that +night. She knew nothing of such a precious thing being in the house--in +the room with them. + +In the middle of the night, as she was arranging his pillows, the laird +drew from under the bed-clothes, and held up to her, flashing in the +light of the one candle, the jeweled watch. She stared. The old man was +pleased at her surprise and evident admiration. She held out her hand +for it. He gave it her. + +“That watch,” he said, “is believed to have belonged to Ninon de +l'Enclos. It _may_, but I doubt it myself. It is well known she never +took presents from her admirers, and she was too poor to have bought +such a thing. Mme. de Maintenon, however, or some one of her +lady-friends, might have given it her. It will be yours one day--that +is, if you marry the man I should like you to marry.” + +“Dear father, do not talk of marrying. I have enough with you,” cried +Alexa, and felt as if she hated George. + +“Unfortunately, you can not have me always,” returned her father. “I +will say nothing more now, but I desire you to consider what I have +said.” + +Alexa put the watch in his hand. + +“I trust you do not suppose,” she said, “that a house full of things +like that would make any difference.” + +He looked up at her sharply. A house full--what did she know? It +silenced him, and he lay thinking. Surely the delight of lovely things +must be in every woman's heart. Was not the passion, developed or +undeveloped, universal? Could a child of his _not_ care for such things? + +“Ah,” he said to himself, “she takes after her mother.” + +A wall seemed to rise between him and his daughter. Alas! alas! the +things he loved and must one day yield would not be cherished by her. No +tender regard would hover around them when he was gone. She would be no +protecting divinity to them. God in heaven! she might--she would--he was +sure she would sell them. + +It seems the sole possible comfort of avarice, as it passes empty and +hungry into the empty regions--that the things it can no more see with +eyes or handle with hands will yet be together somewhere. Hence the rich +leave to the rich, avoiding the man who most needs, or would best use +their money. Is there a lurking notion in the man of much goods, I +wonder, that, in the still watches of the night, when men sleep, he will +return to look on what he leaves behind him? Does he forget the torture +of seeing it at the command, in the enjoyment of another--his will +concerning this thing or that but a mockery? Does he know that he who +then holds them will not be able to conceive of their having been or +ever being another's as now they are his? + +As Alexa sat in the dim light by her brooding father she loathed the +shining thing he had again drawn under the bed-clothes--shrunk from it +as from a manacle the devil had tried to slip on her wrist. The judicial +assumption of society suddenly appeared in the emptiness of its +arrogance. Marriage for the sake of _things_. Was she not a live soul, +made for better than that She was ashamed of the innocent pleasure the +glittering toy had given her. + +The laird cast now and then a glance at her face, and sighed. He +gathered from it the conviction that she would be a cruel step-mother to +his children, her mercy that of a loveless non-collector. It should not +be. He would do better for them than that. He loved his daughter, but +needed not therefore sacrifice his last hopes where the sacrifice would +meet with no acceptance. House and land should be hers, but not his +jewels; not the contents of his closet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +THE WILL. + +George came again to see him the next day, and had again a long +conference with him. The laird told him that he had fully resolved to +leave everything to his daughter, personal as well as real, on the one +condition that she should marry her cousin; if she would not, then the +contents of his closet, with his library, and certain articles +specified, should pass to Crawford. + +“And you must take care,” he said, “if my death should come suddenly, +that anything valuable in this room be carried into the closet before it +is sealed up.” + +Shrinking as he did from the idea of death, the old man was yet able, in +the interest of his possessions, to talk of it! It was as if he thought +the sole consolation that, in the loss of their owner, his things could +have, was the continuance of their intercourse with each other in the +heaven of his Mammon-besotted imagination. + +George responded heartily, showing a gratitude more genuine than fine: +every virtue partakes of the ground in which it is grown. He assured the +laird that, valuable as was in itself his contingent gift, which no man +could appreciate more than he, it would be far more valuable to him if +it sealed his adoption as his son-in-law. He would rather owe the +possession of the wonderful collection to the daughter than to the +father! In either case the precious property would be held as for him, +each thing as carefully tended as by the laird's own eye and hand! + +Whether it would at the moment have comforted the dying man to be +assured, as George might have him, that there would be nothing left of +him to grieve at the loss of his idols--nothing left of him but a +memory, to last so long as George and Alexa and one or two more should +remain unburied, I can not tell. It was in any case a dreary outlook for +him. Hope and faith and almost love had been sucked from his life by +“the hindering knot-grass” which had spread its white bloodless roots in +all directions through soul and heart and mind, exhausting and choking +in them everything of divinest origin. The weeds in George's heart were +of another kind, and better nor worse in themselves; the misery was that +neither of them was endeavoring to root them out. The thief who is +trying to be better is ages ahead of the most honorable man who is +making no such effort. The one is alive; the other is dead and on the +way to corruption. + +They treated themselves to a gaze together on the cup and the watch; +then George went to give directions to the laird's lawyer for the +drawing up of his new will. + +The next day it was brought, read, signed by the laird, and his +signature duly witnessed. + +Dawtie being on the spot was made one of the witnesses. The laird +trembled lest her fanaticism should break out in appeal to the lawyer +concerning the cup; he could not understand that the cup was nothing to +her; that she did not imagine herself a setter right of wrongs, but knew +herself her neighbor's keeper, one that had to deliver his soul from +death! Had the cup come into her possession, she would have sent it back +to the owner, but it was not worth her care that the Earl of Borland +should cast his eyes when he would upon a jewel in a cabinet! + +Dawtie was very white as he signed his name. Where the others saw but a +legal ceremony, she feared her loved master was assigning his soul to +the devil, as she had read of Dr. Faustus in the old ballad. He was +gliding away into the dark, and no one to whom he had done a good turn +with the Mammon of unrighteousness, was waiting to receive him into an +everlasting habitation! She had and she needed no special cause to love +her master, any more than to love the chickens and the calves; she loved +because something that could be loved was there present to her; but he +had always spoken kindly to her, and been pleased with her endeavor to +serve him; and now he was going where she could do nothing for +him!--except pray, as her heart and Andrew had taught her, knowing that +“all live unto _Him!_” But alas! what were prayers where the man would +not take the things prayed for! Nevertheless all things _were_ possible +with God, and she _would_ pray for him! + +It was also with white face, and it was with trembling hand that she +signed her own name, for she felt as if giving him a push down the icy +slope into the abyss. + +But when the thing was done, the old man went quietly to sleep, and +dreamed of a radiant jewel, glorious as he had never seen jewel, ever +within yet ever eluding his grasp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +THE SANGREAL. + +The next day he seemed better, and Alexa began to hope again. But in the +afternoon his pulse began to sink, and when Crawford came he could +welcome him only with a smile and a vain effort to put out his hand. +George bent down to him. The others, at a sign from his eyes, left the +room. + +“I can't find it, George!” he whispered. + +“I put it away for you last night, you remember!” answered George. + +“Oh, no, you didn't! I had it in my hand a minute ago! But I fell into a +doze, and it is gone! George, get it!--get it for me, or I shall go +mad!” George went and brought it him. + +“Thank you! thank you! Now I remember! I thought I was in hell, and they +took it from me!” + +“Don't you be afraid, sir! Fall asleep when you feel inclined. I will +keep my eye on the cup.” + +“You will not go away?” + +“No; I will stay as long as you like; there is nothing to take me away. +If I had thought you would be worse, I would not have gone last night.” + +“I'm not worse! What put that in your head? Don't you hear me speaking +better? I've thought about it, George, and am convinced the cup is a +talisman! I am better all the time I hold it! It was because I let you +put it away that I was worse last night--for no other reason. If it were +not a talisman, how else could it have so nestled itself into my heart! +I feel better, always, the moment I take it in my hand! There is +something more than common about that chalice! George, what if it should +be the Holy Grail!” + +He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his +countenance. His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. +Slowly his aged cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if +the joy of his life was come. + +“What if it should be the Holy Grail!” he repeated, and fell asleep with +the words on his lips. + +As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside +him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not +make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed +them. He seemed to think he was there for no good. + +“Would you like me to call Alexa?” said George. + +“Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!” he replied. + +George rose to go and call her. + +“Beware of her!” said the laird, with glazy eyes, “Beware of Dawtie!” + +“How?” asked George. + +“Beware of her,” he repeated. “If she can get the cup, she will! She +would take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call +Dawtie; call Dawtie!” + +Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George +went and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. + +“I will find her,” she said, and rose, but turned and asked: + +“How does he seem now?” + +“Rather worse,” George answered. + +“Are you going to be with him through the night?” + +“I am; he insists on my staying with him,” replied George, almost +apologetically. + +“Then,” she returned, “you must have some supper. We will go down, and +send up Dawtie.” + +He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress +found her. + +When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, “and white with +the whiteness of what is dead.” + +She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a +little, he began to talk wildly. + +“Oh, Agnes!” he cried, “do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what +Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; +my righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I _will_ go with +you. There! Slip that under your white robe--washed in the blood of the +Lamb. That will hide it--with the rest of my sins! The unbelieving +husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; I should +be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but it must +be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What should +I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single thing +besides--and it's so cold to have but one thing on--I mean one thing in +your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would be worse +than coming without it!” + +He was talking to his wife!--persuading her to smuggle the cup into +heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray +for him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her +prayer come only from her lips. + +“Ah,” said the voice of her master, “I thought so! How could I go up, +and you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was +impossible!” + +Dawtie opened her eyes--and there he was, holding back the curtain and +looking round the edge of it with a face of eagerness, effort, and hate, +as of one struggling to go, and unable to break away. + +She rose to her feet. + +“You are a fiend!” he cried. “I _will_ go with Agnes!” He gave a cry, +and ceased, and all was still. They heard the cry in the kitchen, and +came running up. + +They found Dawtie bending over her master, with a scared face. He seemed +to have struck her, for one cheek was marked with red streaks across its +whiteness. + +“The Grail! the Holy Grail!” he cried. “I found it! I was bringing it +home! She took it from me! She wants it to--” + +His jaw fell, and he was dead. Alexa threw herself beside the body. +George would have raised her, but she resisted, and lay motionless. He +stood then behind her, watching an opportunity to get the cup from under +the bed-clothes, that he might put it in the closet. + +He ordered Dawtie to fetch water for her mistress; but Alexa told her +she did not want any. Once and again George tried to raise her, and get +his hand under the bed-clothes to feel for the cup. + +“He is not dead!” cried Alexa; “he moved!” + +“Get some brandy,” said George. + +She rose, and went to the table for the brandy. George, with the +pretense of feeling the dead man's heart, threw back the clothes. He +could find no cup. It had got further down! He would wait! + +Alexa lifted her father's head on her arm, but it was plain that brandy +could not help. She went and sat on a chair away from the bed, hopeless +and exhausted. + +George lifted the clothes from the foot of the bed, then from the +further side, and then from the nearer, without attracting her +attention. The cup was nowhere to be seen! He put his hand under the +body, but the cup was not there! He had to leave the room that Dawtie +and Meg might prepare it for burial. Alexa went to her chamber. + +A moment after, George returned, called Meg to the door, and said: + +“There must be a brass cup in the bed somewhere! I brought it to amuse +him. He was fond of odd things, you know! If you should find it--” + +“I will take care of it,” answered Meg, and turned from him curtly. + +George felt he had not a friend in the house, and that he must leave +things as they were! The door of the closet was locked, and he could not +go again to the death-chamber to take the laird's keys from the head of +the bed! He knew that the two women would not let him. It had been an +oversight not to secure them! He was glad the watch was safe: that he +had put in the closet before!--but it mattered little when the cup was +missing! He went to the stable, got out his horse, and rode home in the +still gray of a midsummer night. + +The stillness and the night seemed thinking to each other. George had +little imagination, but what he had woke in him now as he rode slowly +along. Step by step the old man seemed following him, on silent +church-yard feet, through the eerie whiteness of the night. There was +neither cloud nor moon, only stars above and around, and a great cold +crack in the north-east. He was crying after him, in a voice he could +not make him hear! Was he not straggling to warn him not to come into +like condemnation? The voice seemed trying to say, “I know! I know now! +I would not believe, but I know now! Give back the cup; give it back!” + +George did not allow to himself that there was “anything” there. It was +but a vague movement in that commonplace, unmysterious region, his mind! +He heard nothing, positively nothing, with his ears--therefore there was +nothing! It was indeed somehow as if one were saying the words, but in +reality they came only as a thought rising, continually rising, in his +mind! It was but a thought-sound, and no speech: “I know now! I know +now! Give it back; give the cup back!” He did not ask himself how the +thought came; he cast it away as only that insignificant thing, a +thought--cast it away none the less that he found himself answering +it--“I can't give it back; I can't find it! Where did you put it? You +must have taken it with you!” + +“What rubbish!” he said to himself ten times, waking up; “of course +Dawtie took it! Didn't the poor old fellow warn me to beware of her! +Nobody but her was in the room when we ran in, and found him at the +point of death! Where did you put it? I can't find it! I can't give it +back!” + +He went over in his mind all that had taken place. The laird had the cup +when he left him to call Dawtie; and when they came, it was nowhere! He +was convinced the girl had secured it--in obedience, doubtless, to the +instruction of her director, ambitious to do justice, and curry favor by +restoring it! But he could do nothing till the will was read! Was it +possible Lexy had put it away? No; she had not had the opportunity! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. + +With slow-pacing shadows, the hot hours crept athwart the heath, and the +house, and the dead, and carried the living with them in their invisible +current. There is no tide in time; it is a steady current, not +returning. Happy they whom it bears inward to the center of things! +Alas, for those whom it carries outward to “the flaming walls of +creation!” The poor old laird who, with all his refinement, all his +education, all his interest in philology, prosody, history, and +_reliquial_ humanity, had become the slave of a goblet, had left it +behind him, had faced the empty universe empty-handed, and vanished with +a shadow-goblet in his heart; the eyes that gloated over the gems had +gone to help the grass to grow. But the will of the dead remained to +trouble for a time the living, for it put his daughter in a painful +predicament: until Crawford's property was removed from the house, it +would give him constant opportunity of prosecuting the suit which Aleza +had reason to think he intended to resume, and the thought of which had +become to her insupportable. + +Great was her astonishment when she learned to what the door in the +study led, and what a multitude of curious and valuable things were +there of whose presence in the house she had never dreamed. She would +gladly have had them for herself; and it pained her to the heart to +think of the disappointment of the poor ghost when he saw, if he could +see, his treasured hoard emptied out of its hidden and safe abode. For, +even if George should magnanimously protest that he did not care for the +things enough to claim them, and beg that they might remain where they +were, she could not grant his request, for it would be to accept them +from him. Had her father left them to her, she would have kept them as +carefully as even he could desire--with this difference only, that she +would not have shut them up from giving pleasure to others. + +She was growing to care more about the truth--gradually coming to see +that much she had taken for a more liberal creed, was but the same +falsehoods in weaker forms, less repulsive only to a mind indifferent to +the paramount claims of God on His child. She saw something of the +falseness and folly of attempting to recommend religion as not so +difficult, so exclusive, so full of prohibition as our ancestors +believed it. She saw that, although Andrew might regard some things as +freely given which others thought God forbade, yet he insisted on what +was infinitely higher and more than the abandonment of everything +pleasant--the abnegation, namely, of the very self, and the reception of +God instead. She had hitherto been, with all her supposed progress, only +a recipient of the traditions of the elders! There must be a deeper +something--the real religion! She did not yet see that the will of God +lay in another direction altogether than the heartiest reception of +dogma!--that God was too great and too generous to care about anything +except righteousness, and only wanted us to be good children!--that even +honesty was but the path toward righteousness, a condition so pure that +honesty itself would never more be an object of thought! + +She pondered much about her father, and would find herself praying for +him, careless of what she had been taught. She could not blind herself +to what she knew. He had not been a bad man, as men count badness, but +could she in common sense think him a glorified saint, shining in white +robes? The polite, kind old man! her own father!--could she, on the +other hand, believe him in flames forever? If so, what a religion was +that which required her to believe it, and at the same time to rejoice +in the Lord always! + +She longed for something positive to believe, something into accordance +with which she might work her feelings. She was still on the outlook for +definite intellectual formulae to hold. Her intercourse with Andrew had +as yet failed to open her eyes to the fact that the faith required of us +is faith in a person, and not in the truest of statements concerning +anything, even concerning him; or to the fact, that faith in the living +One, the very essence of it, consists in obedience to Him. A man can +obey before he is sure, and except he obey the command he knows to be +right, wherever it may come from, he will never be sure. To find the +truth, man or woman must be true. + +But she much desired another talk with Andrew. + +Persuading himself that Alexa's former feeling toward him must in her +trouble reassert itself, and confident that he would find her loath to +part with her father's wonderful collection, George waited the effect of +the will. After the reading of it he had gone away directly, that his +presence might not add to the irritation which he concluded, not without +reason, it must, even in the midst of her sorrow, cause in her; but at +the end of a week he wrote, saying that he felt it his duty, if only in +gratitude to his friend, to inform himself as to the attention the +valuable things he had left him might require. He assured Alexa that he +had done nothing to influence her father in the matter, and much +regretted the awkward position in which his will had placed both her and +him. At the same time it was not unnatural that he should wish such +precious objects to be possessed by one who would care for them as he +had himself cared for them. He hoped, therefore, that she would allow +him access to her father's rooms. He would not, she might rest assured, +intrude himself upon her sorrow, though he would be compelled to ask her +before long whether he might hope that her father's wish would have any +influence in reviving the favor which had once been the joy of his life. + +Alexa saw that if she consented to see him he would take it as a +permission to press his claim, and the idea was not to be borne. She +wrote him therefore a stiff letter, telling him the house was at his +service, but he must excuse herself. + +The next morning brought him early to Potlurg. The cause of his haste +was his uneasiness about the chalice. + +Old Meg opened the door to him, and he followed her straight into the +drawing-room. Alexa was there, and far from expecting him. But, annoyed +at his appearance as she was, she found his manner and behavior less +unpleasant than at any time since his return. He was gentle and +self-restrained, assuming no familiarity beyond that of a distant +relative, and gave the impression of having come against his will, and +only from a sense of duty. + +“Did you not have my note?” she asked. + +He had hoped, he said, to save her the trouble of writing. + +She handed him her father's bunch of keys, and left the room. + +George went to the laird's closet, and having spent an hour in it, again +sought Alexa. The wonderful watch was in his hand. + +“I feel the more pleasure, Alexa,” he said, “in begging you to accept +this trinket, that it was the last addition to your dear father's +collection. I had myself the good fortune to please him with it a few +days before his death.” + +“No, thank you, George,” returned Alexa. “It is a beautiful thing--my +father showed it me--but I can not take it.” + +“It was more of you than him I thought when I purchased it, Alexa. You +know why I could not offer it you.” + +“The same reason exists now.” + +“I am sorry to have to force myself on your attention, but--” + +“Dawtie!” cried Alexa. + +Dawtie came running. + +“Wait a minute, Dawtie. I will speak to you presently,” said her +mistress. + +George rose. He had laid the watch on the table, and seemed to have +forgotten it. + +“Please take the watch with you,” said Alexa. + +“Certainly, if you wish it!” he answered. + +“And my father's keys, too,” she added. + +“Will you not be kind enough to take charge of them?” + +“I would rather not be accountable for anything under them. No; you must +take the keys.” + +“I can not help regretting,” said George, “that your honored father +should have thought fit to lay this burden of possession upon me.” + +Alexa made no answer. + +“I comforted myself with the hope that you would feel them as much your +own as ever!” he resumed, in a tone of disappointment and dejection. + +“I did not know of their existence before I knew they were never to be +mine.” + +“Never, Alexa?” + +“Never.” + +George walked to the door, but there turned, and said: + +“By the way, you know that cup your father was so fond of?” + +“No.” + +“Not that gold cup, set with stones?” + +“I saw something in his hands once, in bed, that might have been a cup.” + +“It is a thing of great value--of pure gold, and every stone in it a +gem.” + +“Indeed!” returned Alexa, with marked indifference. + +“Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope +Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced +it at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was +wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him +when he died; that I know.” + +“And it is missing?” + +“Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the +laird at the last.” + +Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up +with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing. + +“Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?” asked her mistress. + +“No, ma'am.” + +“Do you know it?” + +“Very well, ma'am.” + +“Then you don't know what has become of it?” + +“No, ma'am; I know nothing about it.” + +“Take care, Dawtie,” said George. “This is a matter that will have to be +searched into.” + +“When did you last see it, Dawtie?” inquired Alexa. + +“The very day my master died, ma'am. He was looking at it, but when he +saw I saw him he took it inside the bed-clothes.” + +“And you have not seen it since?” + +“No, ma'am.” + +“And you do not know where it is?” said George. + +“No, sir. How should I?” + +“You never touched it?” + +“I can not say that, sir; I brought it him from his closet; he sent me +for it.” + +“What do you think may have become of it?” + +“I don't know, sir.” + +“Would you allow me to make a thorough search in the place where it was +last seen?” asked George, turning to his cousin. + +“By all means. Dawtie, go and help Mr. Crawford to look.” + +“Please, ma'am, it can't be there. We've had the carpet up, and the +floor scrubbed. There's not a hole or a corner we haven't been into--and +that yesterday.” + +“We must find it,” said George. “It must be in the house.” + +“It must, sir,” said Dawtie. + +But George more than doubted it + +“I do believe,” he said, “the laird would rather have lost his whole +collection.” + +“Indeed, sir, I think he would.” + +“Then you have talked to him about it?” + +“Yes, I have, sir,” answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the +question. + +“And you know the worth of the thing?” + +“Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say +pounds and pounds.” + +“Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, _where is it?_” + +“I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!” + +“Why do you wish you did?” + +“Because--” began Dawtie, and stopped short; she shrunk from impugning +the honesty of the dead man--and in the presence of his daughter. + +“It looks a little fishy, don't it, Dawtie? Why not speak straight out? +Perhaps you would not mind searching Meg's trunk for me. She may have +taken it for a bit of old brass, you know.” + +“I will answer for my servants, Mr. Crawford,” said Alexa. “I will not +have old Meg's box searched.” + +“It is desirable to get rid of any suspicion,” replied George. + +“I have none,” returned Alexa. + +George was silent + +“I will ask Meg, if you like, sir,” said Dawtie; “but I am sure it will +be no use. A servant in this house soon learns not to go by the look of +things. We don't treat anything here as if we knew all about it.” + +“When did you see the goblet first?” persisted George. + +“Goblet, sir? I thought you were speaking of the gold cup.” + +By _goblet_ Dawtie understood a small iron pot. + +“Goblet, or cup, or chalice--whatever you like to call it--I ask how you +came to know about it.” + +“I know very little about it.” + +“It is plain you know more than you care to tell. If you will not answer +me you will have to answer a magistrate.” + +“Then I will answer a magistrate,” said Dawtie, beginning to grow angry. + +“You had better answer me, Dawtie. It will be easier for you. What do +you know about the cup?” + +“I know it was not master's, and is not yours--really and truly.” + +“What can have put such a lie in your head?” + +“If it be a lie, sir, it is told in plain print.” + +“Where?” + +But Dawtie judged it time to stop. She bethought herself that she would +not have said so much had she not been angry. + +“Sir,” she answered, “you have been asking me questions all this time, +and I have been answering them; it is your turn to answer me one.” + +“If I see proper.” + +“Did my old master tell you the history of that cup?” + +“I do not choose to answer the question.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +Dawtie turned to leave the room. + +“Stop! stop!” cried Crawford; “I have not done with you yet, my girl. +You have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong +to the laird.” + +“I do not choose to answer the question,” said Dawtie. + +“Then you shall answer it to a magistrate.” + +“I will, sir,” she replied, and stood. + +Crawford left the room. + +He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on +each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her +heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it. + +The words rose in her mind: + +“It must needs be that offenses come, but woe onto that man by whom they +come.” + +She was at once filled with pity for the man who could side with the +wrong, and want everything his own way, for, sooner or later, confusion +must be his portion; the Lord had said: “There is nothing covered that +shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known.” + +“He needs to be shamed,” she said, “but he is thy child; care for him, +too.” + +George felt that he had not borne a dignified part, and knew that his +last chance with Alexa was gone. Then he too felt the situation +unendurable, and set about removing his property. He wrote to Alexa that +he could no longer doubt it her wish to be rid of the collection, and +able to use the room. It was desirable also, he said, that a thorough +search should be made in those rooms before he placed the matter of the +missing cup in the hands of the magistrates. + +Dawtie's last words had sufficed to remove any lingering doubt as to +what had become of the chalice. It did not occur to him that one so +anxious to do the justice of restoration would hardly be capable of +telling lies, of defiling her soul that a bit of property might be +recovered; he took it for granted that she meant to be liberally +rewarded by the earl. + +George would have ill understood the distinction Dawtie made--that the +body of the cup _might_ belong to him, but the soul of the cup _did_ +belong to another; or her assertion that where the soul was there the +body ought to be; or her argument that He who had the soul had the right +to ransom the body--a reasoning possible to a child-like nature only; +she had pondered to find the true law of the case, and this was her +conclusion. + +George suspected, and grew convinced that Alexa was a party to the +abstraction of the cup. She had, he said, begun to share in the +extravagant notions of a group of pietists whose leader was that +detestable fellow, Ingram. Alexa was attached to Dawtie, and Dawtie was +one of them. He believed Alexa would do anything to spite him. To bring +trouble on Dawtie would be to punish her mistress, and the pious farmer, +too. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +THE PROSECUTION. + +As soon as Crawford had his things away from Potlurg, satisfied the cup +was nowhere among them, he made a statement of the case to a magistrate +he knew; and so represented it, as the outcome of the hypocrisy of +pietism, that the magistrate, hating everything called fanatical, at +once granted him a warrant to apprehend Dawtie on the charge of theft. + +It was a terrible shock. Alexa cried out with indignation. Dawtie turned +white and then red, but uttered never a word. + +“Dawtie,” said her mistress, “tell me what you know about the cup. You +do know something that you have not told me!” + +“I do, ma'am, but I will not tell it except I am forced.” + +“That you are going to be, my poor girl! I am very sorry, for I am +perfectly sure you have done nothing you know to be wrong!” + +“I have done nothing you or anybody would think wrong, ma'am.” + +She put on her Sunday frock, and went down to go with the policeman. To +her joy she found her mistress at the door, ready to accompany her. They +had two miles or more to walk, but that was nothing to either. + +Questioned by the magistrate, not unkindly, for her mistress was there, +Dawtie told everything--how first she came upon the likeness and history +of the cup, and then saw the cup itself in her master's hands. + +Crawford told how the laird had warned him against Dawtie, giving him to +understand that she had been seized with a passion for the goblet such +that she would peril her soul to possess it, and that he dared not let +her know where it was. + +“Sir,” said Dawtie, “he could na hae distrusted me like that, for he gae +me his keys, and sent me to fetch the cup when he was ower ill to gang +till't.” + +“If that be true, your worship,” said Crawford, “it does not affect the +fact that the cup was in the hands of the old man when I left him and +she went to him, and from that moment it has not been seen.” + +“Did he have it when you went to him?” asked the magistrate. + +“I didna see't, sir. He was in a kind o' faint when I got up.” + +Crawford said that, hearing a cry, he ran up again, and found the old +man at the point of death, with just strength to cry out before he died, +that Dawtie had taken the cup from him. Dawtie was leaning over him, but +he had not imagined the accusation more than the delirious fancy of a +dying man, till it appeared that the cup was not to be found. + +The magistrate made out Dawtie's commitment for trial. He remarked that +she might have been misled by a false notion of duty: he had been +informed that she belonged to a sect claiming the right to think for +themselves on the profoundest mysteries--and here was the result! There +was not a man in Scotland less capable of knowing what any woman was +thinking, or more incapable of doubting his own insight. + +Doubtless, he went on, she had superstitiously regarded the cup as +exercising a Satanic influence on the mind of her master; but even if +she confessed it now, he must make an example of one whose fanaticism +would set wrong right after the notions of an illiterate sect, and not +according to the laws of the land. He just send the case to be tried by +a jury! If she convinced the twelve men composing that jury, of the +innocence she protested, she would then be a free woman. + +Dawtie stood very white all the time he was speaking, and her lips every +now and then quivered as if she were going to cry, but she did not. +Alexa offered bail, but his worship would not accept it: his righteous +soul was too indignant. She went to Dawtie and kissed her, and together +they followed the policeman to the door, where Dawtie was to get into a +spring-cart with him, and be driven to the county town, there to lie +waiting the assizes. + +The bad news had spread so fast that as they came out, up came Andrew. +At sight of him Dawtie gently laughed, like a pleased child. The +policeman, who, like many present, had been prejudiced by her looks in +her favor, dropped behind, and she walked between her mistress and +Andrew to the cart. + +“Dawtie!” said Andrew. + +“Oh, Andrew! has God forgotten me?” she returned, stopping short. + +“For God to forget,” answered Andrew, “would be not to be God any +longer!” + +“But here I am on my road til a prison, Andrew! I didna think He would +hae latten them do't!” + +“A bairn micht jist as weel say, whan its nurse lays't intil its cradle, +and says: 'Noo, lie still!' 'Mammy, I didna think ye would hae latten +her do't!' He's a' aboot ye and in ye, Dawtie, and this is come to ye +jist to lat ye ken 'at He is. He raised ye up jist to spen' His glory +upo'! I say, Dawtie, did Jesus Christ deserve what He got?” + +“No ae bit, Andrew! What for should ye speir sic a thing?” + +“Then do ye think God hae forgotten Him?” + +“May be He thoucht it jist for a minute!” + +“Well, ye hae thoucht jist for a minute, and ye maun think it nae mair.” + +“But God couldna forget _Him_, An'rew: He got it a' for doin' His will!” + +“Evil may come upon as from other causes than doing the will of God; but +from whatever cause it comes, the thing we have to see to is, that +through it all we do the will of God!” + +“What's His will noo, An'rew?” + +“That ye tak it quaietly. Shall not the Father do wi' His ain child what +He will! Can He no shift it frae the tae airm to the tither, but the +bairn maun girn? He has ye, Dawtie! It's a' richt!” + +“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him!” said Dawtie. + +She raised her head. The color had come back to her face; her lips had +ceased to tremble; she stepped on steadily to where, a few yards from +the door, the spring-cart was waiting her. She bade her mistress +good-bye, then turned to Andrew and said: + +“Good-bye, An'rew! I am not afraid.” + +“I am going with you, Dawtie,” said Andrew. + +“No, sir, you can't do that!” said the policeman; “at least you can't go +in the trap!” + +“No, no, Andrew!” cried Dawtie. “I would rather go alone. I am quite +happy now. God will do with me as He pleases!” + +“I am going with you,” said Alexa, “if the policeman will let me.” + +“Oh, yes, ma'am! A lady's different!--I've got to account for the +prisoner you see, sir!” + +“I don't think you should, ma'am,” said Dawtie. “It's a long way!” + +“I am going,” returned her mistress, decisively. + +“God bless you, ma'am!” said Andrew. + +Alexa had heard what he said to Dawtie. A new light had broken upon her. +“God is like that, is He?” she said to herself. “You can go close up to +Him whenever you like?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +A TALK AT POTLURG. + +It would be three weeks before the assizes came. The house of Potlurg +was searched by the police from garret to cellar, but in vain; the cup +was not found. + +As soon as they gave up searching, Alexa had the old door of the laird's +closet, discernible enough on the inside, reopened, and the room +cleaned. Almost unfurnished as it was, she made of it her +sitting-parlor. But often her work or her book would lie on her lap, and +she would find herself praying for the dear father for whom she could do +nothing else now, but for whom she might have done so much, had she been +like Dawtie. Her servant had cared for her father more than she! + +As she sat there one morning alone, brooding a little, thinking a +little, reading a little, and praying through it all, Meg appeared, and +said Maister Andrew wanted to see her. + +He had called more than once to inquire after Dawtie, but had not before +asked to see her mistress. + +Alexa felt herself unaccountably agitated. When he walked into the room, +however, she was able to receive him quietly. He came, he said, to ask +when she had seen Dawtie. He would have gone himself to see her, but his +father was ailing, and he had double work to do. Besides, she did not +seem willing to see him! Alexa told him she had been with her the day +before, and had found her a little pale, and, she feared, rather +troubled in her mind. She said she would trust God to the last, but +confessed herself assailed by doubts. + +“I said to her,” continued Alexa, “'Be sure, Dawtie, God will make your +innocence known one day!' She answered: 'Of course, ma'am, there is +nothing hidden that shall not be known; but I am not impatient about +that. The Jews to this day think Jesus an impostor!' 'But surely,' said +I, 'you care that people should understand you are no thief, Dawtie!' +'Yes, I do,' she answered; 'all I say is, that is does not trouble me. I +want only to be downright sure that God is looking after me all the +time. I am willing to sit in prison till I die, if He pleases.' 'God +can't please that!' I said. 'If He does not care to take me out, I do +not care to go out,' said Dawtie. 'It's not that I'm good; it's only +that I don't care for anything He doesn't care for. What would it be +that all men acquitted me, if God did not trouble Himself about His +children!'” + +“You see, ma'am, it comes to this,” said Andrew: “it is God Dawtie cares +about, not herself! If God is all right, Dawtie is all right. The _if_ +sometimes takes one shape, sometimes another, but the fear is the +same--and the very fear is faith. Sometimes the fear is that there may +be no God, and that you might call a fear for herself; but when Dawtie +fears lest God should not be caring for her, that is a fear for God; for +if God did not care for His creature, He would be no true God!” + +“Then He could not exist!” + +“True; and so you are back on the other fear!” + +“What would you have said to her, Mr. Ingram?” + +“I would have reminded her that Jesus was perfectly content with His +Father; that He knew what was coming on Himself, and never doubted +Him--just gloried that His Father was what He knew Him to be.” + +“I see! But what did you mean when you said that Dawtie's very fear was +faith?” + +“Think, ma'am: people that only care to be saved, that is, not to be +punished for their sins, are anxious only about themselves, not about +God and His glory at all. They talk about the glory of God, but they +make it consist in pure selfishness! According to them, He seeks +everything for Himself; which is dead against the truth of God, a +diabolic slander of God. It does not trouble them to believe such things +about God; they do not even desire that God should not be like that; +they only want to escape Him. They dare not say God will not do this or +that, however clear it be that it would not be fair; they are in terror +of contradicting the Bible. They make more of the Bible than of God, and +so fail to find the truth of the Bible, and accept things concerning God +which are not in the Bible, and are the greatest of insults to Him! +Dawtie never thinks about saving her soul; she has no fear about her +soul; she is only anxious about God and His glory. How the doubts come, +God knows; but if she did not love God, they would not be there. Jesus +says God will speedily avenge His elect--those that cry day and night to +Him--which I take to mean that He will soon save them from all such +miseries. Free Dawtie from unsureness about God, and she has no fear +left. All is well, in the prison or on the throne of God, if He only be +what she thinks He is. If any one say that doubt can not coexist with +faith, I answer, it can with love, and love is the greater of the two, +yea, is the very heart of faith itself. God's children are not yet God's +men and women. The God that many people believe in, claiming to be _the_ +religious because they believe in Him, is a God not worth believing in, +a God that ought not to be believed in. The life given by such a God +would be a life not worth living, even if He made His votaries as happy +as they would choose to be. A God like that could not make a woman like +Dawtie anxious about Him! If God be not each as Jesus, what good would +the proving of her innocence be to Dawtie! A mighty thing indeed that +the world should confess she was not a thief! But to know that there is +a perfect God, one for us to love with all the power of love of which we +feel we are capable, is worth going out of existence for; while to know +that God himself, must make every throb of consciousness a divine +ecstasy!” + +Andrew's heart was full, and out of its fullness he spoke. Never before +had he been able in the presence of Alexa to speak as he felt. Never +before had he had any impulse to speak as now. As soon would he have +gone to sow seed on a bare rock, as words of spirit and life in her +ears! + +“I am beginning to understand you,” she said. “Will you forgive me? I +have been very self-confident and conceited! What a mercy things are not +as I thought they were--thought they ought to be!” + +“And the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the +sea!” said Andrew. “And men's hearts shall be full of bliss, because +they have found their Father, and He is what He is, and they are going +home to Him.” + +He rose. + +“You will come and see me again soon--will you not?” she said. + +“As often as you please, ma'am; I am your servant.” + +“Then come to-morrow.” + +He went on the morrow, and the next day, and the day after--almost every +day while Dawtie was waiting her trial. + +Almost every morning Alexa went by train to see Dawtie; and the news she +brought, Andrew would carry to the girl's parents. Dawtie continued +unwilling to see Andrew: he had had trouble enough with her already, she +said; but Andrew could not quite understand her refusal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +A GREAT OFFERING. + +Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was +a cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath, +which came close up to the back of the house. + +When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and +Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw +her shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man +hands, he pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a +pitying admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and +ere she knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her +eyes that Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by +that sense of class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of +heaven, she attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the +conviction rose in her, which has often risen in such as she, that there +is a magnanimity demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional +dignity, but of conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to +be more than great, must stoop; that it was her part to make the +approach which, between equals, was the part of the man; the patroness +_must_ do what the woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman; +and he should not, because of the humility that dared not presume, fail +of what he deserved! + +“Andrew,” she said, “I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not +like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now--know you as +far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!” + +“Oh, no, no, ma'am!” protested Andrew. + + +“Hear me out, Andrew,” she interrupted--then paused a little. + +“Tell me,” she resumed, “ought we not to love best the best we know?” + +“Surely, ma'am!” he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what +was on the way. + +“Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the +world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take +me, I am yours.” + +She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave +and a right thing. + +Andrew stood stock-still. + +“_Me_, ma'am!” he gasped, and grew pale--then red as a foggy sun. But he +made scarcely a moment's pause. + +“It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!” he said. “But I can not +make the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I +can say no more.” + +His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to +conceal his emotion. + +And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself +up with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved +divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said: + +“Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not +be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!” + +“Thank you, ma'am!” said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and +neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house. + +Said Alexa to herself: + +“I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I +made no mistake in _him_!” + +When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and +said, holding it in his hand as he spoke: + +“Good-night, ma'am! You _will_ send for me if you want me?” + +“I will. Good-night!” said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on +her heart. + +Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day +old Meg, at least, saw no change in her. + +Said Andrew to himself: + +“I will be her servant always.” + +He was humbled, not uplifted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +ANOTHER OFFERING. + +The next evening, that before the trial, Andrew presented himself at the +prison, and was admitted. Dawtie came to meet him, held out her hand, +and said: + +“Thank you, Andrew!” + +“How are you, Dawtie?” + +“Well enough, Andrew!” + +“God is with us, Dawtie.” + +“Are you sure, Andrew?” + +“Dawtie, I can not see God's eyes looking at me, but I am ready to do +what He wants me to do, and so I feel He is with me.” + +“Oh, Andrew, I wish I could be sure!” + +“Let us take the risk together, Dawtie!” + +“What risk, Andrew?” + +“The risk that makes you not sure, Dawtie--the risk that is at once the +worst and the least--the risk that our hope should be in vain, and there +is no God. But, Dawtie, there is that in my heart that cries Christ +_did_ die, and _did_ rise again, and God is doing His best. His perfect +love is our perfect safety. It is hard upon Him that His own children +will not trust Him!” + +“If He would but show Himself!” + +“The sight of Him now would make us believe in Him without knowing Him; +and what kind of faith would that be for Him or for us! We should be bad +children, taking Him for a weak parent! We must _know_ Him! When we do, +there will be no fear, no doubt. We shall run straight home! Dawtie, +shall we go together?” + +“Yes, surely, Andrew! God knows I try. I'm ready to do whatever you tell +me, Andrew!” + +“No, Dawtie! You must never do what I tell you, except you think it +right.” + +“Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!” + +“We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!” + +“Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!” responded Dawtie, turning to +her vernacular. + +“Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!” + +She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes +she looked through and beyond his words. + +She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed. + +“Winna ye, Dawtie?” said Andrew, holding out his hands. + +“I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew.” + +“Ye h'avenly idiot,” cried Andrew. “Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?” + +Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head--straight up, her head fell +back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, her +arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew +taken her. + +“Andrew! Andrew!” she sighed, and was still in his arms. + +“Winna ye, Dawtie?” he whispered. + +“Wait,” she murmured; “wait.” + +“I winna wait, Dawtie.” + +“Wait till ye hear what they'll say the morn.” + +“Dawtie, I'm ashamed o' ye. What care I, an' what daur ye care what they +say. Are ye no the Lord's clean yowie? Gien ye care for what ony man +thinks o' ye but the Lord himsel', ye're no a' His. Gien ye care for +what I think o' ye, ither-like nor what He thinks, ye're no sae His as I +maun hae ye afore we pairt company--which, please God, 'ill be on the +ither side o' eternity.” + +“But, An'rew, it winna do to say o' yer father's son 'at he took his +wife frae the jail.” + +“'Deed they s' say naething ither! What ither cam I for? Would ye hae me +ashamed o' ane o' God's elec'--a lady o' the Lord's ain coort?” + +“Eh, but I'm feart it's a' the compassion o' yer hert, sir. Ye wad fain +mak' up to me for the disgrace. Ye could weel do wantin' me.” + +“I winna say,” returned Andrew, “that I couldna live wantin' ye, for +that wad be to say I wasna worth offerin' ye, and it would be to deny +Him 'at made you and me for ane anither, but I wad have a some sair +time! I'll jist speak to the minister to be ready the minute the Lord +opens yer prison-door.” + +The same moment in came the governor with his wife; they were much +interested in Dawtie. + +“Sir, and ma'am,” said Andrew, “will you please witness that this woman +is my wife?” + +“It's Maister Andrew Ingram o' the Knowe,” said Dawtie. “He wants me to +merry him.” + +“I want her to go before the court as my wife,” said Andrew. “She would +have me wait till the jury said this or that. The jury give me my wife. +As if I didn't know her.” + +“You won't have him, I see,” said Mrs. Innes, turning to Dawtie. + +“Hae him!” cried Dawtie, “I wad hae him gien there war but the heid o' +him.” + +“Then you are husband and wife,” said the governor; “only you should +have the thing done properly by the minister--afterward.” + +“I'll see to that, sir,” answered Andrew. + +“Come, wife,” said the governor, “we must let them have a few minutes +alone together.” + +“There,” said Andrew, when the door closed, “ye're my wife, noo, Dawtie. +Lat them acquit ye or condemn ye, it's you an' me, noo, whatever come!” + +Dawtie broke into a flood of tears--an experience all but new to +her--and found it did her good. She smiled as she wiped her eyes, and +said: + +“Weel, An'rew, gien the Lord hasna appeart in His ain likeness to +deliver me, He's done the next best thing.” + +“Dawtie,” answered Andrew, “the Lord never does the next best. The thing +He does is always better than the thing He does not.” + +“Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan',” said Dawtie, but Andrew went +on. + +“The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to +gie him--or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie. +Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the +minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain +God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think +what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna +lat me come and see ye afore?” + +“I wull, An'rew; I was nae suner left to mysel' i' the prison than I +faun' mysel' thinkin' aboot _you_--you first, and no the Lord. I said to +mysel', 'This is awfu'. I'm leanin' upo' An'rew, and no upo' the First +and the Last.' I saw that that was to brak awa' frae Him that was +nearest me, and trust ane that was farther awa'--which wasna i' the holy +rizzon o' things. Sae I said to mysel' I would meet my fate wi' the Lord +alane, and wouldna hae you come 'atween Him and me. Noo ye hae 't, +An'rew.” + +Andrew took her in his arms and said: + +“Thank ye, Dawtie. Eh, but I _am_ content And she thought she hadna +faith. Good-night, Dawtie. Ye maun gane to yer bed, an' grow stoot in +hert for the morn.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +AFTER THE VERDICT. + +Through the governor of the jail Andrew obtained permission to stand +near the prisoner at the trial. The counsel for the prosecution did all +he could, and the counsel for the defense not much--at least Dawtie's +friends thought so--and the judge summed up with the greatest +impartiality. Dawtie's simplicity and calmness, her confidence devoid of +self-assertion, had its influence on the jury, and they gave the +uncomfortable verdict of “_Not Proven_,” so that Dawtie was discharged. + +Alexa had a carriage ready to take her home. As Dawtie went to it she +whispered to her husband: + +“Ye hae to tak me wantin' a character, Andrew.” + +“Jesus went home without a character, and was well received,” said +Andrew, with a smile. “You'll be over to-night to see the old folk?” + +“Yes, Andrew; I'm sure the mistress will let me.” + +“Don't say a word to her of our marriage, except she has heard, and +mentions it. I want to tell her myself. You will find me at the croft +when you come, and I will go back with you.” + +In the evening Dawtie came, and brought the message that her mistress +would like to see him. + +When he entered the room Alexa rose to meet him. He stopped short. + +“I thank you, ma'am,” he said, “for your great kindness to Dawtie. We +were married in the prison. She is my wife now.” + +“Married! Your wife?” echoed Alexa, flushing, and drawing back a step. + +“I had loved her long, ma'am; and when trouble came her the time came +for me to stand by her side.” + +“You had not spoken to her then--till--” + +“Not till last night. I said before the governor of the prison and Mrs. +Innes that we were husband and wife. If you please, ma'am, we shall have +the proper ceremony as soon as possible.” + +“I wish I had known,” said Alexa--almost to herself, with a troubled +smile. + +“I wish you had, ma'am,” responded Andrew. She raised her face with a +look of confidence. + +“Will you please to forget, Andrew?” + +Nobility had carried the day. She had not one mean thought either of him +or the girl. + +“To forget is not in man's power, ma'am; but I shall never think a +thought you would wish unthought.” + +She held out her hand to him. They were friends forever. + +“Will you be married here, Andrew? The house is at your service,” she +said. + +“Don't you think it ought to be at her father's, ma'am?” + +“You are right,” said Alexa; and she sat down. + +Andrew stood in silence, for he saw she was meditating something. At +length she raised her head, and spoke. + +“You have been compelled to take the step sooner than you intended--have +you not?” + +“Yes, ma'am.” + +“Then you can hardly be so well prepared as you would like to be!” + +“We shall manage.” + +“It will hardly be convenient for your mother, I fear! You have nowhere +else to take her--have you?” + +“No, ma'am; but my mother loves us both. And,” he added, simply, “where +there's room for me, there's room for her now!” + +“Would you mind if I asked you how your parents take it?” + +“They don't say much. You see, ma'am, we are all proud until we learn +that we have one Master, and we all are brethren. But they will soon get +over it.” + +When I see a man lifting up those that are beneath him, not pulling down +those that are above him, I will believe in his communism. Those who +most resent being looked down upon, are in general the readiest to look +down upon others. It is not principle, it is not truth, it is themselves +they regard. Of all false divinities, Self is the most illogical. + +“If God had been the mighty monarch they represent Him,” continued +Andrew, “He would never have let us come near Him!” + +“Did you hear Mr. Rackstraw's sermon on the condescension of God?” asked +Alexa. + +“The condescension of God, ma'am! There is no such thing. God never +condescended, with one Jove-like nod, all his mighty, eternal life! God +condescend to His children--their spirits born of His spirit, their +hearts the children of His heart! No, ma'am! there never was a falser, +uglier word in any lying sermon!” + +His eyes flashed and his face shone. Alexa thought she had never seen +him look so grand. + +“I see!” she answered. “I will never use the word about God again!” + +“Thank you, ma'am.” + +“Why should you thank me?” + +“I beg your pardon; I had no right to thank you. But I am so tried with +the wicked things said about God by people who think they are speaking +to His pleasure and not in his despite, that I am apt to talk foolishly. +I don't wonder at God's patience with the wicked, but I do wonder at His +patience with the pious!” + +“They don't know better!” + +“How are they to know better while they are so sure about everything! I +would infinitely rather believe in no God at all, than in such a God as +they would have me believe in!” + +“Oh, but Andrew, I had not a glimmer of what you meant--of what you +really objected to, or what you loved! Now, I can not even recall what +it was I did not like in your teaching. I think it was that, instead of +listening to know what you meant, I was always thinking how to oppose +you, or trying to find out by what name you were to be called. One time +I thought you were an Arminian, another time a Socinian, then a +Swedenborgian, then an Arian! I read a history of the sects of the +middle ages, just to see where I could set you down. I told people you +did not believe this, and did not believe that, when I knew neither what +you believed, nor what you did not believe. I thought I did, but it was +all mistake and imagination. When you would not discuss things with me, +I thought you were afraid of losing the argument. Now I see that, +instead of disputing about opinions, I should have been saying: 'God be +merciful to me a sinner!'” + +“God be praised!” said Andrew. “Ma'am, you are a free woman! The Father +has called you, and you have said: 'Here I am.'” + +“I hope so, Andrew, thanks to God by you! But I am forgetting what I +wanted to say! Would it not be better--after you are married, I mean--to +let Dawtie stay with me awhile?--I will promise you not to work her too +hard,” she added, with a little laugh. + +“I see, ma'am! It is just like you! You want people to know that you +believe in her!” + +“Yes; but I want also to do what I can to keep such good tenants. +Therefore I must add a room or two to your house, that there may be good +accommodation for you all.” + +“You make thanks impossible, ma'am! I will speak to Dawtie about it. I +know she will be glad not to leave you! I will take care not to trouble +the house.” + +“You shall do just as Dawtie and you please. Where Dawtie is, there will +be room for you!” + +Already Alexa's pain had grown quite bearable. + +Dawtie needed no persuading. She was so rich in the possession of Andrew +that she could go a hundred years without seeing him, she said. It was +only that he would come and see her, instead of her going to see him! + +In ten days they were married at her father's cottage. Her father and +mother then accompanied her and Andrew to the Knowe, to dine with +Andrew's father and mother. In the evening the new pair went out for a +walk in the old fields. + +“It _seems_, Dawtie, as if God was here!” said Andrew. + +“I would fain see him, Andrew! I would rather _you_ went out than God!” + +“Suppose he was nowhere, Dawtie?” + +“If God werena in _you_, ye wadna be what ye are to yer ignorant Dawtie, +Andrew! She needs her Father in h'aven sairer nor her Andrew! But I'm +sayin' things sae true 'at it's jist silly to say them! Eh, it's like +h'aven itsel' to be oot o' that prison, an' walkin' aboot wi' you! God +has gien me a' thing!--jist _a' thing_, Andrew!” + +“God was wi' ye i' the prison, Dawtie!” + +“Ay! But I like better to be wi' Him here!” + +“An' ye may be sure He likes better to ha'e ye here!” rejoined Andrew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +AGAIN THE GOBLET. + +The next day Alexa set Dawtie to search the house yet again for the +missing goblet. + +“It must be somewhere!” she said. “We are beset with an absolute +contradiction: the thing can't be in the house! and it must be in the +house!” + +“If we do find it,” returned Dawtie, “folk'll say them 'at could hide +could weel seek! I s' luik naegait wantin' you, mem!” + +The study was bare of books, and the empty shelves gave no hint of +concealment They stood in its dreariness looking vaguely round them. + +“Did it ever come to ye, mem,” said Dawtie, “that a minute or twa passed +between Mr. Crawford comin' doon the stair wi' you, and me gaein' up to +the maister? When I gaed intil the room, he lay pantin' i' the bed; but +as I broodit upo' ilka thing alane i' the prison, he cam afore me, there +i' the bed, as gien he had gotten oot o' 't, and hidden awa' the cup, +and was jist gotten intil't again, the same moment I cam in.” + +“Dying people will do strange things!” rejoined her mistress. “But it +brings us no nearer the cup!” + +“The surer we are, the better we'll seek!” said Dawtie. + +They began, and went over the room thoroughly--looking everywhere they +could think of. They had all but given it up to go on elsewhere, when +Dawtie, standing again in the middle and looking about in a sort of +unconscious hopelessness, found her eyes on the mantel-shelf, and went +and laid her hand upon it. It was of wood, and she fancied it a little +loose, but she could not move it. + +“When Andrew comes we'll get him to examine it!” said Alexa. + +He came in the evening, and Alexa told him what they had been doing. She +begged him to get tools, and see whether there was not a space under the +mantel-shelf. But Andrew, accustomed to ponder contrivances with Sandy, +would have a good look at it first He came presently upon a clever +little spring, pressing which he could lift the shelf: there under it, +sure enough, in rich response to the candle he held, flashed the gems of +the curiously wrought chalice of gold! Alexa gave a cry, Andrew drew a +deep breath, Dawtie laughed like a child. How they gazed on it, passed +it from one to the other, pored over the gems, and over the raised work +that inclosed them, I need not tell. They began to talk about what was +to be done with it. + +“We will send it to the earl!” said Alexa. + +“No,” said Andrew; “that would be to make ourselves judges in the case! +Your father must have paid money for it; he gave it to Mr. Crawford, and +Mr. Crawford must not be robbed!” + +“Stop, Andrew!” said Alexa. “Everything in the next room was left to my +cousin, with the library in this; whatever else was left him was +individually described. The cup was not in the next room, and was not +mentioned. Providence has left us to do with it as we may judge right. I +think it ought to be taken to Borland Hall--and by Dawtie.” + +“Well! She will mention that your father bought it?” + +“I will not take a shilling for it!” + +“Is not that because you are not quite sure you have the right to +dispose of it?” + +“I would not take the price of it if my father had left the cup +expressly to me!” + +“Had he done so, you would have a right to what he paid for it. To give +the earl the choice of securing it, would be a service rendered him. If +he were too poor to buy it, the thing would have to be considered.” + +“Nothing could make me touch money for it. George would never doubt we +had concealed it in order to trick him out of it!” + +“He will think so all the same. It will satisfy him, and not a few +beside, that Dawtie ought to have been convicted. The thing is certainly +Mr. Crawford's--that is, his as not yours. Your father undoubtedly meant +him to have the cup; and God would not have you, even to serve the +right, take advantage of an accident. Whatever ought to be done with the +cup, Mr. Crawford ought to do it; it is his business to do right in +regard to it; and whatever advantage may be gained by doing right, Mr. +Crawford ought to have the chance of gaining it. Would you deprive him +of the opportunity, to which at least he has a right, of doing justice, +and delivering his soul?” + +“You would have us tell the earl that his cup is found, but Mr. Crawford +claims it?” said Alexa. + +“Andrew would have us take it to Mr. Crawford,” said Dawtie, “and tell +him that the earl has a claim to it.” + +“Tell him also,” said Andrew, “where it was found, showing he has no +_legal_ right to it; and tell him he has no more moral right to it than +the laird could give him. Tell him, ma'am,” continued Andrew, “that you +expect him to take it to the earl, that he may buy it if he will; and +say that if, after a fortnight, you find it is not in the earl's +possession, you will yourself ascertain from him whether the offer has +been made him.” + +“That is just right,” said Alexa. + +And so the thing was done. The cup is now in the earl's collection, and +without any further interference on her part. + +A few days after she and Dawtie carried the cup to Crawford, a parcel +arrived at Potlurg, containing a beautiful silver case, and inside the +case the jeweled watch--with a letter from George, begging Alexa to +accept his present, and assuring her of his conviction that the moment +he annoyed her with any further petition, she would return it. He +expressed his regret that he had brought such suffering upon Dawtie, and +said he was ready to make whatever amends her husband might think fit. + +Alexa accepted the watch, and wore it. She thought her father would like +her to do so. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. + +The friendship of the three was never broken. I will not say that, as +she lay awake in the dark, the eyes of Alexa never renewed the tears of +that autumn night on which she turned her back upon the pride of self, +but her tears were never those of bitterness, of self-scorn, or of +self-pity. + +“If I am to be pitied,” she would say to herself, “let the Lord pity me! +I am not ashamed, and will not be sorry. I have nothing to resent; no +one has wronged me.” + +Andrew died in middle age. His wife said the Master wanted him for +something nobody else could do, or He would not have taken him from her. +She wept and took comfort, for she lived in expectation. + +One night when she and Alexa were sitting together at Potlurg, about a +month after his burial, speaking of many things with the freedom of a +long and tried love, Alexa said, after a pause of some duration: + +“Were you not very angry with me then, Dawtie?” + +“When, ma'am?” + +“When Andrew told you.” + +“Told me what, ma'am? I must be stupid to-night, for I can't think what +you mean.” + +“When he told you I wanted him, not knowing he was yours.” + +“I ken naething o' what ye're mintin' at, mem,” persisted Dawtie, in a +tone of bewilderment. + +“Oh! I thought you had no secrets from one another.” + +“I don't know that we ever had--except things in his books that he said +were God's secrets, which I should understand some day, for God was +telling them as fast as He could get his children to understand them.” + +“I see,” sighed Alexa; “you were made for each other. But this is my +secret, and I have the right to tell it. He kept it for me to tell you. +I thought all the time you knew it.” + +“I don't want to know anything Andrew would not tell me.” + +“He thought it was my secret, you see, not his, and that was why he did +not tell you.” + +“Of coarse, ma'am. Andrew always did what was right.” + +“Well, then, Dawtie--I offered to be his wife if he would have me.” + +“And what did he say?” asked Dawtie, with the composure of one listening +to a story learned from a book. + +“He told me he couldn't. But I'm not sure what he _said_. The words went +away.” + +“When was it he asked you?” said Dawtie, sunk in thought. + +“The night but one before the trial,” answered Alexa. + +“He micht hae ta'en you, then, i'stead o' me--a lady an' a'. Oh, mem! do +you think he took me 'cause I was in trouble? He micht hae been laird +himsel'.” + +“Dawtie! Dawtie!” cried Alexa. “If you think that would have weighed +with Andrew, I ought to have been his wife, for I know him better than +you.” + +Dawtie smiled at that. + +“But I do know, mem,” she said, “that Andrew was fit to cast the +lairdship frae him to comfort ony puir lassie. I would ha' lo'ed him a' +the same.” + +“As I have done, Dawtie,” said Alexa, solemnly. “But he wouldn't have +thrown _me_ away for you, if he hadn't loved you, Dawtie. Be sure of +that. He might have made nothing of the lairdship, but he wouldn't have +made nothing of me.” + +“That's true, mem. I dinna doobt it.” + +“I love him still--and you mustn't mind me saying it, Dawtie. There are +ways of loving that are good, though there be some pain in them. Thank +God, we have our children to look after. You will let me say _our_ +children, won't you, Dawtie?” + +Some thought Alexa hard, some thought her cold, but the few that knew +her knew she was neither; and some of my readers will grant that such a +friend as Andrew was better than such a husband as George. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 8944-0.txt or 8944-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/9/4/8944/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Elect Lady + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8944] +This file was first posted on August 28, 2003 +Last Updated: April 18, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + +_(A Duplex Edition)_ + + +By George MacDonald + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + +In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its +appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse--for there were +utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually +grow upon a farm--with the corner of a white deal table between them, +sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no +level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which +seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or +five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark +hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, +but a little hard, and not a little regnant--as such features must be, +except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. +As to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of +education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its +share in the labor of production. + +As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than +falls to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature +than the young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior, +would have enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and +thin, but plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel +eye, not overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a +curious smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of +pinching his upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the +present moment he was unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small +farmer--in what part of Scotland is of little consequence--and his +companion for the moment was the daughter of the laird. + +"I have glanced over the poem," said the lady, "and it seems to me quite +up to the average of what you see in print." + +"Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?" asked the man, with +amused smile. + +"It would be for the editor to determine," she answered, not perceiving +the hinted objection. + +"You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested--indeed I never +thought of such a thing!" + +"I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the +verses." + +"I must speak to my mother!" he said, in a meditative way. + +"You can not object to _my_ seeing your work! She does not show it to +everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your +leisure." + +"The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own--except my brother's." + +"What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?" + +"The writing of it, ma'am." + +"For the exercise, you mean?" + +"No; I hardly mean that." + +"I am afraid then I do not understand you." + +"Do _you_ never write anything but what you publish?" + +"Publish! _I_ never publish! What made you think of such a thing?" + +"That you know so much about it, ma'am." + +"I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage +you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems +now!" + +"I wish it hadn't been just that one my mother gave you!" + +"Why?" + +"For one thing, it is not finished--as you will see when you read it +more carefully." + +"I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but--" + +"Excuse me, ma'am; the want of rhythm there was intentional." + +"I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! +The accent should always be made to fall in the right place." + +"Beyond a doubt--but might not the right place alter with the sense?" + +"Never. The rule is strict" + +"Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?" + +"Not that I know." + +"I have an idea, ma'am, that our great poets owe much of their music to +the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its +masters, and break it when they see fit." + +"You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take +the liberties of a great poet." + +"It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take +liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their +power, they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. +Every one must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others +have laid down he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to +truth, and his ear to measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the +light, and the music God gives him." + +"That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!" said the lady, with a superior +smile. "But," she continued, "I will mark what faults I see, and point +them out to you." + +"Thank you, ma'am, but please do not send the verses anywhere." + +"I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my +father's sake I will have an eye to your reputation." + +"I am obliged to you, ma'am," returned Andrew, but with his curious +smile, hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness +and humor, and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. +A heavenly smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it +neither offense nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a +girl, but he showed no rejection of the patronage forced upon him by the +lady. + +He rose and stood a moment. + +"Well, Andrew, what is it?" + +"When will you allow me to call for the verses?" + +"In the course of a week or so. By that time I shall have made up my +mind. If in doubt, I shall ask my father." + +"I wouldn't like the laird to think I spend my time on poetry." + +"You write poetry, Andrew! A man should not do what he would not have +known." + +"That is true, ma'am; I only feared an erroneous conclusion." + +"I will take care of that. My father knows that you are a hard-working +young man. There is not one of his farms in better order than yours. +Were it otherwise, I should not be so interested in your poetry." + +Andrew wished her less interested in it. To have his verses read was +like having a finger poked in his eye. He had not known that his mother +looked at his papers. But he showed little sign of his annoyance, bade +the lady good-morning, and left the kitchen. + +Miss Fordyce followed him to the door, and stood for a moment looking +out. In front of her was a paved court, surrounded with low buildings, +between two of which was visible, at the distance of a mile or so, a +railway line where it approached a viaduct. She heard the sound of a +coming train, and who in a country place will not stand to see one pass! + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +AN ACCIDENT. + +While the two were talking, a long train, part carriages, part trucks, +was rattling through a dreary country, where it could never have been +were there not regions very different on both sides of it. For miles in +any direction, nothing but humpy moorland was to be seen, a gathering of +low hills, with now and then a higher one, its sides broken by +occasional torrents, in poor likeness of a mountain. No smoke proclaimed +the presence of human dwelling; but there were spots between the hills +where the hand of man had helped the birth of a feeble fertility; and in +front was a small but productive valley, on the edge of which stood the +ancient house of Potlurg, with the heath behind it: over a narrow branch +of this valley went the viaduct. + +It was a slow train, with few passengers. Of these one was looking from +his window with a vague, foolish sense of superiority, thinking what a +forgotten, scarce created country it seemed. He was a well-dressed, +good-looking fellow, with a keen but pale-gray eye, and a fine forehead, +but a chin such as is held to indicate weakness. More than one, however, +of the strongest women I have known, were defective in chin. The young +man was in the only first-class carriage of the train, and alone in it. +Dressed in a gray suit, he was a little too particular in the smaller +points of his attire, and lacked in consequence something of the look of +a gentleman. Every now and then he would take off his hard round hat, +and pass a white left hand through his short-cut mousey hair, while his +right caressed a far longer mustache, in which he seemed interested. A +certain indescribable heaviness and lack of light characterized his pale +face. + +It was a lovely day in early June. The air was rather cold, but youth +and health care little about temperature on a holiday, with the sun +shining, and that sweetest sense--to such at least as are ordinarily +bound by routine--of having nothing to do. To many men and women the +greatest trouble is to choose, for self is the hardest of masters to +please; but as yet George Crawford had not been troubled with much +choosing. + +A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure +to him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the +way out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for +however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed +who are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a +higher presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. +That every man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must +seem a paradox to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be +impossible without it. George had not arrived at the discovery of this +fact, and yet was for the present contented both with himself and with +his circumstances. + +The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land +made no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a +shadow of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to +his book, when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started +to his feet, and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the +line and turned over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and +one of the young man's legs was broken. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +HELP. + +"Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!" cried Miss Fordyce, +running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. "I +saw it from the door!" + +"Hush!" returned the old man, and listened. "I hear the train going on," +he said, after a moment. + +"Part of it is come to grief, I am certain," answered his daughter. "I +saw something fall." + +"Well, my dear?" + +"What _shall_ we do?" + +"What would you have us do?" rejoined her father, without a movement +toward rising. "It is too far off for us to be of any use." + +"We ought to go and see." + +"I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for +it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me." + +But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as +straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low +embankment. Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the +line, but convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the +same direction. + +It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her +father's indifference, she ran the faster--too fast for thinking, but +not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to +her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the +conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing +less and less neighborly. + +She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she +made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long +dark hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity +forgotten, and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the +heather, and in little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a +long moor-mile, reached the embankment, flushed and panting. + +Some of the carriages had rolled down, and the rails were a wreck. But +the engine and half the train had kept on: neither driver nor stoker was +hurt, and they were hurrying to fetch help from the next station. At the +foot of the bank lay George Crawford insensible, with the guard of the +train doing what he could to bring him to consciousness. He was on his +back, pale as death, with no motion and scare a sign of life. + +Alexa tried to give him brandy, but she was so exhausted, and her hand +shook so, that she had to yield the bottle to the guard, and, hale and +strong as she was, could but drag herself a little apart before she +fainted. + +In the meantime, as the train approached the station, the driver, who +belonged to the neighborhood, saw the doctor, slackened speed, and set +his whistle shrieking wildly. The doctor set spurs to his horse, and +came straight over everything to his side. + +"You go on," he said, having heard what had happened; "I shall be there +sooner than you could take me." + +He came first upon Andrew trying to make Miss Fordyce swallow a little +of the brandy. + +"There's but one gentleman hurt, sir," said the guard. "The other's only +a young lady that's run till she's dropped." + +"To bring brandy," supplemented Andrew. + +The doctor recognized Alexa, and wondered what reception her lather +would give his patient, for to Potlurg he must go! Suddenly she came to +herself, and sat up, gazing wildly around. "Out of breath, Miss Fordyce; +nothing worse!" said the doctor, and she smiled. + +He turned to the young man, and did for him what he could without +splints or bandages; then, with the help of the guard and Andrew, +constructed, from pieces of the broken carriages, a sort of litter on +which to carry him to Potlurg. + +"Is he dead?" asked Alexa. + +"Not a bit of it. He's had a bad blow on the head, though. We must get +him somewhere as fast as we can!" + +"Do you know him?" + +"Not I. But we must take him to your house. I don't know what else to do +with him!" + +"What else should you want to do with him?" + +"I was afraid it might bother the laird." + +"You scarcely know my father, Doctor Pratt!" + +"It would bother most people to have a wounded man quartered on them for +weeks!" returned the doctor. "Poor fellow! A good-looking fellow too!" + +A countryman who had been in the next carriage, but had escaped almost +unhurt, offering his service, Andrew and he took up the litter gently, +and set out walking with care, the doctor on one side, leading his +horse, and Miss Fordyce on the other. + +It was a strange building to which, after no small anxiety, they drew +near; nor did it look the less strange the nearer they came. It was +unsheltered by a single tree; and but for a low wall and iron rail on +one side, inclosing what had been a garden, but was now a grass-plot, it +rose straight out of the heather. From this plot the ground sloped to +the valley, and was under careful cultivation. The entrance to it was +closed with a gate of wrought iron, of good workmanship, but so wasted +with rust that it seemed on the point of vanishing. Here at one time had +been the way into the house; but no door, and scarce a window, was now +to be seen on this side of the building. It was very old, and consisted +of three gables, a great half-round between two of them, and a low tower +with a conical roof. + +Crawford had begun to recover consciousness, but when he came to himself +he was received by acute pain. The least attempt to move was torture, +and again he fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE LAIRD. + +Conducted by the lady, they passed round the house to the court, and +across the court to a door in one of the gables. It was a low, narrow +door, but large enough for the man that stood there--a little man, with +colorless face, and quiet, abstracted look. His eyes were cold and keen, +his features small, delicate, and regular. He had an erect little back, +and was dressed in a long-tailed coat, looking not much of a laird, and +less of a farmer, as he stood framed in the gray stone wall, in which +odd little windows, dotted here and there at all heights and distances, +revealed a wonderful arrangement of floors and rooms inside. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!" said the doctor. "This is a bad business, +but it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!" + +"Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!" returned the laird, with +a cold smile that was far from discourteous. "Stick to the body, doctor! +There you know something!" + +"It's a truth, laird!" answered the doctor--but added to himself--"Well! +it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!" + +The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the +poor fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where, +with the help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she +soon had a bed prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed +to fetch the appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the +bed, with a look of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of +opposition. + +It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a +room far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the +house, have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and, +having been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was +rapidly and silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor, +after an incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he +seemed both surprised and pleased at the change. + +"He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce," he said, when +all was done. + +"I will myself," she answered. "But you must give me exact directions, +for I have done no nursing." + +"If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need +know. He will sleep now, I think--at least till you get back: I shall +not keep you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture," +he continued, as they went. "It might have been much worse! We shall +have him about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while +the bones are uniting." + +The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked up +and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with its +ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned from, +as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back to +the room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive of +a wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his unwelcome +guest with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike, and shook his +head slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving. + +His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat +as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it +up just ere Alexa reentered. + +"How is he, father?" she asked. + +"He is fast asleep," answered the laid. "How long does the doctor think +he will have to be here?" + +"I did not ask him," she replied. + +"That was an oversight, my child," he returned. "It is of consequence we +should know the moment of his removal." + +"We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of +weeks--or months--I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I +will attend to him." + +"But I _am_ troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I have!" + +Again he retired--slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to search +the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery +concerning its owner. + +With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in a +half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable. +Chintz curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness, had +admitted too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of +footsteps on the creaking boards--for the bones of a house do not grow +silent with age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to +the chamber, which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick +that it took half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving to +and fro, kept shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in +the secret of some house-misery; but she was only indulging the funereal +temperament of an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the heather in the +morning, she looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her shoes were +strong, her dress was short; but now she came and went in a soft-colored +gown, neither ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem to belong to +what is called society, but she looked dignified, at times almost +stately, with an expression of superiority, not strong enough to make +her handsome face unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a +woman's, was cast in a larger mold. + +The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the doctor +minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when the +supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +AFTER SUPPER. + +They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no dining-room +in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned drawing-room. The +servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too much in the sick-room, +notwithstanding, to know that she was eating her porridge and milk. The +laird partook but sparingly, on the ground that the fare tended to +fatness, which affliction of age he congratulated himself on having +hitherto escaped. They eat in silence, but not a glance of her father +that might indicate a want escaped the daughter. When the meal was +ended, and the old man had given thanks, Alexa put on the table a big +black Bible, which her father took with solemn face and reverent +gesture. In the course of his nightly reading of the New Testament, he +had come to the twelfth chapter of St. Luke, with the Lord's parable of +the rich man whose soul they required of him: he read it beautifully, +with an expression that seemed to indicate a sense of the Lord's meaning +what He said. + +"We will omit the psalm this evening--for the sake of the sufferer," he +said, having ended the chapter. "The Lord will have mercy and not +sacrifice." + +They rose from their chairs and knelt on the stone floor. The old man +prayed with much tone and expression, and I think meant all he said, +though none of it seemed to spring from fresh need or new thankfulness, +for he used only the old stock phrases, which flowed freely from his +lips. He dwelt much on the merits of the Saviour; he humbled himself as +the chief of sinners, whom it must be a satisfaction to God to cut off, +but a greater satisfaction to spare for the sake of one whom he loved. +Plainly the man counted it a most important thing to stand well with Him +who had created him. When they rose, Alexa looked formally solemn, but +the wan face of her father shone: the Psyche, if not the Ego, had +prayed--and felt comfortable. He sat down, and looked fixedly, as if +into eternity, but perhaps it was into vacancy; they are much the same +to most people. + +"Come into the study for a moment, Lexy, if you please," he said, rising +at length. His politeness to his daughter, and indeed to all that came +near him, was one of the most notable points in his behavior. + +Alexa followed the black, slender, erect little figure up the stair, +which consisted of about a dozen steps, filling the entrance from wall +to wall, a width of some twelve feet. Between it and the outer door +there was but room for the door of the kitchen on the one hand, and that +of a small closet on the other. At the top was a wide space, a sort of +irregular hall, more like an out-of-door court, paved with large flat +stones into which projected the other side of the rounded mass, bordered +by the grassy inclosure. + +The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had +but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of +old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils. +He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set +himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers. + +"This is a sore trial, Alexa!" he said with a sigh. + +"It is indeed, father--for the poor young man!" she returned. + +"True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his +suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious +matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the +present state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think--" + +"But, father," interrupted Alexa, "how could we help it?" + +"He might have been carried elsewhere!" + +"With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered +to receive him." + +"Why did he not take him then?" + +"The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either." + +"It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done--though, alas! not +paid for." + +"We must take the luck as it comes, father!" + +"Alexa," rejoined the laird with solemnity, "you ought never to mention +luck. There is no such thing. It was either for the young man's sins, or +to prevent worse, or for necessary discipline, that the train was +overturned. The cause is known to _Him_. All are in His hands--and we +must beware of attempting to take any out of His hands, for it can not +be done." + +"Then, father, if there be no chance, our part was ordered too. So there +is the young man in our spare room, and we must receive our share of the +trouble as from the hand of the Lord." + +"Certainly, my dear! it was the expense I was thinking of. I was only +lamenting--bear me witness, I was not opposing--the will of the Lord. A +man's natural feelings remain." + +"If the thing is not to be helped, let us think no more about it!" + +"It is the expense, my dear! Will you not let your mind rest for a +moment upon the fact? I am doing my utmost to impress it upon you. For +other expenses there is always something to show; for this there will be +nothing, positively nothing!" + +"Not the mended leg, father?" + +"The money will vanish, I tell you, as a tale that is told." + +"It is our life that vanishes that way!" + +"The simile suits either. So long as we do not use the words of +Scripture irreverently, there is no harm in making a different +application of them. There is no irreverence here: next to the grace of +God, money is the thing hardest to get and hardest to keep. If we are +not wise with it, the grace--I mean money--will not go far." + +"Not so far as the next world, anyhow!" said Alexa, as if to herself. + +"How dare you, child! The Redeemer tells us to make friends of the +mammon of unrighteousness, that when we die it may receive us into +everlasting habitations!" + +"I read the passage this morning, father: it is _they_, not _it_, will +receive you. And I have heard that it ought to be translated, 'make +friends _with_, or _by means of_ the mammon of unrighteousness." + +"I will reconsider the passage. We must not lightly change even the +translated word!" + +The laird had never thought that it might be of consequence to him one +day to have friends in the other world. Neither had he reflected that +the Lord did not regard the obligation of gratitude as ceasing with this +life. + +Alexa had reason to fear that her father made a friend _of_, and never a +friend _with_ the mammon of unrighteousness. At the same time the +half-penny he put in the plate every Sunday must go a long way if it was +not estimated, like that of the poor widow, according to the amount he +possessed, but according to the difficulty he found in parting with it. + +"After weeks, perhaps months of nursing and food and doctor's stuff," +resumed the laird, "he will walk away, and we shall see not a plack of +the money he carries with him. The visible will become the invisible, +the present the absent!" + +"The little it will cost you, father--" + +"Hold there, my child! If you call any cost little, I will not hear a +word more: we should be but running a race from different points to +different goals! It will cost--that is enough! How much it will cost +_me_, you can not calculate, for you do not know what money stands for +in my eyes. There are things before which money is insignificant!" + +"Those dreary old books!" said Alexa to herself, casting a glance on the +shelves that filled the room from floor to ceiling, and from wall to +wall. + +"What I was going to say, father," she returned, "was, that I have a +little money of my own, and this affair shall cost you nothing. Leave me +to contrive. Would you tell him his friends must pay his board, or take +him away? It would be a nice anecdote in the annals of the Fordyces of +Potlurg!" + +"At the same time, what more natural?" rejoined her father. "His friends +must in any case be applied to! I learn from his pocket-book--" + +"Father!" + +"Content yourself, Alexa. I have a right to know whom I receive under my +roof. Besides, have I not learned thereby that the youth is a sort of +connection!" + +"You don't mean it, father?" + +"I do mean it. His mother and yours were first cousins." + +"That is not a connection; it's a close kinship!" + +"Is it?" said the laird, dryly. + +"Anyhow," pursued Alexa, "I give you my word you shall hear nothing more +of the expense." + +She bade her father good-night, and returning to the bedside of her +patient, released Meg. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ABOUT THE LAIRD. + +Thomas Fordyce was a sucker from the root of a very old family tree, +born in poverty, and, with great pinching of father and mother, brothers +and sisters, educated for the Church. But from pleasure in scholarship, +from archaeological tastes, a passion for the arcana of history, and a +love of literature, strong, although not of the highest kind, he had +settled down as a school-master, and in his calling had excelled. By all +who knew him he was regarded as an accomplished, amiable, and worthy +man. + +When his years were verging on the undefined close of middle age he saw +the lives between him and the family property, one by one wither at the +touch of death, until at last there was no one but himself and his +daughter to succeed. He was at the time the head of a flourishing school +in a large manufacturing town; and it was not without some regret, +though with more pleasure, that he yielded his profession and retired to +Potlurg. + +Greatly dwindled as he found the property, and much and long as it had +been mismanaged, it was yet of considerable value, and worth a wise +care. The result of the labor he spent upon it was such that it had now +for years yielded him, if not a large rental, one far larger at least +than his daughter imagined. But the sinking of the school-master in the +laird seemed to work ill for the man, and good only for the land. I say +_seemed_, because what we call degeneracy is often but the unveiling of +what was there all the time; and the evil we could become, we are. If I +have in me the tyrant or the miser, there he is, and such am I--as +surely as if the tyrant or the miser were even now visible to the +wondering dislike of my neighbors. I do not say the characteristic is so +strong, or would be so hard to change as by the revealing development it +must become; but it is there, alive, as an egg is alive; and by no means +inoperative like a mere germ, but exercising real though occult +influence on the rest of my character. Therefore, except the growing +vitality be in process of killing these ova of death, it is for the good +of the man that they should be so far developed as to show their +existence. If the man do not then starve and slay them they will drag +him to the judgment-seat of a fiery indignation. + +For the laird, nature could ill replace the human influences that had +surrounded the school-master; while enlargement both of means and +leisure enabled him to develop by indulgence a passion for a peculiar +kind of possession, which, however refined in its objects, was yet but a +branch of the worship of Mammon. It suits the enemy just as well, I +presume, that a man should give his soul for coins as for money. In +consequence he was growing more and more withdrawn, ever filling less +the part of a man--which is to be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert +from the tempest. He was more and more for himself, and thereby losing +his life. Dearly as he loved his daughter, he was, by slow fallings +away, growing ever less of a companion, less of a comfort, less of a +necessity to her, and requiring less and less of her for the good or +ease of his existence. We wrong those near us in being independent of +them. God himself would not be happy without His Son. We ought to lean +on each other, giving and receiving--not as weaklings, but as lovers. +Love is strength as well as need. Alexa was more able to live alone than +most women; therefore it was the worse for her. Too satisfied with +herself, too little uneasy when alone, she did not know that then she +was not in good enough company. She was what most would call a strong +nature, nor knew what weaknesses belong to, and grow out of, such +strength as hers. + +The remoter scions of a family tree are not seldom those who make most +account of it; the school-master's daughter knew more about the Fordyces +of Potlurg, and cared more for their traditions, than any who of later +years had reaped its advantages or shared its honors. Interest in the +channel down which one has slid into the world is reasonable, and may be +elevating; with Alexa it passed beyond good, and wrought for evil. Proud +of a family with a history, and occasionally noted in the annals of the +country, she regarded herself as the superior of all with whom she had +hitherto come into relation. To the poor, to whom she was invariably and +essentially kind, she was less condescending than to such as came nearer +her own imagined standing; she was constantly aware that she belonged to +the elect of the land! Society took its revenge; the rich trades-people +looked down upon her as the school-master's daughter. Against their +arrogance her indignation buttressed her lineal with her mental +superiority. At the last the pride of family is a personal arrogance. +And now at length she was in her natural position as heiress of Potlurg! + +She was religious--if one may be called religious who felt no immediate +relation to the source of her being. She felt bound to defend, so far as +she honestly could, the doctrines concerning God and His ways +transmitted by the elders of her people; to this much, and little more, +her religion toward God amounted. But she had a strong sense of +obligation to do what was right. + +Her father gave her so little money to spend that she had to be very +careful with her housekeeping, and they lived in the humblest way. For +her person she troubled him as little as she could, believing him, from +the half statements and hints he gave, and his general carriage toward +life, not a little oppressed by lack of money, nor suspecting his +necessities created and his difficulties induced by himself. In this +regard it had come to be understood between them that the produce of the +poultry-yard was Alexa's own; and to some little store she had thus +gathered she mainly trusted for the requirements of her invalid. To this +her father could not object, though he did not like it; he felt what was +hers to be his more than he felt what was his to be hers. + +Alexa had not learned to place value on money beyond its use, but she +was not therefore free from the service of Mammon; she looked to it as +to a power essential, not derived; she did not see it as God's creation, +but merely as an existence, thus making of a creature of God the mammon +of unrighteousness. She did not, however, cling to it, but was ready to +spend it. At the same time, had George Crawford looked less handsome or +less of a gentleman, she would not have been so ready to devote the +contents of her little secret drawer. + +The discovery of her relationship to the young man waked a new feeling. +She had never had a brother, never known a cousin, and had avoided the +approach of such young men as, of inferior position in her eyes, had +sought to be friendly with her; here was one thrown helpless on her +care, with necessities enough to fill the gap between his real relation +to her, and that of the brother after whom she had sighed in vain! It +was a new and delightful sensation to have a family claim on a young +man--a claim, the material advantage of which was all on his side, the +devotion all on hers. She was invaded by a flood of tenderness toward +the man. Was he not her cousin, a gentleman, and helpless as any +new-born child? Nothing should be wanting that a strong woman could do +for a powerless man. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +THE COUSINS. + +George Crawford was in excellent health when the accident occurred, and +so when he began to recover, his restoration was rapid. The process, +however, was still long enough to compel the cousins to know more of +each other than twelve months of ordinary circumstance would have made +possible. + +George, feeling neither the need, nor, therefore, the joy of the new +relationship so much as Alexa, disappointed her by the coolness of his +response to her communication of the fact; and as they were both formal, +that is, less careful as to the reasonable than as to the conventional, +they were not very ready to fall in love. Such people may learn all +about each other, and not come near enough for love to be possible +between them. Some people approximate at once, and at once decline to +love, remaining friends the rest of their lives. Others love at once; +and some take a whole married life to come near enough, and at last +love. But the reactions of need and ministration can hardly fail to +breed tenderness, and disclose the best points of character. + +The cousins were both handsome, and--which was of more consequence--each +thought the other handsome. They found their religious opinions closely +coincident--nor any wonder, for they had gone for years to the same +church every Sunday, had been regularly pumped upon from the same +reservoir, and had drunk the same arguments concerning things true and +untrue. + +George found that Alexa had plenty of brains, a cultivated judgment, and +some knowledge of literature; that there was no branch of science with +which she had not some little acquaintance, in which she did not take +some small interest. Her father's teaching was beyond any he could have +procured for her, and what he taught she had learned; for she had a love +of knowing, a tendency to growth, a capacity for seizing real points, +though as yet perceiving next to nothing of their relation to human life +and hope. She believed herself a judge of verse, but in truth her +knowledge of poetry was limited to its outer forms, of which she had +made good studies with her father. She had learned the _how_ before the +_what_, knew the body before the soul--could tell good binding but not +bad leather--in a word, knew verse but not poetry. + +She understood nothing of music, but George did not miss that; he was +more sorry she did not know French--not for the sake of its literature, +but because of showing herself an educated woman. + +Diligent in business, not fervent in spirit, she was never idle. But +there are other ways than idleness of wasting time. Alexa was +continually "improving herself," but it was a big phrase for a small +matter; she had not learned that to do the will of God is the _only_ way +to improve one's self. She would have scorned the narrowness of any one +who told her so, not understanding what the will of God means. + +She found that her guest and cousin was a man of some position, and +wondered that her father should never have mentioned the relationship. +The fact was that, in a time of poverty, the school-master had made to +George's father the absurd request of a small loan without security, and +the banker had behaved as a rich relation and a banker was pretty sure +to behave. + +George occupied a place of trust in the bank, and, though not yet +admitted to a full knowledge of its more important transactions, hoped +soon to be made a partner. + +When his father came to Potlurg to see him the laird declined to appear, +and the banker contented himself thereafter with Alexa's bulletins. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. + +Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been +devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor +allow him to return to business. + +One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry +and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible +burst of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to +lap the house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was +mingled with the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the +building. George sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise +and see what had happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet +Alexa, and a talk with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless +night. He got into his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked +softly from the room. + +His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and +listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came, +and lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When +the darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder +yet bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the +study, and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but +there was no answer. He pushed the door, and saw that the light came +from behind a projecting book-case. He hesitated a moment, and glanced +about him. + +A little clinking sound came from somewhere. He stole nearer the source +of the light; a thief might be there. He peeped round the end of the +book-case. With his back to him the laird was kneeling before an open +chest. He had just counted a few pieces of gold, and was putting them +away. He turned over his shoulder a face deathly pale, and his eyes for +a moment stared blank. Then with a shivering smile he rose. He had a +thin-worn dressing-gown over his night-shirt, and looked a thread of a +man. + +"You take me for a miser?" he said, trembling, and stood expecting an +answer. + +Crawford was bewildered: what business had he there? + +"I am _not_ a miser!" resumed the laird. "A man may count his money +without being a miser!" + +He stood and stared, still trembling, at his guest, either too much +startled or too gentle to find fault with his intrusion. + +"I beg your pardon, laird," said George. "I knocked, but receiving no +answer, feared something was wrong." + +"But why are you out of bed--and you an invalid?" returned Mr. Fordyce. + +"I heard a heavy fall, and feared the lightning had done some damage." + +"We shall see about that in the morning, and in the meantime you had +better go to bed," said the laird. + +They turned together toward the door. + +"What a multitude of books, you have, Mr. Fordyce!" remarked George. "I +had not a notion of such a library in the county!" + +"I have been a lover of books all my life," returned the laird. "And +they gather, they gather!" he added. + +"Your love draws them," said George. + +"The storm is over, I think," said the laird. + +He did not tell his guest that there was scarcely a book on those +shelves not sought after by book-buyers--not one that was not worth +money in the book-market. Here and there the dulled gold of a fine +antique binding returned the gleam of the candle, but any gathering of +old law or worthless divinity would have looked much the same. + +"I should like to glance over them," said George. "There must be some +valuable volumes among so many!" + +"Rubbish! rubbish!" rejoined the old man, testily, almost hustling him +from the room. "I am ashamed to hear it called a library." + +It seemed to Crawford, as again he lay awake in his bed, altogether a +strange incident. A man may count his money when he pleases, but not the +less must it seem odd that he should do so in the middle of the night, +and with such a storm flashing and roaring around him, apparently +unheeded. The next morning he got his cousin to talk about her father, +but drew from her nothing to cast light on what he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +IN THE GARDEN. + +Of the garden which had been the pride of many owners of the place, only +a small portion remained. It was strangely antique, haunted with a +beauty both old and wild, the sort of garden for the children of heaven +to play in when men sleep. + +In a little arbor constructed by an old man who had seen the garden grow +less and less through successive generations, a tent of honeysuckle in a +cloak of sweet pease, sat George and Alexa, two highly respectable young +people, Scots of Scotland, like Jews of Judaea, well satisfied of their +own worthiness. How they found their talk interesting, I can scarce +think. I should have expected them to be driven by very dullness to +love-making; but the one was too prudent to initiate it, the other too +staid to entice it. Yet, people on the borders of love being on the +borders of poetry, they had got talking about a certain new poem, +concerning which George, having read several notices of it, had an +opinion to give. + +"You should tell my father about it, George," said Alexa; "he is the +best judge I know." + +She did not understand that it was a little more than the grammar of +poetry the school-master had ever given himself to understand. His best +criticism was to show phrase calling to phrase across gulfs of speech. + +The little iron gate, whose hinges were almost gone with rust, creaked +and gnarred as it slowly opened to admit the approach of a young +countryman. He advanced with the long, slow, heavy step suggestive of +nailed shoes; but his hazel eye had an outlook like that of an eagle +from its eyrie, and seemed to dominate his being, originating rather +than directing its motions. He had a russet-colored face, much freckled; +hair so dark red as to be almost brown; a large, well-shaped nose; a +strong chin; and a mouth of sweetness whose smile was peculiarly its +own, having in it at once the mystery and the revelation of Andrew +Ingram. He took off his bonnet as he drew near, and held it as low as +his knee, while with something of the air of an old-fashioned courtier, +he stood waiting. His clothes, all but his coat, which was of some blue +stuff, and his Sunday one, were of a large-ribbed corduroy. For a moment +no one spoke. He colored a little, but kept silent, his eyes on the +lady. + +"Good-morning, Andrew!" she said at length. "There was something, I +forget what, you were to call about! Remind me--will you?" + +"I did not come before, ma'am, because I knew you were occupied. And +even now it does not greatly matter." + +"Oh, I remember!--the poem! I am very sorry, but I had so much to think +of that it went quite out of my mind." + +An expression half amused, half shy, without trace of mortification, for +an instant shadowed the young man's face. + +"I wish you would let me have the lines again, ma'am! Indeed I should be +obliged to you!" he said. + +"Well, I confess they might first be improved! I read them one evening +to my father, and he agreed with me that two or three of them were not +quite rhythmical. But he said it was a fair attempt, and for a +working-man very creditable." + +What Andrew was thinking, it would have been hard to gather from his +smile; but I believe it was that, if he had himself read the verses +aloud, the laird would have found no fault with their rhythm. His +carriage seemed more that of a patient, respectful amusement than +anything else. + +Alexa rose, but resumed her seat, saying: + +"As the poem is a religious one, there can be no harm in handing it you +on Sunday after church!--that is," she added, meaningly, "if you will be +there!" + +"Give it to Dawtie, if you please, ma'am," replied Andrew. + +"Ah!" rebuked Miss Fordyce, in a tone almost of rebuke. + +"I seldom go to church, ma'am," said Andrew, reddening a little, but +losing no sweetness from his smile. + +"I understand as much! It is very wrong! _Why_ don't you?" + +Andrew was silent. + +"I wish you to tell me," persisted Alexa, with a peremptoriness which +came of the school-master. She had known him too as a pupil of her +father's! + +"If you will have it, ma'am, I not only learn nothing from Mr. Smith, +but I think much that he says is not true." + +"Still you ought to go for the sake of example." + +"Do wrong to make other people follow my example? Can that be to do +right?" + +"_Wrong_ to go to church! What _do_ you mean? Wrong to pray with your +fellow-men?" + +"Perhaps the hour may come, ma'am, when I shall be able to pray with my +fellow-men, even though the words they use seem addressed to a tyrant, +not to the Father of Jesus Christ. But at present I can not. I might +endure to hear Mr. Smith say evil things concerning God, but the evil +things he says to God make me quite unable to pray, and I feel like a +hypocrite!" + +"Whatever you may think of Mr. Smith's doctrines, it is presumptuous to +set yourself up as too good to go to church." + +"I most bear the reproach, ma'am. I can not consent to be a hypocrite in +order to avoid being called one!" + +Either Miss Fordyce had no answer to this, or did not choose to give +any. She was not troubled that Andrew would not go to church, but +offended at the unhesitating decision with which he set her counsel +aside. Andrew made her a respectful bow, turned away, put on his bonnet, +which he had held in his hand all the time, and passed through the +garden gate. + +"Who is the fellow?" asked George, partaking sympathetically of his +companion's annoyance. + +"He is Andrew Ingram, the son of a small farmer, one of my father's +tenants. He and his brother work with their father on the farm. They are +quite respectable people. Andrew is conceited, but has his good points. +He imagines himself a poet, and indeed his work has merit. The worst of +him is that he sets up for being better than other people." + +"Not an unusual fault with the self-educated!" + +"He does go on educating himself, I believe, but he had a good start to +begin with. My father took much pains with him at school. He helped to +carry you here after the accident--and would have taken you to his +father's if I would have let him." + +George cast on her a look of gratitude. + +"Thank you for keeping me," he said. "But I wish I had taken some notice +of his kindness!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +ANDREW INGRAM. + +Of the persons in my narrative, Andrew Ingram is the simplest, therefore +the hardest to be understood by an ordinary reader. I must take up his +history from a certain point in his childhood. + +One summer evening, he and his brother Sandy were playing together on a +knoll in one of their father's fields. Andrew was ten years old, and +Sandy a year younger. The two quarreled, and the spirit of ancestral +borderers waking in them, they fell to blows. The younger was the +stronger for his years, and they were punching each other with +relentless vigor, when suddenly they heard a voice, and stopping their +fight, saw before them an humble-looking man with a pack on his back. He +was a peddler known in the neighborhood, and noted for his honesty and +his silence, but the boys had never seen him. They stood abashed before +him, dazed with the blows they had received, and not a little ashamed; +for they were well brought up, their mother being an honest +disciplinarian, and their father never interfering with what she judged +right. The sun was near the setting, and shone with level rays full on +the peddler; but when they thought of him afterward, they seemed to +remember more light in his face than that of the sun. Their conscience +bore him witness, and his look awed them. Involuntarily they turned from +him, seeking refuge with each other: his eyes shone so! they said; but +immediately they turned to him again. + +Sandy knew the pictures in the "Pilgrim's Progress," and Andrew had read +it through more than once: when they saw the man had a book in his hand, +open, and heard him, standing there in the sun, begin to read from it, +they thought it must be Christian, waiting for Evangelist to come to +him. It is impossible to say how much is fact and how much imagination +in what children recollect; the one must almost always supplement the +other; but they were quite sure that the words he read were these: "And +lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world!" The next thing +they remembered was their walking slowly down the hill in the red light, +and all at once waking up to the fact that the man was gone, they did +not know when or where. But their arms were round each other's necks, +and they were full of a strange awe. Then Andrew saw something red on +Sandy's face. + +"Eh, Sandy!" he cried, "it's bluid!" and burst into tears. + +It was his own blood, not Sandy's!--the discovery of which fact relieved +Andrew, and did not so greatly discompose Sandy, who was less sensitive. + +They began at length to speculate on what had happened. One thing was +clear: it was because they were fighting that the man had come; but it +was not so clear who the man was. He could not be Christian, because +Christian went over the river! Andrew suggested it might have been +Evangelist, for he seemed to be always about. Sandy added, as his +contribution to the idea, that he might have picked up Christian's +bundle and been carrying it home to his wife. They came, however, to the +conclusion, by no ratiocination, I think, but by a conviction which the +idea itself brought with it, that the stranger was the Lord himself, and +that the pack on His back was their sins, which He was carrying away to +throw out of the world. + +"Eh, wasna it fearfu' He should come by jist when we was fechtin'!" said +Sandy. + +"Eh, na! it was a fine thing that! We micht hae been at it yet! But we +winna noo!--will we ever, Sandy?" + +"Na, that we winna!" + +"For," continued Andrew, "He said 'Lo, I am with you always!' And +suppose He werena, we daurna be that ahint His back we would na be afore +His face!" + +"Do you railly think it _was_ Him, Andrew?" + +"Weel," replied Andrew, "gien the deevil be goin' aboot like a roarin' +lion, seekin' whom he may devoor, as father says, it's no likely _He_ +would na be goin' aboot as weel, seekin' to haud him aff o' 's!" + +"Ay!" said Sandy. + +"And noo," said the elder, "what are we to do?" + +For Andrew, whom both father and mother judged the dreamiest of mortals, +was in reality the most practical being in the whole parish--so +practical that by and by people mocked him for a poet and a heretic, +because he did the things which they said they believed. Most +unpractical must every man appear who genuinely believes in the things +that are unseen. The man called practical by the men of this world is he +who busies himself building his house on the sand, while he does not +even bespeak a lodging in the inevitable beyond. + +"What are we to do?" said Andrew. "If the Lord is going about like that, +looking after us, we've surely got something to do looking after _Him!_" + +There was no help in Sandy; and it was well that, with the reticence of +children, neither thought of laying the case before their parents; the +traditions of the elders would have ill agreed with the doctrine they +were now under! Suddenly it came into Andrew's mind that the book they +read at _worship_ to which he had never listened, told all about Jesus. + +He began at the beginning, and grew so interested in the stories that he +forgot why he had begun to read it One day, however, as he was telling +Sandy about Jacob--"What a shame!" said Sandy; and Andrew's mind +suddenly opened to the fact that he had got nothing yet out of the book. +He threw it from him, echoing Sandy's words, "What's a shame!"--not of +Jacob's behavior, but of the Bible's, which had all this time told them +nothing about the man that was going up and down the world, gathering up +their sins, and carrying them away in His pack! But it dawned upon him +that it was the New Testament that told about Jesus Christ, and they +turned to that. Here also I say it was well they asked no advice, for +they would probably have been directed to the Epistle to the Romans, +with explanations yet more foreign to the heart of Paul than false to +his Greek. They began to read the story of Jesus as told by his friend +Matthew, and when they had ended it, went on to the gospel according to +Mark. But they had not read far when Sandy cried out: + +"Eh, Andrew, it's a' the same thing ower again!" + +"No a'thegither," answered Andrew. "We'll gang on, and see!" + +Andrew came to the conclusion that it was so far the same that he would +rather go back and read the other again, for the sake of some particular +things he wanted to make sure about So the second time they read St. +Matthew, and came to these words: + +"If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall +ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven." + +"There's twa o' 's here!" cried Andrew, laying down the book. "Lat's try +'t!" + +"Try what?" said Sandy. + +His brother read the passage again. + +"Lat the twa o' 's speir Him for something!" concluded Andrew. "What +wull't be?" + +"I won'er if it means only ance, or may be three times, like 'The Three +Wishes!'" suggested Sandy, who, like most Christians, would rather have +a talk about it than do what he was told. + +"We _might_ ask for what would not be good for us!" returned Andrew. + +"And make fools of ourselves!" assented Sandy, with "The Three Wishes" +in his mind. + +"Do you think He would give it us then?" + +"I don't know." + +"But," pursued Andrew, "if we were so foolish as that old man and woman, +it would be better to find it out, and begin to grow wise!--I'll tell +you what we'll do: we'll make it our first wish to know what's best to +ask for; and then we can go on asking!" + +"Yes, yes; let us!" + +"I fancy we'll have as many wishes as we like! Doon upo' yer knees, +Sandy!" + +They knelt together. + +I fear there are not a few to say, "How ill-instructed the poor children +were!--actually mingling the gospel and the fairy tales!" "Happy +children," say I, "who could blunder into the very heart of the will of +God concerning them, and _do_ the thing at once that the Lord taught +them, using the common sense which God had given and the fairy tale +nourished!" The Lord of the promise is the Lord of all true parables and +all good fairy tales. + +Andrew prayed: + +"Oh, Lord, tell Sandy and me what to ask for. We're unanimous." + +They got up from their knees. They had said what they had to say: why +say more! + +They felt rather dull. Nothing came to them. The prayer was prayed, and +they could not make the answer! There was no use in reading more! They +put the Bible away in a rough box where they kept it among +rose-leaves--ignorant priests of the lovely mystery of Him who was with +them always--and without a word went each his own way, not happy, for +were they not leaving Him under the elder-tree, lonely and shadowy, +where it was their custom to meet! Alas for those who must go to church +to find Him, or who can not pray unless in their closet! + +They wandered about disconsolate, at school and at home, the rest of the +day--at least Andrew did; Sandy had Andrew to lean upon! Andrew had Him +who was with them always, but He seemed at the other end of the world. +They had prayed, and there was no more of it! + +In the evening, while yet it was light, Andrew went alone to the +elder-tree, took the Bible from its humble shrine, and began turning +over its leaves. + +"And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?" He +read, and sunk deep in thought. + +This is the way his thoughts went: + +"What things? What had He been saying? Let me look and see what He says, +that I may begin to do it!" + +He read all the chapter, and found it full of _tellings_. When he read +it before he had not thought of doing one of the things He said, for as +plainly as He told him! He had not once thought He had any concern in +the matter! + +"I see!" he said; "we must begin at once to do what He tells us!" + +He ran to find his brother. + +"I've got it!" he cried: "I've got it!" + +"What?" + +"What we've got to do" + +"And what is it?" + +"Just what He tells us." + +"We were doing that," said Sandy, "when we prayed Him to tell us what to +pray for!" + +"So we were! That's grand!" + +"Then haven't we got to pray for anything more?" + +"We'll soon find out; but first we must look for something to do!" + +They began at once to search for things the Lord told them to do. And of +all they found, the plainest and easiest was: "Whosoever shall smite +thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." This needed no +explanation! it was as clear as the day to both of them! + +The very next morning the school-master, who, though of a gentle +disposition, was irritable, taking Andrew for the offender in a certain +breach of discipline, gave him a smart box on the ear. Andrew, as +readily as if it had been instinctively, turned to him the other cheek. + +An angry man is an evil interpreter of holy things, and Mr. Fordyce took +the action for one of rudest mockery, nor thought of the higher master +therein mocked if it were mockery: he struck the offender a yet smarter +blow. Andrew stood for a minute like one dazed; but the red on his face +was not that of anger; he was perplexed as to whether he ought now to +turn the former cheek again to the striker. Uncertain, he turned away, +and went to his work. + +Stops a reader here to say: "But do you really mean to tell us we ought +to take the words literally as Andrew did?" I answer: "When you have +earned the right to understand, you will not need to ask me. To explain +what the Lord means to one who is not obedient, is the work of no man +who knows his work." + +It is but fair to say for the school-master that, when he found he had +mistaken, he tried to make up to the boy for it--not by confessing +himself wrong--who could expect that of only a school-master?--but by +being kinder to him than before. Through this he came to like him, and +would teach him things out of the usual way--such as how to make +different kinds of verse. + +By and by Andrew and Sandy had a quarrel. Suddenly Andrew came to +himself, and cried: + +"Sandy! Sandy! He says we're to agree!" + +"Does He?" + +"He says we're to love one another, and we canna do that if we dinna +agree!" + +There came a pause. + +"Perhaps after all you were in the right, Sandy!" said Andrew. + +"I was just going to say that; when I think about it, perhaps I wasn't +so much in the right as I thought I was!" + +"It can't matter much which was in the right, when we were both in the +wrong!" said Andrew. "Let's ask Him to keep us from caring which is in +the right, and make us both try to be in the right We don't often +differ about what we are to ask for, Sandy!" + +"No, we don't." + +"It's me to take care of you, Sandy!" + +"And me to take care of you, Andrew!" + +Here was the nucleus of a church!--two stones laid on the +foundation-stone. + +"Luik here, Sandy!" said Andrew; "we maun hae anither, an' syne there'll +be four o' 's!" + +"How's that?" asked Sandy. + +"I won'er 'at we never noticed it afore! Here's what He says: 'For where +two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst +of them.' In that way, wharever He micht be walkin' aboot, we could aye +get Him! He likes twa, an' His Father 'ill hear the 'greed prayer, but +He likes three better--an' that stan's to rizzon, for three maun be +better 'n twa! First ane maun lo'e Him; an' syne twa can lo'e Him +better, because ilk ane is helpit by the ither, an' lo'es Him the mair +that He lo'es the ither ane! An' syne comes the third, and there's mair +an' mair throwin' o' lichts, and there's the Lord himsel' i' the mids' +o' them! Three maks a better mids' than twa!" + +Sandy could not follow the reasoning quite, but he had his own way of +understanding. + +"It's jist like the story o' Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!" he said. +"There was three o' them, an' sae He made four! Eh, jist think o' Him +bein' wi' 's His verra sel'!" + +Here now was a church indeed: the idea of a third was the very principle +of growth! They would meet together and say: "Oh, Father of Jesus +Christ, help us to be good like Jesus;" and then Jesus himself would +make one of them, and worship the Father with them! + +The next thing, as a matter of course, was to look about for a third. + +"Dawtie!" cried both at once. + +Dawtie was the child of a cotter pair, who had an acre or two of their +father's farm, and helped him with it. Her real name has not reached me; +_Dawtie_ means _darling_, and is a common term of endearment--derived, +Jamieson suggests, from the Gaelic _dalt_, signifying _a foster-child_. +Dawtie was a dark-haired, laughing little darling, with shy, merry +manners, and the whitest teeth, full of fun, but solemn in an instant. +Her small feet were bare and black--except on Saturday nights and Sunday +mornings--but full of expression, and perhaps really cleaner, from their +familiarity with the sweet all-cleansing air, than such as hide the +day-long in socks and shoes. + +Dawtie's specialty was love of the creatures. She had an undoubting +conviction that every one of them with which she came in contact +understood and loved her. She was the champion of the oppressed, without +knowing it. Every individual necessity stood on its own merits, and came +to her fresh and sole, as if she had forgotten all that went before it. +Like some boys she had her pockets as well as her hands at the service +of live things; but unlike any boy, she had in her love no admixture of +natural history; it was not interest in animals with her, but an +individual love to the individual animal, whatever it might be, that +presented itself to the love-power in her. + +It may seem strange that there should be three such children together. +But their fathers and mothers had for generations been poor--which was a +great advantage, as may be seen in the world by him who has eyes to see, +and heard in the parable of the rich man by him who has ears to hear. +Also they were God-fearing, which was a far greater advantage, and made +them honorable; for they would have scorned things that most Christians +will do. Dawtie's father had a rarely keen instinct for what is mean, +and that not in the way of abhorrence in others, but of avoidance in +himself. To shades and _nuances_ of selfishness, which men of high +repute and comfortable conscience would neither be surprised to find in +their neighbors nor annoyed to find in themselves, he would give no +quarter. Along with Andrew's father, he had, in childhood and youth, +been under the influence of a simple-hearted pastor, whom the wise and +prudent laughed at as one who could not take care of himself, incapable +of seeing that, like his master, he laid down his life that he might +take it again. He left God to look after him, that he might be free to +look after God. + +Little Dawtie had learned her catechism, but, thank God, had never +thought about it or attempted to understand it--good negative +preparation for becoming, in a few years more, able to understand the +New Testament with the heart of a babe. + +The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she +sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a +chicken with oatmeal paste. + +"What are you doin', Dawtie?" they asked. + +"I'm tryin'," she answered, without looking up, "to haud the life i' the +chuckie." + +"What's the matter wi' 't?" + +"Naething but the want o' a mither." + +"Is the mither o' 't deid?" + +"Na, she's alive eneuch, but she has ower mony bairns to hap them a'; +her wings winna cower them, and she drives this ane awa', and winna lat +it come near her." + +"Sic a cruel mither!" + +"Na, she's no' cruel. She only wants to gar't come to me! She kenned I +would tak it. Na, na; Flappy's a guid mither! I ken her weel; she's ane +o' our ain! She kens me, or she would hae keepit the puir thing, and +done her best wi' her." + +"I ken somebody," said Andrew, "that would fain spread oot wings, like a +great big hen, ower a' the bairns, you an' me an' a', Dawtie!" + +"That's my mither!" cried Dawtie, looking up, and showing her white +teeth. + +"Na, it's a man," said Sandy. + +"It's my father, than!" + +"Na, it's no. Would ye like to see Him?" + +"Na, I'm no carin'." + +"Sandy and me's gaein' to see Him some day." + +"I'll gang wi' ye. But I maun tak' my chuckie!" + +She looked down where she had set the little bird on the ground; it had +hobbled away and she could not see it! + +"Eh," she cried, starting up, "ye made me forget my chuckie wi' yer +questions! It's mither 'ill peck it!" + +She darted off, and forsook the tale of the Son of Man to look after her +chicken. But presently she returned with it in her hands. + +"Tell awa'," she said, resuming her seat "What do they ca' Him?" + +"They ca' Him the Father o' Jesus Christ." + +"I'll gang wi' ye," she answered. + +So the church was increased by a whole half, and the fraction of a +chicken--type of the groaning creation, waiting for the sonship. + +The three gathered to read and pray. And almost always there was some +creature with them in the arms or hands of Dawtie. And if the Lord was +not there, too, then are we Christians most miserable, for we see a +glory beyond all that man could dream, and it is but a dream! Whose +dream? + +They went on at other times with the usual employments and games of +children. But there was this difference between them and most grown +Christians, that when anything roused thought or question they at once +referred it to the word of Jesus, and having discovered His will, made +haste to do it. It naturally followed that, seeing He gives the spirit +to them that obey Him, they grew rapidly in the modes of their Master, +learning to look at things as He looked at them, to think of them as He +thought of them, to value what He valued, and despise what He +despised--all in simplest order of divine development, in uttermost +accord with highest reason, the whole turning on the primary and +continuous effort to obey. + +It was long before they came to have any regular time of meeting. Andrew +always took the initiative in assembling the church. When he called they +came together. Then he would read from the story, and communicate any +discovery he had made concerning what Jesus would have them do. Next, +they would consult and settle what they should ask for, and one of them, +generally Andrew, but sometimes Sandy, would pray. They made no formal +utterance, but simply asked for what they needed. Here are some +specimens of their petitions: + +"Oh, Lord, Sandy canna for the life o' 'im un'erstan' the rule o' three; +please, Lord, help him." + +"Oh, Lord, I dinna ken onything I want the day; please gi'e us what we +need, an' what ye want us to hae, wi'oot our askin' it." + +"Lord, help us; we're ill-natnr'd (_bad-tempered_) the day; an' ye wadna +hae us that." + +"Lord, Dawtie's mither has a sair heid (_headache_); mak her better, +gien ye please." + +When their prayers were ended Andrew would say: "Sandy, have you found +anything He says?" and there-upon, if he had, Sandy would speak. Dawtie +never said a word, but sat and listened with her big eyes, generally +stroking some creature in her lap. + +Surely the part of every superior is to help the life in the lower! + +Once the question arose, in their assembly of three and a bird, whose +leg Dawtie had put in splints, what became of the creatures when they +died. They concluded that the sparrow that God cared for must be worth +caring for; and they could not believe He had made it to last only such +a little while as its life in this world. Thereupon they agreed to ask +the Lord that, when they died, they might have again a certain dog, an +ugly little white mongrel, of which they had been very fond. All their +days thereafter they were, I believe, more or less consciously, looking +forward to the fulfillment of this petition. For their hope strengthened +with the growth of their ideal; and when they had to give up any belief +it was to take a better in its place. + +They yielded at length the notion that the peddler was Jesus Christ, but +they never ceased to believe that He was God's messenger, or that the +Lord was with them always. They would not insist that He was walking +about on the earth, but to the end of their days they cherished the +uncertain hope that they might, even without knowing it, look upon the +face of the Lord in that of some stranger passing in the street, or +mingling in a crowd, or seated in a church; for they knew that all the +shapes of man belong to Him, and that, after He rose from the dead there +were several occasions on which He did not at first look like Himself to +those to whom He appeared. + +The child-like, the essential, the divine notion of serving, with their +every-day will and being, the will of the living One, who lived for them +that they might live, as once He had died for them that they might die, +ripened in them to a Christianity that saw God everywhere, saw that +everything had to be done as God would have it done, and that nothing +but injustice had to be forsaken to please Him. They were under no +influence of what has been so well called _other-worldliness_, for they +saw this world as much God's as that, saw that its work has to be done +divinely, that it is the beginning of the world to come. It was to them +all one world, with God in it, all in all; therefore the best work for +the other world was the work of this world. + +Such was the boyhood of that Andrew Ingram whom Miss Fordyce now +reproved for not setting the good example of going to church. + +The common sense of the children rapidly developed, for there is no +teacher like obedience, and no obstruction like its postponement. When +in after years their mothers came at length to understand that obedience +had been so long the foundation of their life, it explained to them many +things that had seemed strange, and brought them to reproach themselves +that they should have seemed strange. + +It ought not to be overlooked that the whole thing was wrought in the +children without directed influence of kindred or any neighbor. They +imitated none. The galvanism of imitation is not the life of the spirit; +the use of form where love is not is killing. And if any one is desirous +of spreading the truth let him apply himself, like these children, to +the doing of it; not obeying the truth, he is doubly a liar pretending +to teach it; if he obeys it already, let him obey it more. It is life +that awakes life. All form of persuasion is empty except in vital +association with regnant obedience. Talking and not doing is dry rot. + +Cottage children are sometimes more fastidious about their food than +children that have a greater variety; they have a more delicate +perception and discrimination in the simple dishes on which they thrive; +much choice, though little refusal. Andrew had a great dislike to lumps +in his porridge; and one day the mother having been less careful than +usual in cooking it, he made a wry face at the first spoonful. + +"Andrew," said Sandy, "take no thought for what ye eat." + +It was a wrong interpretation, but a righteous use of the word. Happy +the soul that mistakes the letter only to get at the spirit! + +Andrew's face smoothed itself, began to clear up, and broke at last into +a sunny smile. He said nothing, but eat his full share of the porridge +without a frown. This was practical religion; and if any one judge it +not worth telling, I count his philosophy worthless beside it. Such a +doer knows more than such a reader will ever know, except he take +precisely the same way to learn. The children of God do what He would +have them do, and are taught of Him. + +A report at length reached the pastor, now an old man, of ripe heart and +true insight, that certain children in his parish "played at the Lord's +Supper." He was shocked, and went to their parents. They knew nothing of +the matter. The three children were sought, and the pastor had a private +interview with them. From it he reappeared with a solemn, pale face, and +silent tongue. They asked him the result of his inquiry. He answered +that he was not prepared to interfere: as he was talking with them, the +warning came that there were necks and mill-stones. The next Sunday he +preached a sermon from the text, "Out of the month of babes and +sucklings Thou hast perfected praise." + +The fathers and mothers made inquisition, and found no desire to +conceal. Wisely or not, they forbade the observance. It cost Andrew much +thought whether he was justified in obeying them; but he saw that right +and wrong in itself was not concerned, and that the Lord would have them +obey their parents. + +It was necessary to tell so much of the previous history of Andrew, lest +what remains to be told should perhaps be unintelligible or seem +incredible without it. A character like his can not be formed in a day; +it must early begin to grow. + +The bond thus bound between the children, altering in form as they grew, +was never severed; nor was the lower creation ever cut off from its +share in the petitions of any one of them. When they ceased to assemble +as a community, they continued to act on the same live principles. + +Gladly as their parents would have sent them to college, Andrew and +Sandy had to leave school only to work on the farm. But they carried +their studies on from the point they had reached. When they could not +get further without help, they sought and found it. For a year or two +they went in the winter to an evening school; but it took so much time +to go and come that they found they could make more progress by working +at home. What help they sought went a long way, and what they learned, +they knew. + +When the day's work was over, and the evening meal, they went to the +room their own hands had made convenient for study as well as sleep, and +there resumed the labor they had dropped the night before. Together they +read Greek and mathematics, but Andrew worked mainly in literature, +Sandy in mechanics. On Saturdays, Sandy generally wrought at some model, +while Andrew read to him. On Sundays, they always, for an hour or two, +read the Bible together. + +The brothers were not a little amused with Miss Fordyce's patronage of +Andrew; but they had now been too long endeavoring to bring into +subjection the sense of personal importance, to take offense at it. + +Dawtie had gone into service, and they seldom saw her except when she +came home for a day at the term. She was a grown woman now, but the same +loving child as before. She counted the brothers her superiors, just as +they counted the laird and his daughter their superiors. But whereas +Alexa claimed the homage, Dawtie yielded where was no thought of +claiming it. The brothers regarded her as their sister. That she was +poorer than they, only made them the more watchful over her, and if +possible the more respectful to her. So she had a rich return for her +care of the chickens and kittens and puppies. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George went home the next day; and the following week sent Andrew a +note, explaining that when he saw him he did not know his obligation to +him, and expressing the hope that, when next in town, he would call upon +him. This was hardly well, being condescension to a superior. Perhaps +the worst evil in the sense of social superiority is the vile fancy that +it alters human relation. George did not feel bound to make the same +acknowledgment of obligation to one in humble position as to one in the +same golden rank with himself! It says ill for social distinction, if, +for its preservation, such an immoral difference be essential. But +Andrew was not one to dwell upon his rights. He thought it friendly of +Mr. Crawford to ask him to call; therefore, although he had little +desire to make his acquaintance, and grudged the loss of time, to no man +so precious as to him who has a pursuit in addition to a calling, +Andrew, far stronger in courtesy than the man who invited him, took the +first Saturday afternoon to go and see him. + +Mr. Crawford the elder lived in some style, and his door was opened by a +servant whose blatant adornment filled Andrew with friendly pity: no man +would submit to be dressed like that, he judged, except from necessity. +The reflection sprung from no foolish and degrading contempt for +household service. It is true Andrew thought no labor so manly as that +in the earth, out of which grows everything that makes the loveliness or +use of Nature; for by it he came in contact with the primaries of human +life, and was God's fellow laborer, a helper in the work of the +universe, knowing the ways of it and living in them; but not the less +would he have done any service, and that cheerfully, which his own need +or that of others might have required of him. The colors of a parrot, +however, were not fit for a son of man, and hence his look of sympathy. +His regard was met only by a glance of plain contempt, as the lackey, +moved by the same spirit as his master, left him standing in the +hall--to return presently, and show him into the library--a room of +mahogany, red morocco, and yellow calf, where George sat. He rose, and +shook hands with him. + +"I am glad to see you, Mr. Ingram," he said. "When I wrote I had but +just learned how much I was indebted to you." + +"I understand what you must mean," returned Andrew, "but it was scarce +worth alluding to. Miss Fordyce had the better claim to serve you!" + +"You call it nothing to carry a man of my size over a mile of heather!" + +"I had help," answered Andrew; "and but for the broken leg," he added, +with a laugh, "I could have carried you well enough alone." + +There came a pause, for George did not know what next to do with the +farmer fellow. So the latter spoke again, being unembarrassed. + +"You have a grand library, Mr. Crawford! It must be fine to sit among so +many books! It's just like a wine-merchant's cellars--only here you can +open and drink, and leave the bottles as full as before!" + +"A good simile, Mr. Ingram!" replied George. "You must come and dine +with me, and we'll open another sort of bottle!" + +"You must excuse me there, sir! I have no time for that sort of bottle." + +"I understand you read a great deal?" + +"Weather permitting," returned Andrew. + +"I should have thought if anything was independent of the weather, it +must be reading!" + +"Not a farmer's reading, sir. To him the weather is the Word of God, +telling him whether to work or read." + +George was silent. To him the Word of God was the Bible! + +"But you must read a great deal yourself, sir!" resumed Andrew, casting +a glance round the room. + +"The books are my father's!" said George. + +He did not mention that his own reading came all in the library-cart, +except when he wanted some special information; for George was "a +practical man!" He read his Bible to prepare for his class in the +Sunday-school, and his Shakespeare when he was going to see one of his +plays acted. He would make the best of both worlds by paying due +attention to both! He was religious, but liberal. + +His father was a banker, an elder of the kirk, well reputed in and +beyond his circle. He gave to many charities, and largely to educational +schemes. His religion was to hold by the traditions of the elders, and +keep himself respectable in the eyes of money-dealers. He went to church +regularly, and always asked God's blessing on his food, as if it were a +kind of general sauce. He never prayed God to make him love his +neighbor, or help him to be an honest man. He "had worship" every +morning, no doubt; but only a Nonentity like his God could care for such +prayers as his. George rejected his father's theology as false in logic +and cruel in character: George knew just enough of God to be guilty of +neglecting Him. + +"When I am out all day, I can do with less reading; for then I have the +'book of knowledge fair,'" said Andrew, quoting Milton. "It does not +take _all_ one's attention to drive a straight furrow or keep the harrow +on the edge of the last bout!" + +"You don't mean you can read your Bible as you hold the plow!" said +George. + +"No, sir," answered Andrew, amused. "A body could not well manage a book +between the stilts of the plow. The Bible will keep till you get home; a +little of it goes a long way. But Paul counted the book of creation +enough to make the heathen to blame for not minding it. Never a wind +wakes of a sudden, but it talks to me about God. And is not the sunlight +the same that came out of the body of Jesus at His transfiguration?" + +"You seem to have some rather peculiar ideas of your own, Mr. Ingram!" + +"Perhaps, sir! For a man to have no ideas of his own, is much the same +as to have no ideas at all. A man can not have the ideas of another man, +any more than he can have another man's soul, or another man's body!" + +"That is dangerous doctrine." + +"Perhaps we are not talking about the same thing! I mean by _ideas_, +what a man orders his life by." + +"Your ideas may be wrong!" + +"The All-wise is my judge." + +"So much the worse, if you are in the wrong!" + +"It is the only good, whether I be in the right or the wrong. Would I +have my mistakes overlooked? What judge would I desire but the Judge of +all the earth! Shall He not do right? And will He not set me right?" + +"That is a most dangerous confidence!" + +"It would be if there were any other judge. But it will be neither the +Church nor the world that will sit on the great white throne. He who +sits there will not ask: 'Did you go to church?' or 'Did you believe in +this or that?' but' Did you do what I told you?'" + +"And what will you say to that, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I will say: 'Lord, Thou knowest!" + +The answer checked George a little. + +"Suppose He should say you did not, what would you answer?" + +"I would say: 'Lord, send me where I may learn.'" + +"And if He should say: 'That is what I sent you into the world for, and +you have not done it!' what would you say then?" + +"I should hold my peace." + +"You do what He tells you then?" + +"I try." + +"Does He not say: 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together?'" + +"No, sir." + +"No?" + +"Somebody says something like it in the Epistle to the Hebrews." + +"And isn't that the same?" + +"The Man who wrote it would be indignant at your saying so! Tell me, Mr. +Crawford, what makes a gathering a Church?" + +"It would take me some time to arrange my ideas before I could answer +you." + +"Is it not the presence of Christ that makes an assembly a Church?" + +"Well?" + +"Does He not say that where two or three are met in His name, there is +He in the midst of them?" + +"Yes." + +"Then thus far I will justify myself to you, that, if I do not go to +what you call _church_, I yet often make one of a company met in His +name." + +"He does not limit the company to two or three." + +"Assuredly not. But if I find I get more help and strength with a +certain few, why should I go with a multitude to get less? Will you draw +another line than the Master's? Why should it be more sacred to worship +with five hundred or five thousand than with three? If He is in the +midst of them, they can not be wrong gathered!" + +"It _looks_ as if you thought yourselves better than everybody else!" + +"If it were so, then certainly He would not be _one_ of the gathering!" + +"How are you to know that He is in the midst of you?" + +"If we are not keeping His commandments, He is not. But His presence can +not be _proved_; it can only be known. If He meets us, it is not +necessary to the joy of His presence that we should be able to prove +that He does meet us! If a man has the company of the Lord, he will care +little whether another does or does not believe that he has." + +"Your way is against the peace of the Church! It fosters division." + +"Did the Lord come to send peace on the earth? My way, as you call it, +would make division, but division between those who call themselves His +and those who are His. It would bring together those that love Him. +Company would merge with company that they might look on the Lord +together. I don't believe Jesus cares much for what is called the +visible Church; but He cares with His very Godhead for those that do as +He tells them; they are His Father's friends; they are His elect by whom +He will save the world. It is by those who obey, and by their obedience, +that He will save those who do not obey, that is, will bring them to +obey. It is one by one the world will pass to His side. There is no +saving in the lump. If a thousand be converted at once, it is every +single lonely man that is converted." + +"You would make a slow process of it!" + +"If slow, yet faster than any other. All God's processes are slow. How +many years has the world existed, do you imagine, sir?" + +"I don't know. Geologists say hundreds and hundreds of thousands." + +"And how many is it since Christ came?" + +"Toward two thousand." + +"Then we are but in the morning of Christianity! There is plenty of +time. The day is before us." + +"Dangerous doctrine for the sinner!" + +"Why? Time is plentiful for his misery, if he will not repent; plentiful +for the mercy of God that would lead him to repentance. There is plenty +of time for labor and hope; none for indifference and delay. God _will_ +have his creatures good. They can not escape Him." + +"Then a man may put off repentance as long as he pleases!" + +"Certainly he may--at least as long as he can--but it is a fearful thing +to try issues with God." + +"I can hardly say I understand you." + +"Mr. Crawford, you have questioned me in the way of kindly anxiety and +reproof; that has given me the right to question you. Tell me, do you +admit we are bound to do what our Lord requires?" + +"Of course. How could any Christian man do otherwise?" + +"Yet a man may say: 'Lord, Lord,' and be cast out! It is one thing to +say we are bound to do what the Lord tells us, and another to do what He +tells us! He says: 'Seek ye _first_ the kingdom of God and His +righteousness:' Mr. Crawford, are you seeking the kingdom of God +_first_, or are you seeking money first?" + +"We are sent into the world to make our living." + +"Sent into the world, we have to seek our living; we are not sent into +the world to seek our living, but to seek the kingdom and righteousness +of God. And to seek a living is very different from seeking a fortune!" + +"If you, Mr. Ingram, had a little wholesome ambition, you would be less +given to judging your neighbors." + +Andrew held his peace, and George concluded he had had the best of the +argument--which was all he wanted; of the truth concerned he did not see +enough to care about it Andrew, perceiving no good was to be done, was +willing to appear defeated; he did not value any victory but the victory +of the truth, and George was not yet capable of being conquered by the +truth. + +"No!" resumed he, "we must avoid personalities. There are certain things +all respectable people have agreed to regard as right: he is a +presumptuous man who refuses to regard them. Reflect on it, Mr. Ingram." + +The curious smile hovered about the lip of the plow-man; when things to +say did not come to him, he went nowhere to fetch them. Almost in +childhood he had learned that, when one is required to meet the lie, +words are given him; when they are not, silence is better. A man who +does not love the truth, but disputes for victory, is the swine before +whom pearls must not be cast. Andrew's smile meant that it had been a +waste of his time to call upon Mr. Crawford. But he did not blame +himself, for he had come out of pure friendliness. He would have risen +at once, but feared to seem offended. Crawford, therefore, with the +rudeness of a superior, himself rose, saying: + +"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ingram?" + +"The only thing one man can do for another is to be at one with him," +answered Andrew, rising. + +"Ah, you are a socialist! That accounts for much!" said George. + +"Tell me this," returned Andrew, looking him in the eyes: "Did Jesus +ever ask of His Father anything His Father would not give Him?" + +"Not that I remember," answered George, fearing a theological trap. + +"He said once: 'I pray for them which shall believe in Me, that they all +may be one, as Thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also many +be one in us!' No man can be one with another, who is not one with +Christ." + +As he left the house, a carriage drove up, in which was Mr. Crawford the +elder, home from a meeting of directors, at which a dividend had been +agreed upon--to be paid from the capital, in preparation for another +issue of shares. + +Andrew walked home a little bewildered. "How is it," he said to himself, +"that so many who would be terrified at the idea of not being +Christians, and are horrified at any man who does not believe there is a +God, are yet absolutely indifferent to what their Lord tells them to do +if they would be His disciples? But may not I be in like case without +knowing it? Do I meet God in my geometry? When I so much enjoy my +Euclid, is it always God geometrizing to me? Do I feel talking with God +every time I dwell upon any fact of his world of lines and circles and +angles? Is it God with me, every time that the joy of life, of a wind or +a sky or a lovely phrase, flashes through me? Oh, my God," he broke out +in speechless prayer as he walked--and those that passed said to +themselves he was mad; how, in such a world, could any but a madman wear +a face of joy! "Oh, my God, Thou art all in all, and I have everything! +The world is mine because it is Thine! I thank Thee, my God, that Thou +hast lifted me up to see whence I came, to know to whom I belong, to +know who is my Father, and makes me His heir! I am Thine, infinitely +more than mine own; and Thou art mine as Thou art Christ's!" + +He knew his Father in the same way that Jesus Christ knows His Father. +He was at home in the universe, neither lonely, nor out-of-doors, nor +afraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE CRAWFORDS. + + +Through strong striving to secure his life, Mr. Crawford lost it--both +in God's sense of loss and his own. He narrowly escaped being put in +prison, died instead, and was put into God's prison to pay the uttermost +farthing. But he had been such a good Christian that his +fellow-Christians mourned over his failure and his death, not over his +dishonesty! For did they not know that if, by more dishonesty, he could +have managed to recover his footing, he would have paid everything? One +injunction only he obeyed--he provided for his own; of all the widows +concerned in his bank, his widow alone was secured from want; and she, +like a dutiful wife, took care that his righteous intention should be +righteously carried out; not a penny would she give up to the paupers +her husband had made. + +The downfall of the house of cards took place a few months after +George's return to its business. Not initiated to the mysteries of his +father's transactions, ignorant of what had long been threatening, it +was a terrible blow to him. But he was a man of action, and at once +looked to America; at home he could not hold up his head. + +He had often been to Potlurg, and had been advancing in intimacy with +Alexa; but he would not show himself there until he could appear as a +man of decision--until he was on the point of departure. She would be +the more willing to believe his innocence of complicity in the +deceptions that had led to his ruin! He would thus also manifest +self-denial and avoid the charge of interested motives! he could not +face the suspicion of being a suitor with nothing to offer! George had +always taken the grand rle--that of superior, benefactor, bestower. He +was powerful in condescension! + +Not, therefore, until the night before he sailed did he go to Potlurg. + +Alexa received him with a shade of displeasure. + +"I am going away," he said, abruptly, the moment they were seated. + +Her heart gave a painful throb in her throat, but she did not lose her +self-possession. + +"Where are you going?" she asked. + +"To New York," he replied. "I have got a situation there--in a not +unimportant house. _There_ at least I am taken for an honest man. From +your heaven I have fallen." + +"No one falls from any heaven but has himself to blame," rejoined Alexa. + +"Where have I been to blame? I was not in my father's confidence. I knew +nothing, positively nothing, of what was going on." + +"Why then did you not come to see me?" + +"A man who is neither beggar nor thief is not willing to look either." + +"You would have come if you had trusted me," she said. + +"You must pardon pride in a ruined man," he answered. "Now that I am +starting to-morrow, I do not feel the same dread of being +misunderstood!" + +"It was not kind of you, George. Knowing yourself fit to be trusted, why +did you not think me capable of trusting?" + +"But, Alexa!--a man's own father!" + +For a moment he showed signs of an emotion he had seldom had to repress. + +"I beg your pardon, George!" cried Alexa. "I am both stupid and selfish! +Are you really going so far?" + +Her voice trembled. + +"I am--but to return, I hope, in a very different position!" + +"You would have me understand--" + +"That I shall then be able to hold up my head." + +"Why should an innocent man ever do otherwise?" + +"He can not help seeing himself in other people's thoughts!" + +"If we are in the right ought we to mind what people think of us?" said +Alexa. + +"Perhaps not. But I will make them think of me as I choose." + +"How?" + +"By compelling their respect." + +"You mean to make a fortune?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it will be the fortune they respect! You will not be more worthy!" + +"I shall not." + +"Is such respect worth having?" + +"Not in itself." + +"In what then? Why lay yourself out for it?" + +"Believe me, Alexa, even the real respect of such people would be +worthless to me. I only want to bring them to their marrow-bones!" + +The truth was, Alexa prized social position so dearly that she did not +relish his regarding it as a thing at the command of money. Let George +be as rich as a Jew or an American, Alexa would never regard him as her +equal! George worshiped money; Alexa worshiped birth and land. + +Our own way of being wrong is all right in our own eyes; our neighbor's +way of being wrong is offensive to all that is good in us. We are +anxious therefore, kindly anxious, to pull the mote out of his eye, +never thinking of the big beam in the way of the operation. Jesus +labored to show us that our immediate business is to be right ourselves. +Until we are, even our righteous indignation is waste. + +While he spoke, George's eyes were on the ground. His grand resolve did +not give his innocence strength to look in the face of the woman he +loved; he felt, without knowing why, that she was not satisfied with +him. Of the paltriness of his ambition, he had no inward hint. The high +resolves of a puny nature must be a laughter to the angels--the bad +ones. + +"If a man has no ambition," he resumed, feeling after her objection, +"how is he to fulfill the end of his being! No sluggard ever made his +mark! How would the world advance but for the men who have to make their +fortunes! If a man find his father has not made money for him, what is +he to do but make it for himself? You would not have me all my life a +clerk! If I had but known, I should by this time have been well ahead!" + +Alexa had nothing to answer; it all sounded very reasonable! Were not +Scots boys everywhere taught it was the business of life to rise? In +whatever position they were, was it not their part to get out of it? She +did not see that it is in the kingdom of heaven only we are bound to +rise. We are born into the world not to rise in the kingdom of Satan, +but out of it And the only way to rise in the kingdom of heaven is to do +the work given us to do. Whatever be intended for us, this is the only +way to it We have not to promote ourselves, but to do our work. It is +the master of the feast who says: "Go up." If a man go up of himself, he +will find he has mistaken the head of the table. + +More talk followed, but neither cast any light; neither saw the true +question. George took his leave. Alexa said she would be glad to hear +from him. + +Alexa did not like the form of George's ambition--to gain money, and so +compel the respect of persons he did not himself respect But was she +clear of the money disease herself? Would she have married a poor man, +to go on as hitherto? Would she not have been ashamed to have George +know how she had supplied his needs while he lay in the house--that it +was with the poor gains of her poultry-yard she fed him? Did it improve +her moral position toward money that she regarded commerce with +contempt--a rudiment of the time when nobles treated merchants as a +cottager his bees? + +George's situation was a subordinate one in a house of large dealings in +Wall Street. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +DAWTIE. + +Is not the Church supposed to be made up of God's elect? and yet most of +my readers find it hard to believe there should be three persons, so +related, who agreed to ask of God, and to ask neither riches nor love, +but that God should take His own way with them, that the Father should +work His will in them, that He would teach them what He wanted of them, +and help them to do it! The Church is God's elect, and yet you can not +believe in three holy children! Do you say: "Because they are +represented as beginning to obey so young?" "Then," I answer, "there can +be no principle, only an occasional and arbitrary exercise of spiritual +power, in the perfecting of praise out of the mouth of babes and +sucklings, or in the preference of them to the wise and prudent as the +recipients of divine revelation." + +Dawtie never said much, but tried the more. With heartiness she accepted +what conclusions the brothers came to, so far as she understood +them--and what was practical she understood as well as they; for she had +in her heart the spirit of that Son of Man who chose a child to +represent Him and His Father. As to what they heard at church, their +minds were so set on doing what they found in the Gospel, that it passed +over them without even rousing their intellect, and so vanished without +doing any hurt. Tuned to the truth by obedience, no falsehood they heard +from the pulpit partisans of God could make a chord vibrate in response. +Dawtie indeed heard nothing but the good that was mingled with the +falsehood, and shone like a lantern through a thick fog. + +She was little more than a child when, to the trouble of her parents, +she had to go out to service. Every half year she came home for a day or +so, and neither feared nor found any relation altered. At length after +several closely following changes, occasioned by no fault of hers, she +was without a place. Miss Fordyce heard of it, and proposed to her +parents that, until she found another, she should help Meg, who was +growing old and rather blind: she would thus, she said, go on learning, +and not be idling at home. + +Dawtie's mother was not a little amused at the idea of any one idling in +her house, not to say Dawtie, whom idleness would have tried harder than +any amount of work; but, if only that Miss Fordyce might see what sort +of girl Dawtie was, she judged it right to accept her offer. + +She had not been at Potlurg a week before Meg began to complain that she +did not leave work enough to keep her warm. No doubt it gave her time +for her book, but her eyes were not so good as they used to be, and she +was apt to fall asleep over it, and catch cold! But when her mistress +proposed to send her away, she would not hear of it So Alexa, who had +begun to take an interest in her, set her to do things she had hitherto +done herself, and began to teach her other things. Before three months +were over, she was a necessity in the house, and to part with Dawtie +seemed impossible. A place about that time turning up, Alexa at once +offered her wages, and so Dawtie became an integral portion of the +laird's modest household. + +The laird himself at length began to trust her as he had never trusted +servant, for he taught her to dust his precious books, which hitherto he +had done himself, but of late had shrunk from, finding not a few of them +worse than Pandora-boxes, liberating asthma at the merest unclosing. + +Dawtie was now a grown woman, bright, gentle, playful, with loving eyes, +and a constant overflow of tenderness upon any creature that could +receive it. She had small but decided and regular features, whose +prevailing expression was confidence--not in herself, for she was scarce +conscious of herself even in the act of denying herself--but in the +person upon whom her trusting eyes were turned. She was in the world to +help--with no political economy beyond the idea that for help and +nothing else did any one exist. To be as the sun and the rain and the +wind, as the flowers that lived for her and not for themselves, as the +river that flowed, and the heather that bloomed lovely on the bare moor +in the autumn, such was her notion of being. That she had to take care +of herself was a falsehood that never entered her brain. To do what she +ought, and not do what she ought not, was enough on her part, and God +would do the rest! I will not say she reasoned thus; to herself she was +scarce a conscious object at all. Both bodily and spiritually she was in +the finest health. If illness came, she would perhaps then discover a +self with which she had to fight--I can not tell; but my impression is, +that she had so long done the true thing, that illness would only +develop unconscious victory, perfecting the devotion of her simple +righteousness. It is because we are selfish, with that worst selfishness +which is incapable of recognizing itself, not to say its own +loathsomeness, that we have to be made ill. That they may leave the last +remnants of their selfishness, are the saints themselves over-taken by +age and death. Suffering does not cause the vile thing in us--that was +there all the time; it comes to develop in us the knowledge of its +presence, that it may be war to the knife between us and it. It was no +wonder that Dawtie grew more and more of a favorite at Potlurg. + +She did not read much, but would learn by heart anything that pleased +her, and then go saying or singing it to herself. She had the voice of a +lark, and her song prevented many a search for her. Against that "rain +of melody," not the pride of the laird, or the orderliness of the +ex-school-master ever put up the umbrella of rebuke. Her singing was so +true, came so clear from the fountain of joy, and so plainly from no +desire to be heard, that it gave no annoyance; while such was her +sympathy, that, although she had never get suffered, you would, to hear +her sing "My Nannie's awa'!" have thought her in truth mourning an +absent lover, and familiar with every pang of heart-privation. Her +cleanliness, clean even of its own show, was a heavenly purity; while so +gently was all her spiriting done, that the very idea of fuss died in +the presence of her labor. To the self-centered such a person soon +becomes a nobody; the more dependent they are upon her unfailing +ministration, the less they think of her; but they have another way of +regarding such in "the high countries." Hardly any knew her real name; +she was known but by her pet name _Dawtie_. + +Alexa, who wondered at times that she could not interest her in things +she made her read, little knew how superior the girl's choice was to her +own! Not knowing much of literature, what she liked was always of the +best in its kind, and nothing without some best element could interest +her at all. But she was not left either to her "own sweet will" or to +the prejudices of her well-meaning mistress; however long the intervals +that parted them, Andrew continued to influence her reading as from the +first. A word now and a word then, with the books he lent or gave her, +was sufficient. That Andrew liked this or that, was enough to make +Dawtie set herself to find in it what Andrew liked, and it was thus she +became acquainted with most of what she learned by heart. + +Above two years before the time to which I have now brought my +narrative, Sandy had given up farming, to pursue the development of +certain inventions of his which had met the approval of a man of means +who, unable himself to devise, could yet understand a device: he saw +that there was use, and consequently money in them, and wisely put it in +Sandy's power to perfect them. He was in consequence but little at home, +and when Dawtie went to see her parents, as she could much oftener now, +Andrew and she generally met without a third. However many weeks might +have passed, they always met as if they had parted only the night +before. There was neither shyness nor forwardness in Dawtie. Perhaps a +livelier rose might tinge her sweet round cheek when she saw Andrew; +perhaps a brighter spark shone in the pupil of Andrew's eye; but they +met as calmly as two prophets in the secret of the universe, neither +anxious nor eager. The old relation between them was the more potent +that it made so little outward show. + +"Have you anything for me, Andrew?" Dawtie would say, in the strong +dialect which her sweet voice made so pleasant to those that loved her; +whereupon Andrew, perhaps without immediate answer more than a smile, +would turn into his room, and reappear with what he had got ready for +her to "chew upon" till they should meet again. Milton's sonnet, for +instance, to the "virgin wise and pure," had long served her aspiration; +equally wise and pure, Dawtie could understand it as well as she for +whom it was written. To see the delight she took in it, would have been +a joy to any loving student of humanity. It had cost her more effort to +learn than almost any song, and perhaps therefore it was the more +precious. Andrew seldom gave her a book to learn from; in general he +copied, in his clearest handwriting, whatever poem or paragraph he +thought fit for Dawtie; and when they met, she would not unfrequently, +if there was time, repeat unasked what she had learned, and be rewarded +with his unfailing look of satisfaction. + +There was a secret between them--a secret proclaimed on the house-tops, +a secret hidden, the most precious of pearls, in their hearts--that the +earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; that its work is the work +of the Lord, whether the sowing of the field, the milking of the cow, +the giving to the poor, the spending of wages, the reading of the Bible; +that God is all in all, and every throb of gladness His gift; that their +life came fresh every moment from His heart; that what was lacking to +them would arrive the very moment He had got them ready for it. They +were God's little ones in God's world--none the less their own that they +did not desire to swallow it, or thrust it in their pockets. + +Among poverty-stricken Christians, consumed with care to keep a hold of +the world and save their souls, they were as two children of the house. +By living in the presence of the living One, they had become themselves +His presence--dim lanterns through which His light shone steady. Who +obeys, shines. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +SANDY AND GEORGE. + +Sandy had found it expedient to go to America, and had now been there a +twelvemonth; he had devised a machine of the value of which not even his +patron could be convinced--that is, he could not see the prospect of its +making money fast enough to constitute it a _good thing_. Sandy regarded +it as a discovery, a revelation for the uplifting of a certain +down-trodden portion of the community; and therefore, having saved a +little money, had resolved to make it known in the States, where insight +into probabilities is fresher. And now Andrew had a letter from him in +which he mentioned that he had come across Mr. Crawford, already of high +repute in Wall Street; that he had been kind to him, and having learned +his object in visiting the country, and the approximate risk in bringing +out his invention, had taken the thing into consideration. But the next +mail brought another letter to the effect that, having learned the +nature of the business done by Mr. Crawford, he found himself unable to +distinguish between it and gambling, or worse; it seemed to him a vortex +whose very emptiness drew money into it. He had therefore drawn back, +and declined to put the thing in Crawford's hands. This letter Andrew +gave Dawtie to read, that she might see that Sandy remained a true man. +He had never been anxious on the point, but was very glad that ignorance +had not drawn him into an evil connection. + +Dawtie took the letter with her to read at her leisure. Unable, however, +to understand something Sandy said concerning Mr. Crawford's business, +she asked a question or two of her mistress, which led to questions on +Alexa's part. Finding what was the subject of Sandy's letter, she wished +to see it. Dawtie asked leave of Andrew, and gave it her. + +Alexa was both distressed and indignant becoming at once George's +partisan. Her distress diminished and her indignation increased as she +reflected on the _airt_ whence the unfavorable report reached her; the +brothers were such peculiar men! She recalled the strange things she had +heard of their childhood; doubtless the judgment was formed on an +overstrained and quixotic idea of honesty! Besides, there had always +been a strong socialistic tendency in them, which explained how Sandy +could malign his benefactor! George was incapable of doing anything +dishonorable! She would not trouble herself about it. But she would like +to know how Andrew regarded the matter. + +She asked him therefore what he thought of Sandy's procedure. Andrew +replied that he did not know much about business; but that the only +safety must lie in having nothing to do with what was doubtful; +therefore Sandy had done right. Alexa said it was too bad of him to +condemn where he confessed ignorance. Andrew replied: + +"Ma'am, if Mr. Crawford is wrong he is condemned; if he is right my +private doubt can not hurt him. Sandy must act by his own doubt, not by +Mr. Crawford's confidence." + +Alexa grew more distressed, for she began to recall things George had +said which at the time she had not liked, but which she had succeeded in +forgetting. If he had indeed gone astray, she hoped he would forget her; +she could do without him! But the judgment of such a man as Sandy could +settle nothing. Of humble origin and childish simplicity, he could not +see the thing as a man of experience must. George might be all right +notwithstanding. At the same time there was his father--whose reputation +remained under a thick cloud, whose failed character rather than his +ill-success had driven George to the other continent. Breed must go for +something in a question of probabilities. It was the first time Alexa's +thoughts had been turned into such a channel. She clung to the poor +comfort that something must have passed at the interview so kindly +sought by George to set the quixotical young farmer against him. She +would not utter his name to Andrew ever again! + +She was right in thinking that George cherished a sincere affection for +her. It was one of the spurs which drove him too eagerly after money. I +doubt if any man starts with a developed love of money for its own +sake--except indeed he be born of generations of mammon worshipers. +George had gone into speculation with the object of retrieving the +position in which he had supposed himself born, and in the hope of +winning the hand of his cousin--thinking too much of himself to offer +what would not in the eyes of the world be worth her acceptance. When he +stepped on the inclined plane of dishonesty he believed himself only +engaging in "legitimate speculation;" but he was at once affected by the +atmosphere about him. Wrapped in the breath of admiration and adulation +surrounding men who cared for _nothing_ but money-making, men who were +not merely dishonest, but the very serpents of dishonesty, against whom +pickpockets will "stick off" as angels of light; constantly under the +softly persuasive influence of low morals and extravagant appreciation +of cunning, he came by rapid degrees to think less and less of right and +wrong. At first he called the doings of the place dishonest; then he +called them sharp practice; then he called them a little shady; then, +close sailing; then he said this or that transaction was deuced clever; +then, the man was more rogue than fool; then he laughed at the success +of a vile trick; then he touched the pitch, and thinking all the time it +was but with one finger, was presently besmeared all over--as was +natural, for he who will touch is already smeared. + +While Alexa was fighting his battles with herself he had thrown down his +arms in the only battle worth fighting. When he wrote to her, which he +did regularly, he said no more about business than that his prospects +were encouraging; how much his reticence may have had to do with a sense +of her disapproval I can not tell. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + +One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from +the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was +setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it +touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the +sun, but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher +source, from the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, +ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and +daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their +faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed +between them. + +"But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?" said the mother. + +"No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's +to the fore. They tret me--I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as if +they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the +Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye +canna think!" + +"Then what's broucht ye the day?" + +"I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew." + +"Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's +the best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's +the best man i' the warl'!" + +"What mean ye by that, mother?" said Dawtie, looking a little scared. +"Am I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae +him? Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God--to +lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I _wull_ lo'e +An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?" + +"What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye +maun hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!" + +"It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he +aye shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the +better? It's little ferly (_marvel_) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him +for my ain man, as ye hae my father!--mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' +to think o' ony sic a thing!--clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!" + +"Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til +ye! Only luik to yer hert." + +"As for no' lo'ein' him, mither--me that canna luik at a blin' kittlin' +ohn lo'ed it!--lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me no' to lo'e +An'rew!" + +"Andrew!" she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's +worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd. + +Silence followed, but the mother was brooding. + +"Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!" she said at length. + +As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew +seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the +earl seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the +earl's had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than +did her mother. + +"You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks +o' nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik +doon. He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl +himsel'!" + +The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried +fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the +simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions +about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself +whom she loved and obeyed. + +"If Andrew wanted to marry me," Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine +liberty of her teacher, "which never cam intil's heid--na, no ance--the +same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was +but a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the +Sabbath day, and we'll hae a walk thegither." + +"I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day," said the +mother. + +"Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!" + +"Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!" + +"And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!" + +"He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!" + +"And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this +His warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He +gae me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the +ooter mirk (_darkness_)!" + +"There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!" + +"I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be +mysel'." + +"Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?" + +"Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad +be a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this +warl' or the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at +the lang last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will +be as sure o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus +tellin' me the same frae mornin' to nicht!" + +"Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!" + +"It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my +ain min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak +His mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, +and run ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!" + +"As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' +woman, for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp +the Lord winna be disappointit in ye." + +Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she +had something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go +with him in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but +he did not say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk +from the press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her +with a sober joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes +off her, she sat looking so well and nice and trim. He was a +good-looking, work-worn man, his hands absolutely horny with labor. But +inside many such horny husks are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for +the time when "dear welcome Death" will loose and let us go from the +grave-clothes of the body that bind some of us even hand and foot. +Rugged father and withered mother were beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, +and she and God saw them better than any other. Good, endless good was +on the way to them all! It was so pleasant to be waiting for the best of +all good things. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +ANDREW AND DAWTIE. + +Dawtie slept in peace and happy dreams till the next morning, when she +was up almost with the sun, and out in his low clear light. For the sun +was strong again; the red labor and weariness were gone from his shining +face. Everything about her seemed to know God, or at least to have had a +moment's gaze upon Him. How else could everything look so content, +hopeful and happy. It is the man who will not fall in with the Father's +bliss to whom the world seems soulless and dull. Dawtie was at peace +because she desired nothing but what she knew He was best pleased to +give her. Even had she cherished for Andrew the kind of love her mother +feared, her Lord's will would have been her comfort and strength. If any +one say: "Then she could not know what love is!" I answer: "That person +does not know what the better love is that lifts the being into such a +serene air that it can fast from many things and yet be blessed beyond +what any other granted desire could make it." The scent of the +sweet-pease growing against the turf wall entered Dawtie's soul like a +breath from the fields of heaven, where the children made merry with the +angels, the merriest of playfellows, and the winds and waters, and all +the living things, and all the things half alive, all the flowers and +all the creatures, were at their sportive call; where the little ones +had babies to play with, and did not hurt them, and where dolls were +neither loved nor missed, being never thought of. Suchlike were the +girl's imaginings as her thoughts went straying, inventing, discovering. +She did not fear the Father would be angry with her for being His child, +and playing at creation. Who, indeed, but one that in loving heart can +_make_, can rightly love the making of the Maker! + +When they had had their breakfast, and the old people were ready for +church--where they would listen a little, sleep a little, sing heartily, +and hear nothing to wake hunger, joy or aspiration, Dawtie put a piece +of oat-cake in her pocket, and went to join Andrew where they had made +their tryst and where she found him waiting--at his length in a bush of +heather, with Henry Vaughan's "Silex Scintillans," drawing from it +"bright shoots of everlastingness" for his Sabbath day's delight. He +read one or two of the poems to Dawtie, who was pleased but not +astonished--she was never astonished at anything; she had nothing in her +to make anything beautiful by contrast; her mind was of beauty itself, +and anything beautiful was to her but in the order and law of +things--what was to be expected. Nothing struck her because of its +rarity; the rare was at home in her country, and she was at home with +it. When, for instance, he read: "Father of lights, what sunny seeds," +she took it up at once and understood it, felt that the good man had +said the thing that was to be said, and loved him for it. She was not +surprised to hear that the prayer was more than two hundred years old; +were there not millions of years in front? why should it be wonderful +that a few years behind men should have thought and felt as she did, and +been able to say it as she never could! Had she not always loved the +little cocks, and watched them learning to crow? + +"But, An'rew," she said at length, "I want to tell ye something that's +troublin' me; then ye can learn me what ye like." + +"Tell on, Dawtie," said Andrew; and she began. + +"Ae nicht aboot a fornight ago, I couldna sleep. I drave a' the sheep I +could gether i' my brain, ower ae stile efter anither, but the sleep +stack to the woo' o' them, an' ilk ane took o' 't awa' wi' him. I wadna +hae tried, but that I had to be up ear', and I was feared I wad sleep +in." + +For the sake of my more polished readers--I do not say more _refined_, +for polish and refinement may be worlds apart--I will give the rest in +modern English. + +"So I got up, and thought to sweep and dust the hall and the stairs; +then if, when I lay down again, I should sleep too long, there would be +a part of the day's work done! You know, Andrew, what the house is like; +at the top of the stair that begins directly you enter the house, there +is a big irregular place, bigger than the floor of your barn, laid with +flags. It is just as if all the different parts of the house had been +built at different times round about it, and then it was itself roofed +in by an after-thought. That's what we call _the hall_. The spare room +opens on the left at the top of the stair, and to the right, across the +hall, beyond the swell of the short thick tower you see the half of +outside, is the door of the study. It is all round with books--some of +them, mistress says, worth their weight in gold, they are so scarce. But +the master trusts me to dust them. He used to do it himself; but now +that he is getting old, he does not like the trouble, and it makes him +asthmatic. He says books more need dusting than anything else, but are +in more danger of being hurt by it, and it makes him nervous to see me +touch them. I have known him stand an hour watching me while I dusted, +looking all the time as if he had just taken a dose of medicine. So I +often do a few books at a time, as I can, when he is not in the way to +be worried with it. But he always knows where I have been with my duster +and long-haired brush. And now it came across me that I had better dust +some books first of all, as it was a good chance, he being sound asleep. +So I lighted my lamp, went straight to the study, and began where I last +left off. + +"As I was dusting, one of the books I came to looked so new and +different from the rest that I opened it to see what it was like inside. +It was full of pictures of mugs, and gold and silver jugs and cups--some +of them plain and some colored; and one of the colored ones was so +beautiful that I stood and looked at it. It was a gold cup, I suppose, +for it was yellow; and all round the edge, and on the sides, it was set +with stones, like the stones in mistress's rings, only much bigger. They +were blue and red and green and yellow, and more colors than I can +remember. The book said it was made by somebody, but I forget his name. +It was a long name. The first part of it began with a _B_, and the +second with a _C_, I remember that much. It was like _Benjamin_, but it +wasn't _Benjamin_. I put it back in its place, thinking I would ask the +master whether there really were such beautiful things, and took down +the next. Now whether that had been passed over between two batches I +don't know, but it was so dusty that before I would touch another I gave +the duster a shake, and the wind of it blew the lamp out I took it up to +take it to the kitchen and kindle it again, when, to my astonishment, I +saw a light under the door of a press which was always locked, and where +master said he kept his most precious books. 'How strange!' I thought; +'a light inside a locked cupboard!' Then I remembered how in one place +where I had been there was, in a room over the stable, a press whose +door had no fastening except a bolt on the inside, which set me +thinking, and some terrible things came to me that made me remember it. +So now I said to myself: 'There's some one in there, after master's +books!' It was not a likely thing, but the night is the time for +fancies, and in the night you don't know what is likely and what is not. +One thing, however, was clear--I ought to find out what the light meant. +Fearful things darted one after the other through my head as I went to +the door, but there was one thing I dared not do, and that was to leave +it unopened. So I opened it as softly as I could, in terror lest the +thief should hear my heart beating. When I could peep in what do you +think I saw? I could not believe my eyes! There was a great big room! I +rubbed my eyes, and stared; and rubbed them again and stared--thinking +to rub it away; but there it was, a big odd-shaped room, part of it with +round sides, and in the middle of the room a table, and on the table a +lamp, burning as I had never seen lamp burn, and master at the table +with his back to me. I was so astonished I forgot that I had no business +there, and ought to go away. I stood like an idiot, mazed and lost. And +you will not wonder when I tell you that the laird was holding up to the +light, between his two hands, the very cup I had been looking at in the +book, the stones of it flashing all the colors of the rainbow. I should +think it a dream, if I did not _know_ it was not. I do not believe I +made any noise, for I could not move, but he started up with a cry to +God to preserve him, set the cup on the table, threw something over it, +caught up a wicked-looking knife, and turned round. His face was like +that of a corpse, and I could see him tremble. I stood steady; it was no +time then to turn away. I supposed he expected to see a robber, and +would be glad when he discovered it was only me; but when he did his +fear changed to anger, and he came at me. His eyes were flaming, and he +looked as if he would kill me. I was not frightened--poor old man, I was +able for him any day!--but I was afraid of hurting him. So I closed the +door quickly, and went softly to my own room, where I stood a long time +in the dark, listening, but heard nothing more. What am I to do, +Andrew?" + +"I don't know that you have to do anything. You have one thing not to +do, that is--tell anybody what you have seen." + +"I was forced to tell _you_ because I did not know what to do. It makes +me _so_ sorry!" + +"It was no fault of yours. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and +could not help what came of it. Perhaps nothing more will come. Leave +the thing alone, and if he say anything tell him how it happened." + +"But, Andrew, I don't think you see what it is that troubles me. I am +afraid my master is a miser. The mistress and he take their meals, like +poor people, in the kitchen. That must be the dining-room of the +house!--and though my eyes were tethered to the flashing cup, I could +not help seeing it was full of strange and beautiful things. Among them, +I knew, by pictures I had seen, the armor of knights, when they fought +on their horses' backs. Before people had money they must have misered +other things. Some girls miser their clothes, and never go decent!" + +"Suppose him a miser," said Andrew, "what could you do? How are you to +help it?" + +"That's what I want to know. I love my master, and there must be a way +to help it. It was terrible to see him, in the middle of the night, +gazing at that cup as if he had found the most precious thing that can +ever have existed on the earth." + +"What was that?" asked Andrew. + +He delighted in Dawtie's talk. It was like an angel's, he said, both in +its ignorance and its wisdom. + +"You can't have forgotten, Andrew. It's impossible!" she answered. "I +heard you say yourself!" + +Andrew smiled. + +"I know," he said. + +"Poor man!" resumed Dawtie; "he looked at the cup as you might at that +manuscript! His soul was at it, feasting upon it! Now wasn't that +miserly?" + +"It was like it." + +"And I love my master," repeated Dawtie, thus putting afresh the +question what she was to do. + +"Why do you love him, Dawtie?" asked Andrew. + +"Because I'm set to love him. Besides, we're told to love our +enemies--then surely we're to love our friends. He has always been a +friend to me. He never said a hard word to me, even when I was handling +his books. He trusts me with them! I can't help loving him--a good deal, +Andrew! And it's what I've got to do!" + +"There's not a doubt about it, Dawtie. You've got to love him, and you +do love him!" + +"But there's more than that, Andrew. To hear the laird talk you would +think he cared more for the Bible than for the whole world--not to say +gold cups. He talks of the merits of the Saviour, that you would think +he loved Him with all his heart. But I can not get it out of my mind, +ever since I saw that look on his face, that he loves that cup--that +it's his graven image--his idol! How else should he get up in the middle +of the night to--to--to--well, it was just like worshiping it." + +"You're afraid then that he's a hypocrite, Dawtie!" + +"No; I daren't think that--if it were only for fear I should stop loving +him--and that would be as bad!" + +"As bad as what, Dawtie?" + +"I don't always know what I'm going to say," answered Dawtie, a little +embarrassed, "and then when I've said it I have to look what it means. +But isn't it as bad not to love a human being as it would be to love a +thing?" + +"Perhaps worse," said Andrew. + +"Something must be done!" she went on. "He can't be left like that! But +if he has any love to his Master, how is it that the love of that Master +does not cast out the love of Mammon? I can't understand it." + +"You have asked a hard question, Dawtie. But a cure may be going on, and +take a thousand years or ages to work it out." + +"What if it shouldn't be begun yet." + +"That would be terrible." + +"What then am I to do, Andrew? You always say we must _do_ something! +You say there is no faith but what _does_ something!" + +"The apostle James said so, a few years before I was born, Dawtie!" + +"Don't make fun of me--please, Andrew! I like it, but I can't bear it +to-day, my head is so full of the poor old laird!" + +"Make fun of you, Dawtie! Never! But I don't know yet how to answer +you." + +"Well, then, what _am_ I to do?" persisted Dawtie. + +"Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to +do, don't do anything--only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And +until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything." + +With this answer Dawtie was content. + +Business was over, and they turned to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE CUP. + +The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric. Believing himself a true +lover of literature, and especially of poetry, he would lecture for ten +minutes on the right mode of reading a verse in Hilton or Dante; but as +to Satan or Beatrice, would pin his faith to the majority of the +commentators: Milton's Satan was too noble, and Beatrice was no woman, +but Theology. He was discriminative to a degree altogether admirable as +to the brightness or wrongness of a proposition with regard to conduct, +but owed his respectability to good impulses without any effort of the +will. He was almost as orthodox as Paul before his conversion, lacking +only the heart and the courage to persecute. Whatever the eternal wisdom +saw in him, the thing most present to his own consciousness was the love +of rare historic relics. And this love was so mingled in warp and woof, +that he did not know whether a thing was more precious to him for its +rarity, its money value, or its historico-reliquary interest. All the +time he was a school-master, he saved every possible half-penny to buy +books, not because of their worth or human interest, but because of +their literary interest, or the scarcity of the book or edition. In the +holidays he would go about questing for the prey that his soul loved, +hunting after precious things; but not even the precious things of the +everlasting hills would be precious to him until they had received the +stamp of curiosity. His life consisted in a continual search for +something new that was known as known of old. It had hardly yet occurred +to him that he must one day leave his things and exist without them, no +longer to brood over them, take them in his hands, turn, and stroke, and +admire them; yet, strange to say, he would at times anxiously seek to +satisfy himself that he was safe for a better world, as he _called_ +it--to feel certain, that is, that his faith was of the sort he supposed +intended by Paul--not that he had himself gathered anything from the +apostle, but all from the traditions of his church concerning the +teaching of the apostle. He was anxious, I say, as to his safety for the +world to come, and yet, while his dearest joy lay treasured in that +hidden room, he never thought of the hour when he must leave it all, and +go houseless and pocketless, empty-handed if not armless, in the wide, +closetless space, hearing ever in the winds and the rain and the sound +of the sea-waves, the one question--"Whose shall those things be which +thou hast provided?" Like the rich man to whom God said the words, he +had gathered much goods for many years--hundreds and hundreds of things, +every one of which he knew, and every one of which he loved. A new +scratch on the bright steel of one of his suits of armor was a scratch +on his heart; the moth and the rust troubled him sore, for he could not +keep them away; and where his treasure was, there was his heart, +devoured by the same moth, consumed by the same rust. He had much +suffering from his possessions--was more exposed to misery than the +miser of gold, for the hoarded coin of the latter may indeed be stolen, +but he fears neither moth nor rust nor scratch nor decay. The laird +cherished his things as no mother her little ones. Nearly sixty years he +had been gathering them, and their money-worth was great, but he had no +idea of its amount, for he could not have endured the exposure and +handling of them which a valuation must involve. + +His love for his books had somewhat declined in the growth of his love +for things, and now, by degrees not very slow, his love for his things +was graduating itself after what he supposed their money-value. His soul +not only clave to the dust but was going deeper and deeper in the dust +as it wallowed. All day long he was living in the past and growing old +in it--it is one thing to grow old in the past, and another to grow old +in the present! As he took his walk about his farms, or sat at his +meals, or held a mild, soulless conversation with his daughter, his +heart was growing old, not healthily in the present, which is to ripen, +but unwholesomely in the past, which is to consume with a dry rot. While +he read the Bible at prayers, trying hard to banish worldly things from +his mind, his thoughts were not in the story or the argument he read, +but hovering, like a bird over its nest, about the darlings of his +heart. Yea, even while he prayed, his soul, instead of casting off the +clay of the world, was loaded and dragged down with all the +still-moldering, slow-changing things that lined the walls and filled +the drawers and cabinets of his treasure-chamber. It was a place of +whose existence not even his daughter knew; for before ever she entered +the house, he had taken with him a mason from the town, and built up the +entrance to it from the hall, ever afterward keeping the other door of +it that opened from his study carefully locked, and leaving it to be +regarded as the door of a closet. + +It was as terrible as Dawtie felt it, that a live human soul should thus +haunt the sepulcher of the past, and love the lifeless, turning a room +hitherto devoted to hospitality and mirthful intercourse into the temple +of his selfish idolatry. It was as one of the rooms carved for the dead +in the Beban El Malook. Sure, if left to himself, the ghost that loved +it would haunt the place! But he could not surely be permitted! for it +might postpone a thousand years his discovery of the emptiness of a +universe of such treasures. Now he was moldering into the world of +spirits in the heart of an avalanche of the dust of ages, dust material +from his hoards, dust moral and spiritual from his withering soul +itself. + +The next day he was ill, which, common as is illness to humanity, was +strange, for it had never befallen him before. He was unable to leave +his bed. But he never said a word to his daughter, who alone waited on +him, as to what had happened in the night. He had passed it sleepless, +and without the possibility of a dream on which to fall back; yet, when +morning came, he was in much doubt whether what he had seen--the face, +namely, of Dawtie, peeping in at the door--was a reality, or but a +vision of the night. For when he opened the door which she had closed, +all was dark, and not the slightest sound reached his quick ear from the +swift foot of her retreat. He turned the key twice, and pushed two +bolts, eager to regard the vision as a providential rebuke of his +carelessness in leaving the door on the latch--for the first time, he +imagined. Then he tottered back to his chair, and sunk on it in a cold +sweat. For, although the confidence grew, that what he had seen was but + + a false creation + Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain, + +it was far from comfortable to feel that he could no longer depend upon +his brain to tell him only the thing that was true. What if he were +going out of his mind, on the way to encounter a succession of +visions--without reality, but possessed of its power! What if they +should be such whose terror would compel him to disclose what most he +desired to keep covered? How fearful to be no more his own master, but +at the beck and call of a disordered brain, a maniac king in a _cosmos +acosmos_! Better it had been Dawtie, and she had seen in his hands +Benvenuto Cellini's chalice made for Pope Clement the Seventh to drink +therefrom the holy wine--worth thousands of pounds! Perhaps she had seen +it! No, surely she had not! He must be careful not to make her suspect! +He would watch her and say nothing! + +But Dawtie, conscious of no wrong, and full of love to the old man, +showed an untroubled face when next she met him; and he made up his mind +that he would rather have her ignorant. Thenceforward, naturally though +childishly, he was even friendlier to her than before: it was so great a +relief to find that he had not to fear her! + +The next time Dawtie was dusting the books, she felt strongly drawn to +look again at the picture of the cup: it seemed now to hold in it a +human life! She took down the book, and began where she stood to read +what it said about the chalice, referring as she read from letterpress +to drawing. It was taken from an illumination in a missal, where the cup +was known to have been copied; and it rendered the description in the +letterpress unnecessary except in regard to the stones and _dessins +repousss_ on the hidden side. She quickly learned the names of the +gems, that she might see how many were in the high-priest's breast-plate +and the gates of the new Jerusalem, then proceeded to the history of the +chalice. She read that it had come into the possession of Cardinal York, +the brother of Charles Edward Stuart, and had been by him intrusted to +his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Albany, from whose house it +disappeared, some said stolen, others said sold. It came next to the +historic surface in the possession of a certain earl whose love of +curiosities was well known; but from his collection again it vanished, +this time beyond a doubt stolen, and probably years before it was +missed. + +A new train of thought was presently in motion in the mind of the girl: +_The beautiful cup was stolen! it was not where it ought to be! it was +not at home! it was a captive, a slave_! She lowered the book, half +closed, with a finger between the leaves, and stood thinking. She did +not for a moment believe her master had stolen it, though the fear did +flash through her mind. It had been stolen and sold, and he had bought +it at length of some one whose possession of it was nowise suspicious! +But he must know now that it had been stolen, for here, with the cup, +was the book which said so! That would be nothing if the rightful owner +were not known, but he was known, and the thing ought to be his! The +laird might not be bound, she was not sure, to restore it at his own +loss, for when he bought it he was not aware that it was stolen; but he +was bound to restore it at the price he had paid for it, if the former +owner would give it! This was bare justice! mere righteousness! No theft +could make the owner not the rightful owner, though other claims upon +the thing might come in! One ought not to be enriched by another's +misfortune! Dawtie was sure that a noble of the kingdom of heaven would +not wait for the money, but would with delight send the cup where it +ought to have been all the time! She knew better, however, than require +magnificence in any shape from the poor wizened soul of her master--a +man who knew all about everything, and whom yet she could not but fear +to _be_ nothing: as Dawtie had learned to understand life, the laird did +not yet exist. But he well knew right from wrong, therefore the +discovery she just made affected her duty toward him! It might be +impossible to make impression on the miserliness of a miser, but upon +the honesty in a miser it might be possible! The goblet was not his! + +But the love of things dulls the conscience, and he might not be able, +having bought and paid for it, to see that the thing was not therefore +_his_! he might defend himself from seeing it! To Dawtie, this made the +horror of his condition the darker. She was one of God's babes, who can +not help seeing the true state of things. Logic was to her but the smoke +that rose from the burning truth; she saw what is altogether above and +beyond logic--the right thing, whose meanest servant, the hewer of its +wood, not the drawer of its water, the merest scullion and sweeper away +of lies from the pavement of its courts, is logic. + +With a sigh she woke to the knowledge that she was not doing her work, +and rousing herself, was about to put the book on its shelf. But, her +finger being still in the place, she would have one more glance at the +picture! To her dismay she saw that she had made a mark on the plate, +and of the enormity of making a dirty mark on a book her master had made +her well aware. + +She was in great distress. What was to be done? She did not once think +of putting it away and saying nothing. To have reasoned that her master +would never know, would have been an argument, pressing and imperative, +for informing him at once. She had done him an injury, and the injury +must be confessed and lamented; it was all that was left to be done! +"Sic a mischance!" she said, then bethought herself that there was no +such thing as mischance, when immediately it flashed upon her that here +was the door open for the doing of what was required of her. She was +bound to confess the wrong, and that would lead in the disclosure of +what she knew, rendering it comparatively easy to use some remonstrance +with the laird, whom in her mind's eye she saw like a beggar man +tottering down a steep road to a sudden precipice. Her duty was now so +plain that she felt no desire to consult Andrew. She was not one to ask +an opinion for the sake of talking opinion; she went to Andrew only when +she wanted light to do the right thing; when the light was around her, +she knew how to walk, and troubled no one. + +At once she laid down book and duster, and went to find the laird. But +he had slipped away to the town, to have a rummage in a certain little +shop in a back street, which he had not rummaged for a long time enough, +he thought, to have let something come in. It was no relief to Dawtie: +the thing would be all the day before her instead of behind her! It +burned within her, not like a sin, but like what it was, a confession +unconfessed. Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with +the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the +turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the _coup de +grce_ to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of her +master, and yet she dreaded more his distress. + +She prepared the laird's supper with a strange mingling of hope and +anxiety: she feared having to go to bed without telling him. But he came +at last, almost merry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, over +which he was very careful. Poor man, he little knew there waited him at +the moment a demand from the eternal justice almost as terrible as: +"This night they require thy soul of thee!"--(What a _they_ is that! Who +are _they_?)--The torture of the moral rack was ready for him at the +hands of his innocent house-maid! In no way can one torture another more +than by waking conscience against love, passion, or pride. + +He laid his little parcel carefully on the supper-table, said rather a +shorter grace than usual, began to eat his porridge, praised it as very +good, spoke of his journey and whom he had seen, and was more talkative +than his wont He informed Alexa, almost with jubilation, that he had at +length found an old book he had been long on the watch for--a book that +treated, in ancient broad Scots, of the laws of verse, in full, even +exhaustive manner. He pulled it from his pocket. + +"It is worth at least ten times what I gave for it!" he said. + +Dawtie wondered whether there ought not to have been some division of +the difference; but she was aware of no call to speak. One thing was +enough for one night! + +Then came prayers. The old man read how David deceived the Philistines, +telling them a falsehood as to his raids. He read the narrative with a +solemnity of tone that would have graced the most righteous action: was +it not the deed of a man according to God's own heart?--how could it be +other than right! Casuist ten times a week, he made no question of the +righteousness of David's wickedness! Then he prayed, giving thanks for +the mercy that had surrounded them all the day, shielding them from the +danger and death which lurked for them in every corner. What would he +say when death did get him? Dawtie thought. Would he thank God then? And +would he see, when she spoke to him, that God wanted to deliver him from +a worse danger than any out-of-doors? Would he see that it was from much +mercy he was made more uncomfortable than perhaps ever in his life +before? + +At length his offering was completed--how far accepted who can tell! He +was God's, and He who gave him being would be his Father to the full +possibility of God. They rose from their knees; the laird took up his +parcel and book; his daughter went with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. + +As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her +master to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was +shut behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to +it, and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still +there was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little +fumbling with the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, +bedewed with drops of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little +back, and the eyes did not at once find the object they sought; then +suddenly they lighted on her, and the laird shook from head to foot. + +"What is it, Dawtie?" he faltered out in a broken voice. + +"Please, sir," answered Dawtie, "I have something to confess: would ye +hearken to me?" + +"No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!" returned the +old man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the +importance of the room whose entrance she had discovered. "Or," he went +on, finding she did not move, "if you have done anything, Dawtie, that +you ought not to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must +confess, not to a poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I +forgive you, and there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie." + +"Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the +door o' this room, and sit till--" + +"What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I +say my prayers before I go to bed." + +But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a +deliberate lie--two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the largest +room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since first he +entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, for he +had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to save +his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor +enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he +must hold to the lie! He _dared_ not confess it! He stood sick and +trembling. + +"I'll wait, sir," said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more +distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was +further down the wrong road than she had supposed! + +Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face--for +did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?--she +turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and +closed the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her +power. + +Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she +remembered that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they +should speak; for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So +she began by simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. + +"Sir," she said, "I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark +in one of your books!" + +Her words alarmed him a little, and made him forget for the instant his +more important fears. But he took care to be gentle with her; it would +not do to offend her! for was she not aware that where they stood was a +door by which he went in and out? + +"You make me uneasy, Dawtie!" he said. "What book was it? Let me see +it." + +"I will, sir." + +She turned to take it down, but the laird followed her, saying: + +"Point it out to me, Dawtie. I will get it." + +She did so. It opened at the plate. + +"There is the mark!" she said. "I am right sorry." + +"So am I!" returned the laird. "But," he added, willing she should feel +his clemency, and knowing the book was not a rare one, "it is a book +still, and you will be more careful another time! For you must remember, +Dawtie, that you don't come into this room to read the books, but to +dust them. You can go to bed now with an easy mind, I hope!" + +Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that +the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What +would she not have encountered for his deliverance! + +"Please, sir," she said, "let me show you a thing you never perhaps +happened to read!" And taking the book from his hand--he was too much +astonished to retain it--she turned over the engraving, and showed him +the passage which stated that the cup had disappeared from the +possession of its owner, and had certainly been stolen. + +Finding he said not a word, she ventured to lift her eyes to his, and +saw again the corpse-like face that had looked through the chink of the +door. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I do not understand!" + +His lips trembled: was it possible he had had to do with the stealing of +it? + +The truth was this: he had learned the existence of the cup from this +very book; and had never rested until, after a search of more than ten +years, he at length found it in the hands of a poor man who dared not +offer it for sale. Once in his possession, the thought of giving it up, +or of letting the owner redeem it, had never even occurred to him. Yet +the treasure made him rejoice with a trembling which all his casuistry +would have found it hard to explain; for he would not confess to himself +its real cause--namely, that his God-born essence was uneasy with a +vague knowledge that it lay in the bosom of a thief. "Don't you think, +sir," said Dawtie, "that whoever has that cup ought to send it back to +the place it was stolen from?" + +Had the old man been a developed hypocrite, he would have replied at +once: "He certainly ought." But by word of mouth to condemn himself +would have been to acknowledge to himself that he ought to send the cup +home, and this he dared not do. Men who will not do as they know, make +strange confusion in themselves. The worst rancor in the vessel of peace +is the consciousness of wrong in a not all-unrighteous soul. The laird +was false to his own self, but to confess himself false would be to +initiate a change which would render life worthless to him! What would +all his fine things be without their heart of preciousness, the one +jewel that now was nowhere in the world but in his house, in the secret +chamber of his treasures, which would be a rifled case without it! As is +natural to one who will not do right, he began to argue the moral +question, treating it as a point of casuistry that troubled the mind of +the girl. + +"I don't know that, Dawtie!" he said. "It is not likely that the person +that has the cup, whoever he may be--that is, if the cup be still in +existence--is the same who stole it; and it would hardly be justice to +punish the innocent for the guilty?--as would be the case, if, supposing +I had bought the cup, I had to lose the money I paid for it. Should the +man who had not taken care of his cup have his fault condoned at my +expense? Did he not deserve, the many might say, to be so punished, +placing huge temptation in the path of the needy, to the loss of their +precious souls, and letting a priceless thing go loose in the world, to +work ruin to whoever might innocently buy it?" + +His logic did not serve to show him the falsehood of his reasoning, for +his heart was in the lie. "Ought I or he," he went on, "to be punished +because he kept the thing ill? And how far would the quixotic obligation +descend? A score of righteous men may by this time have bought and sold +the cup!--is it some demon-talisman, that the last must meet the +penalty, when the original owner, or some descendant of the man who lost +it, chooses to claim it? For anything we know, he may himself have +pocketed the price of the rumored theft! Can you not see it would be a +flagrant injustice?--fit indeed to put an end to all buying and selling! +It would annihilate transfer of property! Possession would mean only +strength to keep, and the world would fall into confusion." + +"It would be hard, I grant," confessed Dawtie; "but the man who has it +ought at least to give the head of the family in which it had been the +chance of buying it back at the price it cost him. If he could not buy +it back--then the thing would have to be thought over." + +"I confess I don't see the thing," returned the laird. "But the question +needs not keep you out of bed, Dawtie! It is not often a girl in your +position takes an interest in the abstract! Besides," he resumed, +another argument occurring to him, "a thing of such historical value and +interest ought to be where it was cared for, not where it was in danger +every moment." + +"There might be something in that," allowed Dawtie, "if it were where +everybody could see it. But where is the good if it be but for the eyes +of one man?" + +The eyes she meant fixed themselves upon her till their gaze grew to a +stony stare. She _must_ know that he had it! Or did she only suspect? He +must not commit himself! He must set a watch on the door of his lips! +What an uncomfortable girl to have in the house! Oh, those +self-righteous Ingrams! What mischief they did! His impulse was to dart +into his treasure-cave, lock himself in, and hug the radiant chalice. He +dared not. He must endure instead the fastidious conscience and probing +tongue of an intrusive maid-servant! + +"But," he rejoined, with an attempt at a smile, "if the pleasure the one +man took in it should, as is easy to imagine, exceed immeasurably the +aggergate pleasure of the thousands that would look upon it and pass it +by--what then?" + +"The man would enjoy it the more that many saw it--except he loved it +for greed, when he would be rejoicing in iniquity, for the cup would not +be his. And anyhow, he could not take it with him when he died!" + +The face of the miser grew grayer; his lip trembled; but he said +nothing. He was beginning to hate Dawtie. She was an enemy! She sought +his discomfiture, his misery! He had read strange things in certain old +books, and half believed some of them: what if Dawtie was one of those +evil powers that haunt a man in pleasant shape, learn the secrets of his +heart, and gain influence over him that they may tempt him to yield his +soul to the enemy! She was set on ruining him! Certainly she knew that +cup was in his possession! He must temporize! He must _seem_ to listen! +But as soon as fit reason could be found, such as would neither +compromise him nor offend her, she must be sent away! And of all things, +she must not gain the means of proving what she now perhaps only +suspected, and was seeking assurance of! He stood thinking. It was but +for a moment; for the very next words from the lips of the girl that was +to him little more than a house-broom, set him face to face with +reality--the one terror of the unreal. + +"Eh, maister, sir," said Dawtie, with the tears in her eyes, and now at +last breaking down in her English, "dinna ye _ken_ 'at ye _hae_ to gie +the man 'at aucht that gowden bicker, the chance o' buyin' 't back?" + +The laird shivered. He dared not say: "How do you know?" for he dared +not hear the thing proved to him. If she did know, he would not front +her proof! He would not have her even suppose it an acknowledged fact! + +"If I had the cup," he began--but she interrupted him: it was time they +should have done with lying! + +"Ye ken ye hae the cup, sir!" she said. "And I ken tu, for I saw 't i' +yer han's!" + +"You shameless, prying hussy!" he began, in a rage at last--but the +eager, tearful earnestness of her face made him bethink himself: it +would not do to make an enemy of her! "Tell me, Dawtie," he said, with +sudden change of tone, "how it was you came to see it." + +She told him all--how and when; and he knew that he had seen her see +him. + +He managed to give a poor little laugh. + +"All is not gold that glitters, Dawtie!" he said. "The cup you saw was +not the one in the book, but an imitation of it--mere gilded tin and +colored glass--copied from the picture, as near as they could make +it--just to see better what it must have been like. Why, my good girl, +that cup would be worth thousands of pounds! So go to bed, and don't +trouble yourself about gold cups. It is not likely any of them will come +our way!" + +Simple as Dawtie was, she did not believe him. But she saw no good to be +done by disputing what he ought to know. + +"It wasna aboot the gold cup I was troublin' mysel'!" she said, +hesitatingly. + +"You are right there!" he replied, with another deathly laugh, "it was +not! But you have been troubling me about nothing half the night, and I +am shivering with cold! We really must, both of us, go to bed! What +would your mistress say!" + +"No," persisted Dawtie, "it wasna aboot the cup, gowd or no gowd; it was +and is aboot my maister I'm troubled! I'm terrible feart for ye, sir! +Ye're a worshiper o' Mammon, sir!" + +The laird laughed, for the danger was over!--to Dawtie's deep dismay he +laughed! + +"My poor girl," he said, "you take an innocent love of curious things +for the worship of Mammon! Don't imagine me jesting. How could you +believe an old man like me, an elder of the kirk, a dispenser of her +sacred things, guilty of the awful crime of Mammon worship?" + +He imagined her ignorantly associating the idea of some idolatrous +ritual with what to him was but a phrase--the worship of Mammon. "Do you +not remember," he continued, "the words of Christ, that a man _can not_ +serve God and Mammon? If I be a Christian, as you will hardly doubt, it +follows that I am not a worshiper of Mammon, for the two can not go +together." + +"But that's just the question, sir! A man who worships God, worships Him +with his whole heart and soul and strength and mind. If he wakes at +night, it is to worship God; if he is glad in his heart, it is because +God is, and one day he shall behold His face in brightness. If a man +worships God, he loves Him so that no love can come between him and God; +if the earth were removed, and the mountains cast into the midst of the +sea, it would be all one to him, for God would be all the same. Is it +not so, sir?" + +"You are a good girl, Dawtie, and I approve of every word you say. It +would more than savor of presumption to profess that I loved God up to +the point you speak of; but I deserve to love Him. Doubtless a man ought +to love God so, and we are all sinners just because we do not love God +so. But we have the atonement!" + +"But, sir," answered Dawtie, the silent tears running down her face, "I +love God that way! I don't care a dust for anything without Him! When I +go to bed, I don't care if I never wake again in this world; I shall be +where He would have me!" + +"You presume, Dawtie! I fear me much you presume! What if that should be +in hell?" + +"If it be, it will be the best. It will be to set me right. Oh, sir, He +is so good! Tell me one thing, sir: when you die--" + +"Tut, tut, lass! we're not come to that yet! There's no occasion to +think about that yet awhile! We're in the hands of a reconciled God." + +"What I want to know," pursued Dawtie, "is how you will feel, how you +will get on when you haven't got anything!" + +"Not got anything, girl! Are you losing your senses? Of course we shall +want nothing then! I shall have to talk to the doctor about you! We +shall have you killing us in our beds to know how we like it!" + +He laughed; but it was a rather scared laugh. + +"What I mean," she persisted, "is--when you have no body, and no hands +to take hold of your cap, what will you do without it?" + +"What if I leave it to you, Dawtie!" returned the laird, with a stupid +mixture of joke and avarice in his cold eye. + +"Please, sir, I didn't say what you would do with it, but what would you +do without it when it will neither come out of your heart nor into your +hands! It must be misery to a miser to _have_ nothing!" + +"A miser, hussy!" + +"A lover of things, more than a lover of God!" + +"Well, perhaps you have the better of me!" he said, after a cowed pause; +for he perceived there was no compromise possible with Dawtie: she knew +perfectly what she meant; and he could neither escape her logic, nor +change her determination, whatever that might be. "I dare say you are +right! I will think what ought to be done about that cup!" + +He stopped, self amazed: he had committed himself!--as much as confessed +the cup genuine! But Dawtie had not been deceived, and had not been +thinking about the cup. Only it was plain that, if he would consent to +part with it for its money-worth, that would be a grand beginning toward +the renouncing of dead _things_ altogether, toward the turning to the +living One the love that now gathered, clinging and haunting, about gold +cups and graved armor, and suchlike vapors and vanishings, that pass +with the sunsets and the snows. She fell on her knees, and, in the +spirit of a child and of the apostle of the Gentiles, cried, laying her +little red hands together and uplifting them to her master in purest +entreaty. + +"Oh, laird, laird, ye've been gude and kin' to me, and I lo'e ye, the +Lord kens! I pray ye for Christ's sake be reconciled to God, for ye hae +been servin' Mammon and no Him, and ye hae jist said we canna serve the +twa, and what 'ill come o' 't God only can tell, but it _maun_ be +misery!" + +Words failed her. She rose, and left the room, with her apron to her +eyes. + +The laird stood a moment or two like one lost, then went hurriedly into +his "closet," and shut the door. Whether he went on his knees to God as +did Dawtie to Him, or began again to gloat over his Cellini goblet, I do +not know. + +Dawtie cried herself to sleep, and came down in the morning very pale. +Her duty had left her exhausted, and with a kind of nausea toward all +the ornaments and books in the house. A cock crew loud under the window +of the kitchen. She dropped on her knees, said "Father of lights!" not a +word beside, rose and began to rouse the fire. + +When breakfast-time came, and the laird appeared, he looked much as +usual, only a little weary, which his daughter set down to his journey +the day before. He revived, however, as soon as he had succeeded in +satisfying himself that Alexa knew nothing of what had passed. How +staid, discreet, and compact of common sense Alexa seemed to him beside +Dawtie, whose want of education left her mind a waste swamp for the +vagaries of whatever will-o'-the-wisp an overstrained religious fantasy +might generate! But however much the laird might look the same as +before, he could never, knowing that Dawtie knew what she knew, be again +as he had been. + +"You'll do a few of the books to-day, won't you, Dawtie," he said, "when +you have time? I never thought I should trust any one! I would sooner +have old Meg shave me than let her dust an Elzevir! Ha! ha! ha!" + +Dawtie was glad that at least he left the door open between them. She +said she would do a little dusting in the afternoon, and would be very +careful. Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a +shoot of compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his +breakfast almost untasted. + +But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with +her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone +together. If he caught her eye, he would say--hurriedly, and as if +acknowledging a secret between them, "By and by, Dawtie;" or, "I'm +thinking about the business, Dawtie;" or, "I'm making up my mind, +Dawtie!" and so leave her. On one occasion he said, "Perhaps you will be +surprised some day, Dawtie!" + +On her part Dawtie never felt that she had anything more to say to him. +She feared at times that she had done him evil rather than good by +pressing upon him a duty she had not persuaded him to perform. She spoke +of this fear to Andrew, but he answered decisively: + +"If you believed you ought to speak to him, and have discovered in +yourself no wrong motive, you must not trouble yourself about the +result. That may be a thousand years off yet. You may have sent him into +a hotter purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We +know nothing but that God is righteous." + +Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know +their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are +seldom to be pitied. Where people have not yet found their work, they +may be more to be pitied than those that beg their bread. When a man +knows his work and will not do it, pity him more than one who is to be +hanged to-morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +ANDREW AND ALEXA. + +Andrew had occasion to call on the laird to pay his father's rent, and +Alexa, who had not seen him for some time, thought him improved both in +carriage and speech, and wondered. She did not take into account his +intercourse with God, as with highest human minds, and his constant +wakefulness to carry into action what things he learned. Thus trained in +noblest fashions of freedom, it was small wonder that his bearing and +manners, the natural outcome and expression of his habits of being, +should grow in liberty. There was in them the change only of +development. By the side of such education as this, dealing with reality +and inborn dignity, what mattered any amount of ignorance as to social +custom! Society may judge its own; this man was not of it, and as much +surpassed its most accomplished pupils in all the essentials of +breeding, as the apostle Paul was a better gentleman than Mr. Nash or +Mr. Brummel. The training may be slow, but it is perfect. To him who has +yielded self, all things are possible. Andrew was aware of no +difference. He seemed to himself the same as when a boy. + +Alexa had not again alluded to his brother's letter concerning George +Crawford, fearing he might say what she would find unpleasant. But now +she wanted to get a definite opinion from him in regard to certain modes +of money-making, which had naturally of late occupied a good deal of her +thought. + +"What is your notion concerning money-lending--I mean at interest, Mr. +Ingram?" she said. "I hear it is objected to nowadays by some that set +up for teachers!" + +"It is by no means the first time in the world's history," answered +Andrew. + +"I want to know what you think of it, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I know little," replied Andrew, "of any matter with which I have not +had to deal practically." + +"But ought not one to have his ideas ready for the time when we will +have to deal practically?" said Alexa. + +"Mine would be pretty sure to be wrong," answered Andrew; "and there is +no time to spend in gathering wrong ideas and then changing them!" + +"On the contrary, they would be less warped by personal interest." + +"Could circumstances arise in which it would not be my first interest to +be honest?" said Andrew. "Would not my judgment be quickened by the +compulsion and the danger? In no danger myself, might I not judge too +leniently of things from which I should myself recoil? Selfishly +smoother with regard to others, because less anxious about their honesty +than my own, might I not yield them what, were I in the case, I should +see at once I dared not allow to myself? I can perceive no use in making +up my mind how to act in circumstances in which I am not--probably will +never be. I have enough to occupy me where I find myself, and should +certainly be oftener in doubt how to act, if I had bothered my brains +how to think in circumstances foreign to me. In such thinking, duty is +of necessity a comparatively feeble factor, being only duty imagined, +not live duty, and the result is the more questionable. The Lord +instructed His apostles not to be anxious what they should say when they +were brought before rulers and kings: I will leave the question of duty +alone until action is demanded of me. In the meantime I will do the duty +now required of me, which is the only preparation for the duty that is +to come." + +Although Alexa had not begun to understand Andrew, she had sense enough +and righteousness enough to feel that he was somehow ahead of her, and +that it was not likely he and George Crawford would be of one mind in +the matter that occupied her, so different were their ways of looking at +things--so different indeed the things themselves they thought worth +looking at. + +She was silent for a moment, then said: + +"You can at least tell me what you think of gambling!" + +"I think it is the meanest mode of gaining or losing money a man could +find." + +"Why do you think so?" + +"Because he desires only to gain, and can gain only by his neighbor's +loss. One of the two must be the worse for his transaction with the +other. Each _must_ wish ill to his neighbor!" + +"But the risk was agreed upon between them." + +"True--but in what hope? Was it not, on the part of each, that he would +be the gainer and the other the loser? There is no common cause, nothing +but pure opposition of interest." + +"Are there not many things in which one must gain and the other lose?" + +"There are many things in which one gains and the other loses; but if it +is essential to any transaction that only one side shall gain, the thing +is not of God." + +"What do you think of trading in stocks?" + +"I do not know enough about it to have a right to speak." + +"You can give your impression!" + +"I will not give what I do not value." + +"Suppose, then, you heard of a man who had made his money so, how would +you behave to him?" + +"I would not seek his acquaintance." + +"If he sought yours?" + +"It would be time to ask how he had made his money. Then it would be my +business." + +"What would make it your business?" + +"That he sought my acquaintance. It would then be necessary to know +something about him, and the readiest question would be--how he had made +his money!" + +Alexa was silent for some time. + +"Do you think God cares about everything?" she said at length. + +"Everything," answered Andrew, and she said no more. + +Andrew avoided the discussion of moral questions. He regarded the thing +as _vermiculate_, and ready to corrupt the obedience. "When you have a +thing to do," he would say, "you will do it right in proportion to your +love of right. But do the right, and you will love the right; for by +doing it you will see it in a measure as it is, and no one can see the +truth as it is without loving it. The more you _talk_ about what is +right, or even about the doing of it, the more you are in danger of +exemplifying how loosely theory may be allied to practice. Talk without +action saps the very will. Something you have to do is waiting undone +all the time, and getting more and more undone. The only refuge is _to +do_." To know the thing he ought to do was a matter of import, to do the +thing he knew he ought to do was a matter of life and death to Andrew. +He never allowed even a cognate question to force itself upon him until +he had attended to the thing that demanded doing: it was merest common +sense! + +Alexa had in a manner got over her uneasiness at the report of how +George was making his money, and their correspondence was not +interrupted. But something, perhaps a movement from the world of spirit +coming like the wind, had given her one of those motions to betterment, +which, however occasioned, are the throb of the divine pulse in our +life, the call of the Father, the pull of home, and the guide thither to +such as will obey them. She had in consequence again become doubtful +about Crawford, and as to whether she was right in corresponding with +him. This led to her talk with Andrew, which, while it made her think +less of his intellect, influenced her in a way she neither understood +nor even recognized. There are two ways in which one nature may +influence another for betterment--the one by strengthening the will, the +other by heightening the ideal. Andrew, without even her suspicion of +the fact, wrought in the latter way upon Alexa. She grew more uneasy. +George was coming home: how was she to receive him? Nowise bound, they +were on terms of intimacy: was she to encourage the procession of that +intimacy, or to ward attempt at nearer approach? + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George returned, and made an early appearance at Potlurg. Dawtie met him +in the court. She did not know him, but involuntarily shrunk from him. +He frowned. There was a natural repugnance between them; the one was +simple, the other double; the one was pure, the other selfish; the one +loved her neighbor, the other preyed upon his. + +George was a little louder, and his manners were more studied. Alexa +felt him overblown. He was floridly at his ease. What little +"atmosphere" there had been about him was gone, and its place taken by a +colored fog. His dress was unobjectionable, and yet attracted notice; +perhaps it was only too considered. Alexa was disappointed, and a little +relieved. He looked older, yet not more manly--and rather fat. He had +more of the confidence women dislike to see a man without, than was +quite pleasant even to the confident Alexa. His speech was not a little +infected with the nasality--as easy to catch as hard to get rid +of--which I presume the Puritans carried from England to America. On the +whole, George was less interesting than Alexa had expected. + +He came to her as if he would embrace her, but an instinctive movement +on her part sufficed to check him. She threw an additional heartiness +into her welcome, and kept him at arm's-length. She felt as if she had +lost an old friend, and not gained a new one. He made himself very +agreeable, but that he made himself so, made him less so. + +There was more than these changes at work in her; there was still the +underlying doubt concerning him. Although not yet a live soul, she had +strong if vague ideas about right and wrong; and although she sought +many things a good deal more than righteousness, I do not see what +temptation would at once have turned her from its known paths. At the +same time I do not see what she had yet, more than hundreds of thousands +of well-meaning women, to secure her from slow decay and final ruin. + +They laughed and talked together very _like_ the way they used, but +"every like is not the same," and they knew there was a difference. +George was stung by the sense of it--too much to show that he was vexed. +He laid himself out to be the more pleasing, as if determined to make +her feel what he was worth--as the man, namely, whom he imagined +himself, and valued himself on being. + +It is an argument for God, to see what fools those make of themselves +who, believing there is a God, do not believe _in_ Him--children who do +not know the Father. Such make up the mass of church and chapel goers. +Let an earthquake or the small-pox break loose among them, and they will +show what sort their religion is. George had got rid of the folly of +believing in the existence of a God, either interested in human affairs +or careless of them, and naturally found himself more comfortable in +consequence; for he never had believed _in_ God, and it is awkward to +believe and not believe at the same moment. What he had called his +_beliefs_ were as worthy of the name as those of most people, but +whether he was better or worse without them hardly interests me, and my +philanthropy will scarce serve to make me glad that he was more +comfortable. + +As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until +at last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in +Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the +wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where +the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to +the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge. + +"The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this +creature!" he was saying as they came near. + +"What rot!" said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: "Here's my old +friend, the farmer, I declare!" then to Andrew: "How do you do, Mr. +Ingram?" + +George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better +fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do +with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. "You seem to +like the look of the beast!" he said: "you ought to know what's what in +horses!" + +"He is one of the finest horses I ever saw," answered Andrew. "The man +who owns him is fortunate." + +"He ought to be a good one!" said George. "I gave a hundred and fifty +guineas for him yesterday." + +Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought +him, if Sandy was right. + +Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His +presence seemed to protect her a little. + +"May I ask you, Mr. Ingram," she said, "to repeat what you were saying +about the horse as we came up?" + +"I was saying," answered Andrew, "that, to any one who understands a +horse it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed +through many generations to fashion such a perfection." + +"Oh! you indorse the development theory--do you?" said George. "I should +hardly have expected that of you." + +"I do not think it has anything to do with what I said; no one disputes +that this horse comes of many generations of horses. The development +theory, if I understand aright, concerns itself with how his first +ancestor in his own kind came to be a horse." + +"And about that there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who +believes in the Bible!" said George. + +"God makes beautiful horses," returned Andrew; "whether He takes the one +way or the other to make them, I am sure He takes the right way." + +"You imply it is of little consequence what you believe about it." + +"If I had to make them it would be of consequence. But what I think of +consequence to us is--that He makes them, not out of nothing, but out of +Himself. Why should my poor notion of God's _how_ be of importance, so +long as, when I see a horse like yours, Mr. Crawford, I say, God be +praised? It is of eternal importance to love the animal, and see in him +the beauty of the Lord; it is of none to fancy I know which way God took +to make him. Not having in me the power or the stuff to make a horse, I +can not know how God made the horse; I can know him to be beautiful." + +"But," said George, "the first horse was a very common-looking domestic +animal, which they kept to eat--nothing like this one." + +"Then you think God made the first horse, and after that the horses made +themselves," said Andrew. + +Alexa laughed; George said nothing; Andrew went on. + +"But," he said, "if we have come up from the lower animals, through a +million of kinds, perhaps--against which theory I have nothing to +urge--then I am more than prepared to believe that the man who does not +do the part of a man will have to go down again, through all the stages +of his being, to a position beyond the lowest forms of the powers he has +misused, and there begin to rise once more, haunted perhaps with dim +hints of the world of humanity left so far above him." + +"Bah! What's the use of bothering! Rubbish!" cried George, with rude +jollity. "You know as well as I do, Mr. Ingram, it's all bosh! Things +will go on as they're doing, and as they have been doing, till now from +all eternity--so far as we know, and that's enough for us." + +"They will not go on so for long in our sight, Mr. Crawford. The worms +will have a word to say with us." + +Alexa turned away. + +"You've not given up preaching and taken to the practical yet, Mr. +Ingram, I see," said George. + +Andrew laughed. + +"I flatter myself I have not ceased to be practical, Mr. Crawford. You +are busy with what you see, and I am busy as well with what I don't see; +but all the time I believe my farm is in as good a state as your books." + +George gave a start, and stole a look at the young farmer, but was +satisfied he "meant nothing." The self-seeker will walk into the very +abyss protesting himself a practical man, and counting him unpractical +who will not with him "jump the life to come." Himself, he neither +measures the width nor questions his muscle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +WHAT IS IT WORTH? + +Andrew, with all his hard work, harder since Sandy went, continued able +to write, for he neither sought company nor drank strong drink, and was +the sport of no passion. From threatened inroad he appealed to Him who +created to lift His child above the torrent, and make impulse the slave +of conscience and manhood. There were no demons riding the whirlwinds of +his soul. It is not wonderful then that he should be able to write a +book, or that the book should be of genuine and original worth. It had +the fortune to be "favorably" reviewed, scarce one of those who reviewed +it understanding it, while all of them seemed to themselves to +understand it perfectly. I mention the thing because, had the book not +been thus reviewed, Alexa would not have bought a copy, or been able to +admire it. + +The review she read was in a paper whose editor would not have admitted +it had he suspected the drift which the reviewer had failed to see; and +the passages quoted appealed to Alexa in virtue, partly, of her not +seeing half they involved, or anything whatever of the said drift. But +because he had got a book published, and because she approved of certain +lines, phrases and passages in it; but chiefly because it had been +praised by more than one influential paper, Andrew rose immensely in +Alexa's opinion. Although he was the son of a tenant, was even a laborer +on his farm, and had covered a birth no higher than that of Jesus Christ +with the gown of no university, she began, against her own sense of what +was fit, to look up to the plow-man. The plow-man was not aware of this, +and would have been careless had he been. He respected his landlord's +daughter, not ever questioned her superiority as a lady where he made no +claim to being a gentleman, but he recognized in her no power either to +help or to hurt. + +When they next met, Alexa was no longer indifferent to his presence, and +even made a movement in the direction of being agreeable to him. She +dropped in a measure, without knowing she had ever used it, her +patronizing carriage, but had the assurance to compliment him not merely +on the poem he had written, but on the way it had been received; she +could not have credited, had he told her, that he was as indifferent to +the praise or blame of what is called the public, as if that public were +indeed--what it is most like--a boy just learning to read. Yet it is the +consent of such a public that makes the very essence of what is called +fame. How should a man care for it who knows that he is on his way to +join his peers, to be a child with the great ones of the earth, the +lovers of the truth, the Doers of the Will. What to him will be the wind +of the world he has left behind, a wind that can not arouse the dead, +that can only blow about the grave-clothes of the dead as they bury +their dead. + +"Live, Dawtie," said Andrew to the girl, "and ane day ye'll hae yer +hert's desire; for 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after +righteousness.'" + +Andrew was neither annoyed nor gratified with the compliments Alexa paid +him, for she did not know the informing power of the book--what he cared +for in it--the thing that made him write it. But her gentleness and +kindness did please him; he was glad to feel a little at home with her, +glad to draw a little nearer to one who had never been other than good +to him. And then was she not more than kind, even loving to Dawtie? + +"So, Andrew, you are a poet at last," she said, holding out her hand to +him, which Andrew received in a palm that wrote the better verse that it +was horny. "Please to remember I was the first that found you out!" she +added. + +"I think it was my mother," answered Andrew. + +"And I would have helped you if you would have let me." + +"It is not well, ma'am, to push the bird off because he can't sit safe +on the edge of the nest." + +"Perhaps you are right A failure then would have stood in the way of +your coming fame." + +"Oh, for that, ma'am, believe me, I do not care a short straw." + +"What do you not care for?" + +"For fame." + +"That is wrong, Andrew. We ought to care what our neighbors think of +us." + +"My neighbors did not set me to do the work, and I did not seek their +praise in doing it. Their friendship I prize dearly--more than tongue +can tell." + +"You can not surely be so conceited, Andrew, as to think nobody capable +of judging your work." + +"Far from it, ma'am. But you were speaking of fame, and that does not +come from any wise judgment." + +"Then what do you write for, if you care nothing for fame? I thought +that was what all poets wrote for." + +"So the world thinks; and those that do sometimes have their reward." + +"Tell me then what you write for?" + +"I write because I want to tell something that makes me glad and strong. +I want to say it, and so try to say it. Things come to me in gleams and +flashes, sometimes in words themselves, and I want to weave them into a +melodious, harmonious whole. I was once at an oratorio, and that taught +me the shape of a poem. In a pause of the music, I seemed all at once to +see Handel's heavy countenance looking out of his great wig, as he sat +putting together his notes, ordering about in his mind, and fixing in +their places with his pen, his drums, and pipes, and fiddles, and +roaring bass, and flageolets, and hautboys--all to open the door for the +thing that was plaguing him with the confusion of its beauty. For I +suppose even Handel did not hear it all clear and plain at first, but +had to build his orchestra into a mental organ for his mind to let +itself out by, through the many music holes, lest it should burst with +its repressed harmonic delights. He must have felt an agonized need to +set the haunting angels of sound in obedient order and range, responsive +to the soul of the thing, its one ruling idea! I saw him with his white +rapt face, looking like a prophet of the living God sent to speak out of +the heart of the mystery of truth! I saw him as he sat staring at the +paper before him, scratched all over as with the fury of a holy anger at +his own impotence, and his soul communed with heavenliest harmonies! +Ma'am, will any man persuade me that Handel at such a moment was athirst +for fame? or that the desire to please a house full or world full of +such as heard his oratorios, gave him the power to write his music? No, +ma'am! he was filled, not with the longing for sympathy, and not even +with the good desire to give delight, but with the music itself. It was +crying in him to get out, and he heard it crying, and could not rest +till he had let it out; and every note that dropped from his pen was a +chip struck from the granite wall between the song-birds in their +prison-nest, and the air of their liberty. Creation is God's +self-wrought freedom. No, ma'am, I do not despise my fellows, but +neither do I prize the judgment of more than a few of them. I prize and +love themselves, but not their opinion." + +Alexa was silent, and Andrew took his leave. She sat still for awhile +thinking. If she did not understand, at least she remembered Andrew's +face as he talked: could presumption make his face shine so? could +presumption make him so forget himself? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. + +Things went swimmingly with George. He had weathered a crisis, and was +now full of confidence, as well as the show of it. That he held himself +a man who could do what he pleased, was plain to every one. His +prosperity leaned upon that of certain princes of the power of money in +America: gleaning after them he found his fortune. + +But he did not find much increase of favor with Alexa. Her spiritual +tastes were growing more refined. There was something about the man, and +that not new, which she could no longer contemplate without +dissatisfaction. It cost her tears at night to think that, although her +lover had degenerated, he had remained true to her, for she saw plainly +that it was only lack of encouragement that prevented him from asking +her to be his wife. She must _appear_ changeable, but this was not the +man she had been ready to love! the plant had put forth a flower that +was not in sequence with the leaf. The cause of his appearing different +might lie in herself, but in any case he was not the gentleman she had +thought! Had she loved him, she would have stood by him bravely, but now +she could not help recalling the disgrace of the father, and shrunk from +sharing it with the son. Would it be any wonder if the son himself +proved less than honorable? She would have broken with him quite but for +one thing: he had become intimate with her father, and the laird enjoyed +his company. + +George had a large straggling acquaintance with things, and could +readily appear to know more than he did. He was, besides, that most +agreeable person to a man with a hobby, a good listener--when he saw +reason. He made himself so pleasant that the laird was not only always +glad to see him, but would often ask him to stay to supper, when he +would fish up from the wine-cellar he had inherited a bottle with a +history and a character, and the two would pass the evening together, +Alexa trying not to wish him away, for was not her poor old father happy +with him! Though without much pleasure of his own in such things, +George, moved by the reflection of the laird's interest, even began to +_collect_ a little, mainly in the hope of picking up what might gratify +the laird; nor, if he came upon a thing he _must_ covet, would hesitate +to spend on it a good sum. Naturally the old man grew to regard him as a +son of the best sort, one who would do anything to please his father and +indulge his tastes. + +It may seem surprising that such a man as George should have remained so +true; but he had a bull-dog tenacity of purpose, as indeed his +money-making indicated. Then there was good in him to the measure of +admiring a woman like Alexa, though not of admiring a far better. He saw +himself in danger of losing her; concluded influences at work to the +frustration of his own; surmised that she doubted the character of his +business; feared the clownish farmer-poet might have dazzled with his +new reputation her womanly judgment; and felt himself called upon to +make good his position against any and every prejudice she might have +conceived against him! He would yield nothing! If he was foiled he was +foiled, but it should not be his fault! His own phrase was, that he +would not throw up the sponge so long as he could come up grinning. He +had occasional twinges of discomfort, for his conscience, although +seared indeed, was not seared as with the hottest iron, seeing he had +never looked straight at any truth: it would ease those twinges, he +vaguely imagined, so to satisfy a good woman like Alexa, that she made +common cause with him, accepting not merely himself, but the money of +which he had at such times a slight loathing. Then Alexa was +handsome--he thought her _very_ handsome, and, true to Mammon, he would +gladly be true also to something better. There _might be_ another camp, +and it would be well to have friends in that too! + +So unlike Andrew, how could he but dislike him! and his dislike jealousy +fostered into hatred. Cowed before him, like Macbeth before Banquo, +because he was an honest man, how could he but hate him! He called him, +and thought him a canting, sneaking fellow--which he was, if canting +consist in giving God His own, and sneaking consist in fearing no +man--in fearing nothing, indeed, but doing wrong. How could George +consent even to the far-off existence of such a man! + +The laird also had taken a dislike to him. + +From the night when Dawtie made her appeal, he had not known an hour's +peace. It was not that it had waked his conscience, though it had made +it sleep a little less soundly; it was only that he feared she might +take further action in regard to the cup. She seemed to him to be taking +part with the owner of the cup against him; he could not see that she +was taking part with himself against the devil; that it was not the cup +she was anxious about, but the life of her master. What if she should +acquaint the earl's lawyer with all she knew! He would be dragged into +public daylight! He could not pretend ignorance concerning the identity +of the chalice! that would be to be no antiquarian, while Dawtie would +bear witness that he had in his possession a book telling all about it! +But the girl would never of herself have turned against him! It was all +that fellow Ingram, with his overstrained and absurd notions as to what +God required of His poor sinful creatures! He did not believe in the +atonement! He did not believe that Christ had given satisfaction to the +Father for our sins! He demanded in the name of religion more than any +properly educated and authorized minister would! and in his +meddlesomeness had worried Dawtie into doing as she did! The girl was a +good and modest girl, and would never of herself have so acted! Andrew +was righteous overmuch, therefore eaten up with self-conceit, and the +notion of pleasing God more than other men! He cherished old grudges +against him, and would be delighted to bring his old school-master to +shame! He was not a bad boy at school; he had always liked him; the +change in him witnessed to the peril of extremes! Here they had led to +spiritual pride, which was the worst of all the sins! The favorite of +heaven could have no respect for the opinion of his betters! The man was +bent on returning evil for all the good he had done the boy! It was a +happy thing young Crawford understood him! He would be his friend, and +defeat the machinations of his enemy! If only the fellow's lease were +out, that he might get rid of him! + +Moved by George's sympathy with his tastes, he drew nearer and nearer to +disclosing the possession which was the pride of his life. The +enjoyment, of connoisseur or collector rests much on the glory of +possession--of having what another has not, or, better still, what no +other can possibly have. + +From what he had long ago seen on the night of the storm, and now from +the way the old man hinted, and talked, and broke off; also from the +uneasiness he sometimes manifested, George had guessed that there was +something over whose possession he gloated, but for whose presence among +his treasures he could not comfortably account He therefore set himself, +without asking a single question, to make the laird unbosom. A hold on +the father would be a hold on the daughter! + +One day, in a pawnbroker's shop, he lighted upon a rarity indeed, which +might or might not have a history attributed to it, but was in itself +more than interesting for the beauty of both material and workmanship. +The sum asked for it was large, but with the chance of pleasing the +laird, it seemed to George but a trifle. It was also, he judged, of +intrinsic value to a great part of the price. Had he been then aware of +the passion of the old man for jewels in especial, he would have been +yet more eager to secure it for him. It was a watch, not very small, and +by no means thin--a repeater, whose bell was dulled by the stones of the +mine in which it lay buried. The case was one mass of gems of +considerable size, and of every color. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald were +judiciously parted by diamonds of utmost purity, while yellow diamonds +took the golden place for which the topaz had not been counted of +sufficient value. They were all crusted together as close as they could +lie, the setting of them hardly showing. The face was of fine opals, +across which moved the two larger hands radiant with rubies, while the +second-hand flitted flashing around, covered with tiny diamonds. The +numerals were in sapphires, within a bordering ring of emeralds and +black pearls. The jewel was a splendor of color and light. + +George, without preface, took it from his pocket, held it a moment in +the sunlight, and handed it to the laird. He glowered at it. He saw an +angel from heaven in a thing compact of earth-chips! As near as any +_thing_ can be loved of a live soul, the laird loved a fine stone; what +in it he loved most, the color, the light, the shape, the value, the +mystery, he could not have told!--and here was a jewel of many fine +stones! With both hands he pressed it to his bosom. Then he looked at it +in the sun, then went into the shadow of the house, for they were in the +open air, and looked at it again. Suddenly he thrust it into his pocket, +and hurried, followed by George, to his study. There he closed the +shutters, lighted a lamp, and gazed at the marvel, turning it in all +directions. At length he laid it on the table, and sunk with a sigh into +a chair. George understood the sigh, and dug its source deeper by +telling him, as he had heard it, the story of the jewel. + +"It may be true," he said as he ended. "I remember seeing some time ago +a description of the toy. I think I could lay my hand on it!" + +"Would you mind leaving it with me till you come again?" faltered the +laird. + +He knew he could not buy it: he had not the money; but he would gladly +dally with the notion of being its possessor. To part with it, the +moment after having held it in his hand and gloated over it for the +first time, would be too keen a pain! It was unreasonable to have to +part with it at all! He _ought_ to be its owner! Who could be such an +owner to a thing like that as he! It was a wrong to him that it was not +his! Next to his cup, it was the most precious thing he had ever wished +to possess!--a thing for a man to take to the grave with him! Was there +no way of carrying _any_ treasure to the other world? He would have sold +of his land to secure the miracle, but, alas, it was all entailed! For a +moment the Cellini chalice seemed of less account, and he felt ready to +throw open the window of his treasure-room and pitch everything out. The +demon of _having_ is as imperious and as capricious as that of drink, +and there is no refuge from it but with the Father. "This kind goeth not +out by prayer." + +The poor slave uttered, not a sigh now, but a groan. "You'll tell the +man," he said, thinking George had borrowed the thing to show him, "that +I did not even ask the price: I know I can not buy it!" + +"Perhaps he would give you credit!" suggested George, with a smile. + +"No! I will have nothing to do with credit! I should not be able to call +it my own!"--Money-honesty was strong in the laird. "But," he continued, +"do try and persuade him to let me have it for a day or two--that I may +get its beauty by heart, and think of it all the days, and dream of it +all the nights of my life after!" + +"There will be no difficulty about that," answered George. "The owner +will be delighted to let you keep it as long as you wish!" + +"I would it were so!" + +"It is so!" + +"You don't mean to say, George, that that queen of jewels is yours, and +you will lend it me?" + +"The thing is mine, but I will not lend it--not even to you, sir!" + +"I don't wonder!--I don't wonder! But it is a great disappointment! I +was beginning to hope I--I--might have the loan of it for a week or two +even!" + +"You should indeed if the thing were mine!" said George, playing him; +"but--" + +"Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you said it was yours!" + +"So it was when I brought it, but it is mine no longer. It is yours. I +purchased it for you this morning." + +The old man was speechless. He rose, and seizing George by both hands, +stood staring at him. Something very like tears gathered within the +reddened rims of his eyes. He had grown paler and feebler of late, ever +in vain devising to secure possession of the cup--possession moral as +well as legal. But this entrancing gift brought with it strength and +hope in regard to the chalice! "To him that hath shall be given!" quoted +the Mammon within him. + +"George!" he said, with a moan of ecstasy, "you are my good angel!" and +sat down exhausted. The watch was the key to his "closet," as he +persisted in calling his treasury. + +In old times not a few houses in Scotland held a certain tiny room, +built for the head of the family, to be his closet for prayer: it was, I +believe, with the notion of such a room in his head, that the laird had +called his museum his closet; and he was more right than he meant to be; +for in that chamber he did his truest worship--truest as to the love in +it, falsest as to its object; for there he worshiped the god vilest bred +of all the gods, bred namely of man's distrust in the Life of the +universe. + +And now here also were two met together to worship; for from this time +the laird, disclosing his secret, made George free of his sanctuary. + +George was by this time able to take a genuine interest in the +collection. But he was much amused, sometimes annoyed, with the behavior +of the laird in his closet: he was more nervous and touchy over his +things than a she-bear over her cubs. + +Of all dangers to his darlings he thought a woman the worst, and had +therefore seized with avidity the chance of making that room a hidden +one, the possibility of which he had spied almost the moment he first +entered it. + +He became, if possible, fonder of his things than ever, and flattered +himself he had found in George a fellow-worshiper: George's exaggerated +or pretended appreciation enhanced his sense of their value. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +ON THE MOOR. + +Alexa had a strong shaggy pony, which she rode the oftener that George +came so often; taking care to be well gone before he arrived on his +beautiful horse. + +One lovely summer evening she had been across the moor a long way, and +was returning as the sun went down. A glory of red molten gold was +shining in her face, so that she could see nothing in front of her, and +was a little startled by a voice greeting her with a respectful +good-evening. The same moment she was alongside of the speaker in the +blinding veil of the sun. It was Andrew walking home from a village on +the other side of the moor. She drew rein, and they went together. + +"What has come to you, Mr. Ingram?" she said; "I hear you were at church +last Sunday evening!" + +"Why should I not be, ma'am?" asked Andrew. + +"For the reason that you are not in the way of going." + +"There might be good reason for going once, or for going many times, and +yet not for going always!" + +"We won't begin with quarreling! There are things we shall not agree +about!" + +"Yes; one or two--for a time, I believe!" returned Andrew. + +"What did you think of Mr. Rackstraw's sermon? I suppose you went to +hear _him_.'" + +"Yes, ma'am--at least partly." + +"Well?" + +"Will you tell me first whether you were satisfied with Mr. Rackstraw's +teaching? I know you were there." + +"I was quite satisfied." + +"Then I don't see reason for saying anything about it." + +"If I am wrong, you ought to try to set me right!" + +"The prophet Elisha would have done no good by throwing his salt into +the running stream. He cast it, you will remember, into the spring!" + +"I do not understand you." + +"There is no use in persuading a person to change an opinion." + +"Why not?" + +"Because the man is neither the better nor the worse for it. If you had +told me you were distressed to hear a man in authority speak as Mr. +Rackstraw spoke concerning a being you loved, I would have tried to +comfort you by pointing out how false it was. But if you are content to +hear God so represented, why should I seek to convince you of what is +valueless to you? Why offer you to drink what your heart is not +thirsting after? Would you love God more because you found He was not +what you were quite satisfied He should be?" + +"Do tell me more plainly what you mean?" + +"You must excuse me. I have said all I will. I can not reason in defense +of God. It seems blasphemy to argue that His nature is not such as no +honorable man could love in another man." + +"But if the Bible says so?" + +"If the Bible said so, the Bible would be false. But the Bible does not +say so." + +"How is it then that it seems to say so?" + +"Because you were taught falsely about Him before you desired to know +Him." + +"But I am capable of judging now!" + +Andrew was silent. + +"Am I not?" insisted Alexa. + +"Do you desire to know God?" said Andrew. + +"I think I do know Him." + +"And you think those things true?" + +"Yes." + +"Then we are where we were, and I say no more." + +"You are not polite." + +"I can not help it. I must let you alone to believe about God what you +can. You will not be blamed for not believing what you can not." + +"Do you mean that God never punishes any one for what He can not help?" + +"Assuredly." + +"How do you prove that?" + +"I will not attempt to prove it. If you are content to think He does, if +it do not trouble you that your God should be unjust, go on thinking so +until you are made miserable by it, then I will pour out my heart to +deliver you." + +She was struck, not with any truth in what he said, but with the evident +truthfulness of the man himself. Right or wrong, there was that about +him--a certain radiance of conviction--which certainly was not about Mr. +Rackstraw. + +"The things that can be shaken," said Andrew, as if thinking with +himself, "may last for a time, but they will at length be shaken to +pieces, that the things which can not be shaken may show what they are. +Whatever we call religion will vanish when we see God face to face." + +For awhile they went brushing through the heather in silence. + +"May I ask you one question, Mr. Ingram?" said Alexa. + +"Surely, ma'am! Ask me anything you like." + +"And you will answer me?" + +"If I am at liberty to answer you I will." + +"What do you mean by being at liberty? Are you under any vow?" + +"I am under the law of love. I am bound to do nothing to hurt. An answer +that would do you no good I will not give." + +"How do you know what will or will not do me good?" + +"I must use what judgment I have." + +"Is it true, then, that you believe God gives you whatever you ask?" + +"I have never asked anything of Him that He did not give me." + +"Would you mind telling me anything you have asked of Him?" + +"I have never yet required to ask anything not included in the prayer, +'Thy will be done.'" + +"That will be done without your praying for it." + +"Pardon me; I do not believe it will be done, to all eternity, without +my praying for it. Where first am I accountable that His will should be +done? Is it not in myself? How is His will to be done in me without my +willing it? Does He not want me to love what He loves?--to be like +Himself?--to do His will with the glad effort of my will?--in a word, to +will what He wills? And when I find I can not, what am I to do but pray +for help? I pray, and He helps me." + +"There is nothing strange in that!" + +"Surely not It seems to me the simplest common sense. It is my business, +the business of every man, that God's will be done by his obedience to +that will, the moment he knows it." + +"I fancy you are not so different from other people as you think +yourself. But they say you want to die." + +"I want nothing but what God wants. I desire righteousness." + +"Then you accept the righteousness of Christ?" + +"Accept it! I long for it." + +"You know that it is not what I mean!" + +"I seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness." + +"You avoid my question. Do you accept the righteousness of Christ +instead of your own?" + +"I have no righteousness of my own to put it instead of. The only +righteousness there is is God's, and He will make me righteous like +Himself. He is not content that His one Son only should be righteous; He +wants all His children to be righteous as He is righteous. The thing is +plain; I will not argue about it." + +"You do not believe in the atonement." + +"I believe in Jesus Christ. He is the atonement. What strength God has +given me I will spend in knowing Him and doing what He tells me. To +interpret His plans before we know Himself is to mistake both Him and +His plans. I know this, that he has given His life for what multitudes +who call themselves by His name would not rise from their seats to share +in." + +"You think me incapable of understanding the gospel?" + +"I think if you did understand the gospel of Christ you would be +incapable of believing the things about His Father that you say you do +believe. But I will not say a word more. When you are able to see the +truth, you will see it; and when you desire the truth you will be able." + +Alexa touched her pony with her whip. But by and by she pulled him up, +and made him walk till Andrew overtook her. + +The sun was by this time far out of sight, the glow of the west was +over, and twilight lay upon the world. Its ethereal dimness had sunk +into her soul. + +"Does the gloaming make you sad, Mr. Ingram?" she asked. + +"It makes me very quiet," he answered--"as if all my people were asleep, +and waiting for me." + +"Do you mean as if they were all dead? How can you talk of it so +quietly?" + +"Because I do not believe in death." + +"What _do_ you mean?" + +"I am a Christian!" + +"I hope you are, Mr. Ingram, though, to be honest with you, some things +make me doubt it Perhaps you would say I am not a Christian." + +"It is enough that God knows whether you are a Christian or not. Why +should I say you are or you are not?" + +"But I want to know what you meant when you said you were a Christian. +How should that make you indifferent to the death of your friends? Death +is a dreadful thing, look at it how you like." + +"The Lord says, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.' If +my friends are not dead, but living and waiting for me, why should I +wait for them in a fierce, stormy night, or a black frost, instead of +the calm of such a sleeping day as this--a day with the son hid, +Shakespeare calls it." + +"How you do mix up things! Shakespeare and Jesus Christ!" + +"God mixed them first, and will mix them a good deal more yet," said +Andrew. + +But for the smile which would hover like a heavenly Psyche about his +mouth, his way of answering would sometimes have seemed curt to those +who did not understand him. Instead of holding aloof in his superiority, +however, as some thought he did when he would not answer, or answered +abruptly, Andrew's soul would be hovering, watching and hoping for a +chance of lighting, and giving of the best he had. He was like a great +bird changing parts with a child--the child afraid of the bird, and the +bird enticing the child to be friends. He had learned that if he poured +out his treasure recklessly it might be received with dishonor, and but +choke the way of the chariot of approaching truth. + +"Perhaps you will say next there is no such thing as suffering," resumed +Alexa. + +"No; the Lord said that in the world His friends should have +tribulation." + +"What tribulation have you, who are so specially His friend?" + +"Not much yet It is a little, however, sometimes, to know such strong, +and beautiful, and happy-making things, and all the time my people, my +beloved humans, born of my Father in heaven, with the same heart for joy +and sorrow, will not listen and be comforted, I think that was what made +our Lord sorriest of all." + +"Mr. Ingram, I have no patience with you. How dare you liken your +trouble to that of our Lord--making yourself equal with Him!" + +"Is it making myself equal with Him to say that I understand a little +how He felt toward His fellow-men? I am always trying to understand Him; +would it be a wonder if I did sometimes a little? How is a man to do as +He did, without understanding Him?" + +"Are you going to work miracles next?" + +"Jesus was always doing what God wanted Him to do. That was what He came +for, not to work miracles. He could have worked a great many more if He +had pleased, but He did no more than God wanted of Him. Am I not to try +to do the will of God, because He who died that I might, always +succeeded however hard it was, and I am always failing and having to try +again?" + +"And you think you will come to it in this life?" + +"I never think about that; I only think about doing His will now--not +about doing it then--that is, to-morrow or next day or next world. I +know only one life--the life that is hid with Christ in God; and that is +the life by which I live here and now. I do not make schemes of life; I +live. Life will teach me God's plans; I will take no trouble about them; +I will only obey, and receive the bliss He sends me. And of all things I +will not make theories of God's plans for other people to accept. I will +only do my best to destroy such theories as I find coming between some +poor glooming heart, and the sun shining in his strength. Those who love +the shade of lies, let them walk in it until the shiver of the eternal +cold drive them to seek the face of Jesus Christ. To appeal to their +intellect would be but to drive them the deeper into the shade to +justify their being in it. And if by argument you did persuade them out +of it, they would but run into a deeper and worse darkness." + +"How could that be?" + +"They would at once think that, by an intellectual stride they had +advanced in the spiritual life, whereas they would be neither the better +nor the worse. I know a man, once among the foremost in denouncing the +old theology, who is now no better than a swindler." + +"You mean--" + +"No one you know, ma'am. His intellectual freedom seems only to have +served his spiritual subjugation. Right opinion, except it spring from +obedience to the truth, is but so much rubbish on the golden floor of +the temple." + +The peace of the night and its luminous earnestness were gleaming on +Andrew's face, and Alexa, glancing up as he ceased, felt again the +inroad of a sense of something in the man that was not in the other men +she knew--the spiritual shadow of a dweller in regions beyond her ken. +The man was before her, yet out of her sight! + +The whole thing was too simple for her, only a child could understand it +Instead of listening to the elders and priests to learn how to save his +soul, he cast away all care of himself, left that to God, and gave +himself to do the will of Him from whose heart he came, even as the +eternal Life, the Son of God, required of him; in the mighty hope of +becoming one mind, heart, soul, one eternal being, with Him, with the +Father, with every good man, with the universe which was his +inheritance--walking in the world as Enoch walked with God, held by his +hand. This is what man was and is meant to be, what man must become; +thither the wheels of time are roaring; thither work all the silent +potencies of the eternal world; and they that will not awake and arise +from the dead must be flung from their graves by the throes of a +shivering world. + +When he had done speaking Andrew stood and looked up. A few stars were +looking down through the limpid air. Alexa rode on. Andrew let her go, +and walked after her alone, sure that her mind must one day open to the +eternal fact that God is all in all, the perfect friend of His children; +yea, that He would cease to be God sooner than fail His child in his +battle with death. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +THE WOOER. + +Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined +toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to +open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her +father. But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in +doubt no longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had +gone there with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her +hand, from which she was storing her mind with arguments against what +she supposed the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of +his condescending to front them with counter-argument. His voice +returned ever to the ear of her mind in words like these: "If you are +content to think so, you are in no condition to receive what I have to +communicate. Why should I press water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let +us wait for the drought of the desert, when life is a low fever, and the +heart is dry; when the earth is like iron, and the heavens above it are +as brass." + +She started at the sound of George's voice. + +"What lovely weather!" he said. + +Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium--the side of +nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy +summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making. + +"Yes?" answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and +held her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted +again to eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental. + +"Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too +much of your attention, Alexa!" + +"You have been very kind, George!" she answered. + +"Kind is not asking much of your attention?" + +"Yea--that, and giving my father so much of yours." + +"I certainly have seen more of him than of you!" returned George, hoping +her words meant reproach. "But he has always been kind to me, and +pleased to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!" + +To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he +had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get +out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to +pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true +and right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one +way of doing a thing! + +"I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!" + +"You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!" + +"No; then you were going away!" + +"Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?" + +"Not when he does not seem content with having come back!" + +"I do not understand!" + +But Alexa gave no explanation. + +"You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?" + +"Perhaps." + +"That is, if you were sure I was not coming back." + +"I did not _say_ so." + +"I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any +misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between +us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!" + +"There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, +George--that you did not say anything before you went." + +"I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!" + +"I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!" + +This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. + +"You are cruel!" he said. "I should have made it the business of my life +that you never did!" + +Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost +as soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human +pressure in which he had grown up! + +"I am certain I should," persisted Alexa. + +"Why are you so certain?" + +"Because I am so glad now to think I am free." + +"Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know +where the stab comes from!" + +"The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you +talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened +more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had +deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then +thought characterized you!" + +"Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your +friend the farmer!" + +"Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?" rejoined Alexa, +with some heat. + +"I mean that I am an honest man." + +"I am doubtful of you." + +"I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!" + +"It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do +you believe yourself an honest man?" + +"As men go, yes." + +"But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world +when hearts are as open as faces?" + +He was silent. + +"Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of--" + +She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying "_Jesus +Christ_," but felt she had no right, and hesitated. + +"--Of our friend Andrew?" supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. +"The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his +muscles--the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better +market--not he!" + +"It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a +dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were +not to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world +to make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he +could get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire +to get more--and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and +the poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent +to grow corn for them!" + +"And what did your father say to that wisdom?" + +"That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only +know," added Alexa, with a little laugh, "that he is consistent, for he +has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in +him that sets him apart from other men!" + +"And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought _my_ +position too humble!" + +"What am I to understand by that?" + +"What you think I mean." + +"I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!" + +Alexa rose and left him. + +George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands +in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty +smile, and said: "At least I have made her angry, and that's something! +What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's +not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!--a clod-hopper +born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and +Potlurg will never let _him_ have it! _I_ will see to that! The laird +hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent +myself!" + +His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he +never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at +all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most +she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full +of respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her +superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself +at a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant +to know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel +that, as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young +farmer disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by +no means agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did +not see anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew +she was handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one +heart-throb more because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good +as told her she was one of the dead who would not come alive! It would +be something to be loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly +to think of making any man love her--and even if he loved her she could +not marry a man in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two +were the lack but a point or two, but there was no stretching points to +the marrying of a peasant, without education, who worked on his father's +farm! The thing was ridiculous!--of course she knew that!--the very idea +too absurd to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to +marry George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite +fat! And he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something +about him _not_ like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a +cheap-jack! + +She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony +looked elf-ridden. + +But George had no intention of forsaking the house--yet, at least. He +was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with +her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, +the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the +neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any +lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that +he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By +this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for +things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the +laird's wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to +become his daughter's husband. He _would not_ accept her dismissal as +final! + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +THE HEART OF THE HEART. + +The laird had been poorly for some weeks, and Alexa began to fear that +he was failing. Nothing more had passed between him and Dawtie, but he +knew that anxious eyes were often watching him, and the thought worried +him not a little. If he would but take a start, thought Dawtie, and not +lose all the good of this life! It was too late for him to rise very +high; he could not now be a saint, but he might at least set a foot on +the eternal stair that leads to the fullness of bliss! He would have a +sore fight with all those imps of things, before he ceased to love that +which was not lovely, and to covet that which was not good! But the man +gained a precious benefit from this world, who but began to repent +before he left it! If only the laird would start up the hill before his +body got quite to the bottom! Was there any way to approach him again +with her petition that he would be good to himself, good to God, good to +the universe, that he would love what was worth loving, and cast away +what was not? She had no light, and could do nothing! + +Suddenly the old man failed quite--apparently from no cause but +weakness. The unease of his mind, the haunting of the dread thought of +having to part with the chalice, had induced it. He was in his closet +one night late into the morning, and the next day did not get up to +breakfast He wanted a little rest, he said. In a day he would be well! +But the hour to rise again, much anticipated, never came. He seemed very +troubled at times, and very desirous of getting up, but never was able. +It became necessary to sit with him at night. In fits of delirium he +would make fierce endeavor to rise, insisting that he must go to his +study. His closet he never mentioned: even in dreams was his secrecy +dominant. Dawtie, who had her share in nursing him, kept hoping her +opportunity would come. He did not seem to cherish any resentment +against her. His illness would protect him, he thought, from further +intrusion of her conscience upon his! She must know better than irritate +a sick man with overofficiousness! Everybody could not be a saint! It +was enough to be a Christian like other good and salvable Christians! It +was enough for him if through the merits of his Saviour he gained +admission to the heavenly kingdom at last! He never thought now, once +in, he could bear to stay in; never thought how heaven could be to him +other than the dullest place in the universe of God, more wearisome than +the kingdom of darkness itself! And all the time the young woman with +the savior-heart was watching by his bedside, ready to speak; but the +Spirit gave her no utterance, and her silence soothed his fear of her. + +One night he was more restless than usual. Waking from his troubled +slumber, he called her--in the tone of one who had something important +to communicate. + +"Dawtie," he said, with feeble voice but glittering eye, "there is no +one I can trust like you. I have been thinking of what you said that +night ever since. Go to my closet and bring me the cup." + +Dawtie held a moment's debate whether it would be right; but she +reflected that it made little difference whether the object of his +passion was in his hand or in his chest, while it was all the same deep +in his heart. Then his words seemed to imply that he wanted to take his +farewell of it; and to refuse his request might only fan the evil love, +and turn him from the good motion in his mind. She said: "Yes, sir," and +stood waiting. He did not speak. + +"I do not know where to find it," she said. + +"I am going to tell you," he replied, but seemed to hesitate. + +"I will not touch a single thing beside," said Dawtie. + +He believed her, and at once proceeded: + +"Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me. There is the key of the +closet door!--and there, the key of all the bunch that looks the +commonest, but is in reality the most cunningly devised, is the key of +the cabinet in which I keep it!" + +Then he told her where, behind a little book-case, which moved from the +wall on hinges, she would find the cabinet, and in what part of it the +cup, wrapped in a piece of silk that had once been a sleeve, worn by +_Mme. de Genlis_--which did not make Dawtie much wiser. + +She went, found the chalice, and brought it where the laird lay +straining his ears, and waiting for it as a man at the point of death +might await the sacramental cup from absolving priest. + +His hands trembled as he took it; for they were the hands of a +lover--strange as that love was, which not merely looked for no return, +but desired to give neither pleasure nor good to the thing loved! It was +no love of the merely dead, but a love of the unliving! He pressed the +thing to his bosom; then, as if rebuked by the presence of Dawtie, put +it a little from him, and began to pore over every stone, every +_repouss_ figure between, and every engraved ornament around the gems, +each of which he knew, by shape, order, quality of color, better than +ever face of wife or child. But soon his hands sunk on the counterpane +of silk patchwork, and he lay still, grasping tight the precious thing. + +He woke with a start and a cry, to find it safe in both his hands. + +"Ugh!" he said; "I thought some one had me by the throat! You didn't try +to take the cup from me--did you, Dawtie?" + +"No, sir," answered Dawtie; "I would not care to take it out of your +hand, but I _should_ be glad to take it out of your heart!" + +"If they would only bury it with me!" he murmured, heedless of her +words. + +"Oh, sir! Would you have it burning your heart to all eternity? Give it +up, sir, and take the treasure thief never stole." + +"Yes, Dawtie, yes! That is the true treasure!" + +"And to get it we must sell all that we have!" + +"He gives and withholds as He sees fit." + +"Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will +never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you +strength to fling it from you?" + +He hugged the chalice. + +"Fling it from me!" he cried, fiercely. "Girl, who are you to torment me +before my time!" + +"Tell me, sir," persisted Dawtie, "why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou +that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?" + +"No one _can_ move without God." + +"Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the +power to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not +using the strength God gives us!" + +"I can not bear the strain of thinking!" gasped the laird. + +"Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?" + +She put out her hand as she spoke. + +"No! no!" he cried, grasping the cup tighter. "You shall not touch it! +You would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is +beautiful!" + +"I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!" + +"You want to see my cup--it _is_ my cup!--in the hands of that +spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!" + +"It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!" + +"Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!" + +"They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from +you! Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep." + + +"I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my +confidence in you! I _may_ fall asleep, but if your hand come within a +foot of the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my +heart in the cup, and the least touch will wake me!" + +"I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!" + +"What's the matter with _him?_" + +"Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what +is right." + +"Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such +foolery?" + +His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light +of mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had +spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and +lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! +_He_ would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know +it safe and not far from him! + +Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. +She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat +like an image, moving only her eyes. + +"What are you about, Dawtie?" he said at length. "You are after some +mischief, you are so quiet!" + +"I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up +your odds and ends, and take Him instead." + +"How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are _you_ to +say to _Him_ that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so and +so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!" + +"We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was +saying what I could for you." The laird was silent, and the rest of the +night passed quietly. + +His first words in the morning were: + +"Go and tell your mistress I want her." + +When his daughter came, he told her to send for George Crawford. He was +worse, he said, and wanted to see him. + +Alexa thought it best to send Dawtie with the message by the next train. +Dawtie did not relish the mission, for she had no faith in Crawford, and +did not like his influence on her master. Not the less when she reached +his hotel, she insisted on seeing him and giving her message in person; +which done, she made haste for the first train back: they could not do +well without her! When she arrived, there was Mr. Crawford already on +the platform! She set out as fast as she could, but she had not got +further than half-way when he overtook her in a fly, and insisted she +should get in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. + +"What is the matter with your master?" he asked. + +"God knows, sir." + +"What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what _you_ +know." + +"I don't know anything, sir." + +"What do you think then?" + +"I should think old age had something to do with it, sir." + +"Likely enough, but you know more than that!" + +"I shouldn't wonder, sir, if he were troubled in his mind." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"It is reasonable to think so, sir. He knows he must die before long, +and it is dreadful to leave everything you care for, and go where there +is nothing you care for!" + +"How do you know there is nothing he would care for?" + +"What is there, sir, he would be likely to care for?" + +"There is his wife. He was fond of her, I suppose, and you pious people +fancy you will see each other again." + +"The thought of seeing her would give him little comfort, I am afraid, +in parting with the things he has here. He believes a little somehow--I +can't understand how." + +"What does he believe?" + +"He believes a little--he is not sure--that what a man soweth he shall +also reap." + +"How do you know what he is or is not sure off? It can't be a matter of +interest to you?" + +"Those that come of one Father must have interest in one another." + +"How am I to tell we come of one Father--as you call Him? I like to have +a thing proved before I believe it. I know neither where I came from, +nor where I am going; how then can I know that we come from the same +father?" + +"I don't know how you're to know it, sir. I take it for granted, and +find it good. But there is one thing I am sure of." + +"What is that?" + +"That if you were my master's friend you would not rest till you got him +to do what was right before he died." + +"I will not be father-confessor to any man. I have enough to do with +myself. A good worthy old man like the laird must know better than any +other what he ought to do." + +"There is no doubt of that, sir." + +"What do you want then?" + +"To get him to do it. That he knows, is what makes it so miserable. If +he did not know he would not be to blame. He knows what it is and won't +do it, and that makes him wretched--as it ought, thank God!" + +"You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. +Well." + +"Yes," answered Dawtie. + +George thought a little. + +"What would you have me persuade him to?" he asked, for he might hear +something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no +inclination to tell him what she knew. + +"I only wish you would persuade him to do what he knows he ought to do," +she replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +THE WATCH. + +George stayed with the laird a good while, and held a long, broken talk +with him. When he went Alexa came. She thought her father seemed +happier. George had put the cup away for him. Alexa sat with him that +night. She knew nothing of such a precious thing being in the house--in +the room with them. + +In the middle of the night, as she was arranging his pillows, the laird +drew from under the bed-clothes, and held up to her, flashing in the +light of the one candle, the jeweled watch. She stared. The old man was +pleased at her surprise and evident admiration. She held out her hand +for it. He gave it her. + +"That watch," he said, "is believed to have belonged to Ninon de +l'Enclos. It _may_, but I doubt it myself. It is well known she never +took presents from her admirers, and she was too poor to have bought +such a thing. Mme. de Maintenon, however, or some one of her +lady-friends, might have given it her. It will be yours one day--that +is, if you marry the man I should like you to marry." + +"Dear father, do not talk of marrying. I have enough with you," cried +Alexa, and felt as if she hated George. + +"Unfortunately, you can not have me always," returned her father. "I +will say nothing more now, but I desire you to consider what I have +said." + +Alexa put the watch in his hand. + +"I trust you do not suppose," she said, "that a house full of things +like that would make any difference." + +He looked up at her sharply. A house full--what did she know? It +silenced him, and he lay thinking. Surely the delight of lovely things +must be in every woman's heart. Was not the passion, developed or +undeveloped, universal? Could a child of his _not_ care for such things? + +"Ah," he said to himself, "she takes after her mother." + +A wall seemed to rise between him and his daughter. Alas! alas! the +things he loved and must one day yield would not be cherished by her. No +tender regard would hover around them when he was gone. She would be no +protecting divinity to them. God in heaven! she might--she would--he was +sure she would sell them. + +It seems the sole possible comfort of avarice, as it passes empty and +hungry into the empty regions--that the things it can no more see with +eyes or handle with hands will yet be together somewhere. Hence the rich +leave to the rich, avoiding the man who most needs, or would best use +their money. Is there a lurking notion in the man of much goods, I +wonder, that, in the still watches of the night, when men sleep, he will +return to look on what he leaves behind him? Does he forget the torture +of seeing it at the command, in the enjoyment of another--his will +concerning this thing or that but a mockery? Does he know that he who +then holds them will not be able to conceive of their having been or +ever being another's as now they are his? + +As Alexa sat in the dim light by her brooding father she loathed the +shining thing he had again drawn under the bed-clothes--shrunk from it +as from a manacle the devil had tried to slip on her wrist. The judicial +assumption of society suddenly appeared in the emptiness of its +arrogance. Marriage for the sake of _things_. Was she not a live soul, +made for better than that She was ashamed of the innocent pleasure the +glittering toy had given her. + +The laird cast now and then a glance at her face, and sighed. He +gathered from it the conviction that she would be a cruel step-mother to +his children, her mercy that of a loveless non-collector. It should not +be. He would do better for them than that. He loved his daughter, but +needed not therefore sacrifice his last hopes where the sacrifice would +meet with no acceptance. House and land should be hers, but not his +jewels; not the contents of his closet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +THE WILL. + +George came again to see him the next day, and had again a long +conference with him. The laird told him that he had fully resolved to +leave everything to his daughter, personal as well as real, on the one +condition that she should marry her cousin; if she would not, then the +contents of his closet, with his library, and certain articles +specified, should pass to Crawford. + +"And you must take care," he said, "if my death should come suddenly, +that anything valuable in this room be carried into the closet before it +is sealed up." + +Shrinking as he did from the idea of death, the old man was yet able, in +the interest of his possessions, to talk of it! It was as if he thought +the sole consolation that, in the loss of their owner, his things could +have, was the continuance of their intercourse with each other in the +heaven of his Mammon-besotted imagination. + +George responded heartily, showing a gratitude more genuine than fine: +every virtue partakes of the ground in which it is grown. He assured the +laird that, valuable as was in itself his contingent gift, which no man +could appreciate more than he, it would be far more valuable to him if +it sealed his adoption as his son-in-law. He would rather owe the +possession of the wonderful collection to the daughter than to the +father! In either case the precious property would be held as for him, +each thing as carefully tended as by the laird's own eye and hand! + +Whether it would at the moment have comforted the dying man to be +assured, as George might have him, that there would be nothing left of +him to grieve at the loss of his idols--nothing left of him but a +memory, to last so long as George and Alexa and one or two more should +remain unburied, I can not tell. It was in any case a dreary outlook for +him. Hope and faith and almost love had been sucked from his life by +"the hindering knot-grass" which had spread its white bloodless roots in +all directions through soul and heart and mind, exhausting and choking +in them everything of divinest origin. The weeds in George's heart were +of another kind, and better nor worse in themselves; the misery was that +neither of them was endeavoring to root them out. The thief who is +trying to be better is ages ahead of the most honorable man who is +making no such effort. The one is alive; the other is dead and on the +way to corruption. + +They treated themselves to a gaze together on the cup and the watch; +then George went to give directions to the laird's lawyer for the +drawing up of his new will. + +The next day it was brought, read, signed by the laird, and his +signature duly witnessed. + +Dawtie being on the spot was made one of the witnesses. The laird +trembled lest her fanaticism should break out in appeal to the lawyer +concerning the cup; he could not understand that the cup was nothing to +her; that she did not imagine herself a setter right of wrongs, but knew +herself her neighbor's keeper, one that had to deliver his soul from +death! Had the cup come into her possession, she would have sent it back +to the owner, but it was not worth her care that the Earl of Borland +should cast his eyes when he would upon a jewel in a cabinet! + +Dawtie was very white as he signed his name. Where the others saw but a +legal ceremony, she feared her loved master was assigning his soul to +the devil, as she had read of Dr. Faustus in the old ballad. He was +gliding away into the dark, and no one to whom he had done a good turn +with the Mammon of unrighteousness, was waiting to receive him into an +everlasting habitation! She had and she needed no special cause to love +her master, any more than to love the chickens and the calves; she loved +because something that could be loved was there present to her; but he +had always spoken kindly to her, and been pleased with her endeavor to +serve him; and now he was going where she could do nothing for +him!--except pray, as her heart and Andrew had taught her, knowing that +"all live unto _Him!_" But alas! what were prayers where the man would +not take the things prayed for! Nevertheless all things _were_ possible +with God, and she _would_ pray for him! + +It was also with white face, and it was with trembling hand that she +signed her own name, for she felt as if giving him a push down the icy +slope into the abyss. + +But when the thing was done, the old man went quietly to sleep, and +dreamed of a radiant jewel, glorious as he had never seen jewel, ever +within yet ever eluding his grasp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +THE SANGREAL. + +The next day he seemed better, and Alexa began to hope again. But in the +afternoon his pulse began to sink, and when Crawford came he could +welcome him only with a smile and a vain effort to put out his hand. +George bent down to him. The others, at a sign from his eyes, left the +room. + +"I can't find it, George!" he whispered. + +"I put it away for you last night, you remember!" answered George. + +"Oh, no, you didn't! I had it in my hand a minute ago! But I fell into a +doze, and it is gone! George, get it!--get it for me, or I shall go +mad!" George went and brought it him. + +"Thank you! thank you! Now I remember! I thought I was in hell, and they +took it from me!" + +"Don't you be afraid, sir! Fall asleep when you feel inclined. I will +keep my eye on the cup." + +"You will not go away?" + +"No; I will stay as long as you like; there is nothing to take me away. +If I had thought you would be worse, I would not have gone last night." + +"I'm not worse! What put that in your head? Don't you hear me speaking +better? I've thought about it, George, and am convinced the cup is a +talisman! I am better all the time I hold it! It was because I let you +put it away that I was worse last night--for no other reason. If it were +not a talisman, how else could it have so nestled itself into my heart! +I feel better, always, the moment I take it in my hand! There is +something more than common about that chalice! George, what if it should +be the Holy Grail!" + +He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his +countenance. His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. +Slowly his aged cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if +the joy of his life was come. + +"What if it should be the Holy Grail!" he repeated, and fell asleep with +the words on his lips. + +As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside +him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not +make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed +them. He seemed to think he was there for no good. + +"Would you like me to call Alexa?" said George. + +"Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!" he replied. + +George rose to go and call her. + +"Beware of her!" said the laird, with glazy eyes, "Beware of Dawtie!" + +"How?" asked George. + +"Beware of her," he repeated. "If she can get the cup, she will! She +would take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call +Dawtie; call Dawtie!" + +Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George +went and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. + +"I will find her," she said, and rose, but turned and asked: + +"How does he seem now?" + +"Rather worse," George answered. + +"Are you going to be with him through the night?" + +"I am; he insists on my staying with him," replied George, almost +apologetically. + +"Then," she returned, "you must have some supper. We will go down, and +send up Dawtie." + +He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress +found her. + +When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, "and white with +the whiteness of what is dead." + +She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a +little, he began to talk wildly. + +"Oh, Agnes!" he cried, "do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what +Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; +my righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I _will_ go with +you. There! Slip that under your white robe--washed in the blood of the +Lamb. That will hide it--with the rest of my sins! The unbelieving +husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; I should +be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but it must +be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What should +I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single thing +besides--and it's so cold to have but one thing on--I mean one thing in +your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would be worse +than coming without it!" + +He was talking to his wife!--persuading her to smuggle the cup into +heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray +for him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her +prayer come only from her lips. + +"Ah," said the voice of her master, "I thought so! How could I go up, +and you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was +impossible!" + +Dawtie opened her eyes--and there he was, holding back the curtain and +looking round the edge of it with a face of eagerness, effort, and hate, +as of one struggling to go, and unable to break away. + +She rose to her feet. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried. "I _will_ go with Agnes!" He gave a cry, +and ceased, and all was still. They heard the cry in the kitchen, and +came running up. + +They found Dawtie bending over her master, with a scared face. He seemed +to have struck her, for one cheek was marked with red streaks across its +whiteness. + +"The Grail! the Holy Grail!" he cried. "I found it! I was bringing it +home! She took it from me! She wants it to--" + +His jaw fell, and he was dead. Alexa threw herself beside the body. +George would have raised her, but she resisted, and lay motionless. He +stood then behind her, watching an opportunity to get the cup from under +the bed-clothes, that he might put it in the closet. + +He ordered Dawtie to fetch water for her mistress; but Alexa told her +she did not want any. Once and again George tried to raise her, and get +his hand under the bed-clothes to feel for the cup. + +"He is not dead!" cried Alexa; "he moved!" + +"Get some brandy," said George. + +She rose, and went to the table for the brandy. George, with the +pretense of feeling the dead man's heart, threw back the clothes. He +could find no cup. It had got further down! He would wait! + +Alexa lifted her father's head on her arm, but it was plain that brandy +could not help. She went and sat on a chair away from the bed, hopeless +and exhausted. + +George lifted the clothes from the foot of the bed, then from the +further side, and then from the nearer, without attracting her +attention. The cup was nowhere to be seen! He put his hand under the +body, but the cup was not there! He had to leave the room that Dawtie +and Meg might prepare it for burial. Alexa went to her chamber. + +A moment after, George returned, called Meg to the door, and said: + +"There must be a brass cup in the bed somewhere! I brought it to amuse +him. He was fond of odd things, you know! If you should find it--" + +"I will take care of it," answered Meg, and turned from him curtly. + +George felt he had not a friend in the house, and that he must leave +things as they were! The door of the closet was locked, and he could not +go again to the death-chamber to take the laird's keys from the head of +the bed! He knew that the two women would not let him. It had been an +oversight not to secure them! He was glad the watch was safe: that he +had put in the closet before!--but it mattered little when the cup was +missing! He went to the stable, got out his horse, and rode home in the +still gray of a midsummer night. + +The stillness and the night seemed thinking to each other. George had +little imagination, but what he had woke in him now as he rode slowly +along. Step by step the old man seemed following him, on silent +church-yard feet, through the eerie whiteness of the night. There was +neither cloud nor moon, only stars above and around, and a great cold +crack in the north-east. He was crying after him, in a voice he could +not make him hear! Was he not straggling to warn him not to come into +like condemnation? The voice seemed trying to say, "I know! I know now! +I would not believe, but I know now! Give back the cup; give it back!" + +George did not allow to himself that there was "anything" there. It was +but a vague movement in that commonplace, unmysterious region, his mind! +He heard nothing, positively nothing, with his ears--therefore there was +nothing! It was indeed somehow as if one were saying the words, but in +reality they came only as a thought rising, continually rising, in his +mind! It was but a thought-sound, and no speech: "I know now! I know +now! Give it back; give the cup back!" He did not ask himself how the +thought came; he cast it away as only that insignificant thing, a +thought--cast it away none the less that he found himself answering +it--"I can't give it back; I can't find it! Where did you put it? You +must have taken it with you!" + +"What rubbish!" he said to himself ten times, waking up; "of course +Dawtie took it! Didn't the poor old fellow warn me to beware of her! +Nobody but her was in the room when we ran in, and found him at the +point of death! Where did you put it? I can't find it! I can't give it +back!" + +He went over in his mind all that had taken place. The laird had the cup +when he left him to call Dawtie; and when they came, it was nowhere! He +was convinced the girl had secured it--in obedience, doubtless, to the +instruction of her director, ambitious to do justice, and curry favor by +restoring it! But he could do nothing till the will was read! Was it +possible Lexy had put it away? No; she had not had the opportunity! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. + +With slow-pacing shadows, the hot hours crept athwart the heath, and the +house, and the dead, and carried the living with them in their invisible +current. There is no tide in time; it is a steady current, not +returning. Happy they whom it bears inward to the center of things! +Alas, for those whom it carries outward to "the flaming walls of +creation!" The poor old laird who, with all his refinement, all his +education, all his interest in philology, prosody, history, and +_reliquial_ humanity, had become the slave of a goblet, had left it +behind him, had faced the empty universe empty-handed, and vanished with +a shadow-goblet in his heart; the eyes that gloated over the gems had +gone to help the grass to grow. But the will of the dead remained to +trouble for a time the living, for it put his daughter in a painful +predicament: until Crawford's property was removed from the house, it +would give him constant opportunity of prosecuting the suit which Aleza +had reason to think he intended to resume, and the thought of which had +become to her insupportable. + +Great was her astonishment when she learned to what the door in the +study led, and what a multitude of curious and valuable things were +there of whose presence in the house she had never dreamed. She would +gladly have had them for herself; and it pained her to the heart to +think of the disappointment of the poor ghost when he saw, if he could +see, his treasured hoard emptied out of its hidden and safe abode. For, +even if George should magnanimously protest that he did not care for the +things enough to claim them, and beg that they might remain where they +were, she could not grant his request, for it would be to accept them +from him. Had her father left them to her, she would have kept them as +carefully as even he could desire--with this difference only, that she +would not have shut them up from giving pleasure to others. + +She was growing to care more about the truth--gradually coming to see +that much she had taken for a more liberal creed, was but the same +falsehoods in weaker forms, less repulsive only to a mind indifferent to +the paramount claims of God on His child. She saw something of the +falseness and folly of attempting to recommend religion as not so +difficult, so exclusive, so full of prohibition as our ancestors +believed it. She saw that, although Andrew might regard some things as +freely given which others thought God forbade, yet he insisted on what +was infinitely higher and more than the abandonment of everything +pleasant--the abnegation, namely, of the very self, and the reception of +God instead. She had hitherto been, with all her supposed progress, only +a recipient of the traditions of the elders! There must be a deeper +something--the real religion! She did not yet see that the will of God +lay in another direction altogether than the heartiest reception of +dogma!--that God was too great and too generous to care about anything +except righteousness, and only wanted us to be good children!--that even +honesty was but the path toward righteousness, a condition so pure that +honesty itself would never more be an object of thought! + +She pondered much about her father, and would find herself praying for +him, careless of what she had been taught. She could not blind herself +to what she knew. He had not been a bad man, as men count badness, but +could she in common sense think him a glorified saint, shining in white +robes? The polite, kind old man! her own father!--could she, on the +other hand, believe him in flames forever? If so, what a religion was +that which required her to believe it, and at the same time to rejoice +in the Lord always! + +She longed for something positive to believe, something into accordance +with which she might work her feelings. She was still on the outlook for +definite intellectual formulae to hold. Her intercourse with Andrew had +as yet failed to open her eyes to the fact that the faith required of us +is faith in a person, and not in the truest of statements concerning +anything, even concerning him; or to the fact, that faith in the living +One, the very essence of it, consists in obedience to Him. A man can +obey before he is sure, and except he obey the command he knows to be +right, wherever it may come from, he will never be sure. To find the +truth, man or woman must be true. + +But she much desired another talk with Andrew. + +Persuading himself that Alexa's former feeling toward him must in her +trouble reassert itself, and confident that he would find her loath to +part with her father's wonderful collection, George waited the effect of +the will. After the reading of it he had gone away directly, that his +presence might not add to the irritation which he concluded, not without +reason, it must, even in the midst of her sorrow, cause in her; but at +the end of a week he wrote, saying that he felt it his duty, if only in +gratitude to his friend, to inform himself as to the attention the +valuable things he had left him might require. He assured Alexa that he +had done nothing to influence her father in the matter, and much +regretted the awkward position in which his will had placed both her and +him. At the same time it was not unnatural that he should wish such +precious objects to be possessed by one who would care for them as he +had himself cared for them. He hoped, therefore, that she would allow +him access to her father's rooms. He would not, she might rest assured, +intrude himself upon her sorrow, though he would be compelled to ask her +before long whether he might hope that her father's wish would have any +influence in reviving the favor which had once been the joy of his life. + +Alexa saw that if she consented to see him he would take it as a +permission to press his claim, and the idea was not to be borne. She +wrote him therefore a stiff letter, telling him the house was at his +service, but he must excuse herself. + +The next morning brought him early to Potlurg. The cause of his haste +was his uneasiness about the chalice. + +Old Meg opened the door to him, and he followed her straight into the +drawing-room. Alexa was there, and far from expecting him. But, annoyed +at his appearance as she was, she found his manner and behavior less +unpleasant than at any time since his return. He was gentle and +self-restrained, assuming no familiarity beyond that of a distant +relative, and gave the impression of having come against his will, and +only from a sense of duty. + +"Did you not have my note?" she asked. + +He had hoped, he said, to save her the trouble of writing. + +She handed him her father's bunch of keys, and left the room. + +George went to the laird's closet, and having spent an hour in it, again +sought Alexa. The wonderful watch was in his hand. + +"I feel the more pleasure, Alexa," he said, "in begging you to accept +this trinket, that it was the last addition to your dear father's +collection. I had myself the good fortune to please him with it a few +days before his death." + +"No, thank you, George," returned Alexa. "It is a beautiful thing--my +father showed it me--but I can not take it." + +"It was more of you than him I thought when I purchased it, Alexa. You +know why I could not offer it you." + +"The same reason exists now." + +"I am sorry to have to force myself on your attention, but--" + +"Dawtie!" cried Alexa. + +Dawtie came running. + +"Wait a minute, Dawtie. I will speak to you presently," said her +mistress. + +George rose. He had laid the watch on the table, and seemed to have +forgotten it. + +"Please take the watch with you," said Alexa. + +"Certainly, if you wish it!" he answered. + +"And my father's keys, too," she added. + +"Will you not be kind enough to take charge of them?" + +"I would rather not be accountable for anything under them. No; you must +take the keys." + +"I can not help regretting," said George, "that your honored father +should have thought fit to lay this burden of possession upon me." + +Alexa made no answer. + +"I comforted myself with the hope that you would feel them as much your +own as ever!" he resumed, in a tone of disappointment and dejection. + +"I did not know of their existence before I knew they were never to be +mine." + +"Never, Alexa?" + +"Never." + +George walked to the door, but there turned, and said: + +"By the way, you know that cup your father was so fond of?" + +"No." + +"Not that gold cup, set with stones?" + +"I saw something in his hands once, in bed, that might have been a cup." + +"It is a thing of great value--of pure gold, and every stone in it a +gem." + +"Indeed!" returned Alexa, with marked indifference. + +"Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope +Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced +it at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was +wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him +when he died; that I know." + +"And it is missing?" + +"Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the +laird at the last." + +Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up +with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing. + +"Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?" asked her mistress. + +"No, ma'am." + +"Do you know it?" + +"Very well, ma'am." + +"Then you don't know what has become of it?" + +"No, ma'am; I know nothing about it." + +"Take care, Dawtie," said George. "This is a matter that will have to be +searched into." + +"When did you last see it, Dawtie?" inquired Alexa. + +"The very day my master died, ma'am. He was looking at it, but when he +saw I saw him he took it inside the bed-clothes." + +"And you have not seen it since?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"And you do not know where it is?" said George. + +"No, sir. How should I?" + +"You never touched it?" + +"I can not say that, sir; I brought it him from his closet; he sent me +for it." + +"What do you think may have become of it?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Would you allow me to make a thorough search in the place where it was +last seen?" asked George, turning to his cousin. + +"By all means. Dawtie, go and help Mr. Crawford to look." + +"Please, ma'am, it can't be there. We've had the carpet up, and the +floor scrubbed. There's not a hole or a corner we haven't been into--and +that yesterday." + +"We must find it," said George. "It must be in the house." + +"It must, sir," said Dawtie. + +But George more than doubted it + +"I do believe," he said, "the laird would rather have lost his whole +collection." + +"Indeed, sir, I think he would." + +"Then you have talked to him about it?" + +"Yes, I have, sir," answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the +question. + +"And you know the worth of the thing?" + +"Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say +pounds and pounds." + +"Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, _where is it?_" + +"I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!" + +"Why do you wish you did?" + +"Because--" began Dawtie, and stopped short; she shrunk from impugning +the honesty of the dead man--and in the presence of his daughter. + +"It looks a little fishy, don't it, Dawtie? Why not speak straight out? +Perhaps you would not mind searching Meg's trunk for me. She may have +taken it for a bit of old brass, you know." + +"I will answer for my servants, Mr. Crawford," said Alexa. "I will not +have old Meg's box searched." + +"It is desirable to get rid of any suspicion," replied George. + +"I have none," returned Alexa. + +George was silent + +"I will ask Meg, if you like, sir," said Dawtie; "but I am sure it will +be no use. A servant in this house soon learns not to go by the look of +things. We don't treat anything here as if we knew all about it." + +"When did you see the goblet first?" persisted George. + +"Goblet, sir? I thought you were speaking of the gold cup." + +By _goblet_ Dawtie understood a small iron pot. + +"Goblet, or cup, or chalice--whatever you like to call it--I ask how you +came to know about it." + +"I know very little about it." + +"It is plain you know more than you care to tell. If you will not answer +me you will have to answer a magistrate." + +"Then I will answer a magistrate," said Dawtie, beginning to grow angry. + +"You had better answer me, Dawtie. It will be easier for you. What do +you know about the cup?" + +"I know it was not master's, and is not yours--really and truly." + +"What can have put such a lie in your head?" + +"If it be a lie, sir, it is told in plain print." + +"Where?" + +But Dawtie judged it time to stop. She bethought herself that she would +not have said so much had she not been angry. + +"Sir," she answered, "you have been asking me questions all this time, +and I have been answering them; it is your turn to answer me one." + +"If I see proper." + +"Did my old master tell you the history of that cup?" + +"I do not choose to answer the question." + +"Very well, sir." + +Dawtie turned to leave the room. + +"Stop! stop!" cried Crawford; "I have not done with you yet, my girl. +You have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong +to the laird." + +"I do not choose to answer the question," said Dawtie. + +"Then you shall answer it to a magistrate." + +"I will, sir," she replied, and stood. + +Crawford left the room. + +He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on +each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her +heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it. + +The words rose in her mind: + +"It must needs be that offenses come, but woe onto that man by whom they +come." + +She was at once filled with pity for the man who could side with the +wrong, and want everything his own way, for, sooner or later, confusion +must be his portion; the Lord had said: "There is nothing covered that +shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known." + +"He needs to be shamed," she said, "but he is thy child; care for him, +too." + +George felt that he had not borne a dignified part, and knew that his +last chance with Alexa was gone. Then he too felt the situation +unendurable, and set about removing his property. He wrote to Alexa that +he could no longer doubt it her wish to be rid of the collection, and +able to use the room. It was desirable also, he said, that a thorough +search should be made in those rooms before he placed the matter of the +missing cup in the hands of the magistrates. + +Dawtie's last words had sufficed to remove any lingering doubt as to +what had become of the chalice. It did not occur to him that one so +anxious to do the justice of restoration would hardly be capable of +telling lies, of defiling her soul that a bit of property might be +recovered; he took it for granted that she meant to be liberally +rewarded by the earl. + +George would have ill understood the distinction Dawtie made--that the +body of the cup _might_ belong to him, but the soul of the cup _did_ +belong to another; or her assertion that where the soul was there the +body ought to be; or her argument that He who had the soul had the right +to ransom the body--a reasoning possible to a child-like nature only; +she had pondered to find the true law of the case, and this was her +conclusion. + +George suspected, and grew convinced that Alexa was a party to the +abstraction of the cup. She had, he said, begun to share in the +extravagant notions of a group of pietists whose leader was that +detestable fellow, Ingram. Alexa was attached to Dawtie, and Dawtie was +one of them. He believed Alexa would do anything to spite him. To bring +trouble on Dawtie would be to punish her mistress, and the pious farmer, +too. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +THE PROSECUTION. + +As soon as Crawford had his things away from Potlurg, satisfied the cup +was nowhere among them, he made a statement of the case to a magistrate +he knew; and so represented it, as the outcome of the hypocrisy of +pietism, that the magistrate, hating everything called fanatical, at +once granted him a warrant to apprehend Dawtie on the charge of theft. + +It was a terrible shock. Alexa cried out with indignation. Dawtie turned +white and then red, but uttered never a word. + +"Dawtie," said her mistress, "tell me what you know about the cup. You +do know something that you have not told me!" + +"I do, ma'am, but I will not tell it except I am forced." + +"That you are going to be, my poor girl! I am very sorry, for I am +perfectly sure you have done nothing you know to be wrong!" + +"I have done nothing you or anybody would think wrong, ma'am." + +She put on her Sunday frock, and went down to go with the policeman. To +her joy she found her mistress at the door, ready to accompany her. They +had two miles or more to walk, but that was nothing to either. + +Questioned by the magistrate, not unkindly, for her mistress was there, +Dawtie told everything--how first she came upon the likeness and history +of the cup, and then saw the cup itself in her master's hands. + +Crawford told how the laird had warned him against Dawtie, giving him to +understand that she had been seized with a passion for the goblet such +that she would peril her soul to possess it, and that he dared not let +her know where it was. + +"Sir," said Dawtie, "he could na hae distrusted me like that, for he gae +me his keys, and sent me to fetch the cup when he was ower ill to gang +till't." + +"If that be true, your worship," said Crawford, "it does not affect the +fact that the cup was in the hands of the old man when I left him and +she went to him, and from that moment it has not been seen." + +"Did he have it when you went to him?" asked the magistrate. + +"I didna see't, sir. He was in a kind o' faint when I got up." + +Crawford said that, hearing a cry, he ran up again, and found the old +man at the point of death, with just strength to cry out before he died, +that Dawtie had taken the cup from him. Dawtie was leaning over him, but +he had not imagined the accusation more than the delirious fancy of a +dying man, till it appeared that the cup was not to be found. + +The magistrate made out Dawtie's commitment for trial. He remarked that +she might have been misled by a false notion of duty: he had been +informed that she belonged to a sect claiming the right to think for +themselves on the profoundest mysteries--and here was the result! There +was not a man in Scotland less capable of knowing what any woman was +thinking, or more incapable of doubting his own insight. + +Doubtless, he went on, she had superstitiously regarded the cup as +exercising a Satanic influence on the mind of her master; but even if +she confessed it now, he must make an example of one whose fanaticism +would set wrong right after the notions of an illiterate sect, and not +according to the laws of the land. He just send the case to be tried by +a jury! If she convinced the twelve men composing that jury, of the +innocence she protested, she would then be a free woman. + +Dawtie stood very white all the time he was speaking, and her lips every +now and then quivered as if she were going to cry, but she did not. +Alexa offered bail, but his worship would not accept it: his righteous +soul was too indignant. She went to Dawtie and kissed her, and together +they followed the policeman to the door, where Dawtie was to get into a +spring-cart with him, and be driven to the county town, there to lie +waiting the assizes. + +The bad news had spread so fast that as they came out, up came Andrew. +At sight of him Dawtie gently laughed, like a pleased child. The +policeman, who, like many present, had been prejudiced by her looks in +her favor, dropped behind, and she walked between her mistress and +Andrew to the cart. + +"Dawtie!" said Andrew. + +"Oh, Andrew! has God forgotten me?" she returned, stopping short. + +"For God to forget," answered Andrew, "would be not to be God any +longer!" + +"But here I am on my road til a prison, Andrew! I didna think He would +hae latten them do't!" + +"A bairn micht jist as weel say, whan its nurse lays't intil its cradle, +and says: 'Noo, lie still!' 'Mammy, I didna think ye would hae latten +her do't!' He's a' aboot ye and in ye, Dawtie, and this is come to ye +jist to lat ye ken 'at He is. He raised ye up jist to spen' His glory +upo'! I say, Dawtie, did Jesus Christ deserve what He got?" + +"No ae bit, Andrew! What for should ye speir sic a thing?" + +"Then do ye think God hae forgotten Him?" + +"May be He thoucht it jist for a minute!" + +"Well, ye hae thoucht jist for a minute, and ye maun think it nae mair." + +"But God couldna forget _Him_, An'rew: He got it a' for doin' His will!" + +"Evil may come upon as from other causes than doing the will of God; but +from whatever cause it comes, the thing we have to see to is, that +through it all we do the will of God!" + +"What's His will noo, An'rew?" + +"That ye tak it quaietly. Shall not the Father do wi' His ain child what +He will! Can He no shift it frae the tae airm to the tither, but the +bairn maun girn? He has ye, Dawtie! It's a' richt!" + +"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him!" said Dawtie. + +She raised her head. The color had come back to her face; her lips had +ceased to tremble; she stepped on steadily to where, a few yards from +the door, the spring-cart was waiting her. She bade her mistress +good-bye, then turned to Andrew and said: + +"Good-bye, An'rew! I am not afraid." + +"I am going with you, Dawtie," said Andrew. + +"No, sir, you can't do that!" said the policeman; "at least you can't go +in the trap!" + +"No, no, Andrew!" cried Dawtie. "I would rather go alone. I am quite +happy now. God will do with me as He pleases!" + +"I am going with you," said Alexa, "if the policeman will let me." + +"Oh, yes, ma'am! A lady's different!--I've got to account for the +prisoner you see, sir!" + +"I don't think you should, ma'am," said Dawtie. "It's a long way!" + +"I am going," returned her mistress, decisively. + +"God bless you, ma'am!" said Andrew. + +Alexa had heard what he said to Dawtie. A new light had broken upon her. +"God is like that, is He?" she said to herself. "You can go close up to +Him whenever you like?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +A TALK AT POTLURG. + +It would be three weeks before the assizes came. The house of Potlurg +was searched by the police from garret to cellar, but in vain; the cup +was not found. + +As soon as they gave up searching, Alexa had the old door of the laird's +closet, discernible enough on the inside, reopened, and the room +cleaned. Almost unfurnished as it was, she made of it her +sitting-parlor. But often her work or her book would lie on her lap, and +she would find herself praying for the dear father for whom she could do +nothing else now, but for whom she might have done so much, had she been +like Dawtie. Her servant had cared for her father more than she! + +As she sat there one morning alone, brooding a little, thinking a +little, reading a little, and praying through it all, Meg appeared, and +said Maister Andrew wanted to see her. + +He had called more than once to inquire after Dawtie, but had not before +asked to see her mistress. + +Alexa felt herself unaccountably agitated. When he walked into the room, +however, she was able to receive him quietly. He came, he said, to ask +when she had seen Dawtie. He would have gone himself to see her, but his +father was ailing, and he had double work to do. Besides, she did not +seem willing to see him! Alexa told him she had been with her the day +before, and had found her a little pale, and, she feared, rather +troubled in her mind. She said she would trust God to the last, but +confessed herself assailed by doubts. + +"I said to her," continued Alexa, "'Be sure, Dawtie, God will make your +innocence known one day!' She answered: 'Of course, ma'am, there is +nothing hidden that shall not be known; but I am not impatient about +that. The Jews to this day think Jesus an impostor!' 'But surely,' said +I, 'you care that people should understand you are no thief, Dawtie!' +'Yes, I do,' she answered; 'all I say is, that is does not trouble me. I +want only to be downright sure that God is looking after me all the +time. I am willing to sit in prison till I die, if He pleases.' 'God +can't please that!' I said. 'If He does not care to take me out, I do +not care to go out,' said Dawtie. 'It's not that I'm good; it's only +that I don't care for anything He doesn't care for. What would it be +that all men acquitted me, if God did not trouble Himself about His +children!'" + +"You see, ma'am, it comes to this," said Andrew: "it is God Dawtie cares +about, not herself! If God is all right, Dawtie is all right. The _if_ +sometimes takes one shape, sometimes another, but the fear is the +same--and the very fear is faith. Sometimes the fear is that there may +be no God, and that you might call a fear for herself; but when Dawtie +fears lest God should not be caring for her, that is a fear for God; for +if God did not care for His creature, He would be no true God!" + +"Then He could not exist!" + +"True; and so you are back on the other fear!" + +"What would you have said to her, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I would have reminded her that Jesus was perfectly content with His +Father; that He knew what was coming on Himself, and never doubted +Him--just gloried that His Father was what He knew Him to be." + +"I see! But what did you mean when you said that Dawtie's very fear was +faith?" + +"Think, ma'am: people that only care to be saved, that is, not to be +punished for their sins, are anxious only about themselves, not about +God and His glory at all. They talk about the glory of God, but they +make it consist in pure selfishness! According to them, He seeks +everything for Himself; which is dead against the truth of God, a +diabolic slander of God. It does not trouble them to believe such things +about God; they do not even desire that God should not be like that; +they only want to escape Him. They dare not say God will not do this or +that, however clear it be that it would not be fair; they are in terror +of contradicting the Bible. They make more of the Bible than of God, and +so fail to find the truth of the Bible, and accept things concerning God +which are not in the Bible, and are the greatest of insults to Him! +Dawtie never thinks about saving her soul; she has no fear about her +soul; she is only anxious about God and His glory. How the doubts come, +God knows; but if she did not love God, they would not be there. Jesus +says God will speedily avenge His elect--those that cry day and night to +Him--which I take to mean that He will soon save them from all such +miseries. Free Dawtie from unsureness about God, and she has no fear +left. All is well, in the prison or on the throne of God, if He only be +what she thinks He is. If any one say that doubt can not coexist with +faith, I answer, it can with love, and love is the greater of the two, +yea, is the very heart of faith itself. God's children are not yet God's +men and women. The God that many people believe in, claiming to be _the_ +religious because they believe in Him, is a God not worth believing in, +a God that ought not to be believed in. The life given by such a God +would be a life not worth living, even if He made His votaries as happy +as they would choose to be. A God like that could not make a woman like +Dawtie anxious about Him! If God be not each as Jesus, what good would +the proving of her innocence be to Dawtie! A mighty thing indeed that +the world should confess she was not a thief! But to know that there is +a perfect God, one for us to love with all the power of love of which we +feel we are capable, is worth going out of existence for; while to know +that God himself, must make every throb of consciousness a divine +ecstasy!" + +Andrew's heart was full, and out of its fullness he spoke. Never before +had he been able in the presence of Alexa to speak as he felt. Never +before had he had any impulse to speak as now. As soon would he have +gone to sow seed on a bare rock, as words of spirit and life in her +ears! + +"I am beginning to understand you," she said. "Will you forgive me? I +have been very self-confident and conceited! What a mercy things are not +as I thought they were--thought they ought to be!" + +"And the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the +sea!" said Andrew. "And men's hearts shall be full of bliss, because +they have found their Father, and He is what He is, and they are going +home to Him." + +He rose. + +"You will come and see me again soon--will you not?" she said. + +"As often as you please, ma'am; I am your servant." + +"Then come to-morrow." + +He went on the morrow, and the next day, and the day after--almost every +day while Dawtie was waiting her trial. + +Almost every morning Alexa went by train to see Dawtie; and the news she +brought, Andrew would carry to the girl's parents. Dawtie continued +unwilling to see Andrew: he had had trouble enough with her already, she +said; but Andrew could not quite understand her refusal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +A GREAT OFFERING. + +Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was +a cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath, +which came close up to the back of the house. + +When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and +Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw +her shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man +hands, he pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a +pitying admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and +ere she knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her +eyes that Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by +that sense of class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of +heaven, she attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the +conviction rose in her, which has often risen in such as she, that there +is a magnanimity demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional +dignity, but of conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to +be more than great, must stoop; that it was her part to make the +approach which, between equals, was the part of the man; the patroness +_must_ do what the woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman; +and he should not, because of the humility that dared not presume, fail +of what he deserved! + +"Andrew," she said, "I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not +like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now--know you as +far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!" + +"Oh, no, no, ma'am!" protested Andrew. + + +"Hear me out, Andrew," she interrupted--then paused a little. + +"Tell me," she resumed, "ought we not to love best the best we know?" + +"Surely, ma'am!" he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what +was on the way. + +"Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the +world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take +me, I am yours." + +She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave +and a right thing. + +Andrew stood stock-still. + +"_Me_, ma'am!" he gasped, and grew pale--then red as a foggy sun. But he +made scarcely a moment's pause. + +"It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!" he said. "But I can not +make the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I +can say no more." + +His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to +conceal his emotion. + +And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself +up with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved +divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said: + +"Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not +be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!" + +"Thank you, ma'am!" said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and +neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house. + +Said Alexa to herself: + +"I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I +made no mistake in _him_!" + +When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and +said, holding it in his hand as he spoke: + +"Good-night, ma'am! You _will_ send for me if you want me?" + +"I will. Good-night!" said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on +her heart. + +Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day +old Meg, at least, saw no change in her. + +Said Andrew to himself: + +"I will be her servant always." + +He was humbled, not uplifted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +ANOTHER OFFERING. + +The next evening, that before the trial, Andrew presented himself at the +prison, and was admitted. Dawtie came to meet him, held out her hand, +and said: + +"Thank you, Andrew!" + +"How are you, Dawtie?" + +"Well enough, Andrew!" + +"God is with us, Dawtie." + +"Are you sure, Andrew?" + +"Dawtie, I can not see God's eyes looking at me, but I am ready to do +what He wants me to do, and so I feel He is with me." + +"Oh, Andrew, I wish I could be sure!" + +"Let us take the risk together, Dawtie!" + +"What risk, Andrew?" + +"The risk that makes you not sure, Dawtie--the risk that is at once the +worst and the least--the risk that our hope should be in vain, and there +is no God. But, Dawtie, there is that in my heart that cries Christ +_did_ die, and _did_ rise again, and God is doing His best. His perfect +love is our perfect safety. It is hard upon Him that His own children +will not trust Him!" + +"If He would but show Himself!" + +"The sight of Him now would make us believe in Him without knowing Him; +and what kind of faith would that be for Him or for us! We should be bad +children, taking Him for a weak parent! We must _know_ Him! When we do, +there will be no fear, no doubt. We shall run straight home! Dawtie, +shall we go together?" + +"Yes, surely, Andrew! God knows I try. I'm ready to do whatever you tell +me, Andrew!" + +"No, Dawtie! You must never do what I tell you, except you think it +right." + +"Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!" + +"We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!" + +"Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!" responded Dawtie, turning to +her vernacular. + +"Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!" + +She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes +she looked through and beyond his words. + +She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed. + +"Winna ye, Dawtie?" said Andrew, holding out his hands. + +"I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew." + +"Ye h'avenly idiot," cried Andrew. "Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?" + +Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head--straight up, her head fell +back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, her +arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew +taken her. + +"Andrew! Andrew!" she sighed, and was still in his arms. + +"Winna ye, Dawtie?" he whispered. + +"Wait," she murmured; "wait." + +"I winna wait, Dawtie." + +"Wait till ye hear what they'll say the morn." + +"Dawtie, I'm ashamed o' ye. What care I, an' what daur ye care what they +say. Are ye no the Lord's clean yowie? Gien ye care for what ony man +thinks o' ye but the Lord himsel', ye're no a' His. Gien ye care for +what I think o' ye, ither-like nor what He thinks, ye're no sae His as I +maun hae ye afore we pairt company--which, please God, 'ill be on the +ither side o' eternity." + +"But, An'rew, it winna do to say o' yer father's son 'at he took his +wife frae the jail." + +"'Deed they s' say naething ither! What ither cam I for? Would ye hae me +ashamed o' ane o' God's elec'--a lady o' the Lord's ain coort?" + +"Eh, but I'm feart it's a' the compassion o' yer hert, sir. Ye wad fain +mak' up to me for the disgrace. Ye could weel do wantin' me." + +"I winna say," returned Andrew, "that I couldna live wantin' ye, for +that wad be to say I wasna worth offerin' ye, and it would be to deny +Him 'at made you and me for ane anither, but I wad have a some sair +time! I'll jist speak to the minister to be ready the minute the Lord +opens yer prison-door." + +The same moment in came the governor with his wife; they were much +interested in Dawtie. + +"Sir, and ma'am," said Andrew, "will you please witness that this woman +is my wife?" + +"It's Maister Andrew Ingram o' the Knowe," said Dawtie. "He wants me to +merry him." + +"I want her to go before the court as my wife," said Andrew. "She would +have me wait till the jury said this or that. The jury give me my wife. +As if I didn't know her." + +"You won't have him, I see," said Mrs. Innes, turning to Dawtie. + +"Hae him!" cried Dawtie, "I wad hae him gien there war but the heid o' +him." + +"Then you are husband and wife," said the governor; "only you should +have the thing done properly by the minister--afterward." + +"I'll see to that, sir," answered Andrew. + +"Come, wife," said the governor, "we must let them have a few minutes +alone together." + +"There," said Andrew, when the door closed, "ye're my wife, noo, Dawtie. +Lat them acquit ye or condemn ye, it's you an' me, noo, whatever come!" + +Dawtie broke into a flood of tears--an experience all but new to +her--and found it did her good. She smiled as she wiped her eyes, and +said: + +"Weel, An'rew, gien the Lord hasna appeart in His ain likeness to +deliver me, He's done the next best thing." + +"Dawtie," answered Andrew, "the Lord never does the next best. The thing +He does is always better than the thing He does not." + +"Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan'," said Dawtie, but Andrew went +on. + +"The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to +gie him--or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie. +Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the +minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain +God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think +what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna +lat me come and see ye afore?" + +"I wull, An'rew; I was nae suner left to mysel' i' the prison than I +faun' mysel' thinkin' aboot _you_--you first, and no the Lord. I said to +mysel', 'This is awfu'. I'm leanin' upo' An'rew, and no upo' the First +and the Last.' I saw that that was to brak awa' frae Him that was +nearest me, and trust ane that was farther awa'--which wasna i' the holy +rizzon o' things. Sae I said to mysel' I would meet my fate wi' the Lord +alane, and wouldna hae you come 'atween Him and me. Noo ye hae 't, +An'rew." + +Andrew took her in his arms and said: + +"Thank ye, Dawtie. Eh, but I _am_ content And she thought she hadna +faith. Good-night, Dawtie. Ye maun gane to yer bed, an' grow stoot in +hert for the morn." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +AFTER THE VERDICT. + +Through the governor of the jail Andrew obtained permission to stand +near the prisoner at the trial. The counsel for the prosecution did all +he could, and the counsel for the defense not much--at least Dawtie's +friends thought so--and the judge summed up with the greatest +impartiality. Dawtie's simplicity and calmness, her confidence devoid of +self-assertion, had its influence on the jury, and they gave the +uncomfortable verdict of "_Not Proven_," so that Dawtie was discharged. + +Alexa had a carriage ready to take her home. As Dawtie went to it she +whispered to her husband: + +"Ye hae to tak me wantin' a character, Andrew." + +"Jesus went home without a character, and was well received," said +Andrew, with a smile. "You'll be over to-night to see the old folk?" + +"Yes, Andrew; I'm sure the mistress will let me." + +"Don't say a word to her of our marriage, except she has heard, and +mentions it. I want to tell her myself. You will find me at the croft +when you come, and I will go back with you." + +In the evening Dawtie came, and brought the message that her mistress +would like to see him. + +When he entered the room Alexa rose to meet him. He stopped short. + +"I thank you, ma'am," he said, "for your great kindness to Dawtie. We +were married in the prison. She is my wife now." + +"Married! Your wife?" echoed Alexa, flushing, and drawing back a step. + +"I had loved her long, ma'am; and when trouble came her the time came +for me to stand by her side." + +"You had not spoken to her then--till--" + +"Not till last night. I said before the governor of the prison and Mrs. +Innes that we were husband and wife. If you please, ma'am, we shall have +the proper ceremony as soon as possible." + +"I wish I had known," said Alexa--almost to herself, with a troubled +smile. + +"I wish you had, ma'am," responded Andrew. She raised her face with a +look of confidence. + +"Will you please to forget, Andrew?" + +Nobility had carried the day. She had not one mean thought either of him +or the girl. + +"To forget is not in man's power, ma'am; but I shall never think a +thought you would wish unthought." + +She held out her hand to him. They were friends forever. + +"Will you be married here, Andrew? The house is at your service," she +said. + +"Don't you think it ought to be at her father's, ma'am?" + +"You are right," said Alexa; and she sat down. + +Andrew stood in silence, for he saw she was meditating something. At +length she raised her head, and spoke. + +"You have been compelled to take the step sooner than you intended--have +you not?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Then you can hardly be so well prepared as you would like to be!" + +"We shall manage." + +"It will hardly be convenient for your mother, I fear! You have nowhere +else to take her--have you?" + +"No, ma'am; but my mother loves us both. And," he added, simply, "where +there's room for me, there's room for her now!" + +"Would you mind if I asked you how your parents take it?" + +"They don't say much. You see, ma'am, we are all proud until we learn +that we have one Master, and we all are brethren. But they will soon get +over it." + +When I see a man lifting up those that are beneath him, not pulling down +those that are above him, I will believe in his communism. Those who +most resent being looked down upon, are in general the readiest to look +down upon others. It is not principle, it is not truth, it is themselves +they regard. Of all false divinities, Self is the most illogical. + +"If God had been the mighty monarch they represent Him," continued +Andrew, "He would never have let us come near Him!" + +"Did you hear Mr. Rackstraw's sermon on the condescension of God?" asked +Alexa. + +"The condescension of God, ma'am! There is no such thing. God never +condescended, with one Jove-like nod, all his mighty, eternal life! God +condescend to His children--their spirits born of His spirit, their +hearts the children of His heart! No, ma'am! there never was a falser, +uglier word in any lying sermon!" + +His eyes flashed and his face shone. Alexa thought she had never seen +him look so grand. + +"I see!" she answered. "I will never use the word about God again!" + +"Thank you, ma'am." + +"Why should you thank me?" + +"I beg your pardon; I had no right to thank you. But I am so tried with +the wicked things said about God by people who think they are speaking +to His pleasure and not in his despite, that I am apt to talk foolishly. +I don't wonder at God's patience with the wicked, but I do wonder at His +patience with the pious!" + +"They don't know better!" + +"How are they to know better while they are so sure about everything! I +would infinitely rather believe in no God at all, than in such a God as +they would have me believe in!" + +"Oh, but Andrew, I had not a glimmer of what you meant--of what you +really objected to, or what you loved! Now, I can not even recall what +it was I did not like in your teaching. I think it was that, instead of +listening to know what you meant, I was always thinking how to oppose +you, or trying to find out by what name you were to be called. One time +I thought you were an Arminian, another time a Socinian, then a +Swedenborgian, then an Arian! I read a history of the sects of the +middle ages, just to see where I could set you down. I told people you +did not believe this, and did not believe that, when I knew neither what +you believed, nor what you did not believe. I thought I did, but it was +all mistake and imagination. When you would not discuss things with me, +I thought you were afraid of losing the argument. Now I see that, +instead of disputing about opinions, I should have been saying: 'God be +merciful to me a sinner!'" + +"God be praised!" said Andrew. "Ma'am, you are a free woman! The Father +has called you, and you have said: 'Here I am.'" + +"I hope so, Andrew, thanks to God by you! But I am forgetting what I +wanted to say! Would it not be better--after you are married, I mean--to +let Dawtie stay with me awhile?--I will promise you not to work her too +hard," she added, with a little laugh. + +"I see, ma'am! It is just like you! You want people to know that you +believe in her!" + +"Yes; but I want also to do what I can to keep such good tenants. +Therefore I must add a room or two to your house, that there may be good +accommodation for you all." + +"You make thanks impossible, ma'am! I will speak to Dawtie about it. I +know she will be glad not to leave you! I will take care not to trouble +the house." + +"You shall do just as Dawtie and you please. Where Dawtie is, there will +be room for you!" + +Already Alexa's pain had grown quite bearable. + +Dawtie needed no persuading. She was so rich in the possession of Andrew +that she could go a hundred years without seeing him, she said. It was +only that he would come and see her, instead of her going to see him! + +In ten days they were married at her father's cottage. Her father and +mother then accompanied her and Andrew to the Knowe, to dine with +Andrew's father and mother. In the evening the new pair went out for a +walk in the old fields. + +"It _seems_, Dawtie, as if God was here!" said Andrew. + +"I would fain see him, Andrew! I would rather _you_ went out than God!" + +"Suppose he was nowhere, Dawtie?" + +"If God werena in _you_, ye wadna be what ye are to yer ignorant Dawtie, +Andrew! She needs her Father in h'aven sairer nor her Andrew! But I'm +sayin' things sae true 'at it's jist silly to say them! Eh, it's like +h'aven itsel' to be oot o' that prison, an' walkin' aboot wi' you! God +has gien me a' thing!--jist _a' thing_, Andrew!" + +"God was wi' ye i' the prison, Dawtie!" + +"Ay! But I like better to be wi' Him here!" + +"An' ye may be sure He likes better to ha'e ye here!" rejoined Andrew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +AGAIN THE GOBLET. + +The next day Alexa set Dawtie to search the house yet again for the +missing goblet. + +"It must be somewhere!" she said. "We are beset with an absolute +contradiction: the thing can't be in the house! and it must be in the +house!" + +"If we do find it," returned Dawtie, "folk'll say them 'at could hide +could weel seek! I s' luik naegait wantin' you, mem!" + +The study was bare of books, and the empty shelves gave no hint of +concealment They stood in its dreariness looking vaguely round them. + +"Did it ever come to ye, mem," said Dawtie, "that a minute or twa passed +between Mr. Crawford comin' doon the stair wi' you, and me gaein' up to +the maister? When I gaed intil the room, he lay pantin' i' the bed; but +as I broodit upo' ilka thing alane i' the prison, he cam afore me, there +i' the bed, as gien he had gotten oot o' 't, and hidden awa' the cup, +and was jist gotten intil't again, the same moment I cam in." + +"Dying people will do strange things!" rejoined her mistress. "But it +brings us no nearer the cup!" + +"The surer we are, the better we'll seek!" said Dawtie. + +They began, and went over the room thoroughly--looking everywhere they +could think of. They had all but given it up to go on elsewhere, when +Dawtie, standing again in the middle and looking about in a sort of +unconscious hopelessness, found her eyes on the mantel-shelf, and went +and laid her hand upon it. It was of wood, and she fancied it a little +loose, but she could not move it. + +"When Andrew comes we'll get him to examine it!" said Alexa. + +He came in the evening, and Alexa told him what they had been doing. She +begged him to get tools, and see whether there was not a space under the +mantel-shelf. But Andrew, accustomed to ponder contrivances with Sandy, +would have a good look at it first He came presently upon a clever +little spring, pressing which he could lift the shelf: there under it, +sure enough, in rich response to the candle he held, flashed the gems of +the curiously wrought chalice of gold! Alexa gave a cry, Andrew drew a +deep breath, Dawtie laughed like a child. How they gazed on it, passed +it from one to the other, pored over the gems, and over the raised work +that inclosed them, I need not tell. They began to talk about what was +to be done with it. + +"We will send it to the earl!" said Alexa. + +"No," said Andrew; "that would be to make ourselves judges in the case! +Your father must have paid money for it; he gave it to Mr. Crawford, and +Mr. Crawford must not be robbed!" + +"Stop, Andrew!" said Alexa. "Everything in the next room was left to my +cousin, with the library in this; whatever else was left him was +individually described. The cup was not in the next room, and was not +mentioned. Providence has left us to do with it as we may judge right. I +think it ought to be taken to Borland Hall--and by Dawtie." + +"Well! She will mention that your father bought it?" + +"I will not take a shilling for it!" + +"Is not that because you are not quite sure you have the right to +dispose of it?" + +"I would not take the price of it if my father had left the cup +expressly to me!" + +"Had he done so, you would have a right to what he paid for it. To give +the earl the choice of securing it, would be a service rendered him. If +he were too poor to buy it, the thing would have to be considered." + +"Nothing could make me touch money for it. George would never doubt we +had concealed it in order to trick him out of it!" + +"He will think so all the same. It will satisfy him, and not a few +beside, that Dawtie ought to have been convicted. The thing is certainly +Mr. Crawford's--that is, his as not yours. Your father undoubtedly meant +him to have the cup; and God would not have you, even to serve the +right, take advantage of an accident. Whatever ought to be done with the +cup, Mr. Crawford ought to do it; it is his business to do right in +regard to it; and whatever advantage may be gained by doing right, Mr. +Crawford ought to have the chance of gaining it. Would you deprive him +of the opportunity, to which at least he has a right, of doing justice, +and delivering his soul?" + +"You would have us tell the earl that his cup is found, but Mr. Crawford +claims it?" said Alexa. + +"Andrew would have us take it to Mr. Crawford," said Dawtie, "and tell +him that the earl has a claim to it." + +"Tell him also," said Andrew, "where it was found, showing he has no +_legal_ right to it; and tell him he has no more moral right to it than +the laird could give him. Tell him, ma'am," continued Andrew, "that you +expect him to take it to the earl, that he may buy it if he will; and +say that if, after a fortnight, you find it is not in the earl's +possession, you will yourself ascertain from him whether the offer has +been made him." + +"That is just right," said Alexa. + +And so the thing was done. The cup is now in the earl's collection, and +without any further interference on her part. + +A few days after she and Dawtie carried the cup to Crawford, a parcel +arrived at Potlurg, containing a beautiful silver case, and inside the +case the jeweled watch--with a letter from George, begging Alexa to +accept his present, and assuring her of his conviction that the moment +he annoyed her with any further petition, she would return it. He +expressed his regret that he had brought such suffering upon Dawtie, and +said he was ready to make whatever amends her husband might think fit. + +Alexa accepted the watch, and wore it. She thought her father would like +her to do so. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. + +The friendship of the three was never broken. I will not say that, as +she lay awake in the dark, the eyes of Alexa never renewed the tears of +that autumn night on which she turned her back upon the pride of self, +but her tears were never those of bitterness, of self-scorn, or of +self-pity. + +"If I am to be pitied," she would say to herself, "let the Lord pity me! +I am not ashamed, and will not be sorry. I have nothing to resent; no +one has wronged me." + +Andrew died in middle age. His wife said the Master wanted him for +something nobody else could do, or He would not have taken him from her. +She wept and took comfort, for she lived in expectation. + +One night when she and Alexa were sitting together at Potlurg, about a +month after his burial, speaking of many things with the freedom of a +long and tried love, Alexa said, after a pause of some duration: + +"Were you not very angry with me then, Dawtie?" + +"When, ma'am?" + +"When Andrew told you." + +"Told me what, ma'am? I must be stupid to-night, for I can't think what +you mean." + +"When he told you I wanted him, not knowing he was yours." + +"I ken naething o' what ye're mintin' at, mem," persisted Dawtie, in a +tone of bewilderment. + +"Oh! I thought you had no secrets from one another." + +"I don't know that we ever had--except things in his books that he said +were God's secrets, which I should understand some day, for God was +telling them as fast as He could get his children to understand them." + +"I see," sighed Alexa; "you were made for each other. But this is my +secret, and I have the right to tell it. He kept it for me to tell you. +I thought all the time you knew it." + +"I don't want to know anything Andrew would not tell me." + +"He thought it was my secret, you see, not his, and that was why he did +not tell you." + +"Of coarse, ma'am. Andrew always did what was right." + +"Well, then, Dawtie--I offered to be his wife if he would have me." + +"And what did he say?" asked Dawtie, with the composure of one listening +to a story learned from a book. + +"He told me he couldn't. But I'm not sure what he _said_. The words went +away." + +"When was it he asked you?" said Dawtie, sunk in thought. + +"The night but one before the trial," answered Alexa. + +"He micht hae ta'en you, then, i'stead o' me--a lady an' a'. Oh, mem! do +you think he took me 'cause I was in trouble? He micht hae been laird +himsel'." + +"Dawtie! Dawtie!" cried Alexa. "If you think that would have weighed +with Andrew, I ought to have been his wife, for I know him better than +you." + +Dawtie smiled at that. + +"But I do know, mem," she said, "that Andrew was fit to cast the +lairdship frae him to comfort ony puir lassie. I would ha' lo'ed him a' +the same." + +"As I have done, Dawtie," said Alexa, solemnly. "But he wouldn't have +thrown _me_ away for you, if he hadn't loved you, Dawtie. Be sure of +that. He might have made nothing of the lairdship, but he wouldn't have +made nothing of me." + +"That's true, mem. I dinna doobt it." + +"I love him still--and you mustn't mind me saying it, Dawtie. There are +ways of loving that are good, though there be some pain in them. Thank +God, we have our children to look after. You will let me say _our_ +children, won't you, Dawtie?" + +Some thought Alexa hard, some thought her cold, but the few that knew +her knew she was neither; and some of my readers will grant that such a +friend as Andrew was better than such a husband as George. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 8944-8.txt or 8944-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/9/4/8944/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Elect Lady + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8944] +This file was first posted on August 28, 2003 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed +Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ELECT LADY + </h1> + <h2> + By George MacDonald <br /> <br /> + </h2> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE ELECT LADY</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. AN ACCIDENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. HELP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. AFTER SUPPER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. THE COUSINS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. IN THE GARDEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. ANDREW INGRAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. GEORGE AND ANDREW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. THE CRAWFORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. SANDY AND GEORGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. ANDREW AND DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. DAWTIE AND THE CUP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. ANDREW AND ALEXA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. GEORGE AND ANDREW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. WHAT IS IT WORTH? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. THE HEART OF THE HEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. THE WATCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. THE SANGREAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROSECUTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. A TALK AT POTLURG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. A GREAT OFFERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER OFFERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. AFTER THE VERDICT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. AGAIN THE GOBLET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ELECT LADY + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + </h2> + <p> + In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its + appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse—for there + were utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually + grow upon a farm—with the corner of a white deal table between them, + sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no + level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which + seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or + five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark hazel + eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, but a + little hard, and not a little regnant—as such features must be, + except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. As + to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of + education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its + share in the labor of production. + </p> + <p> + As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than falls + to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature than the + young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior, would have + enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and thin, but + plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel eye, not + overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a curious + smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of pinching his + upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the present moment he was + unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small farmer—in what + part of Scotland is of little consequence—and his companion for the + moment was the daughter of the laird. + </p> + <p> + “I have glanced over the poem,” said the lady, “and it seems to me quite + up to the average of what you see in print.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?” asked the man, with amused + smile. + </p> + <p> + “It would be for the editor to determine,” she answered, not perceiving + the hinted objection. + </p> + <p> + “You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested—indeed I never + thought of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the verses.” + </p> + <p> + “I must speak to my mother!” he said, in a meditative way. + </p> + <p> + “You can not object to <i>my</i> seeing your work! She does not show it to + everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your + leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own—except my + brother's.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?” + </p> + <p> + “The writing of it, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “For the exercise, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I hardly mean that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid then I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do <i>you</i> never write anything but what you publish?” + </p> + <p> + “Publish! <i>I</i> never publish! What made you think of such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “That you know so much about it, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage + you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems now!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it hadn't been just that one my mother gave you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “For one thing, it is not finished—as you will see when you read it + more carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, ma'am; the want of rhythm there was intentional.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! + The accent should always be made to fall in the right place.” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond a doubt—but might not the right place alter with the sense?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. The rule is strict” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea, ma'am, that our great poets owe much of their music to + the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its + masters, and break it when they see fit.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take the + liberties of a great poet.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take + liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their power, + they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. Every one + must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others have laid down + he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to truth, and his ear to + measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the light, and the music God + gives him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!” said the lady, with a superior + smile. “But,” she continued, “I will mark what faults I see, and point + them out to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am, but please do not send the verses anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my + father's sake I will have an eye to your reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “I am obliged to you, ma'am,” returned Andrew, but with his curious smile, + hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness and humor, + and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. A heavenly + smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it neither offense + nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a girl, but he showed + no rejection of the patronage forced upon him by the lady. + </p> + <p> + He rose and stood a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Andrew, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “When will you allow me to call for the verses?” + </p> + <p> + “In the course of a week or so. By that time I shall have made up my mind. + If in doubt, I shall ask my father.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't like the laird to think I spend my time on poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “You write poetry, Andrew! A man should not do what he would not have + known.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, ma'am; I only feared an erroneous conclusion.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of that. My father knows that you are a hard-working + young man. There is not one of his farms in better order than yours. Were + it otherwise, I should not be so interested in your poetry.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew wished her less interested in it. To have his verses read was like + having a finger poked in his eye. He had not known that his mother looked + at his papers. But he showed little sign of his annoyance, bade the lady + good-morning, and left the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fordyce followed him to the door, and stood for a moment looking out. + In front of her was a paved court, surrounded with low buildings, between + two of which was visible, at the distance of a mile or so, a railway line + where it approached a viaduct. She heard the sound of a coming train, and + who in a country place will not stand to see one pass! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. AN ACCIDENT. + </h2> + <p> + While the two were talking, a long train, part carriages, part trucks, was + rattling through a dreary country, where it could never have been were + there not regions very different on both sides of it. For miles in any + direction, nothing but humpy moorland was to be seen, a gathering of low + hills, with now and then a higher one, its sides broken by occasional + torrents, in poor likeness of a mountain. No smoke proclaimed the presence + of human dwelling; but there were spots between the hills where the hand + of man had helped the birth of a feeble fertility; and in front was a + small but productive valley, on the edge of which stood the ancient house + of Potlurg, with the heath behind it: over a narrow branch of this valley + went the viaduct. + </p> + <p> + It was a slow train, with few passengers. Of these one was looking from + his window with a vague, foolish sense of superiority, thinking what a + forgotten, scarce created country it seemed. He was a well-dressed, + good-looking fellow, with a keen but pale-gray eye, and a fine forehead, + but a chin such as is held to indicate weakness. More than one, however, + of the strongest women I have known, were defective in chin. The young man + was in the only first-class carriage of the train, and alone in it. + Dressed in a gray suit, he was a little too particular in the smaller + points of his attire, and lacked in consequence something of the look of a + gentleman. Every now and then he would take off his hard round hat, and + pass a white left hand through his short-cut mousey hair, while his right + caressed a far longer mustache, in which he seemed interested. A certain + indescribable heaviness and lack of light characterized his pale face. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely day in early June. The air was rather cold, but youth and + health care little about temperature on a holiday, with the sun shining, + and that sweetest sense—to such at least as are ordinarily bound by + routine—of having nothing to do. To many men and women the greatest + trouble is to choose, for self is the hardest of masters to please; but as + yet George Crawford had not been troubled with much choosing. + </p> + <p> + A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure to + him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the way + out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for + however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed who + are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a higher + presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. That every + man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must seem a paradox + to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be impossible without it. + George had not arrived at the discovery of this fact, and yet was for the + present contented both with himself and with his circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land made + no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a shadow + of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to his book, + when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started to his feet, + and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the line and turned + over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and one of the young + man's legs was broken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. HELP. + </h2> + <p> + “Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!” cried Miss Fordyce, + running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. “I + saw it from the door!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” returned the old man, and listened. “I hear the train going on,” + he said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Part of it is come to grief, I am certain,” answered his daughter. “I saw + something fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>shall</i> we do?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have us do?” rejoined her father, without a movement + toward rising. “It is too far off for us to be of any use.” + </p> + <p> + “We ought to go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for + it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as + straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low embankment. + Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the line, but + convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the same + direction. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her + father's indifference, she ran the faster—too fast for thinking, but + not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to + her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the + conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing + less and less neighborly. + </p> + <p> + She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she + made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long dark + hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity forgotten, + and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the heather, and in + little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a long moor-mile, + reached the embankment, flushed and panting. + </p> + <p> + Some of the carriages had rolled down, and the rails were a wreck. But the + engine and half the train had kept on: neither driver nor stoker was hurt, + and they were hurrying to fetch help from the next station. At the foot of + the bank lay George Crawford insensible, with the guard of the train doing + what he could to bring him to consciousness. He was on his back, pale as + death, with no motion and scare a sign of life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa tried to give him brandy, but she was so exhausted, and her hand + shook so, that she had to yield the bottle to the guard, and, hale and + strong as she was, could but drag herself a little apart before she + fainted. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, as the train approached the station, the driver, who + belonged to the neighborhood, saw the doctor, slackened speed, and set his + whistle shrieking wildly. The doctor set spurs to his horse, and came + straight over everything to his side. + </p> + <p> + “You go on,” he said, having heard what had happened; “I shall be there + sooner than you could take me.” + </p> + <p> + He came first upon Andrew trying to make Miss Fordyce swallow a little of + the brandy. + </p> + <p> + “There's but one gentleman hurt, sir,” said the guard. “The other's only a + young lady that's run till she's dropped.” + </p> + <p> + “To bring brandy,” supplemented Andrew. + </p> + <p> + The doctor recognized Alexa, and wondered what reception her lather would + give his patient, for to Potlurg he must go! Suddenly she came to herself, + and sat up, gazing wildly around. “Out of breath, Miss Fordyce; nothing + worse!” said the doctor, and she smiled. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the young man, and did for him what he could without splints + or bandages; then, with the help of the guard and Andrew, constructed, + from pieces of the broken carriages, a sort of litter on which to carry + him to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead?” asked Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. He's had a bad blow on the head, though. We must get him + somewhere as fast as we can!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. But we must take him to your house. I don't know what else to do + with him!” + </p> + <p> + “What else should you want to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid it might bother the laird.” + </p> + <p> + “You scarcely know my father, Doctor Pratt!” + </p> + <p> + “It would bother most people to have a wounded man quartered on them for + weeks!” returned the doctor. “Poor fellow! A good-looking fellow too!” + </p> + <p> + A countryman who had been in the next carriage, but had escaped almost + unhurt, offering his service, Andrew and he took up the litter gently, and + set out walking with care, the doctor on one side, leading his horse, and + Miss Fordyce on the other. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange building to which, after no small anxiety, they drew + near; nor did it look the less strange the nearer they came. It was + unsheltered by a single tree; and but for a low wall and iron rail on one + side, inclosing what had been a garden, but was now a grass-plot, it rose + straight out of the heather. From this plot the ground sloped to the + valley, and was under careful cultivation. The entrance to it was closed + with a gate of wrought iron, of good workmanship, but so wasted with rust + that it seemed on the point of vanishing. Here at one time had been the + way into the house; but no door, and scarce a window, was now to be seen + on this side of the building. It was very old, and consisted of three + gables, a great half-round between two of them, and a low tower with a + conical roof. + </p> + <p> + Crawford had begun to recover consciousness, but when he came to himself + he was received by acute pain. The least attempt to move was torture, and + again he fainted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Conducted by the lady, they passed round the house to the court, and + across the court to a door in one of the gables. It was a low, narrow + door, but large enough for the man that stood there—a little man, + with colorless face, and quiet, abstracted look. His eyes were cold and + keen, his features small, delicate, and regular. He had an erect little + back, and was dressed in a long-tailed coat, looking not much of a laird, + and less of a farmer, as he stood framed in the gray stone wall, in which + odd little windows, dotted here and there at all heights and distances, + revealed a wonderful arrangement of floors and rooms inside. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!” said the doctor. “This is a bad business, but + it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!” + </p> + <p> + “Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!” returned the laird, with a + cold smile that was far from discourteous. “Stick to the body, doctor! + There you know something!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a truth, laird!” answered the doctor—but added to himself—“Well! + it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!” + </p> + <p> + The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the poor + fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where, with the + help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she soon had a bed + prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed to fetch the + appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the bed, with a look + of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of opposition. + </p> + <p> + It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a room + far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the house, + have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and, having + been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was rapidly and + silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor, after an + incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he seemed both + surprised and pleased at the change. + </p> + <p> + “He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce,” he said, when + all was done. + </p> + <p> + “I will myself,” she answered. “But you must give me exact directions, for + I have done no nursing.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need know. + He will sleep now, I think—at least till you get back: I shall not + keep you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture,” he + continued, as they went. “It might have been much worse! We shall have him + about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while the bones + are uniting.” + </p> + <p> + The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked up + and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with its + ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned from, + as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back to the + room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive of a + wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his unwelcome guest + with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike, and shook his head + slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving. + </p> + <p> + His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat + as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it up + just ere Alexa reentered. + </p> + <p> + “How is he, father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He is fast asleep,” answered the laid. “How long does the doctor think he + will have to be here?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not ask him,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “That was an oversight, my child,” he returned. “It is of consequence we + should know the moment of his removal.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of weeks—or + months—I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I will + attend to him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I <i>am</i> troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I + have!” + </p> + <p> + Again he retired—slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to + search the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery + concerning its owner. + </p> + <p> + With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in a + half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable. Chintz + curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness, had admitted + too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of footsteps on the + creaking boards—for the bones of a house do not grow silent with + age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to the chamber, + which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick that it took + half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving to and fro, kept + shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in the secret of + some house-misery; but she was only indulging the funereal temperament of + an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the heather in the morning, she + looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her shoes were strong, her dress + was short; but now she came and went in a soft-colored gown, neither + ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem to belong to what is called + society, but she looked dignified, at times almost stately, with an + expression of superiority, not strong enough to make her handsome face + unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a woman's, was cast in a + larger mold. + </p> + <p> + The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the doctor + minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when the + supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. AFTER SUPPER. + </h2> + <p> + They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no dining-room + in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned drawing-room. The + servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too much in the sick-room, + notwithstanding, to know that she was eating her porridge and milk. The + laird partook but sparingly, on the ground that the fare tended to + fatness, which affliction of age he congratulated himself on having + hitherto escaped. They eat in silence, but not a glance of her father that + might indicate a want escaped the daughter. When the meal was ended, and + the old man had given thanks, Alexa put on the table a big black Bible, + which her father took with solemn face and reverent gesture. In the course + of his nightly reading of the New Testament, he had come to the twelfth + chapter of St. Luke, with the Lord's parable of the rich man whose soul + they required of him: he read it beautifully, with an expression that + seemed to indicate a sense of the Lord's meaning what He said. + </p> + <p> + “We will omit the psalm this evening—for the sake of the sufferer,” + he said, having ended the chapter. “The Lord will have mercy and not + sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + They rose from their chairs and knelt on the stone floor. The old man + prayed with much tone and expression, and I think meant all he said, + though none of it seemed to spring from fresh need or new thankfulness, + for he used only the old stock phrases, which flowed freely from his lips. + He dwelt much on the merits of the Saviour; he humbled himself as the + chief of sinners, whom it must be a satisfaction to God to cut off, but a + greater satisfaction to spare for the sake of one whom he loved. Plainly + the man counted it a most important thing to stand well with Him who had + created him. When they rose, Alexa looked formally solemn, but the wan + face of her father shone: the Psyche, if not the Ego, had prayed—and + felt comfortable. He sat down, and looked fixedly, as if into eternity, + but perhaps it was into vacancy; they are much the same to most people. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the study for a moment, Lexy, if you please,” he said, rising + at length. His politeness to his daughter, and indeed to all that came + near him, was one of the most notable points in his behavior. + </p> + <p> + Alexa followed the black, slender, erect little figure up the stair, which + consisted of about a dozen steps, filling the entrance from wall to wall, + a width of some twelve feet. Between it and the outer door there was but + room for the door of the kitchen on the one hand, and that of a small + closet on the other. At the top was a wide space, a sort of irregular + hall, more like an out-of-door court, paved with large flat stones into + which projected the other side of the rounded mass, bordered by the grassy + inclosure. + </p> + <p> + The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had + but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of + old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils. + He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set + himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers. + </p> + <p> + “This is a sore trial, Alexa!” he said with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed, father—for the poor young man!” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his + suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious + matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the present + state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think—” + </p> + <p> + “But, father,” interrupted Alexa, “how could we help it?” + </p> + <p> + “He might have been carried elsewhere!” + </p> + <p> + “With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered to + receive him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not take him then?” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either.” + </p> + <p> + “It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done—though, alas! + not paid for.” + </p> + <p> + “We must take the luck as it comes, father!” + </p> + <p> + “Alexa,” rejoined the laird with solemnity, “you ought never to mention + luck. There is no such thing. It was either for the young man's sins, or + to prevent worse, or for necessary discipline, that the train was + overturned. The cause is known to <i>Him</i>. All are in His hands—and + we must beware of attempting to take any out of His hands, for it can not + be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, father, if there be no chance, our part was ordered too. So there + is the young man in our spare room, and we must receive our share of the + trouble as from the hand of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, my dear! it was the expense I was thinking of. I was only + lamenting—bear me witness, I was not opposing—the will of the + Lord. A man's natural feelings remain.” + </p> + <p> + “If the thing is not to be helped, let us think no more about it!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the expense, my dear! Will you not let your mind rest for a moment + upon the fact? I am doing my utmost to impress it upon you. For other + expenses there is always something to show; for this there will be + nothing, positively nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “Not the mended leg, father?” + </p> + <p> + “The money will vanish, I tell you, as a tale that is told.” + </p> + <p> + “It is our life that vanishes that way!” + </p> + <p> + “The simile suits either. So long as we do not use the words of Scripture + irreverently, there is no harm in making a different application of them. + There is no irreverence here: next to the grace of God, money is the thing + hardest to get and hardest to keep. If we are not wise with it, the grace—I + mean money—will not go far.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so far as the next world, anyhow!” said Alexa, as if to herself. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you, child! The Redeemer tells us to make friends of the mammon + of unrighteousness, that when we die it may receive us into everlasting + habitations!” + </p> + <p> + “I read the passage this morning, father: it is <i>they</i>, not <i>it</i>, + will receive you. And I have heard that it ought to be translated, 'make + friends <i>with</i>, or <i>by means of</i> the mammon of unrighteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “I will reconsider the passage. We must not lightly change even the + translated word!” + </p> + <p> + The laird had never thought that it might be of consequence to him one day + to have friends in the other world. Neither had he reflected that the Lord + did not regard the obligation of gratitude as ceasing with this life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had reason to fear that her father made a friend <i>of</i>, and + never a friend <i>with</i> the mammon of unrighteousness. At the same time + the half-penny he put in the plate every Sunday must go a long way if it + was not estimated, like that of the poor widow, according to the amount he + possessed, but according to the difficulty he found in parting with it. + </p> + <p> + “After weeks, perhaps months of nursing and food and doctor's stuff,” + resumed the laird, “he will walk away, and we shall see not a plack of the + money he carries with him. The visible will become the invisible, the + present the absent!” + </p> + <p> + “The little it will cost you, father—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold there, my child! If you call any cost little, I will not hear a word + more: we should be but running a race from different points to different + goals! It will cost—that is enough! How much it will cost <i>me</i>, + you can not calculate, for you do not know what money stands for in my + eyes. There are things before which money is insignificant!” + </p> + <p> + “Those dreary old books!” said Alexa to herself, casting a glance on the + shelves that filled the room from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall. + </p> + <p> + “What I was going to say, father,” she returned, “was, that I have a + little money of my own, and this affair shall cost you nothing. Leave me + to contrive. Would you tell him his friends must pay his board, or take + him away? It would be a nice anecdote in the annals of the Fordyces of + Potlurg!” + </p> + <p> + “At the same time, what more natural?” rejoined her father. “His friends + must in any case be applied to! I learn from his pocket-book—” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” + </p> + <p> + “Content yourself, Alexa. I have a right to know whom I receive under my + roof. Besides, have I not learned thereby that the youth is a sort of + connection!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it. His mother and yours were first cousins.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not a connection; it's a close kinship!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” said the laird, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” pursued Alexa, “I give you my word you shall hear nothing more + of the expense.” + </p> + <p> + She bade her father good-night, and returning to the bedside of her + patient, released Meg. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Thomas Fordyce was a sucker from the root of a very old family tree, born + in poverty, and, with great pinching of father and mother, brothers and + sisters, educated for the Church. But from pleasure in scholarship, from + archaeological tastes, a passion for the arcana of history, and a love of + literature, strong, although not of the highest kind, he had settled down + as a school-master, and in his calling had excelled. By all who knew him + he was regarded as an accomplished, amiable, and worthy man. + </p> + <p> + When his years were verging on the undefined close of middle age he saw + the lives between him and the family property, one by one wither at the + touch of death, until at last there was no one but himself and his + daughter to succeed. He was at the time the head of a flourishing school + in a large manufacturing town; and it was not without some regret, though + with more pleasure, that he yielded his profession and retired to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + Greatly dwindled as he found the property, and much and long as it had + been mismanaged, it was yet of considerable value, and worth a wise care. + The result of the labor he spent upon it was such that it had now for + years yielded him, if not a large rental, one far larger at least than his + daughter imagined. But the sinking of the school-master in the laird + seemed to work ill for the man, and good only for the land. I say <i>seemed</i>, + because what we call degeneracy is often but the unveiling of what was + there all the time; and the evil we could become, we are. If I have in me + the tyrant or the miser, there he is, and such am I—as surely as if + the tyrant or the miser were even now visible to the wondering dislike of + my neighbors. I do not say the characteristic is so strong, or would be so + hard to change as by the revealing development it must become; but it is + there, alive, as an egg is alive; and by no means inoperative like a mere + germ, but exercising real though occult influence on the rest of my + character. Therefore, except the growing vitality be in process of killing + these ova of death, it is for the good of the man that they should be so + far developed as to show their existence. If the man do not then starve + and slay them they will drag him to the judgment-seat of a fiery + indignation. + </p> + <p> + For the laird, nature could ill replace the human influences that had + surrounded the school-master; while enlargement both of means and leisure + enabled him to develop by indulgence a passion for a peculiar kind of + possession, which, however refined in its objects, was yet but a branch of + the worship of Mammon. It suits the enemy just as well, I presume, that a + man should give his soul for coins as for money. In consequence he was + growing more and more withdrawn, ever filling less the part of a man—which + is to be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest. He was + more and more for himself, and thereby losing his life. Dearly as he loved + his daughter, he was, by slow fallings away, growing ever less of a + companion, less of a comfort, less of a necessity to her, and requiring + less and less of her for the good or ease of his existence. We wrong those + near us in being independent of them. God himself would not be happy + without His Son. We ought to lean on each other, giving and receiving—not + as weaklings, but as lovers. Love is strength as well as need. Alexa was + more able to live alone than most women; therefore it was the worse for + her. Too satisfied with herself, too little uneasy when alone, she did not + know that then she was not in good enough company. She was what most would + call a strong nature, nor knew what weaknesses belong to, and grow out of, + such strength as hers. + </p> + <p> + The remoter scions of a family tree are not seldom those who make most + account of it; the school-master's daughter knew more about the Fordyces + of Potlurg, and cared more for their traditions, than any who of later + years had reaped its advantages or shared its honors. Interest in the + channel down which one has slid into the world is reasonable, and may be + elevating; with Alexa it passed beyond good, and wrought for evil. Proud + of a family with a history, and occasionally noted in the annals of the + country, she regarded herself as the superior of all with whom she had + hitherto come into relation. To the poor, to whom she was invariably and + essentially kind, she was less condescending than to such as came nearer + her own imagined standing; she was constantly aware that she belonged to + the elect of the land! Society took its revenge; the rich trades-people + looked down upon her as the school-master's daughter. Against their + arrogance her indignation buttressed her lineal with her mental + superiority. At the last the pride of family is a personal arrogance. And + now at length she was in her natural position as heiress of Potlurg! + </p> + <p> + She was religious—if one may be called religious who felt no + immediate relation to the source of her being. She felt bound to defend, + so far as she honestly could, the doctrines concerning God and His ways + transmitted by the elders of her people; to this much, and little more, + her religion toward God amounted. But she had a strong sense of obligation + to do what was right. + </p> + <p> + Her father gave her so little money to spend that she had to be very + careful with her housekeeping, and they lived in the humblest way. For her + person she troubled him as little as she could, believing him, from the + half statements and hints he gave, and his general carriage toward life, + not a little oppressed by lack of money, nor suspecting his necessities + created and his difficulties induced by himself. In this regard it had + come to be understood between them that the produce of the poultry-yard + was Alexa's own; and to some little store she had thus gathered she mainly + trusted for the requirements of her invalid. To this her father could not + object, though he did not like it; he felt what was hers to be his more + than he felt what was his to be hers. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had not learned to place value on money beyond its use, but she was + not therefore free from the service of Mammon; she looked to it as to a + power essential, not derived; she did not see it as God's creation, but + merely as an existence, thus making of a creature of God the mammon of + unrighteousness. She did not, however, cling to it, but was ready to spend + it. At the same time, had George Crawford looked less handsome or less of + a gentleman, she would not have been so ready to devote the contents of + her little secret drawer. + </p> + <p> + The discovery of her relationship to the young man waked a new feeling. + She had never had a brother, never known a cousin, and had avoided the + approach of such young men as, of inferior position in her eyes, had + sought to be friendly with her; here was one thrown helpless on her care, + with necessities enough to fill the gap between his real relation to her, + and that of the brother after whom she had sighed in vain! It was a new + and delightful sensation to have a family claim on a young man—a + claim, the material advantage of which was all on his side, the devotion + all on hers. She was invaded by a flood of tenderness toward the man. Was + he not her cousin, a gentleman, and helpless as any new-born child? + Nothing should be wanting that a strong woman could do for a powerless + man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE COUSINS. + </h2> + <p> + George Crawford was in excellent health when the accident occurred, and so + when he began to recover, his restoration was rapid. The process, however, + was still long enough to compel the cousins to know more of each other + than twelve months of ordinary circumstance would have made possible. + </p> + <p> + George, feeling neither the need, nor, therefore, the joy of the new + relationship so much as Alexa, disappointed her by the coolness of his + response to her communication of the fact; and as they were both formal, + that is, less careful as to the reasonable than as to the conventional, + they were not very ready to fall in love. Such people may learn all about + each other, and not come near enough for love to be possible between them. + Some people approximate at once, and at once decline to love, remaining + friends the rest of their lives. Others love at once; and some take a + whole married life to come near enough, and at last love. But the + reactions of need and ministration can hardly fail to breed tenderness, + and disclose the best points of character. + </p> + <p> + The cousins were both handsome, and—which was of more consequence—each + thought the other handsome. They found their religious opinions closely + coincident—nor any wonder, for they had gone for years to the same + church every Sunday, had been regularly pumped upon from the same + reservoir, and had drunk the same arguments concerning things true and + untrue. + </p> + <p> + George found that Alexa had plenty of brains, a cultivated judgment, and + some knowledge of literature; that there was no branch of science with + which she had not some little acquaintance, in which she did not take some + small interest. Her father's teaching was beyond any he could have + procured for her, and what he taught she had learned; for she had a love + of knowing, a tendency to growth, a capacity for seizing real points, + though as yet perceiving next to nothing of their relation to human life + and hope. She believed herself a judge of verse, but in truth her + knowledge of poetry was limited to its outer forms, of which she had made + good studies with her father. She had learned the <i>how</i> before the <i>what</i>, + knew the body before the soul—could tell good binding but not bad + leather—in a word, knew verse but not poetry. + </p> + <p> + She understood nothing of music, but George did not miss that; he was more + sorry she did not know French—not for the sake of its literature, + but because of showing herself an educated woman. + </p> + <p> + Diligent in business, not fervent in spirit, she was never idle. But there + are other ways than idleness of wasting time. Alexa was continually + “improving herself,” but it was a big phrase for a small matter; she had + not learned that to do the will of God is the <i>only</i> way to improve + one's self. She would have scorned the narrowness of any one who told her + so, not understanding what the will of God means. + </p> + <p> + She found that her guest and cousin was a man of some position, and + wondered that her father should never have mentioned the relationship. The + fact was that, in a time of poverty, the school-master had made to + George's father the absurd request of a small loan without security, and + the banker had behaved as a rich relation and a banker was pretty sure to + behave. + </p> + <p> + George occupied a place of trust in the bank, and, though not yet admitted + to a full knowledge of its more important transactions, hoped soon to be + made a partner. + </p> + <p> + When his father came to Potlurg to see him the laird declined to appear, + and the banker contented himself thereafter with Alexa's bulletins. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been + devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor + allow him to return to business. + </p> + <p> + One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry + and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible burst + of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to lap the + house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was mingled with + the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the building. George + sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise and see what had + happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet Alexa, and a talk + with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless night. He got into + his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked softly from the room. + </p> + <p> + His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and + listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came, and + lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When the + darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder yet + bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the study, + and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but there was + no answer. He pushed the door, and saw that the light came from behind a + projecting book-case. He hesitated a moment, and glanced about him. + </p> + <p> + A little clinking sound came from somewhere. He stole nearer the source of + the light; a thief might be there. He peeped round the end of the + book-case. With his back to him the laird was kneeling before an open + chest. He had just counted a few pieces of gold, and was putting them + away. He turned over his shoulder a face deathly pale, and his eyes for a + moment stared blank. Then with a shivering smile he rose. He had a + thin-worn dressing-gown over his night-shirt, and looked a thread of a + man. + </p> + <p> + “You take me for a miser?” he said, trembling, and stood expecting an + answer. + </p> + <p> + Crawford was bewildered: what business had he there? + </p> + <p> + “I am <i>not</i> a miser!” resumed the laird. “A man may count his money + without being a miser!” + </p> + <p> + He stood and stared, still trembling, at his guest, either too much + startled or too gentle to find fault with his intrusion. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, laird,” said George. “I knocked, but receiving no + answer, feared something was wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you out of bed—and you an invalid?” returned Mr. + Fordyce. + </p> + <p> + “I heard a heavy fall, and feared the lightning had done some damage.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see about that in the morning, and in the meantime you had + better go to bed,” said the laird. + </p> + <p> + They turned together toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “What a multitude of books, you have, Mr. Fordyce!” remarked George. “I + had not a notion of such a library in the county!” + </p> + <p> + “I have been a lover of books all my life,” returned the laird. “And they + gather, they gather!” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Your love draws them,” said George. + </p> + <p> + “The storm is over, I think,” said the laird. + </p> + <p> + He did not tell his guest that there was scarcely a book on those shelves + not sought after by book-buyers—not one that was not worth money in + the book-market. Here and there the dulled gold of a fine antique binding + returned the gleam of the candle, but any gathering of old law or + worthless divinity would have looked much the same. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to glance over them,” said George. “There must be some + valuable volumes among so many!” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! rubbish!” rejoined the old man, testily, almost hustling him + from the room. “I am ashamed to hear it called a library.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Crawford, as again he lay awake in his bed, altogether a + strange incident. A man may count his money when he pleases, but not the + less must it seem odd that he should do so in the middle of the night, and + with such a storm flashing and roaring around him, apparently unheeded. + The next morning he got his cousin to talk about her father, but drew from + her nothing to cast light on what he had seen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. IN THE GARDEN. + </h2> + <p> + Of the garden which had been the pride of many owners of the place, only a + small portion remained. It was strangely antique, haunted with a beauty + both old and wild, the sort of garden for the children of heaven to play + in when men sleep. + </p> + <p> + In a little arbor constructed by an old man who had seen the garden grow + less and less through successive generations, a tent of honeysuckle in a + cloak of sweet pease, sat George and Alexa, two highly respectable young + people, Scots of Scotland, like Jews of Judaea, well satisfied of their + own worthiness. How they found their talk interesting, I can scarce think. + I should have expected them to be driven by very dullness to love-making; + but the one was too prudent to initiate it, the other too staid to entice + it. Yet, people on the borders of love being on the borders of poetry, + they had got talking about a certain new poem, concerning which George, + having read several notices of it, had an opinion to give. + </p> + <p> + “You should tell my father about it, George,” said Alexa; “he is the best + judge I know.” + </p> + <p> + She did not understand that it was a little more than the grammar of + poetry the school-master had ever given himself to understand. His best + criticism was to show phrase calling to phrase across gulfs of speech. + </p> + <p> + The little iron gate, whose hinges were almost gone with rust, creaked and + gnarred as it slowly opened to admit the approach of a young countryman. + He advanced with the long, slow, heavy step suggestive of nailed shoes; + but his hazel eye had an outlook like that of an eagle from its eyrie, and + seemed to dominate his being, originating rather than directing its + motions. He had a russet-colored face, much freckled; hair so dark red as + to be almost brown; a large, well-shaped nose; a strong chin; and a mouth + of sweetness whose smile was peculiarly its own, having in it at once the + mystery and the revelation of Andrew Ingram. He took off his bonnet as he + drew near, and held it as low as his knee, while with something of the air + of an old-fashioned courtier, he stood waiting. His clothes, all but his + coat, which was of some blue stuff, and his Sunday one, were of a + large-ribbed corduroy. For a moment no one spoke. He colored a little, but + kept silent, his eyes on the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Andrew!” she said at length. “There was something, I forget + what, you were to call about! Remind me—will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not come before, ma'am, because I knew you were occupied. And even + now it does not greatly matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I remember!—the poem! I am very sorry, but I had so much to + think of that it went quite out of my mind.” + </p> + <p> + An expression half amused, half shy, without trace of mortification, for + an instant shadowed the young man's face. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would let me have the lines again, ma'am! Indeed I should be + obliged to you!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I confess they might first be improved! I read them one evening to + my father, and he agreed with me that two or three of them were not quite + rhythmical. But he said it was a fair attempt, and for a working-man very + creditable.” + </p> + <p> + What Andrew was thinking, it would have been hard to gather from his + smile; but I believe it was that, if he had himself read the verses aloud, + the laird would have found no fault with their rhythm. His carriage seemed + more that of a patient, respectful amusement than anything else. + </p> + <p> + Alexa rose, but resumed her seat, saying: + </p> + <p> + “As the poem is a religious one, there can be no harm in handing it you on + Sunday after church!—that is,” she added, meaningly, “if you will be + there!” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to Dawtie, if you please, ma'am,” replied Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” rebuked Miss Fordyce, in a tone almost of rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “I seldom go to church, ma'am,” said Andrew, reddening a little, but + losing no sweetness from his smile. + </p> + <p> + “I understand as much! It is very wrong! <i>Why</i> don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to tell me,” persisted Alexa, with a peremptoriness which came + of the school-master. She had known him too as a pupil of her father's! + </p> + <p> + “If you will have it, ma'am, I not only learn nothing from Mr. Smith, but + I think much that he says is not true.” + </p> + <p> + “Still you ought to go for the sake of example.” + </p> + <p> + “Do wrong to make other people follow my example? Can that be to do + right?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Wrong</i> to go to church! What <i>do</i> you mean? Wrong to pray with + your fellow-men?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the hour may come, ma'am, when I shall be able to pray with my + fellow-men, even though the words they use seem addressed to a tyrant, not + to the Father of Jesus Christ. But at present I can not. I might endure to + hear Mr. Smith say evil things concerning God, but the evil things he says + to God make me quite unable to pray, and I feel like a hypocrite!” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you may think of Mr. Smith's doctrines, it is presumptuous to + set yourself up as too good to go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “I most bear the reproach, ma'am. I can not consent to be a hypocrite in + order to avoid being called one!” + </p> + <p> + Either Miss Fordyce had no answer to this, or did not choose to give any. + She was not troubled that Andrew would not go to church, but offended at + the unhesitating decision with which he set her counsel aside. Andrew made + her a respectful bow, turned away, put on his bonnet, which he had held in + his hand all the time, and passed through the garden gate. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the fellow?” asked George, partaking sympathetically of his + companion's annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “He is Andrew Ingram, the son of a small farmer, one of my father's + tenants. He and his brother work with their father on the farm. They are + quite respectable people. Andrew is conceited, but has his good points. He + imagines himself a poet, and indeed his work has merit. The worst of him + is that he sets up for being better than other people.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an unusual fault with the self-educated!” + </p> + <p> + “He does go on educating himself, I believe, but he had a good start to + begin with. My father took much pains with him at school. He helped to + carry you here after the accident—and would have taken you to his + father's if I would have let him.” + </p> + <p> + George cast on her a look of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for keeping me,” he said. “But I wish I had taken some notice + of his kindness!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. ANDREW INGRAM. + </h2> + <p> + Of the persons in my narrative, Andrew Ingram is the simplest, therefore + the hardest to be understood by an ordinary reader. I must take up his + history from a certain point in his childhood. + </p> + <p> + One summer evening, he and his brother Sandy were playing together on a + knoll in one of their father's fields. Andrew was ten years old, and Sandy + a year younger. The two quarreled, and the spirit of ancestral borderers + waking in them, they fell to blows. The younger was the stronger for his + years, and they were punching each other with relentless vigor, when + suddenly they heard a voice, and stopping their fight, saw before them an + humble-looking man with a pack on his back. He was a peddler known in the + neighborhood, and noted for his honesty and his silence, but the boys had + never seen him. They stood abashed before him, dazed with the blows they + had received, and not a little ashamed; for they were well brought up, + their mother being an honest disciplinarian, and their father never + interfering with what she judged right. The sun was near the setting, and + shone with level rays full on the peddler; but when they thought of him + afterward, they seemed to remember more light in his face than that of the + sun. Their conscience bore him witness, and his look awed them. + Involuntarily they turned from him, seeking refuge with each other: his + eyes shone so! they said; but immediately they turned to him again. + </p> + <p> + Sandy knew the pictures in the “Pilgrim's Progress,” and Andrew had read + it through more than once: when they saw the man had a book in his hand, + open, and heard him, standing there in the sun, begin to read from it, + they thought it must be Christian, waiting for Evangelist to come to him. + It is impossible to say how much is fact and how much imagination in what + children recollect; the one must almost always supplement the other; but + they were quite sure that the words he read were these: “And lo, I am with + you always, even to the end of the world!” The next thing they remembered + was their walking slowly down the hill in the red light, and all at once + waking up to the fact that the man was gone, they did not know when or + where. But their arms were round each other's necks, and they were full of + a strange awe. Then Andrew saw something red on Sandy's face. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Sandy!” he cried, “it's bluid!” and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + It was his own blood, not Sandy's!—the discovery of which fact + relieved Andrew, and did not so greatly discompose Sandy, who was less + sensitive. + </p> + <p> + They began at length to speculate on what had happened. One thing was + clear: it was because they were fighting that the man had come; but it was + not so clear who the man was. He could not be Christian, because Christian + went over the river! Andrew suggested it might have been Evangelist, for + he seemed to be always about. Sandy added, as his contribution to the + idea, that he might have picked up Christian's bundle and been carrying it + home to his wife. They came, however, to the conclusion, by no + ratiocination, I think, but by a conviction which the idea itself brought + with it, that the stranger was the Lord himself, and that the pack on His + back was their sins, which He was carrying away to throw out of the world. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, wasna it fearfu' He should come by jist when we was fechtin'!” said + Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, na! it was a fine thing that! We micht hae been at it yet! But we + winna noo!—will we ever, Sandy?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, that we winna!” + </p> + <p> + “For,” continued Andrew, “He said 'Lo, I am with you always!' And suppose + He werena, we daurna be that ahint His back we would na be afore His + face!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you railly think it <i>was</i> Him, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “Weel,” replied Andrew, “gien the deevil be goin' aboot like a roarin' + lion, seekin' whom he may devoor, as father says, it's no likely <i>He</i> + would na be goin' aboot as weel, seekin' to haud him aff o' 's!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “And noo,” said the elder, “what are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + For Andrew, whom both father and mother judged the dreamiest of mortals, + was in reality the most practical being in the whole parish—so + practical that by and by people mocked him for a poet and a heretic, + because he did the things which they said they believed. Most unpractical + must every man appear who genuinely believes in the things that are + unseen. The man called practical by the men of this world is he who busies + himself building his house on the sand, while he does not even bespeak a + lodging in the inevitable beyond. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do?” said Andrew. “If the Lord is going about like that, + looking after us, we've surely got something to do looking after <i>Him!</i>” + </p> + <p> + There was no help in Sandy; and it was well that, with the reticence of + children, neither thought of laying the case before their parents; the + traditions of the elders would have ill agreed with the doctrine they were + now under! Suddenly it came into Andrew's mind that the book they read at + <i>worship</i> to which he had never listened, told all about Jesus. + </p> + <p> + He began at the beginning, and grew so interested in the stories that he + forgot why he had begun to read it One day, however, as he was telling + Sandy about Jacob—“What a shame!” said Sandy; and Andrew's mind + suddenly opened to the fact that he had got nothing yet out of the book. + He threw it from him, echoing Sandy's words, “What's a shame!”—not + of Jacob's behavior, but of the Bible's, which had all this time told them + nothing about the man that was going up and down the world, gathering up + their sins, and carrying them away in His pack! But it dawned upon him + that it was the New Testament that told about Jesus Christ, and they + turned to that. Here also I say it was well they asked no advice, for they + would probably have been directed to the Epistle to the Romans, with + explanations yet more foreign to the heart of Paul than false to his + Greek. They began to read the story of Jesus as told by his friend + Matthew, and when they had ended it, went on to the gospel according to + Mark. But they had not read far when Sandy cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Andrew, it's a' the same thing ower again!” + </p> + <p> + “No a'thegither,” answered Andrew. “We'll gang on, and see!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew came to the conclusion that it was so far the same that he would + rather go back and read the other again, for the sake of some particular + things he wanted to make sure about So the second time they read St. + Matthew, and came to these words: + </p> + <p> + “If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall + ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “There's twa o' 's here!” cried Andrew, laying down the book. “Lat's try + 't!” + </p> + <p> + “Try what?” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + His brother read the passage again. + </p> + <p> + “Lat the twa o' 's speir Him for something!” concluded Andrew. “What + wull't be?” + </p> + <p> + “I won'er if it means only ance, or may be three times, like 'The Three + Wishes!'” suggested Sandy, who, like most Christians, would rather have a + talk about it than do what he was told. + </p> + <p> + “We <i>might</i> ask for what would not be good for us!” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “And make fools of ourselves!” assented Sandy, with “The Three Wishes” in + his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think He would give it us then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” pursued Andrew, “if we were so foolish as that old man and woman, + it would be better to find it out, and begin to grow wise!—I'll tell + you what we'll do: we'll make it our first wish to know what's best to ask + for; and then we can go on asking!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; let us!” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy we'll have as many wishes as we like! Doon upo' yer knees, + Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + They knelt together. + </p> + <p> + I fear there are not a few to say, “How ill-instructed the poor children + were!—actually mingling the gospel and the fairy tales!” “Happy + children,” say I, “who could blunder into the very heart of the will of + God concerning them, and <i>do</i> the thing at once that the Lord taught + them, using the common sense which God had given and the fairy tale + nourished!” The Lord of the promise is the Lord of all true parables and + all good fairy tales. + </p> + <p> + Andrew prayed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, tell Sandy and me what to ask for. We're unanimous.” + </p> + <p> + They got up from their knees. They had said what they had to say: why say + more! + </p> + <p> + They felt rather dull. Nothing came to them. The prayer was prayed, and + they could not make the answer! There was no use in reading more! They put + the Bible away in a rough box where they kept it among rose-leaves—ignorant + priests of the lovely mystery of Him who was with them always—and + without a word went each his own way, not happy, for were they not leaving + Him under the elder-tree, lonely and shadowy, where it was their custom to + meet! Alas for those who must go to church to find Him, or who can not + pray unless in their closet! + </p> + <p> + They wandered about disconsolate, at school and at home, the rest of the + day—at least Andrew did; Sandy had Andrew to lean upon! Andrew had + Him who was with them always, but He seemed at the other end of the world. + They had prayed, and there was no more of it! + </p> + <p> + In the evening, while yet it was light, Andrew went alone to the + elder-tree, took the Bible from its humble shrine, and began turning over + its leaves. + </p> + <p> + “And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” He + read, and sunk deep in thought. + </p> + <p> + This is the way his thoughts went: + </p> + <p> + “What things? What had He been saying? Let me look and see what He says, + that I may begin to do it!” + </p> + <p> + He read all the chapter, and found it full of <i>tellings</i>. When he + read it before he had not thought of doing one of the things He said, for + as plainly as He told him! He had not once thought He had any concern in + the matter! + </p> + <p> + “I see!” he said; “we must begin at once to do what He tells us!” + </p> + <p> + He ran to find his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it!” he cried: “I've got it!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “What we've got to do” + </p> + <p> + “And what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just what He tells us.” + </p> + <p> + “We were doing that,” said Sandy, “when we prayed Him to tell us what to + pray for!” + </p> + <p> + “So we were! That's grand!” + </p> + <p> + “Then haven't we got to pray for anything more?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll soon find out; but first we must look for something to do!” + </p> + <p> + They began at once to search for things the Lord told them to do. And of + all they found, the plainest and easiest was: “Whosoever shall smite thee + on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” This needed no + explanation! it was as clear as the day to both of them! + </p> + <p> + The very next morning the school-master, who, though of a gentle + disposition, was irritable, taking Andrew for the offender in a certain + breach of discipline, gave him a smart box on the ear. Andrew, as readily + as if it had been instinctively, turned to him the other cheek. + </p> + <p> + An angry man is an evil interpreter of holy things, and Mr. Fordyce took + the action for one of rudest mockery, nor thought of the higher master + therein mocked if it were mockery: he struck the offender a yet smarter + blow. Andrew stood for a minute like one dazed; but the red on his face + was not that of anger; he was perplexed as to whether he ought now to turn + the former cheek again to the striker. Uncertain, he turned away, and went + to his work. + </p> + <p> + Stops a reader here to say: “But do you really mean to tell us we ought to + take the words literally as Andrew did?” I answer: “When you have earned + the right to understand, you will not need to ask me. To explain what the + Lord means to one who is not obedient, is the work of no man who knows his + work.” + </p> + <p> + It is but fair to say for the school-master that, when he found he had + mistaken, he tried to make up to the boy for it—not by confessing + himself wrong—who could expect that of only a school-master?—but + by being kinder to him than before. Through this he came to like him, and + would teach him things out of the usual way—such as how to make + different kinds of verse. + </p> + <p> + By and by Andrew and Sandy had a quarrel. Suddenly Andrew came to himself, + and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Sandy! Sandy! He says we're to agree!” + </p> + <p> + “Does He?” + </p> + <p> + “He says we're to love one another, and we canna do that if we dinna + agree!” + </p> + <p> + There came a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps after all you were in the right, Sandy!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to say that; when I think about it, perhaps I wasn't so + much in the right as I thought I was!” + </p> + <p> + “It can't matter much which was in the right, when we were both in the + wrong!” said Andrew. “Let's ask Him to keep us from caring which is in the + right, and make us both try to be in the right We don't often differ about + what we are to ask for, Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, we don't.” + </p> + <p> + “It's me to take care of you, Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + “And me to take care of you, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + Here was the nucleus of a church!—two stones laid on the + foundation-stone. + </p> + <p> + “Luik here, Sandy!” said Andrew; “we maun hae anither, an' syne there'll + be four o' 's!” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” asked Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “I won'er 'at we never noticed it afore! Here's what He says: 'For where + two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of + them.' In that way, wharever He micht be walkin' aboot, we could aye get + Him! He likes twa, an' His Father 'ill hear the 'greed prayer, but He + likes three better—an' that stan's to rizzon, for three maun be + better 'n twa! First ane maun lo'e Him; an' syne twa can lo'e Him better, + because ilk ane is helpit by the ither, an' lo'es Him the mair that He + lo'es the ither ane! An' syne comes the third, and there's mair an' mair + throwin' o' lichts, and there's the Lord himsel' i' the mids' o' them! + Three maks a better mids' than twa!” + </p> + <p> + Sandy could not follow the reasoning quite, but he had his own way of + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “It's jist like the story o' Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!” he said. + “There was three o' them, an' sae He made four! Eh, jist think o' Him + bein' wi' 's His verra sel'!” + </p> + <p> + Here now was a church indeed: the idea of a third was the very principle + of growth! They would meet together and say: “Oh, Father of Jesus Christ, + help us to be good like Jesus;” and then Jesus himself would make one of + them, and worship the Father with them! + </p> + <p> + The next thing, as a matter of course, was to look about for a third. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” cried both at once. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was the child of a cotter pair, who had an acre or two of their + father's farm, and helped him with it. Her real name has not reached me; + <i>Dawtie</i> means <i>darling</i>, and is a common term of endearment—derived, + Jamieson suggests, from the Gaelic <i>dalt</i>, signifying <i>a + foster-child</i>. Dawtie was a dark-haired, laughing little darling, with + shy, merry manners, and the whitest teeth, full of fun, but solemn in an + instant. Her small feet were bare and black—except on Saturday + nights and Sunday mornings—but full of expression, and perhaps + really cleaner, from their familiarity with the sweet all-cleansing air, + than such as hide the day-long in socks and shoes. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's specialty was love of the creatures. She had an undoubting + conviction that every one of them with which she came in contact + understood and loved her. She was the champion of the oppressed, without + knowing it. Every individual necessity stood on its own merits, and came + to her fresh and sole, as if she had forgotten all that went before it. + Like some boys she had her pockets as well as her hands at the service of + live things; but unlike any boy, she had in her love no admixture of + natural history; it was not interest in animals with her, but an + individual love to the individual animal, whatever it might be, that + presented itself to the love-power in her. + </p> + <p> + It may seem strange that there should be three such children together. But + their fathers and mothers had for generations been poor—which was a + great advantage, as may be seen in the world by him who has eyes to see, + and heard in the parable of the rich man by him who has ears to hear. Also + they were God-fearing, which was a far greater advantage, and made them + honorable; for they would have scorned things that most Christians will + do. Dawtie's father had a rarely keen instinct for what is mean, and that + not in the way of abhorrence in others, but of avoidance in himself. To + shades and <i>nuances</i> of selfishness, which men of high repute and + comfortable conscience would neither be surprised to find in their + neighbors nor annoyed to find in themselves, he would give no quarter. + Along with Andrew's father, he had, in childhood and youth, been under the + influence of a simple-hearted pastor, whom the wise and prudent laughed at + as one who could not take care of himself, incapable of seeing that, like + his master, he laid down his life that he might take it again. He left God + to look after him, that he might be free to look after God. + </p> + <p> + Little Dawtie had learned her catechism, but, thank God, had never thought + about it or attempted to understand it—good negative preparation for + becoming, in a few years more, able to understand the New Testament with + the heart of a babe. + </p> + <p> + The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she + sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a chicken + with oatmeal paste. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doin', Dawtie?” they asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm tryin',” she answered, without looking up, “to haud the life i' the + chuckie.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter wi' 't?” + </p> + <p> + “Naething but the want o' a mither.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the mither o' 't deid?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, she's alive eneuch, but she has ower mony bairns to hap them a'; her + wings winna cower them, and she drives this ane awa', and winna lat it + come near her.” + </p> + <p> + “Sic a cruel mither!” + </p> + <p> + “Na, she's no' cruel. She only wants to gar't come to me! She kenned I + would tak it. Na, na; Flappy's a guid mither! I ken her weel; she's ane o' + our ain! She kens me, or she would hae keepit the puir thing, and done her + best wi' her.” + </p> + <p> + “I ken somebody,” said Andrew, “that would fain spread oot wings, like a + great big hen, ower a' the bairns, you an' me an' a', Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “That's my mither!” cried Dawtie, looking up, and showing her white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Na, it's a man,” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “It's my father, than!” + </p> + <p> + “Na, it's no. Would ye like to see Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, I'm no carin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Sandy and me's gaein' to see Him some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll gang wi' ye. But I maun tak' my chuckie!” + </p> + <p> + She looked down where she had set the little bird on the ground; it had + hobbled away and she could not see it! + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” she cried, starting up, “ye made me forget my chuckie wi' yer + questions! It's mither 'ill peck it!” + </p> + <p> + She darted off, and forsook the tale of the Son of Man to look after her + chicken. But presently she returned with it in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Tell awa',” she said, resuming her seat “What do they ca' Him?” + </p> + <p> + “They ca' Him the Father o' Jesus Christ.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll gang wi' ye,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + So the church was increased by a whole half, and the fraction of a chicken—type + of the groaning creation, waiting for the sonship. + </p> + <p> + The three gathered to read and pray. And almost always there was some + creature with them in the arms or hands of Dawtie. And if the Lord was not + there, too, then are we Christians most miserable, for we see a glory + beyond all that man could dream, and it is but a dream! Whose dream? + </p> + <p> + They went on at other times with the usual employments and games of + children. But there was this difference between them and most grown + Christians, that when anything roused thought or question they at once + referred it to the word of Jesus, and having discovered His will, made + haste to do it. It naturally followed that, seeing He gives the spirit to + them that obey Him, they grew rapidly in the modes of their Master, + learning to look at things as He looked at them, to think of them as He + thought of them, to value what He valued, and despise what He despised—all + in simplest order of divine development, in uttermost accord with highest + reason, the whole turning on the primary and continuous effort to obey. + </p> + <p> + It was long before they came to have any regular time of meeting. Andrew + always took the initiative in assembling the church. When he called they + came together. Then he would read from the story, and communicate any + discovery he had made concerning what Jesus would have them do. Next, they + would consult and settle what they should ask for, and one of them, + generally Andrew, but sometimes Sandy, would pray. They made no formal + utterance, but simply asked for what they needed. Here are some specimens + of their petitions: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, Sandy canna for the life o' 'im un'erstan' the rule o' three; + please, Lord, help him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, I dinna ken onything I want the day; please gi'e us what we + need, an' what ye want us to hae, wi'oot our askin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, help us; we're ill-natnr'd (<i>bad-tempered</i>) the day; an' ye + wadna hae us that.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Dawtie's mither has a sair heid (<i>headache</i>); mak her better, + gien ye please.” + </p> + <p> + When their prayers were ended Andrew would say: “Sandy, have you found + anything He says?” and there-upon, if he had, Sandy would speak. Dawtie + never said a word, but sat and listened with her big eyes, generally + stroking some creature in her lap. + </p> + <p> + Surely the part of every superior is to help the life in the lower! + </p> + <p> + Once the question arose, in their assembly of three and a bird, whose leg + Dawtie had put in splints, what became of the creatures when they died. + They concluded that the sparrow that God cared for must be worth caring + for; and they could not believe He had made it to last only such a little + while as its life in this world. Thereupon they agreed to ask the Lord + that, when they died, they might have again a certain dog, an ugly little + white mongrel, of which they had been very fond. All their days thereafter + they were, I believe, more or less consciously, looking forward to the + fulfillment of this petition. For their hope strengthened with the growth + of their ideal; and when they had to give up any belief it was to take a + better in its place. + </p> + <p> + They yielded at length the notion that the peddler was Jesus Christ, but + they never ceased to believe that He was God's messenger, or that the Lord + was with them always. They would not insist that He was walking about on + the earth, but to the end of their days they cherished the uncertain hope + that they might, even without knowing it, look upon the face of the Lord + in that of some stranger passing in the street, or mingling in a crowd, or + seated in a church; for they knew that all the shapes of man belong to + Him, and that, after He rose from the dead there were several occasions on + which He did not at first look like Himself to those to whom He appeared. + </p> + <p> + The child-like, the essential, the divine notion of serving, with their + every-day will and being, the will of the living One, who lived for them + that they might live, as once He had died for them that they might die, + ripened in them to a Christianity that saw God everywhere, saw that + everything had to be done as God would have it done, and that nothing but + injustice had to be forsaken to please Him. They were under no influence + of what has been so well called <i>other-worldliness</i>, for they saw + this world as much God's as that, saw that its work has to be done + divinely, that it is the beginning of the world to come. It was to them + all one world, with God in it, all in all; therefore the best work for the + other world was the work of this world. + </p> + <p> + Such was the boyhood of that Andrew Ingram whom Miss Fordyce now reproved + for not setting the good example of going to church. + </p> + <p> + The common sense of the children rapidly developed, for there is no + teacher like obedience, and no obstruction like its postponement. When in + after years their mothers came at length to understand that obedience had + been so long the foundation of their life, it explained to them many + things that had seemed strange, and brought them to reproach themselves + that they should have seemed strange. + </p> + <p> + It ought not to be overlooked that the whole thing was wrought in the + children without directed influence of kindred or any neighbor. They + imitated none. The galvanism of imitation is not the life of the spirit; + the use of form where love is not is killing. And if any one is desirous + of spreading the truth let him apply himself, like these children, to the + doing of it; not obeying the truth, he is doubly a liar pretending to + teach it; if he obeys it already, let him obey it more. It is life that + awakes life. All form of persuasion is empty except in vital association + with regnant obedience. Talking and not doing is dry rot. + </p> + <p> + Cottage children are sometimes more fastidious about their food than + children that have a greater variety; they have a more delicate perception + and discrimination in the simple dishes on which they thrive; much choice, + though little refusal. Andrew had a great dislike to lumps in his + porridge; and one day the mother having been less careful than usual in + cooking it, he made a wry face at the first spoonful. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew,” said Sandy, “take no thought for what ye eat.” + </p> + <p> + It was a wrong interpretation, but a righteous use of the word. Happy the + soul that mistakes the letter only to get at the spirit! + </p> + <p> + Andrew's face smoothed itself, began to clear up, and broke at last into a + sunny smile. He said nothing, but eat his full share of the porridge + without a frown. This was practical religion; and if any one judge it not + worth telling, I count his philosophy worthless beside it. Such a doer + knows more than such a reader will ever know, except he take precisely the + same way to learn. The children of God do what He would have them do, and + are taught of Him. + </p> + <p> + A report at length reached the pastor, now an old man, of ripe heart and + true insight, that certain children in his parish “played at the Lord's + Supper.” He was shocked, and went to their parents. They knew nothing of + the matter. The three children were sought, and the pastor had a private + interview with them. From it he reappeared with a solemn, pale face, and + silent tongue. They asked him the result of his inquiry. He answered that + he was not prepared to interfere: as he was talking with them, the warning + came that there were necks and mill-stones. The next Sunday he preached a + sermon from the text, “Out of the month of babes and sucklings Thou hast + perfected praise.” + </p> + <p> + The fathers and mothers made inquisition, and found no desire to conceal. + Wisely or not, they forbade the observance. It cost Andrew much thought + whether he was justified in obeying them; but he saw that right and wrong + in itself was not concerned, and that the Lord would have them obey their + parents. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary to tell so much of the previous history of Andrew, lest + what remains to be told should perhaps be unintelligible or seem + incredible without it. A character like his can not be formed in a day; it + must early begin to grow. + </p> + <p> + The bond thus bound between the children, altering in form as they grew, + was never severed; nor was the lower creation ever cut off from its share + in the petitions of any one of them. When they ceased to assemble as a + community, they continued to act on the same live principles. + </p> + <p> + Gladly as their parents would have sent them to college, Andrew and Sandy + had to leave school only to work on the farm. But they carried their + studies on from the point they had reached. When they could not get + further without help, they sought and found it. For a year or two they + went in the winter to an evening school; but it took so much time to go + and come that they found they could make more progress by working at home. + What help they sought went a long way, and what they learned, they knew. + </p> + <p> + When the day's work was over, and the evening meal, they went to the room + their own hands had made convenient for study as well as sleep, and there + resumed the labor they had dropped the night before. Together they read + Greek and mathematics, but Andrew worked mainly in literature, Sandy in + mechanics. On Saturdays, Sandy generally wrought at some model, while + Andrew read to him. On Sundays, they always, for an hour or two, read the + Bible together. + </p> + <p> + The brothers were not a little amused with Miss Fordyce's patronage of + Andrew; but they had now been too long endeavoring to bring into + subjection the sense of personal importance, to take offense at it. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie had gone into service, and they seldom saw her except when she came + home for a day at the term. She was a grown woman now, but the same loving + child as before. She counted the brothers her superiors, just as they + counted the laird and his daughter their superiors. But whereas Alexa + claimed the homage, Dawtie yielded where was no thought of claiming it. + The brothers regarded her as their sister. That she was poorer than they, + only made them the more watchful over her, and if possible the more + respectful to her. So she had a rich return for her care of the chickens + and kittens and puppies. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. GEORGE AND ANDREW. + </h2> + <p> + George went home the next day; and the following week sent Andrew a note, + explaining that when he saw him he did not know his obligation to him, and + expressing the hope that, when next in town, he would call upon him. This + was hardly well, being condescension to a superior. Perhaps the worst evil + in the sense of social superiority is the vile fancy that it alters human + relation. George did not feel bound to make the same acknowledgment of + obligation to one in humble position as to one in the same golden rank + with himself! It says ill for social distinction, if, for its + preservation, such an immoral difference be essential. But Andrew was not + one to dwell upon his rights. He thought it friendly of Mr. Crawford to + ask him to call; therefore, although he had little desire to make his + acquaintance, and grudged the loss of time, to no man so precious as to + him who has a pursuit in addition to a calling, Andrew, far stronger in + courtesy than the man who invited him, took the first Saturday afternoon + to go and see him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crawford the elder lived in some style, and his door was opened by a + servant whose blatant adornment filled Andrew with friendly pity: no man + would submit to be dressed like that, he judged, except from necessity. + The reflection sprung from no foolish and degrading contempt for household + service. It is true Andrew thought no labor so manly as that in the earth, + out of which grows everything that makes the loveliness or use of Nature; + for by it he came in contact with the primaries of human life, and was + God's fellow laborer, a helper in the work of the universe, knowing the + ways of it and living in them; but not the less would he have done any + service, and that cheerfully, which his own need or that of others might + have required of him. The colors of a parrot, however, were not fit for a + son of man, and hence his look of sympathy. His regard was met only by a + glance of plain contempt, as the lackey, moved by the same spirit as his + master, left him standing in the hall—to return presently, and show + him into the library—a room of mahogany, red morocco, and yellow + calf, where George sat. He rose, and shook hands with him. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you, Mr. Ingram,” he said. “When I wrote I had but just + learned how much I was indebted to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand what you must mean,” returned Andrew, “but it was scarce + worth alluding to. Miss Fordyce had the better claim to serve you!” + </p> + <p> + “You call it nothing to carry a man of my size over a mile of heather!” + </p> + <p> + “I had help,” answered Andrew; “and but for the broken leg,” he added, + with a laugh, “I could have carried you well enough alone.” + </p> + <p> + There came a pause, for George did not know what next to do with the + farmer fellow. So the latter spoke again, being unembarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “You have a grand library, Mr. Crawford! It must be fine to sit among so + many books! It's just like a wine-merchant's cellars—only here you + can open and drink, and leave the bottles as full as before!” + </p> + <p> + “A good simile, Mr. Ingram!” replied George. “You must come and dine with + me, and we'll open another sort of bottle!” + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me there, sir! I have no time for that sort of bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you read a great deal?” + </p> + <p> + “Weather permitting,” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought if anything was independent of the weather, it must + be reading!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a farmer's reading, sir. To him the weather is the Word of God, + telling him whether to work or read.” + </p> + <p> + George was silent. To him the Word of God was the Bible! + </p> + <p> + “But you must read a great deal yourself, sir!” resumed Andrew, casting a + glance round the room. + </p> + <p> + “The books are my father's!” said George. + </p> + <p> + He did not mention that his own reading came all in the library-cart, + except when he wanted some special information; for George was “a + practical man!” He read his Bible to prepare for his class in the + Sunday-school, and his Shakespeare when he was going to see one of his + plays acted. He would make the best of both worlds by paying due attention + to both! He was religious, but liberal. + </p> + <p> + His father was a banker, an elder of the kirk, well reputed in and beyond + his circle. He gave to many charities, and largely to educational schemes. + His religion was to hold by the traditions of the elders, and keep himself + respectable in the eyes of money-dealers. He went to church regularly, and + always asked God's blessing on his food, as if it were a kind of general + sauce. He never prayed God to make him love his neighbor, or help him to + be an honest man. He “had worship” every morning, no doubt; but only a + Nonentity like his God could care for such prayers as his. George rejected + his father's theology as false in logic and cruel in character: George + knew just enough of God to be guilty of neglecting Him. + </p> + <p> + “When I am out all day, I can do with less reading; for then I have the + 'book of knowledge fair,'” said Andrew, quoting Milton. “It does not take + <i>all</i> one's attention to drive a straight furrow or keep the harrow + on the edge of the last bout!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean you can read your Bible as you hold the plow!” said + George. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Andrew, amused. “A body could not well manage a book + between the stilts of the plow. The Bible will keep till you get home; a + little of it goes a long way. But Paul counted the book of creation enough + to make the heathen to blame for not minding it. Never a wind wakes of a + sudden, but it talks to me about God. And is not the sunlight the same + that came out of the body of Jesus at His transfiguration?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have some rather peculiar ideas of your own, Mr. Ingram!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, sir! For a man to have no ideas of his own, is much the same as + to have no ideas at all. A man can not have the ideas of another man, any + more than he can have another man's soul, or another man's body!” + </p> + <p> + “That is dangerous doctrine.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we are not talking about the same thing! I mean by <i>ideas</i>, + what a man orders his life by.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ideas may be wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “The All-wise is my judge.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse, if you are in the wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the only good, whether I be in the right or the wrong. Would I have + my mistakes overlooked? What judge would I desire but the Judge of all the + earth! Shall He not do right? And will He not set me right?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a most dangerous confidence!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be if there were any other judge. But it will be neither the + Church nor the world that will sit on the great white throne. He who sits + there will not ask: 'Did you go to church?' or 'Did you believe in this or + that?' but' Did you do what I told you?'” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you say to that, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I will say: 'Lord, Thou knowest!” + </p> + <p> + The answer checked George a little. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose He should say you did not, what would you answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I would say: 'Lord, send me where I may learn.'” + </p> + <p> + “And if He should say: 'That is what I sent you into the world for, and + you have not done it!' what would you say then?” + </p> + <p> + “I should hold my peace.” + </p> + <p> + “You do what He tells you then?” + </p> + <p> + “I try.” + </p> + <p> + “Does He not say: 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together?'” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody says something like it in the Epistle to the Hebrews.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't that the same?” + </p> + <p> + “The Man who wrote it would be indignant at your saying so! Tell me, Mr. + Crawford, what makes a gathering a Church?” + </p> + <p> + “It would take me some time to arrange my ideas before I could answer + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not the presence of Christ that makes an assembly a Church?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Does He not say that where two or three are met in His name, there is He + in the midst of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thus far I will justify myself to you, that, if I do not go to what + you call <i>church</i>, I yet often make one of a company met in His + name.” + </p> + <p> + “He does not limit the company to two or three.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly not. But if I find I get more help and strength with a certain + few, why should I go with a multitude to get less? Will you draw another + line than the Master's? Why should it be more sacred to worship with five + hundred or five thousand than with three? If He is in the midst of them, + they can not be wrong gathered!” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>looks</i> as if you thought yourselves better than everybody else!” + </p> + <p> + “If it were so, then certainly He would not be <i>one</i> of the + gathering!” + </p> + <p> + “How are you to know that He is in the midst of you?” + </p> + <p> + “If we are not keeping His commandments, He is not. But His presence can + not be <i>proved</i>; it can only be known. If He meets us, it is not + necessary to the joy of His presence that we should be able to prove that + He does meet us! If a man has the company of the Lord, he will care little + whether another does or does not believe that he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Your way is against the peace of the Church! It fosters division.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the Lord come to send peace on the earth? My way, as you call it, + would make division, but division between those who call themselves His + and those who are His. It would bring together those that love Him. + Company would merge with company that they might look on the Lord + together. I don't believe Jesus cares much for what is called the visible + Church; but He cares with His very Godhead for those that do as He tells + them; they are His Father's friends; they are His elect by whom He will + save the world. It is by those who obey, and by their obedience, that He + will save those who do not obey, that is, will bring them to obey. It is + one by one the world will pass to His side. There is no saving in the + lump. If a thousand be converted at once, it is every single lonely man + that is converted.” + </p> + <p> + “You would make a slow process of it!” + </p> + <p> + “If slow, yet faster than any other. All God's processes are slow. How + many years has the world existed, do you imagine, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Geologists say hundreds and hundreds of thousands.” + </p> + <p> + “And how many is it since Christ came?” + </p> + <p> + “Toward two thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are but in the morning of Christianity! There is plenty of time. + The day is before us.” + </p> + <p> + “Dangerous doctrine for the sinner!” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Time is plentiful for his misery, if he will not repent; plentiful + for the mercy of God that would lead him to repentance. There is plenty of + time for labor and hope; none for indifference and delay. God <i>will</i> + have his creatures good. They can not escape Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then a man may put off repentance as long as he pleases!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he may—at least as long as he can—but it is a + fearful thing to try issues with God.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly say I understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Crawford, you have questioned me in the way of kindly anxiety and + reproof; that has given me the right to question you. Tell me, do you + admit we are bound to do what our Lord requires?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. How could any Christian man do otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yet a man may say: 'Lord, Lord,' and be cast out! It is one thing to say + we are bound to do what the Lord tells us, and another to do what He tells + us! He says: 'Seek ye <i>first</i> the kingdom of God and His + righteousness:' Mr. Crawford, are you seeking the kingdom of God <i>first</i>, + or are you seeking money first?” + </p> + <p> + “We are sent into the world to make our living.” + </p> + <p> + “Sent into the world, we have to seek our living; we are not sent into the + world to seek our living, but to seek the kingdom and righteousness of + God. And to seek a living is very different from seeking a fortune!” + </p> + <p> + “If you, Mr. Ingram, had a little wholesome ambition, you would be less + given to judging your neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew held his peace, and George concluded he had had the best of the + argument—which was all he wanted; of the truth concerned he did not + see enough to care about it Andrew, perceiving no good was to be done, was + willing to appear defeated; he did not value any victory but the victory + of the truth, and George was not yet capable of being conquered by the + truth. + </p> + <p> + “No!” resumed he, “we must avoid personalities. There are certain things + all respectable people have agreed to regard as right: he is a + presumptuous man who refuses to regard them. Reflect on it, Mr. Ingram.” + </p> + <p> + The curious smile hovered about the lip of the plow-man; when things to + say did not come to him, he went nowhere to fetch them. Almost in + childhood he had learned that, when one is required to meet the lie, words + are given him; when they are not, silence is better. A man who does not + love the truth, but disputes for victory, is the swine before whom pearls + must not be cast. Andrew's smile meant that it had been a waste of his + time to call upon Mr. Crawford. But he did not blame himself, for he had + come out of pure friendliness. He would have risen at once, but feared to + seem offended. Crawford, therefore, with the rudeness of a superior, + himself rose, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “The only thing one man can do for another is to be at one with him,” + answered Andrew, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are a socialist! That accounts for much!” said George. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this,” returned Andrew, looking him in the eyes: “Did Jesus ever + ask of His Father anything His Father would not give Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I remember,” answered George, fearing a theological trap. + </p> + <p> + “He said once: 'I pray for them which shall believe in Me, that they all + may be one, as Thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also many + be one in us!' No man can be one with another, who is not one with + Christ.” + </p> + <p> + As he left the house, a carriage drove up, in which was Mr. Crawford the + elder, home from a meeting of directors, at which a dividend had been + agreed upon—to be paid from the capital, in preparation for another + issue of shares. + </p> + <p> + Andrew walked home a little bewildered. “How is it,” he said to himself, + “that so many who would be terrified at the idea of not being Christians, + and are horrified at any man who does not believe there is a God, are yet + absolutely indifferent to what their Lord tells them to do if they would + be His disciples? But may not I be in like case without knowing it? Do I + meet God in my geometry? When I so much enjoy my Euclid, is it always God + geometrizing to me? Do I feel talking with God every time I dwell upon any + fact of his world of lines and circles and angles? Is it God with me, + every time that the joy of life, of a wind or a sky or a lovely phrase, + flashes through me? Oh, my God,” he broke out in speechless prayer as he + walked—and those that passed said to themselves he was mad; how, in + such a world, could any but a madman wear a face of joy! “Oh, my God, Thou + art all in all, and I have everything! The world is mine because it is + Thine! I thank Thee, my God, that Thou hast lifted me up to see whence I + came, to know to whom I belong, to know who is my Father, and makes me His + heir! I am Thine, infinitely more than mine own; and Thou art mine as Thou + art Christ's!” + </p> + <p> + He knew his Father in the same way that Jesus Christ knows His Father. He + was at home in the universe, neither lonely, nor out-of-doors, nor afraid. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE CRAWFORDS. + </h2> + <p> + Through strong striving to secure his life, Mr. Crawford lost it—both + in God's sense of loss and his own. He narrowly escaped being put in + prison, died instead, and was put into God's prison to pay the uttermost + farthing. But he had been such a good Christian that his fellow-Christians + mourned over his failure and his death, not over his dishonesty! For did + they not know that if, by more dishonesty, he could have managed to + recover his footing, he would have paid everything? One injunction only he + obeyed—he provided for his own; of all the widows concerned in his + bank, his widow alone was secured from want; and she, like a dutiful wife, + took care that his righteous intention should be righteously carried out; + not a penny would she give up to the paupers her husband had made. + </p> + <p> + The downfall of the house of cards took place a few months after George's + return to its business. Not initiated to the mysteries of his father's + transactions, ignorant of what had long been threatening, it was a + terrible blow to him. But he was a man of action, and at once looked to + America; at home he could not hold up his head. + </p> + <p> + He had often been to Potlurg, and had been advancing in intimacy with + Alexa; but he would not show himself there until he could appear as a man + of decision—until he was on the point of departure. She would be the + more willing to believe his innocence of complicity in the deceptions that + had led to his ruin! He would thus also manifest self-denial and avoid the + charge of interested motives! he could not face the suspicion of being a + suitor with nothing to offer! George had always taken the grand rôle—that + of superior, benefactor, bestower. He was powerful in condescension! + </p> + <p> + Not, therefore, until the night before he sailed did he go to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + Alexa received him with a shade of displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” he said, abruptly, the moment they were seated. + </p> + <p> + Her heart gave a painful throb in her throat, but she did not lose her + self-possession. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To New York,” he replied. “I have got a situation there—in a not + unimportant house. <i>There</i> at least I am taken for an honest man. + From your heaven I have fallen.” + </p> + <p> + “No one falls from any heaven but has himself to blame,” rejoined Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Where have I been to blame? I was not in my father's confidence. I knew + nothing, positively nothing, of what was going on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why then did you not come to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “A man who is neither beggar nor thief is not willing to look either.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have come if you had trusted me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You must pardon pride in a ruined man,” he answered. “Now that I am + starting to-morrow, I do not feel the same dread of being misunderstood!” + </p> + <p> + “It was not kind of you, George. Knowing yourself fit to be trusted, why + did you not think me capable of trusting?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Alexa!—a man's own father!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he showed signs of an emotion he had seldom had to repress. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, George!” cried Alexa. “I am both stupid and selfish! + Are you really going so far?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I am—but to return, I hope, in a very different position!” + </p> + <p> + “You would have me understand—” + </p> + <p> + “That I shall then be able to hold up my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should an innocent man ever do otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “He can not help seeing himself in other people's thoughts!” + </p> + <p> + “If we are in the right ought we to mind what people think of us?” said + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. But I will make them think of me as I choose.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By compelling their respect.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to make a fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will be the fortune they respect! You will not be more worthy!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not.” + </p> + <p> + “Is such respect worth having?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in itself.” + </p> + <p> + “In what then? Why lay yourself out for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, Alexa, even the real respect of such people would be + worthless to me. I only want to bring them to their marrow-bones!” + </p> + <p> + The truth was, Alexa prized social position so dearly that she did not + relish his regarding it as a thing at the command of money. Let George be + as rich as a Jew or an American, Alexa would never regard him as her + equal! George worshiped money; Alexa worshiped birth and land. + </p> + <p> + Our own way of being wrong is all right in our own eyes; our neighbor's + way of being wrong is offensive to all that is good in us. We are anxious + therefore, kindly anxious, to pull the mote out of his eye, never thinking + of the big beam in the way of the operation. Jesus labored to show us that + our immediate business is to be right ourselves. Until we are, even our + righteous indignation is waste. + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, George's eyes were on the ground. His grand resolve did + not give his innocence strength to look in the face of the woman he loved; + he felt, without knowing why, that she was not satisfied with him. Of the + paltriness of his ambition, he had no inward hint. The high resolves of a + puny nature must be a laughter to the angels—the bad ones. + </p> + <p> + “If a man has no ambition,” he resumed, feeling after her objection, “how + is he to fulfill the end of his being! No sluggard ever made his mark! How + would the world advance but for the men who have to make their fortunes! + If a man find his father has not made money for him, what is he to do but + make it for himself? You would not have me all my life a clerk! If I had + but known, I should by this time have been well ahead!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa had nothing to answer; it all sounded very reasonable! Were not + Scots boys everywhere taught it was the business of life to rise? In + whatever position they were, was it not their part to get out of it? She + did not see that it is in the kingdom of heaven only we are bound to rise. + We are born into the world not to rise in the kingdom of Satan, but out of + it And the only way to rise in the kingdom of heaven is to do the work + given us to do. Whatever be intended for us, this is the only way to it We + have not to promote ourselves, but to do our work. It is the master of the + feast who says: “Go up.” If a man go up of himself, he will find he has + mistaken the head of the table. + </p> + <p> + More talk followed, but neither cast any light; neither saw the true + question. George took his leave. Alexa said she would be glad to hear from + him. + </p> + <p> + Alexa did not like the form of George's ambition—to gain money, and + so compel the respect of persons he did not himself respect But was she + clear of the money disease herself? Would she have married a poor man, to + go on as hitherto? Would she not have been ashamed to have George know how + she had supplied his needs while he lay in the house—that it was + with the poor gains of her poultry-yard she fed him? Did it improve her + moral position toward money that she regarded commerce with contempt—a + rudiment of the time when nobles treated merchants as a cottager his bees? + </p> + <p> + George's situation was a subordinate one in a house of large dealings in + Wall Street. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. DAWTIE. + </h2> + <p> + Is not the Church supposed to be made up of God's elect? and yet most of + my readers find it hard to believe there should be three persons, so + related, who agreed to ask of God, and to ask neither riches nor love, but + that God should take His own way with them, that the Father should work + His will in them, that He would teach them what He wanted of them, and + help them to do it! The Church is God's elect, and yet you can not believe + in three holy children! Do you say: “Because they are represented as + beginning to obey so young?” “Then,” I answer, “there can be no principle, + only an occasional and arbitrary exercise of spiritual power, in the + perfecting of praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, or in the + preference of them to the wise and prudent as the recipients of divine + revelation.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie never said much, but tried the more. With heartiness she accepted + what conclusions the brothers came to, so far as she understood them—and + what was practical she understood as well as they; for she had in her + heart the spirit of that Son of Man who chose a child to represent Him and + His Father. As to what they heard at church, their minds were so set on + doing what they found in the Gospel, that it passed over them without even + rousing their intellect, and so vanished without doing any hurt. Tuned to + the truth by obedience, no falsehood they heard from the pulpit partisans + of God could make a chord vibrate in response. Dawtie indeed heard nothing + but the good that was mingled with the falsehood, and shone like a lantern + through a thick fog. + </p> + <p> + She was little more than a child when, to the trouble of her parents, she + had to go out to service. Every half year she came home for a day or so, + and neither feared nor found any relation altered. At length after several + closely following changes, occasioned by no fault of hers, she was without + a place. Miss Fordyce heard of it, and proposed to her parents that, until + she found another, she should help Meg, who was growing old and rather + blind: she would thus, she said, go on learning, and not be idling at + home. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's mother was not a little amused at the idea of any one idling in + her house, not to say Dawtie, whom idleness would have tried harder than + any amount of work; but, if only that Miss Fordyce might see what sort of + girl Dawtie was, she judged it right to accept her offer. + </p> + <p> + She had not been at Potlurg a week before Meg began to complain that she + did not leave work enough to keep her warm. No doubt it gave her time for + her book, but her eyes were not so good as they used to be, and she was + apt to fall asleep over it, and catch cold! But when her mistress proposed + to send her away, she would not hear of it So Alexa, who had begun to take + an interest in her, set her to do things she had hitherto done herself, + and began to teach her other things. Before three months were over, she + was a necessity in the house, and to part with Dawtie seemed impossible. A + place about that time turning up, Alexa at once offered her wages, and so + Dawtie became an integral portion of the laird's modest household. + </p> + <p> + The laird himself at length began to trust her as he had never trusted + servant, for he taught her to dust his precious books, which hitherto he + had done himself, but of late had shrunk from, finding not a few of them + worse than Pandora-boxes, liberating asthma at the merest unclosing. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was now a grown woman, bright, gentle, playful, with loving eyes, + and a constant overflow of tenderness upon any creature that could receive + it. She had small but decided and regular features, whose prevailing + expression was confidence—not in herself, for she was scarce + conscious of herself even in the act of denying herself—but in the + person upon whom her trusting eyes were turned. She was in the world to + help—with no political economy beyond the idea that for help and + nothing else did any one exist. To be as the sun and the rain and the + wind, as the flowers that lived for her and not for themselves, as the + river that flowed, and the heather that bloomed lovely on the bare moor in + the autumn, such was her notion of being. That she had to take care of + herself was a falsehood that never entered her brain. To do what she + ought, and not do what she ought not, was enough on her part, and God + would do the rest! I will not say she reasoned thus; to herself she was + scarce a conscious object at all. Both bodily and spiritually she was in + the finest health. If illness came, she would perhaps then discover a self + with which she had to fight—I can not tell; but my impression is, + that she had so long done the true thing, that illness would only develop + unconscious victory, perfecting the devotion of her simple righteousness. + It is because we are selfish, with that worst selfishness which is + incapable of recognizing itself, not to say its own loathsomeness, that we + have to be made ill. That they may leave the last remnants of their + selfishness, are the saints themselves over-taken by age and death. + Suffering does not cause the vile thing in us—that was there all the + time; it comes to develop in us the knowledge of its presence, that it may + be war to the knife between us and it. It was no wonder that Dawtie grew + more and more of a favorite at Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + She did not read much, but would learn by heart anything that pleased her, + and then go saying or singing it to herself. She had the voice of a lark, + and her song prevented many a search for her. Against that “rain of + melody,” not the pride of the laird, or the orderliness of the + ex-school-master ever put up the umbrella of rebuke. Her singing was so + true, came so clear from the fountain of joy, and so plainly from no + desire to be heard, that it gave no annoyance; while such was her + sympathy, that, although she had never get suffered, you would, to hear + her sing “My Nannie's awa'!” have thought her in truth mourning an absent + lover, and familiar with every pang of heart-privation. Her cleanliness, + clean even of its own show, was a heavenly purity; while so gently was all + her spiriting done, that the very idea of fuss died in the presence of her + labor. To the self-centered such a person soon becomes a nobody; the more + dependent they are upon her unfailing ministration, the less they think of + her; but they have another way of regarding such in “the high countries.” + Hardly any knew her real name; she was known but by her pet name <i>Dawtie</i>. + </p> + <p> + Alexa, who wondered at times that she could not interest her in things she + made her read, little knew how superior the girl's choice was to her own! + Not knowing much of literature, what she liked was always of the best in + its kind, and nothing without some best element could interest her at all. + But she was not left either to her “own sweet will” or to the prejudices + of her well-meaning mistress; however long the intervals that parted them, + Andrew continued to influence her reading as from the first. A word now + and a word then, with the books he lent or gave her, was sufficient. That + Andrew liked this or that, was enough to make Dawtie set herself to find + in it what Andrew liked, and it was thus she became acquainted with most + of what she learned by heart. + </p> + <p> + Above two years before the time to which I have now brought my narrative, + Sandy had given up farming, to pursue the development of certain + inventions of his which had met the approval of a man of means who, unable + himself to devise, could yet understand a device: he saw that there was + use, and consequently money in them, and wisely put it in Sandy's power to + perfect them. He was in consequence but little at home, and when Dawtie + went to see her parents, as she could much oftener now, Andrew and she + generally met without a third. However many weeks might have passed, they + always met as if they had parted only the night before. There was neither + shyness nor forwardness in Dawtie. Perhaps a livelier rose might tinge her + sweet round cheek when she saw Andrew; perhaps a brighter spark shone in + the pupil of Andrew's eye; but they met as calmly as two prophets in the + secret of the universe, neither anxious nor eager. The old relation + between them was the more potent that it made so little outward show. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything for me, Andrew?” Dawtie would say, in the strong + dialect which her sweet voice made so pleasant to those that loved her; + whereupon Andrew, perhaps without immediate answer more than a smile, + would turn into his room, and reappear with what he had got ready for her + to “chew upon” till they should meet again. Milton's sonnet, for instance, + to the “virgin wise and pure,” had long served her aspiration; equally + wise and pure, Dawtie could understand it as well as she for whom it was + written. To see the delight she took in it, would have been a joy to any + loving student of humanity. It had cost her more effort to learn than + almost any song, and perhaps therefore it was the more precious. Andrew + seldom gave her a book to learn from; in general he copied, in his + clearest handwriting, whatever poem or paragraph he thought fit for + Dawtie; and when they met, she would not unfrequently, if there was time, + repeat unasked what she had learned, and be rewarded with his unfailing + look of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + There was a secret between them—a secret proclaimed on the + house-tops, a secret hidden, the most precious of pearls, in their hearts—that + the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; that its work is the + work of the Lord, whether the sowing of the field, the milking of the cow, + the giving to the poor, the spending of wages, the reading of the Bible; + that God is all in all, and every throb of gladness His gift; that their + life came fresh every moment from His heart; that what was lacking to them + would arrive the very moment He had got them ready for it. They were God's + little ones in God's world—none the less their own that they did not + desire to swallow it, or thrust it in their pockets. + </p> + <p> + Among poverty-stricken Christians, consumed with care to keep a hold of + the world and save their souls, they were as two children of the house. By + living in the presence of the living One, they had become themselves His + presence—dim lanterns through which His light shone steady. Who + obeys, shines. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. SANDY AND GEORGE. + </h2> + <p> + Sandy had found it expedient to go to America, and had now been there a + twelvemonth; he had devised a machine of the value of which not even his + patron could be convinced—that is, he could not see the prospect of + its making money fast enough to constitute it a <i>good thing</i>. Sandy + regarded it as a discovery, a revelation for the uplifting of a certain + down-trodden portion of the community; and therefore, having saved a + little money, had resolved to make it known in the States, where insight + into probabilities is fresher. And now Andrew had a letter from him in + which he mentioned that he had come across Mr. Crawford, already of high + repute in Wall Street; that he had been kind to him, and having learned + his object in visiting the country, and the approximate risk in bringing + out his invention, had taken the thing into consideration. But the next + mail brought another letter to the effect that, having learned the nature + of the business done by Mr. Crawford, he found himself unable to + distinguish between it and gambling, or worse; it seemed to him a vortex + whose very emptiness drew money into it. He had therefore drawn back, and + declined to put the thing in Crawford's hands. This letter Andrew gave + Dawtie to read, that she might see that Sandy remained a true man. He had + never been anxious on the point, but was very glad that ignorance had not + drawn him into an evil connection. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie took the letter with her to read at her leisure. Unable, however, + to understand something Sandy said concerning Mr. Crawford's business, she + asked a question or two of her mistress, which led to questions on Alexa's + part. Finding what was the subject of Sandy's letter, she wished to see + it. Dawtie asked leave of Andrew, and gave it her. + </p> + <p> + Alexa was both distressed and indignant becoming at once George's + partisan. Her distress diminished and her indignation increased as she + reflected on the <i>airt</i> whence the unfavorable report reached her; + the brothers were such peculiar men! She recalled the strange things she + had heard of their childhood; doubtless the judgment was formed on an + overstrained and quixotic idea of honesty! Besides, there had always been + a strong socialistic tendency in them, which explained how Sandy could + malign his benefactor! George was incapable of doing anything + dishonorable! She would not trouble herself about it. But she would like + to know how Andrew regarded the matter. + </p> + <p> + She asked him therefore what he thought of Sandy's procedure. Andrew + replied that he did not know much about business; but that the only safety + must lie in having nothing to do with what was doubtful; therefore Sandy + had done right. Alexa said it was too bad of him to condemn where he + confessed ignorance. Andrew replied: + </p> + <p> + “Ma'am, if Mr. Crawford is wrong he is condemned; if he is right my + private doubt can not hurt him. Sandy must act by his own doubt, not by + Mr. Crawford's confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa grew more distressed, for she began to recall things George had said + which at the time she had not liked, but which she had succeeded in + forgetting. If he had indeed gone astray, she hoped he would forget her; + she could do without him! But the judgment of such a man as Sandy could + settle nothing. Of humble origin and childish simplicity, he could not see + the thing as a man of experience must. George might be all right + notwithstanding. At the same time there was his father—whose + reputation remained under a thick cloud, whose failed character rather + than his ill-success had driven George to the other continent. Breed must + go for something in a question of probabilities. It was the first time + Alexa's thoughts had been turned into such a channel. She clung to the + poor comfort that something must have passed at the interview so kindly + sought by George to set the quixotical young farmer against him. She would + not utter his name to Andrew ever again! + </p> + <p> + She was right in thinking that George cherished a sincere affection for + her. It was one of the spurs which drove him too eagerly after money. I + doubt if any man starts with a developed love of money for its own sake—except + indeed he be born of generations of mammon worshipers. George had gone + into speculation with the object of retrieving the position in which he + had supposed himself born, and in the hope of winning the hand of his + cousin—thinking too much of himself to offer what would not in the + eyes of the world be worth her acceptance. When he stepped on the inclined + plane of dishonesty he believed himself only engaging in “legitimate + speculation;” but he was at once affected by the atmosphere about him. + Wrapped in the breath of admiration and adulation surrounding men who + cared for <i>nothing</i> but money-making, men who were not merely + dishonest, but the very serpents of dishonesty, against whom pickpockets + will “stick off” as angels of light; constantly under the softly + persuasive influence of low morals and extravagant appreciation of + cunning, he came by rapid degrees to think less and less of right and + wrong. At first he called the doings of the place dishonest; then he + called them sharp practice; then he called them a little shady; then, + close sailing; then he said this or that transaction was deuced clever; + then, the man was more rogue than fool; then he laughed at the success of + a vile trick; then he touched the pitch, and thinking all the time it was + but with one finger, was presently besmeared all over—as was + natural, for he who will touch is already smeared. + </p> + <p> + While Alexa was fighting his battles with herself he had thrown down his + arms in the only battle worth fighting. When he wrote to her, which he did + regularly, he said no more about business than that his prospects were + encouraging; how much his reticence may have had to do with a sense of her + disapproval I can not tell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + </h2> + <p> + One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from + the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was + setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it + touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the sun, + but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher source, from + the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, ran down the + hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and daughter + neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their faces glowed + with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed between them. + </p> + <p> + “But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's + to the fore. They tret me—I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as + if they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the + Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye + canna think!” + </p> + <p> + “Then what's broucht ye the day?” + </p> + <p> + “I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's the + best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's the + best man i' the warl'!” + </p> + <p> + “What mean ye by that, mother?” said Dawtie, looking a little scared. “Am + I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae him? + Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God—to + lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I <i>wull</i> lo'e + An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye maun + hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!” + </p> + <p> + “It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he aye + shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the better? + It's little ferly (<i>marvel</i>) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him for my + ain man, as ye hae my father!—mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' to + think o' ony sic a thing!—clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til ye! + Only luik to yer hert.” + </p> + <p> + “As for no' lo'ein' him, mither—me that canna luik at a blin' + kittlin' ohn lo'ed it!—lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me + no' to lo'e An'rew!” + </p> + <p> + “Andrew!” she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's + worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd. + </p> + <p> + Silence followed, but the mother was brooding. + </p> + <p> + “Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew + seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the earl + seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the earl's + had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than did her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks o' + nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik doon. + He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl himsel'!” + </p> + <p> + The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried + fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the + simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions + about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself + whom she loved and obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “If Andrew wanted to marry me,” Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine + liberty of her teacher, “which never cam intil's heid—na, no ance—the + same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was but + a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the Sabbath + day, and we'll hae a walk thegither.” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day,” said the + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!” + </p> + <p> + “And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!” + </p> + <p> + “He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!” + </p> + <p> + “And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this His + warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He gae + me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the ooter + mirk (<i>darkness</i>)!” + </p> + <p> + “There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be + mysel'.” + </p> + <p> + “Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?” + </p> + <p> + “Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad be + a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this warl' or + the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at the lang + last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will be as sure + o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus tellin' me the + same frae mornin' to nicht!” + </p> + <p> + “Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!” + </p> + <p> + “It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my ain + min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak His + mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, and run + ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!” + </p> + <p> + “As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' woman, + for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp the Lord + winna be disappointit in ye.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she had + something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go with him + in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but he did not + say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk from the + press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her with a sober + joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes off her, she sat + looking so well and nice and trim. He was a good-looking, work-worn man, + his hands absolutely horny with labor. But inside many such horny husks + are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for the time when “dear welcome + Death” will loose and let us go from the grave-clothes of the body that + bind some of us even hand and foot. Rugged father and withered mother were + beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, and she and God saw them better than any + other. Good, endless good was on the way to them all! It was so pleasant + to be waiting for the best of all good things. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. ANDREW AND DAWTIE. + </h2> + <p> + Dawtie slept in peace and happy dreams till the next morning, when she was + up almost with the sun, and out in his low clear light. For the sun was + strong again; the red labor and weariness were gone from his shining face. + Everything about her seemed to know God, or at least to have had a + moment's gaze upon Him. How else could everything look so content, hopeful + and happy. It is the man who will not fall in with the Father's bliss to + whom the world seems soulless and dull. Dawtie was at peace because she + desired nothing but what she knew He was best pleased to give her. Even + had she cherished for Andrew the kind of love her mother feared, her + Lord's will would have been her comfort and strength. If any one say: + “Then she could not know what love is!” I answer: “That person does not + know what the better love is that lifts the being into such a serene air + that it can fast from many things and yet be blessed beyond what any other + granted desire could make it.” The scent of the sweet-pease growing + against the turf wall entered Dawtie's soul like a breath from the fields + of heaven, where the children made merry with the angels, the merriest of + playfellows, and the winds and waters, and all the living things, and all + the things half alive, all the flowers and all the creatures, were at + their sportive call; where the little ones had babies to play with, and + did not hurt them, and where dolls were neither loved nor missed, being + never thought of. Suchlike were the girl's imaginings as her thoughts went + straying, inventing, discovering. She did not fear the Father would be + angry with her for being His child, and playing at creation. Who, indeed, + but one that in loving heart can <i>make</i>, can rightly love the making + of the Maker! + </p> + <p> + When they had had their breakfast, and the old people were ready for + church—where they would listen a little, sleep a little, sing + heartily, and hear nothing to wake hunger, joy or aspiration, Dawtie put a + piece of oat-cake in her pocket, and went to join Andrew where they had + made their tryst and where she found him waiting—at his length in a + bush of heather, with Henry Vaughan's “Silex Scintillans,” drawing from it + “bright shoots of everlastingness” for his Sabbath day's delight. He read + one or two of the poems to Dawtie, who was pleased but not astonished—she + was never astonished at anything; she had nothing in her to make anything + beautiful by contrast; her mind was of beauty itself, and anything + beautiful was to her but in the order and law of things—what was to + be expected. Nothing struck her because of its rarity; the rare was at + home in her country, and she was at home with it. When, for instance, he + read: “Father of lights, what sunny seeds,” she took it up at once and + understood it, felt that the good man had said the thing that was to be + said, and loved him for it. She was not surprised to hear that the prayer + was more than two hundred years old; were there not millions of years in + front? why should it be wonderful that a few years behind men should have + thought and felt as she did, and been able to say it as she never could! + Had she not always loved the little cocks, and watched them learning to + crow? + </p> + <p> + “But, An'rew,” she said at length, “I want to tell ye something that's + troublin' me; then ye can learn me what ye like.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell on, Dawtie,” said Andrew; and she began. + </p> + <p> + “Ae nicht aboot a fornight ago, I couldna sleep. I drave a' the sheep I + could gether i' my brain, ower ae stile efter anither, but the sleep stack + to the woo' o' them, an' ilk ane took o' 't awa' wi' him. I wadna hae + tried, but that I had to be up ear', and I was feared I wad sleep in.” + </p> + <p> + For the sake of my more polished readers—I do not say more <i>refined</i>, + for polish and refinement may be worlds apart—I will give the rest + in modern English. + </p> + <p> + “So I got up, and thought to sweep and dust the hall and the stairs; then + if, when I lay down again, I should sleep too long, there would be a part + of the day's work done! You know, Andrew, what the house is like; at the + top of the stair that begins directly you enter the house, there is a big + irregular place, bigger than the floor of your barn, laid with flags. It + is just as if all the different parts of the house had been built at + different times round about it, and then it was itself roofed in by an + after-thought. That's what we call <i>the hall</i>. The spare room opens + on the left at the top of the stair, and to the right, across the hall, + beyond the swell of the short thick tower you see the half of outside, is + the door of the study. It is all round with books—some of them, + mistress says, worth their weight in gold, they are so scarce. But the + master trusts me to dust them. He used to do it himself; but now that he + is getting old, he does not like the trouble, and it makes him asthmatic. + He says books more need dusting than anything else, but are in more danger + of being hurt by it, and it makes him nervous to see me touch them. I have + known him stand an hour watching me while I dusted, looking all the time + as if he had just taken a dose of medicine. So I often do a few books at a + time, as I can, when he is not in the way to be worried with it. But he + always knows where I have been with my duster and long-haired brush. And + now it came across me that I had better dust some books first of all, as + it was a good chance, he being sound asleep. So I lighted my lamp, went + straight to the study, and began where I last left off. + </p> + <p> + “As I was dusting, one of the books I came to looked so new and different + from the rest that I opened it to see what it was like inside. It was full + of pictures of mugs, and gold and silver jugs and cups—some of them + plain and some colored; and one of the colored ones was so beautiful that + I stood and looked at it. It was a gold cup, I suppose, for it was yellow; + and all round the edge, and on the sides, it was set with stones, like the + stones in mistress's rings, only much bigger. They were blue and red and + green and yellow, and more colors than I can remember. The book said it + was made by somebody, but I forget his name. It was a long name. The first + part of it began with a <i>B</i>, and the second with a <i>C</i>, I + remember that much. It was like <i>Benjamin</i>, but it wasn't <i>Benjamin</i>. + I put it back in its place, thinking I would ask the master whether there + really were such beautiful things, and took down the next. Now whether + that had been passed over between two batches I don't know, but it was so + dusty that before I would touch another I gave the duster a shake, and the + wind of it blew the lamp out I took it up to take it to the kitchen and + kindle it again, when, to my astonishment, I saw a light under the door of + a press which was always locked, and where master said he kept his most + precious books. 'How strange!' I thought; 'a light inside a locked + cupboard!' Then I remembered how in one place where I had been there was, + in a room over the stable, a press whose door had no fastening except a + bolt on the inside, which set me thinking, and some terrible things came + to me that made me remember it. So now I said to myself: 'There's some one + in there, after master's books!' It was not a likely thing, but the night + is the time for fancies, and in the night you don't know what is likely + and what is not. One thing, however, was clear—I ought to find out + what the light meant. Fearful things darted one after the other through my + head as I went to the door, but there was one thing I dared not do, and + that was to leave it unopened. So I opened it as softly as I could, in + terror lest the thief should hear my heart beating. When I could peep in + what do you think I saw? I could not believe my eyes! There was a great + big room! I rubbed my eyes, and stared; and rubbed them again and stared—thinking + to rub it away; but there it was, a big odd-shaped room, part of it with + round sides, and in the middle of the room a table, and on the table a + lamp, burning as I had never seen lamp burn, and master at the table with + his back to me. I was so astonished I forgot that I had no business there, + and ought to go away. I stood like an idiot, mazed and lost. And you will + not wonder when I tell you that the laird was holding up to the light, + between his two hands, the very cup I had been looking at in the book, the + stones of it flashing all the colors of the rainbow. I should think it a + dream, if I did not <i>know</i> it was not. I do not believe I made any + noise, for I could not move, but he started up with a cry to God to + preserve him, set the cup on the table, threw something over it, caught up + a wicked-looking knife, and turned round. His face was like that of a + corpse, and I could see him tremble. I stood steady; it was no time then + to turn away. I supposed he expected to see a robber, and would be glad + when he discovered it was only me; but when he did his fear changed to + anger, and he came at me. His eyes were flaming, and he looked as if he + would kill me. I was not frightened—poor old man, I was able for him + any day!—but I was afraid of hurting him. So I closed the door + quickly, and went softly to my own room, where I stood a long time in the + dark, listening, but heard nothing more. What am I to do, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that you have to do anything. You have one thing not to do, + that is—tell anybody what you have seen.” + </p> + <p> + “I was forced to tell <i>you</i> because I did not know what to do. It + makes me <i>so</i> sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “It was no fault of yours. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and + could not help what came of it. Perhaps nothing more will come. Leave the + thing alone, and if he say anything tell him how it happened.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Andrew, I don't think you see what it is that troubles me. I am + afraid my master is a miser. The mistress and he take their meals, like + poor people, in the kitchen. That must be the dining-room of the house!—and + though my eyes were tethered to the flashing cup, I could not help seeing + it was full of strange and beautiful things. Among them, I knew, by + pictures I had seen, the armor of knights, when they fought on their + horses' backs. Before people had money they must have misered other + things. Some girls miser their clothes, and never go decent!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose him a miser,” said Andrew, “what could you do? How are you to + help it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I want to know. I love my master, and there must be a way to + help it. It was terrible to see him, in the middle of the night, gazing at + that cup as if he had found the most precious thing that can ever have + existed on the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + He delighted in Dawtie's talk. It was like an angel's, he said, both in + its ignorance and its wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “You can't have forgotten, Andrew. It's impossible!” she answered. “I + heard you say yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man!” resumed Dawtie; “he looked at the cup as you might at that + manuscript! His soul was at it, feasting upon it! Now wasn't that + miserly?” + </p> + <p> + “It was like it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I love my master,” repeated Dawtie, thus putting afresh the question + what she was to do. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you love him, Dawtie?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm set to love him. Besides, we're told to love our enemies—then + surely we're to love our friends. He has always been a friend to me. He + never said a hard word to me, even when I was handling his books. He + trusts me with them! I can't help loving him—a good deal, Andrew! + And it's what I've got to do!” + </p> + <p> + “There's not a doubt about it, Dawtie. You've got to love him, and you do + love him!” + </p> + <p> + “But there's more than that, Andrew. To hear the laird talk you would + think he cared more for the Bible than for the whole world—not to + say gold cups. He talks of the merits of the Saviour, that you would think + he loved Him with all his heart. But I can not get it out of my mind, ever + since I saw that look on his face, that he loves that cup—that it's + his graven image—his idol! How else should he get up in the middle + of the night to—to—to—well, it was just like worshiping + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're afraid then that he's a hypocrite, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “No; I daren't think that—if it were only for fear I should stop + loving him—and that would be as bad!” + </p> + <p> + “As bad as what, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't always know what I'm going to say,” answered Dawtie, a little + embarrassed, “and then when I've said it I have to look what it means. But + isn't it as bad not to love a human being as it would be to love a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps worse,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Something must be done!” she went on. “He can't be left like that! But if + he has any love to his Master, how is it that the love of that Master does + not cast out the love of Mammon? I can't understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have asked a hard question, Dawtie. But a cure may be going on, and + take a thousand years or ages to work it out.” + </p> + <p> + “What if it shouldn't be begun yet.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “What then am I to do, Andrew? You always say we must <i>do</i> something! + You say there is no faith but what <i>does</i> something!” + </p> + <p> + “The apostle James said so, a few years before I was born, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make fun of me—please, Andrew! I like it, but I can't bear it + to-day, my head is so full of the poor old laird!” + </p> + <p> + “Make fun of you, Dawtie! Never! But I don't know yet how to answer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what <i>am</i> I to do?” persisted Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to + do, don't do anything—only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And + until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything.” + </p> + <p> + With this answer Dawtie was content. + </p> + <p> + Business was over, and they turned to go home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. DAWTIE AND THE CUP. + </h2> + <p> + The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric. Believing himself a true lover + of literature, and especially of poetry, he would lecture for ten minutes + on the right mode of reading a verse in Hilton or Dante; but as to Satan + or Beatrice, would pin his faith to the majority of the commentators: + Milton's Satan was too noble, and Beatrice was no woman, but Theology. He + was discriminative to a degree altogether admirable as to the brightness + or wrongness of a proposition with regard to conduct, but owed his + respectability to good impulses without any effort of the will. He was + almost as orthodox as Paul before his conversion, lacking only the heart + and the courage to persecute. Whatever the eternal wisdom saw in him, the + thing most present to his own consciousness was the love of rare historic + relics. And this love was so mingled in warp and woof, that he did not + know whether a thing was more precious to him for its rarity, its money + value, or its historico-reliquary interest. All the time he was a + school-master, he saved every possible half-penny to buy books, not + because of their worth or human interest, but because of their literary + interest, or the scarcity of the book or edition. In the holidays he would + go about questing for the prey that his soul loved, hunting after precious + things; but not even the precious things of the everlasting hills would be + precious to him until they had received the stamp of curiosity. His life + consisted in a continual search for something new that was known as known + of old. It had hardly yet occurred to him that he must one day leave his + things and exist without them, no longer to brood over them, take them in + his hands, turn, and stroke, and admire them; yet, strange to say, he + would at times anxiously seek to satisfy himself that he was safe for a + better world, as he <i>called</i> it—to feel certain, that is, that + his faith was of the sort he supposed intended by Paul—not that he + had himself gathered anything from the apostle, but all from the + traditions of his church concerning the teaching of the apostle. He was + anxious, I say, as to his safety for the world to come, and yet, while his + dearest joy lay treasured in that hidden room, he never thought of the + hour when he must leave it all, and go houseless and pocketless, + empty-handed if not armless, in the wide, closetless space, hearing ever + in the winds and the rain and the sound of the sea-waves, the one question—“Whose + shall those things be which thou hast provided?” Like the rich man to whom + God said the words, he had gathered much goods for many years—hundreds + and hundreds of things, every one of which he knew, and every one of which + he loved. A new scratch on the bright steel of one of his suits of armor + was a scratch on his heart; the moth and the rust troubled him sore, for + he could not keep them away; and where his treasure was, there was his + heart, devoured by the same moth, consumed by the same rust. He had much + suffering from his possessions—was more exposed to misery than the + miser of gold, for the hoarded coin of the latter may indeed be stolen, + but he fears neither moth nor rust nor scratch nor decay. The laird + cherished his things as no mother her little ones. Nearly sixty years he + had been gathering them, and their money-worth was great, but he had no + idea of its amount, for he could not have endured the exposure and + handling of them which a valuation must involve. + </p> + <p> + His love for his books had somewhat declined in the growth of his love for + things, and now, by degrees not very slow, his love for his things was + graduating itself after what he supposed their money-value. His soul not + only clave to the dust but was going deeper and deeper in the dust as it + wallowed. All day long he was living in the past and growing old in it—it + is one thing to grow old in the past, and another to grow old in the + present! As he took his walk about his farms, or sat at his meals, or held + a mild, soulless conversation with his daughter, his heart was growing + old, not healthily in the present, which is to ripen, but unwholesomely in + the past, which is to consume with a dry rot. While he read the Bible at + prayers, trying hard to banish worldly things from his mind, his thoughts + were not in the story or the argument he read, but hovering, like a bird + over its nest, about the darlings of his heart. Yea, even while he prayed, + his soul, instead of casting off the clay of the world, was loaded and + dragged down with all the still-moldering, slow-changing things that lined + the walls and filled the drawers and cabinets of his treasure-chamber. It + was a place of whose existence not even his daughter knew; for before ever + she entered the house, he had taken with him a mason from the town, and + built up the entrance to it from the hall, ever afterward keeping the + other door of it that opened from his study carefully locked, and leaving + it to be regarded as the door of a closet. + </p> + <p> + It was as terrible as Dawtie felt it, that a live human soul should thus + haunt the sepulcher of the past, and love the lifeless, turning a room + hitherto devoted to hospitality and mirthful intercourse into the temple + of his selfish idolatry. It was as one of the rooms carved for the dead in + the Beban El Malook. Sure, if left to himself, the ghost that loved it + would haunt the place! But he could not surely be permitted! for it might + postpone a thousand years his discovery of the emptiness of a universe of + such treasures. Now he was moldering into the world of spirits in the + heart of an avalanche of the dust of ages, dust material from his hoards, + dust moral and spiritual from his withering soul itself. + </p> + <p> + The next day he was ill, which, common as is illness to humanity, was + strange, for it had never befallen him before. He was unable to leave his + bed. But he never said a word to his daughter, who alone waited on him, as + to what had happened in the night. He had passed it sleepless, and without + the possibility of a dream on which to fall back; yet, when morning came, + he was in much doubt whether what he had seen—the face, namely, of + Dawtie, peeping in at the door—was a reality, or but a vision of the + night. For when he opened the door which she had closed, all was dark, and + not the slightest sound reached his quick ear from the swift foot of her + retreat. He turned the key twice, and pushed two bolts, eager to regard + the vision as a providential rebuke of his carelessness in leaving the + door on the latch—for the first time, he imagined. Then he tottered + back to his chair, and sunk on it in a cold sweat. For, although the + confidence grew, that what he had seen was but + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + a false creation + Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain, +</pre> + <p> + it was far from comfortable to feel that he could no longer depend upon + his brain to tell him only the thing that was true. What if he were going + out of his mind, on the way to encounter a succession of visions—without + reality, but possessed of its power! What if they should be such whose + terror would compel him to disclose what most he desired to keep covered? + How fearful to be no more his own master, but at the beck and call of a + disordered brain, a maniac king in a <i>cosmos acosmos</i>! Better it had + been Dawtie, and she had seen in his hands Benvenuto Cellini's chalice + made for Pope Clement the Seventh to drink therefrom the holy wine—worth + thousands of pounds! Perhaps she had seen it! No, surely she had not! He + must be careful not to make her suspect! He would watch her and say + nothing! + </p> + <p> + But Dawtie, conscious of no wrong, and full of love to the old man, showed + an untroubled face when next she met him; and he made up his mind that he + would rather have her ignorant. Thenceforward, naturally though + childishly, he was even friendlier to her than before: it was so great a + relief to find that he had not to fear her! + </p> + <p> + The next time Dawtie was dusting the books, she felt strongly drawn to + look again at the picture of the cup: it seemed now to hold in it a human + life! She took down the book, and began where she stood to read what it + said about the chalice, referring as she read from letterpress to drawing. + It was taken from an illumination in a missal, where the cup was known to + have been copied; and it rendered the description in the letterpress + unnecessary except in regard to the stones and <i>dessins repoussés</i> on + the hidden side. She quickly learned the names of the gems, that she might + see how many were in the high-priest's breast-plate and the gates of the + new Jerusalem, then proceeded to the history of the chalice. She read that + it had come into the possession of Cardinal York, the brother of Charles + Edward Stuart, and had been by him intrusted to his sister-in-law, the + Duchess of Albany, from whose house it disappeared, some said stolen, + others said sold. It came next to the historic surface in the possession + of a certain earl whose love of curiosities was well known; but from his + collection again it vanished, this time beyond a doubt stolen, and + probably years before it was missed. + </p> + <p> + A new train of thought was presently in motion in the mind of the girl: <i>The + beautiful cup was stolen! it was not where it ought to be! it was not at + home! it was a captive, a slave</i>! She lowered the book, half closed, + with a finger between the leaves, and stood thinking. She did not for a + moment believe her master had stolen it, though the fear did flash through + her mind. It had been stolen and sold, and he had bought it at length of + some one whose possession of it was nowise suspicious! But he must know + now that it had been stolen, for here, with the cup, was the book which + said so! That would be nothing if the rightful owner were not known, but + he was known, and the thing ought to be his! The laird might not be bound, + she was not sure, to restore it at his own loss, for when he bought it he + was not aware that it was stolen; but he was bound to restore it at the + price he had paid for it, if the former owner would give it! This was bare + justice! mere righteousness! No theft could make the owner not the + rightful owner, though other claims upon the thing might come in! One + ought not to be enriched by another's misfortune! Dawtie was sure that a + noble of the kingdom of heaven would not wait for the money, but would + with delight send the cup where it ought to have been all the time! She + knew better, however, than require magnificence in any shape from the poor + wizened soul of her master—a man who knew all about everything, and + whom yet she could not but fear to <i>be</i> nothing: as Dawtie had + learned to understand life, the laird did not yet exist. But he well knew + right from wrong, therefore the discovery she just made affected her duty + toward him! It might be impossible to make impression on the miserliness + of a miser, but upon the honesty in a miser it might be possible! The + goblet was not his! + </p> + <p> + But the love of things dulls the conscience, and he might not be able, + having bought and paid for it, to see that the thing was not therefore <i>his</i>! + he might defend himself from seeing it! To Dawtie, this made the horror of + his condition the darker. She was one of God's babes, who can not help + seeing the true state of things. Logic was to her but the smoke that rose + from the burning truth; she saw what is altogether above and beyond logic—the + right thing, whose meanest servant, the hewer of its wood, not the drawer + of its water, the merest scullion and sweeper away of lies from the + pavement of its courts, is logic. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh she woke to the knowledge that she was not doing her work, and + rousing herself, was about to put the book on its shelf. But, her finger + being still in the place, she would have one more glance at the picture! + To her dismay she saw that she had made a mark on the plate, and of the + enormity of making a dirty mark on a book her master had made her well + aware. + </p> + <p> + She was in great distress. What was to be done? She did not once think of + putting it away and saying nothing. To have reasoned that her master would + never know, would have been an argument, pressing and imperative, for + informing him at once. She had done him an injury, and the injury must be + confessed and lamented; it was all that was left to be done! “Sic a + mischance!” she said, then bethought herself that there was no such thing + as mischance, when immediately it flashed upon her that here was the door + open for the doing of what was required of her. She was bound to confess + the wrong, and that would lead in the disclosure of what she knew, + rendering it comparatively easy to use some remonstrance with the laird, + whom in her mind's eye she saw like a beggar man tottering down a steep + road to a sudden precipice. Her duty was now so plain that she felt no + desire to consult Andrew. She was not one to ask an opinion for the sake + of talking opinion; she went to Andrew only when she wanted light to do + the right thing; when the light was around her, she knew how to walk, and + troubled no one. + </p> + <p> + At once she laid down book and duster, and went to find the laird. But he + had slipped away to the town, to have a rummage in a certain little shop + in a back street, which he had not rummaged for a long time enough, he + thought, to have let something come in. It was no relief to Dawtie: the + thing would be all the day before her instead of behind her! It burned + within her, not like a sin, but like what it was, a confession + unconfessed. Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with + the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the + turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the <i>coup de + grâce</i> to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of + her master, and yet she dreaded more his distress. + </p> + <p> + She prepared the laird's supper with a strange mingling of hope and + anxiety: she feared having to go to bed without telling him. But he came + at last, almost merry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, over which + he was very careful. Poor man, he little knew there waited him at the + moment a demand from the eternal justice almost as terrible as: “This + night they require thy soul of thee!”—(What a <i>they</i> is that! + Who are <i>they</i>?)—The torture of the moral rack was ready for + him at the hands of his innocent house-maid! In no way can one torture + another more than by waking conscience against love, passion, or pride. + </p> + <p> + He laid his little parcel carefully on the supper-table, said rather a + shorter grace than usual, began to eat his porridge, praised it as very + good, spoke of his journey and whom he had seen, and was more talkative + than his wont He informed Alexa, almost with jubilation, that he had at + length found an old book he had been long on the watch for—a book + that treated, in ancient broad Scots, of the laws of verse, in full, even + exhaustive manner. He pulled it from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It is worth at least ten times what I gave for it!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie wondered whether there ought not to have been some division of the + difference; but she was aware of no call to speak. One thing was enough + for one night! + </p> + <p> + Then came prayers. The old man read how David deceived the Philistines, + telling them a falsehood as to his raids. He read the narrative with a + solemnity of tone that would have graced the most righteous action: was it + not the deed of a man according to God's own heart?—how could it be + other than right! Casuist ten times a week, he made no question of the + righteousness of David's wickedness! Then he prayed, giving thanks for the + mercy that had surrounded them all the day, shielding them from the danger + and death which lurked for them in every corner. What would he say when + death did get him? Dawtie thought. Would he thank God then? And would he + see, when she spoke to him, that God wanted to deliver him from a worse + danger than any out-of-doors? Would he see that it was from much mercy he + was made more uncomfortable than perhaps ever in his life before? + </p> + <p> + At length his offering was completed—how far accepted who can tell! + He was God's, and He who gave him being would be his Father to the full + possibility of God. They rose from their knees; the laird took up his + parcel and book; his daughter went with him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her master + to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was shut + behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to it, + and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still there + was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little fumbling with + the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, bedewed with drops + of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little back, and the eyes + did not at once find the object they sought; then suddenly they lighted on + her, and the laird shook from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Dawtie?” he faltered out in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” answered Dawtie, “I have something to confess: would ye + hearken to me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!” returned the old + man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the importance + of the room whose entrance she had discovered. “Or,” he went on, finding + she did not move, “if you have done anything, Dawtie, that you ought not + to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must confess, not to a + poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I forgive you, and + there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the + door o' this room, and sit till—” + </p> + <p> + “What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I + say my prayers before I go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a + deliberate lie—two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the + largest room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since + first he entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, + for he had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to + save his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor + enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he must + hold to the lie! He <i>dared</i> not confess it! He stood sick and + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait, sir,” said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more + distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was + further down the wrong road than she had supposed! + </p> + <p> + Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face—for + did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?—she + turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and closed + the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her power. + </p> + <p> + Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she remembered + that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they should speak; + for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So she began by + simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she said, “I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark in + one of your books!” + </p> + <p> + Her words alarmed him a little, and made him forget for the instant his + more important fears. But he took care to be gentle with her; it would not + do to offend her! for was she not aware that where they stood was a door + by which he went in and out? + </p> + <p> + “You make me uneasy, Dawtie!” he said. “What book was it? Let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to take it down, but the laird followed her, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Point it out to me, Dawtie. I will get it.” + </p> + <p> + She did so. It opened at the plate. + </p> + <p> + “There is the mark!” she said. “I am right sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I!” returned the laird. “But,” he added, willing she should feel + his clemency, and knowing the book was not a rare one, “it is a book + still, and you will be more careful another time! For you must remember, + Dawtie, that you don't come into this room to read the books, but to dust + them. You can go to bed now with an easy mind, I hope!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that + the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What + would she not have encountered for his deliverance! + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” she said, “let me show you a thing you never perhaps + happened to read!” And taking the book from his hand—he was too much + astonished to retain it—she turned over the engraving, and showed + him the passage which stated that the cup had disappeared from the + possession of its owner, and had certainly been stolen. + </p> + <p> + Finding he said not a word, she ventured to lift her eyes to his, and saw + again the corpse-like face that had looked through the chink of the door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he stammered. “I do not understand!” + </p> + <p> + His lips trembled: was it possible he had had to do with the stealing of + it? + </p> + <p> + The truth was this: he had learned the existence of the cup from this very + book; and had never rested until, after a search of more than ten years, + he at length found it in the hands of a poor man who dared not offer it + for sale. Once in his possession, the thought of giving it up, or of + letting the owner redeem it, had never even occurred to him. Yet the + treasure made him rejoice with a trembling which all his casuistry would + have found it hard to explain; for he would not confess to himself its + real cause—namely, that his God-born essence was uneasy with a vague + knowledge that it lay in the bosom of a thief. “Don't you think, sir,” + said Dawtie, “that whoever has that cup ought to send it back to the place + it was stolen from?” + </p> + <p> + Had the old man been a developed hypocrite, he would have replied at once: + “He certainly ought.” But by word of mouth to condemn himself would have + been to acknowledge to himself that he ought to send the cup home, and + this he dared not do. Men who will not do as they know, make strange + confusion in themselves. The worst rancor in the vessel of peace is the + consciousness of wrong in a not all-unrighteous soul. The laird was false + to his own self, but to confess himself false would be to initiate a + change which would render life worthless to him! What would all his fine + things be without their heart of preciousness, the one jewel that now was + nowhere in the world but in his house, in the secret chamber of his + treasures, which would be a rifled case without it! As is natural to one + who will not do right, he began to argue the moral question, treating it + as a point of casuistry that troubled the mind of the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that, Dawtie!” he said. “It is not likely that the person + that has the cup, whoever he may be—that is, if the cup be still in + existence—is the same who stole it; and it would hardly be justice + to punish the innocent for the guilty?—as would be the case, if, + supposing I had bought the cup, I had to lose the money I paid for it. + Should the man who had not taken care of his cup have his fault condoned + at my expense? Did he not deserve, the many might say, to be so punished, + placing huge temptation in the path of the needy, to the loss of their + precious souls, and letting a priceless thing go loose in the world, to + work ruin to whoever might innocently buy it?” + </p> + <p> + His logic did not serve to show him the falsehood of his reasoning, for + his heart was in the lie. “Ought I or he,” he went on, “to be punished + because he kept the thing ill? And how far would the quixotic obligation + descend? A score of righteous men may by this time have bought and sold + the cup!—is it some demon-talisman, that the last must meet the + penalty, when the original owner, or some descendant of the man who lost + it, chooses to claim it? For anything we know, he may himself have + pocketed the price of the rumored theft! Can you not see it would be a + flagrant injustice?—fit indeed to put an end to all buying and + selling! It would annihilate transfer of property! Possession would mean + only strength to keep, and the world would fall into confusion.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be hard, I grant,” confessed Dawtie; “but the man who has it + ought at least to give the head of the family in which it had been the + chance of buying it back at the price it cost him. If he could not buy it + back—then the thing would have to be thought over.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I don't see the thing,” returned the laird. “But the question + needs not keep you out of bed, Dawtie! It is not often a girl in your + position takes an interest in the abstract! Besides,” he resumed, another + argument occurring to him, “a thing of such historical value and interest + ought to be where it was cared for, not where it was in danger every + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “There might be something in that,” allowed Dawtie, “if it were where + everybody could see it. But where is the good if it be but for the eyes of + one man?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes she meant fixed themselves upon her till their gaze grew to a + stony stare. She <i>must</i> know that he had it! Or did she only suspect? + He must not commit himself! He must set a watch on the door of his lips! + What an uncomfortable girl to have in the house! Oh, those self-righteous + Ingrams! What mischief they did! His impulse was to dart into his + treasure-cave, lock himself in, and hug the radiant chalice. He dared not. + He must endure instead the fastidious conscience and probing tongue of an + intrusive maid-servant! + </p> + <p> + “But,” he rejoined, with an attempt at a smile, “if the pleasure the one + man took in it should, as is easy to imagine, exceed immeasurably the + aggergate pleasure of the thousands that would look upon it and pass it by—what + then?” + </p> + <p> + “The man would enjoy it the more that many saw it—except he loved it + for greed, when he would be rejoicing in iniquity, for the cup would not + be his. And anyhow, he could not take it with him when he died!” + </p> + <p> + The face of the miser grew grayer; his lip trembled; but he said nothing. + He was beginning to hate Dawtie. She was an enemy! She sought his + discomfiture, his misery! He had read strange things in certain old books, + and half believed some of them: what if Dawtie was one of those evil + powers that haunt a man in pleasant shape, learn the secrets of his heart, + and gain influence over him that they may tempt him to yield his soul to + the enemy! She was set on ruining him! Certainly she knew that cup was in + his possession! He must temporize! He must <i>seem</i> to listen! But as + soon as fit reason could be found, such as would neither compromise him + nor offend her, she must be sent away! And of all things, she must not + gain the means of proving what she now perhaps only suspected, and was + seeking assurance of! He stood thinking. It was but for a moment; for the + very next words from the lips of the girl that was to him little more than + a house-broom, set him face to face with reality—the one terror of + the unreal. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, maister, sir,” said Dawtie, with the tears in her eyes, and now at + last breaking down in her English, “dinna ye <i>ken</i> 'at ye <i>hae</i> + to gie the man 'at aucht that gowden bicker, the chance o' buyin' 't + back?” + </p> + <p> + The laird shivered. He dared not say: “How do you know?” for he dared not + hear the thing proved to him. If she did know, he would not front her + proof! He would not have her even suppose it an acknowledged fact! + </p> + <p> + “If I had the cup,” he began—but she interrupted him: it was time + they should have done with lying! + </p> + <p> + “Ye ken ye hae the cup, sir!” she said. “And I ken tu, for I saw 't i' yer + han's!” + </p> + <p> + “You shameless, prying hussy!” he began, in a rage at last—but the + eager, tearful earnestness of her face made him bethink himself: it would + not do to make an enemy of her! “Tell me, Dawtie,” he said, with sudden + change of tone, “how it was you came to see it.” + </p> + <p> + She told him all—how and when; and he knew that he had seen her see + him. + </p> + <p> + He managed to give a poor little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “All is not gold that glitters, Dawtie!” he said. “The cup you saw was not + the one in the book, but an imitation of it—mere gilded tin and + colored glass—copied from the picture, as near as they could make it—just + to see better what it must have been like. Why, my good girl, that cup + would be worth thousands of pounds! So go to bed, and don't trouble + yourself about gold cups. It is not likely any of them will come our way!” + </p> + <p> + Simple as Dawtie was, she did not believe him. But she saw no good to be + done by disputing what he ought to know. + </p> + <p> + “It wasna aboot the gold cup I was troublin' mysel'!” she said, + hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “You are right there!” he replied, with another deathly laugh, “it was + not! But you have been troubling me about nothing half the night, and I am + shivering with cold! We really must, both of us, go to bed! What would + your mistress say!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” persisted Dawtie, “it wasna aboot the cup, gowd or no gowd; it was + and is aboot my maister I'm troubled! I'm terrible feart for ye, sir! + Ye're a worshiper o' Mammon, sir!” + </p> + <p> + The laird laughed, for the danger was over!—to Dawtie's deep dismay + he laughed! + </p> + <p> + “My poor girl,” he said, “you take an innocent love of curious things for + the worship of Mammon! Don't imagine me jesting. How could you believe an + old man like me, an elder of the kirk, a dispenser of her sacred things, + guilty of the awful crime of Mammon worship?” + </p> + <p> + He imagined her ignorantly associating the idea of some idolatrous ritual + with what to him was but a phrase—the worship of Mammon. “Do you not + remember,” he continued, “the words of Christ, that a man <i>can not</i> + serve God and Mammon? If I be a Christian, as you will hardly doubt, it + follows that I am not a worshiper of Mammon, for the two can not go + together.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's just the question, sir! A man who worships God, worships Him + with his whole heart and soul and strength and mind. If he wakes at night, + it is to worship God; if he is glad in his heart, it is because God is, + and one day he shall behold His face in brightness. If a man worships God, + he loves Him so that no love can come between him and God; if the earth + were removed, and the mountains cast into the midst of the sea, it would + be all one to him, for God would be all the same. Is it not so, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a good girl, Dawtie, and I approve of every word you say. It + would more than savor of presumption to profess that I loved God up to the + point you speak of; but I deserve to love Him. Doubtless a man ought to + love God so, and we are all sinners just because we do not love God so. + But we have the atonement!” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir,” answered Dawtie, the silent tears running down her face, “I + love God that way! I don't care a dust for anything without Him! When I go + to bed, I don't care if I never wake again in this world; I shall be where + He would have me!” + </p> + <p> + “You presume, Dawtie! I fear me much you presume! What if that should be + in hell?” + </p> + <p> + “If it be, it will be the best. It will be to set me right. Oh, sir, He is + so good! Tell me one thing, sir: when you die—” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, lass! we're not come to that yet! There's no occasion to think + about that yet awhile! We're in the hands of a reconciled God.” + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know,” pursued Dawtie, “is how you will feel, how you will + get on when you haven't got anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Not got anything, girl! Are you losing your senses? Of course we shall + want nothing then! I shall have to talk to the doctor about you! We shall + have you killing us in our beds to know how we like it!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed; but it was a rather scared laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What I mean,” she persisted, “is—when you have no body, and no + hands to take hold of your cap, what will you do without it?” + </p> + <p> + “What if I leave it to you, Dawtie!” returned the laird, with a stupid + mixture of joke and avarice in his cold eye. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I didn't say what you would do with it, but what would you + do without it when it will neither come out of your heart nor into your + hands! It must be misery to a miser to <i>have</i> nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “A miser, hussy!” + </p> + <p> + “A lover of things, more than a lover of God!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you have the better of me!” he said, after a cowed pause; + for he perceived there was no compromise possible with Dawtie: she knew + perfectly what she meant; and he could neither escape her logic, nor + change her determination, whatever that might be. “I dare say you are + right! I will think what ought to be done about that cup!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, self amazed: he had committed himself!—as much as + confessed the cup genuine! But Dawtie had not been deceived, and had not + been thinking about the cup. Only it was plain that, if he would consent + to part with it for its money-worth, that would be a grand beginning + toward the renouncing of dead <i>things</i> altogether, toward the turning + to the living One the love that now gathered, clinging and haunting, about + gold cups and graved armor, and suchlike vapors and vanishings, that pass + with the sunsets and the snows. She fell on her knees, and, in the spirit + of a child and of the apostle of the Gentiles, cried, laying her little + red hands together and uplifting them to her master in purest entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, laird, laird, ye've been gude and kin' to me, and I lo'e ye, the Lord + kens! I pray ye for Christ's sake be reconciled to God, for ye hae been + servin' Mammon and no Him, and ye hae jist said we canna serve the twa, + and what 'ill come o' 't God only can tell, but it <i>maun</i> be misery!” + </p> + <p> + Words failed her. She rose, and left the room, with her apron to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The laird stood a moment or two like one lost, then went hurriedly into + his “closet,” and shut the door. Whether he went on his knees to God as + did Dawtie to Him, or began again to gloat over his Cellini goblet, I do + not know. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie cried herself to sleep, and came down in the morning very pale. Her + duty had left her exhausted, and with a kind of nausea toward all the + ornaments and books in the house. A cock crew loud under the window of the + kitchen. She dropped on her knees, said “Father of lights!” not a word + beside, rose and began to rouse the fire. + </p> + <p> + When breakfast-time came, and the laird appeared, he looked much as usual, + only a little weary, which his daughter set down to his journey the day + before. He revived, however, as soon as he had succeeded in satisfying + himself that Alexa knew nothing of what had passed. How staid, discreet, + and compact of common sense Alexa seemed to him beside Dawtie, whose want + of education left her mind a waste swamp for the vagaries of whatever + will-o'-the-wisp an overstrained religious fantasy might generate! But + however much the laird might look the same as before, he could never, + knowing that Dawtie knew what she knew, be again as he had been. + </p> + <p> + “You'll do a few of the books to-day, won't you, Dawtie,” he said, “when + you have time? I never thought I should trust any one! I would sooner have + old Meg shave me than let her dust an Elzevir! Ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was glad that at least he left the door open between them. She said + she would do a little dusting in the afternoon, and would be very careful. + Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a shoot of + compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his breakfast + almost untasted. + </p> + <p> + But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with + her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone + together. If he caught her eye, he would say—hurriedly, and as if + acknowledging a secret between them, “By and by, Dawtie;” or, “I'm + thinking about the business, Dawtie;” or, “I'm making up my mind, Dawtie!” + and so leave her. On one occasion he said, “Perhaps you will be surprised + some day, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + On her part Dawtie never felt that she had anything more to say to him. + She feared at times that she had done him evil rather than good by + pressing upon him a duty she had not persuaded him to perform. She spoke + of this fear to Andrew, but he answered decisively: + </p> + <p> + “If you believed you ought to speak to him, and have discovered in + yourself no wrong motive, you must not trouble yourself about the result. + That may be a thousand years off yet. You may have sent him into a hotter + purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We know nothing + but that God is righteous.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know + their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are + seldom to be pitied. Where people have not yet found their work, they may + be more to be pitied than those that beg their bread. When a man knows his + work and will not do it, pity him more than one who is to be hanged + to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. ANDREW AND ALEXA. + </h2> + <p> + Andrew had occasion to call on the laird to pay his father's rent, and + Alexa, who had not seen him for some time, thought him improved both in + carriage and speech, and wondered. She did not take into account his + intercourse with God, as with highest human minds, and his constant + wakefulness to carry into action what things he learned. Thus trained in + noblest fashions of freedom, it was small wonder that his bearing and + manners, the natural outcome and expression of his habits of being, should + grow in liberty. There was in them the change only of development. By the + side of such education as this, dealing with reality and inborn dignity, + what mattered any amount of ignorance as to social custom! Society may + judge its own; this man was not of it, and as much surpassed its most + accomplished pupils in all the essentials of breeding, as the apostle Paul + was a better gentleman than Mr. Nash or Mr. Brummel. The training may be + slow, but it is perfect. To him who has yielded self, all things are + possible. Andrew was aware of no difference. He seemed to himself the same + as when a boy. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had not again alluded to his brother's letter concerning George + Crawford, fearing he might say what she would find unpleasant. But now she + wanted to get a definite opinion from him in regard to certain modes of + money-making, which had naturally of late occupied a good deal of her + thought. + </p> + <p> + “What is your notion concerning money-lending—I mean at interest, + Mr. Ingram?” she said. “I hear it is objected to nowadays by some that set + up for teachers!” + </p> + <p> + “It is by no means the first time in the world's history,” answered + Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what you think of it, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I know little,” replied Andrew, “of any matter with which I have not had + to deal practically.” + </p> + <p> + “But ought not one to have his ideas ready for the time when we will have + to deal practically?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Mine would be pretty sure to be wrong,” answered Andrew; “and there is no + time to spend in gathering wrong ideas and then changing them!” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, they would be less warped by personal interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Could circumstances arise in which it would not be my first interest to + be honest?” said Andrew. “Would not my judgment be quickened by the + compulsion and the danger? In no danger myself, might I not judge too + leniently of things from which I should myself recoil? Selfishly smoother + with regard to others, because less anxious about their honesty than my + own, might I not yield them what, were I in the case, I should see at once + I dared not allow to myself? I can perceive no use in making up my mind + how to act in circumstances in which I am not—probably will never + be. I have enough to occupy me where I find myself, and should certainly + be oftener in doubt how to act, if I had bothered my brains how to think + in circumstances foreign to me. In such thinking, duty is of necessity a + comparatively feeble factor, being only duty imagined, not live duty, and + the result is the more questionable. The Lord instructed His apostles not + to be anxious what they should say when they were brought before rulers + and kings: I will leave the question of duty alone until action is + demanded of me. In the meantime I will do the duty now required of me, + which is the only preparation for the duty that is to come.” + </p> + <p> + Although Alexa had not begun to understand Andrew, she had sense enough + and righteousness enough to feel that he was somehow ahead of her, and + that it was not likely he and George Crawford would be of one mind in the + matter that occupied her, so different were their ways of looking at + things—so different indeed the things themselves they thought worth + looking at. + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a moment, then said: + </p> + <p> + “You can at least tell me what you think of gambling!” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is the meanest mode of gaining or losing money a man could + find.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he desires only to gain, and can gain only by his neighbor's + loss. One of the two must be the worse for his transaction with the other. + Each <i>must</i> wish ill to his neighbor!” + </p> + <p> + “But the risk was agreed upon between them.” + </p> + <p> + “True—but in what hope? Was it not, on the part of each, that he + would be the gainer and the other the loser? There is no common cause, + nothing but pure opposition of interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there not many things in which one must gain and the other lose?” + </p> + <p> + “There are many things in which one gains and the other loses; but if it + is essential to any transaction that only one side shall gain, the thing + is not of God.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of trading in stocks?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know enough about it to have a right to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “You can give your impression!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not give what I do not value.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose, then, you heard of a man who had made his money so, how would + you behave to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not seek his acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “If he sought yours?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be time to ask how he had made his money. Then it would be my + business.” + </p> + <p> + “What would make it your business?” + </p> + <p> + “That he sought my acquaintance. It would then be necessary to know + something about him, and the readiest question would be—how he had + made his money!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was silent for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think God cares about everything?” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” answered Andrew, and she said no more. + </p> + <p> + Andrew avoided the discussion of moral questions. He regarded the thing as + <i>vermiculate</i>, and ready to corrupt the obedience. “When you have a + thing to do,” he would say, “you will do it right in proportion to your + love of right. But do the right, and you will love the right; for by doing + it you will see it in a measure as it is, and no one can see the truth as + it is without loving it. The more you <i>talk</i> about what is right, or + even about the doing of it, the more you are in danger of exemplifying how + loosely theory may be allied to practice. Talk without action saps the + very will. Something you have to do is waiting undone all the time, and + getting more and more undone. The only refuge is <i>to do</i>.” To know + the thing he ought to do was a matter of import, to do the thing he knew + he ought to do was a matter of life and death to Andrew. He never allowed + even a cognate question to force itself upon him until he had attended to + the thing that demanded doing: it was merest common sense! + </p> + <p> + Alexa had in a manner got over her uneasiness at the report of how George + was making his money, and their correspondence was not interrupted. But + something, perhaps a movement from the world of spirit coming like the + wind, had given her one of those motions to betterment, which, however + occasioned, are the throb of the divine pulse in our life, the call of the + Father, the pull of home, and the guide thither to such as will obey them. + She had in consequence again become doubtful about Crawford, and as to + whether she was right in corresponding with him. This led to her talk with + Andrew, which, while it made her think less of his intellect, influenced + her in a way she neither understood nor even recognized. There are two + ways in which one nature may influence another for betterment—the + one by strengthening the will, the other by heightening the ideal. Andrew, + without even her suspicion of the fact, wrought in the latter way upon + Alexa. She grew more uneasy. George was coming home: how was she to + receive him? Nowise bound, they were on terms of intimacy: was she to + encourage the procession of that intimacy, or to ward attempt at nearer + approach? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. GEORGE AND ANDREW. + </h2> + <p> + George returned, and made an early appearance at Potlurg. Dawtie met him + in the court. She did not know him, but involuntarily shrunk from him. He + frowned. There was a natural repugnance between them; the one was simple, + the other double; the one was pure, the other selfish; the one loved her + neighbor, the other preyed upon his. + </p> + <p> + George was a little louder, and his manners were more studied. Alexa felt + him overblown. He was floridly at his ease. What little “atmosphere” there + had been about him was gone, and its place taken by a colored fog. His + dress was unobjectionable, and yet attracted notice; perhaps it was only + too considered. Alexa was disappointed, and a little relieved. He looked + older, yet not more manly—and rather fat. He had more of the + confidence women dislike to see a man without, than was quite pleasant + even to the confident Alexa. His speech was not a little infected with the + nasality—as easy to catch as hard to get rid of—which I + presume the Puritans carried from England to America. On the whole, George + was less interesting than Alexa had expected. + </p> + <p> + He came to her as if he would embrace her, but an instinctive movement on + her part sufficed to check him. She threw an additional heartiness into + her welcome, and kept him at arm's-length. She felt as if she had lost an + old friend, and not gained a new one. He made himself very agreeable, but + that he made himself so, made him less so. + </p> + <p> + There was more than these changes at work in her; there was still the + underlying doubt concerning him. Although not yet a live soul, she had + strong if vague ideas about right and wrong; and although she sought many + things a good deal more than righteousness, I do not see what temptation + would at once have turned her from its known paths. At the same time I do + not see what she had yet, more than hundreds of thousands of well-meaning + women, to secure her from slow decay and final ruin. + </p> + <p> + They laughed and talked together very <i>like</i> the way they used, but + “every like is not the same,” and they knew there was a difference. George + was stung by the sense of it—too much to show that he was vexed. He + laid himself out to be the more pleasing, as if determined to make her + feel what he was worth—as the man, namely, whom he imagined himself, + and valued himself on being. + </p> + <p> + It is an argument for God, to see what fools those make of themselves who, + believing there is a God, do not believe <i>in</i> Him—children who + do not know the Father. Such make up the mass of church and chapel goers. + Let an earthquake or the small-pox break loose among them, and they will + show what sort their religion is. George had got rid of the folly of + believing in the existence of a God, either interested in human affairs or + careless of them, and naturally found himself more comfortable in + consequence; for he never had believed <i>in</i> God, and it is awkward to + believe and not believe at the same moment. What he had called his <i>beliefs</i> + were as worthy of the name as those of most people, but whether he was + better or worse without them hardly interests me, and my philanthropy will + scarce serve to make me glad that he was more comfortable. + </p> + <p> + As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until at + last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in + Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the + wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where + the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to + the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge. + </p> + <p> + “The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this + creature!” he was saying as they came near. + </p> + <p> + “What rot!” said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: “Here's my old + friend, the farmer, I declare!” then to Andrew: “How do you do, Mr. + Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better + fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do + with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. “You seem to + like the look of the beast!” he said: “you ought to know what's what in + horses!” + </p> + <p> + “He is one of the finest horses I ever saw,” answered Andrew. “The man who + owns him is fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be a good one!” said George. “I gave a hundred and fifty + guineas for him yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought + him, if Sandy was right. + </p> + <p> + Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His + presence seemed to protect her a little. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you, Mr. Ingram,” she said, “to repeat what you were saying + about the horse as we came up?” + </p> + <p> + “I was saying,” answered Andrew, “that, to any one who understands a horse + it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed through + many generations to fashion such a perfection.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you indorse the development theory—do you?” said George. “I + should hardly have expected that of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think it has anything to do with what I said; no one disputes + that this horse comes of many generations of horses. The development + theory, if I understand aright, concerns itself with how his first + ancestor in his own kind came to be a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “And about that there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who believes + in the Bible!” said George. + </p> + <p> + “God makes beautiful horses,” returned Andrew; “whether He takes the one + way or the other to make them, I am sure He takes the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “You imply it is of little consequence what you believe about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had to make them it would be of consequence. But what I think of + consequence to us is—that He makes them, not out of nothing, but out + of Himself. Why should my poor notion of God's <i>how</i> be of + importance, so long as, when I see a horse like yours, Mr. Crawford, I + say, God be praised? It is of eternal importance to love the animal, and + see in him the beauty of the Lord; it is of none to fancy I know which way + God took to make him. Not having in me the power or the stuff to make a + horse, I can not know how God made the horse; I can know him to be + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said George, “the first horse was a very common-looking domestic + animal, which they kept to eat—nothing like this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think God made the first horse, and after that the horses made + themselves,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Alexa laughed; George said nothing; Andrew went on. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he said, “if we have come up from the lower animals, through a + million of kinds, perhaps—against which theory I have nothing to + urge—then I am more than prepared to believe that the man who does + not do the part of a man will have to go down again, through all the + stages of his being, to a position beyond the lowest forms of the powers + he has misused, and there begin to rise once more, haunted perhaps with + dim hints of the world of humanity left so far above him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! What's the use of bothering! Rubbish!” cried George, with rude + jollity. “You know as well as I do, Mr. Ingram, it's all bosh! Things will + go on as they're doing, and as they have been doing, till now from all + eternity—so far as we know, and that's enough for us.” + </p> + <p> + “They will not go on so for long in our sight, Mr. Crawford. The worms + will have a word to say with us.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa turned away. + </p> + <p> + “You've not given up preaching and taken to the practical yet, Mr. Ingram, + I see,” said George. + </p> + <p> + Andrew laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I flatter myself I have not ceased to be practical, Mr. Crawford. You are + busy with what you see, and I am busy as well with what I don't see; but + all the time I believe my farm is in as good a state as your books.” + </p> + <p> + George gave a start, and stole a look at the young farmer, but was + satisfied he “meant nothing.” The self-seeker will walk into the very + abyss protesting himself a practical man, and counting him unpractical who + will not with him “jump the life to come.” Himself, he neither measures + the width nor questions his muscle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. WHAT IS IT WORTH? + </h2> + <p> + Andrew, with all his hard work, harder since Sandy went, continued able to + write, for he neither sought company nor drank strong drink, and was the + sport of no passion. From threatened inroad he appealed to Him who created + to lift His child above the torrent, and make impulse the slave of + conscience and manhood. There were no demons riding the whirlwinds of his + soul. It is not wonderful then that he should be able to write a book, or + that the book should be of genuine and original worth. It had the fortune + to be “favorably” reviewed, scarce one of those who reviewed it + understanding it, while all of them seemed to themselves to understand it + perfectly. I mention the thing because, had the book not been thus + reviewed, Alexa would not have bought a copy, or been able to admire it. + </p> + <p> + The review she read was in a paper whose editor would not have admitted it + had he suspected the drift which the reviewer had failed to see; and the + passages quoted appealed to Alexa in virtue, partly, of her not seeing + half they involved, or anything whatever of the said drift. But because he + had got a book published, and because she approved of certain lines, + phrases and passages in it; but chiefly because it had been praised by + more than one influential paper, Andrew rose immensely in Alexa's opinion. + Although he was the son of a tenant, was even a laborer on his farm, and + had covered a birth no higher than that of Jesus Christ with the gown of + no university, she began, against her own sense of what was fit, to look + up to the plow-man. The plow-man was not aware of this, and would have + been careless had he been. He respected his landlord's daughter, not ever + questioned her superiority as a lady where he made no claim to being a + gentleman, but he recognized in her no power either to help or to hurt. + </p> + <p> + When they next met, Alexa was no longer indifferent to his presence, and + even made a movement in the direction of being agreeable to him. She + dropped in a measure, without knowing she had ever used it, her + patronizing carriage, but had the assurance to compliment him not merely + on the poem he had written, but on the way it had been received; she could + not have credited, had he told her, that he was as indifferent to the + praise or blame of what is called the public, as if that public were + indeed—what it is most like—a boy just learning to read. Yet + it is the consent of such a public that makes the very essence of what is + called fame. How should a man care for it who knows that he is on his way + to join his peers, to be a child with the great ones of the earth, the + lovers of the truth, the Doers of the Will. What to him will be the wind + of the world he has left behind, a wind that can not arouse the dead, that + can only blow about the grave-clothes of the dead as they bury their dead. + </p> + <p> + “Live, Dawtie,” said Andrew to the girl, “and ane day ye'll hae yer hert's + desire; for 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after + righteousness.'” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was neither annoyed nor gratified with the compliments Alexa paid + him, for she did not know the informing power of the book—what he + cared for in it—the thing that made him write it. But her gentleness + and kindness did please him; he was glad to feel a little at home with + her, glad to draw a little nearer to one who had never been other than + good to him. And then was she not more than kind, even loving to Dawtie? + </p> + <p> + “So, Andrew, you are a poet at last,” she said, holding out her hand to + him, which Andrew received in a palm that wrote the better verse that it + was horny. “Please to remember I was the first that found you out!” she + added. + </p> + <p> + “I think it was my mother,” answered Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “And I would have helped you if you would have let me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not well, ma'am, to push the bird off because he can't sit safe on + the edge of the nest.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right A failure then would have stood in the way of your + coming fame.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for that, ma'am, believe me, I do not care a short straw.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you not care for?” + </p> + <p> + “For fame.” + </p> + <p> + “That is wrong, Andrew. We ought to care what our neighbors think of us.” + </p> + <p> + “My neighbors did not set me to do the work, and I did not seek their + praise in doing it. Their friendship I prize dearly—more than tongue + can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “You can not surely be so conceited, Andrew, as to think nobody capable of + judging your work.” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it, ma'am. But you were speaking of fame, and that does not come + from any wise judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you write for, if you care nothing for fame? I thought that + was what all poets wrote for.” + </p> + <p> + “So the world thinks; and those that do sometimes have their reward.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me then what you write for?” + </p> + <p> + “I write because I want to tell something that makes me glad and strong. I + want to say it, and so try to say it. Things come to me in gleams and + flashes, sometimes in words themselves, and I want to weave them into a + melodious, harmonious whole. I was once at an oratorio, and that taught me + the shape of a poem. In a pause of the music, I seemed all at once to see + Handel's heavy countenance looking out of his great wig, as he sat putting + together his notes, ordering about in his mind, and fixing in their places + with his pen, his drums, and pipes, and fiddles, and roaring bass, and + flageolets, and hautboys—all to open the door for the thing that was + plaguing him with the confusion of its beauty. For I suppose even Handel + did not hear it all clear and plain at first, but had to build his + orchestra into a mental organ for his mind to let itself out by, through + the many music holes, lest it should burst with its repressed harmonic + delights. He must have felt an agonized need to set the haunting angels of + sound in obedient order and range, responsive to the soul of the thing, + its one ruling idea! I saw him with his white rapt face, looking like a + prophet of the living God sent to speak out of the heart of the mystery of + truth! I saw him as he sat staring at the paper before him, scratched all + over as with the fury of a holy anger at his own impotence, and his soul + communed with heavenliest harmonies! Ma'am, will any man persuade me that + Handel at such a moment was athirst for fame? or that the desire to please + a house full or world full of such as heard his oratorios, gave him the + power to write his music? No, ma'am! he was filled, not with the longing + for sympathy, and not even with the good desire to give delight, but with + the music itself. It was crying in him to get out, and he heard it crying, + and could not rest till he had let it out; and every note that dropped + from his pen was a chip struck from the granite wall between the + song-birds in their prison-nest, and the air of their liberty. Creation is + God's self-wrought freedom. No, ma'am, I do not despise my fellows, but + neither do I prize the judgment of more than a few of them. I prize and + love themselves, but not their opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was silent, and Andrew took his leave. She sat still for awhile + thinking. If she did not understand, at least she remembered Andrew's face + as he talked: could presumption make his face shine so? could presumption + make him so forget himself? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. + </h2> + <p> + Things went swimmingly with George. He had weathered a crisis, and was now + full of confidence, as well as the show of it. That he held himself a man + who could do what he pleased, was plain to every one. His prosperity + leaned upon that of certain princes of the power of money in America: + gleaning after them he found his fortune. + </p> + <p> + But he did not find much increase of favor with Alexa. Her spiritual + tastes were growing more refined. There was something about the man, and + that not new, which she could no longer contemplate without + dissatisfaction. It cost her tears at night to think that, although her + lover had degenerated, he had remained true to her, for she saw plainly + that it was only lack of encouragement that prevented him from asking her + to be his wife. She must <i>appear</i> changeable, but this was not the + man she had been ready to love! the plant had put forth a flower that was + not in sequence with the leaf. The cause of his appearing different might + lie in herself, but in any case he was not the gentleman she had thought! + Had she loved him, she would have stood by him bravely, but now she could + not help recalling the disgrace of the father, and shrunk from sharing it + with the son. Would it be any wonder if the son himself proved less than + honorable? She would have broken with him quite but for one thing: he had + become intimate with her father, and the laird enjoyed his company. + </p> + <p> + George had a large straggling acquaintance with things, and could readily + appear to know more than he did. He was, besides, that most agreeable + person to a man with a hobby, a good listener—when he saw reason. He + made himself so pleasant that the laird was not only always glad to see + him, but would often ask him to stay to supper, when he would fish up from + the wine-cellar he had inherited a bottle with a history and a character, + and the two would pass the evening together, Alexa trying not to wish him + away, for was not her poor old father happy with him! Though without much + pleasure of his own in such things, George, moved by the reflection of the + laird's interest, even began to <i>collect</i> a little, mainly in the + hope of picking up what might gratify the laird; nor, if he came upon a + thing he <i>must</i> covet, would hesitate to spend on it a good sum. + Naturally the old man grew to regard him as a son of the best sort, one + who would do anything to please his father and indulge his tastes. + </p> + <p> + It may seem surprising that such a man as George should have remained so + true; but he had a bull-dog tenacity of purpose, as indeed his + money-making indicated. Then there was good in him to the measure of + admiring a woman like Alexa, though not of admiring a far better. He saw + himself in danger of losing her; concluded influences at work to the + frustration of his own; surmised that she doubted the character of his + business; feared the clownish farmer-poet might have dazzled with his new + reputation her womanly judgment; and felt himself called upon to make good + his position against any and every prejudice she might have conceived + against him! He would yield nothing! If he was foiled he was foiled, but + it should not be his fault! His own phrase was, that he would not throw up + the sponge so long as he could come up grinning. He had occasional twinges + of discomfort, for his conscience, although seared indeed, was not seared + as with the hottest iron, seeing he had never looked straight at any + truth: it would ease those twinges, he vaguely imagined, so to satisfy a + good woman like Alexa, that she made common cause with him, accepting not + merely himself, but the money of which he had at such times a slight + loathing. Then Alexa was handsome—he thought her <i>very</i> + handsome, and, true to Mammon, he would gladly be true also to something + better. There <i>might be</i> another camp, and it would be well to have + friends in that too! + </p> + <p> + So unlike Andrew, how could he but dislike him! and his dislike jealousy + fostered into hatred. Cowed before him, like Macbeth before Banquo, + because he was an honest man, how could he but hate him! He called him, + and thought him a canting, sneaking fellow—which he was, if canting + consist in giving God His own, and sneaking consist in fearing no man—in + fearing nothing, indeed, but doing wrong. How could George consent even to + the far-off existence of such a man! + </p> + <p> + The laird also had taken a dislike to him. + </p> + <p> + From the night when Dawtie made her appeal, he had not known an hour's + peace. It was not that it had waked his conscience, though it had made it + sleep a little less soundly; it was only that he feared she might take + further action in regard to the cup. She seemed to him to be taking part + with the owner of the cup against him; he could not see that she was + taking part with himself against the devil; that it was not the cup she + was anxious about, but the life of her master. What if she should acquaint + the earl's lawyer with all she knew! He would be dragged into public + daylight! He could not pretend ignorance concerning the identity of the + chalice! that would be to be no antiquarian, while Dawtie would bear + witness that he had in his possession a book telling all about it! But the + girl would never of herself have turned against him! It was all that + fellow Ingram, with his overstrained and absurd notions as to what God + required of His poor sinful creatures! He did not believe in the + atonement! He did not believe that Christ had given satisfaction to the + Father for our sins! He demanded in the name of religion more than any + properly educated and authorized minister would! and in his meddlesomeness + had worried Dawtie into doing as she did! The girl was a good and modest + girl, and would never of herself have so acted! Andrew was righteous + overmuch, therefore eaten up with self-conceit, and the notion of pleasing + God more than other men! He cherished old grudges against him, and would + be delighted to bring his old school-master to shame! He was not a bad boy + at school; he had always liked him; the change in him witnessed to the + peril of extremes! Here they had led to spiritual pride, which was the + worst of all the sins! The favorite of heaven could have no respect for + the opinion of his betters! The man was bent on returning evil for all the + good he had done the boy! It was a happy thing young Crawford understood + him! He would be his friend, and defeat the machinations of his enemy! If + only the fellow's lease were out, that he might get rid of him! + </p> + <p> + Moved by George's sympathy with his tastes, he drew nearer and nearer to + disclosing the possession which was the pride of his life. The enjoyment, + of connoisseur or collector rests much on the glory of possession—of + having what another has not, or, better still, what no other can possibly + have. + </p> + <p> + From what he had long ago seen on the night of the storm, and now from the + way the old man hinted, and talked, and broke off; also from the + uneasiness he sometimes manifested, George had guessed that there was + something over whose possession he gloated, but for whose presence among + his treasures he could not comfortably account He therefore set himself, + without asking a single question, to make the laird unbosom. A hold on the + father would be a hold on the daughter! + </p> + <p> + One day, in a pawnbroker's shop, he lighted upon a rarity indeed, which + might or might not have a history attributed to it, but was in itself more + than interesting for the beauty of both material and workmanship. The sum + asked for it was large, but with the chance of pleasing the laird, it + seemed to George but a trifle. It was also, he judged, of intrinsic value + to a great part of the price. Had he been then aware of the passion of the + old man for jewels in especial, he would have been yet more eager to + secure it for him. It was a watch, not very small, and by no means thin—a + repeater, whose bell was dulled by the stones of the mine in which it lay + buried. The case was one mass of gems of considerable size, and of every + color. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald were judiciously parted by diamonds of + utmost purity, while yellow diamonds took the golden place for which the + topaz had not been counted of sufficient value. They were all crusted + together as close as they could lie, the setting of them hardly showing. + The face was of fine opals, across which moved the two larger hands + radiant with rubies, while the second-hand flitted flashing around, + covered with tiny diamonds. The numerals were in sapphires, within a + bordering ring of emeralds and black pearls. The jewel was a splendor of + color and light. + </p> + <p> + George, without preface, took it from his pocket, held it a moment in the + sunlight, and handed it to the laird. He glowered at it. He saw an angel + from heaven in a thing compact of earth-chips! As near as any <i>thing</i> + can be loved of a live soul, the laird loved a fine stone; what in it he + loved most, the color, the light, the shape, the value, the mystery, he + could not have told!—and here was a jewel of many fine stones! With + both hands he pressed it to his bosom. Then he looked at it in the sun, + then went into the shadow of the house, for they were in the open air, and + looked at it again. Suddenly he thrust it into his pocket, and hurried, + followed by George, to his study. There he closed the shutters, lighted a + lamp, and gazed at the marvel, turning it in all directions. At length he + laid it on the table, and sunk with a sigh into a chair. George understood + the sigh, and dug its source deeper by telling him, as he had heard it, + the story of the jewel. + </p> + <p> + “It may be true,” he said as he ended. “I remember seeing some time ago a + description of the toy. I think I could lay my hand on it!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind leaving it with me till you come again?” faltered the + laird. + </p> + <p> + He knew he could not buy it: he had not the money; but he would gladly + dally with the notion of being its possessor. To part with it, the moment + after having held it in his hand and gloated over it for the first time, + would be too keen a pain! It was unreasonable to have to part with it at + all! He <i>ought</i> to be its owner! Who could be such an owner to a + thing like that as he! It was a wrong to him that it was not his! Next to + his cup, it was the most precious thing he had ever wished to possess!—a + thing for a man to take to the grave with him! Was there no way of + carrying <i>any</i> treasure to the other world? He would have sold of his + land to secure the miracle, but, alas, it was all entailed! For a moment + the Cellini chalice seemed of less account, and he felt ready to throw + open the window of his treasure-room and pitch everything out. The demon + of <i>having</i> is as imperious and as capricious as that of drink, and + there is no refuge from it but with the Father. “This kind goeth not out + by prayer.” + </p> + <p> + The poor slave uttered, not a sigh now, but a groan. “You'll tell the + man,” he said, thinking George had borrowed the thing to show him, “that I + did not even ask the price: I know I can not buy it!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he would give you credit!” suggested George, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “No! I will have nothing to do with credit! I should not be able to call + it my own!”—Money-honesty was strong in the laird. “But,” he + continued, “do try and persuade him to let me have it for a day or two—that + I may get its beauty by heart, and think of it all the days, and dream of + it all the nights of my life after!” + </p> + <p> + “There will be no difficulty about that,” answered George. “The owner will + be delighted to let you keep it as long as you wish!” + </p> + <p> + “I would it were so!” + </p> + <p> + “It is so!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say, George, that that queen of jewels is yours, and + you will lend it me?” + </p> + <p> + “The thing is mine, but I will not lend it—not even to you, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wonder!—I don't wonder! But it is a great disappointment! I + was beginning to hope I—I—might have the loan of it for a week + or two even!” + </p> + <p> + “You should indeed if the thing were mine!” said George, playing him; “but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you said it was yours!” + </p> + <p> + “So it was when I brought it, but it is mine no longer. It is yours. I + purchased it for you this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The old man was speechless. He rose, and seizing George by both hands, + stood staring at him. Something very like tears gathered within the + reddened rims of his eyes. He had grown paler and feebler of late, ever in + vain devising to secure possession of the cup—possession moral as + well as legal. But this entrancing gift brought with it strength and hope + in regard to the chalice! “To him that hath shall be given!” quoted the + Mammon within him. + </p> + <p> + “George!” he said, with a moan of ecstasy, “you are my good angel!” and + sat down exhausted. The watch was the key to his “closet,” as he persisted + in calling his treasury. + </p> + <p> + In old times not a few houses in Scotland held a certain tiny room, built + for the head of the family, to be his closet for prayer: it was, I + believe, with the notion of such a room in his head, that the laird had + called his museum his closet; and he was more right than he meant to be; + for in that chamber he did his truest worship—truest as to the love + in it, falsest as to its object; for there he worshiped the god vilest + bred of all the gods, bred namely of man's distrust in the Life of the + universe. + </p> + <p> + And now here also were two met together to worship; for from this time the + laird, disclosing his secret, made George free of his sanctuary. + </p> + <p> + George was by this time able to take a genuine interest in the collection. + But he was much amused, sometimes annoyed, with the behavior of the laird + in his closet: he was more nervous and touchy over his things than a + she-bear over her cubs. + </p> + <p> + Of all dangers to his darlings he thought a woman the worst, and had + therefore seized with avidity the chance of making that room a hidden one, + the possibility of which he had spied almost the moment he first entered + it. + </p> + <p> + He became, if possible, fonder of his things than ever, and flattered + himself he had found in George a fellow-worshiper: George's exaggerated or + pretended appreciation enhanced his sense of their value. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa had a strong shaggy pony, which she rode the oftener that George + came so often; taking care to be well gone before he arrived on his + beautiful horse. + </p> + <p> + One lovely summer evening she had been across the moor a long way, and was + returning as the sun went down. A glory of red molten gold was shining in + her face, so that she could see nothing in front of her, and was a little + startled by a voice greeting her with a respectful good-evening. The same + moment she was alongside of the speaker in the blinding veil of the sun. + It was Andrew walking home from a village on the other side of the moor. + She drew rein, and they went together. + </p> + <p> + “What has come to you, Mr. Ingram?” she said; “I hear you were at church + last Sunday evening!” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I not be, ma'am?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “For the reason that you are not in the way of going.” + </p> + <p> + “There might be good reason for going once, or for going many times, and + yet not for going always!” + </p> + <p> + “We won't begin with quarreling! There are things we shall not agree + about!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one or two—for a time, I believe!” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “What did you think of Mr. Rackstraw's sermon? I suppose you went to hear + <i>him</i>.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am—at least partly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me first whether you were satisfied with Mr. Rackstraw's + teaching? I know you were there.” + </p> + <p> + “I was quite satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see reason for saying anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am wrong, you ought to try to set me right!” + </p> + <p> + “The prophet Elisha would have done no good by throwing his salt into the + running stream. He cast it, you will remember, into the spring!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no use in persuading a person to change an opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the man is neither the better nor the worse for it. If you had + told me you were distressed to hear a man in authority speak as Mr. + Rackstraw spoke concerning a being you loved, I would have tried to + comfort you by pointing out how false it was. But if you are content to + hear God so represented, why should I seek to convince you of what is + valueless to you? Why offer you to drink what your heart is not thirsting + after? Would you love God more because you found He was not what you were + quite satisfied He should be?” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me more plainly what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me. I have said all I will. I can not reason in defense + of God. It seems blasphemy to argue that His nature is not such as no + honorable man could love in another man.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the Bible says so?” + </p> + <p> + “If the Bible said so, the Bible would be false. But the Bible does not + say so.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it then that it seems to say so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you were taught falsely about Him before you desired to know + Him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am capable of judging now!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Am I not?” insisted Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Do you desire to know God?” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do know Him.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think those things true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are where we were, and I say no more.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not polite.” + </p> + <p> + “I can not help it. I must let you alone to believe about God what you + can. You will not be blamed for not believing what you can not.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that God never punishes any one for what He can not help?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you prove that?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not attempt to prove it. If you are content to think He does, if + it do not trouble you that your God should be unjust, go on thinking so + until you are made miserable by it, then I will pour out my heart to + deliver you.” + </p> + <p> + She was struck, not with any truth in what he said, but with the evident + truthfulness of the man himself. Right or wrong, there was that about him—a + certain radiance of conviction—which certainly was not about Mr. + Rackstraw. + </p> + <p> + “The things that can be shaken,” said Andrew, as if thinking with himself, + “may last for a time, but they will at length be shaken to pieces, that + the things which can not be shaken may show what they are. Whatever we + call religion will vanish when we see God face to face.” + </p> + <p> + For awhile they went brushing through the heather in silence. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you one question, Mr. Ingram?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, ma'am! Ask me anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will answer me?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am at liberty to answer you I will.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by being at liberty? Are you under any vow?” + </p> + <p> + “I am under the law of love. I am bound to do nothing to hurt. An answer + that would do you no good I will not give.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what will or will not do me good?” + </p> + <p> + “I must use what judgment I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true, then, that you believe God gives you whatever you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never asked anything of Him that He did not give me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling me anything you have asked of Him?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never yet required to ask anything not included in the prayer, + 'Thy will be done.'” + </p> + <p> + “That will be done without your praying for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; I do not believe it will be done, to all eternity, without my + praying for it. Where first am I accountable that His will should be done? + Is it not in myself? How is His will to be done in me without my willing + it? Does He not want me to love what He loves?—to be like Himself?—to + do His will with the glad effort of my will?—in a word, to will what + He wills? And when I find I can not, what am I to do but pray for help? I + pray, and He helps me.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing strange in that!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not It seems to me the simplest common sense. It is my business, + the business of every man, that God's will be done by his obedience to + that will, the moment he knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you are not so different from other people as you think yourself. + But they say you want to die.” + </p> + <p> + “I want nothing but what God wants. I desire righteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you accept the righteousness of Christ?” + </p> + <p> + “Accept it! I long for it.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that it is not what I mean!” + </p> + <p> + “I seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “You avoid my question. Do you accept the righteousness of Christ instead + of your own?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no righteousness of my own to put it instead of. The only + righteousness there is is God's, and He will make me righteous like + Himself. He is not content that His one Son only should be righteous; He + wants all His children to be righteous as He is righteous. The thing is + plain; I will not argue about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not believe in the atonement.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in Jesus Christ. He is the atonement. What strength God has + given me I will spend in knowing Him and doing what He tells me. To + interpret His plans before we know Himself is to mistake both Him and His + plans. I know this, that he has given His life for what multitudes who + call themselves by His name would not rise from their seats to share in.” + </p> + <p> + “You think me incapable of understanding the gospel?” + </p> + <p> + “I think if you did understand the gospel of Christ you would be incapable + of believing the things about His Father that you say you do believe. But + I will not say a word more. When you are able to see the truth, you will + see it; and when you desire the truth you will be able.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa touched her pony with her whip. But by and by she pulled him up, and + made him walk till Andrew overtook her. + </p> + <p> + The sun was by this time far out of sight, the glow of the west was over, + and twilight lay upon the world. Its ethereal dimness had sunk into her + soul. + </p> + <p> + “Does the gloaming make you sad, Mr. Ingram?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me very quiet,” he answered—“as if all my people were + asleep, and waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean as if they were all dead? How can you talk of it so quietly?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do not believe in death.” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>do</i> you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a Christian!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are, Mr. Ingram, though, to be honest with you, some things + make me doubt it Perhaps you would say I am not a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “It is enough that God knows whether you are a Christian or not. Why + should I say you are or you are not?” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know what you meant when you said you were a Christian. How + should that make you indifferent to the death of your friends? Death is a + dreadful thing, look at it how you like.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord says, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.' If + my friends are not dead, but living and waiting for me, why should I wait + for them in a fierce, stormy night, or a black frost, instead of the calm + of such a sleeping day as this—a day with the son hid, Shakespeare + calls it.” + </p> + <p> + “How you do mix up things! Shakespeare and Jesus Christ!” + </p> + <p> + “God mixed them first, and will mix them a good deal more yet,” said + Andrew. + </p> + <p> + But for the smile which would hover like a heavenly Psyche about his + mouth, his way of answering would sometimes have seemed curt to those who + did not understand him. Instead of holding aloof in his superiority, + however, as some thought he did when he would not answer, or answered + abruptly, Andrew's soul would be hovering, watching and hoping for a + chance of lighting, and giving of the best he had. He was like a great + bird changing parts with a child—the child afraid of the bird, and + the bird enticing the child to be friends. He had learned that if he + poured out his treasure recklessly it might be received with dishonor, and + but choke the way of the chariot of approaching truth. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will say next there is no such thing as suffering,” resumed + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “No; the Lord said that in the world His friends should have tribulation.” + </p> + <p> + “What tribulation have you, who are so specially His friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much yet It is a little, however, sometimes, to know such strong, and + beautiful, and happy-making things, and all the time my people, my beloved + humans, born of my Father in heaven, with the same heart for joy and + sorrow, will not listen and be comforted, I think that was what made our + Lord sorriest of all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ingram, I have no patience with you. How dare you liken your trouble + to that of our Lord—making yourself equal with Him!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it making myself equal with Him to say that I understand a little how + He felt toward His fellow-men? I am always trying to understand Him; would + it be a wonder if I did sometimes a little? How is a man to do as He did, + without understanding Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to work miracles next?” + </p> + <p> + “Jesus was always doing what God wanted Him to do. That was what He came + for, not to work miracles. He could have worked a great many more if He + had pleased, but He did no more than God wanted of Him. Am I not to try to + do the will of God, because He who died that I might, always succeeded + however hard it was, and I am always failing and having to try again?” + </p> + <p> + “And you think you will come to it in this life?” + </p> + <p> + “I never think about that; I only think about doing His will now—not + about doing it then—that is, to-morrow or next day or next world. I + know only one life—the life that is hid with Christ in God; and that + is the life by which I live here and now. I do not make schemes of life; I + live. Life will teach me God's plans; I will take no trouble about them; I + will only obey, and receive the bliss He sends me. And of all things I + will not make theories of God's plans for other people to accept. I will + only do my best to destroy such theories as I find coming between some + poor glooming heart, and the sun shining in his strength. Those who love + the shade of lies, let them walk in it until the shiver of the eternal + cold drive them to seek the face of Jesus Christ. To appeal to their + intellect would be but to drive them the deeper into the shade to justify + their being in it. And if by argument you did persuade them out of it, + they would but run into a deeper and worse darkness.” + </p> + <p> + “How could that be?” + </p> + <p> + “They would at once think that, by an intellectual stride they had + advanced in the spiritual life, whereas they would be neither the better + nor the worse. I know a man, once among the foremost in denouncing the old + theology, who is now no better than a swindler.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “No one you know, ma'am. His intellectual freedom seems only to have + served his spiritual subjugation. Right opinion, except it spring from + obedience to the truth, is but so much rubbish on the golden floor of the + temple.” + </p> + <p> + The peace of the night and its luminous earnestness were gleaming on + Andrew's face, and Alexa, glancing up as he ceased, felt again the inroad + of a sense of something in the man that was not in the other men she knew—the + spiritual shadow of a dweller in regions beyond her ken. The man was + before her, yet out of her sight! + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was too simple for her, only a child could understand it + Instead of listening to the elders and priests to learn how to save his + soul, he cast away all care of himself, left that to God, and gave himself + to do the will of Him from whose heart he came, even as the eternal Life, + the Son of God, required of him; in the mighty hope of becoming one mind, + heart, soul, one eternal being, with Him, with the Father, with every good + man, with the universe which was his inheritance—walking in the + world as Enoch walked with God, held by his hand. This is what man was and + is meant to be, what man must become; thither the wheels of time are + roaring; thither work all the silent potencies of the eternal world; and + they that will not awake and arise from the dead must be flung from their + graves by the throes of a shivering world. + </p> + <p> + When he had done speaking Andrew stood and looked up. A few stars were + looking down through the limpid air. Alexa rode on. Andrew let her go, and + walked after her alone, sure that her mind must one day open to the + eternal fact that God is all in all, the perfect friend of His children; + yea, that He would cease to be God sooner than fail His child in his + battle with death. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOER. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined + toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to + open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her father. + But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in doubt no + longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had gone there + with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her hand, from + which she was storing her mind with arguments against what she supposed + the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of his condescending + to front them with counter-argument. His voice returned ever to the ear of + her mind in words like these: “If you are content to think so, you are in + no condition to receive what I have to communicate. Why should I press + water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let us wait for the drought of the + desert, when life is a low fever, and the heart is dry; when the earth is + like iron, and the heavens above it are as brass.” + </p> + <p> + She started at the sound of George's voice. + </p> + <p> + “What lovely weather!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium—the side of + nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy + summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and held + her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted again to + eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental. + </p> + <p> + “Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too much + of your attention, Alexa!” + </p> + <p> + “You have been very kind, George!” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Kind is not asking much of your attention?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea—that, and giving my father so much of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly have seen more of him than of you!” returned George, hoping + her words meant reproach. “But he has always been kind to me, and pleased + to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!” + </p> + <p> + To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he + had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get + out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to + pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true and + right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one way + of doing a thing! + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!” + </p> + <p> + “You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!” + </p> + <p> + “No; then you were going away!” + </p> + <p> + “Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Not when he does not seem content with having come back!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand!” + </p> + <p> + But Alexa gave no explanation. + </p> + <p> + “You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, if you were sure I was not coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not <i>say</i> so.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any + misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between + us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!” + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, + George—that you did not say anything before you went.” + </p> + <p> + “I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!” + </p> + <p> + “I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!” + </p> + <p> + This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. + </p> + <p> + “You are cruel!” he said. “I should have made it the business of my life + that you never did!” + </p> + <p> + Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost as + soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human pressure + in which he had grown up! + </p> + <p> + “I am certain I should,” persisted Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so certain?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am so glad now to think I am free.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know where + the stab comes from!” + </p> + <p> + “The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you + talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened + more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had + deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then thought + characterized you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your + friend the farmer!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?” rejoined Alexa, + with some heat. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I am an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am doubtful of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do + you believe yourself an honest man?” + </p> + <p> + “As men go, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world when + hearts are as open as faces?” + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of—” + </p> + <p> + She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying “<i>Jesus + Christ</i>,” but felt she had no right, and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “—Of our friend Andrew?” supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. + “The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his + muscles—the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better + market—not he!” + </p> + <p> + “It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a + dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were not + to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world to + make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he could + get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire to get + more—and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and the + poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent to + grow corn for them!” + </p> + <p> + “And what did your father say to that wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only + know,” added Alexa, with a little laugh, “that he is consistent, for he + has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in him + that sets him apart from other men!” + </p> + <p> + “And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought <i>my</i> + position too humble!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to understand by that?” + </p> + <p> + “What you think I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa rose and left him. + </p> + <p> + George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands + in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty + smile, and said: “At least I have made her angry, and that's something! + What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's + not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!—a clod-hopper + born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and Potlurg + will never let <i>him</i> have it! <i>I</i> will see to that! The laird + hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent + myself!” + </p> + <p> + His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he + never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at + all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most + she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full of + respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her + superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself at + a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant to + know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel that, + as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young farmer + disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by no means + agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did not see + anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew she was + handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one heart-throb more + because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good as told her she was + one of the dead who would not come alive! It would be something to be + loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly to think of making + any man love her—and even if he loved her she could not marry a man + in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two were the lack but a + point or two, but there was no stretching points to the marrying of a + peasant, without education, who worked on his father's farm! The thing was + ridiculous!—of course she knew that!—the very idea too absurd + to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to marry + George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite fat! And + he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something about him <i>not</i> + like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a cheap-jack! + </p> + <p> + She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony looked + elf-ridden. + </p> + <p> + But George had no intention of forsaking the house—yet, at least. He + was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with + her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, + the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the + neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any + lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that + he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By + this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for + things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the laird's + wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to become his + daughter's husband. He <i>would not</i> accept her dismissal as final! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. THE HEART OF THE HEART. + </h2> + <p> + The laird had been poorly for some weeks, and Alexa began to fear that he + was failing. Nothing more had passed between him and Dawtie, but he knew + that anxious eyes were often watching him, and the thought worried him not + a little. If he would but take a start, thought Dawtie, and not lose all + the good of this life! It was too late for him to rise very high; he could + not now be a saint, but he might at least set a foot on the eternal stair + that leads to the fullness of bliss! He would have a sore fight with all + those imps of things, before he ceased to love that which was not lovely, + and to covet that which was not good! But the man gained a precious + benefit from this world, who but began to repent before he left it! If + only the laird would start up the hill before his body got quite to the + bottom! Was there any way to approach him again with her petition that he + would be good to himself, good to God, good to the universe, that he would + love what was worth loving, and cast away what was not? She had no light, + and could do nothing! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the old man failed quite—apparently from no cause but + weakness. The unease of his mind, the haunting of the dread thought of + having to part with the chalice, had induced it. He was in his closet one + night late into the morning, and the next day did not get up to breakfast + He wanted a little rest, he said. In a day he would be well! But the hour + to rise again, much anticipated, never came. He seemed very troubled at + times, and very desirous of getting up, but never was able. It became + necessary to sit with him at night. In fits of delirium he would make + fierce endeavor to rise, insisting that he must go to his study. His + closet he never mentioned: even in dreams was his secrecy dominant. + Dawtie, who had her share in nursing him, kept hoping her opportunity + would come. He did not seem to cherish any resentment against her. His + illness would protect him, he thought, from further intrusion of her + conscience upon his! She must know better than irritate a sick man with + overofficiousness! Everybody could not be a saint! It was enough to be a + Christian like other good and salvable Christians! It was enough for him + if through the merits of his Saviour he gained admission to the heavenly + kingdom at last! He never thought now, once in, he could bear to stay in; + never thought how heaven could be to him other than the dullest place in + the universe of God, more wearisome than the kingdom of darkness itself! + And all the time the young woman with the savior-heart was watching by his + bedside, ready to speak; but the Spirit gave her no utterance, and her + silence soothed his fear of her. + </p> + <p> + One night he was more restless than usual. Waking from his troubled + slumber, he called her—in the tone of one who had something + important to communicate. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” he said, with feeble voice but glittering eye, “there is no one + I can trust like you. I have been thinking of what you said that night + ever since. Go to my closet and bring me the cup.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie held a moment's debate whether it would be right; but she reflected + that it made little difference whether the object of his passion was in + his hand or in his chest, while it was all the same deep in his heart. + Then his words seemed to imply that he wanted to take his farewell of it; + and to refuse his request might only fan the evil love, and turn him from + the good motion in his mind. She said: “Yes, sir,” and stood waiting. He + did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where to find it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you,” he replied, but seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “I will not touch a single thing beside,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + He believed her, and at once proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me. There is the key of the + closet door!—and there, the key of all the bunch that looks the + commonest, but is in reality the most cunningly devised, is the key of the + cabinet in which I keep it!” + </p> + <p> + Then he told her where, behind a little book-case, which moved from the + wall on hinges, she would find the cabinet, and in what part of it the + cup, wrapped in a piece of silk that had once been a sleeve, worn by <i>Mme. + de Genlis</i>—which did not make Dawtie much wiser. + </p> + <p> + She went, found the chalice, and brought it where the laird lay straining + his ears, and waiting for it as a man at the point of death might await + the sacramental cup from absolving priest. + </p> + <p> + His hands trembled as he took it; for they were the hands of a lover—strange + as that love was, which not merely looked for no return, but desired to + give neither pleasure nor good to the thing loved! It was no love of the + merely dead, but a love of the unliving! He pressed the thing to his + bosom; then, as if rebuked by the presence of Dawtie, put it a little from + him, and began to pore over every stone, every <i>repoussé</i> figure + between, and every engraved ornament around the gems, each of which he + knew, by shape, order, quality of color, better than ever face of wife or + child. But soon his hands sunk on the counterpane of silk patchwork, and + he lay still, grasping tight the precious thing. + </p> + <p> + He woke with a start and a cry, to find it safe in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” he said; “I thought some one had me by the throat! You didn't try + to take the cup from me—did you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Dawtie; “I would not care to take it out of your hand, + but I <i>should</i> be glad to take it out of your heart!” + </p> + <p> + “If they would only bury it with me!” he murmured, heedless of her words. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir! Would you have it burning your heart to all eternity? Give it + up, sir, and take the treasure thief never stole.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dawtie, yes! That is the true treasure!” + </p> + <p> + “And to get it we must sell all that we have!” + </p> + <p> + “He gives and withholds as He sees fit.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will + never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you + strength to fling it from you?” + </p> + <p> + He hugged the chalice. + </p> + <p> + “Fling it from me!” he cried, fiercely. “Girl, who are you to torment me + before my time!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, sir,” persisted Dawtie, “why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou + that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?” + </p> + <p> + “No one <i>can</i> move without God.” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the power + to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not using the + strength God gives us!” + </p> + <p> + “I can not bear the strain of thinking!” gasped the laird. + </p> + <p> + “Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” he cried, grasping the cup tighter. “You shall not touch it! You + would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!” + </p> + <p> + “You want to see my cup—it <i>is</i> my cup!—in the hands of + that spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!” + </p> + <p> + “It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!” + </p> + <p> + “They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from you! + Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my confidence + in you! I <i>may</i> fall asleep, but if your hand come within a foot of + the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my heart in + the cup, and the least touch will wake me!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with <i>him?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what is + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such + foolery?” + </p> + <p> + His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light of + mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had + spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and + lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! <i>He</i> + would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know it + safe and not far from him! + </p> + <p> + Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. + She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat + like an image, moving only her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What are you about, Dawtie?” he said at length. “You are after some + mischief, you are so quiet!” + </p> + <p> + “I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up + your odds and ends, and take Him instead.” + </p> + <p> + “How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are <i>you</i> + to say to <i>Him</i> that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so + and so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!” + </p> + <p> + “We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was + saying what I could for you.” The laird was silent, and the rest of the + night passed quietly. + </p> + <p> + His first words in the morning were: + </p> + <p> + “Go and tell your mistress I want her.” + </p> + <p> + When his daughter came, he told her to send for George Crawford. He was + worse, he said, and wanted to see him. + </p> + <p> + Alexa thought it best to send Dawtie with the message by the next train. + Dawtie did not relish the mission, for she had no faith in Crawford, and + did not like his influence on her master. Not the less when she reached + his hotel, she insisted on seeing him and giving her message in person; + which done, she made haste for the first train back: they could not do + well without her! When she arrived, there was Mr. Crawford already on the + platform! She set out as fast as she could, but she had not got further + than half-way when he overtook her in a fly, and insisted she should get + in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. + </h2> + <h3> + “What is the matter with your master?” he asked. + </h3> + <p> + “God knows, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what <i>you</i> + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think then?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think old age had something to do with it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Likely enough, but you know more than that!” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder, sir, if he were troubled in his mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “It is reasonable to think so, sir. He knows he must die before long, and + it is dreadful to leave everything you care for, and go where there is + nothing you care for!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know there is nothing he would care for?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there, sir, he would be likely to care for?” + </p> + <p> + “There is his wife. He was fond of her, I suppose, and you pious people + fancy you will see each other again.” + </p> + <p> + “The thought of seeing her would give him little comfort, I am afraid, in + parting with the things he has here. He believes a little somehow—I + can't understand how.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he believe?” + </p> + <p> + “He believes a little—he is not sure—that what a man soweth he + shall also reap.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what he is or is not sure off? It can't be a matter of + interest to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Those that come of one Father must have interest in one another.” + </p> + <p> + “How am I to tell we come of one Father—as you call Him? I like to + have a thing proved before I believe it. I know neither where I came from, + nor where I am going; how then can I know that we come from the same + father?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how you're to know it, sir. I take it for granted, and find + it good. But there is one thing I am sure of.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “That if you were my master's friend you would not rest till you got him + to do what was right before he died.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not be father-confessor to any man. I have enough to do with + myself. A good worthy old man like the laird must know better than any + other what he ought to do.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no doubt of that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want then?” + </p> + <p> + “To get him to do it. That he knows, is what makes it so miserable. If he + did not know he would not be to blame. He knows what it is and won't do + it, and that makes him wretched—as it ought, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. Well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + George thought a little. + </p> + <p> + “What would you have me persuade him to?” he asked, for he might hear + something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no + inclination to tell him what she knew. + </p> + <p> + “I only wish you would persuade him to do what he knows he ought to do,” + she replied. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE WATCH. + </h2> + <p> + George stayed with the laird a good while, and held a long, broken talk + with him. When he went Alexa came. She thought her father seemed happier. + George had put the cup away for him. Alexa sat with him that night. She + knew nothing of such a precious thing being in the house—in the room + with them. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night, as she was arranging his pillows, the laird + drew from under the bed-clothes, and held up to her, flashing in the light + of the one candle, the jeweled watch. She stared. The old man was pleased + at her surprise and evident admiration. She held out her hand for it. He + gave it her. + </p> + <p> + “That watch,” he said, “is believed to have belonged to Ninon de l'Enclos. + It <i>may</i>, but I doubt it myself. It is well known she never took + presents from her admirers, and she was too poor to have bought such a + thing. Mme. de Maintenon, however, or some one of her lady-friends, might + have given it her. It will be yours one day—that is, if you marry + the man I should like you to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear father, do not talk of marrying. I have enough with you,” cried + Alexa, and felt as if she hated George. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately, you can not have me always,” returned her father. “I will + say nothing more now, but I desire you to consider what I have said.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa put the watch in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you do not suppose,” she said, “that a house full of things like + that would make any difference.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her sharply. A house full—what did she know? It + silenced him, and he lay thinking. Surely the delight of lovely things + must be in every woman's heart. Was not the passion, developed or + undeveloped, universal? Could a child of his <i>not</i> care for such + things? + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said to himself, “she takes after her mother.” + </p> + <p> + A wall seemed to rise between him and his daughter. Alas! alas! the things + he loved and must one day yield would not be cherished by her. No tender + regard would hover around them when he was gone. She would be no + protecting divinity to them. God in heaven! she might—she would—he + was sure she would sell them. + </p> + <p> + It seems the sole possible comfort of avarice, as it passes empty and + hungry into the empty regions—that the things it can no more see + with eyes or handle with hands will yet be together somewhere. Hence the + rich leave to the rich, avoiding the man who most needs, or would best use + their money. Is there a lurking notion in the man of much goods, I wonder, + that, in the still watches of the night, when men sleep, he will return to + look on what he leaves behind him? Does he forget the torture of seeing it + at the command, in the enjoyment of another—his will concerning this + thing or that but a mockery? Does he know that he who then holds them will + not be able to conceive of their having been or ever being another's as + now they are his? + </p> + <p> + As Alexa sat in the dim light by her brooding father she loathed the + shining thing he had again drawn under the bed-clothes—shrunk from + it as from a manacle the devil had tried to slip on her wrist. The + judicial assumption of society suddenly appeared in the emptiness of its + arrogance. Marriage for the sake of <i>things</i>. Was she not a live + soul, made for better than that She was ashamed of the innocent pleasure + the glittering toy had given her. + </p> + <p> + The laird cast now and then a glance at her face, and sighed. He gathered + from it the conviction that she would be a cruel step-mother to his + children, her mercy that of a loveless non-collector. It should not be. He + would do better for them than that. He loved his daughter, but needed not + therefore sacrifice his last hopes where the sacrifice would meet with no + acceptance. House and land should be hers, but not his jewels; not the + contents of his closet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILL. + </h2> + <p> + George came again to see him the next day, and had again a long conference + with him. The laird told him that he had fully resolved to leave + everything to his daughter, personal as well as real, on the one condition + that she should marry her cousin; if she would not, then the contents of + his closet, with his library, and certain articles specified, should pass + to Crawford. + </p> + <p> + “And you must take care,” he said, “if my death should come suddenly, that + anything valuable in this room be carried into the closet before it is + sealed up.” + </p> + <p> + Shrinking as he did from the idea of death, the old man was yet able, in + the interest of his possessions, to talk of it! It was as if he thought + the sole consolation that, in the loss of their owner, his things could + have, was the continuance of their intercourse with each other in the + heaven of his Mammon-besotted imagination. + </p> + <p> + George responded heartily, showing a gratitude more genuine than fine: + every virtue partakes of the ground in which it is grown. He assured the + laird that, valuable as was in itself his contingent gift, which no man + could appreciate more than he, it would be far more valuable to him if it + sealed his adoption as his son-in-law. He would rather owe the possession + of the wonderful collection to the daughter than to the father! In either + case the precious property would be held as for him, each thing as + carefully tended as by the laird's own eye and hand! + </p> + <p> + Whether it would at the moment have comforted the dying man to be assured, + as George might have him, that there would be nothing left of him to + grieve at the loss of his idols—nothing left of him but a memory, to + last so long as George and Alexa and one or two more should remain + unburied, I can not tell. It was in any case a dreary outlook for him. + Hope and faith and almost love had been sucked from his life by “the + hindering knot-grass” which had spread its white bloodless roots in all + directions through soul and heart and mind, exhausting and choking in them + everything of divinest origin. The weeds in George's heart were of another + kind, and better nor worse in themselves; the misery was that neither of + them was endeavoring to root them out. The thief who is trying to be + better is ages ahead of the most honorable man who is making no such + effort. The one is alive; the other is dead and on the way to corruption. + </p> + <p> + They treated themselves to a gaze together on the cup and the watch; then + George went to give directions to the laird's lawyer for the drawing up of + his new will. + </p> + <p> + The next day it was brought, read, signed by the laird, and his signature + duly witnessed. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie being on the spot was made one of the witnesses. The laird trembled + lest her fanaticism should break out in appeal to the lawyer concerning + the cup; he could not understand that the cup was nothing to her; that she + did not imagine herself a setter right of wrongs, but knew herself her + neighbor's keeper, one that had to deliver his soul from death! Had the + cup come into her possession, she would have sent it back to the owner, + but it was not worth her care that the Earl of Borland should cast his + eyes when he would upon a jewel in a cabinet! + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was very white as he signed his name. Where the others saw but a + legal ceremony, she feared her loved master was assigning his soul to the + devil, as she had read of Dr. Faustus in the old ballad. He was gliding + away into the dark, and no one to whom he had done a good turn with the + Mammon of unrighteousness, was waiting to receive him into an everlasting + habitation! She had and she needed no special cause to love her master, + any more than to love the chickens and the calves; she loved because + something that could be loved was there present to her; but he had always + spoken kindly to her, and been pleased with her endeavor to serve him; and + now he was going where she could do nothing for him!—except pray, as + her heart and Andrew had taught her, knowing that “all live unto <i>Him!</i>” + But alas! what were prayers where the man would not take the things prayed + for! Nevertheless all things <i>were</i> possible with God, and she <i>would</i> + pray for him! + </p> + <p> + It was also with white face, and it was with trembling hand that she + signed her own name, for she felt as if giving him a push down the icy + slope into the abyss. + </p> + <p> + But when the thing was done, the old man went quietly to sleep, and + dreamed of a radiant jewel, glorious as he had never seen jewel, ever + within yet ever eluding his grasp. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. THE SANGREAL. + </h2> + <p> + The next day he seemed better, and Alexa began to hope again. But in the + afternoon his pulse began to sink, and when Crawford came he could welcome + him only with a smile and a vain effort to put out his hand. George bent + down to him. The others, at a sign from his eyes, left the room. + </p> + <p> + “I can't find it, George!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “I put it away for you last night, you remember!” answered George. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you didn't! I had it in my hand a minute ago! But I fell into a + doze, and it is gone! George, get it!—get it for me, or I shall go + mad!” George went and brought it him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! thank you! Now I remember! I thought I was in hell, and they + took it from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be afraid, sir! Fall asleep when you feel inclined. I will keep + my eye on the cup.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not go away?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I will stay as long as you like; there is nothing to take me away. If + I had thought you would be worse, I would not have gone last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not worse! What put that in your head? Don't you hear me speaking + better? I've thought about it, George, and am convinced the cup is a + talisman! I am better all the time I hold it! It was because I let you put + it away that I was worse last night—for no other reason. If it were + not a talisman, how else could it have so nestled itself into my heart! I + feel better, always, the moment I take it in my hand! There is something + more than common about that chalice! George, what if it should be the Holy + Grail!” + </p> + <p> + He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his countenance. + His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. Slowly his aged + cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if the joy of his life + was come. + </p> + <p> + “What if it should be the Holy Grail!” he repeated, and fell asleep with + the words on his lips. + </p> + <p> + As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside + him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not + make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed them. + He seemed to think he was there for no good. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to call Alexa?” said George. + </p> + <p> + “Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!” he replied. + </p> + <p> + George rose to go and call her. + </p> + <p> + “Beware of her!” said the laird, with glazy eyes, “Beware of Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked George. + </p> + <p> + “Beware of her,” he repeated. “If she can get the cup, she will! She would + take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call Dawtie; + call Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George went + and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “I will find her,” she said, and rose, but turned and asked: + </p> + <p> + “How does he seem now?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather worse,” George answered. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to be with him through the night?” + </p> + <p> + “I am; he insists on my staying with him,” replied George, almost + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she returned, “you must have some supper. We will go down, and + send up Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress + found her. + </p> + <p> + When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, “and white with the + whiteness of what is dead.” + </p> + <p> + She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a + little, he began to talk wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Agnes!” he cried, “do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what + Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; my + righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I <i>will</i> go with + you. There! Slip that under your white robe—washed in the blood of + the Lamb. That will hide it—with the rest of my sins! The + unbelieving husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; + I should be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but + it must be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What + should I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single + thing besides—and it's so cold to have but one thing on—I mean + one thing in your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would + be worse than coming without it!” + </p> + <p> + He was talking to his wife!—persuading her to smuggle the cup into + heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray for + him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her + prayer come only from her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the voice of her master, “I thought so! How could I go up, and + you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was + impossible!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie opened her eyes—and there he was, holding back the curtain + and looking round the edge of it with a face of eagerness, effort, and + hate, as of one struggling to go, and unable to break away. + </p> + <p> + She rose to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “You are a fiend!” he cried. “I <i>will</i> go with Agnes!” He gave a cry, + and ceased, and all was still. They heard the cry in the kitchen, and came + running up. + </p> + <p> + They found Dawtie bending over her master, with a scared face. He seemed + to have struck her, for one cheek was marked with red streaks across its + whiteness. + </p> + <p> + “The Grail! the Holy Grail!” he cried. “I found it! I was bringing it + home! She took it from me! She wants it to—” + </p> + <p> + His jaw fell, and he was dead. Alexa threw herself beside the body. George + would have raised her, but she resisted, and lay motionless. He stood then + behind her, watching an opportunity to get the cup from under the + bed-clothes, that he might put it in the closet. + </p> + <p> + He ordered Dawtie to fetch water for her mistress; but Alexa told her she + did not want any. Once and again George tried to raise her, and get his + hand under the bed-clothes to feel for the cup. + </p> + <p> + “He is not dead!” cried Alexa; “he moved!” + </p> + <p> + “Get some brandy,” said George. + </p> + <p> + She rose, and went to the table for the brandy. George, with the pretense + of feeling the dead man's heart, threw back the clothes. He could find no + cup. It had got further down! He would wait! + </p> + <p> + Alexa lifted her father's head on her arm, but it was plain that brandy + could not help. She went and sat on a chair away from the bed, hopeless + and exhausted. + </p> + <p> + George lifted the clothes from the foot of the bed, then from the further + side, and then from the nearer, without attracting her attention. The cup + was nowhere to be seen! He put his hand under the body, but the cup was + not there! He had to leave the room that Dawtie and Meg might prepare it + for burial. Alexa went to her chamber. + </p> + <p> + A moment after, George returned, called Meg to the door, and said: + </p> + <p> + “There must be a brass cup in the bed somewhere! I brought it to amuse + him. He was fond of odd things, you know! If you should find it—” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of it,” answered Meg, and turned from him curtly. + </p> + <p> + George felt he had not a friend in the house, and that he must leave + things as they were! The door of the closet was locked, and he could not + go again to the death-chamber to take the laird's keys from the head of + the bed! He knew that the two women would not let him. It had been an + oversight not to secure them! He was glad the watch was safe: that he had + put in the closet before!—but it mattered little when the cup was + missing! He went to the stable, got out his horse, and rode home in the + still gray of a midsummer night. + </p> + <p> + The stillness and the night seemed thinking to each other. George had + little imagination, but what he had woke in him now as he rode slowly + along. Step by step the old man seemed following him, on silent + church-yard feet, through the eerie whiteness of the night. There was + neither cloud nor moon, only stars above and around, and a great cold + crack in the north-east. He was crying after him, in a voice he could not + make him hear! Was he not straggling to warn him not to come into like + condemnation? The voice seemed trying to say, “I know! I know now! I would + not believe, but I know now! Give back the cup; give it back!” + </p> + <p> + George did not allow to himself that there was “anything” there. It was + but a vague movement in that commonplace, unmysterious region, his mind! + He heard nothing, positively nothing, with his ears—therefore there + was nothing! It was indeed somehow as if one were saying the words, but in + reality they came only as a thought rising, continually rising, in his + mind! It was but a thought-sound, and no speech: “I know now! I know now! + Give it back; give the cup back!” He did not ask himself how the thought + came; he cast it away as only that insignificant thing, a thought—cast + it away none the less that he found himself answering it—“I can't + give it back; I can't find it! Where did you put it? You must have taken + it with you!” + </p> + <p> + “What rubbish!” he said to himself ten times, waking up; “of course Dawtie + took it! Didn't the poor old fellow warn me to beware of her! Nobody but + her was in the room when we ran in, and found him at the point of death! + Where did you put it? I can't find it! I can't give it back!” + </p> + <p> + He went over in his mind all that had taken place. The laird had the cup + when he left him to call Dawtie; and when they came, it was nowhere! He + was convinced the girl had secured it—in obedience, doubtless, to + the instruction of her director, ambitious to do justice, and curry favor + by restoring it! But he could do nothing till the will was read! Was it + possible Lexy had put it away? No; she had not had the opportunity! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. + </h2> + <p> + With slow-pacing shadows, the hot hours crept athwart the heath, and the + house, and the dead, and carried the living with them in their invisible + current. There is no tide in time; it is a steady current, not returning. + Happy they whom it bears inward to the center of things! Alas, for those + whom it carries outward to “the flaming walls of creation!” The poor old + laird who, with all his refinement, all his education, all his interest in + philology, prosody, history, and <i>reliquial</i> humanity, had become the + slave of a goblet, had left it behind him, had faced the empty universe + empty-handed, and vanished with a shadow-goblet in his heart; the eyes + that gloated over the gems had gone to help the grass to grow. But the + will of the dead remained to trouble for a time the living, for it put his + daughter in a painful predicament: until Crawford's property was removed + from the house, it would give him constant opportunity of prosecuting the + suit which Aleza had reason to think he intended to resume, and the + thought of which had become to her insupportable. + </p> + <p> + Great was her astonishment when she learned to what the door in the study + led, and what a multitude of curious and valuable things were there of + whose presence in the house she had never dreamed. She would gladly have + had them for herself; and it pained her to the heart to think of the + disappointment of the poor ghost when he saw, if he could see, his + treasured hoard emptied out of its hidden and safe abode. For, even if + George should magnanimously protest that he did not care for the things + enough to claim them, and beg that they might remain where they were, she + could not grant his request, for it would be to accept them from him. Had + her father left them to her, she would have kept them as carefully as even + he could desire—with this difference only, that she would not have + shut them up from giving pleasure to others. + </p> + <p> + She was growing to care more about the truth—gradually coming to see + that much she had taken for a more liberal creed, was but the same + falsehoods in weaker forms, less repulsive only to a mind indifferent to + the paramount claims of God on His child. She saw something of the + falseness and folly of attempting to recommend religion as not so + difficult, so exclusive, so full of prohibition as our ancestors believed + it. She saw that, although Andrew might regard some things as freely given + which others thought God forbade, yet he insisted on what was infinitely + higher and more than the abandonment of everything pleasant—the + abnegation, namely, of the very self, and the reception of God instead. + She had hitherto been, with all her supposed progress, only a recipient of + the traditions of the elders! There must be a deeper something—the + real religion! She did not yet see that the will of God lay in another + direction altogether than the heartiest reception of dogma!—that God + was too great and too generous to care about anything except + righteousness, and only wanted us to be good children!—that even + honesty was but the path toward righteousness, a condition so pure that + honesty itself would never more be an object of thought! + </p> + <p> + She pondered much about her father, and would find herself praying for + him, careless of what she had been taught. She could not blind herself to + what she knew. He had not been a bad man, as men count badness, but could + she in common sense think him a glorified saint, shining in white robes? + The polite, kind old man! her own father!—could she, on the other + hand, believe him in flames forever? If so, what a religion was that which + required her to believe it, and at the same time to rejoice in the Lord + always! + </p> + <p> + She longed for something positive to believe, something into accordance + with which she might work her feelings. She was still on the outlook for + definite intellectual formulae to hold. Her intercourse with Andrew had as + yet failed to open her eyes to the fact that the faith required of us is + faith in a person, and not in the truest of statements concerning + anything, even concerning him; or to the fact, that faith in the living + One, the very essence of it, consists in obedience to Him. A man can obey + before he is sure, and except he obey the command he knows to be right, + wherever it may come from, he will never be sure. To find the truth, man + or woman must be true. + </p> + <p> + But she much desired another talk with Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Persuading himself that Alexa's former feeling toward him must in her + trouble reassert itself, and confident that he would find her loath to + part with her father's wonderful collection, George waited the effect of + the will. After the reading of it he had gone away directly, that his + presence might not add to the irritation which he concluded, not without + reason, it must, even in the midst of her sorrow, cause in her; but at the + end of a week he wrote, saying that he felt it his duty, if only in + gratitude to his friend, to inform himself as to the attention the + valuable things he had left him might require. He assured Alexa that he + had done nothing to influence her father in the matter, and much regretted + the awkward position in which his will had placed both her and him. At the + same time it was not unnatural that he should wish such precious objects + to be possessed by one who would care for them as he had himself cared for + them. He hoped, therefore, that she would allow him access to her father's + rooms. He would not, she might rest assured, intrude himself upon her + sorrow, though he would be compelled to ask her before long whether he + might hope that her father's wish would have any influence in reviving the + favor which had once been the joy of his life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa saw that if she consented to see him he would take it as a + permission to press his claim, and the idea was not to be borne. She wrote + him therefore a stiff letter, telling him the house was at his service, + but he must excuse herself. + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought him early to Potlurg. The cause of his haste was + his uneasiness about the chalice. + </p> + <p> + Old Meg opened the door to him, and he followed her straight into the + drawing-room. Alexa was there, and far from expecting him. But, annoyed at + his appearance as she was, she found his manner and behavior less + unpleasant than at any time since his return. He was gentle and + self-restrained, assuming no familiarity beyond that of a distant + relative, and gave the impression of having come against his will, and + only from a sense of duty. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not have my note?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He had hoped, he said, to save her the trouble of writing. + </p> + <p> + She handed him her father's bunch of keys, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + George went to the laird's closet, and having spent an hour in it, again + sought Alexa. The wonderful watch was in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I feel the more pleasure, Alexa,” he said, “in begging you to accept this + trinket, that it was the last addition to your dear father's collection. I + had myself the good fortune to please him with it a few days before his + death.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, George,” returned Alexa. “It is a beautiful thing—my + father showed it me—but I can not take it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was more of you than him I thought when I purchased it, Alexa. You + know why I could not offer it you.” + </p> + <p> + “The same reason exists now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to have to force myself on your attention, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” cried Alexa. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie came running. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, Dawtie. I will speak to you presently,” said her mistress. + </p> + <p> + George rose. He had laid the watch on the table, and seemed to have + forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + “Please take the watch with you,” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you wish it!” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And my father's keys, too,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not be kind enough to take charge of them?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather not be accountable for anything under them. No; you must + take the keys.” + </p> + <p> + “I can not help regretting,” said George, “that your honored father should + have thought fit to lay this burden of possession upon me.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “I comforted myself with the hope that you would feel them as much your + own as ever!” he resumed, in a tone of disappointment and dejection. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know of their existence before I knew they were never to be + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Alexa?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + George walked to the door, but there turned, and said: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, you know that cup your father was so fond of?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that gold cup, set with stones?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw something in his hands once, in bed, that might have been a cup.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a thing of great value—of pure gold, and every stone in it a + gem.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” returned Alexa, with marked indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope + Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced it + at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was + wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him when + he died; that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is missing?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the + laird at the last.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up + with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?” asked her mistress. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't know what has become of it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; I know nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Dawtie,” said George. “This is a matter that will have to be + searched into.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you last see it, Dawtie?” inquired Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “The very day my master died, ma'am. He was looking at it, but when he saw + I saw him he took it inside the bed-clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have not seen it since?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “And you do not know where it is?” said George. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. How should I?” + </p> + <p> + “You never touched it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can not say that, sir; I brought it him from his closet; he sent me for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think may have become of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you allow me to make a thorough search in the place where it was + last seen?” asked George, turning to his cousin. + </p> + <p> + “By all means. Dawtie, go and help Mr. Crawford to look.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, ma'am, it can't be there. We've had the carpet up, and the floor + scrubbed. There's not a hole or a corner we haven't been into—and + that yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “We must find it,” said George. “It must be in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “It must, sir,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + But George more than doubted it + </p> + <p> + “I do believe,” he said, “the laird would rather have lost his whole + collection.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir, I think he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have talked to him about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have, sir,” answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the + question. + </p> + <p> + “And you know the worth of the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say + pounds and pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, <i>where is it?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you wish you did?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—” began Dawtie, and stopped short; she shrunk from + impugning the honesty of the dead man—and in the presence of his + daughter. + </p> + <p> + “It looks a little fishy, don't it, Dawtie? Why not speak straight out? + Perhaps you would not mind searching Meg's trunk for me. She may have + taken it for a bit of old brass, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I will answer for my servants, Mr. Crawford,” said Alexa. “I will not + have old Meg's box searched.” + </p> + <p> + “It is desirable to get rid of any suspicion,” replied George. + </p> + <p> + “I have none,” returned Alexa. + </p> + <p> + George was silent + </p> + <p> + “I will ask Meg, if you like, sir,” said Dawtie; “but I am sure it will be + no use. A servant in this house soon learns not to go by the look of + things. We don't treat anything here as if we knew all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you see the goblet first?” persisted George. + </p> + <p> + “Goblet, sir? I thought you were speaking of the gold cup.” + </p> + <p> + By <i>goblet</i> Dawtie understood a small iron pot. + </p> + <p> + “Goblet, or cup, or chalice—whatever you like to call it—I ask + how you came to know about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know very little about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is plain you know more than you care to tell. If you will not answer + me you will have to answer a magistrate.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will answer a magistrate,” said Dawtie, beginning to grow angry. + </p> + <p> + “You had better answer me, Dawtie. It will be easier for you. What do you + know about the cup?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it was not master's, and is not yours—really and truly.” + </p> + <p> + “What can have put such a lie in your head?” + </p> + <p> + “If it be a lie, sir, it is told in plain print.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + But Dawtie judged it time to stop. She bethought herself that she would + not have said so much had she not been angry. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she answered, “you have been asking me questions all this time, and + I have been answering them; it is your turn to answer me one.” + </p> + <p> + “If I see proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Did my old master tell you the history of that cup?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose to answer the question.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie turned to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! stop!” cried Crawford; “I have not done with you yet, my girl. You + have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong to + the laird.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose to answer the question,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall answer it to a magistrate.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir,” she replied, and stood. + </p> + <p> + Crawford left the room. + </p> + <p> + He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on + each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her + heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it. + </p> + <p> + The words rose in her mind: + </p> + <p> + “It must needs be that offenses come, but woe onto that man by whom they + come.” + </p> + <p> + She was at once filled with pity for the man who could side with the + wrong, and want everything his own way, for, sooner or later, confusion + must be his portion; the Lord had said: “There is nothing covered that + shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known.” + </p> + <p> + “He needs to be shamed,” she said, “but he is thy child; care for him, + too.” + </p> + <p> + George felt that he had not borne a dignified part, and knew that his last + chance with Alexa was gone. Then he too felt the situation unendurable, + and set about removing his property. He wrote to Alexa that he could no + longer doubt it her wish to be rid of the collection, and able to use the + room. It was desirable also, he said, that a thorough search should be + made in those rooms before he placed the matter of the missing cup in the + hands of the magistrates. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's last words had sufficed to remove any lingering doubt as to what + had become of the chalice. It did not occur to him that one so anxious to + do the justice of restoration would hardly be capable of telling lies, of + defiling her soul that a bit of property might be recovered; he took it + for granted that she meant to be liberally rewarded by the earl. + </p> + <p> + George would have ill understood the distinction Dawtie made—that + the body of the cup <i>might</i> belong to him, but the soul of the cup <i>did</i> + belong to another; or her assertion that where the soul was there the body + ought to be; or her argument that He who had the soul had the right to + ransom the body—a reasoning possible to a child-like nature only; + she had pondered to find the true law of the case, and this was her + conclusion. + </p> + <p> + George suspected, and grew convinced that Alexa was a party to the + abstraction of the cup. She had, he said, begun to share in the + extravagant notions of a group of pietists whose leader was that + detestable fellow, Ingram. Alexa was attached to Dawtie, and Dawtie was + one of them. He believed Alexa would do anything to spite him. To bring + trouble on Dawtie would be to punish her mistress, and the pious farmer, + too. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROSECUTION. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Crawford had his things away from Potlurg, satisfied the cup + was nowhere among them, he made a statement of the case to a magistrate he + knew; and so represented it, as the outcome of the hypocrisy of pietism, + that the magistrate, hating everything called fanatical, at once granted + him a warrant to apprehend Dawtie on the charge of theft. + </p> + <p> + It was a terrible shock. Alexa cried out with indignation. Dawtie turned + white and then red, but uttered never a word. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” said her mistress, “tell me what you know about the cup. You do + know something that you have not told me!” + </p> + <p> + “I do, ma'am, but I will not tell it except I am forced.” + </p> + <p> + “That you are going to be, my poor girl! I am very sorry, for I am + perfectly sure you have done nothing you know to be wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing you or anybody would think wrong, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + She put on her Sunday frock, and went down to go with the policeman. To + her joy she found her mistress at the door, ready to accompany her. They + had two miles or more to walk, but that was nothing to either. + </p> + <p> + Questioned by the magistrate, not unkindly, for her mistress was there, + Dawtie told everything—how first she came upon the likeness and + history of the cup, and then saw the cup itself in her master's hands. + </p> + <p> + Crawford told how the laird had warned him against Dawtie, giving him to + understand that she had been seized with a passion for the goblet such + that she would peril her soul to possess it, and that he dared not let her + know where it was. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Dawtie, “he could na hae distrusted me like that, for he gae + me his keys, and sent me to fetch the cup when he was ower ill to gang + till't.” + </p> + <p> + “If that be true, your worship,” said Crawford, “it does not affect the + fact that the cup was in the hands of the old man when I left him and she + went to him, and from that moment it has not been seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he have it when you went to him?” asked the magistrate. + </p> + <p> + “I didna see't, sir. He was in a kind o' faint when I got up.” + </p> + <p> + Crawford said that, hearing a cry, he ran up again, and found the old man + at the point of death, with just strength to cry out before he died, that + Dawtie had taken the cup from him. Dawtie was leaning over him, but he had + not imagined the accusation more than the delirious fancy of a dying man, + till it appeared that the cup was not to be found. + </p> + <p> + The magistrate made out Dawtie's commitment for trial. He remarked that + she might have been misled by a false notion of duty: he had been informed + that she belonged to a sect claiming the right to think for themselves on + the profoundest mysteries—and here was the result! There was not a + man in Scotland less capable of knowing what any woman was thinking, or + more incapable of doubting his own insight. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless, he went on, she had superstitiously regarded the cup as + exercising a Satanic influence on the mind of her master; but even if she + confessed it now, he must make an example of one whose fanaticism would + set wrong right after the notions of an illiterate sect, and not according + to the laws of the land. He just send the case to be tried by a jury! If + she convinced the twelve men composing that jury, of the innocence she + protested, she would then be a free woman. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie stood very white all the time he was speaking, and her lips every + now and then quivered as if she were going to cry, but she did not. Alexa + offered bail, but his worship would not accept it: his righteous soul was + too indignant. She went to Dawtie and kissed her, and together they + followed the policeman to the door, where Dawtie was to get into a + spring-cart with him, and be driven to the county town, there to lie + waiting the assizes. + </p> + <p> + The bad news had spread so fast that as they came out, up came Andrew. At + sight of him Dawtie gently laughed, like a pleased child. The policeman, + who, like many present, had been prejudiced by her looks in her favor, + dropped behind, and she walked between her mistress and Andrew to the + cart. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Andrew! has God forgotten me?” she returned, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + “For God to forget,” answered Andrew, “would be not to be God any longer!” + </p> + <p> + “But here I am on my road til a prison, Andrew! I didna think He would hae + latten them do't!” + </p> + <p> + “A bairn micht jist as weel say, whan its nurse lays't intil its cradle, + and says: 'Noo, lie still!' 'Mammy, I didna think ye would hae latten her + do't!' He's a' aboot ye and in ye, Dawtie, and this is come to ye jist to + lat ye ken 'at He is. He raised ye up jist to spen' His glory upo'! I say, + Dawtie, did Jesus Christ deserve what He got?” + </p> + <p> + “No ae bit, Andrew! What for should ye speir sic a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Then do ye think God hae forgotten Him?” + </p> + <p> + “May be He thoucht it jist for a minute!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ye hae thoucht jist for a minute, and ye maun think it nae mair.” + </p> + <p> + “But God couldna forget <i>Him</i>, An'rew: He got it a' for doin' His + will!” + </p> + <p> + “Evil may come upon as from other causes than doing the will of God; but + from whatever cause it comes, the thing we have to see to is, that through + it all we do the will of God!” + </p> + <p> + “What's His will noo, An'rew?” + </p> + <p> + “That ye tak it quaietly. Shall not the Father do wi' His ain child what + He will! Can He no shift it frae the tae airm to the tither, but the bairn + maun girn? He has ye, Dawtie! It's a' richt!” + </p> + <p> + “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him!” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head. The color had come back to her face; her lips had + ceased to tremble; she stepped on steadily to where, a few yards from the + door, the spring-cart was waiting her. She bade her mistress good-bye, + then turned to Andrew and said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, An'rew! I am not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going with you, Dawtie,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, you can't do that!” said the policeman; “at least you can't go + in the trap!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Andrew!” cried Dawtie. “I would rather go alone. I am quite happy + now. God will do with me as He pleases!” + </p> + <p> + “I am going with you,” said Alexa, “if the policeman will let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, ma'am! A lady's different!—I've got to account for the + prisoner you see, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you should, ma'am,” said Dawtie. “It's a long way!” + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” returned her mistress, decisively. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, ma'am!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had heard what he said to Dawtie. A new light had broken upon her. + “God is like that, is He?” she said to herself. “You can go close up to + Him whenever you like?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. A TALK AT POTLURG. + </h2> + <p> + It would be three weeks before the assizes came. The house of Potlurg was + searched by the police from garret to cellar, but in vain; the cup was not + found. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they gave up searching, Alexa had the old door of the laird's + closet, discernible enough on the inside, reopened, and the room cleaned. + Almost unfurnished as it was, she made of it her sitting-parlor. But often + her work or her book would lie on her lap, and she would find herself + praying for the dear father for whom she could do nothing else now, but + for whom she might have done so much, had she been like Dawtie. Her + servant had cared for her father more than she! + </p> + <p> + As she sat there one morning alone, brooding a little, thinking a little, + reading a little, and praying through it all, Meg appeared, and said + Maister Andrew wanted to see her. + </p> + <p> + He had called more than once to inquire after Dawtie, but had not before + asked to see her mistress. + </p> + <p> + Alexa felt herself unaccountably agitated. When he walked into the room, + however, she was able to receive him quietly. He came, he said, to ask + when she had seen Dawtie. He would have gone himself to see her, but his + father was ailing, and he had double work to do. Besides, she did not seem + willing to see him! Alexa told him she had been with her the day before, + and had found her a little pale, and, she feared, rather troubled in her + mind. She said she would trust God to the last, but confessed herself + assailed by doubts. + </p> + <p> + “I said to her,” continued Alexa, “'Be sure, Dawtie, God will make your + innocence known one day!' She answered: 'Of course, ma'am, there is + nothing hidden that shall not be known; but I am not impatient about that. + The Jews to this day think Jesus an impostor!' 'But surely,' said I, 'you + care that people should understand you are no thief, Dawtie!' 'Yes, I do,' + she answered; 'all I say is, that is does not trouble me. I want only to + be downright sure that God is looking after me all the time. I am willing + to sit in prison till I die, if He pleases.' 'God can't please that!' I + said. 'If He does not care to take me out, I do not care to go out,' said + Dawtie. 'It's not that I'm good; it's only that I don't care for anything + He doesn't care for. What would it be that all men acquitted me, if God + did not trouble Himself about His children!'” + </p> + <p> + “You see, ma'am, it comes to this,” said Andrew: “it is God Dawtie cares + about, not herself! If God is all right, Dawtie is all right. The <i>if</i> + sometimes takes one shape, sometimes another, but the fear is the same—and + the very fear is faith. Sometimes the fear is that there may be no God, + and that you might call a fear for herself; but when Dawtie fears lest God + should not be caring for her, that is a fear for God; for if God did not + care for His creature, He would be no true God!” + </p> + <p> + “Then He could not exist!” + </p> + <p> + “True; and so you are back on the other fear!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have said to her, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have reminded her that Jesus was perfectly content with His + Father; that He knew what was coming on Himself, and never doubted Him—just + gloried that His Father was what He knew Him to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I see! But what did you mean when you said that Dawtie's very fear was + faith?” + </p> + <p> + “Think, ma'am: people that only care to be saved, that is, not to be + punished for their sins, are anxious only about themselves, not about God + and His glory at all. They talk about the glory of God, but they make it + consist in pure selfishness! According to them, He seeks everything for + Himself; which is dead against the truth of God, a diabolic slander of + God. It does not trouble them to believe such things about God; they do + not even desire that God should not be like that; they only want to escape + Him. They dare not say God will not do this or that, however clear it be + that it would not be fair; they are in terror of contradicting the Bible. + They make more of the Bible than of God, and so fail to find the truth of + the Bible, and accept things concerning God which are not in the Bible, + and are the greatest of insults to Him! Dawtie never thinks about saving + her soul; she has no fear about her soul; she is only anxious about God + and His glory. How the doubts come, God knows; but if she did not love + God, they would not be there. Jesus says God will speedily avenge His + elect—those that cry day and night to Him—which I take to mean + that He will soon save them from all such miseries. Free Dawtie from + unsureness about God, and she has no fear left. All is well, in the prison + or on the throne of God, if He only be what she thinks He is. If any one + say that doubt can not coexist with faith, I answer, it can with love, and + love is the greater of the two, yea, is the very heart of faith itself. + God's children are not yet God's men and women. The God that many people + believe in, claiming to be <i>the</i> religious because they believe in + Him, is a God not worth believing in, a God that ought not to be believed + in. The life given by such a God would be a life not worth living, even if + He made His votaries as happy as they would choose to be. A God like that + could not make a woman like Dawtie anxious about Him! If God be not each + as Jesus, what good would the proving of her innocence be to Dawtie! A + mighty thing indeed that the world should confess she was not a thief! But + to know that there is a perfect God, one for us to love with all the power + of love of which we feel we are capable, is worth going out of existence + for; while to know that God himself, must make every throb of + consciousness a divine ecstasy!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew's heart was full, and out of its fullness he spoke. Never before + had he been able in the presence of Alexa to speak as he felt. Never + before had he had any impulse to speak as now. As soon would he have gone + to sow seed on a bare rock, as words of spirit and life in her ears! + </p> + <p> + “I am beginning to understand you,” she said. “Will you forgive me? I have + been very self-confident and conceited! What a mercy things are not as I + thought they were—thought they ought to be!” + </p> + <p> + “And the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the + sea!” said Andrew. “And men's hearts shall be full of bliss, because they + have found their Father, and He is what He is, and they are going home to + Him.” + </p> + <p> + He rose. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and see me again soon—will you not?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “As often as you please, ma'am; I am your servant.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He went on the morrow, and the next day, and the day after—almost + every day while Dawtie was waiting her trial. + </p> + <p> + Almost every morning Alexa went by train to see Dawtie; and the news she + brought, Andrew would carry to the girl's parents. Dawtie continued + unwilling to see Andrew: he had had trouble enough with her already, she + said; but Andrew could not quite understand her refusal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. A GREAT OFFERING. + </h2> + <p> + Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was a + cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath, which + came close up to the back of the house. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and + Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw her + shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man hands, he + pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a pitying + admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and ere she + knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her eyes that + Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by that sense of + class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of heaven, she + attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the conviction rose in + her, which has often risen in such as she, that there is a magnanimity + demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional dignity, but of + conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to be more than great, + must stoop; that it was her part to make the approach which, between + equals, was the part of the man; the patroness <i>must</i> do what the + woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman; and he should not, + because of the humility that dared not presume, fail of what he deserved! + </p> + <p> + “Andrew,” she said, “I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not + like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now—know you + as far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no, ma'am!” protested Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me out, Andrew,” she interrupted—then paused a little. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she resumed, “ought we not to love best the best we know?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, ma'am!” he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what was + on the way. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the + world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take me, + I am yours.” + </p> + <p> + She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave and + a right thing. + </p> + <p> + Andrew stood stock-still. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Me</i>, ma'am!” he gasped, and grew pale—then red as a foggy + sun. But he made scarcely a moment's pause. + </p> + <p> + “It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!” he said. “But I can not make + the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I can say + no more.” + </p> + <p> + His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to conceal + his emotion. + </p> + <p> + And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself up + with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved + divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not + be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am!” said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and + neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house. + </p> + <p> + Said Alexa to herself: + </p> + <p> + “I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I + made no mistake in <i>him</i>!” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and + said, holding it in his hand as he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, ma'am! You <i>will</i> send for me if you want me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will. Good-night!” said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on her + heart. + </p> + <p> + Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day old + Meg, at least, saw no change in her. + </p> + <p> + Said Andrew to himself: + </p> + <p> + “I will be her servant always.” + </p> + <p> + He was humbled, not uplifted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER OFFERING. + </h2> + <p> + The next evening, that before the trial, Andrew presented himself at the + prison, and was admitted. Dawtie came to meet him, held out her hand, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “Well enough, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “God is with us, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie, I can not see God's eyes looking at me, but I am ready to do what + He wants me to do, and so I feel He is with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Andrew, I wish I could be sure!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us take the risk together, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “What risk, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “The risk that makes you not sure, Dawtie—the risk that is at once + the worst and the least—the risk that our hope should be in vain, + and there is no God. But, Dawtie, there is that in my heart that cries + Christ <i>did</i> die, and <i>did</i> rise again, and God is doing His + best. His perfect love is our perfect safety. It is hard upon Him that His + own children will not trust Him!” + </p> + <p> + “If He would but show Himself!” + </p> + <p> + “The sight of Him now would make us believe in Him without knowing Him; + and what kind of faith would that be for Him or for us! We should be bad + children, taking Him for a weak parent! We must <i>know</i> Him! When we + do, there will be no fear, no doubt. We shall run straight home! Dawtie, + shall we go together?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely, Andrew! God knows I try. I'm ready to do whatever you tell + me, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dawtie! You must never do what I tell you, except you think it + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!” + </p> + <p> + “We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!” responded Dawtie, turning to + her vernacular. + </p> + <p> + “Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes she + looked through and beyond his words. + </p> + <p> + She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Winna ye, Dawtie?” said Andrew, holding out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye h'avenly idiot,” cried Andrew. “Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head—straight up, her head + fell back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, + her arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew + taken her. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew! Andrew!” she sighed, and was still in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Winna ye, Dawtie?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she murmured; “wait.” + </p> + <p> + “I winna wait, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till ye hear what they'll say the morn.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie, I'm ashamed o' ye. What care I, an' what daur ye care what they + say. Are ye no the Lord's clean yowie? Gien ye care for what ony man + thinks o' ye but the Lord himsel', ye're no a' His. Gien ye care for what + I think o' ye, ither-like nor what He thinks, ye're no sae His as I maun + hae ye afore we pairt company—which, please God, 'ill be on the + ither side o' eternity.” + </p> + <p> + “But, An'rew, it winna do to say o' yer father's son 'at he took his wife + frae the jail.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed they s' say naething ither! What ither cam I for? Would ye hae me + ashamed o' ane o' God's elec'—a lady o' the Lord's ain coort?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, but I'm feart it's a' the compassion o' yer hert, sir. Ye wad fain + mak' up to me for the disgrace. Ye could weel do wantin' me.” + </p> + <p> + “I winna say,” returned Andrew, “that I couldna live wantin' ye, for that + wad be to say I wasna worth offerin' ye, and it would be to deny Him 'at + made you and me for ane anither, but I wad have a some sair time! I'll + jist speak to the minister to be ready the minute the Lord opens yer + prison-door.” + </p> + <p> + The same moment in came the governor with his wife; they were much + interested in Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, and ma'am,” said Andrew, “will you please witness that this woman is + my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Maister Andrew Ingram o' the Knowe,” said Dawtie. “He wants me to + merry him.” + </p> + <p> + “I want her to go before the court as my wife,” said Andrew. “She would + have me wait till the jury said this or that. The jury give me my wife. As + if I didn't know her.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have him, I see,” said Mrs. Innes, turning to Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Hae him!” cried Dawtie, “I wad hae him gien there war but the heid o' + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are husband and wife,” said the governor; “only you should have + the thing done properly by the minister—afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see to that, sir,” answered Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Come, wife,” said the governor, “we must let them have a few minutes + alone together.” + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Andrew, when the door closed, “ye're my wife, noo, Dawtie. + Lat them acquit ye or condemn ye, it's you an' me, noo, whatever come!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie broke into a flood of tears—an experience all but new to her—and + found it did her good. She smiled as she wiped her eyes, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Weel, An'rew, gien the Lord hasna appeart in His ain likeness to deliver + me, He's done the next best thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” answered Andrew, “the Lord never does the next best. The thing + He does is always better than the thing He does not.” + </p> + <p> + “Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan',” said Dawtie, but Andrew went + on. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to gie + him—or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie. + Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the + minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain + God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think + what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna + lat me come and see ye afore?” + </p> + <p> + “I wull, An'rew; I was nae suner left to mysel' i' the prison than I faun' + mysel' thinkin' aboot <i>you</i>—you first, and no the Lord. I said + to mysel', 'This is awfu'. I'm leanin' upo' An'rew, and no upo' the First + and the Last.' I saw that that was to brak awa' frae Him that was nearest + me, and trust ane that was farther awa'—which wasna i' the holy + rizzon o' things. Sae I said to mysel' I would meet my fate wi' the Lord + alane, and wouldna hae you come 'atween Him and me. Noo ye hae 't, + An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew took her in his arms and said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, Dawtie. Eh, but I <i>am</i> content And she thought she hadna + faith. Good-night, Dawtie. Ye maun gane to yer bed, an' grow stoot in hert + for the morn.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. AFTER THE VERDICT. + </h2> + <p> + Through the governor of the jail Andrew obtained permission to stand near + the prisoner at the trial. The counsel for the prosecution did all he + could, and the counsel for the defense not much—at least Dawtie's + friends thought so—and the judge summed up with the greatest + impartiality. Dawtie's simplicity and calmness, her confidence devoid of + self-assertion, had its influence on the jury, and they gave the + uncomfortable verdict of “<i>Not Proven</i>,” so that Dawtie was + discharged. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had a carriage ready to take her home. As Dawtie went to it she + whispered to her husband: + </p> + <p> + “Ye hae to tak me wantin' a character, Andrew.” + </p> + <p> + “Jesus went home without a character, and was well received,” said Andrew, + with a smile. “You'll be over to-night to see the old folk?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Andrew; I'm sure the mistress will let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say a word to her of our marriage, except she has heard, and + mentions it. I want to tell her myself. You will find me at the croft when + you come, and I will go back with you.” + </p> + <p> + In the evening Dawtie came, and brought the message that her mistress + would like to see him. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the room Alexa rose to meet him. He stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, ma'am,” he said, “for your great kindness to Dawtie. We were + married in the prison. She is my wife now.” + </p> + <p> + “Married! Your wife?” echoed Alexa, flushing, and drawing back a step. + </p> + <p> + “I had loved her long, ma'am; and when trouble came her the time came for + me to stand by her side.” + </p> + <p> + “You had not spoken to her then—till—” + </p> + <p> + “Not till last night. I said before the governor of the prison and Mrs. + Innes that we were husband and wife. If you please, ma'am, we shall have + the proper ceremony as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had known,” said Alexa—almost to herself, with a troubled + smile. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had, ma'am,” responded Andrew. She raised her face with a look + of confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please to forget, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + Nobility had carried the day. She had not one mean thought either of him + or the girl. + </p> + <p> + “To forget is not in man's power, ma'am; but I shall never think a thought + you would wish unthought.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand to him. They were friends forever. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be married here, Andrew? The house is at your service,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it ought to be at her father's, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Alexa; and she sat down. + </p> + <p> + Andrew stood in silence, for he saw she was meditating something. At + length she raised her head, and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You have been compelled to take the step sooner than you intended—have + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can hardly be so well prepared as you would like to be!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall manage.” + </p> + <p> + “It will hardly be convenient for your mother, I fear! You have nowhere + else to take her—have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; but my mother loves us both. And,” he added, simply, “where + there's room for me, there's room for her now!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind if I asked you how your parents take it?” + </p> + <p> + “They don't say much. You see, ma'am, we are all proud until we learn that + we have one Master, and we all are brethren. But they will soon get over + it.” + </p> + <p> + When I see a man lifting up those that are beneath him, not pulling down + those that are above him, I will believe in his communism. Those who most + resent being looked down upon, are in general the readiest to look down + upon others. It is not principle, it is not truth, it is themselves they + regard. Of all false divinities, Self is the most illogical. + </p> + <p> + “If God had been the mighty monarch they represent Him,” continued Andrew, + “He would never have let us come near Him!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear Mr. Rackstraw's sermon on the condescension of God?” asked + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “The condescension of God, ma'am! There is no such thing. God never + condescended, with one Jove-like nod, all his mighty, eternal life! God + condescend to His children—their spirits born of His spirit, their + hearts the children of His heart! No, ma'am! there never was a falser, + uglier word in any lying sermon!” + </p> + <p> + His eyes flashed and his face shone. Alexa thought she had never seen him + look so grand. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” she answered. “I will never use the word about God again!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you thank me?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon; I had no right to thank you. But I am so tried with + the wicked things said about God by people who think they are speaking to + His pleasure and not in his despite, that I am apt to talk foolishly. I + don't wonder at God's patience with the wicked, but I do wonder at His + patience with the pious!” + </p> + <p> + “They don't know better!” + </p> + <p> + “How are they to know better while they are so sure about everything! I + would infinitely rather believe in no God at all, than in such a God as + they would have me believe in!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Andrew, I had not a glimmer of what you meant—of what you + really objected to, or what you loved! Now, I can not even recall what it + was I did not like in your teaching. I think it was that, instead of + listening to know what you meant, I was always thinking how to oppose you, + or trying to find out by what name you were to be called. One time I + thought you were an Arminian, another time a Socinian, then a + Swedenborgian, then an Arian! I read a history of the sects of the middle + ages, just to see where I could set you down. I told people you did not + believe this, and did not believe that, when I knew neither what you + believed, nor what you did not believe. I thought I did, but it was all + mistake and imagination. When you would not discuss things with me, I + thought you were afraid of losing the argument. Now I see that, instead of + disputing about opinions, I should have been saying: 'God be merciful to + me a sinner!'” + </p> + <p> + “God be praised!” said Andrew. “Ma'am, you are a free woman! The Father + has called you, and you have said: 'Here I am.'” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Andrew, thanks to God by you! But I am forgetting what I + wanted to say! Would it not be better—after you are married, I mean—to + let Dawtie stay with me awhile?—I will promise you not to work her + too hard,” she added, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I see, ma'am! It is just like you! You want people to know that you + believe in her!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I want also to do what I can to keep such good tenants. + Therefore I must add a room or two to your house, that there may be good + accommodation for you all.” + </p> + <p> + “You make thanks impossible, ma'am! I will speak to Dawtie about it. I + know she will be glad not to leave you! I will take care not to trouble + the house.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall do just as Dawtie and you please. Where Dawtie is, there will + be room for you!” + </p> + <p> + Already Alexa's pain had grown quite bearable. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie needed no persuading. She was so rich in the possession of Andrew + that she could go a hundred years without seeing him, she said. It was + only that he would come and see her, instead of her going to see him! + </p> + <p> + In ten days they were married at her father's cottage. Her father and + mother then accompanied her and Andrew to the Knowe, to dine with Andrew's + father and mother. In the evening the new pair went out for a walk in the + old fields. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>seems</i>, Dawtie, as if God was here!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I would fain see him, Andrew! I would rather <i>you</i> went out than + God!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he was nowhere, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “If God werena in <i>you</i>, ye wadna be what ye are to yer ignorant + Dawtie, Andrew! She needs her Father in h'aven sairer nor her Andrew! But + I'm sayin' things sae true 'at it's jist silly to say them! Eh, it's like + h'aven itsel' to be oot o' that prison, an' walkin' aboot wi' you! God has + gien me a' thing!—jist <i>a' thing</i>, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “God was wi' ye i' the prison, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! But I like better to be wi' Him here!” + </p> + <p> + “An' ye may be sure He likes better to ha'e ye here!” rejoined Andrew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. AGAIN THE GOBLET. + </h2> + <p> + The next day Alexa set Dawtie to search the house yet again for the + missing goblet. + </p> + <p> + “It must be somewhere!” she said. “We are beset with an absolute + contradiction: the thing can't be in the house! and it must be in the + house!” + </p> + <p> + “If we do find it,” returned Dawtie, “folk'll say them 'at could hide + could weel seek! I s' luik naegait wantin' you, mem!” + </p> + <p> + The study was bare of books, and the empty shelves gave no hint of + concealment They stood in its dreariness looking vaguely round them. + </p> + <p> + “Did it ever come to ye, mem,” said Dawtie, “that a minute or twa passed + between Mr. Crawford comin' doon the stair wi' you, and me gaein' up to + the maister? When I gaed intil the room, he lay pantin' i' the bed; but as + I broodit upo' ilka thing alane i' the prison, he cam afore me, there i' + the bed, as gien he had gotten oot o' 't, and hidden awa' the cup, and was + jist gotten intil't again, the same moment I cam in.” + </p> + <p> + “Dying people will do strange things!” rejoined her mistress. “But it + brings us no nearer the cup!” + </p> + <p> + “The surer we are, the better we'll seek!” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + They began, and went over the room thoroughly—looking everywhere + they could think of. They had all but given it up to go on elsewhere, when + Dawtie, standing again in the middle and looking about in a sort of + unconscious hopelessness, found her eyes on the mantel-shelf, and went and + laid her hand upon it. It was of wood, and she fancied it a little loose, + but she could not move it. + </p> + <p> + “When Andrew comes we'll get him to examine it!” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + He came in the evening, and Alexa told him what they had been doing. She + begged him to get tools, and see whether there was not a space under the + mantel-shelf. But Andrew, accustomed to ponder contrivances with Sandy, + would have a good look at it first He came presently upon a clever little + spring, pressing which he could lift the shelf: there under it, sure + enough, in rich response to the candle he held, flashed the gems of the + curiously wrought chalice of gold! Alexa gave a cry, Andrew drew a deep + breath, Dawtie laughed like a child. How they gazed on it, passed it from + one to the other, pored over the gems, and over the raised work that + inclosed them, I need not tell. They began to talk about what was to be + done with it. + </p> + <p> + “We will send it to the earl!” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Andrew; “that would be to make ourselves judges in the case! + Your father must have paid money for it; he gave it to Mr. Crawford, and + Mr. Crawford must not be robbed!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Andrew!” said Alexa. “Everything in the next room was left to my + cousin, with the library in this; whatever else was left him was + individually described. The cup was not in the next room, and was not + mentioned. Providence has left us to do with it as we may judge right. I + think it ought to be taken to Borland Hall—and by Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! She will mention that your father bought it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not take a shilling for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Is not that because you are not quite sure you have the right to dispose + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not take the price of it if my father had left the cup expressly + to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Had he done so, you would have a right to what he paid for it. To give + the earl the choice of securing it, would be a service rendered him. If he + were too poor to buy it, the thing would have to be considered.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could make me touch money for it. George would never doubt we had + concealed it in order to trick him out of it!” + </p> + <p> + “He will think so all the same. It will satisfy him, and not a few beside, + that Dawtie ought to have been convicted. The thing is certainly Mr. + Crawford's—that is, his as not yours. Your father undoubtedly meant + him to have the cup; and God would not have you, even to serve the right, + take advantage of an accident. Whatever ought to be done with the cup, Mr. + Crawford ought to do it; it is his business to do right in regard to it; + and whatever advantage may be gained by doing right, Mr. Crawford ought to + have the chance of gaining it. Would you deprive him of the opportunity, + to which at least he has a right, of doing justice, and delivering his + soul?” + </p> + <p> + “You would have us tell the earl that his cup is found, but Mr. Crawford + claims it?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew would have us take it to Mr. Crawford,” said Dawtie, “and tell him + that the earl has a claim to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him also,” said Andrew, “where it was found, showing he has no <i>legal</i> + right to it; and tell him he has no more moral right to it than the laird + could give him. Tell him, ma'am,” continued Andrew, “that you expect him + to take it to the earl, that he may buy it if he will; and say that if, + after a fortnight, you find it is not in the earl's possession, you will + yourself ascertain from him whether the offer has been made him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just right,” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + And so the thing was done. The cup is now in the earl's collection, and + without any further interference on her part. + </p> + <p> + A few days after she and Dawtie carried the cup to Crawford, a parcel + arrived at Potlurg, containing a beautiful silver case, and inside the + case the jeweled watch—with a letter from George, begging Alexa to + accept his present, and assuring her of his conviction that the moment he + annoyed her with any further petition, she would return it. He expressed + his regret that he had brought such suffering upon Dawtie, and said he was + ready to make whatever amends her husband might think fit. + </p> + <p> + Alexa accepted the watch, and wore it. She thought her father would like + her to do so. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. + </h2> + <p> + The friendship of the three was never broken. I will not say that, as she + lay awake in the dark, the eyes of Alexa never renewed the tears of that + autumn night on which she turned her back upon the pride of self, but her + tears were never those of bitterness, of self-scorn, or of self-pity. + </p> + <p> + “If I am to be pitied,” she would say to herself, “let the Lord pity me! I + am not ashamed, and will not be sorry. I have nothing to resent; no one + has wronged me.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew died in middle age. His wife said the Master wanted him for + something nobody else could do, or He would not have taken him from her. + She wept and took comfort, for she lived in expectation. + </p> + <p> + One night when she and Alexa were sitting together at Potlurg, about a + month after his burial, speaking of many things with the freedom of a long + and tried love, Alexa said, after a pause of some duration: + </p> + <p> + “Were you not very angry with me then, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “When, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “When Andrew told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Told me what, ma'am? I must be stupid to-night, for I can't think what + you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “When he told you I wanted him, not knowing he was yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I ken naething o' what ye're mintin' at, mem,” persisted Dawtie, in a + tone of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I thought you had no secrets from one another.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that we ever had—except things in his books that he + said were God's secrets, which I should understand some day, for God was + telling them as fast as He could get his children to understand them.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” sighed Alexa; “you were made for each other. But this is my + secret, and I have the right to tell it. He kept it for me to tell you. I + thought all the time you knew it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to know anything Andrew would not tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “He thought it was my secret, you see, not his, and that was why he did + not tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of coarse, ma'am. Andrew always did what was right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Dawtie—I offered to be his wife if he would have me.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say?” asked Dawtie, with the composure of one listening + to a story learned from a book. + </p> + <p> + “He told me he couldn't. But I'm not sure what he <i>said</i>. The words + went away.” + </p> + <p> + “When was it he asked you?” said Dawtie, sunk in thought. + </p> + <p> + “The night but one before the trial,” answered Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “He micht hae ta'en you, then, i'stead o' me—a lady an' a'. Oh, mem! + do you think he took me 'cause I was in trouble? He micht hae been laird + himsel'.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie! Dawtie!” cried Alexa. “If you think that would have weighed with + Andrew, I ought to have been his wife, for I know him better than you.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie smiled at that. + </p> + <p> + “But I do know, mem,” she said, “that Andrew was fit to cast the lairdship + frae him to comfort ony puir lassie. I would ha' lo'ed him a' the same.” + </p> + <p> + “As I have done, Dawtie,” said Alexa, solemnly. “But he wouldn't have + thrown <i>me</i> away for you, if he hadn't loved you, Dawtie. Be sure of + that. He might have made nothing of the lairdship, but he wouldn't have + made nothing of me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true, mem. I dinna doobt it.” + </p> + <p> + “I love him still—and you mustn't mind me saying it, Dawtie. There + are ways of loving that are good, though there be some pain in them. Thank + God, we have our children to look after. You will let me say <i>our</i> + children, won't you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + Some thought Alexa hard, some thought her cold, but the few that knew her + knew she was neither; and some of my readers will grant that such a friend + as Andrew was better than such a husband as George. + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 8944-h.htm or 8944-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/9/4/8944/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed +Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Elect Lady + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8944] +This file was first posted on August 28, 2003 +Last Updated: April 18, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + +_(A Duplex Edition)_ + + +By George MacDonald + + + + +THE ELECT LADY + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + +In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its +appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse--for there were +utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually +grow upon a farm--with the corner of a white deal table between them, +sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no +level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which +seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or +five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark +hazel eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, +but a little hard, and not a little regnant--as such features must be, +except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. +As to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of +education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its +share in the labor of production. + +As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than +falls to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature +than the young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior, +would have enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and +thin, but plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel +eye, not overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a +curious smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of +pinching his upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the +present moment he was unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small +farmer--in what part of Scotland is of little consequence--and his +companion for the moment was the daughter of the laird. + +"I have glanced over the poem," said the lady, "and it seems to me quite +up to the average of what you see in print." + +"Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?" asked the man, with +amused smile. + +"It would be for the editor to determine," she answered, not perceiving +the hinted objection. + +"You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested--indeed I never +thought of such a thing!" + +"I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the +verses." + +"I must speak to my mother!" he said, in a meditative way. + +"You can not object to _my_ seeing your work! She does not show it to +everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your +leisure." + +"The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own--except my brother's." + +"What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?" + +"The writing of it, ma'am." + +"For the exercise, you mean?" + +"No; I hardly mean that." + +"I am afraid then I do not understand you." + +"Do _you_ never write anything but what you publish?" + +"Publish! _I_ never publish! What made you think of such a thing?" + +"That you know so much about it, ma'am." + +"I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage +you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems +now!" + +"I wish it hadn't been just that one my mother gave you!" + +"Why?" + +"For one thing, it is not finished--as you will see when you read it +more carefully." + +"I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but--" + +"Excuse me, ma'am; the want of rhythm there was intentional." + +"I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! +The accent should always be made to fall in the right place." + +"Beyond a doubt--but might not the right place alter with the sense?" + +"Never. The rule is strict" + +"Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?" + +"Not that I know." + +"I have an idea, ma'am, that our great poets owe much of their music to +the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its +masters, and break it when they see fit." + +"You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take +the liberties of a great poet." + +"It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take +liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their +power, they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. +Every one must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others +have laid down he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to +truth, and his ear to measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the +light, and the music God gives him." + +"That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!" said the lady, with a superior +smile. "But," she continued, "I will mark what faults I see, and point +them out to you." + +"Thank you, ma'am, but please do not send the verses anywhere." + +"I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my +father's sake I will have an eye to your reputation." + +"I am obliged to you, ma'am," returned Andrew, but with his curious +smile, hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness +and humor, and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. +A heavenly smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it +neither offense nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a +girl, but he showed no rejection of the patronage forced upon him by the +lady. + +He rose and stood a moment. + +"Well, Andrew, what is it?" + +"When will you allow me to call for the verses?" + +"In the course of a week or so. By that time I shall have made up my +mind. If in doubt, I shall ask my father." + +"I wouldn't like the laird to think I spend my time on poetry." + +"You write poetry, Andrew! A man should not do what he would not have +known." + +"That is true, ma'am; I only feared an erroneous conclusion." + +"I will take care of that. My father knows that you are a hard-working +young man. There is not one of his farms in better order than yours. +Were it otherwise, I should not be so interested in your poetry." + +Andrew wished her less interested in it. To have his verses read was +like having a finger poked in his eye. He had not known that his mother +looked at his papers. But he showed little sign of his annoyance, bade +the lady good-morning, and left the kitchen. + +Miss Fordyce followed him to the door, and stood for a moment looking +out. In front of her was a paved court, surrounded with low buildings, +between two of which was visible, at the distance of a mile or so, a +railway line where it approached a viaduct. She heard the sound of a +coming train, and who in a country place will not stand to see one pass! + + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +AN ACCIDENT. + +While the two were talking, a long train, part carriages, part trucks, +was rattling through a dreary country, where it could never have been +were there not regions very different on both sides of it. For miles in +any direction, nothing but humpy moorland was to be seen, a gathering of +low hills, with now and then a higher one, its sides broken by +occasional torrents, in poor likeness of a mountain. No smoke proclaimed +the presence of human dwelling; but there were spots between the hills +where the hand of man had helped the birth of a feeble fertility; and in +front was a small but productive valley, on the edge of which stood the +ancient house of Potlurg, with the heath behind it: over a narrow branch +of this valley went the viaduct. + +It was a slow train, with few passengers. Of these one was looking from +his window with a vague, foolish sense of superiority, thinking what a +forgotten, scarce created country it seemed. He was a well-dressed, +good-looking fellow, with a keen but pale-gray eye, and a fine forehead, +but a chin such as is held to indicate weakness. More than one, however, +of the strongest women I have known, were defective in chin. The young +man was in the only first-class carriage of the train, and alone in it. +Dressed in a gray suit, he was a little too particular in the smaller +points of his attire, and lacked in consequence something of the look of +a gentleman. Every now and then he would take off his hard round hat, +and pass a white left hand through his short-cut mousey hair, while his +right caressed a far longer mustache, in which he seemed interested. A +certain indescribable heaviness and lack of light characterized his pale +face. + +It was a lovely day in early June. The air was rather cold, but youth +and health care little about temperature on a holiday, with the sun +shining, and that sweetest sense--to such at least as are ordinarily +bound by routine--of having nothing to do. To many men and women the +greatest trouble is to choose, for self is the hardest of masters to +please; but as yet George Crawford had not been troubled with much +choosing. + +A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure +to him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the +way out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for +however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed +who are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a +higher presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. +That every man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must +seem a paradox to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be +impossible without it. George had not arrived at the discovery of this +fact, and yet was for the present contented both with himself and with +his circumstances. + +The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land +made no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a +shadow of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to +his book, when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started +to his feet, and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the +line and turned over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and +one of the young man's legs was broken. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +HELP. + +"Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!" cried Miss Fordyce, +running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. "I +saw it from the door!" + +"Hush!" returned the old man, and listened. "I hear the train going on," +he said, after a moment. + +"Part of it is come to grief, I am certain," answered his daughter. "I +saw something fall." + +"Well, my dear?" + +"What _shall_ we do?" + +"What would you have us do?" rejoined her father, without a movement +toward rising. "It is too far off for us to be of any use." + +"We ought to go and see." + +"I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for +it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me." + +But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as +straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low +embankment. Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the +line, but convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the +same direction. + +It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her +father's indifference, she ran the faster--too fast for thinking, but +not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to +her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the +conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing +less and less neighborly. + +She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she +made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long +dark hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity +forgotten, and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the +heather, and in little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a +long moor-mile, reached the embankment, flushed and panting. + +Some of the carriages had rolled down, and the rails were a wreck. But +the engine and half the train had kept on: neither driver nor stoker was +hurt, and they were hurrying to fetch help from the next station. At the +foot of the bank lay George Crawford insensible, with the guard of the +train doing what he could to bring him to consciousness. He was on his +back, pale as death, with no motion and scare a sign of life. + +Alexa tried to give him brandy, but she was so exhausted, and her hand +shook so, that she had to yield the bottle to the guard, and, hale and +strong as she was, could but drag herself a little apart before she +fainted. + +In the meantime, as the train approached the station, the driver, who +belonged to the neighborhood, saw the doctor, slackened speed, and set +his whistle shrieking wildly. The doctor set spurs to his horse, and +came straight over everything to his side. + +"You go on," he said, having heard what had happened; "I shall be there +sooner than you could take me." + +He came first upon Andrew trying to make Miss Fordyce swallow a little +of the brandy. + +"There's but one gentleman hurt, sir," said the guard. "The other's only +a young lady that's run till she's dropped." + +"To bring brandy," supplemented Andrew. + +The doctor recognized Alexa, and wondered what reception her lather +would give his patient, for to Potlurg he must go! Suddenly she came to +herself, and sat up, gazing wildly around. "Out of breath, Miss Fordyce; +nothing worse!" said the doctor, and she smiled. + +He turned to the young man, and did for him what he could without +splints or bandages; then, with the help of the guard and Andrew, +constructed, from pieces of the broken carriages, a sort of litter on +which to carry him to Potlurg. + +"Is he dead?" asked Alexa. + +"Not a bit of it. He's had a bad blow on the head, though. We must get +him somewhere as fast as we can!" + +"Do you know him?" + +"Not I. But we must take him to your house. I don't know what else to do +with him!" + +"What else should you want to do with him?" + +"I was afraid it might bother the laird." + +"You scarcely know my father, Doctor Pratt!" + +"It would bother most people to have a wounded man quartered on them for +weeks!" returned the doctor. "Poor fellow! A good-looking fellow too!" + +A countryman who had been in the next carriage, but had escaped almost +unhurt, offering his service, Andrew and he took up the litter gently, +and set out walking with care, the doctor on one side, leading his +horse, and Miss Fordyce on the other. + +It was a strange building to which, after no small anxiety, they drew +near; nor did it look the less strange the nearer they came. It was +unsheltered by a single tree; and but for a low wall and iron rail on +one side, inclosing what had been a garden, but was now a grass-plot, it +rose straight out of the heather. From this plot the ground sloped to +the valley, and was under careful cultivation. The entrance to it was +closed with a gate of wrought iron, of good workmanship, but so wasted +with rust that it seemed on the point of vanishing. Here at one time had +been the way into the house; but no door, and scarce a window, was now +to be seen on this side of the building. It was very old, and consisted +of three gables, a great half-round between two of them, and a low tower +with a conical roof. + +Crawford had begun to recover consciousness, but when he came to himself +he was received by acute pain. The least attempt to move was torture, +and again he fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +THE LAIRD. + +Conducted by the lady, they passed round the house to the court, and +across the court to a door in one of the gables. It was a low, narrow +door, but large enough for the man that stood there--a little man, with +colorless face, and quiet, abstracted look. His eyes were cold and keen, +his features small, delicate, and regular. He had an erect little back, +and was dressed in a long-tailed coat, looking not much of a laird, and +less of a farmer, as he stood framed in the gray stone wall, in which +odd little windows, dotted here and there at all heights and distances, +revealed a wonderful arrangement of floors and rooms inside. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!" said the doctor. "This is a bad business, +but it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!" + +"Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!" returned the laird, with +a cold smile that was far from discourteous. "Stick to the body, doctor! +There you know something!" + +"It's a truth, laird!" answered the doctor--but added to himself--"Well! +it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!" + +The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the +poor fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where, +with the help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she +soon had a bed prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed +to fetch the appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the +bed, with a look of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of +opposition. + +It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a +room far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the +house, have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and, +having been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was +rapidly and silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor, +after an incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he +seemed both surprised and pleased at the change. + +"He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce," he said, when +all was done. + +"I will myself," she answered. "But you must give me exact directions, +for I have done no nursing." + +"If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need +know. He will sleep now, I think--at least till you get back: I shall +not keep you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture," +he continued, as they went. "It might have been much worse! We shall +have him about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while +the bones are uniting." + +The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked up +and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with its +ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned from, +as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back to +the room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive of +a wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his unwelcome +guest with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike, and shook his +head slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving. + +His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat +as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it +up just ere Alexa reentered. + +"How is he, father?" she asked. + +"He is fast asleep," answered the laid. "How long does the doctor think +he will have to be here?" + +"I did not ask him," she replied. + +"That was an oversight, my child," he returned. "It is of consequence we +should know the moment of his removal." + +"We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of +weeks--or months--I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I +will attend to him." + +"But I _am_ troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I have!" + +Again he retired--slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to search +the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery +concerning its owner. + +With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in a +half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable. +Chintz curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness, had +admitted too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of +footsteps on the creaking boards--for the bones of a house do not grow +silent with age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to +the chamber, which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick +that it took half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving to +and fro, kept shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in +the secret of some house-misery; but she was only indulging the funereal +temperament of an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the heather in the +morning, she looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her shoes were +strong, her dress was short; but now she came and went in a soft-colored +gown, neither ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem to belong to +what is called society, but she looked dignified, at times almost +stately, with an expression of superiority, not strong enough to make +her handsome face unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a +woman's, was cast in a larger mold. + +The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the doctor +minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when the +supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +AFTER SUPPER. + +They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no dining-room +in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned drawing-room. The +servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too much in the sick-room, +notwithstanding, to know that she was eating her porridge and milk. The +laird partook but sparingly, on the ground that the fare tended to +fatness, which affliction of age he congratulated himself on having +hitherto escaped. They eat in silence, but not a glance of her father +that might indicate a want escaped the daughter. When the meal was +ended, and the old man had given thanks, Alexa put on the table a big +black Bible, which her father took with solemn face and reverent +gesture. In the course of his nightly reading of the New Testament, he +had come to the twelfth chapter of St. Luke, with the Lord's parable of +the rich man whose soul they required of him: he read it beautifully, +with an expression that seemed to indicate a sense of the Lord's meaning +what He said. + +"We will omit the psalm this evening--for the sake of the sufferer," he +said, having ended the chapter. "The Lord will have mercy and not +sacrifice." + +They rose from their chairs and knelt on the stone floor. The old man +prayed with much tone and expression, and I think meant all he said, +though none of it seemed to spring from fresh need or new thankfulness, +for he used only the old stock phrases, which flowed freely from his +lips. He dwelt much on the merits of the Saviour; he humbled himself as +the chief of sinners, whom it must be a satisfaction to God to cut off, +but a greater satisfaction to spare for the sake of one whom he loved. +Plainly the man counted it a most important thing to stand well with Him +who had created him. When they rose, Alexa looked formally solemn, but +the wan face of her father shone: the Psyche, if not the Ego, had +prayed--and felt comfortable. He sat down, and looked fixedly, as if +into eternity, but perhaps it was into vacancy; they are much the same +to most people. + +"Come into the study for a moment, Lexy, if you please," he said, rising +at length. His politeness to his daughter, and indeed to all that came +near him, was one of the most notable points in his behavior. + +Alexa followed the black, slender, erect little figure up the stair, +which consisted of about a dozen steps, filling the entrance from wall +to wall, a width of some twelve feet. Between it and the outer door +there was but room for the door of the kitchen on the one hand, and that +of a small closet on the other. At the top was a wide space, a sort of +irregular hall, more like an out-of-door court, paved with large flat +stones into which projected the other side of the rounded mass, bordered +by the grassy inclosure. + +The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had +but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of +old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils. +He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set +himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers. + +"This is a sore trial, Alexa!" he said with a sigh. + +"It is indeed, father--for the poor young man!" she returned. + +"True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his +suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious +matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the +present state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think--" + +"But, father," interrupted Alexa, "how could we help it?" + +"He might have been carried elsewhere!" + +"With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered +to receive him." + +"Why did he not take him then?" + +"The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either." + +"It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done--though, alas! not +paid for." + +"We must take the luck as it comes, father!" + +"Alexa," rejoined the laird with solemnity, "you ought never to mention +luck. There is no such thing. It was either for the young man's sins, or +to prevent worse, or for necessary discipline, that the train was +overturned. The cause is known to _Him_. All are in His hands--and we +must beware of attempting to take any out of His hands, for it can not +be done." + +"Then, father, if there be no chance, our part was ordered too. So there +is the young man in our spare room, and we must receive our share of the +trouble as from the hand of the Lord." + +"Certainly, my dear! it was the expense I was thinking of. I was only +lamenting--bear me witness, I was not opposing--the will of the Lord. A +man's natural feelings remain." + +"If the thing is not to be helped, let us think no more about it!" + +"It is the expense, my dear! Will you not let your mind rest for a +moment upon the fact? I am doing my utmost to impress it upon you. For +other expenses there is always something to show; for this there will be +nothing, positively nothing!" + +"Not the mended leg, father?" + +"The money will vanish, I tell you, as a tale that is told." + +"It is our life that vanishes that way!" + +"The simile suits either. So long as we do not use the words of +Scripture irreverently, there is no harm in making a different +application of them. There is no irreverence here: next to the grace of +God, money is the thing hardest to get and hardest to keep. If we are +not wise with it, the grace--I mean money--will not go far." + +"Not so far as the next world, anyhow!" said Alexa, as if to herself. + +"How dare you, child! The Redeemer tells us to make friends of the +mammon of unrighteousness, that when we die it may receive us into +everlasting habitations!" + +"I read the passage this morning, father: it is _they_, not _it_, will +receive you. And I have heard that it ought to be translated, 'make +friends _with_, or _by means of_ the mammon of unrighteousness." + +"I will reconsider the passage. We must not lightly change even the +translated word!" + +The laird had never thought that it might be of consequence to him one +day to have friends in the other world. Neither had he reflected that +the Lord did not regard the obligation of gratitude as ceasing with this +life. + +Alexa had reason to fear that her father made a friend _of_, and never a +friend _with_ the mammon of unrighteousness. At the same time the +half-penny he put in the plate every Sunday must go a long way if it was +not estimated, like that of the poor widow, according to the amount he +possessed, but according to the difficulty he found in parting with it. + +"After weeks, perhaps months of nursing and food and doctor's stuff," +resumed the laird, "he will walk away, and we shall see not a plack of +the money he carries with him. The visible will become the invisible, +the present the absent!" + +"The little it will cost you, father--" + +"Hold there, my child! If you call any cost little, I will not hear a +word more: we should be but running a race from different points to +different goals! It will cost--that is enough! How much it will cost +_me_, you can not calculate, for you do not know what money stands for +in my eyes. There are things before which money is insignificant!" + +"Those dreary old books!" said Alexa to herself, casting a glance on the +shelves that filled the room from floor to ceiling, and from wall to +wall. + +"What I was going to say, father," she returned, "was, that I have a +little money of my own, and this affair shall cost you nothing. Leave me +to contrive. Would you tell him his friends must pay his board, or take +him away? It would be a nice anecdote in the annals of the Fordyces of +Potlurg!" + +"At the same time, what more natural?" rejoined her father. "His friends +must in any case be applied to! I learn from his pocket-book--" + +"Father!" + +"Content yourself, Alexa. I have a right to know whom I receive under my +roof. Besides, have I not learned thereby that the youth is a sort of +connection!" + +"You don't mean it, father?" + +"I do mean it. His mother and yours were first cousins." + +"That is not a connection; it's a close kinship!" + +"Is it?" said the laird, dryly. + +"Anyhow," pursued Alexa, "I give you my word you shall hear nothing more +of the expense." + +She bade her father good-night, and returning to the bedside of her +patient, released Meg. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +ABOUT THE LAIRD. + +Thomas Fordyce was a sucker from the root of a very old family tree, +born in poverty, and, with great pinching of father and mother, brothers +and sisters, educated for the Church. But from pleasure in scholarship, +from archaeological tastes, a passion for the arcana of history, and a +love of literature, strong, although not of the highest kind, he had +settled down as a school-master, and in his calling had excelled. By all +who knew him he was regarded as an accomplished, amiable, and worthy +man. + +When his years were verging on the undefined close of middle age he saw +the lives between him and the family property, one by one wither at the +touch of death, until at last there was no one but himself and his +daughter to succeed. He was at the time the head of a flourishing school +in a large manufacturing town; and it was not without some regret, +though with more pleasure, that he yielded his profession and retired to +Potlurg. + +Greatly dwindled as he found the property, and much and long as it had +been mismanaged, it was yet of considerable value, and worth a wise +care. The result of the labor he spent upon it was such that it had now +for years yielded him, if not a large rental, one far larger at least +than his daughter imagined. But the sinking of the school-master in the +laird seemed to work ill for the man, and good only for the land. I say +_seemed_, because what we call degeneracy is often but the unveiling of +what was there all the time; and the evil we could become, we are. If I +have in me the tyrant or the miser, there he is, and such am I--as +surely as if the tyrant or the miser were even now visible to the +wondering dislike of my neighbors. I do not say the characteristic is so +strong, or would be so hard to change as by the revealing development it +must become; but it is there, alive, as an egg is alive; and by no means +inoperative like a mere germ, but exercising real though occult +influence on the rest of my character. Therefore, except the growing +vitality be in process of killing these ova of death, it is for the good +of the man that they should be so far developed as to show their +existence. If the man do not then starve and slay them they will drag +him to the judgment-seat of a fiery indignation. + +For the laird, nature could ill replace the human influences that had +surrounded the school-master; while enlargement both of means and +leisure enabled him to develop by indulgence a passion for a peculiar +kind of possession, which, however refined in its objects, was yet but a +branch of the worship of Mammon. It suits the enemy just as well, I +presume, that a man should give his soul for coins as for money. In +consequence he was growing more and more withdrawn, ever filling less +the part of a man--which is to be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert +from the tempest. He was more and more for himself, and thereby losing +his life. Dearly as he loved his daughter, he was, by slow fallings +away, growing ever less of a companion, less of a comfort, less of a +necessity to her, and requiring less and less of her for the good or +ease of his existence. We wrong those near us in being independent of +them. God himself would not be happy without His Son. We ought to lean +on each other, giving and receiving--not as weaklings, but as lovers. +Love is strength as well as need. Alexa was more able to live alone than +most women; therefore it was the worse for her. Too satisfied with +herself, too little uneasy when alone, she did not know that then she +was not in good enough company. She was what most would call a strong +nature, nor knew what weaknesses belong to, and grow out of, such +strength as hers. + +The remoter scions of a family tree are not seldom those who make most +account of it; the school-master's daughter knew more about the Fordyces +of Potlurg, and cared more for their traditions, than any who of later +years had reaped its advantages or shared its honors. Interest in the +channel down which one has slid into the world is reasonable, and may be +elevating; with Alexa it passed beyond good, and wrought for evil. Proud +of a family with a history, and occasionally noted in the annals of the +country, she regarded herself as the superior of all with whom she had +hitherto come into relation. To the poor, to whom she was invariably and +essentially kind, she was less condescending than to such as came nearer +her own imagined standing; she was constantly aware that she belonged to +the elect of the land! Society took its revenge; the rich trades-people +looked down upon her as the school-master's daughter. Against their +arrogance her indignation buttressed her lineal with her mental +superiority. At the last the pride of family is a personal arrogance. +And now at length she was in her natural position as heiress of Potlurg! + +She was religious--if one may be called religious who felt no immediate +relation to the source of her being. She felt bound to defend, so far as +she honestly could, the doctrines concerning God and His ways +transmitted by the elders of her people; to this much, and little more, +her religion toward God amounted. But she had a strong sense of +obligation to do what was right. + +Her father gave her so little money to spend that she had to be very +careful with her housekeeping, and they lived in the humblest way. For +her person she troubled him as little as she could, believing him, from +the half statements and hints he gave, and his general carriage toward +life, not a little oppressed by lack of money, nor suspecting his +necessities created and his difficulties induced by himself. In this +regard it had come to be understood between them that the produce of the +poultry-yard was Alexa's own; and to some little store she had thus +gathered she mainly trusted for the requirements of her invalid. To this +her father could not object, though he did not like it; he felt what was +hers to be his more than he felt what was his to be hers. + +Alexa had not learned to place value on money beyond its use, but she +was not therefore free from the service of Mammon; she looked to it as +to a power essential, not derived; she did not see it as God's creation, +but merely as an existence, thus making of a creature of God the mammon +of unrighteousness. She did not, however, cling to it, but was ready to +spend it. At the same time, had George Crawford looked less handsome or +less of a gentleman, she would not have been so ready to devote the +contents of her little secret drawer. + +The discovery of her relationship to the young man waked a new feeling. +She had never had a brother, never known a cousin, and had avoided the +approach of such young men as, of inferior position in her eyes, had +sought to be friendly with her; here was one thrown helpless on her +care, with necessities enough to fill the gap between his real relation +to her, and that of the brother after whom she had sighed in vain! It +was a new and delightful sensation to have a family claim on a young +man--a claim, the material advantage of which was all on his side, the +devotion all on hers. She was invaded by a flood of tenderness toward +the man. Was he not her cousin, a gentleman, and helpless as any +new-born child? Nothing should be wanting that a strong woman could do +for a powerless man. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +THE COUSINS. + +George Crawford was in excellent health when the accident occurred, and +so when he began to recover, his restoration was rapid. The process, +however, was still long enough to compel the cousins to know more of +each other than twelve months of ordinary circumstance would have made +possible. + +George, feeling neither the need, nor, therefore, the joy of the new +relationship so much as Alexa, disappointed her by the coolness of his +response to her communication of the fact; and as they were both formal, +that is, less careful as to the reasonable than as to the conventional, +they were not very ready to fall in love. Such people may learn all +about each other, and not come near enough for love to be possible +between them. Some people approximate at once, and at once decline to +love, remaining friends the rest of their lives. Others love at once; +and some take a whole married life to come near enough, and at last +love. But the reactions of need and ministration can hardly fail to +breed tenderness, and disclose the best points of character. + +The cousins were both handsome, and--which was of more consequence--each +thought the other handsome. They found their religious opinions closely +coincident--nor any wonder, for they had gone for years to the same +church every Sunday, had been regularly pumped upon from the same +reservoir, and had drunk the same arguments concerning things true and +untrue. + +George found that Alexa had plenty of brains, a cultivated judgment, and +some knowledge of literature; that there was no branch of science with +which she had not some little acquaintance, in which she did not take +some small interest. Her father's teaching was beyond any he could have +procured for her, and what he taught she had learned; for she had a love +of knowing, a tendency to growth, a capacity for seizing real points, +though as yet perceiving next to nothing of their relation to human life +and hope. She believed herself a judge of verse, but in truth her +knowledge of poetry was limited to its outer forms, of which she had +made good studies with her father. She had learned the _how_ before the +_what_, knew the body before the soul--could tell good binding but not +bad leather--in a word, knew verse but not poetry. + +She understood nothing of music, but George did not miss that; he was +more sorry she did not know French--not for the sake of its literature, +but because of showing herself an educated woman. + +Diligent in business, not fervent in spirit, she was never idle. But +there are other ways than idleness of wasting time. Alexa was +continually "improving herself," but it was a big phrase for a small +matter; she had not learned that to do the will of God is the _only_ way +to improve one's self. She would have scorned the narrowness of any one +who told her so, not understanding what the will of God means. + +She found that her guest and cousin was a man of some position, and +wondered that her father should never have mentioned the relationship. +The fact was that, in a time of poverty, the school-master had made to +George's father the absurd request of a small loan without security, and +the banker had behaved as a rich relation and a banker was pretty sure +to behave. + +George occupied a place of trust in the bank, and, though not yet +admitted to a full knowledge of its more important transactions, hoped +soon to be made a partner. + +When his father came to Potlurg to see him the laird declined to appear, +and the banker contented himself thereafter with Alexa's bulletins. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. + +Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been +devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor +allow him to return to business. + +One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry +and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible +burst of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to +lap the house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was +mingled with the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the +building. George sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise +and see what had happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet +Alexa, and a talk with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless +night. He got into his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked +softly from the room. + +His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and +listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came, +and lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When +the darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder +yet bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the +study, and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but +there was no answer. He pushed the door, and saw that the light came +from behind a projecting book-case. He hesitated a moment, and glanced +about him. + +A little clinking sound came from somewhere. He stole nearer the source +of the light; a thief might be there. He peeped round the end of the +book-case. With his back to him the laird was kneeling before an open +chest. He had just counted a few pieces of gold, and was putting them +away. He turned over his shoulder a face deathly pale, and his eyes for +a moment stared blank. Then with a shivering smile he rose. He had a +thin-worn dressing-gown over his night-shirt, and looked a thread of a +man. + +"You take me for a miser?" he said, trembling, and stood expecting an +answer. + +Crawford was bewildered: what business had he there? + +"I am _not_ a miser!" resumed the laird. "A man may count his money +without being a miser!" + +He stood and stared, still trembling, at his guest, either too much +startled or too gentle to find fault with his intrusion. + +"I beg your pardon, laird," said George. "I knocked, but receiving no +answer, feared something was wrong." + +"But why are you out of bed--and you an invalid?" returned Mr. Fordyce. + +"I heard a heavy fall, and feared the lightning had done some damage." + +"We shall see about that in the morning, and in the meantime you had +better go to bed," said the laird. + +They turned together toward the door. + +"What a multitude of books, you have, Mr. Fordyce!" remarked George. "I +had not a notion of such a library in the county!" + +"I have been a lover of books all my life," returned the laird. "And +they gather, they gather!" he added. + +"Your love draws them," said George. + +"The storm is over, I think," said the laird. + +He did not tell his guest that there was scarcely a book on those +shelves not sought after by book-buyers--not one that was not worth +money in the book-market. Here and there the dulled gold of a fine +antique binding returned the gleam of the candle, but any gathering of +old law or worthless divinity would have looked much the same. + +"I should like to glance over them," said George. "There must be some +valuable volumes among so many!" + +"Rubbish! rubbish!" rejoined the old man, testily, almost hustling him +from the room. "I am ashamed to hear it called a library." + +It seemed to Crawford, as again he lay awake in his bed, altogether a +strange incident. A man may count his money when he pleases, but not the +less must it seem odd that he should do so in the middle of the night, +and with such a storm flashing and roaring around him, apparently +unheeded. The next morning he got his cousin to talk about her father, +but drew from her nothing to cast light on what he had seen. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +IN THE GARDEN. + +Of the garden which had been the pride of many owners of the place, only +a small portion remained. It was strangely antique, haunted with a +beauty both old and wild, the sort of garden for the children of heaven +to play in when men sleep. + +In a little arbor constructed by an old man who had seen the garden grow +less and less through successive generations, a tent of honeysuckle in a +cloak of sweet pease, sat George and Alexa, two highly respectable young +people, Scots of Scotland, like Jews of Judaea, well satisfied of their +own worthiness. How they found their talk interesting, I can scarce +think. I should have expected them to be driven by very dullness to +love-making; but the one was too prudent to initiate it, the other too +staid to entice it. Yet, people on the borders of love being on the +borders of poetry, they had got talking about a certain new poem, +concerning which George, having read several notices of it, had an +opinion to give. + +"You should tell my father about it, George," said Alexa; "he is the +best judge I know." + +She did not understand that it was a little more than the grammar of +poetry the school-master had ever given himself to understand. His best +criticism was to show phrase calling to phrase across gulfs of speech. + +The little iron gate, whose hinges were almost gone with rust, creaked +and gnarred as it slowly opened to admit the approach of a young +countryman. He advanced with the long, slow, heavy step suggestive of +nailed shoes; but his hazel eye had an outlook like that of an eagle +from its eyrie, and seemed to dominate his being, originating rather +than directing its motions. He had a russet-colored face, much freckled; +hair so dark red as to be almost brown; a large, well-shaped nose; a +strong chin; and a mouth of sweetness whose smile was peculiarly its +own, having in it at once the mystery and the revelation of Andrew +Ingram. He took off his bonnet as he drew near, and held it as low as +his knee, while with something of the air of an old-fashioned courtier, +he stood waiting. His clothes, all but his coat, which was of some blue +stuff, and his Sunday one, were of a large-ribbed corduroy. For a moment +no one spoke. He colored a little, but kept silent, his eyes on the +lady. + +"Good-morning, Andrew!" she said at length. "There was something, I +forget what, you were to call about! Remind me--will you?" + +"I did not come before, ma'am, because I knew you were occupied. And +even now it does not greatly matter." + +"Oh, I remember!--the poem! I am very sorry, but I had so much to think +of that it went quite out of my mind." + +An expression half amused, half shy, without trace of mortification, for +an instant shadowed the young man's face. + +"I wish you would let me have the lines again, ma'am! Indeed I should be +obliged to you!" he said. + +"Well, I confess they might first be improved! I read them one evening +to my father, and he agreed with me that two or three of them were not +quite rhythmical. But he said it was a fair attempt, and for a +working-man very creditable." + +What Andrew was thinking, it would have been hard to gather from his +smile; but I believe it was that, if he had himself read the verses +aloud, the laird would have found no fault with their rhythm. His +carriage seemed more that of a patient, respectful amusement than +anything else. + +Alexa rose, but resumed her seat, saying: + +"As the poem is a religious one, there can be no harm in handing it you +on Sunday after church!--that is," she added, meaningly, "if you will be +there!" + +"Give it to Dawtie, if you please, ma'am," replied Andrew. + +"Ah!" rebuked Miss Fordyce, in a tone almost of rebuke. + +"I seldom go to church, ma'am," said Andrew, reddening a little, but +losing no sweetness from his smile. + +"I understand as much! It is very wrong! _Why_ don't you?" + +Andrew was silent. + +"I wish you to tell me," persisted Alexa, with a peremptoriness which +came of the school-master. She had known him too as a pupil of her +father's! + +"If you will have it, ma'am, I not only learn nothing from Mr. Smith, +but I think much that he says is not true." + +"Still you ought to go for the sake of example." + +"Do wrong to make other people follow my example? Can that be to do +right?" + +"_Wrong_ to go to church! What _do_ you mean? Wrong to pray with your +fellow-men?" + +"Perhaps the hour may come, ma'am, when I shall be able to pray with my +fellow-men, even though the words they use seem addressed to a tyrant, +not to the Father of Jesus Christ. But at present I can not. I might +endure to hear Mr. Smith say evil things concerning God, but the evil +things he says to God make me quite unable to pray, and I feel like a +hypocrite!" + +"Whatever you may think of Mr. Smith's doctrines, it is presumptuous to +set yourself up as too good to go to church." + +"I most bear the reproach, ma'am. I can not consent to be a hypocrite in +order to avoid being called one!" + +Either Miss Fordyce had no answer to this, or did not choose to give +any. She was not troubled that Andrew would not go to church, but +offended at the unhesitating decision with which he set her counsel +aside. Andrew made her a respectful bow, turned away, put on his bonnet, +which he had held in his hand all the time, and passed through the +garden gate. + +"Who is the fellow?" asked George, partaking sympathetically of his +companion's annoyance. + +"He is Andrew Ingram, the son of a small farmer, one of my father's +tenants. He and his brother work with their father on the farm. They are +quite respectable people. Andrew is conceited, but has his good points. +He imagines himself a poet, and indeed his work has merit. The worst of +him is that he sets up for being better than other people." + +"Not an unusual fault with the self-educated!" + +"He does go on educating himself, I believe, but he had a good start to +begin with. My father took much pains with him at school. He helped to +carry you here after the accident--and would have taken you to his +father's if I would have let him." + +George cast on her a look of gratitude. + +"Thank you for keeping me," he said. "But I wish I had taken some notice +of his kindness!" + + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +ANDREW INGRAM. + +Of the persons in my narrative, Andrew Ingram is the simplest, therefore +the hardest to be understood by an ordinary reader. I must take up his +history from a certain point in his childhood. + +One summer evening, he and his brother Sandy were playing together on a +knoll in one of their father's fields. Andrew was ten years old, and +Sandy a year younger. The two quarreled, and the spirit of ancestral +borderers waking in them, they fell to blows. The younger was the +stronger for his years, and they were punching each other with +relentless vigor, when suddenly they heard a voice, and stopping their +fight, saw before them an humble-looking man with a pack on his back. He +was a peddler known in the neighborhood, and noted for his honesty and +his silence, but the boys had never seen him. They stood abashed before +him, dazed with the blows they had received, and not a little ashamed; +for they were well brought up, their mother being an honest +disciplinarian, and their father never interfering with what she judged +right. The sun was near the setting, and shone with level rays full on +the peddler; but when they thought of him afterward, they seemed to +remember more light in his face than that of the sun. Their conscience +bore him witness, and his look awed them. Involuntarily they turned from +him, seeking refuge with each other: his eyes shone so! they said; but +immediately they turned to him again. + +Sandy knew the pictures in the "Pilgrim's Progress," and Andrew had read +it through more than once: when they saw the man had a book in his hand, +open, and heard him, standing there in the sun, begin to read from it, +they thought it must be Christian, waiting for Evangelist to come to +him. It is impossible to say how much is fact and how much imagination +in what children recollect; the one must almost always supplement the +other; but they were quite sure that the words he read were these: "And +lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world!" The next thing +they remembered was their walking slowly down the hill in the red light, +and all at once waking up to the fact that the man was gone, they did +not know when or where. But their arms were round each other's necks, +and they were full of a strange awe. Then Andrew saw something red on +Sandy's face. + +"Eh, Sandy!" he cried, "it's bluid!" and burst into tears. + +It was his own blood, not Sandy's!--the discovery of which fact relieved +Andrew, and did not so greatly discompose Sandy, who was less sensitive. + +They began at length to speculate on what had happened. One thing was +clear: it was because they were fighting that the man had come; but it +was not so clear who the man was. He could not be Christian, because +Christian went over the river! Andrew suggested it might have been +Evangelist, for he seemed to be always about. Sandy added, as his +contribution to the idea, that he might have picked up Christian's +bundle and been carrying it home to his wife. They came, however, to the +conclusion, by no ratiocination, I think, but by a conviction which the +idea itself brought with it, that the stranger was the Lord himself, and +that the pack on His back was their sins, which He was carrying away to +throw out of the world. + +"Eh, wasna it fearfu' He should come by jist when we was fechtin'!" said +Sandy. + +"Eh, na! it was a fine thing that! We micht hae been at it yet! But we +winna noo!--will we ever, Sandy?" + +"Na, that we winna!" + +"For," continued Andrew, "He said 'Lo, I am with you always!' And +suppose He werena, we daurna be that ahint His back we would na be afore +His face!" + +"Do you railly think it _was_ Him, Andrew?" + +"Weel," replied Andrew, "gien the deevil be goin' aboot like a roarin' +lion, seekin' whom he may devoor, as father says, it's no likely _He_ +would na be goin' aboot as weel, seekin' to haud him aff o' 's!" + +"Ay!" said Sandy. + +"And noo," said the elder, "what are we to do?" + +For Andrew, whom both father and mother judged the dreamiest of mortals, +was in reality the most practical being in the whole parish--so +practical that by and by people mocked him for a poet and a heretic, +because he did the things which they said they believed. Most +unpractical must every man appear who genuinely believes in the things +that are unseen. The man called practical by the men of this world is he +who busies himself building his house on the sand, while he does not +even bespeak a lodging in the inevitable beyond. + +"What are we to do?" said Andrew. "If the Lord is going about like that, +looking after us, we've surely got something to do looking after _Him!_" + +There was no help in Sandy; and it was well that, with the reticence of +children, neither thought of laying the case before their parents; the +traditions of the elders would have ill agreed with the doctrine they +were now under! Suddenly it came into Andrew's mind that the book they +read at _worship_ to which he had never listened, told all about Jesus. + +He began at the beginning, and grew so interested in the stories that he +forgot why he had begun to read it One day, however, as he was telling +Sandy about Jacob--"What a shame!" said Sandy; and Andrew's mind +suddenly opened to the fact that he had got nothing yet out of the book. +He threw it from him, echoing Sandy's words, "What's a shame!"--not of +Jacob's behavior, but of the Bible's, which had all this time told them +nothing about the man that was going up and down the world, gathering up +their sins, and carrying them away in His pack! But it dawned upon him +that it was the New Testament that told about Jesus Christ, and they +turned to that. Here also I say it was well they asked no advice, for +they would probably have been directed to the Epistle to the Romans, +with explanations yet more foreign to the heart of Paul than false to +his Greek. They began to read the story of Jesus as told by his friend +Matthew, and when they had ended it, went on to the gospel according to +Mark. But they had not read far when Sandy cried out: + +"Eh, Andrew, it's a' the same thing ower again!" + +"No a'thegither," answered Andrew. "We'll gang on, and see!" + +Andrew came to the conclusion that it was so far the same that he would +rather go back and read the other again, for the sake of some particular +things he wanted to make sure about So the second time they read St. +Matthew, and came to these words: + +"If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall +ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven." + +"There's twa o' 's here!" cried Andrew, laying down the book. "Lat's try +'t!" + +"Try what?" said Sandy. + +His brother read the passage again. + +"Lat the twa o' 's speir Him for something!" concluded Andrew. "What +wull't be?" + +"I won'er if it means only ance, or may be three times, like 'The Three +Wishes!'" suggested Sandy, who, like most Christians, would rather have +a talk about it than do what he was told. + +"We _might_ ask for what would not be good for us!" returned Andrew. + +"And make fools of ourselves!" assented Sandy, with "The Three Wishes" +in his mind. + +"Do you think He would give it us then?" + +"I don't know." + +"But," pursued Andrew, "if we were so foolish as that old man and woman, +it would be better to find it out, and begin to grow wise!--I'll tell +you what we'll do: we'll make it our first wish to know what's best to +ask for; and then we can go on asking!" + +"Yes, yes; let us!" + +"I fancy we'll have as many wishes as we like! Doon upo' yer knees, +Sandy!" + +They knelt together. + +I fear there are not a few to say, "How ill-instructed the poor children +were!--actually mingling the gospel and the fairy tales!" "Happy +children," say I, "who could blunder into the very heart of the will of +God concerning them, and _do_ the thing at once that the Lord taught +them, using the common sense which God had given and the fairy tale +nourished!" The Lord of the promise is the Lord of all true parables and +all good fairy tales. + +Andrew prayed: + +"Oh, Lord, tell Sandy and me what to ask for. We're unanimous." + +They got up from their knees. They had said what they had to say: why +say more! + +They felt rather dull. Nothing came to them. The prayer was prayed, and +they could not make the answer! There was no use in reading more! They +put the Bible away in a rough box where they kept it among +rose-leaves--ignorant priests of the lovely mystery of Him who was with +them always--and without a word went each his own way, not happy, for +were they not leaving Him under the elder-tree, lonely and shadowy, +where it was their custom to meet! Alas for those who must go to church +to find Him, or who can not pray unless in their closet! + +They wandered about disconsolate, at school and at home, the rest of the +day--at least Andrew did; Sandy had Andrew to lean upon! Andrew had Him +who was with them always, but He seemed at the other end of the world. +They had prayed, and there was no more of it! + +In the evening, while yet it was light, Andrew went alone to the +elder-tree, took the Bible from its humble shrine, and began turning +over its leaves. + +"And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?" He +read, and sunk deep in thought. + +This is the way his thoughts went: + +"What things? What had He been saying? Let me look and see what He says, +that I may begin to do it!" + +He read all the chapter, and found it full of _tellings_. When he read +it before he had not thought of doing one of the things He said, for as +plainly as He told him! He had not once thought He had any concern in +the matter! + +"I see!" he said; "we must begin at once to do what He tells us!" + +He ran to find his brother. + +"I've got it!" he cried: "I've got it!" + +"What?" + +"What we've got to do" + +"And what is it?" + +"Just what He tells us." + +"We were doing that," said Sandy, "when we prayed Him to tell us what to +pray for!" + +"So we were! That's grand!" + +"Then haven't we got to pray for anything more?" + +"We'll soon find out; but first we must look for something to do!" + +They began at once to search for things the Lord told them to do. And of +all they found, the plainest and easiest was: "Whosoever shall smite +thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also." This needed no +explanation! it was as clear as the day to both of them! + +The very next morning the school-master, who, though of a gentle +disposition, was irritable, taking Andrew for the offender in a certain +breach of discipline, gave him a smart box on the ear. Andrew, as +readily as if it had been instinctively, turned to him the other cheek. + +An angry man is an evil interpreter of holy things, and Mr. Fordyce took +the action for one of rudest mockery, nor thought of the higher master +therein mocked if it were mockery: he struck the offender a yet smarter +blow. Andrew stood for a minute like one dazed; but the red on his face +was not that of anger; he was perplexed as to whether he ought now to +turn the former cheek again to the striker. Uncertain, he turned away, +and went to his work. + +Stops a reader here to say: "But do you really mean to tell us we ought +to take the words literally as Andrew did?" I answer: "When you have +earned the right to understand, you will not need to ask me. To explain +what the Lord means to one who is not obedient, is the work of no man +who knows his work." + +It is but fair to say for the school-master that, when he found he had +mistaken, he tried to make up to the boy for it--not by confessing +himself wrong--who could expect that of only a school-master?--but by +being kinder to him than before. Through this he came to like him, and +would teach him things out of the usual way--such as how to make +different kinds of verse. + +By and by Andrew and Sandy had a quarrel. Suddenly Andrew came to +himself, and cried: + +"Sandy! Sandy! He says we're to agree!" + +"Does He?" + +"He says we're to love one another, and we canna do that if we dinna +agree!" + +There came a pause. + +"Perhaps after all you were in the right, Sandy!" said Andrew. + +"I was just going to say that; when I think about it, perhaps I wasn't +so much in the right as I thought I was!" + +"It can't matter much which was in the right, when we were both in the +wrong!" said Andrew. "Let's ask Him to keep us from caring which is in +the right, and make us both try to be in the right We don't often +differ about what we are to ask for, Sandy!" + +"No, we don't." + +"It's me to take care of you, Sandy!" + +"And me to take care of you, Andrew!" + +Here was the nucleus of a church!--two stones laid on the +foundation-stone. + +"Luik here, Sandy!" said Andrew; "we maun hae anither, an' syne there'll +be four o' 's!" + +"How's that?" asked Sandy. + +"I won'er 'at we never noticed it afore! Here's what He says: 'For where +two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst +of them.' In that way, wharever He micht be walkin' aboot, we could aye +get Him! He likes twa, an' His Father 'ill hear the 'greed prayer, but +He likes three better--an' that stan's to rizzon, for three maun be +better 'n twa! First ane maun lo'e Him; an' syne twa can lo'e Him +better, because ilk ane is helpit by the ither, an' lo'es Him the mair +that He lo'es the ither ane! An' syne comes the third, and there's mair +an' mair throwin' o' lichts, and there's the Lord himsel' i' the mids' +o' them! Three maks a better mids' than twa!" + +Sandy could not follow the reasoning quite, but he had his own way of +understanding. + +"It's jist like the story o' Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!" he said. +"There was three o' them, an' sae He made four! Eh, jist think o' Him +bein' wi' 's His verra sel'!" + +Here now was a church indeed: the idea of a third was the very principle +of growth! They would meet together and say: "Oh, Father of Jesus +Christ, help us to be good like Jesus;" and then Jesus himself would +make one of them, and worship the Father with them! + +The next thing, as a matter of course, was to look about for a third. + +"Dawtie!" cried both at once. + +Dawtie was the child of a cotter pair, who had an acre or two of their +father's farm, and helped him with it. Her real name has not reached me; +_Dawtie_ means _darling_, and is a common term of endearment--derived, +Jamieson suggests, from the Gaelic _dalt_, signifying _a foster-child_. +Dawtie was a dark-haired, laughing little darling, with shy, merry +manners, and the whitest teeth, full of fun, but solemn in an instant. +Her small feet were bare and black--except on Saturday nights and Sunday +mornings--but full of expression, and perhaps really cleaner, from their +familiarity with the sweet all-cleansing air, than such as hide the +day-long in socks and shoes. + +Dawtie's specialty was love of the creatures. She had an undoubting +conviction that every one of them with which she came in contact +understood and loved her. She was the champion of the oppressed, without +knowing it. Every individual necessity stood on its own merits, and came +to her fresh and sole, as if she had forgotten all that went before it. +Like some boys she had her pockets as well as her hands at the service +of live things; but unlike any boy, she had in her love no admixture of +natural history; it was not interest in animals with her, but an +individual love to the individual animal, whatever it might be, that +presented itself to the love-power in her. + +It may seem strange that there should be three such children together. +But their fathers and mothers had for generations been poor--which was a +great advantage, as may be seen in the world by him who has eyes to see, +and heard in the parable of the rich man by him who has ears to hear. +Also they were God-fearing, which was a far greater advantage, and made +them honorable; for they would have scorned things that most Christians +will do. Dawtie's father had a rarely keen instinct for what is mean, +and that not in the way of abhorrence in others, but of avoidance in +himself. To shades and _nuances_ of selfishness, which men of high +repute and comfortable conscience would neither be surprised to find in +their neighbors nor annoyed to find in themselves, he would give no +quarter. Along with Andrew's father, he had, in childhood and youth, +been under the influence of a simple-hearted pastor, whom the wise and +prudent laughed at as one who could not take care of himself, incapable +of seeing that, like his master, he laid down his life that he might +take it again. He left God to look after him, that he might be free to +look after God. + +Little Dawtie had learned her catechism, but, thank God, had never +thought about it or attempted to understand it--good negative +preparation for becoming, in a few years more, able to understand the +New Testament with the heart of a babe. + +The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she +sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a +chicken with oatmeal paste. + +"What are you doin', Dawtie?" they asked. + +"I'm tryin'," she answered, without looking up, "to haud the life i' the +chuckie." + +"What's the matter wi' 't?" + +"Naething but the want o' a mither." + +"Is the mither o' 't deid?" + +"Na, she's alive eneuch, but she has ower mony bairns to hap them a'; +her wings winna cower them, and she drives this ane awa', and winna lat +it come near her." + +"Sic a cruel mither!" + +"Na, she's no' cruel. She only wants to gar't come to me! She kenned I +would tak it. Na, na; Flappy's a guid mither! I ken her weel; she's ane +o' our ain! She kens me, or she would hae keepit the puir thing, and +done her best wi' her." + +"I ken somebody," said Andrew, "that would fain spread oot wings, like a +great big hen, ower a' the bairns, you an' me an' a', Dawtie!" + +"That's my mither!" cried Dawtie, looking up, and showing her white +teeth. + +"Na, it's a man," said Sandy. + +"It's my father, than!" + +"Na, it's no. Would ye like to see Him?" + +"Na, I'm no carin'." + +"Sandy and me's gaein' to see Him some day." + +"I'll gang wi' ye. But I maun tak' my chuckie!" + +She looked down where she had set the little bird on the ground; it had +hobbled away and she could not see it! + +"Eh," she cried, starting up, "ye made me forget my chuckie wi' yer +questions! It's mither 'ill peck it!" + +She darted off, and forsook the tale of the Son of Man to look after her +chicken. But presently she returned with it in her hands. + +"Tell awa'," she said, resuming her seat "What do they ca' Him?" + +"They ca' Him the Father o' Jesus Christ." + +"I'll gang wi' ye," she answered. + +So the church was increased by a whole half, and the fraction of a +chicken--type of the groaning creation, waiting for the sonship. + +The three gathered to read and pray. And almost always there was some +creature with them in the arms or hands of Dawtie. And if the Lord was +not there, too, then are we Christians most miserable, for we see a +glory beyond all that man could dream, and it is but a dream! Whose +dream? + +They went on at other times with the usual employments and games of +children. But there was this difference between them and most grown +Christians, that when anything roused thought or question they at once +referred it to the word of Jesus, and having discovered His will, made +haste to do it. It naturally followed that, seeing He gives the spirit +to them that obey Him, they grew rapidly in the modes of their Master, +learning to look at things as He looked at them, to think of them as He +thought of them, to value what He valued, and despise what He +despised--all in simplest order of divine development, in uttermost +accord with highest reason, the whole turning on the primary and +continuous effort to obey. + +It was long before they came to have any regular time of meeting. Andrew +always took the initiative in assembling the church. When he called they +came together. Then he would read from the story, and communicate any +discovery he had made concerning what Jesus would have them do. Next, +they would consult and settle what they should ask for, and one of them, +generally Andrew, but sometimes Sandy, would pray. They made no formal +utterance, but simply asked for what they needed. Here are some +specimens of their petitions: + +"Oh, Lord, Sandy canna for the life o' 'im un'erstan' the rule o' three; +please, Lord, help him." + +"Oh, Lord, I dinna ken onything I want the day; please gi'e us what we +need, an' what ye want us to hae, wi'oot our askin' it." + +"Lord, help us; we're ill-natnr'd (_bad-tempered_) the day; an' ye wadna +hae us that." + +"Lord, Dawtie's mither has a sair heid (_headache_); mak her better, +gien ye please." + +When their prayers were ended Andrew would say: "Sandy, have you found +anything He says?" and there-upon, if he had, Sandy would speak. Dawtie +never said a word, but sat and listened with her big eyes, generally +stroking some creature in her lap. + +Surely the part of every superior is to help the life in the lower! + +Once the question arose, in their assembly of three and a bird, whose +leg Dawtie had put in splints, what became of the creatures when they +died. They concluded that the sparrow that God cared for must be worth +caring for; and they could not believe He had made it to last only such +a little while as its life in this world. Thereupon they agreed to ask +the Lord that, when they died, they might have again a certain dog, an +ugly little white mongrel, of which they had been very fond. All their +days thereafter they were, I believe, more or less consciously, looking +forward to the fulfillment of this petition. For their hope strengthened +with the growth of their ideal; and when they had to give up any belief +it was to take a better in its place. + +They yielded at length the notion that the peddler was Jesus Christ, but +they never ceased to believe that He was God's messenger, or that the +Lord was with them always. They would not insist that He was walking +about on the earth, but to the end of their days they cherished the +uncertain hope that they might, even without knowing it, look upon the +face of the Lord in that of some stranger passing in the street, or +mingling in a crowd, or seated in a church; for they knew that all the +shapes of man belong to Him, and that, after He rose from the dead there +were several occasions on which He did not at first look like Himself to +those to whom He appeared. + +The child-like, the essential, the divine notion of serving, with their +every-day will and being, the will of the living One, who lived for them +that they might live, as once He had died for them that they might die, +ripened in them to a Christianity that saw God everywhere, saw that +everything had to be done as God would have it done, and that nothing +but injustice had to be forsaken to please Him. They were under no +influence of what has been so well called _other-worldliness_, for they +saw this world as much God's as that, saw that its work has to be done +divinely, that it is the beginning of the world to come. It was to them +all one world, with God in it, all in all; therefore the best work for +the other world was the work of this world. + +Such was the boyhood of that Andrew Ingram whom Miss Fordyce now +reproved for not setting the good example of going to church. + +The common sense of the children rapidly developed, for there is no +teacher like obedience, and no obstruction like its postponement. When +in after years their mothers came at length to understand that obedience +had been so long the foundation of their life, it explained to them many +things that had seemed strange, and brought them to reproach themselves +that they should have seemed strange. + +It ought not to be overlooked that the whole thing was wrought in the +children without directed influence of kindred or any neighbor. They +imitated none. The galvanism of imitation is not the life of the spirit; +the use of form where love is not is killing. And if any one is desirous +of spreading the truth let him apply himself, like these children, to +the doing of it; not obeying the truth, he is doubly a liar pretending +to teach it; if he obeys it already, let him obey it more. It is life +that awakes life. All form of persuasion is empty except in vital +association with regnant obedience. Talking and not doing is dry rot. + +Cottage children are sometimes more fastidious about their food than +children that have a greater variety; they have a more delicate +perception and discrimination in the simple dishes on which they thrive; +much choice, though little refusal. Andrew had a great dislike to lumps +in his porridge; and one day the mother having been less careful than +usual in cooking it, he made a wry face at the first spoonful. + +"Andrew," said Sandy, "take no thought for what ye eat." + +It was a wrong interpretation, but a righteous use of the word. Happy +the soul that mistakes the letter only to get at the spirit! + +Andrew's face smoothed itself, began to clear up, and broke at last into +a sunny smile. He said nothing, but eat his full share of the porridge +without a frown. This was practical religion; and if any one judge it +not worth telling, I count his philosophy worthless beside it. Such a +doer knows more than such a reader will ever know, except he take +precisely the same way to learn. The children of God do what He would +have them do, and are taught of Him. + +A report at length reached the pastor, now an old man, of ripe heart and +true insight, that certain children in his parish "played at the Lord's +Supper." He was shocked, and went to their parents. They knew nothing of +the matter. The three children were sought, and the pastor had a private +interview with them. From it he reappeared with a solemn, pale face, and +silent tongue. They asked him the result of his inquiry. He answered +that he was not prepared to interfere: as he was talking with them, the +warning came that there were necks and mill-stones. The next Sunday he +preached a sermon from the text, "Out of the month of babes and +sucklings Thou hast perfected praise." + +The fathers and mothers made inquisition, and found no desire to +conceal. Wisely or not, they forbade the observance. It cost Andrew much +thought whether he was justified in obeying them; but he saw that right +and wrong in itself was not concerned, and that the Lord would have them +obey their parents. + +It was necessary to tell so much of the previous history of Andrew, lest +what remains to be told should perhaps be unintelligible or seem +incredible without it. A character like his can not be formed in a day; +it must early begin to grow. + +The bond thus bound between the children, altering in form as they grew, +was never severed; nor was the lower creation ever cut off from its +share in the petitions of any one of them. When they ceased to assemble +as a community, they continued to act on the same live principles. + +Gladly as their parents would have sent them to college, Andrew and +Sandy had to leave school only to work on the farm. But they carried +their studies on from the point they had reached. When they could not +get further without help, they sought and found it. For a year or two +they went in the winter to an evening school; but it took so much time +to go and come that they found they could make more progress by working +at home. What help they sought went a long way, and what they learned, +they knew. + +When the day's work was over, and the evening meal, they went to the +room their own hands had made convenient for study as well as sleep, and +there resumed the labor they had dropped the night before. Together they +read Greek and mathematics, but Andrew worked mainly in literature, +Sandy in mechanics. On Saturdays, Sandy generally wrought at some model, +while Andrew read to him. On Sundays, they always, for an hour or two, +read the Bible together. + +The brothers were not a little amused with Miss Fordyce's patronage of +Andrew; but they had now been too long endeavoring to bring into +subjection the sense of personal importance, to take offense at it. + +Dawtie had gone into service, and they seldom saw her except when she +came home for a day at the term. She was a grown woman now, but the same +loving child as before. She counted the brothers her superiors, just as +they counted the laird and his daughter their superiors. But whereas +Alexa claimed the homage, Dawtie yielded where was no thought of +claiming it. The brothers regarded her as their sister. That she was +poorer than they, only made them the more watchful over her, and if +possible the more respectful to her. So she had a rich return for her +care of the chickens and kittens and puppies. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George went home the next day; and the following week sent Andrew a +note, explaining that when he saw him he did not know his obligation to +him, and expressing the hope that, when next in town, he would call upon +him. This was hardly well, being condescension to a superior. Perhaps +the worst evil in the sense of social superiority is the vile fancy that +it alters human relation. George did not feel bound to make the same +acknowledgment of obligation to one in humble position as to one in the +same golden rank with himself! It says ill for social distinction, if, +for its preservation, such an immoral difference be essential. But +Andrew was not one to dwell upon his rights. He thought it friendly of +Mr. Crawford to ask him to call; therefore, although he had little +desire to make his acquaintance, and grudged the loss of time, to no man +so precious as to him who has a pursuit in addition to a calling, +Andrew, far stronger in courtesy than the man who invited him, took the +first Saturday afternoon to go and see him. + +Mr. Crawford the elder lived in some style, and his door was opened by a +servant whose blatant adornment filled Andrew with friendly pity: no man +would submit to be dressed like that, he judged, except from necessity. +The reflection sprung from no foolish and degrading contempt for +household service. It is true Andrew thought no labor so manly as that +in the earth, out of which grows everything that makes the loveliness or +use of Nature; for by it he came in contact with the primaries of human +life, and was God's fellow laborer, a helper in the work of the +universe, knowing the ways of it and living in them; but not the less +would he have done any service, and that cheerfully, which his own need +or that of others might have required of him. The colors of a parrot, +however, were not fit for a son of man, and hence his look of sympathy. +His regard was met only by a glance of plain contempt, as the lackey, +moved by the same spirit as his master, left him standing in the +hall--to return presently, and show him into the library--a room of +mahogany, red morocco, and yellow calf, where George sat. He rose, and +shook hands with him. + +"I am glad to see you, Mr. Ingram," he said. "When I wrote I had but +just learned how much I was indebted to you." + +"I understand what you must mean," returned Andrew, "but it was scarce +worth alluding to. Miss Fordyce had the better claim to serve you!" + +"You call it nothing to carry a man of my size over a mile of heather!" + +"I had help," answered Andrew; "and but for the broken leg," he added, +with a laugh, "I could have carried you well enough alone." + +There came a pause, for George did not know what next to do with the +farmer fellow. So the latter spoke again, being unembarrassed. + +"You have a grand library, Mr. Crawford! It must be fine to sit among so +many books! It's just like a wine-merchant's cellars--only here you can +open and drink, and leave the bottles as full as before!" + +"A good simile, Mr. Ingram!" replied George. "You must come and dine +with me, and we'll open another sort of bottle!" + +"You must excuse me there, sir! I have no time for that sort of bottle." + +"I understand you read a great deal?" + +"Weather permitting," returned Andrew. + +"I should have thought if anything was independent of the weather, it +must be reading!" + +"Not a farmer's reading, sir. To him the weather is the Word of God, +telling him whether to work or read." + +George was silent. To him the Word of God was the Bible! + +"But you must read a great deal yourself, sir!" resumed Andrew, casting +a glance round the room. + +"The books are my father's!" said George. + +He did not mention that his own reading came all in the library-cart, +except when he wanted some special information; for George was "a +practical man!" He read his Bible to prepare for his class in the +Sunday-school, and his Shakespeare when he was going to see one of his +plays acted. He would make the best of both worlds by paying due +attention to both! He was religious, but liberal. + +His father was a banker, an elder of the kirk, well reputed in and +beyond his circle. He gave to many charities, and largely to educational +schemes. His religion was to hold by the traditions of the elders, and +keep himself respectable in the eyes of money-dealers. He went to church +regularly, and always asked God's blessing on his food, as if it were a +kind of general sauce. He never prayed God to make him love his +neighbor, or help him to be an honest man. He "had worship" every +morning, no doubt; but only a Nonentity like his God could care for such +prayers as his. George rejected his father's theology as false in logic +and cruel in character: George knew just enough of God to be guilty of +neglecting Him. + +"When I am out all day, I can do with less reading; for then I have the +'book of knowledge fair,'" said Andrew, quoting Milton. "It does not +take _all_ one's attention to drive a straight furrow or keep the harrow +on the edge of the last bout!" + +"You don't mean you can read your Bible as you hold the plow!" said +George. + +"No, sir," answered Andrew, amused. "A body could not well manage a book +between the stilts of the plow. The Bible will keep till you get home; a +little of it goes a long way. But Paul counted the book of creation +enough to make the heathen to blame for not minding it. Never a wind +wakes of a sudden, but it talks to me about God. And is not the sunlight +the same that came out of the body of Jesus at His transfiguration?" + +"You seem to have some rather peculiar ideas of your own, Mr. Ingram!" + +"Perhaps, sir! For a man to have no ideas of his own, is much the same +as to have no ideas at all. A man can not have the ideas of another man, +any more than he can have another man's soul, or another man's body!" + +"That is dangerous doctrine." + +"Perhaps we are not talking about the same thing! I mean by _ideas_, +what a man orders his life by." + +"Your ideas may be wrong!" + +"The All-wise is my judge." + +"So much the worse, if you are in the wrong!" + +"It is the only good, whether I be in the right or the wrong. Would I +have my mistakes overlooked? What judge would I desire but the Judge of +all the earth! Shall He not do right? And will He not set me right?" + +"That is a most dangerous confidence!" + +"It would be if there were any other judge. But it will be neither the +Church nor the world that will sit on the great white throne. He who +sits there will not ask: 'Did you go to church?' or 'Did you believe in +this or that?' but' Did you do what I told you?'" + +"And what will you say to that, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I will say: 'Lord, Thou knowest!" + +The answer checked George a little. + +"Suppose He should say you did not, what would you answer?" + +"I would say: 'Lord, send me where I may learn.'" + +"And if He should say: 'That is what I sent you into the world for, and +you have not done it!' what would you say then?" + +"I should hold my peace." + +"You do what He tells you then?" + +"I try." + +"Does He not say: 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together?'" + +"No, sir." + +"No?" + +"Somebody says something like it in the Epistle to the Hebrews." + +"And isn't that the same?" + +"The Man who wrote it would be indignant at your saying so! Tell me, Mr. +Crawford, what makes a gathering a Church?" + +"It would take me some time to arrange my ideas before I could answer +you." + +"Is it not the presence of Christ that makes an assembly a Church?" + +"Well?" + +"Does He not say that where two or three are met in His name, there is +He in the midst of them?" + +"Yes." + +"Then thus far I will justify myself to you, that, if I do not go to +what you call _church_, I yet often make one of a company met in His +name." + +"He does not limit the company to two or three." + +"Assuredly not. But if I find I get more help and strength with a +certain few, why should I go with a multitude to get less? Will you draw +another line than the Master's? Why should it be more sacred to worship +with five hundred or five thousand than with three? If He is in the +midst of them, they can not be wrong gathered!" + +"It _looks_ as if you thought yourselves better than everybody else!" + +"If it were so, then certainly He would not be _one_ of the gathering!" + +"How are you to know that He is in the midst of you?" + +"If we are not keeping His commandments, He is not. But His presence can +not be _proved_; it can only be known. If He meets us, it is not +necessary to the joy of His presence that we should be able to prove +that He does meet us! If a man has the company of the Lord, he will care +little whether another does or does not believe that he has." + +"Your way is against the peace of the Church! It fosters division." + +"Did the Lord come to send peace on the earth? My way, as you call it, +would make division, but division between those who call themselves His +and those who are His. It would bring together those that love Him. +Company would merge with company that they might look on the Lord +together. I don't believe Jesus cares much for what is called the +visible Church; but He cares with His very Godhead for those that do as +He tells them; they are His Father's friends; they are His elect by whom +He will save the world. It is by those who obey, and by their obedience, +that He will save those who do not obey, that is, will bring them to +obey. It is one by one the world will pass to His side. There is no +saving in the lump. If a thousand be converted at once, it is every +single lonely man that is converted." + +"You would make a slow process of it!" + +"If slow, yet faster than any other. All God's processes are slow. How +many years has the world existed, do you imagine, sir?" + +"I don't know. Geologists say hundreds and hundreds of thousands." + +"And how many is it since Christ came?" + +"Toward two thousand." + +"Then we are but in the morning of Christianity! There is plenty of +time. The day is before us." + +"Dangerous doctrine for the sinner!" + +"Why? Time is plentiful for his misery, if he will not repent; plentiful +for the mercy of God that would lead him to repentance. There is plenty +of time for labor and hope; none for indifference and delay. God _will_ +have his creatures good. They can not escape Him." + +"Then a man may put off repentance as long as he pleases!" + +"Certainly he may--at least as long as he can--but it is a fearful thing +to try issues with God." + +"I can hardly say I understand you." + +"Mr. Crawford, you have questioned me in the way of kindly anxiety and +reproof; that has given me the right to question you. Tell me, do you +admit we are bound to do what our Lord requires?" + +"Of course. How could any Christian man do otherwise?" + +"Yet a man may say: 'Lord, Lord,' and be cast out! It is one thing to +say we are bound to do what the Lord tells us, and another to do what He +tells us! He says: 'Seek ye _first_ the kingdom of God and His +righteousness:' Mr. Crawford, are you seeking the kingdom of God +_first_, or are you seeking money first?" + +"We are sent into the world to make our living." + +"Sent into the world, we have to seek our living; we are not sent into +the world to seek our living, but to seek the kingdom and righteousness +of God. And to seek a living is very different from seeking a fortune!" + +"If you, Mr. Ingram, had a little wholesome ambition, you would be less +given to judging your neighbors." + +Andrew held his peace, and George concluded he had had the best of the +argument--which was all he wanted; of the truth concerned he did not see +enough to care about it Andrew, perceiving no good was to be done, was +willing to appear defeated; he did not value any victory but the victory +of the truth, and George was not yet capable of being conquered by the +truth. + +"No!" resumed he, "we must avoid personalities. There are certain things +all respectable people have agreed to regard as right: he is a +presumptuous man who refuses to regard them. Reflect on it, Mr. Ingram." + +The curious smile hovered about the lip of the plow-man; when things to +say did not come to him, he went nowhere to fetch them. Almost in +childhood he had learned that, when one is required to meet the lie, +words are given him; when they are not, silence is better. A man who +does not love the truth, but disputes for victory, is the swine before +whom pearls must not be cast. Andrew's smile meant that it had been a +waste of his time to call upon Mr. Crawford. But he did not blame +himself, for he had come out of pure friendliness. He would have risen +at once, but feared to seem offended. Crawford, therefore, with the +rudeness of a superior, himself rose, saying: + +"Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ingram?" + +"The only thing one man can do for another is to be at one with him," +answered Andrew, rising. + +"Ah, you are a socialist! That accounts for much!" said George. + +"Tell me this," returned Andrew, looking him in the eyes: "Did Jesus +ever ask of His Father anything His Father would not give Him?" + +"Not that I remember," answered George, fearing a theological trap. + +"He said once: 'I pray for them which shall believe in Me, that they all +may be one, as Thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also many +be one in us!' No man can be one with another, who is not one with +Christ." + +As he left the house, a carriage drove up, in which was Mr. Crawford the +elder, home from a meeting of directors, at which a dividend had been +agreed upon--to be paid from the capital, in preparation for another +issue of shares. + +Andrew walked home a little bewildered. "How is it," he said to himself, +"that so many who would be terrified at the idea of not being +Christians, and are horrified at any man who does not believe there is a +God, are yet absolutely indifferent to what their Lord tells them to do +if they would be His disciples? But may not I be in like case without +knowing it? Do I meet God in my geometry? When I so much enjoy my +Euclid, is it always God geometrizing to me? Do I feel talking with God +every time I dwell upon any fact of his world of lines and circles and +angles? Is it God with me, every time that the joy of life, of a wind or +a sky or a lovely phrase, flashes through me? Oh, my God," he broke out +in speechless prayer as he walked--and those that passed said to +themselves he was mad; how, in such a world, could any but a madman wear +a face of joy! "Oh, my God, Thou art all in all, and I have everything! +The world is mine because it is Thine! I thank Thee, my God, that Thou +hast lifted me up to see whence I came, to know to whom I belong, to +know who is my Father, and makes me His heir! I am Thine, infinitely +more than mine own; and Thou art mine as Thou art Christ's!" + +He knew his Father in the same way that Jesus Christ knows His Father. +He was at home in the universe, neither lonely, nor out-of-doors, nor +afraid. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +THE CRAWFORDS. + + +Through strong striving to secure his life, Mr. Crawford lost it--both +in God's sense of loss and his own. He narrowly escaped being put in +prison, died instead, and was put into God's prison to pay the uttermost +farthing. But he had been such a good Christian that his +fellow-Christians mourned over his failure and his death, not over his +dishonesty! For did they not know that if, by more dishonesty, he could +have managed to recover his footing, he would have paid everything? One +injunction only he obeyed--he provided for his own; of all the widows +concerned in his bank, his widow alone was secured from want; and she, +like a dutiful wife, took care that his righteous intention should be +righteously carried out; not a penny would she give up to the paupers +her husband had made. + +The downfall of the house of cards took place a few months after +George's return to its business. Not initiated to the mysteries of his +father's transactions, ignorant of what had long been threatening, it +was a terrible blow to him. But he was a man of action, and at once +looked to America; at home he could not hold up his head. + +He had often been to Potlurg, and had been advancing in intimacy with +Alexa; but he would not show himself there until he could appear as a +man of decision--until he was on the point of departure. She would be +the more willing to believe his innocence of complicity in the +deceptions that had led to his ruin! He would thus also manifest +self-denial and avoid the charge of interested motives! he could not +face the suspicion of being a suitor with nothing to offer! George had +always taken the grand role--that of superior, benefactor, bestower. He +was powerful in condescension! + +Not, therefore, until the night before he sailed did he go to Potlurg. + +Alexa received him with a shade of displeasure. + +"I am going away," he said, abruptly, the moment they were seated. + +Her heart gave a painful throb in her throat, but she did not lose her +self-possession. + +"Where are you going?" she asked. + +"To New York," he replied. "I have got a situation there--in a not +unimportant house. _There_ at least I am taken for an honest man. From +your heaven I have fallen." + +"No one falls from any heaven but has himself to blame," rejoined Alexa. + +"Where have I been to blame? I was not in my father's confidence. I knew +nothing, positively nothing, of what was going on." + +"Why then did you not come to see me?" + +"A man who is neither beggar nor thief is not willing to look either." + +"You would have come if you had trusted me," she said. + +"You must pardon pride in a ruined man," he answered. "Now that I am +starting to-morrow, I do not feel the same dread of being +misunderstood!" + +"It was not kind of you, George. Knowing yourself fit to be trusted, why +did you not think me capable of trusting?" + +"But, Alexa!--a man's own father!" + +For a moment he showed signs of an emotion he had seldom had to repress. + +"I beg your pardon, George!" cried Alexa. "I am both stupid and selfish! +Are you really going so far?" + +Her voice trembled. + +"I am--but to return, I hope, in a very different position!" + +"You would have me understand--" + +"That I shall then be able to hold up my head." + +"Why should an innocent man ever do otherwise?" + +"He can not help seeing himself in other people's thoughts!" + +"If we are in the right ought we to mind what people think of us?" said +Alexa. + +"Perhaps not. But I will make them think of me as I choose." + +"How?" + +"By compelling their respect." + +"You mean to make a fortune?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it will be the fortune they respect! You will not be more worthy!" + +"I shall not." + +"Is such respect worth having?" + +"Not in itself." + +"In what then? Why lay yourself out for it?" + +"Believe me, Alexa, even the real respect of such people would be +worthless to me. I only want to bring them to their marrow-bones!" + +The truth was, Alexa prized social position so dearly that she did not +relish his regarding it as a thing at the command of money. Let George +be as rich as a Jew or an American, Alexa would never regard him as her +equal! George worshiped money; Alexa worshiped birth and land. + +Our own way of being wrong is all right in our own eyes; our neighbor's +way of being wrong is offensive to all that is good in us. We are +anxious therefore, kindly anxious, to pull the mote out of his eye, +never thinking of the big beam in the way of the operation. Jesus +labored to show us that our immediate business is to be right ourselves. +Until we are, even our righteous indignation is waste. + +While he spoke, George's eyes were on the ground. His grand resolve did +not give his innocence strength to look in the face of the woman he +loved; he felt, without knowing why, that she was not satisfied with +him. Of the paltriness of his ambition, he had no inward hint. The high +resolves of a puny nature must be a laughter to the angels--the bad +ones. + +"If a man has no ambition," he resumed, feeling after her objection, +"how is he to fulfill the end of his being! No sluggard ever made his +mark! How would the world advance but for the men who have to make their +fortunes! If a man find his father has not made money for him, what is +he to do but make it for himself? You would not have me all my life a +clerk! If I had but known, I should by this time have been well ahead!" + +Alexa had nothing to answer; it all sounded very reasonable! Were not +Scots boys everywhere taught it was the business of life to rise? In +whatever position they were, was it not their part to get out of it? She +did not see that it is in the kingdom of heaven only we are bound to +rise. We are born into the world not to rise in the kingdom of Satan, +but out of it And the only way to rise in the kingdom of heaven is to do +the work given us to do. Whatever be intended for us, this is the only +way to it We have not to promote ourselves, but to do our work. It is +the master of the feast who says: "Go up." If a man go up of himself, he +will find he has mistaken the head of the table. + +More talk followed, but neither cast any light; neither saw the true +question. George took his leave. Alexa said she would be glad to hear +from him. + +Alexa did not like the form of George's ambition--to gain money, and so +compel the respect of persons he did not himself respect But was she +clear of the money disease herself? Would she have married a poor man, +to go on as hitherto? Would she not have been ashamed to have George +know how she had supplied his needs while he lay in the house--that it +was with the poor gains of her poultry-yard she fed him? Did it improve +her moral position toward money that she regarded commerce with +contempt--a rudiment of the time when nobles treated merchants as a +cottager his bees? + +George's situation was a subordinate one in a house of large dealings in +Wall Street. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +DAWTIE. + +Is not the Church supposed to be made up of God's elect? and yet most of +my readers find it hard to believe there should be three persons, so +related, who agreed to ask of God, and to ask neither riches nor love, +but that God should take His own way with them, that the Father should +work His will in them, that He would teach them what He wanted of them, +and help them to do it! The Church is God's elect, and yet you can not +believe in three holy children! Do you say: "Because they are +represented as beginning to obey so young?" "Then," I answer, "there can +be no principle, only an occasional and arbitrary exercise of spiritual +power, in the perfecting of praise out of the mouth of babes and +sucklings, or in the preference of them to the wise and prudent as the +recipients of divine revelation." + +Dawtie never said much, but tried the more. With heartiness she accepted +what conclusions the brothers came to, so far as she understood +them--and what was practical she understood as well as they; for she had +in her heart the spirit of that Son of Man who chose a child to +represent Him and His Father. As to what they heard at church, their +minds were so set on doing what they found in the Gospel, that it passed +over them without even rousing their intellect, and so vanished without +doing any hurt. Tuned to the truth by obedience, no falsehood they heard +from the pulpit partisans of God could make a chord vibrate in response. +Dawtie indeed heard nothing but the good that was mingled with the +falsehood, and shone like a lantern through a thick fog. + +She was little more than a child when, to the trouble of her parents, +she had to go out to service. Every half year she came home for a day or +so, and neither feared nor found any relation altered. At length after +several closely following changes, occasioned by no fault of hers, she +was without a place. Miss Fordyce heard of it, and proposed to her +parents that, until she found another, she should help Meg, who was +growing old and rather blind: she would thus, she said, go on learning, +and not be idling at home. + +Dawtie's mother was not a little amused at the idea of any one idling in +her house, not to say Dawtie, whom idleness would have tried harder than +any amount of work; but, if only that Miss Fordyce might see what sort +of girl Dawtie was, she judged it right to accept her offer. + +She had not been at Potlurg a week before Meg began to complain that she +did not leave work enough to keep her warm. No doubt it gave her time +for her book, but her eyes were not so good as they used to be, and she +was apt to fall asleep over it, and catch cold! But when her mistress +proposed to send her away, she would not hear of it So Alexa, who had +begun to take an interest in her, set her to do things she had hitherto +done herself, and began to teach her other things. Before three months +were over, she was a necessity in the house, and to part with Dawtie +seemed impossible. A place about that time turning up, Alexa at once +offered her wages, and so Dawtie became an integral portion of the +laird's modest household. + +The laird himself at length began to trust her as he had never trusted +servant, for he taught her to dust his precious books, which hitherto he +had done himself, but of late had shrunk from, finding not a few of them +worse than Pandora-boxes, liberating asthma at the merest unclosing. + +Dawtie was now a grown woman, bright, gentle, playful, with loving eyes, +and a constant overflow of tenderness upon any creature that could +receive it. She had small but decided and regular features, whose +prevailing expression was confidence--not in herself, for she was scarce +conscious of herself even in the act of denying herself--but in the +person upon whom her trusting eyes were turned. She was in the world to +help--with no political economy beyond the idea that for help and +nothing else did any one exist. To be as the sun and the rain and the +wind, as the flowers that lived for her and not for themselves, as the +river that flowed, and the heather that bloomed lovely on the bare moor +in the autumn, such was her notion of being. That she had to take care +of herself was a falsehood that never entered her brain. To do what she +ought, and not do what she ought not, was enough on her part, and God +would do the rest! I will not say she reasoned thus; to herself she was +scarce a conscious object at all. Both bodily and spiritually she was in +the finest health. If illness came, she would perhaps then discover a +self with which she had to fight--I can not tell; but my impression is, +that she had so long done the true thing, that illness would only +develop unconscious victory, perfecting the devotion of her simple +righteousness. It is because we are selfish, with that worst selfishness +which is incapable of recognizing itself, not to say its own +loathsomeness, that we have to be made ill. That they may leave the last +remnants of their selfishness, are the saints themselves over-taken by +age and death. Suffering does not cause the vile thing in us--that was +there all the time; it comes to develop in us the knowledge of its +presence, that it may be war to the knife between us and it. It was no +wonder that Dawtie grew more and more of a favorite at Potlurg. + +She did not read much, but would learn by heart anything that pleased +her, and then go saying or singing it to herself. She had the voice of a +lark, and her song prevented many a search for her. Against that "rain +of melody," not the pride of the laird, or the orderliness of the +ex-school-master ever put up the umbrella of rebuke. Her singing was so +true, came so clear from the fountain of joy, and so plainly from no +desire to be heard, that it gave no annoyance; while such was her +sympathy, that, although she had never get suffered, you would, to hear +her sing "My Nannie's awa'!" have thought her in truth mourning an +absent lover, and familiar with every pang of heart-privation. Her +cleanliness, clean even of its own show, was a heavenly purity; while so +gently was all her spiriting done, that the very idea of fuss died in +the presence of her labor. To the self-centered such a person soon +becomes a nobody; the more dependent they are upon her unfailing +ministration, the less they think of her; but they have another way of +regarding such in "the high countries." Hardly any knew her real name; +she was known but by her pet name _Dawtie_. + +Alexa, who wondered at times that she could not interest her in things +she made her read, little knew how superior the girl's choice was to her +own! Not knowing much of literature, what she liked was always of the +best in its kind, and nothing without some best element could interest +her at all. But she was not left either to her "own sweet will" or to +the prejudices of her well-meaning mistress; however long the intervals +that parted them, Andrew continued to influence her reading as from the +first. A word now and a word then, with the books he lent or gave her, +was sufficient. That Andrew liked this or that, was enough to make +Dawtie set herself to find in it what Andrew liked, and it was thus she +became acquainted with most of what she learned by heart. + +Above two years before the time to which I have now brought my +narrative, Sandy had given up farming, to pursue the development of +certain inventions of his which had met the approval of a man of means +who, unable himself to devise, could yet understand a device: he saw +that there was use, and consequently money in them, and wisely put it in +Sandy's power to perfect them. He was in consequence but little at home, +and when Dawtie went to see her parents, as she could much oftener now, +Andrew and she generally met without a third. However many weeks might +have passed, they always met as if they had parted only the night +before. There was neither shyness nor forwardness in Dawtie. Perhaps a +livelier rose might tinge her sweet round cheek when she saw Andrew; +perhaps a brighter spark shone in the pupil of Andrew's eye; but they +met as calmly as two prophets in the secret of the universe, neither +anxious nor eager. The old relation between them was the more potent +that it made so little outward show. + +"Have you anything for me, Andrew?" Dawtie would say, in the strong +dialect which her sweet voice made so pleasant to those that loved her; +whereupon Andrew, perhaps without immediate answer more than a smile, +would turn into his room, and reappear with what he had got ready for +her to "chew upon" till they should meet again. Milton's sonnet, for +instance, to the "virgin wise and pure," had long served her aspiration; +equally wise and pure, Dawtie could understand it as well as she for +whom it was written. To see the delight she took in it, would have been +a joy to any loving student of humanity. It had cost her more effort to +learn than almost any song, and perhaps therefore it was the more +precious. Andrew seldom gave her a book to learn from; in general he +copied, in his clearest handwriting, whatever poem or paragraph he +thought fit for Dawtie; and when they met, she would not unfrequently, +if there was time, repeat unasked what she had learned, and be rewarded +with his unfailing look of satisfaction. + +There was a secret between them--a secret proclaimed on the house-tops, +a secret hidden, the most precious of pearls, in their hearts--that the +earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; that its work is the work +of the Lord, whether the sowing of the field, the milking of the cow, +the giving to the poor, the spending of wages, the reading of the Bible; +that God is all in all, and every throb of gladness His gift; that their +life came fresh every moment from His heart; that what was lacking to +them would arrive the very moment He had got them ready for it. They +were God's little ones in God's world--none the less their own that they +did not desire to swallow it, or thrust it in their pockets. + +Among poverty-stricken Christians, consumed with care to keep a hold of +the world and save their souls, they were as two children of the house. +By living in the presence of the living One, they had become themselves +His presence--dim lanterns through which His light shone steady. Who +obeys, shines. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +SANDY AND GEORGE. + +Sandy had found it expedient to go to America, and had now been there a +twelvemonth; he had devised a machine of the value of which not even his +patron could be convinced--that is, he could not see the prospect of its +making money fast enough to constitute it a _good thing_. Sandy regarded +it as a discovery, a revelation for the uplifting of a certain +down-trodden portion of the community; and therefore, having saved a +little money, had resolved to make it known in the States, where insight +into probabilities is fresher. And now Andrew had a letter from him in +which he mentioned that he had come across Mr. Crawford, already of high +repute in Wall Street; that he had been kind to him, and having learned +his object in visiting the country, and the approximate risk in bringing +out his invention, had taken the thing into consideration. But the next +mail brought another letter to the effect that, having learned the +nature of the business done by Mr. Crawford, he found himself unable to +distinguish between it and gambling, or worse; it seemed to him a vortex +whose very emptiness drew money into it. He had therefore drawn back, +and declined to put the thing in Crawford's hands. This letter Andrew +gave Dawtie to read, that she might see that Sandy remained a true man. +He had never been anxious on the point, but was very glad that ignorance +had not drawn him into an evil connection. + +Dawtie took the letter with her to read at her leisure. Unable, however, +to understand something Sandy said concerning Mr. Crawford's business, +she asked a question or two of her mistress, which led to questions on +Alexa's part. Finding what was the subject of Sandy's letter, she wished +to see it. Dawtie asked leave of Andrew, and gave it her. + +Alexa was both distressed and indignant becoming at once George's +partisan. Her distress diminished and her indignation increased as she +reflected on the _airt_ whence the unfavorable report reached her; the +brothers were such peculiar men! She recalled the strange things she had +heard of their childhood; doubtless the judgment was formed on an +overstrained and quixotic idea of honesty! Besides, there had always +been a strong socialistic tendency in them, which explained how Sandy +could malign his benefactor! George was incapable of doing anything +dishonorable! She would not trouble herself about it. But she would like +to know how Andrew regarded the matter. + +She asked him therefore what he thought of Sandy's procedure. Andrew +replied that he did not know much about business; but that the only +safety must lie in having nothing to do with what was doubtful; +therefore Sandy had done right. Alexa said it was too bad of him to +condemn where he confessed ignorance. Andrew replied: + +"Ma'am, if Mr. Crawford is wrong he is condemned; if he is right my +private doubt can not hurt him. Sandy must act by his own doubt, not by +Mr. Crawford's confidence." + +Alexa grew more distressed, for she began to recall things George had +said which at the time she had not liked, but which she had succeeded in +forgetting. If he had indeed gone astray, she hoped he would forget her; +she could do without him! But the judgment of such a man as Sandy could +settle nothing. Of humble origin and childish simplicity, he could not +see the thing as a man of experience must. George might be all right +notwithstanding. At the same time there was his father--whose reputation +remained under a thick cloud, whose failed character rather than his +ill-success had driven George to the other continent. Breed must go for +something in a question of probabilities. It was the first time Alexa's +thoughts had been turned into such a channel. She clung to the poor +comfort that something must have passed at the interview so kindly +sought by George to set the quixotical young farmer against him. She +would not utter his name to Andrew ever again! + +She was right in thinking that George cherished a sincere affection for +her. It was one of the spurs which drove him too eagerly after money. I +doubt if any man starts with a developed love of money for its own +sake--except indeed he be born of generations of mammon worshipers. +George had gone into speculation with the object of retrieving the +position in which he had supposed himself born, and in the hope of +winning the hand of his cousin--thinking too much of himself to offer +what would not in the eyes of the world be worth her acceptance. When he +stepped on the inclined plane of dishonesty he believed himself only +engaging in "legitimate speculation;" but he was at once affected by the +atmosphere about him. Wrapped in the breath of admiration and adulation +surrounding men who cared for _nothing_ but money-making, men who were +not merely dishonest, but the very serpents of dishonesty, against whom +pickpockets will "stick off" as angels of light; constantly under the +softly persuasive influence of low morals and extravagant appreciation +of cunning, he came by rapid degrees to think less and less of right and +wrong. At first he called the doings of the place dishonest; then he +called them sharp practice; then he called them a little shady; then, +close sailing; then he said this or that transaction was deuced clever; +then, the man was more rogue than fool; then he laughed at the success +of a vile trick; then he touched the pitch, and thinking all the time it +was but with one finger, was presently besmeared all over--as was +natural, for he who will touch is already smeared. + +While Alexa was fighting his battles with herself he had thrown down his +arms in the only battle worth fighting. When he wrote to her, which he +did regularly, he said no more about business than that his prospects +were encouraging; how much his reticence may have had to do with a sense +of her disapproval I can not tell. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + +One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from +the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was +setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it +touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the +sun, but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher +source, from the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, +ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and +daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their +faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed +between them. + +"But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?" said the mother. + +"No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's +to the fore. They tret me--I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as if +they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the +Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye +canna think!" + +"Then what's broucht ye the day?" + +"I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew." + +"Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's +the best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's +the best man i' the warl'!" + +"What mean ye by that, mother?" said Dawtie, looking a little scared. +"Am I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae +him? Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God--to +lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I _wull_ lo'e +An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?" + +"What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye +maun hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!" + +"It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he +aye shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the +better? It's little ferly (_marvel_) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him +for my ain man, as ye hae my father!--mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' +to think o' ony sic a thing!--clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!" + +"Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til +ye! Only luik to yer hert." + +"As for no' lo'ein' him, mither--me that canna luik at a blin' kittlin' +ohn lo'ed it!--lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me no' to lo'e +An'rew!" + +"Andrew!" she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's +worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd. + +Silence followed, but the mother was brooding. + +"Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!" she said at length. + +As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew +seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the +earl seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the +earl's had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than +did her mother. + +"You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks +o' nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik +doon. He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl +himsel'!" + +The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried +fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the +simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions +about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself +whom she loved and obeyed. + +"If Andrew wanted to marry me," Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine +liberty of her teacher, "which never cam intil's heid--na, no ance--the +same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was +but a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the +Sabbath day, and we'll hae a walk thegither." + +"I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day," said the +mother. + +"Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!" + +"Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!" + +"And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!" + +"He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!" + +"And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this +His warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He +gae me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the +ooter mirk (_darkness_)!" + +"There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!" + +"I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be +mysel'." + +"Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?" + +"Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad +be a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this +warl' or the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at +the lang last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will +be as sure o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus +tellin' me the same frae mornin' to nicht!" + +"Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!" + +"It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my +ain min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak +His mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, +and run ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!" + +"As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' +woman, for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp +the Lord winna be disappointit in ye." + +Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she +had something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go +with him in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but +he did not say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk +from the press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her +with a sober joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes +off her, she sat looking so well and nice and trim. He was a +good-looking, work-worn man, his hands absolutely horny with labor. But +inside many such horny husks are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for +the time when "dear welcome Death" will loose and let us go from the +grave-clothes of the body that bind some of us even hand and foot. +Rugged father and withered mother were beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, +and she and God saw them better than any other. Good, endless good was +on the way to them all! It was so pleasant to be waiting for the best of +all good things. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +ANDREW AND DAWTIE. + +Dawtie slept in peace and happy dreams till the next morning, when she +was up almost with the sun, and out in his low clear light. For the sun +was strong again; the red labor and weariness were gone from his shining +face. Everything about her seemed to know God, or at least to have had a +moment's gaze upon Him. How else could everything look so content, +hopeful and happy. It is the man who will not fall in with the Father's +bliss to whom the world seems soulless and dull. Dawtie was at peace +because she desired nothing but what she knew He was best pleased to +give her. Even had she cherished for Andrew the kind of love her mother +feared, her Lord's will would have been her comfort and strength. If any +one say: "Then she could not know what love is!" I answer: "That person +does not know what the better love is that lifts the being into such a +serene air that it can fast from many things and yet be blessed beyond +what any other granted desire could make it." The scent of the +sweet-pease growing against the turf wall entered Dawtie's soul like a +breath from the fields of heaven, where the children made merry with the +angels, the merriest of playfellows, and the winds and waters, and all +the living things, and all the things half alive, all the flowers and +all the creatures, were at their sportive call; where the little ones +had babies to play with, and did not hurt them, and where dolls were +neither loved nor missed, being never thought of. Suchlike were the +girl's imaginings as her thoughts went straying, inventing, discovering. +She did not fear the Father would be angry with her for being His child, +and playing at creation. Who, indeed, but one that in loving heart can +_make_, can rightly love the making of the Maker! + +When they had had their breakfast, and the old people were ready for +church--where they would listen a little, sleep a little, sing heartily, +and hear nothing to wake hunger, joy or aspiration, Dawtie put a piece +of oat-cake in her pocket, and went to join Andrew where they had made +their tryst and where she found him waiting--at his length in a bush of +heather, with Henry Vaughan's "Silex Scintillans," drawing from it +"bright shoots of everlastingness" for his Sabbath day's delight. He +read one or two of the poems to Dawtie, who was pleased but not +astonished--she was never astonished at anything; she had nothing in her +to make anything beautiful by contrast; her mind was of beauty itself, +and anything beautiful was to her but in the order and law of +things--what was to be expected. Nothing struck her because of its +rarity; the rare was at home in her country, and she was at home with +it. When, for instance, he read: "Father of lights, what sunny seeds," +she took it up at once and understood it, felt that the good man had +said the thing that was to be said, and loved him for it. She was not +surprised to hear that the prayer was more than two hundred years old; +were there not millions of years in front? why should it be wonderful +that a few years behind men should have thought and felt as she did, and +been able to say it as she never could! Had she not always loved the +little cocks, and watched them learning to crow? + +"But, An'rew," she said at length, "I want to tell ye something that's +troublin' me; then ye can learn me what ye like." + +"Tell on, Dawtie," said Andrew; and she began. + +"Ae nicht aboot a fornight ago, I couldna sleep. I drave a' the sheep I +could gether i' my brain, ower ae stile efter anither, but the sleep +stack to the woo' o' them, an' ilk ane took o' 't awa' wi' him. I wadna +hae tried, but that I had to be up ear', and I was feared I wad sleep +in." + +For the sake of my more polished readers--I do not say more _refined_, +for polish and refinement may be worlds apart--I will give the rest in +modern English. + +"So I got up, and thought to sweep and dust the hall and the stairs; +then if, when I lay down again, I should sleep too long, there would be +a part of the day's work done! You know, Andrew, what the house is like; +at the top of the stair that begins directly you enter the house, there +is a big irregular place, bigger than the floor of your barn, laid with +flags. It is just as if all the different parts of the house had been +built at different times round about it, and then it was itself roofed +in by an after-thought. That's what we call _the hall_. The spare room +opens on the left at the top of the stair, and to the right, across the +hall, beyond the swell of the short thick tower you see the half of +outside, is the door of the study. It is all round with books--some of +them, mistress says, worth their weight in gold, they are so scarce. But +the master trusts me to dust them. He used to do it himself; but now +that he is getting old, he does not like the trouble, and it makes him +asthmatic. He says books more need dusting than anything else, but are +in more danger of being hurt by it, and it makes him nervous to see me +touch them. I have known him stand an hour watching me while I dusted, +looking all the time as if he had just taken a dose of medicine. So I +often do a few books at a time, as I can, when he is not in the way to +be worried with it. But he always knows where I have been with my duster +and long-haired brush. And now it came across me that I had better dust +some books first of all, as it was a good chance, he being sound asleep. +So I lighted my lamp, went straight to the study, and began where I last +left off. + +"As I was dusting, one of the books I came to looked so new and +different from the rest that I opened it to see what it was like inside. +It was full of pictures of mugs, and gold and silver jugs and cups--some +of them plain and some colored; and one of the colored ones was so +beautiful that I stood and looked at it. It was a gold cup, I suppose, +for it was yellow; and all round the edge, and on the sides, it was set +with stones, like the stones in mistress's rings, only much bigger. They +were blue and red and green and yellow, and more colors than I can +remember. The book said it was made by somebody, but I forget his name. +It was a long name. The first part of it began with a _B_, and the +second with a _C_, I remember that much. It was like _Benjamin_, but it +wasn't _Benjamin_. I put it back in its place, thinking I would ask the +master whether there really were such beautiful things, and took down +the next. Now whether that had been passed over between two batches I +don't know, but it was so dusty that before I would touch another I gave +the duster a shake, and the wind of it blew the lamp out I took it up to +take it to the kitchen and kindle it again, when, to my astonishment, I +saw a light under the door of a press which was always locked, and where +master said he kept his most precious books. 'How strange!' I thought; +'a light inside a locked cupboard!' Then I remembered how in one place +where I had been there was, in a room over the stable, a press whose +door had no fastening except a bolt on the inside, which set me +thinking, and some terrible things came to me that made me remember it. +So now I said to myself: 'There's some one in there, after master's +books!' It was not a likely thing, but the night is the time for +fancies, and in the night you don't know what is likely and what is not. +One thing, however, was clear--I ought to find out what the light meant. +Fearful things darted one after the other through my head as I went to +the door, but there was one thing I dared not do, and that was to leave +it unopened. So I opened it as softly as I could, in terror lest the +thief should hear my heart beating. When I could peep in what do you +think I saw? I could not believe my eyes! There was a great big room! I +rubbed my eyes, and stared; and rubbed them again and stared--thinking +to rub it away; but there it was, a big odd-shaped room, part of it with +round sides, and in the middle of the room a table, and on the table a +lamp, burning as I had never seen lamp burn, and master at the table +with his back to me. I was so astonished I forgot that I had no business +there, and ought to go away. I stood like an idiot, mazed and lost. And +you will not wonder when I tell you that the laird was holding up to the +light, between his two hands, the very cup I had been looking at in the +book, the stones of it flashing all the colors of the rainbow. I should +think it a dream, if I did not _know_ it was not. I do not believe I +made any noise, for I could not move, but he started up with a cry to +God to preserve him, set the cup on the table, threw something over it, +caught up a wicked-looking knife, and turned round. His face was like +that of a corpse, and I could see him tremble. I stood steady; it was no +time then to turn away. I supposed he expected to see a robber, and +would be glad when he discovered it was only me; but when he did his +fear changed to anger, and he came at me. His eyes were flaming, and he +looked as if he would kill me. I was not frightened--poor old man, I was +able for him any day!--but I was afraid of hurting him. So I closed the +door quickly, and went softly to my own room, where I stood a long time +in the dark, listening, but heard nothing more. What am I to do, +Andrew?" + +"I don't know that you have to do anything. You have one thing not to +do, that is--tell anybody what you have seen." + +"I was forced to tell _you_ because I did not know what to do. It makes +me _so_ sorry!" + +"It was no fault of yours. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and +could not help what came of it. Perhaps nothing more will come. Leave +the thing alone, and if he say anything tell him how it happened." + +"But, Andrew, I don't think you see what it is that troubles me. I am +afraid my master is a miser. The mistress and he take their meals, like +poor people, in the kitchen. That must be the dining-room of the +house!--and though my eyes were tethered to the flashing cup, I could +not help seeing it was full of strange and beautiful things. Among them, +I knew, by pictures I had seen, the armor of knights, when they fought +on their horses' backs. Before people had money they must have misered +other things. Some girls miser their clothes, and never go decent!" + +"Suppose him a miser," said Andrew, "what could you do? How are you to +help it?" + +"That's what I want to know. I love my master, and there must be a way +to help it. It was terrible to see him, in the middle of the night, +gazing at that cup as if he had found the most precious thing that can +ever have existed on the earth." + +"What was that?" asked Andrew. + +He delighted in Dawtie's talk. It was like an angel's, he said, both in +its ignorance and its wisdom. + +"You can't have forgotten, Andrew. It's impossible!" she answered. "I +heard you say yourself!" + +Andrew smiled. + +"I know," he said. + +"Poor man!" resumed Dawtie; "he looked at the cup as you might at that +manuscript! His soul was at it, feasting upon it! Now wasn't that +miserly?" + +"It was like it." + +"And I love my master," repeated Dawtie, thus putting afresh the +question what she was to do. + +"Why do you love him, Dawtie?" asked Andrew. + +"Because I'm set to love him. Besides, we're told to love our +enemies--then surely we're to love our friends. He has always been a +friend to me. He never said a hard word to me, even when I was handling +his books. He trusts me with them! I can't help loving him--a good deal, +Andrew! And it's what I've got to do!" + +"There's not a doubt about it, Dawtie. You've got to love him, and you +do love him!" + +"But there's more than that, Andrew. To hear the laird talk you would +think he cared more for the Bible than for the whole world--not to say +gold cups. He talks of the merits of the Saviour, that you would think +he loved Him with all his heart. But I can not get it out of my mind, +ever since I saw that look on his face, that he loves that cup--that +it's his graven image--his idol! How else should he get up in the middle +of the night to--to--to--well, it was just like worshiping it." + +"You're afraid then that he's a hypocrite, Dawtie!" + +"No; I daren't think that--if it were only for fear I should stop loving +him--and that would be as bad!" + +"As bad as what, Dawtie?" + +"I don't always know what I'm going to say," answered Dawtie, a little +embarrassed, "and then when I've said it I have to look what it means. +But isn't it as bad not to love a human being as it would be to love a +thing?" + +"Perhaps worse," said Andrew. + +"Something must be done!" she went on. "He can't be left like that! But +if he has any love to his Master, how is it that the love of that Master +does not cast out the love of Mammon? I can't understand it." + +"You have asked a hard question, Dawtie. But a cure may be going on, and +take a thousand years or ages to work it out." + +"What if it shouldn't be begun yet." + +"That would be terrible." + +"What then am I to do, Andrew? You always say we must _do_ something! +You say there is no faith but what _does_ something!" + +"The apostle James said so, a few years before I was born, Dawtie!" + +"Don't make fun of me--please, Andrew! I like it, but I can't bear it +to-day, my head is so full of the poor old laird!" + +"Make fun of you, Dawtie! Never! But I don't know yet how to answer +you." + +"Well, then, what _am_ I to do?" persisted Dawtie. + +"Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to +do, don't do anything--only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And +until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything." + +With this answer Dawtie was content. + +Business was over, and they turned to go home. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE CUP. + +The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric. Believing himself a true +lover of literature, and especially of poetry, he would lecture for ten +minutes on the right mode of reading a verse in Hilton or Dante; but as +to Satan or Beatrice, would pin his faith to the majority of the +commentators: Milton's Satan was too noble, and Beatrice was no woman, +but Theology. He was discriminative to a degree altogether admirable as +to the brightness or wrongness of a proposition with regard to conduct, +but owed his respectability to good impulses without any effort of the +will. He was almost as orthodox as Paul before his conversion, lacking +only the heart and the courage to persecute. Whatever the eternal wisdom +saw in him, the thing most present to his own consciousness was the love +of rare historic relics. And this love was so mingled in warp and woof, +that he did not know whether a thing was more precious to him for its +rarity, its money value, or its historico-reliquary interest. All the +time he was a school-master, he saved every possible half-penny to buy +books, not because of their worth or human interest, but because of +their literary interest, or the scarcity of the book or edition. In the +holidays he would go about questing for the prey that his soul loved, +hunting after precious things; but not even the precious things of the +everlasting hills would be precious to him until they had received the +stamp of curiosity. His life consisted in a continual search for +something new that was known as known of old. It had hardly yet occurred +to him that he must one day leave his things and exist without them, no +longer to brood over them, take them in his hands, turn, and stroke, and +admire them; yet, strange to say, he would at times anxiously seek to +satisfy himself that he was safe for a better world, as he _called_ +it--to feel certain, that is, that his faith was of the sort he supposed +intended by Paul--not that he had himself gathered anything from the +apostle, but all from the traditions of his church concerning the +teaching of the apostle. He was anxious, I say, as to his safety for the +world to come, and yet, while his dearest joy lay treasured in that +hidden room, he never thought of the hour when he must leave it all, and +go houseless and pocketless, empty-handed if not armless, in the wide, +closetless space, hearing ever in the winds and the rain and the sound +of the sea-waves, the one question--"Whose shall those things be which +thou hast provided?" Like the rich man to whom God said the words, he +had gathered much goods for many years--hundreds and hundreds of things, +every one of which he knew, and every one of which he loved. A new +scratch on the bright steel of one of his suits of armor was a scratch +on his heart; the moth and the rust troubled him sore, for he could not +keep them away; and where his treasure was, there was his heart, +devoured by the same moth, consumed by the same rust. He had much +suffering from his possessions--was more exposed to misery than the +miser of gold, for the hoarded coin of the latter may indeed be stolen, +but he fears neither moth nor rust nor scratch nor decay. The laird +cherished his things as no mother her little ones. Nearly sixty years he +had been gathering them, and their money-worth was great, but he had no +idea of its amount, for he could not have endured the exposure and +handling of them which a valuation must involve. + +His love for his books had somewhat declined in the growth of his love +for things, and now, by degrees not very slow, his love for his things +was graduating itself after what he supposed their money-value. His soul +not only clave to the dust but was going deeper and deeper in the dust +as it wallowed. All day long he was living in the past and growing old +in it--it is one thing to grow old in the past, and another to grow old +in the present! As he took his walk about his farms, or sat at his +meals, or held a mild, soulless conversation with his daughter, his +heart was growing old, not healthily in the present, which is to ripen, +but unwholesomely in the past, which is to consume with a dry rot. While +he read the Bible at prayers, trying hard to banish worldly things from +his mind, his thoughts were not in the story or the argument he read, +but hovering, like a bird over its nest, about the darlings of his +heart. Yea, even while he prayed, his soul, instead of casting off the +clay of the world, was loaded and dragged down with all the +still-moldering, slow-changing things that lined the walls and filled +the drawers and cabinets of his treasure-chamber. It was a place of +whose existence not even his daughter knew; for before ever she entered +the house, he had taken with him a mason from the town, and built up the +entrance to it from the hall, ever afterward keeping the other door of +it that opened from his study carefully locked, and leaving it to be +regarded as the door of a closet. + +It was as terrible as Dawtie felt it, that a live human soul should thus +haunt the sepulcher of the past, and love the lifeless, turning a room +hitherto devoted to hospitality and mirthful intercourse into the temple +of his selfish idolatry. It was as one of the rooms carved for the dead +in the Beban El Malook. Sure, if left to himself, the ghost that loved +it would haunt the place! But he could not surely be permitted! for it +might postpone a thousand years his discovery of the emptiness of a +universe of such treasures. Now he was moldering into the world of +spirits in the heart of an avalanche of the dust of ages, dust material +from his hoards, dust moral and spiritual from his withering soul +itself. + +The next day he was ill, which, common as is illness to humanity, was +strange, for it had never befallen him before. He was unable to leave +his bed. But he never said a word to his daughter, who alone waited on +him, as to what had happened in the night. He had passed it sleepless, +and without the possibility of a dream on which to fall back; yet, when +morning came, he was in much doubt whether what he had seen--the face, +namely, of Dawtie, peeping in at the door--was a reality, or but a +vision of the night. For when he opened the door which she had closed, +all was dark, and not the slightest sound reached his quick ear from the +swift foot of her retreat. He turned the key twice, and pushed two +bolts, eager to regard the vision as a providential rebuke of his +carelessness in leaving the door on the latch--for the first time, he +imagined. Then he tottered back to his chair, and sunk on it in a cold +sweat. For, although the confidence grew, that what he had seen was but + + a false creation + Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain, + +it was far from comfortable to feel that he could no longer depend upon +his brain to tell him only the thing that was true. What if he were +going out of his mind, on the way to encounter a succession of +visions--without reality, but possessed of its power! What if they +should be such whose terror would compel him to disclose what most he +desired to keep covered? How fearful to be no more his own master, but +at the beck and call of a disordered brain, a maniac king in a _cosmos +acosmos_! Better it had been Dawtie, and she had seen in his hands +Benvenuto Cellini's chalice made for Pope Clement the Seventh to drink +therefrom the holy wine--worth thousands of pounds! Perhaps she had seen +it! No, surely she had not! He must be careful not to make her suspect! +He would watch her and say nothing! + +But Dawtie, conscious of no wrong, and full of love to the old man, +showed an untroubled face when next she met him; and he made up his mind +that he would rather have her ignorant. Thenceforward, naturally though +childishly, he was even friendlier to her than before: it was so great a +relief to find that he had not to fear her! + +The next time Dawtie was dusting the books, she felt strongly drawn to +look again at the picture of the cup: it seemed now to hold in it a +human life! She took down the book, and began where she stood to read +what it said about the chalice, referring as she read from letterpress +to drawing. It was taken from an illumination in a missal, where the cup +was known to have been copied; and it rendered the description in the +letterpress unnecessary except in regard to the stones and _dessins +repousses_ on the hidden side. She quickly learned the names of the +gems, that she might see how many were in the high-priest's breast-plate +and the gates of the new Jerusalem, then proceeded to the history of the +chalice. She read that it had come into the possession of Cardinal York, +the brother of Charles Edward Stuart, and had been by him intrusted to +his sister-in-law, the Duchess of Albany, from whose house it +disappeared, some said stolen, others said sold. It came next to the +historic surface in the possession of a certain earl whose love of +curiosities was well known; but from his collection again it vanished, +this time beyond a doubt stolen, and probably years before it was +missed. + +A new train of thought was presently in motion in the mind of the girl: +_The beautiful cup was stolen! it was not where it ought to be! it was +not at home! it was a captive, a slave_! She lowered the book, half +closed, with a finger between the leaves, and stood thinking. She did +not for a moment believe her master had stolen it, though the fear did +flash through her mind. It had been stolen and sold, and he had bought +it at length of some one whose possession of it was nowise suspicious! +But he must know now that it had been stolen, for here, with the cup, +was the book which said so! That would be nothing if the rightful owner +were not known, but he was known, and the thing ought to be his! The +laird might not be bound, she was not sure, to restore it at his own +loss, for when he bought it he was not aware that it was stolen; but he +was bound to restore it at the price he had paid for it, if the former +owner would give it! This was bare justice! mere righteousness! No theft +could make the owner not the rightful owner, though other claims upon +the thing might come in! One ought not to be enriched by another's +misfortune! Dawtie was sure that a noble of the kingdom of heaven would +not wait for the money, but would with delight send the cup where it +ought to have been all the time! She knew better, however, than require +magnificence in any shape from the poor wizened soul of her master--a +man who knew all about everything, and whom yet she could not but fear +to _be_ nothing: as Dawtie had learned to understand life, the laird did +not yet exist. But he well knew right from wrong, therefore the +discovery she just made affected her duty toward him! It might be +impossible to make impression on the miserliness of a miser, but upon +the honesty in a miser it might be possible! The goblet was not his! + +But the love of things dulls the conscience, and he might not be able, +having bought and paid for it, to see that the thing was not therefore +_his_! he might defend himself from seeing it! To Dawtie, this made the +horror of his condition the darker. She was one of God's babes, who can +not help seeing the true state of things. Logic was to her but the smoke +that rose from the burning truth; she saw what is altogether above and +beyond logic--the right thing, whose meanest servant, the hewer of its +wood, not the drawer of its water, the merest scullion and sweeper away +of lies from the pavement of its courts, is logic. + +With a sigh she woke to the knowledge that she was not doing her work, +and rousing herself, was about to put the book on its shelf. But, her +finger being still in the place, she would have one more glance at the +picture! To her dismay she saw that she had made a mark on the plate, +and of the enormity of making a dirty mark on a book her master had made +her well aware. + +She was in great distress. What was to be done? She did not once think +of putting it away and saying nothing. To have reasoned that her master +would never know, would have been an argument, pressing and imperative, +for informing him at once. She had done him an injury, and the injury +must be confessed and lamented; it was all that was left to be done! +"Sic a mischance!" she said, then bethought herself that there was no +such thing as mischance, when immediately it flashed upon her that here +was the door open for the doing of what was required of her. She was +bound to confess the wrong, and that would lead in the disclosure of +what she knew, rendering it comparatively easy to use some remonstrance +with the laird, whom in her mind's eye she saw like a beggar man +tottering down a steep road to a sudden precipice. Her duty was now so +plain that she felt no desire to consult Andrew. She was not one to ask +an opinion for the sake of talking opinion; she went to Andrew only when +she wanted light to do the right thing; when the light was around her, +she knew how to walk, and troubled no one. + +At once she laid down book and duster, and went to find the laird. But +he had slipped away to the town, to have a rummage in a certain little +shop in a back street, which he had not rummaged for a long time enough, +he thought, to have let something come in. It was no relief to Dawtie: +the thing would be all the day before her instead of behind her! It +burned within her, not like a sin, but like what it was, a confession +unconfessed. Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with +the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the +turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the _coup de +grace_ to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of her +master, and yet she dreaded more his distress. + +She prepared the laird's supper with a strange mingling of hope and +anxiety: she feared having to go to bed without telling him. But he came +at last, almost merry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, over +which he was very careful. Poor man, he little knew there waited him at +the moment a demand from the eternal justice almost as terrible as: +"This night they require thy soul of thee!"--(What a _they_ is that! Who +are _they_?)--The torture of the moral rack was ready for him at the +hands of his innocent house-maid! In no way can one torture another more +than by waking conscience against love, passion, or pride. + +He laid his little parcel carefully on the supper-table, said rather a +shorter grace than usual, began to eat his porridge, praised it as very +good, spoke of his journey and whom he had seen, and was more talkative +than his wont He informed Alexa, almost with jubilation, that he had at +length found an old book he had been long on the watch for--a book that +treated, in ancient broad Scots, of the laws of verse, in full, even +exhaustive manner. He pulled it from his pocket. + +"It is worth at least ten times what I gave for it!" he said. + +Dawtie wondered whether there ought not to have been some division of +the difference; but she was aware of no call to speak. One thing was +enough for one night! + +Then came prayers. The old man read how David deceived the Philistines, +telling them a falsehood as to his raids. He read the narrative with a +solemnity of tone that would have graced the most righteous action: was +it not the deed of a man according to God's own heart?--how could it be +other than right! Casuist ten times a week, he made no question of the +righteousness of David's wickedness! Then he prayed, giving thanks for +the mercy that had surrounded them all the day, shielding them from the +danger and death which lurked for them in every corner. What would he +say when death did get him? Dawtie thought. Would he thank God then? And +would he see, when she spoke to him, that God wanted to deliver him from +a worse danger than any out-of-doors? Would he see that it was from much +mercy he was made more uncomfortable than perhaps ever in his life +before? + +At length his offering was completed--how far accepted who can tell! He +was God's, and He who gave him being would be his Father to the full +possibility of God. They rose from their knees; the laird took up his +parcel and book; his daughter went with him. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. + +As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her +master to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was +shut behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to +it, and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still +there was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little +fumbling with the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, +bedewed with drops of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little +back, and the eyes did not at once find the object they sought; then +suddenly they lighted on her, and the laird shook from head to foot. + +"What is it, Dawtie?" he faltered out in a broken voice. + +"Please, sir," answered Dawtie, "I have something to confess: would ye +hearken to me?" + +"No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!" returned the +old man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the +importance of the room whose entrance she had discovered. "Or," he went +on, finding she did not move, "if you have done anything, Dawtie, that +you ought not to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must +confess, not to a poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I +forgive you, and there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie." + +"Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the +door o' this room, and sit till--" + +"What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I +say my prayers before I go to bed." + +But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a +deliberate lie--two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the largest +room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since first he +entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, for he +had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to save +his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor +enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he +must hold to the lie! He _dared_ not confess it! He stood sick and +trembling. + +"I'll wait, sir," said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more +distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was +further down the wrong road than she had supposed! + +Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face--for +did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?--she +turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and +closed the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her +power. + +Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she +remembered that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they +should speak; for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So +she began by simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. + +"Sir," she said, "I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark +in one of your books!" + +Her words alarmed him a little, and made him forget for the instant his +more important fears. But he took care to be gentle with her; it would +not do to offend her! for was she not aware that where they stood was a +door by which he went in and out? + +"You make me uneasy, Dawtie!" he said. "What book was it? Let me see +it." + +"I will, sir." + +She turned to take it down, but the laird followed her, saying: + +"Point it out to me, Dawtie. I will get it." + +She did so. It opened at the plate. + +"There is the mark!" she said. "I am right sorry." + +"So am I!" returned the laird. "But," he added, willing she should feel +his clemency, and knowing the book was not a rare one, "it is a book +still, and you will be more careful another time! For you must remember, +Dawtie, that you don't come into this room to read the books, but to +dust them. You can go to bed now with an easy mind, I hope!" + +Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that +the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What +would she not have encountered for his deliverance! + +"Please, sir," she said, "let me show you a thing you never perhaps +happened to read!" And taking the book from his hand--he was too much +astonished to retain it--she turned over the engraving, and showed him +the passage which stated that the cup had disappeared from the +possession of its owner, and had certainly been stolen. + +Finding he said not a word, she ventured to lift her eyes to his, and +saw again the corpse-like face that had looked through the chink of the +door. + +"What do you mean?" he stammered. "I do not understand!" + +His lips trembled: was it possible he had had to do with the stealing of +it? + +The truth was this: he had learned the existence of the cup from this +very book; and had never rested until, after a search of more than ten +years, he at length found it in the hands of a poor man who dared not +offer it for sale. Once in his possession, the thought of giving it up, +or of letting the owner redeem it, had never even occurred to him. Yet +the treasure made him rejoice with a trembling which all his casuistry +would have found it hard to explain; for he would not confess to himself +its real cause--namely, that his God-born essence was uneasy with a +vague knowledge that it lay in the bosom of a thief. "Don't you think, +sir," said Dawtie, "that whoever has that cup ought to send it back to +the place it was stolen from?" + +Had the old man been a developed hypocrite, he would have replied at +once: "He certainly ought." But by word of mouth to condemn himself +would have been to acknowledge to himself that he ought to send the cup +home, and this he dared not do. Men who will not do as they know, make +strange confusion in themselves. The worst rancor in the vessel of peace +is the consciousness of wrong in a not all-unrighteous soul. The laird +was false to his own self, but to confess himself false would be to +initiate a change which would render life worthless to him! What would +all his fine things be without their heart of preciousness, the one +jewel that now was nowhere in the world but in his house, in the secret +chamber of his treasures, which would be a rifled case without it! As is +natural to one who will not do right, he began to argue the moral +question, treating it as a point of casuistry that troubled the mind of +the girl. + +"I don't know that, Dawtie!" he said. "It is not likely that the person +that has the cup, whoever he may be--that is, if the cup be still in +existence--is the same who stole it; and it would hardly be justice to +punish the innocent for the guilty?--as would be the case, if, supposing +I had bought the cup, I had to lose the money I paid for it. Should the +man who had not taken care of his cup have his fault condoned at my +expense? Did he not deserve, the many might say, to be so punished, +placing huge temptation in the path of the needy, to the loss of their +precious souls, and letting a priceless thing go loose in the world, to +work ruin to whoever might innocently buy it?" + +His logic did not serve to show him the falsehood of his reasoning, for +his heart was in the lie. "Ought I or he," he went on, "to be punished +because he kept the thing ill? And how far would the quixotic obligation +descend? A score of righteous men may by this time have bought and sold +the cup!--is it some demon-talisman, that the last must meet the +penalty, when the original owner, or some descendant of the man who lost +it, chooses to claim it? For anything we know, he may himself have +pocketed the price of the rumored theft! Can you not see it would be a +flagrant injustice?--fit indeed to put an end to all buying and selling! +It would annihilate transfer of property! Possession would mean only +strength to keep, and the world would fall into confusion." + +"It would be hard, I grant," confessed Dawtie; "but the man who has it +ought at least to give the head of the family in which it had been the +chance of buying it back at the price it cost him. If he could not buy +it back--then the thing would have to be thought over." + +"I confess I don't see the thing," returned the laird. "But the question +needs not keep you out of bed, Dawtie! It is not often a girl in your +position takes an interest in the abstract! Besides," he resumed, +another argument occurring to him, "a thing of such historical value and +interest ought to be where it was cared for, not where it was in danger +every moment." + +"There might be something in that," allowed Dawtie, "if it were where +everybody could see it. But where is the good if it be but for the eyes +of one man?" + +The eyes she meant fixed themselves upon her till their gaze grew to a +stony stare. She _must_ know that he had it! Or did she only suspect? He +must not commit himself! He must set a watch on the door of his lips! +What an uncomfortable girl to have in the house! Oh, those +self-righteous Ingrams! What mischief they did! His impulse was to dart +into his treasure-cave, lock himself in, and hug the radiant chalice. He +dared not. He must endure instead the fastidious conscience and probing +tongue of an intrusive maid-servant! + +"But," he rejoined, with an attempt at a smile, "if the pleasure the one +man took in it should, as is easy to imagine, exceed immeasurably the +aggergate pleasure of the thousands that would look upon it and pass it +by--what then?" + +"The man would enjoy it the more that many saw it--except he loved it +for greed, when he would be rejoicing in iniquity, for the cup would not +be his. And anyhow, he could not take it with him when he died!" + +The face of the miser grew grayer; his lip trembled; but he said +nothing. He was beginning to hate Dawtie. She was an enemy! She sought +his discomfiture, his misery! He had read strange things in certain old +books, and half believed some of them: what if Dawtie was one of those +evil powers that haunt a man in pleasant shape, learn the secrets of his +heart, and gain influence over him that they may tempt him to yield his +soul to the enemy! She was set on ruining him! Certainly she knew that +cup was in his possession! He must temporize! He must _seem_ to listen! +But as soon as fit reason could be found, such as would neither +compromise him nor offend her, she must be sent away! And of all things, +she must not gain the means of proving what she now perhaps only +suspected, and was seeking assurance of! He stood thinking. It was but +for a moment; for the very next words from the lips of the girl that was +to him little more than a house-broom, set him face to face with +reality--the one terror of the unreal. + +"Eh, maister, sir," said Dawtie, with the tears in her eyes, and now at +last breaking down in her English, "dinna ye _ken_ 'at ye _hae_ to gie +the man 'at aucht that gowden bicker, the chance o' buyin' 't back?" + +The laird shivered. He dared not say: "How do you know?" for he dared +not hear the thing proved to him. If she did know, he would not front +her proof! He would not have her even suppose it an acknowledged fact! + +"If I had the cup," he began--but she interrupted him: it was time they +should have done with lying! + +"Ye ken ye hae the cup, sir!" she said. "And I ken tu, for I saw 't i' +yer han's!" + +"You shameless, prying hussy!" he began, in a rage at last--but the +eager, tearful earnestness of her face made him bethink himself: it +would not do to make an enemy of her! "Tell me, Dawtie," he said, with +sudden change of tone, "how it was you came to see it." + +She told him all--how and when; and he knew that he had seen her see +him. + +He managed to give a poor little laugh. + +"All is not gold that glitters, Dawtie!" he said. "The cup you saw was +not the one in the book, but an imitation of it--mere gilded tin and +colored glass--copied from the picture, as near as they could make +it--just to see better what it must have been like. Why, my good girl, +that cup would be worth thousands of pounds! So go to bed, and don't +trouble yourself about gold cups. It is not likely any of them will come +our way!" + +Simple as Dawtie was, she did not believe him. But she saw no good to be +done by disputing what he ought to know. + +"It wasna aboot the gold cup I was troublin' mysel'!" she said, +hesitatingly. + +"You are right there!" he replied, with another deathly laugh, "it was +not! But you have been troubling me about nothing half the night, and I +am shivering with cold! We really must, both of us, go to bed! What +would your mistress say!" + +"No," persisted Dawtie, "it wasna aboot the cup, gowd or no gowd; it was +and is aboot my maister I'm troubled! I'm terrible feart for ye, sir! +Ye're a worshiper o' Mammon, sir!" + +The laird laughed, for the danger was over!--to Dawtie's deep dismay he +laughed! + +"My poor girl," he said, "you take an innocent love of curious things +for the worship of Mammon! Don't imagine me jesting. How could you +believe an old man like me, an elder of the kirk, a dispenser of her +sacred things, guilty of the awful crime of Mammon worship?" + +He imagined her ignorantly associating the idea of some idolatrous +ritual with what to him was but a phrase--the worship of Mammon. "Do you +not remember," he continued, "the words of Christ, that a man _can not_ +serve God and Mammon? If I be a Christian, as you will hardly doubt, it +follows that I am not a worshiper of Mammon, for the two can not go +together." + +"But that's just the question, sir! A man who worships God, worships Him +with his whole heart and soul and strength and mind. If he wakes at +night, it is to worship God; if he is glad in his heart, it is because +God is, and one day he shall behold His face in brightness. If a man +worships God, he loves Him so that no love can come between him and God; +if the earth were removed, and the mountains cast into the midst of the +sea, it would be all one to him, for God would be all the same. Is it +not so, sir?" + +"You are a good girl, Dawtie, and I approve of every word you say. It +would more than savor of presumption to profess that I loved God up to +the point you speak of; but I deserve to love Him. Doubtless a man ought +to love God so, and we are all sinners just because we do not love God +so. But we have the atonement!" + +"But, sir," answered Dawtie, the silent tears running down her face, "I +love God that way! I don't care a dust for anything without Him! When I +go to bed, I don't care if I never wake again in this world; I shall be +where He would have me!" + +"You presume, Dawtie! I fear me much you presume! What if that should be +in hell?" + +"If it be, it will be the best. It will be to set me right. Oh, sir, He +is so good! Tell me one thing, sir: when you die--" + +"Tut, tut, lass! we're not come to that yet! There's no occasion to +think about that yet awhile! We're in the hands of a reconciled God." + +"What I want to know," pursued Dawtie, "is how you will feel, how you +will get on when you haven't got anything!" + +"Not got anything, girl! Are you losing your senses? Of course we shall +want nothing then! I shall have to talk to the doctor about you! We +shall have you killing us in our beds to know how we like it!" + +He laughed; but it was a rather scared laugh. + +"What I mean," she persisted, "is--when you have no body, and no hands +to take hold of your cap, what will you do without it?" + +"What if I leave it to you, Dawtie!" returned the laird, with a stupid +mixture of joke and avarice in his cold eye. + +"Please, sir, I didn't say what you would do with it, but what would you +do without it when it will neither come out of your heart nor into your +hands! It must be misery to a miser to _have_ nothing!" + +"A miser, hussy!" + +"A lover of things, more than a lover of God!" + +"Well, perhaps you have the better of me!" he said, after a cowed pause; +for he perceived there was no compromise possible with Dawtie: she knew +perfectly what she meant; and he could neither escape her logic, nor +change her determination, whatever that might be. "I dare say you are +right! I will think what ought to be done about that cup!" + +He stopped, self amazed: he had committed himself!--as much as confessed +the cup genuine! But Dawtie had not been deceived, and had not been +thinking about the cup. Only it was plain that, if he would consent to +part with it for its money-worth, that would be a grand beginning toward +the renouncing of dead _things_ altogether, toward the turning to the +living One the love that now gathered, clinging and haunting, about gold +cups and graved armor, and suchlike vapors and vanishings, that pass +with the sunsets and the snows. She fell on her knees, and, in the +spirit of a child and of the apostle of the Gentiles, cried, laying her +little red hands together and uplifting them to her master in purest +entreaty. + +"Oh, laird, laird, ye've been gude and kin' to me, and I lo'e ye, the +Lord kens! I pray ye for Christ's sake be reconciled to God, for ye hae +been servin' Mammon and no Him, and ye hae jist said we canna serve the +twa, and what 'ill come o' 't God only can tell, but it _maun_ be +misery!" + +Words failed her. She rose, and left the room, with her apron to her +eyes. + +The laird stood a moment or two like one lost, then went hurriedly into +his "closet," and shut the door. Whether he went on his knees to God as +did Dawtie to Him, or began again to gloat over his Cellini goblet, I do +not know. + +Dawtie cried herself to sleep, and came down in the morning very pale. +Her duty had left her exhausted, and with a kind of nausea toward all +the ornaments and books in the house. A cock crew loud under the window +of the kitchen. She dropped on her knees, said "Father of lights!" not a +word beside, rose and began to rouse the fire. + +When breakfast-time came, and the laird appeared, he looked much as +usual, only a little weary, which his daughter set down to his journey +the day before. He revived, however, as soon as he had succeeded in +satisfying himself that Alexa knew nothing of what had passed. How +staid, discreet, and compact of common sense Alexa seemed to him beside +Dawtie, whose want of education left her mind a waste swamp for the +vagaries of whatever will-o'-the-wisp an overstrained religious fantasy +might generate! But however much the laird might look the same as +before, he could never, knowing that Dawtie knew what she knew, be again +as he had been. + +"You'll do a few of the books to-day, won't you, Dawtie," he said, "when +you have time? I never thought I should trust any one! I would sooner +have old Meg shave me than let her dust an Elzevir! Ha! ha! ha!" + +Dawtie was glad that at least he left the door open between them. She +said she would do a little dusting in the afternoon, and would be very +careful. Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a +shoot of compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his +breakfast almost untasted. + +But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with +her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone +together. If he caught her eye, he would say--hurriedly, and as if +acknowledging a secret between them, "By and by, Dawtie;" or, "I'm +thinking about the business, Dawtie;" or, "I'm making up my mind, +Dawtie!" and so leave her. On one occasion he said, "Perhaps you will be +surprised some day, Dawtie!" + +On her part Dawtie never felt that she had anything more to say to him. +She feared at times that she had done him evil rather than good by +pressing upon him a duty she had not persuaded him to perform. She spoke +of this fear to Andrew, but he answered decisively: + +"If you believed you ought to speak to him, and have discovered in +yourself no wrong motive, you must not trouble yourself about the +result. That may be a thousand years off yet. You may have sent him into +a hotter purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We +know nothing but that God is righteous." + +Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know +their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are +seldom to be pitied. Where people have not yet found their work, they +may be more to be pitied than those that beg their bread. When a man +knows his work and will not do it, pity him more than one who is to be +hanged to-morrow. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +ANDREW AND ALEXA. + +Andrew had occasion to call on the laird to pay his father's rent, and +Alexa, who had not seen him for some time, thought him improved both in +carriage and speech, and wondered. She did not take into account his +intercourse with God, as with highest human minds, and his constant +wakefulness to carry into action what things he learned. Thus trained in +noblest fashions of freedom, it was small wonder that his bearing and +manners, the natural outcome and expression of his habits of being, +should grow in liberty. There was in them the change only of +development. By the side of such education as this, dealing with reality +and inborn dignity, what mattered any amount of ignorance as to social +custom! Society may judge its own; this man was not of it, and as much +surpassed its most accomplished pupils in all the essentials of +breeding, as the apostle Paul was a better gentleman than Mr. Nash or +Mr. Brummel. The training may be slow, but it is perfect. To him who has +yielded self, all things are possible. Andrew was aware of no +difference. He seemed to himself the same as when a boy. + +Alexa had not again alluded to his brother's letter concerning George +Crawford, fearing he might say what she would find unpleasant. But now +she wanted to get a definite opinion from him in regard to certain modes +of money-making, which had naturally of late occupied a good deal of her +thought. + +"What is your notion concerning money-lending--I mean at interest, Mr. +Ingram?" she said. "I hear it is objected to nowadays by some that set +up for teachers!" + +"It is by no means the first time in the world's history," answered +Andrew. + +"I want to know what you think of it, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I know little," replied Andrew, "of any matter with which I have not +had to deal practically." + +"But ought not one to have his ideas ready for the time when we will +have to deal practically?" said Alexa. + +"Mine would be pretty sure to be wrong," answered Andrew; "and there is +no time to spend in gathering wrong ideas and then changing them!" + +"On the contrary, they would be less warped by personal interest." + +"Could circumstances arise in which it would not be my first interest to +be honest?" said Andrew. "Would not my judgment be quickened by the +compulsion and the danger? In no danger myself, might I not judge too +leniently of things from which I should myself recoil? Selfishly +smoother with regard to others, because less anxious about their honesty +than my own, might I not yield them what, were I in the case, I should +see at once I dared not allow to myself? I can perceive no use in making +up my mind how to act in circumstances in which I am not--probably will +never be. I have enough to occupy me where I find myself, and should +certainly be oftener in doubt how to act, if I had bothered my brains +how to think in circumstances foreign to me. In such thinking, duty is +of necessity a comparatively feeble factor, being only duty imagined, +not live duty, and the result is the more questionable. The Lord +instructed His apostles not to be anxious what they should say when they +were brought before rulers and kings: I will leave the question of duty +alone until action is demanded of me. In the meantime I will do the duty +now required of me, which is the only preparation for the duty that is +to come." + +Although Alexa had not begun to understand Andrew, she had sense enough +and righteousness enough to feel that he was somehow ahead of her, and +that it was not likely he and George Crawford would be of one mind in +the matter that occupied her, so different were their ways of looking at +things--so different indeed the things themselves they thought worth +looking at. + +She was silent for a moment, then said: + +"You can at least tell me what you think of gambling!" + +"I think it is the meanest mode of gaining or losing money a man could +find." + +"Why do you think so?" + +"Because he desires only to gain, and can gain only by his neighbor's +loss. One of the two must be the worse for his transaction with the +other. Each _must_ wish ill to his neighbor!" + +"But the risk was agreed upon between them." + +"True--but in what hope? Was it not, on the part of each, that he would +be the gainer and the other the loser? There is no common cause, nothing +but pure opposition of interest." + +"Are there not many things in which one must gain and the other lose?" + +"There are many things in which one gains and the other loses; but if it +is essential to any transaction that only one side shall gain, the thing +is not of God." + +"What do you think of trading in stocks?" + +"I do not know enough about it to have a right to speak." + +"You can give your impression!" + +"I will not give what I do not value." + +"Suppose, then, you heard of a man who had made his money so, how would +you behave to him?" + +"I would not seek his acquaintance." + +"If he sought yours?" + +"It would be time to ask how he had made his money. Then it would be my +business." + +"What would make it your business?" + +"That he sought my acquaintance. It would then be necessary to know +something about him, and the readiest question would be--how he had made +his money!" + +Alexa was silent for some time. + +"Do you think God cares about everything?" she said at length. + +"Everything," answered Andrew, and she said no more. + +Andrew avoided the discussion of moral questions. He regarded the thing +as _vermiculate_, and ready to corrupt the obedience. "When you have a +thing to do," he would say, "you will do it right in proportion to your +love of right. But do the right, and you will love the right; for by +doing it you will see it in a measure as it is, and no one can see the +truth as it is without loving it. The more you _talk_ about what is +right, or even about the doing of it, the more you are in danger of +exemplifying how loosely theory may be allied to practice. Talk without +action saps the very will. Something you have to do is waiting undone +all the time, and getting more and more undone. The only refuge is _to +do_." To know the thing he ought to do was a matter of import, to do the +thing he knew he ought to do was a matter of life and death to Andrew. +He never allowed even a cognate question to force itself upon him until +he had attended to the thing that demanded doing: it was merest common +sense! + +Alexa had in a manner got over her uneasiness at the report of how +George was making his money, and their correspondence was not +interrupted. But something, perhaps a movement from the world of spirit +coming like the wind, had given her one of those motions to betterment, +which, however occasioned, are the throb of the divine pulse in our +life, the call of the Father, the pull of home, and the guide thither to +such as will obey them. She had in consequence again become doubtful +about Crawford, and as to whether she was right in corresponding with +him. This led to her talk with Andrew, which, while it made her think +less of his intellect, influenced her in a way she neither understood +nor even recognized. There are two ways in which one nature may +influence another for betterment--the one by strengthening the will, the +other by heightening the ideal. Andrew, without even her suspicion of +the fact, wrought in the latter way upon Alexa. She grew more uneasy. +George was coming home: how was she to receive him? Nowise bound, they +were on terms of intimacy: was she to encourage the procession of that +intimacy, or to ward attempt at nearer approach? + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +GEORGE AND ANDREW. + +George returned, and made an early appearance at Potlurg. Dawtie met him +in the court. She did not know him, but involuntarily shrunk from him. +He frowned. There was a natural repugnance between them; the one was +simple, the other double; the one was pure, the other selfish; the one +loved her neighbor, the other preyed upon his. + +George was a little louder, and his manners were more studied. Alexa +felt him overblown. He was floridly at his ease. What little +"atmosphere" there had been about him was gone, and its place taken by a +colored fog. His dress was unobjectionable, and yet attracted notice; +perhaps it was only too considered. Alexa was disappointed, and a little +relieved. He looked older, yet not more manly--and rather fat. He had +more of the confidence women dislike to see a man without, than was +quite pleasant even to the confident Alexa. His speech was not a little +infected with the nasality--as easy to catch as hard to get rid +of--which I presume the Puritans carried from England to America. On the +whole, George was less interesting than Alexa had expected. + +He came to her as if he would embrace her, but an instinctive movement +on her part sufficed to check him. She threw an additional heartiness +into her welcome, and kept him at arm's-length. She felt as if she had +lost an old friend, and not gained a new one. He made himself very +agreeable, but that he made himself so, made him less so. + +There was more than these changes at work in her; there was still the +underlying doubt concerning him. Although not yet a live soul, she had +strong if vague ideas about right and wrong; and although she sought +many things a good deal more than righteousness, I do not see what +temptation would at once have turned her from its known paths. At the +same time I do not see what she had yet, more than hundreds of thousands +of well-meaning women, to secure her from slow decay and final ruin. + +They laughed and talked together very _like_ the way they used, but +"every like is not the same," and they knew there was a difference. +George was stung by the sense of it--too much to show that he was vexed. +He laid himself out to be the more pleasing, as if determined to make +her feel what he was worth--as the man, namely, whom he imagined +himself, and valued himself on being. + +It is an argument for God, to see what fools those make of themselves +who, believing there is a God, do not believe _in_ Him--children who do +not know the Father. Such make up the mass of church and chapel goers. +Let an earthquake or the small-pox break loose among them, and they will +show what sort their religion is. George had got rid of the folly of +believing in the existence of a God, either interested in human affairs +or careless of them, and naturally found himself more comfortable in +consequence; for he never had believed _in_ God, and it is awkward to +believe and not believe at the same moment. What he had called his +_beliefs_ were as worthy of the name as those of most people, but +whether he was better or worse without them hardly interests me, and my +philanthropy will scarce serve to make me glad that he was more +comfortable. + +As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until +at last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in +Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the +wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where +the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to +the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge. + +"The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this +creature!" he was saying as they came near. + +"What rot!" said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: "Here's my old +friend, the farmer, I declare!" then to Andrew: "How do you do, Mr. +Ingram?" + +George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better +fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do +with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. "You seem to +like the look of the beast!" he said: "you ought to know what's what in +horses!" + +"He is one of the finest horses I ever saw," answered Andrew. "The man +who owns him is fortunate." + +"He ought to be a good one!" said George. "I gave a hundred and fifty +guineas for him yesterday." + +Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought +him, if Sandy was right. + +Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His +presence seemed to protect her a little. + +"May I ask you, Mr. Ingram," she said, "to repeat what you were saying +about the horse as we came up?" + +"I was saying," answered Andrew, "that, to any one who understands a +horse it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed +through many generations to fashion such a perfection." + +"Oh! you indorse the development theory--do you?" said George. "I should +hardly have expected that of you." + +"I do not think it has anything to do with what I said; no one disputes +that this horse comes of many generations of horses. The development +theory, if I understand aright, concerns itself with how his first +ancestor in his own kind came to be a horse." + +"And about that there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who +believes in the Bible!" said George. + +"God makes beautiful horses," returned Andrew; "whether He takes the one +way or the other to make them, I am sure He takes the right way." + +"You imply it is of little consequence what you believe about it." + +"If I had to make them it would be of consequence. But what I think of +consequence to us is--that He makes them, not out of nothing, but out of +Himself. Why should my poor notion of God's _how_ be of importance, so +long as, when I see a horse like yours, Mr. Crawford, I say, God be +praised? It is of eternal importance to love the animal, and see in him +the beauty of the Lord; it is of none to fancy I know which way God took +to make him. Not having in me the power or the stuff to make a horse, I +can not know how God made the horse; I can know him to be beautiful." + +"But," said George, "the first horse was a very common-looking domestic +animal, which they kept to eat--nothing like this one." + +"Then you think God made the first horse, and after that the horses made +themselves," said Andrew. + +Alexa laughed; George said nothing; Andrew went on. + +"But," he said, "if we have come up from the lower animals, through a +million of kinds, perhaps--against which theory I have nothing to +urge--then I am more than prepared to believe that the man who does not +do the part of a man will have to go down again, through all the stages +of his being, to a position beyond the lowest forms of the powers he has +misused, and there begin to rise once more, haunted perhaps with dim +hints of the world of humanity left so far above him." + +"Bah! What's the use of bothering! Rubbish!" cried George, with rude +jollity. "You know as well as I do, Mr. Ingram, it's all bosh! Things +will go on as they're doing, and as they have been doing, till now from +all eternity--so far as we know, and that's enough for us." + +"They will not go on so for long in our sight, Mr. Crawford. The worms +will have a word to say with us." + +Alexa turned away. + +"You've not given up preaching and taken to the practical yet, Mr. +Ingram, I see," said George. + +Andrew laughed. + +"I flatter myself I have not ceased to be practical, Mr. Crawford. You +are busy with what you see, and I am busy as well with what I don't see; +but all the time I believe my farm is in as good a state as your books." + +George gave a start, and stole a look at the young farmer, but was +satisfied he "meant nothing." The self-seeker will walk into the very +abyss protesting himself a practical man, and counting him unpractical +who will not with him "jump the life to come." Himself, he neither +measures the width nor questions his muscle. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + + +WHAT IS IT WORTH? + +Andrew, with all his hard work, harder since Sandy went, continued able +to write, for he neither sought company nor drank strong drink, and was +the sport of no passion. From threatened inroad he appealed to Him who +created to lift His child above the torrent, and make impulse the slave +of conscience and manhood. There were no demons riding the whirlwinds of +his soul. It is not wonderful then that he should be able to write a +book, or that the book should be of genuine and original worth. It had +the fortune to be "favorably" reviewed, scarce one of those who reviewed +it understanding it, while all of them seemed to themselves to +understand it perfectly. I mention the thing because, had the book not +been thus reviewed, Alexa would not have bought a copy, or been able to +admire it. + +The review she read was in a paper whose editor would not have admitted +it had he suspected the drift which the reviewer had failed to see; and +the passages quoted appealed to Alexa in virtue, partly, of her not +seeing half they involved, or anything whatever of the said drift. But +because he had got a book published, and because she approved of certain +lines, phrases and passages in it; but chiefly because it had been +praised by more than one influential paper, Andrew rose immensely in +Alexa's opinion. Although he was the son of a tenant, was even a laborer +on his farm, and had covered a birth no higher than that of Jesus Christ +with the gown of no university, she began, against her own sense of what +was fit, to look up to the plow-man. The plow-man was not aware of this, +and would have been careless had he been. He respected his landlord's +daughter, not ever questioned her superiority as a lady where he made no +claim to being a gentleman, but he recognized in her no power either to +help or to hurt. + +When they next met, Alexa was no longer indifferent to his presence, and +even made a movement in the direction of being agreeable to him. She +dropped in a measure, without knowing she had ever used it, her +patronizing carriage, but had the assurance to compliment him not merely +on the poem he had written, but on the way it had been received; she +could not have credited, had he told her, that he was as indifferent to +the praise or blame of what is called the public, as if that public were +indeed--what it is most like--a boy just learning to read. Yet it is the +consent of such a public that makes the very essence of what is called +fame. How should a man care for it who knows that he is on his way to +join his peers, to be a child with the great ones of the earth, the +lovers of the truth, the Doers of the Will. What to him will be the wind +of the world he has left behind, a wind that can not arouse the dead, +that can only blow about the grave-clothes of the dead as they bury +their dead. + +"Live, Dawtie," said Andrew to the girl, "and ane day ye'll hae yer +hert's desire; for 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after +righteousness.'" + +Andrew was neither annoyed nor gratified with the compliments Alexa paid +him, for she did not know the informing power of the book--what he cared +for in it--the thing that made him write it. But her gentleness and +kindness did please him; he was glad to feel a little at home with her, +glad to draw a little nearer to one who had never been other than good +to him. And then was she not more than kind, even loving to Dawtie? + +"So, Andrew, you are a poet at last," she said, holding out her hand to +him, which Andrew received in a palm that wrote the better verse that it +was horny. "Please to remember I was the first that found you out!" she +added. + +"I think it was my mother," answered Andrew. + +"And I would have helped you if you would have let me." + +"It is not well, ma'am, to push the bird off because he can't sit safe +on the edge of the nest." + +"Perhaps you are right A failure then would have stood in the way of +your coming fame." + +"Oh, for that, ma'am, believe me, I do not care a short straw." + +"What do you not care for?" + +"For fame." + +"That is wrong, Andrew. We ought to care what our neighbors think of +us." + +"My neighbors did not set me to do the work, and I did not seek their +praise in doing it. Their friendship I prize dearly--more than tongue +can tell." + +"You can not surely be so conceited, Andrew, as to think nobody capable +of judging your work." + +"Far from it, ma'am. But you were speaking of fame, and that does not +come from any wise judgment." + +"Then what do you write for, if you care nothing for fame? I thought +that was what all poets wrote for." + +"So the world thinks; and those that do sometimes have their reward." + +"Tell me then what you write for?" + +"I write because I want to tell something that makes me glad and strong. +I want to say it, and so try to say it. Things come to me in gleams and +flashes, sometimes in words themselves, and I want to weave them into a +melodious, harmonious whole. I was once at an oratorio, and that taught +me the shape of a poem. In a pause of the music, I seemed all at once to +see Handel's heavy countenance looking out of his great wig, as he sat +putting together his notes, ordering about in his mind, and fixing in +their places with his pen, his drums, and pipes, and fiddles, and +roaring bass, and flageolets, and hautboys--all to open the door for the +thing that was plaguing him with the confusion of its beauty. For I +suppose even Handel did not hear it all clear and plain at first, but +had to build his orchestra into a mental organ for his mind to let +itself out by, through the many music holes, lest it should burst with +its repressed harmonic delights. He must have felt an agonized need to +set the haunting angels of sound in obedient order and range, responsive +to the soul of the thing, its one ruling idea! I saw him with his white +rapt face, looking like a prophet of the living God sent to speak out of +the heart of the mystery of truth! I saw him as he sat staring at the +paper before him, scratched all over as with the fury of a holy anger at +his own impotence, and his soul communed with heavenliest harmonies! +Ma'am, will any man persuade me that Handel at such a moment was athirst +for fame? or that the desire to please a house full or world full of +such as heard his oratorios, gave him the power to write his music? No, +ma'am! he was filled, not with the longing for sympathy, and not even +with the good desire to give delight, but with the music itself. It was +crying in him to get out, and he heard it crying, and could not rest +till he had let it out; and every note that dropped from his pen was a +chip struck from the granite wall between the song-birds in their +prison-nest, and the air of their liberty. Creation is God's +self-wrought freedom. No, ma'am, I do not despise my fellows, but +neither do I prize the judgment of more than a few of them. I prize and +love themselves, but not their opinion." + +Alexa was silent, and Andrew took his leave. She sat still for awhile +thinking. If she did not understand, at least she remembered Andrew's +face as he talked: could presumption make his face shine so? could +presumption make him so forget himself? + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + + +THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. + +Things went swimmingly with George. He had weathered a crisis, and was +now full of confidence, as well as the show of it. That he held himself +a man who could do what he pleased, was plain to every one. His +prosperity leaned upon that of certain princes of the power of money in +America: gleaning after them he found his fortune. + +But he did not find much increase of favor with Alexa. Her spiritual +tastes were growing more refined. There was something about the man, and +that not new, which she could no longer contemplate without +dissatisfaction. It cost her tears at night to think that, although her +lover had degenerated, he had remained true to her, for she saw plainly +that it was only lack of encouragement that prevented him from asking +her to be his wife. She must _appear_ changeable, but this was not the +man she had been ready to love! the plant had put forth a flower that +was not in sequence with the leaf. The cause of his appearing different +might lie in herself, but in any case he was not the gentleman she had +thought! Had she loved him, she would have stood by him bravely, but now +she could not help recalling the disgrace of the father, and shrunk from +sharing it with the son. Would it be any wonder if the son himself +proved less than honorable? She would have broken with him quite but for +one thing: he had become intimate with her father, and the laird enjoyed +his company. + +George had a large straggling acquaintance with things, and could +readily appear to know more than he did. He was, besides, that most +agreeable person to a man with a hobby, a good listener--when he saw +reason. He made himself so pleasant that the laird was not only always +glad to see him, but would often ask him to stay to supper, when he +would fish up from the wine-cellar he had inherited a bottle with a +history and a character, and the two would pass the evening together, +Alexa trying not to wish him away, for was not her poor old father happy +with him! Though without much pleasure of his own in such things, +George, moved by the reflection of the laird's interest, even began to +_collect_ a little, mainly in the hope of picking up what might gratify +the laird; nor, if he came upon a thing he _must_ covet, would hesitate +to spend on it a good sum. Naturally the old man grew to regard him as a +son of the best sort, one who would do anything to please his father and +indulge his tastes. + +It may seem surprising that such a man as George should have remained so +true; but he had a bull-dog tenacity of purpose, as indeed his +money-making indicated. Then there was good in him to the measure of +admiring a woman like Alexa, though not of admiring a far better. He saw +himself in danger of losing her; concluded influences at work to the +frustration of his own; surmised that she doubted the character of his +business; feared the clownish farmer-poet might have dazzled with his +new reputation her womanly judgment; and felt himself called upon to +make good his position against any and every prejudice she might have +conceived against him! He would yield nothing! If he was foiled he was +foiled, but it should not be his fault! His own phrase was, that he +would not throw up the sponge so long as he could come up grinning. He +had occasional twinges of discomfort, for his conscience, although +seared indeed, was not seared as with the hottest iron, seeing he had +never looked straight at any truth: it would ease those twinges, he +vaguely imagined, so to satisfy a good woman like Alexa, that she made +common cause with him, accepting not merely himself, but the money of +which he had at such times a slight loathing. Then Alexa was +handsome--he thought her _very_ handsome, and, true to Mammon, he would +gladly be true also to something better. There _might be_ another camp, +and it would be well to have friends in that too! + +So unlike Andrew, how could he but dislike him! and his dislike jealousy +fostered into hatred. Cowed before him, like Macbeth before Banquo, +because he was an honest man, how could he but hate him! He called him, +and thought him a canting, sneaking fellow--which he was, if canting +consist in giving God His own, and sneaking consist in fearing no +man--in fearing nothing, indeed, but doing wrong. How could George +consent even to the far-off existence of such a man! + +The laird also had taken a dislike to him. + +From the night when Dawtie made her appeal, he had not known an hour's +peace. It was not that it had waked his conscience, though it had made +it sleep a little less soundly; it was only that he feared she might +take further action in regard to the cup. She seemed to him to be taking +part with the owner of the cup against him; he could not see that she +was taking part with himself against the devil; that it was not the cup +she was anxious about, but the life of her master. What if she should +acquaint the earl's lawyer with all she knew! He would be dragged into +public daylight! He could not pretend ignorance concerning the identity +of the chalice! that would be to be no antiquarian, while Dawtie would +bear witness that he had in his possession a book telling all about it! +But the girl would never of herself have turned against him! It was all +that fellow Ingram, with his overstrained and absurd notions as to what +God required of His poor sinful creatures! He did not believe in the +atonement! He did not believe that Christ had given satisfaction to the +Father for our sins! He demanded in the name of religion more than any +properly educated and authorized minister would! and in his +meddlesomeness had worried Dawtie into doing as she did! The girl was a +good and modest girl, and would never of herself have so acted! Andrew +was righteous overmuch, therefore eaten up with self-conceit, and the +notion of pleasing God more than other men! He cherished old grudges +against him, and would be delighted to bring his old school-master to +shame! He was not a bad boy at school; he had always liked him; the +change in him witnessed to the peril of extremes! Here they had led to +spiritual pride, which was the worst of all the sins! The favorite of +heaven could have no respect for the opinion of his betters! The man was +bent on returning evil for all the good he had done the boy! It was a +happy thing young Crawford understood him! He would be his friend, and +defeat the machinations of his enemy! If only the fellow's lease were +out, that he might get rid of him! + +Moved by George's sympathy with his tastes, he drew nearer and nearer to +disclosing the possession which was the pride of his life. The +enjoyment, of connoisseur or collector rests much on the glory of +possession--of having what another has not, or, better still, what no +other can possibly have. + +From what he had long ago seen on the night of the storm, and now from +the way the old man hinted, and talked, and broke off; also from the +uneasiness he sometimes manifested, George had guessed that there was +something over whose possession he gloated, but for whose presence among +his treasures he could not comfortably account He therefore set himself, +without asking a single question, to make the laird unbosom. A hold on +the father would be a hold on the daughter! + +One day, in a pawnbroker's shop, he lighted upon a rarity indeed, which +might or might not have a history attributed to it, but was in itself +more than interesting for the beauty of both material and workmanship. +The sum asked for it was large, but with the chance of pleasing the +laird, it seemed to George but a trifle. It was also, he judged, of +intrinsic value to a great part of the price. Had he been then aware of +the passion of the old man for jewels in especial, he would have been +yet more eager to secure it for him. It was a watch, not very small, and +by no means thin--a repeater, whose bell was dulled by the stones of the +mine in which it lay buried. The case was one mass of gems of +considerable size, and of every color. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald were +judiciously parted by diamonds of utmost purity, while yellow diamonds +took the golden place for which the topaz had not been counted of +sufficient value. They were all crusted together as close as they could +lie, the setting of them hardly showing. The face was of fine opals, +across which moved the two larger hands radiant with rubies, while the +second-hand flitted flashing around, covered with tiny diamonds. The +numerals were in sapphires, within a bordering ring of emeralds and +black pearls. The jewel was a splendor of color and light. + +George, without preface, took it from his pocket, held it a moment in +the sunlight, and handed it to the laird. He glowered at it. He saw an +angel from heaven in a thing compact of earth-chips! As near as any +_thing_ can be loved of a live soul, the laird loved a fine stone; what +in it he loved most, the color, the light, the shape, the value, the +mystery, he could not have told!--and here was a jewel of many fine +stones! With both hands he pressed it to his bosom. Then he looked at it +in the sun, then went into the shadow of the house, for they were in the +open air, and looked at it again. Suddenly he thrust it into his pocket, +and hurried, followed by George, to his study. There he closed the +shutters, lighted a lamp, and gazed at the marvel, turning it in all +directions. At length he laid it on the table, and sunk with a sigh into +a chair. George understood the sigh, and dug its source deeper by +telling him, as he had heard it, the story of the jewel. + +"It may be true," he said as he ended. "I remember seeing some time ago +a description of the toy. I think I could lay my hand on it!" + +"Would you mind leaving it with me till you come again?" faltered the +laird. + +He knew he could not buy it: he had not the money; but he would gladly +dally with the notion of being its possessor. To part with it, the +moment after having held it in his hand and gloated over it for the +first time, would be too keen a pain! It was unreasonable to have to +part with it at all! He _ought_ to be its owner! Who could be such an +owner to a thing like that as he! It was a wrong to him that it was not +his! Next to his cup, it was the most precious thing he had ever wished +to possess!--a thing for a man to take to the grave with him! Was there +no way of carrying _any_ treasure to the other world? He would have sold +of his land to secure the miracle, but, alas, it was all entailed! For a +moment the Cellini chalice seemed of less account, and he felt ready to +throw open the window of his treasure-room and pitch everything out. The +demon of _having_ is as imperious and as capricious as that of drink, +and there is no refuge from it but with the Father. "This kind goeth not +out by prayer." + +The poor slave uttered, not a sigh now, but a groan. "You'll tell the +man," he said, thinking George had borrowed the thing to show him, "that +I did not even ask the price: I know I can not buy it!" + +"Perhaps he would give you credit!" suggested George, with a smile. + +"No! I will have nothing to do with credit! I should not be able to call +it my own!"--Money-honesty was strong in the laird. "But," he continued, +"do try and persuade him to let me have it for a day or two--that I may +get its beauty by heart, and think of it all the days, and dream of it +all the nights of my life after!" + +"There will be no difficulty about that," answered George. "The owner +will be delighted to let you keep it as long as you wish!" + +"I would it were so!" + +"It is so!" + +"You don't mean to say, George, that that queen of jewels is yours, and +you will lend it me?" + +"The thing is mine, but I will not lend it--not even to you, sir!" + +"I don't wonder!--I don't wonder! But it is a great disappointment! I +was beginning to hope I--I--might have the loan of it for a week or two +even!" + +"You should indeed if the thing were mine!" said George, playing him; +"but--" + +"Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you said it was yours!" + +"So it was when I brought it, but it is mine no longer. It is yours. I +purchased it for you this morning." + +The old man was speechless. He rose, and seizing George by both hands, +stood staring at him. Something very like tears gathered within the +reddened rims of his eyes. He had grown paler and feebler of late, ever +in vain devising to secure possession of the cup--possession moral as +well as legal. But this entrancing gift brought with it strength and +hope in regard to the chalice! "To him that hath shall be given!" quoted +the Mammon within him. + +"George!" he said, with a moan of ecstasy, "you are my good angel!" and +sat down exhausted. The watch was the key to his "closet," as he +persisted in calling his treasury. + +In old times not a few houses in Scotland held a certain tiny room, +built for the head of the family, to be his closet for prayer: it was, I +believe, with the notion of such a room in his head, that the laird had +called his museum his closet; and he was more right than he meant to be; +for in that chamber he did his truest worship--truest as to the love in +it, falsest as to its object; for there he worshiped the god vilest bred +of all the gods, bred namely of man's distrust in the Life of the +universe. + +And now here also were two met together to worship; for from this time +the laird, disclosing his secret, made George free of his sanctuary. + +George was by this time able to take a genuine interest in the +collection. But he was much amused, sometimes annoyed, with the behavior +of the laird in his closet: he was more nervous and touchy over his +things than a she-bear over her cubs. + +Of all dangers to his darlings he thought a woman the worst, and had +therefore seized with avidity the chance of making that room a hidden +one, the possibility of which he had spied almost the moment he first +entered it. + +He became, if possible, fonder of his things than ever, and flattered +himself he had found in George a fellow-worshiper: George's exaggerated +or pretended appreciation enhanced his sense of their value. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +ON THE MOOR. + +Alexa had a strong shaggy pony, which she rode the oftener that George +came so often; taking care to be well gone before he arrived on his +beautiful horse. + +One lovely summer evening she had been across the moor a long way, and +was returning as the sun went down. A glory of red molten gold was +shining in her face, so that she could see nothing in front of her, and +was a little startled by a voice greeting her with a respectful +good-evening. The same moment she was alongside of the speaker in the +blinding veil of the sun. It was Andrew walking home from a village on +the other side of the moor. She drew rein, and they went together. + +"What has come to you, Mr. Ingram?" she said; "I hear you were at church +last Sunday evening!" + +"Why should I not be, ma'am?" asked Andrew. + +"For the reason that you are not in the way of going." + +"There might be good reason for going once, or for going many times, and +yet not for going always!" + +"We won't begin with quarreling! There are things we shall not agree +about!" + +"Yes; one or two--for a time, I believe!" returned Andrew. + +"What did you think of Mr. Rackstraw's sermon? I suppose you went to +hear _him_.'" + +"Yes, ma'am--at least partly." + +"Well?" + +"Will you tell me first whether you were satisfied with Mr. Rackstraw's +teaching? I know you were there." + +"I was quite satisfied." + +"Then I don't see reason for saying anything about it." + +"If I am wrong, you ought to try to set me right!" + +"The prophet Elisha would have done no good by throwing his salt into +the running stream. He cast it, you will remember, into the spring!" + +"I do not understand you." + +"There is no use in persuading a person to change an opinion." + +"Why not?" + +"Because the man is neither the better nor the worse for it. If you had +told me you were distressed to hear a man in authority speak as Mr. +Rackstraw spoke concerning a being you loved, I would have tried to +comfort you by pointing out how false it was. But if you are content to +hear God so represented, why should I seek to convince you of what is +valueless to you? Why offer you to drink what your heart is not +thirsting after? Would you love God more because you found He was not +what you were quite satisfied He should be?" + +"Do tell me more plainly what you mean?" + +"You must excuse me. I have said all I will. I can not reason in defense +of God. It seems blasphemy to argue that His nature is not such as no +honorable man could love in another man." + +"But if the Bible says so?" + +"If the Bible said so, the Bible would be false. But the Bible does not +say so." + +"How is it then that it seems to say so?" + +"Because you were taught falsely about Him before you desired to know +Him." + +"But I am capable of judging now!" + +Andrew was silent. + +"Am I not?" insisted Alexa. + +"Do you desire to know God?" said Andrew. + +"I think I do know Him." + +"And you think those things true?" + +"Yes." + +"Then we are where we were, and I say no more." + +"You are not polite." + +"I can not help it. I must let you alone to believe about God what you +can. You will not be blamed for not believing what you can not." + +"Do you mean that God never punishes any one for what He can not help?" + +"Assuredly." + +"How do you prove that?" + +"I will not attempt to prove it. If you are content to think He does, if +it do not trouble you that your God should be unjust, go on thinking so +until you are made miserable by it, then I will pour out my heart to +deliver you." + +She was struck, not with any truth in what he said, but with the evident +truthfulness of the man himself. Right or wrong, there was that about +him--a certain radiance of conviction--which certainly was not about Mr. +Rackstraw. + +"The things that can be shaken," said Andrew, as if thinking with +himself, "may last for a time, but they will at length be shaken to +pieces, that the things which can not be shaken may show what they are. +Whatever we call religion will vanish when we see God face to face." + +For awhile they went brushing through the heather in silence. + +"May I ask you one question, Mr. Ingram?" said Alexa. + +"Surely, ma'am! Ask me anything you like." + +"And you will answer me?" + +"If I am at liberty to answer you I will." + +"What do you mean by being at liberty? Are you under any vow?" + +"I am under the law of love. I am bound to do nothing to hurt. An answer +that would do you no good I will not give." + +"How do you know what will or will not do me good?" + +"I must use what judgment I have." + +"Is it true, then, that you believe God gives you whatever you ask?" + +"I have never asked anything of Him that He did not give me." + +"Would you mind telling me anything you have asked of Him?" + +"I have never yet required to ask anything not included in the prayer, +'Thy will be done.'" + +"That will be done without your praying for it." + +"Pardon me; I do not believe it will be done, to all eternity, without +my praying for it. Where first am I accountable that His will should be +done? Is it not in myself? How is His will to be done in me without my +willing it? Does He not want me to love what He loves?--to be like +Himself?--to do His will with the glad effort of my will?--in a word, to +will what He wills? And when I find I can not, what am I to do but pray +for help? I pray, and He helps me." + +"There is nothing strange in that!" + +"Surely not It seems to me the simplest common sense. It is my business, +the business of every man, that God's will be done by his obedience to +that will, the moment he knows it." + +"I fancy you are not so different from other people as you think +yourself. But they say you want to die." + +"I want nothing but what God wants. I desire righteousness." + +"Then you accept the righteousness of Christ?" + +"Accept it! I long for it." + +"You know that it is not what I mean!" + +"I seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness." + +"You avoid my question. Do you accept the righteousness of Christ +instead of your own?" + +"I have no righteousness of my own to put it instead of. The only +righteousness there is is God's, and He will make me righteous like +Himself. He is not content that His one Son only should be righteous; He +wants all His children to be righteous as He is righteous. The thing is +plain; I will not argue about it." + +"You do not believe in the atonement." + +"I believe in Jesus Christ. He is the atonement. What strength God has +given me I will spend in knowing Him and doing what He tells me. To +interpret His plans before we know Himself is to mistake both Him and +His plans. I know this, that he has given His life for what multitudes +who call themselves by His name would not rise from their seats to share +in." + +"You think me incapable of understanding the gospel?" + +"I think if you did understand the gospel of Christ you would be +incapable of believing the things about His Father that you say you do +believe. But I will not say a word more. When you are able to see the +truth, you will see it; and when you desire the truth you will be able." + +Alexa touched her pony with her whip. But by and by she pulled him up, +and made him walk till Andrew overtook her. + +The sun was by this time far out of sight, the glow of the west was +over, and twilight lay upon the world. Its ethereal dimness had sunk +into her soul. + +"Does the gloaming make you sad, Mr. Ingram?" she asked. + +"It makes me very quiet," he answered--"as if all my people were asleep, +and waiting for me." + +"Do you mean as if they were all dead? How can you talk of it so +quietly?" + +"Because I do not believe in death." + +"What _do_ you mean?" + +"I am a Christian!" + +"I hope you are, Mr. Ingram, though, to be honest with you, some things +make me doubt it Perhaps you would say I am not a Christian." + +"It is enough that God knows whether you are a Christian or not. Why +should I say you are or you are not?" + +"But I want to know what you meant when you said you were a Christian. +How should that make you indifferent to the death of your friends? Death +is a dreadful thing, look at it how you like." + +"The Lord says, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.' If +my friends are not dead, but living and waiting for me, why should I +wait for them in a fierce, stormy night, or a black frost, instead of +the calm of such a sleeping day as this--a day with the son hid, +Shakespeare calls it." + +"How you do mix up things! Shakespeare and Jesus Christ!" + +"God mixed them first, and will mix them a good deal more yet," said +Andrew. + +But for the smile which would hover like a heavenly Psyche about his +mouth, his way of answering would sometimes have seemed curt to those +who did not understand him. Instead of holding aloof in his superiority, +however, as some thought he did when he would not answer, or answered +abruptly, Andrew's soul would be hovering, watching and hoping for a +chance of lighting, and giving of the best he had. He was like a great +bird changing parts with a child--the child afraid of the bird, and the +bird enticing the child to be friends. He had learned that if he poured +out his treasure recklessly it might be received with dishonor, and but +choke the way of the chariot of approaching truth. + +"Perhaps you will say next there is no such thing as suffering," resumed +Alexa. + +"No; the Lord said that in the world His friends should have +tribulation." + +"What tribulation have you, who are so specially His friend?" + +"Not much yet It is a little, however, sometimes, to know such strong, +and beautiful, and happy-making things, and all the time my people, my +beloved humans, born of my Father in heaven, with the same heart for joy +and sorrow, will not listen and be comforted, I think that was what made +our Lord sorriest of all." + +"Mr. Ingram, I have no patience with you. How dare you liken your +trouble to that of our Lord--making yourself equal with Him!" + +"Is it making myself equal with Him to say that I understand a little +how He felt toward His fellow-men? I am always trying to understand Him; +would it be a wonder if I did sometimes a little? How is a man to do as +He did, without understanding Him?" + +"Are you going to work miracles next?" + +"Jesus was always doing what God wanted Him to do. That was what He came +for, not to work miracles. He could have worked a great many more if He +had pleased, but He did no more than God wanted of Him. Am I not to try +to do the will of God, because He who died that I might, always +succeeded however hard it was, and I am always failing and having to try +again?" + +"And you think you will come to it in this life?" + +"I never think about that; I only think about doing His will now--not +about doing it then--that is, to-morrow or next day or next world. I +know only one life--the life that is hid with Christ in God; and that is +the life by which I live here and now. I do not make schemes of life; I +live. Life will teach me God's plans; I will take no trouble about them; +I will only obey, and receive the bliss He sends me. And of all things I +will not make theories of God's plans for other people to accept. I will +only do my best to destroy such theories as I find coming between some +poor glooming heart, and the sun shining in his strength. Those who love +the shade of lies, let them walk in it until the shiver of the eternal +cold drive them to seek the face of Jesus Christ. To appeal to their +intellect would be but to drive them the deeper into the shade to +justify their being in it. And if by argument you did persuade them out +of it, they would but run into a deeper and worse darkness." + +"How could that be?" + +"They would at once think that, by an intellectual stride they had +advanced in the spiritual life, whereas they would be neither the better +nor the worse. I know a man, once among the foremost in denouncing the +old theology, who is now no better than a swindler." + +"You mean--" + +"No one you know, ma'am. His intellectual freedom seems only to have +served his spiritual subjugation. Right opinion, except it spring from +obedience to the truth, is but so much rubbish on the golden floor of +the temple." + +The peace of the night and its luminous earnestness were gleaming on +Andrew's face, and Alexa, glancing up as he ceased, felt again the +inroad of a sense of something in the man that was not in the other men +she knew--the spiritual shadow of a dweller in regions beyond her ken. +The man was before her, yet out of her sight! + +The whole thing was too simple for her, only a child could understand it +Instead of listening to the elders and priests to learn how to save his +soul, he cast away all care of himself, left that to God, and gave +himself to do the will of Him from whose heart he came, even as the +eternal Life, the Son of God, required of him; in the mighty hope of +becoming one mind, heart, soul, one eternal being, with Him, with the +Father, with every good man, with the universe which was his +inheritance--walking in the world as Enoch walked with God, held by his +hand. This is what man was and is meant to be, what man must become; +thither the wheels of time are roaring; thither work all the silent +potencies of the eternal world; and they that will not awake and arise +from the dead must be flung from their graves by the throes of a +shivering world. + +When he had done speaking Andrew stood and looked up. A few stars were +looking down through the limpid air. Alexa rode on. Andrew let her go, +and walked after her alone, sure that her mind must one day open to the +eternal fact that God is all in all, the perfect friend of His children; +yea, that He would cease to be God sooner than fail His child in his +battle with death. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + + +THE WOOER. + +Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined +toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to +open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her +father. But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in +doubt no longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had +gone there with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her +hand, from which she was storing her mind with arguments against what +she supposed the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of +his condescending to front them with counter-argument. His voice +returned ever to the ear of her mind in words like these: "If you are +content to think so, you are in no condition to receive what I have to +communicate. Why should I press water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let +us wait for the drought of the desert, when life is a low fever, and the +heart is dry; when the earth is like iron, and the heavens above it are +as brass." + +She started at the sound of George's voice. + +"What lovely weather!" he said. + +Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium--the side of +nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy +summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making. + +"Yes?" answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and +held her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted +again to eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental. + +"Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too +much of your attention, Alexa!" + +"You have been very kind, George!" she answered. + +"Kind is not asking much of your attention?" + +"Yea--that, and giving my father so much of yours." + +"I certainly have seen more of him than of you!" returned George, hoping +her words meant reproach. "But he has always been kind to me, and +pleased to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!" + +To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he +had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get +out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to +pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true +and right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one +way of doing a thing! + +"I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!" + +"You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!" + +"No; then you were going away!" + +"Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?" + +"Not when he does not seem content with having come back!" + +"I do not understand!" + +But Alexa gave no explanation. + +"You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?" + +"Perhaps." + +"That is, if you were sure I was not coming back." + +"I did not _say_ so." + +"I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any +misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between +us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!" + +"There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, +George--that you did not say anything before you went." + +"I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!" + +"I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!" + +This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. + +"You are cruel!" he said. "I should have made it the business of my life +that you never did!" + +Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost +as soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human +pressure in which he had grown up! + +"I am certain I should," persisted Alexa. + +"Why are you so certain?" + +"Because I am so glad now to think I am free." + +"Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know +where the stab comes from!" + +"The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you +talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened +more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had +deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then +thought characterized you!" + +"Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your +friend the farmer!" + +"Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?" rejoined Alexa, +with some heat. + +"I mean that I am an honest man." + +"I am doubtful of you." + +"I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!" + +"It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do +you believe yourself an honest man?" + +"As men go, yes." + +"But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world +when hearts are as open as faces?" + +He was silent. + +"Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of--" + +She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying "_Jesus +Christ_," but felt she had no right, and hesitated. + +"--Of our friend Andrew?" supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. +"The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his +muscles--the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better +market--not he!" + +"It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a +dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were +not to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world +to make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he +could get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire +to get more--and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and +the poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent +to grow corn for them!" + +"And what did your father say to that wisdom?" + +"That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only +know," added Alexa, with a little laugh, "that he is consistent, for he +has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in +him that sets him apart from other men!" + +"And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought _my_ +position too humble!" + +"What am I to understand by that?" + +"What you think I mean." + +"I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!" + +Alexa rose and left him. + +George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands +in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty +smile, and said: "At least I have made her angry, and that's something! +What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's +not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!--a clod-hopper +born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and +Potlurg will never let _him_ have it! _I_ will see to that! The laird +hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent +myself!" + +His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he +never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at +all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most +she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full +of respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her +superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself +at a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant +to know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel +that, as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young +farmer disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by +no means agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did +not see anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew +she was handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one +heart-throb more because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good +as told her she was one of the dead who would not come alive! It would +be something to be loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly +to think of making any man love her--and even if he loved her she could +not marry a man in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two +were the lack but a point or two, but there was no stretching points to +the marrying of a peasant, without education, who worked on his father's +farm! The thing was ridiculous!--of course she knew that!--the very idea +too absurd to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to +marry George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite +fat! And he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something +about him _not_ like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a +cheap-jack! + +She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony +looked elf-ridden. + +But George had no intention of forsaking the house--yet, at least. He +was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with +her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, +the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the +neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any +lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that +he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By +this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for +things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the +laird's wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to +become his daughter's husband. He _would not_ accept her dismissal as +final! + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + + +THE HEART OF THE HEART. + +The laird had been poorly for some weeks, and Alexa began to fear that +he was failing. Nothing more had passed between him and Dawtie, but he +knew that anxious eyes were often watching him, and the thought worried +him not a little. If he would but take a start, thought Dawtie, and not +lose all the good of this life! It was too late for him to rise very +high; he could not now be a saint, but he might at least set a foot on +the eternal stair that leads to the fullness of bliss! He would have a +sore fight with all those imps of things, before he ceased to love that +which was not lovely, and to covet that which was not good! But the man +gained a precious benefit from this world, who but began to repent +before he left it! If only the laird would start up the hill before his +body got quite to the bottom! Was there any way to approach him again +with her petition that he would be good to himself, good to God, good to +the universe, that he would love what was worth loving, and cast away +what was not? She had no light, and could do nothing! + +Suddenly the old man failed quite--apparently from no cause but +weakness. The unease of his mind, the haunting of the dread thought of +having to part with the chalice, had induced it. He was in his closet +one night late into the morning, and the next day did not get up to +breakfast He wanted a little rest, he said. In a day he would be well! +But the hour to rise again, much anticipated, never came. He seemed very +troubled at times, and very desirous of getting up, but never was able. +It became necessary to sit with him at night. In fits of delirium he +would make fierce endeavor to rise, insisting that he must go to his +study. His closet he never mentioned: even in dreams was his secrecy +dominant. Dawtie, who had her share in nursing him, kept hoping her +opportunity would come. He did not seem to cherish any resentment +against her. His illness would protect him, he thought, from further +intrusion of her conscience upon his! She must know better than irritate +a sick man with overofficiousness! Everybody could not be a saint! It +was enough to be a Christian like other good and salvable Christians! It +was enough for him if through the merits of his Saviour he gained +admission to the heavenly kingdom at last! He never thought now, once +in, he could bear to stay in; never thought how heaven could be to him +other than the dullest place in the universe of God, more wearisome than +the kingdom of darkness itself! And all the time the young woman with +the savior-heart was watching by his bedside, ready to speak; but the +Spirit gave her no utterance, and her silence soothed his fear of her. + +One night he was more restless than usual. Waking from his troubled +slumber, he called her--in the tone of one who had something important +to communicate. + +"Dawtie," he said, with feeble voice but glittering eye, "there is no +one I can trust like you. I have been thinking of what you said that +night ever since. Go to my closet and bring me the cup." + +Dawtie held a moment's debate whether it would be right; but she +reflected that it made little difference whether the object of his +passion was in his hand or in his chest, while it was all the same deep +in his heart. Then his words seemed to imply that he wanted to take his +farewell of it; and to refuse his request might only fan the evil love, +and turn him from the good motion in his mind. She said: "Yes, sir," and +stood waiting. He did not speak. + +"I do not know where to find it," she said. + +"I am going to tell you," he replied, but seemed to hesitate. + +"I will not touch a single thing beside," said Dawtie. + +He believed her, and at once proceeded: + +"Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me. There is the key of the +closet door!--and there, the key of all the bunch that looks the +commonest, but is in reality the most cunningly devised, is the key of +the cabinet in which I keep it!" + +Then he told her where, behind a little book-case, which moved from the +wall on hinges, she would find the cabinet, and in what part of it the +cup, wrapped in a piece of silk that had once been a sleeve, worn by +_Mme. de Genlis_--which did not make Dawtie much wiser. + +She went, found the chalice, and brought it where the laird lay +straining his ears, and waiting for it as a man at the point of death +might await the sacramental cup from absolving priest. + +His hands trembled as he took it; for they were the hands of a +lover--strange as that love was, which not merely looked for no return, +but desired to give neither pleasure nor good to the thing loved! It was +no love of the merely dead, but a love of the unliving! He pressed the +thing to his bosom; then, as if rebuked by the presence of Dawtie, put +it a little from him, and began to pore over every stone, every +_repousse_ figure between, and every engraved ornament around the gems, +each of which he knew, by shape, order, quality of color, better than +ever face of wife or child. But soon his hands sunk on the counterpane +of silk patchwork, and he lay still, grasping tight the precious thing. + +He woke with a start and a cry, to find it safe in both his hands. + +"Ugh!" he said; "I thought some one had me by the throat! You didn't try +to take the cup from me--did you, Dawtie?" + +"No, sir," answered Dawtie; "I would not care to take it out of your +hand, but I _should_ be glad to take it out of your heart!" + +"If they would only bury it with me!" he murmured, heedless of her +words. + +"Oh, sir! Would you have it burning your heart to all eternity? Give it +up, sir, and take the treasure thief never stole." + +"Yes, Dawtie, yes! That is the true treasure!" + +"And to get it we must sell all that we have!" + +"He gives and withholds as He sees fit." + +"Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will +never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you +strength to fling it from you?" + +He hugged the chalice. + +"Fling it from me!" he cried, fiercely. "Girl, who are you to torment me +before my time!" + +"Tell me, sir," persisted Dawtie, "why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou +that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?" + +"No one _can_ move without God." + +"Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the +power to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not +using the strength God gives us!" + +"I can not bear the strain of thinking!" gasped the laird. + +"Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?" + +She put out her hand as she spoke. + +"No! no!" he cried, grasping the cup tighter. "You shall not touch it! +You would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is +beautiful!" + +"I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!" + +"You want to see my cup--it _is_ my cup!--in the hands of that +spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!" + +"It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!" + +"Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!" + +"They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from +you! Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep." + + +"I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my +confidence in you! I _may_ fall asleep, but if your hand come within a +foot of the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my +heart in the cup, and the least touch will wake me!" + +"I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!" + +"What's the matter with _him?_" + +"Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what +is right." + +"Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such +foolery?" + +His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light +of mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had +spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and +lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! +_He_ would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know +it safe and not far from him! + +Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. +She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat +like an image, moving only her eyes. + +"What are you about, Dawtie?" he said at length. "You are after some +mischief, you are so quiet!" + +"I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up +your odds and ends, and take Him instead." + +"How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are _you_ to +say to _Him_ that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so and +so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!" + +"We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was +saying what I could for you." The laird was silent, and the rest of the +night passed quietly. + +His first words in the morning were: + +"Go and tell your mistress I want her." + +When his daughter came, he told her to send for George Crawford. He was +worse, he said, and wanted to see him. + +Alexa thought it best to send Dawtie with the message by the next train. +Dawtie did not relish the mission, for she had no faith in Crawford, and +did not like his influence on her master. Not the less when she reached +his hotel, she insisted on seeing him and giving her message in person; +which done, she made haste for the first train back: they could not do +well without her! When she arrived, there was Mr. Crawford already on +the platform! She set out as fast as she could, but she had not got +further than half-way when he overtook her in a fly, and insisted she +should get in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + + +GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. + +"What is the matter with your master?" he asked. + +"God knows, sir." + +"What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what _you_ +know." + +"I don't know anything, sir." + +"What do you think then?" + +"I should think old age had something to do with it, sir." + +"Likely enough, but you know more than that!" + +"I shouldn't wonder, sir, if he were troubled in his mind." + +"What makes you think so?" + +"It is reasonable to think so, sir. He knows he must die before long, +and it is dreadful to leave everything you care for, and go where there +is nothing you care for!" + +"How do you know there is nothing he would care for?" + +"What is there, sir, he would be likely to care for?" + +"There is his wife. He was fond of her, I suppose, and you pious people +fancy you will see each other again." + +"The thought of seeing her would give him little comfort, I am afraid, +in parting with the things he has here. He believes a little somehow--I +can't understand how." + +"What does he believe?" + +"He believes a little--he is not sure--that what a man soweth he shall +also reap." + +"How do you know what he is or is not sure off? It can't be a matter of +interest to you?" + +"Those that come of one Father must have interest in one another." + +"How am I to tell we come of one Father--as you call Him? I like to have +a thing proved before I believe it. I know neither where I came from, +nor where I am going; how then can I know that we come from the same +father?" + +"I don't know how you're to know it, sir. I take it for granted, and +find it good. But there is one thing I am sure of." + +"What is that?" + +"That if you were my master's friend you would not rest till you got him +to do what was right before he died." + +"I will not be father-confessor to any man. I have enough to do with +myself. A good worthy old man like the laird must know better than any +other what he ought to do." + +"There is no doubt of that, sir." + +"What do you want then?" + +"To get him to do it. That he knows, is what makes it so miserable. If +he did not know he would not be to blame. He knows what it is and won't +do it, and that makes him wretched--as it ought, thank God!" + +"You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. +Well." + +"Yes," answered Dawtie. + +George thought a little. + +"What would you have me persuade him to?" he asked, for he might hear +something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no +inclination to tell him what she knew. + +"I only wish you would persuade him to do what he knows he ought to do," +she replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + + +THE WATCH. + +George stayed with the laird a good while, and held a long, broken talk +with him. When he went Alexa came. She thought her father seemed +happier. George had put the cup away for him. Alexa sat with him that +night. She knew nothing of such a precious thing being in the house--in +the room with them. + +In the middle of the night, as she was arranging his pillows, the laird +drew from under the bed-clothes, and held up to her, flashing in the +light of the one candle, the jeweled watch. She stared. The old man was +pleased at her surprise and evident admiration. She held out her hand +for it. He gave it her. + +"That watch," he said, "is believed to have belonged to Ninon de +l'Enclos. It _may_, but I doubt it myself. It is well known she never +took presents from her admirers, and she was too poor to have bought +such a thing. Mme. de Maintenon, however, or some one of her +lady-friends, might have given it her. It will be yours one day--that +is, if you marry the man I should like you to marry." + +"Dear father, do not talk of marrying. I have enough with you," cried +Alexa, and felt as if she hated George. + +"Unfortunately, you can not have me always," returned her father. "I +will say nothing more now, but I desire you to consider what I have +said." + +Alexa put the watch in his hand. + +"I trust you do not suppose," she said, "that a house full of things +like that would make any difference." + +He looked up at her sharply. A house full--what did she know? It +silenced him, and he lay thinking. Surely the delight of lovely things +must be in every woman's heart. Was not the passion, developed or +undeveloped, universal? Could a child of his _not_ care for such things? + +"Ah," he said to himself, "she takes after her mother." + +A wall seemed to rise between him and his daughter. Alas! alas! the +things he loved and must one day yield would not be cherished by her. No +tender regard would hover around them when he was gone. She would be no +protecting divinity to them. God in heaven! she might--she would--he was +sure she would sell them. + +It seems the sole possible comfort of avarice, as it passes empty and +hungry into the empty regions--that the things it can no more see with +eyes or handle with hands will yet be together somewhere. Hence the rich +leave to the rich, avoiding the man who most needs, or would best use +their money. Is there a lurking notion in the man of much goods, I +wonder, that, in the still watches of the night, when men sleep, he will +return to look on what he leaves behind him? Does he forget the torture +of seeing it at the command, in the enjoyment of another--his will +concerning this thing or that but a mockery? Does he know that he who +then holds them will not be able to conceive of their having been or +ever being another's as now they are his? + +As Alexa sat in the dim light by her brooding father she loathed the +shining thing he had again drawn under the bed-clothes--shrunk from it +as from a manacle the devil had tried to slip on her wrist. The judicial +assumption of society suddenly appeared in the emptiness of its +arrogance. Marriage for the sake of _things_. Was she not a live soul, +made for better than that She was ashamed of the innocent pleasure the +glittering toy had given her. + +The laird cast now and then a glance at her face, and sighed. He +gathered from it the conviction that she would be a cruel step-mother to +his children, her mercy that of a loveless non-collector. It should not +be. He would do better for them than that. He loved his daughter, but +needed not therefore sacrifice his last hopes where the sacrifice would +meet with no acceptance. House and land should be hers, but not his +jewels; not the contents of his closet. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + + +THE WILL. + +George came again to see him the next day, and had again a long +conference with him. The laird told him that he had fully resolved to +leave everything to his daughter, personal as well as real, on the one +condition that she should marry her cousin; if she would not, then the +contents of his closet, with his library, and certain articles +specified, should pass to Crawford. + +"And you must take care," he said, "if my death should come suddenly, +that anything valuable in this room be carried into the closet before it +is sealed up." + +Shrinking as he did from the idea of death, the old man was yet able, in +the interest of his possessions, to talk of it! It was as if he thought +the sole consolation that, in the loss of their owner, his things could +have, was the continuance of their intercourse with each other in the +heaven of his Mammon-besotted imagination. + +George responded heartily, showing a gratitude more genuine than fine: +every virtue partakes of the ground in which it is grown. He assured the +laird that, valuable as was in itself his contingent gift, which no man +could appreciate more than he, it would be far more valuable to him if +it sealed his adoption as his son-in-law. He would rather owe the +possession of the wonderful collection to the daughter than to the +father! In either case the precious property would be held as for him, +each thing as carefully tended as by the laird's own eye and hand! + +Whether it would at the moment have comforted the dying man to be +assured, as George might have him, that there would be nothing left of +him to grieve at the loss of his idols--nothing left of him but a +memory, to last so long as George and Alexa and one or two more should +remain unburied, I can not tell. It was in any case a dreary outlook for +him. Hope and faith and almost love had been sucked from his life by +"the hindering knot-grass" which had spread its white bloodless roots in +all directions through soul and heart and mind, exhausting and choking +in them everything of divinest origin. The weeds in George's heart were +of another kind, and better nor worse in themselves; the misery was that +neither of them was endeavoring to root them out. The thief who is +trying to be better is ages ahead of the most honorable man who is +making no such effort. The one is alive; the other is dead and on the +way to corruption. + +They treated themselves to a gaze together on the cup and the watch; +then George went to give directions to the laird's lawyer for the +drawing up of his new will. + +The next day it was brought, read, signed by the laird, and his +signature duly witnessed. + +Dawtie being on the spot was made one of the witnesses. The laird +trembled lest her fanaticism should break out in appeal to the lawyer +concerning the cup; he could not understand that the cup was nothing to +her; that she did not imagine herself a setter right of wrongs, but knew +herself her neighbor's keeper, one that had to deliver his soul from +death! Had the cup come into her possession, she would have sent it back +to the owner, but it was not worth her care that the Earl of Borland +should cast his eyes when he would upon a jewel in a cabinet! + +Dawtie was very white as he signed his name. Where the others saw but a +legal ceremony, she feared her loved master was assigning his soul to +the devil, as she had read of Dr. Faustus in the old ballad. He was +gliding away into the dark, and no one to whom he had done a good turn +with the Mammon of unrighteousness, was waiting to receive him into an +everlasting habitation! She had and she needed no special cause to love +her master, any more than to love the chickens and the calves; she loved +because something that could be loved was there present to her; but he +had always spoken kindly to her, and been pleased with her endeavor to +serve him; and now he was going where she could do nothing for +him!--except pray, as her heart and Andrew had taught her, knowing that +"all live unto _Him!_" But alas! what were prayers where the man would +not take the things prayed for! Nevertheless all things _were_ possible +with God, and she _would_ pray for him! + +It was also with white face, and it was with trembling hand that she +signed her own name, for she felt as if giving him a push down the icy +slope into the abyss. + +But when the thing was done, the old man went quietly to sleep, and +dreamed of a radiant jewel, glorious as he had never seen jewel, ever +within yet ever eluding his grasp. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + + +THE SANGREAL. + +The next day he seemed better, and Alexa began to hope again. But in the +afternoon his pulse began to sink, and when Crawford came he could +welcome him only with a smile and a vain effort to put out his hand. +George bent down to him. The others, at a sign from his eyes, left the +room. + +"I can't find it, George!" he whispered. + +"I put it away for you last night, you remember!" answered George. + +"Oh, no, you didn't! I had it in my hand a minute ago! But I fell into a +doze, and it is gone! George, get it!--get it for me, or I shall go +mad!" George went and brought it him. + +"Thank you! thank you! Now I remember! I thought I was in hell, and they +took it from me!" + +"Don't you be afraid, sir! Fall asleep when you feel inclined. I will +keep my eye on the cup." + +"You will not go away?" + +"No; I will stay as long as you like; there is nothing to take me away. +If I had thought you would be worse, I would not have gone last night." + +"I'm not worse! What put that in your head? Don't you hear me speaking +better? I've thought about it, George, and am convinced the cup is a +talisman! I am better all the time I hold it! It was because I let you +put it away that I was worse last night--for no other reason. If it were +not a talisman, how else could it have so nestled itself into my heart! +I feel better, always, the moment I take it in my hand! There is +something more than common about that chalice! George, what if it should +be the Holy Grail!" + +He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his +countenance. His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. +Slowly his aged cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if +the joy of his life was come. + +"What if it should be the Holy Grail!" he repeated, and fell asleep with +the words on his lips. + +As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside +him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not +make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed +them. He seemed to think he was there for no good. + +"Would you like me to call Alexa?" said George. + +"Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!" he replied. + +George rose to go and call her. + +"Beware of her!" said the laird, with glazy eyes, "Beware of Dawtie!" + +"How?" asked George. + +"Beware of her," he repeated. "If she can get the cup, she will! She +would take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call +Dawtie; call Dawtie!" + +Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George +went and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. + +"I will find her," she said, and rose, but turned and asked: + +"How does he seem now?" + +"Rather worse," George answered. + +"Are you going to be with him through the night?" + +"I am; he insists on my staying with him," replied George, almost +apologetically. + +"Then," she returned, "you must have some supper. We will go down, and +send up Dawtie." + +He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress +found her. + +When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, "and white with +the whiteness of what is dead." + +She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a +little, he began to talk wildly. + +"Oh, Agnes!" he cried, "do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what +Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; +my righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I _will_ go with +you. There! Slip that under your white robe--washed in the blood of the +Lamb. That will hide it--with the rest of my sins! The unbelieving +husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; I should +be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but it must +be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What should +I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single thing +besides--and it's so cold to have but one thing on--I mean one thing in +your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would be worse +than coming without it!" + +He was talking to his wife!--persuading her to smuggle the cup into +heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray +for him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her +prayer come only from her lips. + +"Ah," said the voice of her master, "I thought so! How could I go up, +and you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was +impossible!" + +Dawtie opened her eyes--and there he was, holding back the curtain and +looking round the edge of it with a face of eagerness, effort, and hate, +as of one struggling to go, and unable to break away. + +She rose to her feet. + +"You are a fiend!" he cried. "I _will_ go with Agnes!" He gave a cry, +and ceased, and all was still. They heard the cry in the kitchen, and +came running up. + +They found Dawtie bending over her master, with a scared face. He seemed +to have struck her, for one cheek was marked with red streaks across its +whiteness. + +"The Grail! the Holy Grail!" he cried. "I found it! I was bringing it +home! She took it from me! She wants it to--" + +His jaw fell, and he was dead. Alexa threw herself beside the body. +George would have raised her, but she resisted, and lay motionless. He +stood then behind her, watching an opportunity to get the cup from under +the bed-clothes, that he might put it in the closet. + +He ordered Dawtie to fetch water for her mistress; but Alexa told her +she did not want any. Once and again George tried to raise her, and get +his hand under the bed-clothes to feel for the cup. + +"He is not dead!" cried Alexa; "he moved!" + +"Get some brandy," said George. + +She rose, and went to the table for the brandy. George, with the +pretense of feeling the dead man's heart, threw back the clothes. He +could find no cup. It had got further down! He would wait! + +Alexa lifted her father's head on her arm, but it was plain that brandy +could not help. She went and sat on a chair away from the bed, hopeless +and exhausted. + +George lifted the clothes from the foot of the bed, then from the +further side, and then from the nearer, without attracting her +attention. The cup was nowhere to be seen! He put his hand under the +body, but the cup was not there! He had to leave the room that Dawtie +and Meg might prepare it for burial. Alexa went to her chamber. + +A moment after, George returned, called Meg to the door, and said: + +"There must be a brass cup in the bed somewhere! I brought it to amuse +him. He was fond of odd things, you know! If you should find it--" + +"I will take care of it," answered Meg, and turned from him curtly. + +George felt he had not a friend in the house, and that he must leave +things as they were! The door of the closet was locked, and he could not +go again to the death-chamber to take the laird's keys from the head of +the bed! He knew that the two women would not let him. It had been an +oversight not to secure them! He was glad the watch was safe: that he +had put in the closet before!--but it mattered little when the cup was +missing! He went to the stable, got out his horse, and rode home in the +still gray of a midsummer night. + +The stillness and the night seemed thinking to each other. George had +little imagination, but what he had woke in him now as he rode slowly +along. Step by step the old man seemed following him, on silent +church-yard feet, through the eerie whiteness of the night. There was +neither cloud nor moon, only stars above and around, and a great cold +crack in the north-east. He was crying after him, in a voice he could +not make him hear! Was he not straggling to warn him not to come into +like condemnation? The voice seemed trying to say, "I know! I know now! +I would not believe, but I know now! Give back the cup; give it back!" + +George did not allow to himself that there was "anything" there. It was +but a vague movement in that commonplace, unmysterious region, his mind! +He heard nothing, positively nothing, with his ears--therefore there was +nothing! It was indeed somehow as if one were saying the words, but in +reality they came only as a thought rising, continually rising, in his +mind! It was but a thought-sound, and no speech: "I know now! I know +now! Give it back; give the cup back!" He did not ask himself how the +thought came; he cast it away as only that insignificant thing, a +thought--cast it away none the less that he found himself answering +it--"I can't give it back; I can't find it! Where did you put it? You +must have taken it with you!" + +"What rubbish!" he said to himself ten times, waking up; "of course +Dawtie took it! Didn't the poor old fellow warn me to beware of her! +Nobody but her was in the room when we ran in, and found him at the +point of death! Where did you put it? I can't find it! I can't give it +back!" + +He went over in his mind all that had taken place. The laird had the cup +when he left him to call Dawtie; and when they came, it was nowhere! He +was convinced the girl had secured it--in obedience, doubtless, to the +instruction of her director, ambitious to do justice, and curry favor by +restoring it! But he could do nothing till the will was read! Was it +possible Lexy had put it away? No; she had not had the opportunity! + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + + +GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. + +With slow-pacing shadows, the hot hours crept athwart the heath, and the +house, and the dead, and carried the living with them in their invisible +current. There is no tide in time; it is a steady current, not +returning. Happy they whom it bears inward to the center of things! +Alas, for those whom it carries outward to "the flaming walls of +creation!" The poor old laird who, with all his refinement, all his +education, all his interest in philology, prosody, history, and +_reliquial_ humanity, had become the slave of a goblet, had left it +behind him, had faced the empty universe empty-handed, and vanished with +a shadow-goblet in his heart; the eyes that gloated over the gems had +gone to help the grass to grow. But the will of the dead remained to +trouble for a time the living, for it put his daughter in a painful +predicament: until Crawford's property was removed from the house, it +would give him constant opportunity of prosecuting the suit which Aleza +had reason to think he intended to resume, and the thought of which had +become to her insupportable. + +Great was her astonishment when she learned to what the door in the +study led, and what a multitude of curious and valuable things were +there of whose presence in the house she had never dreamed. She would +gladly have had them for herself; and it pained her to the heart to +think of the disappointment of the poor ghost when he saw, if he could +see, his treasured hoard emptied out of its hidden and safe abode. For, +even if George should magnanimously protest that he did not care for the +things enough to claim them, and beg that they might remain where they +were, she could not grant his request, for it would be to accept them +from him. Had her father left them to her, she would have kept them as +carefully as even he could desire--with this difference only, that she +would not have shut them up from giving pleasure to others. + +She was growing to care more about the truth--gradually coming to see +that much she had taken for a more liberal creed, was but the same +falsehoods in weaker forms, less repulsive only to a mind indifferent to +the paramount claims of God on His child. She saw something of the +falseness and folly of attempting to recommend religion as not so +difficult, so exclusive, so full of prohibition as our ancestors +believed it. She saw that, although Andrew might regard some things as +freely given which others thought God forbade, yet he insisted on what +was infinitely higher and more than the abandonment of everything +pleasant--the abnegation, namely, of the very self, and the reception of +God instead. She had hitherto been, with all her supposed progress, only +a recipient of the traditions of the elders! There must be a deeper +something--the real religion! She did not yet see that the will of God +lay in another direction altogether than the heartiest reception of +dogma!--that God was too great and too generous to care about anything +except righteousness, and only wanted us to be good children!--that even +honesty was but the path toward righteousness, a condition so pure that +honesty itself would never more be an object of thought! + +She pondered much about her father, and would find herself praying for +him, careless of what she had been taught. She could not blind herself +to what she knew. He had not been a bad man, as men count badness, but +could she in common sense think him a glorified saint, shining in white +robes? The polite, kind old man! her own father!--could she, on the +other hand, believe him in flames forever? If so, what a religion was +that which required her to believe it, and at the same time to rejoice +in the Lord always! + +She longed for something positive to believe, something into accordance +with which she might work her feelings. She was still on the outlook for +definite intellectual formulae to hold. Her intercourse with Andrew had +as yet failed to open her eyes to the fact that the faith required of us +is faith in a person, and not in the truest of statements concerning +anything, even concerning him; or to the fact, that faith in the living +One, the very essence of it, consists in obedience to Him. A man can +obey before he is sure, and except he obey the command he knows to be +right, wherever it may come from, he will never be sure. To find the +truth, man or woman must be true. + +But she much desired another talk with Andrew. + +Persuading himself that Alexa's former feeling toward him must in her +trouble reassert itself, and confident that he would find her loath to +part with her father's wonderful collection, George waited the effect of +the will. After the reading of it he had gone away directly, that his +presence might not add to the irritation which he concluded, not without +reason, it must, even in the midst of her sorrow, cause in her; but at +the end of a week he wrote, saying that he felt it his duty, if only in +gratitude to his friend, to inform himself as to the attention the +valuable things he had left him might require. He assured Alexa that he +had done nothing to influence her father in the matter, and much +regretted the awkward position in which his will had placed both her and +him. At the same time it was not unnatural that he should wish such +precious objects to be possessed by one who would care for them as he +had himself cared for them. He hoped, therefore, that she would allow +him access to her father's rooms. He would not, she might rest assured, +intrude himself upon her sorrow, though he would be compelled to ask her +before long whether he might hope that her father's wish would have any +influence in reviving the favor which had once been the joy of his life. + +Alexa saw that if she consented to see him he would take it as a +permission to press his claim, and the idea was not to be borne. She +wrote him therefore a stiff letter, telling him the house was at his +service, but he must excuse herself. + +The next morning brought him early to Potlurg. The cause of his haste +was his uneasiness about the chalice. + +Old Meg opened the door to him, and he followed her straight into the +drawing-room. Alexa was there, and far from expecting him. But, annoyed +at his appearance as she was, she found his manner and behavior less +unpleasant than at any time since his return. He was gentle and +self-restrained, assuming no familiarity beyond that of a distant +relative, and gave the impression of having come against his will, and +only from a sense of duty. + +"Did you not have my note?" she asked. + +He had hoped, he said, to save her the trouble of writing. + +She handed him her father's bunch of keys, and left the room. + +George went to the laird's closet, and having spent an hour in it, again +sought Alexa. The wonderful watch was in his hand. + +"I feel the more pleasure, Alexa," he said, "in begging you to accept +this trinket, that it was the last addition to your dear father's +collection. I had myself the good fortune to please him with it a few +days before his death." + +"No, thank you, George," returned Alexa. "It is a beautiful thing--my +father showed it me--but I can not take it." + +"It was more of you than him I thought when I purchased it, Alexa. You +know why I could not offer it you." + +"The same reason exists now." + +"I am sorry to have to force myself on your attention, but--" + +"Dawtie!" cried Alexa. + +Dawtie came running. + +"Wait a minute, Dawtie. I will speak to you presently," said her +mistress. + +George rose. He had laid the watch on the table, and seemed to have +forgotten it. + +"Please take the watch with you," said Alexa. + +"Certainly, if you wish it!" he answered. + +"And my father's keys, too," she added. + +"Will you not be kind enough to take charge of them?" + +"I would rather not be accountable for anything under them. No; you must +take the keys." + +"I can not help regretting," said George, "that your honored father +should have thought fit to lay this burden of possession upon me." + +Alexa made no answer. + +"I comforted myself with the hope that you would feel them as much your +own as ever!" he resumed, in a tone of disappointment and dejection. + +"I did not know of their existence before I knew they were never to be +mine." + +"Never, Alexa?" + +"Never." + +George walked to the door, but there turned, and said: + +"By the way, you know that cup your father was so fond of?" + +"No." + +"Not that gold cup, set with stones?" + +"I saw something in his hands once, in bed, that might have been a cup." + +"It is a thing of great value--of pure gold, and every stone in it a +gem." + +"Indeed!" returned Alexa, with marked indifference. + +"Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope +Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced +it at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was +wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him +when he died; that I know." + +"And it is missing?" + +"Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the +laird at the last." + +Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up +with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing. + +"Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?" asked her mistress. + +"No, ma'am." + +"Do you know it?" + +"Very well, ma'am." + +"Then you don't know what has become of it?" + +"No, ma'am; I know nothing about it." + +"Take care, Dawtie," said George. "This is a matter that will have to be +searched into." + +"When did you last see it, Dawtie?" inquired Alexa. + +"The very day my master died, ma'am. He was looking at it, but when he +saw I saw him he took it inside the bed-clothes." + +"And you have not seen it since?" + +"No, ma'am." + +"And you do not know where it is?" said George. + +"No, sir. How should I?" + +"You never touched it?" + +"I can not say that, sir; I brought it him from his closet; he sent me +for it." + +"What do you think may have become of it?" + +"I don't know, sir." + +"Would you allow me to make a thorough search in the place where it was +last seen?" asked George, turning to his cousin. + +"By all means. Dawtie, go and help Mr. Crawford to look." + +"Please, ma'am, it can't be there. We've had the carpet up, and the +floor scrubbed. There's not a hole or a corner we haven't been into--and +that yesterday." + +"We must find it," said George. "It must be in the house." + +"It must, sir," said Dawtie. + +But George more than doubted it + +"I do believe," he said, "the laird would rather have lost his whole +collection." + +"Indeed, sir, I think he would." + +"Then you have talked to him about it?" + +"Yes, I have, sir," answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the +question. + +"And you know the worth of the thing?" + +"Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say +pounds and pounds." + +"Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, _where is it?_" + +"I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!" + +"Why do you wish you did?" + +"Because--" began Dawtie, and stopped short; she shrunk from impugning +the honesty of the dead man--and in the presence of his daughter. + +"It looks a little fishy, don't it, Dawtie? Why not speak straight out? +Perhaps you would not mind searching Meg's trunk for me. She may have +taken it for a bit of old brass, you know." + +"I will answer for my servants, Mr. Crawford," said Alexa. "I will not +have old Meg's box searched." + +"It is desirable to get rid of any suspicion," replied George. + +"I have none," returned Alexa. + +George was silent + +"I will ask Meg, if you like, sir," said Dawtie; "but I am sure it will +be no use. A servant in this house soon learns not to go by the look of +things. We don't treat anything here as if we knew all about it." + +"When did you see the goblet first?" persisted George. + +"Goblet, sir? I thought you were speaking of the gold cup." + +By _goblet_ Dawtie understood a small iron pot. + +"Goblet, or cup, or chalice--whatever you like to call it--I ask how you +came to know about it." + +"I know very little about it." + +"It is plain you know more than you care to tell. If you will not answer +me you will have to answer a magistrate." + +"Then I will answer a magistrate," said Dawtie, beginning to grow angry. + +"You had better answer me, Dawtie. It will be easier for you. What do +you know about the cup?" + +"I know it was not master's, and is not yours--really and truly." + +"What can have put such a lie in your head?" + +"If it be a lie, sir, it is told in plain print." + +"Where?" + +But Dawtie judged it time to stop. She bethought herself that she would +not have said so much had she not been angry. + +"Sir," she answered, "you have been asking me questions all this time, +and I have been answering them; it is your turn to answer me one." + +"If I see proper." + +"Did my old master tell you the history of that cup?" + +"I do not choose to answer the question." + +"Very well, sir." + +Dawtie turned to leave the room. + +"Stop! stop!" cried Crawford; "I have not done with you yet, my girl. +You have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong +to the laird." + +"I do not choose to answer the question," said Dawtie. + +"Then you shall answer it to a magistrate." + +"I will, sir," she replied, and stood. + +Crawford left the room. + +He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on +each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her +heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it. + +The words rose in her mind: + +"It must needs be that offenses come, but woe onto that man by whom they +come." + +She was at once filled with pity for the man who could side with the +wrong, and want everything his own way, for, sooner or later, confusion +must be his portion; the Lord had said: "There is nothing covered that +shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known." + +"He needs to be shamed," she said, "but he is thy child; care for him, +too." + +George felt that he had not borne a dignified part, and knew that his +last chance with Alexa was gone. Then he too felt the situation +unendurable, and set about removing his property. He wrote to Alexa that +he could no longer doubt it her wish to be rid of the collection, and +able to use the room. It was desirable also, he said, that a thorough +search should be made in those rooms before he placed the matter of the +missing cup in the hands of the magistrates. + +Dawtie's last words had sufficed to remove any lingering doubt as to +what had become of the chalice. It did not occur to him that one so +anxious to do the justice of restoration would hardly be capable of +telling lies, of defiling her soul that a bit of property might be +recovered; he took it for granted that she meant to be liberally +rewarded by the earl. + +George would have ill understood the distinction Dawtie made--that the +body of the cup _might_ belong to him, but the soul of the cup _did_ +belong to another; or her assertion that where the soul was there the +body ought to be; or her argument that He who had the soul had the right +to ransom the body--a reasoning possible to a child-like nature only; +she had pondered to find the true law of the case, and this was her +conclusion. + +George suspected, and grew convinced that Alexa was a party to the +abstraction of the cup. She had, he said, begun to share in the +extravagant notions of a group of pietists whose leader was that +detestable fellow, Ingram. Alexa was attached to Dawtie, and Dawtie was +one of them. He believed Alexa would do anything to spite him. To bring +trouble on Dawtie would be to punish her mistress, and the pious farmer, +too. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + + +THE PROSECUTION. + +As soon as Crawford had his things away from Potlurg, satisfied the cup +was nowhere among them, he made a statement of the case to a magistrate +he knew; and so represented it, as the outcome of the hypocrisy of +pietism, that the magistrate, hating everything called fanatical, at +once granted him a warrant to apprehend Dawtie on the charge of theft. + +It was a terrible shock. Alexa cried out with indignation. Dawtie turned +white and then red, but uttered never a word. + +"Dawtie," said her mistress, "tell me what you know about the cup. You +do know something that you have not told me!" + +"I do, ma'am, but I will not tell it except I am forced." + +"That you are going to be, my poor girl! I am very sorry, for I am +perfectly sure you have done nothing you know to be wrong!" + +"I have done nothing you or anybody would think wrong, ma'am." + +She put on her Sunday frock, and went down to go with the policeman. To +her joy she found her mistress at the door, ready to accompany her. They +had two miles or more to walk, but that was nothing to either. + +Questioned by the magistrate, not unkindly, for her mistress was there, +Dawtie told everything--how first she came upon the likeness and history +of the cup, and then saw the cup itself in her master's hands. + +Crawford told how the laird had warned him against Dawtie, giving him to +understand that she had been seized with a passion for the goblet such +that she would peril her soul to possess it, and that he dared not let +her know where it was. + +"Sir," said Dawtie, "he could na hae distrusted me like that, for he gae +me his keys, and sent me to fetch the cup when he was ower ill to gang +till't." + +"If that be true, your worship," said Crawford, "it does not affect the +fact that the cup was in the hands of the old man when I left him and +she went to him, and from that moment it has not been seen." + +"Did he have it when you went to him?" asked the magistrate. + +"I didna see't, sir. He was in a kind o' faint when I got up." + +Crawford said that, hearing a cry, he ran up again, and found the old +man at the point of death, with just strength to cry out before he died, +that Dawtie had taken the cup from him. Dawtie was leaning over him, but +he had not imagined the accusation more than the delirious fancy of a +dying man, till it appeared that the cup was not to be found. + +The magistrate made out Dawtie's commitment for trial. He remarked that +she might have been misled by a false notion of duty: he had been +informed that she belonged to a sect claiming the right to think for +themselves on the profoundest mysteries--and here was the result! There +was not a man in Scotland less capable of knowing what any woman was +thinking, or more incapable of doubting his own insight. + +Doubtless, he went on, she had superstitiously regarded the cup as +exercising a Satanic influence on the mind of her master; but even if +she confessed it now, he must make an example of one whose fanaticism +would set wrong right after the notions of an illiterate sect, and not +according to the laws of the land. He just send the case to be tried by +a jury! If she convinced the twelve men composing that jury, of the +innocence she protested, she would then be a free woman. + +Dawtie stood very white all the time he was speaking, and her lips every +now and then quivered as if she were going to cry, but she did not. +Alexa offered bail, but his worship would not accept it: his righteous +soul was too indignant. She went to Dawtie and kissed her, and together +they followed the policeman to the door, where Dawtie was to get into a +spring-cart with him, and be driven to the county town, there to lie +waiting the assizes. + +The bad news had spread so fast that as they came out, up came Andrew. +At sight of him Dawtie gently laughed, like a pleased child. The +policeman, who, like many present, had been prejudiced by her looks in +her favor, dropped behind, and she walked between her mistress and +Andrew to the cart. + +"Dawtie!" said Andrew. + +"Oh, Andrew! has God forgotten me?" she returned, stopping short. + +"For God to forget," answered Andrew, "would be not to be God any +longer!" + +"But here I am on my road til a prison, Andrew! I didna think He would +hae latten them do't!" + +"A bairn micht jist as weel say, whan its nurse lays't intil its cradle, +and says: 'Noo, lie still!' 'Mammy, I didna think ye would hae latten +her do't!' He's a' aboot ye and in ye, Dawtie, and this is come to ye +jist to lat ye ken 'at He is. He raised ye up jist to spen' His glory +upo'! I say, Dawtie, did Jesus Christ deserve what He got?" + +"No ae bit, Andrew! What for should ye speir sic a thing?" + +"Then do ye think God hae forgotten Him?" + +"May be He thoucht it jist for a minute!" + +"Well, ye hae thoucht jist for a minute, and ye maun think it nae mair." + +"But God couldna forget _Him_, An'rew: He got it a' for doin' His will!" + +"Evil may come upon as from other causes than doing the will of God; but +from whatever cause it comes, the thing we have to see to is, that +through it all we do the will of God!" + +"What's His will noo, An'rew?" + +"That ye tak it quaietly. Shall not the Father do wi' His ain child what +He will! Can He no shift it frae the tae airm to the tither, but the +bairn maun girn? He has ye, Dawtie! It's a' richt!" + +"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him!" said Dawtie. + +She raised her head. The color had come back to her face; her lips had +ceased to tremble; she stepped on steadily to where, a few yards from +the door, the spring-cart was waiting her. She bade her mistress +good-bye, then turned to Andrew and said: + +"Good-bye, An'rew! I am not afraid." + +"I am going with you, Dawtie," said Andrew. + +"No, sir, you can't do that!" said the policeman; "at least you can't go +in the trap!" + +"No, no, Andrew!" cried Dawtie. "I would rather go alone. I am quite +happy now. God will do with me as He pleases!" + +"I am going with you," said Alexa, "if the policeman will let me." + +"Oh, yes, ma'am! A lady's different!--I've got to account for the +prisoner you see, sir!" + +"I don't think you should, ma'am," said Dawtie. "It's a long way!" + +"I am going," returned her mistress, decisively. + +"God bless you, ma'am!" said Andrew. + +Alexa had heard what he said to Dawtie. A new light had broken upon her. +"God is like that, is He?" she said to herself. "You can go close up to +Him whenever you like?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + + +A TALK AT POTLURG. + +It would be three weeks before the assizes came. The house of Potlurg +was searched by the police from garret to cellar, but in vain; the cup +was not found. + +As soon as they gave up searching, Alexa had the old door of the laird's +closet, discernible enough on the inside, reopened, and the room +cleaned. Almost unfurnished as it was, she made of it her +sitting-parlor. But often her work or her book would lie on her lap, and +she would find herself praying for the dear father for whom she could do +nothing else now, but for whom she might have done so much, had she been +like Dawtie. Her servant had cared for her father more than she! + +As she sat there one morning alone, brooding a little, thinking a +little, reading a little, and praying through it all, Meg appeared, and +said Maister Andrew wanted to see her. + +He had called more than once to inquire after Dawtie, but had not before +asked to see her mistress. + +Alexa felt herself unaccountably agitated. When he walked into the room, +however, she was able to receive him quietly. He came, he said, to ask +when she had seen Dawtie. He would have gone himself to see her, but his +father was ailing, and he had double work to do. Besides, she did not +seem willing to see him! Alexa told him she had been with her the day +before, and had found her a little pale, and, she feared, rather +troubled in her mind. She said she would trust God to the last, but +confessed herself assailed by doubts. + +"I said to her," continued Alexa, "'Be sure, Dawtie, God will make your +innocence known one day!' She answered: 'Of course, ma'am, there is +nothing hidden that shall not be known; but I am not impatient about +that. The Jews to this day think Jesus an impostor!' 'But surely,' said +I, 'you care that people should understand you are no thief, Dawtie!' +'Yes, I do,' she answered; 'all I say is, that is does not trouble me. I +want only to be downright sure that God is looking after me all the +time. I am willing to sit in prison till I die, if He pleases.' 'God +can't please that!' I said. 'If He does not care to take me out, I do +not care to go out,' said Dawtie. 'It's not that I'm good; it's only +that I don't care for anything He doesn't care for. What would it be +that all men acquitted me, if God did not trouble Himself about His +children!'" + +"You see, ma'am, it comes to this," said Andrew: "it is God Dawtie cares +about, not herself! If God is all right, Dawtie is all right. The _if_ +sometimes takes one shape, sometimes another, but the fear is the +same--and the very fear is faith. Sometimes the fear is that there may +be no God, and that you might call a fear for herself; but when Dawtie +fears lest God should not be caring for her, that is a fear for God; for +if God did not care for His creature, He would be no true God!" + +"Then He could not exist!" + +"True; and so you are back on the other fear!" + +"What would you have said to her, Mr. Ingram?" + +"I would have reminded her that Jesus was perfectly content with His +Father; that He knew what was coming on Himself, and never doubted +Him--just gloried that His Father was what He knew Him to be." + +"I see! But what did you mean when you said that Dawtie's very fear was +faith?" + +"Think, ma'am: people that only care to be saved, that is, not to be +punished for their sins, are anxious only about themselves, not about +God and His glory at all. They talk about the glory of God, but they +make it consist in pure selfishness! According to them, He seeks +everything for Himself; which is dead against the truth of God, a +diabolic slander of God. It does not trouble them to believe such things +about God; they do not even desire that God should not be like that; +they only want to escape Him. They dare not say God will not do this or +that, however clear it be that it would not be fair; they are in terror +of contradicting the Bible. They make more of the Bible than of God, and +so fail to find the truth of the Bible, and accept things concerning God +which are not in the Bible, and are the greatest of insults to Him! +Dawtie never thinks about saving her soul; she has no fear about her +soul; she is only anxious about God and His glory. How the doubts come, +God knows; but if she did not love God, they would not be there. Jesus +says God will speedily avenge His elect--those that cry day and night to +Him--which I take to mean that He will soon save them from all such +miseries. Free Dawtie from unsureness about God, and she has no fear +left. All is well, in the prison or on the throne of God, if He only be +what she thinks He is. If any one say that doubt can not coexist with +faith, I answer, it can with love, and love is the greater of the two, +yea, is the very heart of faith itself. God's children are not yet God's +men and women. The God that many people believe in, claiming to be _the_ +religious because they believe in Him, is a God not worth believing in, +a God that ought not to be believed in. The life given by such a God +would be a life not worth living, even if He made His votaries as happy +as they would choose to be. A God like that could not make a woman like +Dawtie anxious about Him! If God be not each as Jesus, what good would +the proving of her innocence be to Dawtie! A mighty thing indeed that +the world should confess she was not a thief! But to know that there is +a perfect God, one for us to love with all the power of love of which we +feel we are capable, is worth going out of existence for; while to know +that God himself, must make every throb of consciousness a divine +ecstasy!" + +Andrew's heart was full, and out of its fullness he spoke. Never before +had he been able in the presence of Alexa to speak as he felt. Never +before had he had any impulse to speak as now. As soon would he have +gone to sow seed on a bare rock, as words of spirit and life in her +ears! + +"I am beginning to understand you," she said. "Will you forgive me? I +have been very self-confident and conceited! What a mercy things are not +as I thought they were--thought they ought to be!" + +"And the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the +sea!" said Andrew. "And men's hearts shall be full of bliss, because +they have found their Father, and He is what He is, and they are going +home to Him." + +He rose. + +"You will come and see me again soon--will you not?" she said. + +"As often as you please, ma'am; I am your servant." + +"Then come to-morrow." + +He went on the morrow, and the next day, and the day after--almost every +day while Dawtie was waiting her trial. + +Almost every morning Alexa went by train to see Dawtie; and the news she +brought, Andrew would carry to the girl's parents. Dawtie continued +unwilling to see Andrew: he had had trouble enough with her already, she +said; but Andrew could not quite understand her refusal. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + + +A GREAT OFFERING. + +Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was +a cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath, +which came close up to the back of the house. + +When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and +Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw +her shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man +hands, he pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a +pitying admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and +ere she knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her +eyes that Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by +that sense of class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of +heaven, she attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the +conviction rose in her, which has often risen in such as she, that there +is a magnanimity demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional +dignity, but of conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to +be more than great, must stoop; that it was her part to make the +approach which, between equals, was the part of the man; the patroness +_must_ do what the woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman; +and he should not, because of the humility that dared not presume, fail +of what he deserved! + +"Andrew," she said, "I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not +like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now--know you as +far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!" + +"Oh, no, no, ma'am!" protested Andrew. + + +"Hear me out, Andrew," she interrupted--then paused a little. + +"Tell me," she resumed, "ought we not to love best the best we know?" + +"Surely, ma'am!" he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what +was on the way. + +"Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the +world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take +me, I am yours." + +She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave +and a right thing. + +Andrew stood stock-still. + +"_Me_, ma'am!" he gasped, and grew pale--then red as a foggy sun. But he +made scarcely a moment's pause. + +"It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!" he said. "But I can not +make the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I +can say no more." + +His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to +conceal his emotion. + +And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself +up with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved +divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said: + +"Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not +be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!" + +"Thank you, ma'am!" said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and +neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house. + +Said Alexa to herself: + +"I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I +made no mistake in _him_!" + +When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and +said, holding it in his hand as he spoke: + +"Good-night, ma'am! You _will_ send for me if you want me?" + +"I will. Good-night!" said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on +her heart. + +Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day +old Meg, at least, saw no change in her. + +Said Andrew to himself: + +"I will be her servant always." + +He was humbled, not uplifted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + + +ANOTHER OFFERING. + +The next evening, that before the trial, Andrew presented himself at the +prison, and was admitted. Dawtie came to meet him, held out her hand, +and said: + +"Thank you, Andrew!" + +"How are you, Dawtie?" + +"Well enough, Andrew!" + +"God is with us, Dawtie." + +"Are you sure, Andrew?" + +"Dawtie, I can not see God's eyes looking at me, but I am ready to do +what He wants me to do, and so I feel He is with me." + +"Oh, Andrew, I wish I could be sure!" + +"Let us take the risk together, Dawtie!" + +"What risk, Andrew?" + +"The risk that makes you not sure, Dawtie--the risk that is at once the +worst and the least--the risk that our hope should be in vain, and there +is no God. But, Dawtie, there is that in my heart that cries Christ +_did_ die, and _did_ rise again, and God is doing His best. His perfect +love is our perfect safety. It is hard upon Him that His own children +will not trust Him!" + +"If He would but show Himself!" + +"The sight of Him now would make us believe in Him without knowing Him; +and what kind of faith would that be for Him or for us! We should be bad +children, taking Him for a weak parent! We must _know_ Him! When we do, +there will be no fear, no doubt. We shall run straight home! Dawtie, +shall we go together?" + +"Yes, surely, Andrew! God knows I try. I'm ready to do whatever you tell +me, Andrew!" + +"No, Dawtie! You must never do what I tell you, except you think it +right." + +"Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!" + +"We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!" + +"Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!" responded Dawtie, turning to +her vernacular. + +"Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!" + +She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes +she looked through and beyond his words. + +She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed. + +"Winna ye, Dawtie?" said Andrew, holding out his hands. + +"I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew." + +"Ye h'avenly idiot," cried Andrew. "Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?" + +Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head--straight up, her head fell +back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, her +arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew +taken her. + +"Andrew! Andrew!" she sighed, and was still in his arms. + +"Winna ye, Dawtie?" he whispered. + +"Wait," she murmured; "wait." + +"I winna wait, Dawtie." + +"Wait till ye hear what they'll say the morn." + +"Dawtie, I'm ashamed o' ye. What care I, an' what daur ye care what they +say. Are ye no the Lord's clean yowie? Gien ye care for what ony man +thinks o' ye but the Lord himsel', ye're no a' His. Gien ye care for +what I think o' ye, ither-like nor what He thinks, ye're no sae His as I +maun hae ye afore we pairt company--which, please God, 'ill be on the +ither side o' eternity." + +"But, An'rew, it winna do to say o' yer father's son 'at he took his +wife frae the jail." + +"'Deed they s' say naething ither! What ither cam I for? Would ye hae me +ashamed o' ane o' God's elec'--a lady o' the Lord's ain coort?" + +"Eh, but I'm feart it's a' the compassion o' yer hert, sir. Ye wad fain +mak' up to me for the disgrace. Ye could weel do wantin' me." + +"I winna say," returned Andrew, "that I couldna live wantin' ye, for +that wad be to say I wasna worth offerin' ye, and it would be to deny +Him 'at made you and me for ane anither, but I wad have a some sair +time! I'll jist speak to the minister to be ready the minute the Lord +opens yer prison-door." + +The same moment in came the governor with his wife; they were much +interested in Dawtie. + +"Sir, and ma'am," said Andrew, "will you please witness that this woman +is my wife?" + +"It's Maister Andrew Ingram o' the Knowe," said Dawtie. "He wants me to +merry him." + +"I want her to go before the court as my wife," said Andrew. "She would +have me wait till the jury said this or that. The jury give me my wife. +As if I didn't know her." + +"You won't have him, I see," said Mrs. Innes, turning to Dawtie. + +"Hae him!" cried Dawtie, "I wad hae him gien there war but the heid o' +him." + +"Then you are husband and wife," said the governor; "only you should +have the thing done properly by the minister--afterward." + +"I'll see to that, sir," answered Andrew. + +"Come, wife," said the governor, "we must let them have a few minutes +alone together." + +"There," said Andrew, when the door closed, "ye're my wife, noo, Dawtie. +Lat them acquit ye or condemn ye, it's you an' me, noo, whatever come!" + +Dawtie broke into a flood of tears--an experience all but new to +her--and found it did her good. She smiled as she wiped her eyes, and +said: + +"Weel, An'rew, gien the Lord hasna appeart in His ain likeness to +deliver me, He's done the next best thing." + +"Dawtie," answered Andrew, "the Lord never does the next best. The thing +He does is always better than the thing He does not." + +"Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan'," said Dawtie, but Andrew went +on. + +"The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to +gie him--or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie. +Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the +minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain +God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think +what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna +lat me come and see ye afore?" + +"I wull, An'rew; I was nae suner left to mysel' i' the prison than I +faun' mysel' thinkin' aboot _you_--you first, and no the Lord. I said to +mysel', 'This is awfu'. I'm leanin' upo' An'rew, and no upo' the First +and the Last.' I saw that that was to brak awa' frae Him that was +nearest me, and trust ane that was farther awa'--which wasna i' the holy +rizzon o' things. Sae I said to mysel' I would meet my fate wi' the Lord +alane, and wouldna hae you come 'atween Him and me. Noo ye hae 't, +An'rew." + +Andrew took her in his arms and said: + +"Thank ye, Dawtie. Eh, but I _am_ content And she thought she hadna +faith. Good-night, Dawtie. Ye maun gane to yer bed, an' grow stoot in +hert for the morn." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + + +AFTER THE VERDICT. + +Through the governor of the jail Andrew obtained permission to stand +near the prisoner at the trial. The counsel for the prosecution did all +he could, and the counsel for the defense not much--at least Dawtie's +friends thought so--and the judge summed up with the greatest +impartiality. Dawtie's simplicity and calmness, her confidence devoid of +self-assertion, had its influence on the jury, and they gave the +uncomfortable verdict of "_Not Proven_," so that Dawtie was discharged. + +Alexa had a carriage ready to take her home. As Dawtie went to it she +whispered to her husband: + +"Ye hae to tak me wantin' a character, Andrew." + +"Jesus went home without a character, and was well received," said +Andrew, with a smile. "You'll be over to-night to see the old folk?" + +"Yes, Andrew; I'm sure the mistress will let me." + +"Don't say a word to her of our marriage, except she has heard, and +mentions it. I want to tell her myself. You will find me at the croft +when you come, and I will go back with you." + +In the evening Dawtie came, and brought the message that her mistress +would like to see him. + +When he entered the room Alexa rose to meet him. He stopped short. + +"I thank you, ma'am," he said, "for your great kindness to Dawtie. We +were married in the prison. She is my wife now." + +"Married! Your wife?" echoed Alexa, flushing, and drawing back a step. + +"I had loved her long, ma'am; and when trouble came her the time came +for me to stand by her side." + +"You had not spoken to her then--till--" + +"Not till last night. I said before the governor of the prison and Mrs. +Innes that we were husband and wife. If you please, ma'am, we shall have +the proper ceremony as soon as possible." + +"I wish I had known," said Alexa--almost to herself, with a troubled +smile. + +"I wish you had, ma'am," responded Andrew. She raised her face with a +look of confidence. + +"Will you please to forget, Andrew?" + +Nobility had carried the day. She had not one mean thought either of him +or the girl. + +"To forget is not in man's power, ma'am; but I shall never think a +thought you would wish unthought." + +She held out her hand to him. They were friends forever. + +"Will you be married here, Andrew? The house is at your service," she +said. + +"Don't you think it ought to be at her father's, ma'am?" + +"You are right," said Alexa; and she sat down. + +Andrew stood in silence, for he saw she was meditating something. At +length she raised her head, and spoke. + +"You have been compelled to take the step sooner than you intended--have +you not?" + +"Yes, ma'am." + +"Then you can hardly be so well prepared as you would like to be!" + +"We shall manage." + +"It will hardly be convenient for your mother, I fear! You have nowhere +else to take her--have you?" + +"No, ma'am; but my mother loves us both. And," he added, simply, "where +there's room for me, there's room for her now!" + +"Would you mind if I asked you how your parents take it?" + +"They don't say much. You see, ma'am, we are all proud until we learn +that we have one Master, and we all are brethren. But they will soon get +over it." + +When I see a man lifting up those that are beneath him, not pulling down +those that are above him, I will believe in his communism. Those who +most resent being looked down upon, are in general the readiest to look +down upon others. It is not principle, it is not truth, it is themselves +they regard. Of all false divinities, Self is the most illogical. + +"If God had been the mighty monarch they represent Him," continued +Andrew, "He would never have let us come near Him!" + +"Did you hear Mr. Rackstraw's sermon on the condescension of God?" asked +Alexa. + +"The condescension of God, ma'am! There is no such thing. God never +condescended, with one Jove-like nod, all his mighty, eternal life! God +condescend to His children--their spirits born of His spirit, their +hearts the children of His heart! No, ma'am! there never was a falser, +uglier word in any lying sermon!" + +His eyes flashed and his face shone. Alexa thought she had never seen +him look so grand. + +"I see!" she answered. "I will never use the word about God again!" + +"Thank you, ma'am." + +"Why should you thank me?" + +"I beg your pardon; I had no right to thank you. But I am so tried with +the wicked things said about God by people who think they are speaking +to His pleasure and not in his despite, that I am apt to talk foolishly. +I don't wonder at God's patience with the wicked, but I do wonder at His +patience with the pious!" + +"They don't know better!" + +"How are they to know better while they are so sure about everything! I +would infinitely rather believe in no God at all, than in such a God as +they would have me believe in!" + +"Oh, but Andrew, I had not a glimmer of what you meant--of what you +really objected to, or what you loved! Now, I can not even recall what +it was I did not like in your teaching. I think it was that, instead of +listening to know what you meant, I was always thinking how to oppose +you, or trying to find out by what name you were to be called. One time +I thought you were an Arminian, another time a Socinian, then a +Swedenborgian, then an Arian! I read a history of the sects of the +middle ages, just to see where I could set you down. I told people you +did not believe this, and did not believe that, when I knew neither what +you believed, nor what you did not believe. I thought I did, but it was +all mistake and imagination. When you would not discuss things with me, +I thought you were afraid of losing the argument. Now I see that, +instead of disputing about opinions, I should have been saying: 'God be +merciful to me a sinner!'" + +"God be praised!" said Andrew. "Ma'am, you are a free woman! The Father +has called you, and you have said: 'Here I am.'" + +"I hope so, Andrew, thanks to God by you! But I am forgetting what I +wanted to say! Would it not be better--after you are married, I mean--to +let Dawtie stay with me awhile?--I will promise you not to work her too +hard," she added, with a little laugh. + +"I see, ma'am! It is just like you! You want people to know that you +believe in her!" + +"Yes; but I want also to do what I can to keep such good tenants. +Therefore I must add a room or two to your house, that there may be good +accommodation for you all." + +"You make thanks impossible, ma'am! I will speak to Dawtie about it. I +know she will be glad not to leave you! I will take care not to trouble +the house." + +"You shall do just as Dawtie and you please. Where Dawtie is, there will +be room for you!" + +Already Alexa's pain had grown quite bearable. + +Dawtie needed no persuading. She was so rich in the possession of Andrew +that she could go a hundred years without seeing him, she said. It was +only that he would come and see her, instead of her going to see him! + +In ten days they were married at her father's cottage. Her father and +mother then accompanied her and Andrew to the Knowe, to dine with +Andrew's father and mother. In the evening the new pair went out for a +walk in the old fields. + +"It _seems_, Dawtie, as if God was here!" said Andrew. + +"I would fain see him, Andrew! I would rather _you_ went out than God!" + +"Suppose he was nowhere, Dawtie?" + +"If God werena in _you_, ye wadna be what ye are to yer ignorant Dawtie, +Andrew! She needs her Father in h'aven sairer nor her Andrew! But I'm +sayin' things sae true 'at it's jist silly to say them! Eh, it's like +h'aven itsel' to be oot o' that prison, an' walkin' aboot wi' you! God +has gien me a' thing!--jist _a' thing_, Andrew!" + +"God was wi' ye i' the prison, Dawtie!" + +"Ay! But I like better to be wi' Him here!" + +"An' ye may be sure He likes better to ha'e ye here!" rejoined Andrew. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + + +AGAIN THE GOBLET. + +The next day Alexa set Dawtie to search the house yet again for the +missing goblet. + +"It must be somewhere!" she said. "We are beset with an absolute +contradiction: the thing can't be in the house! and it must be in the +house!" + +"If we do find it," returned Dawtie, "folk'll say them 'at could hide +could weel seek! I s' luik naegait wantin' you, mem!" + +The study was bare of books, and the empty shelves gave no hint of +concealment They stood in its dreariness looking vaguely round them. + +"Did it ever come to ye, mem," said Dawtie, "that a minute or twa passed +between Mr. Crawford comin' doon the stair wi' you, and me gaein' up to +the maister? When I gaed intil the room, he lay pantin' i' the bed; but +as I broodit upo' ilka thing alane i' the prison, he cam afore me, there +i' the bed, as gien he had gotten oot o' 't, and hidden awa' the cup, +and was jist gotten intil't again, the same moment I cam in." + +"Dying people will do strange things!" rejoined her mistress. "But it +brings us no nearer the cup!" + +"The surer we are, the better we'll seek!" said Dawtie. + +They began, and went over the room thoroughly--looking everywhere they +could think of. They had all but given it up to go on elsewhere, when +Dawtie, standing again in the middle and looking about in a sort of +unconscious hopelessness, found her eyes on the mantel-shelf, and went +and laid her hand upon it. It was of wood, and she fancied it a little +loose, but she could not move it. + +"When Andrew comes we'll get him to examine it!" said Alexa. + +He came in the evening, and Alexa told him what they had been doing. She +begged him to get tools, and see whether there was not a space under the +mantel-shelf. But Andrew, accustomed to ponder contrivances with Sandy, +would have a good look at it first He came presently upon a clever +little spring, pressing which he could lift the shelf: there under it, +sure enough, in rich response to the candle he held, flashed the gems of +the curiously wrought chalice of gold! Alexa gave a cry, Andrew drew a +deep breath, Dawtie laughed like a child. How they gazed on it, passed +it from one to the other, pored over the gems, and over the raised work +that inclosed them, I need not tell. They began to talk about what was +to be done with it. + +"We will send it to the earl!" said Alexa. + +"No," said Andrew; "that would be to make ourselves judges in the case! +Your father must have paid money for it; he gave it to Mr. Crawford, and +Mr. Crawford must not be robbed!" + +"Stop, Andrew!" said Alexa. "Everything in the next room was left to my +cousin, with the library in this; whatever else was left him was +individually described. The cup was not in the next room, and was not +mentioned. Providence has left us to do with it as we may judge right. I +think it ought to be taken to Borland Hall--and by Dawtie." + +"Well! She will mention that your father bought it?" + +"I will not take a shilling for it!" + +"Is not that because you are not quite sure you have the right to +dispose of it?" + +"I would not take the price of it if my father had left the cup +expressly to me!" + +"Had he done so, you would have a right to what he paid for it. To give +the earl the choice of securing it, would be a service rendered him. If +he were too poor to buy it, the thing would have to be considered." + +"Nothing could make me touch money for it. George would never doubt we +had concealed it in order to trick him out of it!" + +"He will think so all the same. It will satisfy him, and not a few +beside, that Dawtie ought to have been convicted. The thing is certainly +Mr. Crawford's--that is, his as not yours. Your father undoubtedly meant +him to have the cup; and God would not have you, even to serve the +right, take advantage of an accident. Whatever ought to be done with the +cup, Mr. Crawford ought to do it; it is his business to do right in +regard to it; and whatever advantage may be gained by doing right, Mr. +Crawford ought to have the chance of gaining it. Would you deprive him +of the opportunity, to which at least he has a right, of doing justice, +and delivering his soul?" + +"You would have us tell the earl that his cup is found, but Mr. Crawford +claims it?" said Alexa. + +"Andrew would have us take it to Mr. Crawford," said Dawtie, "and tell +him that the earl has a claim to it." + +"Tell him also," said Andrew, "where it was found, showing he has no +_legal_ right to it; and tell him he has no more moral right to it than +the laird could give him. Tell him, ma'am," continued Andrew, "that you +expect him to take it to the earl, that he may buy it if he will; and +say that if, after a fortnight, you find it is not in the earl's +possession, you will yourself ascertain from him whether the offer has +been made him." + +"That is just right," said Alexa. + +And so the thing was done. The cup is now in the earl's collection, and +without any further interference on her part. + +A few days after she and Dawtie carried the cup to Crawford, a parcel +arrived at Potlurg, containing a beautiful silver case, and inside the +case the jeweled watch--with a letter from George, begging Alexa to +accept his present, and assuring her of his conviction that the moment +he annoyed her with any further petition, she would return it. He +expressed his regret that he had brought such suffering upon Dawtie, and +said he was ready to make whatever amends her husband might think fit. + +Alexa accepted the watch, and wore it. She thought her father would like +her to do so. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + + +THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. + +The friendship of the three was never broken. I will not say that, as +she lay awake in the dark, the eyes of Alexa never renewed the tears of +that autumn night on which she turned her back upon the pride of self, +but her tears were never those of bitterness, of self-scorn, or of +self-pity. + +"If I am to be pitied," she would say to herself, "let the Lord pity me! +I am not ashamed, and will not be sorry. I have nothing to resent; no +one has wronged me." + +Andrew died in middle age. His wife said the Master wanted him for +something nobody else could do, or He would not have taken him from her. +She wept and took comfort, for she lived in expectation. + +One night when she and Alexa were sitting together at Potlurg, about a +month after his burial, speaking of many things with the freedom of a +long and tried love, Alexa said, after a pause of some duration: + +"Were you not very angry with me then, Dawtie?" + +"When, ma'am?" + +"When Andrew told you." + +"Told me what, ma'am? I must be stupid to-night, for I can't think what +you mean." + +"When he told you I wanted him, not knowing he was yours." + +"I ken naething o' what ye're mintin' at, mem," persisted Dawtie, in a +tone of bewilderment. + +"Oh! I thought you had no secrets from one another." + +"I don't know that we ever had--except things in his books that he said +were God's secrets, which I should understand some day, for God was +telling them as fast as He could get his children to understand them." + +"I see," sighed Alexa; "you were made for each other. But this is my +secret, and I have the right to tell it. He kept it for me to tell you. +I thought all the time you knew it." + +"I don't want to know anything Andrew would not tell me." + +"He thought it was my secret, you see, not his, and that was why he did +not tell you." + +"Of coarse, ma'am. Andrew always did what was right." + +"Well, then, Dawtie--I offered to be his wife if he would have me." + +"And what did he say?" asked Dawtie, with the composure of one listening +to a story learned from a book. + +"He told me he couldn't. But I'm not sure what he _said_. The words went +away." + +"When was it he asked you?" said Dawtie, sunk in thought. + +"The night but one before the trial," answered Alexa. + +"He micht hae ta'en you, then, i'stead o' me--a lady an' a'. Oh, mem! do +you think he took me 'cause I was in trouble? He micht hae been laird +himsel'." + +"Dawtie! Dawtie!" cried Alexa. "If you think that would have weighed +with Andrew, I ought to have been his wife, for I know him better than +you." + +Dawtie smiled at that. + +"But I do know, mem," she said, "that Andrew was fit to cast the +lairdship frae him to comfort ony puir lassie. I would ha' lo'ed him a' +the same." + +"As I have done, Dawtie," said Alexa, solemnly. "But he wouldn't have +thrown _me_ away for you, if he hadn't loved you, Dawtie. Be sure of +that. He might have made nothing of the lairdship, but he wouldn't have +made nothing of me." + +"That's true, mem. I dinna doobt it." + +"I love him still--and you mustn't mind me saying it, Dawtie. There are +ways of loving that are good, though there be some pain in them. Thank +God, we have our children to look after. You will let me say _our_ +children, won't you, Dawtie?" + +Some thought Alexa hard, some thought her cold, but the few that knew +her knew she was neither; and some of my readers will grant that such a +friend as Andrew was better than such a husband as George. + + + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 8944.txt or 8944.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/9/4/8944/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed Proofreaders + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Elect Lady + +Author: George MacDonald + + +Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8944] +This file was first posted on August 28, 2003 +Last Updated: March 9, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + + + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed +Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + + +</pre> + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ELECT LADY + </h1> + <h2> + By George MacDonald <br /> <br /> + </h2> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE ELECT LADY</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. AN ACCIDENT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. HELP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. AFTER SUPPER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. THE COUSINS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. IN THE GARDEN. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. ANDREW INGRAM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. GEORGE AND ANDREW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. THE CRAWFORDS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. SANDY AND GEORGE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. ANDREW AND DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. DAWTIE AND THE CUP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. ANDREW AND ALEXA. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. GEORGE AND ANDREW. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. WHAT IS IT WORTH? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOER. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. THE HEART OF THE HEART. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. THE WATCH. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. THE SANGREAL. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROSECUTION. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. A TALK AT POTLURG. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. A GREAT OFFERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER OFFERING. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. AFTER THE VERDICT. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. AGAIN THE GOBLET. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE ELECT LADY + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. LANDLORD'S DAUGHTER AND TENANT'S SON. + </h2> + <p> + In a kitchen of moderate size, flagged with slate, humble in its + appointments, yet looking scarcely that of a farmhouse—for there + were utensils about it indicating necessities more artificial than usually + grow upon a farm—with the corner of a white deal table between them, + sat two young people evidently different in rank, and meeting upon no + level of friendship. The young woman held in her hand a paper, which + seemed the subject of their conversation. She was about four- or + five-and-twenty, well grown and not ungraceful, with dark hair, dark hazel + eyes, and rather large, handsome features, full of intelligence, but a + little hard, and not a little regnant—as such features must be, + except after prolonged influence of a heart potent in self-subjugation. As + to her social expression, it was a mingling of the gentlewoman of + education, and the farmer's daughter supreme over the household and its + share in the labor of production. + </p> + <p> + As to the young man, it would have required a deeper-seeing eye than falls + to the lot of most observers, not to take him for a weaker nature than the + young woman; and the deference he showed her as the superior, would have + enhanced the difficulty of a true judgment. He was tall and thin, but + plainly in fine health; had a good forehead, and a clear hazel eye, not + overlarge or prominent, but full of light; a firm mouth, with a curious + smile; a sun-burned complexion; and a habit when perplexed of pinching his + upper lip between his finger and thumb, which at the present moment he was + unconsciously indulging. He was the son of a small farmer—in what + part of Scotland is of little consequence—and his companion for the + moment was the daughter of the laird. + </p> + <p> + “I have glanced over the poem,” said the lady, “and it seems to me quite + up to the average of what you see in print.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that be reason for printing it, ma'am?” asked the man, with amused + smile. + </p> + <p> + “It would be for the editor to determine,” she answered, not perceiving + the hinted objection. + </p> + <p> + “You will remember, ma'am, that I never suggested—indeed I never + thought of such a thing!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not forget. It was your mother who drew my attention to the verses.” + </p> + <p> + “I must speak to my mother!” he said, in a meditative way. + </p> + <p> + “You can not object to <i>my</i> seeing your work! She does not show it to + everybody. It is most creditable to you, such an employment of your + leisure.” + </p> + <p> + “The poem was never meant for any eyes but my own—except my + brother's.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the good of writing it, if no one was to see it?” + </p> + <p> + “The writing of it, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “For the exercise, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I hardly mean that.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid then I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do <i>you</i> never write anything but what you publish?” + </p> + <p> + “Publish! <i>I</i> never publish! What made you think of such a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “That you know so much about it, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “I know people connected with the papers, and thought it might encourage + you to see something in print. The newspapers publish so many poems now!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish it hadn't been just that one my mother gave you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “For one thing, it is not finished—as you will see when you read it + more carefully.” + </p> + <p> + “I did see a line I thought hardly rhythmical, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, ma'am; the want of rhythm there was intentional.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry for that. Intention is the worst possible excuse for wrong! + The accent should always be made to fall in the right place.” + </p> + <p> + “Beyond a doubt—but might not the right place alter with the sense?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. The rule is strict” + </p> + <p> + “Is there no danger of making the verse monotonous?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I have an idea, ma'am, that our great poets owe much of their music to + the liberties they take with the rhythm. They treat the rule as its + masters, and break it when they see fit.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be wrong there! But in any case you must not presume to take the + liberties of a great poet.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a poor reward for being a great poet to be allowed to take + liberties. I should say that, doing their work to the best of their power, + they were rewarded with the discovery of higher laws of verse. Every one + must walk by the light given him. By the rules which others have laid down + he may learn to walk; but once his heart is awake to truth, and his ear to + measure, melody and harmony, he must walk by the light, and the music God + gives him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is dangerous doctrine, Andrew!” said the lady, with a superior + smile. “But,” she continued, “I will mark what faults I see, and point + them out to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am, but please do not send the verses anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not, except I find them worthy. You need not be afraid. For my + father's sake I will have an eye to your reputation.” + </p> + <p> + “I am obliged to you, ma'am,” returned Andrew, but with his curious smile, + hard to describe. It had in it a wonderful mixing of sweetness and humor, + and a something that seemed to sit miles above his amusement. A heavenly + smile it was, knowing too much to be angry. It had in it neither offense + nor scorn. In respect of his poetry he was shy like a girl, but he showed + no rejection of the patronage forced upon him by the lady. + </p> + <p> + He rose and stood a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Andrew, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “When will you allow me to call for the verses?” + </p> + <p> + “In the course of a week or so. By that time I shall have made up my mind. + If in doubt, I shall ask my father.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't like the laird to think I spend my time on poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “You write poetry, Andrew! A man should not do what he would not have + known.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, ma'am; I only feared an erroneous conclusion.” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of that. My father knows that you are a hard-working + young man. There is not one of his farms in better order than yours. Were + it otherwise, I should not be so interested in your poetry.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew wished her less interested in it. To have his verses read was like + having a finger poked in his eye. He had not known that his mother looked + at his papers. But he showed little sign of his annoyance, bade the lady + good-morning, and left the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Miss Fordyce followed him to the door, and stood for a moment looking out. + In front of her was a paved court, surrounded with low buildings, between + two of which was visible, at the distance of a mile or so, a railway line + where it approached a viaduct. She heard the sound of a coming train, and + who in a country place will not stand to see one pass! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. AN ACCIDENT. + </h2> + <p> + While the two were talking, a long train, part carriages, part trucks, was + rattling through a dreary country, where it could never have been were + there not regions very different on both sides of it. For miles in any + direction, nothing but humpy moorland was to be seen, a gathering of low + hills, with now and then a higher one, its sides broken by occasional + torrents, in poor likeness of a mountain. No smoke proclaimed the presence + of human dwelling; but there were spots between the hills where the hand + of man had helped the birth of a feeble fertility; and in front was a + small but productive valley, on the edge of which stood the ancient house + of Potlurg, with the heath behind it: over a narrow branch of this valley + went the viaduct. + </p> + <p> + It was a slow train, with few passengers. Of these one was looking from + his window with a vague, foolish sense of superiority, thinking what a + forgotten, scarce created country it seemed. He was a well-dressed, + good-looking fellow, with a keen but pale-gray eye, and a fine forehead, + but a chin such as is held to indicate weakness. More than one, however, + of the strongest women I have known, were defective in chin. The young man + was in the only first-class carriage of the train, and alone in it. + Dressed in a gray suit, he was a little too particular in the smaller + points of his attire, and lacked in consequence something of the look of a + gentleman. Every now and then he would take off his hard round hat, and + pass a white left hand through his short-cut mousey hair, while his right + caressed a far longer mustache, in which he seemed interested. A certain + indescribable heaviness and lack of light characterized his pale face. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely day in early June. The air was rather cold, but youth and + health care little about temperature on a holiday, with the sun shining, + and that sweetest sense—to such at least as are ordinarily bound by + routine—of having nothing to do. To many men and women the greatest + trouble is to choose, for self is the hardest of masters to please; but as + yet George Crawford had not been troubled with much choosing. + </p> + <p> + A crowded town behind him, the loneliness he looked upon was a pleasure to + him. Compelled to spend time in it, without the sense of being on the way + out of it, his own company would soon have grown irksome to him; for + however much men may be interested in themselves, there are few indeed who + are interesting to themselves. Those only whose self is aware of a higher + presence can escape becoming bores and disgusts to themselves. That every + man is endlessly greater than what he calls himself, must seem a paradox + to the ignorant and dull, but a universe would be impossible without it. + George had not arrived at the discovery of this fact, and yet was for the + present contented both with himself and with his circumstances. + </p> + <p> + The heather was not in bloom, and the few flowers of the heathy land made + no show. Brown and darker brown predominated, with here and there a shadow + of green; and, weary of his outlook, George was settling back to his book, + when there came a great bang and a tearing sound. He started to his feet, + and for hours knew nothing more. A truck had run off the line and turned + over; the carriage in which he was had followed it, and one of the young + man's legs was broken. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. HELP. + </h2> + <p> + “Papa! papa! there is an accident on the line!” cried Miss Fordyce, + running into her father's study, where he sat surrounded with books. “I + saw it from the door!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” returned the old man, and listened. “I hear the train going on,” + he said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Part of it is come to grief, I am certain,” answered his daughter. “I saw + something fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>shall</i> we do?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have us do?” rejoined her father, without a movement + toward rising. “It is too far off for us to be of any use.” + </p> + <p> + “We ought to go and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not fond of such seeing, Alexa, and will not go out of my way for + it. The misery I can not avoid is enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + But Alexa was out of the room, and in a moment more was running, in as + straight a line as she could keep, across the heath to the low embankment. + Andrew caught sight of her running. He could not see the line, but + convinced that something was the matter, turned and ran in the same + direction. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard and long run for Alexa, over such ground. Troubled at her + father's indifference, she ran the faster—too fast for thinking, but + not too fast for the thoughts that came of themselves. What had come to + her father? Their house was the nearest! She could not shut out the + conviction that, since succeeding to the property, he had been growing + less and less neighborly. + </p> + <p> + She had caught up a bottle of brandy, which impeded her running. Yet she + made good speed, her dress gathered high in the other hand. Her long dark + hair broken loose and flying in the wind, her assumed dignity forgotten, + and only the woman awake, she ran like a deer over the heather, and in + little more than a quarter of an hour, though it was a long moor-mile, + reached the embankment, flushed and panting. + </p> + <p> + Some of the carriages had rolled down, and the rails were a wreck. But the + engine and half the train had kept on: neither driver nor stoker was hurt, + and they were hurrying to fetch help from the next station. At the foot of + the bank lay George Crawford insensible, with the guard of the train doing + what he could to bring him to consciousness. He was on his back, pale as + death, with no motion and scare a sign of life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa tried to give him brandy, but she was so exhausted, and her hand + shook so, that she had to yield the bottle to the guard, and, hale and + strong as she was, could but drag herself a little apart before she + fainted. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, as the train approached the station, the driver, who + belonged to the neighborhood, saw the doctor, slackened speed, and set his + whistle shrieking wildly. The doctor set spurs to his horse, and came + straight over everything to his side. + </p> + <p> + “You go on,” he said, having heard what had happened; “I shall be there + sooner than you could take me.” + </p> + <p> + He came first upon Andrew trying to make Miss Fordyce swallow a little of + the brandy. + </p> + <p> + “There's but one gentleman hurt, sir,” said the guard. “The other's only a + young lady that's run till she's dropped.” + </p> + <p> + “To bring brandy,” supplemented Andrew. + </p> + <p> + The doctor recognized Alexa, and wondered what reception her lather would + give his patient, for to Potlurg he must go! Suddenly she came to herself, + and sat up, gazing wildly around. “Out of breath, Miss Fordyce; nothing + worse!” said the doctor, and she smiled. + </p> + <p> + He turned to the young man, and did for him what he could without splints + or bandages; then, with the help of the guard and Andrew, constructed, + from pieces of the broken carriages, a sort of litter on which to carry + him to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + “Is he dead?” asked Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. He's had a bad blow on the head, though. We must get him + somewhere as fast as we can!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. But we must take him to your house. I don't know what else to do + with him!” + </p> + <p> + “What else should you want to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid it might bother the laird.” + </p> + <p> + “You scarcely know my father, Doctor Pratt!” + </p> + <p> + “It would bother most people to have a wounded man quartered on them for + weeks!” returned the doctor. “Poor fellow! A good-looking fellow too!” + </p> + <p> + A countryman who had been in the next carriage, but had escaped almost + unhurt, offering his service, Andrew and he took up the litter gently, and + set out walking with care, the doctor on one side, leading his horse, and + Miss Fordyce on the other. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange building to which, after no small anxiety, they drew + near; nor did it look the less strange the nearer they came. It was + unsheltered by a single tree; and but for a low wall and iron rail on one + side, inclosing what had been a garden, but was now a grass-plot, it rose + straight out of the heather. From this plot the ground sloped to the + valley, and was under careful cultivation. The entrance to it was closed + with a gate of wrought iron, of good workmanship, but so wasted with rust + that it seemed on the point of vanishing. Here at one time had been the + way into the house; but no door, and scarce a window, was now to be seen + on this side of the building. It was very old, and consisted of three + gables, a great half-round between two of them, and a low tower with a + conical roof. + </p> + <p> + Crawford had begun to recover consciousness, but when he came to himself + he was received by acute pain. The least attempt to move was torture, and + again he fainted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Conducted by the lady, they passed round the house to the court, and + across the court to a door in one of the gables. It was a low, narrow + door, but large enough for the man that stood there—a little man, + with colorless face, and quiet, abstracted look. His eyes were cold and + keen, his features small, delicate, and regular. He had an erect little + back, and was dressed in a long-tailed coat, looking not much of a laird, + and less of a farmer, as he stood framed in the gray stone wall, in which + odd little windows, dotted here and there at all heights and distances, + revealed a wonderful arrangement of floors and rooms inside. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!” said the doctor. “This is a bad business, but + it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!” + </p> + <p> + “Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!” returned the laird, with a + cold smile that was far from discourteous. “Stick to the body, doctor! + There you know something!” + </p> + <p> + “It's a truth, laird!” answered the doctor—but added to himself—“Well! + it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!” + </p> + <p> + The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the poor + fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where, with the + help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she soon had a bed + prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed to fetch the + appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the bed, with a look + of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of opposition. + </p> + <p> + It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a room + far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the house, + have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and, having + been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was rapidly and + silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor, after an + incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he seemed both + surprised and pleased at the change. + </p> + <p> + “He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce,” he said, when + all was done. + </p> + <p> + “I will myself,” she answered. “But you must give me exact directions, for + I have done no nursing.” + </p> + <p> + “If you will walk a little way with me, I will tell you all you need know. + He will sleep now, I think—at least till you get back: I shall not + keep you beyond a few minutes. It is not a very awkward fracture,” he + continued, as they went. “It might have been much worse! We shall have him + about in a few weeks. But he will want the greatest care while the bones + are uniting.” + </p> + <p> + The laird turned from the bed, and went to his study, where he walked up + and down, lost and old and pale, the very Bibliad of the room with its + ancient volumes all around. Whatever his eyes fell upon, he turned from, + as if he had no longer any pleasure in it, and presently stole back to the + room where the sufferer lay. On tiptoe, with a caution suggestive of a + wild beast asleep, he crept to the bed, looked down on his unwelcome guest + with an expression of sympathy crossed with dislike, and shook his head + slowly and solemnly, like one injured but forgiving. + </p> + <p> + His eye fell on the young man's pocket-book. It had fallen from his coat + as they undressed him, and was on a table by the bedside. He caught it up + just ere Alexa reentered. + </p> + <p> + “How is he, father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He is fast asleep,” answered the laid. “How long does the doctor think he + will have to be here?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not ask him,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “That was an oversight, my child,” he returned. “It is of consequence we + should know the moment of his removal.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall know it in good time. The doctor called it an affair of weeks—or + months—I forget. But you shall not be troubled, father. I will + attend to him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I <i>am</i> troubled, Alexa! You do not know how little money I + have!” + </p> + <p> + Again he retired—slowly, shut his door, locked it, and began to + search the pocket-book. He found certain banknotes, and made a discovery + concerning its owner. + </p> + <p> + With the help of her old woman, and noiselessly, while Crawford lay in a + half slumber, Alexa continued making the chamber more comfortable. Chintz + curtains veiled the windows, which, for all their narrowness, had admitted + too much light; and an old carpet deadened the sound of footsteps on the + creaking boards—for the bones of a house do not grow silent with + age; a fire burned in the antique grate, and was a soul to the chamber, + which was chilly, looking to the north, with walls so thick that it took + half the summer to warm them through. Old Meg, moving to and fro, kept + shaking her head like her master, as if she also were in the secret of + some house-misery; but she was only indulging the funereal temperament of + an ancient woman. As Alexa ran through the heather in the morning, she + looked not altogether unlike a peasant; her shoes were strong, her dress + was short; but now she came and went in a soft-colored gown, neither + ill-made nor unbecoming. She did not seem to belong to what is called + society, but she looked dignified, at times almost stately, with an + expression of superiority, not strong enough to make her handsome face + unpleasing. It resembled her father's, but, for a woman's, was cast in a + larger mold. + </p> + <p> + The day crept on. The invalid was feverish. His nurse obeyed the doctor + minutely, to a single drop. She had her tea brought her, but when the + supper hour arrived went to join her father in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. AFTER SUPPER. + </h2> + <p> + They always eat in the kitchen. Strange to say, there was no dining-room + in the house, though there was a sweetly old-fashioned drawing-room. The + servant was with the sufferer, but Alexa was too much in the sick-room, + notwithstanding, to know that she was eating her porridge and milk. The + laird partook but sparingly, on the ground that the fare tended to + fatness, which affliction of age he congratulated himself on having + hitherto escaped. They eat in silence, but not a glance of her father that + might indicate a want escaped the daughter. When the meal was ended, and + the old man had given thanks, Alexa put on the table a big black Bible, + which her father took with solemn face and reverent gesture. In the course + of his nightly reading of the New Testament, he had come to the twelfth + chapter of St. Luke, with the Lord's parable of the rich man whose soul + they required of him: he read it beautifully, with an expression that + seemed to indicate a sense of the Lord's meaning what He said. + </p> + <p> + “We will omit the psalm this evening—for the sake of the sufferer,” + he said, having ended the chapter. “The Lord will have mercy and not + sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + They rose from their chairs and knelt on the stone floor. The old man + prayed with much tone and expression, and I think meant all he said, + though none of it seemed to spring from fresh need or new thankfulness, + for he used only the old stock phrases, which flowed freely from his lips. + He dwelt much on the merits of the Saviour; he humbled himself as the + chief of sinners, whom it must be a satisfaction to God to cut off, but a + greater satisfaction to spare for the sake of one whom he loved. Plainly + the man counted it a most important thing to stand well with Him who had + created him. When they rose, Alexa looked formally solemn, but the wan + face of her father shone: the Psyche, if not the Ego, had prayed—and + felt comfortable. He sat down, and looked fixedly, as if into eternity, + but perhaps it was into vacancy; they are much the same to most people. + </p> + <p> + “Come into the study for a moment, Lexy, if you please,” he said, rising + at length. His politeness to his daughter, and indeed to all that came + near him, was one of the most notable points in his behavior. + </p> + <p> + Alexa followed the black, slender, erect little figure up the stair, which + consisted of about a dozen steps, filling the entrance from wall to wall, + a width of some twelve feet. Between it and the outer door there was but + room for the door of the kitchen on the one hand, and that of a small + closet on the other. At the top was a wide space, a sort of irregular + hall, more like an out-of-door court, paved with large flat stones into + which projected the other side of the rounded mass, bordered by the grassy + inclosure. + </p> + <p> + The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had + but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of + old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils. + He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set + himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers. + </p> + <p> + “This is a sore trial, Alexa!” he said with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed, father—for the poor young man!” she returned. + </p> + <p> + “True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his + suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious + matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the present + state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think—” + </p> + <p> + “But, father,” interrupted Alexa, “how could we help it?” + </p> + <p> + “He might have been carried elsewhere!” + </p> + <p> + “With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered to + receive him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not take him then?” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either.” + </p> + <p> + “It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done—though, alas! + not paid for.” + </p> + <p> + “We must take the luck as it comes, father!” + </p> + <p> + “Alexa,” rejoined the laird with solemnity, “you ought never to mention + luck. There is no such thing. It was either for the young man's sins, or + to prevent worse, or for necessary discipline, that the train was + overturned. The cause is known to <i>Him</i>. All are in His hands—and + we must beware of attempting to take any out of His hands, for it can not + be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, father, if there be no chance, our part was ordered too. So there + is the young man in our spare room, and we must receive our share of the + trouble as from the hand of the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, my dear! it was the expense I was thinking of. I was only + lamenting—bear me witness, I was not opposing—the will of the + Lord. A man's natural feelings remain.” + </p> + <p> + “If the thing is not to be helped, let us think no more about it!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the expense, my dear! Will you not let your mind rest for a moment + upon the fact? I am doing my utmost to impress it upon you. For other + expenses there is always something to show; for this there will be + nothing, positively nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “Not the mended leg, father?” + </p> + <p> + “The money will vanish, I tell you, as a tale that is told.” + </p> + <p> + “It is our life that vanishes that way!” + </p> + <p> + “The simile suits either. So long as we do not use the words of Scripture + irreverently, there is no harm in making a different application of them. + There is no irreverence here: next to the grace of God, money is the thing + hardest to get and hardest to keep. If we are not wise with it, the grace—I + mean money—will not go far.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so far as the next world, anyhow!” said Alexa, as if to herself. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you, child! The Redeemer tells us to make friends of the mammon + of unrighteousness, that when we die it may receive us into everlasting + habitations!” + </p> + <p> + “I read the passage this morning, father: it is <i>they</i>, not <i>it</i>, + will receive you. And I have heard that it ought to be translated, 'make + friends <i>with</i>, or <i>by means of</i> the mammon of unrighteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “I will reconsider the passage. We must not lightly change even the + translated word!” + </p> + <p> + The laird had never thought that it might be of consequence to him one day + to have friends in the other world. Neither had he reflected that the Lord + did not regard the obligation of gratitude as ceasing with this life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had reason to fear that her father made a friend <i>of</i>, and + never a friend <i>with</i> the mammon of unrighteousness. At the same time + the half-penny he put in the plate every Sunday must go a long way if it + was not estimated, like that of the poor widow, according to the amount he + possessed, but according to the difficulty he found in parting with it. + </p> + <p> + “After weeks, perhaps months of nursing and food and doctor's stuff,” + resumed the laird, “he will walk away, and we shall see not a plack of the + money he carries with him. The visible will become the invisible, the + present the absent!” + </p> + <p> + “The little it will cost you, father—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold there, my child! If you call any cost little, I will not hear a word + more: we should be but running a race from different points to different + goals! It will cost—that is enough! How much it will cost <i>me</i>, + you can not calculate, for you do not know what money stands for in my + eyes. There are things before which money is insignificant!” + </p> + <p> + “Those dreary old books!” said Alexa to herself, casting a glance on the + shelves that filled the room from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall. + </p> + <p> + “What I was going to say, father,” she returned, “was, that I have a + little money of my own, and this affair shall cost you nothing. Leave me + to contrive. Would you tell him his friends must pay his board, or take + him away? It would be a nice anecdote in the annals of the Fordyces of + Potlurg!” + </p> + <p> + “At the same time, what more natural?” rejoined her father. “His friends + must in any case be applied to! I learn from his pocket-book—” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” + </p> + <p> + “Content yourself, Alexa. I have a right to know whom I receive under my + roof. Besides, have I not learned thereby that the youth is a sort of + connection!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean it, father?” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it. His mother and yours were first cousins.” + </p> + <p> + “That is not a connection; it's a close kinship!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” said the laird, dryly. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow,” pursued Alexa, “I give you my word you shall hear nothing more + of the expense.” + </p> + <p> + She bade her father good-night, and returning to the bedside of her + patient, released Meg. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. ABOUT THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Thomas Fordyce was a sucker from the root of a very old family tree, born + in poverty, and, with great pinching of father and mother, brothers and + sisters, educated for the Church. But from pleasure in scholarship, from + archaeological tastes, a passion for the arcana of history, and a love of + literature, strong, although not of the highest kind, he had settled down + as a school-master, and in his calling had excelled. By all who knew him + he was regarded as an accomplished, amiable, and worthy man. + </p> + <p> + When his years were verging on the undefined close of middle age he saw + the lives between him and the family property, one by one wither at the + touch of death, until at last there was no one but himself and his + daughter to succeed. He was at the time the head of a flourishing school + in a large manufacturing town; and it was not without some regret, though + with more pleasure, that he yielded his profession and retired to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + Greatly dwindled as he found the property, and much and long as it had + been mismanaged, it was yet of considerable value, and worth a wise care. + The result of the labor he spent upon it was such that it had now for + years yielded him, if not a large rental, one far larger at least than his + daughter imagined. But the sinking of the school-master in the laird + seemed to work ill for the man, and good only for the land. I say <i>seemed</i>, + because what we call degeneracy is often but the unveiling of what was + there all the time; and the evil we could become, we are. If I have in me + the tyrant or the miser, there he is, and such am I—as surely as if + the tyrant or the miser were even now visible to the wondering dislike of + my neighbors. I do not say the characteristic is so strong, or would be so + hard to change as by the revealing development it must become; but it is + there, alive, as an egg is alive; and by no means inoperative like a mere + germ, but exercising real though occult influence on the rest of my + character. Therefore, except the growing vitality be in process of killing + these ova of death, it is for the good of the man that they should be so + far developed as to show their existence. If the man do not then starve + and slay them they will drag him to the judgment-seat of a fiery + indignation. + </p> + <p> + For the laird, nature could ill replace the human influences that had + surrounded the school-master; while enlargement both of means and leisure + enabled him to develop by indulgence a passion for a peculiar kind of + possession, which, however refined in its objects, was yet but a branch of + the worship of Mammon. It suits the enemy just as well, I presume, that a + man should give his soul for coins as for money. In consequence he was + growing more and more withdrawn, ever filling less the part of a man—which + is to be a hiding-place from the wind, a covert from the tempest. He was + more and more for himself, and thereby losing his life. Dearly as he loved + his daughter, he was, by slow fallings away, growing ever less of a + companion, less of a comfort, less of a necessity to her, and requiring + less and less of her for the good or ease of his existence. We wrong those + near us in being independent of them. God himself would not be happy + without His Son. We ought to lean on each other, giving and receiving—not + as weaklings, but as lovers. Love is strength as well as need. Alexa was + more able to live alone than most women; therefore it was the worse for + her. Too satisfied with herself, too little uneasy when alone, she did not + know that then she was not in good enough company. She was what most would + call a strong nature, nor knew what weaknesses belong to, and grow out of, + such strength as hers. + </p> + <p> + The remoter scions of a family tree are not seldom those who make most + account of it; the school-master's daughter knew more about the Fordyces + of Potlurg, and cared more for their traditions, than any who of later + years had reaped its advantages or shared its honors. Interest in the + channel down which one has slid into the world is reasonable, and may be + elevating; with Alexa it passed beyond good, and wrought for evil. Proud + of a family with a history, and occasionally noted in the annals of the + country, she regarded herself as the superior of all with whom she had + hitherto come into relation. To the poor, to whom she was invariably and + essentially kind, she was less condescending than to such as came nearer + her own imagined standing; she was constantly aware that she belonged to + the elect of the land! Society took its revenge; the rich trades-people + looked down upon her as the school-master's daughter. Against their + arrogance her indignation buttressed her lineal with her mental + superiority. At the last the pride of family is a personal arrogance. And + now at length she was in her natural position as heiress of Potlurg! + </p> + <p> + She was religious—if one may be called religious who felt no + immediate relation to the source of her being. She felt bound to defend, + so far as she honestly could, the doctrines concerning God and His ways + transmitted by the elders of her people; to this much, and little more, + her religion toward God amounted. But she had a strong sense of obligation + to do what was right. + </p> + <p> + Her father gave her so little money to spend that she had to be very + careful with her housekeeping, and they lived in the humblest way. For her + person she troubled him as little as she could, believing him, from the + half statements and hints he gave, and his general carriage toward life, + not a little oppressed by lack of money, nor suspecting his necessities + created and his difficulties induced by himself. In this regard it had + come to be understood between them that the produce of the poultry-yard + was Alexa's own; and to some little store she had thus gathered she mainly + trusted for the requirements of her invalid. To this her father could not + object, though he did not like it; he felt what was hers to be his more + than he felt what was his to be hers. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had not learned to place value on money beyond its use, but she was + not therefore free from the service of Mammon; she looked to it as to a + power essential, not derived; she did not see it as God's creation, but + merely as an existence, thus making of a creature of God the mammon of + unrighteousness. She did not, however, cling to it, but was ready to spend + it. At the same time, had George Crawford looked less handsome or less of + a gentleman, she would not have been so ready to devote the contents of + her little secret drawer. + </p> + <p> + The discovery of her relationship to the young man waked a new feeling. + She had never had a brother, never known a cousin, and had avoided the + approach of such young men as, of inferior position in her eyes, had + sought to be friendly with her; here was one thrown helpless on her care, + with necessities enough to fill the gap between his real relation to her, + and that of the brother after whom she had sighed in vain! It was a new + and delightful sensation to have a family claim on a young man—a + claim, the material advantage of which was all on his side, the devotion + all on hers. She was invaded by a flood of tenderness toward the man. Was + he not her cousin, a gentleman, and helpless as any new-born child? + Nothing should be wanting that a strong woman could do for a powerless + man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE COUSINS. + </h2> + <p> + George Crawford was in excellent health when the accident occurred, and so + when he began to recover, his restoration was rapid. The process, however, + was still long enough to compel the cousins to know more of each other + than twelve months of ordinary circumstance would have made possible. + </p> + <p> + George, feeling neither the need, nor, therefore, the joy of the new + relationship so much as Alexa, disappointed her by the coolness of his + response to her communication of the fact; and as they were both formal, + that is, less careful as to the reasonable than as to the conventional, + they were not very ready to fall in love. Such people may learn all about + each other, and not come near enough for love to be possible between them. + Some people approximate at once, and at once decline to love, remaining + friends the rest of their lives. Others love at once; and some take a + whole married life to come near enough, and at last love. But the + reactions of need and ministration can hardly fail to breed tenderness, + and disclose the best points of character. + </p> + <p> + The cousins were both handsome, and—which was of more consequence—each + thought the other handsome. They found their religious opinions closely + coincident—nor any wonder, for they had gone for years to the same + church every Sunday, had been regularly pumped upon from the same + reservoir, and had drunk the same arguments concerning things true and + untrue. + </p> + <p> + George found that Alexa had plenty of brains, a cultivated judgment, and + some knowledge of literature; that there was no branch of science with + which she had not some little acquaintance, in which she did not take some + small interest. Her father's teaching was beyond any he could have + procured for her, and what he taught she had learned; for she had a love + of knowing, a tendency to growth, a capacity for seizing real points, + though as yet perceiving next to nothing of their relation to human life + and hope. She believed herself a judge of verse, but in truth her + knowledge of poetry was limited to its outer forms, of which she had made + good studies with her father. She had learned the <i>how</i> before the <i>what</i>, + knew the body before the soul—could tell good binding but not bad + leather—in a word, knew verse but not poetry. + </p> + <p> + She understood nothing of music, but George did not miss that; he was more + sorry she did not know French—not for the sake of its literature, + but because of showing herself an educated woman. + </p> + <p> + Diligent in business, not fervent in spirit, she was never idle. But there + are other ways than idleness of wasting time. Alexa was continually + “improving herself,” but it was a big phrase for a small matter; she had + not learned that to do the will of God is the <i>only</i> way to improve + one's self. She would have scorned the narrowness of any one who told her + so, not understanding what the will of God means. + </p> + <p> + She found that her guest and cousin was a man of some position, and + wondered that her father should never have mentioned the relationship. The + fact was that, in a time of poverty, the school-master had made to + George's father the absurd request of a small loan without security, and + the banker had behaved as a rich relation and a banker was pretty sure to + behave. + </p> + <p> + George occupied a place of trust in the bank, and, though not yet admitted + to a full knowledge of its more important transactions, hoped soon to be + made a partner. + </p> + <p> + When his father came to Potlurg to see him the laird declined to appear, + and the banker contented himself thereafter with Alexa's bulletins. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. GEORGE AND THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa's money was nearly exhausted, and most of her chickens had been + devoured by the flourishing convalescent, but not yet would the doctor + allow him to return to business. + </p> + <p> + One night the electric condition of the atmosphere made it heavy, sultry + and unrefreshing, and George could not sleep. There came a terrible burst + of thunder; then a bannered spear of vividest lightning seemed to lap the + house in its flashing folds, and the simultaneous thunder was mingled with + the sound, as it seemed, of the fall of some part of the building. George + sat up in bed and listened. All was still. He must rise and see what had + happened, and whether any one was hurt. He might meet Alexa, and a talk + with her would be a pleasant episode in his sleepless night. He got into + his dressing-gown, and taking his stick, walked softly from the room. + </p> + <p> + His door opened immediately on the top of the stair. He stood and + listened, but was aware of no sequel to the noise. Another flash came, and + lighted up the space around him, with its walls of many angles. When the + darkness was returned and the dazzling gone, and while the thunder yet + bellowed, he caught the glimmer of a light under the door of the study, + and made his way toward it over the worn slabs. He knocked, but there was + no answer. He pushed the door, and saw that the light came from behind a + projecting book-case. He hesitated a moment, and glanced about him. + </p> + <p> + A little clinking sound came from somewhere. He stole nearer the source of + the light; a thief might be there. He peeped round the end of the + book-case. With his back to him the laird was kneeling before an open + chest. He had just counted a few pieces of gold, and was putting them + away. He turned over his shoulder a face deathly pale, and his eyes for a + moment stared blank. Then with a shivering smile he rose. He had a + thin-worn dressing-gown over his night-shirt, and looked a thread of a + man. + </p> + <p> + “You take me for a miser?” he said, trembling, and stood expecting an + answer. + </p> + <p> + Crawford was bewildered: what business had he there? + </p> + <p> + “I am <i>not</i> a miser!” resumed the laird. “A man may count his money + without being a miser!” + </p> + <p> + He stood and stared, still trembling, at his guest, either too much + startled or too gentle to find fault with his intrusion. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, laird,” said George. “I knocked, but receiving no + answer, feared something was wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “But why are you out of bed—and you an invalid?” returned Mr. + Fordyce. + </p> + <p> + “I heard a heavy fall, and feared the lightning had done some damage.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see about that in the morning, and in the meantime you had + better go to bed,” said the laird. + </p> + <p> + They turned together toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “What a multitude of books, you have, Mr. Fordyce!” remarked George. “I + had not a notion of such a library in the county!” + </p> + <p> + “I have been a lover of books all my life,” returned the laird. “And they + gather, they gather!” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Your love draws them,” said George. + </p> + <p> + “The storm is over, I think,” said the laird. + </p> + <p> + He did not tell his guest that there was scarcely a book on those shelves + not sought after by book-buyers—not one that was not worth money in + the book-market. Here and there the dulled gold of a fine antique binding + returned the gleam of the candle, but any gathering of old law or + worthless divinity would have looked much the same. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to glance over them,” said George. “There must be some + valuable volumes among so many!” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! rubbish!” rejoined the old man, testily, almost hustling him + from the room. “I am ashamed to hear it called a library.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Crawford, as again he lay awake in his bed, altogether a + strange incident. A man may count his money when he pleases, but not the + less must it seem odd that he should do so in the middle of the night, and + with such a storm flashing and roaring around him, apparently unheeded. + The next morning he got his cousin to talk about her father, but drew from + her nothing to cast light on what he had seen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. IN THE GARDEN. + </h2> + <p> + Of the garden which had been the pride of many owners of the place, only a + small portion remained. It was strangely antique, haunted with a beauty + both old and wild, the sort of garden for the children of heaven to play + in when men sleep. + </p> + <p> + In a little arbor constructed by an old man who had seen the garden grow + less and less through successive generations, a tent of honeysuckle in a + cloak of sweet pease, sat George and Alexa, two highly respectable young + people, Scots of Scotland, like Jews of Judaea, well satisfied of their + own worthiness. How they found their talk interesting, I can scarce think. + I should have expected them to be driven by very dullness to love-making; + but the one was too prudent to initiate it, the other too staid to entice + it. Yet, people on the borders of love being on the borders of poetry, + they had got talking about a certain new poem, concerning which George, + having read several notices of it, had an opinion to give. + </p> + <p> + “You should tell my father about it, George,” said Alexa; “he is the best + judge I know.” + </p> + <p> + She did not understand that it was a little more than the grammar of + poetry the school-master had ever given himself to understand. His best + criticism was to show phrase calling to phrase across gulfs of speech. + </p> + <p> + The little iron gate, whose hinges were almost gone with rust, creaked and + gnarred as it slowly opened to admit the approach of a young countryman. + He advanced with the long, slow, heavy step suggestive of nailed shoes; + but his hazel eye had an outlook like that of an eagle from its eyrie, and + seemed to dominate his being, originating rather than directing its + motions. He had a russet-colored face, much freckled; hair so dark red as + to be almost brown; a large, well-shaped nose; a strong chin; and a mouth + of sweetness whose smile was peculiarly its own, having in it at once the + mystery and the revelation of Andrew Ingram. He took off his bonnet as he + drew near, and held it as low as his knee, while with something of the air + of an old-fashioned courtier, he stood waiting. His clothes, all but his + coat, which was of some blue stuff, and his Sunday one, were of a + large-ribbed corduroy. For a moment no one spoke. He colored a little, but + kept silent, his eyes on the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Andrew!” she said at length. “There was something, I forget + what, you were to call about! Remind me—will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not come before, ma'am, because I knew you were occupied. And even + now it does not greatly matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I remember!—the poem! I am very sorry, but I had so much to + think of that it went quite out of my mind.” + </p> + <p> + An expression half amused, half shy, without trace of mortification, for + an instant shadowed the young man's face. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would let me have the lines again, ma'am! Indeed I should be + obliged to you!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I confess they might first be improved! I read them one evening to + my father, and he agreed with me that two or three of them were not quite + rhythmical. But he said it was a fair attempt, and for a working-man very + creditable.” + </p> + <p> + What Andrew was thinking, it would have been hard to gather from his + smile; but I believe it was that, if he had himself read the verses aloud, + the laird would have found no fault with their rhythm. His carriage seemed + more that of a patient, respectful amusement than anything else. + </p> + <p> + Alexa rose, but resumed her seat, saying: + </p> + <p> + “As the poem is a religious one, there can be no harm in handing it you on + Sunday after church!—that is,” she added, meaningly, “if you will be + there!” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to Dawtie, if you please, ma'am,” replied Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” rebuked Miss Fordyce, in a tone almost of rebuke. + </p> + <p> + “I seldom go to church, ma'am,” said Andrew, reddening a little, but + losing no sweetness from his smile. + </p> + <p> + “I understand as much! It is very wrong! <i>Why</i> don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you to tell me,” persisted Alexa, with a peremptoriness which came + of the school-master. She had known him too as a pupil of her father's! + </p> + <p> + “If you will have it, ma'am, I not only learn nothing from Mr. Smith, but + I think much that he says is not true.” + </p> + <p> + “Still you ought to go for the sake of example.” + </p> + <p> + “Do wrong to make other people follow my example? Can that be to do + right?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Wrong</i> to go to church! What <i>do</i> you mean? Wrong to pray with + your fellow-men?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the hour may come, ma'am, when I shall be able to pray with my + fellow-men, even though the words they use seem addressed to a tyrant, not + to the Father of Jesus Christ. But at present I can not. I might endure to + hear Mr. Smith say evil things concerning God, but the evil things he says + to God make me quite unable to pray, and I feel like a hypocrite!” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you may think of Mr. Smith's doctrines, it is presumptuous to + set yourself up as too good to go to church.” + </p> + <p> + “I most bear the reproach, ma'am. I can not consent to be a hypocrite in + order to avoid being called one!” + </p> + <p> + Either Miss Fordyce had no answer to this, or did not choose to give any. + She was not troubled that Andrew would not go to church, but offended at + the unhesitating decision with which he set her counsel aside. Andrew made + her a respectful bow, turned away, put on his bonnet, which he had held in + his hand all the time, and passed through the garden gate. + </p> + <p> + “Who is the fellow?” asked George, partaking sympathetically of his + companion's annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “He is Andrew Ingram, the son of a small farmer, one of my father's + tenants. He and his brother work with their father on the farm. They are + quite respectable people. Andrew is conceited, but has his good points. He + imagines himself a poet, and indeed his work has merit. The worst of him + is that he sets up for being better than other people.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an unusual fault with the self-educated!” + </p> + <p> + “He does go on educating himself, I believe, but he had a good start to + begin with. My father took much pains with him at school. He helped to + carry you here after the accident—and would have taken you to his + father's if I would have let him.” + </p> + <p> + George cast on her a look of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for keeping me,” he said. “But I wish I had taken some notice + of his kindness!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. ANDREW INGRAM. + </h2> + <p> + Of the persons in my narrative, Andrew Ingram is the simplest, therefore + the hardest to be understood by an ordinary reader. I must take up his + history from a certain point in his childhood. + </p> + <p> + One summer evening, he and his brother Sandy were playing together on a + knoll in one of their father's fields. Andrew was ten years old, and Sandy + a year younger. The two quarreled, and the spirit of ancestral borderers + waking in them, they fell to blows. The younger was the stronger for his + years, and they were punching each other with relentless vigor, when + suddenly they heard a voice, and stopping their fight, saw before them an + humble-looking man with a pack on his back. He was a peddler known in the + neighborhood, and noted for his honesty and his silence, but the boys had + never seen him. They stood abashed before him, dazed with the blows they + had received, and not a little ashamed; for they were well brought up, + their mother being an honest disciplinarian, and their father never + interfering with what she judged right. The sun was near the setting, and + shone with level rays full on the peddler; but when they thought of him + afterward, they seemed to remember more light in his face than that of the + sun. Their conscience bore him witness, and his look awed them. + Involuntarily they turned from him, seeking refuge with each other: his + eyes shone so! they said; but immediately they turned to him again. + </p> + <p> + Sandy knew the pictures in the “Pilgrim's Progress,” and Andrew had read + it through more than once: when they saw the man had a book in his hand, + open, and heard him, standing there in the sun, begin to read from it, + they thought it must be Christian, waiting for Evangelist to come to him. + It is impossible to say how much is fact and how much imagination in what + children recollect; the one must almost always supplement the other; but + they were quite sure that the words he read were these: “And lo, I am with + you always, even to the end of the world!” The next thing they remembered + was their walking slowly down the hill in the red light, and all at once + waking up to the fact that the man was gone, they did not know when or + where. But their arms were round each other's necks, and they were full of + a strange awe. Then Andrew saw something red on Sandy's face. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Sandy!” he cried, “it's bluid!” and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + It was his own blood, not Sandy's!—the discovery of which fact + relieved Andrew, and did not so greatly discompose Sandy, who was less + sensitive. + </p> + <p> + They began at length to speculate on what had happened. One thing was + clear: it was because they were fighting that the man had come; but it was + not so clear who the man was. He could not be Christian, because Christian + went over the river! Andrew suggested it might have been Evangelist, for + he seemed to be always about. Sandy added, as his contribution to the + idea, that he might have picked up Christian's bundle and been carrying it + home to his wife. They came, however, to the conclusion, by no + ratiocination, I think, but by a conviction which the idea itself brought + with it, that the stranger was the Lord himself, and that the pack on His + back was their sins, which He was carrying away to throw out of the world. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, wasna it fearfu' He should come by jist when we was fechtin'!” said + Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, na! it was a fine thing that! We micht hae been at it yet! But we + winna noo!—will we ever, Sandy?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, that we winna!” + </p> + <p> + “For,” continued Andrew, “He said 'Lo, I am with you always!' And suppose + He werena, we daurna be that ahint His back we would na be afore His + face!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you railly think it <i>was</i> Him, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “Weel,” replied Andrew, “gien the deevil be goin' aboot like a roarin' + lion, seekin' whom he may devoor, as father says, it's no likely <i>He</i> + would na be goin' aboot as weel, seekin' to haud him aff o' 's!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay!” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “And noo,” said the elder, “what are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + For Andrew, whom both father and mother judged the dreamiest of mortals, + was in reality the most practical being in the whole parish—so + practical that by and by people mocked him for a poet and a heretic, + because he did the things which they said they believed. Most unpractical + must every man appear who genuinely believes in the things that are + unseen. The man called practical by the men of this world is he who busies + himself building his house on the sand, while he does not even bespeak a + lodging in the inevitable beyond. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do?” said Andrew. “If the Lord is going about like that, + looking after us, we've surely got something to do looking after <i>Him!</i>” + </p> + <p> + There was no help in Sandy; and it was well that, with the reticence of + children, neither thought of laying the case before their parents; the + traditions of the elders would have ill agreed with the doctrine they were + now under! Suddenly it came into Andrew's mind that the book they read at + <i>worship</i> to which he had never listened, told all about Jesus. + </p> + <p> + He began at the beginning, and grew so interested in the stories that he + forgot why he had begun to read it One day, however, as he was telling + Sandy about Jacob—“What a shame!” said Sandy; and Andrew's mind + suddenly opened to the fact that he had got nothing yet out of the book. + He threw it from him, echoing Sandy's words, “What's a shame!”—not + of Jacob's behavior, but of the Bible's, which had all this time told them + nothing about the man that was going up and down the world, gathering up + their sins, and carrying them away in His pack! But it dawned upon him + that it was the New Testament that told about Jesus Christ, and they + turned to that. Here also I say it was well they asked no advice, for they + would probably have been directed to the Epistle to the Romans, with + explanations yet more foreign to the heart of Paul than false to his + Greek. They began to read the story of Jesus as told by his friend + Matthew, and when they had ended it, went on to the gospel according to + Mark. But they had not read far when Sandy cried out: + </p> + <p> + “Eh, Andrew, it's a' the same thing ower again!” + </p> + <p> + “No a'thegither,” answered Andrew. “We'll gang on, and see!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew came to the conclusion that it was so far the same that he would + rather go back and read the other again, for the sake of some particular + things he wanted to make sure about So the second time they read St. + Matthew, and came to these words: + </p> + <p> + “If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall + ask, it shall be done for them of My Father which is in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “There's twa o' 's here!” cried Andrew, laying down the book. “Lat's try + 't!” + </p> + <p> + “Try what?” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + His brother read the passage again. + </p> + <p> + “Lat the twa o' 's speir Him for something!” concluded Andrew. “What + wull't be?” + </p> + <p> + “I won'er if it means only ance, or may be three times, like 'The Three + Wishes!'” suggested Sandy, who, like most Christians, would rather have a + talk about it than do what he was told. + </p> + <p> + “We <i>might</i> ask for what would not be good for us!” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “And make fools of ourselves!” assented Sandy, with “The Three Wishes” in + his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think He would give it us then?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” pursued Andrew, “if we were so foolish as that old man and woman, + it would be better to find it out, and begin to grow wise!—I'll tell + you what we'll do: we'll make it our first wish to know what's best to ask + for; and then we can go on asking!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; let us!” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy we'll have as many wishes as we like! Doon upo' yer knees, + Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + They knelt together. + </p> + <p> + I fear there are not a few to say, “How ill-instructed the poor children + were!—actually mingling the gospel and the fairy tales!” “Happy + children,” say I, “who could blunder into the very heart of the will of + God concerning them, and <i>do</i> the thing at once that the Lord taught + them, using the common sense which God had given and the fairy tale + nourished!” The Lord of the promise is the Lord of all true parables and + all good fairy tales. + </p> + <p> + Andrew prayed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, tell Sandy and me what to ask for. We're unanimous.” + </p> + <p> + They got up from their knees. They had said what they had to say: why say + more! + </p> + <p> + They felt rather dull. Nothing came to them. The prayer was prayed, and + they could not make the answer! There was no use in reading more! They put + the Bible away in a rough box where they kept it among rose-leaves—ignorant + priests of the lovely mystery of Him who was with them always—and + without a word went each his own way, not happy, for were they not leaving + Him under the elder-tree, lonely and shadowy, where it was their custom to + meet! Alas for those who must go to church to find Him, or who can not + pray unless in their closet! + </p> + <p> + They wandered about disconsolate, at school and at home, the rest of the + day—at least Andrew did; Sandy had Andrew to lean upon! Andrew had + Him who was with them always, but He seemed at the other end of the world. + They had prayed, and there was no more of it! + </p> + <p> + In the evening, while yet it was light, Andrew went alone to the + elder-tree, took the Bible from its humble shrine, and began turning over + its leaves. + </p> + <p> + “And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?” He + read, and sunk deep in thought. + </p> + <p> + This is the way his thoughts went: + </p> + <p> + “What things? What had He been saying? Let me look and see what He says, + that I may begin to do it!” + </p> + <p> + He read all the chapter, and found it full of <i>tellings</i>. When he + read it before he had not thought of doing one of the things He said, for + as plainly as He told him! He had not once thought He had any concern in + the matter! + </p> + <p> + “I see!” he said; “we must begin at once to do what He tells us!” + </p> + <p> + He ran to find his brother. + </p> + <p> + “I've got it!” he cried: “I've got it!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “What we've got to do” + </p> + <p> + “And what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Just what He tells us.” + </p> + <p> + “We were doing that,” said Sandy, “when we prayed Him to tell us what to + pray for!” + </p> + <p> + “So we were! That's grand!” + </p> + <p> + “Then haven't we got to pray for anything more?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll soon find out; but first we must look for something to do!” + </p> + <p> + They began at once to search for things the Lord told them to do. And of + all they found, the plainest and easiest was: “Whosoever shall smite thee + on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also.” This needed no + explanation! it was as clear as the day to both of them! + </p> + <p> + The very next morning the school-master, who, though of a gentle + disposition, was irritable, taking Andrew for the offender in a certain + breach of discipline, gave him a smart box on the ear. Andrew, as readily + as if it had been instinctively, turned to him the other cheek. + </p> + <p> + An angry man is an evil interpreter of holy things, and Mr. Fordyce took + the action for one of rudest mockery, nor thought of the higher master + therein mocked if it were mockery: he struck the offender a yet smarter + blow. Andrew stood for a minute like one dazed; but the red on his face + was not that of anger; he was perplexed as to whether he ought now to turn + the former cheek again to the striker. Uncertain, he turned away, and went + to his work. + </p> + <p> + Stops a reader here to say: “But do you really mean to tell us we ought to + take the words literally as Andrew did?” I answer: “When you have earned + the right to understand, you will not need to ask me. To explain what the + Lord means to one who is not obedient, is the work of no man who knows his + work.” + </p> + <p> + It is but fair to say for the school-master that, when he found he had + mistaken, he tried to make up to the boy for it—not by confessing + himself wrong—who could expect that of only a school-master?—but + by being kinder to him than before. Through this he came to like him, and + would teach him things out of the usual way—such as how to make + different kinds of verse. + </p> + <p> + By and by Andrew and Sandy had a quarrel. Suddenly Andrew came to himself, + and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Sandy! Sandy! He says we're to agree!” + </p> + <p> + “Does He?” + </p> + <p> + “He says we're to love one another, and we canna do that if we dinna + agree!” + </p> + <p> + There came a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps after all you were in the right, Sandy!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to say that; when I think about it, perhaps I wasn't so + much in the right as I thought I was!” + </p> + <p> + “It can't matter much which was in the right, when we were both in the + wrong!” said Andrew. “Let's ask Him to keep us from caring which is in the + right, and make us both try to be in the right We don't often differ about + what we are to ask for, Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, we don't.” + </p> + <p> + “It's me to take care of you, Sandy!” + </p> + <p> + “And me to take care of you, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + Here was the nucleus of a church!—two stones laid on the + foundation-stone. + </p> + <p> + “Luik here, Sandy!” said Andrew; “we maun hae anither, an' syne there'll + be four o' 's!” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” asked Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “I won'er 'at we never noticed it afore! Here's what He says: 'For where + two or three are gathered together in My name, there am I in the midst of + them.' In that way, wharever He micht be walkin' aboot, we could aye get + Him! He likes twa, an' His Father 'ill hear the 'greed prayer, but He + likes three better—an' that stan's to rizzon, for three maun be + better 'n twa! First ane maun lo'e Him; an' syne twa can lo'e Him better, + because ilk ane is helpit by the ither, an' lo'es Him the mair that He + lo'es the ither ane! An' syne comes the third, and there's mair an' mair + throwin' o' lichts, and there's the Lord himsel' i' the mids' o' them! + Three maks a better mids' than twa!” + </p> + <p> + Sandy could not follow the reasoning quite, but he had his own way of + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “It's jist like the story o' Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego!” he said. + “There was three o' them, an' sae He made four! Eh, jist think o' Him + bein' wi' 's His verra sel'!” + </p> + <p> + Here now was a church indeed: the idea of a third was the very principle + of growth! They would meet together and say: “Oh, Father of Jesus Christ, + help us to be good like Jesus;” and then Jesus himself would make one of + them, and worship the Father with them! + </p> + <p> + The next thing, as a matter of course, was to look about for a third. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” cried both at once. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was the child of a cotter pair, who had an acre or two of their + father's farm, and helped him with it. Her real name has not reached me; + <i>Dawtie</i> means <i>darling</i>, and is a common term of endearment—derived, + Jamieson suggests, from the Gaelic <i>dalt</i>, signifying <i>a + foster-child</i>. Dawtie was a dark-haired, laughing little darling, with + shy, merry manners, and the whitest teeth, full of fun, but solemn in an + instant. Her small feet were bare and black—except on Saturday + nights and Sunday mornings—but full of expression, and perhaps + really cleaner, from their familiarity with the sweet all-cleansing air, + than such as hide the day-long in socks and shoes. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's specialty was love of the creatures. She had an undoubting + conviction that every one of them with which she came in contact + understood and loved her. She was the champion of the oppressed, without + knowing it. Every individual necessity stood on its own merits, and came + to her fresh and sole, as if she had forgotten all that went before it. + Like some boys she had her pockets as well as her hands at the service of + live things; but unlike any boy, she had in her love no admixture of + natural history; it was not interest in animals with her, but an + individual love to the individual animal, whatever it might be, that + presented itself to the love-power in her. + </p> + <p> + It may seem strange that there should be three such children together. But + their fathers and mothers had for generations been poor—which was a + great advantage, as may be seen in the world by him who has eyes to see, + and heard in the parable of the rich man by him who has ears to hear. Also + they were God-fearing, which was a far greater advantage, and made them + honorable; for they would have scorned things that most Christians will + do. Dawtie's father had a rarely keen instinct for what is mean, and that + not in the way of abhorrence in others, but of avoidance in himself. To + shades and <i>nuances</i> of selfishness, which men of high repute and + comfortable conscience would neither be surprised to find in their + neighbors nor annoyed to find in themselves, he would give no quarter. + Along with Andrew's father, he had, in childhood and youth, been under the + influence of a simple-hearted pastor, whom the wise and prudent laughed at + as one who could not take care of himself, incapable of seeing that, like + his master, he laid down his life that he might take it again. He left God + to look after him, that he might be free to look after God. + </p> + <p> + Little Dawtie had learned her catechism, but, thank God, had never thought + about it or attempted to understand it—good negative preparation for + becoming, in a few years more, able to understand the New Testament with + the heart of a babe. + </p> + <p> + The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she + sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a chicken + with oatmeal paste. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doin', Dawtie?” they asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm tryin',” she answered, without looking up, “to haud the life i' the + chuckie.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter wi' 't?” + </p> + <p> + “Naething but the want o' a mither.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the mither o' 't deid?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, she's alive eneuch, but she has ower mony bairns to hap them a'; her + wings winna cower them, and she drives this ane awa', and winna lat it + come near her.” + </p> + <p> + “Sic a cruel mither!” + </p> + <p> + “Na, she's no' cruel. She only wants to gar't come to me! She kenned I + would tak it. Na, na; Flappy's a guid mither! I ken her weel; she's ane o' + our ain! She kens me, or she would hae keepit the puir thing, and done her + best wi' her.” + </p> + <p> + “I ken somebody,” said Andrew, “that would fain spread oot wings, like a + great big hen, ower a' the bairns, you an' me an' a', Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “That's my mither!” cried Dawtie, looking up, and showing her white teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Na, it's a man,” said Sandy. + </p> + <p> + “It's my father, than!” + </p> + <p> + “Na, it's no. Would ye like to see Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Na, I'm no carin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Sandy and me's gaein' to see Him some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll gang wi' ye. But I maun tak' my chuckie!” + </p> + <p> + She looked down where she had set the little bird on the ground; it had + hobbled away and she could not see it! + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” she cried, starting up, “ye made me forget my chuckie wi' yer + questions! It's mither 'ill peck it!” + </p> + <p> + She darted off, and forsook the tale of the Son of Man to look after her + chicken. But presently she returned with it in her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Tell awa',” she said, resuming her seat “What do they ca' Him?” + </p> + <p> + “They ca' Him the Father o' Jesus Christ.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll gang wi' ye,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + So the church was increased by a whole half, and the fraction of a chicken—type + of the groaning creation, waiting for the sonship. + </p> + <p> + The three gathered to read and pray. And almost always there was some + creature with them in the arms or hands of Dawtie. And if the Lord was not + there, too, then are we Christians most miserable, for we see a glory + beyond all that man could dream, and it is but a dream! Whose dream? + </p> + <p> + They went on at other times with the usual employments and games of + children. But there was this difference between them and most grown + Christians, that when anything roused thought or question they at once + referred it to the word of Jesus, and having discovered His will, made + haste to do it. It naturally followed that, seeing He gives the spirit to + them that obey Him, they grew rapidly in the modes of their Master, + learning to look at things as He looked at them, to think of them as He + thought of them, to value what He valued, and despise what He despised—all + in simplest order of divine development, in uttermost accord with highest + reason, the whole turning on the primary and continuous effort to obey. + </p> + <p> + It was long before they came to have any regular time of meeting. Andrew + always took the initiative in assembling the church. When he called they + came together. Then he would read from the story, and communicate any + discovery he had made concerning what Jesus would have them do. Next, they + would consult and settle what they should ask for, and one of them, + generally Andrew, but sometimes Sandy, would pray. They made no formal + utterance, but simply asked for what they needed. Here are some specimens + of their petitions: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, Sandy canna for the life o' 'im un'erstan' the rule o' three; + please, Lord, help him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord, I dinna ken onything I want the day; please gi'e us what we + need, an' what ye want us to hae, wi'oot our askin' it.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, help us; we're ill-natnr'd (<i>bad-tempered</i>) the day; an' ye + wadna hae us that.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Dawtie's mither has a sair heid (<i>headache</i>); mak her better, + gien ye please.” + </p> + <p> + When their prayers were ended Andrew would say: “Sandy, have you found + anything He says?” and there-upon, if he had, Sandy would speak. Dawtie + never said a word, but sat and listened with her big eyes, generally + stroking some creature in her lap. + </p> + <p> + Surely the part of every superior is to help the life in the lower! + </p> + <p> + Once the question arose, in their assembly of three and a bird, whose leg + Dawtie had put in splints, what became of the creatures when they died. + They concluded that the sparrow that God cared for must be worth caring + for; and they could not believe He had made it to last only such a little + while as its life in this world. Thereupon they agreed to ask the Lord + that, when they died, they might have again a certain dog, an ugly little + white mongrel, of which they had been very fond. All their days thereafter + they were, I believe, more or less consciously, looking forward to the + fulfillment of this petition. For their hope strengthened with the growth + of their ideal; and when they had to give up any belief it was to take a + better in its place. + </p> + <p> + They yielded at length the notion that the peddler was Jesus Christ, but + they never ceased to believe that He was God's messenger, or that the Lord + was with them always. They would not insist that He was walking about on + the earth, but to the end of their days they cherished the uncertain hope + that they might, even without knowing it, look upon the face of the Lord + in that of some stranger passing in the street, or mingling in a crowd, or + seated in a church; for they knew that all the shapes of man belong to + Him, and that, after He rose from the dead there were several occasions on + which He did not at first look like Himself to those to whom He appeared. + </p> + <p> + The child-like, the essential, the divine notion of serving, with their + every-day will and being, the will of the living One, who lived for them + that they might live, as once He had died for them that they might die, + ripened in them to a Christianity that saw God everywhere, saw that + everything had to be done as God would have it done, and that nothing but + injustice had to be forsaken to please Him. They were under no influence + of what has been so well called <i>other-worldliness</i>, for they saw + this world as much God's as that, saw that its work has to be done + divinely, that it is the beginning of the world to come. It was to them + all one world, with God in it, all in all; therefore the best work for the + other world was the work of this world. + </p> + <p> + Such was the boyhood of that Andrew Ingram whom Miss Fordyce now reproved + for not setting the good example of going to church. + </p> + <p> + The common sense of the children rapidly developed, for there is no + teacher like obedience, and no obstruction like its postponement. When in + after years their mothers came at length to understand that obedience had + been so long the foundation of their life, it explained to them many + things that had seemed strange, and brought them to reproach themselves + that they should have seemed strange. + </p> + <p> + It ought not to be overlooked that the whole thing was wrought in the + children without directed influence of kindred or any neighbor. They + imitated none. The galvanism of imitation is not the life of the spirit; + the use of form where love is not is killing. And if any one is desirous + of spreading the truth let him apply himself, like these children, to the + doing of it; not obeying the truth, he is doubly a liar pretending to + teach it; if he obeys it already, let him obey it more. It is life that + awakes life. All form of persuasion is empty except in vital association + with regnant obedience. Talking and not doing is dry rot. + </p> + <p> + Cottage children are sometimes more fastidious about their food than + children that have a greater variety; they have a more delicate perception + and discrimination in the simple dishes on which they thrive; much choice, + though little refusal. Andrew had a great dislike to lumps in his + porridge; and one day the mother having been less careful than usual in + cooking it, he made a wry face at the first spoonful. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew,” said Sandy, “take no thought for what ye eat.” + </p> + <p> + It was a wrong interpretation, but a righteous use of the word. Happy the + soul that mistakes the letter only to get at the spirit! + </p> + <p> + Andrew's face smoothed itself, began to clear up, and broke at last into a + sunny smile. He said nothing, but eat his full share of the porridge + without a frown. This was practical religion; and if any one judge it not + worth telling, I count his philosophy worthless beside it. Such a doer + knows more than such a reader will ever know, except he take precisely the + same way to learn. The children of God do what He would have them do, and + are taught of Him. + </p> + <p> + A report at length reached the pastor, now an old man, of ripe heart and + true insight, that certain children in his parish “played at the Lord's + Supper.” He was shocked, and went to their parents. They knew nothing of + the matter. The three children were sought, and the pastor had a private + interview with them. From it he reappeared with a solemn, pale face, and + silent tongue. They asked him the result of his inquiry. He answered that + he was not prepared to interfere: as he was talking with them, the warning + came that there were necks and mill-stones. The next Sunday he preached a + sermon from the text, “Out of the month of babes and sucklings Thou hast + perfected praise.” + </p> + <p> + The fathers and mothers made inquisition, and found no desire to conceal. + Wisely or not, they forbade the observance. It cost Andrew much thought + whether he was justified in obeying them; but he saw that right and wrong + in itself was not concerned, and that the Lord would have them obey their + parents. + </p> + <p> + It was necessary to tell so much of the previous history of Andrew, lest + what remains to be told should perhaps be unintelligible or seem + incredible without it. A character like his can not be formed in a day; it + must early begin to grow. + </p> + <p> + The bond thus bound between the children, altering in form as they grew, + was never severed; nor was the lower creation ever cut off from its share + in the petitions of any one of them. When they ceased to assemble as a + community, they continued to act on the same live principles. + </p> + <p> + Gladly as their parents would have sent them to college, Andrew and Sandy + had to leave school only to work on the farm. But they carried their + studies on from the point they had reached. When they could not get + further without help, they sought and found it. For a year or two they + went in the winter to an evening school; but it took so much time to go + and come that they found they could make more progress by working at home. + What help they sought went a long way, and what they learned, they knew. + </p> + <p> + When the day's work was over, and the evening meal, they went to the room + their own hands had made convenient for study as well as sleep, and there + resumed the labor they had dropped the night before. Together they read + Greek and mathematics, but Andrew worked mainly in literature, Sandy in + mechanics. On Saturdays, Sandy generally wrought at some model, while + Andrew read to him. On Sundays, they always, for an hour or two, read the + Bible together. + </p> + <p> + The brothers were not a little amused with Miss Fordyce's patronage of + Andrew; but they had now been too long endeavoring to bring into + subjection the sense of personal importance, to take offense at it. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie had gone into service, and they seldom saw her except when she came + home for a day at the term. She was a grown woman now, but the same loving + child as before. She counted the brothers her superiors, just as they + counted the laird and his daughter their superiors. But whereas Alexa + claimed the homage, Dawtie yielded where was no thought of claiming it. + The brothers regarded her as their sister. That she was poorer than they, + only made them the more watchful over her, and if possible the more + respectful to her. So she had a rich return for her care of the chickens + and kittens and puppies. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. GEORGE AND ANDREW. + </h2> + <p> + George went home the next day; and the following week sent Andrew a note, + explaining that when he saw him he did not know his obligation to him, and + expressing the hope that, when next in town, he would call upon him. This + was hardly well, being condescension to a superior. Perhaps the worst evil + in the sense of social superiority is the vile fancy that it alters human + relation. George did not feel bound to make the same acknowledgment of + obligation to one in humble position as to one in the same golden rank + with himself! It says ill for social distinction, if, for its + preservation, such an immoral difference be essential. But Andrew was not + one to dwell upon his rights. He thought it friendly of Mr. Crawford to + ask him to call; therefore, although he had little desire to make his + acquaintance, and grudged the loss of time, to no man so precious as to + him who has a pursuit in addition to a calling, Andrew, far stronger in + courtesy than the man who invited him, took the first Saturday afternoon + to go and see him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Crawford the elder lived in some style, and his door was opened by a + servant whose blatant adornment filled Andrew with friendly pity: no man + would submit to be dressed like that, he judged, except from necessity. + The reflection sprung from no foolish and degrading contempt for household + service. It is true Andrew thought no labor so manly as that in the earth, + out of which grows everything that makes the loveliness or use of Nature; + for by it he came in contact with the primaries of human life, and was + God's fellow laborer, a helper in the work of the universe, knowing the + ways of it and living in them; but not the less would he have done any + service, and that cheerfully, which his own need or that of others might + have required of him. The colors of a parrot, however, were not fit for a + son of man, and hence his look of sympathy. His regard was met only by a + glance of plain contempt, as the lackey, moved by the same spirit as his + master, left him standing in the hall—to return presently, and show + him into the library—a room of mahogany, red morocco, and yellow + calf, where George sat. He rose, and shook hands with him. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you, Mr. Ingram,” he said. “When I wrote I had but just + learned how much I was indebted to you.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand what you must mean,” returned Andrew, “but it was scarce + worth alluding to. Miss Fordyce had the better claim to serve you!” + </p> + <p> + “You call it nothing to carry a man of my size over a mile of heather!” + </p> + <p> + “I had help,” answered Andrew; “and but for the broken leg,” he added, + with a laugh, “I could have carried you well enough alone.” + </p> + <p> + There came a pause, for George did not know what next to do with the + farmer fellow. So the latter spoke again, being unembarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “You have a grand library, Mr. Crawford! It must be fine to sit among so + many books! It's just like a wine-merchant's cellars—only here you + can open and drink, and leave the bottles as full as before!” + </p> + <p> + “A good simile, Mr. Ingram!” replied George. “You must come and dine with + me, and we'll open another sort of bottle!” + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me there, sir! I have no time for that sort of bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand you read a great deal?” + </p> + <p> + “Weather permitting,” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought if anything was independent of the weather, it must + be reading!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a farmer's reading, sir. To him the weather is the Word of God, + telling him whether to work or read.” + </p> + <p> + George was silent. To him the Word of God was the Bible! + </p> + <p> + “But you must read a great deal yourself, sir!” resumed Andrew, casting a + glance round the room. + </p> + <p> + “The books are my father's!” said George. + </p> + <p> + He did not mention that his own reading came all in the library-cart, + except when he wanted some special information; for George was “a + practical man!” He read his Bible to prepare for his class in the + Sunday-school, and his Shakespeare when he was going to see one of his + plays acted. He would make the best of both worlds by paying due attention + to both! He was religious, but liberal. + </p> + <p> + His father was a banker, an elder of the kirk, well reputed in and beyond + his circle. He gave to many charities, and largely to educational schemes. + His religion was to hold by the traditions of the elders, and keep himself + respectable in the eyes of money-dealers. He went to church regularly, and + always asked God's blessing on his food, as if it were a kind of general + sauce. He never prayed God to make him love his neighbor, or help him to + be an honest man. He “had worship” every morning, no doubt; but only a + Nonentity like his God could care for such prayers as his. George rejected + his father's theology as false in logic and cruel in character: George + knew just enough of God to be guilty of neglecting Him. + </p> + <p> + “When I am out all day, I can do with less reading; for then I have the + 'book of knowledge fair,'” said Andrew, quoting Milton. “It does not take + <i>all</i> one's attention to drive a straight furrow or keep the harrow + on the edge of the last bout!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean you can read your Bible as you hold the plow!” said + George. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Andrew, amused. “A body could not well manage a book + between the stilts of the plow. The Bible will keep till you get home; a + little of it goes a long way. But Paul counted the book of creation enough + to make the heathen to blame for not minding it. Never a wind wakes of a + sudden, but it talks to me about God. And is not the sunlight the same + that came out of the body of Jesus at His transfiguration?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have some rather peculiar ideas of your own, Mr. Ingram!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, sir! For a man to have no ideas of his own, is much the same as + to have no ideas at all. A man can not have the ideas of another man, any + more than he can have another man's soul, or another man's body!” + </p> + <p> + “That is dangerous doctrine.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we are not talking about the same thing! I mean by <i>ideas</i>, + what a man orders his life by.” + </p> + <p> + “Your ideas may be wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “The All-wise is my judge.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the worse, if you are in the wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the only good, whether I be in the right or the wrong. Would I have + my mistakes overlooked? What judge would I desire but the Judge of all the + earth! Shall He not do right? And will He not set me right?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a most dangerous confidence!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be if there were any other judge. But it will be neither the + Church nor the world that will sit on the great white throne. He who sits + there will not ask: 'Did you go to church?' or 'Did you believe in this or + that?' but' Did you do what I told you?'” + </p> + <p> + “And what will you say to that, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I will say: 'Lord, Thou knowest!” + </p> + <p> + The answer checked George a little. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose He should say you did not, what would you answer?” + </p> + <p> + “I would say: 'Lord, send me where I may learn.'” + </p> + <p> + “And if He should say: 'That is what I sent you into the world for, and + you have not done it!' what would you say then?” + </p> + <p> + “I should hold my peace.” + </p> + <p> + “You do what He tells you then?” + </p> + <p> + “I try.” + </p> + <p> + “Does He not say: 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together?'” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody says something like it in the Epistle to the Hebrews.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't that the same?” + </p> + <p> + “The Man who wrote it would be indignant at your saying so! Tell me, Mr. + Crawford, what makes a gathering a Church?” + </p> + <p> + “It would take me some time to arrange my ideas before I could answer + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not the presence of Christ that makes an assembly a Church?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Does He not say that where two or three are met in His name, there is He + in the midst of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then thus far I will justify myself to you, that, if I do not go to what + you call <i>church</i>, I yet often make one of a company met in His + name.” + </p> + <p> + “He does not limit the company to two or three.” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly not. But if I find I get more help and strength with a certain + few, why should I go with a multitude to get less? Will you draw another + line than the Master's? Why should it be more sacred to worship with five + hundred or five thousand than with three? If He is in the midst of them, + they can not be wrong gathered!” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>looks</i> as if you thought yourselves better than everybody else!” + </p> + <p> + “If it were so, then certainly He would not be <i>one</i> of the + gathering!” + </p> + <p> + “How are you to know that He is in the midst of you?” + </p> + <p> + “If we are not keeping His commandments, He is not. But His presence can + not be <i>proved</i>; it can only be known. If He meets us, it is not + necessary to the joy of His presence that we should be able to prove that + He does meet us! If a man has the company of the Lord, he will care little + whether another does or does not believe that he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Your way is against the peace of the Church! It fosters division.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the Lord come to send peace on the earth? My way, as you call it, + would make division, but division between those who call themselves His + and those who are His. It would bring together those that love Him. + Company would merge with company that they might look on the Lord + together. I don't believe Jesus cares much for what is called the visible + Church; but He cares with His very Godhead for those that do as He tells + them; they are His Father's friends; they are His elect by whom He will + save the world. It is by those who obey, and by their obedience, that He + will save those who do not obey, that is, will bring them to obey. It is + one by one the world will pass to His side. There is no saving in the + lump. If a thousand be converted at once, it is every single lonely man + that is converted.” + </p> + <p> + “You would make a slow process of it!” + </p> + <p> + “If slow, yet faster than any other. All God's processes are slow. How + many years has the world existed, do you imagine, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Geologists say hundreds and hundreds of thousands.” + </p> + <p> + “And how many is it since Christ came?” + </p> + <p> + “Toward two thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are but in the morning of Christianity! There is plenty of time. + The day is before us.” + </p> + <p> + “Dangerous doctrine for the sinner!” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Time is plentiful for his misery, if he will not repent; plentiful + for the mercy of God that would lead him to repentance. There is plenty of + time for labor and hope; none for indifference and delay. God <i>will</i> + have his creatures good. They can not escape Him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then a man may put off repentance as long as he pleases!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he may—at least as long as he can—but it is a + fearful thing to try issues with God.” + </p> + <p> + “I can hardly say I understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Crawford, you have questioned me in the way of kindly anxiety and + reproof; that has given me the right to question you. Tell me, do you + admit we are bound to do what our Lord requires?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. How could any Christian man do otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “Yet a man may say: 'Lord, Lord,' and be cast out! It is one thing to say + we are bound to do what the Lord tells us, and another to do what He tells + us! He says: 'Seek ye <i>first</i> the kingdom of God and His + righteousness:' Mr. Crawford, are you seeking the kingdom of God <i>first</i>, + or are you seeking money first?” + </p> + <p> + “We are sent into the world to make our living.” + </p> + <p> + “Sent into the world, we have to seek our living; we are not sent into the + world to seek our living, but to seek the kingdom and righteousness of + God. And to seek a living is very different from seeking a fortune!” + </p> + <p> + “If you, Mr. Ingram, had a little wholesome ambition, you would be less + given to judging your neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew held his peace, and George concluded he had had the best of the + argument—which was all he wanted; of the truth concerned he did not + see enough to care about it Andrew, perceiving no good was to be done, was + willing to appear defeated; he did not value any victory but the victory + of the truth, and George was not yet capable of being conquered by the + truth. + </p> + <p> + “No!” resumed he, “we must avoid personalities. There are certain things + all respectable people have agreed to regard as right: he is a + presumptuous man who refuses to regard them. Reflect on it, Mr. Ingram.” + </p> + <p> + The curious smile hovered about the lip of the plow-man; when things to + say did not come to him, he went nowhere to fetch them. Almost in + childhood he had learned that, when one is required to meet the lie, words + are given him; when they are not, silence is better. A man who does not + love the truth, but disputes for victory, is the swine before whom pearls + must not be cast. Andrew's smile meant that it had been a waste of his + time to call upon Mr. Crawford. But he did not blame himself, for he had + come out of pure friendliness. He would have risen at once, but feared to + seem offended. Crawford, therefore, with the rudeness of a superior, + himself rose, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “The only thing one man can do for another is to be at one with him,” + answered Andrew, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are a socialist! That accounts for much!” said George. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me this,” returned Andrew, looking him in the eyes: “Did Jesus ever + ask of His Father anything His Father would not give Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I remember,” answered George, fearing a theological trap. + </p> + <p> + “He said once: 'I pray for them which shall believe in Me, that they all + may be one, as Thou Father art in Me, and I in Thee, that they also many + be one in us!' No man can be one with another, who is not one with + Christ.” + </p> + <p> + As he left the house, a carriage drove up, in which was Mr. Crawford the + elder, home from a meeting of directors, at which a dividend had been + agreed upon—to be paid from the capital, in preparation for another + issue of shares. + </p> + <p> + Andrew walked home a little bewildered. “How is it,” he said to himself, + “that so many who would be terrified at the idea of not being Christians, + and are horrified at any man who does not believe there is a God, are yet + absolutely indifferent to what their Lord tells them to do if they would + be His disciples? But may not I be in like case without knowing it? Do I + meet God in my geometry? When I so much enjoy my Euclid, is it always God + geometrizing to me? Do I feel talking with God every time I dwell upon any + fact of his world of lines and circles and angles? Is it God with me, + every time that the joy of life, of a wind or a sky or a lovely phrase, + flashes through me? Oh, my God,” he broke out in speechless prayer as he + walked—and those that passed said to themselves he was mad; how, in + such a world, could any but a madman wear a face of joy! “Oh, my God, Thou + art all in all, and I have everything! The world is mine because it is + Thine! I thank Thee, my God, that Thou hast lifted me up to see whence I + came, to know to whom I belong, to know who is my Father, and makes me His + heir! I am Thine, infinitely more than mine own; and Thou art mine as Thou + art Christ's!” + </p> + <p> + He knew his Father in the same way that Jesus Christ knows His Father. He + was at home in the universe, neither lonely, nor out-of-doors, nor afraid. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. THE CRAWFORDS. + </h2> + <p> + Through strong striving to secure his life, Mr. Crawford lost it—both + in God's sense of loss and his own. He narrowly escaped being put in + prison, died instead, and was put into God's prison to pay the uttermost + farthing. But he had been such a good Christian that his fellow-Christians + mourned over his failure and his death, not over his dishonesty! For did + they not know that if, by more dishonesty, he could have managed to + recover his footing, he would have paid everything? One injunction only he + obeyed—he provided for his own; of all the widows concerned in his + bank, his widow alone was secured from want; and she, like a dutiful wife, + took care that his righteous intention should be righteously carried out; + not a penny would she give up to the paupers her husband had made. + </p> + <p> + The downfall of the house of cards took place a few months after George's + return to its business. Not initiated to the mysteries of his father's + transactions, ignorant of what had long been threatening, it was a + terrible blow to him. But he was a man of action, and at once looked to + America; at home he could not hold up his head. + </p> + <p> + He had often been to Potlurg, and had been advancing in intimacy with + Alexa; but he would not show himself there until he could appear as a man + of decision—until he was on the point of departure. She would be the + more willing to believe his innocence of complicity in the deceptions that + had led to his ruin! He would thus also manifest self-denial and avoid the + charge of interested motives! he could not face the suspicion of being a + suitor with nothing to offer! George had always taken the grand rôle—that + of superior, benefactor, bestower. He was powerful in condescension! + </p> + <p> + Not, therefore, until the night before he sailed did he go to Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + Alexa received him with a shade of displeasure. + </p> + <p> + “I am going away,” he said, abruptly, the moment they were seated. + </p> + <p> + Her heart gave a painful throb in her throat, but she did not lose her + self-possession. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To New York,” he replied. “I have got a situation there—in a not + unimportant house. <i>There</i> at least I am taken for an honest man. + From your heaven I have fallen.” + </p> + <p> + “No one falls from any heaven but has himself to blame,” rejoined Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Where have I been to blame? I was not in my father's confidence. I knew + nothing, positively nothing, of what was going on.” + </p> + <p> + “Why then did you not come to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “A man who is neither beggar nor thief is not willing to look either.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have come if you had trusted me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You must pardon pride in a ruined man,” he answered. “Now that I am + starting to-morrow, I do not feel the same dread of being misunderstood!” + </p> + <p> + “It was not kind of you, George. Knowing yourself fit to be trusted, why + did you not think me capable of trusting?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Alexa!—a man's own father!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment he showed signs of an emotion he had seldom had to repress. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, George!” cried Alexa. “I am both stupid and selfish! + Are you really going so far?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice trembled. + </p> + <p> + “I am—but to return, I hope, in a very different position!” + </p> + <p> + “You would have me understand—” + </p> + <p> + “That I shall then be able to hold up my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should an innocent man ever do otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “He can not help seeing himself in other people's thoughts!” + </p> + <p> + “If we are in the right ought we to mind what people think of us?” said + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. But I will make them think of me as I choose.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “By compelling their respect.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to make a fortune?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it will be the fortune they respect! You will not be more worthy!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not.” + </p> + <p> + “Is such respect worth having?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in itself.” + </p> + <p> + “In what then? Why lay yourself out for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, Alexa, even the real respect of such people would be + worthless to me. I only want to bring them to their marrow-bones!” + </p> + <p> + The truth was, Alexa prized social position so dearly that she did not + relish his regarding it as a thing at the command of money. Let George be + as rich as a Jew or an American, Alexa would never regard him as her + equal! George worshiped money; Alexa worshiped birth and land. + </p> + <p> + Our own way of being wrong is all right in our own eyes; our neighbor's + way of being wrong is offensive to all that is good in us. We are anxious + therefore, kindly anxious, to pull the mote out of his eye, never thinking + of the big beam in the way of the operation. Jesus labored to show us that + our immediate business is to be right ourselves. Until we are, even our + righteous indignation is waste. + </p> + <p> + While he spoke, George's eyes were on the ground. His grand resolve did + not give his innocence strength to look in the face of the woman he loved; + he felt, without knowing why, that she was not satisfied with him. Of the + paltriness of his ambition, he had no inward hint. The high resolves of a + puny nature must be a laughter to the angels—the bad ones. + </p> + <p> + “If a man has no ambition,” he resumed, feeling after her objection, “how + is he to fulfill the end of his being! No sluggard ever made his mark! How + would the world advance but for the men who have to make their fortunes! + If a man find his father has not made money for him, what is he to do but + make it for himself? You would not have me all my life a clerk! If I had + but known, I should by this time have been well ahead!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa had nothing to answer; it all sounded very reasonable! Were not + Scots boys everywhere taught it was the business of life to rise? In + whatever position they were, was it not their part to get out of it? She + did not see that it is in the kingdom of heaven only we are bound to rise. + We are born into the world not to rise in the kingdom of Satan, but out of + it And the only way to rise in the kingdom of heaven is to do the work + given us to do. Whatever be intended for us, this is the only way to it We + have not to promote ourselves, but to do our work. It is the master of the + feast who says: “Go up.” If a man go up of himself, he will find he has + mistaken the head of the table. + </p> + <p> + More talk followed, but neither cast any light; neither saw the true + question. George took his leave. Alexa said she would be glad to hear from + him. + </p> + <p> + Alexa did not like the form of George's ambition—to gain money, and + so compel the respect of persons he did not himself respect But was she + clear of the money disease herself? Would she have married a poor man, to + go on as hitherto? Would she not have been ashamed to have George know how + she had supplied his needs while he lay in the house—that it was + with the poor gains of her poultry-yard she fed him? Did it improve her + moral position toward money that she regarded commerce with contempt—a + rudiment of the time when nobles treated merchants as a cottager his bees? + </p> + <p> + George's situation was a subordinate one in a house of large dealings in + Wall Street. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. DAWTIE. + </h2> + <p> + Is not the Church supposed to be made up of God's elect? and yet most of + my readers find it hard to believe there should be three persons, so + related, who agreed to ask of God, and to ask neither riches nor love, but + that God should take His own way with them, that the Father should work + His will in them, that He would teach them what He wanted of them, and + help them to do it! The Church is God's elect, and yet you can not believe + in three holy children! Do you say: “Because they are represented as + beginning to obey so young?” “Then,” I answer, “there can be no principle, + only an occasional and arbitrary exercise of spiritual power, in the + perfecting of praise out of the mouth of babes and sucklings, or in the + preference of them to the wise and prudent as the recipients of divine + revelation.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie never said much, but tried the more. With heartiness she accepted + what conclusions the brothers came to, so far as she understood them—and + what was practical she understood as well as they; for she had in her + heart the spirit of that Son of Man who chose a child to represent Him and + His Father. As to what they heard at church, their minds were so set on + doing what they found in the Gospel, that it passed over them without even + rousing their intellect, and so vanished without doing any hurt. Tuned to + the truth by obedience, no falsehood they heard from the pulpit partisans + of God could make a chord vibrate in response. Dawtie indeed heard nothing + but the good that was mingled with the falsehood, and shone like a lantern + through a thick fog. + </p> + <p> + She was little more than a child when, to the trouble of her parents, she + had to go out to service. Every half year she came home for a day or so, + and neither feared nor found any relation altered. At length after several + closely following changes, occasioned by no fault of hers, she was without + a place. Miss Fordyce heard of it, and proposed to her parents that, until + she found another, she should help Meg, who was growing old and rather + blind: she would thus, she said, go on learning, and not be idling at + home. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's mother was not a little amused at the idea of any one idling in + her house, not to say Dawtie, whom idleness would have tried harder than + any amount of work; but, if only that Miss Fordyce might see what sort of + girl Dawtie was, she judged it right to accept her offer. + </p> + <p> + She had not been at Potlurg a week before Meg began to complain that she + did not leave work enough to keep her warm. No doubt it gave her time for + her book, but her eyes were not so good as they used to be, and she was + apt to fall asleep over it, and catch cold! But when her mistress proposed + to send her away, she would not hear of it So Alexa, who had begun to take + an interest in her, set her to do things she had hitherto done herself, + and began to teach her other things. Before three months were over, she + was a necessity in the house, and to part with Dawtie seemed impossible. A + place about that time turning up, Alexa at once offered her wages, and so + Dawtie became an integral portion of the laird's modest household. + </p> + <p> + The laird himself at length began to trust her as he had never trusted + servant, for he taught her to dust his precious books, which hitherto he + had done himself, but of late had shrunk from, finding not a few of them + worse than Pandora-boxes, liberating asthma at the merest unclosing. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was now a grown woman, bright, gentle, playful, with loving eyes, + and a constant overflow of tenderness upon any creature that could receive + it. She had small but decided and regular features, whose prevailing + expression was confidence—not in herself, for she was scarce + conscious of herself even in the act of denying herself—but in the + person upon whom her trusting eyes were turned. She was in the world to + help—with no political economy beyond the idea that for help and + nothing else did any one exist. To be as the sun and the rain and the + wind, as the flowers that lived for her and not for themselves, as the + river that flowed, and the heather that bloomed lovely on the bare moor in + the autumn, such was her notion of being. That she had to take care of + herself was a falsehood that never entered her brain. To do what she + ought, and not do what she ought not, was enough on her part, and God + would do the rest! I will not say she reasoned thus; to herself she was + scarce a conscious object at all. Both bodily and spiritually she was in + the finest health. If illness came, she would perhaps then discover a self + with which she had to fight—I can not tell; but my impression is, + that she had so long done the true thing, that illness would only develop + unconscious victory, perfecting the devotion of her simple righteousness. + It is because we are selfish, with that worst selfishness which is + incapable of recognizing itself, not to say its own loathsomeness, that we + have to be made ill. That they may leave the last remnants of their + selfishness, are the saints themselves over-taken by age and death. + Suffering does not cause the vile thing in us—that was there all the + time; it comes to develop in us the knowledge of its presence, that it may + be war to the knife between us and it. It was no wonder that Dawtie grew + more and more of a favorite at Potlurg. + </p> + <p> + She did not read much, but would learn by heart anything that pleased her, + and then go saying or singing it to herself. She had the voice of a lark, + and her song prevented many a search for her. Against that “rain of + melody,” not the pride of the laird, or the orderliness of the + ex-school-master ever put up the umbrella of rebuke. Her singing was so + true, came so clear from the fountain of joy, and so plainly from no + desire to be heard, that it gave no annoyance; while such was her + sympathy, that, although she had never get suffered, you would, to hear + her sing “My Nannie's awa'!” have thought her in truth mourning an absent + lover, and familiar with every pang of heart-privation. Her cleanliness, + clean even of its own show, was a heavenly purity; while so gently was all + her spiriting done, that the very idea of fuss died in the presence of her + labor. To the self-centered such a person soon becomes a nobody; the more + dependent they are upon her unfailing ministration, the less they think of + her; but they have another way of regarding such in “the high countries.” + Hardly any knew her real name; she was known but by her pet name <i>Dawtie</i>. + </p> + <p> + Alexa, who wondered at times that she could not interest her in things she + made her read, little knew how superior the girl's choice was to her own! + Not knowing much of literature, what she liked was always of the best in + its kind, and nothing without some best element could interest her at all. + But she was not left either to her “own sweet will” or to the prejudices + of her well-meaning mistress; however long the intervals that parted them, + Andrew continued to influence her reading as from the first. A word now + and a word then, with the books he lent or gave her, was sufficient. That + Andrew liked this or that, was enough to make Dawtie set herself to find + in it what Andrew liked, and it was thus she became acquainted with most + of what she learned by heart. + </p> + <p> + Above two years before the time to which I have now brought my narrative, + Sandy had given up farming, to pursue the development of certain + inventions of his which had met the approval of a man of means who, unable + himself to devise, could yet understand a device: he saw that there was + use, and consequently money in them, and wisely put it in Sandy's power to + perfect them. He was in consequence but little at home, and when Dawtie + went to see her parents, as she could much oftener now, Andrew and she + generally met without a third. However many weeks might have passed, they + always met as if they had parted only the night before. There was neither + shyness nor forwardness in Dawtie. Perhaps a livelier rose might tinge her + sweet round cheek when she saw Andrew; perhaps a brighter spark shone in + the pupil of Andrew's eye; but they met as calmly as two prophets in the + secret of the universe, neither anxious nor eager. The old relation + between them was the more potent that it made so little outward show. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything for me, Andrew?” Dawtie would say, in the strong + dialect which her sweet voice made so pleasant to those that loved her; + whereupon Andrew, perhaps without immediate answer more than a smile, + would turn into his room, and reappear with what he had got ready for her + to “chew upon” till they should meet again. Milton's sonnet, for instance, + to the “virgin wise and pure,” had long served her aspiration; equally + wise and pure, Dawtie could understand it as well as she for whom it was + written. To see the delight she took in it, would have been a joy to any + loving student of humanity. It had cost her more effort to learn than + almost any song, and perhaps therefore it was the more precious. Andrew + seldom gave her a book to learn from; in general he copied, in his + clearest handwriting, whatever poem or paragraph he thought fit for + Dawtie; and when they met, she would not unfrequently, if there was time, + repeat unasked what she had learned, and be rewarded with his unfailing + look of satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + There was a secret between them—a secret proclaimed on the + house-tops, a secret hidden, the most precious of pearls, in their hearts—that + the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; that its work is the + work of the Lord, whether the sowing of the field, the milking of the cow, + the giving to the poor, the spending of wages, the reading of the Bible; + that God is all in all, and every throb of gladness His gift; that their + life came fresh every moment from His heart; that what was lacking to them + would arrive the very moment He had got them ready for it. They were God's + little ones in God's world—none the less their own that they did not + desire to swallow it, or thrust it in their pockets. + </p> + <p> + Among poverty-stricken Christians, consumed with care to keep a hold of + the world and save their souls, they were as two children of the house. By + living in the presence of the living One, they had become themselves His + presence—dim lanterns through which His light shone steady. Who + obeys, shines. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. SANDY AND GEORGE. + </h2> + <p> + Sandy had found it expedient to go to America, and had now been there a + twelvemonth; he had devised a machine of the value of which not even his + patron could be convinced—that is, he could not see the prospect of + its making money fast enough to constitute it a <i>good thing</i>. Sandy + regarded it as a discovery, a revelation for the uplifting of a certain + down-trodden portion of the community; and therefore, having saved a + little money, had resolved to make it known in the States, where insight + into probabilities is fresher. And now Andrew had a letter from him in + which he mentioned that he had come across Mr. Crawford, already of high + repute in Wall Street; that he had been kind to him, and having learned + his object in visiting the country, and the approximate risk in bringing + out his invention, had taken the thing into consideration. But the next + mail brought another letter to the effect that, having learned the nature + of the business done by Mr. Crawford, he found himself unable to + distinguish between it and gambling, or worse; it seemed to him a vortex + whose very emptiness drew money into it. He had therefore drawn back, and + declined to put the thing in Crawford's hands. This letter Andrew gave + Dawtie to read, that she might see that Sandy remained a true man. He had + never been anxious on the point, but was very glad that ignorance had not + drawn him into an evil connection. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie took the letter with her to read at her leisure. Unable, however, + to understand something Sandy said concerning Mr. Crawford's business, she + asked a question or two of her mistress, which led to questions on Alexa's + part. Finding what was the subject of Sandy's letter, she wished to see + it. Dawtie asked leave of Andrew, and gave it her. + </p> + <p> + Alexa was both distressed and indignant becoming at once George's + partisan. Her distress diminished and her indignation increased as she + reflected on the <i>airt</i> whence the unfavorable report reached her; + the brothers were such peculiar men! She recalled the strange things she + had heard of their childhood; doubtless the judgment was formed on an + overstrained and quixotic idea of honesty! Besides, there had always been + a strong socialistic tendency in them, which explained how Sandy could + malign his benefactor! George was incapable of doing anything + dishonorable! She would not trouble herself about it. But she would like + to know how Andrew regarded the matter. + </p> + <p> + She asked him therefore what he thought of Sandy's procedure. Andrew + replied that he did not know much about business; but that the only safety + must lie in having nothing to do with what was doubtful; therefore Sandy + had done right. Alexa said it was too bad of him to condemn where he + confessed ignorance. Andrew replied: + </p> + <p> + “Ma'am, if Mr. Crawford is wrong he is condemned; if he is right my + private doubt can not hurt him. Sandy must act by his own doubt, not by + Mr. Crawford's confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa grew more distressed, for she began to recall things George had said + which at the time she had not liked, but which she had succeeded in + forgetting. If he had indeed gone astray, she hoped he would forget her; + she could do without him! But the judgment of such a man as Sandy could + settle nothing. Of humble origin and childish simplicity, he could not see + the thing as a man of experience must. George might be all right + notwithstanding. At the same time there was his father—whose + reputation remained under a thick cloud, whose failed character rather + than his ill-success had driven George to the other continent. Breed must + go for something in a question of probabilities. It was the first time + Alexa's thoughts had been turned into such a channel. She clung to the + poor comfort that something must have passed at the interview so kindly + sought by George to set the quixotical young farmer against him. She would + not utter his name to Andrew ever again! + </p> + <p> + She was right in thinking that George cherished a sincere affection for + her. It was one of the spurs which drove him too eagerly after money. I + doubt if any man starts with a developed love of money for its own sake—except + indeed he be born of generations of mammon worshipers. George had gone + into speculation with the object of retrieving the position in which he + had supposed himself born, and in the hope of winning the hand of his + cousin—thinking too much of himself to offer what would not in the + eyes of the world be worth her acceptance. When he stepped on the inclined + plane of dishonesty he believed himself only engaging in “legitimate + speculation;” but he was at once affected by the atmosphere about him. + Wrapped in the breath of admiration and adulation surrounding men who + cared for <i>nothing</i> but money-making, men who were not merely + dishonest, but the very serpents of dishonesty, against whom pickpockets + will “stick off” as angels of light; constantly under the softly + persuasive influence of low morals and extravagant appreciation of + cunning, he came by rapid degrees to think less and less of right and + wrong. At first he called the doings of the place dishonest; then he + called them sharp practice; then he called them a little shady; then, + close sailing; then he said this or that transaction was deuced clever; + then, the man was more rogue than fool; then he laughed at the success of + a vile trick; then he touched the pitch, and thinking all the time it was + but with one finger, was presently besmeared all over—as was + natural, for he who will touch is already smeared. + </p> + <p> + While Alexa was fighting his battles with herself he had thrown down his + arms in the only battle worth fighting. When he wrote to her, which he did + regularly, he said no more about business than that his prospects were + encouraging; how much his reticence may have had to do with a sense of her + disapproval I can not tell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. + </h2> + <p> + One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from + the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was + setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it + touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the sun, + but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher source, from + the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, ran down the + hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and daughter + neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their faces glowed + with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed between them. + </p> + <p> + “But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?” said the mother. + </p> + <p> + “No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's + to the fore. They tret me—I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as + if they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the + Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye + canna think!” + </p> + <p> + “Then what's broucht ye the day?” + </p> + <p> + “I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's the + best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's the + best man i' the warl'!” + </p> + <p> + “What mean ye by that, mother?” said Dawtie, looking a little scared. “Am + I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae him? + Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God—to + lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I <i>wull</i> lo'e + An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye maun + hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!” + </p> + <p> + “It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he aye + shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the better? + It's little ferly (<i>marvel</i>) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him for my + ain man, as ye hae my father!—mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' to + think o' ony sic a thing!—clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til ye! + Only luik to yer hert.” + </p> + <p> + “As for no' lo'ein' him, mither—me that canna luik at a blin' + kittlin' ohn lo'ed it!—lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me + no' to lo'e An'rew!” + </p> + <p> + “Andrew!” she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's + worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd. + </p> + <p> + Silence followed, but the mother was brooding. + </p> + <p> + “Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew + seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the earl + seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the earl's + had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than did her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks o' + nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik doon. + He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl himsel'!” + </p> + <p> + The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried + fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the + simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions + about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself + whom she loved and obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “If Andrew wanted to marry me,” Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine + liberty of her teacher, “which never cam intil's heid—na, no ance—the + same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was but + a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the Sabbath + day, and we'll hae a walk thegither.” + </p> + <p> + “I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day,” said the + mother. + </p> + <p> + “Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!” + </p> + <p> + “Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!” + </p> + <p> + “And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!” + </p> + <p> + “He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!” + </p> + <p> + “And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this His + warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He gae + me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the ooter + mirk (<i>darkness</i>)!” + </p> + <p> + “There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be + mysel'.” + </p> + <p> + “Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?” + </p> + <p> + “Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad be + a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this warl' or + the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at the lang + last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will be as sure + o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus tellin' me the + same frae mornin' to nicht!” + </p> + <p> + “Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!” + </p> + <p> + “It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my ain + min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak His + mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, and run + ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!” + </p> + <p> + “As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' woman, + for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp the Lord + winna be disappointit in ye.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she had + something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go with him + in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but he did not + say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk from the + press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her with a sober + joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes off her, she sat + looking so well and nice and trim. He was a good-looking, work-worn man, + his hands absolutely horny with labor. But inside many such horny husks + are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for the time when “dear welcome + Death” will loose and let us go from the grave-clothes of the body that + bind some of us even hand and foot. Rugged father and withered mother were + beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, and she and God saw them better than any + other. Good, endless good was on the way to them all! It was so pleasant + to be waiting for the best of all good things. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. ANDREW AND DAWTIE. + </h2> + <p> + Dawtie slept in peace and happy dreams till the next morning, when she was + up almost with the sun, and out in his low clear light. For the sun was + strong again; the red labor and weariness were gone from his shining face. + Everything about her seemed to know God, or at least to have had a + moment's gaze upon Him. How else could everything look so content, hopeful + and happy. It is the man who will not fall in with the Father's bliss to + whom the world seems soulless and dull. Dawtie was at peace because she + desired nothing but what she knew He was best pleased to give her. Even + had she cherished for Andrew the kind of love her mother feared, her + Lord's will would have been her comfort and strength. If any one say: + “Then she could not know what love is!” I answer: “That person does not + know what the better love is that lifts the being into such a serene air + that it can fast from many things and yet be blessed beyond what any other + granted desire could make it.” The scent of the sweet-pease growing + against the turf wall entered Dawtie's soul like a breath from the fields + of heaven, where the children made merry with the angels, the merriest of + playfellows, and the winds and waters, and all the living things, and all + the things half alive, all the flowers and all the creatures, were at + their sportive call; where the little ones had babies to play with, and + did not hurt them, and where dolls were neither loved nor missed, being + never thought of. Suchlike were the girl's imaginings as her thoughts went + straying, inventing, discovering. She did not fear the Father would be + angry with her for being His child, and playing at creation. Who, indeed, + but one that in loving heart can <i>make</i>, can rightly love the making + of the Maker! + </p> + <p> + When they had had their breakfast, and the old people were ready for + church—where they would listen a little, sleep a little, sing + heartily, and hear nothing to wake hunger, joy or aspiration, Dawtie put a + piece of oat-cake in her pocket, and went to join Andrew where they had + made their tryst and where she found him waiting—at his length in a + bush of heather, with Henry Vaughan's “Silex Scintillans,” drawing from it + “bright shoots of everlastingness” for his Sabbath day's delight. He read + one or two of the poems to Dawtie, who was pleased but not astonished—she + was never astonished at anything; she had nothing in her to make anything + beautiful by contrast; her mind was of beauty itself, and anything + beautiful was to her but in the order and law of things—what was to + be expected. Nothing struck her because of its rarity; the rare was at + home in her country, and she was at home with it. When, for instance, he + read: “Father of lights, what sunny seeds,” she took it up at once and + understood it, felt that the good man had said the thing that was to be + said, and loved him for it. She was not surprised to hear that the prayer + was more than two hundred years old; were there not millions of years in + front? why should it be wonderful that a few years behind men should have + thought and felt as she did, and been able to say it as she never could! + Had she not always loved the little cocks, and watched them learning to + crow? + </p> + <p> + “But, An'rew,” she said at length, “I want to tell ye something that's + troublin' me; then ye can learn me what ye like.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell on, Dawtie,” said Andrew; and she began. + </p> + <p> + “Ae nicht aboot a fornight ago, I couldna sleep. I drave a' the sheep I + could gether i' my brain, ower ae stile efter anither, but the sleep stack + to the woo' o' them, an' ilk ane took o' 't awa' wi' him. I wadna hae + tried, but that I had to be up ear', and I was feared I wad sleep in.” + </p> + <p> + For the sake of my more polished readers—I do not say more <i>refined</i>, + for polish and refinement may be worlds apart—I will give the rest + in modern English. + </p> + <p> + “So I got up, and thought to sweep and dust the hall and the stairs; then + if, when I lay down again, I should sleep too long, there would be a part + of the day's work done! You know, Andrew, what the house is like; at the + top of the stair that begins directly you enter the house, there is a big + irregular place, bigger than the floor of your barn, laid with flags. It + is just as if all the different parts of the house had been built at + different times round about it, and then it was itself roofed in by an + after-thought. That's what we call <i>the hall</i>. The spare room opens + on the left at the top of the stair, and to the right, across the hall, + beyond the swell of the short thick tower you see the half of outside, is + the door of the study. It is all round with books—some of them, + mistress says, worth their weight in gold, they are so scarce. But the + master trusts me to dust them. He used to do it himself; but now that he + is getting old, he does not like the trouble, and it makes him asthmatic. + He says books more need dusting than anything else, but are in more danger + of being hurt by it, and it makes him nervous to see me touch them. I have + known him stand an hour watching me while I dusted, looking all the time + as if he had just taken a dose of medicine. So I often do a few books at a + time, as I can, when he is not in the way to be worried with it. But he + always knows where I have been with my duster and long-haired brush. And + now it came across me that I had better dust some books first of all, as + it was a good chance, he being sound asleep. So I lighted my lamp, went + straight to the study, and began where I last left off. + </p> + <p> + “As I was dusting, one of the books I came to looked so new and different + from the rest that I opened it to see what it was like inside. It was full + of pictures of mugs, and gold and silver jugs and cups—some of them + plain and some colored; and one of the colored ones was so beautiful that + I stood and looked at it. It was a gold cup, I suppose, for it was yellow; + and all round the edge, and on the sides, it was set with stones, like the + stones in mistress's rings, only much bigger. They were blue and red and + green and yellow, and more colors than I can remember. The book said it + was made by somebody, but I forget his name. It was a long name. The first + part of it began with a <i>B</i>, and the second with a <i>C</i>, I + remember that much. It was like <i>Benjamin</i>, but it wasn't <i>Benjamin</i>. + I put it back in its place, thinking I would ask the master whether there + really were such beautiful things, and took down the next. Now whether + that had been passed over between two batches I don't know, but it was so + dusty that before I would touch another I gave the duster a shake, and the + wind of it blew the lamp out I took it up to take it to the kitchen and + kindle it again, when, to my astonishment, I saw a light under the door of + a press which was always locked, and where master said he kept his most + precious books. 'How strange!' I thought; 'a light inside a locked + cupboard!' Then I remembered how in one place where I had been there was, + in a room over the stable, a press whose door had no fastening except a + bolt on the inside, which set me thinking, and some terrible things came + to me that made me remember it. So now I said to myself: 'There's some one + in there, after master's books!' It was not a likely thing, but the night + is the time for fancies, and in the night you don't know what is likely + and what is not. One thing, however, was clear—I ought to find out + what the light meant. Fearful things darted one after the other through my + head as I went to the door, but there was one thing I dared not do, and + that was to leave it unopened. So I opened it as softly as I could, in + terror lest the thief should hear my heart beating. When I could peep in + what do you think I saw? I could not believe my eyes! There was a great + big room! I rubbed my eyes, and stared; and rubbed them again and stared—thinking + to rub it away; but there it was, a big odd-shaped room, part of it with + round sides, and in the middle of the room a table, and on the table a + lamp, burning as I had never seen lamp burn, and master at the table with + his back to me. I was so astonished I forgot that I had no business there, + and ought to go away. I stood like an idiot, mazed and lost. And you will + not wonder when I tell you that the laird was holding up to the light, + between his two hands, the very cup I had been looking at in the book, the + stones of it flashing all the colors of the rainbow. I should think it a + dream, if I did not <i>know</i> it was not. I do not believe I made any + noise, for I could not move, but he started up with a cry to God to + preserve him, set the cup on the table, threw something over it, caught up + a wicked-looking knife, and turned round. His face was like that of a + corpse, and I could see him tremble. I stood steady; it was no time then + to turn away. I supposed he expected to see a robber, and would be glad + when he discovered it was only me; but when he did his fear changed to + anger, and he came at me. His eyes were flaming, and he looked as if he + would kill me. I was not frightened—poor old man, I was able for him + any day!—but I was afraid of hurting him. So I closed the door + quickly, and went softly to my own room, where I stood a long time in the + dark, listening, but heard nothing more. What am I to do, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that you have to do anything. You have one thing not to do, + that is—tell anybody what you have seen.” + </p> + <p> + “I was forced to tell <i>you</i> because I did not know what to do. It + makes me <i>so</i> sorry!” + </p> + <p> + “It was no fault of yours. You acted to the best of your knowledge, and + could not help what came of it. Perhaps nothing more will come. Leave the + thing alone, and if he say anything tell him how it happened.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Andrew, I don't think you see what it is that troubles me. I am + afraid my master is a miser. The mistress and he take their meals, like + poor people, in the kitchen. That must be the dining-room of the house!—and + though my eyes were tethered to the flashing cup, I could not help seeing + it was full of strange and beautiful things. Among them, I knew, by + pictures I had seen, the armor of knights, when they fought on their + horses' backs. Before people had money they must have misered other + things. Some girls miser their clothes, and never go decent!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose him a miser,” said Andrew, “what could you do? How are you to + help it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I want to know. I love my master, and there must be a way to + help it. It was terrible to see him, in the middle of the night, gazing at + that cup as if he had found the most precious thing that can ever have + existed on the earth.” + </p> + <p> + “What was that?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + He delighted in Dawtie's talk. It was like an angel's, he said, both in + its ignorance and its wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “You can't have forgotten, Andrew. It's impossible!” she answered. “I + heard you say yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man!” resumed Dawtie; “he looked at the cup as you might at that + manuscript! His soul was at it, feasting upon it! Now wasn't that + miserly?” + </p> + <p> + “It was like it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I love my master,” repeated Dawtie, thus putting afresh the question + what she was to do. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you love him, Dawtie?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm set to love him. Besides, we're told to love our enemies—then + surely we're to love our friends. He has always been a friend to me. He + never said a hard word to me, even when I was handling his books. He + trusts me with them! I can't help loving him—a good deal, Andrew! + And it's what I've got to do!” + </p> + <p> + “There's not a doubt about it, Dawtie. You've got to love him, and you do + love him!” + </p> + <p> + “But there's more than that, Andrew. To hear the laird talk you would + think he cared more for the Bible than for the whole world—not to + say gold cups. He talks of the merits of the Saviour, that you would think + he loved Him with all his heart. But I can not get it out of my mind, ever + since I saw that look on his face, that he loves that cup—that it's + his graven image—his idol! How else should he get up in the middle + of the night to—to—to—well, it was just like worshiping + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're afraid then that he's a hypocrite, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “No; I daren't think that—if it were only for fear I should stop + loving him—and that would be as bad!” + </p> + <p> + “As bad as what, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't always know what I'm going to say,” answered Dawtie, a little + embarrassed, “and then when I've said it I have to look what it means. But + isn't it as bad not to love a human being as it would be to love a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps worse,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Something must be done!” she went on. “He can't be left like that! But if + he has any love to his Master, how is it that the love of that Master does + not cast out the love of Mammon? I can't understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “You have asked a hard question, Dawtie. But a cure may be going on, and + take a thousand years or ages to work it out.” + </p> + <p> + “What if it shouldn't be begun yet.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “What then am I to do, Andrew? You always say we must <i>do</i> something! + You say there is no faith but what <i>does</i> something!” + </p> + <p> + “The apostle James said so, a few years before I was born, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make fun of me—please, Andrew! I like it, but I can't bear it + to-day, my head is so full of the poor old laird!” + </p> + <p> + “Make fun of you, Dawtie! Never! But I don't know yet how to answer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what <i>am</i> I to do?” persisted Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to + do, don't do anything—only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And + until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything.” + </p> + <p> + With this answer Dawtie was content. + </p> + <p> + Business was over, and they turned to go home. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. DAWTIE AND THE CUP. + </h2> + <p> + The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric. Believing himself a true lover + of literature, and especially of poetry, he would lecture for ten minutes + on the right mode of reading a verse in Hilton or Dante; but as to Satan + or Beatrice, would pin his faith to the majority of the commentators: + Milton's Satan was too noble, and Beatrice was no woman, but Theology. He + was discriminative to a degree altogether admirable as to the brightness + or wrongness of a proposition with regard to conduct, but owed his + respectability to good impulses without any effort of the will. He was + almost as orthodox as Paul before his conversion, lacking only the heart + and the courage to persecute. Whatever the eternal wisdom saw in him, the + thing most present to his own consciousness was the love of rare historic + relics. And this love was so mingled in warp and woof, that he did not + know whether a thing was more precious to him for its rarity, its money + value, or its historico-reliquary interest. All the time he was a + school-master, he saved every possible half-penny to buy books, not + because of their worth or human interest, but because of their literary + interest, or the scarcity of the book or edition. In the holidays he would + go about questing for the prey that his soul loved, hunting after precious + things; but not even the precious things of the everlasting hills would be + precious to him until they had received the stamp of curiosity. His life + consisted in a continual search for something new that was known as known + of old. It had hardly yet occurred to him that he must one day leave his + things and exist without them, no longer to brood over them, take them in + his hands, turn, and stroke, and admire them; yet, strange to say, he + would at times anxiously seek to satisfy himself that he was safe for a + better world, as he <i>called</i> it—to feel certain, that is, that + his faith was of the sort he supposed intended by Paul—not that he + had himself gathered anything from the apostle, but all from the + traditions of his church concerning the teaching of the apostle. He was + anxious, I say, as to his safety for the world to come, and yet, while his + dearest joy lay treasured in that hidden room, he never thought of the + hour when he must leave it all, and go houseless and pocketless, + empty-handed if not armless, in the wide, closetless space, hearing ever + in the winds and the rain and the sound of the sea-waves, the one question—“Whose + shall those things be which thou hast provided?” Like the rich man to whom + God said the words, he had gathered much goods for many years—hundreds + and hundreds of things, every one of which he knew, and every one of which + he loved. A new scratch on the bright steel of one of his suits of armor + was a scratch on his heart; the moth and the rust troubled him sore, for + he could not keep them away; and where his treasure was, there was his + heart, devoured by the same moth, consumed by the same rust. He had much + suffering from his possessions—was more exposed to misery than the + miser of gold, for the hoarded coin of the latter may indeed be stolen, + but he fears neither moth nor rust nor scratch nor decay. The laird + cherished his things as no mother her little ones. Nearly sixty years he + had been gathering them, and their money-worth was great, but he had no + idea of its amount, for he could not have endured the exposure and + handling of them which a valuation must involve. + </p> + <p> + His love for his books had somewhat declined in the growth of his love for + things, and now, by degrees not very slow, his love for his things was + graduating itself after what he supposed their money-value. His soul not + only clave to the dust but was going deeper and deeper in the dust as it + wallowed. All day long he was living in the past and growing old in it—it + is one thing to grow old in the past, and another to grow old in the + present! As he took his walk about his farms, or sat at his meals, or held + a mild, soulless conversation with his daughter, his heart was growing + old, not healthily in the present, which is to ripen, but unwholesomely in + the past, which is to consume with a dry rot. While he read the Bible at + prayers, trying hard to banish worldly things from his mind, his thoughts + were not in the story or the argument he read, but hovering, like a bird + over its nest, about the darlings of his heart. Yea, even while he prayed, + his soul, instead of casting off the clay of the world, was loaded and + dragged down with all the still-moldering, slow-changing things that lined + the walls and filled the drawers and cabinets of his treasure-chamber. It + was a place of whose existence not even his daughter knew; for before ever + she entered the house, he had taken with him a mason from the town, and + built up the entrance to it from the hall, ever afterward keeping the + other door of it that opened from his study carefully locked, and leaving + it to be regarded as the door of a closet. + </p> + <p> + It was as terrible as Dawtie felt it, that a live human soul should thus + haunt the sepulcher of the past, and love the lifeless, turning a room + hitherto devoted to hospitality and mirthful intercourse into the temple + of his selfish idolatry. It was as one of the rooms carved for the dead in + the Beban El Malook. Sure, if left to himself, the ghost that loved it + would haunt the place! But he could not surely be permitted! for it might + postpone a thousand years his discovery of the emptiness of a universe of + such treasures. Now he was moldering into the world of spirits in the + heart of an avalanche of the dust of ages, dust material from his hoards, + dust moral and spiritual from his withering soul itself. + </p> + <p> + The next day he was ill, which, common as is illness to humanity, was + strange, for it had never befallen him before. He was unable to leave his + bed. But he never said a word to his daughter, who alone waited on him, as + to what had happened in the night. He had passed it sleepless, and without + the possibility of a dream on which to fall back; yet, when morning came, + he was in much doubt whether what he had seen—the face, namely, of + Dawtie, peeping in at the door—was a reality, or but a vision of the + night. For when he opened the door which she had closed, all was dark, and + not the slightest sound reached his quick ear from the swift foot of her + retreat. He turned the key twice, and pushed two bolts, eager to regard + the vision as a providential rebuke of his carelessness in leaving the + door on the latch—for the first time, he imagined. Then he tottered + back to his chair, and sunk on it in a cold sweat. For, although the + confidence grew, that what he had seen was but + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + a false creation + Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain, +</pre> + <p> + it was far from comfortable to feel that he could no longer depend upon + his brain to tell him only the thing that was true. What if he were going + out of his mind, on the way to encounter a succession of visions—without + reality, but possessed of its power! What if they should be such whose + terror would compel him to disclose what most he desired to keep covered? + How fearful to be no more his own master, but at the beck and call of a + disordered brain, a maniac king in a <i>cosmos acosmos</i>! Better it had + been Dawtie, and she had seen in his hands Benvenuto Cellini's chalice + made for Pope Clement the Seventh to drink therefrom the holy wine—worth + thousands of pounds! Perhaps she had seen it! No, surely she had not! He + must be careful not to make her suspect! He would watch her and say + nothing! + </p> + <p> + But Dawtie, conscious of no wrong, and full of love to the old man, showed + an untroubled face when next she met him; and he made up his mind that he + would rather have her ignorant. Thenceforward, naturally though + childishly, he was even friendlier to her than before: it was so great a + relief to find that he had not to fear her! + </p> + <p> + The next time Dawtie was dusting the books, she felt strongly drawn to + look again at the picture of the cup: it seemed now to hold in it a human + life! She took down the book, and began where she stood to read what it + said about the chalice, referring as she read from letterpress to drawing. + It was taken from an illumination in a missal, where the cup was known to + have been copied; and it rendered the description in the letterpress + unnecessary except in regard to the stones and <i>dessins repoussés</i> on + the hidden side. She quickly learned the names of the gems, that she might + see how many were in the high-priest's breast-plate and the gates of the + new Jerusalem, then proceeded to the history of the chalice. She read that + it had come into the possession of Cardinal York, the brother of Charles + Edward Stuart, and had been by him intrusted to his sister-in-law, the + Duchess of Albany, from whose house it disappeared, some said stolen, + others said sold. It came next to the historic surface in the possession + of a certain earl whose love of curiosities was well known; but from his + collection again it vanished, this time beyond a doubt stolen, and + probably years before it was missed. + </p> + <p> + A new train of thought was presently in motion in the mind of the girl: <i>The + beautiful cup was stolen! it was not where it ought to be! it was not at + home! it was a captive, a slave</i>! She lowered the book, half closed, + with a finger between the leaves, and stood thinking. She did not for a + moment believe her master had stolen it, though the fear did flash through + her mind. It had been stolen and sold, and he had bought it at length of + some one whose possession of it was nowise suspicious! But he must know + now that it had been stolen, for here, with the cup, was the book which + said so! That would be nothing if the rightful owner were not known, but + he was known, and the thing ought to be his! The laird might not be bound, + she was not sure, to restore it at his own loss, for when he bought it he + was not aware that it was stolen; but he was bound to restore it at the + price he had paid for it, if the former owner would give it! This was bare + justice! mere righteousness! No theft could make the owner not the + rightful owner, though other claims upon the thing might come in! One + ought not to be enriched by another's misfortune! Dawtie was sure that a + noble of the kingdom of heaven would not wait for the money, but would + with delight send the cup where it ought to have been all the time! She + knew better, however, than require magnificence in any shape from the poor + wizened soul of her master—a man who knew all about everything, and + whom yet she could not but fear to <i>be</i> nothing: as Dawtie had + learned to understand life, the laird did not yet exist. But he well knew + right from wrong, therefore the discovery she just made affected her duty + toward him! It might be impossible to make impression on the miserliness + of a miser, but upon the honesty in a miser it might be possible! The + goblet was not his! + </p> + <p> + But the love of things dulls the conscience, and he might not be able, + having bought and paid for it, to see that the thing was not therefore <i>his</i>! + he might defend himself from seeing it! To Dawtie, this made the horror of + his condition the darker. She was one of God's babes, who can not help + seeing the true state of things. Logic was to her but the smoke that rose + from the burning truth; she saw what is altogether above and beyond logic—the + right thing, whose meanest servant, the hewer of its wood, not the drawer + of its water, the merest scullion and sweeper away of lies from the + pavement of its courts, is logic. + </p> + <p> + With a sigh she woke to the knowledge that she was not doing her work, and + rousing herself, was about to put the book on its shelf. But, her finger + being still in the place, she would have one more glance at the picture! + To her dismay she saw that she had made a mark on the plate, and of the + enormity of making a dirty mark on a book her master had made her well + aware. + </p> + <p> + She was in great distress. What was to be done? She did not once think of + putting it away and saying nothing. To have reasoned that her master would + never know, would have been an argument, pressing and imperative, for + informing him at once. She had done him an injury, and the injury must be + confessed and lamented; it was all that was left to be done! “Sic a + mischance!” she said, then bethought herself that there was no such thing + as mischance, when immediately it flashed upon her that here was the door + open for the doing of what was required of her. She was bound to confess + the wrong, and that would lead in the disclosure of what she knew, + rendering it comparatively easy to use some remonstrance with the laird, + whom in her mind's eye she saw like a beggar man tottering down a steep + road to a sudden precipice. Her duty was now so plain that she felt no + desire to consult Andrew. She was not one to ask an opinion for the sake + of talking opinion; she went to Andrew only when she wanted light to do + the right thing; when the light was around her, she knew how to walk, and + troubled no one. + </p> + <p> + At once she laid down book and duster, and went to find the laird. But he + had slipped away to the town, to have a rummage in a certain little shop + in a back street, which he had not rummaged for a long time enough, he + thought, to have let something come in. It was no relief to Dawtie: the + thing would be all the day before her instead of behind her! It burned + within her, not like a sin, but like what it was, a confession + unconfessed. Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with + the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the + turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the <i>coup de + grâce</i> to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of + her master, and yet she dreaded more his distress. + </p> + <p> + She prepared the laird's supper with a strange mingling of hope and + anxiety: she feared having to go to bed without telling him. But he came + at last, almost merry, with a brown paper parcel under his arm, over which + he was very careful. Poor man, he little knew there waited him at the + moment a demand from the eternal justice almost as terrible as: “This + night they require thy soul of thee!”—(What a <i>they</i> is that! + Who are <i>they</i>?)—The torture of the moral rack was ready for + him at the hands of his innocent house-maid! In no way can one torture + another more than by waking conscience against love, passion, or pride. + </p> + <p> + He laid his little parcel carefully on the supper-table, said rather a + shorter grace than usual, began to eat his porridge, praised it as very + good, spoke of his journey and whom he had seen, and was more talkative + than his wont He informed Alexa, almost with jubilation, that he had at + length found an old book he had been long on the watch for—a book + that treated, in ancient broad Scots, of the laws of verse, in full, even + exhaustive manner. He pulled it from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “It is worth at least ten times what I gave for it!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie wondered whether there ought not to have been some division of the + difference; but she was aware of no call to speak. One thing was enough + for one night! + </p> + <p> + Then came prayers. The old man read how David deceived the Philistines, + telling them a falsehood as to his raids. He read the narrative with a + solemnity of tone that would have graced the most righteous action: was it + not the deed of a man according to God's own heart?—how could it be + other than right! Casuist ten times a week, he made no question of the + righteousness of David's wickedness! Then he prayed, giving thanks for the + mercy that had surrounded them all the day, shielding them from the danger + and death which lurked for them in every corner. What would he say when + death did get him? Dawtie thought. Would he thank God then? And would he + see, when she spoke to him, that God wanted to deliver him from a worse + danger than any out-of-doors? Would he see that it was from much mercy he + was made more uncomfortable than perhaps ever in his life before? + </p> + <p> + At length his offering was completed—how far accepted who can tell! + He was God's, and He who gave him being would be his Father to the full + possibility of God. They rose from their knees; the laird took up his + parcel and book; his daughter went with him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. DAWTIE AND THE LAIRD. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her master + to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was shut + behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to it, + and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still there + was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little fumbling with + the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, bedewed with drops + of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little back, and the eyes + did not at once find the object they sought; then suddenly they lighted on + her, and the laird shook from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Dawtie?” he faltered out in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” answered Dawtie, “I have something to confess: would ye + hearken to me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!” returned the old + man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the importance + of the room whose entrance she had discovered. “Or,” he went on, finding + she did not move, “if you have done anything, Dawtie, that you ought not + to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must confess, not to a + poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I forgive you, and + there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the + door o' this room, and sit till—” + </p> + <p> + “What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I + say my prayers before I go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a + deliberate lie—two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the + largest room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since + first he entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, + for he had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to + save his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor + enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he must + hold to the lie! He <i>dared</i> not confess it! He stood sick and + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait, sir,” said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more + distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was + further down the wrong road than she had supposed! + </p> + <p> + Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face—for + did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?—she + turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and closed + the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her power. + </p> + <p> + Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she remembered + that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they should speak; + for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So she began by + simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she said, “I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark in + one of your books!” + </p> + <p> + Her words alarmed him a little, and made him forget for the instant his + more important fears. But he took care to be gentle with her; it would not + do to offend her! for was she not aware that where they stood was a door + by which he went in and out? + </p> + <p> + “You make me uneasy, Dawtie!” he said. “What book was it? Let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to take it down, but the laird followed her, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Point it out to me, Dawtie. I will get it.” + </p> + <p> + She did so. It opened at the plate. + </p> + <p> + “There is the mark!” she said. “I am right sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “So am I!” returned the laird. “But,” he added, willing she should feel + his clemency, and knowing the book was not a rare one, “it is a book + still, and you will be more careful another time! For you must remember, + Dawtie, that you don't come into this room to read the books, but to dust + them. You can go to bed now with an easy mind, I hope!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that + the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What + would she not have encountered for his deliverance! + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir,” she said, “let me show you a thing you never perhaps + happened to read!” And taking the book from his hand—he was too much + astonished to retain it—she turned over the engraving, and showed + him the passage which stated that the cup had disappeared from the + possession of its owner, and had certainly been stolen. + </p> + <p> + Finding he said not a word, she ventured to lift her eyes to his, and saw + again the corpse-like face that had looked through the chink of the door. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he stammered. “I do not understand!” + </p> + <p> + His lips trembled: was it possible he had had to do with the stealing of + it? + </p> + <p> + The truth was this: he had learned the existence of the cup from this very + book; and had never rested until, after a search of more than ten years, + he at length found it in the hands of a poor man who dared not offer it + for sale. Once in his possession, the thought of giving it up, or of + letting the owner redeem it, had never even occurred to him. Yet the + treasure made him rejoice with a trembling which all his casuistry would + have found it hard to explain; for he would not confess to himself its + real cause—namely, that his God-born essence was uneasy with a vague + knowledge that it lay in the bosom of a thief. “Don't you think, sir,” + said Dawtie, “that whoever has that cup ought to send it back to the place + it was stolen from?” + </p> + <p> + Had the old man been a developed hypocrite, he would have replied at once: + “He certainly ought.” But by word of mouth to condemn himself would have + been to acknowledge to himself that he ought to send the cup home, and + this he dared not do. Men who will not do as they know, make strange + confusion in themselves. The worst rancor in the vessel of peace is the + consciousness of wrong in a not all-unrighteous soul. The laird was false + to his own self, but to confess himself false would be to initiate a + change which would render life worthless to him! What would all his fine + things be without their heart of preciousness, the one jewel that now was + nowhere in the world but in his house, in the secret chamber of his + treasures, which would be a rifled case without it! As is natural to one + who will not do right, he began to argue the moral question, treating it + as a point of casuistry that troubled the mind of the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that, Dawtie!” he said. “It is not likely that the person + that has the cup, whoever he may be—that is, if the cup be still in + existence—is the same who stole it; and it would hardly be justice + to punish the innocent for the guilty?—as would be the case, if, + supposing I had bought the cup, I had to lose the money I paid for it. + Should the man who had not taken care of his cup have his fault condoned + at my expense? Did he not deserve, the many might say, to be so punished, + placing huge temptation in the path of the needy, to the loss of their + precious souls, and letting a priceless thing go loose in the world, to + work ruin to whoever might innocently buy it?” + </p> + <p> + His logic did not serve to show him the falsehood of his reasoning, for + his heart was in the lie. “Ought I or he,” he went on, “to be punished + because he kept the thing ill? And how far would the quixotic obligation + descend? A score of righteous men may by this time have bought and sold + the cup!—is it some demon-talisman, that the last must meet the + penalty, when the original owner, or some descendant of the man who lost + it, chooses to claim it? For anything we know, he may himself have + pocketed the price of the rumored theft! Can you not see it would be a + flagrant injustice?—fit indeed to put an end to all buying and + selling! It would annihilate transfer of property! Possession would mean + only strength to keep, and the world would fall into confusion.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be hard, I grant,” confessed Dawtie; “but the man who has it + ought at least to give the head of the family in which it had been the + chance of buying it back at the price it cost him. If he could not buy it + back—then the thing would have to be thought over.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I don't see the thing,” returned the laird. “But the question + needs not keep you out of bed, Dawtie! It is not often a girl in your + position takes an interest in the abstract! Besides,” he resumed, another + argument occurring to him, “a thing of such historical value and interest + ought to be where it was cared for, not where it was in danger every + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “There might be something in that,” allowed Dawtie, “if it were where + everybody could see it. But where is the good if it be but for the eyes of + one man?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes she meant fixed themselves upon her till their gaze grew to a + stony stare. She <i>must</i> know that he had it! Or did she only suspect? + He must not commit himself! He must set a watch on the door of his lips! + What an uncomfortable girl to have in the house! Oh, those self-righteous + Ingrams! What mischief they did! His impulse was to dart into his + treasure-cave, lock himself in, and hug the radiant chalice. He dared not. + He must endure instead the fastidious conscience and probing tongue of an + intrusive maid-servant! + </p> + <p> + “But,” he rejoined, with an attempt at a smile, “if the pleasure the one + man took in it should, as is easy to imagine, exceed immeasurably the + aggergate pleasure of the thousands that would look upon it and pass it by—what + then?” + </p> + <p> + “The man would enjoy it the more that many saw it—except he loved it + for greed, when he would be rejoicing in iniquity, for the cup would not + be his. And anyhow, he could not take it with him when he died!” + </p> + <p> + The face of the miser grew grayer; his lip trembled; but he said nothing. + He was beginning to hate Dawtie. She was an enemy! She sought his + discomfiture, his misery! He had read strange things in certain old books, + and half believed some of them: what if Dawtie was one of those evil + powers that haunt a man in pleasant shape, learn the secrets of his heart, + and gain influence over him that they may tempt him to yield his soul to + the enemy! She was set on ruining him! Certainly she knew that cup was in + his possession! He must temporize! He must <i>seem</i> to listen! But as + soon as fit reason could be found, such as would neither compromise him + nor offend her, she must be sent away! And of all things, she must not + gain the means of proving what she now perhaps only suspected, and was + seeking assurance of! He stood thinking. It was but for a moment; for the + very next words from the lips of the girl that was to him little more than + a house-broom, set him face to face with reality—the one terror of + the unreal. + </p> + <p> + “Eh, maister, sir,” said Dawtie, with the tears in her eyes, and now at + last breaking down in her English, “dinna ye <i>ken</i> 'at ye <i>hae</i> + to gie the man 'at aucht that gowden bicker, the chance o' buyin' 't + back?” + </p> + <p> + The laird shivered. He dared not say: “How do you know?” for he dared not + hear the thing proved to him. If she did know, he would not front her + proof! He would not have her even suppose it an acknowledged fact! + </p> + <p> + “If I had the cup,” he began—but she interrupted him: it was time + they should have done with lying! + </p> + <p> + “Ye ken ye hae the cup, sir!” she said. “And I ken tu, for I saw 't i' yer + han's!” + </p> + <p> + “You shameless, prying hussy!” he began, in a rage at last—but the + eager, tearful earnestness of her face made him bethink himself: it would + not do to make an enemy of her! “Tell me, Dawtie,” he said, with sudden + change of tone, “how it was you came to see it.” + </p> + <p> + She told him all—how and when; and he knew that he had seen her see + him. + </p> + <p> + He managed to give a poor little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “All is not gold that glitters, Dawtie!” he said. “The cup you saw was not + the one in the book, but an imitation of it—mere gilded tin and + colored glass—copied from the picture, as near as they could make it—just + to see better what it must have been like. Why, my good girl, that cup + would be worth thousands of pounds! So go to bed, and don't trouble + yourself about gold cups. It is not likely any of them will come our way!” + </p> + <p> + Simple as Dawtie was, she did not believe him. But she saw no good to be + done by disputing what he ought to know. + </p> + <p> + “It wasna aboot the gold cup I was troublin' mysel'!” she said, + hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “You are right there!” he replied, with another deathly laugh, “it was + not! But you have been troubling me about nothing half the night, and I am + shivering with cold! We really must, both of us, go to bed! What would + your mistress say!” + </p> + <p> + “No,” persisted Dawtie, “it wasna aboot the cup, gowd or no gowd; it was + and is aboot my maister I'm troubled! I'm terrible feart for ye, sir! + Ye're a worshiper o' Mammon, sir!” + </p> + <p> + The laird laughed, for the danger was over!—to Dawtie's deep dismay + he laughed! + </p> + <p> + “My poor girl,” he said, “you take an innocent love of curious things for + the worship of Mammon! Don't imagine me jesting. How could you believe an + old man like me, an elder of the kirk, a dispenser of her sacred things, + guilty of the awful crime of Mammon worship?” + </p> + <p> + He imagined her ignorantly associating the idea of some idolatrous ritual + with what to him was but a phrase—the worship of Mammon. “Do you not + remember,” he continued, “the words of Christ, that a man <i>can not</i> + serve God and Mammon? If I be a Christian, as you will hardly doubt, it + follows that I am not a worshiper of Mammon, for the two can not go + together.” + </p> + <p> + “But that's just the question, sir! A man who worships God, worships Him + with his whole heart and soul and strength and mind. If he wakes at night, + it is to worship God; if he is glad in his heart, it is because God is, + and one day he shall behold His face in brightness. If a man worships God, + he loves Him so that no love can come between him and God; if the earth + were removed, and the mountains cast into the midst of the sea, it would + be all one to him, for God would be all the same. Is it not so, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a good girl, Dawtie, and I approve of every word you say. It + would more than savor of presumption to profess that I loved God up to the + point you speak of; but I deserve to love Him. Doubtless a man ought to + love God so, and we are all sinners just because we do not love God so. + But we have the atonement!” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir,” answered Dawtie, the silent tears running down her face, “I + love God that way! I don't care a dust for anything without Him! When I go + to bed, I don't care if I never wake again in this world; I shall be where + He would have me!” + </p> + <p> + “You presume, Dawtie! I fear me much you presume! What if that should be + in hell?” + </p> + <p> + “If it be, it will be the best. It will be to set me right. Oh, sir, He is + so good! Tell me one thing, sir: when you die—” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, lass! we're not come to that yet! There's no occasion to think + about that yet awhile! We're in the hands of a reconciled God.” + </p> + <p> + “What I want to know,” pursued Dawtie, “is how you will feel, how you will + get on when you haven't got anything!” + </p> + <p> + “Not got anything, girl! Are you losing your senses? Of course we shall + want nothing then! I shall have to talk to the doctor about you! We shall + have you killing us in our beds to know how we like it!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed; but it was a rather scared laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What I mean,” she persisted, “is—when you have no body, and no + hands to take hold of your cap, what will you do without it?” + </p> + <p> + “What if I leave it to you, Dawtie!” returned the laird, with a stupid + mixture of joke and avarice in his cold eye. + </p> + <p> + “Please, sir, I didn't say what you would do with it, but what would you + do without it when it will neither come out of your heart nor into your + hands! It must be misery to a miser to <i>have</i> nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “A miser, hussy!” + </p> + <p> + “A lover of things, more than a lover of God!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you have the better of me!” he said, after a cowed pause; + for he perceived there was no compromise possible with Dawtie: she knew + perfectly what she meant; and he could neither escape her logic, nor + change her determination, whatever that might be. “I dare say you are + right! I will think what ought to be done about that cup!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, self amazed: he had committed himself!—as much as + confessed the cup genuine! But Dawtie had not been deceived, and had not + been thinking about the cup. Only it was plain that, if he would consent + to part with it for its money-worth, that would be a grand beginning + toward the renouncing of dead <i>things</i> altogether, toward the turning + to the living One the love that now gathered, clinging and haunting, about + gold cups and graved armor, and suchlike vapors and vanishings, that pass + with the sunsets and the snows. She fell on her knees, and, in the spirit + of a child and of the apostle of the Gentiles, cried, laying her little + red hands together and uplifting them to her master in purest entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, laird, laird, ye've been gude and kin' to me, and I lo'e ye, the Lord + kens! I pray ye for Christ's sake be reconciled to God, for ye hae been + servin' Mammon and no Him, and ye hae jist said we canna serve the twa, + and what 'ill come o' 't God only can tell, but it <i>maun</i> be misery!” + </p> + <p> + Words failed her. She rose, and left the room, with her apron to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + The laird stood a moment or two like one lost, then went hurriedly into + his “closet,” and shut the door. Whether he went on his knees to God as + did Dawtie to Him, or began again to gloat over his Cellini goblet, I do + not know. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie cried herself to sleep, and came down in the morning very pale. Her + duty had left her exhausted, and with a kind of nausea toward all the + ornaments and books in the house. A cock crew loud under the window of the + kitchen. She dropped on her knees, said “Father of lights!” not a word + beside, rose and began to rouse the fire. + </p> + <p> + When breakfast-time came, and the laird appeared, he looked much as usual, + only a little weary, which his daughter set down to his journey the day + before. He revived, however, as soon as he had succeeded in satisfying + himself that Alexa knew nothing of what had passed. How staid, discreet, + and compact of common sense Alexa seemed to him beside Dawtie, whose want + of education left her mind a waste swamp for the vagaries of whatever + will-o'-the-wisp an overstrained religious fantasy might generate! But + however much the laird might look the same as before, he could never, + knowing that Dawtie knew what she knew, be again as he had been. + </p> + <p> + “You'll do a few of the books to-day, won't you, Dawtie,” he said, “when + you have time? I never thought I should trust any one! I would sooner have + old Meg shave me than let her dust an Elzevir! Ha! ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was glad that at least he left the door open between them. She said + she would do a little dusting in the afternoon, and would be very careful. + Then the laird rose and went out, and Dawtie perceived, with a shoot of + compassion mingled with mild remorse, that he had left his breakfast + almost untasted. + </p> + <p> + But after that, so far from ever beginning any sort of conversation with + her, he seemed uncomfortable the moment they happened to be alone + together. If he caught her eye, he would say—hurriedly, and as if + acknowledging a secret between them, “By and by, Dawtie;” or, “I'm + thinking about the business, Dawtie;” or, “I'm making up my mind, Dawtie!” + and so leave her. On one occasion he said, “Perhaps you will be surprised + some day, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + On her part Dawtie never felt that she had anything more to say to him. + She feared at times that she had done him evil rather than good by + pressing upon him a duty she had not persuaded him to perform. She spoke + of this fear to Andrew, but he answered decisively: + </p> + <p> + “If you believed you ought to speak to him, and have discovered in + yourself no wrong motive, you must not trouble yourself about the result. + That may be a thousand years off yet. You may have sent him into a hotter + purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We know nothing + but that God is righteous.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know + their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are + seldom to be pitied. Where people have not yet found their work, they may + be more to be pitied than those that beg their bread. When a man knows his + work and will not do it, pity him more than one who is to be hanged + to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. ANDREW AND ALEXA. + </h2> + <p> + Andrew had occasion to call on the laird to pay his father's rent, and + Alexa, who had not seen him for some time, thought him improved both in + carriage and speech, and wondered. She did not take into account his + intercourse with God, as with highest human minds, and his constant + wakefulness to carry into action what things he learned. Thus trained in + noblest fashions of freedom, it was small wonder that his bearing and + manners, the natural outcome and expression of his habits of being, should + grow in liberty. There was in them the change only of development. By the + side of such education as this, dealing with reality and inborn dignity, + what mattered any amount of ignorance as to social custom! Society may + judge its own; this man was not of it, and as much surpassed its most + accomplished pupils in all the essentials of breeding, as the apostle Paul + was a better gentleman than Mr. Nash or Mr. Brummel. The training may be + slow, but it is perfect. To him who has yielded self, all things are + possible. Andrew was aware of no difference. He seemed to himself the same + as when a boy. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had not again alluded to his brother's letter concerning George + Crawford, fearing he might say what she would find unpleasant. But now she + wanted to get a definite opinion from him in regard to certain modes of + money-making, which had naturally of late occupied a good deal of her + thought. + </p> + <p> + “What is your notion concerning money-lending—I mean at interest, + Mr. Ingram?” she said. “I hear it is objected to nowadays by some that set + up for teachers!” + </p> + <p> + “It is by no means the first time in the world's history,” answered + Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know what you think of it, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I know little,” replied Andrew, “of any matter with which I have not had + to deal practically.” + </p> + <p> + “But ought not one to have his ideas ready for the time when we will have + to deal practically?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Mine would be pretty sure to be wrong,” answered Andrew; “and there is no + time to spend in gathering wrong ideas and then changing them!” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, they would be less warped by personal interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Could circumstances arise in which it would not be my first interest to + be honest?” said Andrew. “Would not my judgment be quickened by the + compulsion and the danger? In no danger myself, might I not judge too + leniently of things from which I should myself recoil? Selfishly smoother + with regard to others, because less anxious about their honesty than my + own, might I not yield them what, were I in the case, I should see at once + I dared not allow to myself? I can perceive no use in making up my mind + how to act in circumstances in which I am not—probably will never + be. I have enough to occupy me where I find myself, and should certainly + be oftener in doubt how to act, if I had bothered my brains how to think + in circumstances foreign to me. In such thinking, duty is of necessity a + comparatively feeble factor, being only duty imagined, not live duty, and + the result is the more questionable. The Lord instructed His apostles not + to be anxious what they should say when they were brought before rulers + and kings: I will leave the question of duty alone until action is + demanded of me. In the meantime I will do the duty now required of me, + which is the only preparation for the duty that is to come.” + </p> + <p> + Although Alexa had not begun to understand Andrew, she had sense enough + and righteousness enough to feel that he was somehow ahead of her, and + that it was not likely he and George Crawford would be of one mind in the + matter that occupied her, so different were their ways of looking at + things—so different indeed the things themselves they thought worth + looking at. + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a moment, then said: + </p> + <p> + “You can at least tell me what you think of gambling!” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is the meanest mode of gaining or losing money a man could + find.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he desires only to gain, and can gain only by his neighbor's + loss. One of the two must be the worse for his transaction with the other. + Each <i>must</i> wish ill to his neighbor!” + </p> + <p> + “But the risk was agreed upon between them.” + </p> + <p> + “True—but in what hope? Was it not, on the part of each, that he + would be the gainer and the other the loser? There is no common cause, + nothing but pure opposition of interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Are there not many things in which one must gain and the other lose?” + </p> + <p> + “There are many things in which one gains and the other loses; but if it + is essential to any transaction that only one side shall gain, the thing + is not of God.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of trading in stocks?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know enough about it to have a right to speak.” + </p> + <p> + “You can give your impression!” + </p> + <p> + “I will not give what I do not value.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose, then, you heard of a man who had made his money so, how would + you behave to him?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not seek his acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “If he sought yours?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be time to ask how he had made his money. Then it would be my + business.” + </p> + <p> + “What would make it your business?” + </p> + <p> + “That he sought my acquaintance. It would then be necessary to know + something about him, and the readiest question would be—how he had + made his money!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was silent for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think God cares about everything?” she said at length. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” answered Andrew, and she said no more. + </p> + <p> + Andrew avoided the discussion of moral questions. He regarded the thing as + <i>vermiculate</i>, and ready to corrupt the obedience. “When you have a + thing to do,” he would say, “you will do it right in proportion to your + love of right. But do the right, and you will love the right; for by doing + it you will see it in a measure as it is, and no one can see the truth as + it is without loving it. The more you <i>talk</i> about what is right, or + even about the doing of it, the more you are in danger of exemplifying how + loosely theory may be allied to practice. Talk without action saps the + very will. Something you have to do is waiting undone all the time, and + getting more and more undone. The only refuge is <i>to do</i>.” To know + the thing he ought to do was a matter of import, to do the thing he knew + he ought to do was a matter of life and death to Andrew. He never allowed + even a cognate question to force itself upon him until he had attended to + the thing that demanded doing: it was merest common sense! + </p> + <p> + Alexa had in a manner got over her uneasiness at the report of how George + was making his money, and their correspondence was not interrupted. But + something, perhaps a movement from the world of spirit coming like the + wind, had given her one of those motions to betterment, which, however + occasioned, are the throb of the divine pulse in our life, the call of the + Father, the pull of home, and the guide thither to such as will obey them. + She had in consequence again become doubtful about Crawford, and as to + whether she was right in corresponding with him. This led to her talk with + Andrew, which, while it made her think less of his intellect, influenced + her in a way she neither understood nor even recognized. There are two + ways in which one nature may influence another for betterment—the + one by strengthening the will, the other by heightening the ideal. Andrew, + without even her suspicion of the fact, wrought in the latter way upon + Alexa. She grew more uneasy. George was coming home: how was she to + receive him? Nowise bound, they were on terms of intimacy: was she to + encourage the procession of that intimacy, or to ward attempt at nearer + approach? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. GEORGE AND ANDREW. + </h2> + <p> + George returned, and made an early appearance at Potlurg. Dawtie met him + in the court. She did not know him, but involuntarily shrunk from him. He + frowned. There was a natural repugnance between them; the one was simple, + the other double; the one was pure, the other selfish; the one loved her + neighbor, the other preyed upon his. + </p> + <p> + George was a little louder, and his manners were more studied. Alexa felt + him overblown. He was floridly at his ease. What little “atmosphere” there + had been about him was gone, and its place taken by a colored fog. His + dress was unobjectionable, and yet attracted notice; perhaps it was only + too considered. Alexa was disappointed, and a little relieved. He looked + older, yet not more manly—and rather fat. He had more of the + confidence women dislike to see a man without, than was quite pleasant + even to the confident Alexa. His speech was not a little infected with the + nasality—as easy to catch as hard to get rid of—which I + presume the Puritans carried from England to America. On the whole, George + was less interesting than Alexa had expected. + </p> + <p> + He came to her as if he would embrace her, but an instinctive movement on + her part sufficed to check him. She threw an additional heartiness into + her welcome, and kept him at arm's-length. She felt as if she had lost an + old friend, and not gained a new one. He made himself very agreeable, but + that he made himself so, made him less so. + </p> + <p> + There was more than these changes at work in her; there was still the + underlying doubt concerning him. Although not yet a live soul, she had + strong if vague ideas about right and wrong; and although she sought many + things a good deal more than righteousness, I do not see what temptation + would at once have turned her from its known paths. At the same time I do + not see what she had yet, more than hundreds of thousands of well-meaning + women, to secure her from slow decay and final ruin. + </p> + <p> + They laughed and talked together very <i>like</i> the way they used, but + “every like is not the same,” and they knew there was a difference. George + was stung by the sense of it—too much to show that he was vexed. He + laid himself out to be the more pleasing, as if determined to make her + feel what he was worth—as the man, namely, whom he imagined himself, + and valued himself on being. + </p> + <p> + It is an argument for God, to see what fools those make of themselves who, + believing there is a God, do not believe <i>in</i> Him—children who + do not know the Father. Such make up the mass of church and chapel goers. + Let an earthquake or the small-pox break loose among them, and they will + show what sort their religion is. George had got rid of the folly of + believing in the existence of a God, either interested in human affairs or + careless of them, and naturally found himself more comfortable in + consequence; for he never had believed <i>in</i> God, and it is awkward to + believe and not believe at the same moment. What he had called his <i>beliefs</i> + were as worthy of the name as those of most people, but whether he was + better or worse without them hardly interests me, and my philanthropy will + scarce serve to make me glad that he was more comfortable. + </p> + <p> + As they talked, old times came up, and they drew a little nearer, until at + last a gentle spring of rose-colored interest began a feeble flow in + Alexa's mind. When George took his leave, which he did soon, with the + wisdom of one who feared to bore, she went with him to the court, where + the gardener was holding his horse. Beside them stood Andrew, talking to + the old man, and admiring the beautiful animal in his charge. + </p> + <p> + “The life of the Creator has run free through every channel up to this + creature!” he was saying as they came near. + </p> + <p> + “What rot!” said George to himself, but to Alexa he said: “Here's my old + friend, the farmer, I declare!” then to Andrew: “How do you do, Mr. + Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + George never forgot a man's name, and went in consequence for a better + fellow than he was. One may remember for reasons that have little to do + with good-fellowship. He spoke as if they were old friends. “You seem to + like the look of the beast!” he said: “you ought to know what's what in + horses!” + </p> + <p> + “He is one of the finest horses I ever saw,” answered Andrew. “The man who + owns him is fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be a good one!” said George. “I gave a hundred and fifty + guineas for him yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew could not help vaguely reflecting what kind of money had bought + him, if Sandy was right. + </p> + <p> + Alexa was pleased to see Andrew. He made her feel more comfortable. His + presence seemed to protect her a little. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you, Mr. Ingram,” she said, “to repeat what you were saying + about the horse as we came up?” + </p> + <p> + “I was saying,” answered Andrew, “that, to any one who understands a horse + it is clear that the power of God must have flowed unobstructed through + many generations to fashion such a perfection.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you indorse the development theory—do you?” said George. “I + should hardly have expected that of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think it has anything to do with what I said; no one disputes + that this horse comes of many generations of horses. The development + theory, if I understand aright, concerns itself with how his first + ancestor in his own kind came to be a horse.” + </p> + <p> + “And about that there can be no doubt in the mind of any one who believes + in the Bible!” said George. + </p> + <p> + “God makes beautiful horses,” returned Andrew; “whether He takes the one + way or the other to make them, I am sure He takes the right way.” + </p> + <p> + “You imply it is of little consequence what you believe about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had to make them it would be of consequence. But what I think of + consequence to us is—that He makes them, not out of nothing, but out + of Himself. Why should my poor notion of God's <i>how</i> be of + importance, so long as, when I see a horse like yours, Mr. Crawford, I + say, God be praised? It is of eternal importance to love the animal, and + see in him the beauty of the Lord; it is of none to fancy I know which way + God took to make him. Not having in me the power or the stuff to make a + horse, I can not know how God made the horse; I can know him to be + beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said George, “the first horse was a very common-looking domestic + animal, which they kept to eat—nothing like this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think God made the first horse, and after that the horses made + themselves,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Alexa laughed; George said nothing; Andrew went on. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he said, “if we have come up from the lower animals, through a + million of kinds, perhaps—against which theory I have nothing to + urge—then I am more than prepared to believe that the man who does + not do the part of a man will have to go down again, through all the + stages of his being, to a position beyond the lowest forms of the powers + he has misused, and there begin to rise once more, haunted perhaps with + dim hints of the world of humanity left so far above him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! What's the use of bothering! Rubbish!” cried George, with rude + jollity. “You know as well as I do, Mr. Ingram, it's all bosh! Things will + go on as they're doing, and as they have been doing, till now from all + eternity—so far as we know, and that's enough for us.” + </p> + <p> + “They will not go on so for long in our sight, Mr. Crawford. The worms + will have a word to say with us.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa turned away. + </p> + <p> + “You've not given up preaching and taken to the practical yet, Mr. Ingram, + I see,” said George. + </p> + <p> + Andrew laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I flatter myself I have not ceased to be practical, Mr. Crawford. You are + busy with what you see, and I am busy as well with what I don't see; but + all the time I believe my farm is in as good a state as your books.” + </p> + <p> + George gave a start, and stole a look at the young farmer, but was + satisfied he “meant nothing.” The self-seeker will walk into the very + abyss protesting himself a practical man, and counting him unpractical who + will not with him “jump the life to come.” Himself, he neither measures + the width nor questions his muscle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. WHAT IS IT WORTH? + </h2> + <p> + Andrew, with all his hard work, harder since Sandy went, continued able to + write, for he neither sought company nor drank strong drink, and was the + sport of no passion. From threatened inroad he appealed to Him who created + to lift His child above the torrent, and make impulse the slave of + conscience and manhood. There were no demons riding the whirlwinds of his + soul. It is not wonderful then that he should be able to write a book, or + that the book should be of genuine and original worth. It had the fortune + to be “favorably” reviewed, scarce one of those who reviewed it + understanding it, while all of them seemed to themselves to understand it + perfectly. I mention the thing because, had the book not been thus + reviewed, Alexa would not have bought a copy, or been able to admire it. + </p> + <p> + The review she read was in a paper whose editor would not have admitted it + had he suspected the drift which the reviewer had failed to see; and the + passages quoted appealed to Alexa in virtue, partly, of her not seeing + half they involved, or anything whatever of the said drift. But because he + had got a book published, and because she approved of certain lines, + phrases and passages in it; but chiefly because it had been praised by + more than one influential paper, Andrew rose immensely in Alexa's opinion. + Although he was the son of a tenant, was even a laborer on his farm, and + had covered a birth no higher than that of Jesus Christ with the gown of + no university, she began, against her own sense of what was fit, to look + up to the plow-man. The plow-man was not aware of this, and would have + been careless had he been. He respected his landlord's daughter, not ever + questioned her superiority as a lady where he made no claim to being a + gentleman, but he recognized in her no power either to help or to hurt. + </p> + <p> + When they next met, Alexa was no longer indifferent to his presence, and + even made a movement in the direction of being agreeable to him. She + dropped in a measure, without knowing she had ever used it, her + patronizing carriage, but had the assurance to compliment him not merely + on the poem he had written, but on the way it had been received; she could + not have credited, had he told her, that he was as indifferent to the + praise or blame of what is called the public, as if that public were + indeed—what it is most like—a boy just learning to read. Yet + it is the consent of such a public that makes the very essence of what is + called fame. How should a man care for it who knows that he is on his way + to join his peers, to be a child with the great ones of the earth, the + lovers of the truth, the Doers of the Will. What to him will be the wind + of the world he has left behind, a wind that can not arouse the dead, that + can only blow about the grave-clothes of the dead as they bury their dead. + </p> + <p> + “Live, Dawtie,” said Andrew to the girl, “and ane day ye'll hae yer hert's + desire; for 'Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after + righteousness.'” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was neither annoyed nor gratified with the compliments Alexa paid + him, for she did not know the informing power of the book—what he + cared for in it—the thing that made him write it. But her gentleness + and kindness did please him; he was glad to feel a little at home with + her, glad to draw a little nearer to one who had never been other than + good to him. And then was she not more than kind, even loving to Dawtie? + </p> + <p> + “So, Andrew, you are a poet at last,” she said, holding out her hand to + him, which Andrew received in a palm that wrote the better verse that it + was horny. “Please to remember I was the first that found you out!” she + added. + </p> + <p> + “I think it was my mother,” answered Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “And I would have helped you if you would have let me.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not well, ma'am, to push the bird off because he can't sit safe on + the edge of the nest.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are right A failure then would have stood in the way of your + coming fame.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for that, ma'am, believe me, I do not care a short straw.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you not care for?” + </p> + <p> + “For fame.” + </p> + <p> + “That is wrong, Andrew. We ought to care what our neighbors think of us.” + </p> + <p> + “My neighbors did not set me to do the work, and I did not seek their + praise in doing it. Their friendship I prize dearly—more than tongue + can tell.” + </p> + <p> + “You can not surely be so conceited, Andrew, as to think nobody capable of + judging your work.” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it, ma'am. But you were speaking of fame, and that does not come + from any wise judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you write for, if you care nothing for fame? I thought that + was what all poets wrote for.” + </p> + <p> + “So the world thinks; and those that do sometimes have their reward.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me then what you write for?” + </p> + <p> + “I write because I want to tell something that makes me glad and strong. I + want to say it, and so try to say it. Things come to me in gleams and + flashes, sometimes in words themselves, and I want to weave them into a + melodious, harmonious whole. I was once at an oratorio, and that taught me + the shape of a poem. In a pause of the music, I seemed all at once to see + Handel's heavy countenance looking out of his great wig, as he sat putting + together his notes, ordering about in his mind, and fixing in their places + with his pen, his drums, and pipes, and fiddles, and roaring bass, and + flageolets, and hautboys—all to open the door for the thing that was + plaguing him with the confusion of its beauty. For I suppose even Handel + did not hear it all clear and plain at first, but had to build his + orchestra into a mental organ for his mind to let itself out by, through + the many music holes, lest it should burst with its repressed harmonic + delights. He must have felt an agonized need to set the haunting angels of + sound in obedient order and range, responsive to the soul of the thing, + its one ruling idea! I saw him with his white rapt face, looking like a + prophet of the living God sent to speak out of the heart of the mystery of + truth! I saw him as he sat staring at the paper before him, scratched all + over as with the fury of a holy anger at his own impotence, and his soul + communed with heavenliest harmonies! Ma'am, will any man persuade me that + Handel at such a moment was athirst for fame? or that the desire to please + a house full or world full of such as heard his oratorios, gave him the + power to write his music? No, ma'am! he was filled, not with the longing + for sympathy, and not even with the good desire to give delight, but with + the music itself. It was crying in him to get out, and he heard it crying, + and could not rest till he had let it out; and every note that dropped + from his pen was a chip struck from the granite wall between the + song-birds in their prison-nest, and the air of their liberty. Creation is + God's self-wrought freedom. No, ma'am, I do not despise my fellows, but + neither do I prize the judgment of more than a few of them. I prize and + love themselves, but not their opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was silent, and Andrew took his leave. She sat still for awhile + thinking. If she did not understand, at least she remembered Andrew's face + as he talked: could presumption make his face shine so? could presumption + make him so forget himself? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. THE GAMBLER AND THE COLLECTOR. + </h2> + <p> + Things went swimmingly with George. He had weathered a crisis, and was now + full of confidence, as well as the show of it. That he held himself a man + who could do what he pleased, was plain to every one. His prosperity + leaned upon that of certain princes of the power of money in America: + gleaning after them he found his fortune. + </p> + <p> + But he did not find much increase of favor with Alexa. Her spiritual + tastes were growing more refined. There was something about the man, and + that not new, which she could no longer contemplate without + dissatisfaction. It cost her tears at night to think that, although her + lover had degenerated, he had remained true to her, for she saw plainly + that it was only lack of encouragement that prevented him from asking her + to be his wife. She must <i>appear</i> changeable, but this was not the + man she had been ready to love! the plant had put forth a flower that was + not in sequence with the leaf. The cause of his appearing different might + lie in herself, but in any case he was not the gentleman she had thought! + Had she loved him, she would have stood by him bravely, but now she could + not help recalling the disgrace of the father, and shrunk from sharing it + with the son. Would it be any wonder if the son himself proved less than + honorable? She would have broken with him quite but for one thing: he had + become intimate with her father, and the laird enjoyed his company. + </p> + <p> + George had a large straggling acquaintance with things, and could readily + appear to know more than he did. He was, besides, that most agreeable + person to a man with a hobby, a good listener—when he saw reason. He + made himself so pleasant that the laird was not only always glad to see + him, but would often ask him to stay to supper, when he would fish up from + the wine-cellar he had inherited a bottle with a history and a character, + and the two would pass the evening together, Alexa trying not to wish him + away, for was not her poor old father happy with him! Though without much + pleasure of his own in such things, George, moved by the reflection of the + laird's interest, even began to <i>collect</i> a little, mainly in the + hope of picking up what might gratify the laird; nor, if he came upon a + thing he <i>must</i> covet, would hesitate to spend on it a good sum. + Naturally the old man grew to regard him as a son of the best sort, one + who would do anything to please his father and indulge his tastes. + </p> + <p> + It may seem surprising that such a man as George should have remained so + true; but he had a bull-dog tenacity of purpose, as indeed his + money-making indicated. Then there was good in him to the measure of + admiring a woman like Alexa, though not of admiring a far better. He saw + himself in danger of losing her; concluded influences at work to the + frustration of his own; surmised that she doubted the character of his + business; feared the clownish farmer-poet might have dazzled with his new + reputation her womanly judgment; and felt himself called upon to make good + his position against any and every prejudice she might have conceived + against him! He would yield nothing! If he was foiled he was foiled, but + it should not be his fault! His own phrase was, that he would not throw up + the sponge so long as he could come up grinning. He had occasional twinges + of discomfort, for his conscience, although seared indeed, was not seared + as with the hottest iron, seeing he had never looked straight at any + truth: it would ease those twinges, he vaguely imagined, so to satisfy a + good woman like Alexa, that she made common cause with him, accepting not + merely himself, but the money of which he had at such times a slight + loathing. Then Alexa was handsome—he thought her <i>very</i> + handsome, and, true to Mammon, he would gladly be true also to something + better. There <i>might be</i> another camp, and it would be well to have + friends in that too! + </p> + <p> + So unlike Andrew, how could he but dislike him! and his dislike jealousy + fostered into hatred. Cowed before him, like Macbeth before Banquo, + because he was an honest man, how could he but hate him! He called him, + and thought him a canting, sneaking fellow—which he was, if canting + consist in giving God His own, and sneaking consist in fearing no man—in + fearing nothing, indeed, but doing wrong. How could George consent even to + the far-off existence of such a man! + </p> + <p> + The laird also had taken a dislike to him. + </p> + <p> + From the night when Dawtie made her appeal, he had not known an hour's + peace. It was not that it had waked his conscience, though it had made it + sleep a little less soundly; it was only that he feared she might take + further action in regard to the cup. She seemed to him to be taking part + with the owner of the cup against him; he could not see that she was + taking part with himself against the devil; that it was not the cup she + was anxious about, but the life of her master. What if she should acquaint + the earl's lawyer with all she knew! He would be dragged into public + daylight! He could not pretend ignorance concerning the identity of the + chalice! that would be to be no antiquarian, while Dawtie would bear + witness that he had in his possession a book telling all about it! But the + girl would never of herself have turned against him! It was all that + fellow Ingram, with his overstrained and absurd notions as to what God + required of His poor sinful creatures! He did not believe in the + atonement! He did not believe that Christ had given satisfaction to the + Father for our sins! He demanded in the name of religion more than any + properly educated and authorized minister would! and in his meddlesomeness + had worried Dawtie into doing as she did! The girl was a good and modest + girl, and would never of herself have so acted! Andrew was righteous + overmuch, therefore eaten up with self-conceit, and the notion of pleasing + God more than other men! He cherished old grudges against him, and would + be delighted to bring his old school-master to shame! He was not a bad boy + at school; he had always liked him; the change in him witnessed to the + peril of extremes! Here they had led to spiritual pride, which was the + worst of all the sins! The favorite of heaven could have no respect for + the opinion of his betters! The man was bent on returning evil for all the + good he had done the boy! It was a happy thing young Crawford understood + him! He would be his friend, and defeat the machinations of his enemy! If + only the fellow's lease were out, that he might get rid of him! + </p> + <p> + Moved by George's sympathy with his tastes, he drew nearer and nearer to + disclosing the possession which was the pride of his life. The enjoyment, + of connoisseur or collector rests much on the glory of possession—of + having what another has not, or, better still, what no other can possibly + have. + </p> + <p> + From what he had long ago seen on the night of the storm, and now from the + way the old man hinted, and talked, and broke off; also from the + uneasiness he sometimes manifested, George had guessed that there was + something over whose possession he gloated, but for whose presence among + his treasures he could not comfortably account He therefore set himself, + without asking a single question, to make the laird unbosom. A hold on the + father would be a hold on the daughter! + </p> + <p> + One day, in a pawnbroker's shop, he lighted upon a rarity indeed, which + might or might not have a history attributed to it, but was in itself more + than interesting for the beauty of both material and workmanship. The sum + asked for it was large, but with the chance of pleasing the laird, it + seemed to George but a trifle. It was also, he judged, of intrinsic value + to a great part of the price. Had he been then aware of the passion of the + old man for jewels in especial, he would have been yet more eager to + secure it for him. It was a watch, not very small, and by no means thin—a + repeater, whose bell was dulled by the stones of the mine in which it lay + buried. The case was one mass of gems of considerable size, and of every + color. Ruby, sapphire, and emerald were judiciously parted by diamonds of + utmost purity, while yellow diamonds took the golden place for which the + topaz had not been counted of sufficient value. They were all crusted + together as close as they could lie, the setting of them hardly showing. + The face was of fine opals, across which moved the two larger hands + radiant with rubies, while the second-hand flitted flashing around, + covered with tiny diamonds. The numerals were in sapphires, within a + bordering ring of emeralds and black pearls. The jewel was a splendor of + color and light. + </p> + <p> + George, without preface, took it from his pocket, held it a moment in the + sunlight, and handed it to the laird. He glowered at it. He saw an angel + from heaven in a thing compact of earth-chips! As near as any <i>thing</i> + can be loved of a live soul, the laird loved a fine stone; what in it he + loved most, the color, the light, the shape, the value, the mystery, he + could not have told!—and here was a jewel of many fine stones! With + both hands he pressed it to his bosom. Then he looked at it in the sun, + then went into the shadow of the house, for they were in the open air, and + looked at it again. Suddenly he thrust it into his pocket, and hurried, + followed by George, to his study. There he closed the shutters, lighted a + lamp, and gazed at the marvel, turning it in all directions. At length he + laid it on the table, and sunk with a sigh into a chair. George understood + the sigh, and dug its source deeper by telling him, as he had heard it, + the story of the jewel. + </p> + <p> + “It may be true,” he said as he ended. “I remember seeing some time ago a + description of the toy. I think I could lay my hand on it!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind leaving it with me till you come again?” faltered the + laird. + </p> + <p> + He knew he could not buy it: he had not the money; but he would gladly + dally with the notion of being its possessor. To part with it, the moment + after having held it in his hand and gloated over it for the first time, + would be too keen a pain! It was unreasonable to have to part with it at + all! He <i>ought</i> to be its owner! Who could be such an owner to a + thing like that as he! It was a wrong to him that it was not his! Next to + his cup, it was the most precious thing he had ever wished to possess!—a + thing for a man to take to the grave with him! Was there no way of + carrying <i>any</i> treasure to the other world? He would have sold of his + land to secure the miracle, but, alas, it was all entailed! For a moment + the Cellini chalice seemed of less account, and he felt ready to throw + open the window of his treasure-room and pitch everything out. The demon + of <i>having</i> is as imperious and as capricious as that of drink, and + there is no refuge from it but with the Father. “This kind goeth not out + by prayer.” + </p> + <p> + The poor slave uttered, not a sigh now, but a groan. “You'll tell the + man,” he said, thinking George had borrowed the thing to show him, “that I + did not even ask the price: I know I can not buy it!” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he would give you credit!” suggested George, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “No! I will have nothing to do with credit! I should not be able to call + it my own!”—Money-honesty was strong in the laird. “But,” he + continued, “do try and persuade him to let me have it for a day or two—that + I may get its beauty by heart, and think of it all the days, and dream of + it all the nights of my life after!” + </p> + <p> + “There will be no difficulty about that,” answered George. “The owner will + be delighted to let you keep it as long as you wish!” + </p> + <p> + “I would it were so!” + </p> + <p> + “It is so!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say, George, that that queen of jewels is yours, and + you will lend it me?” + </p> + <p> + “The thing is mine, but I will not lend it—not even to you, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't wonder!—I don't wonder! But it is a great disappointment! I + was beginning to hope I—I—might have the loan of it for a week + or two even!” + </p> + <p> + “You should indeed if the thing were mine!” said George, playing him; “but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you said it was yours!” + </p> + <p> + “So it was when I brought it, but it is mine no longer. It is yours. I + purchased it for you this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The old man was speechless. He rose, and seizing George by both hands, + stood staring at him. Something very like tears gathered within the + reddened rims of his eyes. He had grown paler and feebler of late, ever in + vain devising to secure possession of the cup—possession moral as + well as legal. But this entrancing gift brought with it strength and hope + in regard to the chalice! “To him that hath shall be given!” quoted the + Mammon within him. + </p> + <p> + “George!” he said, with a moan of ecstasy, “you are my good angel!” and + sat down exhausted. The watch was the key to his “closet,” as he persisted + in calling his treasury. + </p> + <p> + In old times not a few houses in Scotland held a certain tiny room, built + for the head of the family, to be his closet for prayer: it was, I + believe, with the notion of such a room in his head, that the laird had + called his museum his closet; and he was more right than he meant to be; + for in that chamber he did his truest worship—truest as to the love + in it, falsest as to its object; for there he worshiped the god vilest + bred of all the gods, bred namely of man's distrust in the Life of the + universe. + </p> + <p> + And now here also were two met together to worship; for from this time the + laird, disclosing his secret, made George free of his sanctuary. + </p> + <p> + George was by this time able to take a genuine interest in the collection. + But he was much amused, sometimes annoyed, with the behavior of the laird + in his closet: he was more nervous and touchy over his things than a + she-bear over her cubs. + </p> + <p> + Of all dangers to his darlings he thought a woman the worst, and had + therefore seized with avidity the chance of making that room a hidden one, + the possibility of which he had spied almost the moment he first entered + it. + </p> + <p> + He became, if possible, fonder of his things than ever, and flattered + himself he had found in George a fellow-worshiper: George's exaggerated or + pretended appreciation enhanced his sense of their value. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. ON THE MOOR. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa had a strong shaggy pony, which she rode the oftener that George + came so often; taking care to be well gone before he arrived on his + beautiful horse. + </p> + <p> + One lovely summer evening she had been across the moor a long way, and was + returning as the sun went down. A glory of red molten gold was shining in + her face, so that she could see nothing in front of her, and was a little + startled by a voice greeting her with a respectful good-evening. The same + moment she was alongside of the speaker in the blinding veil of the sun. + It was Andrew walking home from a village on the other side of the moor. + She drew rein, and they went together. + </p> + <p> + “What has come to you, Mr. Ingram?” she said; “I hear you were at church + last Sunday evening!” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I not be, ma'am?” asked Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “For the reason that you are not in the way of going.” + </p> + <p> + “There might be good reason for going once, or for going many times, and + yet not for going always!” + </p> + <p> + “We won't begin with quarreling! There are things we shall not agree + about!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; one or two—for a time, I believe!” returned Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “What did you think of Mr. Rackstraw's sermon? I suppose you went to hear + <i>him</i>.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am—at least partly.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me first whether you were satisfied with Mr. Rackstraw's + teaching? I know you were there.” + </p> + <p> + “I was quite satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I don't see reason for saying anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am wrong, you ought to try to set me right!” + </p> + <p> + “The prophet Elisha would have done no good by throwing his salt into the + running stream. He cast it, you will remember, into the spring!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no use in persuading a person to change an opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the man is neither the better nor the worse for it. If you had + told me you were distressed to hear a man in authority speak as Mr. + Rackstraw spoke concerning a being you loved, I would have tried to + comfort you by pointing out how false it was. But if you are content to + hear God so represented, why should I seek to convince you of what is + valueless to you? Why offer you to drink what your heart is not thirsting + after? Would you love God more because you found He was not what you were + quite satisfied He should be?” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell me more plainly what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You must excuse me. I have said all I will. I can not reason in defense + of God. It seems blasphemy to argue that His nature is not such as no + honorable man could love in another man.” + </p> + <p> + “But if the Bible says so?” + </p> + <p> + “If the Bible said so, the Bible would be false. But the Bible does not + say so.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it then that it seems to say so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you were taught falsely about Him before you desired to know + Him.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am capable of judging now!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Am I not?” insisted Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Do you desire to know God?” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I think I do know Him.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think those things true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we are where we were, and I say no more.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not polite.” + </p> + <p> + “I can not help it. I must let you alone to believe about God what you + can. You will not be blamed for not believing what you can not.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that God never punishes any one for what He can not help?” + </p> + <p> + “Assuredly.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you prove that?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not attempt to prove it. If you are content to think He does, if + it do not trouble you that your God should be unjust, go on thinking so + until you are made miserable by it, then I will pour out my heart to + deliver you.” + </p> + <p> + She was struck, not with any truth in what he said, but with the evident + truthfulness of the man himself. Right or wrong, there was that about him—a + certain radiance of conviction—which certainly was not about Mr. + Rackstraw. + </p> + <p> + “The things that can be shaken,” said Andrew, as if thinking with himself, + “may last for a time, but they will at length be shaken to pieces, that + the things which can not be shaken may show what they are. Whatever we + call religion will vanish when we see God face to face.” + </p> + <p> + For awhile they went brushing through the heather in silence. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask you one question, Mr. Ingram?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Surely, ma'am! Ask me anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will answer me?” + </p> + <p> + “If I am at liberty to answer you I will.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by being at liberty? Are you under any vow?” + </p> + <p> + “I am under the law of love. I am bound to do nothing to hurt. An answer + that would do you no good I will not give.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what will or will not do me good?” + </p> + <p> + “I must use what judgment I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true, then, that you believe God gives you whatever you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never asked anything of Him that He did not give me.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind telling me anything you have asked of Him?” + </p> + <p> + “I have never yet required to ask anything not included in the prayer, + 'Thy will be done.'” + </p> + <p> + “That will be done without your praying for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; I do not believe it will be done, to all eternity, without my + praying for it. Where first am I accountable that His will should be done? + Is it not in myself? How is His will to be done in me without my willing + it? Does He not want me to love what He loves?—to be like Himself?—to + do His will with the glad effort of my will?—in a word, to will what + He wills? And when I find I can not, what am I to do but pray for help? I + pray, and He helps me.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing strange in that!” + </p> + <p> + “Surely not It seems to me the simplest common sense. It is my business, + the business of every man, that God's will be done by his obedience to + that will, the moment he knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “I fancy you are not so different from other people as you think yourself. + But they say you want to die.” + </p> + <p> + “I want nothing but what God wants. I desire righteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you accept the righteousness of Christ?” + </p> + <p> + “Accept it! I long for it.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that it is not what I mean!” + </p> + <p> + “I seek first the kingdom of God and God's righteousness.” + </p> + <p> + “You avoid my question. Do you accept the righteousness of Christ instead + of your own?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no righteousness of my own to put it instead of. The only + righteousness there is is God's, and He will make me righteous like + Himself. He is not content that His one Son only should be righteous; He + wants all His children to be righteous as He is righteous. The thing is + plain; I will not argue about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not believe in the atonement.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in Jesus Christ. He is the atonement. What strength God has + given me I will spend in knowing Him and doing what He tells me. To + interpret His plans before we know Himself is to mistake both Him and His + plans. I know this, that he has given His life for what multitudes who + call themselves by His name would not rise from their seats to share in.” + </p> + <p> + “You think me incapable of understanding the gospel?” + </p> + <p> + “I think if you did understand the gospel of Christ you would be incapable + of believing the things about His Father that you say you do believe. But + I will not say a word more. When you are able to see the truth, you will + see it; and when you desire the truth you will be able.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa touched her pony with her whip. But by and by she pulled him up, and + made him walk till Andrew overtook her. + </p> + <p> + The sun was by this time far out of sight, the glow of the west was over, + and twilight lay upon the world. Its ethereal dimness had sunk into her + soul. + </p> + <p> + “Does the gloaming make you sad, Mr. Ingram?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me very quiet,” he answered—“as if all my people were + asleep, and waiting for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean as if they were all dead? How can you talk of it so quietly?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do not believe in death.” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>do</i> you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I am a Christian!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are, Mr. Ingram, though, to be honest with you, some things + make me doubt it Perhaps you would say I am not a Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “It is enough that God knows whether you are a Christian or not. Why + should I say you are or you are not?” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to know what you meant when you said you were a Christian. How + should that make you indifferent to the death of your friends? Death is a + dreadful thing, look at it how you like.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord says, 'He that liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.' If + my friends are not dead, but living and waiting for me, why should I wait + for them in a fierce, stormy night, or a black frost, instead of the calm + of such a sleeping day as this—a day with the son hid, Shakespeare + calls it.” + </p> + <p> + “How you do mix up things! Shakespeare and Jesus Christ!” + </p> + <p> + “God mixed them first, and will mix them a good deal more yet,” said + Andrew. + </p> + <p> + But for the smile which would hover like a heavenly Psyche about his + mouth, his way of answering would sometimes have seemed curt to those who + did not understand him. Instead of holding aloof in his superiority, + however, as some thought he did when he would not answer, or answered + abruptly, Andrew's soul would be hovering, watching and hoping for a + chance of lighting, and giving of the best he had. He was like a great + bird changing parts with a child—the child afraid of the bird, and + the bird enticing the child to be friends. He had learned that if he + poured out his treasure recklessly it might be received with dishonor, and + but choke the way of the chariot of approaching truth. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you will say next there is no such thing as suffering,” resumed + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “No; the Lord said that in the world His friends should have tribulation.” + </p> + <p> + “What tribulation have you, who are so specially His friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much yet It is a little, however, sometimes, to know such strong, and + beautiful, and happy-making things, and all the time my people, my beloved + humans, born of my Father in heaven, with the same heart for joy and + sorrow, will not listen and be comforted, I think that was what made our + Lord sorriest of all.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ingram, I have no patience with you. How dare you liken your trouble + to that of our Lord—making yourself equal with Him!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it making myself equal with Him to say that I understand a little how + He felt toward His fellow-men? I am always trying to understand Him; would + it be a wonder if I did sometimes a little? How is a man to do as He did, + without understanding Him?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to work miracles next?” + </p> + <p> + “Jesus was always doing what God wanted Him to do. That was what He came + for, not to work miracles. He could have worked a great many more if He + had pleased, but He did no more than God wanted of Him. Am I not to try to + do the will of God, because He who died that I might, always succeeded + however hard it was, and I am always failing and having to try again?” + </p> + <p> + “And you think you will come to it in this life?” + </p> + <p> + “I never think about that; I only think about doing His will now—not + about doing it then—that is, to-morrow or next day or next world. I + know only one life—the life that is hid with Christ in God; and that + is the life by which I live here and now. I do not make schemes of life; I + live. Life will teach me God's plans; I will take no trouble about them; I + will only obey, and receive the bliss He sends me. And of all things I + will not make theories of God's plans for other people to accept. I will + only do my best to destroy such theories as I find coming between some + poor glooming heart, and the sun shining in his strength. Those who love + the shade of lies, let them walk in it until the shiver of the eternal + cold drive them to seek the face of Jesus Christ. To appeal to their + intellect would be but to drive them the deeper into the shade to justify + their being in it. And if by argument you did persuade them out of it, + they would but run into a deeper and worse darkness.” + </p> + <p> + “How could that be?” + </p> + <p> + “They would at once think that, by an intellectual stride they had + advanced in the spiritual life, whereas they would be neither the better + nor the worse. I know a man, once among the foremost in denouncing the old + theology, who is now no better than a swindler.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “No one you know, ma'am. His intellectual freedom seems only to have + served his spiritual subjugation. Right opinion, except it spring from + obedience to the truth, is but so much rubbish on the golden floor of the + temple.” + </p> + <p> + The peace of the night and its luminous earnestness were gleaming on + Andrew's face, and Alexa, glancing up as he ceased, felt again the inroad + of a sense of something in the man that was not in the other men she knew—the + spiritual shadow of a dweller in regions beyond her ken. The man was + before her, yet out of her sight! + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was too simple for her, only a child could understand it + Instead of listening to the elders and priests to learn how to save his + soul, he cast away all care of himself, left that to God, and gave himself + to do the will of Him from whose heart he came, even as the eternal Life, + the Son of God, required of him; in the mighty hope of becoming one mind, + heart, soul, one eternal being, with Him, with the Father, with every good + man, with the universe which was his inheritance—walking in the + world as Enoch walked with God, held by his hand. This is what man was and + is meant to be, what man must become; thither the wheels of time are + roaring; thither work all the silent potencies of the eternal world; and + they that will not awake and arise from the dead must be flung from their + graves by the throes of a shivering world. + </p> + <p> + When he had done speaking Andrew stood and looked up. A few stars were + looking down through the limpid air. Alexa rode on. Andrew let her go, and + walked after her alone, sure that her mind must one day open to the + eternal fact that God is all in all, the perfect friend of His children; + yea, that He would cease to be God sooner than fail His child in his + battle with death. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. THE WOOER. + </h2> + <p> + Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined + toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to + open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her father. + But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in doubt no + longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had gone there + with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her hand, from + which she was storing her mind with arguments against what she supposed + the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of his condescending + to front them with counter-argument. His voice returned ever to the ear of + her mind in words like these: “If you are content to think so, you are in + no condition to receive what I have to communicate. Why should I press + water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let us wait for the drought of the + desert, when life is a low fever, and the heart is dry; when the earth is + like iron, and the heavens above it are as brass.” + </p> + <p> + She started at the sound of George's voice. + </p> + <p> + “What lovely weather!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium—the side of + nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy + summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and held + her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted again to + eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental. + </p> + <p> + “Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too much + of your attention, Alexa!” + </p> + <p> + “You have been very kind, George!” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Kind is not asking much of your attention?” + </p> + <p> + “Yea—that, and giving my father so much of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly have seen more of him than of you!” returned George, hoping + her words meant reproach. “But he has always been kind to me, and pleased + to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!” + </p> + <p> + To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he + had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get + out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to + pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true and + right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one way + of doing a thing! + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!” + </p> + <p> + “You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!” + </p> + <p> + “No; then you were going away!” + </p> + <p> + “Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?” + </p> + <p> + “Not when he does not seem content with having come back!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand!” + </p> + <p> + But Alexa gave no explanation. + </p> + <p> + “You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, if you were sure I was not coming back.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not <i>say</i> so.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any + misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between + us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!” + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, + George—that you did not say anything before you went.” + </p> + <p> + “I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!” + </p> + <p> + “I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!” + </p> + <p> + This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand. + </p> + <p> + “You are cruel!” he said. “I should have made it the business of my life + that you never did!” + </p> + <p> + Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost as + soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human pressure + in which he had grown up! + </p> + <p> + “I am certain I should,” persisted Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you so certain?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am so glad now to think I am free.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know where + the stab comes from!” + </p> + <p> + “The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you + talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened + more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had + deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then thought + characterized you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your + friend the farmer!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?” rejoined Alexa, + with some heat. + </p> + <p> + “I mean that I am an honest man.” + </p> + <p> + “I am doubtful of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!” + </p> + <p> + “It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do + you believe yourself an honest man?” + </p> + <p> + “As men go, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world when + hearts are as open as faces?” + </p> + <p> + He was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of—” + </p> + <p> + She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying “<i>Jesus + Christ</i>,” but felt she had no right, and hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “—Of our friend Andrew?” supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. + “The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his + muscles—the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better + market—not he!” + </p> + <p> + “It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a + dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were not + to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world to + make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he could + get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire to get + more—and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and the + poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent to + grow corn for them!” + </p> + <p> + “And what did your father say to that wisdom?” + </p> + <p> + “That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only + know,” added Alexa, with a little laugh, “that he is consistent, for he + has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in him + that sets him apart from other men!” + </p> + <p> + “And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought <i>my</i> + position too humble!” + </p> + <p> + “What am I to understand by that?” + </p> + <p> + “What you think I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa rose and left him. + </p> + <p> + George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands + in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty + smile, and said: “At least I have made her angry, and that's something! + What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's + not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!—a clod-hopper + born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and Potlurg + will never let <i>him</i> have it! <i>I</i> will see to that! The laird + hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent + myself!” + </p> + <p> + His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he + never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at + all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most + she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full of + respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her + superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself at + a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant to + know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel that, + as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young farmer + disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by no means + agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did not see + anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew she was + handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one heart-throb more + because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good as told her she was + one of the dead who would not come alive! It would be something to be + loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly to think of making + any man love her—and even if he loved her she could not marry a man + in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two were the lack but a + point or two, but there was no stretching points to the marrying of a + peasant, without education, who worked on his father's farm! The thing was + ridiculous!—of course she knew that!—the very idea too absurd + to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to marry + George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite fat! And + he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something about him <i>not</i> + like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a cheap-jack! + </p> + <p> + She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony looked + elf-ridden. + </p> + <p> + But George had no intention of forsaking the house—yet, at least. He + was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with + her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, + the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the + neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any + lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that + he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By + this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for + things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the laird's + wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to become his + daughter's husband. He <i>would not</i> accept her dismissal as final! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. THE HEART OF THE HEART. + </h2> + <p> + The laird had been poorly for some weeks, and Alexa began to fear that he + was failing. Nothing more had passed between him and Dawtie, but he knew + that anxious eyes were often watching him, and the thought worried him not + a little. If he would but take a start, thought Dawtie, and not lose all + the good of this life! It was too late for him to rise very high; he could + not now be a saint, but he might at least set a foot on the eternal stair + that leads to the fullness of bliss! He would have a sore fight with all + those imps of things, before he ceased to love that which was not lovely, + and to covet that which was not good! But the man gained a precious + benefit from this world, who but began to repent before he left it! If + only the laird would start up the hill before his body got quite to the + bottom! Was there any way to approach him again with her petition that he + would be good to himself, good to God, good to the universe, that he would + love what was worth loving, and cast away what was not? She had no light, + and could do nothing! + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the old man failed quite—apparently from no cause but + weakness. The unease of his mind, the haunting of the dread thought of + having to part with the chalice, had induced it. He was in his closet one + night late into the morning, and the next day did not get up to breakfast + He wanted a little rest, he said. In a day he would be well! But the hour + to rise again, much anticipated, never came. He seemed very troubled at + times, and very desirous of getting up, but never was able. It became + necessary to sit with him at night. In fits of delirium he would make + fierce endeavor to rise, insisting that he must go to his study. His + closet he never mentioned: even in dreams was his secrecy dominant. + Dawtie, who had her share in nursing him, kept hoping her opportunity + would come. He did not seem to cherish any resentment against her. His + illness would protect him, he thought, from further intrusion of her + conscience upon his! She must know better than irritate a sick man with + overofficiousness! Everybody could not be a saint! It was enough to be a + Christian like other good and salvable Christians! It was enough for him + if through the merits of his Saviour he gained admission to the heavenly + kingdom at last! He never thought now, once in, he could bear to stay in; + never thought how heaven could be to him other than the dullest place in + the universe of God, more wearisome than the kingdom of darkness itself! + And all the time the young woman with the savior-heart was watching by his + bedside, ready to speak; but the Spirit gave her no utterance, and her + silence soothed his fear of her. + </p> + <p> + One night he was more restless than usual. Waking from his troubled + slumber, he called her—in the tone of one who had something + important to communicate. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” he said, with feeble voice but glittering eye, “there is no one + I can trust like you. I have been thinking of what you said that night + ever since. Go to my closet and bring me the cup.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie held a moment's debate whether it would be right; but she reflected + that it made little difference whether the object of his passion was in + his hand or in his chest, while it was all the same deep in his heart. + Then his words seemed to imply that he wanted to take his farewell of it; + and to refuse his request might only fan the evil love, and turn him from + the good motion in his mind. She said: “Yes, sir,” and stood waiting. He + did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where to find it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell you,” he replied, but seemed to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “I will not touch a single thing beside,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + He believed her, and at once proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “Take my bunch of keys from the hook behind me. There is the key of the + closet door!—and there, the key of all the bunch that looks the + commonest, but is in reality the most cunningly devised, is the key of the + cabinet in which I keep it!” + </p> + <p> + Then he told her where, behind a little book-case, which moved from the + wall on hinges, she would find the cabinet, and in what part of it the + cup, wrapped in a piece of silk that had once been a sleeve, worn by <i>Mme. + de Genlis</i>—which did not make Dawtie much wiser. + </p> + <p> + She went, found the chalice, and brought it where the laird lay straining + his ears, and waiting for it as a man at the point of death might await + the sacramental cup from absolving priest. + </p> + <p> + His hands trembled as he took it; for they were the hands of a lover—strange + as that love was, which not merely looked for no return, but desired to + give neither pleasure nor good to the thing loved! It was no love of the + merely dead, but a love of the unliving! He pressed the thing to his + bosom; then, as if rebuked by the presence of Dawtie, put it a little from + him, and began to pore over every stone, every <i>repoussé</i> figure + between, and every engraved ornament around the gems, each of which he + knew, by shape, order, quality of color, better than ever face of wife or + child. But soon his hands sunk on the counterpane of silk patchwork, and + he lay still, grasping tight the precious thing. + </p> + <p> + He woke with a start and a cry, to find it safe in both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” he said; “I thought some one had me by the throat! You didn't try + to take the cup from me—did you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” answered Dawtie; “I would not care to take it out of your hand, + but I <i>should</i> be glad to take it out of your heart!” + </p> + <p> + “If they would only bury it with me!” he murmured, heedless of her words. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sir! Would you have it burning your heart to all eternity? Give it + up, sir, and take the treasure thief never stole.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Dawtie, yes! That is the true treasure!” + </p> + <p> + “And to get it we must sell all that we have!” + </p> + <p> + “He gives and withholds as He sees fit.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, when you go down into the blackness, longing for the cup you will + never see more, you will complain of God that he would not give you + strength to fling it from you?” + </p> + <p> + He hugged the chalice. + </p> + <p> + “Fling it from me!” he cried, fiercely. “Girl, who are you to torment me + before my time!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, sir,” persisted Dawtie, “why does the apostle cry, 'Awake thou + that sleepest!' if they couldn't move?” + </p> + <p> + “No one <i>can</i> move without God.” + </p> + <p> + “Therefore, seeing every one can move, it must be God giving him the power + to do what he requires of him; and we are fearfully to blame not using the + strength God gives us!” + </p> + <p> + “I can not bear the strain of thinking!” gasped the laird. + </p> + <p> + “Then give up thinking, and do the thing! Shall I take it for you?” + </p> + <p> + She put out her hand as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” he cried, grasping the cup tighter. “You shall not touch it! You + would give it to the earl! I know you! Saints hate what is beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “I like better to look at things in my Father's hand than in my own!” + </p> + <p> + “You want to see my cup—it <i>is</i> my cup!—in the hands of + that spendthrift fool, Lord Borland!” + </p> + <p> + “It is in the Father's hand, whoever has it!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue, Dawtie, or I will cry out and wake the house!” + </p> + <p> + “They will think you out of your mind, and come and take the cup from you! + Do let me put it away; then you will go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not; I can not trust you with it! You have destroyed my confidence + in you! I <i>may</i> fall asleep, but if your hand come within a foot of + the cup, it will wake me! I know it will! I shall sleep with my heart in + the cup, and the least touch will wake me!” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would let Andrew Ingram come and see you, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with <i>him?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing's the matter with him, sir; but he helps everybody to do what is + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Conceited rascal! Do you take me for a maniac that you talk such + foolery?” + </p> + <p> + His look was so wild, his old blue faded eyes gleamed with such a light of + mingled fear and determination, that Dawtie was almost sorry she had + spoken. With trembling hands he drew the cup within the bed-clothes, and + lay still. If the morning would but come, and bring George Crawford! <i>He</i> + would restore the cup to its place, or hide it where he should know it + safe and not far from him! + </p> + <p> + Dawtie sat motionless, and the old man fell into another feverish doze. + She dared not stir lest he should start away to defend his idol. She sat + like an image, moving only her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “What are you about, Dawtie?” he said at length. “You are after some + mischief, you are so quiet!” + </p> + <p> + “I was telling God how good you would be if he could get you to give up + your odds and ends, and take Him instead.” + </p> + <p> + “How dared you say such a thing, sitting there by my side! Are <i>you</i> + to say to <i>Him</i> that any sinner would be good, if He would only do so + and so with him! Tremble, girl, at the vengeance of the Almighty!” + </p> + <p> + “We are told to make prayers and intercessions for all men, and I was + saying what I could for you.” The laird was silent, and the rest of the + night passed quietly. + </p> + <p> + His first words in the morning were: + </p> + <p> + “Go and tell your mistress I want her.” + </p> + <p> + When his daughter came, he told her to send for George Crawford. He was + worse, he said, and wanted to see him. + </p> + <p> + Alexa thought it best to send Dawtie with the message by the next train. + Dawtie did not relish the mission, for she had no faith in Crawford, and + did not like his influence on her master. Not the less when she reached + his hotel, she insisted on seeing him and giving her message in person; + which done, she made haste for the first train back: they could not do + well without her! When she arrived, there was Mr. Crawford already on the + platform! She set out as fast as she could, but she had not got further + than half-way when he overtook her in a fly, and insisted she should get + in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. GEORGE CRAWFORD AND DAWTIE. + </h2> + <h3> + “What is the matter with your master?” he asked. + </h3> + <p> + “God knows, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of telling me that? I want you to tell me what <i>you</i> + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think then?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think old age had something to do with it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Likely enough, but you know more than that!” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder, sir, if he were troubled in his mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “It is reasonable to think so, sir. He knows he must die before long, and + it is dreadful to leave everything you care for, and go where there is + nothing you care for!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know there is nothing he would care for?” + </p> + <p> + “What is there, sir, he would be likely to care for?” + </p> + <p> + “There is his wife. He was fond of her, I suppose, and you pious people + fancy you will see each other again.” + </p> + <p> + “The thought of seeing her would give him little comfort, I am afraid, in + parting with the things he has here. He believes a little somehow—I + can't understand how.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he believe?” + </p> + <p> + “He believes a little—he is not sure—that what a man soweth he + shall also reap.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know what he is or is not sure off? It can't be a matter of + interest to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Those that come of one Father must have interest in one another.” + </p> + <p> + “How am I to tell we come of one Father—as you call Him? I like to + have a thing proved before I believe it. I know neither where I came from, + nor where I am going; how then can I know that we come from the same + father?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how you're to know it, sir. I take it for granted, and find + it good. But there is one thing I am sure of.” + </p> + <p> + “What is that?” + </p> + <p> + “That if you were my master's friend you would not rest till you got him + to do what was right before he died.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not be father-confessor to any man. I have enough to do with + myself. A good worthy old man like the laird must know better than any + other what he ought to do.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no doubt of that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want then?” + </p> + <p> + “To get him to do it. That he knows, is what makes it so miserable. If he + did not know he would not be to blame. He knows what it is and won't do + it, and that makes him wretched—as it ought, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + “You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. Well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + George thought a little. + </p> + <p> + “What would you have me persuade him to?” he asked, for he might hear + something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no + inclination to tell him what she knew. + </p> + <p> + “I only wish you would persuade him to do what he knows he ought to do,” + she replied. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE WATCH. + </h2> + <p> + George stayed with the laird a good while, and held a long, broken talk + with him. When he went Alexa came. She thought her father seemed happier. + George had put the cup away for him. Alexa sat with him that night. She + knew nothing of such a precious thing being in the house—in the room + with them. + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night, as she was arranging his pillows, the laird + drew from under the bed-clothes, and held up to her, flashing in the light + of the one candle, the jeweled watch. She stared. The old man was pleased + at her surprise and evident admiration. She held out her hand for it. He + gave it her. + </p> + <p> + “That watch,” he said, “is believed to have belonged to Ninon de l'Enclos. + It <i>may</i>, but I doubt it myself. It is well known she never took + presents from her admirers, and she was too poor to have bought such a + thing. Mme. de Maintenon, however, or some one of her lady-friends, might + have given it her. It will be yours one day—that is, if you marry + the man I should like you to marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear father, do not talk of marrying. I have enough with you,” cried + Alexa, and felt as if she hated George. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately, you can not have me always,” returned her father. “I will + say nothing more now, but I desire you to consider what I have said.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa put the watch in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you do not suppose,” she said, “that a house full of things like + that would make any difference.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her sharply. A house full—what did she know? It + silenced him, and he lay thinking. Surely the delight of lovely things + must be in every woman's heart. Was not the passion, developed or + undeveloped, universal? Could a child of his <i>not</i> care for such + things? + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said to himself, “she takes after her mother.” + </p> + <p> + A wall seemed to rise between him and his daughter. Alas! alas! the things + he loved and must one day yield would not be cherished by her. No tender + regard would hover around them when he was gone. She would be no + protecting divinity to them. God in heaven! she might—she would—he + was sure she would sell them. + </p> + <p> + It seems the sole possible comfort of avarice, as it passes empty and + hungry into the empty regions—that the things it can no more see + with eyes or handle with hands will yet be together somewhere. Hence the + rich leave to the rich, avoiding the man who most needs, or would best use + their money. Is there a lurking notion in the man of much goods, I wonder, + that, in the still watches of the night, when men sleep, he will return to + look on what he leaves behind him? Does he forget the torture of seeing it + at the command, in the enjoyment of another—his will concerning this + thing or that but a mockery? Does he know that he who then holds them will + not be able to conceive of their having been or ever being another's as + now they are his? + </p> + <p> + As Alexa sat in the dim light by her brooding father she loathed the + shining thing he had again drawn under the bed-clothes—shrunk from + it as from a manacle the devil had tried to slip on her wrist. The + judicial assumption of society suddenly appeared in the emptiness of its + arrogance. Marriage for the sake of <i>things</i>. Was she not a live + soul, made for better than that She was ashamed of the innocent pleasure + the glittering toy had given her. + </p> + <p> + The laird cast now and then a glance at her face, and sighed. He gathered + from it the conviction that she would be a cruel step-mother to his + children, her mercy that of a loveless non-collector. It should not be. He + would do better for them than that. He loved his daughter, but needed not + therefore sacrifice his last hopes where the sacrifice would meet with no + acceptance. House and land should be hers, but not his jewels; not the + contents of his closet. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. THE WILL. + </h2> + <p> + George came again to see him the next day, and had again a long conference + with him. The laird told him that he had fully resolved to leave + everything to his daughter, personal as well as real, on the one condition + that she should marry her cousin; if she would not, then the contents of + his closet, with his library, and certain articles specified, should pass + to Crawford. + </p> + <p> + “And you must take care,” he said, “if my death should come suddenly, that + anything valuable in this room be carried into the closet before it is + sealed up.” + </p> + <p> + Shrinking as he did from the idea of death, the old man was yet able, in + the interest of his possessions, to talk of it! It was as if he thought + the sole consolation that, in the loss of their owner, his things could + have, was the continuance of their intercourse with each other in the + heaven of his Mammon-besotted imagination. + </p> + <p> + George responded heartily, showing a gratitude more genuine than fine: + every virtue partakes of the ground in which it is grown. He assured the + laird that, valuable as was in itself his contingent gift, which no man + could appreciate more than he, it would be far more valuable to him if it + sealed his adoption as his son-in-law. He would rather owe the possession + of the wonderful collection to the daughter than to the father! In either + case the precious property would be held as for him, each thing as + carefully tended as by the laird's own eye and hand! + </p> + <p> + Whether it would at the moment have comforted the dying man to be assured, + as George might have him, that there would be nothing left of him to + grieve at the loss of his idols—nothing left of him but a memory, to + last so long as George and Alexa and one or two more should remain + unburied, I can not tell. It was in any case a dreary outlook for him. + Hope and faith and almost love had been sucked from his life by “the + hindering knot-grass” which had spread its white bloodless roots in all + directions through soul and heart and mind, exhausting and choking in them + everything of divinest origin. The weeds in George's heart were of another + kind, and better nor worse in themselves; the misery was that neither of + them was endeavoring to root them out. The thief who is trying to be + better is ages ahead of the most honorable man who is making no such + effort. The one is alive; the other is dead and on the way to corruption. + </p> + <p> + They treated themselves to a gaze together on the cup and the watch; then + George went to give directions to the laird's lawyer for the drawing up of + his new will. + </p> + <p> + The next day it was brought, read, signed by the laird, and his signature + duly witnessed. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie being on the spot was made one of the witnesses. The laird trembled + lest her fanaticism should break out in appeal to the lawyer concerning + the cup; he could not understand that the cup was nothing to her; that she + did not imagine herself a setter right of wrongs, but knew herself her + neighbor's keeper, one that had to deliver his soul from death! Had the + cup come into her possession, she would have sent it back to the owner, + but it was not worth her care that the Earl of Borland should cast his + eyes when he would upon a jewel in a cabinet! + </p> + <p> + Dawtie was very white as he signed his name. Where the others saw but a + legal ceremony, she feared her loved master was assigning his soul to the + devil, as she had read of Dr. Faustus in the old ballad. He was gliding + away into the dark, and no one to whom he had done a good turn with the + Mammon of unrighteousness, was waiting to receive him into an everlasting + habitation! She had and she needed no special cause to love her master, + any more than to love the chickens and the calves; she loved because + something that could be loved was there present to her; but he had always + spoken kindly to her, and been pleased with her endeavor to serve him; and + now he was going where she could do nothing for him!—except pray, as + her heart and Andrew had taught her, knowing that “all live unto <i>Him!</i>” + But alas! what were prayers where the man would not take the things prayed + for! Nevertheless all things <i>were</i> possible with God, and she <i>would</i> + pray for him! + </p> + <p> + It was also with white face, and it was with trembling hand that she + signed her own name, for she felt as if giving him a push down the icy + slope into the abyss. + </p> + <p> + But when the thing was done, the old man went quietly to sleep, and + dreamed of a radiant jewel, glorious as he had never seen jewel, ever + within yet ever eluding his grasp. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. THE SANGREAL. + </h2> + <p> + The next day he seemed better, and Alexa began to hope again. But in the + afternoon his pulse began to sink, and when Crawford came he could welcome + him only with a smile and a vain effort to put out his hand. George bent + down to him. The others, at a sign from his eyes, left the room. + </p> + <p> + “I can't find it, George!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “I put it away for you last night, you remember!” answered George. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you didn't! I had it in my hand a minute ago! But I fell into a + doze, and it is gone! George, get it!—get it for me, or I shall go + mad!” George went and brought it him. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! thank you! Now I remember! I thought I was in hell, and they + took it from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be afraid, sir! Fall asleep when you feel inclined. I will keep + my eye on the cup.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not go away?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I will stay as long as you like; there is nothing to take me away. If + I had thought you would be worse, I would not have gone last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not worse! What put that in your head? Don't you hear me speaking + better? I've thought about it, George, and am convinced the cup is a + talisman! I am better all the time I hold it! It was because I let you put + it away that I was worse last night—for no other reason. If it were + not a talisman, how else could it have so nestled itself into my heart! I + feel better, always, the moment I take it in my hand! There is something + more than common about that chalice! George, what if it should be the Holy + Grail!” + </p> + <p> + He said it with bated breath, and a great white awe upon his countenance. + His eyes were shining; his breath came and went fast. Slowly his aged + cheeks flushed with two bright spots. He looked as if the joy of his life + was come. + </p> + <p> + “What if it should be the Holy Grail!” he repeated, and fell asleep with + the words on his lips. + </p> + <p> + As the evening deepened into night, he woke. Crawford was sitting beside + him. A change had come over him. He stared at George as if he could not + make him out, closed his eyes, opened them, stared, and again closed them. + He seemed to think he was there for no good. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to call Alexa?” said George. + </p> + <p> + “Call Dawtie; call Dawtie!” he replied. + </p> + <p> + George rose to go and call her. + </p> + <p> + “Beware of her!” said the laird, with glazy eyes, “Beware of Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked George. + </p> + <p> + “Beware of her,” he repeated. “If she can get the cup, she will! She would + take it from me now, if she dared! She will steal it yet! Call Dawtie; + call Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + Alexa was in the drawing-room, on the other side of the hall. George went + and told her that her father wanted Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “I will find her,” she said, and rose, but turned and asked: + </p> + <p> + “How does he seem now?” + </p> + <p> + “Rather worse,” George answered. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to be with him through the night?” + </p> + <p> + “I am; he insists on my staying with him,” replied George, almost + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Then,” she returned, “you must have some supper. We will go down, and + send up Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + He followed her to the kitchen. Dawtie was not there, but her mistress + found her. + </p> + <p> + When she entered her master's room, he lay motionless, “and white with the + whiteness of what is dead.” + </p> + <p> + She got brandy, and made him swallow some. As soon as he recovered a + little, he began to talk wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Agnes!” he cried, “do not leave me. I'm not a bad man! I'm not what + Dawtie calls me. I believe in the atonement; I put no trust in myself; my + righteousness is as filthy rags. Take me with you. I <i>will</i> go with + you. There! Slip that under your white robe—washed in the blood of + the Lamb. That will hide it—with the rest of my sins! The + unbelieving husband is sanctified by the believing wife. Take it; take it; + I should be lost in heaven without it! I can't see what I've got on, but + it must be the robe of His righteousness, for I have none of my own! What + should I be without it! It's all I've got! I couldn't bring away a single + thing besides—and it's so cold to have but one thing on—I mean + one thing in your hands! Do you say they will make me sell it? That would + be worse than coming without it!” + </p> + <p> + He was talking to his wife!—persuading her to smuggle the cup into + heaven! Dawtie went on her knees behind the curtain, and began to pray for + him all she could. But something seemed stopping her, and making her + prayer come only from her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the voice of her master, “I thought so! How could I go up, and + you praying against me like that! Cup or no cup, the thing was + impossible!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie opened her eyes—and there he was, holding back the curtain + and looking round the edge of it with a face of eagerness, effort, and + hate, as of one struggling to go, and unable to break away. + </p> + <p> + She rose to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “You are a fiend!” he cried. “I <i>will</i> go with Agnes!” He gave a cry, + and ceased, and all was still. They heard the cry in the kitchen, and came + running up. + </p> + <p> + They found Dawtie bending over her master, with a scared face. He seemed + to have struck her, for one cheek was marked with red streaks across its + whiteness. + </p> + <p> + “The Grail! the Holy Grail!” he cried. “I found it! I was bringing it + home! She took it from me! She wants it to—” + </p> + <p> + His jaw fell, and he was dead. Alexa threw herself beside the body. George + would have raised her, but she resisted, and lay motionless. He stood then + behind her, watching an opportunity to get the cup from under the + bed-clothes, that he might put it in the closet. + </p> + <p> + He ordered Dawtie to fetch water for her mistress; but Alexa told her she + did not want any. Once and again George tried to raise her, and get his + hand under the bed-clothes to feel for the cup. + </p> + <p> + “He is not dead!” cried Alexa; “he moved!” + </p> + <p> + “Get some brandy,” said George. + </p> + <p> + She rose, and went to the table for the brandy. George, with the pretense + of feeling the dead man's heart, threw back the clothes. He could find no + cup. It had got further down! He would wait! + </p> + <p> + Alexa lifted her father's head on her arm, but it was plain that brandy + could not help. She went and sat on a chair away from the bed, hopeless + and exhausted. + </p> + <p> + George lifted the clothes from the foot of the bed, then from the further + side, and then from the nearer, without attracting her attention. The cup + was nowhere to be seen! He put his hand under the body, but the cup was + not there! He had to leave the room that Dawtie and Meg might prepare it + for burial. Alexa went to her chamber. + </p> + <p> + A moment after, George returned, called Meg to the door, and said: + </p> + <p> + “There must be a brass cup in the bed somewhere! I brought it to amuse + him. He was fond of odd things, you know! If you should find it—” + </p> + <p> + “I will take care of it,” answered Meg, and turned from him curtly. + </p> + <p> + George felt he had not a friend in the house, and that he must leave + things as they were! The door of the closet was locked, and he could not + go again to the death-chamber to take the laird's keys from the head of + the bed! He knew that the two women would not let him. It had been an + oversight not to secure them! He was glad the watch was safe: that he had + put in the closet before!—but it mattered little when the cup was + missing! He went to the stable, got out his horse, and rode home in the + still gray of a midsummer night. + </p> + <p> + The stillness and the night seemed thinking to each other. George had + little imagination, but what he had woke in him now as he rode slowly + along. Step by step the old man seemed following him, on silent + church-yard feet, through the eerie whiteness of the night. There was + neither cloud nor moon, only stars above and around, and a great cold + crack in the north-east. He was crying after him, in a voice he could not + make him hear! Was he not straggling to warn him not to come into like + condemnation? The voice seemed trying to say, “I know! I know now! I would + not believe, but I know now! Give back the cup; give it back!” + </p> + <p> + George did not allow to himself that there was “anything” there. It was + but a vague movement in that commonplace, unmysterious region, his mind! + He heard nothing, positively nothing, with his ears—therefore there + was nothing! It was indeed somehow as if one were saying the words, but in + reality they came only as a thought rising, continually rising, in his + mind! It was but a thought-sound, and no speech: “I know now! I know now! + Give it back; give the cup back!” He did not ask himself how the thought + came; he cast it away as only that insignificant thing, a thought—cast + it away none the less that he found himself answering it—“I can't + give it back; I can't find it! Where did you put it? You must have taken + it with you!” + </p> + <p> + “What rubbish!” he said to himself ten times, waking up; “of course Dawtie + took it! Didn't the poor old fellow warn me to beware of her! Nobody but + her was in the room when we ran in, and found him at the point of death! + Where did you put it? I can't find it! I can't give it back!” + </p> + <p> + He went over in his mind all that had taken place. The laird had the cup + when he left him to call Dawtie; and when they came, it was nowhere! He + was convinced the girl had secured it—in obedience, doubtless, to + the instruction of her director, ambitious to do justice, and curry favor + by restoring it! But he could do nothing till the will was read! Was it + possible Lexy had put it away? No; she had not had the opportunity! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. GEORGE AND THE GOLDEN GOBLET. + </h2> + <p> + With slow-pacing shadows, the hot hours crept athwart the heath, and the + house, and the dead, and carried the living with them in their invisible + current. There is no tide in time; it is a steady current, not returning. + Happy they whom it bears inward to the center of things! Alas, for those + whom it carries outward to “the flaming walls of creation!” The poor old + laird who, with all his refinement, all his education, all his interest in + philology, prosody, history, and <i>reliquial</i> humanity, had become the + slave of a goblet, had left it behind him, had faced the empty universe + empty-handed, and vanished with a shadow-goblet in his heart; the eyes + that gloated over the gems had gone to help the grass to grow. But the + will of the dead remained to trouble for a time the living, for it put his + daughter in a painful predicament: until Crawford's property was removed + from the house, it would give him constant opportunity of prosecuting the + suit which Aleza had reason to think he intended to resume, and the + thought of which had become to her insupportable. + </p> + <p> + Great was her astonishment when she learned to what the door in the study + led, and what a multitude of curious and valuable things were there of + whose presence in the house she had never dreamed. She would gladly have + had them for herself; and it pained her to the heart to think of the + disappointment of the poor ghost when he saw, if he could see, his + treasured hoard emptied out of its hidden and safe abode. For, even if + George should magnanimously protest that he did not care for the things + enough to claim them, and beg that they might remain where they were, she + could not grant his request, for it would be to accept them from him. Had + her father left them to her, she would have kept them as carefully as even + he could desire—with this difference only, that she would not have + shut them up from giving pleasure to others. + </p> + <p> + She was growing to care more about the truth—gradually coming to see + that much she had taken for a more liberal creed, was but the same + falsehoods in weaker forms, less repulsive only to a mind indifferent to + the paramount claims of God on His child. She saw something of the + falseness and folly of attempting to recommend religion as not so + difficult, so exclusive, so full of prohibition as our ancestors believed + it. She saw that, although Andrew might regard some things as freely given + which others thought God forbade, yet he insisted on what was infinitely + higher and more than the abandonment of everything pleasant—the + abnegation, namely, of the very self, and the reception of God instead. + She had hitherto been, with all her supposed progress, only a recipient of + the traditions of the elders! There must be a deeper something—the + real religion! She did not yet see that the will of God lay in another + direction altogether than the heartiest reception of dogma!—that God + was too great and too generous to care about anything except + righteousness, and only wanted us to be good children!—that even + honesty was but the path toward righteousness, a condition so pure that + honesty itself would never more be an object of thought! + </p> + <p> + She pondered much about her father, and would find herself praying for + him, careless of what she had been taught. She could not blind herself to + what she knew. He had not been a bad man, as men count badness, but could + she in common sense think him a glorified saint, shining in white robes? + The polite, kind old man! her own father!—could she, on the other + hand, believe him in flames forever? If so, what a religion was that which + required her to believe it, and at the same time to rejoice in the Lord + always! + </p> + <p> + She longed for something positive to believe, something into accordance + with which she might work her feelings. She was still on the outlook for + definite intellectual formulae to hold. Her intercourse with Andrew had as + yet failed to open her eyes to the fact that the faith required of us is + faith in a person, and not in the truest of statements concerning + anything, even concerning him; or to the fact, that faith in the living + One, the very essence of it, consists in obedience to Him. A man can obey + before he is sure, and except he obey the command he knows to be right, + wherever it may come from, he will never be sure. To find the truth, man + or woman must be true. + </p> + <p> + But she much desired another talk with Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Persuading himself that Alexa's former feeling toward him must in her + trouble reassert itself, and confident that he would find her loath to + part with her father's wonderful collection, George waited the effect of + the will. After the reading of it he had gone away directly, that his + presence might not add to the irritation which he concluded, not without + reason, it must, even in the midst of her sorrow, cause in her; but at the + end of a week he wrote, saying that he felt it his duty, if only in + gratitude to his friend, to inform himself as to the attention the + valuable things he had left him might require. He assured Alexa that he + had done nothing to influence her father in the matter, and much regretted + the awkward position in which his will had placed both her and him. At the + same time it was not unnatural that he should wish such precious objects + to be possessed by one who would care for them as he had himself cared for + them. He hoped, therefore, that she would allow him access to her father's + rooms. He would not, she might rest assured, intrude himself upon her + sorrow, though he would be compelled to ask her before long whether he + might hope that her father's wish would have any influence in reviving the + favor which had once been the joy of his life. + </p> + <p> + Alexa saw that if she consented to see him he would take it as a + permission to press his claim, and the idea was not to be borne. She wrote + him therefore a stiff letter, telling him the house was at his service, + but he must excuse herself. + </p> + <p> + The next morning brought him early to Potlurg. The cause of his haste was + his uneasiness about the chalice. + </p> + <p> + Old Meg opened the door to him, and he followed her straight into the + drawing-room. Alexa was there, and far from expecting him. But, annoyed at + his appearance as she was, she found his manner and behavior less + unpleasant than at any time since his return. He was gentle and + self-restrained, assuming no familiarity beyond that of a distant + relative, and gave the impression of having come against his will, and + only from a sense of duty. + </p> + <p> + “Did you not have my note?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He had hoped, he said, to save her the trouble of writing. + </p> + <p> + She handed him her father's bunch of keys, and left the room. + </p> + <p> + George went to the laird's closet, and having spent an hour in it, again + sought Alexa. The wonderful watch was in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I feel the more pleasure, Alexa,” he said, “in begging you to accept this + trinket, that it was the last addition to your dear father's collection. I + had myself the good fortune to please him with it a few days before his + death.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, George,” returned Alexa. “It is a beautiful thing—my + father showed it me—but I can not take it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was more of you than him I thought when I purchased it, Alexa. You + know why I could not offer it you.” + </p> + <p> + “The same reason exists now.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to have to force myself on your attention, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” cried Alexa. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie came running. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, Dawtie. I will speak to you presently,” said her mistress. + </p> + <p> + George rose. He had laid the watch on the table, and seemed to have + forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + “Please take the watch with you,” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you wish it!” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And my father's keys, too,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Will you not be kind enough to take charge of them?” + </p> + <p> + “I would rather not be accountable for anything under them. No; you must + take the keys.” + </p> + <p> + “I can not help regretting,” said George, “that your honored father should + have thought fit to lay this burden of possession upon me.” + </p> + <p> + Alexa made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “I comforted myself with the hope that you would feel them as much your + own as ever!” he resumed, in a tone of disappointment and dejection. + </p> + <p> + “I did not know of their existence before I knew they were never to be + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Alexa?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + George walked to the door, but there turned, and said: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, you know that cup your father was so fond of?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Not that gold cup, set with stones?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw something in his hands once, in bed, that might have been a cup.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a thing of great value—of pure gold, and every stone in it a + gem.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” returned Alexa, with marked indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; it was the work of the famous Benvenuto Cellini, made for Pope + Clement the Seventh, for his own communion-chalice. Your father priced it + at three thousand pounds. In his last moments, when his mind was + wandering, he fancied it the Holy Grail He had it in the bed with him when + he died; that I know.” + </p> + <p> + “And it is missing?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Dawtie could tell us what has become of it. She was with the + laird at the last.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie, who had stood aside to let him pass to the open door, looked up + with a flash in her eyes, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen the cup, Dawtie?” asked her mistress. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't know what has become of it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; I know nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Dawtie,” said George. “This is a matter that will have to be + searched into.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you last see it, Dawtie?” inquired Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “The very day my master died, ma'am. He was looking at it, but when he saw + I saw him he took it inside the bed-clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you have not seen it since?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “And you do not know where it is?” said George. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. How should I?” + </p> + <p> + “You never touched it?” + </p> + <p> + “I can not say that, sir; I brought it him from his closet; he sent me for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think may have become of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you allow me to make a thorough search in the place where it was + last seen?” asked George, turning to his cousin. + </p> + <p> + “By all means. Dawtie, go and help Mr. Crawford to look.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, ma'am, it can't be there. We've had the carpet up, and the floor + scrubbed. There's not a hole or a corner we haven't been into—and + that yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “We must find it,” said George. “It must be in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “It must, sir,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + But George more than doubted it + </p> + <p> + “I do believe,” he said, “the laird would rather have lost his whole + collection.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir, I think he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have talked to him about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have, sir,” answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the + question. + </p> + <p> + “And you know the worth of the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say + pounds and pounds.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, <i>where is it?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you wish you did?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—” began Dawtie, and stopped short; she shrunk from + impugning the honesty of the dead man—and in the presence of his + daughter. + </p> + <p> + “It looks a little fishy, don't it, Dawtie? Why not speak straight out? + Perhaps you would not mind searching Meg's trunk for me. She may have + taken it for a bit of old brass, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I will answer for my servants, Mr. Crawford,” said Alexa. “I will not + have old Meg's box searched.” + </p> + <p> + “It is desirable to get rid of any suspicion,” replied George. + </p> + <p> + “I have none,” returned Alexa. + </p> + <p> + George was silent + </p> + <p> + “I will ask Meg, if you like, sir,” said Dawtie; “but I am sure it will be + no use. A servant in this house soon learns not to go by the look of + things. We don't treat anything here as if we knew all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you see the goblet first?” persisted George. + </p> + <p> + “Goblet, sir? I thought you were speaking of the gold cup.” + </p> + <p> + By <i>goblet</i> Dawtie understood a small iron pot. + </p> + <p> + “Goblet, or cup, or chalice—whatever you like to call it—I ask + how you came to know about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know very little about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is plain you know more than you care to tell. If you will not answer + me you will have to answer a magistrate.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will answer a magistrate,” said Dawtie, beginning to grow angry. + </p> + <p> + “You had better answer me, Dawtie. It will be easier for you. What do you + know about the cup?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it was not master's, and is not yours—really and truly.” + </p> + <p> + “What can have put such a lie in your head?” + </p> + <p> + “If it be a lie, sir, it is told in plain print.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + But Dawtie judged it time to stop. She bethought herself that she would + not have said so much had she not been angry. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” she answered, “you have been asking me questions all this time, and + I have been answering them; it is your turn to answer me one.” + </p> + <p> + “If I see proper.” + </p> + <p> + “Did my old master tell you the history of that cup?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose to answer the question.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie turned to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! stop!” cried Crawford; “I have not done with you yet, my girl. You + have not told me what you meant when you said the cup did not belong to + the laird.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not choose to answer the question,” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Then you shall answer it to a magistrate.” + </p> + <p> + “I will, sir,” she replied, and stood. + </p> + <p> + Crawford left the room. + </p> + <p> + He rode home in a rage. Dawtie went about her work with a bright spot on + each cheek, indignant at the man's rudeness, but praying God to take her + heart in His hand, and cool the fever of it. + </p> + <p> + The words rose in her mind: + </p> + <p> + “It must needs be that offenses come, but woe onto that man by whom they + come.” + </p> + <p> + She was at once filled with pity for the man who could side with the + wrong, and want everything his own way, for, sooner or later, confusion + must be his portion; the Lord had said: “There is nothing covered that + shall not be revealed, neither hid that shall not be known.” + </p> + <p> + “He needs to be shamed,” she said, “but he is thy child; care for him, + too.” + </p> + <p> + George felt that he had not borne a dignified part, and knew that his last + chance with Alexa was gone. Then he too felt the situation unendurable, + and set about removing his property. He wrote to Alexa that he could no + longer doubt it her wish to be rid of the collection, and able to use the + room. It was desirable also, he said, that a thorough search should be + made in those rooms before he placed the matter of the missing cup in the + hands of the magistrates. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie's last words had sufficed to remove any lingering doubt as to what + had become of the chalice. It did not occur to him that one so anxious to + do the justice of restoration would hardly be capable of telling lies, of + defiling her soul that a bit of property might be recovered; he took it + for granted that she meant to be liberally rewarded by the earl. + </p> + <p> + George would have ill understood the distinction Dawtie made—that + the body of the cup <i>might</i> belong to him, but the soul of the cup <i>did</i> + belong to another; or her assertion that where the soul was there the body + ought to be; or her argument that He who had the soul had the right to + ransom the body—a reasoning possible to a child-like nature only; + she had pondered to find the true law of the case, and this was her + conclusion. + </p> + <p> + George suspected, and grew convinced that Alexa was a party to the + abstraction of the cup. She had, he said, begun to share in the + extravagant notions of a group of pietists whose leader was that + detestable fellow, Ingram. Alexa was attached to Dawtie, and Dawtie was + one of them. He believed Alexa would do anything to spite him. To bring + trouble on Dawtie would be to punish her mistress, and the pious farmer, + too. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI. THE PROSECUTION. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Crawford had his things away from Potlurg, satisfied the cup + was nowhere among them, he made a statement of the case to a magistrate he + knew; and so represented it, as the outcome of the hypocrisy of pietism, + that the magistrate, hating everything called fanatical, at once granted + him a warrant to apprehend Dawtie on the charge of theft. + </p> + <p> + It was a terrible shock. Alexa cried out with indignation. Dawtie turned + white and then red, but uttered never a word. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” said her mistress, “tell me what you know about the cup. You do + know something that you have not told me!” + </p> + <p> + “I do, ma'am, but I will not tell it except I am forced.” + </p> + <p> + “That you are going to be, my poor girl! I am very sorry, for I am + perfectly sure you have done nothing you know to be wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing you or anybody would think wrong, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + She put on her Sunday frock, and went down to go with the policeman. To + her joy she found her mistress at the door, ready to accompany her. They + had two miles or more to walk, but that was nothing to either. + </p> + <p> + Questioned by the magistrate, not unkindly, for her mistress was there, + Dawtie told everything—how first she came upon the likeness and + history of the cup, and then saw the cup itself in her master's hands. + </p> + <p> + Crawford told how the laird had warned him against Dawtie, giving him to + understand that she had been seized with a passion for the goblet such + that she would peril her soul to possess it, and that he dared not let her + know where it was. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said Dawtie, “he could na hae distrusted me like that, for he gae + me his keys, and sent me to fetch the cup when he was ower ill to gang + till't.” + </p> + <p> + “If that be true, your worship,” said Crawford, “it does not affect the + fact that the cup was in the hands of the old man when I left him and she + went to him, and from that moment it has not been seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he have it when you went to him?” asked the magistrate. + </p> + <p> + “I didna see't, sir. He was in a kind o' faint when I got up.” + </p> + <p> + Crawford said that, hearing a cry, he ran up again, and found the old man + at the point of death, with just strength to cry out before he died, that + Dawtie had taken the cup from him. Dawtie was leaning over him, but he had + not imagined the accusation more than the delirious fancy of a dying man, + till it appeared that the cup was not to be found. + </p> + <p> + The magistrate made out Dawtie's commitment for trial. He remarked that + she might have been misled by a false notion of duty: he had been informed + that she belonged to a sect claiming the right to think for themselves on + the profoundest mysteries—and here was the result! There was not a + man in Scotland less capable of knowing what any woman was thinking, or + more incapable of doubting his own insight. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless, he went on, she had superstitiously regarded the cup as + exercising a Satanic influence on the mind of her master; but even if she + confessed it now, he must make an example of one whose fanaticism would + set wrong right after the notions of an illiterate sect, and not according + to the laws of the land. He just send the case to be tried by a jury! If + she convinced the twelve men composing that jury, of the innocence she + protested, she would then be a free woman. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie stood very white all the time he was speaking, and her lips every + now and then quivered as if she were going to cry, but she did not. Alexa + offered bail, but his worship would not accept it: his righteous soul was + too indignant. She went to Dawtie and kissed her, and together they + followed the policeman to the door, where Dawtie was to get into a + spring-cart with him, and be driven to the county town, there to lie + waiting the assizes. + </p> + <p> + The bad news had spread so fast that as they came out, up came Andrew. At + sight of him Dawtie gently laughed, like a pleased child. The policeman, + who, like many present, had been prejudiced by her looks in her favor, + dropped behind, and she walked between her mistress and Andrew to the + cart. + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Andrew! has God forgotten me?” she returned, stopping short. + </p> + <p> + “For God to forget,” answered Andrew, “would be not to be God any longer!” + </p> + <p> + “But here I am on my road til a prison, Andrew! I didna think He would hae + latten them do't!” + </p> + <p> + “A bairn micht jist as weel say, whan its nurse lays't intil its cradle, + and says: 'Noo, lie still!' 'Mammy, I didna think ye would hae latten her + do't!' He's a' aboot ye and in ye, Dawtie, and this is come to ye jist to + lat ye ken 'at He is. He raised ye up jist to spen' His glory upo'! I say, + Dawtie, did Jesus Christ deserve what He got?” + </p> + <p> + “No ae bit, Andrew! What for should ye speir sic a thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Then do ye think God hae forgotten Him?” + </p> + <p> + “May be He thoucht it jist for a minute!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ye hae thoucht jist for a minute, and ye maun think it nae mair.” + </p> + <p> + “But God couldna forget <i>Him</i>, An'rew: He got it a' for doin' His + will!” + </p> + <p> + “Evil may come upon as from other causes than doing the will of God; but + from whatever cause it comes, the thing we have to see to is, that through + it all we do the will of God!” + </p> + <p> + “What's His will noo, An'rew?” + </p> + <p> + “That ye tak it quaietly. Shall not the Father do wi' His ain child what + He will! Can He no shift it frae the tae airm to the tither, but the bairn + maun girn? He has ye, Dawtie! It's a' richt!” + </p> + <p> + “Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him!” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head. The color had come back to her face; her lips had + ceased to tremble; she stepped on steadily to where, a few yards from the + door, the spring-cart was waiting her. She bade her mistress good-bye, + then turned to Andrew and said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, An'rew! I am not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going with you, Dawtie,” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, you can't do that!” said the policeman; “at least you can't go + in the trap!” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Andrew!” cried Dawtie. “I would rather go alone. I am quite happy + now. God will do with me as He pleases!” + </p> + <p> + “I am going with you,” said Alexa, “if the policeman will let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, ma'am! A lady's different!—I've got to account for the + prisoner you see, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you should, ma'am,” said Dawtie. “It's a long way!” + </p> + <p> + “I am going,” returned her mistress, decisively. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, ma'am!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had heard what he said to Dawtie. A new light had broken upon her. + “God is like that, is He?” she said to herself. “You can go close up to + Him whenever you like?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII. A TALK AT POTLURG. + </h2> + <p> + It would be three weeks before the assizes came. The house of Potlurg was + searched by the police from garret to cellar, but in vain; the cup was not + found. + </p> + <p> + As soon as they gave up searching, Alexa had the old door of the laird's + closet, discernible enough on the inside, reopened, and the room cleaned. + Almost unfurnished as it was, she made of it her sitting-parlor. But often + her work or her book would lie on her lap, and she would find herself + praying for the dear father for whom she could do nothing else now, but + for whom she might have done so much, had she been like Dawtie. Her + servant had cared for her father more than she! + </p> + <p> + As she sat there one morning alone, brooding a little, thinking a little, + reading a little, and praying through it all, Meg appeared, and said + Maister Andrew wanted to see her. + </p> + <p> + He had called more than once to inquire after Dawtie, but had not before + asked to see her mistress. + </p> + <p> + Alexa felt herself unaccountably agitated. When he walked into the room, + however, she was able to receive him quietly. He came, he said, to ask + when she had seen Dawtie. He would have gone himself to see her, but his + father was ailing, and he had double work to do. Besides, she did not seem + willing to see him! Alexa told him she had been with her the day before, + and had found her a little pale, and, she feared, rather troubled in her + mind. She said she would trust God to the last, but confessed herself + assailed by doubts. + </p> + <p> + “I said to her,” continued Alexa, “'Be sure, Dawtie, God will make your + innocence known one day!' She answered: 'Of course, ma'am, there is + nothing hidden that shall not be known; but I am not impatient about that. + The Jews to this day think Jesus an impostor!' 'But surely,' said I, 'you + care that people should understand you are no thief, Dawtie!' 'Yes, I do,' + she answered; 'all I say is, that is does not trouble me. I want only to + be downright sure that God is looking after me all the time. I am willing + to sit in prison till I die, if He pleases.' 'God can't please that!' I + said. 'If He does not care to take me out, I do not care to go out,' said + Dawtie. 'It's not that I'm good; it's only that I don't care for anything + He doesn't care for. What would it be that all men acquitted me, if God + did not trouble Himself about His children!'” + </p> + <p> + “You see, ma'am, it comes to this,” said Andrew: “it is God Dawtie cares + about, not herself! If God is all right, Dawtie is all right. The <i>if</i> + sometimes takes one shape, sometimes another, but the fear is the same—and + the very fear is faith. Sometimes the fear is that there may be no God, + and that you might call a fear for herself; but when Dawtie fears lest God + should not be caring for her, that is a fear for God; for if God did not + care for His creature, He would be no true God!” + </p> + <p> + “Then He could not exist!” + </p> + <p> + “True; and so you are back on the other fear!” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have said to her, Mr. Ingram?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have reminded her that Jesus was perfectly content with His + Father; that He knew what was coming on Himself, and never doubted Him—just + gloried that His Father was what He knew Him to be.” + </p> + <p> + “I see! But what did you mean when you said that Dawtie's very fear was + faith?” + </p> + <p> + “Think, ma'am: people that only care to be saved, that is, not to be + punished for their sins, are anxious only about themselves, not about God + and His glory at all. They talk about the glory of God, but they make it + consist in pure selfishness! According to them, He seeks everything for + Himself; which is dead against the truth of God, a diabolic slander of + God. It does not trouble them to believe such things about God; they do + not even desire that God should not be like that; they only want to escape + Him. They dare not say God will not do this or that, however clear it be + that it would not be fair; they are in terror of contradicting the Bible. + They make more of the Bible than of God, and so fail to find the truth of + the Bible, and accept things concerning God which are not in the Bible, + and are the greatest of insults to Him! Dawtie never thinks about saving + her soul; she has no fear about her soul; she is only anxious about God + and His glory. How the doubts come, God knows; but if she did not love + God, they would not be there. Jesus says God will speedily avenge His + elect—those that cry day and night to Him—which I take to mean + that He will soon save them from all such miseries. Free Dawtie from + unsureness about God, and she has no fear left. All is well, in the prison + or on the throne of God, if He only be what she thinks He is. If any one + say that doubt can not coexist with faith, I answer, it can with love, and + love is the greater of the two, yea, is the very heart of faith itself. + God's children are not yet God's men and women. The God that many people + believe in, claiming to be <i>the</i> religious because they believe in + Him, is a God not worth believing in, a God that ought not to be believed + in. The life given by such a God would be a life not worth living, even if + He made His votaries as happy as they would choose to be. A God like that + could not make a woman like Dawtie anxious about Him! If God be not each + as Jesus, what good would the proving of her innocence be to Dawtie! A + mighty thing indeed that the world should confess she was not a thief! But + to know that there is a perfect God, one for us to love with all the power + of love of which we feel we are capable, is worth going out of existence + for; while to know that God himself, must make every throb of + consciousness a divine ecstasy!” + </p> + <p> + Andrew's heart was full, and out of its fullness he spoke. Never before + had he been able in the presence of Alexa to speak as he felt. Never + before had he had any impulse to speak as now. As soon would he have gone + to sow seed on a bare rock, as words of spirit and life in her ears! + </p> + <p> + “I am beginning to understand you,” she said. “Will you forgive me? I have + been very self-confident and conceited! What a mercy things are not as I + thought they were—thought they ought to be!” + </p> + <p> + “And the glory of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the + sea!” said Andrew. “And men's hearts shall be full of bliss, because they + have found their Father, and He is what He is, and they are going home to + Him.” + </p> + <p> + He rose. + </p> + <p> + “You will come and see me again soon—will you not?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “As often as you please, ma'am; I am your servant.” + </p> + <p> + “Then come to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He went on the morrow, and the next day, and the day after—almost + every day while Dawtie was waiting her trial. + </p> + <p> + Almost every morning Alexa went by train to see Dawtie; and the news she + brought, Andrew would carry to the girl's parents. Dawtie continued + unwilling to see Andrew: he had had trouble enough with her already, she + said; but Andrew could not quite understand her refusal. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII. A GREAT OFFERING. + </h2> + <p> + Two days before the assizes, Andrew was with Alexa in her parlor. It was a + cool autumn evening, and she proposed they should go on the heath, which + came close up to the back of the house. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the top of the hill, a cold wind was blowing, and + Andrew, full of care for old and young, man and woman, made Alexa draw her + shawl closer about her throat, where, with his rough, plow-man hands, he + pinned it for her. She saw, felt, and noted his hands; a pitying + admiration, of which only the pity was foolish, woke in her; and ere she + knew, she was looking up in his face with such a light in her eyes that + Andrew found himself embarrassed, and let his fall. Moved by that sense of + class-superiority which has no place in the kingdom of heaven, she + attributed his modesty to self-depreciation, and the conviction rose in + her, which has often risen in such as she, that there is a magnanimity + demanding the sacrifice, not merely of conventional dignity, but of + conventional propriety. She felt that a great lady, to be more than great, + must stoop; that it was her part to make the approach which, between + equals, was the part of the man; the patroness <i>must</i> do what the + woman might not. This man was worthy of any woman; and he should not, + because of the humility that dared not presume, fail of what he deserved! + </p> + <p> + “Andrew,” she said, “I am going to do an unusual thing, but you are not + like other men, and will not misunderstand! I know you now—know you + as far above other men as the clouds are above this heath!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no, ma'am!” protested Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Hear me out, Andrew,” she interrupted—then paused a little. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” she resumed, “ought we not to love best the best we know?” + </p> + <p> + “Surely, ma'am!” he answered, uncomfortable, but not anticipating what was + on the way. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew, you are the best I know! I have said it! I do not care what the + world thinks; you are more to me than all the worlds! If you will take me, + I am yours.” + </p> + <p> + She looked him in the face with the feeling that she had done a brave and + a right thing. + </p> + <p> + Andrew stood stock-still. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Me</i>, ma'am!” he gasped, and grew pale—then red as a foggy + sun. But he made scarcely a moment's pause. + </p> + <p> + “It's a God-like thing you have done, ma'am!” he said. “But I can not make + the return it deserves. From the heart of my heart I thank you. I can say + no more.” + </p> + <p> + His voice trembled. She heard a stifled sob. He had turned away to conceal + his emotion. + </p> + <p> + And now came greatness indeed to the front. Instead of drawing herself up + with the bitter pride of a woman whose best is scorned, Alexa behaved + divinely. She went close to Andrew, laid her hand on his arm, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Andrew. I made a mistake. I had no right to make it. Do not + be grieved, I beg; you are nowise to blame. Let us continue friends!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am!” said Andrew, in a tone of deepest gratitude; and + neither said a word more. They walked side by side back to the house. + </p> + <p> + Said Alexa to herself: + </p> + <p> + “I have at least been refused by a man worthy of the honor I did him! I + made no mistake in <i>him</i>!” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the door, she stopped. Andrew took off his hat, and + said, holding it in his hand as he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, ma'am! You <i>will</i> send for me if you want me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will. Good-night!” said Alexa, and went in with a strange weight on her + heart. + </p> + <p> + Shut in her room, she wept sorely, but not bitterly; and the next day old + Meg, at least, saw no change in her. + </p> + <p> + Said Andrew to himself: + </p> + <p> + “I will be her servant always.” + </p> + <p> + He was humbled, not uplifted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV. ANOTHER OFFERING. + </h2> + <p> + The next evening, that before the trial, Andrew presented himself at the + prison, and was admitted. Dawtie came to meet him, held out her hand, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “Well enough, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “God is with us, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie, I can not see God's eyes looking at me, but I am ready to do what + He wants me to do, and so I feel He is with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Andrew, I wish I could be sure!” + </p> + <p> + “Let us take the risk together, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “What risk, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + “The risk that makes you not sure, Dawtie—the risk that is at once + the worst and the least—the risk that our hope should be in vain, + and there is no God. But, Dawtie, there is that in my heart that cries + Christ <i>did</i> die, and <i>did</i> rise again, and God is doing His + best. His perfect love is our perfect safety. It is hard upon Him that His + own children will not trust Him!” + </p> + <p> + “If He would but show Himself!” + </p> + <p> + “The sight of Him now would make us believe in Him without knowing Him; + and what kind of faith would that be for Him or for us! We should be bad + children, taking Him for a weak parent! We must <i>know</i> Him! When we + do, there will be no fear, no doubt. We shall run straight home! Dawtie, + shall we go together?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, surely, Andrew! God knows I try. I'm ready to do whatever you tell + me, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Dawtie! You must never do what I tell you, except you think it + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that. But I am sure I should think it right!” + </p> + <p> + “We've been of one mind for a long time now, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Sin' lang afore I had ony min' o' my ain!” responded Dawtie, turning to + her vernacular. + </p> + <p> + “Then let us be of one heart too, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + She was so accustomed to hear Andrew speak in figures, that sometimes she + looked through and beyond his words. + </p> + <p> + She did so now, and seeing nothing, stood perplexed. + </p> + <p> + “Winna ye, Dawtie?” said Andrew, holding out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “I dinna freely un'erstan' ye, An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye h'avenly idiot,” cried Andrew. “Wull ye be my wife, or wull ye no?” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie threw her shapely arms above her head—straight up, her head + fell back, and she seemed to gaze into the unseen. Then she gave a gasp, + her arms dropped to her sides, and she would have fallen had not Andrew + taken her. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew! Andrew!” she sighed, and was still in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Winna ye, Dawtie?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she murmured; “wait.” + </p> + <p> + “I winna wait, Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait till ye hear what they'll say the morn.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie, I'm ashamed o' ye. What care I, an' what daur ye care what they + say. Are ye no the Lord's clean yowie? Gien ye care for what ony man + thinks o' ye but the Lord himsel', ye're no a' His. Gien ye care for what + I think o' ye, ither-like nor what He thinks, ye're no sae His as I maun + hae ye afore we pairt company—which, please God, 'ill be on the + ither side o' eternity.” + </p> + <p> + “But, An'rew, it winna do to say o' yer father's son 'at he took his wife + frae the jail.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed they s' say naething ither! What ither cam I for? Would ye hae me + ashamed o' ane o' God's elec'—a lady o' the Lord's ain coort?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh, but I'm feart it's a' the compassion o' yer hert, sir. Ye wad fain + mak' up to me for the disgrace. Ye could weel do wantin' me.” + </p> + <p> + “I winna say,” returned Andrew, “that I couldna live wantin' ye, for that + wad be to say I wasna worth offerin' ye, and it would be to deny Him 'at + made you and me for ane anither, but I wad have a some sair time! I'll + jist speak to the minister to be ready the minute the Lord opens yer + prison-door.” + </p> + <p> + The same moment in came the governor with his wife; they were much + interested in Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, and ma'am,” said Andrew, “will you please witness that this woman is + my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Maister Andrew Ingram o' the Knowe,” said Dawtie. “He wants me to + merry him.” + </p> + <p> + “I want her to go before the court as my wife,” said Andrew. “She would + have me wait till the jury said this or that. The jury give me my wife. As + if I didn't know her.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have him, I see,” said Mrs. Innes, turning to Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + “Hae him!” cried Dawtie, “I wad hae him gien there war but the heid o' + him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are husband and wife,” said the governor; “only you should have + the thing done properly by the minister—afterward.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see to that, sir,” answered Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “Come, wife,” said the governor, “we must let them have a few minutes + alone together.” + </p> + <p> + “There,” said Andrew, when the door closed, “ye're my wife, noo, Dawtie. + Lat them acquit ye or condemn ye, it's you an' me, noo, whatever come!” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie broke into a flood of tears—an experience all but new to her—and + found it did her good. She smiled as she wiped her eyes, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Weel, An'rew, gien the Lord hasna appeart in His ain likeness to deliver + me, He's done the next best thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie,” answered Andrew, “the Lord never does the next best. The thing + He does is always better than the thing He does not.” + </p> + <p> + “Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan',” said Dawtie, but Andrew went + on. + </p> + <p> + “The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to gie + him—or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie. + Shortbreid micht be waur for a half hungert bairn nor a stane. But the + minute it's fit we should look upo' the face o' the Son o' Man, oor ain + God-born brither, we'll see him, Dawtie; we'll see him. Hert canna think + what it'll be like. And noo, Dawtie, wull ye tell me what for ye wouldna + lat me come and see ye afore?” + </p> + <p> + “I wull, An'rew; I was nae suner left to mysel' i' the prison than I faun' + mysel' thinkin' aboot <i>you</i>—you first, and no the Lord. I said + to mysel', 'This is awfu'. I'm leanin' upo' An'rew, and no upo' the First + and the Last.' I saw that that was to brak awa' frae Him that was nearest + me, and trust ane that was farther awa'—which wasna i' the holy + rizzon o' things. Sae I said to mysel' I would meet my fate wi' the Lord + alane, and wouldna hae you come 'atween Him and me. Noo ye hae 't, + An'rew.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew took her in his arms and said: + </p> + <p> + “Thank ye, Dawtie. Eh, but I <i>am</i> content And she thought she hadna + faith. Good-night, Dawtie. Ye maun gane to yer bed, an' grow stoot in hert + for the morn.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV. AFTER THE VERDICT. + </h2> + <p> + Through the governor of the jail Andrew obtained permission to stand near + the prisoner at the trial. The counsel for the prosecution did all he + could, and the counsel for the defense not much—at least Dawtie's + friends thought so—and the judge summed up with the greatest + impartiality. Dawtie's simplicity and calmness, her confidence devoid of + self-assertion, had its influence on the jury, and they gave the + uncomfortable verdict of “<i>Not Proven</i>,” so that Dawtie was + discharged. + </p> + <p> + Alexa had a carriage ready to take her home. As Dawtie went to it she + whispered to her husband: + </p> + <p> + “Ye hae to tak me wantin' a character, Andrew.” + </p> + <p> + “Jesus went home without a character, and was well received,” said Andrew, + with a smile. “You'll be over to-night to see the old folk?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Andrew; I'm sure the mistress will let me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say a word to her of our marriage, except she has heard, and + mentions it. I want to tell her myself. You will find me at the croft when + you come, and I will go back with you.” + </p> + <p> + In the evening Dawtie came, and brought the message that her mistress + would like to see him. + </p> + <p> + When he entered the room Alexa rose to meet him. He stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, ma'am,” he said, “for your great kindness to Dawtie. We were + married in the prison. She is my wife now.” + </p> + <p> + “Married! Your wife?” echoed Alexa, flushing, and drawing back a step. + </p> + <p> + “I had loved her long, ma'am; and when trouble came her the time came for + me to stand by her side.” + </p> + <p> + “You had not spoken to her then—till—” + </p> + <p> + “Not till last night. I said before the governor of the prison and Mrs. + Innes that we were husband and wife. If you please, ma'am, we shall have + the proper ceremony as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had known,” said Alexa—almost to herself, with a troubled + smile. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had, ma'am,” responded Andrew. She raised her face with a look + of confidence. + </p> + <p> + “Will you please to forget, Andrew?” + </p> + <p> + Nobility had carried the day. She had not one mean thought either of him + or the girl. + </p> + <p> + “To forget is not in man's power, ma'am; but I shall never think a thought + you would wish unthought.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand to him. They were friends forever. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be married here, Andrew? The house is at your service,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think it ought to be at her father's, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” said Alexa; and she sat down. + </p> + <p> + Andrew stood in silence, for he saw she was meditating something. At + length she raised her head, and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “You have been compelled to take the step sooner than you intended—have + you not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you can hardly be so well prepared as you would like to be!” + </p> + <p> + “We shall manage.” + </p> + <p> + “It will hardly be convenient for your mother, I fear! You have nowhere + else to take her—have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; but my mother loves us both. And,” he added, simply, “where + there's room for me, there's room for her now!” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind if I asked you how your parents take it?” + </p> + <p> + “They don't say much. You see, ma'am, we are all proud until we learn that + we have one Master, and we all are brethren. But they will soon get over + it.” + </p> + <p> + When I see a man lifting up those that are beneath him, not pulling down + those that are above him, I will believe in his communism. Those who most + resent being looked down upon, are in general the readiest to look down + upon others. It is not principle, it is not truth, it is themselves they + regard. Of all false divinities, Self is the most illogical. + </p> + <p> + “If God had been the mighty monarch they represent Him,” continued Andrew, + “He would never have let us come near Him!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear Mr. Rackstraw's sermon on the condescension of God?” asked + Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “The condescension of God, ma'am! There is no such thing. God never + condescended, with one Jove-like nod, all his mighty, eternal life! God + condescend to His children—their spirits born of His spirit, their + hearts the children of His heart! No, ma'am! there never was a falser, + uglier word in any lying sermon!” + </p> + <p> + His eyes flashed and his face shone. Alexa thought she had never seen him + look so grand. + </p> + <p> + “I see!” she answered. “I will never use the word about God again!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you thank me?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon; I had no right to thank you. But I am so tried with + the wicked things said about God by people who think they are speaking to + His pleasure and not in his despite, that I am apt to talk foolishly. I + don't wonder at God's patience with the wicked, but I do wonder at His + patience with the pious!” + </p> + <p> + “They don't know better!” + </p> + <p> + “How are they to know better while they are so sure about everything! I + would infinitely rather believe in no God at all, than in such a God as + they would have me believe in!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Andrew, I had not a glimmer of what you meant—of what you + really objected to, or what you loved! Now, I can not even recall what it + was I did not like in your teaching. I think it was that, instead of + listening to know what you meant, I was always thinking how to oppose you, + or trying to find out by what name you were to be called. One time I + thought you were an Arminian, another time a Socinian, then a + Swedenborgian, then an Arian! I read a history of the sects of the middle + ages, just to see where I could set you down. I told people you did not + believe this, and did not believe that, when I knew neither what you + believed, nor what you did not believe. I thought I did, but it was all + mistake and imagination. When you would not discuss things with me, I + thought you were afraid of losing the argument. Now I see that, instead of + disputing about opinions, I should have been saying: 'God be merciful to + me a sinner!'” + </p> + <p> + “God be praised!” said Andrew. “Ma'am, you are a free woman! The Father + has called you, and you have said: 'Here I am.'” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Andrew, thanks to God by you! But I am forgetting what I + wanted to say! Would it not be better—after you are married, I mean—to + let Dawtie stay with me awhile?—I will promise you not to work her + too hard,” she added, with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I see, ma'am! It is just like you! You want people to know that you + believe in her!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but I want also to do what I can to keep such good tenants. + Therefore I must add a room or two to your house, that there may be good + accommodation for you all.” + </p> + <p> + “You make thanks impossible, ma'am! I will speak to Dawtie about it. I + know she will be glad not to leave you! I will take care not to trouble + the house.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall do just as Dawtie and you please. Where Dawtie is, there will + be room for you!” + </p> + <p> + Already Alexa's pain had grown quite bearable. + </p> + <p> + Dawtie needed no persuading. She was so rich in the possession of Andrew + that she could go a hundred years without seeing him, she said. It was + only that he would come and see her, instead of her going to see him! + </p> + <p> + In ten days they were married at her father's cottage. Her father and + mother then accompanied her and Andrew to the Knowe, to dine with Andrew's + father and mother. In the evening the new pair went out for a walk in the + old fields. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>seems</i>, Dawtie, as if God was here!” said Andrew. + </p> + <p> + “I would fain see him, Andrew! I would rather <i>you</i> went out than + God!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose he was nowhere, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “If God werena in <i>you</i>, ye wadna be what ye are to yer ignorant + Dawtie, Andrew! She needs her Father in h'aven sairer nor her Andrew! But + I'm sayin' things sae true 'at it's jist silly to say them! Eh, it's like + h'aven itsel' to be oot o' that prison, an' walkin' aboot wi' you! God has + gien me a' thing!—jist <i>a' thing</i>, Andrew!” + </p> + <p> + “God was wi' ye i' the prison, Dawtie!” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! But I like better to be wi' Him here!” + </p> + <p> + “An' ye may be sure He likes better to ha'e ye here!” rejoined Andrew. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI. AGAIN THE GOBLET. + </h2> + <p> + The next day Alexa set Dawtie to search the house yet again for the + missing goblet. + </p> + <p> + “It must be somewhere!” she said. “We are beset with an absolute + contradiction: the thing can't be in the house! and it must be in the + house!” + </p> + <p> + “If we do find it,” returned Dawtie, “folk'll say them 'at could hide + could weel seek! I s' luik naegait wantin' you, mem!” + </p> + <p> + The study was bare of books, and the empty shelves gave no hint of + concealment They stood in its dreariness looking vaguely round them. + </p> + <p> + “Did it ever come to ye, mem,” said Dawtie, “that a minute or twa passed + between Mr. Crawford comin' doon the stair wi' you, and me gaein' up to + the maister? When I gaed intil the room, he lay pantin' i' the bed; but as + I broodit upo' ilka thing alane i' the prison, he cam afore me, there i' + the bed, as gien he had gotten oot o' 't, and hidden awa' the cup, and was + jist gotten intil't again, the same moment I cam in.” + </p> + <p> + “Dying people will do strange things!” rejoined her mistress. “But it + brings us no nearer the cup!” + </p> + <p> + “The surer we are, the better we'll seek!” said Dawtie. + </p> + <p> + They began, and went over the room thoroughly—looking everywhere + they could think of. They had all but given it up to go on elsewhere, when + Dawtie, standing again in the middle and looking about in a sort of + unconscious hopelessness, found her eyes on the mantel-shelf, and went and + laid her hand upon it. It was of wood, and she fancied it a little loose, + but she could not move it. + </p> + <p> + “When Andrew comes we'll get him to examine it!” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + He came in the evening, and Alexa told him what they had been doing. She + begged him to get tools, and see whether there was not a space under the + mantel-shelf. But Andrew, accustomed to ponder contrivances with Sandy, + would have a good look at it first He came presently upon a clever little + spring, pressing which he could lift the shelf: there under it, sure + enough, in rich response to the candle he held, flashed the gems of the + curiously wrought chalice of gold! Alexa gave a cry, Andrew drew a deep + breath, Dawtie laughed like a child. How they gazed on it, passed it from + one to the other, pored over the gems, and over the raised work that + inclosed them, I need not tell. They began to talk about what was to be + done with it. + </p> + <p> + “We will send it to the earl!” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Andrew; “that would be to make ourselves judges in the case! + Your father must have paid money for it; he gave it to Mr. Crawford, and + Mr. Crawford must not be robbed!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Andrew!” said Alexa. “Everything in the next room was left to my + cousin, with the library in this; whatever else was left him was + individually described. The cup was not in the next room, and was not + mentioned. Providence has left us to do with it as we may judge right. I + think it ought to be taken to Borland Hall—and by Dawtie.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! She will mention that your father bought it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will not take a shilling for it!” + </p> + <p> + “Is not that because you are not quite sure you have the right to dispose + of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I would not take the price of it if my father had left the cup expressly + to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Had he done so, you would have a right to what he paid for it. To give + the earl the choice of securing it, would be a service rendered him. If he + were too poor to buy it, the thing would have to be considered.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing could make me touch money for it. George would never doubt we had + concealed it in order to trick him out of it!” + </p> + <p> + “He will think so all the same. It will satisfy him, and not a few beside, + that Dawtie ought to have been convicted. The thing is certainly Mr. + Crawford's—that is, his as not yours. Your father undoubtedly meant + him to have the cup; and God would not have you, even to serve the right, + take advantage of an accident. Whatever ought to be done with the cup, Mr. + Crawford ought to do it; it is his business to do right in regard to it; + and whatever advantage may be gained by doing right, Mr. Crawford ought to + have the chance of gaining it. Would you deprive him of the opportunity, + to which at least he has a right, of doing justice, and delivering his + soul?” + </p> + <p> + “You would have us tell the earl that his cup is found, but Mr. Crawford + claims it?” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “Andrew would have us take it to Mr. Crawford,” said Dawtie, “and tell him + that the earl has a claim to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him also,” said Andrew, “where it was found, showing he has no <i>legal</i> + right to it; and tell him he has no more moral right to it than the laird + could give him. Tell him, ma'am,” continued Andrew, “that you expect him + to take it to the earl, that he may buy it if he will; and say that if, + after a fortnight, you find it is not in the earl's possession, you will + yourself ascertain from him whether the offer has been made him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just right,” said Alexa. + </p> + <p> + And so the thing was done. The cup is now in the earl's collection, and + without any further interference on her part. + </p> + <p> + A few days after she and Dawtie carried the cup to Crawford, a parcel + arrived at Potlurg, containing a beautiful silver case, and inside the + case the jeweled watch—with a letter from George, begging Alexa to + accept his present, and assuring her of his conviction that the moment he + annoyed her with any further petition, she would return it. He expressed + his regret that he had brought such suffering upon Dawtie, and said he was + ready to make whatever amends her husband might think fit. + </p> + <p> + Alexa accepted the watch, and wore it. She thought her father would like + her to do so. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII. THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN. + </h2> + <p> + The friendship of the three was never broken. I will not say that, as she + lay awake in the dark, the eyes of Alexa never renewed the tears of that + autumn night on which she turned her back upon the pride of self, but her + tears were never those of bitterness, of self-scorn, or of self-pity. + </p> + <p> + “If I am to be pitied,” she would say to herself, “let the Lord pity me! I + am not ashamed, and will not be sorry. I have nothing to resent; no one + has wronged me.” + </p> + <p> + Andrew died in middle age. His wife said the Master wanted him for + something nobody else could do, or He would not have taken him from her. + She wept and took comfort, for she lived in expectation. + </p> + <p> + One night when she and Alexa were sitting together at Potlurg, about a + month after his burial, speaking of many things with the freedom of a long + and tried love, Alexa said, after a pause of some duration: + </p> + <p> + “Were you not very angry with me then, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + “When, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “When Andrew told you.” + </p> + <p> + “Told me what, ma'am? I must be stupid to-night, for I can't think what + you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “When he told you I wanted him, not knowing he was yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I ken naething o' what ye're mintin' at, mem,” persisted Dawtie, in a + tone of bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I thought you had no secrets from one another.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that we ever had—except things in his books that he + said were God's secrets, which I should understand some day, for God was + telling them as fast as He could get his children to understand them.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” sighed Alexa; “you were made for each other. But this is my + secret, and I have the right to tell it. He kept it for me to tell you. I + thought all the time you knew it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to know anything Andrew would not tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “He thought it was my secret, you see, not his, and that was why he did + not tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of coarse, ma'am. Andrew always did what was right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, Dawtie—I offered to be his wife if he would have me.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did he say?” asked Dawtie, with the composure of one listening + to a story learned from a book. + </p> + <p> + “He told me he couldn't. But I'm not sure what he <i>said</i>. The words + went away.” + </p> + <p> + “When was it he asked you?” said Dawtie, sunk in thought. + </p> + <p> + “The night but one before the trial,” answered Alexa. + </p> + <p> + “He micht hae ta'en you, then, i'stead o' me—a lady an' a'. Oh, mem! + do you think he took me 'cause I was in trouble? He micht hae been laird + himsel'.” + </p> + <p> + “Dawtie! Dawtie!” cried Alexa. “If you think that would have weighed with + Andrew, I ought to have been his wife, for I know him better than you.” + </p> + <p> + Dawtie smiled at that. + </p> + <p> + “But I do know, mem,” she said, “that Andrew was fit to cast the lairdship + frae him to comfort ony puir lassie. I would ha' lo'ed him a' the same.” + </p> + <p> + “As I have done, Dawtie,” said Alexa, solemnly. “But he wouldn't have + thrown <i>me</i> away for you, if he hadn't loved you, Dawtie. Be sure of + that. He might have made nothing of the lairdship, but he wouldn't have + made nothing of me.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true, mem. I dinna doobt it.” + </p> + <p> + “I love him still—and you mustn't mind me saying it, Dawtie. There + are ways of loving that are good, though there be some pain in them. Thank + God, we have our children to look after. You will let me say <i>our</i> + children, won't you, Dawtie?” + </p> + <p> + Some thought Alexa hard, some thought her cold, but the few that knew her + knew she was neither; and some of my readers will grant that such a friend + as Andrew was better than such a husband as George. + </p> + <h3> + THE END. + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Elect Lady, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ELECT LADY *** + +***** This file should be named 8944-h.htm or 8944-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/9/4/8944/ + + +Text file produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Distributed +Proofreaders + +HTML file produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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