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diff --git a/old/9155.txt b/old/9155.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45bcc81 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9155.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8530 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heather and Snow, 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: Heather and Snow + +Author: George MacDonald + +Posting Date: June 14, 2013 [EBook #9155] +Release Date: October, 2005 +First Posted: September 9, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEATHER AND SNOW *** + + + + +Produced by J. Ingram, C. Kirschner, D. Garcia and +Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +HEATHER AND SNOW + +BY GEORGE MACDONALD + + + +CONTENTS + + I. A RUNAWAY RACE + II. MOTHER AND SON + III. AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN + IV. DOG-STEENIE + V. COLONEL AND SERGEANT + VI. MAN-STEENIE + VII. CORBYKNOWE + VIII. DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER + IX. AT CASTLE WEELSET + X. DAVID AND FRANCIS + XI. KIRSTY AND PHEMY + XII. THE EARTH-HOUSE + XIII. A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON + XIV. STEENIE'S HOUSE + XV. PHEMY CRAIG + XVI. SHAM LOVE + XVII. A NOVEL ABDUCTION + XVIII. PHEMY'S CHAMPION + XIX. FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION + XX. MUTUAL MINISTRATION + XXI. PHEMY YIELDS PLACE + XXII. THE HORN + XXIII. THE STORM AGAIN + XXIV. HOW KIRSTY FARED + XXV. KIRSTY'S DREAM + XXVI. HOW DAVID FARED + XXVII. HOW MARION FARED + XXVIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE + XXIX. DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE + XXX. FROM SNOW TO FIRE + XXXI. KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT + XXXII. IN THE WORKSHOP + XXXIII. A RACE WITH DEATH + XXXIV. BACK FROM THE GRAVE + XXXV. FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF + XXXVI. KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF + XXXVII. A GREAT GULF + XXXVIII. THE NEIGHBOURS + XXXIX. KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE + XL. MRS. GORDON + XLI. TWO HORSEWOMEN + XLII. THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER + XLIII. THE CORONATION + XLIV. KIRSTY'S TOCHER + XLV. KIRSTY'S SONG + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A RUNAWAY RACE + +Upon neighbouring stones, earth-fast, like two islands of an +archipelago, in an ocean of heather, sat a boy and a girl, the girl +knitting, or, as she would have called it, _weaving_ a stocking, and +the boy, his eyes fixed on her face, talking with an animation that +amounted almost to excitement. He had great fluency, and could have +talked just as fast in good English as in the dialect in which he was +now pouring out his ambitions--the broad Saxon of Aberdeen. + +He was giving the girl to understand that he meant to be a soldier like +his father, and quite as good a one as he. But so little did he know of +himself or the world, that, with small genuine impulse to action, and +moved chiefly by the anticipated results of it, he saw success already +his, and a grateful country at his feet. His inspiration was so purely +ambition, that, even if, his mood unchanged, he were to achieve much +for his country, she could hardly owe him gratitude. + +'I'll no hae the warl' lichtly (_make light of_) me!' he said. + +'Mebbe the warl' winna tribble itsel aboot ye sae muckle as e'en to +lichtly ye!' returned his companion quietly. + +'_Ye_ do naething ither!' retorted the boy, rising, and looking down on +her in displeasure. 'What for are ye aye girdin at me? A body canna lat +his thouchts gang, but ye're doon upo them, like doos upo corn!' + +'I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower muckle aboot ye +to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o' ye 'at ye hae o' yersel,' +answered the girl, who went on with her knitting as she spoke. + +'Ye'll never believe a body!' he rejoined, and turned half away. 'I +canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye haena a guid word to +gie a body!' + +'It's nane ye s' get frae me, the gait ye're gaein, Francie! Ye think a +heap ower muckle o' yersel. What ye expec, may some day a' come true, +but ye hae gien nobody a richt to expec it alang wi' ye, and I canna +think, gien ye war fair to yersel, ye wad coont yersel ane it was to be +expeckit o'!' + +'I tauld ye sae, Kirsty! Ye never lay ony weicht upo what a body says!' + +That depen's upo the body. Did ye never hear maister Craig p'int oot +the differ atween believin a body and believin _in_ a body, Francie?' + +'No--and I dinna care.' + +'I wudna like ye to gang awa thinking I misdoobtit yer word, Francie! I +believe onything ye tell me, as far as _I_ think ye ken, but maybe no +sae far as _ye_ think ye ken. I believe ye, but I confess I dinna +believe _in_ ye--yet. What hae ye ever dune to gie a body ony richt to +believe in ye? Ye're a guid rider, and a guid shot for a laddie, and ye +rin middlin fest--I canna say like a deer, for I reckon I cud lick ye +mysel at rinnin! But, efter and a',--' + +'Wha's braggin noo, Kirsty?' cried the boy, with a touch of not +ill-humoured triumph. + +'Me,' answered Kirsty; '--and I'll do what I brag o'!' she added, +throwing her stocking on the patch of green sward about the stone, and +starting to her feet with a laugh. 'Is't to be uphill or alang?' + +They were near the foot of a hill to whose top went the heather, but +along whose base, between the heather and the bogland below, lay an +irregular belt of moss and grass, pretty clear of stones. The boy did +not seem eager to accept the challenge. + +'There's nae guid in lickin a lassie!' he said with a shrug. + +'There mith be guid in tryin to du't though--especially gien ye war +lickit at it!' returned the girl. + +'What guid _can_ there be in a body bein lickit at onything?' + +'The guid o' haein a body's pride ta'en doon a wee.' + +'I'm no sae sure o' the guid o' that! It wud only hand ye ohn tried +(_from trying_) again.' + +'Jist there's what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye be first, +or ye'll no try! Ye'll never du naething for fear o' no bein able to +gang on believin ye cud du 't better nor ony ither body! Ye dinna want +to fin' oot 'at ye're naebody in particlar. It's a sair pity ye wunna +hae yer pride ta'en doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three +pairts o' 't.--Come, I'm ready for ye! Never min' 'at I'm a lassie: +naebody 'ill ken!' + +'Ye hae nae sheen (_shoes_)!' objected the boy. + +'Ye can put aff yer ain!' + +'My feet's no sae hard as yours!' + +'Weel, I'll put on mine. They're here, sic as they are. Ye see I want +them gangin throuw the heather wi' Steenie; that's some sair upo the +feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, and I'll put my sheen on!' + +'I'm no sae guid uphill.' + +'See there noo, Francie! Ye tak yersel for unco courteous, and +honourable, and generous, and k-nichtly, and a' that--oh, I ken a' +aboot it, and it's a' verra weel sae far as it gangs; but what the +better are ye for 't, whan, a' the time ye're despisin a body 'cause +she's but a quean, ye maun hae ilka advantage o' her, or ye winna gie +her a chance o' lickin ye!--Here! I'll put on my sheen, and rin ye +alang the laich grun'! My sheen's twice the weicht o' yours, and they +dinna fit me!' + +The boy did not dare go on refusing: he feared what Kirsty would say +next. But he relished nothing at all in the challenge. It was not fit +for a man to run races with a girl: there were no laurels, nothing but +laughter to be won by victory over her! and in his heart he was not at +all sure of beating Kirsty: she had always beaten him when they were +children. Since then they had been at the parish school together, but +there public opinion kept the boys and girls to their own special +sports. Now Kirsty had left school, and Francis was going to the +grammar-school at the county-town. They were both about fifteen. All +the sense was on the side of the girl, and she had been doing her best +to make the boy practical like herself--hitherto without much success, +although he was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He had not yet passed +the stage--some appear never to pass it in this world--in which an +admirer feels himself in the same category with his hero. Many are +content with themselves because they side with those whose ways they do +not endeavour to follow. Such are most who call themselves Christians. +If men admired themselves only for what they did, their conceit would +be greatly moderated. + +Kirsty put on her heavy tacketed (_hob-nailed_) shoes--much too large +for her, having been made for her brother--stood up erect, and putting +her elbows back, said, + +'I'll gie ye the start o' me up to yon stane wi' the heather growin oot +o' the tap o' 't.' + +'Na, na; I'll hae nane o' that!' answered Francis. + +'Fairplay to a'!' + +'Ye'd better tak it!' + +'Aff wi' ye, or I winna rin at a'!' cried the boy,--and away they went. + +Kirsty contrived that he should yet have a little the start of her--how +much from generosity, and how much from determination that there should +be nothing doubtful in the result, I cannot say--and for a good many +yards he kept it. But if the boy, who ran well, had looked back, he +might have seen that the girl was not doing her best--that she was in +fact restraining her speed. Presently she quickened her pace, and was +rapidly lessening the distance between them, when, becoming aware of +her approach, the boy quickened his, and for a time there was no change +in their relative position. Then again she quickened her pace--with an +ease which made her seem capable of going on to accelerate it +indefinitely--and was rapidly overtaking him. But as she drew near, she +saw he panted, not a little distressed; whereupon she assumed a greater +speed still, and passed him swiftly--nor once looked round or slackened +her pace until, having left him far behind, she put a shoulder of the +hill between them. + +The moment she passed him, the boy flung himself on the ground and lay. +The girl had felt certain he would do so, and fancied she heard him +flop among the heather, but could not be sure, for, although not even +yet at her speed, her blood was making tunes in her head, and the wind +was blowing in and out of her ears with a pleasant but deafening +accompaniment. When she knew he could see her no longer, she stopped +likewise and threw herself down while she was determining whether she +should leave him quite, or walk back at her leisure, and let him see +how little she felt the run. She came to the conclusion that it would +be kinder to allow him to get over his discomfiture in private. She +rose, therefore, and went straight up the hill. + +About half-way to the summit, she climbed a rock as if she were a goat, +and looked all round her. Then she uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, and +listened. No answer came. Getting down as easily as she had got up, she +walked along the side of the hill, making her way nearly parallel with +their late racecourse, passing considerably above the spot where her +defeated rival yet lay, and descending at length a little hollow not +far from where she and Francis had been sitting. + +In this hollow, which was covered with short, sweet grass, stood a very +small hut, built of turf from the peat-moss below, and roofed with sods +on which the heather still stuck, if, indeed, some of it was not still +growing. So much was it, therefore, of the colour of the ground about +it, that it scarcely caught the eye. Its walls and its roof were so +thick that, small as it looked, it was much smaller inside; while +outside it could not have measured more than ten feet in length, eight +in width, and seven in height. Kirsty and her brother Steenie, not +without help from Francis Gordon, had built it for themselves two years +before. Their father knew nothing of the scheme until one day, proud of +their success, Steenie would have him see their handiwork; when he was +so much pleased with it that he made them a door, on which he put a +lock:-- + +'For though this be na the kin' o' place to draw crook-fingered +gentry,' he said, 'some gangrel body micht creep in and mak his bed +intil 't, and that lock 'ill be eneuch to haud him oot, I'm thinkin.' + +He also cut for them a hole through the wall, and fitted it with a +window that opened and shut, which was more than could be said of every +window at the farmhouse. + +Into this nest Kirsty went, and in it remained quiet until it began to +grow dark. She had hoped to find her brother waiting for her, but, +although disappointed, chose to continue there until Francis Gordon +should be well on his way to the castle, and then she crept out, and +ran to recover her stocking. + +When she got home, she found Steenie engrossed in a young horse their +father had just bought. She would fain have mounted him at once, for +she would ride any kind of animal able to carry her; but, as he had +never yet been backed, her father would not permit her. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MOTHER AND SON + + +Francis lay for some time, thinking Kirsty sure to come back to him, +but half wishing she would not. He rose at length to see whether she +was on the way, but no one was in sight. At once the place was aghast +with loneliness, as it must indeed have looked to anyone not at peace +with solitude. Having sent several ringing shouts, but in vain, after +Kirsty, he turned, and, in the descending light of an autumn afternoon, +set out on the rather long walk to his home, which was the wearier that +he had nothing pleasant at hand to think about. + +Passing the farm where Kirsty lived, about two miles brought him to an +ancient turreted house on the top of a low hill, where his mother sat +expecting him, ready to tyrannize over him as usual, and none the less +ready that he was going to leave her within a week. + +'Where have you been all day, Frank?' she said. + +'I have been a long walk,' he answered. + +'You've been to Corbyknowe!' she returned. 'I know it by your eyes. I +know by the very colour of them you're going to deceive me. Now don't +tell me you haven't been there. I shall not believe you.' + +'I haven't been near the place, mother,' said Francis; but as he said +it his face glowed with a heat that did not come from the fire. He was +not naturally an untruthful boy, and what he said was correct, for he +had passed the house half a mile away; but his words gave, and were +intended to give the impression that he had not been that day with any +of the people of Corbyknowe. His mother objected to his visiting the +farmer, but he knew instinctively she would have objected yet more to +his spending half the day with Kirsty, whom she never mentioned, and of +whom she scarcely recognized the existence. Little as she loved her +son, Mrs. Gordon would have scorned to suspect him of preferring the +society of such a girl to her own. In truth, however, there were very +few of his acquaintance whose company Francis would not have chosen +rather than his mother's--except indeed he was ill, when she was +generally very good to him. + +'Well, this once I shall believe you,' she answered, 'and I am glad to +be able. It is a painful thought to me, Frank, that son of mine should +feel the smallest attraction to low company. I have told you twenty +times that the man was nothing but a private in your father's +regiment.' + +'He was my father's friend!' answered the boy. + +'He tells you so, I do not doubt,' returned his mother. 'He was not +likely to leave that mouldy old stone unturned.' + +The mother sat, and the son stood before her, in a drawing-room whose +furniture of a hundred years old must once have looked very modern and +new-fangled under windows so narrow and high up, and within walls so +thick: without a fire it was always cold. The carpet was very dingy, +and the mirrors were much spotted; but the poverty of the room was the +respectable poverty of age: old furniture had become fashionable just +in time to save it from being metamorphosed by its mistress into a show +of gay meanness and costly ugliness. A good fire of mingled peat and +coal burned bright in the barrel-fronted steel grate, and shone in the +brass fender. The face of the boy continued to look very red in the +glow, but still its colour came more from within than from without: he +cherished the memory of his father, and did not love his mother more +than a little. + +'He has told me a great deal more about my father than ever you did, +mother!' he answered. + +'Well he may have!' she returned. 'Your father was not a young man when +I married him, and they had been together through I don't know how many +campaigns.' + +'And you say he was not my father's friend!' + +'Not his _friend_, Frank; his servant--what do they call them?--his +orderly, I dare say; certainly not his friend.' + +'Any man may be another man's friend!' + +'Not in the way you mean; not that his son should go and see him every +other day! A dog may be a man's good friend, and so was sergeant +Barclay your father's--very good friend that way, I don't doubt!' + +'You said a moment ago he was but a private, and now you call him +sergeant Barclay!' + +'Well, where's the difference?' + +'To be made sergeant shows that he was not a common man. If he had +been, he would not have been set over others!' + +'Of course he was then, and is now, a very respectable man. If he were +not I should never have let you go and see him at all. But you must +learn to behave like the gentleman you are, and that you never will +while you frequent the company of your inferiors. Your manners are +already almost ruined--fit for no place but a farmhouse! There you +are, standing on the side of your foot again!--Old Barclay, I dare say, +tells you no end of stories about your mother!' + +'He always asks after you, mother, and then never mentions you more.' + +She knew perfectly that the boy spoke the truth. + +'Don't let me hear of your being there again before you go to school!' +she said definitively. 'By the time you come home next year I trust +your tastes will have improved. Go and make yourself tidy for dinner. A +soldier's son must before everything attend to his dress.' + +Francis went to his room, feeling it absolutely impossible to have told +his mother that he had been with Kirsty Barclay, that he had run a race +with her, and that she had left him alone at the foot of the Horn. That +he could not be open with his mother, no one that knew her unreasoning +and stormy temper would have wondered; but the pitiful boy, who did not +like lying, actually congratulated himself that he had got through +without telling a downright falsehood. It would not have bettered +matters in the least had he disclosed to her the good advice Kirsty +gave him: she would only have been furious at the impudence of the +hussey in talking so to _her_ son. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN + + +The region was like a waste place in the troubled land of dreams--a +spot so waste that the dreamer struggles to rouse himself from his +dream, finding it too dreary to dream on. I have heard it likened to +'the ill place, wi' the fire oot;' but it did not so impress me when +first, after long desire, I saw it. There was nothing to suggest the +silence of once roaring flame, no half-molten rocks, no huge, +honey-combed scoriae, no depths within depths glooming mystery and +ancient horror. It was the more desolate that it moved no active sense +of dismay. What I saw was a wide stretch of damp-looking level, mostly +of undetermined or of low-toned colour, with here and there a black +spot, or, on the margin, the brighter green of a patch of some growing +crop. Flat and wide, the eye found it difficult to rest upon it and not +sweep hurriedly from border to border for lack of self-asserted object +on which to alight. It looked low, but indeed lay high; the bases of +the hills surrounding it were far above the sea. These hills, at this +season a ring of dull-brown high-heaved hummocks, appeared to make of +it a huge circular basin, miles in diameter, over the rim of which +peered the tops and peaks of mountains more distant. Up the side of the +Horn, which was the loftiest in the ring, ran a stone wall, in the +language of the country a dry-stane-dyke, of considerable size, +climbing to the very top--an ugly thing which the eye could not avoid. +There was nothing but the grouse to have rendered it worth the +proprietor's while to erect such a boundary to his neighbour's +property, plentiful as were the stones ready for that poorest use of +stones--division. + +The farms that border the hollow, running each a little way up the side +of the basin, are, some of them at least, as well cultivated as any in +Scotland, but Winter claims there the paramountcy, and yields to Summer +so few of his rights that the place must look forbidding, if not +repulsive, to such as do not live in it. To love it, I think one must +have been born there. In the summer, it is true, it has the character +of _bracing_, but can be such, I imagine, only to those who are pretty +well braced already; the delicate of certain sorts, I think it must +soon brace with the bands of death. + +The region is in constant danger of famine. If the snow come but a +little earlier than usual, the crops lie green under it, and no store +of meal can be laid up in the cottages. Then, if the snow lie deep, the +difficulty in conveying supplies of the poor fare which their hardihood +counts sufficient, will cause the dwellers there no little suffering. +Of course they are but few. A white cottage may be seen here and there +on the southerly slopes of the basin, but hardly one in its bottom. + +It was now summer, and in a month or two the landscape would look more +cheerful; the heather that covered the hills would no longer be dry and +brown and in places black with fire, but a blaze of red purple, a rich +mantle of bloom. Even now, early in July, the sun had a little power. I +cannot say it would have been warm had there been the least motion in +the air, for seldom indeed could one there from the south grant that +the wind had no keen edge to it; but on this morning there was absolute +stillness, and although it was not easy for Kirsty to imagine any +summer air other than warm, yet the wind's absence had not a little to +do with the sense of luxurious life that now filled her heart. She sat +on her favourite grassy slope near the foot of the cone-shaped Horn, +looking over the level miles before her, and knitting away at a ribbed +stocking of dark blue whose toe she had nearly finished, glad in the +thought, not of rest from her labour, but of beginning the yet more +important fellow-stocking. She had no need to look close at her work to +keep the loops right; but she was so careful and precise that, if she +lived to be old and blind, she would knit better then than now. It was +to her the perfect glory of a summer day; and I imagine her delight in +the divine luxury greater than that of many a poet dwelling in softer +climes. + +The spot where she sat was close by the turf-hut which I have already +described. At every shifting of a needle she would send a new glance +all over her world, a glance to remind one somehow of the sweep of a +broad ray of sunlight across earth and sea, when, on a morning of upper +wind, the broken clouds take endless liberties with shadow and shine. +What she saw I cannot tell; I know she saw far more than a stranger +would have seen, for she knew her home. His eyes would, I believe, have +been drawn chiefly to those intense spots of live white, opaque yet +brilliant, the heads of the cotton-grass here and there in thin patches +on the dark ground. For nearly the whole of the level was a peat-moss. +Miles and miles of peat, differing in quality and varying in depth, lay +between those hills, the only fuel almost of the region. In some spots +it was very wet, water lying beneath and all through its substance; in +others, dark spots, the sides of holes whence it had been dug, showed +where it was drier. His eyes would rest for a moment also on those +black spaces on the hills where the old heather had been burned that +its roots might shoot afresh, and feed the grouse with soft young +sprouts, their chief support: they looked now like neglected spots +where men cast stones and shards, but by and by would be covered with a +tenderer green than the rest of the hill-side. He would not see the +moorland birds that Kirsty saw; he would only hear their cries, with +now and then perhaps the bark of a sheep-dog. + +My reader will probably conclude the prospect altogether uninteresting, +even ugly; but certainly Christina Barclay did not think it such. The +girl was more than well satisfied with the world-shell in which she +found herself; she was at the moment basking, both bodily and +spiritually, in a full sense of the world's bliss. Her soul was bathed +in its own content, calling none of its feelings to account. The sun, +the air, the wide expanse; the hill-tops' nearness to the heavens +which yet they could not invade; the little breaths which every now and +then awoke to assert their existence by immediately ceasing; doubtless +also the knowledge that her stocking was nearly done, that her father +and mother were but a mile or so away, that she knew where Steenie was, +and that a cry would bring him to her feet;--all these things bore each +a part in making Kirsty quiet with satisfaction. That there was, all +the time, a deeper cause of her peace, Kirsty knew well-the same that +is the root of life itself; and if it was not, at this moment or at +that, filled with conscious gratitude, her heart was yet like a bird +ever on the point of springing up to soar, and often soaring high +indeed. Whether it came of something special in her constitution that +happiness always made her quiet, as nothing but sorrow will make some, +I do not presume to say. I only know that, had her bliss changed +suddenly to sadness, Kirsty would have been quiet still. Whatever came +to Kirsty seemed right, for there it was! + +She was now a girl of sixteen. The only sign she showed of interest in +her person, appeared in her hair and the covering of her neck. Of one +of the many middle shades of brown, with a rippling tendency to curl in +it, her hair was parted with nicety, and drawn back from her face into +a net of its own colour, while her neckerchief was of blue silk, +covering a very little white skin, but leaving bare a brown throat. She +wore a blue print wrapper, nowise differing from that of a peasant +woman, and a blue winsey petticoat, beyond which appeared her bare +feet, lovely in shape, and brown of hue. Her dress was nowise trim, and +suggested neither tidiness nor disorder. The hem of the petticoat was +in truth a little rent, but not more than might seem admissible where +the rough wear was considered to which the garment was necessarily +exposed: when a little worse it would receive the proper attention, and +be brought back to respectability! Kirsty grudged the time spent on her +garments. She looked down on them as the moon might on the clouds +around her. She made or mended them to wear them, not think about them. + +Her forehead was wide and rather low, with straight eyebrows. Her eyes +were of a gentle hazel, not the hazel that looks black at night. Her +nose was strong, a little irregular, with plenty of substance, and +sensitive nostrils. A decided and well-shaped chin dominated a neck by +no means slender, and seemed to assert the superiority of the face over +the whole beautiful body. Its chief expression was of a strong repose, +a sweet, powerful peace, requiring but occasion to pass into +determination. The sensitiveness of the nostrils with the firmness in +the meeting of the closed lips, suggested a faculty of indignation +unsparing toward injustice; while the clearness of the heaven of the +forehead gave confidence that such indignation would never show itself +save for another. + +I wish, presumptuous wish! that I could see the mind of a woman grow as +she sits spinning or weaving: it would reveal the process next highest +to creation. But the only hope of ever understanding such things lies +in growing oneself. There is the still growth of the moonlit night of +reverie; cloudy, with wind, and a little rain, comes the morning of +thought, when the mind grows faster and the heart more slowly; then +wakes the storm in the forest of human relation, tempest and lightning +abroad, the soul enlarging by great bursts of vision and leaps of +understanding and resolve; then floats up the mystic twilight +eagerness, not unmingled with the dismay of compelled progress, when, +bidding farewell to that which is behind, the soul is driven toward +that which is before, grasping at it with all the hunger of the new +birth. The story of God's universe lies in the growth of the individual +soul. Kirsty's growth had been as yet quiet and steady. + +Once more as she shifted her needle her glance went flitting over the +waste before her. This time there was more life in sight. Far away +Kirsty descried something of the nature of man upon horse: to say how +far would have been as difficult for one unused to the flat moor as for +a landsman to reckon distances at sea. Of the people of the place, +hardly another, even under the direction of Kirsty, could have +contrived to see it. At length, after she had looked many times, she +could clearly distinguish a youth on a strong, handsome hill-pony, and +remained no longer in the slightest doubt as to who he might be. + +They came steadily over the dark surface of the moor, and it was clear +that the pony must know the nature of the ground well; for now he +glided along as fast as he could gallop, now made a succession of short +jumps, now halted, examined the ground, and began slowly picking his +way. + +Kirsty watched his approach with gentle interest, while every movement +of the youth indicated eagerness. Gordon had seen her on the hillside, +probably long before she saw him, had been coming to her in as straight +a line as the ground would permit, and at length was out of the boggy +level, and ascending the slope of the hillfoot to where she sat. When +he was within about twenty yards of her she gave him a little nod, and +then fixed her eyes on her knitting. He held on till within a few feet +of her, then pulled up and threw himself from his pony's back. The +creature, covered with foam, stood a minute panting, then fell to work +on the short grass. + +Francis had grown considerably, and looked almost a young man. He was a +little older than Kirsty, but did not appear so, his expression being +considerably younger than hers. Whether self-indulgence or aspiration +was to come out of his evident joy in life, seemed yet undetermined. +His countenance indicated nothing bad. He might well have represented +one at the point before having to choose whether to go up or down hill. +He was dressed a little showily in a short coat of dark tartan, and a +highland bonnet with a brooch and feather, and carried a lady's +riding-whip--his mother's, no doubt--its top set with stones--so that +his appearance was altogether a contrast to that of the girl. She was a +peasant, he a gentleman! Her bare head and yet more her bare feet +emphasized the contrast. But which was by nature and in fact the +superior, no one with the least insight could have doubted. + +He stood and looked at her, but neither spoke. She cast at length a +glance upward, and said, + +'Weel?' + +Francis did not open his mouth. He seemed irresolute. Nothing in +Kirsty's look or carriage or in the tone of her one word gave sign of +consciousness that she was treating him, or he her, strangely. With +complete self-possession she left the initiative to the one who had +sought the interview: let him say why he had come! + +In his face began to appear indication of growing displeasure. Two or +three times he turned half away with a movement instantly checked which +seemed to say that in a moment more, if there came no change, he would +mount and ride: was this all his welcome? + +At last she appeared to think she must take mercy on him: he used to +say thirty words to her one! + +'That's a bonny powny ye hae,' she remarked, with a look at the +creature as he fed. + +'He's a' that,' he answered dryly. + +'Whaur did ye get him?' she asked. + +'My mither coft (_bought_) him agen my hame-comin,' he replied. + +He prided himself on being able to speak the broadest of the dialect. + +'She maun hae a straucht e'e for a guid beast!' returned Kirsty, with a +second glance at the pony. + +'He's a bonny cratur and a willin,' answered the youth. 'He'll gang +skelp throuw onything--watter onygait;--I'm no sae sure aboot fire.' + +A long silence followed, broken this time by the youth. + +'Winna ye gie me luik nor word, and me ridden like mad to hae a sicht +o' ye?' he said. + +She glanced up at him. + +'Weel ye hae that!' she answered, with a smile that showed her lovely +white teeth: 'ye're a' dubs (_all bemired_)! What for sud ye be in sic +a hurry? Ye saw me no three days gane!' + +'Ay, I saw ye, it's true; but I didna get a word o' ye!' + +'Ye was free to say what ye likit. There was nane by but my mither!' + +'Wud ye hae me say a'thing afore yer mither jist as I wud til ye yer +lane (_alone_)?' he asked. + +Ay wud I,' she returned. 'Syne she wad ken, 'ithoot my haein to tell +her sic a guse as ye was!' + +Had he not seen the sunny smile that accompanied her words he might +well have taken offence. + +'I wuss ye war anither sic-like!' he answered simply. + +'Syne there wud be twa o' 's!' she returned, leaving him to interpret. + +Silence again fell. + +'Weel, what wud ye hae, Francie?' said Kirsty at length. + +'I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,' he answered; +'and that ye ken as well as I du mysel!' + +'That's straucht oot ony gait!' rejoined Kirsty. 'But ye see, Francie,' +she went on, 'yer father, whan he left ye a kin' o' a legacy, as ye may +ca' 't, to mine, hed no intention that _I_ was to be left oot; neither +had _my_ father whan he acceppit o' 't!' + +'I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (_one atom_)!' interrupted Gordon. + +'Haud yer tongue and hearken,' returned Kirsty. 'What I'm meanin 's +this: what lies to my father's han' lies to mine as weel; and I'll +never hae 't kenned or said that, whan my father pu't (_pulled_) ae +gait, I pu't anither!' + +'Sakes, lassie! what _are_ ye haverin at? Wud it be pu'in agen yer +father to merry me?' + +'It wud be that.' + +'I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic a freen' +o' my father's, he sud objeck to my father's son!' + +'Eh, but laddies _ir_ gowks!' cried Kirsty. 'My father was your +father's freen' for _his_ sake, no for his ain! He thinks o' what wud +be guid for you, no for himsel!' + +'Weel, but,' persisted Gordon, 'it wud be mair for my guid nor onything +ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!' + +Kirsty's nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a curve of +scorn. + +'A bonnie wife ye wud hae, Francie Gordon, wha, kennin her father duin +ilk mortal thing for the love o' his auld maister and comrade, tuik the +fine chance to mak her ain o' 't, and haud her grip o' the callan til +hersel!--Think ye aither o' the auld men ever mintit at sic a thing as +fatherin baith? That my father had a lass-bairn o' 's ain shawed mair +nor onything the trust your father pat in 'im! Francie, the verra grave +wud cast me oot for shame 'at I sud ance hae thoucht o' sic a thing! +Man, it wud maist drive yer leddy-mither dementit!' + +'It's my business' Kirsty, wha I merry!' + +'And I houp yer grace 'll alloo it's pairt _my_ business wha ye sail +_not_ merry--and that's me, Francie!' + +Gordon sprang to his feet with such a look of wrath and despair as for +a moment frightened Kirsty who was not easily frightened. She thought +of the terrible bog-holes on the way her lover had come, sprang also to +her feet, and caught him by the arm where, his foot already in the +stirrup, he stood in the act of mounting. + +'Francie! Francie!' she cried, 'hearken to rizzon! There's no a body, +man or wuman, I like better nor yersel to du ye ony guid or turn o' +guid--'cep' my father, of coorse, and my mither, and my ain Steenie!' + +'And hoo mony mair, gien I had the wull to hear the lang bible-chapter +o' them, and see mysel comin in at the tail o' them a', like the +hin'most sheep, takin his bite as he cam? Na, na! it's time I was hame, +and had my slip (_pinafore_) on, and was astride o' a stick! Gien ye +had a score o' idiot-brithers, ye wud care mair for ilk are o' them nor +for me! I canna bide to think o' 't.' + +'It's true a' the same, whether ye can bide to think o' 't or no, +Francie!' returned the girl, her face, which had been very pale, now +rosy with indignation. 'My Steenie's mair to me nor a' the Gordons +thegither, Bow-o'-meal or Jock-and-Tam as ye like!' + +She drew back, sat down again to the stocking she was knitting for +Steenie, and left her lover to mount and ride, which he did without +another word. + +'There's mair nor ae kin' o' idiot,' she said to herself, 'and +Steenie's no the kin' that oucht to be ca'd ane. There's mair in +Steenie nor in sax Francie Gordons!' + +If ever Kirsty came to love a man, it would be just nothing to her to +die for him; but then it never would have been anything to her to die +for her father or her mother or Steenie! + +Gordon galloped off at a wild pace, as if he would drive his pony +straight athwart the terrible moss, taking hag and well-eye as it came. +But glancing behind and seeing that Kirsty was not looking after him, +he turned the creature's head in a safer direction, and left the moss +at his back. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +DOG-STEENIE + + +She sat for some time at the foot of the hill, motionless as itself, +save for her hands. The sun shone on in silence, and the blue +butterflies which haunted the little bush of bluebells, that is +harebells, beside her, made no noise; only a stray bee, happy in the +pale heat, made a little music to please itself--and perhaps the +butterflies. Kirsty had an unusual power of sitting still, even with +nothing for her hands to do. On the present occasion, however, her +hands and fingers went faster than usual--not entirely from eagerness +to finish her stocking, but partly from her displeasure with Francis. +At last she broke her 'worset,' drew the end of it through the final +loop, and, drawing it, rose and scanned the side of the hill. Not far +off she spied the fleecy backs of a few feeding sheep, and straightway +sent out on the still air a sweet, strong, musical cry. It was +instantly responded to by a bark from somewhere up the hill. She sat +down, clasped her hands over her knees, and waited. + +She had not to wait long. A sound of rushing came through the heather, +and in a moment or two, a fine collie, with long, silky, wavy coat of +black and brown, and one white spot on his face, shot out of the +heather, sprang upon her, and, setting his paws on her shoulders, began +licking her face. She threw her arms round him, and addressed him in +words of fondling rebuke:-- + +'Ye ill-mennered tyke!' she said; 'what richt hae ye to tak the place +o' yer betters? Gang awa doon wi' ye, and wait. What for sud ye tak +advantage o' your fower legs to his twa, and him the maister o' ye! +But, eh man, ye're a fine doggie, and I canna bide the thoucht 'at yer +langest day maun be sae short, and tak ye awa hame sae lang afore the +lave o' 's!' + +While she scolded, she let him caress her as he pleased. Presently he +left her, and going a yard or two away, threw himself on the grass with +such _abandon_ as no animal but a weary dog seems capable of reaching. +He had made haste to be first that he might caress her before his +master came; now he heard him close behind, and knew his opportunity +over. + +Stephen came next out of the heather, creeping to Kirsty's feet on +all-fours. He was a gaunt, longbacked lad, who, at certain seasons +undetermined, either imagined himself the animal he imitated, or had +some notion of being required, or, possibly, compelled to behave like a +dog. When the fit was upon him, all the day long he would speak no word +even to his sister, would only bark or give a low growl like the +collie. In this last he succeeded much better than in running like him, +although, indeed, his arms were so long that it was comparatively easy +for him to use them as forelegs. He let his head hang low as he went, +throwing it up to bark, and sinking it yet lower when he growled, which +was seldom, and to those that loved him indicated great trouble. He did +not like Snootie raise himself on his hindlegs to caress his sister, +but gently subsided upon her feet, and there lay panting, his face to +the earth, and his fore-arms crossed beneath his nose. + +Kirsty stooped, and stroked and patted him as if he were the dog he +seemed fain to be. Then drawing her feet from under him, she rose, and +going a little way up the hill to the hut, returned presently with a +basin full of rich-looking milk, and _a quarter_ of thick oat-cake, +which she had brought from home in the morning. The milk she set beside +her as she resumed her seat. Then she put her feet again under the +would-be dog, and proceeded to break small pieces from the oat-cake and +throw them to him. He sought every piece eagerly as it fell, but with +his mouth only, never moving either hand, and seemed to eat it with a +satisfaction worthy of his simulated nature. When the oat-cake was +gone, she set the bowl before him, and he drank the milk with care and +neatness, never putting a hand to steady it. + +'Now you must have a sleep, Steenie!' said his sister. + +She rose, and he crawled slowly after her up the hill on his hands and +knees. All the time he kept his face down, and, his head hanging toward +the earth, his long hair hid it quite. He strongly suggested a great +Skye-terrier. + +When they reached the hut, Kirsty went in, and Steenie crept after her. +They had covered the floor of it with heather, the stalks set upright +and close packed, so that, even where the bells were worn off, it still +made a thick long-piled carpet, elastic and warm. When the door was +shut, they were snug there even in winter. + +Inside, the hut was about six feet long, and four wide. Its furniture +was a little deal table and one low chair. In the turf of which the +wall consisted, at the farther end from the door, Kirsty had cut out a +small oblong recess to serve as a shelf for her books. The hut was +indeed her library, for in that bole stood, upright with its back to +the room, in proper and tidy fashion, almost every book she could call +her own. They were about a dozen, several with but one board and some +with no title, one or two very old, and all well used. Most of her time +there, when she was not knitting, Kirsty spent in reading and thinking +about what she read; many a minute, even when she was knitting, she +managed to read as well. She had read two of sir Walter's novels, and +several of the Ettrick-shepherd's shorter tales, which the schoolmaster +had lent her; but on her shelf and often in her hands were a Shakspere, +a Milton, and a translation of Klopstock's _Messiah_--which she liked +far better than the _Paradise Lost_, though she did not admire it +nearly so much. Of the latter she would say, 'It's unco gran', but it +never maks my hert grit (_great_), meaning that it never caused her any +emotion. Among her treasures was also a curious old book of +ghost-stories, concerning which the sole remark she was ever heard to +make was, that she would like to know whether they were true: she +thought Steenie could tell, but she would not question him about them. +Ramsay's _Gentle Shepherd was_ there too, which she liked for the good +sense in it. There was a thumbed edition of Burns also, but I do not +think much of the thumbing was Kirsty's, though she had several of his +best poems by heart. + +Between the ages of ten and fifteen, Kirsty had gone to the parish +school of the nearest town: it looked a village, but they always called +it _the town_. There a sister of her father lived, and with her she was +welcome to spend the night, so that she was able to go in most +weathers. But when she staid there, her evening was mostly spent at the +schoolmaster's. + +Mr. Craig was an elderly man, who had married late, and lost his wife +early. She had left him one child, a delicate, dainty, golden-haired +thing, considerably younger than Kirsty, who cherished for her a love +and protection quite maternal. Kirsty was one of the born mothers, who +are not only of the salt, but are the sugar and shelter of the world. I +doubt if little Phemie would have learned anything but for Kirsty. Not +to the day of her death did her father see in her anything but the +little girl his wife had left him. He spoiled her a good deal, nor ever +set himself to instruct her, leaving it apparently to the tendency of +things to make of her a woman like her mother. + +He was a real student and excellent teacher. When first he came as +schoolmaster to Tiltowie, he was a divinity student, but a man so far +of thought original that he saw lions in the way of becoming a +minister. Such men as would be servants of the church before they are +slaves of the church's Master will never be troubled with Mr. Craig's +difficulties. For one thing, his strong poetic nature made it +impossible for him to believe in a dull, prosaic God: when told that +God's thoughts are not as our thoughts, he found himself unable to +imagine them inferior to ours. The natural result was that he remained +a schoolmaster--to the advantage of many a pupil, and very greatly to +the advantage of Kirsty, whose nature was peculiarly open to his +influences. The dominie said he had never had a pupil that gave him +such satisfaction as Kirsty; she seemed to anticipate and catch at +everything he wanted to make hers. There was no knowledge, he declared, +that he could offer her, which the lassie from Corbyknowe would not +take in like her porridge. Best thing of all for her was that, +following his own predilections, he paid far more attention, in his +class for English, to poetry than to prose. Colin Craig was himself no +indifferent poet, and was even a master of the more recondite forms of +verse. If, in some measure led astray by the merit of the form, he was +capable of admiring verse essentially inferior, he yet certainly +admired the better poetry more. He had, besides, the faculty of +perceiving whether what he had written would or would not _convey_ his +thought--a faculty in which even a great poet may be deficient. + +In a word, Kirsty learned everything Mr. Craig brought within her +reach; and long after she left school, the Saturday on which she did +not go to see him was a day of disappointment both to the dominie and +to his little Phemie. + +When she had once begun to follow a thing, Kirsty would never leave the +trail of it. Her chief business as well as delight was to look after +Steenie, but perfect attention to him left her large opportunity of +pursuing her studies, especially at such seasons in which his peculiar +affection, whatever it really was, required hours of untimely sleep. +For, although at all times he wandered at his will without her, he +invariably wanted to be near her when he slept; while she, satisfied +that so he slept better, had not once at such a time left him. During +summer, and as long before and after as the temperature permitted, the +hut was the place he preferred when his necessity was upon him; and it +was Kirsty's especial delight to sit in it on a warm day, the door open +and her brother asleep on her feet, reading and reading while the sun +went down the sky, to fill the hut as he set with a glory of promise; +after which came the long gloamin, like a life out of which the light +but not the love has vanished, in which she neither worked nor read, +but brooded over many things. + +Leaving the door open behind them, Kirsty took a book from the bole, +and seated herself on the low chair; instantly Steenie, who had waited +motionless until she was settled, threw himself across her feet on the +carpet of heather, and in a moment was fast asleep. + +There they remained, the one reading, the other sleeping, while the +hours of the warm summer afternoon slipped away, ripples on the ocean +of the lovely, changeless eternity, the consciousness of God. For a +time the watching sister was absorbed in King Lear; then she fell to +wondering whether Cordelia was not unkindly stiff toward her old +father, but perceived at length that, with such sisters listening, she +could not have spoken otherwise. Then she wondered whether there could +be women so bad as Goneril and Regan, concluding that Shakspere must +know better than she. At last she drew her bare feet from under +Steenie, and put them on his back, where the coolness was delightful. +Then first she became aware that the sun was down and the gloamin come, +and that the whole world must be feeling just like her feet. The long +clear twilight, which would last till morning, was about her, the eerie +sleeping day, when the lovely ghosts come out of their graves in the +long grass, and walk about in the cool world, with little ghosty sighs +at sight of the old places, and fancy they are dreaming. Kirsty was +always willing to believe in ghosts: awake in the dark nights she did +not; but in her twilight reveries she grew very nearly a ghost herself. + +It was a wonder she could sit so long and not feel worn out; but Kirsty +was exceptionally strong, in absolute health, and specially gifted with +patience. She had so early entertained and so firmly grasped the idea +that she was sent into the world expressly to take care of Steenie, +that devotion to him had grown into a happy habit with her. The waking +mind gave itself up to the sleeping, the orderly to the troubled brain, +the true heart to the heart as true. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +COLONEL AND SERGEANT + + +There was no difference of feeling betwixt the father and mother in +regard to this devotion of Kirsty's very being to her Steenie; but the +mother in especial was content with it, for while Kirsty was the apple +of her eye, Steenie was her one loved anxiety. + +David Barclay, a humble unit in the widespread and distinguished family +of the Barclays or Berkeleys, was born, like his father and grandfather +and many more of his ancestors, on the same farm he now occupied. While +his father was yet alive, with an elder son to succeed him, David +_listed_--mainly from a strong desire to be near a school-friend, then +an ensign in the service of the East India Company. Throughout their +following military career they were in the same regiment, the one +rising to be colonel, the other sergeant-major. All the time, the +schoolboy-attachment went on deepening in the men; and, all the time, +was never man more respectfully obedient to orders than David Barclay +to those of the superior officer with whom in private he was on terms +of intimacy. As often as they could without attracting notice, the +comrades threw aside all distinction of rank, and were again the Archie +Gordon and Davie Barclay of old school-days--as real to them still as +those of the hardest battles they had fought together. In more +primitive Scotland, such relations are, or were more possible than in +countries where more divergent habits of life occasion wider social +separations; and then these were sober-minded men, who neither made +much of the shows of the world, nor were greedy after distinction, +which is the mere coffin wherein Duty-done lies buried. + +When they returned to their country, both somewhat disabled, the one +retired to his inherited estate, the other to the family farm upon that +estate, where his brother had died shortly before; so that Archie was +now Davie's landlord. But no new relation would ever destroy the +friendship which school had made close, and war had welded. Almost +every week the friends met and spent the evening together--much +oftener, by and by, at Corbyknowe than at Castle Weelset. For both +married soon after their return, and their wives were of different +natures. + +'My colonel has the glory,' Barclay said once, and but once, to his +sister, 'but, puir fallow, I hae the wife!' And truly the wife at the +farm had in her material enough, both moral and intellectual, for ten +ladies better than the wife at the castle. + +David's wife brought him a son the first year of their marriage, and +the next year came a son to the colonel and a daughter to the sergeant. +One night, as the two fathers sat together at the farm, some twelve +hours after the birth of David's girl, they mutually promised that the +survivor would do his best for the child of the other. Before he died +the colonel would gladly have taken his boy from his wife and given him +to his old comrade. + +As to Steenie, the elder of David's children, he was yet unborn when +his father, partly in consequence of a wound from which he never quite +recovered, met with rather a serious accident through a young horse in +the harvest-field, and the report reached his wife that he was killed. +To the shock she thus received was generally attributed the peculiarity +of the child, prematurely born within a month after. He had long passed +the age at which children usually begin to walk, before he would even +attempt to stand, but he had grown capable of a speed on all-fours that +was astonishing. When at last he did walk, it was for more than two +years with the air of one who had learned a trick; and throughout his +childhood and a great part of his boyhood, he continued to go on +all-fours rather than on his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MAN-STEENIE + + +The sleeping youth began at length to stir: it was more than an hour +before he quite woke up. Then all at once he started to his feet with +his eyes wide open, putting back from his forehead the long hair which +fell over them, and revealing a face not actually looking old, but +strongly suggesting age. His eyes were of a pale blue, with a hazy, +mixed, uncertain gleam in them, reminding one of the shifty shudder and +shake and start of the northern lights at some heavenly version of the +game of Puss in the Corner. His features were more than good; they +would have been grand had they been large, but they were peculiarly +small. His head itself was very small in proportion to his height, his +forehead, again, large in proportion to his head, while his chin was +such as we are in the way of calling strong. Although he had been all +day acting a dog in charge of sheep, and treating the collie as his +natural companion, there was, both in his countenance and its +expression, a remarkable absence of the animal. He had a kind of +exaltation in his look; he seemed to expect something, not at hand, but +sure to come. His eyes rested for a moment, with a love of absolute +devotion, on the face of his sister; then he knelt at her feet, and as +if to receive her blessing, bowed his head before her. She laid her +hand upon it, and in a tone of unutterable tenderness said, +'Man-Steenie!' Instantly he rose to his feet. Kirsty rose also, and +they went out of the hut. + +The sunlight had not left the west, but had crept round some distance +toward the north. Stars were shining faint through the thin shadow of +the world. Steenie stretched himself up, threw his arms aloft, and held +them raised, as if at once he would grow and reach toward the infinite. +Then he looked down on Kirsty, for he was taller than she, and pointed +straight up, with the long lean forefinger of one of the long lean arms +that had all day been legs to the would-be dog--into the heavens, and +smiled. Kirsty looked up, nodded her head, and smiled in return. Then +they started in the direction of home, and for some time walked in +silence. At length Steenie spoke. His voice was rather feeble, but +clear, articulate, and musical. + +'My feet's terrible heavy the nicht, Kirsty!' he said. 'Gien it wasna +for them, the lave o' me wud be up and awa. It's terrible to be hauden +doon by the feet this gait!' + +'We're a' hauden doon the same gait, Steenie. Maybe it's some waur for +you 'at wud sae fain gang up, nor for the lave o' 's 'at's mair willin +to bide a wee; but it 'll be the same at the last whan we're a' up +there thegither.' + +'I wudna care sae muckle gien he didna grip me by the queets +(_ankles_), like! I dinna like to be grippit by the queets! He winna +lat me win at the thongs!' + +'Whan the richt time comes,' returned Kirsty solemnly, 'the bonny man +'ll lowse the thongs himsel.' + +'Ay, ay! I ken that weel. It was me 'at tellt ye. He tauld me himsel! +I'm thinkin I'll see him the nicht, for I'm sair hauden doon, sair +needin a sicht o' 'im. He's whiles lang o' comin!' + +'I dinna won'er 'at ye're sae fain to see 'im, Steenie!' 'I _am_ that; +fain, fain!' + +'Ye'll see 'im or lang. It's a fine thing to hae patience.' + +'Ye come ilka day, Kirsty: what for sudna he come ilka nicht?' + +'He has reasons, Steenie. He kens best.' + +'Ay, he kens best. I ken naething but him--and you, Kirsty!' + +Kirsty said no more. Her heart was too full. + +Steenie stood still, and throwing back his head, stared for some +moments up into the great heavens over him. Then he said: + +'It's a bonny day, the day the bonny man bides in! The ither day--the +day the lave o' ye bides in--the day whan I'm no mysel but a sair +ooncomfortable collie--that day's ower het--and sometimes ower cauld; +but the day he bides in is aye jist what a day sud be! Ay, it's that! +it's that!' + +He threw himself down, and lay for a minute looking up into the sky. +Kirsty stood and regarded him with loving eyes. + +'I hae a' the bonny day afore me!' he murmured to himself. 'Eh, but +it's better to be a man nor a beast Snootie's a fine beast, and a gran' +collie, but I wud raither be mysel--a heap raither--aye at han' to +catch a sicht o' the bonny man! Ye maun gang hame to yer bed, Kirsty!-- +Is't the bonny man comes til ye i' yer dreams and says, "Gang til him, +Kirsty, and be mortal guid til him"? It maun be surely that!' + +'Willna ye gang wi' me, Steenie, as far as the door?' rejoined Kirsty, +almost beseechingly, and attempting no answer to what he had last said. + +It was at times such as this that Kirsty knew sadness. When she had to +leave her brother on the hillside all the long night, to look on no +human face, hear no human word, but wander in strangest worlds of his +own throughout the slow dark hours, the sense of a separation worse +than death would wrap her as in a shroud. In his bodily presence, +however far away in thought or sleep or dreams his soul might be, she +could yet tend him with her love; but when he was out of her sight, and +she had to sleep and forget him, where was Steenie, and how was he +faring? Then he seemed to her as one forsaken, left alone with his +sorrows to an existence companionless and dreary. But in truth Steenie +was by no means to be pitied. However much his life was apart from the +lives of other men, he did not therefore live alone. Was he not still +of more value than many sparrows? And Kirsty's love for him had in it +no shadow of despair. Her pain at such times was but the indescribable +love-lack of mothers when their sons are far away, and they do not know +what they are doing, what they are thinking; or when their daughters +seem to have departed from them or ever the silver cord be loosed, or +the golden bowl broken. And yet how few, when the air of this world is +clearest, ever come into essential contact with those they love best! +But the triumph of Love, while most it seems to delay, is yet +ceaselessly rushing hitherward on the wings of the morning. + +'Willna ye gang as far as the door wi' me, Steenie?' she said. + +'I wull do that, Kirsty. But ye're no feart, are ye?' + +'Na, no a grain! What would I be feart for?' + +'Ow, naething! At this time there's naething oot and aboot to be feart +at. In what ye ca' the daytime, I'm a kin' o' in danger o' knockin +mysel again things; I never du that at nicht.' + +As he spoke he sprang to his feet, and they walked on. Kirsty's heart +seemed to swell with pain; for Steenie was at once more rational and +more strange than usual, and she felt the farther away from him. His +words were very quiet, but his eyes looked full of stars. + +'I canna tell what it is aboot the sun 'at maks a dog o' me!' he said. +'He's hard-like, and hauds me oot, and gars me hing my heid, and feel +as gien I wur a kin' o' ashamed, though I ken o' naething. But the +bonny nicht comes straucht up to me, and into me, and gangs a' throuw +me, and bides i' me; and syne I luik for the bonny man!' + +'I wuss ye wud lat me bide oot the nicht wi' ye, Steenie!' + +'What for that, Kirsty? Ye maun sleep, and I'm better my lane.' + +'That's jist hit!' returned Kirsty, with a deep-drawn sigh. 'I canna +bide yer bein yer lane, and yet, do what I like, I canna, whiles, even +i' the daytime, win a bit nearer til ye! Gien only ye was as little as +ye used to be, whan I cud carry ye aboot a' day, and tak ye intil my +ain bed a' nicht! But noo we're jist like the sun and the mune!-whan +ye're oot' I'm in; and whan ye're in--well I'm no oot' but my sowl's +jist as blear-faced as the mune i' the daylicht to think ye'll be awa +again sae sune!--But it _canna_ gang on like this to a' eternity, and +that's a comfort!' + +'I ken naething aboot eternity. I'm thinkin it'll a' turn intil a lown +starry nicht, wi' the bonny man intil't. I'm sure o' ae thing, and that +only--'at something 'ill be putten richt 'at's far frae richt the noo; +and syne, Kirsty, ye'll hae yer ain gait wi' me, and I'll be sae far +like ither fowk: idiot 'at I am, I wud be sorry to be turnt a'thegither +the same as some! Ye see I ken sae muckle they ken naething aboot, or +they wudna be as they are! It maybe disna become _me_ to say't, ony +mair nor Gowk Murnock 'at sits o' the pu'pit stair,--but eh the styte +(_nonsense_) oor minister dings oot o' his ain heid, as gien it war the +stoor oot o' the bible-cushion! It's no possible he's ever seen the +bonny man as I hae seen him!' + +'We'll a' hae to come ower to you, Steenie, and learn frae ye what ye +ken. We'll hae to mak _you_ the minister, Steenie!' + +'Na, na; I ken naething for ither fowk--only for mysel; and that's +whiles mair nor I can win roun', no to say gie again!' 'Some nicht +ye'll lat me bide oot wi' ye a' nicht? I wud sair like it, Steenie!' + +'Ye sail, Kirsty; but it maun be some nicht ye hae sleepit a' day.' + +'Eh, but I cudna do that, tried I ever sae hard!' + +'Ye cud lie i' yer bed ony gait, and mak the best o' 't! _Ye_ hae +naebody, I ken, to _gar_ you sleep!' + +They went all the rest of the way talking thus, and Kirsty's heart grew +lighter, for she seemed to get a little nearer to her brother. He had +been her live doll and idol ever since his mother laid him in her arms +when she was little more than three years old. For though Steenie was +nearly a year older than Kirsty, she was at that time so much bigger +that she was able, not indeed to carry him, but to nurse him on her +knees. She thought herself the elder of the two until she was about +ten, by which time she could not remember any beginning to her carrying +of him. About the same time, however, he began to grow much faster, and +she found before long that only upon her back could she carry him any +distance. + +The discovery that he was the elder somehow gave a fresh impulse to her +love and devotion, and intensified her pitiful tenderness. Kirsty's was +indeed a heart in which the whole unhappy world might have sought and +found shelter. She had the notion, notwithstanding, that she was +harder-hearted than most, and therefore better able to do things that +were right but not pleasant. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CORBYKNOWE + + +'Ye'll come in and say a word to mother, Steenie?' said Kirsty, as they +came near the door of the house. + +It was a long, low building, with a narrow paving in front from end to +end, of stones cast up by the plough. Its walls, but one story high, +rough-cast and white-washed, shone dim in the twilight. Under a thick +projecting thatch the door stood wide open, and from the kitchen, whose +door was also open, came the light of a peat-fire and a fish-oil-lamp. +Throughout the summer Steenie was seldom in the house an hour of the +twenty-four, and now he hesitated to enter. In the winter he would keep +about it a good part of the day, and was generally indoors the greater +part of the night, but by no means always. + +While he hesitated, his mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. +She was a tall, fine-looking woman, with soft gray eyes, and an +expression of form and features which left Kirsty accounted for. + +'Come awa in by, Steenie, my man!' she said, in a tone that seemed to +wrap its object in fold upon fold of tenderness, enough to make the +peat-smoke that pervaded the kitchen seem the very atmosphere of the +heavenly countries. 'Come and hae a drappy o' new-milkit milk, and a +piece (_a piece of bread_)'. + +Steenie stood smiling and undecided on the slab in front of the +doorstep. + +'Dreid naething, Steenie,' his mother went on. 'There's no are to +interfere wi' yer wull, whatever it be. The hoose is yer ain to come +and gang as ye see fit. But ye ken that, and Kirsty kens that, as +weel's yer father and mysel.' + +'Mother, I ken what ye say to be the trowth, and I hae a gran' pooer o' +believin the trowth. But a'body believes their ain mither: that's i' +the order o' things as they war first startit! Still I wud raither no +come in the nicht. I wud raither hand awa and no tribble ye wi' mair o' +the sicht o' me nor I canna help--that is, till the cheenge come, and +things be set richt. I dinna aye ken what I'm aboot, but I aye ken 'at +I'm a kin' o' a disgrace to ye, though I canna tell hoo I'm to blame +for 't. Sae I'll jist bide theroot wi' the bonny stars 'at's aye +theroot, and kens a' aboot it, and disna think nane the waur o' me.' + +'Laddie! laddie! wha on the face o' God's yerth thinks the waur o' ye +for a wrang dune ye?--though wha has the wyte o' that same I daurna +think, weel kennin 'at a'thing's aither ordeent or allooed, makin +muckle the same. Come winter, come summer, come richt, come wrang, come +life, come deith, what are ye, what can ye be, but my ain, ain laddie!' + +Steenie stepped across the threshold and followed his mother into the +kitchen, where the pot was already on the fire for the evening's +porridge. To hide her emotion she went straight to it, and lifted the +lid to look whether boiling point had arrived. The same instant the +stalwart form of her husband appeared in the doorway, and there stood +for a single moment arrested. + +He was a good deal older than his wife, as his long gray hair, among +other witnesses, testified. He was six feet in height, and very erect, +with a rather stiff, military carriage. His face wore an expression of +stern goodwill, as if he had been sent to do his best for everybody, +and knew it. + +Steenie caught sight of him ere he had taken a step into the kitchen. +He rushed to him, threw his arms round him, and hid his face on his +bosom. + +'Bonny, bonny man!' he murmured, then turned away and went back to the +fire. + +His mother was casting the first handful of meal into the pot. Steenie +fetched a _three-leggit creepie_ and sat down by her, looking as if he +had sat there every night since first he was able to sit. + +The farmer came forward, and drew a chair to the fire beside his son. +Steenie laid his head on his father's knee, and the father laid his big +hand on Steenie's head. Not a word was uttered. The mother might have +found them in her way had she been inclined, but the thought did not +come to her, and she went on making the porridge in great contentment, +while Kirsty laid the cloth. The night was as still in the house as in +the world, save for the bursting of the big blobs of the porridge. The +peat fire made no noise. + +The mother at length took the heavy pot from the fire, and, with what +to one inexpert might have seemed wonderful skill, poured the porridge +into a huge wooden bowl on the table. Having then scraped the pot +carefully that nothing should be lost, she put some water into it, and +setting it on the fire again, went to a hole in the wall, took thence +two eggs, and placed them gently in the water. + +She went next to the dairy, and came back with a jug of the richest +milk, which she set beside the porridge, whereupon they drew their +seats to the table--all but Steenie. + +'Come, Steenie,' said his mother, 'here's yer supper.' + +'I dinna care aboot ony supper the nicht, mother,' answered Steenie. + +'Guidsake, laddie, I kenna hoo ye live!' she returned in an accent +almost of despair, + +'I'm thinkin I dinna need sae muckle as ither fowk,' rejoined Steenie, +whose white face bore testimony that he took far from nourishment +enough. 'Ye see I'm no a' there,' he added with a smile, 'sae I canna +need sae muckle!' + +'There's eneuch o' ye there to fill my hert unco fou,' answered his +mother with a deep sigh. 'Come awa, Steenie, my bairn!' she went on +coaxingly. 'Yer father winna ate a moufu' gien ye dinna: ye'll see +that!--Eh, Steenie,' she broke out, 'gien ye wad but tak yer supper and +gang to yer bed like the lave o' 's! It gars my hert swall as gien 't +wud burst like a blob to think o' ye oot i' tho mirk nicht! Wha's to +tell what michtna be happenin ye! Oor herts are whiles that sair, yer +father's and mine, i' oor beds, 'at we daurna say a word for fear the +tane set the tither greetin.' + +'I'll bide in, gien that be yer wull,' replied Steenie; 'but eh, gien +ye kent the differ to me, ye wudna wuss 't. I seldom sleep at nicht as +ye ken, and i' the hoose it's jist as gien the darkness wan inside o' +me and was chokin me.' + +'But it's as dark theroot as i' the hoose--whiles, onygait!' + +'Na, mother; it's never sae dark theroot but there's licht eneuch to +ken I'm theroot and no i' the hoose. I can aye draw a guid full breath +oot i' the open.' + +'Lat the laddie gang his ain gait, 'uman,' interposed David. 'The thing +born in 'im 's better for him nor the thing born in anither. A man maun +gang as God made him.' + +'Ay, whether he be man or dog!' assented Steenie solemnly. + +He drew his stool close to his father where he sat at the table, and +again laid his head on his knee. The mother sighed but said nothing. +She looked nowise hurt, only very sad. In a minute, Steenie spoke +again: + +'I'm thinkin nane o' ye kens,' he said, 'what it's like whan a' the +hillside 's gien up to the ither anes!' + +'What ither anes?' asked his mother. 'There can be nane there but yer +ain lane sel!' + +'Ay, there 's a' the lave o' 's,' he rejoined, with a wan smile. + +The mother looked at him with something almost of fear in her eyes of +love. + +'Steenie has company we ken little aboot,' said Kirsty. 'I whiles think +I wud gie him my wits for his company.' + +'Ay, the bonny man!' murmured Steenie. '--I maun be gauin!' + +But he did not rise, did not even lift his head from his father's knee: +it would be rude to go before the supper was over--the ruder that he +was not partaking of it! + +David had eaten his porridge, and now came the almost nightly +difference about the eggs. Marion had been 'the perfect spy o' the +time' in taking them from the pot; but when she would as usual have her +husband eat them, he as usual declared he neither needed nor wanted +them. This night, however, he did not insist, but at once proceeded to +prepare one, with which, as soon as it was nicely mixed with salt, he +began to feed Steenie. The boy had been longer used to being thus fed +than most children, and having taken the first mouthful instinctively, +now moved his head, but without raising it from his knee, so that his +father might feed him more comfortably. In this position he took every +spoonful given him, and so ate both the eggs, greatly to the delight of +the rest of the company. + +A moment more and Steenie got up. His father rose also. + +'I'll convoy ye a bit, my man,' he said. + +'Eh, na! ye needna that, father! It's near-ban' yer bedtime! I hae +naegait to be convoyt. I'll jist be aboot i' the nicht--maybe a +stane's-cast frae the door, maybe the tither side o' the Horn. Here or +there I'm never frae ye. I think whiles I'm jist like are o' them 'at +ye ca' deid: I'm no awa; I'm only deid! I'm aboot somegait!' + +So saying, he went. He never on any occasion wished them good-night: +that would be to leave them, and he was not leaving them! he was with +them all the time! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER + + +The instant he was gone, Kirsty went a step or two nearer to her +father, and, looking up in his face, said: + +'I saw Francie Gordon the day, father.' + +'Weel, lassie, I reckon that wasna ony ferly (_strange occurrence_)! +Whaur saw ye him?' + +'He cam to me o' the Hornside, whaur I sat weyvin my stockin, ower the +bog on 's powny--a richt bonny thing, and clever--a new are he's gotten +frae 's mither. And it's no the first time he's been owre there to see +me sin' he cam hame!' + +'Whatfor gaed he there? That wasna the best o' places to gang ridin +in!' + +'He kenned whaur he was likest to see me: it was me he wantit.' + +'He wantit you, did he? And he's been mair nor ance efter ye?--Whatfor +didna ye tell me afore, Kirsty?' + +'We war bairns thegither, ye ken, father, and I never ance thoucht the +thing worth fashin ye aboot till the day. We've aye been used to +Francie comin and gaein! I never tellt my mither onything, he said, and +I tell her a'thing worth tellin, and mony a thing forby. I aye leuch at +him as I wud at a bairn till the day. He spak straucht oot the day, and +I did the same, and angert him; and syne he angert me.' + +'And whatfor are ye tellin me the noo?' + +'Cause it cam intil my heid 'at maybe it would be better--no 'at it +maks ony differ I can see.' + +During this conversation Marion was washing the supper-things, putting +them away, and making general preparation for bed. She heard every +word, and went about her work softly that she might hear, never opening +her mouth to speak. + +'There's something ye want to tell me and dinna like, lassie!' said +David. 'Gien ye be feart at yer father, gang til yer mither.' + +'Feart at my father! I wad be, gien I bed onything to be ashamet o'. +Syne I micht gang to my mither, I daursay--I dinna ken.' + +'Ye wud that, lassie. Fathers maun sometimes be fearsome to +lass-bairns!' + +'Whan I'm feart at you, father, I'll be a gey bit on i' the ill gait!' +returned Kirsty, with a solemn face, looking straight into her father's +eyes. + +'Than it'll never be, or I maun hae a heap to blame mysel for. I think +whiles, gien bairns kenned the terrible wyte their fathers micht hae to +dree for no duin better wi' them, they wud be mair particlar to hand +straucht. I hae been ower muckle taen up wi' my beasts and my craps--mair, +God forgie me! nor wi' my twa bairns; though, he kens, ye're mair +to me, the twa, than oucht else save the mither o' ye!' + +'The beasts and the craps cudna weel du wi' less; and there was aye oor +mither to see efter hiz!' + +'That's true, lassie! I only houp it wasna greed at the hert o' me! At +the same time, wha wud I be greedy for but yersels?--Weel, and what's +it a' aboot? What garred ye come to me aboot Francie? I'm some feart +for him whiles, noo 'at he's sae muckle oot o' oor sicht. The laddie's +no by natur an ill laddie--far frae 't! but it's a sore pity he cudna +hae been a' his father's, and nane o' him his mither's!' + +'That wudna hae been sae weel contrived, I doobt!' remarked Kirsty. +'There wudna hae been the variety, I'm thinkin!' + +'Ye're richt there, lass!--But what's this aboot Francie?' 'Ow +naething, father, worth mentionin! The daft loon wud hae bed me promise +to merry him--that's a'!' + +'The Lord preserve's!--Aff han'?' + +'There's no tellin what micht hae been i' the heid o' 'im: he didna win +sae far as to say that onygait!' + +'God forbid!' exclaimed her father with solemnity, after a short pause. + +'I'm thinkin God's forbidden langsyne!' rejoined Kirsty. + +'What said ye til 'im, lassie?' + +'First I leuch at him--as weel as I can min' tho nonsense o' 't--and +ca'd him the gowk he was; and syne I sent him awa wi' a flee in 's lug: +hadna he the impidence to fa' oot upo' me for carin mair aboot Steenie +nor the likes o' him! As gien ever _he_ cud come 'ithin sicht o' +Steenie!' + +Her father looked very grave. + +'Are ye no pleased, father? I did what I thoucht richt.' + +'Ye cudna hae dune better, Kirsty. But I'm sorry for the callan, for eh +but I loed his father! Lassie, for his father's sake I cud tak Francie +intil the hoose, and work for him as for you and Steenie--though it's +little guid Steenie ever gets o' me, puir sowl!' + +'Dinna say that, father. It wud be an ill thing for Steenie to hae +onybody but yersel to the father o' 'im! A muckle pairt o' the nicht he +wins ower in loein at you and his mother.' + +'And yersel, Kirsty.' + +'I'm thinkin I hae my share i' the daytime.' + +'And hoo, think ye, gangs the lave o' the nicht wi' 'im?' + +'The bonny man has the maist o' 't, I dinna doobt, and what better cud +we desire for 'im!--But, father, gien Francie come back wi' the same +tale--I dinna think he wull efter what I telled him, but he may--what +wud ye hae me say til 'im?' + +'Say what ye wull, lassie, sae lang as ye dinna lat him for a moment +believe there's a grain o' possibility i' the thing. Ye see, Kirsty,--' + +'Ye dinna imagine, father, I cud for ae minute think itherwise aboot it +nor ye du yersel! Div I no ken 'at his father gied him in chairge to +you? and haena I therefore to luik efter him? Didna ye tell me a' aboot +yer gran' freen' and hoo, and hoo lang ye had loed him? and didna that +mak Francie my business as weel's yer ain? I'm verra sure his father +wud never appruv o' ony gaeins on atween him and a lassie sic like's +mysel; and fearna ye, father, but I s' hand him weel ootby. No that +it's ony tyauve (_struggle_) to me, though I aye likit Francie! Haena I +my ain Steenie?' + +'Glaidly wud I shaw Francie the ro'd to sic a wife as ye wud mak him, +my bonny Kirsty! But ye see clearly the thing itsel's no to be thoucht +upon.--Eh, Kirsty, but it's gran' to an auld father's hert to hear ye +tak yer pairt in his devours efter sic a wumanly fashion!' + +'Am I no yer ain lass-bairn, father? Whaur wud I be wi' a father 'at +didna keep his word? and what less cud I du nor help ony man to keep +his word? Gien breach o' the faimily-word cam throuw me, my life wud +gang frae me.--Wad ye hae me tell the laddie's mither? I wudna like to +expose the folly o' him, but gien ye think it necessar, I'll gang the +morn's mornin.' + +'I dinna think that wud be weel. It wad but raise a strife atween the +twa, ohn dune an atom o' guid. She wud only rage at the laddie, and pit +him in sic a reid heat as wad but wald thegither him and his wull sae +'at they wud maist never come in twa again. And though ye gaed and +tauld her yer ain sel, my leddy wad lay a' the wyte upo' you nane the +less. There's no rizzon, tap nor tae, i' the puir body, and ye're +naewise b'und to her farther nor to du richt by her.' + +'I'm glaid ye dinna want me to gang,' answered Kirsty. 'She carries +hersel that gran' 'at ye're maist driven to the consideration hoo +little she's worth; and that's no the richt speerit anent onybody or +thing God thoucht worth makin.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AT CASTLE WEELSET + + +Francie's anger had died down a good deal by the time he reached home. +He was, as his father's friend had just said, by no means a bad sort of +fellow, only he was full of himself, and therefore of little use to +anybody. His mother and he, when not actually at strife, were +constantly on the edge of a quarrel. The two must have their own way, +each of them. Francie's way was sometimes good, his mother's sometimes +not bad, but both were usually selfish. The boy had fits of generosity, +the woman never, except toward her son. If she thought of something to +please him, good and well! if he wanted anything of her, it would never +do! The idea must be her own, or meet with no favour. If she imagined +her son desired a thing, she felt it one she never could grant, and +told him so: thereafter Francis would not rest until he had compassed +the thing. Sudden division and high words would follow, with +speechlessness on the mother's part in the rear, which might last for +days. Becoming all at once tired of it, she would in the morning appear +at breakfast looking as if nothing had ever come between them, and they +would be the best of friends for a few days, or perhaps a week, seldom +longer. Some fresh discord, nowise different in character from the +preceding, would arise between them, and the same weary round be +tramped again, each always in the right, and the other in the wrong. +Every time they made it up, their relation seemed unimpaired, but it +was hardly possible things should go on thus and not at length quite +estrange their hearts. + +In matters of display, to which Francis had much tendency, his mother's +own vanity led her to indulge and spoil him, for, being hers, she was +always pleased he should look his best. On his real self she neither +had nor sought any influence. Insubordination or arrogance in him, her +dignity unslighted, actually pleased her: she liked him to show his +spirit: was it not a mark of his breeding? + +She was a tall and rather stout woman, with a pretty, small-featured, +regular face, and a thin nose with the nostrils pinched. + +Castle Weelset was not much of a castle: to an ancient round tower, +discomfortably habitable, had been added in the last century a rather +large, defensible house. It stood on the edge of a gorge, crowning one +of its stony hills of no great height. With scarce a tree to shelter +it, the situation was very cold in winter, and it required a hardy +breeding to live there in comfort. There was little of a garden, and +the stables were somewhat ruinous. For the former fact the climate +almost sufficiently accounted, and for the latter, a long period of +comparative poverty. + +The young laird did not like farming, and had no love for books: in +this interval between school and college, he found very little to +occupy him, and not much to amuse him. Had Kirsty and her family proved +as encouraging as he had expected, he would have made use of his new +pony almost only to ride to Corbyknowe in the morning and back to the +castle at night. + +His mother knew old Barclay, as she called him, well enough--that is, +not at all, and had never shown him any cordiality, anything, indeed, +better than condescension. To treat him like a gentleman, even when he +sat at her own table, she would have counted absurd. He had never been +to the castle since the day after her husband's funeral, when she +received him with such emphasized superiority that he felt he could not +go again without running the risk either of having his influence with +the boy ruined, or giving occasion to a nature not without generosity +to take David's part against his mother. Thenceforward, therefore, he +contented himself with giving Francis invariable welcome, and doing +what he could to make his visits pleasant. Chiefly, on such not +infrequent occasions, the boy delighted in drawing from his father's +friend what tales about his father, and adventures of their campaigns +together, he had to tell; and in this way David's wife and children +heard many things about himself which would not otherwise have reached +them. Naturally, Kirsty and Francie grew to be good friends; and after +they went to the parish school, there were few days indeed on which +they did not walk at least as far homeward together as the midway +divergence of their roads permitted. It was not wonderful, therefore, +that at length Francis should be, or should fancy himself in love with +Kirsty. But I believe all the time he thought of marrying her as a +heroic deed, in raising the girl his mother despised to share the lofty +position he and that foolish mother imagined him to occupy. The +anticipation of opposition from his mother naturally strengthened his +determination; of opposition on the part of Kirsty, he had not dreamed. +He took it as of course that, the moment he stated his intention, +Kirsty would be charmed, her mother more than pleased, and the stern +old soldier overwhelmed with the honour of alliance with the son of his +colonel. I do not doubt, however, that he had an affection for Kirsty +far deeper and better than his notion of their relations to each other +would indicate. Although it was mainly his pride that suffered in his +humiliating dismissal, he had, I am sure, a genuine heartache as he +galloped home. When he reached the castle, he left his pony to go where +he would, and rushed to his room. There, locking the door that his +mother might not enter, he threw himself on his bed in the luxurious +consciousness of a much-wronged lover. An uneducated country girl, for +as such he regarded her, had cast from her, not without insult, his +splendidly generous offer of himself! + +Poor king Cophetua did not, however, shed many tears for the loss of +his recusant beggar-maid. By and by he forgot everything, found he had +gone to sleep, and, endeavouring to weep again, did not succeed. + +He grew hungry soon, and went down to see what was to be had. It was +long past the usual hour for dinner, but Mrs. Gordon had not seen him +return, and had had it put back--so to make the most of an opportunity +of quarrel not to be neglected by a conscientious mother. She let it +slide nevertheless. + +'Gracious, you've been crying!' she exclaimed, the moment she saw him. + +Now certainly Francis had not cried much; his eyes were, +notwithstanding, a little red. + +He had not yet learned to lie, but he might then have made his first +assay had he had a fib at his tongue's end; as he had not, he gloomed +deeper, and made no answer. + +'You've been fighting!' said his mother. + +'I haena,' he returned with rude indignation. 'Gien I had been, div ye +think I wud hae grutten?' + +'You forget yourself, laird!' remarked Mrs. Gordon, more annoyed with +his Scotch than the tone of it. 'I would have you remember I am +mistress of the house!' + +'Till I marry, mother!' rejoined her son. + +'Oblige me in the meantime,' she answered, 'by leaving vulgar language +outside it.' + +Francis was silent; and his mother, content with her victory, and in +her own untruthfulness of nature believing he had indeed been fighting +and had had the worse of it, said no more, but began to pity and pet +him. A pot of his favourite jam presently consoled the love-wounded +hero--in the acceptance of which consolation he showed himself far less +unworthy than many a grown man, similarly circumstanced, in the choice +of his. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +DAVID AND FRANCIS + + +One day there was a market at a town some eight or nine miles off, and +thither, for lack of anything else to do, Francis had gone to display +himself and his pony, which he was riding with so tight a curb that the +poor thing every now and then reared in protest against the agony he +suffered. + +On one of these occasions Don was on the point of falling backward, +when a brown wrinkled hand laid hold of him by the head, half pulling +the reins from his rider's hand, and ere he had quite settled again on +his forelegs, had unhooked the chain of his curb, and fastened it some +three links looser. Francis was more than indignant, even when he saw +that the hand was Mr. Barclay's: was he to be treated as one who did +not know what he was about! + +'Hoots, my man!' said David gently, 'there's no occasion to put a +water-chain upo' the bonny beastie: he has a mou like a leddy's! and to +hae 't linkit up sae ticht is naething less nor tortur til 'im!--It's a +won'er to me he hasna broken your banes and his ain back thegither, +puir thing!' he added, patting and stroking the spirited little +creature that stood sweating and trembling. 'I thank you, Mr. Barclay,' +said Francis insolently, 'but I am quite able to manage the brute +myself. You seem to take me for a fool!' + +''Deed, he's no far aff ane 'at cud ca' a bonny cratur like that a +brute!' returned David, nowise pleased to discover such hardness in one +whom he would gladly treat like a child of his own. It was a great +disappointment to him to see the lad getting farther away from the +possibility of being helped by him. 'What 'ud yer father say to see ye +illuse ony helpless bein! Yer father was awfu guid til 's horse-fowk.' + +The last word was one of David's own: he was a great lover of animals. + +'I'll do with my own as I please!' cried Francis, and spurred the pony +to pass David. But one stalwart hand held the pony fast, while the +other seized his rider by the ankle. The old man was now thoroughly +angry with the graceless youth. + +'God bless my sowl!' he cried, 'hae ye the spurs on as weel? Stick ane +o' them intil him again, and I'll cast ye frae the seddle. I' the thick +o' a fecht, the lang blades playin aboot yer father's heid like lichts +i' the north, he never stack spur intil 's chairger needless!' + +'I don't see,' said Francis, who had begun to cool down a little, 'how +he could have enjoyed the fight much if he never forgot himself! I +should forget everything in the delight of the battle!' + +'Yer father, laddie, never forgot onything but himsel. Forgettin himsel +left him free to min' a'thing forbye. _Ye_ wud forget ilka thing but +yer ain rage! Yer father was a great man as weel's a great soger, +Francie, and a deevil to fecht, as his men said. I hae mysel seen by +the set mou 'at the teeth war clinched i' the inside o' 't, whan a' the +time on the broo o' 'im sat never a runkle. Gien ever there was a man +'at cud think o' twa things at ance, your father cud think o' three; +and thae three war God, his enemy, and the beast aneath him. Francie, +Francie, i' the name o' yer father I beg ye to regaird the richts o' +the neebour ye sit upo'. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll come or lang to +think little o' yer human neebour as weel, carin only for what ye get +oot o' 'im!' + +A voice inside Francis took part with the old man, and made him yet +angrier. Also his pride was the worse annoyed that David Barclay, his +tenant, should, in the hearing of two or three loafers gathered behind +him, of whose presence the old man was unaware, not only rebuke him, +but address him by his name, and the diminutive of it. So when David, +in the appeal that burst from his enthusiastic remembrance of his +officer in the battle-field, let the pony's head go, Francis dug his +spurs in his sides, and darted off like an arrow. The old man for a +moment stared open-mouthed after him. The fools around laughed: he +turned and walked away, his head sunk on his breast. + +Francis had not ridden far before he was vexed with himself. He was not +so much sorry, as annoyed that he had behaved in fashion undignified. +The thought that his childish behaviour would justify Kirsty in her +opinion of him, added its sting. He tried to console himself with the +reflection that the sort of thing ought to be put an end to at once: +how far, otherwise, might not the old fellow's interference go! I am +afraid he even said to himself that such was a consequence of +familiarity with inferiors. Yet angry as he was at his fault-finding, +he would have been proud of any approval from the lips of the old +soldier. He rode his pony mercilessly for a mile or so, then pulled up, +and began to talk pettingly to him, which I doubt if the little +creature found consoling, for love only makes petting worth anything, +and the love here was not much to the front. + +About halfway home, he had to ford a small stream, or go round two +miles by a bridge. There had been much rain in the night, and the +stream was considerably swollen. As he approached the ford, he met a +knife-grinder, who warned him not to attempt it: he had nearly lost his +wheel in it, he said. But Francis always found it hard to accept +advice. His mother had so often predicted from neglect of hers evils +which never followed, that he had come to think counsel the one thing +not to be heeded. + +'Thank you,' he said; 'I think we can manage it!' and rode on. + +When he reached the ford, where of all places he ought to have left the +pony's head free, he foolishly remembered the curb-chain, and getting +off, took it up a couple of links. + +But when he remounted, whether from dread of the rush of the brown +water, or resentment at the threat of renewed torture, the pony would +not take the ford, and a battle royal arose between them, in which +Francis was so far victorious that, after many attempts to run away, +little Don, rendered desperate by the spur, dashed wildly into the +stream, and went plunging on for two or three yards. Then he fell, and +Francis found himself rolling in the water, swept along by the current. + +A little way lower down, at a sharp turn of the stream under a high +bank, was a deep pool, a place held much in dread by the country lads +and lasses, being a haunt of the kelpie. Francis knew the spot well, +and had good reason to fear that, carried into it, he must be drowned, +for he could not swim. Roused by the thought to a yet harder struggle, +he succeeded in getting upon his feet, and reaching the bank, where he +lay for a while, exhausted. When at length he came to himself and rose, +he found the water still between him and home, and nothing of his pony +to be seen. If the youth's good sense had been equal to his courage, he +would have been a fine fellow: he dashed straight into the ford, +floundered through it, and lost his footing no more than had Don, +treated properly. When he reached the high ground on the other side, he +could still see nothing of him, and with sad heart concluded him +carried into the Kelpie's Hole, never more to be beheld alive:--what +would his mother and Mr. Barclay say? Shivering and wretched, and with +a growing compunction in regard to his behaviour to Don, he crawled +wearily home. + +Don, however, had at no moment been much in danger. Rid of his master, +he could take very good care of himself. He got to the bank without +difficulty, and took care it should be on the home-side of the stream. +Not once looking behind him after his tyrant, he set off at a good +round trot, much refreshed by his bath, and rejoicing in the thought of +his loose box at castle Weelset. + +In a narrow part of the road, however, he overtook a cart of Mr. +Barclay's; and as he attempted to pass between it and the steep brae, +the man on the shaft caught at his bridle, made him prisoner, tied him +to the cart behind, and took him to Corbyknowe. When David came home +and saw him, he conjectured pretty nearly what had happened, and tired +as he was set out for the castle. Had he not feared that Francis might +have been injured, he would not have cared to go, much as he knew it +must relieve him to learn that his pony was safe. + +Mrs. Gordon declined to see David, but he ascertained from the servants +that Francis had come home half-drowned, leaving Don in the Kelpie's +Hole. + +David hesitated a little whether or not to punish him for his behaviour +to the pony by allowing him to remain in ignorance of his safety, and +so leaving him to the _agen-bite_ of conscience; but concluding that +such was not his part, he told them that the animal was safe at +Corbyknowe, and went home again. + +But he wanted Francis to fetch the pony himself, therefore did not send +him, and in the meantime fed and groomed him with his own hands as if +he had been his friend's charger. Francis having just enough of the +grace of shame to make him shrink from going to Corbyknowe, his mother +wrote to David, asking why he did not send home the animal. David, one +of the most courteous of men, would take no order from any but his +superior officer, and answered that he would gladly give him up to the +young laird in person. + +The next day Mrs. Gordon drove, in what state she could muster, to +Corbyknowe. Arrived there, she declined to leave her carriage, +requesting Mrs. Barclay, who came to the door, to send her husband to +her. Mrs. Barclay thought it better to comply. + +David came in his shirt-sleeves, for he had been fetched from his work. + +'If I understand your answer to my request, Mr. Barclay, you decline to +send back Mr. Gordon's pony. Pray, on what grounds?' + +'I wrote, ma'am, that I should be glad to give him over to Mr. Francis +himself.' + +'Mr. Gordon does not find it convenient to come all this way on foot. +In fact he declines to do it, and requests that you will send the pony +home this afternoon.' + +'Excuse me, mem, but it's surely enough done that a man make known the +presence o' strays, and tak proper care o' them until they're claimt! I +was fain forbye to gie the bonny thing a bit pleesur in life: Francie's +ower hard upon him.' + +'You forget, David Barclay, that Mr. Gordon is your landlord!' + +'His father, mem, was my landlord, and his father's father was my +father's landlord; and the interests o' the landlord hae aye been oors. +Ither nor Francie's herty freen I can never be!' + +'You presume on my late husband's kindness to you, Barclay!' + +'Gien devotion be presumption, mem, I presume. Archibald Gordon was and +is my freen, and will be for ever. We hae been throuw ower muckle +thegither to change to are anither. It was for his sake and the +laddie's ain that I wantit him to come to me. I wantit a word wi' him +aboot that powny o' his. He'll never be true man 'at taks no tent +(_care_) o' dumb animals! You 'at's sae weel at hame i' the seddle +yersel, mem, micht tak a kin'ly care o' what's aneth his!' + +'I will have no one interfere with my son. I am quite capable of +teaching him his duty myself.' + +'His father requestit me to do what I could for him, mem.' + +'His _late_ father, if you please, Barclay!' + +'He s' never be Francie's _late_ father to Francie, gien I can help it, +mem! He may be your _late_ husband, mem, but he's my cornel yet, and I +s' keep my word til him! It'll no be lang noo, i' the natur o' things, +till I gang til him; and sure am I his first word 'll be aboot the +laddie: I wud ill like to answer him, "Archie, I ken naething aboot him +but what I cud weel wuss itherwise!" Hoo wud ye like to gie sic an +answer yersel, mem?' + +'I'm surprised at a man of your sense, Barclay, thinking we shall know +one another in heaven! We shall have to be content with God there!' + +'I said naething about h'aven, mem! Fowk may ken are anither and no be +in ae place. I took note i' the kirk last Sunday 'at Abrahaam kent the +rich man, and the rich man him, and they warna i' the same place.--But +ye'll lat the yoong laird come and see me, mem?' concluded David, +changing his tone and speaking as one who begged a favour; for the +thought of meeting his old friend and having nothing to tell him about +his boy, quenched his pride. + +'Home, Thomas!' cried her late husband's wife to her coachman, and +drove away. + +'Dod! they'll hae to gie that wife a hell til hersel!' said David, +turning to the door discomfited. + +'And maybe she'll no like it whan she hes't!' returned his wife, who +had heard every word. 'There's fowk 'at's no fit company for onybody! +and I'm thinkin she's ane gien there bena anither!' + +'I'll sen' Jeamie hame wi' the powny the nicht,' said David. 'A body +canna insist whaur fowk are no frien's. That weud grow to enmity, and +the en' o' a' guid. Na, we maun sen' hame the powny; and gien there be +ony grace i' the bairn, he canna but come and say thank ye!' + +Mrs. Gordon rejoiced in her victory; but David's yielding showed itself +the true policy. Francis did call and thank him for taking care of Don. +He even granted that perhaps he had been too hard on the pony. + +'Ye cud richteously expeck naething o' a powny o' his size that that +powny o' yours cudna du, Francie!' said David. 'But, in God's name, +dear laddie, be a richteous man. Gien ye requere no more than's fair +frae man or beast, ye'll maistly aye get it. But gien yer ootluik in +life be to get a'thing and gie naething, ye maun come to grief ae w'y +and a' w'ys. Success in an ill attemp is the warst failyie a man can +mak.' + +But it was talking to the wind, for Francis thought, or tried to think +David only bent, like his mother, on finding fault with him. He made +haste to get away, and left his friend with a sad heart. + +He rode on to the foot of the Horn, to the spot where Kirsty was +usually at that season to be found; but she saw him coming, and went up +the hill. Soon after, his mother contrived that he should pay a visit +to some relatives in the south, and for a time neither the castle nor +the Horn saw anything of him. Without returning home he went in the +winter to Edinburgh, where he neither disgraced nor distinguished +himself. David was to hear no ill of him. To be beyond his mother's +immediate influence was perhaps to his advantage, but as nothing +superior was substituted, it was at best but little gain. His +companions were like himself, such as might turn to worse or better, no +one could tell which. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +KIRSTY AND PHEMY + + +During the first winter which Francis spent at college, his mother was +in England, and remained there all the next summer and winter. When at +last she came home, she was even less pleasant than before in the eyes +of her household, no one of which had ever loved her. Throughout the +summer she had a succession of visitors, and stories began to spread +concerning strange doings at the castle. The neighbours talked of +extravagance, and the censorious among them of riotous living; while +some of the servants more than hinted that the amount of wine and +whisky consumed was far in excess of what served when the old colonel +was alive. + +One of them who, in her mistress's frequent fits of laziness, acted as +housekeeper, had known David Barclay from his boyhood, and understood +his real intimacy with her late master: it was not surprising, +therefore, that she should open her mind to him, while keeping toward +everyone else a settled silence concerning her mistress's affairs: none +of the stories current in the country-side came from her. David was to +Mrs. Bremner the other side of a deep pit, into the bottom of which +whatever was said between them dropped. + +'There'll come a catastrophe or lang,' said Mrs. Bremner one evening +when David Barclay overtook her on the road to the town, 'and that'll +be seen! The property's jist awa to the dogs! There's Maister Donal, +the factor, gaein aboot like are in a dilemm as to cuttin 's thro't or +blawin his harns oot! He daursna say a word, ye see! The auld laird +trustit him, and he's feart 'at he be blamit, but there's nae duin +onything wi' that wuman: the siller maun be forthcomin whan she's +wantin 't!' + +'The siller's no hers ony mair nor the Ian'; a' 's the yoong laird's!' +remarked David. + +'That's true; but she's i' the pooer o' 't till he come o' age; and +Maister Donal, puir man, mony's the time he 's jist driven to are mair +to get what's aye wantit and wantit! What comes o' the siller it jist +blecks me to think: there's no a thing aboot the hoose to shaw for 't! +And hearken, David, but latna baith lugs hear 't, for dreid the tane +come ower't again to the tither--I'm doobtin the drink's gettin a sair +grup o' her!' + +''Deed I wudna be nane surprised!' returned David. 'Whatever micht want +in at her door, there's naething inside to baud it oot. Eh, to think o' +Archie Gordon takin til himsel sic a wife! that a man like him, o' guid +report, and come to years o' discretion--to think o' brains like his +turnin as fozy as an auld neep at sicht o' a bonny front til an ae wa' +hoose (_a house of but one wall_)! It canna be 'at witchcraft's clean +dune awa wi'!' + +'Bonny, Dawvid! Ca'd ye the mistress bonny?' + +'She used to be--bonny, that is, as a button or a buckle micht be +bonny. What she may be the noo, I dinna ken, for I haena set ee upon +her sin' she cam to the Knowe orderin me to sen' back Francie's powny: +she was suppercilly eneuch than for twa cornels and a corporal, but no +ill luikin. Gien she hae a spot o' beaouty left, the drink 'll tak it +or it hae dune wi' her!' + +'Or she hae dune wi' hit, Dawvid! It's ta'en ae colour frae her +a'ready, and begud to gie her anither! But it concerns me mair aboot +Francie nor my leddy: what's to come o' him when a' 's gane? what'll +there be for him to come intil?' + +Gladly would David have interfered, but he was helpless; he had no +legal guardianship over or for the boy! Nothing could be done till he +was a man!--'gien ever he be a man!' said David to himself with a sigh, +and the thought how much better off he was with his half-witted Steenie +than his friend with his clever Francie. + +Mrs. Bremner was sister-in-law to the schoolmaster, and was then on her +way to see him and his daughter Phemy. From childhood the girl had been +in the way of going to the castle to see her aunt, and so was well +known about the place. Being an engaging child, she had become not only +welcome to the servants but something of a favourite with the mistress, +whom she amused with her little airs, and pleased with her winning +manners. She was now about fourteen, a half-blown beauty of the red and +white, gold and blue kind. She had long been a vain little thing, +approving of her own looks in the glass, and taking much interest in +setting them off, but so simple as to make no attempt at concealing her +self-satisfaction. Her pleased contemplation of this or that portion of +her person, and the frantic attempts she was sometimes espied making to +get a sight of her back, especially when she wore a new frock, were +indeed more amusing than hopeful, but her vanity was not yet so +pronounced as to overshadow her better qualities, and Kirsty had not +thought it well to take notice of it, although, being more than anyone +else a mother to her, she was already a little anxious on the score of +it, and the rather that her aunt, like her father, neither saw nor +imagined fault in her. + +That the child had no mother, drew to her the heart of the girl whose +mother was her strength and joy; while gratitude to the child's father, +who, in opening for her some doors of wisdom and more of knowledge, had +put her under eternal obligations, moved her to make what return she +could. It deepened her sense of debt to Phemy that the schoolmaster did +not do for his daughter anything like what he had years long been doing +for his pupil, whence she almost felt as if she had diverted to her own +use much that rightly belonged to Phemy. At the same time she knew very +well that had she never existed the relation between the father and the +daughter would have been the same. The child of his dearly loved wife, +the schoolmaster was utterly content with his Phemy; for he felt as if +she knew everything her mother knew, had the same inward laws of being +and the same disposition, and was simply, like her, perfect. + +That she should ever do anything wrong was an idea inconceivable to +him. Nor was there much chance of his discovering it if she did. When +not at work, he was constantly reading. Most people close a book +without having gained from it a single germ of thought; Mr. Craig +seldom opened one without falling directly into a brown study over +something suggested by it. But I believe that, even when thus absorbed, +Phemy was never far from his thought. At the same time, like many +Scots, while she was his one joy, he seldom showed her sign of +affection, seldom made her feel, and never sought to make her feel how +he loved her. His love was taken by him for understood by her, and was +to her almost as if it did not exist. + +That his child required to be taught had scarcely occurred to the man +who could not have lived without learning, or enjoyed life without +teaching--as witness the eagerness with which he would help Kirsty +along any path of knowledge in which he knew how to walk. The love of +knowledge had grown in him to a possessing passion, paralyzing in a +measure those powers of his life sacred to life--that is, to God and +his neighbour. + +Kirsty could not do nearly what she would to make up for his neglect. +For one thing, the child did not take to learning, and though she loved +Kirsty and often tried to please her, would not keep on doing anything +without being more frequently reminded of her duty than the distance +between their two abodes permitted. Kirsty had her to the farm as often +as the schoolmaster would consent to her absence, and kept her as long +as he went on forgetting it; while Phemy was always glad to go to +Corbyknowe, and always glad to get away again. For Mrs. Barclay thought +it her part to teach her household matters, and lessons of that sort +Phemy relished worse than some of a more intellectual nature. If left +with her, the moment Kirsty appeared again, the child would fling from +her whatever might be in her hand, and flee as to her deliverer from +bondage and hard labour. Then would Kirsty always insist on her +finishing what she had been at, and Phemy would obey, with the protest +of silent tears, and the airs of a much injured mortal. Had Kirsty been +backed by the child's father, she might have made something of her; but +it grew more and more painful to think of her future, when her +self-constituted guardian should have lost what influence she had over +her. + +Phemy was rather afraid of Steenie. Her sunny nature shrank from the +shadow, as of a wall, in which Steenie appeared to her always to stand. +From any little attention he would offer her, she, although never rude +to him, would involuntarily recoil, and he soon learned to leave her +undismayed. That the child's repugnance troubled him, though he never +spoke of it, Kirsty saw quite plainly, for she could read his face like +a book, and heard him sigh when even his mother did not. Her eyes were +constantly regarding him, like sheep feeding on the pasture of his +face:--I think I have used a figure of sir Philip Sidney's. But say +rather--the thoughts that strayed over his face were the sheep to which +all her life she had been the devoted shepherdess. + +At Corbyknowe things went on as hitherto. Kirsty was in no danger of +tiring of the even flow of her life. Steenie's unselfish solitude of +soul made him every day dearer to her. Books she sought in every +accessible, and found occasionally in an unhopeful quarter. She had no +thought of distinguishing herself, no smallest ambition of becoming +learned; her soul was athirst to understand, and what she understood +found its way from her mind into her life. Much to the advantage of her +thinking were her keen power and constant practice of observation. I +utterly refuse the notion that we cannot think without words, but +certainly the more forms we have ready to embody our thoughts, the +farther we shall be able to carry our thinking. Richly endowed, Kirsty +required the more mental food, and was the more able to use it when she +found it. To such of the neighbours as had no knowledge of any +diligence save that of the hands, she seemed to lead an idle life; but +indeed even Kirsty's hands were far from idle. When not with Steenie +she was almost always at her mother's call, who, from the fear that she +might grow up incapable of managing a house, often required a good deal +of her. But the mother did not fail to note with what alacrity she +would lay her book aside, sometimes even dropping it in her eagerness +to answer her summons. Dismissed for the moment, she would at once take +her book again and the seat nearest to it: she could read anywhere, and +gave herself none of the student-airs that make some young people so +pitifully unpleasant. At the same time solitude was preferable for +study, and Kirsty was always glad to find herself with her books in the +little hut, Steenie asleep on the heather carpet on her feet, and the +assurance that there no one would interrupt her. + +It was not wonderful that, in the sweet absence of selfish cares, her +mind full of worthy thoughts, and her heart going out in tenderness, +her face should go on growing in beauty and refinement. She was not yet +arrived at physical full growth, and the forms of her person being +therefore in a process of change were the more easily modelled after +her spiritual nature. She seemed almost already one that would not die, +but live for ever, and continue to inherit the earth. Neither her +father nor her mother could have imagined anything better to be made of +her. + +Steenie had not changed his habits, neither seemed to grow at all more +like other people. He was now indeed seldom so much depressed as +formerly, but he showed no sign of less dependence on Kirsty. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE EARTH-HOUSE + + +About a year after Francis Gordon went to Edinburgh, Kirsty and Steenie +made a discovery. + +Between Corbyknowe and the Horn, on whose sides David Barclay had a +right of pasturage for the few sheep to which Steenie and Snootie were +the shepherds, was a small glen, through which, on its way to join the +little river with the kelpie-pot, ran a brook, along whose banks lay +two narrow breadths of nice grass. The brother and sister always +crossed this brook when they wanted to go straight to the top of the +hill. + +One morning, having each taken the necessary run and jump, they had +began to climb on the other side, when Kirsty, who was a few paces +before him, turned at an exclamation from Steenie. + +'It's a' the weicht o' my muckle feet!' he cried, as he dragged one of +the troublesome members out of a hole. 'Losh, I dinna ken hoo far it +michtna hae gane doon gien I hadna gotten a haud o' 't in time and pu'd +it oot!' + +How much of humour, how much of silliness, and how much of truth were +wrapt up together in some of the things he said, it was impossible to +determine. I believe Kirsty came pretty near knowing, but even she was +not always sure where wilful oddity and where misapprehension was at +the root of a remark. + +'Gien ye set yer fit upon a hole,' said Kirsty, 'what can the puir +thing du but gang doon intil 't? Ye maunna be oonrizzonable wi' the +craturs, Steenie! Ye maun be fair til them.' + +'But there was nae hole!' returned Steenie. 'There cudna hae been. +There's the hole noo! My fit made it, and there it'll hae to bide! It's +a some fearsome thing, divna ye think, 'at what aiven the fit o' a body +dis, bides? What for disna the hole gang awa whan the fit lifts? Luik +ye there! Ye see thae twa stanes stan'in up by themsels, and there's +the hole--atween the twa! There cudna hae been a hole there afore the +weicht o' my fit cam doon upo' the spot and ca'd it throuw! I gaed in +maist til my knee!' + +'Lat's luik!' said Kirsty, and proceeded to examine the place. + +She thought at first it must be the burrow of some animal, but the +similarity in shape of the projecting stones suggesting that their +position might not be fortuitous, she would look a little farther, and +began to pull away the heather about the mouth of the opening. Steenie +set himself, with might and main, to help her. Kirsty was much the +stronger of the two, but Steenie always did his best to second her in +anything that required exertion. + +They soon spied the lump of sod and heather which Steenie's heavy foot +had driven down, and when they had pulled that out, they saw that the +hole went deeper still, seeming a very large burrow indeed--therefore a +little fearsome. Having widened the mouth of it by clearing away a +thick growth of roots from its sides, and taken out a quantity of soft +earth, they perceived that it went sloping into the ground still +farther. With growing curiosity they leant down into it, lying on the +edge, and reaching with their hands removed the loose earth as low as +they could. This done, the descent showed itself about two feet square, +as far down as they had cleared it, beyond which a little way it was +lost in the dark. + +What were they to do next? There was yet greater inducement to go on, +but considerations came which were not a little deterrent. Although +Steenie had worked well, Kirsty knew he had a horror of dark places, +associating them somehow with the weight of his feet: whether such +places had for him any suggestion of the grave, I cannot tell; +certainly to get rid of his feet was the form his idea of the salvation +he needed was readiest to take. Then might there not be some animal +inside? Steenie thought not, for there was no opening until he made it! +and Kirsty also thought not, on the ground that she knew no wild animal +larger than fox or badger, neither of which would have made such a big +hole. One moment, however, her imagination was nearly too much for her: +what if some huge bear had been asleep in it for hundreds of years, and +growing all the time! Certainly he could not get out, but if she roused +him, and he got a hold of her! The next instant her courage revived, +for she would have been ashamed to let what she did not believe +influence any action. The passage must lead somewhere, and it was large +enough for her to explore it! + +Because of her dress, she must creep in head foremost--in which lay +the advantage that so she would meet any danger face to face! Telling +Steenie that if he heard her cry out, he must get hold of her feet and +pull, she laid herself on the ground and crawled in. She thought it +must lead to an ancient tomb, but said nothing of the conjecture for +fear of horrifying Steenie, who stood trembling, sustained only by his +faith in Kirsty. + +She went down and down and quite disappeared. Not a foot was left for +Steenie to lay hold of. Terrible and long seemed the time to him as he +stood there forsaken, his darling out of sight in the heart of the +earth. He knew there were wolves in Scotland once; who could tell but a +she-wolf had been left, and a whole clan of them lived there +underground, never issuing in the daytime! there might be the open +mouth of a passage, under a rock and curtained with heather, in some +other spot of the hill! What if one of them got Kirsty by the throat +before she had time to cry out! Then he thought she might have gone +till she could go no father, and not having room to turn, was trying to +creep backward, but her clothes hindered her. Forgetting his repugnance +in over-mastering fear, the faithful fellow was already half inside the +hole to go after her, when up shot the head of Kirsty, almost in his +face. For a moment he was terribly perplexed: he had been expecting to +come on her feet, not her head: how could she have gone in head +foremost, and not come back feet foremost? + +'Eh, wuman,' he said in a fear-struck whisper, 'it's awfu' to see ye +come oot o' the yird like a muckle worm!' + +'Ye saw me gang in, Steenie, ye gowk!' returned Kirsty, dismayed +herself at sight of his solemn dread. + +'Ay,' answered Steenie, 'but I didna see ye come oot! Eh, Kirsty, +wuman, hae ye a heid at baith en's o' ye?' + +Kirsty's laughter blew Steenie's discomposure away, and he too laughed. + +'Come back hame,' said Kirsty; 'I maun get haud o' a can'le! Yon's a +place maun be seen intil. I never saw, or raither faun' (_felt_) the +like o' 't, for o' seein there's nane, or next to nane. There's room +eneuch; ye can see that wi' yer airms!' + +'What is there room eneuch for?' asked Steenie. + +'For you and me, and twenty or thirty mair, mebbe--I dinna ken,' +replied Kirsty. + +'I s' mak ye a present o' my room intil 't,' returned Steenie. 'I want +nane o' 't.' + +'Ill gang doon wi' the can'le,' said Kirsty, 'and see whether 't be a +place for ye. Gien I cry oot, "Ay is't," wull ye come?' + +'That I wull, gien 't war the whaul's belly!' replied Steenie. + +They set out for the house, and as they walked they talked. + +'I div won'er what the place cud ever hae been for!' said Kirsty, more +to herself than Steenie. 'It's bigger nor ony thoucht I had o' 't.' + +'What is 't like, Kirsty?' inquired Steenie. + +'Hoo can I tell whan I saw naething!' replied Kirsty. + +'But,' she added thoughtfully, 'gien it warna that we're in Scotlan', +and they're nigh-han' Rom', I wud hae been 'maist sure I had won intil +ane o' the catacombs!' + +'Eh, losh, lat me awa to the hill!' cried Steenie, stopping and half +turning. 'I canna bide the verra word o' the craturs!' + +'What word than?' asked Kirsty, a little surprised; for how did Steenie +know anything about the catacombs? + +'To think,' he went on, 'o' a haill kirk o' cats aneath the yird--a' +sittin kaimin themsels wi' kaims!--Kirsty, ye _winna_ think it a place +for _me_? Ye see I'm no like ither fowk, and sic a thing micht ca +(_drive_) me oot o' a' the sma' wits ever I hed!' + +'Hoots!' rejoined Kirsty, with a smile, 'the catacombs has naething to +du wi' cats or kaims!' + +'Tell me what are they, than.' + +'The catacombs,' answered Kirsty, 'was what in auld times, and no i' +this cuintry ava, they ca'd the places whaur they laid their deid.' + +'Eh, Kirsty, but that's waur!' returned Steenie. 'I wudna gang intil +sic a place wi' feet siclike's my ain--na, no for what the warl cud gie +me!--no for lang Lowrie's fiddle and a' the tunes intil't! I wud never +get my feet oot o' 't! They'd haud me there!' + +Then Kirsty began to tell him, as she would have taught a child, +something of the history of the catacombs, knowing how it must interest +him. + +'I' the days langsyne,' she said, 'there was fowk, like you and me, +unco fain o' the bonny man. The verra soun o' the name o' 'im was +eneuch to gar their herts loup wi' doonricht glaidness. And they gaed +here and there and a' gait, and tellt ilka body aboot him; and fowk 'at +didna ken him, and didna want to ken him, cudna bide to hear tell o' +him, and they said, "Lat's hae nae mair o' this! Hae dune wi' yer bonny +man! Haud yer tongues," they cryit. But the ithers, they wadna hear o' +haudin their tongues. A'body maun ken aboot him! "Sae lang's we _hae_ +tongues, and can wag them to the name o' him," they said, "we'll no +haud them!" And at that they fell upo' them, and ill-used them sair; +some o' them they tuik and burnt alive--that is, brunt them deid; and +some o' them they flang to the wild beasts, and they bitit them and +tore them to bits. And--, + +'Was the bitin o' the beasts terrible sair?' interrupted Steenie. + +'Ay, I reckon it was some sair; but the puir fowk aye said the bonny +man was wi' them; and lat them bite!--they didna care!' + +'Ay, of coorse, gien he was wi' them they wadna min' 't a hair, or at +least, no twa hairs! Wha wud! Gien he be in yon hole, Kirsty, I'll gang +back and intil't my lee lane. I wull noo!' + +Steenie turned and had run some distance before Kirsty succeeded in +stopping him. She did not run after him. + +'Steenie! Steenie!' she cried, 'I dinna doobt he's there, for he's +a'gait; but ye ken yersel ye canna aye see him, and maybe ye wudna see +him there the noo, and micht think he wasna there, and turn fleyt. Bide +till we hae a licht, and I gang doon first.' + +Steenie was persuaded, and turned and came back to her. To father, +mother, and sister he was always obedient, even on the rare occasions +when it cost him much to be so. + +'Ye see, Steenie,' she continued, 'yon's no the place! I dinna ken yet +what place yon is. I was only gaein to tell ye aboot the places it +min't me o'! Wud ye like to hear aboot them?' + +'I wad that, richt weel! Say awa, Kirsty.' + +'The fowk, than, ye see, 'at lo'ed the bonny man, gethert themsels aye +thegither to hae cracks and newses wi' ane anither aboot him; and, as I +was tellin ye, the fowk 'at didna care aboot him war that angert 'at +they set upo' them, and jist wud hae nane o' them nor him. Sae to hand +oot o' their grip, they coonselled thegither, and concludit to gether +in a place whaur naebody wud think o' luikin for them--whaur but i' the +booels o' the earth, whaur they laid their deid awa upo' skelfs, like +in an aumry!' + +'Eh, but that was fearsome!' interposed Steenie. 'They maun hae been +sair set!--Gien I had been there, wud they hae garred me gang wi' +them?' + +'Na, no gien ye didna like. But ye wud hae likit weel to gang. It wasna +an ill w'y to beery fowk, nor an ill place to gang til, for they aye +biggit up the skelf, ye ken. It was howkit oot--whether oot o' hard +yird or saft stane, I dinna ken; I reckon it wud be some no sae hard +kin' o' a rock--and whan the deid was laid intil 't, they biggit up the +mou o' the place, that is, frae that same skelf to the ane 'at was +abune 't, and sae a' was weel closed in.' + +'But what for didna they beery their deid mensefulike i' their +kirkyairds?' + +''Cause theirs was a great muckle toon, wi' sic a heap o' hooses that +there wasna room for kirkyards; sae they tuik them ootside the toon, +and gaed aneth wi' them a'thegither. For there they howkit a lot o' +passages like trances, and here and there a wee roomy like, wi' ither +trances gaein frae them this gait and that. Sae, whan they tuik +themsels there, the freens o' the bonny man wud fill ane o' the +roomies, and stan' awa in ilk ane o' the passages 'at gaed frae 't; and +that w'y, though there cudna mony o' them see ane anither at ance, a +gey lottie wud hear, some a', and some a hantle o' what was said. For +there they cud speyk lood oot, and a body abune hear naething and +suspec naething. And jist think, Steenie, there's a pictur o' the bonny +man himsel paintit upo' the wa' o' ane o' thae places doon aneth the +grun'!' + +'I reckon it'll be unco like him!' + +'Maybe: I canna tell aboot that.' + +'Gien I cud see 't, I cud tell; but I'm thinkin it'll be some gait gey +and far awa?' + +'Ay, it 's far, far.--It wud tak a body--lat me see--maybe half a year +to trevel there upo' 's ain fit,' answered Kirsty, after some +meditation. + +'And me a hantle langer, my feet's sae odious heavy!' remarked Steenie +with a sigh. + +As they drew near the house, their mother saw them coming, and went to +the door to meet them. + +'We're wantin a bit o' a can'le, and a spunk or twa, mother,' said +Kirsty. + +'Ye s' get that,' answered Marion. 'But what want ye a can'le for i' +the braid mids o' the daylicht?' + +'We want to gang doon a hole,' replied Steenie with flashing eyes, 'and +see the pictur o' the bonny man.' + +'Hoot, Steenie! I tellt ye it wasna there,' interposed Kirsty. + +'Na,' returned Steenie; 'ye only said yon hole wasna that place. Ye +said the bonny man _was_ there, though I michtna see him. Ye didna say +the pictur wasna there.' + +'The pictur 's no there, Steenie.--We've come upon a hole, mother, 'at +we want to gang doon intil and see what it's like,' said Kirsty. + +'The weicht o' my feet brak throu intil 't,' added Steenie. + +'Preserve 's, lassie! tak tent whaur ye cairry the bairn!' cried the +mother. 'But, eh, tak him whaur ye like,' she substituted, correcting +herself. 'Weel ken I ye'll tak him naegait but whaur it's weel he sud +gang! The laddie needs twa mithers, and the Merciful has gien him the +twa! Ye're full mair his mither nor me, Kirsty!' + +She asked no more questions, but got them the candle and let them go. +They hastened back, Steenie in his most jubilant mood, which seemed +always to have in it a touch of deathly frost and a flash as of the +primal fire. What could be the strange displacement or maladjustment +which, in the brain harbouring the immortal thing, troubled it so, and +made it yearn after an untasted liberty? The source of his jubilance +now was easy to tell: the idea of the bonny man was henceforth, in that +troubled brain of his, associated with the place into which they were +about to descend. + +The moment they reached the spot, Kirsty, to the renewed astonishment +of Steenie, dived at once into the ground at her feet, and disappeared. + +'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried out after her, and danced like a terrified +child. Then he shook with a fresh dismay at the muffled sound that came +back to him in answer from the unseen hollows of the earth. + +Already Kirsty stood at the bottom of the sloping tunnel, and was +lighting her candle. When it burned up, she found herself looking into +a level gallery, the roof of which she could touch. It was not an +excavation, but had been trenched from the surface, for it was roofed +with great slabs of stone. Its sides, of rough stones, were six or +seven feet apart at the floor, which was paved with small boulders, but +sloped so much toward each other that at the top their distance was +less by about two and a half feet. Kirsty was, as I have said, a keen +observer, and her power of seeing had been greatly developed through +her constant conscientious endeavour to realize every description she +read. + +She went on about ten or twelve yards, and came to a bend in the +gallery, succeeded by a sort of chamber, whence branched a second +gallery, which soon came to an end. The place was in truth not unlike a +catacomb, only its two galleries were built, and much wider than the +excavated thousands in the catacombs. She turned back to the entrance, +there left her candle alight, and again startled Steenie, still staring +into the mouth of the hole, with her sudden reappearance. + +'Wud ye like to come doon, Steenie?' she said. 'It's a queer place.' + +'Is 't awfu' fearsome?' asked Steenie, shrinking. + +His feeling of dismay at the cavernous, the terrene dark, was not +inconsistent with his pleasure in being out on the wild waste hillside, +when heaven and earth were absolutely black, not seldom the whole of +the night, in utter loneliness to eye or ear, and his never then +feeling anything like dread. Then and there only did he seem to have +room enough. His terror was of the smallest pressure on his soul, the +least hint at imprisonment. That he could not rise and wander about +among the stars at his will, shaped itself to him as the heaviness of +his feet holding him down. His feet were the loaded gyves that made of +the world but a roomy prison. The limitless was essential to his +conscious wellbeing. + +'No a bittock,' answered Kirsty, who felt awe anywhere--on hilltop, in +churchyard, in sunlit silent room--but never fear. 'It's as like the +place I was tellin ye aboot--' + +'Ay, the cat-place!' interrupted Steenie. + +'The place wi' the pictur,' returned Kirsty. + +Steenie darted forward, shot head-first into the hole as he had seen +Kirsty do, and crept undismayed to the bottom of the slope. Kirsty +followed close behind, but he was already on his feet when she joined +him. He grasped her arm eagerly, his face turned from her, and his eyes +gazing fixedly into the depth of the gallery, lighted so vaguely by the +candle on the floor of its entrance. + +'I think I saw him!' he said in a whisper full of awe and delight. 'I +think I did see him!--but, Kirsty, hoo am I to be sure 'at I saw him?' + +'Maybe ye did and maybe ye didna see him,' replied Kirsty; 'but that +disna metter sae muckle, for he's aye seem you; and ye'll see him, and +be sure 'at ye see him, whan the richt time comes.' + +'Ye div think that, Kirsty?' + +'Ay div I,' returned Kirsty, confidently. + +'I s' wait,' answered Steenie, and in silence followed Kirsty along the +gallery. + +This was Steenie's first, and all but his last descent into the +_earth-house,_ or _Picts' House_, or _weem_, as a place of the sort is +called: there are many such in the east of Scotland, their age and +origin objects of merest conjecture. The moment he was out of it, he +fled to the Horn. + +The next Sunday he heard read at church the story of the burial and +resurrection of the Lord, and unavoidably after their talk about the +catacombs, associated the chamber they had just discovered with the +tomb in which 'they laid him,' at the same time concluding the top of +the hill, where he had, as he believed, on certain favoured nights met +the bonny man, the place whence he ascended--to come again as Steenie +thought he did! The earth-house had no longer any attraction for +Steenie: the bonny man was not there; he was risen! He was somewhere +above the mountain-top haunted by Steenie, and that he sometimes +descended upon it Steenie already knew, for had he not seen him there! + +Happy Steenie! Happier than so many Christians who, more in their +brain-senses, but far less in their heart-senses than he, haunt the +sepulchre as if the dead Jesus lay there still, and forget to walk the +world with him who dieth no more, the living one! + +But his sister took a great liking to the place, nor was repelled by +her mistaken suspicion that there the people of the land in times +unknown had buried some of their dead. In the hot days, when the +earth-house was cool, and in the winter when the thick blanket of the +snow lay over it, and it felt warm as she entered it from the frosty +wind, she would sit there in the dark, sometimes imagining herself one +of the believers of the old time, thinking the Lord was at hand, +approaching in person to fetch her and her friends. When the spring +came, she carried down sod and turf, and made for herself a seat in the +central chamber, there to sit and think. By and by she fastened an oil +lamp to the wall, and would light its rush-pith-wick, and read by it. +Occasionally she made a good peat fire, for she had found a chimney +that went sloping into the upper air; and if it did not always draw +well, peat-smoke is as pleasant as wholesome, and she could bear a good +deal of its smothering. Not unfrequently she carried her book there +when no one was likely to want her, and enjoyed to the full the rare +and delightful sense of absolute safety from interruption. Sometimes +she would make a little song there, with which as she made it its own +music would come, and she would model the air with her voice as she +wrote the words in a little book on her knee. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON + + +The summer following Gordon's first session at college, castle Weelset +and Corbyknowe saw nothing of him. No one missed him much, and but for +his father's sake no one would have thought much about him. Kirsty, as +one who had told him the truth concerning himself, thought of him +oftener than anyone except her father. + +The summer after, he paid a short visit to castle Weelset, and went one +day to Corbyknowe, where he left a favourable impression upon all, +which impression Kirsty had been the readier to receive because of the +respect she felt for him as a student. The old imperiousness which made +him so unlike his father had retired into the background; his smile, +though not so sweet, came oftener; and his carriage was full of +courtesy. But something was gone which his old friends would gladly +have seen still. His behaviour in the old time was not so pleasant, but +he had been as one of the family. Often disagreeable, he was yet +loving. Now, he laid himself out to make himself acceptable as a +superior. Freed so long from his mother's lowering influences, what was +of his father in him might by this time have come more to the surface +but for certain ladies in Edinburgh, connections of the family, who, +influenced by his good looks and pleasant manners, and possibly by his +position in the Gordon country, sought his favour by deeds of flattery, +and succeeded in spoiling him not a little. + +Steenie happening to be about the house when he came, Francis behaved +to him so kindly that the gentle creature, overcome with grateful +delight, begged him to go and see a house he and Kirsty were building. + +In some families the games of the children mainly consist in the +construction of dwellings, of this kind or that--castle, or ship, or +cave, or nest in the treetop--according to the material attainable. It +is an outcome of the aboriginal necessity for shelter, this instinct of +burrowing: Welbeck Abbey is the development of a _weem_ or _Picts' +house_. Steenie had very early shown it, probably from a vague +consciousness of weakness, and Kirsty came heartily to his aid in +following it, with the reaction of waking in herself a luxurious idea +of sheltered safety. Northern children cherish in their imaginations +the sense of protection more, I fancy, than others. This is partly +owing to the severity of their climate, the snow and wind, the rain and +sleet, the hail and darkness they encounter. I doubt whether an English +child can ever have such a sense of protection as a Scots bairn in bed +on a winter night, his mother in the nursery, and the wind howling like +a pack of wolves about the house. + +Francis consented to go with Steenie to see his house, and Kirsty +naturally accompanied them. By this time she had gathered the little +that was known, and there is very little known yet, concerning _Picts' +houses_, and as they went it occurred to her that it would be pleasant +to the laird to be shown a thing on his own property of which he had +never heard, and which, in the eyes of some, would add to its value. +She took the way, therefore, that led past the weem. + +She had so well cleared out its entrance, that it was now comparatively +easy of access, else I doubt if the young laird would have risked the +spoiling of his admirably fitting clothes to satisfy the mild curiosity +he felt regarding Kirsty's discovery. As it was, he pulled off his coat +before entering, despite her assurance that he 'needna fear blaudin +onything.' + +She went in before him to light her candle and he followed. As she +showed him the curious place, she gave him the results of her reading +about such constructions, telling him who had written concerning them, +and what they had written. 'There's mair o' them, I gether,' she said, +'and mair remarkable anes, in oor ain coonty nor in ony ither in +Scotlan'. I hae mysel seen nane but this.' Then she told him how +Steenie had led the way to its discovery. By the time she ended, Gordon +was really interested--chiefly, no doubt, in finding himself possessor +of a thing which many men, learned and unlearned, would think worth +coming to see. + +'Did you find this in it?' he asked, seating himself on her little +throne of turf. + +'Na; I put that there mysel,' answered Kirsty. 'There was naething +intil the place, jist naething ava! There was naething ye cud hae +pickit aff o' the flure. Gien it hadna been oot o' the gait o' the +win', ye wud hae thoucht it had sweepit it clean. Ye cud hae tellt by +naething intil't what ever it was meant for, hoose or byre or barn, +kirk or kirkyard. It had been jist a hidy-hole in troubled times, whan +the cuintry wud be swarmin wi' stravaguin marauders!' + +'What made ye the seat for, Kirsty?' asked Gordon, calling her by her +name for the first time, and falling into the mother tongue with a +flash of his old manner. + +'I come here whiles,' she answered, 'to be my lane and read a bit. It's +sae quaiet. Eternity seems itsel to come and hide in 't whiles. I'm +tempit whiles to bide a' nicht.' + +'Isna 't awfu' cauld?' + +'Na, no aften that. It's fine and warm i' the winter. And I can licht a +fire whan I like.--But ye hae na yer coat on, Francie! I oucht na to +hae latten ye bide sae lang!' + +He shivered, rose, and made his way out. Steenie stood in the sunlight +waiting for them. + +'Why, Steenie,' said Gordon, 'you brought me to see your house: why +didn't you come in with me?' + +'Na, na! I'm feart for my feet: this is no _my_ hoose!' answered +Steenie. 'I'm biggin ane. Kirsty's helpin me: I cudna big a hoose +wantin Kirsty! That's what I wud hae ye see, no this ane. This is +Kirsty's hoose. It was Kirsty wantit ye to see this ane.--Na, it's no +mine,' he added reflectively. 'I ken I maun come til 't some day, but I +s' bide oot o' 't as lang's I can. I like the hill a heap better.' + +'What _does_ he mean?' asked Francis, turning to Kirsty. + +'Ow, he has a heap o' notions o' 's ain!' answered Kirsty, who did not +care, especially in his presence, to talk about her brother save to +those who loved him. + +When Francis turned again, he saw Steenie a good way up the hill. + +'Where does he want to take me, Kirsty? Is it far?' he asked. + +'Ay, it's a gey bitty; it's nearhan' at the tap o' the Horn, a wee +ayont it.' + +'Then I think I shall not go,' returned Francis. 'I will come another +day.' + +'Steenie! Steenie!' cried Kirsty, 'he'll no gang the day. He maun gang +hame. He says he'll come anither time. Haud ye awa on to yer hoose; I +s' be wi' ye by and by.' + +Steenie went up the hill, and Kirsty and Francis walked toward +Corbyknowe. + +'Has no young man appeared yet to put Steenie's nose out of joint, +Kirsty?' asked Gordon. + +Kirsty thought the question rude, but answered, with quiet dignity, 'No +ane. I never had muckle opinion o' _yoong_ men, and dinna care aboot +their company.--But what are ye thinkin o' duin yersel--I mean, whan +ye're throu wi' the college?' she continued. 'Ye'll surely be comin +hame to tak things intil yer ain han'? My father says whiles he's some +feart they're no bein made the maist o'.' + +'The property must look after itself, Kirsty. I will be a soldier like +my father. If it could do without him when he was in India, it may just +as well do without me. As long as my mother lives, she shall do what +she likes with it.' + +Thus talking, and growing more friendly as they went, they walked +slowly back to the house. There Francis mounted his horse and rode +away, and for more than two years they saw nothing of him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +STEENIE'S HOUSE + + +Steenie seemed always to experience a strange sort of terror while +waiting for anyone to come out of the weem, into which he never +entered; and it was his repugnance to the place that chiefly moved him +to build a house of his own. He may have also calculated on being able, +with such a refuge at hand, to be on the hill in all weathers. They +still made use of their little hut as before, and Kirsty still kept her +library in it, but it was at the root of the Horn, and Steenie loved +the peak of it more than any other spot in his narrow world. + +I have already said that when, on the occasion of its discovery, +Steenie, for the first and the last time, came out of the weem, he fled +to the Horn. There he roamed for hours, possessed with the feeling that +he had all but lost Kirsty who had taken possession of a house into +which he could never accompany her. For himself he would like a house +on the very top of the Horn, not one inside it! + +Near the top was a little scoop out of the hill, sheltered on all sides +except the south, which, the one time I saw it, reminded me strongly of +Dante's _grembo_ in the purgatorial hill, where the upward pilgrims had +to rest outside the gate, because of the darkness during which no man +could go higher. Here, it is true, were no flowers to weave a pattern +upon its carpet of green; true also, here were no beautiful angels, in +green wings and green garments, poised in the sweet night-air, watchful +with their short, pointless, flaming swords against the creeping enemy; +but it was, nevertheless, the loveliest carpet of grass and moss, and +as to the angels, I find it impossible to imagine, even in the heavenly +host, one heart more guardant than that of Kirsty, one truer, or more +devoted to its charge. The two were together as the child of earth, his +perplexities and terrors ever shot through with flashes of insight and +hope, and the fearless, less imaginative, confident angel, appointed to +watch and ward and see him safe through the loose-cragged mountain-pass +to the sunny vales beyond. + +On the northern slope of the hollow, full in the face of the sun, a +little family of rocks had fallen together, odd in shapes and positions +but of long stable equilibrium, with narrow spaces between them. The +sun was throwing his last red rays among these rocks when Steenie the +same evening wandered into the little valley. The moment his eyes fell +upon them, he said in his heart, 'Yon's the place for a hoose! I'll get +Kirsty to big ane, and mebbe she 'll come and bide in 't wi' me +whiles!' + +In his mind there were for some years two conflicting ideas of refuge, +one embodied in the heathery hut with Kirsty, the other typified by the +uplifted loneliness, the air and the space of the mountain upon which +the bonny man sometimes descended: for the last three years or more the +latter idea had had the upper hand: now it seemed possible to have the +two kinds of refuge together, where the more material would render the +more spiritual easier of attainment! Such were not Steenie's words; +indeed he used none concerning the matter; but such were his vague +thoughts--feelings rather, not yet thoughts. + +The spot had indeed many advantages. For one thing, the group of rocks +was the ready skeleton of the house Steenie wanted. Again, if the snow +sometimes lay deeper there than in other parts of the hill, there first +it began to melt. A third advantage was that, while, as I have said, +the valley was protected by higher ground everywhere but on the south, +it there afforded a large outlook over the boggy basin and over the +hills beyond its immediate rim, to a horizon in which stood some of the +loftier peaks of the highland mountains. + +When Steenie's soul was able for a season to banish the nameless forms +that haunt the dim borders of insanity, he would sit in that valley for +hours, regarding the wider-spread valley below him, in which he knew +every height and hollow, and, with his exceptionally keen sight, he +could descry signs of life where another would have beheld but an +everyway dead level. Not a live thing, it seemed almost, could spread +wing or wag tail, but Steenie would become thereby aware of its +presence. Kirsty, boastful to her parents of the faculty of Steenie, +said to her father one day, + +'I dinna believe, father, wi' Steenie on the bog, a reid worm cud stick +up his heid oot o' 't ohn him seen 't!' + +'I'm thinkin that's no sayin over muckle, wuman!' returned David. 'I +never jist set mysel to luik, but I dinna think I ever did tak notice +o' a worm settin up that heid o' his oot o' a bog. I dinna think it's a +sile they care aboot. I kenna what they would get to please them there. +It's the yerd they live upo'. Whaur craps winna grow, I doobt gien +worms can live.' + +Kirsty laughed: she had made herself ridiculous, but the ridicule of +some is sweeter than the praise of others. + +Steenie set about his house-building at once, and when he had got as +far as he could without her, called for help from Kirsty, who never +interfered with, and never failed him. Divots he was able to cut, and +of them he provided a good quantity, but when it came to moving stones, +two pairs of hands were often wanted. Indeed, before the heavier work +of 'Steenie's hoosie' was over, the two had to beg the help of more--of +their father, and of men from the farm. + +During its progress, Phemy Craig paid rather a lengthened visit to +Corbyknowe, and often joined the two in their labour on the Horn. She +was not very strong, but would carry a good deal in the course of the +day; and through this association with Steenie, her dread of him +gradually vanished, and they became comrades. + +When Steenie's design was at length carried out, they had built up with +stone and lime the open spaces between several of the rocks; had cased +these curtain-walls outside and lined them inside with softer and +warmer walls of fells or divots cut from the green sod of the hill; and +had covered in the whole as they found it possible--very irregularly no +doubt, but smoothing up all the corners and hollows with turf and +heather. This done, one of the men who was a good thatcher, fastened +the whole roof down with strong lines, so that the wind should not get +under and strip it off. The result was a sort of burrow, consisting of +several irregular compartments with open communication--or rather, +perhaps, of a single chamber composed of recesses. One small rock they +included quite: Steenie would make it serve for a table, and some of +its inequalities for shelves. In one of the compartments or recesses, +they contrived a fireplace, and in another a tolerably well concealed +exit; for Steenie, like a trap-door-spider, could not endure the +thought of only one way out: one way was enough for getting in, but two +were needful for getting out, his best refuge being the open hill. + +The night came at length when Steenie, in whose heart was a solemn, +silent jubilation, would take formal possession of his house. It was +soft and warm, in the middle of the month of July. The sun had been set +about an hour when he got up to leave the parlour, where the others +always sat in the summer, and where Steenie would now and then appear +among them. As usual he said goodnight to no one of them, but stole +gently out. + +Kirsty knew what was in his mind, but was careful not to show that she +took any heed of his departure. As soon as her father and mother +retired, however, when he had been gone about half an hour, she put +aside her work, and hastened out. She felt a little anxious about him, +though she could not have said why. She had no dread of displeasing by +rejoining him; nothing, but a sight of the bonny man could, she knew, +give him more delight than having her to share his night-watch with +him. This she had done several times, and they were the only occasions +on which, so far as he could tell, he had slept any part of the night. + +Folded in the twilight, Earth lay as still and peaceful as if she had +never done any wrong, never seen anything wrong in one of her children. +There was light everywhere, and darkness everywhere to make it strange. +A pale green gleam prevailed in the heavens, as if the world were a +glow-worm that sent abroad its home-born radiance into space, and +coloured the sky. In the green light rested a few small solid clouds +with sharp edges, and almost an assertion of repose. Throughout the +night it would be no darker! The sun seemed already to have begun to +rise, only he would be all night about it. From the door she saw the +point of the Horn clear against the green sky: Steenie would be up +there soon! he was hurrying thither! Sometimes he went very leisurely, +stopping and gazing, or sitting down to meditate: he would not do so +that night! A special solemnity in his countenance made her sure that +he would go straight to his new house. But she could walk faster than +he, and would not be long behind him! + +The sky was full of pale stars, and Kirsty amused herself, as she went, +with arranging them--not into their constellations, though she knew the +shapes and names of most of them, but into mathematical figures. The +only star Steenie knew by name was the pole star, which, however, he +always called _The bonny man's lantern._ Kirsty believed he had +thoughts of his own about many another, and a name for it too. + +She had climbed the hill, and was drawing near the house, when she was +startled by a sound of something like singing, and stopped to listen. +She had never heard Steenie attempt to sing, and the very thought of +his doing so moved her greatly: she was always expecting something +marvellous to show itself in him. She drew nearer. It was not singing, +but it was something like it, or something trying to be like it--a +succession of broken, harsh, imperfect sounds, with here and there a +tone of brief sweetness. She thought she perceived in it an attempt at +melody, but the many notes that refused to be made, prevented her from +finding the melody intended, or the melody, rather, after which he was +feeling. The broken music ceased suddenly, and a different kind of +sound succeeded. She went yet nearer. He could not be reading: she had +tried to teach him to read, but the genuine effort he put forth to +learn made his head ache, and his eyes feel wild, he said, and she at +once gave up the endeavour. When she reached the door, she could +plainly hear him praying. + +He had been accustomed to hear his father pray--always extempore. To +the Scots mind it is a perplexity how prayer and reading should ever +seem one. Kirsty went a little deeper into the matter when she said:-- + +'The things that I want, I ken; and I maun hae them! There's nae +necessity ava to tell me what I want. The buik may wauk a sense o' +want, I daursay, I dinna ken, but it maistly pits intil me the thoucht +o' something a body micht weel want, withoot makin me awaur o' wantin +'t at that preceese moment.' + +Prayer, with Steenie, as well as with Kirsty, was the utterance, +audible or silent, in the ever open ear, of what was moving in him at +the time. This was what she now heard him say:-- + +'Bonny man, I ken ye weel: there's naebody in h'aven or earth 'at's +like ye! Ye ken yersel I wad jist dee for ye; or gien there be onything +waur to bide nor deein, that's what I would du for ye--gien ye wantit +it o' me, that is, for I'm houpin sair 'at ye winna want it, I'm that +awfu cooardly! Oh bonny man, tak the fear oot o' my hert, and mak me +ready just to walk aff o' the face o' the warl', weichty feet and a', +to du yer wull, ohn thoucht twise aboot it! And eh, bonny man, willna +ye come doon sometime or lang, and walk the hill here, that I may luik +upo' ye ance mair--as i' the days of old, whan the starlicht muntain +shook wi' the micht o' the prayer ye heavit up til yer father in +h'aven? Eh, gien ye war but ance to luik in at the door o' this my +hoose that ye hae gien me, it wud thenceforth be to me as the gate o' +paradise! But, 'deed, it's that onygait, forit's nigh whaur ye tak yer +walks abro'd. But gien ye _war_ to luik in at the door, and cry, +_Steenie_! sune wud ye see whether I was in the hoose or no!--I thank +ye sair for this hoose: I'm gaein to hae a rich and a happy time upo' +this hill o' Zion, whaur the feet o' the ae man gangs walkin!--And eh, +bonny man, gie a luik i' the face o' my father and mither i' their bed +ower at the Knowe; and I pray ye see 'at Kirsty's gettin a fine sleep, +for she has a heap o' tribble wi' me. I'm no worth min'in', yet ye min' +me: she is worth min'in'!--and that clever!--as ye ken wha made her! +And luik upo' this bit hoosie, 'at I ca' my ain, and they a' helpit me +to bigg, but as a lean-to til the hoose at hame, for I'm no awa frae it +or them--jist as that hoose and this hoose and a' the hooses are a' +jist but bairnies' hooses, biggit by themsels aboot the big flure o' +thy kitchie and i' the neuks o' the same--wi' yer ain truffs and stanes +and divots, sir.' + +Steenie's voice ceased, and Kirsty, thinking his prayer had come to an +end, knocked at the door, lest her sudden appearance should startle +him. From his knees, as she knew by the sound of his rising, Steenie +sprang up, came darting to the door with the cry, 'It's yersel! It's +yersel, bonny man!' and seemed to tear it open. Oh, how sorry was +Kirsty to stand where the loved of the human was not! She had almost +turned and fled. + +'It's only me, Steenie!' she faltered, nearly crying. + +Steenie stood and stared trembling. Neither, for a moment or two, could +speak. + +'Eh, Steenie,' said Kirsty at length, 'I'm richt sorry I disapp'intit +ye! I didna ken what I was duin. I oucht to hae turnt and gane hame +again!' + +'Ye cudna help it,' answered Steenie. 'Ye cudna be him, or ye wud! But +ye're the neist best, and richt welcome. I'm as glaid as can be to see +ye, Kirsty. Come awa ben the hoose.' + +Kirsty followed him in silence, and sat down dejected. The loving heart +saw it. + +'Maybe ye're him efter a'!' said Steenie. 'He can tak ony shape he +likes. I wudna won'er gien ye was him! Ye're unco like him ony gait!' + +'Na, na, Steenie! I'm far frae that! But I wud fain be what he wud hae +me, jist as ye wud yersel. Sae ye maun tak me, what I am, for his sake, +Steenie!' + +This was the man's hour, not the dog's, yet Steenie threw himself at +her feet. + +'Gang oot a bit by yersel, Steenie,' she said, caressing him with her +hand. 'That's what ye'll like best, I ken! Ye needna min' me! I only +cam to see ye sattlet intil yer ain hoose. I'll bide a gey bit. Gang ye +oot, an ken 'at I'm i' the hoose, and that ye can come back to me whan +ye like. I hae my bulk, and can sit and read fine.' + +'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Steenie, rising. 'Ye aye ken what +I'm needin. I maun win oot, for I'm some chokin like.--But jist come +here a minute first,' he went on, leading the way to the door. There he +pointed up into the wild of stars, and said, 'Ye see yon star o' the +tap o' that ither ane 'at's brichter nor itsel?' + +'I see 't fine, and ken 't weel,' answered Kirsty. + +'Weel, whan that starnie comes richt ower the white tap o' yon stane i' +the mids o' that side o' the howe, I s' be here at the door.' + +Kirsty looked at the stone, saw that the star would arrive at the point +indicated in about an hour, and said, 'Weel, I'll be expeckin ye, +Steenie!' whereupon he departed, going farther up the hill to court the +soothing of the silent heaven. + +In conditions of consciousness known only to himself and +incommunicable, the poor fellow sustained an all but continuous +hand-to-hand struggle with insanity, more or less agonized according to +the nature and force of its varying assault; in which struggle, if not +always victorious, he had yet never been defeated. Often tempted to +escape misery by death, he had hitherto stood firm. Some part of every +solitary night was spent, I imagine, in fighting that or other evil +suggestion. Doubtless, what kept him lord of himself through all the +truth-aping delusions that usurped his consciousness, was his +unyielding faith in the bonny man. + +The name by which he so constantly thought and spoke of the saviour of +men was not of his own finding. The story was well known of the idiot, +who, having partaken of the Lord's supper, was heard, as he retired, +murmuring to himself, 'Eh, the bonny man! the bonny man!' And persons +were not wanting, sound in mind as large of heart, who thought the +idiot might well have seen him who came to deliver them that were +bound. Steenie took up the tale with most believing mind. Never +doubting the man had seen the Lord, he responded with the passionate +desire himself to see _the bonny man_. It awoke in him while yet quite +a boy, and never left him, but, increasing as he grew, became, as well +it might, a fixed idea, a sober, waiting, unebbing passion, urging him +to righteousness and lovingkindness. + +Kirsty took from her pocket an old translation of Plato's Phaedo, and +sat absorbed in it until the star, unheeded of her, attained its goal, +and there was Steenie by her side! She shut the book and rose. + +'I'm a heap better, Kirsty,' said Steenie. 'The ill colour's awa doon +the stair, and the saft win' 's made its w'y oot o' the lift, an' 's +won at me. I 'maist think a han' cam and clappit my heid. Sae noo I'm +jist as weel 's there's ony need to be o' this side the mist. It helpit +me a heap to ken 'at ye was sittin there: I cud aye rin til ye!--Noo +gang awa to yer bed, and tak a guid sleep. I'm some thinkin I'll be +hame til my br'akfast.' + +'Weel, mother's gaein to the toon the morn, and I'll be wantit fell +air; I may as weel gang!' answered Kirsty, and without a goodnight, or +farewell of any sort, for she knew how he felt in regard to +leave-takings, Kirsty left him, and went slowly home. The moon was up +and so bright that every now and then she would stop for a moment and +read a little from her book, and then walk on thinking about it. + +From that night, even in the stormy dark of winter, Kirsty was not +nearly so anxious about Steenie away from the house: on the Horn he had +his place of refuge, and she knew he never ventured on the bog after +sunset. He always sought her when he wanted to sleep in the daytime, +but he was gradually growing quieter in his mind, and, Kirsty had +reason to think, slept a good deal more at night. + +But the better he grew the more had he the look of one expecting +something; and Kirsty often heard him saying to himself--'It's comin! +it's comin!' + +'And at last,' she said, telling his story many years after, 'at last +it cam; and ahint it, I doobtna! cam the face o' the bonny man!' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +PHEMY CRAIG + + +Things went on in the same way for four years more, the only visible +change being that Kirsty seldomer went about bare-footed. She was now +between two and three and twenty. Her face, whose ordinary expression +had always been of quiet, was now in general quieter still; but when +heart or soul was moved, it would flash and glow as only such a face +could. Live revelation of deeps rarely rippled save by the breath of +God, how could it but grow more beautiful! Cloud or shadow of cloud was +hardly ever to be seen upon it. Her mother, much younger than her +father, was still well and strong, and Kirsty, still not much wanted at +home, continued to spend the greater part of her time with her brother +and her books. As to her person, she was now in the first flower of +harmonious womanly strength. Nature had indeed done what she could to +make her a lady, but Nature was not her mother, and Kirsty's essential +ladyhood came from higher-up, namely, from the Source itself of Nature. +Simple truth was its crown, and grace was the garment of it. To see her +walk or run was to look on the divine idea of Motion. + +As for Steenie, he looked the same loose lank lad as before, with a +smile almost too sad to be a smile, and a laugh in which there was +little hilarity. His pleasures were no doubt deep and high, but seldom, +even to Kirsty, manifested themselves except in the afterglow. + +Phemy was now almost a woman. She was rather little, but had a nice +figure, which she knew instinctively how to show to advantage. Her main +charm lay in her sweet complexion--strong in its contrast of colours, +but wonderfully perfect in the blending of them: the gradations in the +live picture were exquisite. She was gentle of temper, with a shallow, +birdlike friendliness, an accentuated confidence that everyone meant +her well, which was very taking. But she was far too much pleased with +herself to be a necessity to anyone else. Her father grew more and more +proud of her, but remained entirely independent of her; and Kirsty +could not help wondering at times how he would feel were he given one +peep into the chaotic mind which he fancied so lovely a cosmos. A good +fairy godmother would for her discipline, Kirsty imagined, turn her +into the prettiest wax doll, but with real eyes, and put her in a glass +case for the admiration of all, until she sickened of her very +consciousness. But Kirsty loved the pretty doll, and cherished any +influence she had with her against a possible time when it might be +sorely needed. She still encouraged her, therefore, to come to +Corbyknowe as often as she felt inclined. Her father never interfered +with any of her goings and comings. At the present point of my +narrative, however, Kirsty began to notice that Phemy did not care so +much for being with her as hitherto. + +She had been, of course, for some time the cynosure of many +neighbouring eyes, but had taken only the more pleasure in the +cynosure, none in the persons with the eyes, all of whom she regarded +as much below her. To herself she was the only young lady in Tiltowie, +an assurance strengthened by the fact that no young man had yet +ventured to make love to her, which she took as a general admission of +their social inferiority, behaving to all the young men the more +sweetly in consequence. + +The tendency of a weakly artistic nature to occupy itself much with its +own dress was largely developed in her. It was wonderful, considering +the smallness of her father's income, how well she arrayed herself. She +could make a poor and scanty material go a great way in setting off her +attractions. The judicial element of the neighbourhood, not content +with complaining that she spent so much of her time in making her +dresses, accused her of spending much money upon them, whereas she +spent less than most of the girls of the neighbourhood, who cared only +for a good stuff, a fast colour, and the fashion: fit to figure and +fitness to complexion they did not trouble themselves about. The +possession of a fine gown was the important thing. As to how it made +them look, they had not imagination enough to consider that. + +She possessed, however, another faculty on which she prided herself far +more, her ignorance and vanity causing her to mistake it for a grand +accomplishment--the faculty of verse-making. She inherited a certain +modicum of her father's rhythmic and riming gift; she could string +words almost as well as she could string beads, and many thought her +clever because she could do what they could not. Her aunt judged her +verses marvellous, and her father considered them full of promise. The +minister, on the other hand, held them unmistakably silly--as her +father would had they not been hers and she his. Only the poorest part +of his poetic equipment had propagated in her, and had he taught her +anything, she would not have overvalued it so much. Herself full of +mawkish sentimentality, her verses could not fail to be foolish, their +whole impulse being the ambition that springs from self-admiration. She +had begun to look down on Kirsty, who would so gladly have been a +mother to the motherless creature; she was not a lady! Neither in +speech, manners, nor dress, was she or her mother genteel! Their free, +hearty, simple bearing, in which was neither smallest roughness nor +least suggestion of affected refinement, was not to Phemy's taste, and +she began to assume condescending ways. + +It was of course a humiliation to Phemy to have an aunt in Mrs. +Bremner's humble position, but she loved her after her own feeble +fashion, and, although she would willingly have avoided her upon +occasion, went not unfrequently to the castle to see her; for the +kindhearted woman spoiled her. Not only did she admire her beauty, and +stand amazed at her wonderful cleverness, but she drew from her little +store a good part of the money that went to adorn the pretty butterfly. +She gave her at the same time the best of advice, and imagined she +listened to it; but the young who take advice are almost beyond the +need of it. Fools must experience a thing themselves before they will +believe it; and then, remaining fools, they wonder that their children +will not heed their testimony. Faith is the only charm by which the +experience of one becomes a vantage-ground for the start of another. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SHAM LOVE + + +One day Phemy went to Castle Weelset to see her aunt, and, walking down +the garden to find her, met the young laird. + +Through respect for the memory of his father, he had just received from +the East India Company a commission in his father's regiment; and +having in about six weeks to pass the slight examination required, and +then sail to join it, had come to see his mother and bid her goodbye. +He was a youth no longer, but a handsome young fellow, with a pale face +and a rather weary, therefore what some would call an interesting look. +For many months he had been leading an idle life. + +He lifted his hat to Phemy, looked again, and recognised her. They had +been friends when she was a child, but since he saw her last she had +grown a young woman. She was gliding past him with a pretty bow, and a +prettier blush and smile, when he stopped and held out his hand. + +'It's not possible!' he said; 'you can't be little Phemy!--Yet you must +be!--Why, you're a grown lady! To think how you used to sit on my knee, +and stroke my face! How is your father?' + +Phemy murmured a shy answer, a little goose but blushing a very +flamingo. In her heart she saw before her the very man for her hero. A +woman's hero gives some measure, not of what she is, hardly of what she +would like to be, but of what she would like to pass for: here was the +ideal for which Phemy had so long been waiting, and wherein consisted +his glory? In youth, position, and good looks! She gazed up at him with +a mixture of shyness and boldness not uncommon in persons of her silly +kind, and Francis not only saw but felt that she was an unusually +pretty girl: although he had long ceased to admire his mother, he still +admired the sort of beauty she once had. He saw also that she was very +prettily dressed, and, being one of those men who, imagining themselves +gentlemen, feel at liberty to take liberties with women socially their +inferiors, he plucked a pheasant-eye-narcissus in the border, and +said--at the same time taking the leave he asked,-- + +'Let me finish your dress by adding this to it! Have you got a +pin?--There!--all you wanted to make you just perfect!' + +Her face was now in a very flame. She saw he was right in the flower he +had chosen, and he saw, not his artistic success only, but her +recognition of it as well, and was gratified. He had a keen feeling of +harmony in form and colour, and flattered women, while he paraded his +own insight, by bringing it to bear on their dress. + +The flower, in its new position, seemed radiant with something of the +same beauty in which it was set; it was _like_ the face above it, and +hinted a sympathetic relation with the whole dainty person of the girl. +But in truth there was more expression in the flower than was yet in +the face. The flower expressed what God was thinking of when he made +it; the face what the girl was thinking of herself. When she ceased +thinking of herself then, like the flower, she would show what God was +thinking of when he made her. + +Francis, like the man he was, thought what a dainty little lady she +would make if he had the making of her, and at once began talking as he +never would have talked had she been what is conventionally called a +lady--with a familiarity, namely, to which their old acquaintance gave +him no right, and which showed him not his sister's keeper. She, poor +child, was pleased with his presumption, taking it for a sign that he +regarded her as a lady; and from that moment her head at least was full +of the young laird. She had forgotten all she came about. When he +turned and walked down the garden, she walked alongside of him like a +linnet by a tall stork, who thought of her as a very pretty green frog. +Lost in delight at his kindness, and yet more at his admiration, she +felt as safe in his hands as if he had been her guardian angel: had he +not convinced her that her notion of herself was correct! Who should +know better whether she was a lady, whether she was lovely or not, than +this great, handsome, perfect gentleman! Unchecked by any question of +propriety, she accompanied him without hesitation into a little arbour +at the bottom of the garden, and sat down with him on the bench there +provided for the weary and the idle--in this case a going-to-be gallant +officer, bored to death by a week at home with his mother, and a girl +who spent the most of her time in making, altering, and wearing her +dresses. + +'How good it was of you, Phemy,' he said, 'to come and see me! I was +ready to cut my throat for want of something pretty to look at. I was +thinking it the ugliest place with the ugliest of people, wondering how +I had ever been able to live in it. How unfair I was! The whole country +is beautiful now!' + +'I am so glad,' answered poor Phemy, hardly knowing what she said: it +was to her the story of a sad gentleman who fell in love at first sight +with a beautiful lady who was learning to love him through pity. + +Her admiration of him was as clear as the red and white on her face; +and foolish Francis felt in his turn flattered, for he too was fond of +himself. There is no more pitiable sight to lovers of their kind, or +any more laughable to its haters, than two persons falling into the +love rooted in self-love. But possibly they are neither to be pitied +nor laughed at; they may be plunging thus into a saving hell. + +'You would like to make the world beautiful for me, Phemy?' rejoined +Francis. + +'I should like to make it a paradise!' returned Phemy. + +'A garden of Eden, and you the Eve in it?' suggested Francis. + +Phemy could find no answer beyond a confused look and a yet deeper +blush. + +Talk elliptical followed, not unmingled with looks bold and shy. They +had not many objects of thought in common, therefore not many subjects +for conversation. There was no poetry in Gordon, and but the flimsiest +sentiment in Phemy. Her mind was feebly active, his full of tedium. +Hers was open to any temptation from him, and his to the temptation of +usurping the government of her world, of constituting himself the +benefactor of this innocent creature, and enriching her life with the +bliss of loving a noble object. Of course he meant nothing serious! +Equally of course he would do her no harm! To lose him would make her +miserable for a while, but she would not die of love, and would have +something to think about all her dull life afterward! + +Phemy at length got frightened at the thought of being found with him, +and together they went to look for her aunt. Finding her in an outhouse +that was used for a laundry, Francis told Mrs. Bremner that they had +been in the garden ever so long searching for her, and he was very glad +of the opportunity of hearing about his old friend, Phemy's father! The +aunt was not quite pleased, but said little. + +The following Sunday she told the schoolmaster what had taken place, +and came home in a rage at the idiocy of a man who would not open his +eyes when his house was on fire. It was all her sister's fault, she +said, for having married such a book-idiot! She felt indeed very +uncomfortable, and did her best in the way of warning; but Phemy seemed +so incapable of understanding what ill could come of letting the young +laird talk to her, that she despaired of rousing in her any sense of +danger, and having no authority over her was driven to silence for the +present. She would have spoken to her mistress, had she not plainly +foreseen that it would be of no use, that she would either laugh, and +say young men must have their way, or fly into a fury with Phemy for +trying to entrap her son, and with Mrs. Bremner for imagining he would +look at the hussey; while one thing was certain--that, if his mother +opposed him, Francis would persist. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A NOVEL ABDUCTION + + +Phemy went seldom to the castle, but the young laird and she met pretty +often: there was solitude enough in that country for an army of lovers. +Once or twice Gordon, at Phemy's entreaty, went and took tea with her +at her father's, and was cordially received by the schoolmaster, who +had no sense of impropriety in their strolling out together afterward, +leaving him well content with the company of his books. Before this had +happened twice, all the town was talking about it, and predicting evil. +Phemy heard nothing and feared nothing; but if feeling had been weather +and talk tempest, she would have been glad enough to keep within. So +rapidly, however, did the whirlwind of tongues extend its giration that +within half a week it reached Kirsty, and cast her into great trouble: +her poor silly defenceless Phemy, the child of her friend, was in +danger from the son of her father's friend! Her father could do +nothing, for Francis would not listen to him, therefore she herself +must do something! She could not sit still and look on at the devil's +work! Having always been on terms of sacred intimacy with her mother, +she knew more of the dangers of the world, while she was far safer from +them, than such girls as their natural guardians watch instead of +fortifying, and understood perfectly that an unwise man is not to be +trusted with a foolish girl. She felt, therefore, that inaction on her +part would be faithlessness to the teaching of her mother, as well as +treachery to her father, whose friend's son was in peril of doing a +fearful wrong to one to whom he owed almost a brother's protection for +his schoolmaster's sake. She did not believe that Francis _meant_ Phemy +any harm, but she was certain he thought too much of himself ever to +marry her, and were the poor child's feelings to go for nothing? She +had no hope that Phemy would listen to expostulation from her, but she +must in fairness, before she _did_ anything, have some speech with her! + +She made repeated efforts, therefore, to see her, but without success. +She tried one time of the day after another, but, now by accident and +now by clever contrivance, Phemy was not to be come at. She had of late +grown tricky. One of the windows of the schoolmaster's house commanded +the street in both directions, and Phemy commanded the window. When she +saw Kirsty coming, she would run into the garden and take refuge in the +summer-house, telling the servant on her way that she was going out, +and did not know what time she would be in. On more occasions than one +Kirsty said she would wait, when Phemy, learning she was not gone, went +out in earnest, and took care she had enough of waiting. Such shifts of +cunning no doubt served laughter to the lovers when next they met, but +they showed that Phemy was in some degree afraid of Kirsty. + +Had Kirsty known the schoolmaster no better than his sister-in-law knew +him, she would, like her, have gone to him; but she was perfectly +certain that it would be almost impossible to rouse him, and that, once +convinced that his confidence had been abused, he would be utterly +furious, and probably bear himself in such fashion as to make Phemy +desperate, perhaps make her hate him. As it was, he turned a deaf ear +and indignant heart to every one of the reports that reached him. To +listen to it would be to doubt his child! Why should not the young +laird fall in love with her? What more natural? Was she not worth as +much honour as any man, be he who he might, could confer upon her? He +cursed the gossips of the town, and returned to his book. + +Convinced at length that Phemy declined an interview, Kirsty resolved +to take her own way. And her way was a somewhat masterful one. + +About a mile from castle Weelset, in the direction of Tiltowie, the +road was, for a few hundred yards, close-flanked by steep heathery +braes. Now Kirsty had heard of Phemy's being several times seen on this +road of late; and near the part of it I have just described, she +resolved to waylay her. From the brae on the side next Corbyknowe she +could see the road for some distance in either direction. + +For a week she watched in vain. She saw the two pass together more than +once, and she saw Francis pass alone, but she had never seen Phemy +alone. + +One morning, just as she arrived at her usual outlook, she saw Mrs. +Bremner in the road below, coming from the castle, and ran down to +speak to her. In the course of their conversation she learned that +Francis was to start for London the next morning. When they parted, the +old woman resuming her walk to Tiltowie, Kirsty climbed the brae and +sat down in the heather. She was more anxious than ever. She had done +her best, but it had come to nothing, and now she had but one chance +more! That Francis Gordon was going away so soon was good news, but +what might not happen even yet before he went! At the same time she +could think of nothing better than keep watch as hitherto, firm as to +her course if she saw Phemy alone, but now determined to speak to both +if Francis was with her, and all but determined to speak to Francis +alone, if an opportunity of doing so should be given her. + +All the morning and afternoon she watched in vain, eating nothing but a +piece of bread that Steenie brought her. At last, in the evening--it +was an evening in September, cold and clear, the sun down, and a +melancholy glory hanging over the place of his vanishing--she spied the +solitary form of Phemy hastening along the road in the direction of the +castle. Although she had been on the outlook for her all day, she was +at the moment so taken up with the sunset, that Phemy was almost under +where she stood before she saw her. She ran at full speed a hundred +yards, then slid down a part of the brae too steep to climb, and leaped +into the road a few feet in front of Phemy--so suddenly that the girl +started with a cry, and stopped. The moment she saw who it was, +however, she drew herself up, and would have passed with a stiff +greeting. But Kirsty stood in front of her, and would not permit her. + +'What do you want, Kirsty Barclay?' demanded Phemy, who had within the +last week or two advanced considerably in confidence of manner; 'I am +in a hurry!' + +'Ye're in a waur hurry nor ye ken, for yer hurry sud be the ither +gait!' answered Kirsty; 'and I'm gaein to turn ye, or at least no gaein +to lat ye gang, ohn heard a bit o' the trowth frae a woman aulder nor +yersel! Lassie, ye seem to think naebody worth hearkenin til a word +frae 'cep ae man, but I mean ye to hearken to me! Ye dinna ken what +ye're aboot! I ken Francie Gordon a heap better nor you, and though I +ken nae ill o' him, I ken as little guid: he never did naething yet but +to please himsel, and there never cam salvation or comfort to man, +woman, or bairn frae ony puir cratur like _him_!' + +'How dare you speak such lies of a gentleman behind his back!' cried +Phemy, her eyes flashing. 'He is a friend of mine, and I will not hear +him maligned!' + +'There's sma' hairm can come to ony man frae the trowth, Phemy!' +answered Kirsty. 'Set the man afore me, and I'll say word for word +intil his face what I'm sayin to you ahint his back.' + +'Miss Barclay,' rejoined Phemy, with a rather pitiable attempt at +dignity, 'I can permit no one to call me by my Christian name who +speaks ill of the man to whom I am engaged!' + +'That s' be as ye please, Miss Craig. But I wud lat you ca' me a' the +ill names in the dictionar to get ye to heark to me! I'm tellin ye +naething but what's true as death.' + +'I call no one names. I am always civil to my neighbours whoever they +may be! I will not listen to you.' + +'Eh, lassie, there's but feow o' yer neebours ceevil to yer name, +whatever they be to yersel! There's hardly ane has a guid word for ye, +Phemy!--Miss Craig--I beg yer pardon!' + +'Their lying tongues are nothing to me! I know what I am about! I will +not stay a moment longer with you! I have an important engagement.' + +Once more, as several times already, she would have passed her, but +Kirsty stepped yet again in front of her. + +'I can weel tak yer word,' replied Kirsty, ''at ye hae an engagement; +but ye said a minute ago 'at ye was engaged til him: tell me in ae +word--has Francie Gordon promised to merry ye?' + +'He has as good as asked me,' answered Phemy, who had fits of +apprehensive recoil from a downright lie. + +'Noo there I cud 'maist believe ye! Ay, that wud be ill eneuch for +Francie! He never was a doonricht leear, sae lang's I kenned him--ony +mair nor yersel! But, for God's sake, Phemy, dinna imagine he'll ever +merry ye, for that he wull not.' + +'This is really insufferable!' cried Phemy, in a voice that began to +tremble from the approach of angry tears. 'Pray, have _you_ a claim +upon him?' + +'Nane, no a shedow o' ane,' returned Kirsty. 'But my father and his +father war like brithers, and we hae a' to du what we can for his +father's son. I wud fain hand him ohn gotten into trouble wi' you or +ony lass.' + +'_I_ get him into trouble! Really, Miss Barclay, I do not know how to +understand you!' + +'I see I maun be plain wi' ye: I wudna hae ye get him into trouble by +lattin him get you into trouble!--and that's plain speykin!' + +'You insult me!' said Phemy. + +'Ye drive me to speyk plain!' answered Kirsty. 'That lad, Francie +Gordon,--' + +'Speak with respect of your superiors,' interrupted Phemy. + +'I'll speyk wi' respec o' ony body I hae respec for!' answered Kirsty. + +'Let me pass, you rude young woman!' cried Phemy, who had of late been +cultivating in her imagination such speech as she thought would befit +Mrs. Gordon of castle Weelset. + +'I winna lat ye pass,' answered Kirsty; '--that is, no til ye hear what +I hae to say to ye.' + +'Then you must take the consequences!' rejoined Phemy, and, in the hope +that her lover would prove within earshot, began a piercing scream. + +It roused something in Kirsty which she could not afterward identify: +she was sure it had nothing to do with anger. She felt, she said, as if +she had to deal with a child who insisted on playing with fire beside a +barrel of gunpowder. At the same time she did nothing but what she had +beforehand, in case of the repulse she expected, resolved upon. She +caught up the little would-be lady, as if she had been that same +naughty child, and the suddenness of the action so astonished her that +for a moment or two she neither moved nor uttered a sound. The next, +however, she began to shriek and struggle wildly, as if in the hug of a +bear or the coils of an anaconda, whereupon Kirsty closed her mouth +with one hand while she held her fast with the other. It was a violent +proceeding, doubtless, but Kirsty chose to be thus far an offender, and +yet farther. + +Bearing her as she best could in one arm, she ran with her toward +Tiltowie until she reached a place where the road was bordered by a +more practicable slope; there she took to the moorland, and made for +Corbyknowe. Her resolve had been from the first, if Phemy would not +listen, to carry her, like the unmanageable child she was, home to the +mother whose voice had always been to herself the oracle of God. It was +in a loving embrace, though hardly a comfortable one, and to a heart +full of pity, that she pressed the poor little runaway lamb: her mother +was God's vicar for all in trouble: she would bring the child to +reason! Her heart beating mightily with love and labour, she waded +through the heather, hurrying along the moor. + +It was a strange abduction; but Kirsty was divinely simple, and that +way strange. Not until they were out of sight of the road did she set +her down. + +'Noo, Phemy,' she said, panting as she spoke, 'haud yer tongue like a +guid lassie, and come awa upo' yer ain feet.' + +Phemy took at once to her heels and her throat, and ran shrieking back +toward the road, with Kirsty after her like a grayhound. Phemy had for +some time given up struggling and trying to shriek, and was therefore +in better breath than Kirsty whose lungs were pumping hard, but she had +not a chance with her, for there was more muscle in one of Kirsty's +legs than in Phemy's whole body. In a moment she had her in her arms +again, and so fast that she could not even kick. She gave way and burst +into tears. Kirsty relaxed her hold. + +'What are you gaein to du wi' me?' sobbed Phemy. + +'I'm takin ye to the best place I ken--hame to my mother,' answered +Kirsty, striding on for home-heaven as straight as she could go. + +'I winna gang!' cried Phemy, whose Scotch had returned with her tears. + +'Ye _are_ gaein,' returned Kirsty dryly; '--at least I'm takin ye, and +that's neist best.' + +'What for? I never did ye an ill turn 'at I ken o'!' said Phemy, and +burst afresh into tears of self-pity and sense of wrong. + +'Na, my bonny doo,' answered Kirsty, 'ye never did me ony ill turn! It +wasna in ye. But that's the less rizzon 'at I sudna du you a guid ane. +And yer father has been like the Bountiful himsel to me! It's no muckle +I can du for you or for him, but there's ae thing I'm set upo', and +that's haudin ye frae Francie Gordon the nicht. He'll be awa the morn!' + +'Wha tellt ye that?' returned Phemy with a start. + +'Jist yer ain aunt, honest woman!' answered Kirsty, 'and sair she grat +as she telled me, but it wasna at his gaein!' + +'She micht hae held the tongue o' her till he was gane! What was there +to greit about!' + +'Maybe she thocht o' her sister's bairn in a tribble 'at silence wadna +hide!' answered Kirsty. 'Ye haena a notion, lassie, what ye're duin wi' +yersel! But my mither 'll lat ye ken, sae that ye gangna blinlins intil +the tod's hole.' + +'Ye dinna ken Frank, or ye wudna speyk o' 'im that gait!' + +'I ken him ower weel to trust you til him.' + +'It's naething but ye're eenvious o' me, Kirsty, 'cause ye canna get +him yersel! He wud never luik at a lass like you!' + +'It's weel a'body sees na wi' the same een, Phemy! Gien I had yer +Francie i' the parritch-pat, I wudna pike him oot, but fling frae me +pat and parritch. For a' that, I hae a haill side o' my hert saft til +him: my father and his lo'd like brithers.' + +'That canna be, Kirsty--and it's no like ye to blaw! Your father was a +common so'dier and his was cornel o' the regiment!' + +'Allooin!' was all Kirsty's answer. Phemy betook herself to entreaty. + +'Lat me gang, Kirsty! Please! I'll gang doon o' my knees til ye! I +canna bide him to think I've played him fause.' + +'He'll play you fause, my lamb, whatever ye du or he think! It maks my +hert sair to ken 'at no guid will your hert get o' his.--He s' no see +ye the nicht, ony gait!' + +Phemy uttered a childish howl, but immediately choked it with a proud +sob. + +'Ye're hurtin me, Kirsty!' she said, after a minute or so of silence. +'Lat me doon, and I'll gang straucht hame to my father. I promise ye.' + +'I'll set ye doon,' answered Kirsty, 'but ye maun come hame to my +mither.' + +'What'll my father think?' + +'I s' no forget yer father,' said Kirsty. + +She sent out a strange, piercing cry, set Phemy down, took her hand in +hers, and went on, Phemy making no resistance. In about three minutes +there was a noise in the heather, and Snootie came rushing to Kirsty. A +few moments more and Steenie appeared. He lifted his bonnet to Phemy, +and stood waiting his sister's commands. + +'Steenie,' she said, 'tak the dog wi' ye, and rin doon to the toon, and +tell Mr. Craig 'at Phemy here's comin hame wi' me, to bide the nicht. +Ye winna be langer nor ye canna help, and ye'll come to the hoose afore +ye gang to the hill?' + +'I'll du that, Kirsty. Come, doggie,' + +Steenie never went to the town of his own accord, and Kirsty never +liked him to go, for the boys were rude, but to-night it would be dark +before he reached it. + +'Ye're no surely gaun to gar me bide a' nicht!' said Phemy, beginning +again to cry. + +'I am that--the nicht, and maybe the morn's nicht, and ony nummer o' +nichts till we're sure he's awa!' answered Kirsty, resuming her walk. + +Phemy wept aloud, but did not try to escape. + +'And him gaein to promise this verra nicht 'at he would merry me!' she +cried, but through her tears and sobs her words were indistinct. + +Kirsty stopped, and faced round on her. + +'He promised to merry ye?' she said. + +'I didna say that; I said he was gaein to promise the nicht. And noo +he'll be gane, and never a word said!' + +'He promised, did he, 'at he would promise the nicht?--Eh, Francie! +Francie! ye're no yer father's son!--He promised to promise to merry +ye! Eh, ye puir gowk o' a bonny lassie!' + +'Gien I met him the nicht--ay, it cam to that.' + +All Kirsty's inborn motherhood awoke. She turned to her, and, clasping +the silly thing in her arms, cried out-- + +'Puir wee dauty! Gien he hae a hert ony bigger nor Tod Lowrie's _(the +fox's)_ ain, he'll come to ye to the Knowe, and say what he has to +say!' + +'He winna ken whaur I am!' answered Phemy with an agonized burst of dry +sobbing. + +'Will he no? I s' see to that--and this verra nicht!' exclaimed Kirsty. +'I'll gie him ilka chance o' doin the richt thing!' + +'But he'll be angert at me!' + +'What for? Did he tell ye no to tell?' + +'Ay did he.' + +'Waur and waur!' cried Kirsty indignantly. 'He wad hae ye a' in his +grup! He tellt ye, nae doobt, 'at ye was the bonniest lassie 'at ever +was seen, and bepraised ye 'at yer ain minnie wouldna hae kenned ye! +Jist tell me, Phemy, dinna ye think a hantle mair o' yersel sin' he +took ye in han'?' + +She would have Phemy see that she had gathered from him no figs or +grapes, only thorns and thistles. Phemy made no reply: had she not +every right to think well of herself? He had never said anything to her +on that subject which she was not quite ready to believe. + +Kirsty seemed to divine what was passing in her thought. + +'A man,' she said, ''at disna tell ye the trowth aboot himsel 's no +likly to tell ye the trowth aboot _your_sel! Did he tell ye hoo mony +lassies he had said the same thing til afore ever he cam to you? It +maitered little sae lang as they war lasses as hertless and toom-heidit +as himsel, and ower weel used to sic havers; but a lassie like you, 'at +never afore hearkent to siclike, she taks them a' for trowth, and the +leein sough o' him gars her trow there was never on earth sic a +won'erfu cratur as her! What pleesur there can be i' leein 's mair nor +I can faddom! Ye're jist a gey bonnie lassie, siclike as mony anither; +but gien ye war a' glorious within, like the queen o' Sheba, or whaever +she may happen to hae been, there wad be naething to be prood o' i' +that, seem ye didna contrive yersel. No ae stane, to bigg yersel, hae +_ye_ putten upo' the tap o' anither!' + +Phemy was nowise capable of understanding such statement and deduction. +If she was lovely, as Frank told her, and as she saw in the glass, why +should she not be pleased with herself? If Kirsty had been made like +her, she would have been just as vain as she! + +All her life the doll never saw the beauty of the woman. Beside Phemy, +Kirsty walked like an Olympian goddess beside the naiad of a brook. And +Kirsty was a goddess, for she was what she had to be, and never thought +about it. + +Phemy sank down in the heather, declaring she could go no farther, and +looked so white and so pitiful that Kirsty's heart filled afresh with +compassion. Like the mother she was, she took the poor girl yet again +in her arms, and, carrying her quite easily now that she did not +struggle, walked with her straight into her mother's kitchen. + +Mrs. Barclay sat darning the stocking which would have been Kirsty's +affair had she not been stalking Phemy. She took it out of her mother's +hands, and laid the girl in her lap. + +'There's a new bairnie til ye, mother! Ye maun daut her a wee, she's +unco tired!' she said, and seating herself on a stool, went on with the +darning of the stocking. + +Mistress Barclay looked down on Phemy with such a face of loving +benignity that the poor miserable girl threw her arms round her neck, +and laid her head on her bosom. Instinctively the mother began to hush +and soothe her, and in a moment more was singing a lullaby to her. +Phemy fell fast asleep. Then Kirsty told what she had done, and while +she spoke, the mother sat silent brooding, and hushing, and thinking. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +PHEMY'S CHAMPION + + +When she had told all, Kirsty rose, and laying aside the stocking, +said, + +'I maun awa to Weelset, mother. I promised the bairn I would lat +Francie ken whaur she was, and gie him the chance o' sayin his say til +her.' + +'Verra weel, lassie! ye ken what ye're aboot, and I s' no interfere wi' +ye. But, eh, ye'll be tired afore ye win to yer bed!' + +'I'll no tramp it, mother; I'll tak the gray mear.' + +'She's gey and fresh, lassie; ye maun be on yer guaird.' + +'A' the better!' returned Kirsty. 'To hear ye, mother, a body wud think +I cudna ride!' + +'Forbid it, bairn! Yer father says, man or wuman, there's no ane i' the +countryside like ye upo' beast-back.' + +'They tak to me, the craturs! It was themsels learnt me to ride!' +answered Kirsty, as she took a riding whip from the wall, and went out +of the kitchen. + +The mare looked round when she entered the stable, and whinnied. Kirsty +petted and stroked her, gave her two or three handfuls of oats, and +while she was eating strapped a cloth on her back: there was no +side-saddle about the farm. Kirsty could ride well enough sideways on a +man's, but she liked the way her father had taught her far better. +Utterly fearless, she had, in his training from childhood until he +could do no more for her, grown a horsewoman such as few. + +The moment the mare had finished her oats she bridled her, led her out, +and sprang on her back; where sitting as on a pillion, she rode quietly +out of the farm-close. The moment she was beyond the gate, she leaned +back, and, throwing her right foot over the mare's crest, rode like an +Amazon, at ease, and with mastery. The same moment the mare was away, +up hill and down dale, almost at racing speed. Had the coming moon been +above the horizon, the Amazon farm-girl would have been worth meeting! +So perfectly did she yield her lithe, strong body to every motion of +the mare, abrupt or undulant, that neither ever felt a jar, and their +movements seemed the outcome of a vital force common to the two. Kirsty +never thought whether she was riding well or ill, gracefully or +otherwise, but the mare knew that all was right between them. Kirsty +never touched the bridle except to moderate the mare's pace when she +was too much excited to heed what she said to her. + +Doubtless, to many eyes, she would have looked better in a riding +habit, but she would have felt like an eagle in a nightgown. She wore a +full winsey petticoat, which she managed perfectly, and stockings of +the same colour. + +On her head she had nothing but the silk net at that time and in that +quarter much worn by young unmarried women. In the rush of the gallop +it slipped, and its content escaped: she put the net in her pocket, and +cast a knot upon her long hair as if it had been a rope. This she did +without even slackening her speed, transferring from her hand to her +teeth the whip she carried. It was one colonel Gordon had given her +father in remembrance of a little adventure they had together, in which +a lash from it in the dark night was mistaken for a sword-cut, and did +them no small service. + +By the time they reached the castle, the moon was above the horizon. +Kirsty brought the mare to a walk, and resuming her pillion-seat, +remanded her hair to its cage, and readjusted her skirt; then, setting +herself as in a side-saddle, she rode gently up to the castle-door. + +A manservant, happening to see her from the hall-window, saved her +having to ring the bell, and greeted her respectfully, for everybody +knew Corbyknowe's Kirsty. She said she wanted to see Mr. Gordon, and +suggested that perhaps he would be kind enough to speak to her at the +door. The man went to find his master, and in a minute or two brought +the message that Mr. Gordon would be with her presently. Kirsty drew +her mare back into the shadow which, the moon being yet low, a great +rock on the crest of a neighbouring hill cast upon the approach, and +waited. + +It was three minutes before Francis came sauntering bare-headed round +the corner of the house, his hands in his pockets, and a cigar in his +mouth. He gave a glance round, not seeing his visitor at once, and then +with a nod, came toward her, still smoking. His nonchalance, I believe, +was forced and meant to cover uneasiness. For all that had passed to +make him forget Kirsty, he yet remembered her uncomfortably, and at the +present moment could not help regarding her as an angelic _bete noir_, +of whom he was more afraid than of any other human being. He approached +her in a sort of sidling stroll, as if he had no actual business with +her, but thought of just asking whether she would sell her horse. He +did not speak, and Kirsty sat motionless until he was near enough for a +low-voiced conference. + +'What are ye aboot wi' Phemy Craig, Francie?' she began, without a word +of greeting. + +Kirsty was one of the few who practically deny time; with whom what +was, is; what is, will be. She spoke to the tall handsome man in the +same tone and with the same forms as when they were boy and girl +together. + +He had meant their conversation to be at arm's length, so to say, but +his intention broke down at once, and he answered her in the same +style. + +'I ken naething aboot her. What for sud I?' he answered. + +'I ken ye dinna ken whaur she is, for I div,' returned Kirsty. 'Ye +answer a queston I never speired! What are ye aboot wi' Phemy, I +challenge ye again! Puir lassie, she has nae brither to say the word!' + +'That's a' verra weel; but ye see, Kirsty,' he began--then stopped, and +having stared at her a moment in silence, exclaimed, 'Lord, what a +splendid woman you've grown!'--He had probably been drinking with his +mother. + +Kirsty sat speechless, motionless, changeless as a soldier on guard. +Gordon had to resume and finish his sentence. + +'As I was going to say, _you_ can't take the place of a brother to her, +Kirsty, else I should know how to answer you!--It's awkward when a lady +takes you to task,' he added with a drawl. + +'Dinna trouble yer heid aboot that, Francie: hert ye hae little to +trouble aboot onything!' rejoined Kirsty. Then changing to English as +he had done, she went on: 'I claim no consideration on that score.' + +Francis Gordon felt very uncomfortable. It was deuced hard to be +bullied by a woman! + +He stood silent, because he had nothing to say. + +'Do you mean to marry my Phemy?' asked Kirsty. + +'Really, Miss Barclay,' Francis began, but Kirsty interrupted him. + +'Mr. Gordon,' she said sternly, 'be a man, and answer me. If you mean +to marry her, say so, and go and tell her father--or my father, if you +prefer. She is at the Knowe, miserable, poor child! that she did not +meet you to-night. That was my doing; she could not help herself. + +Gordon broke into a strained laugh. + +'Well, you've got her, and you can keep her!' he said. + +'You have not answered my question!' + +'Really, Miss Barclay, you must not be too hard on a man! Is a fellow +not to speak to a woman but he must say at once whether or not he +intends to marry her?' + +'Answer my question.' + +'It is a ridiculous one!' + +'You have been trystin' with her almost every night for something like +a month!' rejoined Kirsty, 'and the question is not at all ridiculous.' + +'Let it be granted then, and let the proper person ask me the question, +and I will answer it. You, pardon me, have nothing to do with the +matter in hand.' + +'That is the answer of a coward,' returned Kirsty, her cheek flaming at +last. 'You know the guileless nature of your old schoolmaster, and take +advantage of it! You know that the poor girl has not a man to look to, +and you will not have a woman befriend her! It is cowardly, ungrateful, +mean, treacherous. You are a bad man, Francie! You always were a fool, +but now you are a wicked fool! If I were her brother--if I were a man, +I would thrash you!' + +'It's a good thing you're not able, Kirsty! I should be frightened!' +said Gordon, with a laugh and a shrug, thinking to throw the thing +aside as done with. + +'I said, if I was a man!' returned Kirsty. 'I did not say, if I was +able. I _am_ able.' + +'I don't see why a woman should leave to any man what she's able to do +for herself!' said Kirsty, as if communing with her own thoughts.-- +'Francie, you're no gentleman; you are a scoundrel and a coward!' she +immediately added aloud. + +'Very well,' returned Francis angrily; 'since you choose to be treated +as a man, and tell me I am no gentleman, I tell you I wouldn't marry +the girl if the two of you went on your knees to me!--A common, silly, +country-bred flirt!--ready for anything a man--' + +Kirsty's whip descended upon him with a merciless lash. The hiss of it, +as it cut the air with all the force of her strong arm, startled her +mare, and she sprang aside, so that Kirsty, who, leaning forward, had +thrown the strength of her whole body into the blow, could not but lose +her seat. But it was only to stand upright on her feet, fronting her--call +him enemy, antagonist, victim, what you will. Gordon was grasping +his head: the blow had for a moment blinded him. She gave him another +stinging cut across the hands. + +'That's frae yer father! The whup was his, and his swoord never did +fairer wark!' she said.--'I hae dune for him what I cud!' she added in +a low sorrowful voice, and stepped back, as having fulfilled her +mission. + +He rushed at her with a sudden torrent of evil words. But he was no +match for her in agility as, I am almost certain, he would have proved +none in strength had she allowed him to close with her: she avoided him +as she had more than once _jinkit_ a charging bull, every now and then +dealing him another sharp blow from his father's whip. The treatment +began to bring him to his senses. + +'For God's sake, Kirsty,' he cried, ceasing his attempts to lay hold of +her, 'behaud, or we'll hae the haill hoose oot, and what'll come o' me +than I daurna think! I doobt I'll never hear the last o' 't as 'tis!' + +'Am I to trust ye, Francie?' + +'I winna lay a finger upo' ye, damn ye!' he said in mingled wrath and +humiliation. + +Throughout, Kirsty had held her mare by the bridle, and she, although +behaving as well as she could, had, in the fright the laird's rushes +and the sounds of the whip caused her, added not a little to her +mistress's difficulties. Just as she sprang on her back, the door +opened, and faces looked peering out; whereupon with a cut or two she +encouraged a few wild gambols, so that all the trouble seemed to have +been with the mare. Then she rode quietly through the gate. + +Gordon stood in a motionless fury until he heard the soft thunder of +the mare's hoofs on the turf as Kirsty rode home at a fierce gallop; +then he turned and went into the house, not to communicate what had +taken place, but to lie about it as like truth as he might find +possible. + +About half-way home, on the side of a hill, across which a low wind, +the long death-moan of autumn, blew with a hopeless, undulant, but not +intermittent wail among the heather, Kirsty broke into a passionate fit +of weeping, but ere she reached home all traces of her tears had +vanished. + +Gordon did not go the next day, nor the day after, but he never saw +Phemy again. It was a week before he showed himself, and then he was +not a beautiful sight. He attributed the one visible wale on his cheek +and temple to a blow from a twig as he ran in the dusk through the +shrubbery after a strange dog. Even at the castle they did not know +exactly when he left it. His luggage was sent after him. + +The domestics at least were perplexed as to the wale on his face, until +the man to whom Kirsty had spoken at the door hazarded a conjecture or +two, which being not far from the truth, and as such accepted, the +general admiration and respect which already haloed Corbyknowe's +Kirsty, were thenceforward mingled with a little wholesome fear. + +When Kirsty told her father and mother what she had done at castle +Weelset, neither said a word. Her mother turned her head away, but the +light in her father's eyes, had she had any doubt as to how they would +take it, would have put her quite at her ease. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION + + +Poor little Phemy was in bed, and had cried herself asleep. Kirsty was +more tired than she had ever been before. She went to bed at once, but, +for a long time, not to sleep. + +She had no doubt her parents approved of the chastisement she had given +Gordon, and she herself nowise repented of it; yet the instant she lay +down, back came the same sudden something that set her weeping on the +hillside. As then, all un-sent for, the face of Francie Gordon, such as +he was in their childhood, rose before her, but marred by her hand with +stripes of disgrace from his father's whip; and with the vision came +again the torrent of her tears, for, if his father had then struck him +so, she would have been bold in his defence. She pressed her face into +the pillow lest her sobs should be heard. She was by no means a young +woman ready to weep, but the thought of the boy-face with her blows +upon it, got within her guard, and ran her through the heart. It seemed +as if nevermore would she escape the imagined sight. It is a sore thing +when a woman, born a protector, has for protection to become an +avenger, and severe was the revulsion in Kirsty from an act of violence +foreign to the whole habit, though nowise inconsistent with the +character, of the calm, thoughtful woman. She had never struck even the +one-horned cow that would, for very cursedness, kick over the +milk-pail! Hers was the wrath of the mother, whose very presence in a +calm soul is its justification--for how could it be there but by the +original energy? The wrath was gone, and the mother soul turned against +itself--not in judgment at all, but in irrepressible feeling. She did +not for one moment think, I repeat, that she ought not to have done it, +and she was glad in her heart to know that what he had said and she had +done must keep Phemy and him apart; but there was the blow on the face +of the boy she had loved, and there was the reflex wound in her own +soul! Surely she loved him yet with her mother-love, else how could she +have been angry enough with him to strike him! For weeks the pain +lasted keen, and it was ever after ready to return. It was a human type +of the divine suffering in the discipline of the sinner, which with +some of the old prophets takes the shape of God's repenting of the +evils he has brought on his people; and was the only trouble she ever +kept from her mother: she feared to wake her own pain in the dearer +heart. She could have told her father; for, although he was, she knew, +just as loving as her mother, he was not so soft-hearted, and would +not, she thought, distress himself too much about an ache more or less +in a heart that had done its duty; but as she could not tell her +mother, she would not tell her father. But her father and mother saw +that a change had passed upon her, and partially, if not quite, +understood the nature of it. They perceived that she left behind her on +that night a measure of her gaiety, that thereafter she was yet gentler +to her parents, and if possible yet tenderer to her brother. + +For all the superiority constantly manifested by her in her relations +with Francis, the feeling was never absent from her that he was of a +race above her own; and now the visage of the young officer in her +father's old regiment never, any more than that of her play-fellow, +rose in her mind's eye uncrossed by the livid mark of her whip from the +temple down the cheek! Whether she had actually seen it so, she did not +certainly remember, but so it always came to her, and the face of the +man never cost her a tear; it was only that of the boy that made her +weep. + +Another thing distressed her even more: the instant ere she struck the +first, the worst blow, she saw on his face an expression so meanly +selfish that she felt as if she hated him. That expression had vanished +from her visual memory, her whip had wiped it away, but she knew that +for a moment she had all but hated him--if it was indeed _all but_! + +All the house was careful the next morning that Phemy should not be +disturbed; and when at length the poor child appeared, looking as if +her colour was not 'ingrain,' and so had been washed out by her tears, +Kirsty made haste to get her a nice breakfast, and would answer none of +her questions until she had made a proper meal. + +'Noo, Kirsty,' said Phemy at last, 'ye maun tell me what he said whan +ye loot him ken 'at I cudna win til him 'cause ye wudna lat me!' + +'He saidna muckle to that. I dinna think he had been sair missin ye.' + +'I see ye're no gaein to tell me the trowth, Kirsty! I ken by mysel he +maun hae been missin me dreidfu'!' + +'Ye can jeedge nae man by yersel, Phemy. Men's no like hiz lass-fowk!' + +Phemy laughed superior. + +'What ken ye aboot men, Kirsty? There never cam a man near ye, i' the +w'y o' makin up til ye!' + +'I'm no preten'in to ony exparience,' returned Kirsty; 'I wad only hae +ye tak coonsel wi' common sense. Is 't likly, Phemy, 'at a man wi gran' +relations, and gran' notions, a man wi' a fouth o' grit leddies in 's +acquantance to mak a fule o' him and themsel's thegither, special noo +'at he's an offisher i' the Company's service--is 't ony gait likly, I +say, 'at he sud be as muckle ta'en up wi' a wee bit cuintry lassie as +she cudna but be wi' him?' + +'Noo, Kirsty, ye jist needna gang aboot to gar me mistrust ane wha's +the verra mirror o' a' knichtly coortesy,' rejoined Phemy, speaking out +of the high-flown, thin atmosphere she thought the region of poetry, +'for ye canna! Naething ever onybody said cud gar me think different o' +_him_!' + +'Nor naething ever he said himsel?' asked Kirsty. + +'Naething,' answered Phemy, with strength and decision. + +'No gien it was 'at naething wud ever gar him merry ye?' + +'That he micht weel say, for he winna need garrin!--But he never said +it, and ye needna try to threpe it upo' me!' she added, in a tone that +showed the very idea too painful. + +'He did say't, Phemy.' + +'Wha tellt ye? It's lees! Somebody's leein!' + +'He said it til me himsel. Never a lee has onybody had a chance o' +puttin intil the tale!' + +'He never said it, Kirsty!' cried Phemy, her cheeks now glowing, now +pale as death. 'He daurna!' + +'He daured; and he daured to _me_! He said, "I wudna merry her gien +baith o' ye gaed doon upon yer knees to me!"' + +'Ye maun hae sair angert him, Kirsty, or he wudna hae said it! Of +coorse he wasna to be guidit by you! He _cud_na hae meaned what he +said! He wad never hae said it to me! I wuss wi' a' my hert I hadna +latten ye til 'im! Ye hae ruined a'!' + +'Ye never loot me gang, Phemy! It was my business to gang.' + +'I see what's intil't!' cried Phemy, bursting into tears. 'Ye tellt him +hoo little ye thoucht o' me, and that gart him change his min'!' + +'Wud he be worth greitin about gien that war the case, Phemy? But ye +ken it wasna that! Ye ken 'at I jist cudna du onything o' the sort!-- +I'm jist ashamed to deny't!' + +'Hoo am I to ken? There's nae a wuman born but wad fain hae him til +hersel!' + +Kirsty held her peace for pity, thinking what she could say to convince +her of Gordon's faithlessness. + +'He didna say he hadna promised?' resumed Phemy through her sobs. + +'We camna upo' that.' + +'That's what I'm thinkin!' + +'I kenna what ye're thinking, Phemy!' + +'What did ye gie him, Kirsty, whan he tauld ye--no 'at I believe a word +o' 't--'at he wud nane o' me?' + +Kirsty laughed with a scorn none the less clear that it was quiet. + +'Jist a guid lickin,' she answered. + +'Ha, ha!' laughed Phemy hysterically. 'I tellt ye ye was leein! Ye hae +been naething but leein--a' for fun, of coorse, I ken that--to mak a +fule o' me for bein fleyt!' + +Despair, for a moment, seemed to overwhelm Kirsty. Was it for this she +had so wounded her own soul! How was she to make the poor child +understand? She lifted up her heart in silence. At last she said,-- + +'Ye winna see mair o' him this year or twa onygait, I'm thinkin! Gien +ever ye get a scart o' 's pen, it'll surprise me. But gien ever ye hae +the chance, which may God forbid, tell him I said I had gien him his +licks, and daured him to come and deny't to my face. He winna du that, +Phemy! He kens ower weel I wad jist gie him them again!' + +'He wud kill ye, Kirsty! _You_ gie him his licks!' + +'He micht kill me, but he'd hae a pairt o' his licks first!--And noo +gien ye dinna believe me I winna answer a single question mair ye put +to me. I hae been tellin ye--no God's trowth, it's true, but the +deevil's--and it's no use, for ye winna believe a word o' 't!' + +Phemy rose up a pygmy Fury. + +'And ye laid han' to cheek o' that king o' men, Kirsty Barclay? Lord, +haud me ohn killt her! Little hauds me frae riven ye to bits wi' my twa +han's!' + +'I laidna han' to cheek o' Francie Gordon, Phemy; I jist throosh him +wi' his father's ain ridin whup 'at my hert's like to brak to think o' +'t. I doobt he'll carry the marks til's grave!' + +Kirsty broke into a convulsion of silent sobs and tears. + +'Kirsty Barclay, ye're a deevil!' cried Phemy in a hoarse whisper: she +was spent with passion. + +The little creature stood before Kirsty, her hands clenched and shaking +with rage, blue flashes darting about in her eyes. Kirsty, at once +controlling the passion of her own heart, sat still as a statue, +regarding her with a sad pity. A sparrow stood chattering at a big +white brooding dove; and the dove sorrowed for the sparrow, but did not +know how to help the fluttering thing. + +'Lord!' cried Phemy, 'I'll be cursin a' the warl' and God himsel, gien +I gang on this gait!--Eh, ye fause wuman!' + +Kirsty sprang upon her at one bound from her seat, threw her arms round +her so that she could not move hers, and sitting down with her on her +lap, said-- + +'Phemy, gien I was yer mither, I wad gie ye yer licks for sayin what ye +didna i' yer hert believe! A' the time ye was keepin company wi' +Francie Gordon, ye ken i' yer ain sowl ye was never richt sure o' him! +And noo I tell ye plainly that, although I strack him times and times +wi' my whup--and saired him weel!-I div not believe him sae +ill-contrived as ye wad gar me think him. Him and me was bairns +thegither, and I ken the natur o' him, and tak his pairt again ye, for, +oot o' pride and ambition, ye're an enemy til him: I div not believe +ever he promised to merry ye! He's behaved ill eneuch wantin +that--lattin a gowk o' a lassie like you believe what ye likit, and him +only carryin on wi' ye for the ploy o' 't, haeing naething to du, and +sick o' his ain toom heid and still toomer hert; but a man's word's his +word, and Francie's no sae ill as your tale wud mak him! There, Phemy, +I hae said my say!' + +She loosened her arms. But Phemy lay still, and putting her arms round +Kirsty's neck, wept in a bitter silence. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MUTUAL MINISTRATION + + +In a minute or so the door opened, and Steenie coming one step into the +kitchen, stood and stared with such a face of concern that Kirsty was +obliged to speak. I do not believe he had ever before seen a woman +weeping. He shivered visibly. + +'Phemy's no that weel,' she said. 'Her hert's sae sair it gars her +greit. She canna help greitin, puir dauty!' + +Phemy lifted her face from Kirsty's bosom, where, like a miserable +child, she had been pressing it hard, and, seeming to have lost in the +depth of her grief all her natural shyness, looked at Steenie with the +most pitiful look ever countenance wore: her rage had turned to +self-commiseration. The cloud of mingled emotion and distress on the +visage of Steenie wavered, shifted, changed, and settled into the +divinest look of pity and protection. Kirsty said she never saw +anything so unmistakably Godlike upon human countenance. Involuntarily +she murmured, 'Eh, the bonny man!' He turned away from them, and, his +head bent upon his breast, stood for a time utterly motionless. Even +Phemy, overpowered and stilled by that last look he cast upon her, +gazed at him with involuntary reverence. But only Kirsty knew that the +half-witted had sought and found audience with the Eternal, and was now +in his presence. + +He remained in this position, Kirsty thought, about three minutes. Then +he lifted his head, and walked straight from the house, nor turned nor +spoke. Kirsty did not go after him: she feared to tread on holy ground +uninvited. Nor would she leave Phemy until her mother came. + +She got up, set the poor girl on the chair, and began to get ready the +mid-day meal, hoping Phemy would help her, and gain some comfort from +activity. Nor was she disappointed. With a childish air of abstraction, +Phemy rose and began, as of old in the house, to busy herself, and +Kirsty felt much relieved. + +'But, oh,' she said to herself, 'the sairness o' that wee herty i' the +inside o' her!' + +Phemy never spoke, and went about her work mechanically. When at length +Mrs. Barclay came into the kitchen, Kirsty thought it better to leave +them together, and went to find Steenie. She spent the rest of the day +with him. Neither said a word about Phemy, but Steenie's countenance +shone all the afternoon, and she left him at night in his house on the +Horn, still in the after-glow of the mediation which had irradiated him +in the morning. + +When she came home, Kirsty found that her mother had put Phemy to bed. +The poor child had scarcely spoken all day, and seemed to have no life +in her. In the evening an attack of shivering, with other symptoms, +showed she was physically ill. Mrs. Barclay had sent for her father, +but the girl was asleep when he came. Aware that he would not hear a +word casting doubt on his daughter's discretion, and fearing therefore +that, if she told him how she came to be there, he would take her home +at any risk, where she would not be so well cared for as at the Knowe, +she had told him nothing of what had taken place; and he, thinking her +ailment would prove but a bad cold, had gone back to his books without +seeing her. At Mrs. Barclay's entreaty he had promised to send the +doctor, but never thought of it again. + +Kirsty found her very feverish, breathing with difficulty, and in +considerable pain. She sat by her through the night. She had seen +nothing of illness, but sympathetic insight is the first essential +endowment of a good nurse. + +All the night long--and Kirsty knew he was near--Steenie was roving +within sight of the window where the light was burning. He did not know +that Phemy was ill; pity for her heart-ache drew him thither. As soon +as he thought his sister would be up, he went in: the door was never +locked. She heard him, and came to him. The moment he learned Phemy's +condition, he said he would go for the doctor. Kirsty in vain begged +him to have some breakfast first: he took a piece of oatcake in his +hand and went. + +The doctor returned with him, and pronounced the attack pleurisy. Phemy +did not seem to care what became of her. She was ill a long time, and +for a fortnight the doctor came every day. + +There was now so much to be done, that Kirsty could seldom go with +Steenie to the hill. Nor did Steenie himself care to go for any time, +and was never a night from the house. When all were in bed, he would +generally coil himself on a bench by the kitchen-fire, at any moment +ready to answer the lightest call of Kirsty, who took pains to make him +feel himself useful, as indeed he was. Although now he slept +considerably better at night and less in the day, he would start to his +feet at the slightest sound, like the dog he had almost ceased to +imagine himself except in his dreams. In carrying messages, or in +following directions, he had always shown himself perfectly +trustworthy. + +Slowly, very slowly, Phemy recovered. But long before she was well, his +family saw that the change for the better which had been evident in +Steenie's mental condition for some time before Phemy's illness, was +now manifesting itself plainly in his person. The intense compassion +which, that memorable morning, roused his spirit even to the glorifying +of his visage, seemed now settling in his looks and clarifying them. +His eyes appeared to shine less from his brain, and more from his mind; +he stood more erect; and, as encouraging a symptom, perhaps, as any, he +had grown more naturally conscious of his body and its requirements. +Kirsty, coming upon him one morning as he somewhat ruefully regarded +his trowsers, suggested a new suit, and was delighted to see his face +shine up, and hear him declare himself ready to go with her and be +measured for it. She found also soon after, to her joy, that he had for +some time been enlarging with hammer and chisel a certain cavity in one +of the rocks inside his house on the Horn, that he might use it for a +bath. + +In all these things she saw evident signs of a new start in the growth +of his spiritual nature; and if she spied danger ahead, she knew that +the God whose presence in him was making him grow, was ahead with the +danger also. + +Steenie not only now went attired as befitted David Barclay's son, but +to an ordinary glance would have appeared nowise remarkable. Kirsty +ceased to look upon him with the pity hitherto colouring all her +devotion; pride had taken its place, which she buttressed with a +massive hope, for Kirsty was a splendid hoper. People in the town, +where now he was oftener seen, would remark on the wonderful change in +him.--'What's come to fule Steenie?' said one of a group he had just +passed. 'Haith, he's luikin 'maist like ither fowk!'--'I'm thinkin the +deevil maun hae gane oot o' him!' said another, and several joined in +with their remarks.--'Nae muckle o' a deevil was there to gang oot! He +was aye an unco hairmless cratur!'--'And that saft-hertit til a' leevin +thing!'--'He was that! I saw him ance face a score o' laddies to +proteck a poddick they war puttin to torment, whan, the Lord kens, +he had need o' a' his wits to tak care o' himsel!'--'Aye, jist like +him!'--'Weel, the Lord taks care o' him, for he's ane o' his ain +innocents!' + +Kirsty, before long, began to teach him to sit on a horse, and, after +but a few weeks of her training, he could ride pretty well. + +It was many weeks before Phemy was fit to go home. Her father came to +see her now and then, but not very often: he had his duties to attend +to, and his books consoled him. + +As soon as Phemy was able to leave her room, Steenie constituted +himself her slave, and was ever within her call. He seemed always to +know when she would prefer having him in sight, and when she would +rather be alone. He would sit for an hour at the other end of the room, +and watch her like a dog without moving. He could have sat so all day, +but, as soon as she was able to move about, nothing could keep Phemy in +one place more than an hour at the utmost. By this time Steenie could +read a little, and his reading was by no means as fruitless as it was +slow; he would sit reading, nor at all lose his labour that, every +other moment when within sight of her, he would look up to see if she +wanted anything. To this mute attendance of love the girl became so +accustomed that she regarded it as her right, nor had ever the spoiled +little creature occasion to imagine that it was not yielded her; and if +at a rare moment she threw him glance or small smile--a crumb from her +table to her dog--Steenie would for one joyous instant see into the +seventh heaven, and all the day after dwell in the fifth or sixth. On +fine clear noontides she would walk a little way with him and Snootie, +and then he would talk to her as he had never done except to Kirsty, +telling her wonderful things about the dog and the sheep, the stars and +the night, the clouds and the moon; but he never spoke to her of the +bonny man. When, on their return, she would say they had had a pleasant +walk together, his delight would be unutterable; but all the time +Steenie had not once ventured a word belonging to any of the deeper +thoughts in which his heart was most at home. Was it that in his own +eyes he was but a worm glorified with the boon of serving an angel? was +it that he felt as if she knew everything of that kind, and he had +nothing to tell her but the things that entered at his eyes and ears? +or was it that a sacred instinct of her incapacity for holy things kept +him silent concerning such? At times he would look terribly sad, and +the mood would last for hours. + +Not once since she began to get better, had Phemy alluded to her +faithless lover. In its departure her illness seemed to have carried +with it her unwholesome love for him; and certainly, as if overjoyed at +her deliverance, she had become much more of a child. Kirsty was glad +for her sake, and gladder still that Francie Gordon had done her no +irreparable injury--seemed not even to have left his simulacrum in her +memory and imagination. As her strength returned, she regained the +childish merriment which had always drawn Kirsty, and the more strongly +that she was not herself light-hearted. Kirsty's rare laugh was indeed +a merry one, but when happiest of all she hardly smiled. Perhaps she +never would laugh her own laugh until she opened her eyes in heaven! +But how can any one laugh his real best laugh before that! Until then +he does not even know his name! + +Phemy seemed more pleased to see her father every time he came; and +Kirsty began to hope she would tell him the trouble she had gone +through. But then Kirsty had a perfect faith in her father, and a girl +like Phemy never has! Her father, besides, had never been father enough +to her. He had been invariably kind and trusting, but his books had +been more to his hourly life than his daughter. He had never drawn her +to him, never given her opportunity of coming really near him. No +story, however, ends in this world. The first volume may have been very +dull, and yet the next be full of delight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +PHEMY YIELDS PLACE + + +It was the last week in November when the doctor came himself to take +Phemy home to her father. The day was bright and blue, with a thin +carpet of snow on the ground, beneath which the roads were in good +condition. While she was getting ready, old David went out and talked +to the doctor who would not go in, his wrinkled face full of light, and +his heart glad with the same gladness as Kirsty's. + +Mrs. Barclay and Kirsty busied themselves about Phemy, who was as +playful and teasing as a pet kitten while they dressed her, but Steenie +kept in the darkest corner, watching every thing, but offering no +unneeded help. Without once looking or asking for him, never missing +him in fact, Phemy climbed, with David's aid, into the gig beside the +doctor, at once began talking to him, and never turned her head as they +drove away. The moment he heard the sound of the horse's hoofs, Steenie +came quietly from the gloom and went out of the back-door, thinking no +eye was upon him. But his sister's heart was never off him, and her +eyes were oftener on him than he knew. + +Of late he had begun again to go to the hill at night, and Kirsty +feared his old trouble might be returning. Glad as she was to serve +Phemy, and the father through the daughter, she was far from regretting +her departure, for now she would have leisure for Steenie and her +books, and now the family would gather itself once more into the +perfect sphere to which drop and ocean alike desires to shape itself! + +'I thoucht ye wud be efter me!' cried Steenie, as she opened the door +of his burrow, within an hour of his leaving the house. + +Now Kirsty had expected to find him full of grief because of Phemy's +going, especially as the heartless girl, for such Steenie's sister +could not help thinking her, never said good-bye to her most loving +slave. And she did certainly descry on his countenance traces of +emotion, and in his eyes the lingering trouble as of a storm all but +overblown. There was however in his face the light as of a far sunk +aurora, the outmost rim of whose radiance, doubtfully visible, seemed +to encircle his whole person. He was not lost in any gloom! She sat +down beside him, and waited for him to speak. + +Never doubting she would follow him, he had already built up a good +peat-fire on the hearth, and placed for her beside it a low settle +which his father had made for him, and he had himself covered with a +sheepskin of thickest fleece. They sat silent for a while. + +'Wud ye say noo, Kirsty, 'at I was ony use til her?' he asked at +length. + +'Jist a heap,' answered Kirsty. 'I kenna what ever she or I wud hae +dune wantin ye! She nott (_needed_) a heap o' luikin til!' + +'And ye think mebbe she'll be some the better, some way or ither, for +'t?' + +'Ay, I div think that, Steenie. But to tell the trowth, I'm no sure +she'll think verra aft aboot what ye did for her!' + +'Ow, na! What for sud she? There's no need for that! It was for hersel, +no for her think-aboot-it, I tried. I was jist fain to du something +like wash the feet o' her. Whan I cam in that day--the day efter ye +broucht her hame, ye ken--the luik of her puir, bonny, begrutten facy +jist turnt my hert ower i' the mids o' me. I maist think, gien I hadna +been able to du onything for her afore she gaed, I wud hae come hame +here to my ain hoose like a deein sheep, and lain doon. Yon face o' +hers comes back til me noo like the face o' a lost lammie 'at the +shepherd didna think worth gaein oot to luik for. But gien I had sic a +sair hert for her, the bonny man maun hae had a sairer, and he'll du +for her what he can--and that maun be muckle--muckle! They ca' 'im the +gude Shepherd, ye ken!' + +He sat silent for some minutes, and Kirsty's heart was too full to let +her speak. She could only say to her-self--'And folk ca's him +half-wuttit, div they! Weel, lat them! Gien he be half-wuttit, the +Lord's made up the ither half wi' better!' + +'Ay!' resumed Steenie, 'the gude shepherd tynes (_loses_) no ane o' +them a'! But I'll miss her dreidfu'! Eh, but I likit to watch the wan +bit facy grow and grow till 't was roon' and rosy again! And, eh, sic a +bonny reid and white as it was! And better yet I likit to see yon +hert-brakin luik o' the lost are weirin aye awa and awa till 't was +clean gane!--And noo she's back til her father, bricht and licht and +bonny as the lown starry nicht!--Eh, but it maks me happy to think o' 't!' + +'Sae it maks me!' responded Kirsty, feeling, as she regarded him, like +a glorified mother beholding her child walking in the truth. + +'And noo,' continued Steenie, 'I'm richt glaid she's gane, and my min' +'ll be mair at ease gien I tell ye what for:--I maun aye tell you +a'thing 'at 'll bide tellin, Kirsty, ye ken!--Weel, a week or twa ago, +I began to be troubled as I never was troubled afore. I canna weel say +what was the cause o' 't, or the kin' o' thing it was, but something +had come that I didna want to come, and couldna keep awa. Maybe ye'll +ken what it was like whan I tell ye 'at I was aye think-thinkin aboot +Phemy. Noo, afore she cam, I was maist aye thinkin aboot the bonny man; +and it wasna that there was ony sic necessity for thinkin aboot Phemy, +for by that time she was oot o' her meesery, whatever that was, or +whatever had the wyte (_blame_) o' 't. I' the time afore her, whan my +min' wud grow a bit quaiet, and the pooers o' darkness wud draw +themsels awa a bit, aye wud come the face o' the bonny man intil the +toom place, and fill me fresh up wi' the houp o' seein him or lang; but +noo, at ilka moment, up wud come, no the face o' the bonny man, but the +face o' Phemy; and I didna like that, and I cudna help it. And a +scraichin fear grippit me, 'at I was turnin fause to the bonny man. It +wisna that I thoucht he wud be vext wi' me, but that I cudna bide +onything to come atween me and him. I teuk mysel weel ower the heckles, +but I cudna mak oot 'at I cud a'thegither help it. Ye see, somehoo, no +bein made a'thegither like ither fowk, I cudna think aboot twa things +at ance, and I bude to think aboot the ane that cam o' 'tsel like. But, +as I say, it troubled me. Weel, the day, my hert was sair at her gangin +awa, for I had been lang used to seein her ilka hoor, maist ilka +minute; and the ae wuss i' my hert at the time was to du something +worth duin for her, and syne dee and hae dune wi' 't--and there, I +doobt, I clean forgot the bonny man! Whan she got intil the doctor's +gig and awa they drave, my hert grew cauld; I was like ane deid and +beginnin to rot i' the grave. But that minute I h'ard, or it was jist +as gien I h'ard--I dinna mean wi' my lugs, but i' my hert, ye ken--a +v'ice cry, "Steenie! Steenie!" and I cried lood oot, "Comin, Lord!" but +I kent weel eneuch the v'ice was inside o' me, and no i' my heid, but +i' my hert--and nane the less i' me for that! Sae awa at ance I cam to +my closet here, and sat doon, and hearkent i' the how o' my hert. Never +a word cam, but I grew quaiet--eh, sae quaiet and content like, wi'oot +onything to mak me sae, but maybe 'at he was thinkin aboot me! And I'm +quaiet yet. And as sune 's it's dark, I s' gang oot and see whether the +bonny man be onywhaur aboot. There's naething atween him and me noo; +for, the moment I begin to think, it's him 'at comes to be thoucht +aboot, and no Phemy ony mair!' + +'Steenie,' said Kirsty, 'it was the bonny man sent Phemy til ye--to gie +ye something to du for him, luikin efter ane o' his silly lambs.' + +'Ay,' returned Steenie; 'I ken she wasna wiselike, sic as you and my +mither. She needit a heap o' luikin efter, as ye said.' + +'And wi' haein to luik efter her, he kenned that the thouchts that +troubled ye wudna sae weel win in, and wud learn to bide oot. Jist luik +at ye noo! See hoo ye hae learnt to luik efter yersel! Ye saw it cudna +be agreeable to her to hae ye aboot her no that weel washed, and wi' +claes ye didna keep tidy and clean! Sin' ever ye tuik to luikin efter +Phemy, I hae had little trouble luikin efter you!' + +'I see't, Kirsty, I see't! I never thoucht o' the thing afore! I micht +du a heap to mak mysel mair like ither fowk! I s' no forget, noo 'at I +hae gotten a grip o' the thing. Ye'll see, Kirsty!' + +'That's my ain Steenie!' answered Kirsty. 'Maybe the bonny man cudna be +aye comin to ye himsel, haein ither fowk a heap to luik til, and sae +sent Phemy to lat ye ken what he would hae o' ye. Noo 'at ye hae begun, +ye'll be growin mair and mair like ither fowk.' + +'Eh, but ye fleg me! I may grow ower like ither fowk! I maun awa oot, +Kirsty! I'm growin fleyt.' + +'What for, Steenie?' cried Kirsty, not a little frightened herself, and +laying her hand on his arm. She feared his old trouble was returning in +force. + +''Cause ither fowk never sees the bonny man, they tell me,' he replied. + +'That's their ain wyte,' answered Kirsty. 'They micht a' see him gien +they wud--or at least hear him say they sud see him or lang.' + +'Eh, but I'm no sure 'at ever I did see him, Kirsty!' + +'That winna haud ye ohn seen him whan the hoor comes. And the like's +true o' the lave.' + +'Ay, for I canna du wantin him--and sae nouther can they!' + +'Naebody can. A' maun hae seen him, or be gaein to see him.' + +'I hae as guid as seen him, Kirsty! He was there! He helpit me whan the +ill folk cam to pu' at me!--Ye div think though, Kirsty, 'at I'm b'un' +to see him some day?' + +'I'm thinkin the hoor's been aye set for that same!' answered Kirsty. + +'Kirsty,' returned Steenie, not quite satisfied with her reply, 'I'll +gang clean oot the wuts I hae, gien ye tell me I'm never to see him +face to face!' + +'Steenie,' rejoined Kirsty solemnly, 'I wud gang oot o' my wuts mysel +gien I didna believe that! I believe 't wi' a' my heart, my bonny man.' + +'Weel, and that's a' richt! But ye maunna ca' me yer bonny man, Kirsty; +for there's but ae bonny man, and we 're a' brithers and sisters. He +said it himsel!' + +'That's verra true, Steenie; but whiles ye're sae like him I canna help +ca'in ye by his name.' + +'Dinna du't again, Kirsty. I canna bide it. I'm no bonny! No but I wud +sair like to be bonny--bonny like him, Kirsty!--Did ye ever hear tell +'at he had a father? I h'ard a man ance say 'at he bed. Sic a bonny man +as that father maun be! Jist think o' his haein a son like _him_!-- +Dauvid Barclay maun be richt sair disappintit wi' sic a son as me--and +him sic a man himsel! What for is't, Kirsty?' + +'That 'll be are o' the secrets the bonny man's gaein to tell his ain +fowk whan he gets them hame wi' him!' + +'His ain fowk, Kirsty?' + +'Ay, siclike's you and me. Whan we gang hame, he'll tell's a' aboot a +heap o' things we wad fain ken.' + +'His ain fowk! His ain fowk!' Steenie went on for a while murmuring to +himself at intervals. At last he said, + +'What maks them his ain fowk, Kirsty?' + +'What maks me your fowk, Steenie?' she rejoined. + +'That's easy to tell! It's 'cause we hae the same father and mither; I +hae aye kenned that!' answered Steenie with a laugh. + +She had been trying to puzzle him, he thought, but had failed! + +'Weel, the bonny man and you and me, we hae a' the same father: that's +what maks us his ain fowk!--Ye see noo?' + +'Ay, I see! I see!' responded Steenie, and again was silent. + +Kirsty thought he had plenty now to meditate upon. + +'Are ye comin hame wi' me,' she asked, 'or are ye gaein to bide, +Steenie?' + +'I'll gang hame wi' ye, gien ye like, but I wud raither bide the +nicht,' he answered. 'I'll hae jist this ae nicht mair oot upo' the +hill, and syne the morn I'll come hame to the hoose, and see gien I can +help my mither, or maybe my father. That's what the bonny man wud like +best, I'm sure.' + +Kirsty went home with a glad heart: surely Steenie was now in a fair +way of becoming, as he phrased it, 'like ither fowk'! 'But the Lord's +gowk's better nor the warl's prophet!' she said to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE HORN + + +The beginning of the winter had been open and warm, and very little +snow had fallen. This was much in Phemy's favour, and by the new year +she was quite well. But, notwithstanding her heartlessness toward +Steenie, she was no longer quite like her old self. She was quieter and +less foolish; she had had a lesson in folly, and a long ministration of +love, and knew now a trifle about both. It is true she wrote nearly as +much silly poetry, but it was not so silly as before, partly because +her imagination had now something of fact to go upon, and poorest fact +is better than mere fancy. So free was her heart, however, that she +went of herself to see her aunt at the castle, to whom, having beheld +the love between David and his daughter, and begun to feel injured by +the little notice her father took of her, she bewailed his +indifference. + +At Mrs. Bremner's request she had made an appointment to go with her +from the castle on a certain Saturday to visit a distant relative, +living in a lonely cottage on the other side of the Horn--a woman too +old ever to leave her home. When the day arrived, both saw that the +weather gave signs of breaking, but the heavy clouds on the horizon +seemed no worse than had often shown themselves that winter, and as +often passed away. The air was warm, the day bright, the earth dry, and +Phemy and her aunt were in good spirits. They had purposed to return +early to Weelset, but agreed as they went that Phemy, the days being so +short, should take the nearer path to Tiltowie, over the Horn. By this +arrangement, their visit ended, they had no great distance to walk +together, Mrs. Bremner's way lying along the back of the hill, and +Phemy's over the nearer shoulder of it. + +As they took leave of each other a little later than they had intended, +Mrs. Bremner cast a glance at the gathering clouds, and said, + +'I doobt, lassie, it's gaein to ding on afore the nicht! I wuss we war +hame the twa o' 's! Gien it cam on to snaw and blaw baith, we micht hae +ill winnin there!' + +'Noucht's to fear, auntie,' returned Phemy. 'It's a heap ower warm to +snaw. It may rain--I wudna won'er, but there'll be nae snaw--no afore I +win hame, onygait.' + +'Weel, min', gien there be ae drap o' weet, ye maun change ilka stic +the minute ye're i' the hoose. Ye're no that stoot yet!' + +'I'll be sure, auntie!' answered Phemy, and they parted almost at a +right angle. + +Before Phemy got to the top of the hill-shoulder, which she had to +cross by a path no better than a sheep-track, the wind had turned to +the north, and was blowing keen, with gathering strength, from the +regions of everlasting ice, bringing with it a cold terrible to be +faced by such a slight creature as Phemy; and so rapidly did its force +increase that in a few minutes she had to fight for every step she +took; so that, when at length she reached the top, which lay bare to +the continuous torrent of fierce and fiercer rushes, her strength was +already all but exhausted. The wind brought up heavier and heavier +snow-clouds, and darkness with them, but before ever the snow began to +fall, Phemy was in evil case--in worse case, indeed, than she could +know. In a few minutes the tempest had blown all energy out of her, and +she sat down where was not a stone to shelter her. When she rose, +afraid to sit longer, she could no more see the track through the +heather than she could tell without it in which direction to turn. She +began to cry, but the wind did not heed her tears; it seemed determined +to blow her away. And now came the snow, filling the wind faster and +faster, until at length the frightful blasts had in them, perhaps, more +bulk of blinding and dizzying snowflakes than of the air which drove +them. They threatened between them to fix her there in a pillar of +snow. It would have been terrible indeed for Phemy on that waste +hillside, but that the cold and the tempest speedily stupefied her. + +Kirsty always enjoyed the winter heartily. For one thing, it roused her +poetic faculty--oh, how different in its outcome from Phemy's!--far +more than the summer. That very afternoon, leaving Steenie with his +mother, she paid a visit to the weem, and there, in the heart of the +earth, made the following little song, addressed to the sky-soaring +lark:-- + + What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? + On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + + A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in, + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! + The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi' a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + + Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, + Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + + But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! + I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + + Len' me yer throat to sing throuw, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, + And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + +Long before she had finished writing it, the world was dark outside. +She had heard but little heeded the roaring of the wind over her: when +at length she put her head up out of the earth, it seized her by the +hair as if it would drag it off. It took her more than an hour to get +home. + +In the meantime Steenie had been growing restless. Coming wind often +affected him so. He had been out with his father, who expected a storm, +to see that all was snug about byres and stables, and feed the few +sheep in an outhouse; now he had come in, and was wandering about the +house, when his mother prevailed on him to sit down by the fireside +with her. The clouds had gathered thick, and the afternoon was very +dark, but all was as yet still. He called his dog, and Snootie lay down +at his feet, ready for what might come. Steenie sat on a stool, with +his head on his mother's knee, and for a while seemed lost in thought. +Then, without moving or looking up, he said, as if thinking aloud,-- + +'It maun be fine fun up there amang thae cloods afore the flauks begin +to spread!' + +'What mean ye by that, Steenie, my man?' asked his mother. + +'They maun be packit sae close, sae unco close i' their muckle pocks, +like the feathers in a feather-bed! and syne, whan they lat them a' oot +thegither, like haudin the bed i' their twa ban's by the boddom +corners, they maun be smorin thick till they begin to spread!' + +'And wha think ye shaks oot the muckle pocks, Steenie?' + +'I dinna ken. I hae aften thoucht aboot it. I dinna think it's likly to +be the angels. It's mair like wark for the bairnies up yoner at the +muckle ferm at hame, whaur ilk ane, to the littlest littlin, kens what +he's aboot, and no ane o' them's like some o' 's doon here, 'at gangs +a' day in a dream, and canna get oorsels waukent oot o' 't. I wud be +surer but that I hae thoucht whiles I saw the muckle angels themsels +gaein aboot, throu and throu the ondingin flauchter o' the snaw--no +mony o' them, ye ken, but jist whiles ane and whiles anither, throu +amo' the cauld feathers, gaein aye straught wi' their heids up, walkin +comfortable, as gien they war at hame in't. I'm thinkin at sic a time +they'll be efter helpin some puir body 'at the snaw's like to be ower +muckle for. Eh me! gien I cud but get rid o' my feet, and win up to +see!' + +'What for yer feet, Steenie? What ails ye aye at yer feet? Feet's gey +usefu' kin o' thing's to craturs, whether gien them in fours or twas!' + +'Ay, but mine's sic a weicht! It's them 'at's aye haudin me doon! I wad +hae been up and awa lang syne gien it hadna been for them!' + +'And what wud hae been comin o' hiz wantin ye, Steenie?' + +'Ye wad be duin sae weel wantin me, 'at ye wud be aye wantin to be up +and efter me! A body's feet's nae doobt usefu to hand a body steady, +and ohn gane blawin aboot, but eh, they're unco cummarsum! But syne +they're unco guid tu to hand a body ohn thoucht owre muckle o' himsel! +They're fine heumblin things, a body's feet! But, eh, it'll be fine +wantin them!' + +'Whaur on earth gat ye sic notions aboot yer feet? Guid kens there's +naething amiss wi' yer feet! Nouther o' ye hes ony rizzon to be ashamit +o' yer feet. The fac is, your feet's by ordinar sma', Steenie, and can +add but unco little to yer weicht!' + +'It's a' 'at ye ken, mother!' answered Steenie with a smile. 'But, +'deed, I got my information aboot the feet o' fowk frae naegate i' this +warl'! The bonny man himsel sent word aboot them. He tellt the minister +'at tellt me, ance I was at the kirk wi' you, mother--lang, lang syne--twa +or three hun'er years, I'm thinkin'. The bonny man tellt his ain +fowk first that he was gaein awa in order that they michtna be able to +do wantin him, and bude to stir themselves and come up efter him. And +syne he slippit aff his feet, and gaed awa up intil the air whaur the +snaw comes frae. And ever sin syne he comes and gangs as he likes. And +efter that be telled the minister to tell hiz 'at we was to lay aside +the weicht that sae easy besets us, and rin. Noo by _rin_ he maun hae +meaned _rin up_, for a body's no to rin frae the deevil but resist him; +and what is't that hauds onybody frae rinnin up the air but his feet? +There!--But he's promised to help me aff wi' my feet some day: think o' +that!--Eh, gien I cud but get my feet aff! Eh, gien they wad but stick +i' my shune, and gang wi' them whan I pu' them aff! They're naething +efter a', ye ken, but the shune o' my sowl!' + +A gust of wind drove against the house, and sank as suddenly. + +'That'll be ane o' them!' said Steenie, rising hastily. 'He'll be +wantin me! It's no that aften they want onything o' me ayont the fair +words a' God's craturs luik for frae ane anither, but whiles they do +want me, and I'm thinkin they want me the nicht. I maun be gaein!' + +'Hoots, laddie!' returned his mother, 'what can they be wantin, thae +gran' offishers, o' siclike as you? Sit ye doon, and bide till they cry +ye plain. I wud fain hae ye safe i' the hoose the nicht!' + +'It's a' his hoose, mother! A' theroot's therein to him. He's in's ain +hoose a' the time, and I'm jist as safe atween his wa's as atween +yours. Didna naebody ever tell ye that, mother? Weel, I ken it to be +true! And for wantin sic like as me, gien God never has need o' a +midge, what for dis he mak sic a lot o' them?' + +''Deed it's true eneuch ye say!' returned his mother. 'But I div won'er +ye're no fleyt!' + +'Fleyt!' rejoined Steenie; 'what for wud I be fleyt? What is there to +be fleyt at? I never was fleyt at face o' man or wuman--na, nor o' +beast naither!--I was ance, and never but that ance, fleyt at the face +o' a bairn!' + +'And what for that, Steenie? + +'He was rinnin efter his wee sister to lick her, and his face was the +face o' a deevil. He nearhan' garred me hate him, and that wud hae been +a terrible sin. But, eh, puir laddie, he bed a richt fearsome wife to +the mither o' him! I'm thinkin the bonny man maun hae a heap o' tribble +wi' siclike, be they bairns or mithers!' + +'Eh, but ye're i' the richt there, laddie!--Noo hearken to me: ye +maunna gang the nicht!' said his mother anxiously. 'Gien yer father and +Kirsty wad but come in to persuaud ye! I'm clean lost wi'oot them!' + +'For the puir idiot hasna the sense to ken what's wantit o' him!' +supplemented Steenie, with a laugh almost merry. + +'Daur ye,' cried his mother indignantly, 'mint at sic a word and my +bairn thegither? He's my bonny man!' + +'Na, mother, na! _He's_ the bonny man at wha's feet I sall ae day sit, +clothed and i' my richt min'. He _is_ the bonny man!' + +'Thank the Lord,' continued his mother, still harping on the outrage of +such as called her child an idiot,' 'at ye're no an orphan--'at +there's three o' 's to tak yer part!' + +'Naebody can be an orphan,' said Steenie, 'sae lang's God's nae deid.' + +'Lord, and they ca' ye an idiot, div they!' exclaimed Marion Barclay.-- +'Weel, be ye or no, ye're ane o' the babes in wha's mooth he perfecteth +praise!' + +'He'll du that some day, maybe!' answered Steenie. + +'But! eh, Steenie,' pursued his mother, 'ye winna gang the nicht!' + +'Mother,' he answered, 'ye dinna ken, nor yet do I, what to mak o' +me--what wits I hae, and what wits I haena; but this ye'll alloo, that, +for onything ye ken, the bonny man may be cryin upon me to gang efter +some puir little yowie o' his, oot her lane i' the storm the nicht!' + +With these words he walked gently from the kitchen, his dog following +him. + +A terrible blast rushed right into the fire when he opened the door. +But he shut it behind him easily, and his mother comforted herself that +she had known him out in worse weather. Kirsty entered a moment after, +and when her father came in from the loft he called his workshop, they +had their tea, and sat round the fire after it, peacefully talking, a +little troubled, but nowise uneasy that their Steenie, the darling of +them all, was away on the Horn: he knew every foot of its sides better +than the collie who, a moment ago asleep before the fire, was now +following at his master's heel. + +The wind, which had fallen immediately after the second gust as after +the first, now began to blow with gathering force, and it took Steenie +much longer than usual to make his way over height and hollow from his +father's house to his own. But he was in no hurry, not knowing where he +was wanted. I do not think he met any angels as he went, but it was a +pleasure to think they might be about somewhere, for they were sorry +for his heavy feet, and always greeted him kindly. Not that they ever +spoke to him, he said, but they always made a friendly gesture--nodding +a stately head, waving a strong hand, or sending him a waft of cool air +as they went by, a waft that would come to him through the fiercest +hurricane as well as through the stillest calm. + +Before, strong-toiling against the wind, man and dog reached their +refuge among the rocks, the snow had begun to fall, and the night +seemed solid with blackness. The very flakes might have been black as +the snow of hell for any gleam they gave. But they arrived at last, and +Steenie, making Snootie go in before him, entered the low door with +bent head, and closed it behind them. The dog lay down weary, but +Steenie set about lighting the peats ready piled between the great +stones of the hearth. The wind howled over the waste hill in +multitudinous whirls, and swept like a level cataract over the ghastly +bog at its foot, but scarce a puff blew against the door of their +burrow. + +When his fire was well alight, Steenie seated himself by it on the +sheepskin settle, and fell into a reverie. How long he had sat thus he +did not know, when suddenly the wind fell, and with the lull master and +dog started together to their feet: was it indeed a cry they had heard, +or but a moan between wind and mountain? The dog flew to the door with +a whine, and began to sniff and scratch at the crack of the threshold; +Steenie, thinking it was still dark, went to get a lantern Kirsty had +provided him with, but which he had never yet had occasion to use. The +dog ran back to him, and began jumping upon him, indicating thus in the +dark recess where he found him that he wanted him to open the door. A +moment more and they were in the open universe, in a night all of snow, +lighted by the wide swooning gleam of a hidden moon, whose radiance, +almost absorbed, came filtering through miles of snow-cloud to reach +the world. Nothing but snow was to be seen in heaven or earth, but for +the present no more was falling. Steenie set the lighted lantern by the +door, and followed Snootie, who went sniffing and snuffing about. + +Steenie always regarded inferior animals, and especially dogs, as a +lower sort of angels, with ways of their own, into which it would be +time to inquire by and by, when either they could talk or he could bark +intelligently and intelligibly--in which it used to annoy him that he +had not yet succeeded. It was in part his intense desire to enter into +the thoughts of his dog, that used to make him imitate him the most of +the day. I think he put his body as nearly into the shape of the dog's +as he could, in order thus to aid his mind in feeling as the dog was +feeling. + +As the dog seemed to have no scent of anything, Steenie, after +considering for a moment what he must do, began to walk in a spiral, +beginning from the door, with the house for the centre. He had thus got +out of the little valley on to the open hill, and the wind had begun to +threaten reawaking, when Snootie, who was a little way to one side of +him, stopped short, and began scratching like a fury in the snow. +Steenie ran to him, and dropped on his knees to help him: he had +already got a part of something clear! It was the arm of a woman. So +deep was the snow over her, that the cry he and the dog had heard, +could not surely have been uttered by her! He was gently clearing the +snow from the head, and the snow-like features were vaguely emerging, +when the wind gave a wild howl, the night grew dark again, and in +bellowing blackness the death-silent snow was upon them. But in a +moment or two more, with Snootie's vigorous aid, he had drawn the body +of a slight, delicately formed woman out of it's cold, white mould. +Somehow, with difficulty, he got it on his back, the only way he could +carry it, and staggered away with it toward his house. Thus laden, he +might never have found it, near as it was, for he was not very strong, +and the ground was very rough as well as a little deep in snow, but +they had left such a recent track that the guidance of the dog was +sure. The wise creature did not, however, follow the long track, but +led pretty straight across the spiral for the hut. + +The body grew heavy on poor Steenie's back, and the cold of it came +through to his spine. It was so cold that it must be a dead thing, he +thought. His breathing grew very short, compelling him, several times, +to stop and rest. His legs became insensible under him, and his feet +got heavier and heavier in the snow-filled, entangling, impeding +heather. + +What if it were Phemy! he thought as he struggled on. Then he would +have the beautiful thing all to himself! But this was a dead thing, he +feared--only a thing, and no woman at all! Of course it couldn't be +Phemy! She was at home, asleep in her father's house! He had always +shrunk from death; even a dead mouse he could not touch without a +shudder; but this was a woman, and might come alive! It belonged to the +bonny man, anyhow, and he would stay out with it all night rather than +have it lie there alone in the snow! He would not be afraid of her: he +was nearly dead himself, and the dead were not afraid of the dead! She +had only put off her shoes! But she might be alive, and he must get her +into the house! He would like to put off his feet, but most people +would rather keep them on, and he must try to keep hers on for her! + +With fast failing energy he reached the door, staggered in, dropped his +burden gently on his own soft heather-bed, and fell exhausted. He lay +but a moment, came to himself, rose, and looked at the lovely thing he +had laboured to redeem from 'cold obstruction.' It lay just as it had +fallen from his back, its face uppermost: it _was_ Phemy! + +For a moment his blood seemed to stand still; then all the divine +senses of the half-witted returned to him. There was no time to be +sorrowful over her: he must save the life that might yet be in that +frozen form! He had nothing in the house except warmth, but warmth more +than aught else was what the cold thing needed! With trembling hands he +took off her half-thawed clothes, laid her in the thick blankets of his +bed, and covered her with every woollen thing in the hut. Then he made +up a large fire, in the hope that some of its heat might find her. + +She showed no sign of life. Her eyes were fast shut: those who die of +cold only sleep into a deeper sleep. Not a trace of suffering was to be +seen on her countenance. Death alone, pure, calm, cold, and sweet, was +there. But Steenie had never seen Death, and there was room for him to +doubt and hope. He laid one fold of a blanket over the lovely white +face, as he had seen a mother do with a sleeping infant, called his +dog, made him lie down on her feet, and told him to watch; then turned +away, and went to the door. As he passed the fire, he coughed and grew +faint, but recovering himself, picked up his fallen stick, and set out +for Corbyknowe and Kirsty. Once more the wind had ceased, but the snow +was yet falling. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE STORM AGAIN + + +Kirsty woke suddenly out of a deep, dreamless sleep. A white face was +bending over her--Steenie's--whiter than ever Kirsty had seen it. He +was panting, and his eyes were huge. She started up. + +'Come; come!' was all he was able to say. + +'What's the metter, Steenie?' she gasped. For a quarter of a minute he +stood panting, unable to speak. + +'I'm no thinkin onything's gane wrong,' he faltered at length with an +effort, recovering breath and speech a little. 'The bonny man--' + +He burst into tears and turned his head away. A vision of the white, +lovely, motionless thing, whose hand had fallen from his like a lump of +lead, lying alone at the top of the Horn, with the dog on her feet, had +overwhelmed him suddenly. + +Kirsty was sore distressed. She dreaded the worst when she saw him thus +lose the self-restraint hitherto so remarkable in him. She leaned from +her bed, threw her arms round him, and drew him to her, kneeled, laid +his head on her bosom, and wept as she had never known him weep. + +'I'll tak care o' ye, Steenie, my man!' she murmured. 'Fear ye +naething.' + +It is amazing how much, in the strength of its own divinity, love will +dare promise! + +'Ay, Kirsty, I ken ye wull, but it's no me!' said Steenie. + +Thereupon he gave a brief, lucid account of what had occurred in the +night. + +'And noo 'at I hae telt ye,' he added, 'it luiks a' sae strange 'at +maybe I hae been but dreamin, efter a'! But it maun be true, for that +maun hae been what the angels cam cryin upo' me for. I'm thinkin they +wud hae broucht me straucht til her themsels--they maistly gang aboot +in twas, as whan they gaed and waukent the bonny man--gien it hadna +been 'at the guid collie was aiqual to that!' + +Kirsty told him to go and rouse the kitchen fire, and she would be with +him in a minute. She sprang out of bed, and dressed as fast as she +could, thinking what she had best take with her. 'The puir lassie,' she +said to herself, 'may be growin warm, and sleepin deith awa; and by the +time we win there she'll be needin something, like the lassie 'at the +Lord liftit!' But in her heart she had little hope: it would be a sad +day for the schoolmaster. + +She went to her father and mother's room, found them awake, and told +them Steenie's tale. + +'It's time we war up, wuman!' said David. + +'Ay,' returned his wife, 'but Kirsty canna bide for 's. Ye maun be aff, +lassie! Tak a wee whusky wi' ye; but min' it's no that safe wi' frozen +fowk. Het milk's the best thing. Tak a drappie o' that wi' ye. I s' be +efter ye wi' mair. And dinna forget a piece to uphaud ye as ye gang; +it'll be ill fechtin the win'. Dinna lat Steenie gang back wi' ye; he +canna be fit. Sen' him to me, and I'll persuaud him.--Dauvid, man, +ye'll hae to saiddle and ride; the doctor maun gang wi' ye straught to +Steenie's hoose.' + +'Lat me up,' said David, making a motion to free himself of the +bedclothes. + +Kirsty went, and got some milk to make it hot. But when she reached the +kitchen, Steenie was not there, and the fire, which he had tried to +wake up, was all but black. The house-door was open, and the snow +drifting in. Steenie was gone into the storm again! She hurriedly +poured the milk into a small bottle, and thrust it into her bosom to +grow warm as she went. Then she lighted a lantern, chiefly that Steenie +might catch sight of it, and set out. + +She started running, certain, she thought, to overtake him. The wind +was up again, but it was almost behind her, and the night was not +absolutely dark, for the moon was somewhere. She was far stronger than +Steenie, and could walk faster, but, keen as was her outlook on all +sides, for the snow was not falling too thick to let her see a little +way through it, she was at length near the top of the Horn without +having caught a glimpse of him. Had he dropped on the way? Had she in +her haste left him after all in the house? She might have passed him; +that was easy to do. One thing she was sure of--he could not have got +to his house before her! + +As she drew near the door she heard a short howl, and knew it for +Snootie's. Perhaps Phemy had revived! But no! it was a desolate, +forsaken cry! The next moment came a glad bark: was it the footstep of +Kirsty it greeted, or the soul of Phemy? + +With steady hand, and heart prepared, she opened the door and went in. +The dog came bounding to her: either he counted himself relieved, or +could bear it no longer. He cringed at her feet; he leaped upon her; he +saw in her his saviour from the terrible silence and cold and +motionlessness. Then he stood still before her, looking up to her, and +wagging his tail, but his face said plainly: _It is there_! + +Kirsty hesitated a moment; a weary sense of uselessness had overtaken +her, and she shrank from encountering the unchanging and unchangeable; +but she cast off the oppression, and followed the dog to the bedside. +He jumped up, and lay down where his master had placed him, as if to +say he knew his duty, had been lying there all the time, and had only +got up the moment she came. It was the one warm spot in all the woollen +pile; the feet beneath it were cold as the snow outside, and the lovely +form lay motionless as a thing that would never move again. Kirsty +lifted the blanket: there was Phemy's face, blind with the white death! +It did not look at her, did not recognise her: Phemy was there and not +there! Phemy was far away! Phemy could not move from where she lay! + +Hopeless, Kirsty yet tried her best to wake her from her snow-sleep, +shrinking from nothing, except for the despair of it. But long ere she +gave up the useless task, she was thinking far more about Steenie than +Phemy. + +He did not come! 'He must be safe with his mother!' she kept saying in +her heart; but she could not reassure herself. The forsaken fire, the +open door haunted her. She would succeed for a moment or two in +quieting her fears, calling them foolish; the next they would rush upon +her like a cataract, and almost overwhelm her. While she was busy with +the dead, he might be slowly sinking into the sleep from which she +could not wake Phemy! + +She laid the cold snow-captive straight, and left her to sleep on. +Then, calling the dog, she left the hut, in the hope of meeting her +mother, and learning that Steenie was at home. + +Now and then, while at her sad task, she had been reminded of the wind +by its hollow roaring all about the hill, but not until she opened the +door had she any notion how the snow was falling; neither until she +left the hollow for the bare hill-side did she realize how the wind was +raging. Then indeed the world looked dangerous! If Steenie was out, if +her mother had started, they were lost! She would have gone back into +the hut with the dead, but that she might get home in time to prevent +her mother from setting out, or might meet her on the way. At the same +time the tempest between her and her home looked but a little less +terrible to her than a sea breaking on a rocky shore. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +HOW KIRSTY FARED + + +It was quite dark, and round her swept as it were a whirlpool of snow. +The swift fakes struck at her eyes and ears like a swarm of vicious +flies. In such a wind, the blows of the soft thin snow, beating upon +her face, now from one quarter, now from another, were enough to +bewilder even a strong woman like Kirsty. They were like hail to a +horse. After trying for a while to force her way, she suddenly became +aware of utter ignorance as to the direction in which she was going, +and, for the first time in her life, a fell terror possessed her--not +for herself, but for Steenie and her father and mother. To herself, +Kirsty was nobody, but she belonged to David and Marion Barclay, and +what were they and Steenie to do without her! They would go on looking +for her till they too died, and were buried yards deep in the snow! + +She kept struggling on, her head bent, and her body leaning forward, +forcing herself against, it hardly seemed through, the snow-filled +wind--but whither? It was only by the feel of the earth under her feet, +that she could tell, and at times she was by no means sure, whether she +was going up or down hill. She kept on and on, almost hopeless of +getting anywhere, certain of nothing but that, if once she sat down, +she would never rise again. Fatigue that must not yield, and the +in-roads of the cold sleep, at length affected her brain, and her +imagination began to take its own way with her. She thought herself +condemned to one of those awful dust-towers, for she had read Prideaux, +specially devilish invention of the Persians, in which by the constant +stirring of the dust so that it filled the air, the lungs of the +culprit were at length absolutely choked up. Dead of the dust, she +revived to the snow: it was fearfully white, for it was all dead faces; +she crushed and waded through those that fell, while multitudes came +whirling upon her from all sides. Gladly would she have thrown herself +down among them, but she must walk, walk on for ever! + +All the time, she felt in her dim suffering as if not she but those at +home suffered: she had deserted them in trouble, and do what she might +she would never get back to them! She could, she thought, if she but +put forth the needful energy, but the last self-exhaustive effort never +would come! + +Where was the dog? He had left her! he was nowhere near her! She tried +to call him, but the storm choked every sound in her very throat. He +would never have left her to save himself! He who makes the dogs must +be at least as faithful as they! So she was not left comfortless! + +Then she heard, or thought she heard the church-bell, and that may have +had something to do with the strange dream out of which she came +gradually to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +KIRSTY'S DREAM + + +Her dream was this:-- + +She sat at the communion-table in her own parish-church, with many +others, none of whom she knew. A man with piercing eyes went along the +table, examining the faces of all to see if they were fit to partake. +When he came to Kirsty, he looked at her for a moment sharply, then +said, 'That woman is dead. She has been in the snow all night. Lay her +in the vault under the church.' She rose to go because she was dead, +and hands were laid upon her to guide her as she went. They brought her +out of the church into the snow and wind, and turned away to leave her. +But she remonstrated: 'The man with the eyes,' she said, 'gave the +order that I should be taken to the vault of the church!'--'Very well,' +answered a voice, 'there is the vault! creep into it.' She saw an +opening in the ground, at the foot of the wall of the church, and +getting down on her hands and knees, crept through it, and with +difficulty got into the vault. There all was still. She heard the wind +raving, but it sounded afar off. Who had guided her thither? One of +Steenie's storm-angels, or the Shepherd of the sheep? It was all one, +for the storm-angels were his sheep-dogs! She had been bewildered by +the terrible beating of the snow-wind, but her own wandering was +another's guiding! Beyond the turmoil of life and unutterably glad, she +fell asleep, and the dream left her. In a little while, however, it +came again. + +She was lying, she thought, on the stone-floor of the church-vault, and +wondered whether the examiner, notwithstanding the shining of his eyes, +might not have made a mistake: perhaps she was not so very dead! +Perhaps she was not quite unfit to eat of the bread of life after all! +She moved herself a little; then tried to rise, but failed; tried again +and again, and at last succeeded. All was dark around her, but +something seemed present that was known to her--whether man, or woman, +or beast, or thing, she could not tell. At last she recognised it; it +was a familiar odour, a peculiar smell, of the kind we call earthy:--it +was the air of her own earth-house, in days that seemed far away! +Perhaps she was in it now! Then her box of matches might be there too! +She felt about and found it. With trembling hands she struck one, and +proceeded to light her lamp. + +It burned up. Something seized her by the heart. + +A little farther in, stretched on the floor, lay a human form on its +face. She knew at once that it was Steenie's. The feet were toward her, +and between her and them a pair of shoes: he was dead!--he had got rid +of his feet!--he was gone after Phemy--gone to the bonny man! She +knelt, and turned the body over. Her heart was like a stone. She raised +his head on her arm: it was plain he was dead. A small stream of blood +had flowed from his mouth, and made a little pool, not yet quite +frozen. Kirsty's heart seemed about to break from her bosom to go after +him; then the eternal seemed to descend upon her like a waking sleep, a +clear consciousness of peace. It was for a moment as if she saw the +Father at the heart of the universe, with all his children about his +knees: her pain and sorrow and weakness were gone; she wept glad tears +over the brother called so soon from the nursery to the great presence +chamber. 'Eh, bonny man!' she cried; 'is 't possible to expec ower +muckle frae your father and mine!' + +She sat down beside what was left of Steenie, and ate of the oatcake, +and drink of the milk she had carried forgotten until now. + +'I won'er what God 'll du wi' the twa!' she said to herself. 'Gien _I_ +lo'ed them baith as I did, _he_ lo'es them better! _I_ wud hae dee'd +for them; _he_ did!' + +She rose and went out. + +Light had come at last, but too dim to be more than gray. The world was +one large white sepulchre in which the earth lay dead. Warmth and hope +and spring seemed gone for ever. But God was alive; his hearth-fire +burned; therefore death was nowhere! She knew it in her own soul, for +the Father was there, and she knew that in his soul were all the loved. +The wind had ceased, but the snow was still falling, here and there a +flake. A faint blueness filled the air, and was colder than the white. +Whether the day was at hand or the night, she could not distinguish. +The church bell began to ring, sounding from far away through the +silence: what mountains of snow must yet tower unfallen in the heavens, +when it was nearly noon, and still so dark! But Steenie was out of the +snow--that was well! Or perhaps he was beside her in it, only he could +leave it when he would! Surely anyhow Phemy must be with him! She could +not be left all alone and she so silly! Steenie would have her to +teach! His trouble must have gone the moment he died, but Phemy would +have to find out what a goose she was! She would be very miserable, and +would want Steenie! Kirsty's thoughts cut their own channels: she was +as far ahead of her church as the woman of Samaria was ahead of the +high priest at Jerusalem. + +Thus thinking, thinking, she kept on walking through the snow to weep +on her mother's bosom. Suddenly she remembered, and stood still: her +mother was going to follow her to Steenie's house! She too must be dead +in the snow!--Well, let Heaven take all! They were born to die, and it +was her turn now to follow her mother! She started again for home, and +at length drew near the house. + +It was more like a tomb than a house. The door looked as if no one had +gone in there or out for ages. Had she slept in the snow like the seven +sleepers in the cave? Were the need and the use of houses and doors +long over? Or was she a ghost come to have one look more at her old +home in a long dead world? Perhaps her father and mother might have +come back with like purpose, and she would see and speak to them! Or +was she, alas! only in a dream, in which the dead would not speak to +her? But God was not dead, and while God lived she was not alone even +in a dream! + +A dark bundle lay on the door-step: it was Snootie. He had been +scratching and whining until despair came upon him, and he lay down to +die. + +She lifted the latch, stepped over the dog, and entered. The peat-fire +was smouldering low on tho hearth. She sat down and closed her eyes. +When she opened them, there lay Snootie, stretched out before the fire! +She rose and shut the door, fed and roused the fire, and brought the +dog some milk, which he lapped up eagerly. + +Not a sound was in the house. She went all over it. Father nor mother +was there. It was Sunday, and all the men were away. A cow lowed, and +in her heart Kirsty blessed her: she was a live creature! She would go +and milk her! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +HOW DAVID FARED + + +David Barclay got up the moment Kirsty was out of the room, dressed +himself in haste, swallowed a glass of whisky, saddled the gray mare, +gave her a feed of oats, which she ate the faster that she felt the +saddle, and set out for Tiltowie to get the doctor. Threatening as the +weather was, he was well on the road before the wind became so full of +snow as to cause him any anxiety, either for those on the hill or for +himself. But after the first moment of anxiety, a very few minutes +convinced him that a battle with the elements was at hand more +dangerous than he had ever had to fight with armed men. For some +distance the road was safe enough as yet, for the storm had not had +time to heap up the snow between the bordering hills; but by and by he +must come out upon a large track recovered by slow degrees and great +labour from the bog, and be exposed to the full force of the now +furious wind, where in many places it would be far easier to wander off +than to stay upon a road level with the fields, and not even bounded by +a ditch the size of a wheel-track. When he reached the open, therefore, +he was compelled to go at a footpace through the thick, blinding, +bewildering tempest-driven snow; and was not surprised when, in spite +of all his caution, he found, by the sudden sinking and withdrawing of +one of his mare's legs with a squelching noise, that he had got astray +upon the bog, nor knew any more in what direction the town or other +abode of humanity lay. The only thing he did know was the side of the +road to which he had turned; and that he knew only by the ground into +which he had got: no step farther must in that direction be attempted. +His mare seemed to know this as well as himself, for when she had +pulled her leg out, she drew back a pace, and stood; whereupon David +cast a knot on the reins, threw them on her neck, and told her to go +where she pleased. She turned half round and started at once, feeling +her way at first very carefully. Then she walked slowly on, with her +head hanging low. Again and again she stopped and snuffed, diverged a +little, and went on. + +The wind was packed rather than charged with snow. Men said there never +was a wind of the strength with so much snow in it. David began to +despair of ever finding the road again, and naturally in such strait +thought how much worse would Kirsty and Steenie be faring on the open +hill-side. His wife, he knew, could not have started before the storm +rose to tempest, and would delay her departure. Then came the +reflection, how little at any time could a father do for the wellbeing +of his children! The fact of their being children implied their need of +an all-powerful father: must there not then be such a father? Therewith +the truth dawned upon him, that first of truths, which all his +church-going and Bible-reading had hitherto failed to disclose, that, +for life to be a good thing and worth living, a man must be the child +of a perfect father, and know him. In his terrible perturbation about +his children, he lifted up his heart--not to the Governor of the world; +not to the God of Abraham or Moses; not in the least to the God of the +Kirk; least of all to the God of the Shorter Catechism; but to the +faithful creator and Father of David Barclay. The aching soul which +none but a perfect father could have created capable of deploring its +own fatherly imperfection, cried out to the father of fathers on behalf +of his children, and as he cried, a peace came stealing over him such +as he had never before felt. + +Then he knew that his mare had been for some time on hard ground, and +was going with purpose in her gentle trot. In five minutes more, he saw +the glimmer of a light through the snow. Near as it was, or he could +not have seen it, he failed repeatedly in finding his way to it. The +mare at length fell over a stone wall out of sight in the snow, and +when they got up they found themselves in a little garden at the end of +a farmhouse. Not, however, until the farmer came to the door, wondering +who on such a morning could be their visitor, did he know to what farm +the mare had brought him. Weary, and well aware that no doctor in his +senses would set out for the top of the Horn in such a tempest of black +and white, he gratefully accepted the shelter and refreshment of which +his mare and he stood by this time in much need, and waited for a lull +in the storm. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +HOW MARION FARED + + +In the meantime the mother of the family, not herself at the moment in +danger, began to suffer the most. It dismayed her to find, when she +came down, that Steenie had, as she thought, insisted on accompanying +Kirsty, but it was without any great anxiety that she set about +preparing food with which to follow them. + +She was bending over her fire, busy with her cooking, when all at once +the wind came rushing straight down the chimney, blew sleet into the +kitchen, blew soot into the pot, and nearly put out the fire. It was +but a small whirlwind, however, and presently passed. + +She went to the door, opened it a little way, and peeped out: the +morning was a chaos of blackness and snow and wind. She had been born +and brought up in a yet wilder region, but the storm threatened to be +such as in her experience was unparalleled. + +'God preserve 's!' cried the poor woman, 'can this be the en' o' +a'thing? Is the earth turnin intil a muckle snaw-wreath, 'at whan a' +are deid, there may be nae miss o' fowk to beery them? Eh, sic a +sepulchrin! Mortal wuman cudna carry a basket in sic a leevin +snaw-drift! Losh, she wudna carry hersel far! I maun bide a bit gien I +wad be ony succour till them! It's my basket they'll be wantin', no me; +and i' this drift, basket may flee but it winna float!' + +She turned to her cooking as if it were the one thing to save the +world. Let her be prepared for the best as well as for the worst! +Kirsty might find Phemy past helping, and bring Steenie home! Then +there was David, at that moment fighting for his life, perhaps!--if he +came home now, or any of the three, she must be ready to save their +lives! they must not perish on her hands. So she prepared for the +possible future, not by brooding on it, but by doing the work of the +present. She cooked and cooked, until there was nothing more to be done +in that way, and then, having thus cleared the way for it, sat down and +cried. There was a time for tears: the Bible said there was! and when +Marion's hands fell into her lap, their hour--and not till then, was +come. To go out after Kirsty would have been the bare foolishness of +suicide, would have been to abandon her husband and children against +the hour of their coming need: one of the hardest demands on the +obedience of faith is--to do nothing; it is often so much easier to do +foolishly! + +But she did not weep long. A moment more and she was up and at work +again, hanging a great kettle of water on the crook, and blowing up the +fire, that she might have hot bottles to lay in every bed. Then she +assailed the peat-stack in spite of the wind, making to it journey +after journey, until she had heaped a great pile of peats in the corner +nearest the hearth. + +The morning wore on; the storm continued raging; no news came from the +white world; mankind had vanished in the whirling snow. It was well the +men had gone home, she thought: there would only have been the more in +danger, the more to be fearful about, for all would have been abroad in +the drift, hopelessly looking for one another! But oh Steenie, Steenie! +and her ain Kirsty! + +About half-past ten o'clock the wind began to abate its violence, and +speedily sank to a calm, wherewith the snow lost its main terror. She +looked out; it was falling in straight, silent lines, flickering slowly +down, but very thick. She could find her way now! Hideous fears +assailed her, but she banished them imperiously: they should not sap +the energy whose every jot would be wanted! She caught up the bottle of +hot milk she had kept ready, wrapped it in flannel, tied it, with a +loaf of bread, in a shawl about her waist, made up the fire, closed the +door, and set out for Steenie's house on the Horn. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +HUSBAND AND WIFE + + +Two hours or so earlier, David, perceiving some Assuagement in the +storm, and his host having offered to go at once to the doctor and the +schoolmaster, had taken his mare, and mounted to go home. He met with +no impediment now except the depth of the snow, which made it so hard +for the mare to get along that, full of anxiety about his children, he +found the distance a weary one to traverse. + +When at length he reached the Knowe, no one was there to welcome him. +He saw, however, by the fire and the food, that Marion was not long +gone. He put up the gray, clothed her and fed her, drank some milk, +caught up a quarter of cakes, and started for the hill. + +The snow was not falling so thickly now, but it had already almost +obliterated the footprints of his wife. Still he could distinguish them +in places, and with some difficulty succeeded in following their track +until it was clear which route she had taken. They indicated the +easier, though longer way--not that by the earth-house, and the father +and daughter passed without seeing each other. When Kirsty got to the +farm, her father was following her mother up the hill. + +When David reached the Hillfauld, the name he always gave Steenie's +house, he found the door open, and walked in. His wife did not hear +him, for his iron-shod shoes were balled with snow. She was standing +over the body of Phemy, looking down on the white sleep with a solemn, +motherly, tearless face. She turned as he drew near, and the pair, like +the lovers they were, fell each in the other's arms. Marion was the +first to speak. + +'Eh Dauvid! God be praised I hae yersel!' + +'Is the puir thing gane?' asked her husband in an awe-hushed tone, +looking down on the maid that was not dead but sleeping. + +'I doobt there's no doobt aboot that,' answered Marion. 'Steenie, I was +jist thinkin, wud be sair disapp'intit to learn 'at there was. Eh, the +faith o' that laddie! H'aven to him's sic a rale place, and sic a +hantle better nor this warl', 'at he wad not only fain be there himsel, +but wad hae Phemy there--ay, gie it war ever sae lang afore himsel! Ye +see he kens naething aboot sin and the saicrifeece, and he disna +un'erstan 'at Phemy was aye a gey wull kin' o' a lassie!' + +'Maybe the bonny man, as Steenie ca's him,' returned David, 'may hae as +muckle compassion for the puir thing i' the hert o' 'im as Steenie +himsel!' + +'Ow ay! Whatfor no! But what can the bonny man himsel du, a' bein +sattlet?' + +'Dinna leemit the Almichty, wuman--and that i' the verra moment whan +he's been to hiz--I wunna say mair gracious nor ord'nar, for that cudna +be--but whan he's latten us see a bit plainer nor common that he is +gracious! The Lord o' mercy 'ill manage to luik efter the lammie he +made, ae w'y or ither, there as here. Ye daurna say he didna du his +best for her here, and wull he no du his best for her there as weel?' + +'Doobtless, Dauvid! But ye fricht me! It souns jist rank papistry--naither +mair nor less! What _can_ he du? He canna dee again for ane 'at +wudna turn til 'im i' this life! The thing's no to be thoucht!' + +'Hoo ken ye that, wuman? Ye hae jist thoucht it yersel! Gien I was you, +I wudna daur to say what he cudna du! I' the meantime, what he maks me +able to houp, I'm no gaein to fling frae me!' + +David was a true man: he could not believe a thing with one half of his +mind, and care nothing about it with the other. He, like his Steenie, +believed in the bonny man about in the world, not in the mere image of +him standing in the precious shrine of the New Testament. + +After a brief silence-- + +'Whaur's Kirsty and Steenie?' he said. + +'The Lord kens; I dinna.' + +'They'll be safe eneuch.' + +'It's no likly.' + +'It's sartin,' said David. + +And therewith, by the side of the dead, he imparted to his wife the +thoughts that drove misery from his heart as he sat on his mare in the +storm with the reins on her neck, nor knew whither she went. + +'Ay, ay,' returned his wife after a pause, 'ye're unco richt, Dauvid, +as aye ye are! And I'm jist conscience-stricken to think 'at a' my life +lang I hae been ready to murn ower the sorrow i' _my_ hert, never +thinkin o' the glaidness i' God's! What call hed I to greit ower +Steenie, whan God maun hae been aye sair pleased wi' him! What sense is +there in lamentation sae lang's God's eident settin richt a'! His +hert's the safity o' oors. And eh, glaid sure he maun be, wi sic a lot +o' his bairns at hame aboot him!' + +'Ay,' returned David with a sigh, thinking of his old comrade and the +son he had left behind him, 'but there's the prodigal anes!' + +'Thank God, we hae nae prodigal!' + +'Aye, thank him!' rejoined David; 'but _he_ has prodigals that trouble +him sair, and we maun see til't 'at we binna thankless auld prodigals +oorsels!' + +Again followed a brief silence. + +'Eh, but isna it strange?' said Marion. 'Here's you and me stanin +murnin ower anither man's bairn, and naewise kennin what's come o' oor +ain twa!--Dauvid, what can hae come o' Steenie and Kirsty?' + +'The wull o' God's what's come o' them; and God hand me i' the grace o' +wussin naething ither nor that same!' + +'Haud to that, Dauvid, and hand me till't: we kenna what's comin!' + +'The wull o' God's comin,' insisted David. 'But eh,' he added, 'I'm +concernt for puir Maister Craig!' + +'Weel, lat's awa hame and see whether the twa bena there afore 's!--Eh, +but the sicht o' the bonny corp maun hae gien Steenie a sair hert! I +wudna won'er gien he never wan ower't i' this life!' + +'But what'll we du aboot it or we gang? It's the storm may come on +again waur nor ever, and mak it impossible to beery her for a month!' + +'We cudna carry her hame atween's, Dauvid--think ye?' + +'Na, na; it's no as gien it was hersel! And cauld's a fine keeper--better +nor a' the embalmin o' the Egyptians! Only I'm fain to hand +Steenie ohn seen her again!' + +'Weel, lat's hap her i' the bonny white snaw!' said Marion. 'She'll +keep there as lang as the snaw keeps, and naething 'ill disturb her +till the time comes to lay her awa!' + +'That's weel thoucht o'!' answered David. 'Eh, wuman, but it's a bonny +beerial compared wi' sic as I hae aften gien comrade and foe alike!' + +They went out and chose a spot close by the house where the snow lay +deep. There they made a hollow, and pressed the bottom of it down hard. +Then they carried out and laid in it the death-frozen dove, and heaped +upon her a firm, white, marble-like tomb of heavenly new-fallen snow. + +Without re-entering it, they closed the door of Steenie's refuge, and +leaving the two deserted houses side by side, made what slow haste they +could, with anxious hearts, to their home. The snow was falling softly, +for the wind was still asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE + + +Kirsty saw their shadows darken the wall, and turning from her work at +the dresser, ran to the door to meet them. + +'God be thankit!' cried David. + +Marion gave her daughter one loving look, and entering cast a fearful, +questioning glance around the kitchen. + +'Whaur's Steenie?' she said. + +'He's wi' Phemy, I'm thinkin,' faltered Kirsty. + +'Lassie, are ye dementit?' her mother almost screamed. 'We're this +minute come frae there!' + +'He _is_ wi' Phemy, mother. The Lord canna surely hae pairtit them, +gangin in maist haudin hans!' + +'Kirsty, I haud ye accoontable for my Steenie!' cried Marion, sinking +on a chair, and covering her face with her hands. + +'It's the wull o' God 'at's accoontable for him, wuman!' answered +David, sitting down beside her, and laying hold of her arm. + +She burst into terrible weeping. + +'He maun be sair at hame wi' the bonny man!' said Kirsty. + +'Lassie,' said David, 'you and me and yer mither, we hae naething left +but be better bairns, and gang the fester to the bonny man!--Whaur's +what's left o' the laddie, Kirsty?' + +'Lyin i' my hoose, as he ca'd it. Mine was i' the yerd, his i' the air, +he said. He was awa afore I wan to the kitchen. He had jist killt +himsel savin at Phemy, rinnin and fechtin on, upo' the barest chance o' +savin her life; and sae whan he set off again to gang til her, no bidin +for me, he was that forfouchten 'at he hed a bluid-brak in 's breist, +and was jist able, and nae mair, to creep intil the weem oot o' the +snaw. He didna like the place, and yet had a kin' o' a notion o' the +bonny man bein there whiles. I'm thinkin Snootie maun hae won til him, +and run hame for help, for I faund him maist deid upo' the door-step.' + +David stooped and patted the dog. + +'Na, that cudna be,' he said, 'or he wud never hae left him, I'm +thinkin.--Ye're a braw dog,' he went on to the collie, 'and I'm +thankfu' yer no lyin wi yer tongue oot!--But guid comes to guid +doggies!' he added, fondling the creature, who had risen, and feebly +set his paws on his knee. + +'And ye left him lyin there! Hoo hed ye the hert, Kirsty?' sobbed the +mother reproachfully. + +'Mother, he was better aff nor ony ither ane o' 's! I winna say, +mother, 'at I lo'ed him sae weel as ye lo'ed him, for maybe that wudna +be natur--I dinna ken; and I daurna say 'at I lo'e him as the bonny man +lo'es his brithers and sisters a'; but I hae yet to learn hoo to lo'e +him better. Onygait, the bonny man wantit him, and he has him! And whan +I left him there, it was jist as gien I hield him oot i' my airms and +said, "Hae, Lord; tak him: he's yer ain!"' + +'Ye're i' the richt, Kirsty, my bonny bairn!' said David. 'Yer mither +and me, we was never but pleased wi' onything 'at ever ye did.--Isna +that true, Mar'on, my ain wuman?' + +'True as his word!' answered the mother, and rose, and went to her +room. + +David sought the yard, saw that all was right with the beasts, and fed +them. Thence he made his way to his workshop over the cart-shed, where +in five minutes he constructed, with two poles run through two sacks, a +very good stretcher, carrying it to the kitchen, where Kirsty sat +motionless, looking into the fire. + +'Kirsty,' he said, 'ye're 'maist as strong's a man, and I wudna +wullinly ony but oor ain three sels laid finger upo' what's left o' +Steenie: are ye up to takin the feet o' 'im to fess him hame? Here's +what'll mak it 'maist easy!' + +Kirsty rose at once. + +'A drappy o' milk, and I'm ready,' she answered. 'Wull ye no tak a +moofu' o' whusky yersel' father?' + +'Na, na; I want naething,' replied David. + +He had not yet learned what Kirsty went through the night before, when +he asked her to help him carry the body of her brother home through the +snow. Kirsty, however, knew no reason why she should not be as able as +her father. + +He took the stretcher, and they set out, saying nothing to the mother: +she was still in her own room, and they hoped she might fall asleep. + +'It min's me o' the women gauin til the sepulchre!' said David. 'Eh, +but it maun hae been a sair time til them!--a heap sairer nor this +hert-brak here!' 'Ye see they didna ken 'at he wasna deid,' assented +Kirsty, 'and we div ken 'at Steenie's no deid! He's maybe walkin aboot +wi the bonny man--or maybe jist ristin himsel a wee efter the uprisin! +Jist think o' his heid bein a' richt, and his een as clear as the bonny +man's ain! Eh, but Steenie maun be in grit glee!' + +Thus talking as they went, they reached and entered the earth-house. +They found no angels on guard, for Steenie had not to get up again. + +David wept the few tears of an old man over the son who had been of no +use in the world but the best use--to love and be loved. Then, one at +the head and the other at the feet, they brought the body out, and laid +it on the bier. + +Kirsty went in again, and took Steenie's shoes, tying them in her +apron. + +'His feet's no sic a weicht noo!' she said, as together they carried +their burden home. + +The mother met them at the door. + +'Eh!' she cried, 'I thoucht the Lord had taen ye baith, and left me my +lane 'cause I was sae hard-hertit til him! But noo 'at he 's broucht ye +back--and Steenie, what there is o' him, puir bairn!--I s' never say +anither word, but jist lat him du as he likes.--There, Lord, I hae +dune! Pardon thoo me wha canst.' + +They carried the forsaken thing up the stair, and laid it on Kirsty's +bed, looking so like and so unlike Steenie asleep. Marion was so +exhausted, both mind and body, that her husband insisted on her +postponing all further ministration till the morning; but at night +Kirsty unclothed the untenanted, and put on it a long white nightgown. +When the mother saw it lying thus, she smiled, and wept no more; she +knew that the bonny man had taken home his idiot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +FROM SNOW TO FIRE + + +My narrative must now go a little way back in time, and a long way from +the region of heather and snow, to India in the year of the mutiny. The +regiment in which Francis Gordon served, his father's old regiment, had +lain for months besieged in a well known city by the native troops, and +had begun to know what privation meant, its suffering aggravated by +that of not a few women and children. With the other portions of the +Company's army there shut up, it had behaved admirably. Danger and +sickness, wounds and fatigue, hunger and death, had brought out the +best that was in the worst of them: when their country knew how they +had fought and endured, she was proud of them. Had their enemies, +however, been naked Zulus, they would have taken the place within a +week. + +Francis Gordon had done his part, and well. + +It would be difficult to analyze the effect of tho punishment Kirsty +had given him, but its influence was upon him through the whole of the +terrible time--none the less beneficent that his response to her +stinging blows was indignant rage. I dare hardly speculate what, had +she not defended herself so that he could not reach her, he might not +have done in the first instinctive motions of natural fury. It is +possible that only Kirsty's skill and courage saved him from what he +would never have surmounted the shame of--taking revenge on a woman +avenging a woman's wrong: from having deserved to be struck by a woman, +nothing but repentant shame could save him. + +When he came to himself, the first bitterness of the thing over, he +could not avoid the conviction, that the playmate of his childhood, +whom once he loved best in the world, and who when a girl refused to +marry him, had come to despise him, and that righteously. The idea took +a firm hold on him, and became his most frequently recurrent thought. +The wale of Kirsty's whip served to recall it a good many nights; and +long after that had ceased either to smart or show, the thought would +return of itself in the night-watches, and was certain to come when he +had done anything his conscience called wrong, or his judgment foolish. + +The officers of his mess were mostly men of character with ideas better +at least than ordinary as to what became a man; and their influence on +one by no means of a low, though of an unstable nature, was elevating. +It is true that a change into a regiment of jolly, good-mannered, +unprincipled men would within a month have brought him to do as they +did; and in another month would have quite silenced, for a time at +least, his poor little conscience; but he was at present rising. Events +had been in his favour; after reaching India, he had no time to be +idle; the mutiny broke out, he must bestir himself, and, as I have +said, the best in him was called to the front. + +He was specially capable of action with show in it. Let eyes be bent +upon him, and he would go far. The presence of his kind to see and laud +was an inspiration to him. Left to act for himself, undirected and +unseen, his courage would not have proved of the highest order. +Throughout the siege, nevertheless, he was noted for a daring that +often left the bounds of prudence far behind. More than once he was +wounded--once seriously; but even then he was in four days again at +his post. His genial manners, friendly carriage, and gay endurance +rendered him a favourite with all. + +The sufferings of the besieged at length grew such, and there was so +little likelihood of the approaching army being able for some time to +relieve the place, that orders were issued by the commander-in-chief to +abandon it: every British person must be out of the city before the +night of the day following. The general in charge thereupon resolved to +take advantage of the very bad watch kept by the enemy, and steal away +in silence the same night. + +The order was given to the companies, to each man individually, to +prepare for the perilous attempt, but to keep it absolutely secret save +from those who were to accompany them; and so cautious was the little +English colony as well as the garrison, that not a rumour of the +intended evacuation reached the besiegers, while, throughout the lines +and in the cantonments, it was thoroughly understood that, at a certain +hour of the night, without call of bugle or beat of drum, everyone +should be ready to march. Ten minutes after that hour the garrison was +in motion. With difficulty, yet with sufficing silence, the gates were +passed, and the abandonment effected. + +The first shot of the enemy's morning salutation, earlier than usual, +went tearing through a bungalow within whose shattered walls lay +Francis Gordon. In a dining-room, whose balcony and window-frame had +been smashed the day before, he still slumbered wearily, when close +past his head rushed the eighteen-pounder with its infernal scream. He +started up, to find the blood flowing from a splinter wound on his +temple and cheek-bone. A second shot struck the foot of his long chair. +He sprang from it, and hurried into his coat and waistcoat. + +But how was all so still inside? Not one gun answered! Firing at such +an hour, he thought, the rebels must have got wind of their intended +evacuation. It was too late for that, but why did not the garrison +reply? Between the shots he seemed to _hear_ the universal silence. +Heavens! were their guns already spiked? If so, all was lost!--But it +was daylight! He had overslept himself! He ought to have been with his +men--how long ago he could not tell, for the first shot had taken his +watch. A third came and broke his sword, carrying the hilt of it +through the wall on which it hung. Not a sound, not a murmur reached +him from the fortifications. Could the garrison be gone? Was the hour +past? Had no one missed him? Certainly no one had called him! He rushed +into the compound. Not a creature was there! He was alone--one English +officer amid a revolted army of hating Indians! + +But they did not yet know that their prey had slid from their grasp, +for they were going on with their usual gun-reveille, instead of +rushing on flank and rear of the retreating column! He might yet elude +them and overtake the garrison! Half-dazed, he hurried for the gate by +which they were to leave the city. Not a live thing save two starved +dogs did he meet on his way. One of them ran from him; the other would +have followed him, but a ball struck the ground between them, raising a +cloud of dust, and he saw no more of the dog. + +He found the gate open, and not one of the enemy in sight. Tokens of +the retreat were plentiful, making the track he had to follow plain +enough. + +But now an enemy he had never encountered before--a sense of loneliness +and desertion and helplessness, rising to utter desolation, all at once +assailed him. He had never in his life congratulated himself on being +alone--not that he loved his neighbour, but that he loved his +neighbour's company, making him less aware of an uneasy self. And now +first he realized that he had seen his sword-hilt go off with a round +shot, and had not caught up his revolver--that he was, in fact, +absolutely unarmed. + +He quickened his pace to overtake his comrades. On and on he trudged +through nothing but rice-fields, the day growing hotter and hotter, and +his sense of desolation increasing. Two or three natives passed him, +who looked at him, he thought, with sinister eyes. He had eaten no +breakfast, and was not likely to have any lunch. He grew sick and +faint, but there was no refuge: he must walk, walk until he fell and +could walk no more! With the heat and his exertion, his hardly healed +wound began to assert itself; and by and by he felt so ill, that he +turned off the road, and lay down. While he lay, the eyes of his mind +began to open to the fact that the courage he had hitherto been so +eager to show, could hardly have been of the right sort, seeing it was +gone--evaporated clean. + +He rose and resumed his walk, but at every smallest sound started in +fear of a lurking foe. With vainest regret he remembered the +long-bladed dagger-knife he had when a boy carried always in his +pocket. It was exhaustion and illness, true, that destroyed his +courage, but not the less was he a man of fear, not the less he felt +himself a coward. Again he got into a damp brake and lay down, in a +minute or two again got up and went on, his fear growing until, mainly +through consciousness of itself, it ripened into abject terror. +Loneliness seemed to have taken the shape of a watching omnipresent +enemy, out of whose diffusion death might at any moment break in some +hideous form. + +It was getting toward night when at length he saw dust ahead of him, +and soon after, he descried the straggling rear of the retreating +English. Before he reached it a portion had halted for a little rest, +and he was glad to lie down in a rough cart. Long before the morning +the cart was on its way again, Gordon in it, raving with fever, and +unable to tell who he was. He was soon in friendly shelter, however, +under skilful treatment, and tenderly nursed. + +When at length he seemed to have almost recovered his health, it was +clear that he had in great measure lost his reason. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT + + +Things were going from bad to worse at castle Weelset. Whether Mrs. +Gordon had disgusted her friends or got tired of them, I do not know, +but she remained at home, seldom had a visitor, and never a guest. +Rumour, busy in country as in town, said she was more and more +manifesting herself a slave to strong drink. She was so tired of +herself, that, to escape her double, she made it increasingly a bore to +her. She never read a book, never had a newspaper sent her, never +inquired how things were going on about the place or in any part of the +world, did nothing for herself or others, only ate, drank, slept, and +raged at those around her. + +One morning David Barclay, having occasion to see the factor, went to +the castle, and finding he was at home ill, thought he would make an +attempt to see Mrs. Gordon, and offer what service he could render: she +might not have forgotten that in old days he had been a good deal about +the estate. She received him at once, but behaved in such extraordinary +fashion that he could not have any doubt she was at least half-drunk: +there was no sense, David said, either to be got out of her, or put +into her. + +At Corbyknowe they heard nothing of the young laird. The papers said a +good deal about the state of things in India, but Francis Gordon was +not mentioned. + +In the autumn of the year 1858, when the days were growing short and +the nights cold in the high region about the Horn, the son of a +neighbouring farmer, who had long desired to know Kirsty better, called +at Corbyknowe with his sister, ostensibly on business with David. They +were shown into the parlour, and all were sitting together in the early +gloamin, the young woman bent on persuading Kirsty to pay them a visit +and see the improvements they had made in house and garden, and the two +farmers lamenting the affairs of the property on which they were +tenants. + +'But I hear there's new grief like to come to the auld lairdship,' said +William Lammie, as he sat with an elbow on the tea-table whence Kirsty +was removing the crumbs. + +'And what may the wisdom o' the country-side be puttin furth the noo?' +asked David in a tone of good-humoured irony. 'Weel, as I hear, +Mistress Comrie's been to Embro' for a week or twa, and's come hame wi' +a gey queer story concernin the young laird--awa oot there whaur +there's been sic a rumpus wi' the h'athen so'diers. There's word come, +she says, 'at he's fa'en intil the verra glaur o' disgrace, funkin at +something they set him til: na, he wudna! And they hed him afore a +coort-mairtial as they ca' 't, and broucht it in, she says, bare +cooardice, and jist broke him. He'll hae ill shawin the face o' 'm +again i' 's ain calf-country!' + +'It's a lee,' said Kirsty. 'I s' tak my aith o' that, whaever took the +tellin o' 't. There never was mark o' cooard upo' Francie Gordon. He +hed his fauts, but no ane o' them luikit that gait. He was a kin' o' +saft-like whiles, and unco easy come ower, but, haein little fear +mysel, I ken a cooard whan I see him. Something may hae set up his +pride--he has eneuch o' that for twa deevils--but Francie was never nae +cooard!' + +'Dinna lay the lee at my door, I beg o' ye, Miss Barclay. I was but +tellin ye what fowk was saying.' + +'Fowk's aye sayin, and seldom sayin true. The warst o' 't is 'at honest +fowk's aye ready to believe leears! They dinna lee themsel's, and sae +it's no easy to them to think anither wad. Thereby the fause word has +free coorse and is glorifeed! They're no a' leears 'at spreads the lee; +but for them 'at maks the lee, the Lord silence them!' + +'Hoots, Kirsty,' said her mother, 'it disna become ye to curse naebody! +It's no richt o' ye.' + +'It's a guid Bible-curse, mother! It's but a w'y o' sayin "His wull be +dune!"' + +'Ye needna be sae fell aboot the laird, Miss Barclay! He was nae +partic'lar frien o' yours gien a' tales be true!' remarked her admirer. + +'I'm tellin ye tales is maistly lees. I hae kenned the laird sin' he +was a wee laddie--and afore that; and I'm no gaein to hear him leed +upo' and haud my tongue! A lee's a lee whether the leear be a leear or +no!--I hae dune.' + +She did not speak another word to him save to bid him good-night. + +In the beginning of the year, a rumour went about the country that the +laird had been seen at the castle, but it died away. + +David pondered, but asked no questions, and Mrs. Bremner volunteered no +information. + +Kirsty of course heard the rumour, but she never took much interest in +the goings on at the castle. Mrs. Gordon's doings were not such as the +angels desire to look into; and Kirsty, not distantly related to them, +and inheriting a good many of their peculiarities, minded her own +business. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +IN THE WORKSHOP + + +One night in the month of January, when the snow was falling thick, but +the air, because of the cloud-blankets overhead, was not piercing, +Kirsty went out to the workshop to tell her father that supper was +ready. David was a Jack-of-all-trades--therein resembling a sailor +rather than a soldier, and by the light of a single dip was busy with +some bit of carpenter's work. + +He did not raise his head when she entered, and heard her as if he did +not hear. She wondered a little and waited. After a few moments of +silence, he said quietly, without looking up-- + +'Are ye awaur o' onything by ord'nar, Kirsty? + +'Na, naething, father,' answered Kirsty, wondering still. + +'It's been beirin 'tsel in upo' me at my bench here, 'at Steenie's +aboot the place the nicht. I canna help imaiginin he's been upo' this +verra flure ower and ower again sin' I cam oot, as gien he wad fain say +something, but cudna, and gaed awa again.' + +'Think ye he's here at this moment, father?' + +'Na, he's no.' + +'He used to think whiles the bonny man was aboot!' said Kirsty +reflectively. + +'My mother was a hielan wuman, and hed the second sicht; there was no +mainner o' doobt aboot it!' remarked David, also thoughtfully. + +'And what wad ye draw frae that, father?' asked Kirsty. + +'Ow, naething verra important, maybe, but just 'at possibly it micht be +i' the faimily!' + +'I wud like to ken yer verra thoucht, father!' + +'Weel, it's jist this: I'm thinkin 'at some may be nearer the deid nor +ithers.' + +'And, maybe,' supplemented Kirsty, 'some o' the deid may win nearer the +livin nor ithers!' + +'Ay, that's it! that's the haill o' 't!' answered David. + +Kirsty turned her face toward the farthest corner. The place was rather +large, and everywhere dark except within the narrow circle of the +candle-light. In a quiet voice, with a little quaver in it, she said +aloud: + +'Gien ye be here, Steenie, and hae the pooer, lat's ken gien there be +onything lyin til oor han' 'at ye wuss dune. I'm sure, gien there be, +it's for oor sakes and no for yer ain, glaid as we wud a' be to du +onything for ye: the bonny man lats ye want for naething; we're sure o' +that!' + +'Ay are we, Steenie,' assented his father. + +No voice came from the darkness. They stood silent for a while. Then +David said: + +'Gang in, lassie; yer mother 'll be won'erin what's come o' ye. I'll be +in in a meenit. I hae jist the last stroke to gie this bit jobby.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +A RACE WITH DEATH + + +Without a word, but with disappointment in her heart that Steenie had +not answered them, Kirsty obeyed. But she went round through the +rickyard that she might have a moment's thought with herself. Not a +hand was laid upon her out of the darkness, no faintest sound came to +her ears through the silently falling snow. But as she took her way +between two ricks, where was just room for her to pass, she felt--felt, +however, without the slightest sense of _material_ opposition, that she +could not go through. Endeavouring afterward to describe what rather +she was aware of than felt, she said the nearest she could come to it, +but it was not right, was to say that she seemed to encounter the ghost +of solidity. Certainly nothing seemed to touch her. She made no attempt +to overcome the resistance, and the moment she turned, knew herself +free to move in any other direction. But as the house was still her +goal, she tried another space between two of the ricks. There again she +found she could not pass. Making a third essay in yet another interval, +she was once more stopped in like fashion. With that came the +conviction that she was wanted elsewhere, and with it the thought of +the Horn. She turned her face from the house and made straight for the +hill, only that she took, as she had generally done with Steenie, the +easier and rather longer way. + +The notion of the presence of Steenie, which had been with her all the +time, naturally suggested his house as the spot where she was wanted, +and thither she sped. But the moment she reached, almost before she +entered it, she felt as if it were utterly empty--as if it had not in +it even air enough to give her breath. + +When a place seems to repel us, when we feel as if we could not live +there, what if the cause be that there are no souls in it making it +comfortable to the spiritual sense? That the _knowledge_ of such +presence would make most people uneasy, is no argument against the +fancy: truth itself, its intrinsic, essential, necessary trueness +unrecognised, must be repellent. + +Kirsty did not remain a moment in Steenie's house, but set her face to +go home by the shorter and rougher path leading over the earth-house +and across the little burn. + +The night continued dark, with an occasional thinning of the obscurity +when some high current blew the clouds aside from a little nest of +stars. Just as Kirsty reached the descent to the burn, the snow ceased, +the clouds parted, and a faint worn moon appeared. She looked just like +a little old lady too thin and too tired to go on living more than a +night longer. But her waning life was yet potent over Kirsty, and her +strange, wasted beauty, dying to rise again, made her glad as she went +down the hill through the snow-crowned heather. The oppression which +came on her in Steenie's house was gone entirely, and in the face of +the pale ancient moon her heart grew so light that she broke into a +silly song which, while they were yet children, she made for Steenie, +who was never tired of listening to it: + + Willy, wally, woo! + Hame comes the coo-- + Hummle, bummle, moo!-- + Widin ower the Bogie, + Hame to fill the cogie! + Bonny hummle coo, + Wi' her baggy fu' + O' butter and o' milk, + And cream as saft as silk, + A' gethered frae the gerse + Intil her tassly purse, + To be oors, no hers, + Gudewillie, hummle coo! + Willy, wally, woo! + Moo, Hummlie, moo! + + +Singing this childish rime, dear to the slow-waking soul of Steenie, +she had come almost to the bottom of the hill, was just stepping over +the top of tho weem, when something like a groan startled her. She +stopped and sent a keen-searching glance around. It came again, muffled +and dull. It must be from the earth-house! Somebody was there! It could +not be Steenie, for why should Steenie groan? But he might be calling +her, and the weem changing the character of the sound! Anyhow she must +be wanted! She dived in. + +She could scarcely light the candle, for the trembling of her hand and +the beating of her heart. Slowly the flame grew, and the glimmer began +to spread. She stood speechless, and stared. Out of the darkness at her +feet grew the form, as it seemed, of Steenie, lying on his face, just +as when she found him there year before. She dropped on her knees +beside him. + +He was alive at least, for he moved! 'Of course,' thought Kirsty, 'he's +alive: he never was anything else!' His face was turned from her, and +his arm was under it. The arm next her lay out on the stones, and she +took the ice-cold hand in hers: it was not Steenie's! She took the +candle, and leaned across to see the face. God in heaven! there was the +mark of her whip: it was Francie Gordon! She tried to rouse him. She +could not; he was cold as ice, and seemed all but dead. But for the +groan she had heard she would have been sure he was dead. She blew out +the light, and, swift as her hands could move, took garment after +garment off, and laid it, warm from her live heart, over and under +him--all save one which she thought too thin to do him any good. Last +of all, she drew her stockings over his hands and arms, and, leaving +her shoes where Steenie's had lain, darted out of the cave. At the +mouth of it she rose erect like one escaped from the tomb, and sped +in dim-gleaming whiteness over the snow, scarce to have been seen +against it. The moon was but a shred--a withered autumn leaf low fallen +toward the dim plain of the west. As she ran she would have seemed to +one of Steenie's angels, out that night on the hill, a newly disembodied +ghost fleeing home. Swift and shadowless as the thought of her own brave +heart, she ran. Her sense of power and speed was glorious. She felt--not +thought--herself a human goddess, the daughter of the Eternal. Up +height and down hollow she flew, running her race with death, not an +open eye, save the eyes of her father and mother, within miles of her +in a world of sleep and snow and night. Nor did she slacken her pace as +she drew near the house, she only ran more softly. At last she threw +the door to the wall, and shot up the steep stair to her room, calling +her mother as she went. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +BACK FROM THE GRAVE + + +When David came in to supper, he said nothing, expecting Kirsty every +moment to appear. Marion was the first to ask what had become of her. +David answered she had left him in the workshop. + +'Bless the bairn! what can she be aboot this time o' nicht?' said her +mother. + +'I kenna,' returned David. + +When they had sat eating their supper for ten minutes, vainly expecting +her, David went out to look for her. Returning unsuccessful, he found +that Marion had sought her all over the house with like result. Then +they became uneasy. + +Before going to look for her, however, David had begun to suspect her +absence in one way or another connected with the subject of their +conversation in the workshop, to which he had not for the moment meant +to allude. When now he told his wife what had passed, he was a little +surprised to find that immediately she grew calm. + +'Ow, than, she'll be wi' Steenie!' she said. + +Nor did her patience fail, but revived that of her husband. They could +not, however, go to bed, but sat by the fire, saying a word or two now +and then. The slow minutes passed, and neither of them moved save David +once to put on peats. + +The house-door flew open suddenly, and they heard Kirsty cry, 'Mother, +mother!' but when they hastened to the door, no one was there. They +heard the door of her room close, however, and Marion went up the +stair. By the time she reached it, Kirsty was in a thick petticoat and +buttoned-up cloth-jacket, had a pair of shoes on her bare feet, and was +glowing a 'celestial rosy-red.' David stood where he was, and in half a +minute Kirsty came in three leaps down the stair to him, to say that +Francie was lying in the weem. In less than a minute the old soldier +was out with the stable-lantern, harnessing one of the horses, the +oldest in the stable, good at standing, and not a bad walker. He called +for no help, yet was round at the door so speedily as to astonish even +Kirsty, who stood with her mother in the entrance by a pile of bedding. +They put a mattress in the bottom of the cart, and plenty of blankets. +Kirsty got in, lay down and covered herself up, to make the rough +ambulance warm, and David drove off. They soon reached the _weem_ and +entered it. + +The moment Kirsty had lighted the candle, + +'Lassie,' cried David, 'there's been a wuman here!' + +'It luiks like it,' answered Kirsty: 'I was here mysel, father!' + +'Ay, ay! of coorse, but here's claes--woman's claes! Whaur cam they +frae? Wha's claes can they be?' + +'Wha's but mine?' returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove from his +face the garment that covered his head. + +'The Lord preserve 's!--to the verra stockins upo' the han's o' 'm!' + +'I had no dreid, father, o' the Lord seem me as he made me!' + +'Lassie,' cried David, with heartfelt admiration, 'ye sud hae been +dother til a field-mershall.' + +'I wudna be dother til a king!' returned Kirsty. 'Gien I bed to be born +again, I wudna be born 'cep it was to Dauvid Barclay.' + +'My ain lassie!' murmured her father. 'But, eh,' he added, interrupting +his own thoughts, 'we maun hand oor tongues till we've dune the thing +we're sent to du!' + +They bent at once to their task. + +David was a strong man still, and Kirsty was as good at a lift as most +men. They had no difficulty in raising Gordon between them, David +taking his head and Kirsty his feet, but it was not without difficulty +they got him through the passage. In the cart they covered him so that, +had he been a new-born baby, he could have taken no harm except it were +by suffocation, and then, Kirsty sitting with his head in her lap, they +drove home as fast as the old horse could step out. + +In the meantime Marion had got her best room ready, and warm. When they +reached it, Francie was certainly still alive, and they made haste to +lay him in the hot feather-bed. In about an hour they thought he +swallowed a little milk. Neither Kirsty nor her parents went to bed +that night, and by one or other of them the patient was constantly +attended. + +Kirsty took the first watch, and was satisfied that his breathing grew +more regular, and by and by stronger. After a while it became like that +of one in a troubled sleep. He moved his head a little, and murmured +like one dreaming painfully. She called her father, and told him he was +saying words she could not understand. He took her place and sat near +him, when presently his soldier-ears, still sharp, heard indications of +a hot siege. Once he started up on his elbow, and put his hand to the +side of his head. For a moment he looked wildly awake, then sank back +and went to sleep again. + +As Marion was by him in the morning, all at once he spoke again, and +more plainly. + +'Go away, mother!' he said. 'I am not mad. I am only troubled in my +mind. I will tell my father you killed me.' + +Marion tried to rouse him, telling him his mother should not come near +him. He did not seem to understand, but apparently her words soothed +him, for he went to sleep once more. + +He was gaunt and ghastly to look at. The scar on his face, which Kirsty +had taken for the mark of her whip, but which was left by the splinter +that woke him, remained red and disfiguring. But the worst of his look +was in his eyes, whose glances wandered about uneasy and searching. It +was clear all was not right with his brain. I doubt if any other of his +tenants would have recognized him. + +For a good many days he was like one awake yet dreaming, always +dreading something, invariably starting when the door opened, and when +quietest would lie gazing at the one by his bedside as if puzzled. He +took in general what food they brought him, but at times refused it +quite. They never left him alone for more than a moment. + +So far were they from giving him up to his mother, that the mere idea +of letting her know he was with them never entered the mind of one of +them. To the doctor, whom at once they had called in, there was no need +to explain the right by which they constituted themselves his +guardians: anyone would have judged it better for him to be with them +than with her. David said to himself that when Francie wanted to leave +them he should go; but he had sought refuge with them, and he should +have it: nothing should make him give him up except legal compulsion. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF + + +One morning, Kirsty sitting beside him, Francis started to his elbow as +if to get up, then seeing her, lay down again with his eyes fixed upon +her. She glanced at him now and then, but would not seem to notice him +much. He gazed for two or three minutes, and then said, in a low, +doubtful, almost timid, voice, + +'Kirsty?' + +'Ay; what is't, Francie?' returned Kirsty. + +'Is't yersel, Kirsty?' he said. + +'Ay, wha ither, Francie!' + +'Are ye angry at me, Kirsty?' + +'No a grain. What gars ye speir sic a queston?' + +'Eh, but ye gae me sic a are wi' yer whup--jist here upo' the haffit! +Luik.' + +He turned the side of his head toward her, and stroked the place, like +a small, self-pitying child. Kirsty went to him, and kissed it like a +mother. She had plainly perceived that such a scar could not be from +her blow, but it added grievously to her pain at the remembrance of it +that the poor head which she had struck, had in the very same place +been torn by a splinter--for so the doctor said. If her whip left any +mark, the splinter had obliterated it. + +'And syne,' he resumed, 'ye ca'd me a cooard!' + +'Did I du that, ill wuman 'at I was!' she returned, with tenderest +maternal soothing. + +He laid his arms round her neck, drew her feebly toward him, hid his +head on her bosom, and wept. + +Kirsty put her arm round him, held him closer, and stroked his head +with her other hand, murmuring words of much meaning though little +sense. He drew back his head, looked at her beseechingly, and said, + +'_Div_ ye think me a cooard, Kirsty?' + +'No wi' men,' answered the truthful girl, who would not lie even in +ministration to a mind diseased. + +'Maybe ye think I oucht to hae strucken ye back whan ye strack me? I +_wull_ be a cooard than, lat ye say what ye like. I never did, and I +never will hit a lassie, lat her kill me!' + +'It wasna that, Francie. Gien I ca'd ye a cooard, it was 'at ye behaved +sae ill to Phemy.' + +'Eh, the bonny little Phemy! I had 'maist forgotten her! Hoo is she, +Kirsty?' + +'She's weel--and verra weel,' answered Kirsty; 'she's deid.' + +'Deid!' echoed Gordon, with a cry, again raising himself on his elbow. +'Surely it wasna--it wasna 'at the puir wee thing cudna forget me! The +thing's no possible! I wasna worth it!' + +'Na, na; it wasna ae grain that! Her deein had naething to du wi +that--nor wi you in ony w'y. I dinna believe she was a hair waur for ony +nonsense ye said til her--shame o' ye as it was! She dee'd upo' the +Horn, ae awfu' tempest o' a nicht. She cudna hae suffert lang, puir +thing! She hadna the stren'th to suffer muckle. Sae awa she gaed!--and +Steenie efter her!' added Kirsty in a lower tone, but Francis did not +seem to hear, and said no more for awhile. + +'But I maun tell ye the trowth, Kirsty,' he resumed: 'forby yersel, +there's them 'at says I'm a cooard!' + +'I h'ard ae man say't, only ane, and him only ance.' + +'And ye said til 'im, "Ay, I hae lang kenned that!" + +'I tellt him whaever said it was a leear!' + +'But ye believt it yersel, Kirsty!' + +'Wad ye hae me leear and hypocrite forby, to ca' fowk ill names for +sayin what I believt mysel!' + +'But I _am_ a cooard, Kirsty!' + +'Ye are _not_, Francie. I wunna believe't though yersel say 't! It's +naething but a dist o' styte and nonsense 'at's won in throu the cracks +ye got i' yer heid, fechtin. Ye was aye a daft kin' o' a cratur, +Francie! Gien onybody ever said it, mak ye speed and get yer health +again, and syne ye can shaw him plain 'at he's a leear.' + +'But I tell ye, Kirsty, I ran awa!' + +'I fancy ye wud hae been naething but a muckle idiot gien ye hadna!--Ye +didna ley onybody in trouble!--did ye noo?' + +'No a sowl 'at I ken o'. Na, I didna do that. The fac was--but nae +blame to them--they a' gaed awa and left me my lane, sleepin. I maun +hae been terrible tired.' + +'I telled ye sae!' cried Kirsty. 'Jist gang ower the story to me, +Francie, and I s' tell ye whether ye're a cooard or no. I dinna believe +a stime o' 't! Ye never was, and never was likly to be a cooard. I s' +be at the boddom o' 't wi' whaever daur threpe me sic a lee!' + +But Francis showed such signs of excitement as well as exhaustion, that +Kirsty saw she must not let him talk longer. + +'Or I'll tell ye what!' she added: '--ye'll tell father and mother and +me the haill tale, this verra nicht, or maybe the morn's mornin. Ye +maun hae an egg noo, and a drappy o' milk--creamy milk, Francie! Ye aye +likit that!' + +She went and prepared the little meal, and after taking it he went to +sleep. + +In the evening, with the help of their questioning, he told them +everything he could recall from the moment he woke to find the place +abandoned, not omitting his terrors on the way, until he overtook the +rear of the garrison. + +'I dinna won'er ye was fleyt, Francie,' said Kirsty. 'I wud hae been +fleyt mysel, wantin my swoord, and kennin nae God to trust til! Ye maun +learn to ken _him_, Francie, and syne ye'll be feart at naething!' + +After that, his memory was only of utterly confused shapes, many of +which must have been fancies. The only things he could report were the +conviction pervading them all that he had disgraced himself, and the +consciousness that everyone treated him as a deserter, and gave him the +cold shoulder. + +His next recollection was of coming home to, or rather finding himself +with his mother, who, the moment she saw him, flew into a rage, struck +him in the face, and called him coward. She must have taken him, he +thought, to some place where there were people about him who would not +let him alone, but he could remember nothing more until he found +himself creeping into a hole which he seemed to know, thinking he was a +fox with the hounds after him. + +'What's my claes like, Kirsty?' he asked at this point. + +'They war no that gran',' answered Kirsty, her eyes smarting with the +coming tears; 'but ye'll ne'er see a stick (_stitch_) o' them again: I +pat them awa.' + +'What w'y 'ill I win up, wantin' them?' he rejoined, with a tremor of +anxiety in his voice. + +'We'll see aboot that, time eneuch,' answered Kirsty. + +'But my mither may be efter me! I wud fain be up! There's no sayin what +she michtna be up til! She canna bide me!' + +'Dreid ye naething, Francie. Ye're no a match for my leddy, but I s' be +atween ye and her. She's no sae fearsome as she thinks! Onygait, she +disna fleg _me_.' + +'I left some guid eneuch claes there whan I gaed awa, and I daursay +they're i' my room yet--gien only I kenned hoo to win at them!' + +'I s' gang and get them til ye--the verra day ye're fit to rise. But ye +maunna speyk a word mair the nicht.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF + + +They held a long consultation that night as to what they must do. +Plainly the first and most important thing was to rid Francis of the +delusion that he had disgraced himself in the eyes of his +fellow-officers. This would at once wake him as from a bad dream to the +reality of his condition: convinced of the unreality of the idea that +possessed him, he would at once, they believed, resume his place in the +march of his generation through life. To find means, then, for the +attainment of this end, they set their wits to work; and it was almost +at once clear to David that the readiest way would be to enter into +communication with any they could reach of the officers under whom he +had served. His regiment having by this time, however, with the rest of +the Company's soldiers, passed into the service of the Queen, a change +doubtless involving many other changes concerning which Francis, even +were he fit to be questioned, could give no information, David resolved +to apply to sir Haco Macintosh, who had succeeded Archibald Gordon in +the command, for assistance in finding those who could bear the +testimony he desired to possess. + +'Divna ye think, father,' said Kirsty, 'it wud be the surest and +speediest w'y for me to gang mysel to sir Haco?' + +''Deed it wud be that, Kirsty!' answered David. 'There's naething like +the bodily presence o' the leevin sowl to gar things gang!' + +To this Marion, although at first not a little appalled at the thought +of Kirsty alone in such a huge city as Edinburgh, could not help +assenting, and the next morning Kirsty started, bearing a letter from +her father to his old officer, in which he begged for her the favour of +a few minutes' conference on business concerning her father and the son +of the late colonel Gordon. + +Sir Haco had retired from the service some years before the mutiny, and +was living in one of the serenely gloomy squares of the Scots capital. +Kirsty left her letter at the door, and calling the next day, was shown +to the library, where lady Macintosh as well as sir Haco awaited, with +curious and kindly interest, the daughter of the man they had known so +well, and respected so much. + +When Kirsty entered the room, dressed very simply in a gown of dark +cloth and a plain straw bonnet, the impression she at once made was +more than favourable, and they received her with a kindness and +courtesy that made her feel herself welcome. They were indeed of her +own kind. + +Sir Haco was one of the few men who, regarding constantly the reality, +not the show of things, keep throughout their life, however long, great +part of their youth, and all their childhood. Deeper far in his heart +than any of the honours he had received, all unsought but none +undeserved, lay the memory of a happy and reverential boyhood. Sprung +from a peasant stock, his father was a man of 'high erected thought +seated in a heart of courtesy.' + +He was well matched with his wife, who, though born to a far higher +social position in which simplicity is rarer, was, like him, true and +humble and strong. They had one daughter, who grew up only to die: the +moment they saw Kirsty, their hearts went out to her. + +For there was in Kirsty that unassumed, unconscious dignity, that +simple propriety, that naturalness of a carriage neither trammeled nor +warped by thought of self, which at once awakes confidence and regard; +while her sweet, unaffected 'book English,' in which appeared no +attempt at speaking like a fine lady, no disastrous endeavour to avoid +her country's utterance, revealed at once her genuine cultivation. Sir +Haco said afterward that when she spoke Scotch it was good and +thorough, and when she spoke English it was Wordsworthian. + +Listening to her first words, and reminded of the solemn sententious +way in which sergeant Barclay used to express himself, his face rose +clear in his mind's eye, he saw it as it were reflected in his +daughter's, and broke out with-- + +'Eh, lassie, but ye're like yer father!' + +'Ye min' upon him, sir?' rejoined Kirsty, with her perfect smile. + +'Min' upon him! Naebody worth _his_ min'in upo' could ever forget him! +Sit ye doon, and tell's a' aboot him!' + +Kirsty did as she was told. She began at the beginning, and explained +first, what doubtless sir Haco knew at least something of before, the +relation between her father and colonel Gordon, whence his family as +well as himself had always felt it their business to look after the +young laird. Then she told how, after a long interval, during which +they could do nothing, a sad opportunity had at length been given them +of at least attempting to serve him; and it was for aid in this attempt +that she now sought sir Haco, who could direct her toward the procuring +of certain information. + +'And what sort of information do you think I can give or get for you, +Miss Barclay?' asked sir Haco. + +'I'll explain the thing to ye, sir, in as feow words as I can,' +answered Kirsty, dropping her English. 'The young laird has taen 't +intil his heid that he didna carry himsel like a man i' the siege, and +it's grown to be in him what they ca' a fixt idea. He was left, ye see, +sir, a' himlane i' the beleaguert toon, and I fancy the suddent waukin +and the discovery that he was there his lee lane, jist pat him beside +himsel.' + +Here she told the whole story, as they had gathered it from Francis, +mingling it with some elucidatory suggestions of her own, and having +ended her narration, went on thus:-- + +'Ye see, sir, and my leddy, he was little better nor a laddie, and fowk +'at sair needs company, like Francie, misses company ower sair. Men's +no able--_some_ men, my leddy--to tak coonsel wi' their ain herts, as +women whiles learns to du. And sae, whan he cam oot o' the fricht, he +was ower sair upon himsel for bein i' the fricht. For it seems to me +there's no shame in bein frichtit, sae lang as ye dinna serve and obey +the fricht, but trust in him 'at sees, and du what ye hae to du. +Naebody 'at kenned Francie as I did, cud ever believe he faun' mair +fear in 's hert nor was lawfu' and rizzonable--sae lang, that is, as he +was in his richt min': ayont that nane but his maker can jeedge him. I +dinna mean Francie was a pettern, but, sir, he was no cooard--and that +I ken, for I 'm no cooard mysel, please God to keep me as he 's made +me. But the laddie--the man, I suld say--he's no to be persuaudit oot +o' the fancy o' his ain cooardice; and I dinna believe he'll ever win +oot o' 't wantin the testimony o' his fellow-officers, wha o' them may +be left to grant the same. And I canna but think, gien ye'll excuse me, +sir, that, for his father's sake, it wud be a gracious ac' to tak him +intil the queen's service, and lat him baud on fechtin for 's country, +whaurever it may please her mejesty to want him.--Oot whaur he was +afore micht be best for him--I dinna ken. It wad be to put his +country's seal upo' their word.' + +'Surely, Miss Barclay, you wouldn't set the poor lad in the forefront +of danger again!' said lady Macintosh. + +'I wud that, my lady! I canna but think the airmy, savin for this +misadventur--gien there be ony sic thing as misadventur--hed a fair +chance o' makin a man o' Francie; and whiles I canna help doobtin gien +onything less 'ill ever restore him til himsel but restorin him til 's +former position. It wud ony gait gie him the best chance o' shawin til +himsel 'at there wasna a hair o' the cooard upon him.' + +'But,' said sir Haco, 'would her majesty be justified in taking the +risk involved? Would it not be to peril many for a doubtful good to +one?' + +Kirsty was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. + +I'm answert, sir--as to that p'int,' she said, looking up. + +'For my part,' said lady Macintosh, 'I can't help thinking that the +love of a good woman like yourself must do more for the poor fellow +than the approval of all the soldiers in the world.--Pardon me, Haco.' + +'Indeed, my lady, you're perfectly right!' returned her husband with a +smile. + +But lady Macintosh hardly heard him, so startled, almost so frightened +was she at the indignation instantly on Kirsty's countenance. + +'Putna things intil ony held, my leddy, 'at the hert wud never put +there. It wad be an ill fulfillin o' my father's duty til his auld +colonel, no to say his auld frien, to coontenance sic a notion!' + +'I beg your pardon, Miss Barclay; I was wrong to venture the remark. +But may I say in excuse, that it is not unnatural to imagine a young +woman, doing so much for a young man, just a little bit in love with +him?' + +'I wud fain hae yer leddyship un'erstaun,' returned Kirsty, 'that my +father, my mother, and mysel, we're jist are and nae mair. No are o' 's +hes a wuss that disna belang to a' three. The langest I can min', it's +been my ae ambition to help my father and mother to du what they +wantit. I never desirit merriage, my leddy, and gien I did, it wudna be +wi' sic as Francie Gordon, weel as I lo'e him, for we war bairnies, and +laddie and lassie thegither: I wudna hae a man it was for me to fin' +faut wi'! 'Deed, mem, what fowk ca's love, hes neither airt nor pairt +i' this metter!' + +Not to believe the honest glow in Kirsty's face, and the clear +confident assertion of her eyes, would have shown a poor creature in +whom the faculty of belief was undeveloped. + +Sir Haco and lady Macintosh insisted on Kirsty's taking up her abode +with them while she was in Edinburgh; and Kirsty, partly in the hope of +expediting the object of her mission thereby, and partly because her +heart was drawn to her new friends, gladly consented. Before a week was +over, like understanding like, her hostess felt as if she were a +daughter until now long waiting for her somewhere in the infinite. + +The self-same morning, sir Haco sat down to his study-table, and began +writing to every officer alive who had served with Francis Gordon, +requesting to know his feeling, and that of the regiment about him. +Within three days he received the first of the answers, which kept +dropping in for the next six months. They all described Gordon as +rather a scatterbrain, as not the less a favourite with officers and +men, and as always showing the courage of a man, or rather of a boy, +seeing he not unfrequently acted with a reprehensible recklessness that +smacked a little of display. + +'That's Francie himsel!' cried Kirsty, with the tears in her eyes, when +her host read, to this effect, the first result of his inquiry. + +Within a fortnight he received also, from one high in office, the +assurance that, if Mr. Gordon, on his recovery, wished to enter her +majesty's service, he should have his commission. + +While her husband was thus kindly occupied, lady Macintosh was showing +Kirsty every loving attention she could think of, and, in taking her +about Edinburgh and its neighbourhood, found that the country girl knew +far more of the history of Scotland than she did herself. + +She would gladly have made her acquainted with some of her friends, but +Kirsty shrank from the proposal: she could not forget how her hostess +had herself misinterpreted the interest she took in Francie Gordon. As +soon as she felt that she could do so without seeming ungrateful, she +bade her new friends farewell, and hastened home, carrying with her +copies of the answers which sir Haco had up to that time received. + +When she arrived it was with such a glad heart that, at sight of +Francis in her father's Sunday clothes, she laughed so merrily that her +mother said 'The lassie maun be fey!' Haggard as he looked, the old +twinkle awoke in his eye responsive to her joyous amusement; and David, +coming in the next moment from putting up the gray mare with which he +had met the coach to bring Kirsty home, saw them all three laughing in +such an abandonment of mirth as, though unaware of the immediate +motive, he could not help joining. + +The same evening Kirsty went to the castle, and Mrs. Bremner needed no +persuasion to find the suit which the young laird had left in his room, +and give it to her to carry to its owner; so that, when he woke the +next morning, Francis saw the gray garments lying by his bed-side in +place of David's black, and felt the better for the sight. + +The letters Kirsty had brought, working along, with returning health, +and the surrounding love and sympathy most potent of all, speedily +dispelled his yet lingering delusion. It had occasionally returned in +force while Kirsty was away, but now it left him altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +A GREAT GULF + + +It was now midsummer, and Francis Gordon was well, though thin and +looking rather delicate. Kirsty and he had walked together to the top +of the Horn, and there sat, in the heart of old memories. The sun was +clouded above; the boggy basin lay dark below, with its rim of heathery +hills not yet in bloom, and its bottom of peaty marsh, green and black, +with here and there a shining spot; the growing crops of the far-off +farms on the other side but little affected the general impression the +view gave of a waste world; yet the wide expanse of heaven and earth +lifted the heart of Kirsty with an indescribable sense of presence, +purpose, promise. For was it not the country on which, fresh from God, +she first opened the eyes of this life, the visible region in which all +her efforts had gone forth, in which all the food of her growth had +been gathered, in which all her joys had come to her, in which all her +loves had had their scope, the place whence by and by she would go away +to find her brother with the bonny man! + +Francis saw without heeding. His heart was not uplifted. His earthly +future, a future of his own imagining, drew him. + +'This winna du ony langer, Kirsty!' he said at length. 'The accusin +angel 'll be upo' me again or I ken! I maunna be idle 'cause I'm happy +ance mair--thanks to you, Kirsty! Little did I think ever to raise my +heid again! But noo I maun be at my wark! I'm fit eneuch!' + +'I'm richt glaid to hear't!' answered Kirsty. 'I was jist thinkin lang +for a word o' the sort frae ye, Francie. I didna want to be the first +to speyk o' 't.' + +'And I was just thinkin lang to hear ye speyk o' 't!' returned Francis. +'I wantit to du't as the thing ye wad hae o' me!' + +'Even than, Francie, ye wudna, it seems, hae been doin 't to please me, +and that pleases me weel! I wud be nane pleast to think ye duin 't for +me! It wud gie me a sair hert, Francie!' + +'What for that, Kirsty?' + +''Cause it wud shaw ye no a man yet! A man's a man 'at dis what's +richt, what's pleasin to the verra hert o' richt. Ye'll please me best +by no wantin to please me; and ye'll please God best by duin what he's +putten intil yer hert as the richt thing, and the bonny thing, and the +true thing, though ye suld dee i' the duin o' 't.--Tell me what ye're +thinkin o' duin.' + +'What but gaeing efter this new commission they hae promised me? +There's aye a guid chance o' fechtin upo' the borders--the frontiers, +as they ca' them!' + +Kirsty sat silent. She had been thinking much of what Francis ought to +do, and had changed her mind on the point since the time when she +talked about him with sir Haco. + +'Isna that what ye wud hae me du, Kirsty?' he said, when he found she +continued silent. 'A body's no a fule for wantin guid advice!' + +'No, that's true eneuch! What for wad ye want to gang fechtin?' + +'To shaw the warl' I'm nane o' what my mither ca'd me.' + +'And shawn that, hoo muckle the better man wud ye be for 't? Min' ye +it's ae thing to be, and anither to shaw. Be ye maun; shaw ye needna.' + +'I dinna ken; I micht be growin better a' the time!' + +'And ye micht be growin waur.--What the better wud ony neebour be for +ye gane fechtin? Wudna it be a' for yersel? Is there naething gien +intil yer ban' to du--naething nearer hame nor that? Surely o' twa +things, are near and are far, the near comes first!' + +'I dinna ken. I thoucht ye wantit me to gang!' + +'Ay, raither nor bide at hame duin naething; but michtna there be +something better to du?' + +'I dinna ken. I thoucht to please ye, Kirsty, but it seems naething +wull!' + +'Ay; that's whaur the mischief lies. Ye thoucht to please me!' + +'I did think to please you, Kirsty! I thoucht, ance dune weel afore the +warl as my father did, I micht hae the face to come hame to you, and +say--"Kirsty, wull ye hae me?"' + +'Aye the same auld Francie!' said Kirsty, with a deep sigh. + +'Weel?' + +'I tell ye, Francie, i' the name o' God, I'll never hae ye on nae sic +terms!--Suppose I was to merry some-body whan ye was awa pruvin to +yersel, and a' the lave 'at never misdoobted ye, 'at ye was a brave +man--what wud ye du whan ye cam hame?' + +'Naething o' mortal guid! Tak to the drink, maybe.' + +'Ye tell me that! and ye think, wi' my een open to ken 'at ye say true, +I wud merry ye?--a man like you! Eh, Francie, Francie! ye're no worth +my takin' and ye're no like to be worth the takin o' ony honest +wuman!--Can ye possibly imegine a wuman merryin a man 'at she kenned +wud drive her to coontless petitions to be hauden ohn despisit him? Ye +mak my hert unco sair, Francie! I hae dune my best wi' ye, and the en' +o' 't is, 'at ye're no worth naething!' + +'For the life o' me, Kirsty, I dinna ken what ye're drivin at, or what +ye wud hae o' me! I canna but think ye're usin me as ye wudna like to +be used yersel!' + +''Deed I wud not like it gien I was o' your breed, Francie! Man, did ye +never ance i' yer life think what ye hed to du--what was gien ye to +du--what it was yer duty to du?' + +'No sae aften, doobtless, as I oucht. But I'm ready to hear ye tell me +my duty; I'm no past reasonin wi'!' + +'Did ye never hear 'at ye're to lo'e yer neebour as yersel?' + +'I'm duin that wi' a' my hert, Kirsty--and that ye ken as weel as I du +mysel!' + +'Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca' that lo'in me, to wull me merry a man +'at 's no a man ava! But it's nae me 'at 's yer neebour, Francie!' + +'Wha is my neebour, Kirsty?' + +'The queston's been speirt afore--and answert.' + +'And what's the answer til't?' + +''At yer neebour's jist whaever lies neist ye i' need o' yer help. Gien +ye read the tale o' the guid Sameritan wi' ony sort o' gumption, that's +what ye'll read intil 't and noucht else. The man or wuman ye can help, +ye hae to be neebour til.' + +'I want to help you.' + +'Ye canna help me. I'm in no need o' yer help. And the queston's no +whar's the man I _micht_ help, but whaur's the man I _maun_ help. I +wantit to be _your_ neebour, but I cudna win at ye for the thieves; ye +_wad_ stick to them, and they wudna lat me du naething.' + +'What thieves, i' the name o' common sense, Kirsty?' + +'Love o' yer ain gait, and love o' makin a show, and want o' care for +what's richt. Aih, Francie, I doobt something a heap waur 'll hae to +come upo' ye! A' my labour's lost, and I dearly grudge it--no the +labour, but the loss o' 't! I grudge that sair.' + +'Kirsty, i' the name o' God, wha _is_ my neebour?' + +'Yer ain mither.' + +'My ain mither!--_her_ oot o' a' the warl'?--I never cam upo' spark o' +rizzon intil her!' + +'Michtna she be that are, oot o' a' the warl', ye never shawed spark o' +rizzon til?' + +'There's nae place in her for reason to gang til!' + +'Ye never tried her wi' 't! Ye wud arguy wi' her mair nor plenty, but +did ye ever shaw her rizzon i' yer behaviour?' + +'Weel ye _are_ turnin agen me--you 'at 's saved my life frae her! Diana +I tell you hoo, whan I wan hame at last and gaed til her, for she was +aye guid to me when I wasna weel, she fell oot upo' me like a verra +deevil, ragin and ca'in me ill names, 'at I jist ran frae the hoose--and +ye ken whaur ye faun' me! Gien it hadna been for you, I wud have +been deid: I was waur nor deid a'ready! What w'y _can_ I be neebour to +_her_! It wud be naething but cat and dog atween's frae mornin to +nicht!' + +'Ae body canna be cat and dog baith! And the dog's as ill's the +cat--whiles waur!' + +'Ony dog wud yowl gien ye threw a kettle o' bilin watter ower him!' + +'Did she that til ye?' + +'She mintit at it. I ran frae her. She bed the toddy-kettle in her +ban', and she splasht it in her ain face tryin to fling't at me.' + +'Maybe she didna ken ye!' + +'She kenned me weel eneuch. She ca'd me by my ain as weel 's ither +names.' + +'Ye're jist croonin my arguyment, Francie! Yer mither's jist perishin +o' drink! She drinks and drinks, and, by what I hear, cares for noucht +else. A' 's upo' the ro'd to ruin in her and aboot her. She hasna the +brains noo, gien ever she bed them, to guide hersel. Is Satan to grip +her 'cause ye winna be neebour til her and hand him aff o' her? I ken +ye're a guid son sae far as lat her du as she likes and tak 'maist a' +the siller, but that's what greases the exle o' the cairt the deevil's +gotten her intil! I ken weel she hesna been muckle o' a mither til ye, +but ye're her son whan a' 's said. And there can be naething ye're +callt upon to du, sae lang as she's i' the grup o' the enemy, but rugg +her oot o' 't. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll never be oot o' 's grup +yersel. Ye come oot thegither, or ye bide thegither.' + +Gordon sat speechless. + +'It's _im_possible!' he said at length. + +'Francie,' rejoined Kirsty, very quietly and solemnly, 'ye're yer +mother's keeper; ye're her neist neebour: are ye gauin to du yer duty +by her, or are ye not?' 'I canna; I daurna; I'm a cooard afore her.' + +'Gien ye lat her gang on to disgrace yer father, no to say yersel--and +that by means o' what's yours and no hers, I'll say mysel 'at ye're a +cooard.' + +'Come hame wi' me and tak my pairt, and I'll promise ye to du my best.' + +'Ye maun tak yer ain pairt; and ye maun tak her pairt tu against +hersel.' + +'It's no to be thoucht o', Kirsty!' + +'Ye winna?' + +'I canna my lane. I winna try 't. It wud be waur nor useless.' + +Kirsty rose, turning her face homeward. Gordon sprang to his feet. She +was already three yards from him. + +'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried, going after her. + +She went straight for home, never showing by turn of head, by +hesitation of step, or by change of carriage, that she heard his voice +or his feet behind her. + +When they had thus gone two or three hundred yards, he quickened his +pace, and laid his hand on her arm. + +She stopped and faced him. He dropped his hand, grew yet whiter, and +said not a word. She walked on again. Like one in a dream he followed, +his head hanging, his eyes on the heather. She went on faster. He was +falling behind her, but did not know it. Down and down the hill he +followed, and only at the earth-house lifted his head: she was nearly +over the opposite brae! He had let her go! He might yet have overtaken +her, but he knew that he had lost her. + +He had no home, no refuge! Then first, not when alone in the +beleaguered city, he knew desolation. He had never knocked at the door +of heaven, and earth had closed hers! An angel who needed no flaming +sword to make her awful, held the gate of his lost paradise against +him. None but she could open to him, and he knew that, like God +himself, Kirsty was inexorable. Left alone with that last terrible look +from the eyes of the one being he loved, he threw himself in despair on +the ground. True love is an awful thing, not to the untrue only, but +sometimes to the growing-true, for to everything that can be burned it +is a consuming fire. Never more, it seemed, would those eyes look in at +his soul's window without that sad, indignant repudiation in them! He +rose, and crept into the earth-house. + +Kirsty lost herself in prayer as she went. 'Lord, I hae dune a' I can!' +she said. 'Until thou hast dune something by thysel, I can do naething +mair. He's i' thy han's still, I praise thee, though he's oot o' mine! +Lord, gien I hae dune him ony ill, forgie me; a puir human body canna +ken aye the best! Dinna lat him suffer for my ignorance, whether I be +to blame for 't or no. I will try to do whatever thou makest plain to +me.' + +By the time she reached home she was calm. Her mother saw and respected +her solemn mood, gave her a mother's look, and said nothing: she knew +that Kirsty, lost in her own thoughts, was in good company. + +What was passing in the soul of Francis Gordon, I can only indicate, I +cannot show. The most mysterious of all vital movements, a generation, +a transition, was there--how initiated, God only knows. Francis knew +neither whence it came nor whither it went. He was being re-born from +above. The change was in himself; the birth was that of his will. It +was his own highest action, therefore all God's. He was passing from +death into life, and knew it no more than the babe knows that he is +being born. The change was into a new state of being, of the very +existence of which most men are incredulous, for it is beyond +preconception, capable only of being experienced. Thorough as is the +change, the man knows himself the same man, and yet would rather cease +to be, than return to what he was. The unknown germ in him, the root of +his being, yea, his very being itself, the holy thing which is his +intrinsic substance, hitherto unknown to his consciousness, has begun +to declare itself, and the worm is passing into the butterfly, the +creeping thing into the Psyche. It is a change in which God is the +potent presence, but which the man must _will_, or remain the gaoler +who prisons in loathsomeness his own God-born self, and chokes the +fountain of his own liberty. + +Francis knew nothing of all this; he only felt he must knock at the +door behind which Kirsty lived. Kirsty could not open the door to him, +but there was one who could, and Francis could knock! 'God help me!' he +cried, as he lay on his face to live, where once he had lain on his +face to die. For the rising again is the sepulchre. The world itself is +one vast sepulchre for the heavenly resurrection. We are all busy +within the walls of our tomb burying our dead, that the corruptible may +perish, and the incorruptible go free. Francis Gordon came out of that +earth-house a risen man: his will was born. He climbed again to the +spot where Kirsty and he had sat together, and there, with the vast +clear heaven over his head, threw himself once more on his face, and +lifted up his heart to the heart whence he came. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE NEIGHBOURS + + +He had eaten nothing since the morning, and felt like one in a calm +ethereal dream as he walked home to Weelset in the soft dusk of an +evening that would never be night, but die into the day. No one saw him +enter the house, no one met him on the ancient spiral stair, as, with +apprehensive anticipation, he sought the drawing-room. + +He had just set his foot on the little landing by its door when a wild +scream came from the room. He flung the door open and darted in. His +mother rushed into his arms, enveloped from foot to head in a cone of +fire. She was making, in wild flight, for the stair, to reach which +would have been death to her. Francis held her fast, but she struggled +so wildly that he had actually to throw her on the floor ere he could +do anything to deliver her. Then he flung on her the rug, the +table-cover, his coat, and one of the window-curtains, tearing it +fiercely from the rings. Having got all these close around her, he rang +the bell with an alarum-peal, but had to ring three times, for service +in that house was deadened by frequent fury of summons. Two of the +maids--there was no manservant in the house now--laid their mistress on +a mattress, and carried her to her room. Gordon's hands and arms were +so severely burned that he could do nothing beyond directing: he thought +he had never felt pain before. + +The doctor was sent for, and came speedily. Having examined them, he +said Mrs. Gordon's injuries would have caused him no anxiety but for +her habits: their consequences might be very serious, and every +possible care must be taken of her. + +Disabled as he was, Francis sat by her till the morning; and the +night's nursing did far more for himself than for his mother. For, as +he saw how she suffered, and interpreted her moans by what he had felt +and was still feeling in his own hands and arms, a great pity awoke in +him. What a lost life his mother's had been! Was this to be the end of +it? The old kindness she had shown him in his childhood and youth, +especially when he was in any bodily trouble, came back upon him, and a +new love, gathering up in it all the intermittent love of days long +gone by, sprang to life in his heart, and he saw that the one thing +given him to do was to deliver his mother. + +The task seemed, if not easy, yet far from irksome, so long as she +continued incapable of resisting, annoying, or deceiving him; but the +time speedily came when he perceived that the continuous battle rather +than war of duty and inclination must be fought and in some measure won +in himself ere he could hope to stir up any smallest skirmish of sacred +warfare in the soul of his mother. What added to the acerbities of this +preliminary war was, that the very nature of the contest required +actions which showed not only unbecoming in a son, but mean and +disgraceful in themselves. There was no pride, pomp, or circumstance of +glorious war in this poor, domestic strife, this seemingly sordid and +unheroic, miserably unheroic, yet high, eternal contest! But now that +Francis was awake to his duty, the best of his nature awoke to meet its +calls, and he drew upon a growing store of love for strength to thwart +the desires of her he loved. 'Entire affection hateth nicer hands,' and +Francis learned not to mind looking penurious and tyrannical, selfish, +heartless, and unsympathetic, in the endeavour to be truly loving and +lovingly true. He had not Kirsty to support him, but he could now go +higher than to Kirsty for the help he needed; he went to the same +fountain from which Kirsty herself drew her strength. At the same time +frequent thought of her filled him with glad assurance of her sympathy, +which was in itself a wondrous aid. He neither saw nor sought to see +her: he would not go near her before at least she already knew from +other sources what would give her the hope that he was trying to do +right. + +The gradually approaching strife between mother and son burst out the +same moment in which the devilish thirst awoke to its cruel tyranny. It +was a mercy to both of them that it re-asserted itself while yet the +mother was helpless toward any indulgence of her passion. Francis was +no longer afraid of her, but it was the easier because of her +condition, although not the less painful for him to frustrate her +desire. Neither did it make it the less painful that already her +countenance, which the outward fire had not half so much disfigured as +that which she herself had applied inwardly, had begun to remind him of +the face he had long ago loved a little, but this only made him, if +possible, yet more determined that not one shilling of his father's +money should go to the degradation of his mother. That she lusted and +desired to have, was the worst of reasons why she should obtain! A +compelled temperance was of course in itself worthless, but that alone +could give opportunity for the waking of what soul was left her. Puny +as it was, that might then begin to grow; it might become aware of the +bondage to which it had been subjected, and begin to long for liberty. + +In carrying out his resolution, Francis found it specially hard to +fight, along with the bad in his mother, the good in himself: the lower +forms of love rose against the higher, and had to be put down. To see +the scintillation of his mother's eyes at the sound of any liquid, and +know how easily he could give her an hour of false happiness, tore his +heart, while her fierce abuse hardly passed the portals of his brain. +Her condition was so pitiful that her words could not make him angry. +She would declare it was he who set her clothes on fire, and as soon as +she was up again she would publish to the world what a coward and sneak +he showed himself from morning to night. Had Francis been what he once +was, his mother and he must soon have come as near absolute hatred as +is possible to the human; but he was now so different that the worst +answer he ever gave her was, + +'Mother, you _know_ you don't mean it!' + +'I mean it with all my heart and soul, Francis,' she replied, glaring +at him. + +He stooped to kiss her on the forehead, she struck him on the face so +that the blood sprang. He went back a step, and stood looking at her +sadly as he wiped it away. + +'Crying!' she said. 'You always were a coward, Francis!' + +But the word had no more any sting for him. + +'I'm all right, mother. My nose got in the way!' he answered, restoring +his handkerchief to his pocket. + +'It's the doctor puts him up to it!' said Mrs. Gordon to herself. 'But +we shall soon be rid of him now! If there's any more of this nonsense +then, I shall have to shut Francis up again! That will teach him how to +behave to his mother!' + +When at length Mrs. Gordon was able to go about the house again, it was +at once to discover that things were not to be as they had been. Then +deepened the combat, and at the same time assumed aspects and +occasioned situations which in the eye of the world would have seemed +even ludicrously unbecoming. The battle of the warrior is with confused +noise and garments rolled in blood, but how much harder and worthier +battles are fought, not in shining armour, but amid filth and squalor +physical as well as moral, on a field of wretched and wearisome +commonplace! + +It was essential to success that there should be no traitor among the +servants, and Francis had made them understand what his measures were. +Nor was there in this any betrayal of a mother's weakness, for Mrs. +Gordon's had long been more than patent to all about her. When, +therefore, he one day found her, for the first time, under the +influence of strong drink, he summoned them and told them that, sooner +than fail of his end, he would part with the whole house-hold, and +should be driven to it if no one revealed how the thing had come to +pass. Thereupon the youngest, a mere girl, burst into tears, and +confessed that she had procured the whisky. Hardly thinking it possible +his mother should have money in her possession, so careful was he to +prevent it, he questioned, and found that she had herself provided the +half-crown required, and that her mistress had given her in return a +valuable brooch, an heirloom, which was hers only to wear, not to give. +He took this from her, repaid her the half-crown, gave her her wages up +to the next term, and sent Mrs. Bremner home with her immediately. Her +father being one of his own tenants, he rode to his place the next +morning, laid before him the whole matter, and advised him to keep the +girl at home for a year or two. + +This one evil success gave such a stimulus to Mrs. Gordon's passion +that her rage with her keeper, which had been abating a little, blazed +up at once as fierce as at first. But, miserable as the whole thing +was, and trying as he found the necessary watchfulness, Gordon held out +bravely. At the end of six months, however, during which no fresh +indulgence had been possible to her, he had not gained the least ground +for hoping that any poorest growth of strength, or even any waking of +desire toward betterment, had taken place in her. + +All this time he had not been once to Corbyknowe. He had nevertheless +been seeing David Barclay three or four times a week. For Francis had +told David how he stood with Kirsty, and how, while refusing him, she +had shown him his duty to his mother. He told him also that he now saw +things with other eyes, and was endeavouring to do what was right; but +he dared not speak to her on the subject lest she should think, as she +would, after what had passed between them, be well justified in +thinking, that he was doing for her sake what ought to be done for its +own. He said to him that, as he was no man of business, and must give +his best attention to his mother, he found it impossible for the +present to acquaint himself with the state of the property, or indeed +attend to it in any serviceable manner; and he begged him, as his +father's friend and his own, to look into his affairs, and, so far as +his other duties would permit, place things on at least a better +footing. + +To this petition, David had at once and gladly consented. + +He found everything connected with the property in a sad condition. The +agent, although honest, was weak, and had so given way to Mrs. Gordon +that much havoc had been made, and much money wasted. He was now in bad +health, and had lost all heart for his work. But he had turned nothing +to his own advantage, and was quite ready, under David's supervision, +to do his best for the restoration of order, and the curtailment of +expenses. + +All that David now saw in his intercourse with the young laird, went to +convince him that he was at length a man of conscience, cherishing +steady purposes. He reported at home what he saw, and said what he +believed, and his wife and daughter perceived plainly that his heart +was lighter than it had been for many a day. Kirsty listened, said +little, asked a question here and there, and thanked God. For her +father brought her not only the good news that Francis was doing his +best for his mother, but that he had begun to open his eyes to the fact +that he had his part in the wellbeing of all on his land; that the +property was not his for the filling of his pockets, or for the +carrying out of schemes of his own, but for the general and individual +comfort and progress. + +'I do believe,' said David, 'the young laird wud fain mak o' the lan's +o' Weelset a spot whauron the e'en o' the bonny man micht rist as he +gaed by!' + +Mrs. Gordon's temper seemed for a time to have changed from fierce to +sullen, but by degrees she began to show herself not altogether +indifferent to the continuous attentions of her inexorable son. It is +true she received them as her right, but he yielded her a right +immeasurably beyond that she would have claimed. He would play draughts +or cribbage with her for hours at a time, and every day for months read +to her as long as she would listen--read Scott and Dickens and Wilkie +Collins and Charles Reade. + +One day, after much entreaty, she consented to go out for a drive with +him, when round to the door came a beautiful new carriage, and such a +pair of horses as she could not help expressing satisfaction with. +Francis told her they were at her command, but if ever she took unfair +advantage of them, he would send both carriage and horses away. + +She was furious at his daring to speak so to _her_, and had almost +returned to her room, but thought better of it and went with him. She +did not, however, speak a word to him the whole way. The next morning +he let her go alone. After that, he sometimes went with her, and +sometimes not: the desire of his heart was to behold her a free woman. + +She was quite steady for a while, and her spirits began to return. The +hopes of her son rose high; he almost ceased to fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE + + +It was again midsummer, and just a year since they parted on the Horn, +when Francis appeared at Corbyknowe, and found Kirsty in the kitchen. +She received him as if nothing had ever come between them, but at once +noting he was in trouble, proposed they should go out together. It was +a long way to be silent, but they had reached the spot, whence they +started for the race recorded in my first chapter, ere either of them +said a word. + +'Will ye no sit, Kirsty?' said Francis at length. + +For answer she dropped on the same stone where she was sitting when she +challenged him to it, and Francis took his seat on its neighbour. + +'I hae had a some sair time o' 't sin' I shawed ye plain hoo little I +was worth yer notice, Kirsty!' he began. + +'Ay,' returned Kirsty, 'but ilka hoor o' 't hes shawn what the rael +Francie was!' + +'I kenna, Kirsty. A' I can say is--'at I dinna think nearhan sae muckle +o' mysel as I did than.' + +'And I think a heap mair o' ye,' answered Kirsty. 'I canna but think ye +upo' the richt ro'd noo, Francie!' + +'I houp I am, but I'm aye fin'in' oot something 'at 'ill never du.' + +'And ye'll keep fin'in' oot that sae lang 's there 's onything left but +what 's like himsel.' + +'I un'erstan ye, Kirsty. But I cam to ye the day, no to say onything +aboot mysel, but jist 'cause I cudna du wantin yer help. I wudna hae +presumed but that I thoucht, although I dinna deserve 't, for auld +kin'ness ye wud say what ye wud advise.' + +'I'll du that, Francie--no for auld kin'ness, but for kin'ness never +auld. What's wrang wi' ye?' + +'Kirsty, wuman, she's brocken oot again!' + +'I dinna won'er. I hae h'ard o' sic things.' + +'It's jist taen the pith oot o' me! What _am_ I to du?' + +'Ye canna du better nor weel; jist begin again.' + +'I had coft her a bonny cairriage, wi' as fine a pair as ever ye saw, +Kirsty, as I daursay yer father has telled ye. And they warna lost upon +her, for she had aye a gleg ee for a horse. Ye min' yon powny?--And up +til yesterday, a' gaed weel, till I was thinkin I cud trust her +onygait. But i' the efternune, as she was oot for an airin, are o' the +horses cuist a shue, and thinkin naething o' the risk til a human sowl, +but only o' the risk til the puir horse, the fule fallow stoppit at a +smithy nae farrer nor the neist door frae a public, and tuik the horse +intil the smithy, lea'in the smith's lad at the held o' the ither +horse. Sae what suld my leddy but oot upo' the side _frae_ the smithy, +and awa roon the back o' the cairriage to the public, and in! Whether +she took onything there I dinna ken, but she maun hae broucht a bottle +hame wi her, for this mornin she was fou--fou as e'er ye saw man in +market!' + +He broke down, and wept like a child. + +'And what did ye du?' asked Kirsty. + +'I said naething. I jist gaed to the coachman and gart him put his +horses tu, and tak his denner wi' him, and m'unt the box, and drive +straucht awa til Aberdeen, and lea' the carriage whaur I boucht it, and +du siclike wi' the horses, and come hame by the co'ch.' + +As he ended the sad tale, he glanced up at Kirsty, and saw her +regarding him with a look such as he had never seen, imagined, or +dreamed of before. It lasted but a moment; her eyes dropt, and she went +on with the knitting which, as in the old days, she had brought with +her. + +'Noo, Kirsty, what am I to du neist?' he said. + +'Hae ye naething i' yer ain min'?' she asked. + +'Naething.' + +'Weel, we'll awa hame!' she returned, rising. 'Maybe, as we gang, we'll +get licht!' + +They walked in silence. Now and then Francis would look up in Kirsty's +face, to see if anything was coming, but saw only that she was sunk in +thought: he would not hurry her, and said not a word. He knew she would +speak the moment she had what she thought worth saying. + +Kirsty, recalling what her father had repeatedly said of Mrs. Gordon's +management of a horse in her young days, had fallen awondering how one +who so well understood the equine nature, could be so incapable of +understanding the human; for certainly she had little known either +Archibald Gordon or David Barclay, and quite as little her own son. +Having come to the conclusion that the incapacity was caused by +overpowering affection for the one human creature she ought not to +love, Kirsty found her thoughts return to the sole faculty her father +yielded Mrs. Gordon--that of riding a horse as he ought to be ridden. +Thereupon came to her mind a conclusion she had lately read +somewhere--namely, that a man ought to regard his neighbour as specially +characterized by the possession of this or that virtue or capacity, +whatever it might be, that distinguished him; for that was as the +door-plate indicating the proper entrance to his inner house. A moment +more and Kirsty thought she saw a way in which Francis might gain a +firmer hold on his mother, as well as provide her with a pleasure that +might work toward her redemption. + +Francie,' she said, 'I hae thoucht o' something. My father has aye +said, and ye ken he kens, 'at yer mother was a by ordinar guid rider in +her young days, and this is what I wud hae ye du: gang straucht awa, +whaurever ye think best, and buy for her the best luikin, best +tempered, handiest, and easiest gaein leddy's-horse ye can lay yer +ban's upo'. Ye hae a gey fair beast o' yer ain, my father says, and ye +maun jist ride wi' her whaurever she gangs.' + +'I'll du 't, Kirsty. I canna gang straucht awa, I doobt, though; I fear +she has whusky left, and there's no sayin what she micht du afore I wan +back. I maun gang hame first.' + +'I'm no clear upo' that. Ye canna weel gang and rype (_search_) a' the +kists and aumries i' the hoose she ca's her ain! That wud anger her +terrible. Nor can ye weel lay ban's upon her, and tak frae her by +force. A wuman micht du that, but a man, and special a wuman's ain ae +son, canna weel du 't--that is, gien there's ony ither coorse 'at can +be followt. It seems to me ye maun tak the risk o' her bottle. And it +may be no ill thing 'at she sud disgrace hersel oot and oot. Onygait +wi' bein awa, and comin back wi' the horse i' yer ban' ye'll come afore +her like bringin wi' ye a fresh beginnin, a new order o' things like, +and that w'y av'ide words wi' her, and words maun aye be av'idit.' + +Francis remained in thoughtful silence. + +'I hae little fear,' pursued Kirsty, 'but we'll get her frae the drink +a'thegither, and the houp is we may get something better putten intil +her. Bein fou whiles, isna the main difficulty. But I beg yer pardon, +Francie! I maunna forget 'at she's your mother!' + +'Gien ye wud but tak her and me thegither, Kirsty, it wud be a gran' +thing for baith o' 's! Wi' you to tak the half o' 't, I micht stan' up +un'er the weicht o' my responsibility!' + +'I'm takin my share o' that, onygait, daurin to advise ye, +Francie!--Noo gang, laddie; gang straucht awa and buy the horse.' + +'I maun rin hame first, to put siller i' my pooch! I s' hand oot o' her +gait.' + +'Gang til my faither for't. I haena a penny, but he has aye plenty!' + +'I maun hae my horse; there's nae co'ch till the morn's mornin.' + +'Gangna near the place. My father 'ill gie ye the gray mear--no an ill +are ava! She'll tak ye there in four or five hoors, as _ye_ ride. Only, +min' and gie her a pickle corn ance, and meal and watter twise upo' the +ro'd. Gien ye seena the animal yere sure 'ill please her, gang further, +and comena hame wantin 't.' + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +MRS. GORDON + + +When Mrs. Gordon came to herself, she thought to behave as if nothing +had happened, and rang the bell to order her carriage. The maid +informed her that the coachman had driven away with it before lunch, +and had not said where he was going. + +'Driven away with it!' cried her mistress, starting to her feet; 'I +gave him no orders!' + +'I saw the laird giein him directions, mem,' rejoined the maid. + +Mrs. Gordon sat down again. She began to remember what her son had said +when first he gave her the carriage. + +'Where did he send him?' she asked. + +'I dinna ken, mem.' + +'Go and ask the laird to step this way.' + +'Please, mem, he's no i' the hoose. I ken, for I saw him gang--hoors +ago.' + +'Did he go in the carriage?' + +'No, mem; he gaed upo' 's ain fit.' + +'Perhaps he's come home by this time!' + +'I'm sure he's no that, mem.' + +Mrs. Gordon went to her room, all but finished the bottle of whisky, +and threw herself on her bed. + +Toward morning she woke with aching head and miserable mind. Now +dozing, now tossing about in wretchedness, she lay till the afternoon. +No one came near her, and she wanted no one. + +At length, dizzy and despairing, her head in torture, and her heart +sick, she managed to get out of bed, and, unable to walk, literally +crawled to the cupboard in which she had put away the precious +bottle:--joy! there was yet a glass in it! With the mouth of it to her +lips, she was tilting it up to drain the last drop, when the voice of +her son came cheerily from the drive, on which her window looked down: + +'See what I've brought you, mother!' he called. + +Fear came upon her; she took the bottle from her mouth, put it again in +the cupboard, and crept back to her bed, her brain like a hive buzzing +with devils. + +When Francis entered the house, he was not surprised to learn that she +had not left her room. He did not try to see her. + +The next morning she felt a little better, and had some tea. Still she +did not care to get up. She shrank from meeting her son, and the abler +she grew to think, the more unwilling she was to see him. He came to +her room, but she heard him coming, turned her head the other way, and +pretended to be asleep. Again and again, almost involuntarily, she half +rose, remembering the last of the whisky, but as often lay down again, +loathing the cause of her headache. + +Stronger and stronger grew her unwillingness to face her son: she had +so thoroughly proved herself unfit to be trusted! She began to feel +towards him as she had sometimes felt toward her mother when she had +been naughty. She began to see that she could make her peace, with him +or with herself, only by acknowledging her weakness. Aided by her +misery, she had begun to perceive that she could not trust herself, and +ought to submit to be treated as the poor creature she was. She had +resented the idea that she could not keep herself from drink if she +pleased, for she knew she could; but she had not pleased! How could she +ever ask him to trust her again! + +What further passed in her, I cannot tell. It is an unfailing surprise +when anyone, more especially anyone who has hitherto seemed without +strength of character, turns round and changes. The only thing Mrs. +Gordon then knew as helping her, was the strong hand of her son upon +her, and the consciousness that, had her husband lived, she could never +have given way as she had. But there was another help which is never +wanting where it can find an entrance; and now first she began to pray, +'Lead me not into temptation.' + +There was one excuse which David alone knew to make for her--that her +father was a hard drinker, and his father before him. + +Doubtless, during all the period of her excesses, the soul of the woman +in her better moments had been ashamed to know her the thing she was. +It could not, when she was at her worst, comport with her idea of a +lady, poor as that idea was, to drink whisky till she did not know what +she did next. And when the sleeping woman God made, wakes up to see in +what a house she lives, she will soon grasp at besom and bucket, nor +cease her cleansing while spot is left on wall or ceiling or floor. + +How the waking comes, who can tell! God knows what he wants us to do, +and what we can do, and how to help us. What I have to tell is that, +the next morning, Mrs. Gordon came down to breakfast, and finding her +son already seated at the table, came up behind him, without a word set +the bottle with the last glass of whisky in it before him, went to her +place at the table, gave him one sorrowful look, and sat down. + +His heart understood, and answered with a throb of joy so great that he +knew it first as pain. + +Neither spoke until breakfast was almost over. Then Francis said, + +'You've grown so much younger, mother, it is quite time you took to +riding again! I've been buying a horse for you. Remembering the sort of +pony you bought for me, I thought I should like to try whether I could +not please you with a horse of my buying.' + +'Silly boy!' she returned, with a rather pitiful laugh, 'do you suppose +at my age I'm going to make a fool of myself on horseback? You forget +I'm an old woman!' + +'Not a bit of it, mother! If ever you rode as David Barclay says you +did, I don't see why you shouldn't ride still. He's a splendid +creature! David told me you liked a big fellow. Just put on your habit, +mammy, and we'll take a gallop across, and astonish the old man a bit.' + +'My dear boy, I have no nerve! I'm not the woman I was! It's my own +fault, I know, and I'm both sorry and ashamed.' + +'We are both going to try to be good, mother dear!' faltered Francis. + +The poor woman pressed her handkerchief with both hands to her face, +and wept for a few moments in silence, then rose and left the room. In +an hour she was ready, and out looking for Francis. Her habit was a +little too tight for her, but wearable enough. The horses were sent +for, and they mounted. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +TWO HORSEWOMEN + + +There was at Corbyknowe a young, well-bred horse which David had +himself reared: Kirsty had been teaching him to carry a lady. For her +hostess in Edinburgh, discovering that she was fond of riding and that +she had no saddle, had made her a present of her own: she had not used +it for many years, but it was in very good condition, and none the +worse for being a little old-fashioned. That same morning Kirsty had +put on a blue riding-habit, which also lady Macintosh had given her, +and was out on the highest slope of the farm, hoping to catch a sight +of the two on horseback together, and so learn that her scheme was a +success. She had been on the outlook for about an hour, when she saw +them coming along between the castle and Corbyknowe, and went straight +for a certain point in the road so as to reach it simultaneously with +them. For she had just spied a chance of giving Gordon the opportunity +which her father had told her he was longing for, of saying something +about her to his mother. + +'Who can that be?' said Mrs. Gordon as they trotted gently along, when +she spied the lady on horseback. 'She rides well! But she seems to be +alone! Is there really nobody with her?' + +As she spoke, the young horse came over a _dry-stane-dyke_ in fine +style. + +'Why, she's an accomplished horsewoman!' exclaimed Mrs. Gordon. 'She +must be a stranger! There's not a lady within thirty miles of Weelset +can ride like that!' + +'No such stranger as you think, mother!' rejoined Francis. 'That's +Kirsty Barclay of Corbyknowe.' + +'Never, Francis! The girl rides like a lady!' + +Francis smiled, perhaps a little triumphantly. Something like what lay +in the smile the mother read in it, for it roused at once both her +jealousy and her pride. _Her_ son to fall in love with a girl that was +not even a lady! A Gordon of Weelset to marry a tenant's daughter! +Impossible! + +Kirsty was now in the road before them, riding slowly in the same +direction. It was the progress, however, not the horse that was slow: +his frolics, especially when the other horses drew near, kept his rider +sufficiently occupied. + +Mrs. Gordon quickened her pace, and passed without turning her head or +looking at her, but so close, and with so sudden a rush that Kirsty's +horse half wheeled, and bounded over the dyke by the roadside. Her +rudeness annoyed her son, and he jumped his horse into the field and +joined Kirsty, letting his mother ride on, and contenting himself with +keeping her in sight. After a few moments' talk, however, he proposed +that they should overtake her, and cutting off a great loop of the +road, they passed her at speed, and turned and met her. She had by this +time got a little over her temper, and was prepared to behave with +propriety, which meant--the dignity becoming her. + +'What a lovely horse you have, Miss Barclay!' she said, without other +greeting. 'How much do you want for him?' + +'He is but half-broken,' answered Kirsty, 'or I would offer to change +with you. I almost wonder you look at him from the back of your own!' + +'He is a beauty--is he not? This is my first trial of him. The laird +gave me him only this morning. He is as quiet as a lamb.' + +'There, Donal,' said Kirsty to her horse, 'tak example by yer betters! +Jist luik hoo he stan's!--The laird has a true eye for a horse, ma'am,' +she went on, 'but he always says you gave it him.' + +'Always! hm!' said Mrs. Gordon to herself, but she looked kindly at her +son. + +'How did you learn to ride so well, Kirsty?' she asked. + +'I suppose I got it from my father, ma'am! I began with the cows.' + +'Ah, how is old David?' returned Mrs. Gordon. 'I have seen him once or +twice about the castle of late, but have not spoken to him.' + +'He is very well, thank you.--Will you not come up to the Knowe and +rest a moment? My mother will be very glad to see you.' + +'Not to-day, Kirsty. I haven't been on horseback for years, and am +already tired. We shall turn here. Good-morning!' + +'Good-morning, ma'am! Good-bye, Mr. Gordon!' said Kirsty cheerfully, as +she wheeled her horse to set him straight at a steep grassy brae. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER + + +The laird and his mother sat and looked at Kirsty as her horse tore up +the brae. + +'She can ride--can't she, mother?' said Francis. + +'Well enough for a hoiden,' answered Mrs. Gordon. + +'She rides to please her horse now, but she'll have him as quiet as +yours before long,' rejoined her son, both a little angry and a little +amused at her being called a hoiden who was to him like an angel grown +young with aeonian life. + +'Yes,' resumed his mother, as if she _would_ be fair, 'she does ride +well! If only she were a lady, that I might ask her to ride with me! +After all it's none of my business what she is--so long as _you_ don't +want to marry her!' She concluded, with an attempt at a laugh. + +'But I do want to marry her, mother!' rejoined Francis. + +A short year before, his mother would have said what was in her heart, +and it would not have been pleasant to hear; but now she was afraid of +her son, and was silent. But it added to her torture that she must be +silent. To be dethroned in castle Weelset by the daughter of one of her +own tenants, for as such she thought of them, was indeed galling. 'The +impudent quean!' she said to herself, 'she's ridden on her horse into +the heart of the laird!' But for the wholesome consciousness of her own +shame, which she felt that her son was always sparing, she would have +raged like a fury. + +'You that might have had any lady in the land!' she said at length. + +'If I might, mother, it would be just as vain to look for her equal.' + +'You might at least have shown your mother the respect of choosing a +lady to sit in her place! You drive me from the house!' + +'Mother,' said Francis, 'I have twice asked Kirsty Barclay to be my +wife, and she has twice refused me.' + +'You may try her again: she had her reasons! She never meant to let you +slip! If you got disgusted with her afterwards, she would always have +her refusal of you to throw in your teeth.' + +Francis laid his hand on his mother's, and stopped her horse. + +'Mother, you compel me!' he said. 'When I came home ill, and, as I +thought, dying, you called me bad names, and drove me from the house. +Kirsty found me in a hole in the earth, actually dying then, and saved +my life.' + +'Good heavens, Francis! Are you mad still? How dare you tell such +horrible falsehoods of your own mother? You never came near me! You +went straight to Corbyknowe!' + +'Ask Mrs. Bremner if I speak the truth. She ran out after me, but could +not get up with me. You drove me out; and if you do not know it now, +you do not need to be told how it is that you have forgotten it.' + +She knew what he meant, and was silent. + +'Then Kirsty went to Edinburgh, to sir Haco Macintosh, and with his +assistance brought me to my right mind. If it were not for Kirsty, I +should be in my grave, or wandering the earth a maniac. Even alive and +well as I am, I should not be with you now had she not shown me my +duty.' + +'I thought as much! All this tyranny of yours, all your late insolence +to your mother, comes from the power of that low-born woman over you! I +declare to you, Francis Gordon, if you marry her, I will leave the +house.' + +He made her no answer, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. +But in that silence things grew clearer to him. Why should he take +pains to persuade his mother to a consent which she had no right to +withhold? His desire was altogether reasonable: why should its +fulfilment depend on the unreason of one who had not strength to order +her own behaviour? He had to save her, not to please her, gladly as he +would have done both! + +When he had helped her from the saddle, he would have remounted and +ridden at once to Corbyknowe, but feared leaving her. She shut herself +in her room till she could bear her own company no longer, and then +went to the drawing-room, where Francis read to her, and played several +games of backgammon with her. Soon after dinner she retired, saying her +ride had wearied her; and the moment Francis knew she was in bed, he +got his horse, and galloped to the Knowe. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +THE CORONATION + + +When he arrived, there was no light in the house: all had gone to rest. +Unwilling to disturb the father and mother, he rode quietly to the back +of the house, where Kirsty's room looked on the garden. He called her +softly. In a moment she peeped out, then opened her window. + +'Cud ye come doon a minute, Kirsty?' said Francis. + +'I'll be wi' ye in less time,' she replied; and he had hardly more than +dismounted, when she was by his side. + +He told her what had passed between him and his mother since she left +them. + +'It's a rael bonny nicht!' said Kirsty, 'and we'll jist tak oor time to +turn the thing ower--that is, gien ye bena tired, Francie. Come, we'll +put the beastie up first.' + +She led the horse into the dark stable, took his bridle off, put a +halter on him, slackened his girths, and gave him a feed of corn--all +in the dark; which things done, she and her lover set out for the Horn. + +The whole night seemed thinking of the day that was gone. All doing +seemed at an end, yea God himself to be resting and thinking. The peace +of it sank into their bosoms, and filled them so, that they walked a +long way without speaking. There was no wind, and no light but the +starlight. The air was like the clear dark inside some diamonds. The +only sound that broke the stillness as they went was the voice of +Kirsty, sweet and low--and it was as if the dim starry vault thought, +rather than she uttered, the words she quoted:-- + + 'Summer Night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, + A still wave has flowed + Of Eternity!' + + +At a certain spot on the ridge of the Horn, Francis stopped. + +'This is whaur ye left me this time last year, Kirsty,' he said;'--left +me wi' my Maker to mak a man o' me. It was 'maist makin me ower again!' + +There was a low stone just visible among the heather; Kirsty seated +herself upon it. Francis threw himself among the heather, and lay +looking up in her face. + +'That mother o' yours is 'maist ower muckle for ye, Francie!' said +Kirsty. + +'It's no aften, Kirsty, ye tell me what I ken as weel 's yersel!' +returned Francis. + +'Weel, Francie, ye maun tell _me_ something the night!--Gien it wudna +mismuve ye, I wad fain ken hoo ye wan throu that day we pairtit here.' + +Without a moment's hesitation, Francis began the tale--giving her to +know, however, that in what took place there was much he did not +understand so as to tell it again. + +When he made an end, Kirsty rose and said, + +'Wad ye please to sit upo' that stane, Francie!' + +In pure obedience he rose from the heather, and sat upon the stone. + +She went behind him, and clasped his head, round the temples, with her +shapely, strong, faithful hands. + +'I ken ye noo for a man, Francis. Ye hae set yersel to du _his_ wull, +and no yer ain: ye're a king; and for want o' a better croon, I croon +ye wi my twa ban's.' + +Little thought Kirsty how near she came, in word and deed, to the +crowning of Dante by Virgil, as recorded toward the close of the +Purgatorio. + +Then she came round in front of him, he sitting bewildered and taking +no part in the solemn ceremony save that of submission, and knelt +slowly down before him, laying her head on his knees, and saying,-- + +'And here's yer kingdom, Francis--my heid and my hert! Du wi' me what +ye wull.' + +'Come hame wi' me, and help save my mother,' he answered, in a voice +choked with emotion. + +'I wull,' she said, and would have risen; but he laid his hands on her +head, and thus they remained for a time in silence. Then they rose, and +went. + +They had gone about half-way to the farm before either spoke. Then +Kirsty said,-- + +'Francie, there's ae thing I maun beg o' ye, and but ane--'at ye winna +desire me to tak the heid o' yer table. I canna but think it an +ungracious thing 'at a young wuman like me, the son's wife, suld put +the man's ain mother, his father's wife, oot o' the place whaur his +father set her. I'm layin doon no prenciple; I'm sayin only hoo it +affecs me. I want to come hame as her dochter, no as mistress o' the +hoose in her stead. And ye see, Francie, that'll gie ye anither haud o' +her, agen disgracin o' hersel! Promise me, Francie, and I'll sune tak +the maist pairt o' the trouble o' her aff o' yer han's.' + +'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Francis. 'As ye wull.' + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +KIRSTY'S TOCHER + + +The next morning, Kirsty told her parents that she was going to marry +Francie. + +'Ye du richt, my bairn,' said her father. 'He's come in sicht o' 's +high callin, and it's no possible for ye langer to refuse him.' + +'But, eh! what am I to du wantin ye, Kirsty?' moaned her mother. 'Ye +min', mother,' answered Kirsty, 'hoo I wad be oot the lang day wi' +Steenie, and ye never thoucht ye hadna me!' + +'Na, never. I aye kenned I had the twa o' ye.' + +'Weel, it's no a God's-innocent but a deil's-gowk I'll hae to luik +efter noo, and I maun come hame ilka possible chance to get hertenin +frae you and my father, or I winna be able to bide it. Eh, mother, +efter Steenie, it'll be awfu' to spen' the day wi' _her_! It's no 'at +ever she'll be fou: I s' see to that!--it's 'at she'll aye be toom!--aye +ringin wi' toomness!' + +Here Kirsty turned to her father, and said,-- + +'Wull ye gie me a tocher, father?' + +'Ay wull I, lassie,--what ye like, sae far as I hae 't to gie.' + +'I want Donal--that's a'. Ye see I maun ride a heap wi' the puir thing, +and I wud fain hae something aneth me 'at ye gae me! The cratur'll aye +hing to the Knowe, and whan I gie his wull he'll fess me hame o' +himsel.--I wud hae likit things to bide as they are, but she wud hae +worn puir Francie to the verra deid!' + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +KIRSTY'S SONG + + +Mrs. Gordon manages the house and her reward is to sit at the head of +the table. But she pays Kirsty infinitely more for the privilege than +any but Kirsty can know, in the form of leisure for things she likes +far better than housekeeping--among the rest, for the discovery of such +songs as this, the last of hers I have seen:-- + + + LOVE IS HOME. + + Love is the part, and love is the whole; + Love is the robe, and love is the pall; + Ruler of heart and brain and soul, + Love is the lord and the slave of all! + I thank thee, Love, that thou lovest me; + I thank thee more that I love thee. + + Love is the rain, and love is the air; + Love is the earth that holdeth fast; + Love is the root that is buried there, + Love is the open flower at last! + I thank thee, Love all round about, + That the eyes of my love are looking out. + + Love is the sun, and love is the sea; + Love is the tide that comes and goes; + Flowing and flowing it comes to me; + Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows! + Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide! + My sea, and my shore, and all beside! + + Light, oh light that art by showing; + Wind, oh wind that liv'st by motion; + Thought, oh thought that art by knowing; + Will, that art born in self-devotion! + Love is you, though not all of you know it; + Ye are not love, yet ye always show it! + + Faithful creator, heart-longed-for father, + Home of our heart-infolded brother, + Home to thee all thy glories gather-- + All are thy love, and there is no other! + O Love-at-rest; we loves that roam-- + Home unto thee, we are coming home! + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heather and Snow, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEATHER AND SNOW *** + +***** This file should be named 9155.txt or 9155.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/5/9155/ + +Produced by J. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Heather and Snow + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: October, 2005 [EBook #9155] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 9, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEATHER AND SNOW *** + + + + +Produced by J. Ingram, C. Kirschner, D. Garcia and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +HEATHER AND SNOW + +BY GEORGE MACDONALD + + + +CONTENTS + + I. A RUNAWAY RACE + II. MOTHER AND SON + III. AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN + IV. DOG-STEENIE + V. COLONEL AND SERGEANT + VI. MAN-STEENIE + VII. CORBYKNOWE + VIII. DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER + IX. AT CASTLE WEELSET + X. DAVID AND FRANCIS + XI. KIRSTY AND PHEMY + XII. THE EARTH-HOUSE + XIII. A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON + XIV. STEENIE'S HOUSE + XV. PHEMY CRAIG + XVI. SHAM LOVE + XVII. A NOVEL ABDUCTION + XVIII. PHEMY'S CHAMPION + XIX. FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION + XX. MUTUAL MINISTRATION + XXI. PHEMY YIELDS PLACE + XXII. THE HORN + XXIII. THE STORM AGAIN + XXIV. HOW KIRSTY FARED + XXV. KIRSTY'S DREAM + XXVI. HOW DAVID FARED + XXVII. HOW MARION FARED + XXVIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE + XXIX. DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE + XXX. FROM SNOW TO FIRE + XXXI. KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT + XXXII. IN THE WORKSHOP + XXXIII. A RACE WITH DEATH + XXXIV. BACK FROM THE GRAVE + XXXV. FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF + XXXVI. KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF + XXXVII. A GREAT GULF + XXXVIII. THE NEIGHBOURS + XXXIX. KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE + XL. MRS. GORDON + XLI. TWO HORSEWOMEN + XLII. THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER + XLIII. THE CORONATION + XLIV. KIRSTY'S TOCHER + XLV. KIRSTY'S SONG + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +A RUNAWAY RACE + +Upon neighbouring stones, earth-fast, like two islands of an +archipelago, in an ocean of heather, sat a boy and a girl, the girl +knitting, or, as she would have called it, _weaving_ a stocking, and +the boy, his eyes fixed on her face, talking with an animation that +amounted almost to excitement. He had great fluency, and could have +talked just as fast in good English as in the dialect in which he was +now pouring out his ambitions--the broad Saxon of Aberdeen. + +He was giving the girl to understand that he meant to be a soldier like +his father, and quite as good a one as he. But so little did he know of +himself or the world, that, with small genuine impulse to action, and +moved chiefly by the anticipated results of it, he saw success already +his, and a grateful country at his feet. His inspiration was so purely +ambition, that, even if, his mood unchanged, he were to achieve much +for his country, she could hardly owe him gratitude. + +'I'll no hae the warl' lichtly (_make light of_) me!' he said. + +'Mebbe the warl' winna tribble itsel aboot ye sae muckle as e'en to +lichtly ye!' returned his companion quietly. + +'_Ye_ do naething ither!' retorted the boy, rising, and looking down on +her in displeasure. 'What for are ye aye girdin at me? A body canna lat +his thouchts gang, but ye're doon upo them, like doos upo corn!' + +'I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower muckle aboot ye +to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o' ye 'at ye hae o' yersel,' +answered the girl, who went on with her knitting as she spoke. + +'Ye'll never believe a body!' he rejoined, and turned half away. 'I +canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye haena a guid word to +gie a body!' + +'It's nane ye s' get frae me, the gait ye're gaein, Francie! Ye think a +heap ower muckle o' yersel. What ye expec, may some day a' come true, +but ye hae gien nobody a richt to expec it alang wi' ye, and I canna +think, gien ye war fair to yersel, ye wad coont yersel ane it was to be +expeckit o'!' + +'I tauld ye sae, Kirsty! Ye never lay ony weicht upo what a body says!' + +That depen's upo the body. Did ye never hear maister Craig p'int oot +the differ atween believin a body and believin _in_ a body, Francie?' + +'No--and I dinna care.' + +'I wudna like ye to gang awa thinking I misdoobtit yer word, Francie! I +believe onything ye tell me, as far as _I_ think ye ken, but maybe no +sae far as _ye_ think ye ken. I believe ye, but I confess I dinna +believe _in_ ye--yet. What hae ye ever dune to gie a body ony richt to +believe in ye? Ye're a guid rider, and a guid shot for a laddie, and ye +rin middlin fest--I canna say like a deer, for I reckon I cud lick ye +mysel at rinnin! But, efter and a',--' + +'Wha's braggin noo, Kirsty?' cried the boy, with a touch of not +ill-humoured triumph. + +'Me,' answered Kirsty; '--and I'll do what I brag o'!' she added, +throwing her stocking on the patch of green sward about the stone, and +starting to her feet with a laugh. 'Is't to be uphill or alang?' + +They were near the foot of a hill to whose top went the heather, but +along whose base, between the heather and the bogland below, lay an +irregular belt of moss and grass, pretty clear of stones. The boy did +not seem eager to accept the challenge. + +'There's nae guid in lickin a lassie!' he said with a shrug. + +'There mith be guid in tryin to du't though--especially gien ye war +lickit at it!' returned the girl. + +'What guid _can_ there be in a body bein lickit at onything?' + +'The guid o' haein a body's pride ta'en doon a wee.' + +'I'm no sae sure o' the guid o' that! It wud only hand ye ohn tried +(_from trying_) again.' + +'Jist there's what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye be first, +or ye'll no try! Ye'll never du naething for fear o' no bein able to +gang on believin ye cud du 't better nor ony ither body! Ye dinna want +to fin' oot 'at ye're naebody in particlar. It's a sair pity ye wunna +hae yer pride ta'en doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three +pairts o' 't.--Come, I'm ready for ye! Never min' 'at I'm a lassie: +naebody 'ill ken!' + +'Ye hae nae sheen (_shoes_)!' objected the boy. + +'Ye can put aff yer ain!' + +'My feet's no sae hard as yours!' + +'Weel, I'll put on mine. They're here, sic as they are. Ye see I want +them gangin throuw the heather wi' Steenie; that's some sair upo the +feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, and I'll put my sheen on!' + +'I'm no sae guid uphill.' + +'See there noo, Francie! Ye tak yersel for unco courteous, and +honourable, and generous, and k-nichtly, and a' that--oh, I ken a' +aboot it, and it's a' verra weel sae far as it gangs; but what the +better are ye for 't, whan, a' the time ye're despisin a body 'cause +she's but a quean, ye maun hae ilka advantage o' her, or ye winna gie +her a chance o' lickin ye!--Here! I'll put on my sheen, and rin ye +alang the laich grun'! My sheen's twice the weicht o' yours, and they +dinna fit me!' + +The boy did not dare go on refusing: he feared what Kirsty would say +next. But he relished nothing at all in the challenge. It was not fit +for a man to run races with a girl: there were no laurels, nothing but +laughter to be won by victory over her! and in his heart he was not at +all sure of beating Kirsty: she had always beaten him when they were +children. Since then they had been at the parish school together, but +there public opinion kept the boys and girls to their own special +sports. Now Kirsty had left school, and Francis was going to the +grammar-school at the county-town. They were both about fifteen. All +the sense was on the side of the girl, and she had been doing her best +to make the boy practical like herself--hitherto without much success, +although he was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He had not yet passed +the stage--some appear never to pass it in this world--in which an +admirer feels himself in the same category with his hero. Many are +content with themselves because they side with those whose ways they do +not endeavour to follow. Such are most who call themselves Christians. +If men admired themselves only for what they did, their conceit would +be greatly moderated. + +Kirsty put on her heavy tacketed (_hob-nailed_) shoes--much too large +for her, having been made for her brother--stood up erect, and putting +her elbows back, said, + +'I'll gie ye the start o' me up to yon stane wi' the heather growin oot +o' the tap o' 't.' + +'Na, na; I'll hae nane o' that!' answered Francis. + +'Fairplay to a'!' + +'Ye'd better tak it!' + +'Aff wi' ye, or I winna rin at a'!' cried the boy,--and away they went. + +Kirsty contrived that he should yet have a little the start of her--how +much from generosity, and how much from determination that there should +be nothing doubtful in the result, I cannot say--and for a good many +yards he kept it. But if the boy, who ran well, had looked back, he +might have seen that the girl was not doing her best--that she was in +fact restraining her speed. Presently she quickened her pace, and was +rapidly lessening the distance between them, when, becoming aware of +her approach, the boy quickened his, and for a time there was no change +in their relative position. Then again she quickened her pace--with an +ease which made her seem capable of going on to accelerate it +indefinitely--and was rapidly overtaking him. But as she drew near, she +saw he panted, not a little distressed; whereupon she assumed a greater +speed still, and passed him swiftly--nor once looked round or slackened +her pace until, having left him far behind, she put a shoulder of the +hill between them. + +The moment she passed him, the boy flung himself on the ground and lay. +The girl had felt certain he would do so, and fancied she heard him +flop among the heather, but could not be sure, for, although not even +yet at her speed, her blood was making tunes in her head, and the wind +was blowing in and out of her ears with a pleasant but deafening +accompaniment. When she knew he could see her no longer, she stopped +likewise and threw herself down while she was determining whether she +should leave him quite, or walk back at her leisure, and let him see +how little she felt the run. She came to the conclusion that it would +be kinder to allow him to get over his discomfiture in private. She +rose, therefore, and went straight up the hill. + +About half-way to the summit, she climbed a rock as if she were a goat, +and looked all round her. Then she uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, and +listened. No answer came. Getting down as easily as she had got up, she +walked along the side of the hill, making her way nearly parallel with +their late racecourse, passing considerably above the spot where her +defeated rival yet lay, and descending at length a little hollow not +far from where she and Francis had been sitting. + +In this hollow, which was covered with short, sweet grass, stood a very +small hut, built of turf from the peat-moss below, and roofed with sods +on which the heather still stuck, if, indeed, some of it was not still +growing. So much was it, therefore, of the colour of the ground about +it, that it scarcely caught the eye. Its walls and its roof were so +thick that, small as it looked, it was much smaller inside; while +outside it could not have measured more than ten feet in length, eight +in width, and seven in height. Kirsty and her brother Steenie, not +without help from Francis Gordon, had built it for themselves two years +before. Their father knew nothing of the scheme until one day, proud of +their success, Steenie would have him see their handiwork; when he was +so much pleased with it that he made them a door, on which he put a +lock:-- + +'For though this be na the kin' o' place to draw crook-fingered +gentry,' he said, 'some gangrel body micht creep in and mak his bed +intil 't, and that lock 'ill be eneuch to haud him oot, I'm thinkin.' + +He also cut for them a hole through the wall, and fitted it with a +window that opened and shut, which was more than could be said of every +window at the farmhouse. + +Into this nest Kirsty went, and in it remained quiet until it began to +grow dark. She had hoped to find her brother waiting for her, but, +although disappointed, chose to continue there until Francis Gordon +should be well on his way to the castle, and then she crept out, and +ran to recover her stocking. + +When she got home, she found Steenie engrossed in a young horse their +father had just bought. She would fain have mounted him at once, for +she would ride any kind of animal able to carry her; but, as he had +never yet been backed, her father would not permit her. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MOTHER AND SON + + +Francis lay for some time, thinking Kirsty sure to come back to him, +but half wishing she would not. He rose at length to see whether she +was on the way, but no one was in sight. At once the place was aghast +with loneliness, as it must indeed have looked to anyone not at peace +with solitude. Having sent several ringing shouts, but in vain, after +Kirsty, he turned, and, in the descending light of an autumn afternoon, +set out on the rather long walk to his home, which was the wearier that +he had nothing pleasant at hand to think about. + +Passing the farm where Kirsty lived, about two miles brought him to an +ancient turreted house on the top of a low hill, where his mother sat +expecting him, ready to tyrannize over him as usual, and none the less +ready that he was going to leave her within a week. + +'Where have you been all day, Frank?' she said. + +'I have been a long walk,' he answered. + +'You've been to Corbyknowe!' she returned. 'I know it by your eyes. I +know by the very colour of them you're going to deceive me. Now don't +tell me you haven't been there. I shall not believe you.' + +'I haven't been near the place, mother,' said Francis; but as he said +it his face glowed with a heat that did not come from the fire. He was +not naturally an untruthful boy, and what he said was correct, for he +had passed the house half a mile away; but his words gave, and were +intended to give the impression that he had not been that day with any +of the people of Corbyknowe. His mother objected to his visiting the +farmer, but he knew instinctively she would have objected yet more to +his spending half the day with Kirsty, whom she never mentioned, and of +whom she scarcely recognized the existence. Little as she loved her +son, Mrs. Gordon would have scorned to suspect him of preferring the +society of such a girl to her own. In truth, however, there were very +few of his acquaintance whose company Francis would not have chosen +rather than his mother's--except indeed he was ill, when she was +generally very good to him. + +'Well, this once I shall believe you,' she answered, 'and I am glad to +be able. It is a painful thought to me, Frank, that son of mine should +feel the smallest attraction to low company. I have told you twenty +times that the man was nothing but a private in your father's +regiment.' + +'He was my father's friend!' answered the boy. + +'He tells you so, I do not doubt,' returned his mother. 'He was not +likely to leave that mouldy old stone unturned.' + +The mother sat, and the son stood before her, in a drawing-room whose +furniture of a hundred years old must once have looked very modern and +new-fangled under windows so narrow and high up, and within walls so +thick: without a fire it was always cold. The carpet was very dingy, +and the mirrors were much spotted; but the poverty of the room was the +respectable poverty of age: old furniture had become fashionable just +in time to save it from being metamorphosed by its mistress into a show +of gay meanness and costly ugliness. A good fire of mingled peat and +coal burned bright in the barrel-fronted steel grate, and shone in the +brass fender. The face of the boy continued to look very red in the +glow, but still its colour came more from within than from without: he +cherished the memory of his father, and did not love his mother more +than a little. + +'He has told me a great deal more about my father than ever you did, +mother!' he answered. + +'Well he may have!' she returned. 'Your father was not a young man when +I married him, and they had been together through I don't know how many +campaigns.' + +'And you say he was not my father's friend!' + +'Not his _friend_, Frank; his servant--what do they call them?--his +orderly, I dare say; certainly not his friend.' + +'Any man may be another man's friend!' + +'Not in the way you mean; not that his son should go and see him every +other day! A dog may be a man's good friend, and so was sergeant +Barclay your father's--very good friend that way, I don't doubt!' + +'You said a moment ago he was but a private, and now you call him +sergeant Barclay!' + +'Well, where's the difference?' + +'To be made sergeant shows that he was not a common man. If he had +been, he would not have been set over others!' + +'Of course he was then, and is now, a very respectable man. If he were +not I should never have let you go and see him at all. But you must +learn to behave like the gentleman you are, and that you never will +while you frequent the company of your inferiors. Your manners are +already almost ruined--fit for no place but a farmhouse! There you +are, standing on the side of your foot again!--Old Barclay, I dare say, +tells you no end of stories about your mother!' + +'He always asks after you, mother, and then never mentions you more.' + +She knew perfectly that the boy spoke the truth. + +'Don't let me hear of your being there again before you go to school!' +she said definitively. 'By the time you come home next year I trust +your tastes will have improved. Go and make yourself tidy for dinner. A +soldier's son must before everything attend to his dress.' + +Francis went to his room, feeling it absolutely impossible to have told +his mother that he had been with Kirsty Barclay, that he had run a race +with her, and that she had left him alone at the foot of the Horn. That +he could not be open with his mother, no one that knew her unreasoning +and stormy temper would have wondered; but the pitiful boy, who did not +like lying, actually congratulated himself that he had got through +without telling a downright falsehood. It would not have bettered +matters in the least had he disclosed to her the good advice Kirsty +gave him: she would only have been furious at the impudence of the +hussey in talking so to _her_ son. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN + + +The region was like a waste place in the troubled land of dreams--a +spot so waste that the dreamer struggles to rouse himself from his +dream, finding it too dreary to dream on. I have heard it likened to +'the ill place, wi' the fire oot;' but it did not so impress me when +first, after long desire, I saw it. There was nothing to suggest the +silence of once roaring flame, no half-molten rocks, no huge, +honey-combed scoriae, no depths within depths glooming mystery and +ancient horror. It was the more desolate that it moved no active sense +of dismay. What I saw was a wide stretch of damp-looking level, mostly +of undetermined or of low-toned colour, with here and there a black +spot, or, on the margin, the brighter green of a patch of some growing +crop. Flat and wide, the eye found it difficult to rest upon it and not +sweep hurriedly from border to border for lack of self-asserted object +on which to alight. It looked low, but indeed lay high; the bases of +the hills surrounding it were far above the sea. These hills, at this +season a ring of dull-brown high-heaved hummocks, appeared to make of +it a huge circular basin, miles in diameter, over the rim of which +peered the tops and peaks of mountains more distant. Up the side of the +Horn, which was the loftiest in the ring, ran a stone wall, in the +language of the country a dry-stane-dyke, of considerable size, +climbing to the very top--an ugly thing which the eye could not avoid. +There was nothing but the grouse to have rendered it worth the +proprietor's while to erect such a boundary to his neighbour's +property, plentiful as were the stones ready for that poorest use of +stones--division. + +The farms that border the hollow, running each a little way up the side +of the basin, are, some of them at least, as well cultivated as any in +Scotland, but Winter claims there the paramountcy, and yields to Summer +so few of his rights that the place must look forbidding, if not +repulsive, to such as do not live in it. To love it, I think one must +have been born there. In the summer, it is true, it has the character +of _bracing_, but can be such, I imagine, only to those who are pretty +well braced already; the delicate of certain sorts, I think it must +soon brace with the bands of death. + +The region is in constant danger of famine. If the snow come but a +little earlier than usual, the crops lie green under it, and no store +of meal can be laid up in the cottages. Then, if the snow lie deep, the +difficulty in conveying supplies of the poor fare which their hardihood +counts sufficient, will cause the dwellers there no little suffering. +Of course they are but few. A white cottage may be seen here and there +on the southerly slopes of the basin, but hardly one in its bottom. + +It was now summer, and in a month or two the landscape would look more +cheerful; the heather that covered the hills would no longer be dry and +brown and in places black with fire, but a blaze of red purple, a rich +mantle of bloom. Even now, early in July, the sun had a little power. I +cannot say it would have been warm had there been the least motion in +the air, for seldom indeed could one there from the south grant that +the wind had no keen edge to it; but on this morning there was absolute +stillness, and although it was not easy for Kirsty to imagine any +summer air other than warm, yet the wind's absence had not a little to +do with the sense of luxurious life that now filled her heart. She sat +on her favourite grassy slope near the foot of the cone-shaped Horn, +looking over the level miles before her, and knitting away at a ribbed +stocking of dark blue whose toe she had nearly finished, glad in the +thought, not of rest from her labour, but of beginning the yet more +important fellow-stocking. She had no need to look close at her work to +keep the loops right; but she was so careful and precise that, if she +lived to be old and blind, she would knit better then than now. It was +to her the perfect glory of a summer day; and I imagine her delight in +the divine luxury greater than that of many a poet dwelling in softer +climes. + +The spot where she sat was close by the turf-hut which I have already +described. At every shifting of a needle she would send a new glance +all over her world, a glance to remind one somehow of the sweep of a +broad ray of sunlight across earth and sea, when, on a morning of upper +wind, the broken clouds take endless liberties with shadow and shine. +What she saw I cannot tell; I know she saw far more than a stranger +would have seen, for she knew her home. His eyes would, I believe, have +been drawn chiefly to those intense spots of live white, opaque yet +brilliant, the heads of the cotton-grass here and there in thin patches +on the dark ground. For nearly the whole of the level was a peat-moss. +Miles and miles of peat, differing in quality and varying in depth, lay +between those hills, the only fuel almost of the region. In some spots +it was very wet, water lying beneath and all through its substance; in +others, dark spots, the sides of holes whence it had been dug, showed +where it was drier. His eyes would rest for a moment also on those +black spaces on the hills where the old heather had been burned that +its roots might shoot afresh, and feed the grouse with soft young +sprouts, their chief support: they looked now like neglected spots +where men cast stones and shards, but by and by would be covered with a +tenderer green than the rest of the hill-side. He would not see the +moorland birds that Kirsty saw; he would only hear their cries, with +now and then perhaps the bark of a sheep-dog. + +My reader will probably conclude the prospect altogether uninteresting, +even ugly; but certainly Christina Barclay did not think it such. The +girl was more than well satisfied with the world-shell in which she +found herself; she was at the moment basking, both bodily and +spiritually, in a full sense of the world's bliss. Her soul was bathed +in its own content, calling none of its feelings to account. The sun, +the air, the wide expanse; the hill-tops' nearness to the heavens +which yet they could not invade; the little breaths which every now and +then awoke to assert their existence by immediately ceasing; doubtless +also the knowledge that her stocking was nearly done, that her father +and mother were but a mile or so away, that she knew where Steenie was, +and that a cry would bring him to her feet;--all these things bore each +a part in making Kirsty quiet with satisfaction. That there was, all +the time, a deeper cause of her peace, Kirsty knew well-the same that +is the root of life itself; and if it was not, at this moment or at +that, filled with conscious gratitude, her heart was yet like a bird +ever on the point of springing up to soar, and often soaring high +indeed. Whether it came of something special in her constitution that +happiness always made her quiet, as nothing but sorrow will make some, +I do not presume to say. I only know that, had her bliss changed +suddenly to sadness, Kirsty would have been quiet still. Whatever came +to Kirsty seemed right, for there it was! + +She was now a girl of sixteen. The only sign she showed of interest in +her person, appeared in her hair and the covering of her neck. Of one +of the many middle shades of brown, with a rippling tendency to curl in +it, her hair was parted with nicety, and drawn back from her face into +a net of its own colour, while her neckerchief was of blue silk, +covering a very little white skin, but leaving bare a brown throat. She +wore a blue print wrapper, nowise differing from that of a peasant +woman, and a blue winsey petticoat, beyond which appeared her bare +feet, lovely in shape, and brown of hue. Her dress was nowise trim, and +suggested neither tidiness nor disorder. The hem of the petticoat was +in truth a little rent, but not more than might seem admissible where +the rough wear was considered to which the garment was necessarily +exposed: when a little worse it would receive the proper attention, and +be brought back to respectability! Kirsty grudged the time spent on her +garments. She looked down on them as the moon might on the clouds +around her. She made or mended them to wear them, not think about them. + +Her forehead was wide and rather low, with straight eyebrows. Her eyes +were of a gentle hazel, not the hazel that looks black at night. Her +nose was strong, a little irregular, with plenty of substance, and +sensitive nostrils. A decided and well-shaped chin dominated a neck by +no means slender, and seemed to assert the superiority of the face over +the whole beautiful body. Its chief expression was of a strong repose, +a sweet, powerful peace, requiring but occasion to pass into +determination. The sensitiveness of the nostrils with the firmness in +the meeting of the closed lips, suggested a faculty of indignation +unsparing toward injustice; while the clearness of the heaven of the +forehead gave confidence that such indignation would never show itself +save for another. + +I wish, presumptuous wish! that I could see the mind of a woman grow as +she sits spinning or weaving: it would reveal the process next highest +to creation. But the only hope of ever understanding such things lies +in growing oneself. There is the still growth of the moonlit night of +reverie; cloudy, with wind, and a little rain, comes the morning of +thought, when the mind grows faster and the heart more slowly; then +wakes the storm in the forest of human relation, tempest and lightning +abroad, the soul enlarging by great bursts of vision and leaps of +understanding and resolve; then floats up the mystic twilight +eagerness, not unmingled with the dismay of compelled progress, when, +bidding farewell to that which is behind, the soul is driven toward +that which is before, grasping at it with all the hunger of the new +birth. The story of God's universe lies in the growth of the individual +soul. Kirsty's growth had been as yet quiet and steady. + +Once more as she shifted her needle her glance went flitting over the +waste before her. This time there was more life in sight. Far away +Kirsty descried something of the nature of man upon horse: to say how +far would have been as difficult for one unused to the flat moor as for +a landsman to reckon distances at sea. Of the people of the place, +hardly another, even under the direction of Kirsty, could have +contrived to see it. At length, after she had looked many times, she +could clearly distinguish a youth on a strong, handsome hill-pony, and +remained no longer in the slightest doubt as to who he might be. + +They came steadily over the dark surface of the moor, and it was clear +that the pony must know the nature of the ground well; for now he +glided along as fast as he could gallop, now made a succession of short +jumps, now halted, examined the ground, and began slowly picking his +way. + +Kirsty watched his approach with gentle interest, while every movement +of the youth indicated eagerness. Gordon had seen her on the hillside, +probably long before she saw him, had been coming to her in as straight +a line as the ground would permit, and at length was out of the boggy +level, and ascending the slope of the hillfoot to where she sat. When +he was within about twenty yards of her she gave him a little nod, and +then fixed her eyes on her knitting. He held on till within a few feet +of her, then pulled up and threw himself from his pony's back. The +creature, covered with foam, stood a minute panting, then fell to work +on the short grass. + +Francis had grown considerably, and looked almost a young man. He was a +little older than Kirsty, but did not appear so, his expression being +considerably younger than hers. Whether self-indulgence or aspiration +was to come out of his evident joy in life, seemed yet undetermined. +His countenance indicated nothing bad. He might well have represented +one at the point before having to choose whether to go up or down hill. +He was dressed a little showily in a short coat of dark tartan, and a +highland bonnet with a brooch and feather, and carried a lady's +riding-whip--his mother's, no doubt--its top set with stones--so that +his appearance was altogether a contrast to that of the girl. She was a +peasant, he a gentleman! Her bare head and yet more her bare feet +emphasized the contrast. But which was by nature and in fact the +superior, no one with the least insight could have doubted. + +He stood and looked at her, but neither spoke. She cast at length a +glance upward, and said, + +'Weel?' + +Francis did not open his mouth. He seemed irresolute. Nothing in +Kirsty's look or carriage or in the tone of her one word gave sign of +consciousness that she was treating him, or he her, strangely. With +complete self-possession she left the initiative to the one who had +sought the interview: let him say why he had come! + +In his face began to appear indication of growing displeasure. Two or +three times he turned half away with a movement instantly checked which +seemed to say that in a moment more, if there came no change, he would +mount and ride: was this all his welcome? + +At last she appeared to think she must take mercy on him: he used to +say thirty words to her one! + +'That's a bonny powny ye hae,' she remarked, with a look at the +creature as he fed. + +'He's a' that,' he answered dryly. + +'Whaur did ye get him?' she asked. + +'My mither coft (_bought_) him agen my hame-comin,' he replied. + +He prided himself on being able to speak the broadest of the dialect. + +'She maun hae a straucht e'e for a guid beast!' returned Kirsty, with a +second glance at the pony. + +'He's a bonny cratur and a willin,' answered the youth. 'He'll gang +skelp throuw onything--watter onygait;--I'm no sae sure aboot fire.' + +A long silence followed, broken this time by the youth. + +'Winna ye gie me luik nor word, and me ridden like mad to hae a sicht +o' ye?' he said. + +She glanced up at him. + +'Weel ye hae that!' she answered, with a smile that showed her lovely +white teeth: 'ye're a' dubs (_all bemired_)! What for sud ye be in sic +a hurry? Ye saw me no three days gane!' + +'Ay, I saw ye, it's true; but I didna get a word o' ye!' + +'Ye was free to say what ye likit. There was nane by but my mither!' + +'Wud ye hae me say a'thing afore yer mither jist as I wud til ye yer +lane (_alone_)?' he asked. + +Ay wud I,' she returned. 'Syne she wad ken, 'ithoot my haein to tell +her sic a guse as ye was!' + +Had he not seen the sunny smile that accompanied her words he might +well have taken offence. + +'I wuss ye war anither sic-like!' he answered simply. + +'Syne there wud be twa o' 's!' she returned, leaving him to interpret. + +Silence again fell. + +'Weel, what wud ye hae, Francie?' said Kirsty at length. + +'I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,' he answered; +'and that ye ken as well as I du mysel!' + +'That's straucht oot ony gait!' rejoined Kirsty. 'But ye see, Francie,' +she went on, 'yer father, whan he left ye a kin' o' a legacy, as ye may +ca' 't, to mine, hed no intention that _I_ was to be left oot; neither +had _my_ father whan he acceppit o' 't!' + +'I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (_one atom_)!' interrupted Gordon. + +'Haud yer tongue and hearken,' returned Kirsty. 'What I'm meanin 's +this: what lies to my father's han' lies to mine as weel; and I'll +never hae 't kenned or said that, whan my father pu't (_pulled_) ae +gait, I pu't anither!' + +'Sakes, lassie! what _are_ ye haverin at? Wud it be pu'in agen yer +father to merry me?' + +'It wud be that.' + +'I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic a freen' +o' my father's, he sud objeck to my father's son!' + +'Eh, but laddies _ir_ gowks!' cried Kirsty. 'My father was your +father's freen' for _his_ sake, no for his ain! He thinks o' what wud +be guid for you, no for himsel!' + +'Weel, but,' persisted Gordon, 'it wud be mair for my guid nor onything +ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!' + +Kirsty's nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a curve of +scorn. + +'A bonnie wife ye wud hae, Francie Gordon, wha, kennin her father duin +ilk mortal thing for the love o' his auld maister and comrade, tuik the +fine chance to mak her ain o' 't, and haud her grip o' the callan til +hersel!--Think ye aither o' the auld men ever mintit at sic a thing as +fatherin baith? That my father had a lass-bairn o' 's ain shawed mair +nor onything the trust your father pat in 'im! Francie, the verra grave +wud cast me oot for shame 'at I sud ance hae thoucht o' sic a thing! +Man, it wud maist drive yer leddy-mither dementit!' + +'It's my business' Kirsty, wha I merry!' + +'And I houp yer grace 'll alloo it's pairt _my_ business wha ye sail +_not_ merry--and that's me, Francie!' + +Gordon sprang to his feet with such a look of wrath and despair as for +a moment frightened Kirsty who was not easily frightened. She thought +of the terrible bog-holes on the way her lover had come, sprang also to +her feet, and caught him by the arm where, his foot already in the +stirrup, he stood in the act of mounting. + +'Francie! Francie!' she cried, 'hearken to rizzon! There's no a body, +man or wuman, I like better nor yersel to du ye ony guid or turn o' +guid--'cep' my father, of coorse, and my mither, and my ain Steenie!' + +'And hoo mony mair, gien I had the wull to hear the lang bible-chapter +o' them, and see mysel comin in at the tail o' them a', like the +hin'most sheep, takin his bite as he cam? Na, na! it's time I was hame, +and had my slip (_pinafore_) on, and was astride o' a stick! Gien ye +had a score o' idiot-brithers, ye wud care mair for ilk are o' them nor +for me! I canna bide to think o' 't.' + +'It's true a' the same, whether ye can bide to think o' 't or no, +Francie!' returned the girl, her face, which had been very pale, now +rosy with indignation. 'My Steenie's mair to me nor a' the Gordons +thegither, Bow-o'-meal or Jock-and-Tam as ye like!' + +She drew back, sat down again to the stocking she was knitting for +Steenie, and left her lover to mount and ride, which he did without +another word. + +'There's mair nor ae kin' o' idiot,' she said to herself, 'and +Steenie's no the kin' that oucht to be ca'd ane. There's mair in +Steenie nor in sax Francie Gordons!' + +If ever Kirsty came to love a man, it would be just nothing to her to +die for him; but then it never would have been anything to her to die +for her father or her mother or Steenie! + +Gordon galloped off at a wild pace, as if he would drive his pony +straight athwart the terrible moss, taking hag and well-eye as it came. +But glancing behind and seeing that Kirsty was not looking after him, +he turned the creature's head in a safer direction, and left the moss +at his back. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +DOG-STEENIE + + +She sat for some time at the foot of the hill, motionless as itself, +save for her hands. The sun shone on in silence, and the blue +butterflies which haunted the little bush of bluebells, that is +harebells, beside her, made no noise; only a stray bee, happy in the +pale heat, made a little music to please itself--and perhaps the +butterflies. Kirsty had an unusual power of sitting still, even with +nothing for her hands to do. On the present occasion, however, her +hands and fingers went faster than usual--not entirely from eagerness +to finish her stocking, but partly from her displeasure with Francis. +At last she broke her 'worset,' drew the end of it through the final +loop, and, drawing it, rose and scanned the side of the hill. Not far +off she spied the fleecy backs of a few feeding sheep, and straightway +sent out on the still air a sweet, strong, musical cry. It was +instantly responded to by a bark from somewhere up the hill. She sat +down, clasped her hands over her knees, and waited. + +She had not to wait long. A sound of rushing came through the heather, +and in a moment or two, a fine collie, with long, silky, wavy coat of +black and brown, and one white spot on his face, shot out of the +heather, sprang upon her, and, setting his paws on her shoulders, began +licking her face. She threw her arms round him, and addressed him in +words of fondling rebuke:-- + +'Ye ill-mennered tyke!' she said; 'what richt hae ye to tak the place +o' yer betters? Gang awa doon wi' ye, and wait. What for sud ye tak +advantage o' your fower legs to his twa, and him the maister o' ye! +But, eh man, ye're a fine doggie, and I canna bide the thoucht 'at yer +langest day maun be sae short, and tak ye awa hame sae lang afore the +lave o' 's!' + +While she scolded, she let him caress her as he pleased. Presently he +left her, and going a yard or two away, threw himself on the grass with +such _abandon_ as no animal but a weary dog seems capable of reaching. +He had made haste to be first that he might caress her before his +master came; now he heard him close behind, and knew his opportunity +over. + +Stephen came next out of the heather, creeping to Kirsty's feet on +all-fours. He was a gaunt, longbacked lad, who, at certain seasons +undetermined, either imagined himself the animal he imitated, or had +some notion of being required, or, possibly, compelled to behave like a +dog. When the fit was upon him, all the day long he would speak no word +even to his sister, would only bark or give a low growl like the +collie. In this last he succeeded much better than in running like him, +although, indeed, his arms were so long that it was comparatively easy +for him to use them as forelegs. He let his head hang low as he went, +throwing it up to bark, and sinking it yet lower when he growled, which +was seldom, and to those that loved him indicated great trouble. He did +not like Snootie raise himself on his hindlegs to caress his sister, +but gently subsided upon her feet, and there lay panting, his face to +the earth, and his fore-arms crossed beneath his nose. + +Kirsty stooped, and stroked and patted him as if he were the dog he +seemed fain to be. Then drawing her feet from under him, she rose, and +going a little way up the hill to the hut, returned presently with a +basin full of rich-looking milk, and _a quarter_ of thick oat-cake, +which she had brought from home in the morning. The milk she set beside +her as she resumed her seat. Then she put her feet again under the +would-be dog, and proceeded to break small pieces from the oat-cake and +throw them to him. He sought every piece eagerly as it fell, but with +his mouth only, never moving either hand, and seemed to eat it with a +satisfaction worthy of his simulated nature. When the oat-cake was +gone, she set the bowl before him, and he drank the milk with care and +neatness, never putting a hand to steady it. + +'Now you must have a sleep, Steenie!' said his sister. + +She rose, and he crawled slowly after her up the hill on his hands and +knees. All the time he kept his face down, and, his head hanging toward +the earth, his long hair hid it quite. He strongly suggested a great +Skye-terrier. + +When they reached the hut, Kirsty went in, and Steenie crept after her. +They had covered the floor of it with heather, the stalks set upright +and close packed, so that, even where the bells were worn off, it still +made a thick long-piled carpet, elastic and warm. When the door was +shut, they were snug there even in winter. + +Inside, the hut was about six feet long, and four wide. Its furniture +was a little deal table and one low chair. In the turf of which the +wall consisted, at the farther end from the door, Kirsty had cut out a +small oblong recess to serve as a shelf for her books. The hut was +indeed her library, for in that bole stood, upright with its back to +the room, in proper and tidy fashion, almost every book she could call +her own. They were about a dozen, several with but one board and some +with no title, one or two very old, and all well used. Most of her time +there, when she was not knitting, Kirsty spent in reading and thinking +about what she read; many a minute, even when she was knitting, she +managed to read as well. She had read two of sir Walter's novels, and +several of the Ettrick-shepherd's shorter tales, which the schoolmaster +had lent her; but on her shelf and often in her hands were a Shakspere, +a Milton, and a translation of Klopstock's _Messiah_--which she liked +far better than the _Paradise Lost_, though she did not admire it +nearly so much. Of the latter she would say, 'It's unco gran', but it +never maks my hert grit (_great_), meaning that it never caused her any +emotion. Among her treasures was also a curious old book of +ghost-stories, concerning which the sole remark she was ever heard to +make was, that she would like to know whether they were true: she +thought Steenie could tell, but she would not question him about them. +Ramsay's _Gentle Shepherd was_ there too, which she liked for the good +sense in it. There was a thumbed edition of Burns also, but I do not +think much of the thumbing was Kirsty's, though she had several of his +best poems by heart. + +Between the ages of ten and fifteen, Kirsty had gone to the parish +school of the nearest town: it looked a village, but they always called +it _the town_. There a sister of her father lived, and with her she was +welcome to spend the night, so that she was able to go in most +weathers. But when she staid there, her evening was mostly spent at the +schoolmaster's. + +Mr. Craig was an elderly man, who had married late, and lost his wife +early. She had left him one child, a delicate, dainty, golden-haired +thing, considerably younger than Kirsty, who cherished for her a love +and protection quite maternal. Kirsty was one of the born mothers, who +are not only of the salt, but are the sugar and shelter of the world. I +doubt if little Phemie would have learned anything but for Kirsty. Not +to the day of her death did her father see in her anything but the +little girl his wife had left him. He spoiled her a good deal, nor ever +set himself to instruct her, leaving it apparently to the tendency of +things to make of her a woman like her mother. + +He was a real student and excellent teacher. When first he came as +schoolmaster to Tiltowie, he was a divinity student, but a man so far +of thought original that he saw lions in the way of becoming a +minister. Such men as would be servants of the church before they are +slaves of the church's Master will never be troubled with Mr. Craig's +difficulties. For one thing, his strong poetic nature made it +impossible for him to believe in a dull, prosaic God: when told that +God's thoughts are not as our thoughts, he found himself unable to +imagine them inferior to ours. The natural result was that he remained +a schoolmaster--to the advantage of many a pupil, and very greatly to +the advantage of Kirsty, whose nature was peculiarly open to his +influences. The dominie said he had never had a pupil that gave him +such satisfaction as Kirsty; she seemed to anticipate and catch at +everything he wanted to make hers. There was no knowledge, he declared, +that he could offer her, which the lassie from Corbyknowe would not +take in like her porridge. Best thing of all for her was that, +following his own predilections, he paid far more attention, in his +class for English, to poetry than to prose. Colin Craig was himself no +indifferent poet, and was even a master of the more recondite forms of +verse. If, in some measure led astray by the merit of the form, he was +capable of admiring verse essentially inferior, he yet certainly +admired the better poetry more. He had, besides, the faculty of +perceiving whether what he had written would or would not _convey_ his +thought--a faculty in which even a great poet may be deficient. + +In a word, Kirsty learned everything Mr. Craig brought within her +reach; and long after she left school, the Saturday on which she did +not go to see him was a day of disappointment both to the dominie and +to his little Phemie. + +When she had once begun to follow a thing, Kirsty would never leave the +trail of it. Her chief business as well as delight was to look after +Steenie, but perfect attention to him left her large opportunity of +pursuing her studies, especially at such seasons in which his peculiar +affection, whatever it really was, required hours of untimely sleep. +For, although at all times he wandered at his will without her, he +invariably wanted to be near her when he slept; while she, satisfied +that so he slept better, had not once at such a time left him. During +summer, and as long before and after as the temperature permitted, the +hut was the place he preferred when his necessity was upon him; and it +was Kirsty's especial delight to sit in it on a warm day, the door open +and her brother asleep on her feet, reading and reading while the sun +went down the sky, to fill the hut as he set with a glory of promise; +after which came the long gloamin, like a life out of which the light +but not the love has vanished, in which she neither worked nor read, +but brooded over many things. + +Leaving the door open behind them, Kirsty took a book from the bole, +and seated herself on the low chair; instantly Steenie, who had waited +motionless until she was settled, threw himself across her feet on the +carpet of heather, and in a moment was fast asleep. + +There they remained, the one reading, the other sleeping, while the +hours of the warm summer afternoon slipped away, ripples on the ocean +of the lovely, changeless eternity, the consciousness of God. For a +time the watching sister was absorbed in King Lear; then she fell to +wondering whether Cordelia was not unkindly stiff toward her old +father, but perceived at length that, with such sisters listening, she +could not have spoken otherwise. Then she wondered whether there could +be women so bad as Goneril and Regan, concluding that Shakspere must +know better than she. At last she drew her bare feet from under +Steenie, and put them on his back, where the coolness was delightful. +Then first she became aware that the sun was down and the gloamin come, +and that the whole world must be feeling just like her feet. The long +clear twilight, which would last till morning, was about her, the eerie +sleeping day, when the lovely ghosts come out of their graves in the +long grass, and walk about in the cool world, with little ghosty sighs +at sight of the old places, and fancy they are dreaming. Kirsty was +always willing to believe in ghosts: awake in the dark nights she did +not; but in her twilight reveries she grew very nearly a ghost herself. + +It was a wonder she could sit so long and not feel worn out; but Kirsty +was exceptionally strong, in absolute health, and specially gifted with +patience. She had so early entertained and so firmly grasped the idea +that she was sent into the world expressly to take care of Steenie, +that devotion to him had grown into a happy habit with her. The waking +mind gave itself up to the sleeping, the orderly to the troubled brain, +the true heart to the heart as true. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +COLONEL AND SERGEANT + + +There was no difference of feeling betwixt the father and mother in +regard to this devotion of Kirsty's very being to her Steenie; but the +mother in especial was content with it, for while Kirsty was the apple +of her eye, Steenie was her one loved anxiety. + +David Barclay, a humble unit in the widespread and distinguished family +of the Barclays or Berkeleys, was born, like his father and grandfather +and many more of his ancestors, on the same farm he now occupied. While +his father was yet alive, with an elder son to succeed him, David +_listed_--mainly from a strong desire to be near a school-friend, then +an ensign in the service of the East India Company. Throughout their +following military career they were in the same regiment, the one +rising to be colonel, the other sergeant-major. All the time, the +schoolboy-attachment went on deepening in the men; and, all the time, +was never man more respectfully obedient to orders than David Barclay +to those of the superior officer with whom in private he was on terms +of intimacy. As often as they could without attracting notice, the +comrades threw aside all distinction of rank, and were again the Archie +Gordon and Davie Barclay of old school-days--as real to them still as +those of the hardest battles they had fought together. In more +primitive Scotland, such relations are, or were more possible than in +countries where more divergent habits of life occasion wider social +separations; and then these were sober-minded men, who neither made +much of the shows of the world, nor were greedy after distinction, +which is the mere coffin wherein Duty-done lies buried. + +When they returned to their country, both somewhat disabled, the one +retired to his inherited estate, the other to the family farm upon that +estate, where his brother had died shortly before; so that Archie was +now Davie's landlord. But no new relation would ever destroy the +friendship which school had made close, and war had welded. Almost +every week the friends met and spent the evening together--much +oftener, by and by, at Corbyknowe than at Castle Weelset. For both +married soon after their return, and their wives were of different +natures. + +'My colonel has the glory,' Barclay said once, and but once, to his +sister, 'but, puir fallow, I hae the wife!' And truly the wife at the +farm had in her material enough, both moral and intellectual, for ten +ladies better than the wife at the castle. + +David's wife brought him a son the first year of their marriage, and +the next year came a son to the colonel and a daughter to the sergeant. +One night, as the two fathers sat together at the farm, some twelve +hours after the birth of David's girl, they mutually promised that the +survivor would do his best for the child of the other. Before he died +the colonel would gladly have taken his boy from his wife and given him +to his old comrade. + +As to Steenie, the elder of David's children, he was yet unborn when +his father, partly in consequence of a wound from which he never quite +recovered, met with rather a serious accident through a young horse in +the harvest-field, and the report reached his wife that he was killed. +To the shock she thus received was generally attributed the peculiarity +of the child, prematurely born within a month after. He had long passed +the age at which children usually begin to walk, before he would even +attempt to stand, but he had grown capable of a speed on all-fours that +was astonishing. When at last he did walk, it was for more than two +years with the air of one who had learned a trick; and throughout his +childhood and a great part of his boyhood, he continued to go on +all-fours rather than on his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MAN-STEENIE + + +The sleeping youth began at length to stir: it was more than an hour +before he quite woke up. Then all at once he started to his feet with +his eyes wide open, putting back from his forehead the long hair which +fell over them, and revealing a face not actually looking old, but +strongly suggesting age. His eyes were of a pale blue, with a hazy, +mixed, uncertain gleam in them, reminding one of the shifty shudder and +shake and start of the northern lights at some heavenly version of the +game of Puss in the Corner. His features were more than good; they +would have been grand had they been large, but they were peculiarly +small. His head itself was very small in proportion to his height, his +forehead, again, large in proportion to his head, while his chin was +such as we are in the way of calling strong. Although he had been all +day acting a dog in charge of sheep, and treating the collie as his +natural companion, there was, both in his countenance and its +expression, a remarkable absence of the animal. He had a kind of +exaltation in his look; he seemed to expect something, not at hand, but +sure to come. His eyes rested for a moment, with a love of absolute +devotion, on the face of his sister; then he knelt at her feet, and as +if to receive her blessing, bowed his head before her. She laid her +hand upon it, and in a tone of unutterable tenderness said, +'Man-Steenie!' Instantly he rose to his feet. Kirsty rose also, and +they went out of the hut. + +The sunlight had not left the west, but had crept round some distance +toward the north. Stars were shining faint through the thin shadow of +the world. Steenie stretched himself up, threw his arms aloft, and held +them raised, as if at once he would grow and reach toward the infinite. +Then he looked down on Kirsty, for he was taller than she, and pointed +straight up, with the long lean forefinger of one of the long lean arms +that had all day been legs to the would-be dog--into the heavens, and +smiled. Kirsty looked up, nodded her head, and smiled in return. Then +they started in the direction of home, and for some time walked in +silence. At length Steenie spoke. His voice was rather feeble, but +clear, articulate, and musical. + +'My feet's terrible heavy the nicht, Kirsty!' he said. 'Gien it wasna +for them, the lave o' me wud be up and awa. It's terrible to be hauden +doon by the feet this gait!' + +'We're a' hauden doon the same gait, Steenie. Maybe it's some waur for +you 'at wud sae fain gang up, nor for the lave o' 's 'at's mair willin +to bide a wee; but it 'll be the same at the last whan we're a' up +there thegither.' + +'I wudna care sae muckle gien he didna grip me by the queets +(_ankles_), like! I dinna like to be grippit by the queets! He winna +lat me win at the thongs!' + +'Whan the richt time comes,' returned Kirsty solemnly, 'the bonny man +'ll lowse the thongs himsel.' + +'Ay, ay! I ken that weel. It was me 'at tellt ye. He tauld me himsel! +I'm thinkin I'll see him the nicht, for I'm sair hauden doon, sair +needin a sicht o' 'im. He's whiles lang o' comin!' + +'I dinna won'er 'at ye're sae fain to see 'im, Steenie!' 'I _am_ that; +fain, fain!' + +'Ye'll see 'im or lang. It's a fine thing to hae patience.' + +'Ye come ilka day, Kirsty: what for sudna he come ilka nicht?' + +'He has reasons, Steenie. He kens best.' + +'Ay, he kens best. I ken naething but him--and you, Kirsty!' + +Kirsty said no more. Her heart was too full. + +Steenie stood still, and throwing back his head, stared for some +moments up into the great heavens over him. Then he said: + +'It's a bonny day, the day the bonny man bides in! The ither day--the +day the lave o' ye bides in--the day whan I'm no mysel but a sair +ooncomfortable collie--that day's ower het--and sometimes ower cauld; +but the day he bides in is aye jist what a day sud be! Ay, it's that! +it's that!' + +He threw himself down, and lay for a minute looking up into the sky. +Kirsty stood and regarded him with loving eyes. + +'I hae a' the bonny day afore me!' he murmured to himself. 'Eh, but +it's better to be a man nor a beast Snootie's a fine beast, and a gran' +collie, but I wud raither be mysel--a heap raither--aye at han' to +catch a sicht o' the bonny man! Ye maun gang hame to yer bed, Kirsty!-- +Is't the bonny man comes til ye i' yer dreams and says, "Gang til him, +Kirsty, and be mortal guid til him"? It maun be surely that!' + +'Willna ye gang wi' me, Steenie, as far as the door?' rejoined Kirsty, +almost beseechingly, and attempting no answer to what he had last said. + +It was at times such as this that Kirsty knew sadness. When she had to +leave her brother on the hillside all the long night, to look on no +human face, hear no human word, but wander in strangest worlds of his +own throughout the slow dark hours, the sense of a separation worse +than death would wrap her as in a shroud. In his bodily presence, +however far away in thought or sleep or dreams his soul might be, she +could yet tend him with her love; but when he was out of her sight, and +she had to sleep and forget him, where was Steenie, and how was he +faring? Then he seemed to her as one forsaken, left alone with his +sorrows to an existence companionless and dreary. But in truth Steenie +was by no means to be pitied. However much his life was apart from the +lives of other men, he did not therefore live alone. Was he not still +of more value than many sparrows? And Kirsty's love for him had in it +no shadow of despair. Her pain at such times was but the indescribable +love-lack of mothers when their sons are far away, and they do not know +what they are doing, what they are thinking; or when their daughters +seem to have departed from them or ever the silver cord be loosed, or +the golden bowl broken. And yet how few, when the air of this world is +clearest, ever come into essential contact with those they love best! +But the triumph of Love, while most it seems to delay, is yet +ceaselessly rushing hitherward on the wings of the morning. + +'Willna ye gang as far as the door wi' me, Steenie?' she said. + +'I wull do that, Kirsty. But ye're no feart, are ye?' + +'Na, no a grain! What would I be feart for?' + +'Ow, naething! At this time there's naething oot and aboot to be feart +at. In what ye ca' the daytime, I'm a kin' o' in danger o' knockin +mysel again things; I never du that at nicht.' + +As he spoke he sprang to his feet, and they walked on. Kirsty's heart +seemed to swell with pain; for Steenie was at once more rational and +more strange than usual, and she felt the farther away from him. His +words were very quiet, but his eyes looked full of stars. + +'I canna tell what it is aboot the sun 'at maks a dog o' me!' he said. +'He's hard-like, and hauds me oot, and gars me hing my heid, and feel +as gien I wur a kin' o' ashamed, though I ken o' naething. But the +bonny nicht comes straucht up to me, and into me, and gangs a' throuw +me, and bides i' me; and syne I luik for the bonny man!' + +'I wuss ye wud lat me bide oot the nicht wi' ye, Steenie!' + +'What for that, Kirsty? Ye maun sleep, and I'm better my lane.' + +'That's jist hit!' returned Kirsty, with a deep-drawn sigh. 'I canna +bide yer bein yer lane, and yet, do what I like, I canna, whiles, even +i' the daytime, win a bit nearer til ye! Gien only ye was as little as +ye used to be, whan I cud carry ye aboot a' day, and tak ye intil my +ain bed a' nicht! But noo we're jist like the sun and the mune!-whan +ye're oot' I'm in; and whan ye're in--well I'm no oot' but my sowl's +jist as blear-faced as the mune i' the daylicht to think ye'll be awa +again sae sune!--But it _canna_ gang on like this to a' eternity, and +that's a comfort!' + +'I ken naething aboot eternity. I'm thinkin it'll a' turn intil a lown +starry nicht, wi' the bonny man intil't. I'm sure o' ae thing, and that +only--'at something 'ill be putten richt 'at's far frae richt the noo; +and syne, Kirsty, ye'll hae yer ain gait wi' me, and I'll be sae far +like ither fowk: idiot 'at I am, I wud be sorry to be turnt a'thegither +the same as some! Ye see I ken sae muckle they ken naething aboot, or +they wudna be as they are! It maybe disna become _me_ to say't, ony +mair nor Gowk Murnock 'at sits o' the pu'pit stair,--but eh the styte +(_nonsense_) oor minister dings oot o' his ain heid, as gien it war the +stoor oot o' the bible-cushion! It's no possible he's ever seen the +bonny man as I hae seen him!' + +'We'll a' hae to come ower to you, Steenie, and learn frae ye what ye +ken. We'll hae to mak _you_ the minister, Steenie!' + +'Na, na; I ken naething for ither fowk--only for mysel; and that's +whiles mair nor I can win roun', no to say gie again!' 'Some nicht +ye'll lat me bide oot wi' ye a' nicht? I wud sair like it, Steenie!' + +'Ye sail, Kirsty; but it maun be some nicht ye hae sleepit a' day.' + +'Eh, but I cudna do that, tried I ever sae hard!' + +'Ye cud lie i' yer bed ony gait, and mak the best o' 't! _Ye_ hae +naebody, I ken, to _gar_ you sleep!' + +They went all the rest of the way talking thus, and Kirsty's heart grew +lighter, for she seemed to get a little nearer to her brother. He had +been her live doll and idol ever since his mother laid him in her arms +when she was little more than three years old. For though Steenie was +nearly a year older than Kirsty, she was at that time so much bigger +that she was able, not indeed to carry him, but to nurse him on her +knees. She thought herself the elder of the two until she was about +ten, by which time she could not remember any beginning to her carrying +of him. About the same time, however, he began to grow much faster, and +she found before long that only upon her back could she carry him any +distance. + +The discovery that he was the elder somehow gave a fresh impulse to her +love and devotion, and intensified her pitiful tenderness. Kirsty's was +indeed a heart in which the whole unhappy world might have sought and +found shelter. She had the notion, notwithstanding, that she was +harder-hearted than most, and therefore better able to do things that +were right but not pleasant. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +CORBYKNOWE + + +'Ye'll come in and say a word to mother, Steenie?' said Kirsty, as they +came near the door of the house. + +It was a long, low building, with a narrow paving in front from end to +end, of stones cast up by the plough. Its walls, but one story high, +rough-cast and white-washed, shone dim in the twilight. Under a thick +projecting thatch the door stood wide open, and from the kitchen, whose +door was also open, came the light of a peat-fire and a fish-oil-lamp. +Throughout the summer Steenie was seldom in the house an hour of the +twenty-four, and now he hesitated to enter. In the winter he would keep +about it a good part of the day, and was generally indoors the greater +part of the night, but by no means always. + +While he hesitated, his mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. +She was a tall, fine-looking woman, with soft gray eyes, and an +expression of form and features which left Kirsty accounted for. + +'Come awa in by, Steenie, my man!' she said, in a tone that seemed to +wrap its object in fold upon fold of tenderness, enough to make the +peat-smoke that pervaded the kitchen seem the very atmosphere of the +heavenly countries. 'Come and hae a drappy o' new-milkit milk, and a +piece (_a piece of bread_)'. + +Steenie stood smiling and undecided on the slab in front of the +doorstep. + +'Dreid naething, Steenie,' his mother went on. 'There's no are to +interfere wi' yer wull, whatever it be. The hoose is yer ain to come +and gang as ye see fit. But ye ken that, and Kirsty kens that, as +weel's yer father and mysel.' + +'Mother, I ken what ye say to be the trowth, and I hae a gran' pooer o' +believin the trowth. But a'body believes their ain mither: that's i' +the order o' things as they war first startit! Still I wud raither no +come in the nicht. I wud raither hand awa and no tribble ye wi' mair o' +the sicht o' me nor I canna help--that is, till the cheenge come, and +things be set richt. I dinna aye ken what I'm aboot, but I aye ken 'at +I'm a kin' o' a disgrace to ye, though I canna tell hoo I'm to blame +for 't. Sae I'll jist bide theroot wi' the bonny stars 'at's aye +theroot, and kens a' aboot it, and disna think nane the waur o' me.' + +'Laddie! laddie! wha on the face o' God's yerth thinks the waur o' ye +for a wrang dune ye?--though wha has the wyte o' that same I daurna +think, weel kennin 'at a'thing's aither ordeent or allooed, makin +muckle the same. Come winter, come summer, come richt, come wrang, come +life, come deith, what are ye, what can ye be, but my ain, ain laddie!' + +Steenie stepped across the threshold and followed his mother into the +kitchen, where the pot was already on the fire for the evening's +porridge. To hide her emotion she went straight to it, and lifted the +lid to look whether boiling point had arrived. The same instant the +stalwart form of her husband appeared in the doorway, and there stood +for a single moment arrested. + +He was a good deal older than his wife, as his long gray hair, among +other witnesses, testified. He was six feet in height, and very erect, +with a rather stiff, military carriage. His face wore an expression of +stern goodwill, as if he had been sent to do his best for everybody, +and knew it. + +Steenie caught sight of him ere he had taken a step into the kitchen. +He rushed to him, threw his arms round him, and hid his face on his +bosom. + +'Bonny, bonny man!' he murmured, then turned away and went back to the +fire. + +His mother was casting the first handful of meal into the pot. Steenie +fetched a _three-leggit creepie_ and sat down by her, looking as if he +had sat there every night since first he was able to sit. + +The farmer came forward, and drew a chair to the fire beside his son. +Steenie laid his head on his father's knee, and the father laid his big +hand on Steenie's head. Not a word was uttered. The mother might have +found them in her way had she been inclined, but the thought did not +come to her, and she went on making the porridge in great contentment, +while Kirsty laid the cloth. The night was as still in the house as in +the world, save for the bursting of the big blobs of the porridge. The +peat fire made no noise. + +The mother at length took the heavy pot from the fire, and, with what +to one inexpert might have seemed wonderful skill, poured the porridge +into a huge wooden bowl on the table. Having then scraped the pot +carefully that nothing should be lost, she put some water into it, and +setting it on the fire again, went to a hole in the wall, took thence +two eggs, and placed them gently in the water. + +She went next to the dairy, and came back with a jug of the richest +milk, which she set beside the porridge, whereupon they drew their +seats to the table--all but Steenie. + +'Come, Steenie,' said his mother, 'here's yer supper.' + +'I dinna care aboot ony supper the nicht, mother,' answered Steenie. + +'Guidsake, laddie, I kenna hoo ye live!' she returned in an accent +almost of despair, + +'I'm thinkin I dinna need sae muckle as ither fowk,' rejoined Steenie, +whose white face bore testimony that he took far from nourishment +enough. 'Ye see I'm no a' there,' he added with a smile, 'sae I canna +need sae muckle!' + +'There's eneuch o' ye there to fill my hert unco fou,' answered his +mother with a deep sigh. 'Come awa, Steenie, my bairn!' she went on +coaxingly. 'Yer father winna ate a moufu' gien ye dinna: ye'll see +that!--Eh, Steenie,' she broke out, 'gien ye wad but tak yer supper and +gang to yer bed like the lave o' 's! It gars my hert swall as gien 't +wud burst like a blob to think o' ye oot i' tho mirk nicht! Wha's to +tell what michtna be happenin ye! Oor herts are whiles that sair, yer +father's and mine, i' oor beds, 'at we daurna say a word for fear the +tane set the tither greetin.' + +'I'll bide in, gien that be yer wull,' replied Steenie; 'but eh, gien +ye kent the differ to me, ye wudna wuss 't. I seldom sleep at nicht as +ye ken, and i' the hoose it's jist as gien the darkness wan inside o' +me and was chokin me.' + +'But it's as dark theroot as i' the hoose--whiles, onygait!' + +'Na, mother; it's never sae dark theroot but there's licht eneuch to +ken I'm theroot and no i' the hoose. I can aye draw a guid full breath +oot i' the open.' + +'Lat the laddie gang his ain gait, 'uman,' interposed David. 'The thing +born in 'im 's better for him nor the thing born in anither. A man maun +gang as God made him.' + +'Ay, whether he be man or dog!' assented Steenie solemnly. + +He drew his stool close to his father where he sat at the table, and +again laid his head on his knee. The mother sighed but said nothing. +She looked nowise hurt, only very sad. In a minute, Steenie spoke +again: + +'I'm thinkin nane o' ye kens,' he said, 'what it's like whan a' the +hillside 's gien up to the ither anes!' + +'What ither anes?' asked his mother. 'There can be nane there but yer +ain lane sel!' + +'Ay, there 's a' the lave o' 's,' he rejoined, with a wan smile. + +The mother looked at him with something almost of fear in her eyes of +love. + +'Steenie has company we ken little aboot,' said Kirsty. 'I whiles think +I wud gie him my wits for his company.' + +'Ay, the bonny man!' murmured Steenie. '--I maun be gauin!' + +But he did not rise, did not even lift his head from his father's knee: +it would be rude to go before the supper was over--the ruder that he +was not partaking of it! + +David had eaten his porridge, and now came the almost nightly +difference about the eggs. Marion had been 'the perfect spy o' the +time' in taking them from the pot; but when she would as usual have her +husband eat them, he as usual declared he neither needed nor wanted +them. This night, however, he did not insist, but at once proceeded to +prepare one, with which, as soon as it was nicely mixed with salt, he +began to feed Steenie. The boy had been longer used to being thus fed +than most children, and having taken the first mouthful instinctively, +now moved his head, but without raising it from his knee, so that his +father might feed him more comfortably. In this position he took every +spoonful given him, and so ate both the eggs, greatly to the delight of +the rest of the company. + +A moment more and Steenie got up. His father rose also. + +'I'll convoy ye a bit, my man,' he said. + +'Eh, na! ye needna that, father! It's near-ban' yer bedtime! I hae +naegait to be convoyt. I'll jist be aboot i' the nicht--maybe a +stane's-cast frae the door, maybe the tither side o' the Horn. Here or +there I'm never frae ye. I think whiles I'm jist like are o' them 'at +ye ca' deid: I'm no awa; I'm only deid! I'm aboot somegait!' + +So saying, he went. He never on any occasion wished them good-night: +that would be to leave them, and he was not leaving them! he was with +them all the time! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER + + +The instant he was gone, Kirsty went a step or two nearer to her +father, and, looking up in his face, said: + +'I saw Francie Gordon the day, father.' + +'Weel, lassie, I reckon that wasna ony ferly (_strange occurrence_)! +Whaur saw ye him?' + +'He cam to me o' the Hornside, whaur I sat weyvin my stockin, ower the +bog on 's powny--a richt bonny thing, and clever--a new are he's gotten +frae 's mither. And it's no the first time he's been owre there to see +me sin' he cam hame!' + +'Whatfor gaed he there? That wasna the best o' places to gang ridin +in!' + +'He kenned whaur he was likest to see me: it was me he wantit.' + +'He wantit you, did he? And he's been mair nor ance efter ye?--Whatfor +didna ye tell me afore, Kirsty?' + +'We war bairns thegither, ye ken, father, and I never ance thoucht the +thing worth fashin ye aboot till the day. We've aye been used to +Francie comin and gaein! I never tellt my mither onything, he said, and +I tell her a'thing worth tellin, and mony a thing forby. I aye leuch at +him as I wud at a bairn till the day. He spak straucht oot the day, and +I did the same, and angert him; and syne he angert me.' + +'And whatfor are ye tellin me the noo?' + +'Cause it cam intil my heid 'at maybe it would be better--no 'at it +maks ony differ I can see.' + +During this conversation Marion was washing the supper-things, putting +them away, and making general preparation for bed. She heard every +word, and went about her work softly that she might hear, never opening +her mouth to speak. + +'There's something ye want to tell me and dinna like, lassie!' said +David. 'Gien ye be feart at yer father, gang til yer mither.' + +'Feart at my father! I wad be, gien I bed onything to be ashamet o'. +Syne I micht gang to my mither, I daursay--I dinna ken.' + +'Ye wud that, lassie. Fathers maun sometimes be fearsome to +lass-bairns!' + +'Whan I'm feart at you, father, I'll be a gey bit on i' the ill gait!' +returned Kirsty, with a solemn face, looking straight into her father's +eyes. + +'Than it'll never be, or I maun hae a heap to blame mysel for. I think +whiles, gien bairns kenned the terrible wyte their fathers micht hae to +dree for no duin better wi' them, they wud be mair particlar to hand +straucht. I hae been ower muckle taen up wi' my beasts and my craps-- +mair, God forgie me! nor wi' my twa bairns; though, he kens, ye're mair +to me, the twa, than oucht else save the mither o' ye!' + +'The beasts and the craps cudna weel du wi' less; and there was aye oor +mither to see efter hiz!' + +'That's true, lassie! I only houp it wasna greed at the hert o' me! At +the same time, wha wud I be greedy for but yersels?--Weel, and what's +it a' aboot? What garred ye come to me aboot Francie? I'm some feart +for him whiles, noo 'at he's sae muckle oot o' oor sicht. The laddie's +no by natur an ill laddie--far frae 't! but it's a sore pity he cudna +hae been a' his father's, and nane o' him his mither's!' + +'That wudna hae been sae weel contrived, I doobt!' remarked Kirsty. +'There wudna hae been the variety, I'm thinkin!' + +'Ye're richt there, lass!--But what's this aboot Francie?' 'Ow +naething, father, worth mentionin! The daft loon wud hae bed me promise +to merry him--that's a'!' + +'The Lord preserve's!--Aff han'?' + +'There's no tellin what micht hae been i' the heid o' 'im: he didna win +sae far as to say that onygait!' + +'God forbid!' exclaimed her father with solemnity, after a short pause. + +'I'm thinkin God's forbidden langsyne!' rejoined Kirsty. + +'What said ye til 'im, lassie?' + +'First I leuch at him--as weel as I can min' tho nonsense o' 't--and +ca'd him the gowk he was; and syne I sent him awa wi' a flee in 's lug: +hadna he the impidence to fa' oot upo' me for carin mair aboot Steenie +nor the likes o' him! As gien ever _he_ cud come 'ithin sicht o' +Steenie!' + +Her father looked very grave. + +'Are ye no pleased, father? I did what I thoucht richt.' + +'Ye cudna hae dune better, Kirsty. But I'm sorry for the callan, for eh +but I loed his father! Lassie, for his father's sake I cud tak Francie +intil the hoose, and work for him as for you and Steenie--though it's +little guid Steenie ever gets o' me, puir sowl!' + +'Dinna say that, father. It wud be an ill thing for Steenie to hae +onybody but yersel to the father o' 'im! A muckle pairt o' the nicht he +wins ower in loein at you and his mother.' + +'And yersel, Kirsty.' + +'I'm thinkin I hae my share i' the daytime.' + +'And hoo, think ye, gangs the lave o' the nicht wi' 'im?' + +'The bonny man has the maist o' 't, I dinna doobt, and what better cud +we desire for 'im!--But, father, gien Francie come back wi' the same +tale--I dinna think he wull efter what I telled him, but he may--what +wud ye hae me say til 'im?' + +'Say what ye wull, lassie, sae lang as ye dinna lat him for a moment +believe there's a grain o' possibility i' the thing. Ye see, Kirsty,--' + +'Ye dinna imagine, father, I cud for ae minute think itherwise aboot it +nor ye du yersel! Div I no ken 'at his father gied him in chairge to +you? and haena I therefore to luik efter him? Didna ye tell me a' aboot +yer gran' freen' and hoo, and hoo lang ye had loed him? and didna that +mak Francie my business as weel's yer ain? I'm verra sure his father +wud never appruv o' ony gaeins on atween him and a lassie sic like's +mysel; and fearna ye, father, but I s' hand him weel ootby. No that +it's ony tyauve (_struggle_) to me, though I aye likit Francie! Haena I +my ain Steenie?' + +'Glaidly wud I shaw Francie the ro'd to sic a wife as ye wud mak him, +my bonny Kirsty! But ye see clearly the thing itsel's no to be thoucht +upon.--Eh, Kirsty, but it's gran' to an auld father's hert to hear ye +tak yer pairt in his devours efter sic a wumanly fashion!' + +'Am I no yer ain lass-bairn, father? Whaur wud I be wi' a father 'at +didna keep his word? and what less cud I du nor help ony man to keep +his word? Gien breach o' the faimily-word cam throuw me, my life wud +gang frae me.--Wad ye hae me tell the laddie's mither? I wudna like to +expose the folly o' him, but gien ye think it necessar, I'll gang the +morn's mornin.' + +'I dinna think that wud be weel. It wad but raise a strife atween the +twa, ohn dune an atom o' guid. She wud only rage at the laddie, and pit +him in sic a reid heat as wad but wald thegither him and his wull sae +'at they wud maist never come in twa again. And though ye gaed and +tauld her yer ain sel, my leddy wad lay a' the wyte upo' you nane the +less. There's no rizzon, tap nor tae, i' the puir body, and ye're +naewise b'und to her farther nor to du richt by her.' + +'I'm glaid ye dinna want me to gang,' answered Kirsty. 'She carries +hersel that gran' 'at ye're maist driven to the consideration hoo +little she's worth; and that's no the richt speerit anent onybody or +thing God thoucht worth makin.' + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +AT CASTLE WEELSET + + +Francie's anger had died down a good deal by the time he reached home. +He was, as his father's friend had just said, by no means a bad sort of +fellow, only he was full of himself, and therefore of little use to +anybody. His mother and he, when not actually at strife, were +constantly on the edge of a quarrel. The two must have their own way, +each of them. Francie's way was sometimes good, his mother's sometimes +not bad, but both were usually selfish. The boy had fits of generosity, +the woman never, except toward her son. If she thought of something to +please him, good and well! if he wanted anything of her, it would never +do! The idea must be her own, or meet with no favour. If she imagined +her son desired a thing, she felt it one she never could grant, and +told him so: thereafter Francis would not rest until he had compassed +the thing. Sudden division and high words would follow, with +speechlessness on the mother's part in the rear, which might last for +days. Becoming all at once tired of it, she would in the morning appear +at breakfast looking as if nothing had ever come between them, and they +would be the best of friends for a few days, or perhaps a week, seldom +longer. Some fresh discord, nowise different in character from the +preceding, would arise between them, and the same weary round be +tramped again, each always in the right, and the other in the wrong. +Every time they made it up, their relation seemed unimpaired, but it +was hardly possible things should go on thus and not at length quite +estrange their hearts. + +In matters of display, to which Francis had much tendency, his mother's +own vanity led her to indulge and spoil him, for, being hers, she was +always pleased he should look his best. On his real self she neither +had nor sought any influence. Insubordination or arrogance in him, her +dignity unslighted, actually pleased her: she liked him to show his +spirit: was it not a mark of his breeding? + +She was a tall and rather stout woman, with a pretty, small-featured, +regular face, and a thin nose with the nostrils pinched. + +Castle Weelset was not much of a castle: to an ancient round tower, +discomfortably habitable, had been added in the last century a rather +large, defensible house. It stood on the edge of a gorge, crowning one +of its stony hills of no great height. With scarce a tree to shelter +it, the situation was very cold in winter, and it required a hardy +breeding to live there in comfort. There was little of a garden, and +the stables were somewhat ruinous. For the former fact the climate +almost sufficiently accounted, and for the latter, a long period of +comparative poverty. + +The young laird did not like farming, and had no love for books: in +this interval between school and college, he found very little to +occupy him, and not much to amuse him. Had Kirsty and her family proved +as encouraging as he had expected, he would have made use of his new +pony almost only to ride to Corbyknowe in the morning and back to the +castle at night. + +His mother knew old Barclay, as she called him, well enough--that is, +not at all, and had never shown him any cordiality, anything, indeed, +better than condescension. To treat him like a gentleman, even when he +sat at her own table, she would have counted absurd. He had never been +to the castle since the day after her husband's funeral, when she +received him with such emphasized superiority that he felt he could not +go again without running the risk either of having his influence with +the boy ruined, or giving occasion to a nature not without generosity +to take David's part against his mother. Thenceforward, therefore, he +contented himself with giving Francis invariable welcome, and doing +what he could to make his visits pleasant. Chiefly, on such not +infrequent occasions, the boy delighted in drawing from his father's +friend what tales about his father, and adventures of their campaigns +together, he had to tell; and in this way David's wife and children +heard many things about himself which would not otherwise have reached +them. Naturally, Kirsty and Francie grew to be good friends; and after +they went to the parish school, there were few days indeed on which +they did not walk at least as far homeward together as the midway +divergence of their roads permitted. It was not wonderful, therefore, +that at length Francis should be, or should fancy himself in love with +Kirsty. But I believe all the time he thought of marrying her as a +heroic deed, in raising the girl his mother despised to share the lofty +position he and that foolish mother imagined him to occupy. The +anticipation of opposition from his mother naturally strengthened his +determination; of opposition on the part of Kirsty, he had not dreamed. +He took it as of course that, the moment he stated his intention, +Kirsty would be charmed, her mother more than pleased, and the stern +old soldier overwhelmed with the honour of alliance with the son of his +colonel. I do not doubt, however, that he had an affection for Kirsty +far deeper and better than his notion of their relations to each other +would indicate. Although it was mainly his pride that suffered in his +humiliating dismissal, he had, I am sure, a genuine heartache as he +galloped home. When he reached the castle, he left his pony to go where +he would, and rushed to his room. There, locking the door that his +mother might not enter, he threw himself on his bed in the luxurious +consciousness of a much-wronged lover. An uneducated country girl, for +as such he regarded her, had cast from her, not without insult, his +splendidly generous offer of himself! + +Poor king Cophetua did not, however, shed many tears for the loss of +his recusant beggar-maid. By and by he forgot everything, found he had +gone to sleep, and, endeavouring to weep again, did not succeed. + +He grew hungry soon, and went down to see what was to be had. It was +long past the usual hour for dinner, but Mrs. Gordon had not seen him +return, and had had it put back--so to make the most of an opportunity +of quarrel not to be neglected by a conscientious mother. She let it +slide nevertheless. + +'Gracious, you've been crying!' she exclaimed, the moment she saw him. + +Now certainly Francis had not cried much; his eyes were, +notwithstanding, a little red. + +He had not yet learned to lie, but he might then have made his first +assay had he had a fib at his tongue's end; as he had not, he gloomed +deeper, and made no answer. + +'You've been fighting!' said his mother. + +'I haena,' he returned with rude indignation. 'Gien I had been, div ye +think I wud hae grutten?' + +'You forget yourself, laird!' remarked Mrs. Gordon, more annoyed with +his Scotch than the tone of it. 'I would have you remember I am +mistress of the house!' + +'Till I marry, mother!' rejoined her son. + +'Oblige me in the meantime,' she answered, 'by leaving vulgar language +outside it.' + +Francis was silent; and his mother, content with her victory, and in +her own untruthfulness of nature believing he had indeed been fighting +and had had the worse of it, said no more, but began to pity and pet +him. A pot of his favourite jam presently consoled the love-wounded +hero--in the acceptance of which consolation he showed himself far less +unworthy than many a grown man, similarly circumstanced, in the choice +of his. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +DAVID AND FRANCIS + + +One day there was a market at a town some eight or nine miles off, and +thither, for lack of anything else to do, Francis had gone to display +himself and his pony, which he was riding with so tight a curb that the +poor thing every now and then reared in protest against the agony he +suffered. + +On one of these occasions Don was on the point of falling backward, +when a brown wrinkled hand laid hold of him by the head, half pulling +the reins from his rider's hand, and ere he had quite settled again on +his forelegs, had unhooked the chain of his curb, and fastened it some +three links looser. Francis was more than indignant, even when he saw +that the hand was Mr. Barclay's: was he to be treated as one who did +not know what he was about! + +'Hoots, my man!' said David gently, 'there's no occasion to put a +water-chain upo' the bonny beastie: he has a mou like a leddy's! and to +hae 't linkit up sae ticht is naething less nor tortur til 'im!--It's a +won'er to me he hasna broken your banes and his ain back thegither, +puir thing!' he added, patting and stroking the spirited little +creature that stood sweating and trembling. 'I thank you, Mr. Barclay,' +said Francis insolently, 'but I am quite able to manage the brute +myself. You seem to take me for a fool!' + +''Deed, he's no far aff ane 'at cud ca' a bonny cratur like that a +brute!' returned David, nowise pleased to discover such hardness in one +whom he would gladly treat like a child of his own. It was a great +disappointment to him to see the lad getting farther away from the +possibility of being helped by him. 'What 'ud yer father say to see ye +illuse ony helpless bein! Yer father was awfu guid til 's horse-fowk.' + +The last word was one of David's own: he was a great lover of animals. + +'I'll do with my own as I please!' cried Francis, and spurred the pony +to pass David. But one stalwart hand held the pony fast, while the +other seized his rider by the ankle. The old man was now thoroughly +angry with the graceless youth. + +'God bless my sowl!' he cried, 'hae ye the spurs on as weel? Stick ane +o' them intil him again, and I'll cast ye frae the seddle. I' the thick +o' a fecht, the lang blades playin aboot yer father's heid like lichts +i' the north, he never stack spur intil 's chairger needless!' + +'I don't see,' said Francis, who had begun to cool down a little, 'how +he could have enjoyed the fight much if he never forgot himself! I +should forget everything in the delight of the battle!' + +'Yer father, laddie, never forgot onything but himsel. Forgettin himsel +left him free to min' a'thing forbye. _Ye_ wud forget ilka thing but +yer ain rage! Yer father was a great man as weel's a great soger, +Francie, and a deevil to fecht, as his men said. I hae mysel seen by +the set mou 'at the teeth war clinched i' the inside o' 't, whan a' the +time on the broo o' 'im sat never a runkle. Gien ever there was a man +'at cud think o' twa things at ance, your father cud think o' three; +and thae three war God, his enemy, and the beast aneath him. Francie, +Francie, i' the name o' yer father I beg ye to regaird the richts o' +the neebour ye sit upo'. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll come or lang to +think little o' yer human neebour as weel, carin only for what ye get +oot o' 'im!' + +A voice inside Francis took part with the old man, and made him yet +angrier. Also his pride was the worse annoyed that David Barclay, his +tenant, should, in the hearing of two or three loafers gathered behind +him, of whose presence the old man was unaware, not only rebuke him, +but address him by his name, and the diminutive of it. So when David, +in the appeal that burst from his enthusiastic remembrance of his +officer in the battle-field, let the pony's head go, Francis dug his +spurs in his sides, and darted off like an arrow. The old man for a +moment stared open-mouthed after him. The fools around laughed: he +turned and walked away, his head sunk on his breast. + +Francis had not ridden far before he was vexed with himself. He was not +so much sorry, as annoyed that he had behaved in fashion undignified. +The thought that his childish behaviour would justify Kirsty in her +opinion of him, added its sting. He tried to console himself with the +reflection that the sort of thing ought to be put an end to at once: +how far, otherwise, might not the old fellow's interference go! I am +afraid he even said to himself that such was a consequence of +familiarity with inferiors. Yet angry as he was at his fault-finding, +he would have been proud of any approval from the lips of the old +soldier. He rode his pony mercilessly for a mile or so, then pulled up, +and began to talk pettingly to him, which I doubt if the little +creature found consoling, for love only makes petting worth anything, +and the love here was not much to the front. + +About halfway home, he had to ford a small stream, or go round two +miles by a bridge. There had been much rain in the night, and the +stream was considerably swollen. As he approached the ford, he met a +knife-grinder, who warned him not to attempt it: he had nearly lost his +wheel in it, he said. But Francis always found it hard to accept +advice. His mother had so often predicted from neglect of hers evils +which never followed, that he had come to think counsel the one thing +not to be heeded. + +'Thank you,' he said; 'I think we can manage it!' and rode on. + +When he reached the ford, where of all places he ought to have left the +pony's head free, he foolishly remembered the curb-chain, and getting +off, took it up a couple of links. + +But when he remounted, whether from dread of the rush of the brown +water, or resentment at the threat of renewed torture, the pony would +not take the ford, and a battle royal arose between them, in which +Francis was so far victorious that, after many attempts to run away, +little Don, rendered desperate by the spur, dashed wildly into the +stream, and went plunging on for two or three yards. Then he fell, and +Francis found himself rolling in the water, swept along by the current. + +A little way lower down, at a sharp turn of the stream under a high +bank, was a deep pool, a place held much in dread by the country lads +and lasses, being a haunt of the kelpie. Francis knew the spot well, +and had good reason to fear that, carried into it, he must be drowned, +for he could not swim. Roused by the thought to a yet harder struggle, +he succeeded in getting upon his feet, and reaching the bank, where he +lay for a while, exhausted. When at length he came to himself and rose, +he found the water still between him and home, and nothing of his pony +to be seen. If the youth's good sense had been equal to his courage, he +would have been a fine fellow: he dashed straight into the ford, +floundered through it, and lost his footing no more than had Don, +treated properly. When he reached the high ground on the other side, he +could still see nothing of him, and with sad heart concluded him +carried into the Kelpie's Hole, never more to be beheld alive:--what +would his mother and Mr. Barclay say? Shivering and wretched, and with +a growing compunction in regard to his behaviour to Don, he crawled +wearily home. + +Don, however, had at no moment been much in danger. Rid of his master, +he could take very good care of himself. He got to the bank without +difficulty, and took care it should be on the home-side of the stream. +Not once looking behind him after his tyrant, he set off at a good +round trot, much refreshed by his bath, and rejoicing in the thought of +his loose box at castle Weelset. + +In a narrow part of the road, however, he overtook a cart of Mr. +Barclay's; and as he attempted to pass between it and the steep brae, +the man on the shaft caught at his bridle, made him prisoner, tied him +to the cart behind, and took him to Corbyknowe. When David came home +and saw him, he conjectured pretty nearly what had happened, and tired +as he was set out for the castle. Had he not feared that Francis might +have been injured, he would not have cared to go, much as he knew it +must relieve him to learn that his pony was safe. + +Mrs. Gordon declined to see David, but he ascertained from the servants +that Francis had come home half-drowned, leaving Don in the Kelpie's +Hole. + +David hesitated a little whether or not to punish him for his behaviour +to the pony by allowing him to remain in ignorance of his safety, and +so leaving him to the _agen-bite_ of conscience; but concluding that +such was not his part, he told them that the animal was safe at +Corbyknowe, and went home again. + +But he wanted Francis to fetch the pony himself, therefore did not send +him, and in the meantime fed and groomed him with his own hands as if +he had been his friend's charger. Francis having just enough of the +grace of shame to make him shrink from going to Corbyknowe, his mother +wrote to David, asking why he did not send home the animal. David, one +of the most courteous of men, would take no order from any but his +superior officer, and answered that he would gladly give him up to the +young laird in person. + +The next day Mrs. Gordon drove, in what state she could muster, to +Corbyknowe. Arrived there, she declined to leave her carriage, +requesting Mrs. Barclay, who came to the door, to send her husband to +her. Mrs. Barclay thought it better to comply. + +David came in his shirt-sleeves, for he had been fetched from his work. + +'If I understand your answer to my request, Mr. Barclay, you decline to +send back Mr. Gordon's pony. Pray, on what grounds?' + +'I wrote, ma'am, that I should be glad to give him over to Mr. Francis +himself.' + +'Mr. Gordon does not find it convenient to come all this way on foot. +In fact he declines to do it, and requests that you will send the pony +home this afternoon.' + +'Excuse me, mem, but it's surely enough done that a man make known the +presence o' strays, and tak proper care o' them until they're claimt! I +was fain forbye to gie the bonny thing a bit pleesur in life: Francie's +ower hard upon him.' + +'You forget, David Barclay, that Mr. Gordon is your landlord!' + +'His father, mem, was my landlord, and his father's father was my +father's landlord; and the interests o' the landlord hae aye been oors. +Ither nor Francie's herty freen I can never be!' + +'You presume on my late husband's kindness to you, Barclay!' + +'Gien devotion be presumption, mem, I presume. Archibald Gordon was and +is my freen, and will be for ever. We hae been throuw ower muckle +thegither to change to are anither. It was for his sake and the +laddie's ain that I wantit him to come to me. I wantit a word wi' him +aboot that powny o' his. He'll never be true man 'at taks no tent +(_care_) o' dumb animals! You 'at's sae weel at hame i' the seddle +yersel, mem, micht tak a kin'ly care o' what's aneth his!' + +'I will have no one interfere with my son. I am quite capable of +teaching him his duty myself.' + +'His father requestit me to do what I could for him, mem.' + +'His _late_ father, if you please, Barclay!' + +'He s' never be Francie's _late_ father to Francie, gien I can help it, +mem! He may be your _late_ husband, mem, but he's my cornel yet, and I +s' keep my word til him! It'll no be lang noo, i' the natur o' things, +till I gang til him; and sure am I his first word 'll be aboot the +laddie: I wud ill like to answer him, "Archie, I ken naething aboot him +but what I cud weel wuss itherwise!" Hoo wud ye like to gie sic an +answer yersel, mem?' + +'I'm surprised at a man of your sense, Barclay, thinking we shall know +one another in heaven! We shall have to be content with God there!' + +'I said naething about h'aven, mem! Fowk may ken are anither and no be +in ae place. I took note i' the kirk last Sunday 'at Abrahaam kent the +rich man, and the rich man him, and they warna i' the same place.--But +ye'll lat the yoong laird come and see me, mem?' concluded David, +changing his tone and speaking as one who begged a favour; for the +thought of meeting his old friend and having nothing to tell him about +his boy, quenched his pride. + +'Home, Thomas!' cried her late husband's wife to her coachman, and +drove away. + +'Dod! they'll hae to gie that wife a hell til hersel!' said David, +turning to the door discomfited. + +'And maybe she'll no like it whan she hes't!' returned his wife, who +had heard every word. 'There's fowk 'at's no fit company for onybody! +and I'm thinkin she's ane gien there bena anither!' + +'I'll sen' Jeamie hame wi' the powny the nicht,' said David. 'A body +canna insist whaur fowk are no frien's. That weud grow to enmity, and +the en' o' a' guid. Na, we maun sen' hame the powny; and gien there be +ony grace i' the bairn, he canna but come and say thank ye!' + +Mrs. Gordon rejoiced in her victory; but David's yielding showed itself +the true policy. Francis did call and thank him for taking care of Don. +He even granted that perhaps he had been too hard on the pony. + +'Ye cud richteously expeck naething o' a powny o' his size that that +powny o' yours cudna du, Francie!' said David. 'But, in God's name, +dear laddie, be a richteous man. Gien ye requere no more than's fair +frae man or beast, ye'll maistly aye get it. But gien yer ootluik in +life be to get a'thing and gie naething, ye maun come to grief ae w'y +and a' w'ys. Success in an ill attemp is the warst failyie a man can +mak.' + +But it was talking to the wind, for Francis thought, or tried to think +David only bent, like his mother, on finding fault with him. He made +haste to get away, and left his friend with a sad heart. + +He rode on to the foot of the Horn, to the spot where Kirsty was +usually at that season to be found; but she saw him coming, and went up +the hill. Soon after, his mother contrived that he should pay a visit +to some relatives in the south, and for a time neither the castle nor +the Horn saw anything of him. Without returning home he went in the +winter to Edinburgh, where he neither disgraced nor distinguished +himself. David was to hear no ill of him. To be beyond his mother's +immediate influence was perhaps to his advantage, but as nothing +superior was substituted, it was at best but little gain. His +companions were like himself, such as might turn to worse or better, no +one could tell which. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +KIRSTY AND PHEMY + + +During the first winter which Francis spent at college, his mother was +in England, and remained there all the next summer and winter. When at +last she came home, she was even less pleasant than before in the eyes +of her household, no one of which had ever loved her. Throughout the +summer she had a succession of visitors, and stories began to spread +concerning strange doings at the castle. The neighbours talked of +extravagance, and the censorious among them of riotous living; while +some of the servants more than hinted that the amount of wine and +whisky consumed was far in excess of what served when the old colonel +was alive. + +One of them who, in her mistress's frequent fits of laziness, acted as +housekeeper, had known David Barclay from his boyhood, and understood +his real intimacy with her late master: it was not surprising, +therefore, that she should open her mind to him, while keeping toward +everyone else a settled silence concerning her mistress's affairs: none +of the stories current in the country-side came from her. David was to +Mrs. Bremner the other side of a deep pit, into the bottom of which +whatever was said between them dropped. + +'There'll come a catastrophe or lang,' said Mrs. Bremner one evening +when David Barclay overtook her on the road to the town, 'and that'll +be seen! The property's jist awa to the dogs! There's Maister Donal, +the factor, gaein aboot like are in a dilemm as to cuttin 's thro't or +blawin his harns oot! He daursna say a word, ye see! The auld laird +trustit him, and he's feart 'at he be blamit, but there's nae duin +onything wi' that wuman: the siller maun be forthcomin whan she's +wantin 't!' + +'The siller's no hers ony mair nor the Ian'; a' 's the yoong laird's!' +remarked David. + +'That's true; but she's i' the pooer o' 't till he come o' age; and +Maister Donal, puir man, mony's the time he 's jist driven to are mair +to get what's aye wantit and wantit! What comes o' the siller it jist +blecks me to think: there's no a thing aboot the hoose to shaw for 't! +And hearken, David, but latna baith lugs hear 't, for dreid the tane +come ower't again to the tither--I'm doobtin the drink's gettin a sair +grup o' her!' + +''Deed I wudna be nane surprised!' returned David. 'Whatever micht want +in at her door, there's naething inside to baud it oot. Eh, to think o' +Archie Gordon takin til himsel sic a wife! that a man like him, o' guid +report, and come to years o' discretion--to think o' brains like his +turnin as fozy as an auld neep at sicht o' a bonny front til an ae wa' +hoose (_a house of but one wall_)! It canna be 'at witchcraft's clean +dune awa wi'!' + +'Bonny, Dawvid! Ca'd ye the mistress bonny?' + +'She used to be--bonny, that is, as a button or a buckle micht be +bonny. What she may be the noo, I dinna ken, for I haena set ee upon +her sin' she cam to the Knowe orderin me to sen' back Francie's powny: +she was suppercilly eneuch than for twa cornels and a corporal, but no +ill luikin. Gien she hae a spot o' beaouty left, the drink 'll tak it +or it hae dune wi' her!' + +'Or she hae dune wi' hit, Dawvid! It's ta'en ae colour frae her +a'ready, and begud to gie her anither! But it concerns me mair aboot +Francie nor my leddy: what's to come o' him when a' 's gane? what'll +there be for him to come intil?' + +Gladly would David have interfered, but he was helpless; he had no +legal guardianship over or for the boy! Nothing could be done till he +was a man!--'gien ever he be a man!' said David to himself with a sigh, +and the thought how much better off he was with his half-witted Steenie +than his friend with his clever Francie. + +Mrs. Bremner was sister-in-law to the schoolmaster, and was then on her +way to see him and his daughter Phemy. From childhood the girl had been +in the way of going to the castle to see her aunt, and so was well +known about the place. Being an engaging child, she had become not only +welcome to the servants but something of a favourite with the mistress, +whom she amused with her little airs, and pleased with her winning +manners. She was now about fourteen, a half-blown beauty of the red and +white, gold and blue kind. She had long been a vain little thing, +approving of her own looks in the glass, and taking much interest in +setting them off, but so simple as to make no attempt at concealing her +self-satisfaction. Her pleased contemplation of this or that portion of +her person, and the frantic attempts she was sometimes espied making to +get a sight of her back, especially when she wore a new frock, were +indeed more amusing than hopeful, but her vanity was not yet so +pronounced as to overshadow her better qualities, and Kirsty had not +thought it well to take notice of it, although, being more than anyone +else a mother to her, she was already a little anxious on the score of +it, and the rather that her aunt, like her father, neither saw nor +imagined fault in her. + +That the child had no mother, drew to her the heart of the girl whose +mother was her strength and joy; while gratitude to the child's father, +who, in opening for her some doors of wisdom and more of knowledge, had +put her under eternal obligations, moved her to make what return she +could. It deepened her sense of debt to Phemy that the schoolmaster did +not do for his daughter anything like what he had years long been doing +for his pupil, whence she almost felt as if she had diverted to her own +use much that rightly belonged to Phemy. At the same time she knew very +well that had she never existed the relation between the father and the +daughter would have been the same. The child of his dearly loved wife, +the schoolmaster was utterly content with his Phemy; for he felt as if +she knew everything her mother knew, had the same inward laws of being +and the same disposition, and was simply, like her, perfect. + +That she should ever do anything wrong was an idea inconceivable to +him. Nor was there much chance of his discovering it if she did. When +not at work, he was constantly reading. Most people close a book +without having gained from it a single germ of thought; Mr. Craig +seldom opened one without falling directly into a brown study over +something suggested by it. But I believe that, even when thus absorbed, +Phemy was never far from his thought. At the same time, like many +Scots, while she was his one joy, he seldom showed her sign of +affection, seldom made her feel, and never sought to make her feel how +he loved her. His love was taken by him for understood by her, and was +to her almost as if it did not exist. + +That his child required to be taught had scarcely occurred to the man +who could not have lived without learning, or enjoyed life without +teaching--as witness the eagerness with which he would help Kirsty +along any path of knowledge in which he knew how to walk. The love of +knowledge had grown in him to a possessing passion, paralyzing in a +measure those powers of his life sacred to life--that is, to God and +his neighbour. + +Kirsty could not do nearly what she would to make up for his neglect. +For one thing, the child did not take to learning, and though she loved +Kirsty and often tried to please her, would not keep on doing anything +without being more frequently reminded of her duty than the distance +between their two abodes permitted. Kirsty had her to the farm as often +as the schoolmaster would consent to her absence, and kept her as long +as he went on forgetting it; while Phemy was always glad to go to +Corbyknowe, and always glad to get away again. For Mrs. Barclay thought +it her part to teach her household matters, and lessons of that sort +Phemy relished worse than some of a more intellectual nature. If left +with her, the moment Kirsty appeared again, the child would fling from +her whatever might be in her hand, and flee as to her deliverer from +bondage and hard labour. Then would Kirsty always insist on her +finishing what she had been at, and Phemy would obey, with the protest +of silent tears, and the airs of a much injured mortal. Had Kirsty been +backed by the child's father, she might have made something of her; but +it grew more and more painful to think of her future, when her +self-constituted guardian should have lost what influence she had over +her. + +Phemy was rather afraid of Steenie. Her sunny nature shrank from the +shadow, as of a wall, in which Steenie appeared to her always to stand. +From any little attention he would offer her, she, although never rude +to him, would involuntarily recoil, and he soon learned to leave her +undismayed. That the child's repugnance troubled him, though he never +spoke of it, Kirsty saw quite plainly, for she could read his face like +a book, and heard him sigh when even his mother did not. Her eyes were +constantly regarding him, like sheep feeding on the pasture of his +face:--I think I have used a figure of sir Philip Sidney's. But say +rather--the thoughts that strayed over his face were the sheep to which +all her life she had been the devoted shepherdess. + +At Corbyknowe things went on as hitherto. Kirsty was in no danger of +tiring of the even flow of her life. Steenie's unselfish solitude of +soul made him every day dearer to her. Books she sought in every +accessible, and found occasionally in an unhopeful quarter. She had no +thought of distinguishing herself, no smallest ambition of becoming +learned; her soul was athirst to understand, and what she understood +found its way from her mind into her life. Much to the advantage of her +thinking were her keen power and constant practice of observation. I +utterly refuse the notion that we cannot think without words, but +certainly the more forms we have ready to embody our thoughts, the +farther we shall be able to carry our thinking. Richly endowed, Kirsty +required the more mental food, and was the more able to use it when she +found it. To such of the neighbours as had no knowledge of any +diligence save that of the hands, she seemed to lead an idle life; but +indeed even Kirsty's hands were far from idle. When not with Steenie +she was almost always at her mother's call, who, from the fear that she +might grow up incapable of managing a house, often required a good deal +of her. But the mother did not fail to note with what alacrity she +would lay her book aside, sometimes even dropping it in her eagerness +to answer her summons. Dismissed for the moment, she would at once take +her book again and the seat nearest to it: she could read anywhere, and +gave herself none of the student-airs that make some young people so +pitifully unpleasant. At the same time solitude was preferable for +study, and Kirsty was always glad to find herself with her books in the +little hut, Steenie asleep on the heather carpet on her feet, and the +assurance that there no one would interrupt her. + +It was not wonderful that, in the sweet absence of selfish cares, her +mind full of worthy thoughts, and her heart going out in tenderness, +her face should go on growing in beauty and refinement. She was not yet +arrived at physical full growth, and the forms of her person being +therefore in a process of change were the more easily modelled after +her spiritual nature. She seemed almost already one that would not die, +but live for ever, and continue to inherit the earth. Neither her +father nor her mother could have imagined anything better to be made of +her. + +Steenie had not changed his habits, neither seemed to grow at all more +like other people. He was now indeed seldom so much depressed as +formerly, but he showed no sign of less dependence on Kirsty. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE EARTH-HOUSE + + +About a year after Francis Gordon went to Edinburgh, Kirsty and Steenie +made a discovery. + +Between Corbyknowe and the Horn, on whose sides David Barclay had a +right of pasturage for the few sheep to which Steenie and Snootie were +the shepherds, was a small glen, through which, on its way to join the +little river with the kelpie-pot, ran a brook, along whose banks lay +two narrow breadths of nice grass. The brother and sister always +crossed this brook when they wanted to go straight to the top of the +hill. + +One morning, having each taken the necessary run and jump, they had +began to climb on the other side, when Kirsty, who was a few paces +before him, turned at an exclamation from Steenie. + +'It's a' the weicht o' my muckle feet!' he cried, as he dragged one of +the troublesome members out of a hole. 'Losh, I dinna ken hoo far it +michtna hae gane doon gien I hadna gotten a haud o' 't in time and pu'd +it oot!' + +How much of humour, how much of silliness, and how much of truth were +wrapt up together in some of the things he said, it was impossible to +determine. I believe Kirsty came pretty near knowing, but even she was +not always sure where wilful oddity and where misapprehension was at +the root of a remark. + +'Gien ye set yer fit upon a hole,' said Kirsty, 'what can the puir +thing du but gang doon intil 't? Ye maunna be oonrizzonable wi' the +craturs, Steenie! Ye maun be fair til them.' + +'But there was nae hole!' returned Steenie. 'There cudna hae been. +There's the hole noo! My fit made it, and there it'll hae to bide! It's +a some fearsome thing, divna ye think, 'at what aiven the fit o' a body +dis, bides? What for disna the hole gang awa whan the fit lifts? Luik +ye there! Ye see thae twa stanes stan'in up by themsels, and there's +the hole--atween the twa! There cudna hae been a hole there afore the +weicht o' my fit cam doon upo' the spot and ca'd it throuw! I gaed in +maist til my knee!' + +'Lat's luik!' said Kirsty, and proceeded to examine the place. + +She thought at first it must be the burrow of some animal, but the +similarity in shape of the projecting stones suggesting that their +position might not be fortuitous, she would look a little farther, and +began to pull away the heather about the mouth of the opening. Steenie +set himself, with might and main, to help her. Kirsty was much the +stronger of the two, but Steenie always did his best to second her in +anything that required exertion. + +They soon spied the lump of sod and heather which Steenie's heavy foot +had driven down, and when they had pulled that out, they saw that the +hole went deeper still, seeming a very large burrow indeed--therefore a +little fearsome. Having widened the mouth of it by clearing away a +thick growth of roots from its sides, and taken out a quantity of soft +earth, they perceived that it went sloping into the ground still +farther. With growing curiosity they leant down into it, lying on the +edge, and reaching with their hands removed the loose earth as low as +they could. This done, the descent showed itself about two feet square, +as far down as they had cleared it, beyond which a little way it was +lost in the dark. + +What were they to do next? There was yet greater inducement to go on, +but considerations came which were not a little deterrent. Although +Steenie had worked well, Kirsty knew he had a horror of dark places, +associating them somehow with the weight of his feet: whether such +places had for him any suggestion of the grave, I cannot tell; +certainly to get rid of his feet was the form his idea of the salvation +he needed was readiest to take. Then might there not be some animal +inside? Steenie thought not, for there was no opening until he made it! +and Kirsty also thought not, on the ground that she knew no wild animal +larger than fox or badger, neither of which would have made such a big +hole. One moment, however, her imagination was nearly too much for her: +what if some huge bear had been asleep in it for hundreds of years, and +growing all the time! Certainly he could not get out, but if she roused +him, and he got a hold of her! The next instant her courage revived, +for she would have been ashamed to let what she did not believe +influence any action. The passage must lead somewhere, and it was large +enough for her to explore it! + +Because of her dress, she must creep in head foremost--in which lay +the advantage that so she would meet any danger face to face! Telling +Steenie that if he heard her cry out, he must get hold of her feet and +pull, she laid herself on the ground and crawled in. She thought it +must lead to an ancient tomb, but said nothing of the conjecture for +fear of horrifying Steenie, who stood trembling, sustained only by his +faith in Kirsty. + +She went down and down and quite disappeared. Not a foot was left for +Steenie to lay hold of. Terrible and long seemed the time to him as he +stood there forsaken, his darling out of sight in the heart of the +earth. He knew there were wolves in Scotland once; who could tell but a +she-wolf had been left, and a whole clan of them lived there +underground, never issuing in the daytime! there might be the open +mouth of a passage, under a rock and curtained with heather, in some +other spot of the hill! What if one of them got Kirsty by the throat +before she had time to cry out! Then he thought she might have gone +till she could go no father, and not having room to turn, was trying to +creep backward, but her clothes hindered her. Forgetting his repugnance +in over-mastering fear, the faithful fellow was already half inside the +hole to go after her, when up shot the head of Kirsty, almost in his +face. For a moment he was terribly perplexed: he had been expecting to +come on her feet, not her head: how could she have gone in head +foremost, and not come back feet foremost? + +'Eh, wuman,' he said in a fear-struck whisper, 'it's awfu' to see ye +come oot o' the yird like a muckle worm!' + +'Ye saw me gang in, Steenie, ye gowk!' returned Kirsty, dismayed +herself at sight of his solemn dread. + +'Ay,' answered Steenie, 'but I didna see ye come oot! Eh, Kirsty, +wuman, hae ye a heid at baith en's o' ye?' + +Kirsty's laughter blew Steenie's discomposure away, and he too laughed. + +'Come back hame,' said Kirsty; 'I maun get haud o' a can'le! Yon's a +place maun be seen intil. I never saw, or raither faun' (_felt_) the +like o' 't, for o' seein there's nane, or next to nane. There's room +eneuch; ye can see that wi' yer airms!' + +'What is there room eneuch for?' asked Steenie. + +'For you and me, and twenty or thirty mair, mebbe--I dinna ken,' +replied Kirsty. + +'I s' mak ye a present o' my room intil 't,' returned Steenie. 'I want +nane o' 't.' + +'Ill gang doon wi' the can'le,' said Kirsty, 'and see whether 't be a +place for ye. Gien I cry oot, "Ay is't," wull ye come?' + +'That I wull, gien 't war the whaul's belly!' replied Steenie. + +They set out for the house, and as they walked they talked. + +'I div won'er what the place cud ever hae been for!' said Kirsty, more +to herself than Steenie. 'It's bigger nor ony thoucht I had o' 't.' + +'What is 't like, Kirsty?' inquired Steenie. + +'Hoo can I tell whan I saw naething!' replied Kirsty. + +'But,' she added thoughtfully, 'gien it warna that we're in Scotlan', +and they're nigh-han' Rom', I wud hae been 'maist sure I had won intil +ane o' the catacombs!' + +'Eh, losh, lat me awa to the hill!' cried Steenie, stopping and half +turning. 'I canna bide the verra word o' the craturs!' + +'What word than?' asked Kirsty, a little surprised; for how did Steenie +know anything about the catacombs? + +'To think,' he went on, 'o' a haill kirk o' cats aneath the yird--a' +sittin kaimin themsels wi' kaims!--Kirsty, ye _winna_ think it a place +for _me_? Ye see I'm no like ither fowk, and sic a thing micht ca +(_drive_) me oot o' a' the sma' wits ever I hed!' + +'Hoots!' rejoined Kirsty, with a smile, 'the catacombs has naething to +du wi' cats or kaims!' + +'Tell me what are they, than.' + +'The catacombs,' answered Kirsty, 'was what in auld times, and no i' +this cuintry ava, they ca'd the places whaur they laid their deid.' + +'Eh, Kirsty, but that's waur!' returned Steenie. 'I wudna gang intil +sic a place wi' feet siclike's my ain--na, no for what the warl cud gie +me!--no for lang Lowrie's fiddle and a' the tunes intil't! I wud never +get my feet oot o' 't! They'd haud me there!' + +Then Kirsty began to tell him, as she would have taught a child, +something of the history of the catacombs, knowing how it must interest +him. + +'I' the days langsyne,' she said, 'there was fowk, like you and me, +unco fain o' the bonny man. The verra soun o' the name o' 'im was +eneuch to gar their herts loup wi' doonricht glaidness. And they gaed +here and there and a' gait, and tellt ilka body aboot him; and fowk 'at +didna ken him, and didna want to ken him, cudna bide to hear tell o' +him, and they said, "Lat's hae nae mair o' this! Hae dune wi' yer bonny +man! Haud yer tongues," they cryit. But the ithers, they wadna hear o' +haudin their tongues. A'body maun ken aboot him! "Sae lang's we _hae_ +tongues, and can wag them to the name o' him," they said, "we'll no +haud them!" And at that they fell upo' them, and ill-used them sair; +some o' them they tuik and burnt alive--that is, brunt them deid; and +some o' them they flang to the wild beasts, and they bitit them and +tore them to bits. And--, + +'Was the bitin o' the beasts terrible sair?' interrupted Steenie. + +'Ay, I reckon it was some sair; but the puir fowk aye said the bonny +man was wi' them; and lat them bite!--they didna care!' + +'Ay, of coorse, gien he was wi' them they wadna min' 't a hair, or at +least, no twa hairs! Wha wud! Gien he be in yon hole, Kirsty, I'll gang +back and intil't my lee lane. I wull noo!' + +Steenie turned and had run some distance before Kirsty succeeded in +stopping him. She did not run after him. + +'Steenie! Steenie!' she cried, 'I dinna doobt he's there, for he's +a'gait; but ye ken yersel ye canna aye see him, and maybe ye wudna see +him there the noo, and micht think he wasna there, and turn fleyt. Bide +till we hae a licht, and I gang doon first.' + +Steenie was persuaded, and turned and came back to her. To father, +mother, and sister he was always obedient, even on the rare occasions +when it cost him much to be so. + +'Ye see, Steenie,' she continued, 'yon's no the place! I dinna ken yet +what place yon is. I was only gaein to tell ye aboot the places it +min't me o'! Wud ye like to hear aboot them?' + +'I wad that, richt weel! Say awa, Kirsty.' + +'The fowk, than, ye see, 'at lo'ed the bonny man, gethert themsels aye +thegither to hae cracks and newses wi' ane anither aboot him; and, as I +was tellin ye, the fowk 'at didna care aboot him war that angert 'at +they set upo' them, and jist wud hae nane o' them nor him. Sae to hand +oot o' their grip, they coonselled thegither, and concludit to gether +in a place whaur naebody wud think o' luikin for them--whaur but i' the +booels o' the earth, whaur they laid their deid awa upo' skelfs, like +in an aumry!' + +'Eh, but that was fearsome!' interposed Steenie. 'They maun hae been +sair set!--Gien I had been there, wud they hae garred me gang wi' +them?' + +'Na, no gien ye didna like. But ye wud hae likit weel to gang. It wasna +an ill w'y to beery fowk, nor an ill place to gang til, for they aye +biggit up the skelf, ye ken. It was howkit oot--whether oot o' hard +yird or saft stane, I dinna ken; I reckon it wud be some no sae hard +kin' o' a rock--and whan the deid was laid intil 't, they biggit up the +mou o' the place, that is, frae that same skelf to the ane 'at was +abune 't, and sae a' was weel closed in.' + +'But what for didna they beery their deid mensefulike i' their +kirkyairds?' + +''Cause theirs was a great muckle toon, wi' sic a heap o' hooses that +there wasna room for kirkyards; sae they tuik them ootside the toon, +and gaed aneth wi' them a'thegither. For there they howkit a lot o' +passages like trances, and here and there a wee roomy like, wi' ither +trances gaein frae them this gait and that. Sae, whan they tuik +themsels there, the freens o' the bonny man wud fill ane o' the +roomies, and stan' awa in ilk ane o' the passages 'at gaed frae 't; and +that w'y, though there cudna mony o' them see ane anither at ance, a +gey lottie wud hear, some a', and some a hantle o' what was said. For +there they cud speyk lood oot, and a body abune hear naething and +suspec naething. And jist think, Steenie, there's a pictur o' the bonny +man himsel paintit upo' the wa' o' ane o' thae places doon aneth the +grun'!' + +'I reckon it'll be unco like him!' + +'Maybe: I canna tell aboot that.' + +'Gien I cud see 't, I cud tell; but I'm thinkin it'll be some gait gey +and far awa?' + +'Ay, it 's far, far.--It wud tak a body--lat me see--maybe half a year +to trevel there upo' 's ain fit,' answered Kirsty, after some +meditation. + +'And me a hantle langer, my feet's sae odious heavy!' remarked Steenie +with a sigh. + +As they drew near the house, their mother saw them coming, and went to +the door to meet them. + +'We're wantin a bit o' a can'le, and a spunk or twa, mother,' said +Kirsty. + +'Ye s' get that,' answered Marion. 'But what want ye a can'le for i' +the braid mids o' the daylicht?' + +'We want to gang doon a hole,' replied Steenie with flashing eyes, 'and +see the pictur o' the bonny man.' + +'Hoot, Steenie! I tellt ye it wasna there,' interposed Kirsty. + +'Na,' returned Steenie; 'ye only said yon hole wasna that place. Ye +said the bonny man _was_ there, though I michtna see him. Ye didna say +the pictur wasna there.' + +'The pictur 's no there, Steenie.--We've come upon a hole, mother, 'at +we want to gang doon intil and see what it's like,' said Kirsty. + +'The weicht o' my feet brak throu intil 't,' added Steenie. + +'Preserve 's, lassie! tak tent whaur ye cairry the bairn!' cried the +mother. 'But, eh, tak him whaur ye like,' she substituted, correcting +herself. 'Weel ken I ye'll tak him naegait but whaur it's weel he sud +gang! The laddie needs twa mithers, and the Merciful has gien him the +twa! Ye're full mair his mither nor me, Kirsty!' + +She asked no more questions, but got them the candle and let them go. +They hastened back, Steenie in his most jubilant mood, which seemed +always to have in it a touch of deathly frost and a flash as of the +primal fire. What could be the strange displacement or maladjustment +which, in the brain harbouring the immortal thing, troubled it so, and +made it yearn after an untasted liberty? The source of his jubilance +now was easy to tell: the idea of the bonny man was henceforth, in that +troubled brain of his, associated with the place into which they were +about to descend. + +The moment they reached the spot, Kirsty, to the renewed astonishment +of Steenie, dived at once into the ground at her feet, and disappeared. + +'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried out after her, and danced like a terrified +child. Then he shook with a fresh dismay at the muffled sound that came +back to him in answer from the unseen hollows of the earth. + +Already Kirsty stood at the bottom of the sloping tunnel, and was +lighting her candle. When it burned up, she found herself looking into +a level gallery, the roof of which she could touch. It was not an +excavation, but had been trenched from the surface, for it was roofed +with great slabs of stone. Its sides, of rough stones, were six or +seven feet apart at the floor, which was paved with small boulders, but +sloped so much toward each other that at the top their distance was +less by about two and a half feet. Kirsty was, as I have said, a keen +observer, and her power of seeing had been greatly developed through +her constant conscientious endeavour to realize every description she +read. + +She went on about ten or twelve yards, and came to a bend in the +gallery, succeeded by a sort of chamber, whence branched a second +gallery, which soon came to an end. The place was in truth not unlike a +catacomb, only its two galleries were built, and much wider than the +excavated thousands in the catacombs. She turned back to the entrance, +there left her candle alight, and again startled Steenie, still staring +into the mouth of the hole, with her sudden reappearance. + +'Wud ye like to come doon, Steenie?' she said. 'It's a queer place.' + +'Is 't awfu' fearsome?' asked Steenie, shrinking. + +His feeling of dismay at the cavernous, the terrene dark, was not +inconsistent with his pleasure in being out on the wild waste hillside, +when heaven and earth were absolutely black, not seldom the whole of +the night, in utter loneliness to eye or ear, and his never then +feeling anything like dread. Then and there only did he seem to have +room enough. His terror was of the smallest pressure on his soul, the +least hint at imprisonment. That he could not rise and wander about +among the stars at his will, shaped itself to him as the heaviness of +his feet holding him down. His feet were the loaded gyves that made of +the world but a roomy prison. The limitless was essential to his +conscious wellbeing. + +'No a bittock,' answered Kirsty, who felt awe anywhere--on hilltop, in +churchyard, in sunlit silent room--but never fear. 'It's as like the +place I was tellin ye aboot--' + +'Ay, the cat-place!' interrupted Steenie. + +'The place wi' the pictur,' returned Kirsty. + +Steenie darted forward, shot head-first into the hole as he had seen +Kirsty do, and crept undismayed to the bottom of the slope. Kirsty +followed close behind, but he was already on his feet when she joined +him. He grasped her arm eagerly, his face turned from her, and his eyes +gazing fixedly into the depth of the gallery, lighted so vaguely by the +candle on the floor of its entrance. + +'I think I saw him!' he said in a whisper full of awe and delight. 'I +think I did see him!--but, Kirsty, hoo am I to be sure 'at I saw him?' + +'Maybe ye did and maybe ye didna see him,' replied Kirsty; 'but that +disna metter sae muckle, for he's aye seem you; and ye'll see him, and +be sure 'at ye see him, whan the richt time comes.' + +'Ye div think that, Kirsty?' + +'Ay div I,' returned Kirsty, confidently. + +'I s' wait,' answered Steenie, and in silence followed Kirsty along the +gallery. + +This was Steenie's first, and all but his last descent into the +_earth-house,_ or _Picts' House_, or _weem_, as a place of the sort is +called: there are many such in the east of Scotland, their age and +origin objects of merest conjecture. The moment he was out of it, he +fled to the Horn. + +The next Sunday he heard read at church the story of the burial and +resurrection of the Lord, and unavoidably after their talk about the +catacombs, associated the chamber they had just discovered with the +tomb in which 'they laid him,' at the same time concluding the top of +the hill, where he had, as he believed, on certain favoured nights met +the bonny man, the place whence he ascended--to come again as Steenie +thought he did! The earth-house had no longer any attraction for +Steenie: the bonny man was not there; he was risen! He was somewhere +above the mountain-top haunted by Steenie, and that he sometimes +descended upon it Steenie already knew, for had he not seen him there! + +Happy Steenie! Happier than so many Christians who, more in their +brain-senses, but far less in their heart-senses than he, haunt the +sepulchre as if the dead Jesus lay there still, and forget to walk the +world with him who dieth no more, the living one! + +But his sister took a great liking to the place, nor was repelled by +her mistaken suspicion that there the people of the land in times +unknown had buried some of their dead. In the hot days, when the +earth-house was cool, and in the winter when the thick blanket of the +snow lay over it, and it felt warm as she entered it from the frosty +wind, she would sit there in the dark, sometimes imagining herself one +of the believers of the old time, thinking the Lord was at hand, +approaching in person to fetch her and her friends. When the spring +came, she carried down sod and turf, and made for herself a seat in the +central chamber, there to sit and think. By and by she fastened an oil +lamp to the wall, and would light its rush-pith-wick, and read by it. +Occasionally she made a good peat fire, for she had found a chimney +that went sloping into the upper air; and if it did not always draw +well, peat-smoke is as pleasant as wholesome, and she could bear a good +deal of its smothering. Not unfrequently she carried her book there +when no one was likely to want her, and enjoyed to the full the rare +and delightful sense of absolute safety from interruption. Sometimes +she would make a little song there, with which as she made it its own +music would come, and she would model the air with her voice as she +wrote the words in a little book on her knee. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON + + +The summer following Gordon's first session at college, castle Weelset +and Corbyknowe saw nothing of him. No one missed him much, and but for +his father's sake no one would have thought much about him. Kirsty, as +one who had told him the truth concerning himself, thought of him +oftener than anyone except her father. + +The summer after, he paid a short visit to castle Weelset, and went one +day to Corbyknowe, where he left a favourable impression upon all, +which impression Kirsty had been the readier to receive because of the +respect she felt for him as a student. The old imperiousness which made +him so unlike his father had retired into the background; his smile, +though not so sweet, came oftener; and his carriage was full of +courtesy. But something was gone which his old friends would gladly +have seen still. His behaviour in the old time was not so pleasant, but +he had been as one of the family. Often disagreeable, he was yet +loving. Now, he laid himself out to make himself acceptable as a +superior. Freed so long from his mother's lowering influences, what was +of his father in him might by this time have come more to the surface +but for certain ladies in Edinburgh, connections of the family, who, +influenced by his good looks and pleasant manners, and possibly by his +position in the Gordon country, sought his favour by deeds of flattery, +and succeeded in spoiling him not a little. + +Steenie happening to be about the house when he came, Francis behaved +to him so kindly that the gentle creature, overcome with grateful +delight, begged him to go and see a house he and Kirsty were building. + +In some families the games of the children mainly consist in the +construction of dwellings, of this kind or that--castle, or ship, or +cave, or nest in the treetop--according to the material attainable. It +is an outcome of the aboriginal necessity for shelter, this instinct of +burrowing: Welbeck Abbey is the development of a _weem_ or _Picts' +house_. Steenie had very early shown it, probably from a vague +consciousness of weakness, and Kirsty came heartily to his aid in +following it, with the reaction of waking in herself a luxurious idea +of sheltered safety. Northern children cherish in their imaginations +the sense of protection more, I fancy, than others. This is partly +owing to the severity of their climate, the snow and wind, the rain and +sleet, the hail and darkness they encounter. I doubt whether an English +child can ever have such a sense of protection as a Scots bairn in bed +on a winter night, his mother in the nursery, and the wind howling like +a pack of wolves about the house. + +Francis consented to go with Steenie to see his house, and Kirsty +naturally accompanied them. By this time she had gathered the little +that was known, and there is very little known yet, concerning _Picts' +houses_, and as they went it occurred to her that it would be pleasant +to the laird to be shown a thing on his own property of which he had +never heard, and which, in the eyes of some, would add to its value. +She took the way, therefore, that led past the weem. + +She had so well cleared out its entrance, that it was now comparatively +easy of access, else I doubt if the young laird would have risked the +spoiling of his admirably fitting clothes to satisfy the mild curiosity +he felt regarding Kirsty's discovery. As it was, he pulled off his coat +before entering, despite her assurance that he 'needna fear blaudin +onything.' + +She went in before him to light her candle and he followed. As she +showed him the curious place, she gave him the results of her reading +about such constructions, telling him who had written concerning them, +and what they had written. 'There's mair o' them, I gether,' she said, +'and mair remarkable anes, in oor ain coonty nor in ony ither in +Scotlan'. I hae mysel seen nane but this.' Then she told him how +Steenie had led the way to its discovery. By the time she ended, Gordon +was really interested--chiefly, no doubt, in finding himself possessor +of a thing which many men, learned and unlearned, would think worth +coming to see. + +'Did you find this in it?' he asked, seating himself on her little +throne of turf. + +'Na; I put that there mysel,' answered Kirsty. 'There was naething +intil the place, jist naething ava! There was naething ye cud hae +pickit aff o' the flure. Gien it hadna been oot o' the gait o' the +win', ye wud hae thoucht it had sweepit it clean. Ye cud hae tellt by +naething intil't what ever it was meant for, hoose or byre or barn, +kirk or kirkyard. It had been jist a hidy-hole in troubled times, whan +the cuintry wud be swarmin wi' stravaguin marauders!' + +'What made ye the seat for, Kirsty?' asked Gordon, calling her by her +name for the first time, and falling into the mother tongue with a +flash of his old manner. + +'I come here whiles,' she answered, 'to be my lane and read a bit. It's +sae quaiet. Eternity seems itsel to come and hide in 't whiles. I'm +tempit whiles to bide a' nicht.' + +'Isna 't awfu' cauld?' + +'Na, no aften that. It's fine and warm i' the winter. And I can licht a +fire whan I like.--But ye hae na yer coat on, Francie! I oucht na to +hae latten ye bide sae lang!' + +He shivered, rose, and made his way out. Steenie stood in the sunlight +waiting for them. + +'Why, Steenie,' said Gordon, 'you brought me to see your house: why +didn't you come in with me?' + +'Na, na! I'm feart for my feet: this is no _my_ hoose!' answered +Steenie. 'I'm biggin ane. Kirsty's helpin me: I cudna big a hoose +wantin Kirsty! That's what I wud hae ye see, no this ane. This is +Kirsty's hoose. It was Kirsty wantit ye to see this ane.--Na, it's no +mine,' he added reflectively. 'I ken I maun come til 't some day, but I +s' bide oot o' 't as lang's I can. I like the hill a heap better.' + +'What _does_ he mean?' asked Francis, turning to Kirsty. + +'Ow, he has a heap o' notions o' 's ain!' answered Kirsty, who did not +care, especially in his presence, to talk about her brother save to +those who loved him. + +When Francis turned again, he saw Steenie a good way up the hill. + +'Where does he want to take me, Kirsty? Is it far?' he asked. + +'Ay, it's a gey bitty; it's nearhan' at the tap o' the Horn, a wee +ayont it.' + +'Then I think I shall not go,' returned Francis. 'I will come another +day.' + +'Steenie! Steenie!' cried Kirsty, 'he'll no gang the day. He maun gang +hame. He says he'll come anither time. Haud ye awa on to yer hoose; I +s' be wi' ye by and by.' + +Steenie went up the hill, and Kirsty and Francis walked toward +Corbyknowe. + +'Has no young man appeared yet to put Steenie's nose out of joint, +Kirsty?' asked Gordon. + +Kirsty thought the question rude, but answered, with quiet dignity, 'No +ane. I never had muckle opinion o' _yoong_ men, and dinna care aboot +their company.--But what are ye thinkin o' duin yersel--I mean, whan +ye're throu wi' the college?' she continued. 'Ye'll surely be comin +hame to tak things intil yer ain han'? My father says whiles he's some +feart they're no bein made the maist o'.' + +'The property must look after itself, Kirsty. I will be a soldier like +my father. If it could do without him when he was in India, it may just +as well do without me. As long as my mother lives, she shall do what +she likes with it.' + +Thus talking, and growing more friendly as they went, they walked +slowly back to the house. There Francis mounted his horse and rode +away, and for more than two years they saw nothing of him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +STEENIE'S HOUSE + + +Steenie seemed always to experience a strange sort of terror while +waiting for anyone to come out of the weem, into which he never +entered; and it was his repugnance to the place that chiefly moved him +to build a house of his own. He may have also calculated on being able, +with such a refuge at hand, to be on the hill in all weathers. They +still made use of their little hut as before, and Kirsty still kept her +library in it, but it was at the root of the Horn, and Steenie loved +the peak of it more than any other spot in his narrow world. + +I have already said that when, on the occasion of its discovery, +Steenie, for the first and the last time, came out of the weem, he fled +to the Horn. There he roamed for hours, possessed with the feeling that +he had all but lost Kirsty who had taken possession of a house into +which he could never accompany her. For himself he would like a house +on the very top of the Horn, not one inside it! + +Near the top was a little scoop out of the hill, sheltered on all sides +except the south, which, the one time I saw it, reminded me strongly of +Dante's _grembo_ in the purgatorial hill, where the upward pilgrims had +to rest outside the gate, because of the darkness during which no man +could go higher. Here, it is true, were no flowers to weave a pattern +upon its carpet of green; true also, here were no beautiful angels, in +green wings and green garments, poised in the sweet night-air, watchful +with their short, pointless, flaming swords against the creeping enemy; +but it was, nevertheless, the loveliest carpet of grass and moss, and +as to the angels, I find it impossible to imagine, even in the heavenly +host, one heart more guardant than that of Kirsty, one truer, or more +devoted to its charge. The two were together as the child of earth, his +perplexities and terrors ever shot through with flashes of insight and +hope, and the fearless, less imaginative, confident angel, appointed to +watch and ward and see him safe through the loose-cragged mountain-pass +to the sunny vales beyond. + +On the northern slope of the hollow, full in the face of the sun, a +little family of rocks had fallen together, odd in shapes and positions +but of long stable equilibrium, with narrow spaces between them. The +sun was throwing his last red rays among these rocks when Steenie the +same evening wandered into the little valley. The moment his eyes fell +upon them, he said in his heart, 'Yon's the place for a hoose! I'll get +Kirsty to big ane, and mebbe she 'll come and bide in 't wi' me +whiles!' + +In his mind there were for some years two conflicting ideas of refuge, +one embodied in the heathery hut with Kirsty, the other typified by the +uplifted loneliness, the air and the space of the mountain upon which +the bonny man sometimes descended: for the last three years or more the +latter idea had had the upper hand: now it seemed possible to have the +two kinds of refuge together, where the more material would render the +more spiritual easier of attainment! Such were not Steenie's words; +indeed he used none concerning the matter; but such were his vague +thoughts--feelings rather, not yet thoughts. + +The spot had indeed many advantages. For one thing, the group of rocks +was the ready skeleton of the house Steenie wanted. Again, if the snow +sometimes lay deeper there than in other parts of the hill, there first +it began to melt. A third advantage was that, while, as I have said, +the valley was protected by higher ground everywhere but on the south, +it there afforded a large outlook over the boggy basin and over the +hills beyond its immediate rim, to a horizon in which stood some of the +loftier peaks of the highland mountains. + +When Steenie's soul was able for a season to banish the nameless forms +that haunt the dim borders of insanity, he would sit in that valley for +hours, regarding the wider-spread valley below him, in which he knew +every height and hollow, and, with his exceptionally keen sight, he +could descry signs of life where another would have beheld but an +everyway dead level. Not a live thing, it seemed almost, could spread +wing or wag tail, but Steenie would become thereby aware of its +presence. Kirsty, boastful to her parents of the faculty of Steenie, +said to her father one day, + +'I dinna believe, father, wi' Steenie on the bog, a reid worm cud stick +up his heid oot o' 't ohn him seen 't!' + +'I'm thinkin that's no sayin over muckle, wuman!' returned David. 'I +never jist set mysel to luik, but I dinna think I ever did tak notice +o' a worm settin up that heid o' his oot o' a bog. I dinna think it's a +sile they care aboot. I kenna what they would get to please them there. +It's the yerd they live upo'. Whaur craps winna grow, I doobt gien +worms can live.' + +Kirsty laughed: she had made herself ridiculous, but the ridicule of +some is sweeter than the praise of others. + +Steenie set about his house-building at once, and when he had got as +far as he could without her, called for help from Kirsty, who never +interfered with, and never failed him. Divots he was able to cut, and +of them he provided a good quantity, but when it came to moving stones, +two pairs of hands were often wanted. Indeed, before the heavier work +of 'Steenie's hoosie' was over, the two had to beg the help of more--of +their father, and of men from the farm. + +During its progress, Phemy Craig paid rather a lengthened visit to +Corbyknowe, and often joined the two in their labour on the Horn. She +was not very strong, but would carry a good deal in the course of the +day; and through this association with Steenie, her dread of him +gradually vanished, and they became comrades. + +When Steenie's design was at length carried out, they had built up with +stone and lime the open spaces between several of the rocks; had cased +these curtain-walls outside and lined them inside with softer and +warmer walls of fells or divots cut from the green sod of the hill; and +had covered in the whole as they found it possible--very irregularly no +doubt, but smoothing up all the corners and hollows with turf and +heather. This done, one of the men who was a good thatcher, fastened +the whole roof down with strong lines, so that the wind should not get +under and strip it off. The result was a sort of burrow, consisting of +several irregular compartments with open communication--or rather, +perhaps, of a single chamber composed of recesses. One small rock they +included quite: Steenie would make it serve for a table, and some of +its inequalities for shelves. In one of the compartments or recesses, +they contrived a fireplace, and in another a tolerably well concealed +exit; for Steenie, like a trap-door-spider, could not endure the +thought of only one way out: one way was enough for getting in, but two +were needful for getting out, his best refuge being the open hill. + +The night came at length when Steenie, in whose heart was a solemn, +silent jubilation, would take formal possession of his house. It was +soft and warm, in the middle of the month of July. The sun had been set +about an hour when he got up to leave the parlour, where the others +always sat in the summer, and where Steenie would now and then appear +among them. As usual he said goodnight to no one of them, but stole +gently out. + +Kirsty knew what was in his mind, but was careful not to show that she +took any heed of his departure. As soon as her father and mother +retired, however, when he had been gone about half an hour, she put +aside her work, and hastened out. She felt a little anxious about him, +though she could not have said why. She had no dread of displeasing by +rejoining him; nothing, but a sight of the bonny man could, she knew, +give him more delight than having her to share his night-watch with +him. This she had done several times, and they were the only occasions +on which, so far as he could tell, he had slept any part of the night. + +Folded in the twilight, Earth lay as still and peaceful as if she had +never done any wrong, never seen anything wrong in one of her children. +There was light everywhere, and darkness everywhere to make it strange. +A pale green gleam prevailed in the heavens, as if the world were a +glow-worm that sent abroad its home-born radiance into space, and +coloured the sky. In the green light rested a few small solid clouds +with sharp edges, and almost an assertion of repose. Throughout the +night it would be no darker! The sun seemed already to have begun to +rise, only he would be all night about it. From the door she saw the +point of the Horn clear against the green sky: Steenie would be up +there soon! he was hurrying thither! Sometimes he went very leisurely, +stopping and gazing, or sitting down to meditate: he would not do so +that night! A special solemnity in his countenance made her sure that +he would go straight to his new house. But she could walk faster than +he, and would not be long behind him! + +The sky was full of pale stars, and Kirsty amused herself, as she went, +with arranging them--not into their constellations, though she knew the +shapes and names of most of them, but into mathematical figures. The +only star Steenie knew by name was the pole star, which, however, he +always called _The bonny man's lantern._ Kirsty believed he had +thoughts of his own about many another, and a name for it too. + +She had climbed the hill, and was drawing near the house, when she was +startled by a sound of something like singing, and stopped to listen. +She had never heard Steenie attempt to sing, and the very thought of +his doing so moved her greatly: she was always expecting something +marvellous to show itself in him. She drew nearer. It was not singing, +but it was something like it, or something trying to be like it--a +succession of broken, harsh, imperfect sounds, with here and there a +tone of brief sweetness. She thought she perceived in it an attempt at +melody, but the many notes that refused to be made, prevented her from +finding the melody intended, or the melody, rather, after which he was +feeling. The broken music ceased suddenly, and a different kind of +sound succeeded. She went yet nearer. He could not be reading: she had +tried to teach him to read, but the genuine effort he put forth to +learn made his head ache, and his eyes feel wild, he said, and she at +once gave up the endeavour. When she reached the door, she could +plainly hear him praying. + +He had been accustomed to hear his father pray--always extempore. To +the Scots mind it is a perplexity how prayer and reading should ever +seem one. Kirsty went a little deeper into the matter when she said:-- + +'The things that I want, I ken; and I maun hae them! There's nae +necessity ava to tell me what I want. The buik may wauk a sense o' +want, I daursay, I dinna ken, but it maistly pits intil me the thoucht +o' something a body micht weel want, withoot makin me awaur o' wantin +'t at that preceese moment.' + +Prayer, with Steenie, as well as with Kirsty, was the utterance, +audible or silent, in the ever open ear, of what was moving in him at +the time. This was what she now heard him say:-- + +'Bonny man, I ken ye weel: there's naebody in h'aven or earth 'at's +like ye! Ye ken yersel I wad jist dee for ye; or gien there be onything +waur to bide nor deein, that's what I would du for ye--gien ye wantit +it o' me, that is, for I'm houpin sair 'at ye winna want it, I'm that +awfu cooardly! Oh bonny man, tak the fear oot o' my hert, and mak me +ready just to walk aff o' the face o' the warl', weichty feet and a', +to du yer wull, ohn thoucht twise aboot it! And eh, bonny man, willna +ye come doon sometime or lang, and walk the hill here, that I may luik +upo' ye ance mair--as i' the days of old, whan the starlicht muntain +shook wi' the micht o' the prayer ye heavit up til yer father in +h'aven? Eh, gien ye war but ance to luik in at the door o' this my +hoose that ye hae gien me, it wud thenceforth be to me as the gate o' +paradise! But, 'deed, it's that onygait, forit's nigh whaur ye tak yer +walks abro'd. But gien ye _war_ to luik in at the door, and cry, +_Steenie_! sune wud ye see whether I was in the hoose or no!--I thank +ye sair for this hoose: I'm gaein to hae a rich and a happy time upo' +this hill o' Zion, whaur the feet o' the ae man gangs walkin!--And eh, +bonny man, gie a luik i' the face o' my father and mither i' their bed +ower at the Knowe; and I pray ye see 'at Kirsty's gettin a fine sleep, +for she has a heap o' tribble wi' me. I'm no worth min'in', yet ye min' +me: she is worth min'in'!--and that clever!--as ye ken wha made her! +And luik upo' this bit hoosie, 'at I ca' my ain, and they a' helpit me +to bigg, but as a lean-to til the hoose at hame, for I'm no awa frae it +or them--jist as that hoose and this hoose and a' the hooses are a' +jist but bairnies' hooses, biggit by themsels aboot the big flure o' +thy kitchie and i' the neuks o' the same--wi' yer ain truffs and stanes +and divots, sir.' + +Steenie's voice ceased, and Kirsty, thinking his prayer had come to an +end, knocked at the door, lest her sudden appearance should startle +him. From his knees, as she knew by the sound of his rising, Steenie +sprang up, came darting to the door with the cry, 'It's yersel! It's +yersel, bonny man!' and seemed to tear it open. Oh, how sorry was +Kirsty to stand where the loved of the human was not! She had almost +turned and fled. + +'It's only me, Steenie!' she faltered, nearly crying. + +Steenie stood and stared trembling. Neither, for a moment or two, could +speak. + +'Eh, Steenie,' said Kirsty at length, 'I'm richt sorry I disapp'intit +ye! I didna ken what I was duin. I oucht to hae turnt and gane hame +again!' + +'Ye cudna help it,' answered Steenie. 'Ye cudna be him, or ye wud! But +ye're the neist best, and richt welcome. I'm as glaid as can be to see +ye, Kirsty. Come awa ben the hoose.' + +Kirsty followed him in silence, and sat down dejected. The loving heart +saw it. + +'Maybe ye're him efter a'!' said Steenie. 'He can tak ony shape he +likes. I wudna won'er gien ye was him! Ye're unco like him ony gait!' + +'Na, na, Steenie! I'm far frae that! But I wud fain be what he wud hae +me, jist as ye wud yersel. Sae ye maun tak me, what I am, for his sake, +Steenie!' + +This was the man's hour, not the dog's, yet Steenie threw himself at +her feet. + +'Gang oot a bit by yersel, Steenie,' she said, caressing him with her +hand. 'That's what ye'll like best, I ken! Ye needna min' me! I only +cam to see ye sattlet intil yer ain hoose. I'll bide a gey bit. Gang ye +oot, an ken 'at I'm i' the hoose, and that ye can come back to me whan +ye like. I hae my bulk, and can sit and read fine.' + +'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Steenie, rising. 'Ye aye ken what +I'm needin. I maun win oot, for I'm some chokin like.--But jist come +here a minute first,' he went on, leading the way to the door. There he +pointed up into the wild of stars, and said, 'Ye see yon star o' the +tap o' that ither ane 'at's brichter nor itsel?' + +'I see 't fine, and ken 't weel,' answered Kirsty. + +'Weel, whan that starnie comes richt ower the white tap o' yon stane i' +the mids o' that side o' the howe, I s' be here at the door.' + +Kirsty looked at the stone, saw that the star would arrive at the point +indicated in about an hour, and said, 'Weel, I'll be expeckin ye, +Steenie!' whereupon he departed, going farther up the hill to court the +soothing of the silent heaven. + +In conditions of consciousness known only to himself and +incommunicable, the poor fellow sustained an all but continuous +hand-to-hand struggle with insanity, more or less agonized according to +the nature and force of its varying assault; in which struggle, if not +always victorious, he had yet never been defeated. Often tempted to +escape misery by death, he had hitherto stood firm. Some part of every +solitary night was spent, I imagine, in fighting that or other evil +suggestion. Doubtless, what kept him lord of himself through all the +truth-aping delusions that usurped his consciousness, was his +unyielding faith in the bonny man. + +The name by which he so constantly thought and spoke of the saviour of +men was not of his own finding. The story was well known of the idiot, +who, having partaken of the Lord's supper, was heard, as he retired, +murmuring to himself, 'Eh, the bonny man! the bonny man!' And persons +were not wanting, sound in mind as large of heart, who thought the +idiot might well have seen him who came to deliver them that were +bound. Steenie took up the tale with most believing mind. Never +doubting the man had seen the Lord, he responded with the passionate +desire himself to see _the bonny man_. It awoke in him while yet quite +a boy, and never left him, but, increasing as he grew, became, as well +it might, a fixed idea, a sober, waiting, unebbing passion, urging him +to righteousness and lovingkindness. + +Kirsty took from her pocket an old translation of Plato's Phaedo, and +sat absorbed in it until the star, unheeded of her, attained its goal, +and there was Steenie by her side! She shut the book and rose. + +'I'm a heap better, Kirsty,' said Steenie. 'The ill colour's awa doon +the stair, and the saft win' 's made its w'y oot o' the lift, an' 's +won at me. I 'maist think a han' cam and clappit my heid. Sae noo I'm +jist as weel 's there's ony need to be o' this side the mist. It helpit +me a heap to ken 'at ye was sittin there: I cud aye rin til ye!--Noo +gang awa to yer bed, and tak a guid sleep. I'm some thinkin I'll be +hame til my br'akfast.' + +'Weel, mother's gaein to the toon the morn, and I'll be wantit fell +air; I may as weel gang!' answered Kirsty, and without a goodnight, or +farewell of any sort, for she knew how he felt in regard to +leave-takings, Kirsty left him, and went slowly home. The moon was up +and so bright that every now and then she would stop for a moment and +read a little from her book, and then walk on thinking about it. + +From that night, even in the stormy dark of winter, Kirsty was not +nearly so anxious about Steenie away from the house: on the Horn he had +his place of refuge, and she knew he never ventured on the bog after +sunset. He always sought her when he wanted to sleep in the daytime, +but he was gradually growing quieter in his mind, and, Kirsty had +reason to think, slept a good deal more at night. + +But the better he grew the more had he the look of one expecting +something; and Kirsty often heard him saying to himself--'It's comin! +it's comin!' + +'And at last,' she said, telling his story many years after, 'at last +it cam; and ahint it, I doobtna! cam the face o' the bonny man!' + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +PHEMY CRAIG + + +Things went on in the same way for four years more, the only visible +change being that Kirsty seldomer went about bare-footed. She was now +between two and three and twenty. Her face, whose ordinary expression +had always been of quiet, was now in general quieter still; but when +heart or soul was moved, it would flash and glow as only such a face +could. Live revelation of deeps rarely rippled save by the breath of +God, how could it but grow more beautiful! Cloud or shadow of cloud was +hardly ever to be seen upon it. Her mother, much younger than her +father, was still well and strong, and Kirsty, still not much wanted at +home, continued to spend the greater part of her time with her brother +and her books. As to her person, she was now in the first flower of +harmonious womanly strength. Nature had indeed done what she could to +make her a lady, but Nature was not her mother, and Kirsty's essential +ladyhood came from higher-up, namely, from the Source itself of Nature. +Simple truth was its crown, and grace was the garment of it. To see her +walk or run was to look on the divine idea of Motion. + +As for Steenie, he looked the same loose lank lad as before, with a +smile almost too sad to be a smile, and a laugh in which there was +little hilarity. His pleasures were no doubt deep and high, but seldom, +even to Kirsty, manifested themselves except in the afterglow. + +Phemy was now almost a woman. She was rather little, but had a nice +figure, which she knew instinctively how to show to advantage. Her main +charm lay in her sweet complexion--strong in its contrast of colours, +but wonderfully perfect in the blending of them: the gradations in the +live picture were exquisite. She was gentle of temper, with a shallow, +birdlike friendliness, an accentuated confidence that everyone meant +her well, which was very taking. But she was far too much pleased with +herself to be a necessity to anyone else. Her father grew more and more +proud of her, but remained entirely independent of her; and Kirsty +could not help wondering at times how he would feel were he given one +peep into the chaotic mind which he fancied so lovely a cosmos. A good +fairy godmother would for her discipline, Kirsty imagined, turn her +into the prettiest wax doll, but with real eyes, and put her in a glass +case for the admiration of all, until she sickened of her very +consciousness. But Kirsty loved the pretty doll, and cherished any +influence she had with her against a possible time when it might be +sorely needed. She still encouraged her, therefore, to come to +Corbyknowe as often as she felt inclined. Her father never interfered +with any of her goings and comings. At the present point of my +narrative, however, Kirsty began to notice that Phemy did not care so +much for being with her as hitherto. + +She had been, of course, for some time the cynosure of many +neighbouring eyes, but had taken only the more pleasure in the +cynosure, none in the persons with the eyes, all of whom she regarded +as much below her. To herself she was the only young lady in Tiltowie, +an assurance strengthened by the fact that no young man had yet +ventured to make love to her, which she took as a general admission of +their social inferiority, behaving to all the young men the more +sweetly in consequence. + +The tendency of a weakly artistic nature to occupy itself much with its +own dress was largely developed in her. It was wonderful, considering +the smallness of her father's income, how well she arrayed herself. She +could make a poor and scanty material go a great way in setting off her +attractions. The judicial element of the neighbourhood, not content +with complaining that she spent so much of her time in making her +dresses, accused her of spending much money upon them, whereas she +spent less than most of the girls of the neighbourhood, who cared only +for a good stuff, a fast colour, and the fashion: fit to figure and +fitness to complexion they did not trouble themselves about. The +possession of a fine gown was the important thing. As to how it made +them look, they had not imagination enough to consider that. + +She possessed, however, another faculty on which she prided herself far +more, her ignorance and vanity causing her to mistake it for a grand +accomplishment--the faculty of verse-making. She inherited a certain +modicum of her father's rhythmic and riming gift; she could string +words almost as well as she could string beads, and many thought her +clever because she could do what they could not. Her aunt judged her +verses marvellous, and her father considered them full of promise. The +minister, on the other hand, held them unmistakably silly--as her +father would had they not been hers and she his. Only the poorest part +of his poetic equipment had propagated in her, and had he taught her +anything, she would not have overvalued it so much. Herself full of +mawkish sentimentality, her verses could not fail to be foolish, their +whole impulse being the ambition that springs from self-admiration. She +had begun to look down on Kirsty, who would so gladly have been a +mother to the motherless creature; she was not a lady! Neither in +speech, manners, nor dress, was she or her mother genteel! Their free, +hearty, simple bearing, in which was neither smallest roughness nor +least suggestion of affected refinement, was not to Phemy's taste, and +she began to assume condescending ways. + +It was of course a humiliation to Phemy to have an aunt in Mrs. +Bremner's humble position, but she loved her after her own feeble +fashion, and, although she would willingly have avoided her upon +occasion, went not unfrequently to the castle to see her; for the +kindhearted woman spoiled her. Not only did she admire her beauty, and +stand amazed at her wonderful cleverness, but she drew from her little +store a good part of the money that went to adorn the pretty butterfly. +She gave her at the same time the best of advice, and imagined she +listened to it; but the young who take advice are almost beyond the +need of it. Fools must experience a thing themselves before they will +believe it; and then, remaining fools, they wonder that their children +will not heed their testimony. Faith is the only charm by which the +experience of one becomes a vantage-ground for the start of another. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SHAM LOVE + + +One day Phemy went to Castle Weelset to see her aunt, and, walking down +the garden to find her, met the young laird. + +Through respect for the memory of his father, he had just received from +the East India Company a commission in his father's regiment; and +having in about six weeks to pass the slight examination required, and +then sail to join it, had come to see his mother and bid her goodbye. +He was a youth no longer, but a handsome young fellow, with a pale face +and a rather weary, therefore what some would call an interesting look. +For many months he had been leading an idle life. + +He lifted his hat to Phemy, looked again, and recognised her. They had +been friends when she was a child, but since he saw her last she had +grown a young woman. She was gliding past him with a pretty bow, and a +prettier blush and smile, when he stopped and held out his hand. + +'It's not possible!' he said; 'you can't be little Phemy!--Yet you must +be!--Why, you're a grown lady! To think how you used to sit on my knee, +and stroke my face! How is your father?' + +Phemy murmured a shy answer, a little goose but blushing a very +flamingo. In her heart she saw before her the very man for her hero. A +woman's hero gives some measure, not of what she is, hardly of what she +would like to be, but of what she would like to pass for: here was the +ideal for which Phemy had so long been waiting, and wherein consisted +his glory? In youth, position, and good looks! She gazed up at him with +a mixture of shyness and boldness not uncommon in persons of her silly +kind, and Francis not only saw but felt that she was an unusually +pretty girl: although he had long ceased to admire his mother, he still +admired the sort of beauty she once had. He saw also that she was very +prettily dressed, and, being one of those men who, imagining themselves +gentlemen, feel at liberty to take liberties with women socially their +inferiors, he plucked a pheasant-eye-narcissus in the border, and +said--at the same time taking the leave he asked,-- + +'Let me finish your dress by adding this to it! Have you got a +pin?--There!--all you wanted to make you just perfect!' + +Her face was now in a very flame. She saw he was right in the flower he +had chosen, and he saw, not his artistic success only, but her +recognition of it as well, and was gratified. He had a keen feeling of +harmony in form and colour, and flattered women, while he paraded his +own insight, by bringing it to bear on their dress. + +The flower, in its new position, seemed radiant with something of the +same beauty in which it was set; it was _like_ the face above it, and +hinted a sympathetic relation with the whole dainty person of the girl. +But in truth there was more expression in the flower than was yet in +the face. The flower expressed what God was thinking of when he made +it; the face what the girl was thinking of herself. When she ceased +thinking of herself then, like the flower, she would show what God was +thinking of when he made her. + +Francis, like the man he was, thought what a dainty little lady she +would make if he had the making of her, and at once began talking as he +never would have talked had she been what is conventionally called a +lady--with a familiarity, namely, to which their old acquaintance gave +him no right, and which showed him not his sister's keeper. She, poor +child, was pleased with his presumption, taking it for a sign that he +regarded her as a lady; and from that moment her head at least was full +of the young laird. She had forgotten all she came about. When he +turned and walked down the garden, she walked alongside of him like a +linnet by a tall stork, who thought of her as a very pretty green frog. +Lost in delight at his kindness, and yet more at his admiration, she +felt as safe in his hands as if he had been her guardian angel: had he +not convinced her that her notion of herself was correct! Who should +know better whether she was a lady, whether she was lovely or not, than +this great, handsome, perfect gentleman! Unchecked by any question of +propriety, she accompanied him without hesitation into a little arbour +at the bottom of the garden, and sat down with him on the bench there +provided for the weary and the idle--in this case a going-to-be gallant +officer, bored to death by a week at home with his mother, and a girl +who spent the most of her time in making, altering, and wearing her +dresses. + +'How good it was of you, Phemy,' he said, 'to come and see me! I was +ready to cut my throat for want of something pretty to look at. I was +thinking it the ugliest place with the ugliest of people, wondering how +I had ever been able to live in it. How unfair I was! The whole country +is beautiful now!' + +'I am so glad,' answered poor Phemy, hardly knowing what she said: it +was to her the story of a sad gentleman who fell in love at first sight +with a beautiful lady who was learning to love him through pity. + +Her admiration of him was as clear as the red and white on her face; +and foolish Francis felt in his turn flattered, for he too was fond of +himself. There is no more pitiable sight to lovers of their kind, or +any more laughable to its haters, than two persons falling into the +love rooted in self-love. But possibly they are neither to be pitied +nor laughed at; they may be plunging thus into a saving hell. + +'You would like to make the world beautiful for me, Phemy?' rejoined +Francis. + +'I should like to make it a paradise!' returned Phemy. + +'A garden of Eden, and you the Eve in it?' suggested Francis. + +Phemy could find no answer beyond a confused look and a yet deeper +blush. + +Talk elliptical followed, not unmingled with looks bold and shy. They +had not many objects of thought in common, therefore not many subjects +for conversation. There was no poetry in Gordon, and but the flimsiest +sentiment in Phemy. Her mind was feebly active, his full of tedium. +Hers was open to any temptation from him, and his to the temptation of +usurping the government of her world, of constituting himself the +benefactor of this innocent creature, and enriching her life with the +bliss of loving a noble object. Of course he meant nothing serious! +Equally of course he would do her no harm! To lose him would make her +miserable for a while, but she would not die of love, and would have +something to think about all her dull life afterward! + +Phemy at length got frightened at the thought of being found with him, +and together they went to look for her aunt. Finding her in an outhouse +that was used for a laundry, Francis told Mrs. Bremner that they had +been in the garden ever so long searching for her, and he was very glad +of the opportunity of hearing about his old friend, Phemy's father! The +aunt was not quite pleased, but said little. + +The following Sunday she told the schoolmaster what had taken place, +and came home in a rage at the idiocy of a man who would not open his +eyes when his house was on fire. It was all her sister's fault, she +said, for having married such a book-idiot! She felt indeed very +uncomfortable, and did her best in the way of warning; but Phemy seemed +so incapable of understanding what ill could come of letting the young +laird talk to her, that she despaired of rousing in her any sense of +danger, and having no authority over her was driven to silence for the +present. She would have spoken to her mistress, had she not plainly +foreseen that it would be of no use, that she would either laugh, and +say young men must have their way, or fly into a fury with Phemy for +trying to entrap her son, and with Mrs. Bremner for imagining he would +look at the hussey; while one thing was certain--that, if his mother +opposed him, Francis would persist. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A NOVEL ABDUCTION + + +Phemy went seldom to the castle, but the young laird and she met pretty +often: there was solitude enough in that country for an army of lovers. +Once or twice Gordon, at Phemy's entreaty, went and took tea with her +at her father's, and was cordially received by the schoolmaster, who +had no sense of impropriety in their strolling out together afterward, +leaving him well content with the company of his books. Before this had +happened twice, all the town was talking about it, and predicting evil. +Phemy heard nothing and feared nothing; but if feeling had been weather +and talk tempest, she would have been glad enough to keep within. So +rapidly, however, did the whirlwind of tongues extend its giration that +within half a week it reached Kirsty, and cast her into great trouble: +her poor silly defenceless Phemy, the child of her friend, was in +danger from the son of her father's friend! Her father could do +nothing, for Francis would not listen to him, therefore she herself +must do something! She could not sit still and look on at the devil's +work! Having always been on terms of sacred intimacy with her mother, +she knew more of the dangers of the world, while she was far safer from +them, than such girls as their natural guardians watch instead of +fortifying, and understood perfectly that an unwise man is not to be +trusted with a foolish girl. She felt, therefore, that inaction on her +part would be faithlessness to the teaching of her mother, as well as +treachery to her father, whose friend's son was in peril of doing a +fearful wrong to one to whom he owed almost a brother's protection for +his schoolmaster's sake. She did not believe that Francis _meant_ Phemy +any harm, but she was certain he thought too much of himself ever to +marry her, and were the poor child's feelings to go for nothing? She +had no hope that Phemy would listen to expostulation from her, but she +must in fairness, before she _did_ anything, have some speech with her! + +She made repeated efforts, therefore, to see her, but without success. +She tried one time of the day after another, but, now by accident and +now by clever contrivance, Phemy was not to be come at. She had of late +grown tricky. One of the windows of the schoolmaster's house commanded +the street in both directions, and Phemy commanded the window. When she +saw Kirsty coming, she would run into the garden and take refuge in the +summer-house, telling the servant on her way that she was going out, +and did not know what time she would be in. On more occasions than one +Kirsty said she would wait, when Phemy, learning she was not gone, went +out in earnest, and took care she had enough of waiting. Such shifts of +cunning no doubt served laughter to the lovers when next they met, but +they showed that Phemy was in some degree afraid of Kirsty. + +Had Kirsty known the schoolmaster no better than his sister-in-law knew +him, she would, like her, have gone to him; but she was perfectly +certain that it would be almost impossible to rouse him, and that, once +convinced that his confidence had been abused, he would be utterly +furious, and probably bear himself in such fashion as to make Phemy +desperate, perhaps make her hate him. As it was, he turned a deaf ear +and indignant heart to every one of the reports that reached him. To +listen to it would be to doubt his child! Why should not the young +laird fall in love with her? What more natural? Was she not worth as +much honour as any man, be he who he might, could confer upon her? He +cursed the gossips of the town, and returned to his book. + +Convinced at length that Phemy declined an interview, Kirsty resolved +to take her own way. And her way was a somewhat masterful one. + +About a mile from castle Weelset, in the direction of Tiltowie, the +road was, for a few hundred yards, close-flanked by steep heathery +braes. Now Kirsty had heard of Phemy's being several times seen on this +road of late; and near the part of it I have just described, she +resolved to waylay her. From the brae on the side next Corbyknowe she +could see the road for some distance in either direction. + +For a week she watched in vain. She saw the two pass together more than +once, and she saw Francis pass alone, but she had never seen Phemy +alone. + +One morning, just as she arrived at her usual outlook, she saw Mrs. +Bremner in the road below, coming from the castle, and ran down to +speak to her. In the course of their conversation she learned that +Francis was to start for London the next morning. When they parted, the +old woman resuming her walk to Tiltowie, Kirsty climbed the brae and +sat down in the heather. She was more anxious than ever. She had done +her best, but it had come to nothing, and now she had but one chance +more! That Francis Gordon was going away so soon was good news, but +what might not happen even yet before he went! At the same time she +could think of nothing better than keep watch as hitherto, firm as to +her course if she saw Phemy alone, but now determined to speak to both +if Francis was with her, and all but determined to speak to Francis +alone, if an opportunity of doing so should be given her. + +All the morning and afternoon she watched in vain, eating nothing but a +piece of bread that Steenie brought her. At last, in the evening--it +was an evening in September, cold and clear, the sun down, and a +melancholy glory hanging over the place of his vanishing--she spied the +solitary form of Phemy hastening along the road in the direction of the +castle. Although she had been on the outlook for her all day, she was +at the moment so taken up with the sunset, that Phemy was almost under +where she stood before she saw her. She ran at full speed a hundred +yards, then slid down a part of the brae too steep to climb, and leaped +into the road a few feet in front of Phemy--so suddenly that the girl +started with a cry, and stopped. The moment she saw who it was, +however, she drew herself up, and would have passed with a stiff +greeting. But Kirsty stood in front of her, and would not permit her. + +'What do you want, Kirsty Barclay?' demanded Phemy, who had within the +last week or two advanced considerably in confidence of manner; 'I am +in a hurry!' + +'Ye're in a waur hurry nor ye ken, for yer hurry sud be the ither +gait!' answered Kirsty; 'and I'm gaein to turn ye, or at least no gaein +to lat ye gang, ohn heard a bit o' the trowth frae a woman aulder nor +yersel! Lassie, ye seem to think naebody worth hearkenin til a word +frae 'cep ae man, but I mean ye to hearken to me! Ye dinna ken what +ye're aboot! I ken Francie Gordon a heap better nor you, and though I +ken nae ill o' him, I ken as little guid: he never did naething yet but +to please himsel, and there never cam salvation or comfort to man, +woman, or bairn frae ony puir cratur like _him_!' + +'How dare you speak such lies of a gentleman behind his back!' cried +Phemy, her eyes flashing. 'He is a friend of mine, and I will not hear +him maligned!' + +'There's sma' hairm can come to ony man frae the trowth, Phemy!' +answered Kirsty. 'Set the man afore me, and I'll say word for word +intil his face what I'm sayin to you ahint his back.' + +'Miss Barclay,' rejoined Phemy, with a rather pitiable attempt at +dignity, 'I can permit no one to call me by my Christian name who +speaks ill of the man to whom I am engaged!' + +'That s' be as ye please, Miss Craig. But I wud lat you ca' me a' the +ill names in the dictionar to get ye to heark to me! I'm tellin ye +naething but what's true as death.' + +'I call no one names. I am always civil to my neighbours whoever they +may be! I will not listen to you.' + +'Eh, lassie, there's but feow o' yer neebours ceevil to yer name, +whatever they be to yersel! There's hardly ane has a guid word for ye, +Phemy!--Miss Craig--I beg yer pardon!' + +'Their lying tongues are nothing to me! I know what I am about! I will +not stay a moment longer with you! I have an important engagement.' + +Once more, as several times already, she would have passed her, but +Kirsty stepped yet again in front of her. + +'I can weel tak yer word,' replied Kirsty, ''at ye hae an engagement; +but ye said a minute ago 'at ye was engaged til him: tell me in ae +word--has Francie Gordon promised to merry ye?' + +'He has as good as asked me,' answered Phemy, who had fits of +apprehensive recoil from a downright lie. + +'Noo there I cud 'maist believe ye! Ay, that wud be ill eneuch for +Francie! He never was a doonricht leear, sae lang's I kenned him--ony +mair nor yersel! But, for God's sake, Phemy, dinna imagine he'll ever +merry ye, for that he wull not.' + +'This is really insufferable!' cried Phemy, in a voice that began to +tremble from the approach of angry tears. 'Pray, have _you_ a claim +upon him?' + +'Nane, no a shedow o' ane,' returned Kirsty. 'But my father and his +father war like brithers, and we hae a' to du what we can for his +father's son. I wud fain hand him ohn gotten into trouble wi' you or +ony lass.' + +'_I_ get him into trouble! Really, Miss Barclay, I do not know how to +understand you!' + +'I see I maun be plain wi' ye: I wudna hae ye get him into trouble by +lattin him get you into trouble!--and that's plain speykin!' + +'You insult me!' said Phemy. + +'Ye drive me to speyk plain!' answered Kirsty. 'That lad, Francie +Gordon,--' + +'Speak with respect of your superiors,' interrupted Phemy. + +'I'll speyk wi' respec o' ony body I hae respec for!' answered Kirsty. + +'Let me pass, you rude young woman!' cried Phemy, who had of late been +cultivating in her imagination such speech as she thought would befit +Mrs. Gordon of castle Weelset. + +'I winna lat ye pass,' answered Kirsty; '--that is, no til ye hear what +I hae to say to ye.' + +'Then you must take the consequences!' rejoined Phemy, and, in the hope +that her lover would prove within earshot, began a piercing scream. + +It roused something in Kirsty which she could not afterward identify: +she was sure it had nothing to do with anger. She felt, she said, as if +she had to deal with a child who insisted on playing with fire beside a +barrel of gunpowder. At the same time she did nothing but what she had +beforehand, in case of the repulse she expected, resolved upon. She +caught up the little would-be lady, as if she had been that same +naughty child, and the suddenness of the action so astonished her that +for a moment or two she neither moved nor uttered a sound. The next, +however, she began to shriek and struggle wildly, as if in the hug of a +bear or the coils of an anaconda, whereupon Kirsty closed her mouth +with one hand while she held her fast with the other. It was a violent +proceeding, doubtless, but Kirsty chose to be thus far an offender, and +yet farther. + +Bearing her as she best could in one arm, she ran with her toward +Tiltowie until she reached a place where the road was bordered by a +more practicable slope; there she took to the moorland, and made for +Corbyknowe. Her resolve had been from the first, if Phemy would not +listen, to carry her, like the unmanageable child she was, home to the +mother whose voice had always been to herself the oracle of God. It was +in a loving embrace, though hardly a comfortable one, and to a heart +full of pity, that she pressed the poor little runaway lamb: her mother +was God's vicar for all in trouble: she would bring the child to +reason! Her heart beating mightily with love and labour, she waded +through the heather, hurrying along the moor. + +It was a strange abduction; but Kirsty was divinely simple, and that +way strange. Not until they were out of sight of the road did she set +her down. + +'Noo, Phemy,' she said, panting as she spoke, 'haud yer tongue like a +guid lassie, and come awa upo' yer ain feet.' + +Phemy took at once to her heels and her throat, and ran shrieking back +toward the road, with Kirsty after her like a grayhound. Phemy had for +some time given up struggling and trying to shriek, and was therefore +in better breath than Kirsty whose lungs were pumping hard, but she had +not a chance with her, for there was more muscle in one of Kirsty's +legs than in Phemy's whole body. In a moment she had her in her arms +again, and so fast that she could not even kick. She gave way and burst +into tears. Kirsty relaxed her hold. + +'What are you gaein to du wi' me?' sobbed Phemy. + +'I'm takin ye to the best place I ken--hame to my mother,' answered +Kirsty, striding on for home-heaven as straight as she could go. + +'I winna gang!' cried Phemy, whose Scotch had returned with her tears. + +'Ye _are_ gaein,' returned Kirsty dryly; '--at least I'm takin ye, and +that's neist best.' + +'What for? I never did ye an ill turn 'at I ken o'!' said Phemy, and +burst afresh into tears of self-pity and sense of wrong. + +'Na, my bonny doo,' answered Kirsty, 'ye never did me ony ill turn! It +wasna in ye. But that's the less rizzon 'at I sudna du you a guid ane. +And yer father has been like the Bountiful himsel to me! It's no muckle +I can du for you or for him, but there's ae thing I'm set upo', and +that's haudin ye frae Francie Gordon the nicht. He'll be awa the morn!' + +'Wha tellt ye that?' returned Phemy with a start. + +'Jist yer ain aunt, honest woman!' answered Kirsty, 'and sair she grat +as she telled me, but it wasna at his gaein!' + +'She micht hae held the tongue o' her till he was gane! What was there +to greit about!' + +'Maybe she thocht o' her sister's bairn in a tribble 'at silence wadna +hide!' answered Kirsty. 'Ye haena a notion, lassie, what ye're duin wi' +yersel! But my mither 'll lat ye ken, sae that ye gangna blinlins intil +the tod's hole.' + +'Ye dinna ken Frank, or ye wudna speyk o' 'im that gait!' + +'I ken him ower weel to trust you til him.' + +'It's naething but ye're eenvious o' me, Kirsty, 'cause ye canna get +him yersel! He wud never luik at a lass like you!' + +'It's weel a'body sees na wi' the same een, Phemy! Gien I had yer +Francie i' the parritch-pat, I wudna pike him oot, but fling frae me +pat and parritch. For a' that, I hae a haill side o' my hert saft til +him: my father and his lo'd like brithers.' + +'That canna be, Kirsty--and it's no like ye to blaw! Your father was a +common so'dier and his was cornel o' the regiment!' + +'Allooin!' was all Kirsty's answer. Phemy betook herself to entreaty. + +'Lat me gang, Kirsty! Please! I'll gang doon o' my knees til ye! I +canna bide him to think I've played him fause.' + +'He'll play you fause, my lamb, whatever ye du or he think! It maks my +hert sair to ken 'at no guid will your hert get o' his.--He s' no see +ye the nicht, ony gait!' + +Phemy uttered a childish howl, but immediately choked it with a proud +sob. + +'Ye're hurtin me, Kirsty!' she said, after a minute or so of silence. +'Lat me doon, and I'll gang straucht hame to my father. I promise ye.' + +'I'll set ye doon,' answered Kirsty, 'but ye maun come hame to my +mither.' + +'What'll my father think?' + +'I s' no forget yer father,' said Kirsty. + +She sent out a strange, piercing cry, set Phemy down, took her hand in +hers, and went on, Phemy making no resistance. In about three minutes +there was a noise in the heather, and Snootie came rushing to Kirsty. A +few moments more and Steenie appeared. He lifted his bonnet to Phemy, +and stood waiting his sister's commands. + +'Steenie,' she said, 'tak the dog wi' ye, and rin doon to the toon, and +tell Mr. Craig 'at Phemy here's comin hame wi' me, to bide the nicht. +Ye winna be langer nor ye canna help, and ye'll come to the hoose afore +ye gang to the hill?' + +'I'll du that, Kirsty. Come, doggie,' + +Steenie never went to the town of his own accord, and Kirsty never +liked him to go, for the boys were rude, but to-night it would be dark +before he reached it. + +'Ye're no surely gaun to gar me bide a' nicht!' said Phemy, beginning +again to cry. + +'I am that--the nicht, and maybe the morn's nicht, and ony nummer o' +nichts till we're sure he's awa!' answered Kirsty, resuming her walk. + +Phemy wept aloud, but did not try to escape. + +'And him gaein to promise this verra nicht 'at he would merry me!' she +cried, but through her tears and sobs her words were indistinct. + +Kirsty stopped, and faced round on her. + +'He promised to merry ye?' she said. + +'I didna say that; I said he was gaein to promise the nicht. And noo +he'll be gane, and never a word said!' + +'He promised, did he, 'at he would promise the nicht?--Eh, Francie! +Francie! ye're no yer father's son!--He promised to promise to merry +ye! Eh, ye puir gowk o' a bonny lassie!' + +'Gien I met him the nicht--ay, it cam to that.' + +All Kirsty's inborn motherhood awoke. She turned to her, and, clasping +the silly thing in her arms, cried out-- + +'Puir wee dauty! Gien he hae a hert ony bigger nor Tod Lowrie's _(the +fox's)_ ain, he'll come to ye to the Knowe, and say what he has to +say!' + +'He winna ken whaur I am!' answered Phemy with an agonized burst of dry +sobbing. + +'Will he no? I s' see to that--and this verra nicht!' exclaimed Kirsty. +'I'll gie him ilka chance o' doin the richt thing!' + +'But he'll be angert at me!' + +'What for? Did he tell ye no to tell?' + +'Ay did he.' + +'Waur and waur!' cried Kirsty indignantly. 'He wad hae ye a' in his +grup! He tellt ye, nae doobt, 'at ye was the bonniest lassie 'at ever +was seen, and bepraised ye 'at yer ain minnie wouldna hae kenned ye! +Jist tell me, Phemy, dinna ye think a hantle mair o' yersel sin' he +took ye in han'?' + +She would have Phemy see that she had gathered from him no figs or +grapes, only thorns and thistles. Phemy made no reply: had she not +every right to think well of herself? He had never said anything to her +on that subject which she was not quite ready to believe. + +Kirsty seemed to divine what was passing in her thought. + +'A man,' she said, ''at disna tell ye the trowth aboot himsel 's no +likly to tell ye the trowth aboot _your_sel! Did he tell ye hoo mony +lassies he had said the same thing til afore ever he cam to you? It +maitered little sae lang as they war lasses as hertless and toom-heidit +as himsel, and ower weel used to sic havers; but a lassie like you, 'at +never afore hearkent to siclike, she taks them a' for trowth, and the +leein sough o' him gars her trow there was never on earth sic a +won'erfu cratur as her! What pleesur there can be i' leein 's mair nor +I can faddom! Ye're jist a gey bonnie lassie, siclike as mony anither; +but gien ye war a' glorious within, like the queen o' Sheba, or whaever +she may happen to hae been, there wad be naething to be prood o' i' +that, seem ye didna contrive yersel. No ae stane, to bigg yersel, hae +_ye_ putten upo' the tap o' anither!' + +Phemy was nowise capable of understanding such statement and deduction. +If she was lovely, as Frank told her, and as she saw in the glass, why +should she not be pleased with herself? If Kirsty had been made like +her, she would have been just as vain as she! + +All her life the doll never saw the beauty of the woman. Beside Phemy, +Kirsty walked like an Olympian goddess beside the naiad of a brook. And +Kirsty was a goddess, for she was what she had to be, and never thought +about it. + +Phemy sank down in the heather, declaring she could go no farther, and +looked so white and so pitiful that Kirsty's heart filled afresh with +compassion. Like the mother she was, she took the poor girl yet again +in her arms, and, carrying her quite easily now that she did not +struggle, walked with her straight into her mother's kitchen. + +Mrs. Barclay sat darning the stocking which would have been Kirsty's +affair had she not been stalking Phemy. She took it out of her mother's +hands, and laid the girl in her lap. + +'There's a new bairnie til ye, mother! Ye maun daut her a wee, she's +unco tired!' she said, and seating herself on a stool, went on with the +darning of the stocking. + +Mistress Barclay looked down on Phemy with such a face of loving +benignity that the poor miserable girl threw her arms round her neck, +and laid her head on her bosom. Instinctively the mother began to hush +and soothe her, and in a moment more was singing a lullaby to her. +Phemy fell fast asleep. Then Kirsty told what she had done, and while +she spoke, the mother sat silent brooding, and hushing, and thinking. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +PHEMY'S CHAMPION + + +When she had told all, Kirsty rose, and laying aside the stocking, +said, + +'I maun awa to Weelset, mother. I promised the bairn I would lat +Francie ken whaur she was, and gie him the chance o' sayin his say til +her.' + +'Verra weel, lassie! ye ken what ye're aboot, and I s' no interfere wi' +ye. But, eh, ye'll be tired afore ye win to yer bed!' + +'I'll no tramp it, mother; I'll tak the gray mear.' + +'She's gey and fresh, lassie; ye maun be on yer guaird.' + +'A' the better!' returned Kirsty. 'To hear ye, mother, a body wud think +I cudna ride!' + +'Forbid it, bairn! Yer father says, man or wuman, there's no ane i' the +countryside like ye upo' beast-back.' + +'They tak to me, the craturs! It was themsels learnt me to ride!' +answered Kirsty, as she took a riding whip from the wall, and went out +of the kitchen. + +The mare looked round when she entered the stable, and whinnied. Kirsty +petted and stroked her, gave her two or three handfuls of oats, and +while she was eating strapped a cloth on her back: there was no +side-saddle about the farm. Kirsty could ride well enough sideways on a +man's, but she liked the way her father had taught her far better. +Utterly fearless, she had, in his training from childhood until he +could do no more for her, grown a horsewoman such as few. + +The moment the mare had finished her oats she bridled her, led her out, +and sprang on her back; where sitting as on a pillion, she rode quietly +out of the farm-close. The moment she was beyond the gate, she leaned +back, and, throwing her right foot over the mare's crest, rode like an +Amazon, at ease, and with mastery. The same moment the mare was away, +up hill and down dale, almost at racing speed. Had the coming moon been +above the horizon, the Amazon farm-girl would have been worth meeting! +So perfectly did she yield her lithe, strong body to every motion of +the mare, abrupt or undulant, that neither ever felt a jar, and their +movements seemed the outcome of a vital force common to the two. Kirsty +never thought whether she was riding well or ill, gracefully or +otherwise, but the mare knew that all was right between them. Kirsty +never touched the bridle except to moderate the mare's pace when she +was too much excited to heed what she said to her. + +Doubtless, to many eyes, she would have looked better in a riding +habit, but she would have felt like an eagle in a nightgown. She wore a +full winsey petticoat, which she managed perfectly, and stockings of +the same colour. + +On her head she had nothing but the silk net at that time and in that +quarter much worn by young unmarried women. In the rush of the gallop +it slipped, and its content escaped: she put the net in her pocket, and +cast a knot upon her long hair as if it had been a rope. This she did +without even slackening her speed, transferring from her hand to her +teeth the whip she carried. It was one colonel Gordon had given her +father in remembrance of a little adventure they had together, in which +a lash from it in the dark night was mistaken for a sword-cut, and did +them no small service. + +By the time they reached the castle, the moon was above the horizon. +Kirsty brought the mare to a walk, and resuming her pillion-seat, +remanded her hair to its cage, and readjusted her skirt; then, setting +herself as in a side-saddle, she rode gently up to the castle-door. + +A manservant, happening to see her from the hall-window, saved her +having to ring the bell, and greeted her respectfully, for everybody +knew Corbyknowe's Kirsty. She said she wanted to see Mr. Gordon, and +suggested that perhaps he would be kind enough to speak to her at the +door. The man went to find his master, and in a minute or two brought +the message that Mr. Gordon would be with her presently. Kirsty drew +her mare back into the shadow which, the moon being yet low, a great +rock on the crest of a neighbouring hill cast upon the approach, and +waited. + +It was three minutes before Francis came sauntering bare-headed round +the corner of the house, his hands in his pockets, and a cigar in his +mouth. He gave a glance round, not seeing his visitor at once, and then +with a nod, came toward her, still smoking. His nonchalance, I believe, +was forced and meant to cover uneasiness. For all that had passed to +make him forget Kirsty, he yet remembered her uncomfortably, and at the +present moment could not help regarding her as an angelic _bete noir_, +of whom he was more afraid than of any other human being. He approached +her in a sort of sidling stroll, as if he had no actual business with +her, but thought of just asking whether she would sell her horse. He +did not speak, and Kirsty sat motionless until he was near enough for a +low-voiced conference. + +'What are ye aboot wi' Phemy Craig, Francie?' she began, without a word +of greeting. + +Kirsty was one of the few who practically deny time; with whom what +was, is; what is, will be. She spoke to the tall handsome man in the +same tone and with the same forms as when they were boy and girl +together. + +He had meant their conversation to be at arm's length, so to say, but +his intention broke down at once, and he answered her in the same +style. + +'I ken naething aboot her. What for sud I?' he answered. + +'I ken ye dinna ken whaur she is, for I div,' returned Kirsty. 'Ye +answer a queston I never speired! What are ye aboot wi' Phemy, I +challenge ye again! Puir lassie, she has nae brither to say the word!' + +'That's a' verra weel; but ye see, Kirsty,' he began--then stopped, and +having stared at her a moment in silence, exclaimed, 'Lord, what a +splendid woman you've grown!'--He had probably been drinking with his +mother. + +Kirsty sat speechless, motionless, changeless as a soldier on guard. +Gordon had to resume and finish his sentence. + +'As I was going to say, _you_ can't take the place of a brother to her, +Kirsty, else I should know how to answer you!--It's awkward when a lady +takes you to task,' he added with a drawl. + +'Dinna trouble yer heid aboot that, Francie: hert ye hae little to +trouble aboot onything!' rejoined Kirsty. Then changing to English as +he had done, she went on: 'I claim no consideration on that score.' + +Francis Gordon felt very uncomfortable. It was deuced hard to be +bullied by a woman! + +He stood silent, because he had nothing to say. + +'Do you mean to marry my Phemy?' asked Kirsty. + +'Really, Miss Barclay,' Francis began, but Kirsty interrupted him. + +'Mr. Gordon,' she said sternly, 'be a man, and answer me. If you mean +to marry her, say so, and go and tell her father--or my father, if you +prefer. She is at the Knowe, miserable, poor child! that she did not +meet you to-night. That was my doing; she could not help herself. + +Gordon broke into a strained laugh. + +'Well, you've got her, and you can keep her!' he said. + +'You have not answered my question!' + +'Really, Miss Barclay, you must not be too hard on a man! Is a fellow +not to speak to a woman but he must say at once whether or not he +intends to marry her?' + +'Answer my question.' + +'It is a ridiculous one!' + +'You have been trystin' with her almost every night for something like +a month!' rejoined Kirsty, 'and the question is not at all ridiculous.' + +'Let it be granted then, and let the proper person ask me the question, +and I will answer it. You, pardon me, have nothing to do with the +matter in hand.' + +'That is the answer of a coward,' returned Kirsty, her cheek flaming at +last. 'You know the guileless nature of your old schoolmaster, and take +advantage of it! You know that the poor girl has not a man to look to, +and you will not have a woman befriend her! It is cowardly, ungrateful, +mean, treacherous. You are a bad man, Francie! You always were a fool, +but now you are a wicked fool! If I were her brother--if I were a man, +I would thrash you!' + +'It's a good thing you're not able, Kirsty! I should be frightened!' +said Gordon, with a laugh and a shrug, thinking to throw the thing +aside as done with. + +'I said, if I was a man!' returned Kirsty. 'I did not say, if I was +able. I _am_ able.' + +'I don't see why a woman should leave to any man what she's able to do +for herself!' said Kirsty, as if communing with her own thoughts.-- +'Francie, you're no gentleman; you are a scoundrel and a coward!' she +immediately added aloud. + +'Very well,' returned Francis angrily; 'since you choose to be treated +as a man, and tell me I am no gentleman, I tell you I wouldn't marry +the girl if the two of you went on your knees to me!--A common, silly, +country-bred flirt!--ready for anything a man--' + +Kirsty's whip descended upon him with a merciless lash. The hiss of it, +as it cut the air with all the force of her strong arm, startled her +mare, and she sprang aside, so that Kirsty, who, leaning forward, had +thrown the strength of her whole body into the blow, could not but lose +her seat. But it was only to stand upright on her feet, fronting her-- +call him enemy, antagonist, victim, what you will. Gordon was grasping +his head: the blow had for a moment blinded him. She gave him another +stinging cut across the hands. + +'That's frae yer father! The whup was his, and his swoord never did +fairer wark!' she said.--'I hae dune for him what I cud!' she added in +a low sorrowful voice, and stepped back, as having fulfilled her +mission. + +He rushed at her with a sudden torrent of evil words. But he was no +match for her in agility as, I am almost certain, he would have proved +none in strength had she allowed him to close with her: she avoided him +as she had more than once _jinkit_ a charging bull, every now and then +dealing him another sharp blow from his father's whip. The treatment +began to bring him to his senses. + +'For God's sake, Kirsty,' he cried, ceasing his attempts to lay hold of +her, 'behaud, or we'll hae the haill hoose oot, and what'll come o' me +than I daurna think! I doobt I'll never hear the last o' 't as 'tis!' + +'Am I to trust ye, Francie?' + +'I winna lay a finger upo' ye, damn ye!' he said in mingled wrath and +humiliation. + +Throughout, Kirsty had held her mare by the bridle, and she, although +behaving as well as she could, had, in the fright the laird's rushes +and the sounds of the whip caused her, added not a little to her +mistress's difficulties. Just as she sprang on her back, the door +opened, and faces looked peering out; whereupon with a cut or two she +encouraged a few wild gambols, so that all the trouble seemed to have +been with the mare. Then she rode quietly through the gate. + +Gordon stood in a motionless fury until he heard the soft thunder of +the mare's hoofs on the turf as Kirsty rode home at a fierce gallop; +then he turned and went into the house, not to communicate what had +taken place, but to lie about it as like truth as he might find +possible. + +About half-way home, on the side of a hill, across which a low wind, +the long death-moan of autumn, blew with a hopeless, undulant, but not +intermittent wail among the heather, Kirsty broke into a passionate fit +of weeping, but ere she reached home all traces of her tears had +vanished. + +Gordon did not go the next day, nor the day after, but he never saw +Phemy again. It was a week before he showed himself, and then he was +not a beautiful sight. He attributed the one visible wale on his cheek +and temple to a blow from a twig as he ran in the dusk through the +shrubbery after a strange dog. Even at the castle they did not know +exactly when he left it. His luggage was sent after him. + +The domestics at least were perplexed as to the wale on his face, until +the man to whom Kirsty had spoken at the door hazarded a conjecture or +two, which being not far from the truth, and as such accepted, the +general admiration and respect which already haloed Corbyknowe's +Kirsty, were thenceforward mingled with a little wholesome fear. + +When Kirsty told her father and mother what she had done at castle +Weelset, neither said a word. Her mother turned her head away, but the +light in her father's eyes, had she had any doubt as to how they would +take it, would have put her quite at her ease. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION + + +Poor little Phemy was in bed, and had cried herself asleep. Kirsty was +more tired than she had ever been before. She went to bed at once, but, +for a long time, not to sleep. + +She had no doubt her parents approved of the chastisement she had given +Gordon, and she herself nowise repented of it; yet the instant she lay +down, back came the same sudden something that set her weeping on the +hillside. As then, all un-sent for, the face of Francie Gordon, such as +he was in their childhood, rose before her, but marred by her hand with +stripes of disgrace from his father's whip; and with the vision came +again the torrent of her tears, for, if his father had then struck him +so, she would have been bold in his defence. She pressed her face into +the pillow lest her sobs should be heard. She was by no means a young +woman ready to weep, but the thought of the boy-face with her blows +upon it, got within her guard, and ran her through the heart. It seemed +as if nevermore would she escape the imagined sight. It is a sore thing +when a woman, born a protector, has for protection to become an +avenger, and severe was the revulsion in Kirsty from an act of violence +foreign to the whole habit, though nowise inconsistent with the +character, of the calm, thoughtful woman. She had never struck even the +one-horned cow that would, for very cursedness, kick over the +milk-pail! Hers was the wrath of the mother, whose very presence in a +calm soul is its justification--for how could it be there but by the +original energy? The wrath was gone, and the mother soul turned against +itself--not in judgment at all, but in irrepressible feeling. She did +not for one moment think, I repeat, that she ought not to have done it, +and she was glad in her heart to know that what he had said and she had +done must keep Phemy and him apart; but there was the blow on the face +of the boy she had loved, and there was the reflex wound in her own +soul! Surely she loved him yet with her mother-love, else how could she +have been angry enough with him to strike him! For weeks the pain +lasted keen, and it was ever after ready to return. It was a human type +of the divine suffering in the discipline of the sinner, which with +some of the old prophets takes the shape of God's repenting of the +evils he has brought on his people; and was the only trouble she ever +kept from her mother: she feared to wake her own pain in the dearer +heart. She could have told her father; for, although he was, she knew, +just as loving as her mother, he was not so soft-hearted, and would +not, she thought, distress himself too much about an ache more or less +in a heart that had done its duty; but as she could not tell her +mother, she would not tell her father. But her father and mother saw +that a change had passed upon her, and partially, if not quite, +understood the nature of it. They perceived that she left behind her on +that night a measure of her gaiety, that thereafter she was yet gentler +to her parents, and if possible yet tenderer to her brother. + +For all the superiority constantly manifested by her in her relations +with Francis, the feeling was never absent from her that he was of a +race above her own; and now the visage of the young officer in her +father's old regiment never, any more than that of her play-fellow, +rose in her mind's eye uncrossed by the livid mark of her whip from the +temple down the cheek! Whether she had actually seen it so, she did not +certainly remember, but so it always came to her, and the face of the +man never cost her a tear; it was only that of the boy that made her +weep. + +Another thing distressed her even more: the instant ere she struck the +first, the worst blow, she saw on his face an expression so meanly +selfish that she felt as if she hated him. That expression had vanished +from her visual memory, her whip had wiped it away, but she knew that +for a moment she had all but hated him--if it was indeed _all but_! + +All the house was careful the next morning that Phemy should not be +disturbed; and when at length the poor child appeared, looking as if +her colour was not 'ingrain,' and so had been washed out by her tears, +Kirsty made haste to get her a nice breakfast, and would answer none of +her questions until she had made a proper meal. + +'Noo, Kirsty,' said Phemy at last, 'ye maun tell me what he said whan +ye loot him ken 'at I cudna win til him 'cause ye wudna lat me!' + +'He saidna muckle to that. I dinna think he had been sair missin ye.' + +'I see ye're no gaein to tell me the trowth, Kirsty! I ken by mysel he +maun hae been missin me dreidfu'!' + +'Ye can jeedge nae man by yersel, Phemy. Men's no like hiz lass-fowk!' + +Phemy laughed superior. + +'What ken ye aboot men, Kirsty? There never cam a man near ye, i' the +w'y o' makin up til ye!' + +'I'm no preten'in to ony exparience,' returned Kirsty; 'I wad only hae +ye tak coonsel wi' common sense. Is 't likly, Phemy, 'at a man wi gran' +relations, and gran' notions, a man wi' a fouth o' grit leddies in 's +acquantance to mak a fule o' him and themsel's thegither, special noo +'at he's an offisher i' the Company's service--is 't ony gait likly, I +say, 'at he sud be as muckle ta'en up wi' a wee bit cuintry lassie as +she cudna but be wi' him?' + +'Noo, Kirsty, ye jist needna gang aboot to gar me mistrust ane wha's +the verra mirror o' a' knichtly coortesy,' rejoined Phemy, speaking out +of the high-flown, thin atmosphere she thought the region of poetry, +'for ye canna! Naething ever onybody said cud gar me think different o' +_him_!' + +'Nor naething ever he said himsel?' asked Kirsty. + +'Naething,' answered Phemy, with strength and decision. + +'No gien it was 'at naething wud ever gar him merry ye?' + +'That he micht weel say, for he winna need garrin!--But he never said +it, and ye needna try to threpe it upo' me!' she added, in a tone that +showed the very idea too painful. + +'He did say't, Phemy.' + +'Wha tellt ye? It's lees! Somebody's leein!' + +'He said it til me himsel. Never a lee has onybody had a chance o' +puttin intil the tale!' + +'He never said it, Kirsty!' cried Phemy, her cheeks now glowing, now +pale as death. 'He daurna!' + +'He daured; and he daured to _me_! He said, "I wudna merry her gien +baith o' ye gaed doon upon yer knees to me!"' + +'Ye maun hae sair angert him, Kirsty, or he wudna hae said it! Of +coorse he wasna to be guidit by you! He _cud_na hae meaned what he +said! He wad never hae said it to me! I wuss wi' a' my hert I hadna +latten ye til 'im! Ye hae ruined a'!' + +'Ye never loot me gang, Phemy! It was my business to gang.' + +'I see what's intil't!' cried Phemy, bursting into tears. 'Ye tellt him +hoo little ye thoucht o' me, and that gart him change his min'!' + +'Wud he be worth greitin about gien that war the case, Phemy? But ye +ken it wasna that! Ye ken 'at I jist cudna du onything o' the sort!-- +I'm jist ashamed to deny't!' + +'Hoo am I to ken? There's nae a wuman born but wad fain hae him til +hersel!' + +Kirsty held her peace for pity, thinking what she could say to convince +her of Gordon's faithlessness. + +'He didna say he hadna promised?' resumed Phemy through her sobs. + +'We camna upo' that.' + +'That's what I'm thinkin!' + +'I kenna what ye're thinking, Phemy!' + +'What did ye gie him, Kirsty, whan he tauld ye--no 'at I believe a word +o' 't--'at he wud nane o' me?' + +Kirsty laughed with a scorn none the less clear that it was quiet. + +'Jist a guid lickin,' she answered. + +'Ha, ha!' laughed Phemy hysterically. 'I tellt ye ye was leein! Ye hae +been naething but leein--a' for fun, of coorse, I ken that--to mak a +fule o' me for bein fleyt!' + +Despair, for a moment, seemed to overwhelm Kirsty. Was it for this she +had so wounded her own soul! How was she to make the poor child +understand? She lifted up her heart in silence. At last she said,-- + +'Ye winna see mair o' him this year or twa onygait, I'm thinkin! Gien +ever ye get a scart o' 's pen, it'll surprise me. But gien ever ye hae +the chance, which may God forbid, tell him I said I had gien him his +licks, and daured him to come and deny't to my face. He winna du that, +Phemy! He kens ower weel I wad jist gie him them again!' + +'He wud kill ye, Kirsty! _You_ gie him his licks!' + +'He micht kill me, but he'd hae a pairt o' his licks first!--And noo +gien ye dinna believe me I winna answer a single question mair ye put +to me. I hae been tellin ye--no God's trowth, it's true, but the +deevil's--and it's no use, for ye winna believe a word o' 't!' + +Phemy rose up a pygmy Fury. + +'And ye laid han' to cheek o' that king o' men, Kirsty Barclay? Lord, +haud me ohn killt her! Little hauds me frae riven ye to bits wi' my twa +han's!' + +'I laidna han' to cheek o' Francie Gordon, Phemy; I jist throosh him +wi' his father's ain ridin whup 'at my hert's like to brak to think o' +'t. I doobt he'll carry the marks til's grave!' + +Kirsty broke into a convulsion of silent sobs and tears. + +'Kirsty Barclay, ye're a deevil!' cried Phemy in a hoarse whisper: she +was spent with passion. + +The little creature stood before Kirsty, her hands clenched and shaking +with rage, blue flashes darting about in her eyes. Kirsty, at once +controlling the passion of her own heart, sat still as a statue, +regarding her with a sad pity. A sparrow stood chattering at a big +white brooding dove; and the dove sorrowed for the sparrow, but did not +know how to help the fluttering thing. + +'Lord!' cried Phemy, 'I'll be cursin a' the warl' and God himsel, gien +I gang on this gait!--Eh, ye fause wuman!' + +Kirsty sprang upon her at one bound from her seat, threw her arms round +her so that she could not move hers, and sitting down with her on her +lap, said-- + +'Phemy, gien I was yer mither, I wad gie ye yer licks for sayin what ye +didna i' yer hert believe! A' the time ye was keepin company wi' +Francie Gordon, ye ken i' yer ain sowl ye was never richt sure o' him! +And noo I tell ye plainly that, although I strack him times and times +wi' my whup--and saired him weel!-I div not believe him sae +ill-contrived as ye wad gar me think him. Him and me was bairns +thegither, and I ken the natur o' him, and tak his pairt again ye, for, +oot o' pride and ambition, ye're an enemy til him: I div not believe +ever he promised to merry ye! He's behaved ill eneuch wantin +that--lattin a gowk o' a lassie like you believe what ye likit, and him +only carryin on wi' ye for the ploy o' 't, haeing naething to du, and +sick o' his ain toom heid and still toomer hert; but a man's word's his +word, and Francie's no sae ill as your tale wud mak him! There, Phemy, +I hae said my say!' + +She loosened her arms. But Phemy lay still, and putting her arms round +Kirsty's neck, wept in a bitter silence. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +MUTUAL MINISTRATION + + +In a minute or so the door opened, and Steenie coming one step into the +kitchen, stood and stared with such a face of concern that Kirsty was +obliged to speak. I do not believe he had ever before seen a woman +weeping. He shivered visibly. + +'Phemy's no that weel,' she said. 'Her hert's sae sair it gars her +greit. She canna help greitin, puir dauty!' + +Phemy lifted her face from Kirsty's bosom, where, like a miserable +child, she had been pressing it hard, and, seeming to have lost in the +depth of her grief all her natural shyness, looked at Steenie with the +most pitiful look ever countenance wore: her rage had turned to +self-commiseration. The cloud of mingled emotion and distress on the +visage of Steenie wavered, shifted, changed, and settled into the +divinest look of pity and protection. Kirsty said she never saw +anything so unmistakably Godlike upon human countenance. Involuntarily +she murmured, 'Eh, the bonny man!' He turned away from them, and, his +head bent upon his breast, stood for a time utterly motionless. Even +Phemy, overpowered and stilled by that last look he cast upon her, +gazed at him with involuntary reverence. But only Kirsty knew that the +half-witted had sought and found audience with the Eternal, and was now +in his presence. + +He remained in this position, Kirsty thought, about three minutes. Then +he lifted his head, and walked straight from the house, nor turned nor +spoke. Kirsty did not go after him: she feared to tread on holy ground +uninvited. Nor would she leave Phemy until her mother came. + +She got up, set the poor girl on the chair, and began to get ready the +mid-day meal, hoping Phemy would help her, and gain some comfort from +activity. Nor was she disappointed. With a childish air of abstraction, +Phemy rose and began, as of old in the house, to busy herself, and +Kirsty felt much relieved. + +'But, oh,' she said to herself, 'the sairness o' that wee herty i' the +inside o' her!' + +Phemy never spoke, and went about her work mechanically. When at length +Mrs. Barclay came into the kitchen, Kirsty thought it better to leave +them together, and went to find Steenie. She spent the rest of the day +with him. Neither said a word about Phemy, but Steenie's countenance +shone all the afternoon, and she left him at night in his house on the +Horn, still in the after-glow of the mediation which had irradiated him +in the morning. + +When she came home, Kirsty found that her mother had put Phemy to bed. +The poor child had scarcely spoken all day, and seemed to have no life +in her. In the evening an attack of shivering, with other symptoms, +showed she was physically ill. Mrs. Barclay had sent for her father, +but the girl was asleep when he came. Aware that he would not hear a +word casting doubt on his daughter's discretion, and fearing therefore +that, if she told him how she came to be there, he would take her home +at any risk, where she would not be so well cared for as at the Knowe, +she had told him nothing of what had taken place; and he, thinking her +ailment would prove but a bad cold, had gone back to his books without +seeing her. At Mrs. Barclay's entreaty he had promised to send the +doctor, but never thought of it again. + +Kirsty found her very feverish, breathing with difficulty, and in +considerable pain. She sat by her through the night. She had seen +nothing of illness, but sympathetic insight is the first essential +endowment of a good nurse. + +All the night long--and Kirsty knew he was near--Steenie was roving +within sight of the window where the light was burning. He did not know +that Phemy was ill; pity for her heart-ache drew him thither. As soon +as he thought his sister would be up, he went in: the door was never +locked. She heard him, and came to him. The moment he learned Phemy's +condition, he said he would go for the doctor. Kirsty in vain begged +him to have some breakfast first: he took a piece of oatcake in his +hand and went. + +The doctor returned with him, and pronounced the attack pleurisy. Phemy +did not seem to care what became of her. She was ill a long time, and +for a fortnight the doctor came every day. + +There was now so much to be done, that Kirsty could seldom go with +Steenie to the hill. Nor did Steenie himself care to go for any time, +and was never a night from the house. When all were in bed, he would +generally coil himself on a bench by the kitchen-fire, at any moment +ready to answer the lightest call of Kirsty, who took pains to make him +feel himself useful, as indeed he was. Although now he slept +considerably better at night and less in the day, he would start to his +feet at the slightest sound, like the dog he had almost ceased to +imagine himself except in his dreams. In carrying messages, or in +following directions, he had always shown himself perfectly +trustworthy. + +Slowly, very slowly, Phemy recovered. But long before she was well, his +family saw that the change for the better which had been evident in +Steenie's mental condition for some time before Phemy's illness, was +now manifesting itself plainly in his person. The intense compassion +which, that memorable morning, roused his spirit even to the glorifying +of his visage, seemed now settling in his looks and clarifying them. +His eyes appeared to shine less from his brain, and more from his mind; +he stood more erect; and, as encouraging a symptom, perhaps, as any, he +had grown more naturally conscious of his body and its requirements. +Kirsty, coming upon him one morning as he somewhat ruefully regarded +his trowsers, suggested a new suit, and was delighted to see his face +shine up, and hear him declare himself ready to go with her and be +measured for it. She found also soon after, to her joy, that he had for +some time been enlarging with hammer and chisel a certain cavity in one +of the rocks inside his house on the Horn, that he might use it for a +bath. + +In all these things she saw evident signs of a new start in the growth +of his spiritual nature; and if she spied danger ahead, she knew that +the God whose presence in him was making him grow, was ahead with the +danger also. + +Steenie not only now went attired as befitted David Barclay's son, but +to an ordinary glance would have appeared nowise remarkable. Kirsty +ceased to look upon him with the pity hitherto colouring all her +devotion; pride had taken its place, which she buttressed with a +massive hope, for Kirsty was a splendid hoper. People in the town, +where now he was oftener seen, would remark on the wonderful change in +him.--'What's come to fule Steenie?' said one of a group he had just +passed. 'Haith, he's luikin 'maist like ither fowk!'--'I'm thinkin the +deevil maun hae gane oot o' him!' said another, and several joined in +with their remarks.--'Nae muckle o' a deevil was there to gang oot! He +was aye an unco hairmless cratur!'--'And that saft-hertit til a' leevin +thing!'--'He was that! I saw him ance face a score o' laddies to +proteck a poddick they war puttin to torment, whan, the Lord kens, +he had need o' a' his wits to tak care o' himsel!'--'Aye, jist like +him!'--'Weel, the Lord taks care o' him, for he's ane o' his ain +innocents!' + +Kirsty, before long, began to teach him to sit on a horse, and, after +but a few weeks of her training, he could ride pretty well. + +It was many weeks before Phemy was fit to go home. Her father came to +see her now and then, but not very often: he had his duties to attend +to, and his books consoled him. + +As soon as Phemy was able to leave her room, Steenie constituted +himself her slave, and was ever within her call. He seemed always to +know when she would prefer having him in sight, and when she would +rather be alone. He would sit for an hour at the other end of the room, +and watch her like a dog without moving. He could have sat so all day, +but, as soon as she was able to move about, nothing could keep Phemy in +one place more than an hour at the utmost. By this time Steenie could +read a little, and his reading was by no means as fruitless as it was +slow; he would sit reading, nor at all lose his labour that, every +other moment when within sight of her, he would look up to see if she +wanted anything. To this mute attendance of love the girl became so +accustomed that she regarded it as her right, nor had ever the spoiled +little creature occasion to imagine that it was not yielded her; and if +at a rare moment she threw him glance or small smile--a crumb from her +table to her dog--Steenie would for one joyous instant see into the +seventh heaven, and all the day after dwell in the fifth or sixth. On +fine clear noontides she would walk a little way with him and Snootie, +and then he would talk to her as he had never done except to Kirsty, +telling her wonderful things about the dog and the sheep, the stars and +the night, the clouds and the moon; but he never spoke to her of the +bonny man. When, on their return, she would say they had had a pleasant +walk together, his delight would be unutterable; but all the time +Steenie had not once ventured a word belonging to any of the deeper +thoughts in which his heart was most at home. Was it that in his own +eyes he was but a worm glorified with the boon of serving an angel? was +it that he felt as if she knew everything of that kind, and he had +nothing to tell her but the things that entered at his eyes and ears? +or was it that a sacred instinct of her incapacity for holy things kept +him silent concerning such? At times he would look terribly sad, and +the mood would last for hours. + +Not once since she began to get better, had Phemy alluded to her +faithless lover. In its departure her illness seemed to have carried +with it her unwholesome love for him; and certainly, as if overjoyed at +her deliverance, she had become much more of a child. Kirsty was glad +for her sake, and gladder still that Francie Gordon had done her no +irreparable injury--seemed not even to have left his simulacrum in her +memory and imagination. As her strength returned, she regained the +childish merriment which had always drawn Kirsty, and the more strongly +that she was not herself light-hearted. Kirsty's rare laugh was indeed +a merry one, but when happiest of all she hardly smiled. Perhaps she +never would laugh her own laugh until she opened her eyes in heaven! +But how can any one laugh his real best laugh before that! Until then +he does not even know his name! + +Phemy seemed more pleased to see her father every time he came; and +Kirsty began to hope she would tell him the trouble she had gone +through. But then Kirsty had a perfect faith in her father, and a girl +like Phemy never has! Her father, besides, had never been father enough +to her. He had been invariably kind and trusting, but his books had +been more to his hourly life than his daughter. He had never drawn her +to him, never given her opportunity of coming really near him. No +story, however, ends in this world. The first volume may have been very +dull, and yet the next be full of delight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +PHEMY YIELDS PLACE + + +It was the last week in November when the doctor came himself to take +Phemy home to her father. The day was bright and blue, with a thin +carpet of snow on the ground, beneath which the roads were in good +condition. While she was getting ready, old David went out and talked +to the doctor who would not go in, his wrinkled face full of light, and +his heart glad with the same gladness as Kirsty's. + +Mrs. Barclay and Kirsty busied themselves about Phemy, who was as +playful and teasing as a pet kitten while they dressed her, but Steenie +kept in the darkest corner, watching every thing, but offering no +unneeded help. Without once looking or asking for him, never missing +him in fact, Phemy climbed, with David's aid, into the gig beside the +doctor, at once began talking to him, and never turned her head as they +drove away. The moment he heard the sound of the horse's hoofs, Steenie +came quietly from the gloom and went out of the back-door, thinking no +eye was upon him. But his sister's heart was never off him, and her +eyes were oftener on him than he knew. + +Of late he had begun again to go to the hill at night, and Kirsty +feared his old trouble might be returning. Glad as she was to serve +Phemy, and the father through the daughter, she was far from regretting +her departure, for now she would have leisure for Steenie and her +books, and now the family would gather itself once more into the +perfect sphere to which drop and ocean alike desires to shape itself! + +'I thoucht ye wud be efter me!' cried Steenie, as she opened the door +of his burrow, within an hour of his leaving the house. + +Now Kirsty had expected to find him full of grief because of Phemy's +going, especially as the heartless girl, for such Steenie's sister +could not help thinking her, never said good-bye to her most loving +slave. And she did certainly descry on his countenance traces of +emotion, and in his eyes the lingering trouble as of a storm all but +overblown. There was however in his face the light as of a far sunk +aurora, the outmost rim of whose radiance, doubtfully visible, seemed +to encircle his whole person. He was not lost in any gloom! She sat +down beside him, and waited for him to speak. + +Never doubting she would follow him, he had already built up a good +peat-fire on the hearth, and placed for her beside it a low settle +which his father had made for him, and he had himself covered with a +sheepskin of thickest fleece. They sat silent for a while. + +'Wud ye say noo, Kirsty, 'at I was ony use til her?' he asked at +length. + +'Jist a heap,' answered Kirsty. 'I kenna what ever she or I wud hae +dune wantin ye! She nott (_needed_) a heap o' luikin til!' + +'And ye think mebbe she'll be some the better, some way or ither, for +'t?' + +'Ay, I div think that, Steenie. But to tell the trowth, I'm no sure +she'll think verra aft aboot what ye did for her!' + +'Ow, na! What for sud she? There's no need for that! It was for hersel, +no for her think-aboot-it, I tried. I was jist fain to du something +like wash the feet o' her. Whan I cam in that day--the day efter ye +broucht her hame, ye ken--the luik of her puir, bonny, begrutten facy +jist turnt my hert ower i' the mids o' me. I maist think, gien I hadna +been able to du onything for her afore she gaed, I wud hae come hame +here to my ain hoose like a deein sheep, and lain doon. Yon face o' +hers comes back til me noo like the face o' a lost lammie 'at the +shepherd didna think worth gaein oot to luik for. But gien I had sic a +sair hert for her, the bonny man maun hae had a sairer, and he'll du +for her what he can--and that maun be muckle--muckle! They ca' 'im the +gude Shepherd, ye ken!' + +He sat silent for some minutes, and Kirsty's heart was too full to let +her speak. She could only say to her-self--'And folk ca's him +half-wuttit, div they! Weel, lat them! Gien he be half-wuttit, the +Lord's made up the ither half wi' better!' + +'Ay!' resumed Steenie, 'the gude shepherd tynes (_loses_) no ane o' +them a'! But I'll miss her dreidfu'! Eh, but I likit to watch the wan +bit facy grow and grow till 't was roon' and rosy again! And, eh, sic a +bonny reid and white as it was! And better yet I likit to see yon +hert-brakin luik o' the lost are weirin aye awa and awa till 't was +clean gane!--And noo she's back til her father, bricht and licht and +bonny as the lown starry nicht!--Eh, but it maks me happy to think o' 't!' + +'Sae it maks me!' responded Kirsty, feeling, as she regarded him, like +a glorified mother beholding her child walking in the truth. + +'And noo,' continued Steenie, 'I'm richt glaid she's gane, and my min' +'ll be mair at ease gien I tell ye what for:--I maun aye tell you +a'thing 'at 'll bide tellin, Kirsty, ye ken!--Weel, a week or twa ago, +I began to be troubled as I never was troubled afore. I canna weel say +what was the cause o' 't, or the kin' o' thing it was, but something +had come that I didna want to come, and couldna keep awa. Maybe ye'll +ken what it was like whan I tell ye 'at I was aye think-thinkin aboot +Phemy. Noo, afore she cam, I was maist aye thinkin aboot the bonny man; +and it wasna that there was ony sic necessity for thinkin aboot Phemy, +for by that time she was oot o' her meesery, whatever that was, or +whatever had the wyte (_blame_) o' 't. I' the time afore her, whan my +min' wud grow a bit quaiet, and the pooers o' darkness wud draw +themsels awa a bit, aye wud come the face o' the bonny man intil the +toom place, and fill me fresh up wi' the houp o' seein him or lang; but +noo, at ilka moment, up wud come, no the face o' the bonny man, but the +face o' Phemy; and I didna like that, and I cudna help it. And a +scraichin fear grippit me, 'at I was turnin fause to the bonny man. It +wisna that I thoucht he wud be vext wi' me, but that I cudna bide +onything to come atween me and him. I teuk mysel weel ower the heckles, +but I cudna mak oot 'at I cud a'thegither help it. Ye see, somehoo, no +bein made a'thegither like ither fowk, I cudna think aboot twa things +at ance, and I bude to think aboot the ane that cam o' 'tsel like. But, +as I say, it troubled me. Weel, the day, my hert was sair at her gangin +awa, for I had been lang used to seein her ilka hoor, maist ilka +minute; and the ae wuss i' my hert at the time was to du something +worth duin for her, and syne dee and hae dune wi' 't--and there, I +doobt, I clean forgot the bonny man! Whan she got intil the doctor's +gig and awa they drave, my hert grew cauld; I was like ane deid and +beginnin to rot i' the grave. But that minute I h'ard, or it was jist +as gien I h'ard--I dinna mean wi' my lugs, but i' my hert, ye ken--a +v'ice cry, "Steenie! Steenie!" and I cried lood oot, "Comin, Lord!" but +I kent weel eneuch the v'ice was inside o' me, and no i' my heid, but +i' my hert--and nane the less i' me for that! Sae awa at ance I cam to +my closet here, and sat doon, and hearkent i' the how o' my hert. Never +a word cam, but I grew quaiet--eh, sae quaiet and content like, wi'oot +onything to mak me sae, but maybe 'at he was thinkin aboot me! And I'm +quaiet yet. And as sune 's it's dark, I s' gang oot and see whether the +bonny man be onywhaur aboot. There's naething atween him and me noo; +for, the moment I begin to think, it's him 'at comes to be thoucht +aboot, and no Phemy ony mair!' + +'Steenie,' said Kirsty, 'it was the bonny man sent Phemy til ye--to gie +ye something to du for him, luikin efter ane o' his silly lambs.' + +'Ay,' returned Steenie; 'I ken she wasna wiselike, sic as you and my +mither. She needit a heap o' luikin efter, as ye said.' + +'And wi' haein to luik efter her, he kenned that the thouchts that +troubled ye wudna sae weel win in, and wud learn to bide oot. Jist luik +at ye noo! See hoo ye hae learnt to luik efter yersel! Ye saw it cudna +be agreeable to her to hae ye aboot her no that weel washed, and wi' +claes ye didna keep tidy and clean! Sin' ever ye tuik to luikin efter +Phemy, I hae had little trouble luikin efter you!' + +'I see't, Kirsty, I see't! I never thoucht o' the thing afore! I micht +du a heap to mak mysel mair like ither fowk! I s' no forget, noo 'at I +hae gotten a grip o' the thing. Ye'll see, Kirsty!' + +'That's my ain Steenie!' answered Kirsty. 'Maybe the bonny man cudna be +aye comin to ye himsel, haein ither fowk a heap to luik til, and sae +sent Phemy to lat ye ken what he would hae o' ye. Noo 'at ye hae begun, +ye'll be growin mair and mair like ither fowk.' + +'Eh, but ye fleg me! I may grow ower like ither fowk! I maun awa oot, +Kirsty! I'm growin fleyt.' + +'What for, Steenie?' cried Kirsty, not a little frightened herself, and +laying her hand on his arm. She feared his old trouble was returning in +force. + +''Cause ither fowk never sees the bonny man, they tell me,' he replied. + +'That's their ain wyte,' answered Kirsty. 'They micht a' see him gien +they wud--or at least hear him say they sud see him or lang.' + +'Eh, but I'm no sure 'at ever I did see him, Kirsty!' + +'That winna haud ye ohn seen him whan the hoor comes. And the like's +true o' the lave.' + +'Ay, for I canna du wantin him--and sae nouther can they!' + +'Naebody can. A' maun hae seen him, or be gaein to see him.' + +'I hae as guid as seen him, Kirsty! He was there! He helpit me whan the +ill folk cam to pu' at me!--Ye div think though, Kirsty, 'at I'm b'un' +to see him some day?' + +'I'm thinkin the hoor's been aye set for that same!' answered Kirsty. + +'Kirsty,' returned Steenie, not quite satisfied with her reply, 'I'll +gang clean oot the wuts I hae, gien ye tell me I'm never to see him +face to face!' + +'Steenie,' rejoined Kirsty solemnly, 'I wud gang oot o' my wuts mysel +gien I didna believe that! I believe 't wi' a' my heart, my bonny man.' + +'Weel, and that's a' richt! But ye maunna ca' me yer bonny man, Kirsty; +for there's but ae bonny man, and we 're a' brithers and sisters. He +said it himsel!' + +'That's verra true, Steenie; but whiles ye're sae like him I canna help +ca'in ye by his name.' + +'Dinna du't again, Kirsty. I canna bide it. I'm no bonny! No but I wud +sair like to be bonny--bonny like him, Kirsty!--Did ye ever hear tell +'at he had a father? I h'ard a man ance say 'at he bed. Sic a bonny man +as that father maun be! Jist think o' his haein a son like _him_!-- +Dauvid Barclay maun be richt sair disappintit wi' sic a son as me--and +him sic a man himsel! What for is't, Kirsty?' + +'That 'll be are o' the secrets the bonny man's gaein to tell his ain +fowk whan he gets them hame wi' him!' + +'His ain fowk, Kirsty?' + +'Ay, siclike's you and me. Whan we gang hame, he'll tell's a' aboot a +heap o' things we wad fain ken.' + +'His ain fowk! His ain fowk!' Steenie went on for a while murmuring to +himself at intervals. At last he said, + +'What maks them his ain fowk, Kirsty?' + +'What maks me your fowk, Steenie?' she rejoined. + +'That's easy to tell! It's 'cause we hae the same father and mither; I +hae aye kenned that!' answered Steenie with a laugh. + +She had been trying to puzzle him, he thought, but had failed! + +'Weel, the bonny man and you and me, we hae a' the same father: that's +what maks us his ain fowk!--Ye see noo?' + +'Ay, I see! I see!' responded Steenie, and again was silent. + +Kirsty thought he had plenty now to meditate upon. + +'Are ye comin hame wi' me,' she asked, 'or are ye gaein to bide, +Steenie?' + +'I'll gang hame wi' ye, gien ye like, but I wud raither bide the +nicht,' he answered. 'I'll hae jist this ae nicht mair oot upo' the +hill, and syne the morn I'll come hame to the hoose, and see gien I can +help my mither, or maybe my father. That's what the bonny man wud like +best, I'm sure.' + +Kirsty went home with a glad heart: surely Steenie was now in a fair +way of becoming, as he phrased it, 'like ither fowk'! 'But the Lord's +gowk's better nor the warl's prophet!' she said to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE HORN + + +The beginning of the winter had been open and warm, and very little +snow had fallen. This was much in Phemy's favour, and by the new year +she was quite well. But, notwithstanding her heartlessness toward +Steenie, she was no longer quite like her old self. She was quieter and +less foolish; she had had a lesson in folly, and a long ministration of +love, and knew now a trifle about both. It is true she wrote nearly as +much silly poetry, but it was not so silly as before, partly because +her imagination had now something of fact to go upon, and poorest fact +is better than mere fancy. So free was her heart, however, that she +went of herself to see her aunt at the castle, to whom, having beheld +the love between David and his daughter, and begun to feel injured by +the little notice her father took of her, she bewailed his +indifference. + +At Mrs. Bremner's request she had made an appointment to go with her +from the castle on a certain Saturday to visit a distant relative, +living in a lonely cottage on the other side of the Horn--a woman too +old ever to leave her home. When the day arrived, both saw that the +weather gave signs of breaking, but the heavy clouds on the horizon +seemed no worse than had often shown themselves that winter, and as +often passed away. The air was warm, the day bright, the earth dry, and +Phemy and her aunt were in good spirits. They had purposed to return +early to Weelset, but agreed as they went that Phemy, the days being so +short, should take the nearer path to Tiltowie, over the Horn. By this +arrangement, their visit ended, they had no great distance to walk +together, Mrs. Bremner's way lying along the back of the hill, and +Phemy's over the nearer shoulder of it. + +As they took leave of each other a little later than they had intended, +Mrs. Bremner cast a glance at the gathering clouds, and said, + +'I doobt, lassie, it's gaein to ding on afore the nicht! I wuss we war +hame the twa o' 's! Gien it cam on to snaw and blaw baith, we micht hae +ill winnin there!' + +'Noucht's to fear, auntie,' returned Phemy. 'It's a heap ower warm to +snaw. It may rain--I wudna won'er, but there'll be nae snaw--no afore I +win hame, onygait.' + +'Weel, min', gien there be ae drap o' weet, ye maun change ilka stic +the minute ye're i' the hoose. Ye're no that stoot yet!' + +'I'll be sure, auntie!' answered Phemy, and they parted almost at a +right angle. + +Before Phemy got to the top of the hill-shoulder, which she had to +cross by a path no better than a sheep-track, the wind had turned to +the north, and was blowing keen, with gathering strength, from the +regions of everlasting ice, bringing with it a cold terrible to be +faced by such a slight creature as Phemy; and so rapidly did its force +increase that in a few minutes she had to fight for every step she +took; so that, when at length she reached the top, which lay bare to +the continuous torrent of fierce and fiercer rushes, her strength was +already all but exhausted. The wind brought up heavier and heavier +snow-clouds, and darkness with them, but before ever the snow began to +fall, Phemy was in evil case--in worse case, indeed, than she could +know. In a few minutes the tempest had blown all energy out of her, and +she sat down where was not a stone to shelter her. When she rose, +afraid to sit longer, she could no more see the track through the +heather than she could tell without it in which direction to turn. She +began to cry, but the wind did not heed her tears; it seemed determined +to blow her away. And now came the snow, filling the wind faster and +faster, until at length the frightful blasts had in them, perhaps, more +bulk of blinding and dizzying snowflakes than of the air which drove +them. They threatened between them to fix her there in a pillar of +snow. It would have been terrible indeed for Phemy on that waste +hillside, but that the cold and the tempest speedily stupefied her. + +Kirsty always enjoyed the winter heartily. For one thing, it roused her +poetic faculty--oh, how different in its outcome from Phemy's!--far +more than the summer. That very afternoon, leaving Steenie with his +mother, she paid a visit to the weem, and there, in the heart of the +earth, made the following little song, addressed to the sky-soaring +lark:-- + + What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? + On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + + A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in, + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! + The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi' a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + + Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, + Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + + But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! + I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + + Len' me yer throat to sing throuw, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, + And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + +Long before she had finished writing it, the world was dark outside. +She had heard but little heeded the roaring of the wind over her: when +at length she put her head up out of the earth, it seized her by the +hair as if it would drag it off. It took her more than an hour to get +home. + +In the meantime Steenie had been growing restless. Coming wind often +affected him so. He had been out with his father, who expected a storm, +to see that all was snug about byres and stables, and feed the few +sheep in an outhouse; now he had come in, and was wandering about the +house, when his mother prevailed on him to sit down by the fireside +with her. The clouds had gathered thick, and the afternoon was very +dark, but all was as yet still. He called his dog, and Snootie lay down +at his feet, ready for what might come. Steenie sat on a stool, with +his head on his mother's knee, and for a while seemed lost in thought. +Then, without moving or looking up, he said, as if thinking aloud,-- + +'It maun be fine fun up there amang thae cloods afore the flauks begin +to spread!' + +'What mean ye by that, Steenie, my man?' asked his mother. + +'They maun be packit sae close, sae unco close i' their muckle pocks, +like the feathers in a feather-bed! and syne, whan they lat them a' oot +thegither, like haudin the bed i' their twa ban's by the boddom +corners, they maun be smorin thick till they begin to spread!' + +'And wha think ye shaks oot the muckle pocks, Steenie?' + +'I dinna ken. I hae aften thoucht aboot it. I dinna think it's likly to +be the angels. It's mair like wark for the bairnies up yoner at the +muckle ferm at hame, whaur ilk ane, to the littlest littlin, kens what +he's aboot, and no ane o' them's like some o' 's doon here, 'at gangs +a' day in a dream, and canna get oorsels waukent oot o' 't. I wud be +surer but that I hae thoucht whiles I saw the muckle angels themsels +gaein aboot, throu and throu the ondingin flauchter o' the snaw--no +mony o' them, ye ken, but jist whiles ane and whiles anither, throu +amo' the cauld feathers, gaein aye straught wi' their heids up, walkin +comfortable, as gien they war at hame in't. I'm thinkin at sic a time +they'll be efter helpin some puir body 'at the snaw's like to be ower +muckle for. Eh me! gien I cud but get rid o' my feet, and win up to +see!' + +'What for yer feet, Steenie? What ails ye aye at yer feet? Feet's gey +usefu' kin o' thing's to craturs, whether gien them in fours or twas!' + +'Ay, but mine's sic a weicht! It's them 'at's aye haudin me doon! I wad +hae been up and awa lang syne gien it hadna been for them!' + +'And what wud hae been comin o' hiz wantin ye, Steenie?' + +'Ye wad be duin sae weel wantin me, 'at ye wud be aye wantin to be up +and efter me! A body's feet's nae doobt usefu to hand a body steady, +and ohn gane blawin aboot, but eh, they're unco cummarsum! But syne +they're unco guid tu to hand a body ohn thoucht owre muckle o' himsel! +They're fine heumblin things, a body's feet! But, eh, it'll be fine +wantin them!' + +'Whaur on earth gat ye sic notions aboot yer feet? Guid kens there's +naething amiss wi' yer feet! Nouther o' ye hes ony rizzon to be ashamit +o' yer feet. The fac is, your feet's by ordinar sma', Steenie, and can +add but unco little to yer weicht!' + +'It's a' 'at ye ken, mother!' answered Steenie with a smile. 'But, +'deed, I got my information aboot the feet o' fowk frae naegate i' this +warl'! The bonny man himsel sent word aboot them. He tellt the minister +'at tellt me, ance I was at the kirk wi' you, mother--lang, lang syne-- +twa or three hun'er years, I'm thinkin'. The bonny man tellt his ain +fowk first that he was gaein awa in order that they michtna be able to +do wantin him, and bude to stir themselves and come up efter him. And +syne he slippit aff his feet, and gaed awa up intil the air whaur the +snaw comes frae. And ever sin syne he comes and gangs as he likes. And +efter that be telled the minister to tell hiz 'at we was to lay aside +the weicht that sae easy besets us, and rin. Noo by _rin_ he maun hae +meaned _rin up_, for a body's no to rin frae the deevil but resist him; +and what is't that hauds onybody frae rinnin up the air but his feet? +There!--But he's promised to help me aff wi' my feet some day: think o' +that!--Eh, gien I cud but get my feet aff! Eh, gien they wad but stick +i' my shune, and gang wi' them whan I pu' them aff! They're naething +efter a', ye ken, but the shune o' my sowl!' + +A gust of wind drove against the house, and sank as suddenly. + +'That'll be ane o' them!' said Steenie, rising hastily. 'He'll be +wantin me! It's no that aften they want onything o' me ayont the fair +words a' God's craturs luik for frae ane anither, but whiles they do +want me, and I'm thinkin they want me the nicht. I maun be gaein!' + +'Hoots, laddie!' returned his mother, 'what can they be wantin, thae +gran' offishers, o' siclike as you? Sit ye doon, and bide till they cry +ye plain. I wud fain hae ye safe i' the hoose the nicht!' + +'It's a' his hoose, mother! A' theroot's therein to him. He's in's ain +hoose a' the time, and I'm jist as safe atween his wa's as atween +yours. Didna naebody ever tell ye that, mother? Weel, I ken it to be +true! And for wantin sic like as me, gien God never has need o' a +midge, what for dis he mak sic a lot o' them?' + +''Deed it's true eneuch ye say!' returned his mother. 'But I div won'er +ye're no fleyt!' + +'Fleyt!' rejoined Steenie; 'what for wud I be fleyt? What is there to +be fleyt at? I never was fleyt at face o' man or wuman--na, nor o' +beast naither!--I was ance, and never but that ance, fleyt at the face +o' a bairn!' + +'And what for that, Steenie? + +'He was rinnin efter his wee sister to lick her, and his face was the +face o' a deevil. He nearhan' garred me hate him, and that wud hae been +a terrible sin. But, eh, puir laddie, he bed a richt fearsome wife to +the mither o' him! I'm thinkin the bonny man maun hae a heap o' tribble +wi' siclike, be they bairns or mithers!' + +'Eh, but ye're i' the richt there, laddie!--Noo hearken to me: ye +maunna gang the nicht!' said his mother anxiously. 'Gien yer father and +Kirsty wad but come in to persuaud ye! I'm clean lost wi'oot them!' + +'For the puir idiot hasna the sense to ken what's wantit o' him!' +supplemented Steenie, with a laugh almost merry. + +'Daur ye,' cried his mother indignantly, 'mint at sic a word and my +bairn thegither? He's my bonny man!' + +'Na, mother, na! _He's_ the bonny man at wha's feet I sall ae day sit, +clothed and i' my richt min'. He _is_ the bonny man!' + +'Thank the Lord,' continued his mother, still harping on the outrage of +such as called her child an idiot,' 'at ye're no an orphan--'at +there's three o' 's to tak yer part!' + +'Naebody can be an orphan,' said Steenie, 'sae lang's God's nae deid.' + +'Lord, and they ca' ye an idiot, div they!' exclaimed Marion Barclay.-- +'Weel, be ye or no, ye're ane o' the babes in wha's mooth he perfecteth +praise!' + +'He'll du that some day, maybe!' answered Steenie. + +'But! eh, Steenie,' pursued his mother, 'ye winna gang the nicht!' + +'Mother,' he answered, 'ye dinna ken, nor yet do I, what to mak o' me-- +what wits I hae, and what wits I haena; but this ye'll alloo, that, for +onything ye ken, the bonny man may be cryin upon me to gang efter some +puir little yowie o' his, oot her lane i' the storm the nicht!' + +With these words he walked gently from the kitchen, his dog following +him. + +A terrible blast rushed right into the fire when he opened the door. +But he shut it behind him easily, and his mother comforted herself that +she had known him out in worse weather. Kirsty entered a moment after, +and when her father came in from the loft he called his workshop, they +had their tea, and sat round the fire after it, peacefully talking, a +little troubled, but nowise uneasy that their Steenie, the darling of +them all, was away on the Horn: he knew every foot of its sides better +than the collie who, a moment ago asleep before the fire, was now +following at his master's heel. + +The wind, which had fallen immediately after the second gust as after +the first, now began to blow with gathering force, and it took Steenie +much longer than usual to make his way over height and hollow from his +father's house to his own. But he was in no hurry, not knowing where he +was wanted. I do not think he met any angels as he went, but it was a +pleasure to think they might be about somewhere, for they were sorry +for his heavy feet, and always greeted him kindly. Not that they ever +spoke to him, he said, but they always made a friendly gesture--nodding +a stately head, waving a strong hand, or sending him a waft of cool air +as they went by, a waft that would come to him through the fiercest +hurricane as well as through the stillest calm. + +Before, strong-toiling against the wind, man and dog reached their +refuge among the rocks, the snow had begun to fall, and the night +seemed solid with blackness. The very flakes might have been black as +the snow of hell for any gleam they gave. But they arrived at last, and +Steenie, making Snootie go in before him, entered the low door with +bent head, and closed it behind them. The dog lay down weary, but +Steenie set about lighting the peats ready piled between the great +stones of the hearth. The wind howled over the waste hill in +multitudinous whirls, and swept like a level cataract over the ghastly +bog at its foot, but scarce a puff blew against the door of their +burrow. + +When his fire was well alight, Steenie seated himself by it on the +sheepskin settle, and fell into a reverie. How long he had sat thus he +did not know, when suddenly the wind fell, and with the lull master and +dog started together to their feet: was it indeed a cry they had heard, +or but a moan between wind and mountain? The dog flew to the door with +a whine, and began to sniff and scratch at the crack of the threshold; +Steenie, thinking it was still dark, went to get a lantern Kirsty had +provided him with, but which he had never yet had occasion to use. The +dog ran back to him, and began jumping upon him, indicating thus in the +dark recess where he found him that he wanted him to open the door. A +moment more and they were in the open universe, in a night all of snow, +lighted by the wide swooning gleam of a hidden moon, whose radiance, +almost absorbed, came filtering through miles of snow-cloud to reach +the world. Nothing but snow was to be seen in heaven or earth, but for +the present no more was falling. Steenie set the lighted lantern by the +door, and followed Snootie, who went sniffing and snuffing about. + +Steenie always regarded inferior animals, and especially dogs, as a +lower sort of angels, with ways of their own, into which it would be +time to inquire by and by, when either they could talk or he could bark +intelligently and intelligibly--in which it used to annoy him that he +had not yet succeeded. It was in part his intense desire to enter into +the thoughts of his dog, that used to make him imitate him the most of +the day. I think he put his body as nearly into the shape of the dog's +as he could, in order thus to aid his mind in feeling as the dog was +feeling. + +As the dog seemed to have no scent of anything, Steenie, after +considering for a moment what he must do, began to walk in a spiral, +beginning from the door, with the house for the centre. He had thus got +out of the little valley on to the open hill, and the wind had begun to +threaten reawaking, when Snootie, who was a little way to one side of +him, stopped short, and began scratching like a fury in the snow. +Steenie ran to him, and dropped on his knees to help him: he had +already got a part of something clear! It was the arm of a woman. So +deep was the snow over her, that the cry he and the dog had heard, +could not surely have been uttered by her! He was gently clearing the +snow from the head, and the snow-like features were vaguely emerging, +when the wind gave a wild howl, the night grew dark again, and in +bellowing blackness the death-silent snow was upon them. But in a +moment or two more, with Snootie's vigorous aid, he had drawn the body +of a slight, delicately formed woman out of it's cold, white mould. +Somehow, with difficulty, he got it on his back, the only way he could +carry it, and staggered away with it toward his house. Thus laden, he +might never have found it, near as it was, for he was not very strong, +and the ground was very rough as well as a little deep in snow, but +they had left such a recent track that the guidance of the dog was +sure. The wise creature did not, however, follow the long track, but +led pretty straight across the spiral for the hut. + +The body grew heavy on poor Steenie's back, and the cold of it came +through to his spine. It was so cold that it must be a dead thing, he +thought. His breathing grew very short, compelling him, several times, +to stop and rest. His legs became insensible under him, and his feet +got heavier and heavier in the snow-filled, entangling, impeding +heather. + +What if it were Phemy! he thought as he struggled on. Then he would +have the beautiful thing all to himself! But this was a dead thing, he +feared--only a thing, and no woman at all! Of course it couldn't be +Phemy! She was at home, asleep in her father's house! He had always +shrunk from death; even a dead mouse he could not touch without a +shudder; but this was a woman, and might come alive! It belonged to the +bonny man, anyhow, and he would stay out with it all night rather than +have it lie there alone in the snow! He would not be afraid of her: he +was nearly dead himself, and the dead were not afraid of the dead! She +had only put off her shoes! But she might be alive, and he must get her +into the house! He would like to put off his feet, but most people +would rather keep them on, and he must try to keep hers on for her! + +With fast failing energy he reached the door, staggered in, dropped his +burden gently on his own soft heather-bed, and fell exhausted. He lay +but a moment, came to himself, rose, and looked at the lovely thing he +had laboured to redeem from 'cold obstruction.' It lay just as it had +fallen from his back, its face uppermost: it _was_ Phemy! + +For a moment his blood seemed to stand still; then all the divine +senses of the half-witted returned to him. There was no time to be +sorrowful over her: he must save the life that might yet be in that +frozen form! He had nothing in the house except warmth, but warmth more +than aught else was what the cold thing needed! With trembling hands he +took off her half-thawed clothes, laid her in the thick blankets of his +bed, and covered her with every woollen thing in the hut. Then he made +up a large fire, in the hope that some of its heat might find her. + +She showed no sign of life. Her eyes were fast shut: those who die of +cold only sleep into a deeper sleep. Not a trace of suffering was to be +seen on her countenance. Death alone, pure, calm, cold, and sweet, was +there. But Steenie had never seen Death, and there was room for him to +doubt and hope. He laid one fold of a blanket over the lovely white +face, as he had seen a mother do with a sleeping infant, called his +dog, made him lie down on her feet, and told him to watch; then turned +away, and went to the door. As he passed the fire, he coughed and grew +faint, but recovering himself, picked up his fallen stick, and set out +for Corbyknowe and Kirsty. Once more the wind had ceased, but the snow +was yet falling. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE STORM AGAIN + + +Kirsty woke suddenly out of a deep, dreamless sleep. A white face was +bending over her--Steenie's--whiter than ever Kirsty had seen it. He +was panting, and his eyes were huge. She started up. + +'Come; come!' was all he was able to say. + +'What's the metter, Steenie?' she gasped. For a quarter of a minute he +stood panting, unable to speak. + +'I'm no thinkin onything's gane wrong,' he faltered at length with an +effort, recovering breath and speech a little. 'The bonny man--' + +He burst into tears and turned his head away. A vision of the white, +lovely, motionless thing, whose hand had fallen from his like a lump of +lead, lying alone at the top of the Horn, with the dog on her feet, had +overwhelmed him suddenly. + +Kirsty was sore distressed. She dreaded the worst when she saw him thus +lose the self-restraint hitherto so remarkable in him. She leaned from +her bed, threw her arms round him, and drew him to her, kneeled, laid +his head on her bosom, and wept as she had never known him weep. + +'I'll tak care o' ye, Steenie, my man!' she murmured. 'Fear ye +naething.' + +It is amazing how much, in the strength of its own divinity, love will +dare promise! + +'Ay, Kirsty, I ken ye wull, but it's no me!' said Steenie. + +Thereupon he gave a brief, lucid account of what had occurred in the +night. + +'And noo 'at I hae telt ye,' he added, 'it luiks a' sae strange 'at +maybe I hae been but dreamin, efter a'! But it maun be true, for that +maun hae been what the angels cam cryin upo' me for. I'm thinkin they +wud hae broucht me straucht til her themsels--they maistly gang aboot +in twas, as whan they gaed and waukent the bonny man--gien it hadna +been 'at the guid collie was aiqual to that!' + +Kirsty told him to go and rouse the kitchen fire, and she would be with +him in a minute. She sprang out of bed, and dressed as fast as she +could, thinking what she had best take with her. 'The puir lassie,' she +said to herself, 'may be growin warm, and sleepin deith awa; and by the +time we win there she'll be needin something, like the lassie 'at the +Lord liftit!' But in her heart she had little hope: it would be a sad +day for the schoolmaster. + +She went to her father and mother's room, found them awake, and told +them Steenie's tale. + +'It's time we war up, wuman!' said David. + +'Ay,' returned his wife, 'but Kirsty canna bide for 's. Ye maun be aff, +lassie! Tak a wee whusky wi' ye; but min' it's no that safe wi' frozen +fowk. Het milk's the best thing. Tak a drappie o' that wi' ye. I s' be +efter ye wi' mair. And dinna forget a piece to uphaud ye as ye gang; +it'll be ill fechtin the win'. Dinna lat Steenie gang back wi' ye; he +canna be fit. Sen' him to me, and I'll persuaud him.--Dauvid, man, +ye'll hae to saiddle and ride; the doctor maun gang wi' ye straught to +Steenie's hoose.' + +'Lat me up,' said David, making a motion to free himself of the +bedclothes. + +Kirsty went, and got some milk to make it hot. But when she reached the +kitchen, Steenie was not there, and the fire, which he had tried to +wake up, was all but black. The house-door was open, and the snow +drifting in. Steenie was gone into the storm again! She hurriedly +poured the milk into a small bottle, and thrust it into her bosom to +grow warm as she went. Then she lighted a lantern, chiefly that Steenie +might catch sight of it, and set out. + +She started running, certain, she thought, to overtake him. The wind +was up again, but it was almost behind her, and the night was not +absolutely dark, for the moon was somewhere. She was far stronger than +Steenie, and could walk faster, but, keen as was her outlook on all +sides, for the snow was not falling too thick to let her see a little +way through it, she was at length near the top of the Horn without +having caught a glimpse of him. Had he dropped on the way? Had she in +her haste left him after all in the house? She might have passed him; +that was easy to do. One thing she was sure of--he could not have got +to his house before her! + +As she drew near the door she heard a short howl, and knew it for +Snootie's. Perhaps Phemy had revived! But no! it was a desolate, +forsaken cry! The next moment came a glad bark: was it the footstep of +Kirsty it greeted, or the soul of Phemy? + +With steady hand, and heart prepared, she opened the door and went in. +The dog came bounding to her: either he counted himself relieved, or +could bear it no longer. He cringed at her feet; he leaped upon her; he +saw in her his saviour from the terrible silence and cold and +motionlessness. Then he stood still before her, looking up to her, and +wagging his tail, but his face said plainly: _It is there_! + +Kirsty hesitated a moment; a weary sense of uselessness had overtaken +her, and she shrank from encountering the unchanging and unchangeable; +but she cast off the oppression, and followed the dog to the bedside. +He jumped up, and lay down where his master had placed him, as if to +say he knew his duty, had been lying there all the time, and had only +got up the moment she came. It was the one warm spot in all the woollen +pile; the feet beneath it were cold as the snow outside, and the lovely +form lay motionless as a thing that would never move again. Kirsty +lifted the blanket: there was Phemy's face, blind with the white death! +It did not look at her, did not recognise her: Phemy was there and not +there! Phemy was far away! Phemy could not move from where she lay! + +Hopeless, Kirsty yet tried her best to wake her from her snow-sleep, +shrinking from nothing, except for the despair of it. But long ere she +gave up the useless task, she was thinking far more about Steenie than +Phemy. + +He did not come! 'He must be safe with his mother!' she kept saying in +her heart; but she could not reassure herself. The forsaken fire, the +open door haunted her. She would succeed for a moment or two in +quieting her fears, calling them foolish; the next they would rush upon +her like a cataract, and almost overwhelm her. While she was busy with +the dead, he might be slowly sinking into the sleep from which she +could not wake Phemy! + +She laid the cold snow-captive straight, and left her to sleep on. +Then, calling the dog, she left the hut, in the hope of meeting her +mother, and learning that Steenie was at home. + +Now and then, while at her sad task, she had been reminded of the wind +by its hollow roaring all about the hill, but not until she opened the +door had she any notion how the snow was falling; neither until she +left the hollow for the bare hill-side did she realize how the wind was +raging. Then indeed the world looked dangerous! If Steenie was out, if +her mother had started, they were lost! She would have gone back into +the hut with the dead, but that she might get home in time to prevent +her mother from setting out, or might meet her on the way. At the same +time the tempest between her and her home looked but a little less +terrible to her than a sea breaking on a rocky shore. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +HOW KIRSTY FARED + + +It was quite dark, and round her swept as it were a whirlpool of snow. +The swift fakes struck at her eyes and ears like a swarm of vicious +flies. In such a wind, the blows of the soft thin snow, beating upon +her face, now from one quarter, now from another, were enough to +bewilder even a strong woman like Kirsty. They were like hail to a +horse. After trying for a while to force her way, she suddenly became +aware of utter ignorance as to the direction in which she was going, +and, for the first time in her life, a fell terror possessed her--not +for herself, but for Steenie and her father and mother. To herself, +Kirsty was nobody, but she belonged to David and Marion Barclay, and +what were they and Steenie to do without her! They would go on looking +for her till they too died, and were buried yards deep in the snow! + +She kept struggling on, her head bent, and her body leaning forward, +forcing herself against, it hardly seemed through, the snow-filled +wind--but whither? It was only by the feel of the earth under her feet, +that she could tell, and at times she was by no means sure, whether she +was going up or down hill. She kept on and on, almost hopeless of +getting anywhere, certain of nothing but that, if once she sat down, +she would never rise again. Fatigue that must not yield, and the +in-roads of the cold sleep, at length affected her brain, and her +imagination began to take its own way with her. She thought herself +condemned to one of those awful dust-towers, for she had read Prideaux, +specially devilish invention of the Persians, in which by the constant +stirring of the dust so that it filled the air, the lungs of the +culprit were at length absolutely choked up. Dead of the dust, she +revived to the snow: it was fearfully white, for it was all dead faces; +she crushed and waded through those that fell, while multitudes came +whirling upon her from all sides. Gladly would she have thrown herself +down among them, but she must walk, walk on for ever! + +All the time, she felt in her dim suffering as if not she but those at +home suffered: she had deserted them in trouble, and do what she might +she would never get back to them! She could, she thought, if she but +put forth the needful energy, but the last self-exhaustive effort never +would come! + +Where was the dog? He had left her! he was nowhere near her! She tried +to call him, but the storm choked every sound in her very throat. He +would never have left her to save himself! He who makes the dogs must +be at least as faithful as they! So she was not left comfortless! + +Then she heard, or thought she heard the church-bell, and that may have +had something to do with the strange dream out of which she came +gradually to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +KIRSTY'S DREAM + + +Her dream was this:-- + +She sat at the communion-table in her own parish-church, with many +others, none of whom she knew. A man with piercing eyes went along the +table, examining the faces of all to see if they were fit to partake. +When he came to Kirsty, he looked at her for a moment sharply, then +said, 'That woman is dead. She has been in the snow all night. Lay her +in the vault under the church.' She rose to go because she was dead, +and hands were laid upon her to guide her as she went. They brought her +out of the church into the snow and wind, and turned away to leave her. +But she remonstrated: 'The man with the eyes,' she said, 'gave the +order that I should be taken to the vault of the church!'--'Very well,' +answered a voice, 'there is the vault! creep into it.' She saw an +opening in the ground, at the foot of the wall of the church, and +getting down on her hands and knees, crept through it, and with +difficulty got into the vault. There all was still. She heard the wind +raving, but it sounded afar off. Who had guided her thither? One of +Steenie's storm-angels, or the Shepherd of the sheep? It was all one, +for the storm-angels were his sheep-dogs! She had been bewildered by +the terrible beating of the snow-wind, but her own wandering was +another's guiding! Beyond the turmoil of life and unutterably glad, she +fell asleep, and the dream left her. In a little while, however, it +came again. + +She was lying, she thought, on the stone-floor of the church-vault, and +wondered whether the examiner, notwithstanding the shining of his eyes, +might not have made a mistake: perhaps she was not so very dead! +Perhaps she was not quite unfit to eat of the bread of life after all! +She moved herself a little; then tried to rise, but failed; tried again +and again, and at last succeeded. All was dark around her, but +something seemed present that was known to her--whether man, or woman, +or beast, or thing, she could not tell. At last she recognised it; it +was a familiar odour, a peculiar smell, of the kind we call earthy:--it +was the air of her own earth-house, in days that seemed far away! +Perhaps she was in it now! Then her box of matches might be there too! +She felt about and found it. With trembling hands she struck one, and +proceeded to light her lamp. + +It burned up. Something seized her by the heart. + +A little farther in, stretched on the floor, lay a human form on its +face. She knew at once that it was Steenie's. The feet were toward her, +and between her and them a pair of shoes: he was dead!--he had got rid +of his feet!--he was gone after Phemy--gone to the bonny man! She +knelt, and turned the body over. Her heart was like a stone. She raised +his head on her arm: it was plain he was dead. A small stream of blood +had flowed from his mouth, and made a little pool, not yet quite +frozen. Kirsty's heart seemed about to break from her bosom to go after +him; then the eternal seemed to descend upon her like a waking sleep, a +clear consciousness of peace. It was for a moment as if she saw the +Father at the heart of the universe, with all his children about his +knees: her pain and sorrow and weakness were gone; she wept glad tears +over the brother called so soon from the nursery to the great presence +chamber. 'Eh, bonny man!' she cried; 'is 't possible to expec ower +muckle frae your father and mine!' + +She sat down beside what was left of Steenie, and ate of the oatcake, +and drink of the milk she had carried forgotten until now. + +'I won'er what God 'll du wi' the twa!' she said to herself. 'Gien _I_ +lo'ed them baith as I did, _he_ lo'es them better! _I_ wud hae dee'd +for them; _he_ did!' + +She rose and went out. + +Light had come at last, but too dim to be more than gray. The world was +one large white sepulchre in which the earth lay dead. Warmth and hope +and spring seemed gone for ever. But God was alive; his hearth-fire +burned; therefore death was nowhere! She knew it in her own soul, for +the Father was there, and she knew that in his soul were all the loved. +The wind had ceased, but the snow was still falling, here and there a +flake. A faint blueness filled the air, and was colder than the white. +Whether the day was at hand or the night, she could not distinguish. +The church bell began to ring, sounding from far away through the +silence: what mountains of snow must yet tower unfallen in the heavens, +when it was nearly noon, and still so dark! But Steenie was out of the +snow--that was well! Or perhaps he was beside her in it, only he could +leave it when he would! Surely anyhow Phemy must be with him! She could +not be left all alone and she so silly! Steenie would have her to +teach! His trouble must have gone the moment he died, but Phemy would +have to find out what a goose she was! She would be very miserable, and +would want Steenie! Kirsty's thoughts cut their own channels: she was +as far ahead of her church as the woman of Samaria was ahead of the +high priest at Jerusalem. + +Thus thinking, thinking, she kept on walking through the snow to weep +on her mother's bosom. Suddenly she remembered, and stood still: her +mother was going to follow her to Steenie's house! She too must be dead +in the snow!--Well, let Heaven take all! They were born to die, and it +was her turn now to follow her mother! She started again for home, and +at length drew near the house. + +It was more like a tomb than a house. The door looked as if no one had +gone in there or out for ages. Had she slept in the snow like the seven +sleepers in the cave? Were the need and the use of houses and doors +long over? Or was she a ghost come to have one look more at her old +home in a long dead world? Perhaps her father and mother might have +come back with like purpose, and she would see and speak to them! Or +was she, alas! only in a dream, in which the dead would not speak to +her? But God was not dead, and while God lived she was not alone even +in a dream! + +A dark bundle lay on the door-step: it was Snootie. He had been +scratching and whining until despair came upon him, and he lay down to +die. + +She lifted the latch, stepped over the dog, and entered. The peat-fire +was smouldering low on tho hearth. She sat down and closed her eyes. +When she opened them, there lay Snootie, stretched out before the fire! +She rose and shut the door, fed and roused the fire, and brought the +dog some milk, which he lapped up eagerly. + +Not a sound was in the house. She went all over it. Father nor mother +was there. It was Sunday, and all the men were away. A cow lowed, and +in her heart Kirsty blessed her: she was a live creature! She would go +and milk her! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +HOW DAVID FARED + + +David Barclay got up the moment Kirsty was out of the room, dressed +himself in haste, swallowed a glass of whisky, saddled the gray mare, +gave her a feed of oats, which she ate the faster that she felt the +saddle, and set out for Tiltowie to get the doctor. Threatening as the +weather was, he was well on the road before the wind became so full of +snow as to cause him any anxiety, either for those on the hill or for +himself. But after the first moment of anxiety, a very few minutes +convinced him that a battle with the elements was at hand more +dangerous than he had ever had to fight with armed men. For some +distance the road was safe enough as yet, for the storm had not had +time to heap up the snow between the bordering hills; but by and by he +must come out upon a large track recovered by slow degrees and great +labour from the bog, and be exposed to the full force of the now +furious wind, where in many places it would be far easier to wander off +than to stay upon a road level with the fields, and not even bounded by +a ditch the size of a wheel-track. When he reached the open, therefore, +he was compelled to go at a footpace through the thick, blinding, +bewildering tempest-driven snow; and was not surprised when, in spite +of all his caution, he found, by the sudden sinking and withdrawing of +one of his mare's legs with a squelching noise, that he had got astray +upon the bog, nor knew any more in what direction the town or other +abode of humanity lay. The only thing he did know was the side of the +road to which he had turned; and that he knew only by the ground into +which he had got: no step farther must in that direction be attempted. +His mare seemed to know this as well as himself, for when she had +pulled her leg out, she drew back a pace, and stood; whereupon David +cast a knot on the reins, threw them on her neck, and told her to go +where she pleased. She turned half round and started at once, feeling +her way at first very carefully. Then she walked slowly on, with her +head hanging low. Again and again she stopped and snuffed, diverged a +little, and went on. + +The wind was packed rather than charged with snow. Men said there never +was a wind of the strength with so much snow in it. David began to +despair of ever finding the road again, and naturally in such strait +thought how much worse would Kirsty and Steenie be faring on the open +hill-side. His wife, he knew, could not have started before the storm +rose to tempest, and would delay her departure. Then came the +reflection, how little at any time could a father do for the wellbeing +of his children! The fact of their being children implied their need of +an all-powerful father: must there not then be such a father? Therewith +the truth dawned upon him, that first of truths, which all his +church-going and Bible-reading had hitherto failed to disclose, that, +for life to be a good thing and worth living, a man must be the child +of a perfect father, and know him. In his terrible perturbation about +his children, he lifted up his heart--not to the Governor of the world; +not to the God of Abraham or Moses; not in the least to the God of the +Kirk; least of all to the God of the Shorter Catechism; but to the +faithful creator and Father of David Barclay. The aching soul which +none but a perfect father could have created capable of deploring its +own fatherly imperfection, cried out to the father of fathers on behalf +of his children, and as he cried, a peace came stealing over him such +as he had never before felt. + +Then he knew that his mare had been for some time on hard ground, and +was going with purpose in her gentle trot. In five minutes more, he saw +the glimmer of a light through the snow. Near as it was, or he could +not have seen it, he failed repeatedly in finding his way to it. The +mare at length fell over a stone wall out of sight in the snow, and +when they got up they found themselves in a little garden at the end of +a farmhouse. Not, however, until the farmer came to the door, wondering +who on such a morning could be their visitor, did he know to what farm +the mare had brought him. Weary, and well aware that no doctor in his +senses would set out for the top of the Horn in such a tempest of black +and white, he gratefully accepted the shelter and refreshment of which +his mare and he stood by this time in much need, and waited for a lull +in the storm. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +HOW MARION FARED + + +In the meantime the mother of the family, not herself at the moment in +danger, began to suffer the most. It dismayed her to find, when she +came down, that Steenie had, as she thought, insisted on accompanying +Kirsty, but it was without any great anxiety that she set about +preparing food with which to follow them. + +She was bending over her fire, busy with her cooking, when all at once +the wind came rushing straight down the chimney, blew sleet into the +kitchen, blew soot into the pot, and nearly put out the fire. It was +but a small whirlwind, however, and presently passed. + +She went to the door, opened it a little way, and peeped out: the +morning was a chaos of blackness and snow and wind. She had been born +and brought up in a yet wilder region, but the storm threatened to be +such as in her experience was unparalleled. + +'God preserve 's!' cried the poor woman, 'can this be the en' o' +a'thing? Is the earth turnin intil a muckle snaw-wreath, 'at whan a' +are deid, there may be nae miss o' fowk to beery them? Eh, sic a +sepulchrin! Mortal wuman cudna carry a basket in sic a leevin +snaw-drift! Losh, she wudna carry hersel far! I maun bide a bit gien I +wad be ony succour till them! It's my basket they'll be wantin', no me; +and i' this drift, basket may flee but it winna float!' + +She turned to her cooking as if it were the one thing to save the +world. Let her be prepared for the best as well as for the worst! +Kirsty might find Phemy past helping, and bring Steenie home! Then +there was David, at that moment fighting for his life, perhaps!--if he +came home now, or any of the three, she must be ready to save their +lives! they must not perish on her hands. So she prepared for the +possible future, not by brooding on it, but by doing the work of the +present. She cooked and cooked, until there was nothing more to be done +in that way, and then, having thus cleared the way for it, sat down and +cried. There was a time for tears: the Bible said there was! and when +Marion's hands fell into her lap, their hour--and not till then, was +come. To go out after Kirsty would have been the bare foolishness of +suicide, would have been to abandon her husband and children against +the hour of their coming need: one of the hardest demands on the +obedience of faith is--to do nothing; it is often so much easier to do +foolishly! + +But she did not weep long. A moment more and she was up and at work +again, hanging a great kettle of water on the crook, and blowing up the +fire, that she might have hot bottles to lay in every bed. Then she +assailed the peat-stack in spite of the wind, making to it journey +after journey, until she had heaped a great pile of peats in the corner +nearest the hearth. + +The morning wore on; the storm continued raging; no news came from the +white world; mankind had vanished in the whirling snow. It was well the +men had gone home, she thought: there would only have been the more in +danger, the more to be fearful about, for all would have been abroad in +the drift, hopelessly looking for one another! But oh Steenie, Steenie! +and her ain Kirsty! + +About half-past ten o'clock the wind began to abate its violence, and +speedily sank to a calm, wherewith the snow lost its main terror. She +looked out; it was falling in straight, silent lines, flickering slowly +down, but very thick. She could find her way now! Hideous fears +assailed her, but she banished them imperiously: they should not sap +the energy whose every jot would be wanted! She caught up the bottle of +hot milk she had kept ready, wrapped it in flannel, tied it, with a +loaf of bread, in a shawl about her waist, made up the fire, closed the +door, and set out for Steenie's house on the Horn. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +HUSBAND AND WIFE + + +Two hours or so earlier, David, perceiving some Assuagement in the +storm, and his host having offered to go at once to the doctor and the +schoolmaster, had taken his mare, and mounted to go home. He met with +no impediment now except the depth of the snow, which made it so hard +for the mare to get along that, full of anxiety about his children, he +found the distance a weary one to traverse. + +When at length he reached the Knowe, no one was there to welcome him. +He saw, however, by the fire and the food, that Marion was not long +gone. He put up the gray, clothed her and fed her, drank some milk, +caught up a quarter of cakes, and started for the hill. + +The snow was not falling so thickly now, but it had already almost +obliterated the footprints of his wife. Still he could distinguish them +in places, and with some difficulty succeeded in following their track +until it was clear which route she had taken. They indicated the +easier, though longer way--not that by the earth-house, and the father +and daughter passed without seeing each other. When Kirsty got to the +farm, her father was following her mother up the hill. + +When David reached the Hillfauld, the name he always gave Steenie's +house, he found the door open, and walked in. His wife did not hear +him, for his iron-shod shoes were balled with snow. She was standing +over the body of Phemy, looking down on the white sleep with a solemn, +motherly, tearless face. She turned as he drew near, and the pair, like +the lovers they were, fell each in the other's arms. Marion was the +first to speak. + +'Eh Dauvid! God be praised I hae yersel!' + +'Is the puir thing gane?' asked her husband in an awe-hushed tone, +looking down on the maid that was not dead but sleeping. + +'I doobt there's no doobt aboot that,' answered Marion. 'Steenie, I was +jist thinkin, wud be sair disapp'intit to learn 'at there was. Eh, the +faith o' that laddie! H'aven to him's sic a rale place, and sic a +hantle better nor this warl', 'at he wad not only fain be there himsel, +but wad hae Phemy there--ay, gie it war ever sae lang afore himsel! Ye +see he kens naething aboot sin and the saicrifeece, and he disna +un'erstan 'at Phemy was aye a gey wull kin' o' a lassie!' + +'Maybe the bonny man, as Steenie ca's him,' returned David, 'may hae as +muckle compassion for the puir thing i' the hert o' 'im as Steenie +himsel!' + +'Ow ay! Whatfor no! But what can the bonny man himsel du, a' bein +sattlet?' + +'Dinna leemit the Almichty, wuman--and that i' the verra moment whan +he's been to hiz--I wunna say mair gracious nor ord'nar, for that cudna +be--but whan he's latten us see a bit plainer nor common that he is +gracious! The Lord o' mercy 'ill manage to luik efter the lammie he +made, ae w'y or ither, there as here. Ye daurna say he didna du his +best for her here, and wull he no du his best for her there as weel?' + +'Doobtless, Dauvid! But ye fricht me! It souns jist rank papistry-- +naither mair nor less! What _can_ he du? He canna dee again for ane 'at +wudna turn til 'im i' this life! The thing's no to be thoucht!' + +'Hoo ken ye that, wuman? Ye hae jist thoucht it yersel! Gien I was you, +I wudna daur to say what he cudna du! I' the meantime, what he maks me +able to houp, I'm no gaein to fling frae me!' + +David was a true man: he could not believe a thing with one half of his +mind, and care nothing about it with the other. He, like his Steenie, +believed in the bonny man about in the world, not in the mere image of +him standing in the precious shrine of the New Testament. + +After a brief silence-- + +'Whaur's Kirsty and Steenie?' he said. + +'The Lord kens; I dinna.' + +'They'll be safe eneuch.' + +'It's no likly.' + +'It's sartin,' said David. + +And therewith, by the side of the dead, he imparted to his wife the +thoughts that drove misery from his heart as he sat on his mare in the +storm with the reins on her neck, nor knew whither she went. + +'Ay, ay,' returned his wife after a pause, 'ye're unco richt, Dauvid, +as aye ye are! And I'm jist conscience-stricken to think 'at a' my life +lang I hae been ready to murn ower the sorrow i' _my_ hert, never +thinkin o' the glaidness i' God's! What call hed I to greit ower +Steenie, whan God maun hae been aye sair pleased wi' him! What sense is +there in lamentation sae lang's God's eident settin richt a'! His +hert's the safity o' oors. And eh, glaid sure he maun be, wi sic a lot +o' his bairns at hame aboot him!' + +'Ay,' returned David with a sigh, thinking of his old comrade and the +son he had left behind him, 'but there's the prodigal anes!' + +'Thank God, we hae nae prodigal!' + +'Aye, thank him!' rejoined David; 'but _he_ has prodigals that trouble +him sair, and we maun see til't 'at we binna thankless auld prodigals +oorsels!' + +Again followed a brief silence. + +'Eh, but isna it strange?' said Marion. 'Here's you and me stanin +murnin ower anither man's bairn, and naewise kennin what's come o' oor +ain twa!--Dauvid, what can hae come o' Steenie and Kirsty?' + +'The wull o' God's what's come o' them; and God hand me i' the grace o' +wussin naething ither nor that same!' + +'Haud to that, Dauvid, and hand me till't: we kenna what's comin!' + +'The wull o' God's comin,' insisted David. 'But eh,' he added, 'I'm +concernt for puir Maister Craig!' + +'Weel, lat's awa hame and see whether the twa bena there afore 's!--Eh, +but the sicht o' the bonny corp maun hae gien Steenie a sair hert! I +wudna won'er gien he never wan ower't i' this life!' + +'But what'll we du aboot it or we gang? It's the storm may come on +again waur nor ever, and mak it impossible to beery her for a month!' + +'We cudna carry her hame atween's, Dauvid--think ye?' + +'Na, na; it's no as gien it was hersel! And cauld's a fine keeper-- +better nor a' the embalmin o' the Egyptians! Only I'm fain to hand +Steenie ohn seen her again!' + +'Weel, lat's hap her i' the bonny white snaw!' said Marion. 'She'll +keep there as lang as the snaw keeps, and naething 'ill disturb her +till the time comes to lay her awa!' + +'That's weel thoucht o'!' answered David. 'Eh, wuman, but it's a bonny +beerial compared wi' sic as I hae aften gien comrade and foe alike!' + +They went out and chose a spot close by the house where the snow lay +deep. There they made a hollow, and pressed the bottom of it down hard. +Then they carried out and laid in it the death-frozen dove, and heaped +upon her a firm, white, marble-like tomb of heavenly new-fallen snow. + +Without re-entering it, they closed the door of Steenie's refuge, and +leaving the two deserted houses side by side, made what slow haste they +could, with anxious hearts, to their home. The snow was falling softly, +for the wind was still asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE + + +Kirsty saw their shadows darken the wall, and turning from her work at +the dresser, ran to the door to meet them. + +'God be thankit!' cried David. + +Marion gave her daughter one loving look, and entering cast a fearful, +questioning glance around the kitchen. + +'Whaur's Steenie?' she said. + +'He's wi' Phemy, I'm thinkin,' faltered Kirsty. + +'Lassie, are ye dementit?' her mother almost screamed. 'We're this +minute come frae there!' + +'He _is_ wi' Phemy, mother. The Lord canna surely hae pairtit them, +gangin in maist haudin hans!' + +'Kirsty, I haud ye accoontable for my Steenie!' cried Marion, sinking +on a chair, and covering her face with her hands. + +'It's the wull o' God 'at's accoontable for him, wuman!' answered +David, sitting down beside her, and laying hold of her arm. + +She burst into terrible weeping. + +'He maun be sair at hame wi' the bonny man!' said Kirsty. + +'Lassie,' said David, 'you and me and yer mither, we hae naething left +but be better bairns, and gang the fester to the bonny man!--Whaur's +what's left o' the laddie, Kirsty?' + +'Lyin i' my hoose, as he ca'd it. Mine was i' the yerd, his i' the air, +he said. He was awa afore I wan to the kitchen. He had jist killt +himsel savin at Phemy, rinnin and fechtin on, upo' the barest chance o' +savin her life; and sae whan he set off again to gang til her, no bidin +for me, he was that forfouchten 'at he hed a bluid-brak in 's breist, +and was jist able, and nae mair, to creep intil the weem oot o' the +snaw. He didna like the place, and yet had a kin' o' a notion o' the +bonny man bein there whiles. I'm thinkin Snootie maun hae won til him, +and run hame for help, for I faund him maist deid upo' the door-step.' + +David stooped and patted the dog. + +'Na, that cudna be,' he said, 'or he wud never hae left him, I'm +thinkin.--Ye're a braw dog,' he went on to the collie, 'and I'm +thankfu' yer no lyin wi yer tongue oot!--But guid comes to guid +doggies!' he added, fondling the creature, who had risen, and feebly +set his paws on his knee. + +'And ye left him lyin there! Hoo hed ye the hert, Kirsty?' sobbed the +mother reproachfully. + +'Mother, he was better aff nor ony ither ane o' 's! I winna say, +mother, 'at I lo'ed him sae weel as ye lo'ed him, for maybe that wudna +be natur--I dinna ken; and I daurna say 'at I lo'e him as the bonny man +lo'es his brithers and sisters a'; but I hae yet to learn hoo to lo'e +him better. Onygait, the bonny man wantit him, and he has him! And whan +I left him there, it was jist as gien I hield him oot i' my airms and +said, "Hae, Lord; tak him: he's yer ain!"' + +'Ye're i' the richt, Kirsty, my bonny bairn!' said David. 'Yer mither +and me, we was never but pleased wi' onything 'at ever ye did.--Isna +that true, Mar'on, my ain wuman?' + +'True as his word!' answered the mother, and rose, and went to her +room. + +David sought the yard, saw that all was right with the beasts, and fed +them. Thence he made his way to his workshop over the cart-shed, where +in five minutes he constructed, with two poles run through two sacks, a +very good stretcher, carrying it to the kitchen, where Kirsty sat +motionless, looking into the fire. + +'Kirsty,' he said, 'ye're 'maist as strong's a man, and I wudna +wullinly ony but oor ain three sels laid finger upo' what's left o' +Steenie: are ye up to takin the feet o' 'im to fess him hame? Here's +what'll mak it 'maist easy!' + +Kirsty rose at once. + +'A drappy o' milk, and I'm ready,' she answered. 'Wull ye no tak a +moofu' o' whusky yersel' father?' + +'Na, na; I want naething,' replied David. + +He had not yet learned what Kirsty went through the night before, when +he asked her to help him carry the body of her brother home through the +snow. Kirsty, however, knew no reason why she should not be as able as +her father. + +He took the stretcher, and they set out, saying nothing to the mother: +she was still in her own room, and they hoped she might fall asleep. + +'It min's me o' the women gauin til the sepulchre!' said David. 'Eh, +but it maun hae been a sair time til them!--a heap sairer nor this +hert-brak here!' 'Ye see they didna ken 'at he wasna deid,' assented +Kirsty, 'and we div ken 'at Steenie's no deid! He's maybe walkin aboot +wi the bonny man--or maybe jist ristin himsel a wee efter the uprisin! +Jist think o' his heid bein a' richt, and his een as clear as the bonny +man's ain! Eh, but Steenie maun be in grit glee!' + +Thus talking as they went, they reached and entered the earth-house. +They found no angels on guard, for Steenie had not to get up again. + +David wept the few tears of an old man over the son who had been of no +use in the world but the best use--to love and be loved. Then, one at +the head and the other at the feet, they brought the body out, and laid +it on the bier. + +Kirsty went in again, and took Steenie's shoes, tying them in her +apron. + +'His feet's no sic a weicht noo!' she said, as together they carried +their burden home. + +The mother met them at the door. + +'Eh!' she cried, 'I thoucht the Lord had taen ye baith, and left me my +lane 'cause I was sae hard-hertit til him! But noo 'at he 's broucht ye +back--and Steenie, what there is o' him, puir bairn!--I s' never say +anither word, but jist lat him du as he likes.--There, Lord, I hae +dune! Pardon thoo me wha canst.' + +They carried the forsaken thing up the stair, and laid it on Kirsty's +bed, looking so like and so unlike Steenie asleep. Marion was so +exhausted, both mind and body, that her husband insisted on her +postponing all further ministration till the morning; but at night +Kirsty unclothed the untenanted, and put on it a long white nightgown. +When the mother saw it lying thus, she smiled, and wept no more; she +knew that the bonny man had taken home his idiot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +FROM SNOW TO FIRE + + +My narrative must now go a little way back in time, and a long way from +the region of heather and snow, to India in the year of the mutiny. The +regiment in which Francis Gordon served, his father's old regiment, had +lain for months besieged in a well known city by the native troops, and +had begun to know what privation meant, its suffering aggravated by +that of not a few women and children. With the other portions of the +Company's army there shut up, it had behaved admirably. Danger and +sickness, wounds and fatigue, hunger and death, had brought out the +best that was in the worst of them: when their country knew how they +had fought and endured, she was proud of them. Had their enemies, +however, been naked Zulus, they would have taken the place within a +week. + +Francis Gordon had done his part, and well. + +It would be difficult to analyze the effect of tho punishment Kirsty +had given him, but its influence was upon him through the whole of the +terrible time--none the less beneficent that his response to her +stinging blows was indignant rage. I dare hardly speculate what, had +she not defended herself so that he could not reach her, he might not +have done in the first instinctive motions of natural fury. It is +possible that only Kirsty's skill and courage saved him from what he +would never have surmounted the shame of--taking revenge on a woman +avenging a woman's wrong: from having deserved to be struck by a woman, +nothing but repentant shame could save him. + +When he came to himself, the first bitterness of the thing over, he +could not avoid the conviction, that the playmate of his childhood, +whom once he loved best in the world, and who when a girl refused to +marry him, had come to despise him, and that righteously. The idea took +a firm hold on him, and became his most frequently recurrent thought. +The wale of Kirsty's whip served to recall it a good many nights; and +long after that had ceased either to smart or show, the thought would +return of itself in the night-watches, and was certain to come when he +had done anything his conscience called wrong, or his judgment foolish. + +The officers of his mess were mostly men of character with ideas better +at least than ordinary as to what became a man; and their influence on +one by no means of a low, though of an unstable nature, was elevating. +It is true that a change into a regiment of jolly, good-mannered, +unprincipled men would within a month have brought him to do as they +did; and in another month would have quite silenced, for a time at +least, his poor little conscience; but he was at present rising. Events +had been in his favour; after reaching India, he had no time to be +idle; the mutiny broke out, he must bestir himself, and, as I have +said, the best in him was called to the front. + +He was specially capable of action with show in it. Let eyes be bent +upon him, and he would go far. The presence of his kind to see and laud +was an inspiration to him. Left to act for himself, undirected and +unseen, his courage would not have proved of the highest order. +Throughout the siege, nevertheless, he was noted for a daring that +often left the bounds of prudence far behind. More than once he was +wounded--once seriously; but even then he was in four days again at +his post. His genial manners, friendly carriage, and gay endurance +rendered him a favourite with all. + +The sufferings of the besieged at length grew such, and there was so +little likelihood of the approaching army being able for some time to +relieve the place, that orders were issued by the commander-in-chief to +abandon it: every British person must be out of the city before the +night of the day following. The general in charge thereupon resolved to +take advantage of the very bad watch kept by the enemy, and steal away +in silence the same night. + +The order was given to the companies, to each man individually, to +prepare for the perilous attempt, but to keep it absolutely secret save +from those who were to accompany them; and so cautious was the little +English colony as well as the garrison, that not a rumour of the +intended evacuation reached the besiegers, while, throughout the lines +and in the cantonments, it was thoroughly understood that, at a certain +hour of the night, without call of bugle or beat of drum, everyone +should be ready to march. Ten minutes after that hour the garrison was +in motion. With difficulty, yet with sufficing silence, the gates were +passed, and the abandonment effected. + +The first shot of the enemy's morning salutation, earlier than usual, +went tearing through a bungalow within whose shattered walls lay +Francis Gordon. In a dining-room, whose balcony and window-frame had +been smashed the day before, he still slumbered wearily, when close +past his head rushed the eighteen-pounder with its infernal scream. He +started up, to find the blood flowing from a splinter wound on his +temple and cheek-bone. A second shot struck the foot of his long chair. +He sprang from it, and hurried into his coat and waistcoat. + +But how was all so still inside? Not one gun answered! Firing at such +an hour, he thought, the rebels must have got wind of their intended +evacuation. It was too late for that, but why did not the garrison +reply? Between the shots he seemed to _hear_ the universal silence. +Heavens! were their guns already spiked? If so, all was lost!--But it +was daylight! He had overslept himself! He ought to have been with his +men--how long ago he could not tell, for the first shot had taken his +watch. A third came and broke his sword, carrying the hilt of it +through the wall on which it hung. Not a sound, not a murmur reached +him from the fortifications. Could the garrison be gone? Was the hour +past? Had no one missed him? Certainly no one had called him! He rushed +into the compound. Not a creature was there! He was alone--one English +officer amid a revolted army of hating Indians! + +But they did not yet know that their prey had slid from their grasp, +for they were going on with their usual gun-reveille, instead of +rushing on flank and rear of the retreating column! He might yet elude +them and overtake the garrison! Half-dazed, he hurried for the gate by +which they were to leave the city. Not a live thing save two starved +dogs did he meet on his way. One of them ran from him; the other would +have followed him, but a ball struck the ground between them, raising a +cloud of dust, and he saw no more of the dog. + +He found the gate open, and not one of the enemy in sight. Tokens of +the retreat were plentiful, making the track he had to follow plain +enough. + +But now an enemy he had never encountered before--a sense of loneliness +and desertion and helplessness, rising to utter desolation, all at once +assailed him. He had never in his life congratulated himself on being +alone--not that he loved his neighbour, but that he loved his +neighbour's company, making him less aware of an uneasy self. And now +first he realized that he had seen his sword-hilt go off with a round +shot, and had not caught up his revolver--that he was, in fact, +absolutely unarmed. + +He quickened his pace to overtake his comrades. On and on he trudged +through nothing but rice-fields, the day growing hotter and hotter, and +his sense of desolation increasing. Two or three natives passed him, +who looked at him, he thought, with sinister eyes. He had eaten no +breakfast, and was not likely to have any lunch. He grew sick and +faint, but there was no refuge: he must walk, walk until he fell and +could walk no more! With the heat and his exertion, his hardly healed +wound began to assert itself; and by and by he felt so ill, that he +turned off the road, and lay down. While he lay, the eyes of his mind +began to open to the fact that the courage he had hitherto been so +eager to show, could hardly have been of the right sort, seeing it was +gone--evaporated clean. + +He rose and resumed his walk, but at every smallest sound started in +fear of a lurking foe. With vainest regret he remembered the +long-bladed dagger-knife he had when a boy carried always in his +pocket. It was exhaustion and illness, true, that destroyed his +courage, but not the less was he a man of fear, not the less he felt +himself a coward. Again he got into a damp brake and lay down, in a +minute or two again got up and went on, his fear growing until, mainly +through consciousness of itself, it ripened into abject terror. +Loneliness seemed to have taken the shape of a watching omnipresent +enemy, out of whose diffusion death might at any moment break in some +hideous form. + +It was getting toward night when at length he saw dust ahead of him, +and soon after, he descried the straggling rear of the retreating +English. Before he reached it a portion had halted for a little rest, +and he was glad to lie down in a rough cart. Long before the morning +the cart was on its way again, Gordon in it, raving with fever, and +unable to tell who he was. He was soon in friendly shelter, however, +under skilful treatment, and tenderly nursed. + +When at length he seemed to have almost recovered his health, it was +clear that he had in great measure lost his reason. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT + + +Things were going from bad to worse at castle Weelset. Whether Mrs. +Gordon had disgusted her friends or got tired of them, I do not know, +but she remained at home, seldom had a visitor, and never a guest. +Rumour, busy in country as in town, said she was more and more +manifesting herself a slave to strong drink. She was so tired of +herself, that, to escape her double, she made it increasingly a bore to +her. She never read a book, never had a newspaper sent her, never +inquired how things were going on about the place or in any part of the +world, did nothing for herself or others, only ate, drank, slept, and +raged at those around her. + +One morning David Barclay, having occasion to see the factor, went to +the castle, and finding he was at home ill, thought he would make an +attempt to see Mrs. Gordon, and offer what service he could render: she +might not have forgotten that in old days he had been a good deal about +the estate. She received him at once, but behaved in such extraordinary +fashion that he could not have any doubt she was at least half-drunk: +there was no sense, David said, either to be got out of her, or put +into her. + +At Corbyknowe they heard nothing of the young laird. The papers said a +good deal about the state of things in India, but Francis Gordon was +not mentioned. + +In the autumn of the year 1858, when the days were growing short and +the nights cold in the high region about the Horn, the son of a +neighbouring farmer, who had long desired to know Kirsty better, called +at Corbyknowe with his sister, ostensibly on business with David. They +were shown into the parlour, and all were sitting together in the early +gloamin, the young woman bent on persuading Kirsty to pay them a visit +and see the improvements they had made in house and garden, and the two +farmers lamenting the affairs of the property on which they were +tenants. + +'But I hear there's new grief like to come to the auld lairdship,' said +William Lammie, as he sat with an elbow on the tea-table whence Kirsty +was removing the crumbs. + +'And what may the wisdom o' the country-side be puttin furth the noo?' +asked David in a tone of good-humoured irony. 'Weel, as I hear, +Mistress Comrie's been to Embro' for a week or twa, and's come hame wi' +a gey queer story concernin the young laird--awa oot there whaur +there's been sic a rumpus wi' the h'athen so'diers. There's word come, +she says, 'at he's fa'en intil the verra glaur o' disgrace, funkin at +something they set him til: na, he wudna! And they hed him afore a +coort-mairtial as they ca' 't, and broucht it in, she says, bare +cooardice, and jist broke him. He'll hae ill shawin the face o' 'm +again i' 's ain calf-country!' + +'It's a lee,' said Kirsty. 'I s' tak my aith o' that, whaever took the +tellin o' 't. There never was mark o' cooard upo' Francie Gordon. He +hed his fauts, but no ane o' them luikit that gait. He was a kin' o' +saft-like whiles, and unco easy come ower, but, haein little fear +mysel, I ken a cooard whan I see him. Something may hae set up his +pride--he has eneuch o' that for twa deevils--but Francie was never nae +cooard!' + +'Dinna lay the lee at my door, I beg o' ye, Miss Barclay. I was but +tellin ye what fowk was saying.' + +'Fowk's aye sayin, and seldom sayin true. The warst o' 't is 'at honest +fowk's aye ready to believe leears! They dinna lee themsel's, and sae +it's no easy to them to think anither wad. Thereby the fause word has +free coorse and is glorifeed! They're no a' leears 'at spreads the lee; +but for them 'at maks the lee, the Lord silence them!' + +'Hoots, Kirsty,' said her mother, 'it disna become ye to curse naebody! +It's no richt o' ye.' + +'It's a guid Bible-curse, mother! It's but a w'y o' sayin "His wull be +dune!"' + +'Ye needna be sae fell aboot the laird, Miss Barclay! He was nae +partic'lar frien o' yours gien a' tales be true!' remarked her admirer. + +'I'm tellin ye tales is maistly lees. I hae kenned the laird sin' he +was a wee laddie--and afore that; and I'm no gaein to hear him leed +upo' and haud my tongue! A lee's a lee whether the leear be a leear or +no!--I hae dune.' + +She did not speak another word to him save to bid him good-night. + +In the beginning of the year, a rumour went about the country that the +laird had been seen at the castle, but it died away. + +David pondered, but asked no questions, and Mrs. Bremner volunteered no +information. + +Kirsty of course heard the rumour, but she never took much interest in +the goings on at the castle. Mrs. Gordon's doings were not such as the +angels desire to look into; and Kirsty, not distantly related to them, +and inheriting a good many of their peculiarities, minded her own +business. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +IN THE WORKSHOP + + +One night in the month of January, when the snow was falling thick, but +the air, because of the cloud-blankets overhead, was not piercing, +Kirsty went out to the workshop to tell her father that supper was +ready. David was a Jack-of-all-trades--therein resembling a sailor +rather than a soldier, and by the light of a single dip was busy with +some bit of carpenter's work. + +He did not raise his head when she entered, and heard her as if he did +not hear. She wondered a little and waited. After a few moments of +silence, he said quietly, without looking up-- + +'Are ye awaur o' onything by ord'nar, Kirsty? + +'Na, naething, father,' answered Kirsty, wondering still. + +'It's been beirin 'tsel in upo' me at my bench here, 'at Steenie's +aboot the place the nicht. I canna help imaiginin he's been upo' this +verra flure ower and ower again sin' I cam oot, as gien he wad fain say +something, but cudna, and gaed awa again.' + +'Think ye he's here at this moment, father?' + +'Na, he's no.' + +'He used to think whiles the bonny man was aboot!' said Kirsty +reflectively. + +'My mother was a hielan wuman, and hed the second sicht; there was no +mainner o' doobt aboot it!' remarked David, also thoughtfully. + +'And what wad ye draw frae that, father?' asked Kirsty. + +'Ow, naething verra important, maybe, but just 'at possibly it micht be +i' the faimily!' + +'I wud like to ken yer verra thoucht, father!' + +'Weel, it's jist this: I'm thinkin 'at some may be nearer the deid nor +ithers.' + +'And, maybe,' supplemented Kirsty, 'some o' the deid may win nearer the +livin nor ithers!' + +'Ay, that's it! that's the haill o' 't!' answered David. + +Kirsty turned her face toward the farthest corner. The place was rather +large, and everywhere dark except within the narrow circle of the +candle-light. In a quiet voice, with a little quaver in it, she said +aloud: + +'Gien ye be here, Steenie, and hae the pooer, lat's ken gien there be +onything lyin til oor han' 'at ye wuss dune. I'm sure, gien there be, +it's for oor sakes and no for yer ain, glaid as we wud a' be to du +onything for ye: the bonny man lats ye want for naething; we're sure o' +that!' + +'Ay are we, Steenie,' assented his father. + +No voice came from the darkness. They stood silent for a while. Then +David said: + +'Gang in, lassie; yer mother 'll be won'erin what's come o' ye. I'll be +in in a meenit. I hae jist the last stroke to gie this bit jobby.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +A RACE WITH DEATH + + +Without a word, but with disappointment in her heart that Steenie had +not answered them, Kirsty obeyed. But she went round through the +rickyard that she might have a moment's thought with herself. Not a +hand was laid upon her out of the darkness, no faintest sound came to +her ears through the silently falling snow. But as she took her way +between two ricks, where was just room for her to pass, she felt--felt, +however, without the slightest sense of _material_ opposition, that she +could not go through. Endeavouring afterward to describe what rather +she was aware of than felt, she said the nearest she could come to it, +but it was not right, was to say that she seemed to encounter the ghost +of solidity. Certainly nothing seemed to touch her. She made no attempt +to overcome the resistance, and the moment she turned, knew herself +free to move in any other direction. But as the house was still her +goal, she tried another space between two of the ricks. There again she +found she could not pass. Making a third essay in yet another interval, +she was once more stopped in like fashion. With that came the +conviction that she was wanted elsewhere, and with it the thought of +the Horn. She turned her face from the house and made straight for the +hill, only that she took, as she had generally done with Steenie, the +easier and rather longer way. + +The notion of the presence of Steenie, which had been with her all the +time, naturally suggested his house as the spot where she was wanted, +and thither she sped. But the moment she reached, almost before she +entered it, she felt as if it were utterly empty--as if it had not in +it even air enough to give her breath. + +When a place seems to repel us, when we feel as if we could not live +there, what if the cause be that there are no souls in it making it +comfortable to the spiritual sense? That the _knowledge_ of such +presence would make most people uneasy, is no argument against the +fancy: truth itself, its intrinsic, essential, necessary trueness +unrecognised, must be repellent. + +Kirsty did not remain a moment in Steenie's house, but set her face to +go home by the shorter and rougher path leading over the earth-house +and across the little burn. + +The night continued dark, with an occasional thinning of the obscurity +when some high current blew the clouds aside from a little nest of +stars. Just as Kirsty reached the descent to the burn, the snow ceased, +the clouds parted, and a faint worn moon appeared. She looked just like +a little old lady too thin and too tired to go on living more than a +night longer. But her waning life was yet potent over Kirsty, and her +strange, wasted beauty, dying to rise again, made her glad as she went +down the hill through the snow-crowned heather. The oppression which +came on her in Steenie's house was gone entirely, and in the face of +the pale ancient moon her heart grew so light that she broke into a +silly song which, while they were yet children, she made for Steenie, +who was never tired of listening to it: + + Willy, wally, woo! + Hame comes the coo-- + Hummle, bummle, moo!-- + Widin ower the Bogie, + Hame to fill the cogie! + Bonny hummle coo, + Wi' her baggy fu' + O' butter and o' milk, + And cream as saft as silk, + A' gethered frae the gerse + Intil her tassly purse, + To be oors, no hers, + Gudewillie, hummle coo! + Willy, wally, woo! + Moo, Hummlie, moo! + + +Singing this childish rime, dear to the slow-waking soul of Steenie, +she had come almost to the bottom of the hill, was just stepping over +the top of tho weem, when something like a groan startled her. She +stopped and sent a keen-searching glance around. It came again, muffled +and dull. It must be from the earth-house! Somebody was there! It could +not be Steenie, for why should Steenie groan? But he might be calling +her, and the weem changing the character of the sound! Anyhow she must +be wanted! She dived in. + +She could scarcely light the candle, for the trembling of her hand and +the beating of her heart. Slowly the flame grew, and the glimmer began +to spread. She stood speechless, and stared. Out of the darkness at her +feet grew the form, as it seemed, of Steenie, lying on his face, just +as when she found him there year before. She dropped on her knees +beside him. + +He was alive at least, for he moved! 'Of course,' thought Kirsty, 'he's +alive: he never was anything else!' His face was turned from her, and +his arm was under it. The arm next her lay out on the stones, and she +took the ice-cold hand in hers: it was not Steenie's! She took the +candle, and leaned across to see the face. God in heaven! there was the +mark of her whip: it was Francie Gordon! She tried to rouse him. She +could not; he was cold as ice, and seemed all but dead. But for the +groan she had heard she would have been sure he was dead. She blew out +the light, and, swift as her hands could move, took garment after +garment off, and laid it, warm from her live heart, over and under +him--all save one which she thought too thin to do him any good. Last +of all, she drew her stockings over his hands and arms, and, leaving +her shoes where Steenie's had lain, darted out of the cave. At the +mouth of it she rose erect like one escaped from the tomb, and sped +in dim-gleaming whiteness over the snow, scarce to have been seen +against it. The moon was but a shred--a withered autumn leaf low fallen +toward the dim plain of the west. As she ran she would have seemed to +one of Steenie's angels, out that night on the hill, a newly disembodied +ghost fleeing home. Swift and shadowless as the thought of her own brave +heart, she ran. Her sense of power and speed was glorious. She felt--not +thought--herself a human goddess, the daughter of the Eternal. Up +height and down hollow she flew, running her race with death, not an +open eye, save the eyes of her father and mother, within miles of her +in a world of sleep and snow and night. Nor did she slacken her pace as +she drew near the house, she only ran more softly. At last she threw +the door to the wall, and shot up the steep stair to her room, calling +her mother as she went. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +BACK FROM THE GRAVE + + +When David came in to supper, he said nothing, expecting Kirsty every +moment to appear. Marion was the first to ask what had become of her. +David answered she had left him in the workshop. + +'Bless the bairn! what can she be aboot this time o' nicht?' said her +mother. + +'I kenna,' returned David. + +When they had sat eating their supper for ten minutes, vainly expecting +her, David went out to look for her. Returning unsuccessful, he found +that Marion had sought her all over the house with like result. Then +they became uneasy. + +Before going to look for her, however, David had begun to suspect her +absence in one way or another connected with the subject of their +conversation in the workshop, to which he had not for the moment meant +to allude. When now he told his wife what had passed, he was a little +surprised to find that immediately she grew calm. + +'Ow, than, she'll be wi' Steenie!' she said. + +Nor did her patience fail, but revived that of her husband. They could +not, however, go to bed, but sat by the fire, saying a word or two now +and then. The slow minutes passed, and neither of them moved save David +once to put on peats. + +The house-door flew open suddenly, and they heard Kirsty cry, 'Mother, +mother!' but when they hastened to the door, no one was there. They +heard the door of her room close, however, and Marion went up the +stair. By the time she reached it, Kirsty was in a thick petticoat and +buttoned-up cloth-jacket, had a pair of shoes on her bare feet, and was +glowing a 'celestial rosy-red.' David stood where he was, and in half a +minute Kirsty came in three leaps down the stair to him, to say that +Francie was lying in the weem. In less than a minute the old soldier +was out with the stable-lantern, harnessing one of the horses, the +oldest in the stable, good at standing, and not a bad walker. He called +for no help, yet was round at the door so speedily as to astonish even +Kirsty, who stood with her mother in the entrance by a pile of bedding. +They put a mattress in the bottom of the cart, and plenty of blankets. +Kirsty got in, lay down and covered herself up, to make the rough +ambulance warm, and David drove off. They soon reached the _weem_ and +entered it. + +The moment Kirsty had lighted the candle, + +'Lassie,' cried David, 'there's been a wuman here!' + +'It luiks like it,' answered Kirsty: 'I was here mysel, father!' + +'Ay, ay! of coorse, but here's claes--woman's claes! Whaur cam they +frae? Wha's claes can they be?' + +'Wha's but mine?' returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove from his +face the garment that covered his head. + +'The Lord preserve 's!--to the verra stockins upo' the han's o' 'm!' + +'I had no dreid, father, o' the Lord seem me as he made me!' + +'Lassie,' cried David, with heartfelt admiration, 'ye sud hae been +dother til a field-mershall.' + +'I wudna be dother til a king!' returned Kirsty. 'Gien I bed to be born +again, I wudna be born 'cep it was to Dauvid Barclay.' + +'My ain lassie!' murmured her father. 'But, eh,' he added, interrupting +his own thoughts, 'we maun hand oor tongues till we've dune the thing +we're sent to du!' + +They bent at once to their task. + +David was a strong man still, and Kirsty was as good at a lift as most +men. They had no difficulty in raising Gordon between them, David +taking his head and Kirsty his feet, but it was not without difficulty +they got him through the passage. In the cart they covered him so that, +had he been a new-born baby, he could have taken no harm except it were +by suffocation, and then, Kirsty sitting with his head in her lap, they +drove home as fast as the old horse could step out. + +In the meantime Marion had got her best room ready, and warm. When they +reached it, Francie was certainly still alive, and they made haste to +lay him in the hot feather-bed. In about an hour they thought he +swallowed a little milk. Neither Kirsty nor her parents went to bed +that night, and by one or other of them the patient was constantly +attended. + +Kirsty took the first watch, and was satisfied that his breathing grew +more regular, and by and by stronger. After a while it became like that +of one in a troubled sleep. He moved his head a little, and murmured +like one dreaming painfully. She called her father, and told him he was +saying words she could not understand. He took her place and sat near +him, when presently his soldier-ears, still sharp, heard indications of +a hot siege. Once he started up on his elbow, and put his hand to the +side of his head. For a moment he looked wildly awake, then sank back +and went to sleep again. + +As Marion was by him in the morning, all at once he spoke again, and +more plainly. + +'Go away, mother!' he said. 'I am not mad. I am only troubled in my +mind. I will tell my father you killed me.' + +Marion tried to rouse him, telling him his mother should not come near +him. He did not seem to understand, but apparently her words soothed +him, for he went to sleep once more. + +He was gaunt and ghastly to look at. The scar on his face, which Kirsty +had taken for the mark of her whip, but which was left by the splinter +that woke him, remained red and disfiguring. But the worst of his look +was in his eyes, whose glances wandered about uneasy and searching. It +was clear all was not right with his brain. I doubt if any other of his +tenants would have recognized him. + +For a good many days he was like one awake yet dreaming, always +dreading something, invariably starting when the door opened, and when +quietest would lie gazing at the one by his bedside as if puzzled. He +took in general what food they brought him, but at times refused it +quite. They never left him alone for more than a moment. + +So far were they from giving him up to his mother, that the mere idea +of letting her know he was with them never entered the mind of one of +them. To the doctor, whom at once they had called in, there was no need +to explain the right by which they constituted themselves his +guardians: anyone would have judged it better for him to be with them +than with her. David said to himself that when Francie wanted to leave +them he should go; but he had sought refuge with them, and he should +have it: nothing should make him give him up except legal compulsion. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF + + +One morning, Kirsty sitting beside him, Francis started to his elbow as +if to get up, then seeing her, lay down again with his eyes fixed upon +her. She glanced at him now and then, but would not seem to notice him +much. He gazed for two or three minutes, and then said, in a low, +doubtful, almost timid, voice, + +'Kirsty?' + +'Ay; what is't, Francie?' returned Kirsty. + +'Is't yersel, Kirsty?' he said. + +'Ay, wha ither, Francie!' + +'Are ye angry at me, Kirsty?' + +'No a grain. What gars ye speir sic a queston?' + +'Eh, but ye gae me sic a are wi' yer whup--jist here upo' the haffit! +Luik.' + +He turned the side of his head toward her, and stroked the place, like +a small, self-pitying child. Kirsty went to him, and kissed it like a +mother. She had plainly perceived that such a scar could not be from +her blow, but it added grievously to her pain at the remembrance of it +that the poor head which she had struck, had in the very same place +been torn by a splinter--for so the doctor said. If her whip left any +mark, the splinter had obliterated it. + +'And syne,' he resumed, 'ye ca'd me a cooard!' + +'Did I du that, ill wuman 'at I was!' she returned, with tenderest +maternal soothing. + +He laid his arms round her neck, drew her feebly toward him, hid his +head on her bosom, and wept. + +Kirsty put her arm round him, held him closer, and stroked his head +with her other hand, murmuring words of much meaning though little +sense. He drew back his head, looked at her beseechingly, and said, + +'_Div_ ye think me a cooard, Kirsty?' + +'No wi' men,' answered the truthful girl, who would not lie even in +ministration to a mind diseased. + +'Maybe ye think I oucht to hae strucken ye back whan ye strack me? I +_wull_ be a cooard than, lat ye say what ye like. I never did, and I +never will hit a lassie, lat her kill me!' + +'It wasna that, Francie. Gien I ca'd ye a cooard, it was 'at ye behaved +sae ill to Phemy.' + +'Eh, the bonny little Phemy! I had 'maist forgotten her! Hoo is she, +Kirsty?' + +'She's weel--and verra weel,' answered Kirsty; 'she's deid.' + +'Deid!' echoed Gordon, with a cry, again raising himself on his elbow. +'Surely it wasna--it wasna 'at the puir wee thing cudna forget me! The +thing's no possible! I wasna worth it!' + +'Na, na; it wasna ae grain that! Her deein had naething to du wi that-- +nor wi you in ony w'y. I dinna believe she was a hair waur for ony +nonsense ye said til her--shame o' ye as it was! She dee'd upo' the +Horn, ae awfu' tempest o' a nicht. She cudna hae suffert lang, puir +thing! She hadna the stren'th to suffer muckle. Sae awa she gaed!--and +Steenie efter her!' added Kirsty in a lower tone, but Francis did not +seem to hear, and said no more for awhile. + +'But I maun tell ye the trowth, Kirsty,' he resumed: 'forby yersel, +there's them 'at says I'm a cooard!' + +'I h'ard ae man say't, only ane, and him only ance.' + +'And ye said til 'im, "Ay, I hae lang kenned that!" + +'I tellt him whaever said it was a leear!' + +'But ye believt it yersel, Kirsty!' + +'Wad ye hae me leear and hypocrite forby, to ca' fowk ill names for +sayin what I believt mysel!' + +'But I _am_ a cooard, Kirsty!' + +'Ye are _not_, Francie. I wunna believe't though yersel say 't! It's +naething but a dist o' styte and nonsense 'at's won in throu the cracks +ye got i' yer heid, fechtin. Ye was aye a daft kin' o' a cratur, +Francie! Gien onybody ever said it, mak ye speed and get yer health +again, and syne ye can shaw him plain 'at he's a leear.' + +'But I tell ye, Kirsty, I ran awa!' + +'I fancy ye wud hae been naething but a muckle idiot gien ye hadna!--Ye +didna ley onybody in trouble!--did ye noo?' + +'No a sowl 'at I ken o'. Na, I didna do that. The fac was--but nae +blame to them--they a' gaed awa and left me my lane, sleepin. I maun +hae been terrible tired.' + +'I telled ye sae!' cried Kirsty. 'Jist gang ower the story to me, +Francie, and I s' tell ye whether ye're a cooard or no. I dinna believe +a stime o' 't! Ye never was, and never was likly to be a cooard. I s' +be at the boddom o' 't wi' whaever daur threpe me sic a lee!' + +But Francis showed such signs of excitement as well as exhaustion, that +Kirsty saw she must not let him talk longer. + +'Or I'll tell ye what!' she added: '--ye'll tell father and mother and +me the haill tale, this verra nicht, or maybe the morn's mornin. Ye +maun hae an egg noo, and a drappy o' milk--creamy milk, Francie! Ye aye +likit that!' + +She went and prepared the little meal, and after taking it he went to +sleep. + +In the evening, with the help of their questioning, he told them +everything he could recall from the moment he woke to find the place +abandoned, not omitting his terrors on the way, until he overtook the +rear of the garrison. + +'I dinna won'er ye was fleyt, Francie,' said Kirsty. 'I wud hae been +fleyt mysel, wantin my swoord, and kennin nae God to trust til! Ye maun +learn to ken _him_, Francie, and syne ye'll be feart at naething!' + +After that, his memory was only of utterly confused shapes, many of +which must have been fancies. The only things he could report were the +conviction pervading them all that he had disgraced himself, and the +consciousness that everyone treated him as a deserter, and gave him the +cold shoulder. + +His next recollection was of coming home to, or rather finding himself +with his mother, who, the moment she saw him, flew into a rage, struck +him in the face, and called him coward. She must have taken him, he +thought, to some place where there were people about him who would not +let him alone, but he could remember nothing more until he found +himself creeping into a hole which he seemed to know, thinking he was a +fox with the hounds after him. + +'What's my claes like, Kirsty?' he asked at this point. + +'They war no that gran',' answered Kirsty, her eyes smarting with the +coming tears; 'but ye'll ne'er see a stick (_stitch_) o' them again: I +pat them awa.' + +'What w'y 'ill I win up, wantin' them?' he rejoined, with a tremor of +anxiety in his voice. + +'We'll see aboot that, time eneuch,' answered Kirsty. + +'But my mither may be efter me! I wud fain be up! There's no sayin what +she michtna be up til! She canna bide me!' + +'Dreid ye naething, Francie. Ye're no a match for my leddy, but I s' be +atween ye and her. She's no sae fearsome as she thinks! Onygait, she +disna fleg _me_.' + +'I left some guid eneuch claes there whan I gaed awa, and I daursay +they're i' my room yet--gien only I kenned hoo to win at them!' + +'I s' gang and get them til ye--the verra day ye're fit to rise. But ye +maunna speyk a word mair the nicht.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF + + +They held a long consultation that night as to what they must do. +Plainly the first and most important thing was to rid Francis of the +delusion that he had disgraced himself in the eyes of his +fellow-officers. This would at once wake him as from a bad dream to the +reality of his condition: convinced of the unreality of the idea that +possessed him, he would at once, they believed, resume his place in the +march of his generation through life. To find means, then, for the +attainment of this end, they set their wits to work; and it was almost +at once clear to David that the readiest way would be to enter into +communication with any they could reach of the officers under whom he +had served. His regiment having by this time, however, with the rest of +the Company's soldiers, passed into the service of the Queen, a change +doubtless involving many other changes concerning which Francis, even +were he fit to be questioned, could give no information, David resolved +to apply to sir Haco Macintosh, who had succeeded Archibald Gordon in +the command, for assistance in finding those who could bear the +testimony he desired to possess. + +'Divna ye think, father,' said Kirsty, 'it wud be the surest and +speediest w'y for me to gang mysel to sir Haco?' + +''Deed it wud be that, Kirsty!' answered David. 'There's naething like +the bodily presence o' the leevin sowl to gar things gang!' + +To this Marion, although at first not a little appalled at the thought +of Kirsty alone in such a huge city as Edinburgh, could not help +assenting, and the next morning Kirsty started, bearing a letter from +her father to his old officer, in which he begged for her the favour of +a few minutes' conference on business concerning her father and the son +of the late colonel Gordon. + +Sir Haco had retired from the service some years before the mutiny, and +was living in one of the serenely gloomy squares of the Scots capital. +Kirsty left her letter at the door, and calling the next day, was shown +to the library, where lady Macintosh as well as sir Haco awaited, with +curious and kindly interest, the daughter of the man they had known so +well, and respected so much. + +When Kirsty entered the room, dressed very simply in a gown of dark +cloth and a plain straw bonnet, the impression she at once made was +more than favourable, and they received her with a kindness and +courtesy that made her feel herself welcome. They were indeed of her +own kind. + +Sir Haco was one of the few men who, regarding constantly the reality, +not the show of things, keep throughout their life, however long, great +part of their youth, and all their childhood. Deeper far in his heart +than any of the honours he had received, all unsought but none +undeserved, lay the memory of a happy and reverential boyhood. Sprung +from a peasant stock, his father was a man of 'high erected thought +seated in a heart of courtesy.' + +He was well matched with his wife, who, though born to a far higher +social position in which simplicity is rarer, was, like him, true and +humble and strong. They had one daughter, who grew up only to die: the +moment they saw Kirsty, their hearts went out to her. + +For there was in Kirsty that unassumed, unconscious dignity, that +simple propriety, that naturalness of a carriage neither trammeled nor +warped by thought of self, which at once awakes confidence and regard; +while her sweet, unaffected 'book English,' in which appeared no +attempt at speaking like a fine lady, no disastrous endeavour to avoid +her country's utterance, revealed at once her genuine cultivation. Sir +Haco said afterward that when she spoke Scotch it was good and +thorough, and when she spoke English it was Wordsworthian. + +Listening to her first words, and reminded of the solemn sententious +way in which sergeant Barclay used to express himself, his face rose +clear in his mind's eye, he saw it as it were reflected in his +daughter's, and broke out with-- + +'Eh, lassie, but ye're like yer father!' + +'Ye min' upon him, sir?' rejoined Kirsty, with her perfect smile. + +'Min' upon him! Naebody worth _his_ min'in upo' could ever forget him! +Sit ye doon, and tell's a' aboot him!' + +Kirsty did as she was told. She began at the beginning, and explained +first, what doubtless sir Haco knew at least something of before, the +relation between her father and colonel Gordon, whence his family as +well as himself had always felt it their business to look after the +young laird. Then she told how, after a long interval, during which +they could do nothing, a sad opportunity had at length been given them +of at least attempting to serve him; and it was for aid in this attempt +that she now sought sir Haco, who could direct her toward the procuring +of certain information. + +'And what sort of information do you think I can give or get for you, +Miss Barclay?' asked sir Haco. + +'I'll explain the thing to ye, sir, in as feow words as I can,' +answered Kirsty, dropping her English. 'The young laird has taen 't +intil his heid that he didna carry himsel like a man i' the siege, and +it's grown to be in him what they ca' a fixt idea. He was left, ye see, +sir, a' himlane i' the beleaguert toon, and I fancy the suddent waukin +and the discovery that he was there his lee lane, jist pat him beside +himsel.' + +Here she told the whole story, as they had gathered it from Francis, +mingling it with some elucidatory suggestions of her own, and having +ended her narration, went on thus:-- + +'Ye see, sir, and my leddy, he was little better nor a laddie, and fowk +'at sair needs company, like Francie, misses company ower sair. Men's +no able--_some_ men, my leddy--to tak coonsel wi' their ain herts, as +women whiles learns to du. And sae, whan he cam oot o' the fricht, he +was ower sair upon himsel for bein i' the fricht. For it seems to me +there's no shame in bein frichtit, sae lang as ye dinna serve and obey +the fricht, but trust in him 'at sees, and du what ye hae to du. +Naebody 'at kenned Francie as I did, cud ever believe he faun' mair +fear in 's hert nor was lawfu' and rizzonable--sae lang, that is, as he +was in his richt min': ayont that nane but his maker can jeedge him. I +dinna mean Francie was a pettern, but, sir, he was no cooard--and that +I ken, for I 'm no cooard mysel, please God to keep me as he 's made +me. But the laddie--the man, I suld say--he's no to be persuaudit oot +o' the fancy o' his ain cooardice; and I dinna believe he'll ever win +oot o' 't wantin the testimony o' his fellow-officers, wha o' them may +be left to grant the same. And I canna but think, gien ye'll excuse me, +sir, that, for his father's sake, it wud be a gracious ac' to tak him +intil the queen's service, and lat him baud on fechtin for 's country, +whaurever it may please her mejesty to want him.--Oot whaur he was +afore micht be best for him--I dinna ken. It wad be to put his +country's seal upo' their word.' + +'Surely, Miss Barclay, you wouldn't set the poor lad in the forefront +of danger again!' said lady Macintosh. + +'I wud that, my lady! I canna but think the airmy, savin for this +misadventur--gien there be ony sic thing as misadventur--hed a fair +chance o' makin a man o' Francie; and whiles I canna help doobtin gien +onything less 'ill ever restore him til himsel but restorin him til 's +former position. It wud ony gait gie him the best chance o' shawin til +himsel 'at there wasna a hair o' the cooard upon him.' + +'But,' said sir Haco, 'would her majesty be justified in taking the +risk involved? Would it not be to peril many for a doubtful good to +one?' + +Kirsty was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. + +I'm answert, sir--as to that p'int,' she said, looking up. + +'For my part,' said lady Macintosh, 'I can't help thinking that the +love of a good woman like yourself must do more for the poor fellow +than the approval of all the soldiers in the world.--Pardon me, Haco.' + +'Indeed, my lady, you're perfectly right!' returned her husband with a +smile. + +But lady Macintosh hardly heard him, so startled, almost so frightened +was she at the indignation instantly on Kirsty's countenance. + +'Putna things intil ony held, my leddy, 'at the hert wud never put +there. It wad be an ill fulfillin o' my father's duty til his auld +colonel, no to say his auld frien, to coontenance sic a notion!' + +'I beg your pardon, Miss Barclay; I was wrong to venture the remark. +But may I say in excuse, that it is not unnatural to imagine a young +woman, doing so much for a young man, just a little bit in love with +him?' + +'I wud fain hae yer leddyship un'erstaun,' returned Kirsty, 'that my +father, my mother, and mysel, we're jist are and nae mair. No are o' 's +hes a wuss that disna belang to a' three. The langest I can min', it's +been my ae ambition to help my father and mother to du what they +wantit. I never desirit merriage, my leddy, and gien I did, it wudna be +wi' sic as Francie Gordon, weel as I lo'e him, for we war bairnies, and +laddie and lassie thegither: I wudna hae a man it was for me to fin' +faut wi'! 'Deed, mem, what fowk ca's love, hes neither airt nor pairt +i' this metter!' + +Not to believe the honest glow in Kirsty's face, and the clear +confident assertion of her eyes, would have shown a poor creature in +whom the faculty of belief was undeveloped. + +Sir Haco and lady Macintosh insisted on Kirsty's taking up her abode +with them while she was in Edinburgh; and Kirsty, partly in the hope of +expediting the object of her mission thereby, and partly because her +heart was drawn to her new friends, gladly consented. Before a week was +over, like understanding like, her hostess felt as if she were a +daughter until now long waiting for her somewhere in the infinite. + +The self-same morning, sir Haco sat down to his study-table, and began +writing to every officer alive who had served with Francis Gordon, +requesting to know his feeling, and that of the regiment about him. +Within three days he received the first of the answers, which kept +dropping in for the next six months. They all described Gordon as +rather a scatterbrain, as not the less a favourite with officers and +men, and as always showing the courage of a man, or rather of a boy, +seeing he not unfrequently acted with a reprehensible recklessness that +smacked a little of display. + +'That's Francie himsel!' cried Kirsty, with the tears in her eyes, when +her host read, to this effect, the first result of his inquiry. + +Within a fortnight he received also, from one high in office, the +assurance that, if Mr. Gordon, on his recovery, wished to enter her +majesty's service, he should have his commission. + +While her husband was thus kindly occupied, lady Macintosh was showing +Kirsty every loving attention she could think of, and, in taking her +about Edinburgh and its neighbourhood, found that the country girl knew +far more of the history of Scotland than she did herself. + +She would gladly have made her acquainted with some of her friends, but +Kirsty shrank from the proposal: she could not forget how her hostess +had herself misinterpreted the interest she took in Francie Gordon. As +soon as she felt that she could do so without seeming ungrateful, she +bade her new friends farewell, and hastened home, carrying with her +copies of the answers which sir Haco had up to that time received. + +When she arrived it was with such a glad heart that, at sight of +Francis in her father's Sunday clothes, she laughed so merrily that her +mother said 'The lassie maun be fey!' Haggard as he looked, the old +twinkle awoke in his eye responsive to her joyous amusement; and David, +coming in the next moment from putting up the gray mare with which he +had met the coach to bring Kirsty home, saw them all three laughing in +such an abandonment of mirth as, though unaware of the immediate +motive, he could not help joining. + +The same evening Kirsty went to the castle, and Mrs. Bremner needed no +persuasion to find the suit which the young laird had left in his room, +and give it to her to carry to its owner; so that, when he woke the +next morning, Francis saw the gray garments lying by his bed-side in +place of David's black, and felt the better for the sight. + +The letters Kirsty had brought, working along, with returning health, +and the surrounding love and sympathy most potent of all, speedily +dispelled his yet lingering delusion. It had occasionally returned in +force while Kirsty was away, but now it left him altogether. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +A GREAT GULF + + +It was now midsummer, and Francis Gordon was well, though thin and +looking rather delicate. Kirsty and he had walked together to the top +of the Horn, and there sat, in the heart of old memories. The sun was +clouded above; the boggy basin lay dark below, with its rim of heathery +hills not yet in bloom, and its bottom of peaty marsh, green and black, +with here and there a shining spot; the growing crops of the far-off +farms on the other side but little affected the general impression the +view gave of a waste world; yet the wide expanse of heaven and earth +lifted the heart of Kirsty with an indescribable sense of presence, +purpose, promise. For was it not the country on which, fresh from God, +she first opened the eyes of this life, the visible region in which all +her efforts had gone forth, in which all the food of her growth had +been gathered, in which all her joys had come to her, in which all her +loves had had their scope, the place whence by and by she would go away +to find her brother with the bonny man! + +Francis saw without heeding. His heart was not uplifted. His earthly +future, a future of his own imagining, drew him. + +'This winna du ony langer, Kirsty!' he said at length. 'The accusin +angel 'll be upo' me again or I ken! I maunna be idle 'cause I'm happy +ance mair--thanks to you, Kirsty! Little did I think ever to raise my +heid again! But noo I maun be at my wark! I'm fit eneuch!' + +'I'm richt glaid to hear't!' answered Kirsty. 'I was jist thinkin lang +for a word o' the sort frae ye, Francie. I didna want to be the first +to speyk o' 't.' + +'And I was just thinkin lang to hear ye speyk o' 't!' returned Francis. +'I wantit to du't as the thing ye wad hae o' me!' + +'Even than, Francie, ye wudna, it seems, hae been doin 't to please me, +and that pleases me weel! I wud be nane pleast to think ye duin 't for +me! It wud gie me a sair hert, Francie!' + +'What for that, Kirsty?' + +''Cause it wud shaw ye no a man yet! A man's a man 'at dis what's +richt, what's pleasin to the verra hert o' richt. Ye'll please me best +by no wantin to please me; and ye'll please God best by duin what he's +putten intil yer hert as the richt thing, and the bonny thing, and the +true thing, though ye suld dee i' the duin o' 't.--Tell me what ye're +thinkin o' duin.' + +'What but gaeing efter this new commission they hae promised me? +There's aye a guid chance o' fechtin upo' the borders--the frontiers, +as they ca' them!' + +Kirsty sat silent. She had been thinking much of what Francis ought to +do, and had changed her mind on the point since the time when she +talked about him with sir Haco. + +'Isna that what ye wud hae me du, Kirsty?' he said, when he found she +continued silent. 'A body's no a fule for wantin guid advice!' + +'No, that's true eneuch! What for wad ye want to gang fechtin?' + +'To shaw the warl' I'm nane o' what my mither ca'd me.' + +'And shawn that, hoo muckle the better man wud ye be for 't? Min' ye +it's ae thing to be, and anither to shaw. Be ye maun; shaw ye needna.' + +'I dinna ken; I micht be growin better a' the time!' + +'And ye micht be growin waur.--What the better wud ony neebour be for +ye gane fechtin? Wudna it be a' for yersel? Is there naething gien +intil yer ban' to du--naething nearer hame nor that? Surely o' twa +things, are near and are far, the near comes first!' + +'I dinna ken. I thoucht ye wantit me to gang!' + +'Ay, raither nor bide at hame duin naething; but michtna there be +something better to du?' + +'I dinna ken. I thoucht to please ye, Kirsty, but it seems naething +wull!' + +'Ay; that's whaur the mischief lies. Ye thoucht to please me!' + +'I did think to please you, Kirsty! I thoucht, ance dune weel afore the +warl as my father did, I micht hae the face to come hame to you, and +say--"Kirsty, wull ye hae me?"' + +'Aye the same auld Francie!' said Kirsty, with a deep sigh. + +'Weel?' + +'I tell ye, Francie, i' the name o' God, I'll never hae ye on nae sic +terms!--Suppose I was to merry some-body whan ye was awa pruvin to +yersel, and a' the lave 'at never misdoobted ye, 'at ye was a brave +man--what wud ye du whan ye cam hame?' + +'Naething o' mortal guid! Tak to the drink, maybe.' + +'Ye tell me that! and ye think, wi' my een open to ken 'at ye say true, +I wud merry ye?--a man like you! Eh, Francie, Francie! ye're no worth +my takin' and ye're no like to be worth the takin o' ony honest +wuman!--Can ye possibly imegine a wuman merryin a man 'at she kenned +wud drive her to coontless petitions to be hauden ohn despisit him? Ye +mak my hert unco sair, Francie! I hae dune my best wi' ye, and the en' +o' 't is, 'at ye're no worth naething!' + +'For the life o' me, Kirsty, I dinna ken what ye're drivin at, or what +ye wud hae o' me! I canna but think ye're usin me as ye wudna like to +be used yersel!' + +''Deed I wud not like it gien I was o' your breed, Francie! Man, did ye +never ance i' yer life think what ye hed to du--what was gien ye to +du--what it was yer duty to du?' + +'No sae aften, doobtless, as I oucht. But I'm ready to hear ye tell me +my duty; I'm no past reasonin wi'!' + +'Did ye never hear 'at ye're to lo'e yer neebour as yersel?' + +'I'm duin that wi' a' my hert, Kirsty--and that ye ken as weel as I du +mysel!' + +'Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca' that lo'in me, to wull me merry a man +'at 's no a man ava! But it's nae me 'at 's yer neebour, Francie!' + +'Wha is my neebour, Kirsty?' + +'The queston's been speirt afore--and answert.' + +'And what's the answer til't?' + +''At yer neebour's jist whaever lies neist ye i' need o' yer help. Gien +ye read the tale o' the guid Sameritan wi' ony sort o' gumption, that's +what ye'll read intil 't and noucht else. The man or wuman ye can help, +ye hae to be neebour til.' + +'I want to help you.' + +'Ye canna help me. I'm in no need o' yer help. And the queston's no +whar's the man I _micht_ help, but whaur's the man I _maun_ help. I +wantit to be _your_ neebour, but I cudna win at ye for the thieves; ye +_wad_ stick to them, and they wudna lat me du naething.' + +'What thieves, i' the name o' common sense, Kirsty?' + +'Love o' yer ain gait, and love o' makin a show, and want o' care for +what's richt. Aih, Francie, I doobt something a heap waur 'll hae to +come upo' ye! A' my labour's lost, and I dearly grudge it--no the +labour, but the loss o' 't! I grudge that sair.' + +'Kirsty, i' the name o' God, wha _is_ my neebour?' + +'Yer ain mither.' + +'My ain mither!--_her_ oot o' a' the warl'?--I never cam upo' spark o' +rizzon intil her!' + +'Michtna she be that are, oot o' a' the warl', ye never shawed spark o' +rizzon til?' + +'There's nae place in her for reason to gang til!' + +'Ye never tried her wi' 't! Ye wud arguy wi' her mair nor plenty, but +did ye ever shaw her rizzon i' yer behaviour?' + +'Weel ye _are_ turnin agen me--you 'at 's saved my life frae her! Diana +I tell you hoo, whan I wan hame at last and gaed til her, for she was +aye guid to me when I wasna weel, she fell oot upo' me like a verra +deevil, ragin and ca'in me ill names, 'at I jist ran frae the hoose-- +and ye ken whaur ye faun' me! Gien it hadna been for you, I wud have +been deid: I was waur nor deid a'ready! What w'y _can_ I be neebour to +_her_! It wud be naething but cat and dog atween's frae mornin to +nicht!' + +'Ae body canna be cat and dog baith! And the dog's as ill's the cat-- +whiles waur!' + +'Ony dog wud yowl gien ye threw a kettle o' bilin watter ower him!' + +'Did she that til ye?' + +'She mintit at it. I ran frae her. She bed the toddy-kettle in her +ban', and she splasht it in her ain face tryin to fling't at me.' + +'Maybe she didna ken ye!' + +'She kenned me weel eneuch. She ca'd me by my ain as weel 's ither +names.' + +'Ye're jist croonin my arguyment, Francie! Yer mither's jist perishin +o' drink! She drinks and drinks, and, by what I hear, cares for noucht +else. A' 's upo' the ro'd to ruin in her and aboot her. She hasna the +brains noo, gien ever she bed them, to guide hersel. Is Satan to grip +her 'cause ye winna be neebour til her and hand him aff o' her? I ken +ye're a guid son sae far as lat her du as she likes and tak 'maist a' +the siller, but that's what greases the exle o' the cairt the deevil's +gotten her intil! I ken weel she hesna been muckle o' a mither til ye, +but ye're her son whan a' 's said. And there can be naething ye're +callt upon to du, sae lang as she's i' the grup o' the enemy, but rugg +her oot o' 't. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll never be oot o' 's grup +yersel. Ye come oot thegither, or ye bide thegither.' + +Gordon sat speechless. + +'It's _im_possible!' he said at length. + +'Francie,' rejoined Kirsty, very quietly and solemnly, 'ye're yer +mother's keeper; ye're her neist neebour: are ye gauin to du yer duty +by her, or are ye not?' 'I canna; I daurna; I'm a cooard afore her.' + +'Gien ye lat her gang on to disgrace yer father, no to say yersel--and +that by means o' what's yours and no hers, I'll say mysel 'at ye're a +cooard.' + +'Come hame wi' me and tak my pairt, and I'll promise ye to du my best.' + +'Ye maun tak yer ain pairt; and ye maun tak her pairt tu against +hersel.' + +'It's no to be thoucht o', Kirsty!' + +'Ye winna?' + +'I canna my lane. I winna try 't. It wud be waur nor useless.' + +Kirsty rose, turning her face homeward. Gordon sprang to his feet. She +was already three yards from him. + +'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried, going after her. + +She went straight for home, never showing by turn of head, by +hesitation of step, or by change of carriage, that she heard his voice +or his feet behind her. + +When they had thus gone two or three hundred yards, he quickened his +pace, and laid his hand on her arm. + +She stopped and faced him. He dropped his hand, grew yet whiter, and +said not a word. She walked on again. Like one in a dream he followed, +his head hanging, his eyes on the heather. She went on faster. He was +falling behind her, but did not know it. Down and down the hill he +followed, and only at the earth-house lifted his head: she was nearly +over the opposite brae! He had let her go! He might yet have overtaken +her, but he knew that he had lost her. + +He had no home, no refuge! Then first, not when alone in the +beleaguered city, he knew desolation. He had never knocked at the door +of heaven, and earth had closed hers! An angel who needed no flaming +sword to make her awful, held the gate of his lost paradise against +him. None but she could open to him, and he knew that, like God +himself, Kirsty was inexorable. Left alone with that last terrible look +from the eyes of the one being he loved, he threw himself in despair on +the ground. True love is an awful thing, not to the untrue only, but +sometimes to the growing-true, for to everything that can be burned it +is a consuming fire. Never more, it seemed, would those eyes look in at +his soul's window without that sad, indignant repudiation in them! He +rose, and crept into the earth-house. + +Kirsty lost herself in prayer as she went. 'Lord, I hae dune a' I can!' +she said. 'Until thou hast dune something by thysel, I can do naething +mair. He's i' thy han's still, I praise thee, though he's oot o' mine! +Lord, gien I hae dune him ony ill, forgie me; a puir human body canna +ken aye the best! Dinna lat him suffer for my ignorance, whether I be +to blame for 't or no. I will try to do whatever thou makest plain to +me.' + +By the time she reached home she was calm. Her mother saw and respected +her solemn mood, gave her a mother's look, and said nothing: she knew +that Kirsty, lost in her own thoughts, was in good company. + +What was passing in the soul of Francis Gordon, I can only indicate, I +cannot show. The most mysterious of all vital movements, a generation, +a transition, was there--how initiated, God only knows. Francis knew +neither whence it came nor whither it went. He was being re-born from +above. The change was in himself; the birth was that of his will. It +was his own highest action, therefore all God's. He was passing from +death into life, and knew it no more than the babe knows that he is +being born. The change was into a new state of being, of the very +existence of which most men are incredulous, for it is beyond +preconception, capable only of being experienced. Thorough as is the +change, the man knows himself the same man, and yet would rather cease +to be, than return to what he was. The unknown germ in him, the root of +his being, yea, his very being itself, the holy thing which is his +intrinsic substance, hitherto unknown to his consciousness, has begun +to declare itself, and the worm is passing into the butterfly, the +creeping thing into the Psyche. It is a change in which God is the +potent presence, but which the man must _will_, or remain the gaoler +who prisons in loathsomeness his own God-born self, and chokes the +fountain of his own liberty. + +Francis knew nothing of all this; he only felt he must knock at the +door behind which Kirsty lived. Kirsty could not open the door to him, +but there was one who could, and Francis could knock! 'God help me!' he +cried, as he lay on his face to live, where once he had lain on his +face to die. For the rising again is the sepulchre. The world itself is +one vast sepulchre for the heavenly resurrection. We are all busy +within the walls of our tomb burying our dead, that the corruptible may +perish, and the incorruptible go free. Francis Gordon came out of that +earth-house a risen man: his will was born. He climbed again to the +spot where Kirsty and he had sat together, and there, with the vast +clear heaven over his head, threw himself once more on his face, and +lifted up his heart to the heart whence he came. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +THE NEIGHBOURS + + +He had eaten nothing since the morning, and felt like one in a calm +ethereal dream as he walked home to Weelset in the soft dusk of an +evening that would never be night, but die into the day. No one saw him +enter the house, no one met him on the ancient spiral stair, as, with +apprehensive anticipation, he sought the drawing-room. + +He had just set his foot on the little landing by its door when a wild +scream came from the room. He flung the door open and darted in. His +mother rushed into his arms, enveloped from foot to head in a cone of +fire. She was making, in wild flight, for the stair, to reach which +would have been death to her. Francis held her fast, but she struggled +so wildly that he had actually to throw her on the floor ere he could +do anything to deliver her. Then he flung on her the rug, the +table-cover, his coat, and one of the window-curtains, tearing it +fiercely from the rings. Having got all these close around her, he rang +the bell with an alarum-peal, but had to ring three times, for service +in that house was deadened by frequent fury of summons. Two of the +maids--there was no manservant in the house now--laid their mistress on +a mattress, and carried her to her room. Gordon's hands and arms were +so severely burned that he could do nothing beyond directing: he thought +he had never felt pain before. + +The doctor was sent for, and came speedily. Having examined them, he +said Mrs. Gordon's injuries would have caused him no anxiety but for +her habits: their consequences might be very serious, and every +possible care must be taken of her. + +Disabled as he was, Francis sat by her till the morning; and the +night's nursing did far more for himself than for his mother. For, as +he saw how she suffered, and interpreted her moans by what he had felt +and was still feeling in his own hands and arms, a great pity awoke in +him. What a lost life his mother's had been! Was this to be the end of +it? The old kindness she had shown him in his childhood and youth, +especially when he was in any bodily trouble, came back upon him, and a +new love, gathering up in it all the intermittent love of days long +gone by, sprang to life in his heart, and he saw that the one thing +given him to do was to deliver his mother. + +The task seemed, if not easy, yet far from irksome, so long as she +continued incapable of resisting, annoying, or deceiving him; but the +time speedily came when he perceived that the continuous battle rather +than war of duty and inclination must be fought and in some measure won +in himself ere he could hope to stir up any smallest skirmish of sacred +warfare in the soul of his mother. What added to the acerbities of this +preliminary war was, that the very nature of the contest required +actions which showed not only unbecoming in a son, but mean and +disgraceful in themselves. There was no pride, pomp, or circumstance of +glorious war in this poor, domestic strife, this seemingly sordid and +unheroic, miserably unheroic, yet high, eternal contest! But now that +Francis was awake to his duty, the best of his nature awoke to meet its +calls, and he drew upon a growing store of love for strength to thwart +the desires of her he loved. 'Entire affection hateth nicer hands,' and +Francis learned not to mind looking penurious and tyrannical, selfish, +heartless, and unsympathetic, in the endeavour to be truly loving and +lovingly true. He had not Kirsty to support him, but he could now go +higher than to Kirsty for the help he needed; he went to the same +fountain from which Kirsty herself drew her strength. At the same time +frequent thought of her filled him with glad assurance of her sympathy, +which was in itself a wondrous aid. He neither saw nor sought to see +her: he would not go near her before at least she already knew from +other sources what would give her the hope that he was trying to do +right. + +The gradually approaching strife between mother and son burst out the +same moment in which the devilish thirst awoke to its cruel tyranny. It +was a mercy to both of them that it re-asserted itself while yet the +mother was helpless toward any indulgence of her passion. Francis was +no longer afraid of her, but it was the easier because of her +condition, although not the less painful for him to frustrate her +desire. Neither did it make it the less painful that already her +countenance, which the outward fire had not half so much disfigured as +that which she herself had applied inwardly, had begun to remind him of +the face he had long ago loved a little, but this only made him, if +possible, yet more determined that not one shilling of his father's +money should go to the degradation of his mother. That she lusted and +desired to have, was the worst of reasons why she should obtain! A +compelled temperance was of course in itself worthless, but that alone +could give opportunity for the waking of what soul was left her. Puny +as it was, that might then begin to grow; it might become aware of the +bondage to which it had been subjected, and begin to long for liberty. + +In carrying out his resolution, Francis found it specially hard to +fight, along with the bad in his mother, the good in himself: the lower +forms of love rose against the higher, and had to be put down. To see +the scintillation of his mother's eyes at the sound of any liquid, and +know how easily he could give her an hour of false happiness, tore his +heart, while her fierce abuse hardly passed the portals of his brain. +Her condition was so pitiful that her words could not make him angry. +She would declare it was he who set her clothes on fire, and as soon as +she was up again she would publish to the world what a coward and sneak +he showed himself from morning to night. Had Francis been what he once +was, his mother and he must soon have come as near absolute hatred as +is possible to the human; but he was now so different that the worst +answer he ever gave her was, + +'Mother, you _know_ you don't mean it!' + +'I mean it with all my heart and soul, Francis,' she replied, glaring +at him. + +He stooped to kiss her on the forehead, she struck him on the face so +that the blood sprang. He went back a step, and stood looking at her +sadly as he wiped it away. + +'Crying!' she said. 'You always were a coward, Francis!' + +But the word had no more any sting for him. + +'I'm all right, mother. My nose got in the way!' he answered, restoring +his handkerchief to his pocket. + +'It's the doctor puts him up to it!' said Mrs. Gordon to herself. 'But +we shall soon be rid of him now! If there's any more of this nonsense +then, I shall have to shut Francis up again! That will teach him how to +behave to his mother!' + +When at length Mrs. Gordon was able to go about the house again, it was +at once to discover that things were not to be as they had been. Then +deepened the combat, and at the same time assumed aspects and +occasioned situations which in the eye of the world would have seemed +even ludicrously unbecoming. The battle of the warrior is with confused +noise and garments rolled in blood, but how much harder and worthier +battles are fought, not in shining armour, but amid filth and squalor +physical as well as moral, on a field of wretched and wearisome +commonplace! + +It was essential to success that there should be no traitor among the +servants, and Francis had made them understand what his measures were. +Nor was there in this any betrayal of a mother's weakness, for Mrs. +Gordon's had long been more than patent to all about her. When, +therefore, he one day found her, for the first time, under the +influence of strong drink, he summoned them and told them that, sooner +than fail of his end, he would part with the whole house-hold, and +should be driven to it if no one revealed how the thing had come to +pass. Thereupon the youngest, a mere girl, burst into tears, and +confessed that she had procured the whisky. Hardly thinking it possible +his mother should have money in her possession, so careful was he to +prevent it, he questioned, and found that she had herself provided the +half-crown required, and that her mistress had given her in return a +valuable brooch, an heirloom, which was hers only to wear, not to give. +He took this from her, repaid her the half-crown, gave her her wages up +to the next term, and sent Mrs. Bremner home with her immediately. Her +father being one of his own tenants, he rode to his place the next +morning, laid before him the whole matter, and advised him to keep the +girl at home for a year or two. + +This one evil success gave such a stimulus to Mrs. Gordon's passion +that her rage with her keeper, which had been abating a little, blazed +up at once as fierce as at first. But, miserable as the whole thing +was, and trying as he found the necessary watchfulness, Gordon held out +bravely. At the end of six months, however, during which no fresh +indulgence had been possible to her, he had not gained the least ground +for hoping that any poorest growth of strength, or even any waking of +desire toward betterment, had taken place in her. + +All this time he had not been once to Corbyknowe. He had nevertheless +been seeing David Barclay three or four times a week. For Francis had +told David how he stood with Kirsty, and how, while refusing him, she +had shown him his duty to his mother. He told him also that he now saw +things with other eyes, and was endeavouring to do what was right; but +he dared not speak to her on the subject lest she should think, as she +would, after what had passed between them, be well justified in +thinking, that he was doing for her sake what ought to be done for its +own. He said to him that, as he was no man of business, and must give +his best attention to his mother, he found it impossible for the +present to acquaint himself with the state of the property, or indeed +attend to it in any serviceable manner; and he begged him, as his +father's friend and his own, to look into his affairs, and, so far as +his other duties would permit, place things on at least a better +footing. + +To this petition, David had at once and gladly consented. + +He found everything connected with the property in a sad condition. The +agent, although honest, was weak, and had so given way to Mrs. Gordon +that much havoc had been made, and much money wasted. He was now in bad +health, and had lost all heart for his work. But he had turned nothing +to his own advantage, and was quite ready, under David's supervision, +to do his best for the restoration of order, and the curtailment of +expenses. + +All that David now saw in his intercourse with the young laird, went to +convince him that he was at length a man of conscience, cherishing +steady purposes. He reported at home what he saw, and said what he +believed, and his wife and daughter perceived plainly that his heart +was lighter than it had been for many a day. Kirsty listened, said +little, asked a question here and there, and thanked God. For her +father brought her not only the good news that Francis was doing his +best for his mother, but that he had begun to open his eyes to the fact +that he had his part in the wellbeing of all on his land; that the +property was not his for the filling of his pockets, or for the +carrying out of schemes of his own, but for the general and individual +comfort and progress. + +'I do believe,' said David, 'the young laird wud fain mak o' the lan's +o' Weelset a spot whauron the e'en o' the bonny man micht rist as he +gaed by!' + +Mrs. Gordon's temper seemed for a time to have changed from fierce to +sullen, but by degrees she began to show herself not altogether +indifferent to the continuous attentions of her inexorable son. It is +true she received them as her right, but he yielded her a right +immeasurably beyond that she would have claimed. He would play draughts +or cribbage with her for hours at a time, and every day for months read +to her as long as she would listen--read Scott and Dickens and Wilkie +Collins and Charles Reade. + +One day, after much entreaty, she consented to go out for a drive with +him, when round to the door came a beautiful new carriage, and such a +pair of horses as she could not help expressing satisfaction with. +Francis told her they were at her command, but if ever she took unfair +advantage of them, he would send both carriage and horses away. + +She was furious at his daring to speak so to _her_, and had almost +returned to her room, but thought better of it and went with him. She +did not, however, speak a word to him the whole way. The next morning +he let her go alone. After that, he sometimes went with her, and +sometimes not: the desire of his heart was to behold her a free woman. + +She was quite steady for a while, and her spirits began to return. The +hopes of her son rose high; he almost ceased to fear. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + +KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE + + +It was again midsummer, and just a year since they parted on the Horn, +when Francis appeared at Corbyknowe, and found Kirsty in the kitchen. +She received him as if nothing had ever come between them, but at once +noting he was in trouble, proposed they should go out together. It was +a long way to be silent, but they had reached the spot, whence they +started for the race recorded in my first chapter, ere either of them +said a word. + +'Will ye no sit, Kirsty?' said Francis at length. + +For answer she dropped on the same stone where she was sitting when she +challenged him to it, and Francis took his seat on its neighbour. + +'I hae had a some sair time o' 't sin' I shawed ye plain hoo little I +was worth yer notice, Kirsty!' he began. + +'Ay,' returned Kirsty, 'but ilka hoor o' 't hes shawn what the rael +Francie was!' + +'I kenna, Kirsty. A' I can say is--'at I dinna think nearhan sae muckle +o' mysel as I did than.' + +'And I think a heap mair o' ye,' answered Kirsty. 'I canna but think ye +upo' the richt ro'd noo, Francie!' + +'I houp I am, but I'm aye fin'in' oot something 'at 'ill never du.' + +'And ye'll keep fin'in' oot that sae lang 's there 's onything left but +what 's like himsel.' + +'I un'erstan ye, Kirsty. But I cam to ye the day, no to say onything +aboot mysel, but jist 'cause I cudna du wantin yer help. I wudna hae +presumed but that I thoucht, although I dinna deserve 't, for auld +kin'ness ye wud say what ye wud advise.' + +'I'll du that, Francie--no for auld kin'ness, but for kin'ness never +auld. What's wrang wi' ye?' + +'Kirsty, wuman, she's brocken oot again!' + +'I dinna won'er. I hae h'ard o' sic things.' + +'It's jist taen the pith oot o' me! What _am_ I to du?' + +'Ye canna du better nor weel; jist begin again.' + +'I had coft her a bonny cairriage, wi' as fine a pair as ever ye saw, +Kirsty, as I daursay yer father has telled ye. And they warna lost upon +her, for she had aye a gleg ee for a horse. Ye min' yon powny?--And up +til yesterday, a' gaed weel, till I was thinkin I cud trust her +onygait. But i' the efternune, as she was oot for an airin, are o' the +horses cuist a shue, and thinkin naething o' the risk til a human sowl, +but only o' the risk til the puir horse, the fule fallow stoppit at a +smithy nae farrer nor the neist door frae a public, and tuik the horse +intil the smithy, lea'in the smith's lad at the held o' the ither +horse. Sae what suld my leddy but oot upo' the side _frae_ the smithy, +and awa roon the back o' the cairriage to the public, and in! Whether +she took onything there I dinna ken, but she maun hae broucht a bottle +hame wi her, for this mornin she was fou--fou as e'er ye saw man in +market!' + +He broke down, and wept like a child. + +'And what did ye du?' asked Kirsty. + +'I said naething. I jist gaed to the coachman and gart him put his +horses tu, and tak his denner wi' him, and m'unt the box, and drive +straucht awa til Aberdeen, and lea' the carriage whaur I boucht it, and +du siclike wi' the horses, and come hame by the co'ch.' + +As he ended the sad tale, he glanced up at Kirsty, and saw her +regarding him with a look such as he had never seen, imagined, or +dreamed of before. It lasted but a moment; her eyes dropt, and she went +on with the knitting which, as in the old days, she had brought with +her. + +'Noo, Kirsty, what am I to du neist?' he said. + +'Hae ye naething i' yer ain min'?' she asked. + +'Naething.' + +'Weel, we'll awa hame!' she returned, rising. 'Maybe, as we gang, we'll +get licht!' + +They walked in silence. Now and then Francis would look up in Kirsty's +face, to see if anything was coming, but saw only that she was sunk in +thought: he would not hurry her, and said not a word. He knew she would +speak the moment she had what she thought worth saying. + +Kirsty, recalling what her father had repeatedly said of Mrs. Gordon's +management of a horse in her young days, had fallen awondering how one +who so well understood the equine nature, could be so incapable of +understanding the human; for certainly she had little known either +Archibald Gordon or David Barclay, and quite as little her own son. +Having come to the conclusion that the incapacity was caused by +overpowering affection for the one human creature she ought not to +love, Kirsty found her thoughts return to the sole faculty her father +yielded Mrs. Gordon--that of riding a horse as he ought to be ridden. +Thereupon came to her mind a conclusion she had lately read somewhere-- +namely, that a man ought to regard his neighbour as specially +characterized by the possession of this or that virtue or capacity, +whatever it might be, that distinguished him; for that was as the +door-plate indicating the proper entrance to his inner house. A moment +more and Kirsty thought she saw a way in which Francis might gain a +firmer hold on his mother, as well as provide her with a pleasure that +might work toward her redemption. + +Francie,' she said, 'I hae thoucht o' something. My father has aye +said, and ye ken he kens, 'at yer mother was a by ordinar guid rider in +her young days, and this is what I wud hae ye du: gang straucht awa, +whaurever ye think best, and buy for her the best luikin, best +tempered, handiest, and easiest gaein leddy's-horse ye can lay yer +ban's upo'. Ye hae a gey fair beast o' yer ain, my father says, and ye +maun jist ride wi' her whaurever she gangs.' + +'I'll du 't, Kirsty. I canna gang straucht awa, I doobt, though; I fear +she has whusky left, and there's no sayin what she micht du afore I wan +back. I maun gang hame first.' + +'I'm no clear upo' that. Ye canna weel gang and rype (_search_) a' the +kists and aumries i' the hoose she ca's her ain! That wud anger her +terrible. Nor can ye weel lay ban's upon her, and tak frae her by +force. A wuman micht du that, but a man, and special a wuman's ain ae +son, canna weel du 't--that is, gien there's ony ither coorse 'at can +be followt. It seems to me ye maun tak the risk o' her bottle. And it +may be no ill thing 'at she sud disgrace hersel oot and oot. Onygait +wi' bein awa, and comin back wi' the horse i' yer ban' ye'll come afore +her like bringin wi' ye a fresh beginnin, a new order o' things like, +and that w'y av'ide words wi' her, and words maun aye be av'idit.' + +Francis remained in thoughtful silence. + +'I hae little fear,' pursued Kirsty, 'but we'll get her frae the drink +a'thegither, and the houp is we may get something better putten intil +her. Bein fou whiles, isna the main difficulty. But I beg yer pardon, +Francie! I maunna forget 'at she's your mother!' + +'Gien ye wud but tak her and me thegither, Kirsty, it wud be a gran' +thing for baith o' 's! Wi' you to tak the half o' 't, I micht stan' up +un'er the weicht o' my responsibility!' + +'I'm takin my share o' that, onygait, daurin to advise ye, +Francie!--Noo gang, laddie; gang straucht awa and buy the horse.' + +'I maun rin hame first, to put siller i' my pooch! I s' hand oot o' her +gait.' + +'Gang til my faither for't. I haena a penny, but he has aye plenty!' + +'I maun hae my horse; there's nae co'ch till the morn's mornin.' + +'Gangna near the place. My father 'ill gie ye the gray mear--no an ill +are ava! She'll tak ye there in four or five hoors, as _ye_ ride. Only, +min' and gie her a pickle corn ance, and meal and watter twise upo' the +ro'd. Gien ye seena the animal yere sure 'ill please her, gang further, +and comena hame wantin 't.' + + + + +CHAPTER XL + +MRS. GORDON + + +When Mrs. Gordon came to herself, she thought to behave as if nothing +had happened, and rang the bell to order her carriage. The maid +informed her that the coachman had driven away with it before lunch, +and had not said where he was going. + +'Driven away with it!' cried her mistress, starting to her feet; 'I +gave him no orders!' + +'I saw the laird giein him directions, mem,' rejoined the maid. + +Mrs. Gordon sat down again. She began to remember what her son had said +when first he gave her the carriage. + +'Where did he send him?' she asked. + +'I dinna ken, mem.' + +'Go and ask the laird to step this way.' + +'Please, mem, he's no i' the hoose. I ken, for I saw him gang--hoors +ago.' + +'Did he go in the carriage?' + +'No, mem; he gaed upo' 's ain fit.' + +'Perhaps he's come home by this time!' + +'I'm sure he's no that, mem.' + +Mrs. Gordon went to her room, all but finished the bottle of whisky, +and threw herself on her bed. + +Toward morning she woke with aching head and miserable mind. Now +dozing, now tossing about in wretchedness, she lay till the afternoon. +No one came near her, and she wanted no one. + +At length, dizzy and despairing, her head in torture, and her heart +sick, she managed to get out of bed, and, unable to walk, literally +crawled to the cupboard in which she had put away the precious +bottle:--joy! there was yet a glass in it! With the mouth of it to her +lips, she was tilting it up to drain the last drop, when the voice of +her son came cheerily from the drive, on which her window looked down: + +'See what I've brought you, mother!' he called. + +Fear came upon her; she took the bottle from her mouth, put it again in +the cupboard, and crept back to her bed, her brain like a hive buzzing +with devils. + +When Francis entered the house, he was not surprised to learn that she +had not left her room. He did not try to see her. + +The next morning she felt a little better, and had some tea. Still she +did not care to get up. She shrank from meeting her son, and the abler +she grew to think, the more unwilling she was to see him. He came to +her room, but she heard him coming, turned her head the other way, and +pretended to be asleep. Again and again, almost involuntarily, she half +rose, remembering the last of the whisky, but as often lay down again, +loathing the cause of her headache. + +Stronger and stronger grew her unwillingness to face her son: she had +so thoroughly proved herself unfit to be trusted! She began to feel +towards him as she had sometimes felt toward her mother when she had +been naughty. She began to see that she could make her peace, with him +or with herself, only by acknowledging her weakness. Aided by her +misery, she had begun to perceive that she could not trust herself, and +ought to submit to be treated as the poor creature she was. She had +resented the idea that she could not keep herself from drink if she +pleased, for she knew she could; but she had not pleased! How could she +ever ask him to trust her again! + +What further passed in her, I cannot tell. It is an unfailing surprise +when anyone, more especially anyone who has hitherto seemed without +strength of character, turns round and changes. The only thing Mrs. +Gordon then knew as helping her, was the strong hand of her son upon +her, and the consciousness that, had her husband lived, she could never +have given way as she had. But there was another help which is never +wanting where it can find an entrance; and now first she began to pray, +'Lead me not into temptation.' + +There was one excuse which David alone knew to make for her--that her +father was a hard drinker, and his father before him. + +Doubtless, during all the period of her excesses, the soul of the woman +in her better moments had been ashamed to know her the thing she was. +It could not, when she was at her worst, comport with her idea of a +lady, poor as that idea was, to drink whisky till she did not know what +she did next. And when the sleeping woman God made, wakes up to see in +what a house she lives, she will soon grasp at besom and bucket, nor +cease her cleansing while spot is left on wall or ceiling or floor. + +How the waking comes, who can tell! God knows what he wants us to do, +and what we can do, and how to help us. What I have to tell is that, +the next morning, Mrs. Gordon came down to breakfast, and finding her +son already seated at the table, came up behind him, without a word set +the bottle with the last glass of whisky in it before him, went to her +place at the table, gave him one sorrowful look, and sat down. + +His heart understood, and answered with a throb of joy so great that he +knew it first as pain. + +Neither spoke until breakfast was almost over. Then Francis said, + +'You've grown so much younger, mother, it is quite time you took to +riding again! I've been buying a horse for you. Remembering the sort of +pony you bought for me, I thought I should like to try whether I could +not please you with a horse of my buying.' + +'Silly boy!' she returned, with a rather pitiful laugh, 'do you suppose +at my age I'm going to make a fool of myself on horseback? You forget +I'm an old woman!' + +'Not a bit of it, mother! If ever you rode as David Barclay says you +did, I don't see why you shouldn't ride still. He's a splendid +creature! David told me you liked a big fellow. Just put on your habit, +mammy, and we'll take a gallop across, and astonish the old man a bit.' + +'My dear boy, I have no nerve! I'm not the woman I was! It's my own +fault, I know, and I'm both sorry and ashamed.' + +'We are both going to try to be good, mother dear!' faltered Francis. + +The poor woman pressed her handkerchief with both hands to her face, +and wept for a few moments in silence, then rose and left the room. In +an hour she was ready, and out looking for Francis. Her habit was a +little too tight for her, but wearable enough. The horses were sent +for, and they mounted. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + +TWO HORSEWOMEN + + +There was at Corbyknowe a young, well-bred horse which David had +himself reared: Kirsty had been teaching him to carry a lady. For her +hostess in Edinburgh, discovering that she was fond of riding and that +she had no saddle, had made her a present of her own: she had not used +it for many years, but it was in very good condition, and none the +worse for being a little old-fashioned. That same morning Kirsty had +put on a blue riding-habit, which also lady Macintosh had given her, +and was out on the highest slope of the farm, hoping to catch a sight +of the two on horseback together, and so learn that her scheme was a +success. She had been on the outlook for about an hour, when she saw +them coming along between the castle and Corbyknowe, and went straight +for a certain point in the road so as to reach it simultaneously with +them. For she had just spied a chance of giving Gordon the opportunity +which her father had told her he was longing for, of saying something +about her to his mother. + +'Who can that be?' said Mrs. Gordon as they trotted gently along, when +she spied the lady on horseback. 'She rides well! But she seems to be +alone! Is there really nobody with her?' + +As she spoke, the young horse came over a _dry-stane-dyke_ in fine +style. + +'Why, she's an accomplished horsewoman!' exclaimed Mrs. Gordon. 'She +must be a stranger! There's not a lady within thirty miles of Weelset +can ride like that!' + +'No such stranger as you think, mother!' rejoined Francis. 'That's +Kirsty Barclay of Corbyknowe.' + +'Never, Francis! The girl rides like a lady!' + +Francis smiled, perhaps a little triumphantly. Something like what lay +in the smile the mother read in it, for it roused at once both her +jealousy and her pride. _Her_ son to fall in love with a girl that was +not even a lady! A Gordon of Weelset to marry a tenant's daughter! +Impossible! + +Kirsty was now in the road before them, riding slowly in the same +direction. It was the progress, however, not the horse that was slow: +his frolics, especially when the other horses drew near, kept his rider +sufficiently occupied. + +Mrs. Gordon quickened her pace, and passed without turning her head or +looking at her, but so close, and with so sudden a rush that Kirsty's +horse half wheeled, and bounded over the dyke by the roadside. Her +rudeness annoyed her son, and he jumped his horse into the field and +joined Kirsty, letting his mother ride on, and contenting himself with +keeping her in sight. After a few moments' talk, however, he proposed +that they should overtake her, and cutting off a great loop of the +road, they passed her at speed, and turned and met her. She had by this +time got a little over her temper, and was prepared to behave with +propriety, which meant--the dignity becoming her. + +'What a lovely horse you have, Miss Barclay!' she said, without other +greeting. 'How much do you want for him?' + +'He is but half-broken,' answered Kirsty, 'or I would offer to change +with you. I almost wonder you look at him from the back of your own!' + +'He is a beauty--is he not? This is my first trial of him. The laird +gave me him only this morning. He is as quiet as a lamb.' + +'There, Donal,' said Kirsty to her horse, 'tak example by yer betters! +Jist luik hoo he stan's!--The laird has a true eye for a horse, ma'am,' +she went on, 'but he always says you gave it him.' + +'Always! hm!' said Mrs. Gordon to herself, but she looked kindly at her +son. + +'How did you learn to ride so well, Kirsty?' she asked. + +'I suppose I got it from my father, ma'am! I began with the cows.' + +'Ah, how is old David?' returned Mrs. Gordon. 'I have seen him once or +twice about the castle of late, but have not spoken to him.' + +'He is very well, thank you.--Will you not come up to the Knowe and +rest a moment? My mother will be very glad to see you.' + +'Not to-day, Kirsty. I haven't been on horseback for years, and am +already tired. We shall turn here. Good-morning!' + +'Good-morning, ma'am! Good-bye, Mr. Gordon!' said Kirsty cheerfully, as +she wheeled her horse to set him straight at a steep grassy brae. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + +THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER + + +The laird and his mother sat and looked at Kirsty as her horse tore up +the brae. + +'She can ride--can't she, mother?' said Francis. + +'Well enough for a hoiden,' answered Mrs. Gordon. + +'She rides to please her horse now, but she'll have him as quiet as +yours before long,' rejoined her son, both a little angry and a little +amused at her being called a hoiden who was to him like an angel grown +young with aeonian life. + +'Yes,' resumed his mother, as if she _would_ be fair, 'she does ride +well! If only she were a lady, that I might ask her to ride with me! +After all it's none of my business what she is--so long as _you_ don't +want to marry her!' She concluded, with an attempt at a laugh. + +'But I do want to marry her, mother!' rejoined Francis. + +A short year before, his mother would have said what was in her heart, +and it would not have been pleasant to hear; but now she was afraid of +her son, and was silent. But it added to her torture that she must be +silent. To be dethroned in castle Weelset by the daughter of one of her +own tenants, for as such she thought of them, was indeed galling. 'The +impudent quean!' she said to herself, 'she's ridden on her horse into +the heart of the laird!' But for the wholesome consciousness of her own +shame, which she felt that her son was always sparing, she would have +raged like a fury. + +'You that might have had any lady in the land!' she said at length. + +'If I might, mother, it would be just as vain to look for her equal.' + +'You might at least have shown your mother the respect of choosing a +lady to sit in her place! You drive me from the house!' + +'Mother,' said Francis, 'I have twice asked Kirsty Barclay to be my +wife, and she has twice refused me.' + +'You may try her again: she had her reasons! She never meant to let you +slip! If you got disgusted with her afterwards, she would always have +her refusal of you to throw in your teeth.' + +Francis laid his hand on his mother's, and stopped her horse. + +'Mother, you compel me!' he said. 'When I came home ill, and, as I +thought, dying, you called me bad names, and drove me from the house. +Kirsty found me in a hole in the earth, actually dying then, and saved +my life.' + +'Good heavens, Francis! Are you mad still? How dare you tell such +horrible falsehoods of your own mother? You never came near me! You +went straight to Corbyknowe!' + +'Ask Mrs. Bremner if I speak the truth. She ran out after me, but could +not get up with me. You drove me out; and if you do not know it now, +you do not need to be told how it is that you have forgotten it.' + +She knew what he meant, and was silent. + +'Then Kirsty went to Edinburgh, to sir Haco Macintosh, and with his +assistance brought me to my right mind. If it were not for Kirsty, I +should be in my grave, or wandering the earth a maniac. Even alive and +well as I am, I should not be with you now had she not shown me my +duty' + +'I thought as much! All this tyranny of yours, all your late insolence +to your mother, comes from the power of that low-born woman over you! I +declare to you, Francis Gordon, if you marry her, I will leave the +house.' + +He made her no answer, and they rode the rest of the way in silence. +But in that silence things grew clearer to him. Why should he take +pains to persuade his mother to a consent which she had no right to +withhold? His desire was altogether reasonable: why should its +fulfilment depend on the unreason of one who had not strength to order +her own behaviour? He had to save her, not to please her, gladly as he +would have done both! + +When he had helped her from the saddle, he would have remounted and +ridden at once to Corbyknowe, but feared leaving her. She shut herself +in her room till she could bear her own company no longer, and then +went to the drawing-room, where Francis read to her, and played several +games of backgammon with her. Soon after dinner she retired, saying her +ride had wearied her; and the moment Francis knew she was in bed, he +got his horse, and galloped to the Knowe. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + +THE CORONATION + + +When he arrived, there was no light in the house: all had gone to rest. +Unwilling to disturb the father and mother, he rode quietly to the back +of the house, where Kirsty's room looked on the garden. He called her +softly. In a moment she peeped out, then opened her window. + +'Cud ye come doon a minute, Kirsty?' said Francis. + +'I'll be wi' ye in less time,' she replied; and he had hardly more than +dismounted, when she was by his side. + +He told her what had passed between him and his mother since she left +them. + +'It's a rael bonny nicht!' said Kirsty, 'and we'll jist tak oor time to +turn the thing ower--that is, gien ye bena tired, Francie. Come, we'll +put the beastie up first.' + +She led the horse into the dark stable, took his bridle off, put a +halter on him, slackened his girths, and gave him a feed of corn--all +in the dark; which things done, she and her lover set out for the Horn. + +The whole night seemed thinking of the day that was gone. All doing +seemed at an end, yea God himself to be resting and thinking. The peace +of it sank into their bosoms, and filled them so, that they walked a +long way without speaking. There was no wind, and no light but the +starlight. The air was like the clear dark inside some diamonds. The +only sound that broke the stillness as they went was the voice of +Kirsty, sweet and low--and it was as if the dim starry vault thought, +rather than she uttered, the words she quoted:-- + + 'Summer Night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, + A still wave has flowed + Of Eternity!' + + +At a certain spot on the ridge of the Horn, Francis stopped. + +'This is whaur ye left me this time last year, Kirsty,' he said;'--left +me wi' my Maker to mak a man o' me. It was 'maist makin me ower again!' + +There was a low stone just visible among the heather; Kirsty seated +herself upon it. Francis threw himself among the heather, and lay +looking up in her face. + +'That mother o' yours is 'maist ower muckle for ye, Francie!' said +Kirsty. + +'It's no aften, Kirsty, ye tell me what I ken as weel 's yersel!' +returned Francis. + +'Weel, Francie, ye maun tell _me_ something the night!--Gien it wudna +mismuve ye, I wad fain ken hoo ye wan throu that day we pairtit here.' + +Without a moment's hesitation, Francis began the tale--giving her to +know, however, that in what took place there was much he did not +understand so as to tell it again. + +When he made an end, Kirsty rose and said, + +'Wad ye please to sit upo' that stane, Francie!' + +In pure obedience he rose from the heather, and sat upon the stone. + +She went behind him, and clasped his head, round the temples, with her +shapely, strong, faithful hands. + +'I ken ye noo for a man, Francis. Ye hae set yersel to du _his_ wull, +and no yer ain: ye're a king; and for want o' a better croon, I croon +ye wi my twa ban's.' + +Little thought Kirsty how near she came, in word and deed, to the +crowning of Dante by Virgil, as recorded toward the close of the +Purgatorio. + +Then she came round in front of him, he sitting bewildered and taking +no part in the solemn ceremony save that of submission, and knelt +slowly down before him, laying her head on his knees, and saying,-- + +'And here's yer kingdom, Francis--my heid and my hert! Du wi' me what +ye wull.' + +'Come hame wi' me, and help save my mother,' he answered, in a voice +choked with emotion. + +'I wull,' she said, and would have risen; but he laid his hands on her +head, and thus they remained for a time in silence. Then they rose, and +went. + +They had gone about half-way to the farm before either spoke. Then +Kirsty said,-- + +'Francie, there's ae thing I maun beg o' ye, and but ane--'at ye winna +desire me to tak the heid o' yer table. I canna but think it an +ungracious thing 'at a young wuman like me, the son's wife, suld put +the man's ain mother, his father's wife, oot o' the place whaur his +father set her. I'm layin doon no prenciple; I'm sayin only hoo it +affecs me. I want to come hame as her dochter, no as mistress o' the +hoose in her stead. And ye see, Francie, that'll gie ye anither haud o' +her, agen disgracin o' hersel! Promise me, Francie, and I'll sune tak +the maist pairt o' the trouble o' her aff o' yer han's.' + +'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Francis. 'As ye wull.' + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + +KIRSTY'S TOCHER + + +The next morning, Kirsty told her parents that she was going to marry +Francie. + +'Ye du richt, my bairn,' said her father. 'He's come in sicht o' 's +high callin, and it's no possible for ye langer to refuse him.' + +'But, eh! what am I to du wantin ye, Kirsty?' moaned her mother. 'Ye +min', mother,' answered Kirsty, 'hoo I wad be oot the lang day wi' +Steenie, and ye never thoucht ye hadna me!' + +'Na, never. I aye kenned I had the twa o' ye.' + +'Weel, it's no a God's-innocent but a deil's-gowk I'll hae to luik +efter noo, and I maun come hame ilka possible chance to get hertenin +frae you and my father, or I winna be able to bide it. Eh, mother, +efter Steenie, it'll be awfu' to spen' the day wi' _her_! It's no 'at +ever she'll be fou: I s' see to that!--it's 'at she'll aye be toom!-- +aye ringin wi' toomness!' + +Here Kirsty turned to her father, and said,-- + +'Wull ye gie me a tocher, father?' + +'Ay wull I, lassie,--what ye like, sae far as I hae 't to gie.' + +'I want Donal--that's a'. Ye see I maun ride a heap wi' the puir thing, +and I wud fain hae something aneth me 'at ye gae me! The cratur'll aye +hing to the Knowe, and whan I gie his wull he'll fess me hame o' +himsel.--I wud hae likit things to bide as they are, but she wud hae +worn puir Francie to the verra deid!' + + + + +CHAPTER XLV + +KIRSTY'S SONG + + +Mrs. Gordon manages the house and her reward is to sit at the head of +the table. But she pays Kirsty infinitely more for the privilege than +any but Kirsty can know, in the form of leisure for things she likes +far better than housekeeping--among the rest, for the discovery of such +songs as this, the last of hers I have seen:-- + + + LOVE IS HOME. + + Love is the part, and love is the whole; + Love is the robe, and love is the pall; + Ruler of heart and brain and soul, + Love is the lord and the slave of all! + I thank thee, Love, that thou lovest me; + I thank thee more that I love thee. + + Love is the rain, and love is the air; + Love is the earth that holdeth fast; + Love is the root that is buried there, + Love is the open flower at last! + I thank thee, Love all round about, + That the eyes of my love are looking out. + + Love is the sun, and love is the sea; + Love is the tide that comes and goes; + Flowing and flowing it comes to me; + Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows! + Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide! + My sea, and my shore, and all beside! + + Light, oh light that art by showing; + Wind, oh wind that liv'st by motion; + Thought, oh thought that art by knowing; + Will, that art born in self-devotion! + Love is you, though not all of you know it; + Ye are not love, yet ye always show it! + + Faithful creator, heart-longed-for father, + Home of our heart-infolded brother, + Home to thee all thy glories gather-- + All are thy love, and there is no other! + O Love-at-rest; we loves that roam-- + Home unto thee, we are coming home! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heather and Snow, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEATHER AND SNOW *** + +This file should be named hthsn10.txt or hthsn10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, hthsn11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hthsn10a.txt + +Produced by J. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/old/hthsn10.zip b/old/hthsn10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e955d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hthsn10.zip diff --git a/old/hthsn10h.htm b/old/hthsn10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8123617 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/hthsn10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11790 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=us-ascii"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Heather and Snow, by George + MacDonald. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + * { font-family: Times;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 14pt; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + // --> + </style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Heather and Snow, by George MacDonald + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. 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Garcia and Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <h1> + HEATHER AND SNOW + </h1> + <center> + <b>BY GEORGE MACDONALD</b> + </center> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <h2> + CONTENTS + </h2> + <p> + <a href="#ch001">I. A RUNAWAY RACE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch002">II. MOTHER AND SON</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch003">III. AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch004">IV. DOG-STEENIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch005">V. COLONEL AND SERGEANT</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch006">VI. MAN-STEENIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch007">VII. CORBYKNOWE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch008">VIII. DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch009">IX. AT CASTLE WEELSET</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch010">X. DAVID AND FRANCIS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch011">XI. KIRSTY AND PHEMY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch012">XII. THE EARTH-HOUSE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch013">XIII. A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch014">XIV. STEENIE'S HOUSE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch015">XV. PHEMY CRAIG</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch016">XVI. SHAM LOVE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch017">XVII. A NOVEL ABDUCTION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch018">XVIII. PHEMY'S CHAMPION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch019">XIX. FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch020">XX. MUTUAL MINISTRATION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch021">XXI. PHEMY YIELDS PLACE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch022">XXII. THE HORN</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch023">XXIII. THE STORM AGAIN</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch024">XXIV. HOW KIRSTY FARED</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch025">XXV. KIRSTY'S DREAM</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch026">XXVI. HOW DAVID FARED</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch027">XXVII. HOW MARION FARED</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch028">XXVIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch029">XXIX. DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND + WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch030">XXX. FROM SNOW TO FIRE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch031">XXXI. KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch032">XXXII. IN THE WORKSHOP</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch033">XXXIII. A RACE WITH DEATH</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch034">XXXIV. BACK FROM THE GRAVE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch035">XXXV. FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch036">XXXVI. KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch037">XXXVII. A GREAT GULF</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch038">XXXVIII. THE NEIGHBOURS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch039">XXXIX. KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch040">XL. MRS. GORDON</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch041">XLI. TWO HORSEWOMEN</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch042">XLII. THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch043">XLIII. THE CORONATION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch044">XLIV. KIRSTY'S TOCHER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#ch045">XLV. KIRSTY'S SONG</a> + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch001"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + A RUNAWAY RACE + </h3> + <p> + Upon neighbouring stones, earth-fast, like two islands of an + archipelago, in an ocean of heather, sat a boy and a girl, + the girl knitting, or, as she would have called it, + <i>weaving</i> a stocking, and the boy, his eyes fixed on her + face, talking with an animation that amounted almost to + excitement. He had great fluency, and could have talked just + as fast in good English as in the dialect in which he was now + pouring out his ambitions—the broad Saxon of Aberdeen. + </p> + <p> + He was giving the girl to understand that he meant to be a + soldier like his father, and quite as good a one as he. But + so little did he know of himself or the world, that, with + small genuine impulse to action, and moved chiefly by the + anticipated results of it, he saw success already his, and a + grateful country at his feet. His inspiration was so purely + ambition, that, even if, his mood unchanged, he were to + achieve much for his country, she could hardly owe him + gratitude. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll no hae the warl' lichtly (<i>make light of</i>) me!' he + said. + </p> + <p> + 'Mebbe the warl' winna tribble itsel aboot ye sae muckle as + e'en to lichtly ye!' returned his companion quietly. + </p> + <p> + '<i>Ye</i> do naething ither!' retorted the boy, rising, and + looking down on her in displeasure. 'What for are ye aye + girdin at me? A body canna lat his thouchts gang, but ye're + doon upo them, like doos upo corn!' + </p> + <p> + 'I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower + muckle aboot ye to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o' ye + 'at ye hae o' yersel,' answered the girl, who went on with + her knitting as she spoke. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye'll never believe a body!' he rejoined, and turned half + away. 'I canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye + haena a guid word to gie a body!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's nane ye s' get frae me, the gait ye're gaein, Francie! + Ye think a heap ower muckle o' yersel. What ye expec, may + some day a' come true, but ye hae gien nobody a richt to + expec it alang wi' ye, and I canna think, gien ye war fair to + yersel, ye wad coont yersel ane it was to be expeckit o'!' + </p> + <p> + 'I tauld ye sae, Kirsty! Ye never lay ony weicht upo what a + body says!' + </p> + <p> + That depen's upo the body. Did ye never hear maister Craig + p'int oot the differ atween believin a body and believin + <i>in</i> a body, Francie?' + </p> + <p> + 'No—and I dinna care.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wudna like ye to gang awa thinking I misdoobtit yer word, + Francie! I believe onything ye tell me, as far as <i>I</i> + think ye ken, but maybe no sae far as <i>ye</i> think ye ken. + I believe ye, but I confess I dinna believe <i>in</i> + ye—yet. What hae ye ever dune to gie a body ony richt + to believe in ye? Ye're a guid rider, and a guid shot for a + laddie, and ye rin middlin fest—I canna say like a + deer, for I reckon I cud lick ye mysel at rinnin! But, efter + and a',—' + </p> + <p> + 'Wha's braggin noo, Kirsty?' cried the boy, with a touch of + not ill-humoured triumph. + </p> + <p> + 'Me,' answered Kirsty; '—and I'll do what I brag o'!' + she added, throwing her stocking on the patch of green sward + about the stone, and starting to her feet with a laugh. 'Is't + to be uphill or alang?' + </p> + <p> + They were near the foot of a hill to whose top went the + heather, but along whose base, between the heather and the + bogland below, lay an irregular belt of moss and grass, + pretty clear of stones. The boy did not seem eager to accept + the challenge. + </p> + <p> + 'There's nae guid in lickin a lassie!' he said with a shrug. + </p> + <p> + 'There mith be guid in tryin to du't though—especially + gien ye war lickit at it!' returned the girl. + </p> + <p> + 'What guid <i>can</i> there be in a body bein lickit at + onything?' + </p> + <p> + 'The guid o' haein a body's pride ta'en doon a wee.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm no sae sure o' the guid o' that! It wud only hand ye ohn + tried (<i>from trying</i>) again.' + </p> + <p> + 'Jist there's what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye + be first, or ye'll no try! Ye'll never du naething for fear + o' no bein able to gang on believin ye cud du 't better nor + ony ither body! Ye dinna want to fin' oot 'at ye're naebody + in particlar. It's a sair pity ye wunna hae yer pride ta'en + doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three pairts o' + 't.—Come, I'm ready for ye! Never min' 'at I'm a + lassie: naebody 'ill ken!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye hae nae sheen (<i>shoes</i>)!' objected the boy. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye can put aff yer ain!' + </p> + <p> + 'My feet's no sae hard as yours!' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, I'll put on mine. They're here, sic as they are. Ye + see I want them gangin throuw the heather wi' Steenie; that's + some sair upo the feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, + and I'll put my sheen on!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm no sae guid uphill.' + </p> + <p> + 'See there noo, Francie! Ye tak yersel for unco courteous, + and honourable, and generous, and k-nichtly, and a' + that—oh, I ken a' aboot it, and it's a' verra weel sae + far as it gangs; but what the better are ye for 't, whan, a' + the time ye're despisin a body 'cause she's but a quean, ye + maun hae ilka advantage o' her, or ye winna gie her a chance + o' lickin ye!—Here! I'll put on my sheen, and rin ye + alang the laich grun'! My sheen's twice the weicht o' yours, + and they dinna fit me!' + </p> + <p> + The boy did not dare go on refusing: he feared what Kirsty + would say next. But he relished nothing at all in the + challenge. It was not fit for a man to run races with a girl: + there were no laurels, nothing but laughter to be won by + victory over her! and in his heart he was not at all sure of + beating Kirsty: she had always beaten him when they were + children. Since then they had been at the parish school + together, but there public opinion kept the boys and girls to + their own special sports. Now Kirsty had left school, and + Francis was going to the grammar-school at the county-town. + They were both about fifteen. All the sense was on the side + of the girl, and she had been doing her best to make the boy + practical like herself—hitherto without much success, + although he was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He had not + yet passed the stage—some appear never to pass it in + this world—in which an admirer feels himself in the + same category with his hero. Many are content with themselves + because they side with those whose ways they do not endeavour + to follow. Such are most who call themselves Christians. If + men admired themselves only for what they did, their conceit + would be greatly moderated. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty put on her heavy tacketed (<i>hob-nailed</i>) + shoes—much too large for her, having been made for her + brother—stood up erect, and putting her elbows back, + said, + </p> + <p> + 'I'll gie ye the start o' me up to yon stane wi' the heather + growin oot o' the tap o' 't.' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na; I'll hae nane o' that!' answered Francis. + </p> + <p> + 'Fairplay to a'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye'd better tak it!' + </p> + <p> + 'Aff wi' ye, or I winna rin at a'!' cried the boy,—and + away they went. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty contrived that he should yet have a little the start + of her—how much from generosity, and how much from + determination that there should be nothing doubtful in the + result, I cannot say—and for a good many yards he kept + it. But if the boy, who ran well, had looked back, he might + have seen that the girl was not doing her best—that she + was in fact restraining her speed. Presently she quickened + her pace, and was rapidly lessening the distance between + them, when, becoming aware of her approach, the boy quickened + his, and for a time there was no change in their relative + position. Then again she quickened her pace—with an + ease which made her seem capable of going on to accelerate it + indefinitely—and was rapidly overtaking him. But as she + drew near, she saw he panted, not a little distressed; + whereupon she assumed a greater speed still, and passed him + swiftly—nor once looked round or slackened her pace + until, having left him far behind, she put a shoulder of the + hill between them. + </p> + <p> + The moment she passed him, the boy flung himself on the + ground and lay. The girl had felt certain he would do so, and + fancied she heard him flop among the heather, but could not + be sure, for, although not even yet at her speed, her blood + was making tunes in her head, and the wind was blowing in and + out of her ears with a pleasant but deafening accompaniment. + When she knew he could see her no longer, she stopped + likewise and threw herself down while she was determining + whether she should leave him quite, or walk back at her + leisure, and let him see how little she felt the run. She + came to the conclusion that it would be kinder to allow him + to get over his discomfiture in private. She rose, therefore, + and went straight up the hill. + </p> + <p> + About half-way to the summit, she climbed a rock as if she + were a goat, and looked all round her. Then she uttered a + shrill, peculiar cry, and listened. No answer came. Getting + down as easily as she had got up, she walked along the side + of the hill, making her way nearly parallel with their late + racecourse, passing considerably above the spot where her + defeated rival yet lay, and descending at length a little + hollow not far from where she and Francis had been sitting. + </p> + <p> + In this hollow, which was covered with short, sweet grass, + stood a very small hut, built of turf from the peat-moss + below, and roofed with sods on which the heather still stuck, + if, indeed, some of it was not still growing. So much was it, + therefore, of the colour of the ground about it, that it + scarcely caught the eye. Its walls and its roof were so thick + that, small as it looked, it was much smaller inside; while + outside it could not have measured more than ten feet in + length, eight in width, and seven in height. Kirsty and her + brother Steenie, not without help from Francis Gordon, had + built it for themselves two years before. Their father knew + nothing of the scheme until one day, proud of their success, + Steenie would have him see their handiwork; when he was so + much pleased with it that he made them a door, on which he + put a lock:— + </p> + <p> + 'For though this be na the kin' o' place to draw + crook-fingered gentry,' he said, 'some gangrel body micht + creep in and mak his bed intil 't, and that lock 'ill be + eneuch to haud him oot, I'm thinkin.' + </p> + <p> + He also cut for them a hole through the wall, and fitted it + with a window that opened and shut, which was more than could + be said of every window at the farmhouse. + </p> + <p> + Into this nest Kirsty went, and in it remained quiet until it + began to grow dark. She had hoped to find her brother waiting + for her, but, although disappointed, chose to continue there + until Francis Gordon should be well on his way to the castle, + and then she crept out, and ran to recover her stocking. + </p> + <p> + When she got home, she found Steenie engrossed in a young + horse their father had just bought. She would fain have + mounted him at once, for she would ride any kind of animal + able to carry her; but, as he had never yet been backed, her + father would not permit her. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch002"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + MOTHER AND SON + </h3> + <p> + Francis lay for some time, thinking Kirsty sure to come back + to him, but half wishing she would not. He rose at length to + see whether she was on the way, but no one was in sight. At + once the place was aghast with loneliness, as it must indeed + have looked to anyone not at peace with solitude. Having sent + several ringing shouts, but in vain, after Kirsty, he turned, + and, in the descending light of an autumn afternoon, set out + on the rather long walk to his home, which was the wearier + that he had nothing pleasant at hand to think about. + </p> + <p> + Passing the farm where Kirsty lived, about two miles brought + him to an ancient turreted house on the top of a low hill, + where his mother sat expecting him, ready to tyrannize over + him as usual, and none the less ready that he was going to + leave her within a week. + </p> + <p> + 'Where have you been all day, Frank?' she said. + </p> + <p> + 'I have been a long walk,' he answered. + </p> + <p> + 'You've been to Corbyknowe!' she returned. 'I know it by your + eyes. I know by the very colour of them you're going to + deceive me. Now don't tell me you haven't been there. I shall + not believe you.' + </p> + <p> + 'I haven't been near the place, mother,' said Francis; but as + he said it his face glowed with a heat that did not come from + the fire. He was not naturally an untruthful boy, and what he + said was correct, for he had passed the house half a mile + away; but his words gave, and were intended to give the + impression that he had not been that day with any of the + people of Corbyknowe. His mother objected to his visiting the + farmer, but he knew instinctively she would have objected yet + more to his spending half the day with Kirsty, whom she never + mentioned, and of whom she scarcely recognized the existence. + Little as she loved her son, Mrs. Gordon would have scorned + to suspect him of preferring the society of such a girl to + her own. In truth, however, there were very few of his + acquaintance whose company Francis would not have chosen + rather than his mother's—except indeed he was ill, when + she was generally very good to him. + </p> + <p> + 'Well, this once I shall believe you,' she answered, 'and I + am glad to be able. It is a painful thought to me, Frank, + that son of mine should feel the smallest attraction to low + company. I have told you twenty times that the man was + nothing but a private in your father's regiment.' + </p> + <p> + 'He was my father's friend!' answered the boy. + </p> + <p> + 'He tells you so, I do not doubt,' returned his mother. 'He + was not likely to leave that mouldy old stone unturned.' + </p> + <p> + The mother sat, and the son stood before her, in a + drawing-room whose furniture of a hundred years old must once + have looked very modern and new-fangled under windows so + narrow and high up, and within walls so thick: without a fire + it was always cold. The carpet was very dingy, and the + mirrors were much spotted; but the poverty of the room was + the respectable poverty of age: old furniture had become + fashionable just in time to save it from being metamorphosed + by its mistress into a show of gay meanness and costly + ugliness. A good fire of mingled peat and coal burned bright + in the barrel-fronted steel grate, and shone in the brass + fender. The face of the boy continued to look very red in the + glow, but still its colour came more from within than from + without: he cherished the memory of his father, and did not + love his mother more than a little. + </p> + <p> + 'He has told me a great deal more about my father than ever + you did, mother!' he answered. + </p> + <p> + 'Well he may have!' she returned. 'Your father was not a + young man when I married him, and they had been together + through I don't know how many campaigns.' + </p> + <p> + 'And you say he was not my father's friend!' + </p> + <p> + 'Not his <i>friend</i>, Frank; his servant—what do they + call them?—his orderly, I dare say; certainly not his + friend.' + </p> + <p> + 'Any man may be another man's friend!' + </p> + <p> + 'Not in the way you mean; not that his son should go and see + him every other day! A dog may be a man's good friend, and so + was sergeant Barclay your father's—very good friend + that way, I don't doubt!' + </p> + <p> + 'You said a moment ago he was but a private, and now you call + him sergeant Barclay!' + </p> + <p> + 'Well, where's the difference?' + </p> + <p> + 'To be made sergeant shows that he was not a common man. If + he had been, he would not have been set over others!' + </p> + <p> + 'Of course he was then, and is now, a very respectable man. + If he were not I should never have let you go and see him at + all. But you must learn to behave like the gentleman you are, + and that you never will while you frequent the company of + your inferiors. Your manners are already almost + ruined—fit for no place but a farmhouse! There you are, + standing on the side of your foot again!—Old Barclay, I + dare say, tells you no end of stories about your mother!' + </p> + <p> + 'He always asks after you, mother, and then never mentions + you more.' + </p> + <p> + She knew perfectly that the boy spoke the truth. + </p> + <p> + 'Don't let me hear of your being there again before you go to + school!' she said definitively. 'By the time you come home + next year I trust your tastes will have improved. Go and make + yourself tidy for dinner. A soldier's son must before + everything attend to his dress.' + </p> + <p> + Francis went to his room, feeling it absolutely impossible to + have told his mother that he had been with Kirsty Barclay, + that he had run a race with her, and that she had left him + alone at the foot of the Horn. That he could not be open with + his mother, no one that knew her unreasoning and stormy + temper would have wondered; but the pitiful boy, who did not + like lying, actually congratulated himself that he had got + through without telling a downright falsehood. It would not + have bettered matters in the least had he disclosed to her + the good advice Kirsty gave him: she would only have been + furious at the impudence of the hussey in talking so to + <i>her</i> son. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch003"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN + </h3> + <p> + The region was like a waste place in the troubled land of + dreams—a spot so waste that the dreamer struggles to + rouse himself from his dream, finding it too dreary to dream + on. I have heard it likened to 'the ill place, wi' the fire + oot;' but it did not so impress me when first, after long + desire, I saw it. There was nothing to suggest the silence of + once roaring flame, no half-molten rocks, no huge, + honey-combed scoriae, no depths within depths glooming + mystery and ancient horror. It was the more desolate that it + moved no active sense of dismay. What I saw was a wide + stretch of damp-looking level, mostly of undetermined or of + low-toned colour, with here and there a black spot, or, on + the margin, the brighter green of a patch of some growing + crop. Flat and wide, the eye found it difficult to rest upon + it and not sweep hurriedly from border to border for lack of + self-asserted object on which to alight. It looked low, but + indeed lay high; the bases of the hills surrounding it were + far above the sea. These hills, at this season a ring of + dull-brown high-heaved hummocks, appeared to make of it a + huge circular basin, miles in diameter, over the rim of which + peered the tops and peaks of mountains more distant. Up the + side of the Horn, which was the loftiest in the ring, ran a + stone wall, in the language of the country a dry-stane-dyke, + of considerable size, climbing to the very top—an ugly + thing which the eye could not avoid. There was nothing but + the grouse to have rendered it worth the proprietor's while + to erect such a boundary to his neighbour's property, + plentiful as were the stones ready for that poorest use of + stones—division. + </p> + <p> + The farms that border the hollow, running each a little way + up the side of the basin, are, some of them at least, as well + cultivated as any in Scotland, but Winter claims there the + paramountcy, and yields to Summer so few of his rights that + the place must look forbidding, if not repulsive, to such as + do not live in it. To love it, I think one must have been + born there. In the summer, it is true, it has the character + of <i>bracing</i>, but can be such, I imagine, only to those + who are pretty well braced already; the delicate of certain + sorts, I think it must soon brace with the bands of death. + </p> + <p> + The region is in constant danger of famine. If the snow come + but a little earlier than usual, the crops lie green under + it, and no store of meal can be laid up in the cottages. + Then, if the snow lie deep, the difficulty in conveying + supplies of the poor fare which their hardihood counts + sufficient, will cause the dwellers there no little + suffering. Of course they are but few. A white cottage may be + seen here and there on the southerly slopes of the basin, but + hardly one in its bottom. + </p> + <p> + It was now summer, and in a month or two the landscape would + look more cheerful; the heather that covered the hills would + no longer be dry and brown and in places black with fire, but + a blaze of red purple, a rich mantle of bloom. Even now, + early in July, the sun had a little power. I cannot say it + would have been warm had there been the least motion in the + air, for seldom indeed could one there from the south grant + that the wind had no keen edge to it; but on this morning + there was absolute stillness, and although it was not easy + for Kirsty to imagine any summer air other than warm, yet the + wind's absence had not a little to do with the sense of + luxurious life that now filled her heart. She sat on her + favourite grassy slope near the foot of the cone-shaped Horn, + looking over the level miles before her, and knitting away at + a ribbed stocking of dark blue whose toe she had nearly + finished, glad in the thought, not of rest from her labour, + but of beginning the yet more important fellow-stocking. She + had no need to look close at her work to keep the loops + right; but she was so careful and precise that, if she lived + to be old and blind, she would knit better then than now. It + was to her the perfect glory of a summer day; and I imagine + her delight in the divine luxury greater than that of many a + poet dwelling in softer climes. + </p> + <p> + The spot where she sat was close by the turf-hut which I have + already described. At every shifting of a needle she would + send a new glance all over her world, a glance to remind one + somehow of the sweep of a broad ray of sunlight across earth + and sea, when, on a morning of upper wind, the broken clouds + take endless liberties with shadow and shine. What she saw I + cannot tell; I know she saw far more than a stranger would + have seen, for she knew her home. His eyes would, I believe, + have been drawn chiefly to those intense spots of live white, + opaque yet brilliant, the heads of the cotton-grass here and + there in thin patches on the dark ground. For nearly the + whole of the level was a peat-moss. Miles and miles of peat, + differing in quality and varying in depth, lay between those + hills, the only fuel almost of the region. In some spots it + was very wet, water lying beneath and all through its + substance; in others, dark spots, the sides of holes whence + it had been dug, showed where it was drier. His eyes would + rest for a moment also on those black spaces on the hills + where the old heather had been burned that its roots might + shoot afresh, and feed the grouse with soft young sprouts, + their chief support: they looked now like neglected spots + where men cast stones and shards, but by and by would be + covered with a tenderer green than the rest of the hill-side. + He would not see the moorland birds that Kirsty saw; he would + only hear their cries, with now and then perhaps the bark of + a sheep-dog. + </p> + <p> + My reader will probably conclude the prospect altogether + uninteresting, even ugly; but certainly Christina Barclay did + not think it such. The girl was more than well satisfied with + the world-shell in which she found herself; she was at the + moment basking, both bodily and spiritually, in a full sense + of the world's bliss. Her soul was bathed in its own content, + calling none of its feelings to account. The sun, the air, + the wide expanse; the hill-tops' nearness to the heavens + which yet they could not invade; the little breaths which + every now and then awoke to assert their existence by + immediately ceasing; doubtless also the knowledge that her + stocking was nearly done, that her father and mother were but + a mile or so away, that she knew where Steenie was, and that + a cry would bring him to her feet;—all these things + bore each a part in making Kirsty quiet with satisfaction. + That there was, all the time, a deeper cause of her peace, + Kirsty knew well-the same that is the root of life itself; + and if it was not, at this moment or at that, filled with + conscious gratitude, her heart was yet like a bird ever on + the point of springing up to soar, and often soaring high + indeed. Whether it came of something special in her + constitution that happiness always made her quiet, as nothing + but sorrow will make some, I do not presume to say. I only + know that, had her bliss changed suddenly to sadness, Kirsty + would have been quiet still. Whatever came to Kirsty seemed + right, for there it was! + </p> + <p> + She was now a girl of sixteen. The only sign she showed of + interest in her person, appeared in her hair and the covering + of her neck. Of one of the many middle shades of brown, with + a rippling tendency to curl in it, her hair was parted with + nicety, and drawn back from her face into a net of its own + colour, while her neckerchief was of blue silk, covering a + very little white skin, but leaving bare a brown throat. She + wore a blue print wrapper, nowise differing from that of a + peasant woman, and a blue winsey petticoat, beyond which + appeared her bare feet, lovely in shape, and brown of hue. + Her dress was nowise trim, and suggested neither tidiness nor + disorder. The hem of the petticoat was in truth a little + rent, but not more than might seem admissible where the rough + wear was considered to which the garment was necessarily + exposed: when a little worse it would receive the proper + attention, and be brought back to respectability! Kirsty + grudged the time spent on her garments. She looked down on + them as the moon might on the clouds around her. She made or + mended them to wear them, not think about them. + </p> + <p> + Her forehead was wide and rather low, with straight eyebrows. + Her eyes were of a gentle hazel, not the hazel that looks + black at night. Her nose was strong, a little irregular, with + plenty of substance, and sensitive nostrils. A decided and + well-shaped chin dominated a neck by no means slender, and + seemed to assert the superiority of the face over the whole + beautiful body. Its chief expression was of a strong repose, + a sweet, powerful peace, requiring but occasion to pass into + determination. The sensitiveness of the nostrils with the + firmness in the meeting of the closed lips, suggested a + faculty of indignation unsparing toward injustice; while the + clearness of the heaven of the forehead gave confidence that + such indignation would never show itself save for another. + </p> + <p> + I wish, presumptuous wish! that I could see the mind of a + woman grow as she sits spinning or weaving: it would reveal + the process next highest to creation. But the only hope of + ever understanding such things lies in growing oneself. There + is the still growth of the moonlit night of reverie; cloudy, + with wind, and a little rain, comes the morning of thought, + when the mind grows faster and the heart more slowly; then + wakes the storm in the forest of human relation, tempest and + lightning abroad, the soul enlarging by great bursts of + vision and leaps of understanding and resolve; then floats up + the mystic twilight eagerness, not unmingled with the dismay + of compelled progress, when, bidding farewell to that which + is behind, the soul is driven toward that which is before, + grasping at it with all the hunger of the new birth. The + story of God's universe lies in the growth of the individual + soul. Kirsty's growth had been as yet quiet and steady. + </p> + <p> + Once more as she shifted her needle her glance went flitting + over the waste before her. This time there was more life in + sight. Far away Kirsty descried something of the nature of + man upon horse: to say how far would have been as difficult + for one unused to the flat moor as for a landsman to reckon + distances at sea. Of the people of the place, hardly another, + even under the direction of Kirsty, could have contrived to + see it. At length, after she had looked many times, she could + clearly distinguish a youth on a strong, handsome hill-pony, + and remained no longer in the slightest doubt as to who he + might be. + </p> + <p> + They came steadily over the dark surface of the moor, and it + was clear that the pony must know the nature of the ground + well; for now he glided along as fast as he could gallop, now + made a succession of short jumps, now halted, examined the + ground, and began slowly picking his way. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty watched his approach with gentle interest, while every + movement of the youth indicated eagerness. Gordon had seen + her on the hillside, probably long before she saw him, had + been coming to her in as straight a line as the ground would + permit, and at length was out of the boggy level, and + ascending the slope of the hillfoot to where she sat. When he + was within about twenty yards of her she gave him a little + nod, and then fixed her eyes on her knitting. He held on till + within a few feet of her, then pulled up and threw himself + from his pony's back. The creature, covered with foam, stood + a minute panting, then fell to work on the short grass. + </p> + <p> + Francis had grown considerably, and looked almost a young + man. He was a little older than Kirsty, but did not appear + so, his expression being considerably younger than hers. + Whether self-indulgence or aspiration was to come out of his + evident joy in life, seemed yet undetermined. His countenance + indicated nothing bad. He might well have represented one at + the point before having to choose whether to go up or down + hill. He was dressed a little showily in a short coat of dark + tartan, and a highland bonnet with a brooch and feather, and + carried a lady's riding-whip—his mother's, no + doubt—its top set with stones—so that his + appearance was altogether a contrast to that of the girl. She + was a peasant, he a gentleman! Her bare head and yet more her + bare feet emphasized the contrast. But which was by nature + and in fact the superior, no one with the least insight could + have doubted. + </p> + <p> + He stood and looked at her, but neither spoke. She cast at + length a glance upward, and said, + </p> + <p> + 'Weel?' + </p> + <p> + Francis did not open his mouth. He seemed irresolute. Nothing + in Kirsty's look or carriage or in the tone of her one word + gave sign of consciousness that she was treating him, or he + her, strangely. With complete self-possession she left the + initiative to the one who had sought the interview: let him + say why he had come! + </p> + <p> + In his face began to appear indication of growing + displeasure. Two or three times he turned half away with a + movement instantly checked which seemed to say that in a + moment more, if there came no change, he would mount and + ride: was this all his welcome? + </p> + <p> + At last she appeared to think she must take mercy on him: he + used to say thirty words to her one! + </p> + <p> + 'That's a bonny powny ye hae,' she remarked, with a look at + the creature as he fed. + </p> + <p> + 'He's a' that,' he answered dryly. + </p> + <p> + 'Whaur did ye get him?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + 'My mither coft (<i>bought</i>) him agen my hame-comin,' he + replied. + </p> + <p> + He prided himself on being able to speak the broadest of the + dialect. + </p> + <p> + 'She maun hae a straucht e'e for a guid beast!' returned + Kirsty, with a second glance at the pony. + </p> + <p> + 'He's a bonny cratur and a willin,' answered the youth. + 'He'll gang skelp throuw onything—watter + onygait;—I'm no sae sure aboot fire.' + </p> + <p> + A long silence followed, broken this time by the youth. + </p> + <p> + 'Winna ye gie me luik nor word, and me ridden like mad to hae + a sicht o' ye?' he said. + </p> + <p> + She glanced up at him. + </p> + <p> + 'Weel ye hae that!' she answered, with a smile that showed + her lovely white teeth: 'ye're a' dubs (<i>all bemired</i>)! + What for sud ye be in sic a hurry? Ye saw me no three days + gane!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, I saw ye, it's true; but I didna get a word o' ye!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye was free to say what ye likit. There was nane by but my + mither!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wud ye hae me say a'thing afore yer mither jist as I wud til + ye yer lane (<i>alone</i>)?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + Ay wud I,' she returned. 'Syne she wad ken, 'ithoot my haein + to tell her sic a guse as ye was!' + </p> + <p> + Had he not seen the sunny smile that accompanied her words he + might well have taken offence. + </p> + <p> + 'I wuss ye war anither sic-like!' he answered simply. + </p> + <p> + 'Syne there wud be twa o' 's!' she returned, leaving him to + interpret. + </p> + <p> + Silence again fell. + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, what wud ye hae, Francie?' said Kirsty at length. + </p> + <p> + 'I wud hae ye promise to merry me, Kirsty, come the time,' he + answered; 'and that ye ken as well as I du mysel!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's straucht oot ony gait!' rejoined Kirsty. 'But ye see, + Francie,' she went on, 'yer father, whan he left ye a kin' o' + a legacy, as ye may ca' 't, to mine, hed no intention that + <i>I</i> was to be left oot; neither had <i>my</i> father + whan he acceppit o' 't!' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna unerstan ye ae styme (<i>one atom</i>)!' interrupted + Gordon. + </p> + <p> + 'Haud yer tongue and hearken,' returned Kirsty. 'What I'm + meanin 's this: what lies to my father's han' lies to mine as + weel; and I'll never hae 't kenned or said that, whan my + father pu't (<i>pulled</i>) ae gait, I pu't anither!' + </p> + <p> + 'Sakes, lassie! what <i>are</i> ye haverin at? Wud it be + pu'in agen yer father to merry me?' + </p> + <p> + 'It wud be that.' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna see hoo ye can mak it oot! I dinna see hoo, bein sic + a freen' o' my father's, he sud objeck to my father's son!' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but laddies <i>ir</i> gowks!' cried Kirsty. 'My father + was your father's freen' for <i>his</i> sake, no for his ain! + He thinks o' what wud be guid for you, no for himsel!' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, but,' persisted Gordon, 'it wud be mair for my guid + nor onything ither he cud wuss for, to hae you for my wife!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty's nostrils began to quiver, and her lip rose in a + curve of scorn. + </p> + <p> + 'A bonnie wife ye wud hae, Francie Gordon, wha, kennin her + father duin ilk mortal thing for the love o' his auld maister + and comrade, tuik the fine chance to mak her ain o' 't, and + haud her grip o' the callan til hersel!—Think ye aither + o' the auld men ever mintit at sic a thing as fatherin baith? + That my father had a lass-bairn o' 's ain shawed mair nor + onything the trust your father pat in 'im! Francie, the verra + grave wud cast me oot for shame 'at I sud ance hae thoucht o' + sic a thing! Man, it wud maist drive yer leddy-mither + dementit!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's my business' Kirsty, wha I merry!' + </p> + <p> + 'And I houp yer grace 'll alloo it's pairt <i>my</i> business + wha ye sail <i>not</i> merry—and that's me, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + Gordon sprang to his feet with such a look of wrath and + despair as for a moment frightened Kirsty who was not easily + frightened. She thought of the terrible bog-holes on the way + her lover had come, sprang also to her feet, and caught him + by the arm where, his foot already in the stirrup, he stood + in the act of mounting. + </p> + <p> + 'Francie! Francie!' she cried, 'hearken to rizzon! There's no + a body, man or wuman, I like better nor yersel to du ye ony + guid or turn o' guid—'cep' my father, of coorse, and my + mither, and my ain Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + 'And hoo mony mair, gien I had the wull to hear the lang + bible-chapter o' them, and see mysel comin in at the tail o' + them a', like the hin'most sheep, takin his bite as he cam? + Na, na! it's time I was hame, and had my slip + (<i>pinafore</i>) on, and was astride o' a stick! Gien ye had + a score o' idiot-brithers, ye wud care mair for ilk are o' + them nor for me! I canna bide to think o' 't.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's true a' the same, whether ye can bide to think o' 't or + no, Francie!' returned the girl, her face, which had been + very pale, now rosy with indignation. 'My Steenie's mair to + me nor a' the Gordons thegither, Bow-o'-meal or Jock-and-Tam + as ye like!' + </p> + <p> + She drew back, sat down again to the stocking she was + knitting for Steenie, and left her lover to mount and ride, + which he did without another word. + </p> + <p> + 'There's mair nor ae kin' o' idiot,' she said to herself, + 'and Steenie's no the kin' that oucht to be ca'd ane. There's + mair in Steenie nor in sax Francie Gordons!' + </p> + <p> + If ever Kirsty came to love a man, it would be just nothing + to her to die for him; but then it never would have been + anything to her to die for her father or her mother or + Steenie! + </p> + <p> + Gordon galloped off at a wild pace, as if he would drive his + pony straight athwart the terrible moss, taking hag and + well-eye as it came. But glancing behind and seeing that + Kirsty was not looking after him, he turned the creature's + head in a safer direction, and left the moss at his back. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch004"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + DOG-STEENIE + </h3> + <p> + She sat for some time at the foot of the hill, motionless as + itself, save for her hands. The sun shone on in silence, and + the blue butterflies which haunted the little bush of + bluebells, that is harebells, beside her, made no noise; only + a stray bee, happy in the pale heat, made a little music to + please itself—and perhaps the butterflies. Kirsty had + an unusual power of sitting still, even with nothing for her + hands to do. On the present occasion, however, her hands and + fingers went faster than usual—not entirely from + eagerness to finish her stocking, but partly from her + displeasure with Francis. At last she broke her 'worset,' + drew the end of it through the final loop, and, drawing it, + rose and scanned the side of the hill. Not far off she spied + the fleecy backs of a few feeding sheep, and straightway sent + out on the still air a sweet, strong, musical cry. It was + instantly responded to by a bark from somewhere up the hill. + She sat down, clasped her hands over her knees, and waited. + </p> + <p> + She had not to wait long. A sound of rushing came through the + heather, and in a moment or two, a fine collie, with long, + silky, wavy coat of black and brown, and one white spot on + his face, shot out of the heather, sprang upon her, and, + setting his paws on her shoulders, began licking her face. + She threw her arms round him, and addressed him in words of + fondling rebuke:— + </p> + <p> + 'Ye ill-mennered tyke!' she said; 'what richt hae ye to tak + the place o' yer betters? Gang awa doon wi' ye, and wait. + What for sud ye tak advantage o' your fower legs to his twa, + and him the maister o' ye! But, eh man, ye're a fine doggie, + and I canna bide the thoucht 'at yer langest day maun be sae + short, and tak ye awa hame sae lang afore the lave o' 's!' + </p> + <p> + While she scolded, she let him caress her as he pleased. + Presently he left her, and going a yard or two away, threw + himself on the grass with such <i>abandon</i> as no animal + but a weary dog seems capable of reaching. He had made haste + to be first that he might caress her before his master came; + now he heard him close behind, and knew his opportunity over. + </p> + <p> + Stephen came next out of the heather, creeping to Kirsty's + feet on all-fours. He was a gaunt, longbacked lad, who, at + certain seasons undetermined, either imagined himself the + animal he imitated, or had some notion of being required, or, + possibly, compelled to behave like a dog. When the fit was + upon him, all the day long he would speak no word even to his + sister, would only bark or give a low growl like the collie. + In this last he succeeded much better than in running like + him, although, indeed, his arms were so long that it was + comparatively easy for him to use them as forelegs. He let + his head hang low as he went, throwing it up to bark, and + sinking it yet lower when he growled, which was seldom, and + to those that loved him indicated great trouble. He did not + like Snootie raise himself on his hindlegs to caress his + sister, but gently subsided upon her feet, and there lay + panting, his face to the earth, and his fore-arms crossed + beneath his nose. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty stooped, and stroked and patted him as if he were the + dog he seemed fain to be. Then drawing her feet from under + him, she rose, and going a little way up the hill to the hut, + returned presently with a basin full of rich-looking milk, + and <i>a quarter</i> of thick oat-cake, which she had brought + from home in the morning. The milk she set beside her as she + resumed her seat. Then she put her feet again under the + would-be dog, and proceeded to break small pieces from the + oat-cake and throw them to him. He sought every piece eagerly + as it fell, but with his mouth only, never moving either + hand, and seemed to eat it with a satisfaction worthy of his + simulated nature. When the oat-cake was gone, she set the + bowl before him, and he drank the milk with care and + neatness, never putting a hand to steady it. + </p> + <p> + 'Now you must have a sleep, Steenie!' said his sister. + </p> + <p> + She rose, and he crawled slowly after her up the hill on his + hands and knees. All the time he kept his face down, and, his + head hanging toward the earth, his long hair hid it quite. He + strongly suggested a great Skye-terrier. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the hut, Kirsty went in, and Steenie crept + after her. They had covered the floor of it with heather, the + stalks set upright and close packed, so that, even where the + bells were worn off, it still made a thick long-piled carpet, + elastic and warm. When the door was shut, they were snug + there even in winter. + </p> + <p> + Inside, the hut was about six feet long, and four wide. Its + furniture was a little deal table and one low chair. In the + turf of which the wall consisted, at the farther end from the + door, Kirsty had cut out a small oblong recess to serve as a + shelf for her books. The hut was indeed her library, for in + that bole stood, upright with its back to the room, in proper + and tidy fashion, almost every book she could call her own. + They were about a dozen, several with but one board and some + with no title, one or two very old, and all well used. Most + of her time there, when she was not knitting, Kirsty spent in + reading and thinking about what she read; many a minute, even + when she was knitting, she managed to read as well. She had + read two of sir Walter's novels, and several of the + Ettrick-shepherd's shorter tales, which the schoolmaster had + lent her; but on her shelf and often in her hands were a + Shakspere, a Milton, and a translation of Klopstock's + <i>Messiah</i>—which she liked far better than the + <i>Paradise Lost</i>, though she did not admire it nearly so + much. Of the latter she would say, 'It's unco gran', but it + never maks my hert grit (<i>great</i>), meaning that it never + caused her any emotion. Among her treasures was also a + curious old book of ghost-stories, concerning which the sole + remark she was ever heard to make was, that she would like to + know whether they were true: she thought Steenie could tell, + but she would not question him about them. Ramsay's <i>Gentle + Shepherd was</i> there too, which she liked for the good + sense in it. There was a thumbed edition of Burns also, but I + do not think much of the thumbing was Kirsty's, though she + had several of his best poems by heart. + </p> + <p> + Between the ages of ten and fifteen, Kirsty had gone to the + parish school of the nearest town: it looked a village, but + they always called it <i>the town</i>. There a sister of her + father lived, and with her she was welcome to spend the + night, so that she was able to go in most weathers. But when + she staid there, her evening was mostly spent at the + schoolmaster's. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Craig was an elderly man, who had married late, and lost + his wife early. She had left him one child, a delicate, + dainty, golden-haired thing, considerably younger than + Kirsty, who cherished for her a love and protection quite + maternal. Kirsty was one of the born mothers, who are not + only of the salt, but are the sugar and shelter of the world. + I doubt if little Phemie would have learned anything but for + Kirsty. Not to the day of her death did her father see in her + anything but the little girl his wife had left him. He + spoiled her a good deal, nor ever set himself to instruct + her, leaving it apparently to the tendency of things to make + of her a woman like her mother. + </p> + <p> + He was a real student and excellent teacher. When first he + came as schoolmaster to Tiltowie, he was a divinity student, + but a man so far of thought original that he saw lions in the + way of becoming a minister. Such men as would be servants of + the church before they are slaves of the church's Master will + never be troubled with Mr. Craig's difficulties. For one + thing, his strong poetic nature made it impossible for him to + believe in a dull, prosaic God: when told that God's thoughts + are not as our thoughts, he found himself unable to imagine + them inferior to ours. The natural result was that he + remained a schoolmaster—to the advantage of many a + pupil, and very greatly to the advantage of Kirsty, whose + nature was peculiarly open to his influences. The dominie + said he had never had a pupil that gave him such satisfaction + as Kirsty; she seemed to anticipate and catch at everything + he wanted to make hers. There was no knowledge, he declared, + that he could offer her, which the lassie from Corbyknowe + would not take in like her porridge. Best thing of all for + her was that, following his own predilections, he paid far + more attention, in his class for English, to poetry than to + prose. Colin Craig was himself no indifferent poet, and was + even a master of the more recondite forms of verse. If, in + some measure led astray by the merit of the form, he was + capable of admiring verse essentially inferior, he yet + certainly admired the better poetry more. He had, besides, + the faculty of perceiving whether what he had written would + or would not <i>convey</i> his thought—a faculty in + which even a great poet may be deficient. + </p> + <p> + In a word, Kirsty learned everything Mr. Craig brought within + her reach; and long after she left school, the Saturday on + which she did not go to see him was a day of disappointment + both to the dominie and to his little Phemie. + </p> + <p> + When she had once begun to follow a thing, Kirsty would never + leave the trail of it. Her chief business as well as delight + was to look after Steenie, but perfect attention to him left + her large opportunity of pursuing her studies, especially at + such seasons in which his peculiar affection, whatever it + really was, required hours of untimely sleep. For, although + at all times he wandered at his will without her, he + invariably wanted to be near her when he slept; while she, + satisfied that so he slept better, had not once at such a + time left him. During summer, and as long before and after as + the temperature permitted, the hut was the place he preferred + when his necessity was upon him; and it was Kirsty's especial + delight to sit in it on a warm day, the door open and her + brother asleep on her feet, reading and reading while the sun + went down the sky, to fill the hut as he set with a glory of + promise; after which came the long gloamin, like a life out + of which the light but not the love has vanished, in which + she neither worked nor read, but brooded over many things. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the door open behind them, Kirsty took a book from + the bole, and seated herself on the low chair; instantly + Steenie, who had waited motionless until she was settled, + threw himself across her feet on the carpet of heather, and + in a moment was fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + There they remained, the one reading, the other sleeping, + while the hours of the warm summer afternoon slipped away, + ripples on the ocean of the lovely, changeless eternity, the + consciousness of God. For a time the watching sister was + absorbed in King Lear; then she fell to wondering whether + Cordelia was not unkindly stiff toward her old father, but + perceived at length that, with such sisters listening, she + could not have spoken otherwise. Then she wondered whether + there could be women so bad as Goneril and Regan, concluding + that Shakspere must know better than she. At last she drew + her bare feet from under Steenie, and put them on his back, + where the coolness was delightful. Then first she became + aware that the sun was down and the gloamin come, and that + the whole world must be feeling just like her feet. The long + clear twilight, which would last till morning, was about her, + the eerie sleeping day, when the lovely ghosts come out of + their graves in the long grass, and walk about in the cool + world, with little ghosty sighs at sight of the old places, + and fancy they are dreaming. Kirsty was always willing to + believe in ghosts: awake in the dark nights she did not; but + in her twilight reveries she grew very nearly a ghost + herself. + </p> + <p> + It was a wonder she could sit so long and not feel worn out; + but Kirsty was exceptionally strong, in absolute health, and + specially gifted with patience. She had so early entertained + and so firmly grasped the idea that she was sent into the + world expressly to take care of Steenie, that devotion to him + had grown into a happy habit with her. The waking mind gave + itself up to the sleeping, the orderly to the troubled brain, + the true heart to the heart as true. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch005"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + COLONEL AND SERGEANT + </h3> + <p> + There was no difference of feeling betwixt the father and + mother in regard to this devotion of Kirsty's very being to + her Steenie; but the mother in especial was content with it, + for while Kirsty was the apple of her eye, Steenie was her + one loved anxiety. + </p> + <p> + David Barclay, a humble unit in the widespread and + distinguished family of the Barclays or Berkeleys, was born, + like his father and grandfather and many more of his + ancestors, on the same farm he now occupied. While his father + was yet alive, with an elder son to succeed him, David + <i>listed</i>—mainly from a strong desire to be near a + school-friend, then an ensign in the service of the East + India Company. Throughout their following military career + they were in the same regiment, the one rising to be colonel, + the other sergeant-major. All the time, the + schoolboy-attachment went on deepening in the men; and, all + the time, was never man more respectfully obedient to orders + than David Barclay to those of the superior officer with whom + in private he was on terms of intimacy. As often as they + could without attracting notice, the comrades threw aside all + distinction of rank, and were again the Archie Gordon and + Davie Barclay of old school-days—as real to them still + as those of the hardest battles they had fought together. In + more primitive Scotland, such relations are, or were more + possible than in countries where more divergent habits of + life occasion wider social separations; and then these were + sober-minded men, who neither made much of the shows of the + world, nor were greedy after distinction, which is the mere + coffin wherein Duty-done lies buried. + </p> + <p> + When they returned to their country, both somewhat disabled, + the one retired to his inherited estate, the other to the + family farm upon that estate, where his brother had died + shortly before; so that Archie was now Davie's landlord. But + no new relation would ever destroy the friendship which + school had made close, and war had welded. Almost every week + the friends met and spent the evening together—much + oftener, by and by, at Corbyknowe than at Castle Weelset. For + both married soon after their return, and their wives were of + different natures. + </p> + <p> + 'My colonel has the glory,' Barclay said once, and but once, + to his sister, 'but, puir fallow, I hae the wife!' And truly + the wife at the farm had in her material enough, both moral + and intellectual, for ten ladies better than the wife at the + castle. + </p> + <p> + David's wife brought him a son the first year of their + marriage, and the next year came a son to the colonel and a + daughter to the sergeant. One night, as the two fathers sat + together at the farm, some twelve hours after the birth of + David's girl, they mutually promised that the survivor would + do his best for the child of the other. Before he died the + colonel would gladly have taken his boy from his wife and + given him to his old comrade. + </p> + <p> + As to Steenie, the elder of David's children, he was yet + unborn when his father, partly in consequence of a wound from + which he never quite recovered, met with rather a serious + accident through a young horse in the harvest-field, and the + report reached his wife that he was killed. To the shock she + thus received was generally attributed the peculiarity of the + child, prematurely born within a month after. He had long + passed the age at which children usually begin to walk, + before he would even attempt to stand, but he had grown + capable of a speed on all-fours that was astonishing. When at + last he did walk, it was for more than two years with the air + of one who had learned a trick; and throughout his childhood + and a great part of his boyhood, he continued to go on + all-fours rather than on his feet. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch006"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + MAN-STEENIE + </h3> + <p> + The sleeping youth began at length to stir: it was more than + an hour before he quite woke up. Then all at once he started + to his feet with his eyes wide open, putting back from his + forehead the long hair which fell over them, and revealing a + face not actually looking old, but strongly suggesting age. + His eyes were of a pale blue, with a hazy, mixed, uncertain + gleam in them, reminding one of the shifty shudder and shake + and start of the northern lights at some heavenly version of + the game of Puss in the Corner. His features were more than + good; they would have been grand had they been large, but + they were peculiarly small. His head itself was very small in + proportion to his height, his forehead, again, large in + proportion to his head, while his chin was such as we are in + the way of calling strong. Although he had been all day + acting a dog in charge of sheep, and treating the collie as + his natural companion, there was, both in his countenance and + its expression, a remarkable absence of the animal. He had a + kind of exaltation in his look; he seemed to expect + something, not at hand, but sure to come. His eyes rested for + a moment, with a love of absolute devotion, on the face of + his sister; then he knelt at her feet, and as if to receive + her blessing, bowed his head before her. She laid her hand + upon it, and in a tone of unutterable tenderness said, + 'Man-Steenie!' Instantly he rose to his feet. Kirsty rose + also, and they went out of the hut. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight had not left the west, but had crept round some + distance toward the north. Stars were shining faint through + the thin shadow of the world. Steenie stretched himself up, + threw his arms aloft, and held them raised, as if at once he + would grow and reach toward the infinite. Then he looked down + on Kirsty, for he was taller than she, and pointed straight + up, with the long lean forefinger of one of the long lean + arms that had all day been legs to the would-be + dog—into the heavens, and smiled. Kirsty looked up, + nodded her head, and smiled in return. Then they started in + the direction of home, and for some time walked in silence. + At length Steenie spoke. His voice was rather feeble, but + clear, articulate, and musical. + </p> + <p> + 'My feet's terrible heavy the nicht, Kirsty!' he said. 'Gien + it wasna for them, the lave o' me wud be up and awa. It's + terrible to be hauden doon by the feet this gait!' + </p> + <p> + 'We're a' hauden doon the same gait, Steenie. Maybe it's some + waur for you 'at wud sae fain gang up, nor for the lave o' 's + 'at's mair willin to bide a wee; but it 'll be the same at + the last whan we're a' up there thegither.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wudna care sae muckle gien he didna grip me by the queets + (<i>ankles</i>), like! I dinna like to be grippit by the + queets! He winna lat me win at the thongs!' + </p> + <p> + 'Whan the richt time comes,' returned Kirsty solemnly, 'the + bonny man 'll lowse the thongs himsel.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, ay! I ken that weel. It was me 'at tellt ye. He tauld me + himsel! I'm thinkin I'll see him the nicht, for I'm sair + hauden doon, sair needin a sicht o' 'im. He's whiles lang o' + comin!' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna won'er 'at ye're sae fain to see 'im, Steenie!' 'I + <i>am</i> that; fain, fain!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye'll see 'im or lang. It's a fine thing to hae patience.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye come ilka day, Kirsty: what for sudna he come ilka + nicht?' + </p> + <p> + 'He has reasons, Steenie. He kens best.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, he kens best. I ken naething but him—and you, + Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty said no more. Her heart was too full. + </p> + <p> + Steenie stood still, and throwing back his head, stared for + some moments up into the great heavens over him. Then he + said: + </p> + <p> + 'It's a bonny day, the day the bonny man bides in! The ither + day—the day the lave o' ye bides in—the day whan + I'm no mysel but a sair ooncomfortable collie—that + day's ower het—and sometimes ower cauld; but the day he + bides in is aye jist what a day sud be! Ay, it's that! it's + that!' + </p> + <p> + He threw himself down, and lay for a minute looking up into + the sky. Kirsty stood and regarded him with loving eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'I hae a' the bonny day afore me!' he murmured to himself. + 'Eh, but it's better to be a man nor a beast Snootie's a fine + beast, and a gran' collie, but I wud raither be mysel—a + heap raither—aye at han' to catch a sicht o' the bonny + man! Ye maun gang hame to yer bed, Kirsty!— Is't the + bonny man comes til ye i' yer dreams and says, "Gang til him, + Kirsty, and be mortal guid til him"? It maun be surely that!' + </p> + <p> + 'Willna ye gang wi' me, Steenie, as far as the door?' + rejoined Kirsty, almost beseechingly, and attempting no + answer to what he had last said. + </p> + <p> + It was at times such as this that Kirsty knew sadness. When + she had to leave her brother on the hillside all the long + night, to look on no human face, hear no human word, but + wander in strangest worlds of his own throughout the slow + dark hours, the sense of a separation worse than death would + wrap her as in a shroud. In his bodily presence, however far + away in thought or sleep or dreams his soul might be, she + could yet tend him with her love; but when he was out of her + sight, and she had to sleep and forget him, where was + Steenie, and how was he faring? Then he seemed to her as one + forsaken, left alone with his sorrows to an existence + companionless and dreary. But in truth Steenie was by no + means to be pitied. However much his life was apart from the + lives of other men, he did not therefore live alone. Was he + not still of more value than many sparrows? And Kirsty's love + for him had in it no shadow of despair. Her pain at such + times was but the indescribable love-lack of mothers when + their sons are far away, and they do not know what they are + doing, what they are thinking; or when their daughters seem + to have departed from them or ever the silver cord be loosed, + or the golden bowl broken. And yet how few, when the air of + this world is clearest, ever come into essential contact with + those they love best! But the triumph of Love, while most it + seems to delay, is yet ceaselessly rushing hitherward on the + wings of the morning. + </p> + <p> + 'Willna ye gang as far as the door wi' me, Steenie?' she + said. + </p> + <p> + 'I wull do that, Kirsty. But ye're no feart, are ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, no a grain! What would I be feart for?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ow, naething! At this time there's naething oot and aboot to + be feart at. In what ye ca' the daytime, I'm a kin' o' in + danger o' knockin mysel again things; I never du that at + nicht.' + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he sprang to his feet, and they walked on. + Kirsty's heart seemed to swell with pain; for Steenie was at + once more rational and more strange than usual, and she felt + the farther away from him. His words were very quiet, but his + eyes looked full of stars. + </p> + <p> + 'I canna tell what it is aboot the sun 'at maks a dog o' me!' + he said. 'He's hard-like, and hauds me oot, and gars me hing + my heid, and feel as gien I wur a kin' o' ashamed, though I + ken o' naething. But the bonny nicht comes straucht up to me, + and into me, and gangs a' throuw me, and bides i' me; and + syne I luik for the bonny man!' + </p> + <p> + 'I wuss ye wud lat me bide oot the nicht wi' ye, Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + 'What for that, Kirsty? Ye maun sleep, and I'm better my + lane.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's jist hit!' returned Kirsty, with a deep-drawn sigh. + 'I canna bide yer bein yer lane, and yet, do what I like, I + canna, whiles, even i' the daytime, win a bit nearer til ye! + Gien only ye was as little as ye used to be, whan I cud carry + ye aboot a' day, and tak ye intil my ain bed a' nicht! But + noo we're jist like the sun and the mune!-whan ye're oot' I'm + in; and whan ye're in—well I'm no oot' but my sowl's + jist as blear-faced as the mune i' the daylicht to think + ye'll be awa again sae sune!—But it <i>canna</i> gang + on like this to a' eternity, and that's a comfort!' + </p> + <p> + 'I ken naething aboot eternity. I'm thinkin it'll a' turn + intil a lown starry nicht, wi' the bonny man intil't. I'm + sure o' ae thing, and that only—'at something 'ill be + putten richt 'at's far frae richt the noo; and syne, Kirsty, + ye'll hae yer ain gait wi' me, and I'll be sae far like ither + fowk: idiot 'at I am, I wud be sorry to be turnt a'thegither + the same as some! Ye see I ken sae muckle they ken naething + aboot, or they wudna be as they are! It maybe disna become + <i>me</i> to say't, ony mair nor Gowk Murnock 'at sits o' the + pu'pit stair,—but eh the styte (<i>nonsense</i>) oor + minister dings oot o' his ain heid, as gien it war the stoor + oot o' the bible-cushion! It's no possible he's ever seen the + bonny man as I hae seen him!' + </p> + <p> + 'We'll a' hae to come ower to you, Steenie, and learn frae ye + what ye ken. We'll hae to mak <i>you</i> the minister, + Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na; I ken naething for ither fowk—only for mysel; + and that's whiles mair nor I can win roun', no to say gie + again!' 'Some nicht ye'll lat me bide oot wi' ye a' nicht? I + wud sair like it, Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye sail, Kirsty; but it maun be some nicht ye hae sleepit a' + day.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but I cudna do that, tried I ever sae hard!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye cud lie i' yer bed ony gait, and mak the best o' 't! + <i>Ye</i> hae naebody, I ken, to <i>gar</i> you sleep!' + </p> + <p> + They went all the rest of the way talking thus, and Kirsty's + heart grew lighter, for she seemed to get a little nearer to + her brother. He had been her live doll and idol ever since + his mother laid him in her arms when she was little more than + three years old. For though Steenie was nearly a year older + than Kirsty, she was at that time so much bigger that she was + able, not indeed to carry him, but to nurse him on her knees. + She thought herself the elder of the two until she was about + ten, by which time she could not remember any beginning to + her carrying of him. About the same time, however, he began + to grow much faster, and she found before long that only upon + her back could she carry him any distance. + </p> + <p> + The discovery that he was the elder somehow gave a fresh + impulse to her love and devotion, and intensified her pitiful + tenderness. Kirsty's was indeed a heart in which the whole + unhappy world might have sought and found shelter. She had + the notion, notwithstanding, that she was harder-hearted than + most, and therefore better able to do things that were right + but not pleasant. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch007"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + CORBYKNOWE + </h3> + <p> + 'Ye'll come in and say a word to mother, Steenie?' said + Kirsty, as they came near the door of the house. + </p> + <p> + It was a long, low building, with a narrow paving in front + from end to end, of stones cast up by the plough. Its walls, + but one story high, rough-cast and white-washed, shone dim in + the twilight. Under a thick projecting thatch the door stood + wide open, and from the kitchen, whose door was also open, + came the light of a peat-fire and a fish-oil-lamp. Throughout + the summer Steenie was seldom in the house an hour of the + twenty-four, and now he hesitated to enter. In the winter he + would keep about it a good part of the day, and was generally + indoors the greater part of the night, but by no means + always. + </p> + <p> + While he hesitated, his mother appeared in the doorway of the + kitchen. She was a tall, fine-looking woman, with soft gray + eyes, and an expression of form and features which left + Kirsty accounted for. + </p> + <p> + 'Come awa in by, Steenie, my man!' she said, in a tone that + seemed to wrap its object in fold upon fold of tenderness, + enough to make the peat-smoke that pervaded the kitchen seem + the very atmosphere of the heavenly countries. 'Come and hae + a drappy o' new-milkit milk, and a piece (<i>a piece of + bread</i>)'. + </p> + <p> + Steenie stood smiling and undecided on the slab in front of + the doorstep. + </p> + <p> + 'Dreid naething, Steenie,' his mother went on. 'There's no + are to interfere wi' yer wull, whatever it be. The hoose is + yer ain to come and gang as ye see fit. But ye ken that, and + Kirsty kens that, as weel's yer father and mysel.' + </p> + <p> + 'Mother, I ken what ye say to be the trowth, and I hae a + gran' pooer o' believin the trowth. But a'body believes their + ain mither: that's i' the order o' things as they war first + startit! Still I wud raither no come in the nicht. I wud + raither hand awa and no tribble ye wi' mair o' the sicht o' + me nor I canna help—that is, till the cheenge come, and + things be set richt. I dinna aye ken what I'm aboot, but I + aye ken 'at I'm a kin' o' a disgrace to ye, though I canna + tell hoo I'm to blame for 't. Sae I'll jist bide theroot wi' + the bonny stars 'at's aye theroot, and kens a' aboot it, and + disna think nane the waur o' me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Laddie! laddie! wha on the face o' God's yerth thinks the + waur o' ye for a wrang dune ye?—though wha has the wyte + o' that same I daurna think, weel kennin 'at a'thing's aither + ordeent or allooed, makin muckle the same. Come winter, come + summer, come richt, come wrang, come life, come deith, what + are ye, what can ye be, but my ain, ain laddie!' + </p> + <p> + Steenie stepped across the threshold and followed his mother + into the kitchen, where the pot was already on the fire for + the evening's porridge. To hide her emotion she went straight + to it, and lifted the lid to look whether boiling point had + arrived. The same instant the stalwart form of her husband + appeared in the doorway, and there stood for a single moment + arrested. + </p> + <p> + He was a good deal older than his wife, as his long gray + hair, among other witnesses, testified. He was six feet in + height, and very erect, with a rather stiff, military + carriage. His face wore an expression of stern goodwill, as + if he had been sent to do his best for everybody, and knew + it. + </p> + <p> + Steenie caught sight of him ere he had taken a step into the + kitchen. He rushed to him, threw his arms round him, and hid + his face on his bosom. + </p> + <p> + 'Bonny, bonny man!' he murmured, then turned away and went + back to the fire. + </p> + <p> + His mother was casting the first handful of meal into the + pot. Steenie fetched a <i>three-leggit creepie</i> and sat + down by her, looking as if he had sat there every night since + first he was able to sit. + </p> + <p> + The farmer came forward, and drew a chair to the fire beside + his son. Steenie laid his head on his father's knee, and the + father laid his big hand on Steenie's head. Not a word was + uttered. The mother might have found them in her way had she + been inclined, but the thought did not come to her, and she + went on making the porridge in great contentment, while + Kirsty laid the cloth. The night was as still in the house as + in the world, save for the bursting of the big blobs of the + porridge. The peat fire made no noise. + </p> + <p> + The mother at length took the heavy pot from the fire, and, + with what to one inexpert might have seemed wonderful skill, + poured the porridge into a huge wooden bowl on the table. + Having then scraped the pot carefully that nothing should be + lost, she put some water into it, and setting it on the fire + again, went to a hole in the wall, took thence two eggs, and + placed them gently in the water. + </p> + <p> + She went next to the dairy, and came back with a jug of the + richest milk, which she set beside the porridge, whereupon + they drew their seats to the table—all but Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'Come, Steenie,' said his mother, 'here's yer supper.' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna care aboot ony supper the nicht, mother,' answered + Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'Guidsake, laddie, I kenna hoo ye live!' she returned in an + accent almost of despair, + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin I dinna need sae muckle as ither fowk,' rejoined + Steenie, whose white face bore testimony that he took far + from nourishment enough. 'Ye see I'm no a' there,' he added + with a smile, 'sae I canna need sae muckle!' + </p> + <p> + 'There's eneuch o' ye there to fill my hert unco fou,' + answered his mother with a deep sigh. 'Come awa, Steenie, my + bairn!' she went on coaxingly. 'Yer father winna ate a moufu' + gien ye dinna: ye'll see that!—Eh, Steenie,' she broke + out, 'gien ye wad but tak yer supper and gang to yer bed like + the lave o' 's! It gars my hert swall as gien 't wud burst + like a blob to think o' ye oot i' tho mirk nicht! Wha's to + tell what michtna be happenin ye! Oor herts are whiles that + sair, yer father's and mine, i' oor beds, 'at we daurna say a + word for fear the tane set the tither greetin.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll bide in, gien that be yer wull,' replied Steenie; 'but + eh, gien ye kent the differ to me, ye wudna wuss 't. I seldom + sleep at nicht as ye ken, and i' the hoose it's jist as gien + the darkness wan inside o' me and was chokin me.' + </p> + <p> + 'But it's as dark theroot as i' the hoose—whiles, + onygait!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, mother; it's never sae dark theroot but there's licht + eneuch to ken I'm theroot and no i' the hoose. I can aye draw + a guid full breath oot i' the open.' + </p> + <p> + 'Lat the laddie gang his ain gait, 'uman,' interposed David. + 'The thing born in 'im 's better for him nor the thing born + in anither. A man maun gang as God made him.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, whether he be man or dog!' assented Steenie solemnly. + </p> + <p> + He drew his stool close to his father where he sat at the + table, and again laid his head on his knee. The mother sighed + but said nothing. She looked nowise hurt, only very sad. In a + minute, Steenie spoke again: + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin nane o' ye kens,' he said, 'what it's like whan + a' the hillside 's gien up to the ither anes!' + </p> + <p> + 'What ither anes?' asked his mother. 'There can be nane there + but yer ain lane sel!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, there 's a' the lave o' 's,' he rejoined, with a wan + smile. + </p> + <p> + The mother looked at him with something almost of fear in her + eyes of love. + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie has company we ken little aboot,' said Kirsty. 'I + whiles think I wud gie him my wits for his company.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, the bonny man!' murmured Steenie. '—I maun be + gauin!' + </p> + <p> + But he did not rise, did not even lift his head from his + father's knee: it would be rude to go before the supper was + over—the ruder that he was not partaking of it! + </p> + <p> + David had eaten his porridge, and now came the almost nightly + difference about the eggs. Marion had been 'the perfect spy + o' the time' in taking them from the pot; but when she would + as usual have her husband eat them, he as usual declared he + neither needed nor wanted them. This night, however, he did + not insist, but at once proceeded to prepare one, with which, + as soon as it was nicely mixed with salt, he began to feed + Steenie. The boy had been longer used to being thus fed than + most children, and having taken the first mouthful + instinctively, now moved his head, but without raising it + from his knee, so that his father might feed him more + comfortably. In this position he took every spoonful given + him, and so ate both the eggs, greatly to the delight of the + rest of the company. + </p> + <p> + A moment more and Steenie got up. His father rose also. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll convoy ye a bit, my man,' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, na! ye needna that, father! It's near-ban' yer bedtime! + I hae naegait to be convoyt. I'll jist be aboot i' the + nicht—maybe a stane's-cast frae the door, maybe the + tither side o' the Horn. Here or there I'm never frae ye. I + think whiles I'm jist like are o' them 'at ye ca' deid: I'm + no awa; I'm only deid! I'm aboot somegait!' + </p> + <p> + So saying, he went. He never on any occasion wished them + good-night: that would be to leave them, and he was not + leaving them! he was with them all the time! + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch008"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER + </h3> + <p> + The instant he was gone, Kirsty went a step or two nearer to + her father, and, looking up in his face, said: + </p> + <p> + 'I saw Francie Gordon the day, father.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, lassie, I reckon that wasna ony ferly (<i>strange + occurrence</i>)! Whaur saw ye him?' + </p> + <p> + 'He cam to me o' the Hornside, whaur I sat weyvin my stockin, + ower the bog on 's powny—a richt bonny thing, and + clever—a new are he's gotten frae 's mither. And it's + no the first time he's been owre there to see me sin' he cam + hame!' + </p> + <p> + 'Whatfor gaed he there? That wasna the best o' places to gang + ridin in!' + </p> + <p> + 'He kenned whaur he was likest to see me: it was me he + wantit.' + </p> + <p> + 'He wantit you, did he? And he's been mair nor ance efter + ye?—Whatfor didna ye tell me afore, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'We war bairns thegither, ye ken, father, and I never ance + thoucht the thing worth fashin ye aboot till the day. We've + aye been used to Francie comin and gaein! I never tellt my + mither onything, he said, and I tell her a'thing worth + tellin, and mony a thing forby. I aye leuch at him as I wud + at a bairn till the day. He spak straucht oot the day, and I + did the same, and angert him; and syne he angert me.' + </p> + <p> + 'And whatfor are ye tellin me the noo?' + </p> + <p> + 'Cause it cam intil my heid 'at maybe it would be + better—no 'at it maks ony differ I can see.' + </p> + <p> + During this conversation Marion was washing the + supper-things, putting them away, and making general + preparation for bed. She heard every word, and went about her + work softly that she might hear, never opening her mouth to + speak. + </p> + <p> + 'There's something ye want to tell me and dinna like, + lassie!' said David. 'Gien ye be feart at yer father, gang + til yer mither.' + </p> + <p> + 'Feart at my father! I wad be, gien I bed onything to be + ashamet o'. Syne I micht gang to my mither, I daursay—I + dinna ken.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye wud that, lassie. Fathers maun sometimes be fearsome to + lass-bairns!' + </p> + <p> + 'Whan I'm feart at you, father, I'll be a gey bit on i' the + ill gait!' returned Kirsty, with a solemn face, looking + straight into her father's eyes. + </p> + <p> + 'Than it'll never be, or I maun hae a heap to blame mysel + for. I think whiles, gien bairns kenned the terrible wyte + their fathers micht hae to dree for no duin better wi' them, + they wud be mair particlar to hand straucht. I hae been ower + muckle taen up wi' my beasts and my craps— mair, God + forgie me! nor wi' my twa bairns; though, he kens, ye're mair + to me, the twa, than oucht else save the mither o' ye!' + </p> + <p> + 'The beasts and the craps cudna weel du wi' less; and there + was aye oor mither to see efter hiz!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's true, lassie! I only houp it wasna greed at the hert + o' me! At the same time, wha wud I be greedy for but + yersels?—Weel, and what's it a' aboot? What garred ye + come to me aboot Francie? I'm some feart for him whiles, noo + 'at he's sae muckle oot o' oor sicht. The laddie's no by + natur an ill laddie—far frae 't! but it's a sore pity + he cudna hae been a' his father's, and nane o' him his + mither's!' + </p> + <p> + 'That wudna hae been sae weel contrived, I doobt!' remarked + Kirsty. 'There wudna hae been the variety, I'm thinkin!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're richt there, lass!—But what's this aboot + Francie?' 'Ow naething, father, worth mentionin! The daft + loon wud hae bed me promise to merry him—that's a'!' + </p> + <p> + 'The Lord preserve's!—Aff han'?' + </p> + <p> + 'There's no tellin what micht hae been i' the heid o' 'im: he + didna win sae far as to say that onygait!' + </p> + <p> + 'God forbid!' exclaimed her father with solemnity, after a + short pause. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin God's forbidden langsyne!' rejoined Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'What said ye til 'im, lassie?' + </p> + <p> + 'First I leuch at him—as weel as I can min' tho + nonsense o' 't—and ca'd him the gowk he was; and syne I + sent him awa wi' a flee in 's lug: hadna he the impidence to + fa' oot upo' me for carin mair aboot Steenie nor the likes o' + him! As gien ever <i>he</i> cud come 'ithin sicht o' + Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + Her father looked very grave. + </p> + <p> + 'Are ye no pleased, father? I did what I thoucht richt.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye cudna hae dune better, Kirsty. But I'm sorry for the + callan, for eh but I loed his father! Lassie, for his + father's sake I cud tak Francie intil the hoose, and work for + him as for you and Steenie—though it's little guid + Steenie ever gets o' me, puir sowl!' + </p> + <p> + 'Dinna say that, father. It wud be an ill thing for Steenie + to hae onybody but yersel to the father o' 'im! A muckle + pairt o' the nicht he wins ower in loein at you and his + mother.' + </p> + <p> + 'And yersel, Kirsty.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin I hae my share i' the daytime.' + </p> + <p> + 'And hoo, think ye, gangs the lave o' the nicht wi' 'im?' + </p> + <p> + 'The bonny man has the maist o' 't, I dinna doobt, and what + better cud we desire for 'im!—But, father, gien Francie + come back wi' the same tale—I dinna think he wull efter + what I telled him, but he may—what wud ye hae me say + til 'im?' + </p> + <p> + 'Say what ye wull, lassie, sae lang as ye dinna lat him for a + moment believe there's a grain o' possibility i' the thing. + Ye see, Kirsty,—' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye dinna imagine, father, I cud for ae minute think + itherwise aboot it nor ye du yersel! Div I no ken 'at his + father gied him in chairge to you? and haena I therefore to + luik efter him? Didna ye tell me a' aboot yer gran' freen' + and hoo, and hoo lang ye had loed him? and didna that mak + Francie my business as weel's yer ain? I'm verra sure his + father wud never appruv o' ony gaeins on atween him and a + lassie sic like's mysel; and fearna ye, father, but I s' hand + him weel ootby. No that it's ony tyauve (<i>struggle</i>) to + me, though I aye likit Francie! Haena I my ain Steenie?' + </p> + <p> + 'Glaidly wud I shaw Francie the ro'd to sic a wife as ye wud + mak him, my bonny Kirsty! But ye see clearly the thing + itsel's no to be thoucht upon.—Eh, Kirsty, but it's + gran' to an auld father's hert to hear ye tak yer pairt in + his devours efter sic a wumanly fashion!' + </p> + <p> + 'Am I no yer ain lass-bairn, father? Whaur wud I be wi' a + father 'at didna keep his word? and what less cud I du nor + help ony man to keep his word? Gien breach o' the + faimily-word cam throuw me, my life wud gang frae + me.—Wad ye hae me tell the laddie's mither? I wudna + like to expose the folly o' him, but gien ye think it + necessar, I'll gang the morn's mornin.' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna think that wud be weel. It wad but raise a strife + atween the twa, ohn dune an atom o' guid. She wud only rage + at the laddie, and pit him in sic a reid heat as wad but wald + thegither him and his wull sae 'at they wud maist never come + in twa again. And though ye gaed and tauld her yer ain sel, + my leddy wad lay a' the wyte upo' you nane the less. There's + no rizzon, tap nor tae, i' the puir body, and ye're naewise + b'und to her farther nor to du richt by her.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm glaid ye dinna want me to gang,' answered Kirsty. 'She + carries hersel that gran' 'at ye're maist driven to the + consideration hoo little she's worth; and that's no the richt + speerit anent onybody or thing God thoucht worth makin.' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch009"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + AT CASTLE WEELSET + </h3> + <p> + Francie's anger had died down a good deal by the time he + reached home. He was, as his father's friend had just said, + by no means a bad sort of fellow, only he was full of + himself, and therefore of little use to anybody. His mother + and he, when not actually at strife, were constantly on the + edge of a quarrel. The two must have their own way, each of + them. Francie's way was sometimes good, his mother's + sometimes not bad, but both were usually selfish. The boy had + fits of generosity, the woman never, except toward her son. + If she thought of something to please him, good and well! if + he wanted anything of her, it would never do! The idea must + be her own, or meet with no favour. If she imagined her son + desired a thing, she felt it one she never could grant, and + told him so: thereafter Francis would not rest until he had + compassed the thing. Sudden division and high words would + follow, with speechlessness on the mother's part in the rear, + which might last for days. Becoming all at once tired of it, + she would in the morning appear at breakfast looking as if + nothing had ever come between them, and they would be the + best of friends for a few days, or perhaps a week, seldom + longer. Some fresh discord, nowise different in character + from the preceding, would arise between them, and the same + weary round be tramped again, each always in the right, and + the other in the wrong. Every time they made it up, their + relation seemed unimpaired, but it was hardly possible things + should go on thus and not at length quite estrange their + hearts. + </p> + <p> + In matters of display, to which Francis had much tendency, + his mother's own vanity led her to indulge and spoil him, + for, being hers, she was always pleased he should look his + best. On his real self she neither had nor sought any + influence. Insubordination or arrogance in him, her dignity + unslighted, actually pleased her: she liked him to show his + spirit: was it not a mark of his breeding? + </p> + <p> + She was a tall and rather stout woman, with a pretty, + small-featured, regular face, and a thin nose with the + nostrils pinched. + </p> + <p> + Castle Weelset was not much of a castle: to an ancient round + tower, discomfortably habitable, had been added in the last + century a rather large, defensible house. It stood on the + edge of a gorge, crowning one of its stony hills of no great + height. With scarce a tree to shelter it, the situation was + very cold in winter, and it required a hardy breeding to live + there in comfort. There was little of a garden, and the + stables were somewhat ruinous. For the former fact the + climate almost sufficiently accounted, and for the latter, a + long period of comparative poverty. + </p> + <p> + The young laird did not like farming, and had no love for + books: in this interval between school and college, he found + very little to occupy him, and not much to amuse him. Had + Kirsty and her family proved as encouraging as he had + expected, he would have made use of his new pony almost only + to ride to Corbyknowe in the morning and back to the castle + at night. + </p> + <p> + His mother knew old Barclay, as she called him, well + enough—that is, not at all, and had never shown him any + cordiality, anything, indeed, better than condescension. To + treat him like a gentleman, even when he sat at her own + table, she would have counted absurd. He had never been to + the castle since the day after her husband's funeral, when + she received him with such emphasized superiority that he + felt he could not go again without running the risk either of + having his influence with the boy ruined, or giving occasion + to a nature not without generosity to take David's part + against his mother. Thenceforward, therefore, he contented + himself with giving Francis invariable welcome, and doing + what he could to make his visits pleasant. Chiefly, on such + not infrequent occasions, the boy delighted in drawing from + his father's friend what tales about his father, and + adventures of their campaigns together, he had to tell; and + in this way David's wife and children heard many things about + himself which would not otherwise have reached them. + Naturally, Kirsty and Francie grew to be good friends; and + after they went to the parish school, there were few days + indeed on which they did not walk at least as far homeward + together as the midway divergence of their roads permitted. + It was not wonderful, therefore, that at length Francis + should be, or should fancy himself in love with Kirsty. But I + believe all the time he thought of marrying her as a heroic + deed, in raising the girl his mother despised to share the + lofty position he and that foolish mother imagined him to + occupy. The anticipation of opposition from his mother + naturally strengthened his determination; of opposition on + the part of Kirsty, he had not dreamed. He took it as of + course that, the moment he stated his intention, Kirsty would + be charmed, her mother more than pleased, and the stern old + soldier overwhelmed with the honour of alliance with the son + of his colonel. I do not doubt, however, that he had an + affection for Kirsty far deeper and better than his notion of + their relations to each other would indicate. Although it was + mainly his pride that suffered in his humiliating dismissal, + he had, I am sure, a genuine heartache as he galloped home. + When he reached the castle, he left his pony to go where he + would, and rushed to his room. There, locking the door that + his mother might not enter, he threw himself on his bed in + the luxurious consciousness of a much-wronged lover. An + uneducated country girl, for as such he regarded her, had + cast from her, not without insult, his splendidly generous + offer of himself! + </p> + <p> + Poor king Cophetua did not, however, shed many tears for the + loss of his recusant beggar-maid. By and by he forgot + everything, found he had gone to sleep, and, endeavouring to + weep again, did not succeed. + </p> + <p> + He grew hungry soon, and went down to see what was to be had. + It was long past the usual hour for dinner, but Mrs. Gordon + had not seen him return, and had had it put back—so to + make the most of an opportunity of quarrel not to be + neglected by a conscientious mother. She let it slide + nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + 'Gracious, you've been crying!' she exclaimed, the moment she + saw him. + </p> + <p> + Now certainly Francis had not cried much; his eyes were, + notwithstanding, a little red. + </p> + <p> + He had not yet learned to lie, but he might then have made + his first assay had he had a fib at his tongue's end; as he + had not, he gloomed deeper, and made no answer. + </p> + <p> + 'You've been fighting!' said his mother. + </p> + <p> + 'I haena,' he returned with rude indignation. 'Gien I had + been, div ye think I wud hae grutten?' + </p> + <p> + 'You forget yourself, laird!' remarked Mrs. Gordon, more + annoyed with his Scotch than the tone of it. 'I would have + you remember I am mistress of the house!' + </p> + <p> + 'Till I marry, mother!' rejoined her son. + </p> + <p> + 'Oblige me in the meantime,' she answered, 'by leaving vulgar + language outside it.' + </p> + <p> + Francis was silent; and his mother, content with her victory, + and in her own untruthfulness of nature believing he had + indeed been fighting and had had the worse of it, said no + more, but began to pity and pet him. A pot of his favourite + jam presently consoled the love-wounded hero—in the + acceptance of which consolation he showed himself far less + unworthy than many a grown man, similarly circumstanced, in + the choice of his. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch010"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + DAVID AND FRANCIS + </h3> + <p> + One day there was a market at a town some eight or nine miles + off, and thither, for lack of anything else to do, Francis + had gone to display himself and his pony, which he was riding + with so tight a curb that the poor thing every now and then + reared in protest against the agony he suffered. + </p> + <p> + On one of these occasions Don was on the point of falling + backward, when a brown wrinkled hand laid hold of him by the + head, half pulling the reins from his rider's hand, and ere + he had quite settled again on his forelegs, had unhooked the + chain of his curb, and fastened it some three links looser. + Francis was more than indignant, even when he saw that the + hand was Mr. Barclay's: was he to be treated as one who did + not know what he was about! + </p> + <p> + 'Hoots, my man!' said David gently, 'there's no occasion to + put a water-chain upo' the bonny beastie: he has a mou like a + leddy's! and to hae 't linkit up sae ticht is naething less + nor tortur til 'im!—It's a won'er to me he hasna broken + your banes and his ain back thegither, puir thing!' he added, + patting and stroking the spirited little creature that stood + sweating and trembling. 'I thank you, Mr. Barclay,' said + Francis insolently, 'but I am quite able to manage the brute + myself. You seem to take me for a fool!' + </p> + <p> + ''Deed, he's no far aff ane 'at cud ca' a bonny cratur like + that a brute!' returned David, nowise pleased to discover + such hardness in one whom he would gladly treat like a child + of his own. It was a great disappointment to him to see the + lad getting farther away from the possibility of being helped + by him. 'What 'ud yer father say to see ye illuse ony + helpless bein! Yer father was awfu guid til 's horse-fowk.' + </p> + <p> + The last word was one of David's own: he was a great lover of + animals. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll do with my own as I please!' cried Francis, and spurred + the pony to pass David. But one stalwart hand held the pony + fast, while the other seized his rider by the ankle. The old + man was now thoroughly angry with the graceless youth. + </p> + <p> + 'God bless my sowl!' he cried, 'hae ye the spurs on as weel? + Stick ane o' them intil him again, and I'll cast ye frae the + seddle. I' the thick o' a fecht, the lang blades playin aboot + yer father's heid like lichts i' the north, he never stack + spur intil 's chairger needless!' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't see,' said Francis, who had begun to cool down a + little, 'how he could have enjoyed the fight much if he never + forgot himself! I should forget everything in the delight of + the battle!' + </p> + <p> + 'Yer father, laddie, never forgot onything but himsel. + Forgettin himsel left him free to min' a'thing forbye. + <i>Ye</i> wud forget ilka thing but yer ain rage! Yer father + was a great man as weel's a great soger, Francie, and a + deevil to fecht, as his men said. I hae mysel seen by the set + mou 'at the teeth war clinched i' the inside o' 't, whan a' + the time on the broo o' 'im sat never a runkle. Gien ever + there was a man 'at cud think o' twa things at ance, your + father cud think o' three; and thae three war God, his enemy, + and the beast aneath him. Francie, Francie, i' the name o' + yer father I beg ye to regaird the richts o' the neebour ye + sit upo'. Gien ye dinna that, ye'll come or lang to think + little o' yer human neebour as weel, carin only for what ye + get oot o' 'im!' + </p> + <p> + A voice inside Francis took part with the old man, and made + him yet angrier. Also his pride was the worse annoyed that + David Barclay, his tenant, should, in the hearing of two or + three loafers gathered behind him, of whose presence the old + man was unaware, not only rebuke him, but address him by his + name, and the diminutive of it. So when David, in the appeal + that burst from his enthusiastic remembrance of his officer + in the battle-field, let the pony's head go, Francis dug his + spurs in his sides, and darted off like an arrow. The old man + for a moment stared open-mouthed after him. The fools around + laughed: he turned and walked away, his head sunk on his + breast. + </p> + <p> + Francis had not ridden far before he was vexed with himself. + He was not so much sorry, as annoyed that he had behaved in + fashion undignified. The thought that his childish behaviour + would justify Kirsty in her opinion of him, added its sting. + He tried to console himself with the reflection that the sort + of thing ought to be put an end to at once: how far, + otherwise, might not the old fellow's interference go! I am + afraid he even said to himself that such was a consequence of + familiarity with inferiors. Yet angry as he was at his + fault-finding, he would have been proud of any approval from + the lips of the old soldier. He rode his pony mercilessly for + a mile or so, then pulled up, and began to talk pettingly to + him, which I doubt if the little creature found consoling, + for love only makes petting worth anything, and the love here + was not much to the front. + </p> + <p> + About halfway home, he had to ford a small stream, or go + round two miles by a bridge. There had been much rain in the + night, and the stream was considerably swollen. As he + approached the ford, he met a knife-grinder, who warned him + not to attempt it: he had nearly lost his wheel in it, he + said. But Francis always found it hard to accept advice. His + mother had so often predicted from neglect of hers evils + which never followed, that he had come to think counsel the + one thing not to be heeded. + </p> + <p> + 'Thank you,' he said; 'I think we can manage it!' and rode + on. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the ford, where of all places he ought to + have left the pony's head free, he foolishly remembered the + curb-chain, and getting off, took it up a couple of links. + </p> + <p> + But when he remounted, whether from dread of the rush of the + brown water, or resentment at the threat of renewed torture, + the pony would not take the ford, and a battle royal arose + between them, in which Francis was so far victorious that, + after many attempts to run away, little Don, rendered + desperate by the spur, dashed wildly into the stream, and + went plunging on for two or three yards. Then he fell, and + Francis found himself rolling in the water, swept along by + the current. + </p> + <p> + A little way lower down, at a sharp turn of the stream under + a high bank, was a deep pool, a place held much in dread by + the country lads and lasses, being a haunt of the kelpie. + Francis knew the spot well, and had good reason to fear that, + carried into it, he must be drowned, for he could not swim. + Roused by the thought to a yet harder struggle, he succeeded + in getting upon his feet, and reaching the bank, where he lay + for a while, exhausted. When at length he came to himself and + rose, he found the water still between him and home, and + nothing of his pony to be seen. If the youth's good sense had + been equal to his courage, he would have been a fine fellow: + he dashed straight into the ford, floundered through it, and + lost his footing no more than had Don, treated properly. When + he reached the high ground on the other side, he could still + see nothing of him, and with sad heart concluded him carried + into the Kelpie's Hole, never more to be beheld + alive:—what would his mother and Mr. Barclay say? + Shivering and wretched, and with a growing compunction in + regard to his behaviour to Don, he crawled wearily home. + </p> + <p> + Don, however, had at no moment been much in danger. Rid of + his master, he could take very good care of himself. He got + to the bank without difficulty, and took care it should be on + the home-side of the stream. Not once looking behind him + after his tyrant, he set off at a good round trot, much + refreshed by his bath, and rejoicing in the thought of his + loose box at castle Weelset. + </p> + <p> + In a narrow part of the road, however, he overtook a cart of + Mr. Barclay's; and as he attempted to pass between it and the + steep brae, the man on the shaft caught at his bridle, made + him prisoner, tied him to the cart behind, and took him to + Corbyknowe. When David came home and saw him, he conjectured + pretty nearly what had happened, and tired as he was set out + for the castle. Had he not feared that Francis might have + been injured, he would not have cared to go, much as he knew + it must relieve him to learn that his pony was safe. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon declined to see David, but he ascertained from + the servants that Francis had come home half-drowned, leaving + Don in the Kelpie's Hole. + </p> + <p> + David hesitated a little whether or not to punish him for his + behaviour to the pony by allowing him to remain in ignorance + of his safety, and so leaving him to the <i>agen-bite</i> of + conscience; but concluding that such was not his part, he + told them that the animal was safe at Corbyknowe, and went + home again. + </p> + <p> + But he wanted Francis to fetch the pony himself, therefore + did not send him, and in the meantime fed and groomed him + with his own hands as if he had been his friend's charger. + Francis having just enough of the grace of shame to make him + shrink from going to Corbyknowe, his mother wrote to David, + asking why he did not send home the animal. David, one of the + most courteous of men, would take no order from any but his + superior officer, and answered that he would gladly give him + up to the young laird in person. + </p> + <p> + The next day Mrs. Gordon drove, in what state she could + muster, to Corbyknowe. Arrived there, she declined to leave + her carriage, requesting Mrs. Barclay, who came to the door, + to send her husband to her. Mrs. Barclay thought it better to + comply. + </p> + <p> + David came in his shirt-sleeves, for he had been fetched from + his work. + </p> + <p> + 'If I understand your answer to my request, Mr. Barclay, you + decline to send back Mr. Gordon's pony. Pray, on what + grounds?' + </p> + <p> + 'I wrote, ma'am, that I should be glad to give him over to + Mr. Francis himself.' + </p> + <p> + 'Mr. Gordon does not find it convenient to come all this way + on foot. In fact he declines to do it, and requests that you + will send the pony home this afternoon.' + </p> + <p> + 'Excuse me, mem, but it's surely enough done that a man make + known the presence o' strays, and tak proper care o' them + until they're claimt! I was fain forbye to gie the bonny + thing a bit pleesur in life: Francie's ower hard upon him.' + </p> + <p> + 'You forget, David Barclay, that Mr. Gordon is your + landlord!' + </p> + <p> + 'His father, mem, was my landlord, and his father's father + was my father's landlord; and the interests o' the landlord + hae aye been oors. Ither nor Francie's herty freen I can + never be!' + </p> + <p> + 'You presume on my late husband's kindness to you, Barclay!' + </p> + <p> + 'Gien devotion be presumption, mem, I presume. Archibald + Gordon was and is my freen, and will be for ever. We hae been + throuw ower muckle thegither to change to are anither. It was + for his sake and the laddie's ain that I wantit him to come + to me. I wantit a word wi' him aboot that powny o' his. He'll + never be true man 'at taks no tent (<i>care</i>) o' dumb + animals! You 'at's sae weel at hame i' the seddle yersel, + mem, micht tak a kin'ly care o' what's aneth his!' + </p> + <p> + 'I will have no one interfere with my son. I am quite capable + of teaching him his duty myself.' + </p> + <p> + 'His father requestit me to do what I could for him, mem.' + </p> + <p> + 'His <i>late</i> father, if you please, Barclay!' + </p> + <p> + 'He s' never be Francie's <i>late</i> father to Francie, gien + I can help it, mem! He may be your <i>late</i> husband, mem, + but he's my cornel yet, and I s' keep my word til him! It'll + no be lang noo, i' the natur o' things, till I gang til him; + and sure am I his first word 'll be aboot the laddie: I wud + ill like to answer him, "Archie, I ken naething aboot him but + what I cud weel wuss itherwise!" Hoo wud ye like to gie sic + an answer yersel, mem?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm surprised at a man of your sense, Barclay, thinking we + shall know one another in heaven! We shall have to be content + with God there!' + </p> + <p> + 'I said naething about h'aven, mem! Fowk may ken are anither + and no be in ae place. I took note i' the kirk last Sunday + 'at Abrahaam kent the rich man, and the rich man him, and + they warna i' the same place.—But ye'll lat the yoong + laird come and see me, mem?' concluded David, changing his + tone and speaking as one who begged a favour; for the thought + of meeting his old friend and having nothing to tell him + about his boy, quenched his pride. + </p> + <p> + 'Home, Thomas!' cried her late husband's wife to her + coachman, and drove away. + </p> + <p> + 'Dod! they'll hae to gie that wife a hell til hersel!' said + David, turning to the door discomfited. + </p> + <p> + 'And maybe she'll no like it whan she hes't!' returned his + wife, who had heard every word. 'There's fowk 'at's no fit + company for onybody! and I'm thinkin she's ane gien there + bena anither!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll sen' Jeamie hame wi' the powny the nicht,' said David. + 'A body canna insist whaur fowk are no frien's. That weud + grow to enmity, and the en' o' a' guid. Na, we maun sen' hame + the powny; and gien there be ony grace i' the bairn, he canna + but come and say thank ye!' + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon rejoiced in her victory; but David's yielding + showed itself the true policy. Francis did call and thank him + for taking care of Don. He even granted that perhaps he had + been too hard on the pony. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye cud richteously expeck naething o' a powny o' his size + that that powny o' yours cudna du, Francie!' said David. + 'But, in God's name, dear laddie, be a richteous man. Gien ye + requere no more than's fair frae man or beast, ye'll maistly + aye get it. But gien yer ootluik in life be to get a'thing + and gie naething, ye maun come to grief ae w'y and a' w'ys. + Success in an ill attemp is the warst failyie a man can mak.' + </p> + <p> + But it was talking to the wind, for Francis thought, or tried + to think David only bent, like his mother, on finding fault + with him. He made haste to get away, and left his friend with + a sad heart. + </p> + <p> + He rode on to the foot of the Horn, to the spot where Kirsty + was usually at that season to be found; but she saw him + coming, and went up the hill. Soon after, his mother + contrived that he should pay a visit to some relatives in the + south, and for a time neither the castle nor the Horn saw + anything of him. Without returning home he went in the winter + to Edinburgh, where he neither disgraced nor distinguished + himself. David was to hear no ill of him. To be beyond his + mother's immediate influence was perhaps to his advantage, + but as nothing superior was substituted, it was at best but + little gain. His companions were like himself, such as might + turn to worse or better, no one could tell which. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch011"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY AND PHEMY + </h3> + <p> + During the first winter which Francis spent at college, his + mother was in England, and remained there all the next summer + and winter. When at last she came home, she was even less + pleasant than before in the eyes of her household, no one of + which had ever loved her. Throughout the summer she had a + succession of visitors, and stories began to spread + concerning strange doings at the castle. The neighbours + talked of extravagance, and the censorious among them of + riotous living; while some of the servants more than hinted + that the amount of wine and whisky consumed was far in excess + of what served when the old colonel was alive. + </p> + <p> + One of them who, in her mistress's frequent fits of laziness, + acted as housekeeper, had known David Barclay from his + boyhood, and understood his real intimacy with her late + master: it was not surprising, therefore, that she should + open her mind to him, while keeping toward everyone else a + settled silence concerning her mistress's affairs: none of + the stories current in the country-side came from her. David + was to Mrs. Bremner the other side of a deep pit, into the + bottom of which whatever was said between them dropped. + </p> + <p> + 'There'll come a catastrophe or lang,' said Mrs. Bremner one + evening when David Barclay overtook her on the road to the + town, 'and that'll be seen! The property's jist awa to the + dogs! There's Maister Donal, the factor, gaein aboot like are + in a dilemm as to cuttin 's thro't or blawin his harns oot! + He daursna say a word, ye see! The auld laird trustit him, + and he's feart 'at he be blamit, but there's nae duin + onything wi' that wuman: the siller maun be forthcomin whan + she's wantin 't!' + </p> + <p> + 'The siller's no hers ony mair nor the Ian'; a' 's the yoong + laird's!' remarked David. + </p> + <p> + 'That's true; but she's i' the pooer o' 't till he come o' + age; and Maister Donal, puir man, mony's the time he 's jist + driven to are mair to get what's aye wantit and wantit! What + comes o' the siller it jist blecks me to think: there's no a + thing aboot the hoose to shaw for 't! And hearken, David, but + latna baith lugs hear 't, for dreid the tane come ower't + again to the tither—I'm doobtin the drink's gettin a + sair grup o' her!' + </p> + <p> + ''Deed I wudna be nane surprised!' returned David. 'Whatever + micht want in at her door, there's naething inside to baud it + oot. Eh, to think o' Archie Gordon takin til himsel sic a + wife! that a man like him, o' guid report, and come to years + o' discretion—to think o' brains like his turnin as + fozy as an auld neep at sicht o' a bonny front til an ae wa' + hoose (<i>a house of but one wall</i>)! It canna be 'at + witchcraft's clean dune awa wi'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Bonny, Dawvid! Ca'd ye the mistress bonny?' + </p> + <p> + 'She used to be—bonny, that is, as a button or a buckle + micht be bonny. What she may be the noo, I dinna ken, for I + haena set ee upon her sin' she cam to the Knowe orderin me to + sen' back Francie's powny: she was suppercilly eneuch than + for twa cornels and a corporal, but no ill luikin. Gien she + hae a spot o' beaouty left, the drink 'll tak it or it hae + dune wi' her!' + </p> + <p> + 'Or she hae dune wi' hit, Dawvid! It's ta'en ae colour frae + her a'ready, and begud to gie her anither! But it concerns me + mair aboot Francie nor my leddy: what's to come o' him when + a' 's gane? what'll there be for him to come intil?' + </p> + <p> + Gladly would David have interfered, but he was helpless; he + had no legal guardianship over or for the boy! Nothing could + be done till he was a man!—'gien ever he be a man!' + said David to himself with a sigh, and the thought how much + better off he was with his half-witted Steenie than his + friend with his clever Francie. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bremner was sister-in-law to the schoolmaster, and was + then on her way to see him and his daughter Phemy. From + childhood the girl had been in the way of going to the castle + to see her aunt, and so was well known about the place. Being + an engaging child, she had become not only welcome to the + servants but something of a favourite with the mistress, whom + she amused with her little airs, and pleased with her winning + manners. She was now about fourteen, a half-blown beauty of + the red and white, gold and blue kind. She had long been a + vain little thing, approving of her own looks in the glass, + and taking much interest in setting them off, but so simple + as to make no attempt at concealing her self-satisfaction. + Her pleased contemplation of this or that portion of her + person, and the frantic attempts she was sometimes espied + making to get a sight of her back, especially when she wore a + new frock, were indeed more amusing than hopeful, but her + vanity was not yet so pronounced as to overshadow her better + qualities, and Kirsty had not thought it well to take notice + of it, although, being more than anyone else a mother to her, + she was already a little anxious on the score of it, and the + rather that her aunt, like her father, neither saw nor + imagined fault in her. + </p> + <p> + That the child had no mother, drew to her the heart of the + girl whose mother was her strength and joy; while gratitude + to the child's father, who, in opening for her some doors of + wisdom and more of knowledge, had put her under eternal + obligations, moved her to make what return she could. It + deepened her sense of debt to Phemy that the schoolmaster did + not do for his daughter anything like what he had years long + been doing for his pupil, whence she almost felt as if she + had diverted to her own use much that rightly belonged to + Phemy. At the same time she knew very well that had she never + existed the relation between the father and the daughter + would have been the same. The child of his dearly loved wife, + the schoolmaster was utterly content with his Phemy; for he + felt as if she knew everything her mother knew, had the same + inward laws of being and the same disposition, and was + simply, like her, perfect. + </p> + <p> + That she should ever do anything wrong was an idea + inconceivable to him. Nor was there much chance of his + discovering it if she did. When not at work, he was + constantly reading. Most people close a book without having + gained from it a single germ of thought; Mr. Craig seldom + opened one without falling directly into a brown study over + something suggested by it. But I believe that, even when thus + absorbed, Phemy was never far from his thought. At the same + time, like many Scots, while she was his one joy, he seldom + showed her sign of affection, seldom made her feel, and never + sought to make her feel how he loved her. His love was taken + by him for understood by her, and was to her almost as if it + did not exist. + </p> + <p> + That his child required to be taught had scarcely occurred to + the man who could not have lived without learning, or enjoyed + life without teaching—as witness the eagerness with + which he would help Kirsty along any path of knowledge in + which he knew how to walk. The love of knowledge had grown in + him to a possessing passion, paralyzing in a measure those + powers of his life sacred to life—that is, to God and + his neighbour. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty could not do nearly what she would to make up for his + neglect. For one thing, the child did not take to learning, + and though she loved Kirsty and often tried to please her, + would not keep on doing anything without being more + frequently reminded of her duty than the distance between + their two abodes permitted. Kirsty had her to the farm as + often as the schoolmaster would consent to her absence, and + kept her as long as he went on forgetting it; while Phemy was + always glad to go to Corbyknowe, and always glad to get away + again. For Mrs. Barclay thought it her part to teach her + household matters, and lessons of that sort Phemy relished + worse than some of a more intellectual nature. If left with + her, the moment Kirsty appeared again, the child would fling + from her whatever might be in her hand, and flee as to her + deliverer from bondage and hard labour. Then would Kirsty + always insist on her finishing what she had been at, and + Phemy would obey, with the protest of silent tears, and the + airs of a much injured mortal. Had Kirsty been backed by the + child's father, she might have made something of her; but it + grew more and more painful to think of her future, when her + self-constituted guardian should have lost what influence she + had over her. + </p> + <p> + Phemy was rather afraid of Steenie. Her sunny nature shrank + from the shadow, as of a wall, in which Steenie appeared to + her always to stand. From any little attention he would offer + her, she, although never rude to him, would involuntarily + recoil, and he soon learned to leave her undismayed. That the + child's repugnance troubled him, though he never spoke of it, + Kirsty saw quite plainly, for she could read his face like a + book, and heard him sigh when even his mother did not. Her + eyes were constantly regarding him, like sheep feeding on the + pasture of his face:—I think I have used a figure of + sir Philip Sidney's. But say rather—the thoughts that + strayed over his face were the sheep to which all her life + she had been the devoted shepherdess. + </p> + <p> + At Corbyknowe things went on as hitherto. Kirsty was in no + danger of tiring of the even flow of her life. Steenie's + unselfish solitude of soul made him every day dearer to her. + Books she sought in every accessible, and found occasionally + in an unhopeful quarter. She had no thought of distinguishing + herself, no smallest ambition of becoming learned; her soul + was athirst to understand, and what she understood found its + way from her mind into her life. Much to the advantage of her + thinking were her keen power and constant practice of + observation. I utterly refuse the notion that we cannot think + without words, but certainly the more forms we have ready to + embody our thoughts, the farther we shall be able to carry + our thinking. Richly endowed, Kirsty required the more mental + food, and was the more able to use it when she found it. To + such of the neighbours as had no knowledge of any diligence + save that of the hands, she seemed to lead an idle life; but + indeed even Kirsty's hands were far from idle. When not with + Steenie she was almost always at her mother's call, who, from + the fear that she might grow up incapable of managing a + house, often required a good deal of her. But the mother did + not fail to note with what alacrity she would lay her book + aside, sometimes even dropping it in her eagerness to answer + her summons. Dismissed for the moment, she would at once take + her book again and the seat nearest to it: she could read + anywhere, and gave herself none of the student-airs that make + some young people so pitifully unpleasant. At the same time + solitude was preferable for study, and Kirsty was always glad + to find herself with her books in the little hut, Steenie + asleep on the heather carpet on her feet, and the assurance + that there no one would interrupt her. + </p> + <p> + It was not wonderful that, in the sweet absence of selfish + cares, her mind full of worthy thoughts, and her heart going + out in tenderness, her face should go on growing in beauty + and refinement. She was not yet arrived at physical full + growth, and the forms of her person being therefore in a + process of change were the more easily modelled after her + spiritual nature. She seemed almost already one that would + not die, but live for ever, and continue to inherit the + earth. Neither her father nor her mother could have imagined + anything better to be made of her. + </p> + <p> + Steenie had not changed his habits, neither seemed to grow at + all more like other people. He was now indeed seldom so much + depressed as formerly, but he showed no sign of less + dependence on Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch012"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + THE EARTH-HOUSE + </h3> + <p> + About a year after Francis Gordon went to Edinburgh, Kirsty + and Steenie made a discovery. + </p> + <p> + Between Corbyknowe and the Horn, on whose sides David Barclay + had a right of pasturage for the few sheep to which Steenie + and Snootie were the shepherds, was a small glen, through + which, on its way to join the little river with the + kelpie-pot, ran a brook, along whose banks lay two narrow + breadths of nice grass. The brother and sister always crossed + this brook when they wanted to go straight to the top of the + hill. + </p> + <p> + One morning, having each taken the necessary run and jump, + they had began to climb on the other side, when Kirsty, who + was a few paces before him, turned at an exclamation from + Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a' the weicht o' my muckle feet!' he cried, as he + dragged one of the troublesome members out of a hole. 'Losh, + I dinna ken hoo far it michtna hae gane doon gien I hadna + gotten a haud o' 't in time and pu'd it oot!' + </p> + <p> + How much of humour, how much of silliness, and how much of + truth were wrapt up together in some of the things he said, + it was impossible to determine. I believe Kirsty came pretty + near knowing, but even she was not always sure where wilful + oddity and where misapprehension was at the root of a remark. + </p> + <p> + 'Gien ye set yer fit upon a hole,' said Kirsty, 'what can the + puir thing du but gang doon intil 't? Ye maunna be + oonrizzonable wi' the craturs, Steenie! Ye maun be fair til + them.' + </p> + <p> + 'But there was nae hole!' returned Steenie. 'There cudna hae + been. There's the hole noo! My fit made it, and there it'll + hae to bide! It's a some fearsome thing, divna ye think, 'at + what aiven the fit o' a body dis, bides? What for disna the + hole gang awa whan the fit lifts? Luik ye there! Ye see thae + twa stanes stan'in up by themsels, and there's the + hole—atween the twa! There cudna hae been a hole there + afore the weicht o' my fit cam doon upo' the spot and ca'd it + throuw! I gaed in maist til my knee!' + </p> + <p> + 'Lat's luik!' said Kirsty, and proceeded to examine the + place. + </p> + <p> + She thought at first it must be the burrow of some animal, + but the similarity in shape of the projecting stones + suggesting that their position might not be fortuitous, she + would look a little farther, and began to pull away the + heather about the mouth of the opening. Steenie set himself, + with might and main, to help her. Kirsty was much the + stronger of the two, but Steenie always did his best to + second her in anything that required exertion. + </p> + <p> + They soon spied the lump of sod and heather which Steenie's + heavy foot had driven down, and when they had pulled that + out, they saw that the hole went deeper still, seeming a very + large burrow indeed—therefore a little fearsome. Having + widened the mouth of it by clearing away a thick growth of + roots from its sides, and taken out a quantity of soft earth, + they perceived that it went sloping into the ground still + farther. With growing curiosity they leant down into it, + lying on the edge, and reaching with their hands removed the + loose earth as low as they could. This done, the descent + showed itself about two feet square, as far down as they had + cleared it, beyond which a little way it was lost in the + dark. + </p> + <p> + What were they to do next? There was yet greater inducement + to go on, but considerations came which were not a little + deterrent. Although Steenie had worked well, Kirsty knew he + had a horror of dark places, associating them somehow with + the weight of his feet: whether such places had for him any + suggestion of the grave, I cannot tell; certainly to get rid + of his feet was the form his idea of the salvation he needed + was readiest to take. Then might there not be some animal + inside? Steenie thought not, for there was no opening until + he made it! and Kirsty also thought not, on the ground that + she knew no wild animal larger than fox or badger, neither of + which would have made such a big hole. One moment, however, + her imagination was nearly too much for her: what if some + huge bear had been asleep in it for hundreds of years, and + growing all the time! Certainly he could not get out, but if + she roused him, and he got a hold of her! The next instant + her courage revived, for she would have been ashamed to let + what she did not believe influence any action. The passage + must lead somewhere, and it was large enough for her to + explore it! + </p> + <p> + Because of her dress, she must creep in head + foremost—in which lay the advantage that so she would + meet any danger face to face! Telling Steenie that if he + heard her cry out, he must get hold of her feet and pull, she + laid herself on the ground and crawled in. She thought it + must lead to an ancient tomb, but said nothing of the + conjecture for fear of horrifying Steenie, who stood + trembling, sustained only by his faith in Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + She went down and down and quite disappeared. Not a foot was + left for Steenie to lay hold of. Terrible and long seemed the + time to him as he stood there forsaken, his darling out of + sight in the heart of the earth. He knew there were wolves in + Scotland once; who could tell but a she-wolf had been left, + and a whole clan of them lived there underground, never + issuing in the daytime! there might be the open mouth of a + passage, under a rock and curtained with heather, in some + other spot of the hill! What if one of them got Kirsty by the + throat before she had time to cry out! Then he thought she + might have gone till she could go no father, and not having + room to turn, was trying to creep backward, but her clothes + hindered her. Forgetting his repugnance in over-mastering + fear, the faithful fellow was already half inside the hole to + go after her, when up shot the head of Kirsty, almost in his + face. For a moment he was terribly perplexed: he had been + expecting to come on her feet, not her head: how could she + have gone in head foremost, and not come back feet foremost? + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, wuman,' he said in a fear-struck whisper, 'it's awfu' to + see ye come oot o' the yird like a muckle worm!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye saw me gang in, Steenie, ye gowk!' returned Kirsty, + dismayed herself at sight of his solemn dread. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay,' answered Steenie, 'but I didna see ye come oot! Eh, + Kirsty, wuman, hae ye a heid at baith en's o' ye?' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty's laughter blew Steenie's discomposure away, and he + too laughed. + </p> + <p> + 'Come back hame,' said Kirsty; 'I maun get haud o' a can'le! + Yon's a place maun be seen intil. I never saw, or raither + faun' (<i>felt</i>) the like o' 't, for o' seein there's + nane, or next to nane. There's room eneuch; ye can see that + wi' yer airms!' + </p> + <p> + 'What is there room eneuch for?' asked Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'For you and me, and twenty or thirty mair, mebbe—I + dinna ken,' replied Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'I s' mak ye a present o' my room intil 't,' returned + Steenie. 'I want nane o' 't.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ill gang doon wi' the can'le,' said Kirsty, 'and see whether + 't be a place for ye. Gien I cry oot, "Ay is't," wull ye + come?' + </p> + <p> + 'That I wull, gien 't war the whaul's belly!' replied + Steenie. + </p> + <p> + They set out for the house, and as they walked they talked. + </p> + <p> + 'I div won'er what the place cud ever hae been for!' said + Kirsty, more to herself than Steenie. 'It's bigger nor ony + thoucht I had o' 't.' + </p> + <p> + 'What is 't like, Kirsty?' inquired Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'Hoo can I tell whan I saw naething!' replied Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'But,' she added thoughtfully, 'gien it warna that we're in + Scotlan', and they're nigh-han' Rom', I wud hae been 'maist + sure I had won intil ane o' the catacombs!' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, losh, lat me awa to the hill!' cried Steenie, stopping + and half turning. 'I canna bide the verra word o' the + craturs!' + </p> + <p> + 'What word than?' asked Kirsty, a little surprised; for how + did Steenie know anything about the catacombs? + </p> + <p> + 'To think,' he went on, 'o' a haill kirk o' cats aneath the + yird—a' sittin kaimin themsels wi' kaims!—Kirsty, + ye <i>winna</i> think it a place for <i>me</i>? Ye see I'm no + like ither fowk, and sic a thing micht ca (<i>drive</i>) me + oot o' a' the sma' wits ever I hed!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoots!' rejoined Kirsty, with a smile, 'the catacombs has + naething to du wi' cats or kaims!' + </p> + <p> + 'Tell me what are they, than.' + </p> + <p> + 'The catacombs,' answered Kirsty, 'was what in auld times, + and no i' this cuintry ava, they ca'd the places whaur they + laid their deid.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, Kirsty, but that's waur!' returned Steenie. 'I wudna + gang intil sic a place wi' feet siclike's my ain—na, no + for what the warl cud gie me!—no for lang Lowrie's + fiddle and a' the tunes intil't! I wud never get my feet oot + o' 't! They'd haud me there!' + </p> + <p> + Then Kirsty began to tell him, as she would have taught a + child, something of the history of the catacombs, knowing how + it must interest him. + </p> + <p> + 'I' the days langsyne,' she said, 'there was fowk, like you + and me, unco fain o' the bonny man. The verra soun o' the + name o' 'im was eneuch to gar their herts loup wi' doonricht + glaidness. And they gaed here and there and a' gait, and + tellt ilka body aboot him; and fowk 'at didna ken him, and + didna want to ken him, cudna bide to hear tell o' him, and + they said, "Lat's hae nae mair o' this! Hae dune wi' yer + bonny man! Haud yer tongues," they cryit. But the ithers, + they wadna hear o' haudin their tongues. A'body maun ken + aboot him! "Sae lang's we <i>hae</i> tongues, and can wag + them to the name o' him," they said, "we'll no haud them!" + And at that they fell upo' them, and ill-used them sair; some + o' them they tuik and burnt alive—that is, brunt them + deid; and some o' them they flang to the wild beasts, and + they bitit them and tore them to bits. And—, + </p> + <p> + 'Was the bitin o' the beasts terrible sair?' interrupted + Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, I reckon it was some sair; but the puir fowk aye said + the bonny man was wi' them; and lat them bite!—they + didna care!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, of coorse, gien he was wi' them they wadna min' 't a + hair, or at least, no twa hairs! Wha wud! Gien he be in yon + hole, Kirsty, I'll gang back and intil't my lee lane. I wull + noo!' + </p> + <p> + Steenie turned and had run some distance before Kirsty + succeeded in stopping him. She did not run after him. + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie! Steenie!' she cried, 'I dinna doobt he's there, for + he's a'gait; but ye ken yersel ye canna aye see him, and + maybe ye wudna see him there the noo, and micht think he + wasna there, and turn fleyt. Bide till we hae a licht, and I + gang doon first.' + </p> + <p> + Steenie was persuaded, and turned and came back to her. To + father, mother, and sister he was always obedient, even on + the rare occasions when it cost him much to be so. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye see, Steenie,' she continued, 'yon's no the place! I + dinna ken yet what place yon is. I was only gaein to tell ye + aboot the places it min't me o'! Wud ye like to hear aboot + them?' + </p> + <p> + 'I wad that, richt weel! Say awa, Kirsty.' + </p> + <p> + 'The fowk, than, ye see, 'at lo'ed the bonny man, gethert + themsels aye thegither to hae cracks and newses wi' ane + anither aboot him; and, as I was tellin ye, the fowk 'at + didna care aboot him war that angert 'at they set upo' them, + and jist wud hae nane o' them nor him. Sae to hand oot o' + their grip, they coonselled thegither, and concludit to + gether in a place whaur naebody wud think o' luikin for + them—whaur but i' the booels o' the earth, whaur they + laid their deid awa upo' skelfs, like in an aumry!' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but that was fearsome!' interposed Steenie. 'They maun + hae been sair set!—Gien I had been there, wud they hae + garred me gang wi' them?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, no gien ye didna like. But ye wud hae likit weel to + gang. It wasna an ill w'y to beery fowk, nor an ill place to + gang til, for they aye biggit up the skelf, ye ken. It was + howkit oot—whether oot o' hard yird or saft stane, I + dinna ken; I reckon it wud be some no sae hard kin' o' a + rock—and whan the deid was laid intil 't, they biggit + up the mou o' the place, that is, frae that same skelf to the + ane 'at was abune 't, and sae a' was weel closed in.' + </p> + <p> + 'But what for didna they beery their deid mensefulike i' + their kirkyairds?' + </p> + <p> + ''Cause theirs was a great muckle toon, wi' sic a heap o' + hooses that there wasna room for kirkyards; sae they tuik + them ootside the toon, and gaed aneth wi' them a'thegither. + For there they howkit a lot o' passages like trances, and + here and there a wee roomy like, wi' ither trances gaein frae + them this gait and that. Sae, whan they tuik themsels there, + the freens o' the bonny man wud fill ane o' the roomies, and + stan' awa in ilk ane o' the passages 'at gaed frae 't; and + that w'y, though there cudna mony o' them see ane anither at + ance, a gey lottie wud hear, some a', and some a hantle o' + what was said. For there they cud speyk lood oot, and a body + abune hear naething and suspec naething. And jist think, + Steenie, there's a pictur o' the bonny man himsel paintit + upo' the wa' o' ane o' thae places doon aneth the grun'!' + </p> + <p> + 'I reckon it'll be unco like him!' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe: I canna tell aboot that.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gien I cud see 't, I cud tell; but I'm thinkin it'll be some + gait gey and far awa?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, it 's far, far.—It wud tak a body—lat me + see—maybe half a year to trevel there upo' 's ain fit,' + answered Kirsty, after some meditation. + </p> + <p> + 'And me a hantle langer, my feet's sae odious heavy!' + remarked Steenie with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + As they drew near the house, their mother saw them coming, + and went to the door to meet them. + </p> + <p> + 'We're wantin a bit o' a can'le, and a spunk or twa, mother,' + said Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye s' get that,' answered Marion. 'But what want ye a can'le + for i' the braid mids o' the daylicht?' + </p> + <p> + 'We want to gang doon a hole,' replied Steenie with flashing + eyes, 'and see the pictur o' the bonny man.' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoot, Steenie! I tellt ye it wasna there,' interposed + Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Na,' returned Steenie; 'ye only said yon hole wasna that + place. Ye said the bonny man <i>was</i> there, though I + michtna see him. Ye didna say the pictur wasna there.' + </p> + <p> + 'The pictur 's no there, Steenie.—We've come upon a + hole, mother, 'at we want to gang doon intil and see what + it's like,' said Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'The weicht o' my feet brak throu intil 't,' added Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'Preserve 's, lassie! tak tent whaur ye cairry the bairn!' + cried the mother. 'But, eh, tak him whaur ye like,' she + substituted, correcting herself. 'Weel ken I ye'll tak him + naegait but whaur it's weel he sud gang! The laddie needs twa + mithers, and the Merciful has gien him the twa! Ye're full + mair his mither nor me, Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + She asked no more questions, but got them the candle and let + them go. They hastened back, Steenie in his most jubilant + mood, which seemed always to have in it a touch of deathly + frost and a flash as of the primal fire. What could be the + strange displacement or maladjustment which, in the brain + harbouring the immortal thing, troubled it so, and made it + yearn after an untasted liberty? The source of his jubilance + now was easy to tell: the idea of the bonny man was + henceforth, in that troubled brain of his, associated with + the place into which they were about to descend. + </p> + <p> + The moment they reached the spot, Kirsty, to the renewed + astonishment of Steenie, dived at once into the ground at her + feet, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried out after her, and danced like a + terrified child. Then he shook with a fresh dismay at the + muffled sound that came back to him in answer from the unseen + hollows of the earth. + </p> + <p> + Already Kirsty stood at the bottom of the sloping tunnel, and + was lighting her candle. When it burned up, she found herself + looking into a level gallery, the roof of which she could + touch. It was not an excavation, but had been trenched from + the surface, for it was roofed with great slabs of stone. Its + sides, of rough stones, were six or seven feet apart at the + floor, which was paved with small boulders, but sloped so + much toward each other that at the top their distance was + less by about two and a half feet. Kirsty was, as I have + said, a keen observer, and her power of seeing had been + greatly developed through her constant conscientious + endeavour to realize every description she read. + </p> + <p> + She went on about ten or twelve yards, and came to a bend in + the gallery, succeeded by a sort of chamber, whence branched + a second gallery, which soon came to an end. The place was in + truth not unlike a catacomb, only its two galleries were + built, and much wider than the excavated thousands in the + catacombs. She turned back to the entrance, there left her + candle alight, and again startled Steenie, still staring into + the mouth of the hole, with her sudden reappearance. + </p> + <p> + 'Wud ye like to come doon, Steenie?' she said. 'It's a queer + place.' + </p> + <p> + 'Is 't awfu' fearsome?' asked Steenie, shrinking. + </p> + <p> + His feeling of dismay at the cavernous, the terrene dark, was + not inconsistent with his pleasure in being out on the wild + waste hillside, when heaven and earth were absolutely black, + not seldom the whole of the night, in utter loneliness to eye + or ear, and his never then feeling anything like dread. Then + and there only did he seem to have room enough. His terror + was of the smallest pressure on his soul, the least hint at + imprisonment. That he could not rise and wander about among + the stars at his will, shaped itself to him as the heaviness + of his feet holding him down. His feet were the loaded gyves + that made of the world but a roomy prison. The limitless was + essential to his conscious wellbeing. + </p> + <p> + 'No a bittock,' answered Kirsty, who felt awe + anywhere—on hilltop, in churchyard, in sunlit silent + room—but never fear. 'It's as like the place I was + tellin ye aboot—' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, the cat-place!' interrupted Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'The place wi' the pictur,' returned Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + Steenie darted forward, shot head-first into the hole as he + had seen Kirsty do, and crept undismayed to the bottom of the + slope. Kirsty followed close behind, but he was already on + his feet when she joined him. He grasped her arm eagerly, his + face turned from her, and his eyes gazing fixedly into the + depth of the gallery, lighted so vaguely by the candle on the + floor of its entrance. + </p> + <p> + 'I think I saw him!' he said in a whisper full of awe and + delight. 'I think I did see him!—but, Kirsty, hoo am I + to be sure 'at I saw him?' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe ye did and maybe ye didna see him,' replied Kirsty; + 'but that disna metter sae muckle, for he's aye seem you; and + ye'll see him, and be sure 'at ye see him, whan the richt + time comes.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye div think that, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay div I,' returned Kirsty, confidently. + </p> + <p> + 'I s' wait,' answered Steenie, and in silence followed Kirsty + along the gallery. + </p> + <p> + This was Steenie's first, and all but his last descent into + the <i>earth-house,</i> or <i>Picts' House</i>, or + <i>weem</i>, as a place of the sort is called: there are many + such in the east of Scotland, their age and origin objects of + merest conjecture. The moment he was out of it, he fled to + the Horn. + </p> + <p> + The next Sunday he heard read at church the story of the + burial and resurrection of the Lord, and unavoidably after + their talk about the catacombs, associated the chamber they + had just discovered with the tomb in which 'they laid him,' + at the same time concluding the top of the hill, where he + had, as he believed, on certain favoured nights met the bonny + man, the place whence he ascended—to come again as + Steenie thought he did! The earth-house had no longer any + attraction for Steenie: the bonny man was not there; he was + risen! He was somewhere above the mountain-top haunted by + Steenie, and that he sometimes descended upon it Steenie + already knew, for had he not seen him there! + </p> + <p> + Happy Steenie! Happier than so many Christians who, more in + their brain-senses, but far less in their heart-senses than + he, haunt the sepulchre as if the dead Jesus lay there still, + and forget to walk the world with him who dieth no more, the + living one! + </p> + <p> + But his sister took a great liking to the place, nor was + repelled by her mistaken suspicion that there the people of + the land in times unknown had buried some of their dead. In + the hot days, when the earth-house was cool, and in the + winter when the thick blanket of the snow lay over it, and it + felt warm as she entered it from the frosty wind, she would + sit there in the dark, sometimes imagining herself one of the + believers of the old time, thinking the Lord was at hand, + approaching in person to fetch her and her friends. When the + spring came, she carried down sod and turf, and made for + herself a seat in the central chamber, there to sit and + think. By and by she fastened an oil lamp to the wall, and + would light its rush-pith-wick, and read by it. Occasionally + she made a good peat fire, for she had found a chimney that + went sloping into the upper air; and if it did not always + draw well, peat-smoke is as pleasant as wholesome, and she + could bear a good deal of its smothering. Not unfrequently + she carried her book there when no one was likely to want + her, and enjoyed to the full the rare and delightful sense of + absolute safety from interruption. Sometimes she would make a + little song there, with which as she made it its own music + would come, and she would model the air with her voice as she + wrote the words in a little book on her knee. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch013"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON + </h3> + <p> + The summer following Gordon's first session at college, + castle Weelset and Corbyknowe saw nothing of him. No one + missed him much, and but for his father's sake no one would + have thought much about him. Kirsty, as one who had told him + the truth concerning himself, thought of him oftener than + anyone except her father. + </p> + <p> + The summer after, he paid a short visit to castle Weelset, + and went one day to Corbyknowe, where he left a favourable + impression upon all, which impression Kirsty had been the + readier to receive because of the respect she felt for him as + a student. The old imperiousness which made him so unlike his + father had retired into the background; his smile, though not + so sweet, came oftener; and his carriage was full of + courtesy. But something was gone which his old friends would + gladly have seen still. His behaviour in the old time was not + so pleasant, but he had been as one of the family. Often + disagreeable, he was yet loving. Now, he laid himself out to + make himself acceptable as a superior. Freed so long from his + mother's lowering influences, what was of his father in him + might by this time have come more to the surface but for + certain ladies in Edinburgh, connections of the family, who, + influenced by his good looks and pleasant manners, and + possibly by his position in the Gordon country, sought his + favour by deeds of flattery, and succeeded in spoiling him + not a little. + </p> + <p> + Steenie happening to be about the house when he came, Francis + behaved to him so kindly that the gentle creature, overcome + with grateful delight, begged him to go and see a house he + and Kirsty were building. + </p> + <p> + In some families the games of the children mainly consist in + the construction of dwellings, of this kind or + that—castle, or ship, or cave, or nest in the + treetop—according to the material attainable. It is an + outcome of the aboriginal necessity for shelter, this + instinct of burrowing: Welbeck Abbey is the development of a + <i>weem</i> or <i>Picts' house</i>. Steenie had very early + shown it, probably from a vague consciousness of weakness, + and Kirsty came heartily to his aid in following it, with the + reaction of waking in herself a luxurious idea of sheltered + safety. Northern children cherish in their imaginations the + sense of protection more, I fancy, than others. This is + partly owing to the severity of their climate, the snow and + wind, the rain and sleet, the hail and darkness they + encounter. I doubt whether an English child can ever have + such a sense of protection as a Scots bairn in bed on a + winter night, his mother in the nursery, and the wind howling + like a pack of wolves about the house. + </p> + <p> + Francis consented to go with Steenie to see his house, and + Kirsty naturally accompanied them. By this time she had + gathered the little that was known, and there is very little + known yet, concerning <i>Picts' houses</i>, and as they went + it occurred to her that it would be pleasant to the laird to + be shown a thing on his own property of which he had never + heard, and which, in the eyes of some, would add to its + value. She took the way, therefore, that led past the weem. + </p> + <p> + She had so well cleared out its entrance, that it was now + comparatively easy of access, else I doubt if the young laird + would have risked the spoiling of his admirably fitting + clothes to satisfy the mild curiosity he felt regarding + Kirsty's discovery. As it was, he pulled off his coat before + entering, despite her assurance that he 'needna fear blaudin + onything.' + </p> + <p> + She went in before him to light her candle and he followed. + As she showed him the curious place, she gave him the results + of her reading about such constructions, telling him who had + written concerning them, and what they had written. 'There's + mair o' them, I gether,' she said, 'and mair remarkable anes, + in oor ain coonty nor in ony ither in Scotlan'. I hae mysel + seen nane but this.' Then she told him how Steenie had led + the way to its discovery. By the time she ended, Gordon was + really interested—chiefly, no doubt, in finding himself + possessor of a thing which many men, learned and unlearned, + would think worth coming to see. + </p> + <p> + 'Did you find this in it?' he asked, seating himself on her + little throne of turf. + </p> + <p> + 'Na; I put that there mysel,' answered Kirsty. 'There was + naething intil the place, jist naething ava! There was + naething ye cud hae pickit aff o' the flure. Gien it hadna + been oot o' the gait o' the win', ye wud hae thoucht it had + sweepit it clean. Ye cud hae tellt by naething intil't what + ever it was meant for, hoose or byre or barn, kirk or + kirkyard. It had been jist a hidy-hole in troubled times, + whan the cuintry wud be swarmin wi' stravaguin marauders!' + </p> + <p> + 'What made ye the seat for, Kirsty?' asked Gordon, calling + her by her name for the first time, and falling into the + mother tongue with a flash of his old manner. + </p> + <p> + 'I come here whiles,' she answered, 'to be my lane and read a + bit. It's sae quaiet. Eternity seems itsel to come and hide + in 't whiles. I'm tempit whiles to bide a' nicht.' + </p> + <p> + 'Isna 't awfu' cauld?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, no aften that. It's fine and warm i' the winter. And I + can licht a fire whan I like.—But ye hae na yer coat + on, Francie! I oucht na to hae latten ye bide sae lang!' + </p> + <p> + He shivered, rose, and made his way out. Steenie stood in the + sunlight waiting for them. + </p> + <p> + 'Why, Steenie,' said Gordon, 'you brought me to see your + house: why didn't you come in with me?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na! I'm feart for my feet: this is no <i>my</i> hoose!' + answered Steenie. 'I'm biggin ane. Kirsty's helpin me: I + cudna big a hoose wantin Kirsty! That's what I wud hae ye + see, no this ane. This is Kirsty's hoose. It was Kirsty + wantit ye to see this ane.—Na, it's no mine,' he added + reflectively. 'I ken I maun come til 't some day, but I s' + bide oot o' 't as lang's I can. I like the hill a heap + better.' + </p> + <p> + 'What <i>does</i> he mean?' asked Francis, turning to Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Ow, he has a heap o' notions o' 's ain!' answered Kirsty, + who did not care, especially in his presence, to talk about + her brother save to those who loved him. + </p> + <p> + When Francis turned again, he saw Steenie a good way up the + hill. + </p> + <p> + 'Where does he want to take me, Kirsty? Is it far?' he asked. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, it's a gey bitty; it's nearhan' at the tap o' the Horn, + a wee ayont it.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then I think I shall not go,' returned Francis. 'I will come + another day.' + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie! Steenie!' cried Kirsty, 'he'll no gang the day. He + maun gang hame. He says he'll come anither time. Haud ye awa + on to yer hoose; I s' be wi' ye by and by.' + </p> + <p> + Steenie went up the hill, and Kirsty and Francis walked + toward Corbyknowe. + </p> + <p> + 'Has no young man appeared yet to put Steenie's nose out of + joint, Kirsty?' asked Gordon. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty thought the question rude, but answered, with quiet + dignity, 'No ane. I never had muckle opinion o' <i>yoong</i> + men, and dinna care aboot their company.—But what are + ye thinkin o' duin yersel—I mean, whan ye're throu wi' + the college?' she continued. 'Ye'll surely be comin hame to + tak things intil yer ain han'? My father says whiles he's + some feart they're no bein made the maist o'.' + </p> + <p> + 'The property must look after itself, Kirsty. I will be a + soldier like my father. If it could do without him when he + was in India, it may just as well do without me. As long as + my mother lives, she shall do what she likes with it.' + </p> + <p> + Thus talking, and growing more friendly as they went, they + walked slowly back to the house. There Francis mounted his + horse and rode away, and for more than two years they saw + nothing of him. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch014"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + STEENIE'S HOUSE + </h3> + <p> + Steenie seemed always to experience a strange sort of terror + while waiting for anyone to come out of the weem, into which + he never entered; and it was his repugnance to the place that + chiefly moved him to build a house of his own. He may have + also calculated on being able, with such a refuge at hand, to + be on the hill in all weathers. They still made use of their + little hut as before, and Kirsty still kept her library in + it, but it was at the root of the Horn, and Steenie loved the + peak of it more than any other spot in his narrow world. + </p> + <p> + I have already said that when, on the occasion of its + discovery, Steenie, for the first and the last time, came out + of the weem, he fled to the Horn. There he roamed for hours, + possessed with the feeling that he had all but lost Kirsty + who had taken possession of a house into which he could never + accompany her. For himself he would like a house on the very + top of the Horn, not one inside it! + </p> + <p> + Near the top was a little scoop out of the hill, sheltered on + all sides except the south, which, the one time I saw it, + reminded me strongly of Dante's <i>grembo</i> in the + purgatorial hill, where the upward pilgrims had to rest + outside the gate, because of the darkness during which no man + could go higher. Here, it is true, were no flowers to weave a + pattern upon its carpet of green; true also, here were no + beautiful angels, in green wings and green garments, poised + in the sweet night-air, watchful with their short, pointless, + flaming swords against the creeping enemy; but it was, + nevertheless, the loveliest carpet of grass and moss, and as + to the angels, I find it impossible to imagine, even in the + heavenly host, one heart more guardant than that of Kirsty, + one truer, or more devoted to its charge. The two were + together as the child of earth, his perplexities and terrors + ever shot through with flashes of insight and hope, and the + fearless, less imaginative, confident angel, appointed to + watch and ward and see him safe through the loose-cragged + mountain-pass to the sunny vales beyond. + </p> + <p> + On the northern slope of the hollow, full in the face of the + sun, a little family of rocks had fallen together, odd in + shapes and positions but of long stable equilibrium, with + narrow spaces between them. The sun was throwing his last red + rays among these rocks when Steenie the same evening wandered + into the little valley. The moment his eyes fell upon them, + he said in his heart, 'Yon's the place for a hoose! I'll get + Kirsty to big ane, and mebbe she 'll come and bide in 't wi' + me whiles!' + </p> + <p> + In his mind there were for some years two conflicting ideas + of refuge, one embodied in the heathery hut with Kirsty, the + other typified by the uplifted loneliness, the air and the + space of the mountain upon which the bonny man sometimes + descended: for the last three years or more the latter idea + had had the upper hand: now it seemed possible to have the + two kinds of refuge together, where the more material would + render the more spiritual easier of attainment! Such were not + Steenie's words; indeed he used none concerning the matter; + but such were his vague thoughts—feelings rather, not + yet thoughts. + </p> + <p> + The spot had indeed many advantages. For one thing, the group + of rocks was the ready skeleton of the house Steenie wanted. + Again, if the snow sometimes lay deeper there than in other + parts of the hill, there first it began to melt. A third + advantage was that, while, as I have said, the valley was + protected by higher ground everywhere but on the south, it + there afforded a large outlook over the boggy basin and over + the hills beyond its immediate rim, to a horizon in which + stood some of the loftier peaks of the highland mountains. + </p> + <p> + When Steenie's soul was able for a season to banish the + nameless forms that haunt the dim borders of insanity, he + would sit in that valley for hours, regarding the + wider-spread valley below him, in which he knew every height + and hollow, and, with his exceptionally keen sight, he could + descry signs of life where another would have beheld but an + everyway dead level. Not a live thing, it seemed almost, + could spread wing or wag tail, but Steenie would become + thereby aware of its presence. Kirsty, boastful to her + parents of the faculty of Steenie, said to her father one + day, + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna believe, father, wi' Steenie on the bog, a reid worm + cud stick up his heid oot o' 't ohn him seen 't!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin that's no sayin over muckle, wuman!' returned + David. 'I never jist set mysel to luik, but I dinna think I + ever did tak notice o' a worm settin up that heid o' his oot + o' a bog. I dinna think it's a sile they care aboot. I kenna + what they would get to please them there. It's the yerd they + live upo'. Whaur craps winna grow, I doobt gien worms can + live.' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty laughed: she had made herself ridiculous, but the + ridicule of some is sweeter than the praise of others. + </p> + <p> + Steenie set about his house-building at once, and when he had + got as far as he could without her, called for help from + Kirsty, who never interfered with, and never failed him. + Divots he was able to cut, and of them he provided a good + quantity, but when it came to moving stones, two pairs of + hands were often wanted. Indeed, before the heavier work of + 'Steenie's hoosie' was over, the two had to beg the help of + more—of their father, and of men from the farm. + </p> + <p> + During its progress, Phemy Craig paid rather a lengthened + visit to Corbyknowe, and often joined the two in their labour + on the Horn. She was not very strong, but would carry a good + deal in the course of the day; and through this association + with Steenie, her dread of him gradually vanished, and they + became comrades. + </p> + <p> + When Steenie's design was at length carried out, they had + built up with stone and lime the open spaces between several + of the rocks; had cased these curtain-walls outside and lined + them inside with softer and warmer walls of fells or divots + cut from the green sod of the hill; and had covered in the + whole as they found it possible—very irregularly no + doubt, but smoothing up all the corners and hollows with turf + and heather. This done, one of the men who was a good + thatcher, fastened the whole roof down with strong lines, so + that the wind should not get under and strip it off. The + result was a sort of burrow, consisting of several irregular + compartments with open communication—or rather, + perhaps, of a single chamber composed of recesses. One small + rock they included quite: Steenie would make it serve for a + table, and some of its inequalities for shelves. In one of + the compartments or recesses, they contrived a fireplace, and + in another a tolerably well concealed exit; for Steenie, like + a trap-door-spider, could not endure the thought of only one + way out: one way was enough for getting in, but two were + needful for getting out, his best refuge being the open hill. + </p> + <p> + The night came at length when Steenie, in whose heart was a + solemn, silent jubilation, would take formal possession of + his house. It was soft and warm, in the middle of the month + of July. The sun had been set about an hour when he got up to + leave the parlour, where the others always sat in the summer, + and where Steenie would now and then appear among them. As + usual he said goodnight to no one of them, but stole gently + out. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty knew what was in his mind, but was careful not to show + that she took any heed of his departure. As soon as her + father and mother retired, however, when he had been gone + about half an hour, she put aside her work, and hastened out. + She felt a little anxious about him, though she could not + have said why. She had no dread of displeasing by rejoining + him; nothing, but a sight of the bonny man could, she knew, + give him more delight than having her to share his + night-watch with him. This she had done several times, and + they were the only occasions on which, so far as he could + tell, he had slept any part of the night. + </p> + <p> + Folded in the twilight, Earth lay as still and peaceful as if + she had never done any wrong, never seen anything wrong in + one of her children. There was light everywhere, and darkness + everywhere to make it strange. A pale green gleam prevailed + in the heavens, as if the world were a glow-worm that sent + abroad its home-born radiance into space, and coloured the + sky. In the green light rested a few small solid clouds with + sharp edges, and almost an assertion of repose. Throughout + the night it would be no darker! The sun seemed already to + have begun to rise, only he would be all night about it. From + the door she saw the point of the Horn clear against the + green sky: Steenie would be up there soon! he was hurrying + thither! Sometimes he went very leisurely, stopping and + gazing, or sitting down to meditate: he would not do so that + night! A special solemnity in his countenance made her sure + that he would go straight to his new house. But she could + walk faster than he, and would not be long behind him! + </p> + <p> + The sky was full of pale stars, and Kirsty amused herself, as + she went, with arranging them—not into their + constellations, though she knew the shapes and names of most + of them, but into mathematical figures. The only star Steenie + knew by name was the pole star, which, however, he always + called <i>The bonny man's lantern.</i> Kirsty believed he had + thoughts of his own about many another, and a name for it + too. + </p> + <p> + She had climbed the hill, and was drawing near the house, + when she was startled by a sound of something like singing, + and stopped to listen. She had never heard Steenie attempt to + sing, and the very thought of his doing so moved her greatly: + she was always expecting something marvellous to show itself + in him. She drew nearer. It was not singing, but it was + something like it, or something trying to be like it—a + succession of broken, harsh, imperfect sounds, with here and + there a tone of brief sweetness. She thought she perceived in + it an attempt at melody, but the many notes that refused to + be made, prevented her from finding the melody intended, or + the melody, rather, after which he was feeling. The broken + music ceased suddenly, and a different kind of sound + succeeded. She went yet nearer. He could not be reading: she + had tried to teach him to read, but the genuine effort he put + forth to learn made his head ache, and his eyes feel wild, he + said, and she at once gave up the endeavour. When she reached + the door, she could plainly hear him praying. + </p> + <p> + He had been accustomed to hear his father pray—always + extempore. To the Scots mind it is a perplexity how prayer + and reading should ever seem one. Kirsty went a little deeper + into the matter when she said:— + </p> + <p> + 'The things that I want, I ken; and I maun hae them! There's + nae necessity ava to tell me what I want. The buik may wauk a + sense o' want, I daursay, I dinna ken, but it maistly pits + intil me the thoucht o' something a body micht weel want, + withoot makin me awaur o' wantin 't at that preceese moment.' + </p> + <p> + Prayer, with Steenie, as well as with Kirsty, was the + utterance, audible or silent, in the ever open ear, of what + was moving in him at the time. This was what she now heard + him say:— + </p> + <p> + 'Bonny man, I ken ye weel: there's naebody in h'aven or earth + 'at's like ye! Ye ken yersel I wad jist dee for ye; or gien + there be onything waur to bide nor deein, that's what I would + du for ye—gien ye wantit it o' me, that is, for I'm + houpin sair 'at ye winna want it, I'm that awfu cooardly! Oh + bonny man, tak the fear oot o' my hert, and mak me ready just + to walk aff o' the face o' the warl', weichty feet and a', to + du yer wull, ohn thoucht twise aboot it! And eh, bonny man, + willna ye come doon sometime or lang, and walk the hill here, + that I may luik upo' ye ance mair—as i' the days of + old, whan the starlicht muntain shook wi' the micht o' the + prayer ye heavit up til yer father in h'aven? Eh, gien ye war + but ance to luik in at the door o' this my hoose that ye hae + gien me, it wud thenceforth be to me as the gate o' paradise! + But, 'deed, it's that onygait, forit's nigh whaur ye tak yer + walks abro'd. But gien ye <i>war</i> to luik in at the door, + and cry, <i>Steenie</i>! sune wud ye see whether I was in the + hoose or no!—I thank ye sair for this hoose: I'm gaein + to hae a rich and a happy time upo' this hill o' Zion, whaur + the feet o' the ae man gangs walkin!—And eh, bonny man, + gie a luik i' the face o' my father and mither i' their bed + ower at the Knowe; and I pray ye see 'at Kirsty's gettin a + fine sleep, for she has a heap o' tribble wi' me. I'm no + worth min'in', yet ye min' me: she is worth + min'in'!—and that clever!—as ye ken wha made her! + And luik upo' this bit hoosie, 'at I ca' my ain, and they a' + helpit me to bigg, but as a lean-to til the hoose at hame, + for I'm no awa frae it or them—jist as that hoose and + this hoose and a' the hooses are a' jist but bairnies' + hooses, biggit by themsels aboot the big flure o' thy kitchie + and i' the neuks o' the same—wi' yer ain truffs and + stanes and divots, sir.' + </p> + <p> + Steenie's voice ceased, and Kirsty, thinking his prayer had + come to an end, knocked at the door, lest her sudden + appearance should startle him. From his knees, as she knew by + the sound of his rising, Steenie sprang up, came darting to + the door with the cry, 'It's yersel! It's yersel, bonny man!' + and seemed to tear it open. Oh, how sorry was Kirsty to stand + where the loved of the human was not! She had almost turned + and fled. + </p> + <p> + 'It's only me, Steenie!' she faltered, nearly crying. + </p> + <p> + Steenie stood and stared trembling. Neither, for a moment or + two, could speak. + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, Steenie,' said Kirsty at length, 'I'm richt sorry I + disapp'intit ye! I didna ken what I was duin. I oucht to hae + turnt and gane hame again!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye cudna help it,' answered Steenie. 'Ye cudna be him, or ye + wud! But ye're the neist best, and richt welcome. I'm as + glaid as can be to see ye, Kirsty. Come awa ben the hoose.' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty followed him in silence, and sat down dejected. The + loving heart saw it. + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe ye're him efter a'!' said Steenie. 'He can tak ony + shape he likes. I wudna won'er gien ye was him! Ye're unco + like him ony gait!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na, Steenie! I'm far frae that! But I wud fain be what + he wud hae me, jist as ye wud yersel. Sae ye maun tak me, + what I am, for his sake, Steenie!' + </p> + <p> + This was the man's hour, not the dog's, yet Steenie threw + himself at her feet. + </p> + <p> + 'Gang oot a bit by yersel, Steenie,' she said, caressing him + with her hand. 'That's what ye'll like best, I ken! Ye needna + min' me! I only cam to see ye sattlet intil yer ain hoose. + I'll bide a gey bit. Gang ye oot, an ken 'at I'm i' the + hoose, and that ye can come back to me whan ye like. I hae my + bulk, and can sit and read fine.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Steenie, rising. 'Ye aye + ken what I'm needin. I maun win oot, for I'm some chokin + like.—But jist come here a minute first,' he went on, + leading the way to the door. There he pointed up into the + wild of stars, and said, 'Ye see yon star o' the tap o' that + ither ane 'at's brichter nor itsel?' + </p> + <p> + 'I see 't fine, and ken 't weel,' answered Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, whan that starnie comes richt ower the white tap o' + yon stane i' the mids o' that side o' the howe, I s' be here + at the door.' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty looked at the stone, saw that the star would arrive at + the point indicated in about an hour, and said, 'Weel, I'll + be expeckin ye, Steenie!' whereupon he departed, going + farther up the hill to court the soothing of the silent + heaven. + </p> + <p> + In conditions of consciousness known only to himself and + incommunicable, the poor fellow sustained an all but + continuous hand-to-hand struggle with insanity, more or less + agonized according to the nature and force of its varying + assault; in which struggle, if not always victorious, he had + yet never been defeated. Often tempted to escape misery by + death, he had hitherto stood firm. Some part of every + solitary night was spent, I imagine, in fighting that or + other evil suggestion. Doubtless, what kept him lord of + himself through all the truth-aping delusions that usurped + his consciousness, was his unyielding faith in the bonny man. + </p> + <p> + The name by which he so constantly thought and spoke of the + saviour of men was not of his own finding. The story was well + known of the idiot, who, having partaken of the Lord's + supper, was heard, as he retired, murmuring to himself, 'Eh, + the bonny man! the bonny man!' And persons were not wanting, + sound in mind as large of heart, who thought the idiot might + well have seen him who came to deliver them that were bound. + Steenie took up the tale with most believing mind. Never + doubting the man had seen the Lord, he responded with the + passionate desire himself to see <i>the bonny man</i>. It + awoke in him while yet quite a boy, and never left him, but, + increasing as he grew, became, as well it might, a fixed + idea, a sober, waiting, unebbing passion, urging him to + righteousness and lovingkindness. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty took from her pocket an old translation of Plato's + Phaedo, and sat absorbed in it until the star, unheeded of + her, attained its goal, and there was Steenie by her side! + She shut the book and rose. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm a heap better, Kirsty,' said Steenie. 'The ill colour's + awa doon the stair, and the saft win' 's made its w'y oot o' + the lift, an' 's won at me. I 'maist think a han' cam and + clappit my heid. Sae noo I'm jist as weel 's there's ony need + to be o' this side the mist. It helpit me a heap to ken 'at + ye was sittin there: I cud aye rin til ye!—Noo gang awa + to yer bed, and tak a guid sleep. I'm some thinkin I'll be + hame til my br'akfast.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, mother's gaein to the toon the morn, and I'll be + wantit fell air; I may as weel gang!' answered Kirsty, and + without a goodnight, or farewell of any sort, for she knew + how he felt in regard to leave-takings, Kirsty left him, and + went slowly home. The moon was up and so bright that every + now and then she would stop for a moment and read a little + from her book, and then walk on thinking about it. + </p> + <p> + From that night, even in the stormy dark of winter, Kirsty + was not nearly so anxious about Steenie away from the house: + on the Horn he had his place of refuge, and she knew he never + ventured on the bog after sunset. He always sought her when + he wanted to sleep in the daytime, but he was gradually + growing quieter in his mind, and, Kirsty had reason to think, + slept a good deal more at night. + </p> + <p> + But the better he grew the more had he the look of one + expecting something; and Kirsty often heard him saying to + himself—'It's comin! it's comin!' + </p> + <p> + 'And at last,' she said, telling his story many years after, + 'at last it cam; and ahint it, I doobtna! cam the face o' the + bonny man!' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch015"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + PHEMY CRAIG + </h3> + <p> + Things went on in the same way for four years more, the only + visible change being that Kirsty seldomer went about + bare-footed. She was now between two and three and twenty. + Her face, whose ordinary expression had always been of quiet, + was now in general quieter still; but when heart or soul was + moved, it would flash and glow as only such a face could. + Live revelation of deeps rarely rippled save by the breath of + God, how could it but grow more beautiful! Cloud or shadow of + cloud was hardly ever to be seen upon it. Her mother, much + younger than her father, was still well and strong, and + Kirsty, still not much wanted at home, continued to spend the + greater part of her time with her brother and her books. As + to her person, she was now in the first flower of harmonious + womanly strength. Nature had indeed done what she could to + make her a lady, but Nature was not her mother, and Kirsty's + essential ladyhood came from higher-up, namely, from the + Source itself of Nature. Simple truth was its crown, and + grace was the garment of it. To see her walk or run was to + look on the divine idea of Motion. + </p> + <p> + As for Steenie, he looked the same loose lank lad as before, + with a smile almost too sad to be a smile, and a laugh in + which there was little hilarity. His pleasures were no doubt + deep and high, but seldom, even to Kirsty, manifested + themselves except in the afterglow. + </p> + <p> + Phemy was now almost a woman. She was rather little, but had + a nice figure, which she knew instinctively how to show to + advantage. Her main charm lay in her sweet + complexion—strong in its contrast of colours, but + wonderfully perfect in the blending of them: the gradations + in the live picture were exquisite. She was gentle of temper, + with a shallow, birdlike friendliness, an accentuated + confidence that everyone meant her well, which was very + taking. But she was far too much pleased with herself to be a + necessity to anyone else. Her father grew more and more proud + of her, but remained entirely independent of her; and Kirsty + could not help wondering at times how he would feel were he + given one peep into the chaotic mind which he fancied so + lovely a cosmos. A good fairy godmother would for her + discipline, Kirsty imagined, turn her into the prettiest wax + doll, but with real eyes, and put her in a glass case for the + admiration of all, until she sickened of her very + consciousness. But Kirsty loved the pretty doll, and + cherished any influence she had with her against a possible + time when it might be sorely needed. She still encouraged + her, therefore, to come to Corbyknowe as often as she felt + inclined. Her father never interfered with any of her goings + and comings. At the present point of my narrative, however, + Kirsty began to notice that Phemy did not care so much for + being with her as hitherto. + </p> + <p> + She had been, of course, for some time the cynosure of many + neighbouring eyes, but had taken only the more pleasure in + the cynosure, none in the persons with the eyes, all of whom + she regarded as much below her. To herself she was the only + young lady in Tiltowie, an assurance strengthened by the fact + that no young man had yet ventured to make love to her, which + she took as a general admission of their social inferiority, + behaving to all the young men the more sweetly in + consequence. + </p> + <p> + The tendency of a weakly artistic nature to occupy itself + much with its own dress was largely developed in her. It was + wonderful, considering the smallness of her father's income, + how well she arrayed herself. She could make a poor and + scanty material go a great way in setting off her + attractions. The judicial element of the neighbourhood, not + content with complaining that she spent so much of her time + in making her dresses, accused her of spending much money + upon them, whereas she spent less than most of the girls of + the neighbourhood, who cared only for a good stuff, a fast + colour, and the fashion: fit to figure and fitness to + complexion they did not trouble themselves about. The + possession of a fine gown was the important thing. As to how + it made them look, they had not imagination enough to + consider that. + </p> + <p> + She possessed, however, another faculty on which she prided + herself far more, her ignorance and vanity causing her to + mistake it for a grand accomplishment—the faculty of + verse-making. She inherited a certain modicum of her father's + rhythmic and riming gift; she could string words almost as + well as she could string beads, and many thought her clever + because she could do what they could not. Her aunt judged her + verses marvellous, and her father considered them full of + promise. The minister, on the other hand, held them + unmistakably silly—as her father would had they not + been hers and she his. Only the poorest part of his poetic + equipment had propagated in her, and had he taught her + anything, she would not have overvalued it so much. Herself + full of mawkish sentimentality, her verses could not fail to + be foolish, their whole impulse being the ambition that + springs from self-admiration. She had begun to look down on + Kirsty, who would so gladly have been a mother to the + motherless creature; she was not a lady! Neither in speech, + manners, nor dress, was she or her mother genteel! Their + free, hearty, simple bearing, in which was neither smallest + roughness nor least suggestion of affected refinement, was + not to Phemy's taste, and she began to assume condescending + ways. + </p> + <p> + It was of course a humiliation to Phemy to have an aunt in + Mrs. Bremner's humble position, but she loved her after her + own feeble fashion, and, although she would willingly have + avoided her upon occasion, went not unfrequently to the + castle to see her; for the kindhearted woman spoiled her. Not + only did she admire her beauty, and stand amazed at her + wonderful cleverness, but she drew from her little store a + good part of the money that went to adorn the pretty + butterfly. She gave her at the same time the best of advice, + and imagined she listened to it; but the young who take + advice are almost beyond the need of it. Fools must + experience a thing themselves before they will believe it; + and then, remaining fools, they wonder that their children + will not heed their testimony. Faith is the only charm by + which the experience of one becomes a vantage-ground for the + start of another. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch016"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + SHAM LOVE + </h3> + <p> + One day Phemy went to Castle Weelset to see her aunt, and, + walking down the garden to find her, met the young laird. + </p> + <p> + Through respect for the memory of his father, he had just + received from the East India Company a commission in his + father's regiment; and having in about six weeks to pass the + slight examination required, and then sail to join it, had + come to see his mother and bid her goodbye. He was a youth no + longer, but a handsome young fellow, with a pale face and a + rather weary, therefore what some would call an interesting + look. For many months he had been leading an idle life. + </p> + <p> + He lifted his hat to Phemy, looked again, and recognised her. + They had been friends when she was a child, but since he saw + her last she had grown a young woman. She was gliding past + him with a pretty bow, and a prettier blush and smile, when + he stopped and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + 'It's not possible!' he said; 'you can't be little + Phemy!—Yet you must be!—Why, you're a grown lady! + To think how you used to sit on my knee, and stroke my face! + How is your father?' + </p> + <p> + Phemy murmured a shy answer, a little goose but blushing a + very flamingo. In her heart she saw before her the very man + for her hero. A woman's hero gives some measure, not of what + she is, hardly of what she would like to be, but of what she + would like to pass for: here was the ideal for which Phemy + had so long been waiting, and wherein consisted his glory? In + youth, position, and good looks! She gazed up at him with a + mixture of shyness and boldness not uncommon in persons of + her silly kind, and Francis not only saw but felt that she + was an unusually pretty girl: although he had long ceased to + admire his mother, he still admired the sort of beauty she + once had. He saw also that she was very prettily dressed, + and, being one of those men who, imagining themselves + gentlemen, feel at liberty to take liberties with women + socially their inferiors, he plucked a pheasant-eye-narcissus + in the border, and said—at the same time taking the + leave he asked,— + </p> + <p> + 'Let me finish your dress by adding this to it! Have you got + a pin?—There!—all you wanted to make you just + perfect!' + </p> + <p> + Her face was now in a very flame. She saw he was right in the + flower he had chosen, and he saw, not his artistic success + only, but her recognition of it as well, and was gratified. + He had a keen feeling of harmony in form and colour, and + flattered women, while he paraded his own insight, by + bringing it to bear on their dress. + </p> + <p> + The flower, in its new position, seemed radiant with + something of the same beauty in which it was set; it was + <i>like</i> the face above it, and hinted a sympathetic + relation with the whole dainty person of the girl. But in + truth there was more expression in the flower than was yet in + the face. The flower expressed what God was thinking of when + he made it; the face what the girl was thinking of herself. + When she ceased thinking of herself then, like the flower, + she would show what God was thinking of when he made her. + </p> + <p> + Francis, like the man he was, thought what a dainty little + lady she would make if he had the making of her, and at once + began talking as he never would have talked had she been what + is conventionally called a lady—with a familiarity, + namely, to which their old acquaintance gave him no right, + and which showed him not his sister's keeper. She, poor + child, was pleased with his presumption, taking it for a sign + that he regarded her as a lady; and from that moment her head + at least was full of the young laird. She had forgotten all + she came about. When he turned and walked down the garden, + she walked alongside of him like a linnet by a tall stork, + who thought of her as a very pretty green frog. Lost in + delight at his kindness, and yet more at his admiration, she + felt as safe in his hands as if he had been her guardian + angel: had he not convinced her that her notion of herself + was correct! Who should know better whether she was a lady, + whether she was lovely or not, than this great, handsome, + perfect gentleman! Unchecked by any question of propriety, + she accompanied him without hesitation into a little arbour + at the bottom of the garden, and sat down with him on the + bench there provided for the weary and the idle—in this + case a going-to-be gallant officer, bored to death by a week + at home with his mother, and a girl who spent the most of her + time in making, altering, and wearing her dresses. + </p> + <p> + 'How good it was of you, Phemy,' he said, 'to come and see + me! I was ready to cut my throat for want of something pretty + to look at. I was thinking it the ugliest place with the + ugliest of people, wondering how I had ever been able to live + in it. How unfair I was! The whole country is beautiful now!' + </p> + <p> + 'I am so glad,' answered poor Phemy, hardly knowing what she + said: it was to her the story of a sad gentleman who fell in + love at first sight with a beautiful lady who was learning to + love him through pity. + </p> + <p> + Her admiration of him was as clear as the red and white on + her face; and foolish Francis felt in his turn flattered, for + he too was fond of himself. There is no more pitiable sight + to lovers of their kind, or any more laughable to its haters, + than two persons falling into the love rooted in self-love. + But possibly they are neither to be pitied nor laughed at; + they may be plunging thus into a saving hell. + </p> + <p> + 'You would like to make the world beautiful for me, Phemy?' + rejoined Francis. + </p> + <p> + 'I should like to make it a paradise!' returned Phemy. + </p> + <p> + 'A garden of Eden, and you the Eve in it?' suggested Francis. + </p> + <p> + Phemy could find no answer beyond a confused look and a yet + deeper blush. + </p> + <p> + Talk elliptical followed, not unmingled with looks bold and + shy. They had not many objects of thought in common, + therefore not many subjects for conversation. There was no + poetry in Gordon, and but the flimsiest sentiment in Phemy. + Her mind was feebly active, his full of tedium. Hers was open + to any temptation from him, and his to the temptation of + usurping the government of her world, of constituting himself + the benefactor of this innocent creature, and enriching her + life with the bliss of loving a noble object. Of course he + meant nothing serious! Equally of course he would do her no + harm! To lose him would make her miserable for a while, but + she would not die of love, and would have something to think + about all her dull life afterward! + </p> + <p> + Phemy at length got frightened at the thought of being found + with him, and together they went to look for her aunt. + Finding her in an outhouse that was used for a laundry, + Francis told Mrs. Bremner that they had been in the garden + ever so long searching for her, and he was very glad of the + opportunity of hearing about his old friend, Phemy's father! + The aunt was not quite pleased, but said little. + </p> + <p> + The following Sunday she told the schoolmaster what had taken + place, and came home in a rage at the idiocy of a man who + would not open his eyes when his house was on fire. It was + all her sister's fault, she said, for having married such a + book-idiot! She felt indeed very uncomfortable, and did her + best in the way of warning; but Phemy seemed so incapable of + understanding what ill could come of letting the young laird + talk to her, that she despaired of rousing in her any sense + of danger, and having no authority over her was driven to + silence for the present. She would have spoken to her + mistress, had she not plainly foreseen that it would be of no + use, that she would either laugh, and say young men must have + their way, or fly into a fury with Phemy for trying to entrap + her son, and with Mrs. Bremner for imagining he would look at + the hussey; while one thing was certain—that, if his + mother opposed him, Francis would persist. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch017"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + A NOVEL ABDUCTION + </h3> + <p> + Phemy went seldom to the castle, but the young laird and she + met pretty often: there was solitude enough in that country + for an army of lovers. Once or twice Gordon, at Phemy's + entreaty, went and took tea with her at her father's, and was + cordially received by the schoolmaster, who had no sense of + impropriety in their strolling out together afterward, + leaving him well content with the company of his books. + Before this had happened twice, all the town was talking + about it, and predicting evil. Phemy heard nothing and feared + nothing; but if feeling had been weather and talk tempest, + she would have been glad enough to keep within. So rapidly, + however, did the whirlwind of tongues extend its giration + that within half a week it reached Kirsty, and cast her into + great trouble: her poor silly defenceless Phemy, the child of + her friend, was in danger from the son of her father's + friend! Her father could do nothing, for Francis would not + listen to him, therefore she herself must do something! She + could not sit still and look on at the devil's work! Having + always been on terms of sacred intimacy with her mother, she + knew more of the dangers of the world, while she was far + safer from them, than such girls as their natural guardians + watch instead of fortifying, and understood perfectly that an + unwise man is not to be trusted with a foolish girl. She + felt, therefore, that inaction on her part would be + faithlessness to the teaching of her mother, as well as + treachery to her father, whose friend's son was in peril of + doing a fearful wrong to one to whom he owed almost a + brother's protection for his schoolmaster's sake. She did not + believe that Francis <i>meant</i> Phemy any harm, but she was + certain he thought too much of himself ever to marry her, and + were the poor child's feelings to go for nothing? She had no + hope that Phemy would listen to expostulation from her, but + she must in fairness, before she <i>did</i> anything, have + some speech with her! + </p> + <p> + She made repeated efforts, therefore, to see her, but without + success. She tried one time of the day after another, but, + now by accident and now by clever contrivance, Phemy was not + to be come at. She had of late grown tricky. One of the + windows of the schoolmaster's house commanded the street in + both directions, and Phemy commanded the window. When she saw + Kirsty coming, she would run into the garden and take refuge + in the summer-house, telling the servant on her way that she + was going out, and did not know what time she would be in. On + more occasions than one Kirsty said she would wait, when + Phemy, learning she was not gone, went out in earnest, and + took care she had enough of waiting. Such shifts of cunning + no doubt served laughter to the lovers when next they met, + but they showed that Phemy was in some degree afraid of + Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + Had Kirsty known the schoolmaster no better than his + sister-in-law knew him, she would, like her, have gone to + him; but she was perfectly certain that it would be almost + impossible to rouse him, and that, once convinced that his + confidence had been abused, he would be utterly furious, and + probably bear himself in such fashion as to make Phemy + desperate, perhaps make her hate him. As it was, he turned a + deaf ear and indignant heart to every one of the reports that + reached him. To listen to it would be to doubt his child! Why + should not the young laird fall in love with her? What more + natural? Was she not worth as much honour as any man, be he + who he might, could confer upon her? He cursed the gossips of + the town, and returned to his book. + </p> + <p> + Convinced at length that Phemy declined an interview, Kirsty + resolved to take her own way. And her way was a somewhat + masterful one. + </p> + <p> + About a mile from castle Weelset, in the direction of + Tiltowie, the road was, for a few hundred yards, + close-flanked by steep heathery braes. Now Kirsty had heard + of Phemy's being several times seen on this road of late; and + near the part of it I have just described, she resolved to + waylay her. From the brae on the side next Corbyknowe she + could see the road for some distance in either direction. + </p> + <p> + For a week she watched in vain. She saw the two pass together + more than once, and she saw Francis pass alone, but she had + never seen Phemy alone. + </p> + <p> + One morning, just as she arrived at her usual outlook, she + saw Mrs. Bremner in the road below, coming from the castle, + and ran down to speak to her. In the course of their + conversation she learned that Francis was to start for London + the next morning. When they parted, the old woman resuming + her walk to Tiltowie, Kirsty climbed the brae and sat down in + the heather. She was more anxious than ever. She had done her + best, but it had come to nothing, and now she had but one + chance more! That Francis Gordon was going away so soon was + good news, but what might not happen even yet before he went! + At the same time she could think of nothing better than keep + watch as hitherto, firm as to her course if she saw Phemy + alone, but now determined to speak to both if Francis was + with her, and all but determined to speak to Francis alone, + if an opportunity of doing so should be given her. + </p> + <p> + All the morning and afternoon she watched in vain, eating + nothing but a piece of bread that Steenie brought her. At + last, in the evening—it was an evening in September, + cold and clear, the sun down, and a melancholy glory hanging + over the place of his vanishing—she spied the solitary + form of Phemy hastening along the road in the direction of + the castle. Although she had been on the outlook for her all + day, she was at the moment so taken up with the sunset, that + Phemy was almost under where she stood before she saw her. + She ran at full speed a hundred yards, then slid down a part + of the brae too steep to climb, and leaped into the road a + few feet in front of Phemy—so suddenly that the girl + started with a cry, and stopped. The moment she saw who it + was, however, she drew herself up, and would have passed with + a stiff greeting. But Kirsty stood in front of her, and would + not permit her. + </p> + <p> + 'What do you want, Kirsty Barclay?' demanded Phemy, who had + within the last week or two advanced considerably in + confidence of manner; 'I am in a hurry!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're in a waur hurry nor ye ken, for yer hurry sud be the + ither gait!' answered Kirsty; 'and I'm gaein to turn ye, or + at least no gaein to lat ye gang, ohn heard a bit o' the + trowth frae a woman aulder nor yersel! Lassie, ye seem to + think naebody worth hearkenin til a word frae 'cep ae man, + but I mean ye to hearken to me! Ye dinna ken what ye're + aboot! I ken Francie Gordon a heap better nor you, and though + I ken nae ill o' him, I ken as little guid: he never did + naething yet but to please himsel, and there never cam + salvation or comfort to man, woman, or bairn frae ony puir + cratur like <i>him</i>!' + </p> + <p> + 'How dare you speak such lies of a gentleman behind his + back!' cried Phemy, her eyes flashing. 'He is a friend of + mine, and I will not hear him maligned!' + </p> + <p> + 'There's sma' hairm can come to ony man frae the trowth, + Phemy!' answered Kirsty. 'Set the man afore me, and I'll say + word for word intil his face what I'm sayin to you ahint his + back.' + </p> + <p> + 'Miss Barclay,' rejoined Phemy, with a rather pitiable + attempt at dignity, 'I can permit no one to call me by my + Christian name who speaks ill of the man to whom I am + engaged!' + </p> + <p> + 'That s' be as ye please, Miss Craig. But I wud lat you ca' + me a' the ill names in the dictionar to get ye to heark to + me! I'm tellin ye naething but what's true as death.' + </p> + <p> + 'I call no one names. I am always civil to my neighbours + whoever they may be! I will not listen to you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, lassie, there's but feow o' yer neebours ceevil to yer + name, whatever they be to yersel! There's hardly ane has a + guid word for ye, Phemy!—Miss Craig—I beg yer + pardon!' + </p> + <p> + 'Their lying tongues are nothing to me! I know what I am + about! I will not stay a moment longer with you! I have an + important engagement.' + </p> + <p> + Once more, as several times already, she would have passed + her, but Kirsty stepped yet again in front of her. + </p> + <p> + 'I can weel tak yer word,' replied Kirsty, ''at ye hae an + engagement; but ye said a minute ago 'at ye was engaged til + him: tell me in ae word—has Francie Gordon promised to + merry ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'He has as good as asked me,' answered Phemy, who had fits of + apprehensive recoil from a downright lie. + </p> + <p> + 'Noo there I cud 'maist believe ye! Ay, that wud be ill + eneuch for Francie! He never was a doonricht leear, sae + lang's I kenned him—ony mair nor yersel! But, for God's + sake, Phemy, dinna imagine he'll ever merry ye, for that he + wull not.' + </p> + <p> + 'This is really insufferable!' cried Phemy, in a voice that + began to tremble from the approach of angry tears. 'Pray, + have <i>you</i> a claim upon him?' + </p> + <p> + 'Nane, no a shedow o' ane,' returned Kirsty. 'But my father + and his father war like brithers, and we hae a' to du what we + can for his father's son. I wud fain hand him ohn gotten into + trouble wi' you or ony lass.' + </p> + <p> + '<i>I</i> get him into trouble! Really, Miss Barclay, I do + not know how to understand you!' + </p> + <p> + 'I see I maun be plain wi' ye: I wudna hae ye get him into + trouble by lattin him get you into trouble!—and that's + plain speykin!' + </p> + <p> + 'You insult me!' said Phemy. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye drive me to speyk plain!' answered Kirsty. 'That lad, + Francie Gordon,—' + </p> + <p> + 'Speak with respect of your superiors,' interrupted Phemy. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll speyk wi' respec o' ony body I hae respec for!' + answered Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Let me pass, you rude young woman!' cried Phemy, who had of + late been cultivating in her imagination such speech as she + thought would befit Mrs. Gordon of castle Weelset. + </p> + <p> + 'I winna lat ye pass,' answered Kirsty; '—that is, no + til ye hear what I hae to say to ye.' + </p> + <p> + 'Then you must take the consequences!' rejoined Phemy, and, + in the hope that her lover would prove within earshot, began + a piercing scream. + </p> + <p> + It roused something in Kirsty which she could not afterward + identify: she was sure it had nothing to do with anger. She + felt, she said, as if she had to deal with a child who + insisted on playing with fire beside a barrel of gunpowder. + At the same time she did nothing but what she had beforehand, + in case of the repulse she expected, resolved upon. She + caught up the little would-be lady, as if she had been that + same naughty child, and the suddenness of the action so + astonished her that for a moment or two she neither moved nor + uttered a sound. The next, however, she began to shriek and + struggle wildly, as if in the hug of a bear or the coils of + an anaconda, whereupon Kirsty closed her mouth with one hand + while she held her fast with the other. It was a violent + proceeding, doubtless, but Kirsty chose to be thus far an + offender, and yet farther. + </p> + <p> + Bearing her as she best could in one arm, she ran with her + toward Tiltowie until she reached a place where the road was + bordered by a more practicable slope; there she took to the + moorland, and made for Corbyknowe. Her resolve had been from + the first, if Phemy would not listen, to carry her, like the + unmanageable child she was, home to the mother whose voice + had always been to herself the oracle of God. It was in a + loving embrace, though hardly a comfortable one, and to a + heart full of pity, that she pressed the poor little runaway + lamb: her mother was God's vicar for all in trouble: she + would bring the child to reason! Her heart beating mightily + with love and labour, she waded through the heather, hurrying + along the moor. + </p> + <p> + It was a strange abduction; but Kirsty was divinely simple, + and that way strange. Not until they were out of sight of the + road did she set her down. + </p> + <p> + 'Noo, Phemy,' she said, panting as she spoke, 'haud yer + tongue like a guid lassie, and come awa upo' yer ain feet.' + </p> + <p> + Phemy took at once to her heels and her throat, and ran + shrieking back toward the road, with Kirsty after her like a + grayhound. Phemy had for some time given up struggling and + trying to shriek, and was therefore in better breath than + Kirsty whose lungs were pumping hard, but she had not a + chance with her, for there was more muscle in one of Kirsty's + legs than in Phemy's whole body. In a moment she had her in + her arms again, and so fast that she could not even kick. She + gave way and burst into tears. Kirsty relaxed her hold. + </p> + <p> + 'What are you gaein to du wi' me?' sobbed Phemy. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm takin ye to the best place I ken—hame to my + mother,' answered Kirsty, striding on for home-heaven as + straight as she could go. + </p> + <p> + 'I winna gang!' cried Phemy, whose Scotch had returned with + her tears. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye <i>are</i> gaein,' returned Kirsty dryly; '—at + least I'm takin ye, and that's neist best.' + </p> + <p> + 'What for? I never did ye an ill turn 'at I ken o'!' said + Phemy, and burst afresh into tears of self-pity and sense of + wrong. + </p> + <p> + 'Na, my bonny doo,' answered Kirsty, 'ye never did me ony ill + turn! It wasna in ye. But that's the less rizzon 'at I sudna + du you a guid ane. And yer father has been like the Bountiful + himsel to me! It's no muckle I can du for you or for him, but + there's ae thing I'm set upo', and that's haudin ye frae + Francie Gordon the nicht. He'll be awa the morn!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wha tellt ye that?' returned Phemy with a start. + </p> + <p> + 'Jist yer ain aunt, honest woman!' answered Kirsty, 'and sair + she grat as she telled me, but it wasna at his gaein!' + </p> + <p> + 'She micht hae held the tongue o' her till he was gane! What + was there to greit about!' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe she thocht o' her sister's bairn in a tribble 'at + silence wadna hide!' answered Kirsty. 'Ye haena a notion, + lassie, what ye're duin wi' yersel! But my mither 'll lat ye + ken, sae that ye gangna blinlins intil the tod's hole.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye dinna ken Frank, or ye wudna speyk o' 'im that gait!' + </p> + <p> + 'I ken him ower weel to trust you til him.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's naething but ye're eenvious o' me, Kirsty, 'cause ye + canna get him yersel! He wud never luik at a lass like you!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's weel a'body sees na wi' the same een, Phemy! Gien I had + yer Francie i' the parritch-pat, I wudna pike him oot, but + fling frae me pat and parritch. For a' that, I hae a haill + side o' my hert saft til him: my father and his lo'd like + brithers.' + </p> + <p> + 'That canna be, Kirsty—and it's no like ye to blaw! + Your father was a common so'dier and his was cornel o' the + regiment!' + </p> + <p> + 'Allooin!' was all Kirsty's answer. Phemy betook herself to + entreaty. + </p> + <p> + 'Lat me gang, Kirsty! Please! I'll gang doon o' my knees til + ye! I canna bide him to think I've played him fause.' + </p> + <p> + 'He'll play you fause, my lamb, whatever ye du or he think! + It maks my hert sair to ken 'at no guid will your hert get o' + his.—He s' no see ye the nicht, ony gait!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy uttered a childish howl, but immediately choked it with + a proud sob. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're hurtin me, Kirsty!' she said, after a minute or so of + silence. 'Lat me doon, and I'll gang straucht hame to my + father. I promise ye.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll set ye doon,' answered Kirsty, 'but ye maun come hame + to my mither.' + </p> + <p> + 'What'll my father think?' + </p> + <p> + 'I s' no forget yer father,' said Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + She sent out a strange, piercing cry, set Phemy down, took + her hand in hers, and went on, Phemy making no resistance. In + about three minutes there was a noise in the heather, and + Snootie came rushing to Kirsty. A few moments more and + Steenie appeared. He lifted his bonnet to Phemy, and stood + waiting his sister's commands. + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie,' she said, 'tak the dog wi' ye, and rin doon to the + toon, and tell Mr. Craig 'at Phemy here's comin hame wi' me, + to bide the nicht. Ye winna be langer nor ye canna help, and + ye'll come to the hoose afore ye gang to the hill?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll du that, Kirsty. Come, doggie,' + </p> + <p> + Steenie never went to the town of his own accord, and Kirsty + never liked him to go, for the boys were rude, but to-night + it would be dark before he reached it. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're no surely gaun to gar me bide a' nicht!' said Phemy, + beginning again to cry. + </p> + <p> + 'I am that—the nicht, and maybe the morn's nicht, and + ony nummer o' nichts till we're sure he's awa!' answered + Kirsty, resuming her walk. + </p> + <p> + Phemy wept aloud, but did not try to escape. + </p> + <p> + 'And him gaein to promise this verra nicht 'at he would merry + me!' she cried, but through her tears and sobs her words were + indistinct. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty stopped, and faced round on her. + </p> + <p> + 'He promised to merry ye?' she said. + </p> + <p> + 'I didna say that; I said he was gaein to promise the nicht. + And noo he'll be gane, and never a word said!' + </p> + <p> + 'He promised, did he, 'at he would promise the + nicht?—Eh, Francie! Francie! ye're no yer father's + son!—He promised to promise to merry ye! Eh, ye puir + gowk o' a bonny lassie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Gien I met him the nicht—ay, it cam to that.' + </p> + <p> + All Kirsty's inborn motherhood awoke. She turned to her, and, + clasping the silly thing in her arms, cried out— + </p> + <p> + 'Puir wee dauty! Gien he hae a hert ony bigger nor Tod + Lowrie's <i>(the fox's)</i> ain, he'll come to ye to the + Knowe, and say what he has to say!' + </p> + <p> + 'He winna ken whaur I am!' answered Phemy with an agonized + burst of dry sobbing. + </p> + <p> + 'Will he no? I s' see to that—and this verra nicht!' + exclaimed Kirsty. 'I'll gie him ilka chance o' doin the richt + thing!' + </p> + <p> + 'But he'll be angert at me!' + </p> + <p> + 'What for? Did he tell ye no to tell?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay did he.' + </p> + <p> + 'Waur and waur!' cried Kirsty indignantly. 'He wad hae ye a' + in his grup! He tellt ye, nae doobt, 'at ye was the bonniest + lassie 'at ever was seen, and bepraised ye 'at yer ain minnie + wouldna hae kenned ye! Jist tell me, Phemy, dinna ye think a + hantle mair o' yersel sin' he took ye in han'?' + </p> + <p> + She would have Phemy see that she had gathered from him no + figs or grapes, only thorns and thistles. Phemy made no + reply: had she not every right to think well of herself? He + had never said anything to her on that subject which she was + not quite ready to believe. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty seemed to divine what was passing in her thought. + </p> + <p> + 'A man,' she said, ''at disna tell ye the trowth aboot himsel + 's no likly to tell ye the trowth aboot <i>your</i>sel! Did + he tell ye hoo mony lassies he had said the same thing til + afore ever he cam to you? It maitered little sae lang as they + war lasses as hertless and toom-heidit as himsel, and ower + weel used to sic havers; but a lassie like you, 'at never + afore hearkent to siclike, she taks them a' for trowth, and + the leein sough o' him gars her trow there was never on earth + sic a won'erfu cratur as her! What pleesur there can be i' + leein 's mair nor I can faddom! Ye're jist a gey bonnie + lassie, siclike as mony anither; but gien ye war a' glorious + within, like the queen o' Sheba, or whaever she may happen to + hae been, there wad be naething to be prood o' i' that, seem + ye didna contrive yersel. No ae stane, to bigg yersel, hae + <i>ye</i> putten upo' the tap o' anither!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy was nowise capable of understanding such statement and + deduction. If she was lovely, as Frank told her, and as she + saw in the glass, why should she not be pleased with herself? + If Kirsty had been made like her, she would have been just as + vain as she! + </p> + <p> + All her life the doll never saw the beauty of the woman. + Beside Phemy, Kirsty walked like an Olympian goddess beside + the naiad of a brook. And Kirsty was a goddess, for she was + what she had to be, and never thought about it. + </p> + <p> + Phemy sank down in the heather, declaring she could go no + farther, and looked so white and so pitiful that Kirsty's + heart filled afresh with compassion. Like the mother she was, + she took the poor girl yet again in her arms, and, carrying + her quite easily now that she did not struggle, walked with + her straight into her mother's kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Barclay sat darning the stocking which would have been + Kirsty's affair had she not been stalking Phemy. She took it + out of her mother's hands, and laid the girl in her lap. + </p> + <p> + 'There's a new bairnie til ye, mother! Ye maun daut her a + wee, she's unco tired!' she said, and seating herself on a + stool, went on with the darning of the stocking. + </p> + <p> + Mistress Barclay looked down on Phemy with such a face of + loving benignity that the poor miserable girl threw her arms + round her neck, and laid her head on her bosom. Instinctively + the mother began to hush and soothe her, and in a moment more + was singing a lullaby to her. Phemy fell fast asleep. Then + Kirsty told what she had done, and while she spoke, the + mother sat silent brooding, and hushing, and thinking. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch018"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + PHEMY'S CHAMPION + </h3> + <p> + When she had told all, Kirsty rose, and laying aside the + stocking, said, + </p> + <p> + 'I maun awa to Weelset, mother. I promised the bairn I would + lat Francie ken whaur she was, and gie him the chance o' + sayin his say til her.' + </p> + <p> + 'Verra weel, lassie! ye ken what ye're aboot, and I s' no + interfere wi' ye. But, eh, ye'll be tired afore ye win to yer + bed!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll no tramp it, mother; I'll tak the gray mear.' + </p> + <p> + 'She's gey and fresh, lassie; ye maun be on yer guaird.' + </p> + <p> + 'A' the better!' returned Kirsty. 'To hear ye, mother, a body + wud think I cudna ride!' + </p> + <p> + 'Forbid it, bairn! Yer father says, man or wuman, there's no + ane i' the countryside like ye upo' beast-back.' + </p> + <p> + 'They tak to me, the craturs! It was themsels learnt me to + ride!' answered Kirsty, as she took a riding whip from the + wall, and went out of the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + The mare looked round when she entered the stable, and + whinnied. Kirsty petted and stroked her, gave her two or + three handfuls of oats, and while she was eating strapped a + cloth on her back: there was no side-saddle about the farm. + Kirsty could ride well enough sideways on a man's, but she + liked the way her father had taught her far better. Utterly + fearless, she had, in his training from childhood until he + could do no more for her, grown a horsewoman such as few. + </p> + <p> + The moment the mare had finished her oats she bridled her, + led her out, and sprang on her back; where sitting as on a + pillion, she rode quietly out of the farm-close. The moment + she was beyond the gate, she leaned back, and, throwing her + right foot over the mare's crest, rode like an Amazon, at + ease, and with mastery. The same moment the mare was away, up + hill and down dale, almost at racing speed. Had the coming + moon been above the horizon, the Amazon farm-girl would have + been worth meeting! So perfectly did she yield her lithe, + strong body to every motion of the mare, abrupt or undulant, + that neither ever felt a jar, and their movements seemed the + outcome of a vital force common to the two. Kirsty never + thought whether she was riding well or ill, gracefully or + otherwise, but the mare knew that all was right between them. + Kirsty never touched the bridle except to moderate the mare's + pace when she was too much excited to heed what she said to + her. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless, to many eyes, she would have looked better in a + riding habit, but she would have felt like an eagle in a + nightgown. She wore a full winsey petticoat, which she + managed perfectly, and stockings of the same colour. + </p> + <p> + On her head she had nothing but the silk net at that time and + in that quarter much worn by young unmarried women. In the + rush of the gallop it slipped, and its content escaped: she + put the net in her pocket, and cast a knot upon her long hair + as if it had been a rope. This she did without even + slackening her speed, transferring from her hand to her teeth + the whip she carried. It was one colonel Gordon had given her + father in remembrance of a little adventure they had + together, in which a lash from it in the dark night was + mistaken for a sword-cut, and did them no small service. + </p> + <p> + By the time they reached the castle, the moon was above the + horizon. Kirsty brought the mare to a walk, and resuming her + pillion-seat, remanded her hair to its cage, and readjusted + her skirt; then, setting herself as in a side-saddle, she + rode gently up to the castle-door. + </p> + <p> + A manservant, happening to see her from the hall-window, + saved her having to ring the bell, and greeted her + respectfully, for everybody knew Corbyknowe's Kirsty. She + said she wanted to see Mr. Gordon, and suggested that perhaps + he would be kind enough to speak to her at the door. The man + went to find his master, and in a minute or two brought the + message that Mr. Gordon would be with her presently. Kirsty + drew her mare back into the shadow which, the moon being yet + low, a great rock on the crest of a neighbouring hill cast + upon the approach, and waited. + </p> + <p> + It was three minutes before Francis came sauntering + bare-headed round the corner of the house, his hands in his + pockets, and a cigar in his mouth. He gave a glance round, + not seeing his visitor at once, and then with a nod, came + toward her, still smoking. His nonchalance, I believe, was + forced and meant to cover uneasiness. For all that had passed + to make him forget Kirsty, he yet remembered her + uncomfortably, and at the present moment could not help + regarding her as an angelic <i>bete noir</i>, of whom he was + more afraid than of any other human being. He approached her + in a sort of sidling stroll, as if he had no actual business + with her, but thought of just asking whether she would sell + her horse. He did not speak, and Kirsty sat motionless until + he was near enough for a low-voiced conference. + </p> + <p> + 'What are ye aboot wi' Phemy Craig, Francie?' she began, + without a word of greeting. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty was one of the few who practically deny time; with + whom what was, is; what is, will be. She spoke to the tall + handsome man in the same tone and with the same forms as when + they were boy and girl together. + </p> + <p> + He had meant their conversation to be at arm's length, so to + say, but his intention broke down at once, and he answered + her in the same style. + </p> + <p> + 'I ken naething aboot her. What for sud I?' he answered. + </p> + <p> + 'I ken ye dinna ken whaur she is, for I div,' returned + Kirsty. 'Ye answer a queston I never speired! What are ye + aboot wi' Phemy, I challenge ye again! Puir lassie, she has + nae brither to say the word!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's a' verra weel; but ye see, Kirsty,' he + began—then stopped, and having stared at her a moment + in silence, exclaimed, 'Lord, what a splendid woman you've + grown!'—He had probably been drinking with his mother. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty sat speechless, motionless, changeless as a soldier on + guard. Gordon had to resume and finish his sentence. + </p> + <p> + 'As I was going to say, <i>you</i> can't take the place of a + brother to her, Kirsty, else I should know how to answer + you!—It's awkward when a lady takes you to task,' he + added with a drawl. + </p> + <p> + 'Dinna trouble yer heid aboot that, Francie: hert ye hae + little to trouble aboot onything!' rejoined Kirsty. Then + changing to English as he had done, she went on: 'I claim no + consideration on that score.' + </p> + <p> + Francis Gordon felt very uncomfortable. It was deuced hard to + be bullied by a woman! + </p> + <p> + He stood silent, because he had nothing to say. + </p> + <p> + 'Do you mean to marry my Phemy?' asked Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Really, Miss Barclay,' Francis began, but Kirsty interrupted + him. + </p> + <p> + 'Mr. Gordon,' she said sternly, 'be a man, and answer me. If + you mean to marry her, say so, and go and tell her + father—or my father, if you prefer. She is at the + Knowe, miserable, poor child! that she did not meet you + to-night. That was my doing; she could not help herself. + </p> + <p> + Gordon broke into a strained laugh. + </p> + <p> + 'Well, you've got her, and you can keep her!' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'You have not answered my question!' + </p> + <p> + 'Really, Miss Barclay, you must not be too hard on a man! Is + a fellow not to speak to a woman but he must say at once + whether or not he intends to marry her?' + </p> + <p> + 'Answer my question.' + </p> + <p> + 'It is a ridiculous one!' + </p> + <p> + 'You have been trystin' with her almost every night for + something like a month!' rejoined Kirsty, 'and the question + is not at all ridiculous.' + </p> + <p> + 'Let it be granted then, and let the proper person ask me the + question, and I will answer it. You, pardon me, have nothing + to do with the matter in hand.' + </p> + <p> + 'That is the answer of a coward,' returned Kirsty, her cheek + flaming at last. 'You know the guileless nature of your old + schoolmaster, and take advantage of it! You know that the + poor girl has not a man to look to, and you will not have a + woman befriend her! It is cowardly, ungrateful, mean, + treacherous. You are a bad man, Francie! You always were a + fool, but now you are a wicked fool! If I were her + brother—if I were a man, I would thrash you!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a good thing you're not able, Kirsty! I should be + frightened!' said Gordon, with a laugh and a shrug, thinking + to throw the thing aside as done with. + </p> + <p> + 'I said, if I was a man!' returned Kirsty. 'I did not say, if + I was able. I <i>am</i> able.' + </p> + <p> + 'I don't see why a woman should leave to any man what she's + able to do for herself!' said Kirsty, as if communing with + her own thoughts.— 'Francie, you're no gentleman; you + are a scoundrel and a coward!' she immediately added aloud. + </p> + <p> + 'Very well,' returned Francis angrily; 'since you choose to + be treated as a man, and tell me I am no gentleman, I tell + you I wouldn't marry the girl if the two of you went on your + knees to me!—A common, silly, country-bred + flirt!—ready for anything a man—' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty's whip descended upon him with a merciless lash. The + hiss of it, as it cut the air with all the force of her + strong arm, startled her mare, and she sprang aside, so that + Kirsty, who, leaning forward, had thrown the strength of her + whole body into the blow, could not but lose her seat. But it + was only to stand upright on her feet, fronting her— + call him enemy, antagonist, victim, what you will. Gordon was + grasping his head: the blow had for a moment blinded him. She + gave him another stinging cut across the hands. + </p> + <p> + 'That's frae yer father! The whup was his, and his swoord + never did fairer wark!' she said.—'I hae dune for him + what I cud!' she added in a low sorrowful voice, and stepped + back, as having fulfilled her mission. + </p> + <p> + He rushed at her with a sudden torrent of evil words. But he + was no match for her in agility as, I am almost certain, he + would have proved none in strength had she allowed him to + close with her: she avoided him as she had more than once + <i>jinkit</i> a charging bull, every now and then dealing him + another sharp blow from his father's whip. The treatment + began to bring him to his senses. + </p> + <p> + 'For God's sake, Kirsty,' he cried, ceasing his attempts to + lay hold of her, 'behaud, or we'll hae the haill hoose oot, + and what'll come o' me than I daurna think! I doobt I'll + never hear the last o' 't as 'tis!' + </p> + <p> + 'Am I to trust ye, Francie?' + </p> + <p> + 'I winna lay a finger upo' ye, damn ye!' he said in mingled + wrath and humiliation. + </p> + <p> + Throughout, Kirsty had held her mare by the bridle, and she, + although behaving as well as she could, had, in the fright + the laird's rushes and the sounds of the whip caused her, + added not a little to her mistress's difficulties. Just as + she sprang on her back, the door opened, and faces looked + peering out; whereupon with a cut or two she encouraged a few + wild gambols, so that all the trouble seemed to have been + with the mare. Then she rode quietly through the gate. + </p> + <p> + Gordon stood in a motionless fury until he heard the soft + thunder of the mare's hoofs on the turf as Kirsty rode home + at a fierce gallop; then he turned and went into the house, + not to communicate what had taken place, but to lie about it + as like truth as he might find possible. + </p> + <p> + About half-way home, on the side of a hill, across which a + low wind, the long death-moan of autumn, blew with a + hopeless, undulant, but not intermittent wail among the + heather, Kirsty broke into a passionate fit of weeping, but + ere she reached home all traces of her tears had vanished. + </p> + <p> + Gordon did not go the next day, nor the day after, but he + never saw Phemy again. It was a week before he showed + himself, and then he was not a beautiful sight. He attributed + the one visible wale on his cheek and temple to a blow from a + twig as he ran in the dusk through the shrubbery after a + strange dog. Even at the castle they did not know exactly + when he left it. His luggage was sent after him. + </p> + <p> + The domestics at least were perplexed as to the wale on his + face, until the man to whom Kirsty had spoken at the door + hazarded a conjecture or two, which being not far from the + truth, and as such accepted, the general admiration and + respect which already haloed Corbyknowe's Kirsty, were + thenceforward mingled with a little wholesome fear. + </p> + <p> + When Kirsty told her father and mother what she had done at + castle Weelset, neither said a word. Her mother turned her + head away, but the light in her father's eyes, had she had + any doubt as to how they would take it, would have put her + quite at her ease. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch019"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION + </h3> + <p> + Poor little Phemy was in bed, and had cried herself asleep. + Kirsty was more tired than she had ever been before. She went + to bed at once, but, for a long time, not to sleep. + </p> + <p> + She had no doubt her parents approved of the chastisement she + had given Gordon, and she herself nowise repented of it; yet + the instant she lay down, back came the same sudden something + that set her weeping on the hillside. As then, all un-sent + for, the face of Francie Gordon, such as he was in their + childhood, rose before her, but marred by her hand with + stripes of disgrace from his father's whip; and with the + vision came again the torrent of her tears, for, if his + father had then struck him so, she would have been bold in + his defence. She pressed her face into the pillow lest her + sobs should be heard. She was by no means a young woman ready + to weep, but the thought of the boy-face with her blows upon + it, got within her guard, and ran her through the heart. It + seemed as if nevermore would she escape the imagined sight. + It is a sore thing when a woman, born a protector, has for + protection to become an avenger, and severe was the revulsion + in Kirsty from an act of violence foreign to the whole habit, + though nowise inconsistent with the character, of the calm, + thoughtful woman. She had never struck even the one-horned + cow that would, for very cursedness, kick over the milk-pail! + Hers was the wrath of the mother, whose very presence in a + calm soul is its justification—for how could it be + there but by the original energy? The wrath was gone, and the + mother soul turned against itself—not in judgment at + all, but in irrepressible feeling. She did not for one moment + think, I repeat, that she ought not to have done it, and she + was glad in her heart to know that what he had said and she + had done must keep Phemy and him apart; but there was the + blow on the face of the boy she had loved, and there was the + reflex wound in her own soul! Surely she loved him yet with + her mother-love, else how could she have been angry enough + with him to strike him! For weeks the pain lasted keen, and + it was ever after ready to return. It was a human type of the + divine suffering in the discipline of the sinner, which with + some of the old prophets takes the shape of God's repenting + of the evils he has brought on his people; and was the only + trouble she ever kept from her mother: she feared to wake her + own pain in the dearer heart. She could have told her father; + for, although he was, she knew, just as loving as her mother, + he was not so soft-hearted, and would not, she thought, + distress himself too much about an ache more or less in a + heart that had done its duty; but as she could not tell her + mother, she would not tell her father. But her father and + mother saw that a change had passed upon her, and partially, + if not quite, understood the nature of it. They perceived + that she left behind her on that night a measure of her + gaiety, that thereafter she was yet gentler to her parents, + and if possible yet tenderer to her brother. + </p> + <p> + For all the superiority constantly manifested by her in her + relations with Francis, the feeling was never absent from her + that he was of a race above her own; and now the visage of + the young officer in her father's old regiment never, any + more than that of her play-fellow, rose in her mind's eye + uncrossed by the livid mark of her whip from the temple down + the cheek! Whether she had actually seen it so, she did not + certainly remember, but so it always came to her, and the + face of the man never cost her a tear; it was only that of + the boy that made her weep. + </p> + <p> + Another thing distressed her even more: the instant ere she + struck the first, the worst blow, she saw on his face an + expression so meanly selfish that she felt as if she hated + him. That expression had vanished from her visual memory, her + whip had wiped it away, but she knew that for a moment she + had all but hated him—if it was indeed <i>all but</i>! + </p> + <p> + All the house was careful the next morning that Phemy should + not be disturbed; and when at length the poor child appeared, + looking as if her colour was not 'ingrain,' and so had been + washed out by her tears, Kirsty made haste to get her a nice + breakfast, and would answer none of her questions until she + had made a proper meal. + </p> + <p> + 'Noo, Kirsty,' said Phemy at last, 'ye maun tell me what he + said whan ye loot him ken 'at I cudna win til him 'cause ye + wudna lat me!' + </p> + <p> + 'He saidna muckle to that. I dinna think he had been sair + missin ye.' + </p> + <p> + 'I see ye're no gaein to tell me the trowth, Kirsty! I ken by + mysel he maun hae been missin me dreidfu'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye can jeedge nae man by yersel, Phemy. Men's no like hiz + lass-fowk!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy laughed superior. + </p> + <p> + 'What ken ye aboot men, Kirsty? There never cam a man near + ye, i' the w'y o' makin up til ye!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm no preten'in to ony exparience,' returned Kirsty; 'I wad + only hae ye tak coonsel wi' common sense. Is 't likly, Phemy, + 'at a man wi gran' relations, and gran' notions, a man wi' a + fouth o' grit leddies in 's acquantance to mak a fule o' him + and themsel's thegither, special noo 'at he's an offisher i' + the Company's service—is 't ony gait likly, I say, 'at + he sud be as muckle ta'en up wi' a wee bit cuintry lassie as + she cudna but be wi' him?' + </p> + <p> + 'Noo, Kirsty, ye jist needna gang aboot to gar me mistrust + ane wha's the verra mirror o' a' knichtly coortesy,' rejoined + Phemy, speaking out of the high-flown, thin atmosphere she + thought the region of poetry, 'for ye canna! Naething ever + onybody said cud gar me think different o' <i>him</i>!' + </p> + <p> + 'Nor naething ever he said himsel?' asked Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Naething,' answered Phemy, with strength and decision. + </p> + <p> + 'No gien it was 'at naething wud ever gar him merry ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'That he micht weel say, for he winna need garrin!—But + he never said it, and ye needna try to threpe it upo' me!' + she added, in a tone that showed the very idea too painful. + </p> + <p> + 'He did say't, Phemy.' + </p> + <p> + 'Wha tellt ye? It's lees! Somebody's leein!' + </p> + <p> + 'He said it til me himsel. Never a lee has onybody had a + chance o' puttin intil the tale!' + </p> + <p> + 'He never said it, Kirsty!' cried Phemy, her cheeks now + glowing, now pale as death. 'He daurna!' + </p> + <p> + 'He daured; and he daured to <i>me</i>! He said, "I wudna + merry her gien baith o' ye gaed doon upon yer knees to me!"' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye maun hae sair angert him, Kirsty, or he wudna hae said + it! Of coorse he wasna to be guidit by you! He <i>cud</i>na + hae meaned what he said! He wad never hae said it to me! I + wuss wi' a' my hert I hadna latten ye til 'im! Ye hae ruined + a'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye never loot me gang, Phemy! It was my business to gang.' + </p> + <p> + 'I see what's intil't!' cried Phemy, bursting into tears. 'Ye + tellt him hoo little ye thoucht o' me, and that gart him + change his min'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wud he be worth greitin about gien that war the case, Phemy? + But ye ken it wasna that! Ye ken 'at I jist cudna du onything + o' the sort!— I'm jist ashamed to deny't!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoo am I to ken? There's nae a wuman born but wad fain hae + him til hersel!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty held her peace for pity, thinking what she could say + to convince her of Gordon's faithlessness. + </p> + <p> + 'He didna say he hadna promised?' resumed Phemy through her + sobs. + </p> + <p> + 'We camna upo' that.' + </p> + <p> + 'That's what I'm thinkin!' + </p> + <p> + 'I kenna what ye're thinking, Phemy!' + </p> + <p> + 'What did ye gie him, Kirsty, whan he tauld ye—no 'at I + believe a word o' 't—'at he wud nane o' me?' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty laughed with a scorn none the less clear that it was + quiet. + </p> + <p> + 'Jist a guid lickin,' she answered. + </p> + <p> + 'Ha, ha!' laughed Phemy hysterically. 'I tellt ye ye was + leein! Ye hae been naething but leein—a' for fun, of + coorse, I ken that—to mak a fule o' me for bein fleyt!' + </p> + <p> + Despair, for a moment, seemed to overwhelm Kirsty. Was it for + this she had so wounded her own soul! How was she to make the + poor child understand? She lifted up her heart in silence. At + last she said,— + </p> + <p> + 'Ye winna see mair o' him this year or twa onygait, I'm + thinkin! Gien ever ye get a scart o' 's pen, it'll surprise + me. But gien ever ye hae the chance, which may God forbid, + tell him I said I had gien him his licks, and daured him to + come and deny't to my face. He winna du that, Phemy! He kens + ower weel I wad jist gie him them again!' + </p> + <p> + 'He wud kill ye, Kirsty! <i>You</i> gie him his licks!' + </p> + <p> + 'He micht kill me, but he'd hae a pairt o' his licks + first!—And noo gien ye dinna believe me I winna answer + a single question mair ye put to me. I hae been tellin + ye—no God's trowth, it's true, but the + deevil's—and it's no use, for ye winna believe a word + o' 't!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy rose up a pygmy Fury. + </p> + <p> + 'And ye laid han' to cheek o' that king o' men, Kirsty + Barclay? Lord, haud me ohn killt her! Little hauds me frae + riven ye to bits wi' my twa han's!' + </p> + <p> + 'I laidna han' to cheek o' Francie Gordon, Phemy; I jist + throosh him wi' his father's ain ridin whup 'at my hert's + like to brak to think o' 't. I doobt he'll carry the marks + til's grave!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty broke into a convulsion of silent sobs and tears. + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty Barclay, ye're a deevil!' cried Phemy in a hoarse + whisper: she was spent with passion. + </p> + <p> + The little creature stood before Kirsty, her hands clenched + and shaking with rage, blue flashes darting about in her + eyes. Kirsty, at once controlling the passion of her own + heart, sat still as a statue, regarding her with a sad pity. + A sparrow stood chattering at a big white brooding dove; and + the dove sorrowed for the sparrow, but did not know how to + help the fluttering thing. + </p> + <p> + 'Lord!' cried Phemy, 'I'll be cursin a' the warl' and God + himsel, gien I gang on this gait!—Eh, ye fause wuman!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty sprang upon her at one bound from her seat, threw her + arms round her so that she could not move hers, and sitting + down with her on her lap, said— + </p> + <p> + 'Phemy, gien I was yer mither, I wad gie ye yer licks for + sayin what ye didna i' yer hert believe! A' the time ye was + keepin company wi' Francie Gordon, ye ken i' yer ain sowl ye + was never richt sure o' him! And noo I tell ye plainly that, + although I strack him times and times wi' my whup—and + saired him weel!-I div not believe him sae ill-contrived as + ye wad gar me think him. Him and me was bairns thegither, and + I ken the natur o' him, and tak his pairt again ye, for, oot + o' pride and ambition, ye're an enemy til him: I div not + believe ever he promised to merry ye! He's behaved ill eneuch + wantin that—lattin a gowk o' a lassie like you believe + what ye likit, and him only carryin on wi' ye for the ploy o' + 't, haeing naething to du, and sick o' his ain toom heid and + still toomer hert; but a man's word's his word, and Francie's + no sae ill as your tale wud mak him! There, Phemy, I hae said + my say!' + </p> + <p> + She loosened her arms. But Phemy lay still, and putting her + arms round Kirsty's neck, wept in a bitter silence. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch020"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + MUTUAL MINISTRATION + </h3> + <p> + In a minute or so the door opened, and Steenie coming one + step into the kitchen, stood and stared with such a face of + concern that Kirsty was obliged to speak. I do not believe he + had ever before seen a woman weeping. He shivered visibly. + </p> + <p> + 'Phemy's no that weel,' she said. 'Her hert's sae sair it + gars her greit. She canna help greitin, puir dauty!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy lifted her face from Kirsty's bosom, where, like a + miserable child, she had been pressing it hard, and, seeming + to have lost in the depth of her grief all her natural + shyness, looked at Steenie with the most pitiful look ever + countenance wore: her rage had turned to self-commiseration. + The cloud of mingled emotion and distress on the visage of + Steenie wavered, shifted, changed, and settled into the + divinest look of pity and protection. Kirsty said she never + saw anything so unmistakably Godlike upon human countenance. + Involuntarily she murmured, 'Eh, the bonny man!' He turned + away from them, and, his head bent upon his breast, stood for + a time utterly motionless. Even Phemy, overpowered and + stilled by that last look he cast upon her, gazed at him with + involuntary reverence. But only Kirsty knew that the + half-witted had sought and found audience with the Eternal, + and was now in his presence. + </p> + <p> + He remained in this position, Kirsty thought, about three + minutes. Then he lifted his head, and walked straight from + the house, nor turned nor spoke. Kirsty did not go after him: + she feared to tread on holy ground uninvited. Nor would she + leave Phemy until her mother came. + </p> + <p> + She got up, set the poor girl on the chair, and began to get + ready the mid-day meal, hoping Phemy would help her, and gain + some comfort from activity. Nor was she disappointed. With a + childish air of abstraction, Phemy rose and began, as of old + in the house, to busy herself, and Kirsty felt much relieved. + </p> + <p> + 'But, oh,' she said to herself, 'the sairness o' that wee + herty i' the inside o' her!' + </p> + <p> + Phemy never spoke, and went about her work mechanically. When + at length Mrs. Barclay came into the kitchen, Kirsty thought + it better to leave them together, and went to find Steenie. + She spent the rest of the day with him. Neither said a word + about Phemy, but Steenie's countenance shone all the + afternoon, and she left him at night in his house on the + Horn, still in the after-glow of the mediation which had + irradiated him in the morning. + </p> + <p> + When she came home, Kirsty found that her mother had put + Phemy to bed. The poor child had scarcely spoken all day, and + seemed to have no life in her. In the evening an attack of + shivering, with other symptoms, showed she was physically + ill. Mrs. Barclay had sent for her father, but the girl was + asleep when he came. Aware that he would not hear a word + casting doubt on his daughter's discretion, and fearing + therefore that, if she told him how she came to be there, he + would take her home at any risk, where she would not be so + well cared for as at the Knowe, she had told him nothing of + what had taken place; and he, thinking her ailment would + prove but a bad cold, had gone back to his books without + seeing her. At Mrs. Barclay's entreaty he had promised to + send the doctor, but never thought of it again. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty found her very feverish, breathing with difficulty, + and in considerable pain. She sat by her through the night. + She had seen nothing of illness, but sympathetic insight is + the first essential endowment of a good nurse. + </p> + <p> + All the night long—and Kirsty knew he was + near—Steenie was roving within sight of the window + where the light was burning. He did not know that Phemy was + ill; pity for her heart-ache drew him thither. As soon as he + thought his sister would be up, he went in: the door was + never locked. She heard him, and came to him. The moment he + learned Phemy's condition, he said he would go for the + doctor. Kirsty in vain begged him to have some breakfast + first: he took a piece of oatcake in his hand and went. + </p> + <p> + The doctor returned with him, and pronounced the attack + pleurisy. Phemy did not seem to care what became of her. She + was ill a long time, and for a fortnight the doctor came + every day. + </p> + <p> + There was now so much to be done, that Kirsty could seldom go + with Steenie to the hill. Nor did Steenie himself care to go + for any time, and was never a night from the house. When all + were in bed, he would generally coil himself on a bench by + the kitchen-fire, at any moment ready to answer the lightest + call of Kirsty, who took pains to make him feel himself + useful, as indeed he was. Although now he slept considerably + better at night and less in the day, he would start to his + feet at the slightest sound, like the dog he had almost + ceased to imagine himself except in his dreams. In carrying + messages, or in following directions, he had always shown + himself perfectly trustworthy. + </p> + <p> + Slowly, very slowly, Phemy recovered. But long before she was + well, his family saw that the change for the better which had + been evident in Steenie's mental condition for some time + before Phemy's illness, was now manifesting itself plainly in + his person. The intense compassion which, that memorable + morning, roused his spirit even to the glorifying of his + visage, seemed now settling in his looks and clarifying them. + His eyes appeared to shine less from his brain, and more from + his mind; he stood more erect; and, as encouraging a symptom, + perhaps, as any, he had grown more naturally conscious of his + body and its requirements. Kirsty, coming upon him one + morning as he somewhat ruefully regarded his trowsers, + suggested a new suit, and was delighted to see his face shine + up, and hear him declare himself ready to go with her and be + measured for it. She found also soon after, to her joy, that + he had for some time been enlarging with hammer and chisel a + certain cavity in one of the rocks inside his house on the + Horn, that he might use it for a bath. + </p> + <p> + In all these things she saw evident signs of a new start in + the growth of his spiritual nature; and if she spied danger + ahead, she knew that the God whose presence in him was making + him grow, was ahead with the danger also. + </p> + <p> + Steenie not only now went attired as befitted David Barclay's + son, but to an ordinary glance would have appeared nowise + remarkable. Kirsty ceased to look upon him with the pity + hitherto colouring all her devotion; pride had taken its + place, which she buttressed with a massive hope, for Kirsty + was a splendid hoper. People in the town, where now he was + oftener seen, would remark on the wonderful change in + him.—'What's come to fule Steenie?' said one of a group + he had just passed. 'Haith, he's luikin 'maist like ither + fowk!'—'I'm thinkin the deevil maun hae gane oot o' + him!' said another, and several joined in with their + remarks.—'Nae muckle o' a deevil was there to gang oot! + He was aye an unco hairmless cratur!'—'And that + saft-hertit til a' leevin thing!'—'He was that! I saw + him ance face a score o' laddies to proteck a poddick they + war puttin to torment, whan, the Lord kens, he had need o' a' + his wits to tak care o' himsel!'—'Aye, jist like + him!'—'Weel, the Lord taks care o' him, for he's ane o' + his ain innocents!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty, before long, began to teach him to sit on a horse, + and, after but a few weeks of her training, he could ride + pretty well. + </p> + <p> + It was many weeks before Phemy was fit to go home. Her father + came to see her now and then, but not very often: he had his + duties to attend to, and his books consoled him. + </p> + <p> + As soon as Phemy was able to leave her room, Steenie + constituted himself her slave, and was ever within her call. + He seemed always to know when she would prefer having him in + sight, and when she would rather be alone. He would sit for + an hour at the other end of the room, and watch her like a + dog without moving. He could have sat so all day, but, as + soon as she was able to move about, nothing could keep Phemy + in one place more than an hour at the utmost. By this time + Steenie could read a little, and his reading was by no means + as fruitless as it was slow; he would sit reading, nor at all + lose his labour that, every other moment when within sight of + her, he would look up to see if she wanted anything. To this + mute attendance of love the girl became so accustomed that + she regarded it as her right, nor had ever the spoiled little + creature occasion to imagine that it was not yielded her; and + if at a rare moment she threw him glance or small + smile—a crumb from her table to her dog—Steenie + would for one joyous instant see into the seventh heaven, and + all the day after dwell in the fifth or sixth. On fine clear + noontides she would walk a little way with him and Snootie, + and then he would talk to her as he had never done except to + Kirsty, telling her wonderful things about the dog and the + sheep, the stars and the night, the clouds and the moon; but + he never spoke to her of the bonny man. When, on their + return, she would say they had had a pleasant walk together, + his delight would be unutterable; but all the time Steenie + had not once ventured a word belonging to any of the deeper + thoughts in which his heart was most at home. Was it that in + his own eyes he was but a worm glorified with the boon of + serving an angel? was it that he felt as if she knew + everything of that kind, and he had nothing to tell her but + the things that entered at his eyes and ears? or was it that + a sacred instinct of her incapacity for holy things kept him + silent concerning such? At times he would look terribly sad, + and the mood would last for hours. + </p> + <p> + Not once since she began to get better, had Phemy alluded to + her faithless lover. In its departure her illness seemed to + have carried with it her unwholesome love for him; and + certainly, as if overjoyed at her deliverance, she had become + much more of a child. Kirsty was glad for her sake, and + gladder still that Francie Gordon had done her no irreparable + injury—seemed not even to have left his simulacrum in + her memory and imagination. As her strength returned, she + regained the childish merriment which had always drawn + Kirsty, and the more strongly that she was not herself + light-hearted. Kirsty's rare laugh was indeed a merry one, + but when happiest of all she hardly smiled. Perhaps she never + would laugh her own laugh until she opened her eyes in + heaven! But how can any one laugh his real best laugh before + that! Until then he does not even know his name! + </p> + <p> + Phemy seemed more pleased to see her father every time he + came; and Kirsty began to hope she would tell him the trouble + she had gone through. But then Kirsty had a perfect faith in + her father, and a girl like Phemy never has! Her father, + besides, had never been father enough to her. He had been + invariably kind and trusting, but his books had been more to + his hourly life than his daughter. He had never drawn her to + him, never given her opportunity of coming really near him. + No story, however, ends in this world. The first volume may + have been very dull, and yet the next be full of delight. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch021"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + PHEMY YIELDS PLACE + </h3> + <p> + It was the last week in November when the doctor came himself + to take Phemy home to her father. The day was bright and + blue, with a thin carpet of snow on the ground, beneath which + the roads were in good condition. While she was getting + ready, old David went out and talked to the doctor who would + not go in, his wrinkled face full of light, and his heart + glad with the same gladness as Kirsty's. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Barclay and Kirsty busied themselves about Phemy, who + was as playful and teasing as a pet kitten while they dressed + her, but Steenie kept in the darkest corner, watching every + thing, but offering no unneeded help. Without once looking or + asking for him, never missing him in fact, Phemy climbed, + with David's aid, into the gig beside the doctor, at once + began talking to him, and never turned her head as they drove + away. The moment he heard the sound of the horse's hoofs, + Steenie came quietly from the gloom and went out of the + back-door, thinking no eye was upon him. But his sister's + heart was never off him, and her eyes were oftener on him + than he knew. + </p> + <p> + Of late he had begun again to go to the hill at night, and + Kirsty feared his old trouble might be returning. Glad as she + was to serve Phemy, and the father through the daughter, she + was far from regretting her departure, for now she would have + leisure for Steenie and her books, and now the family would + gather itself once more into the perfect sphere to which drop + and ocean alike desires to shape itself! + </p> + <p> + 'I thoucht ye wud be efter me!' cried Steenie, as she opened + the door of his burrow, within an hour of his leaving the + house. + </p> + <p> + Now Kirsty had expected to find him full of grief because of + Phemy's going, especially as the heartless girl, for such + Steenie's sister could not help thinking her, never said + good-bye to her most loving slave. And she did certainly + descry on his countenance traces of emotion, and in his eyes + the lingering trouble as of a storm all but overblown. There + was however in his face the light as of a far sunk aurora, + the outmost rim of whose radiance, doubtfully visible, seemed + to encircle his whole person. He was not lost in any gloom! + She sat down beside him, and waited for him to speak. + </p> + <p> + Never doubting she would follow him, he had already built up + a good peat-fire on the hearth, and placed for her beside it + a low settle which his father had made for him, and he had + himself covered with a sheepskin of thickest fleece. They sat + silent for a while. + </p> + <p> + 'Wud ye say noo, Kirsty, 'at I was ony use til her?' he asked + at length. + </p> + <p> + 'Jist a heap,' answered Kirsty. 'I kenna what ever she or I + wud hae dune wantin ye! She nott (<i>needed</i>) a heap o' + luikin til!' + </p> + <p> + 'And ye think mebbe she'll be some the better, some way or + ither, for 't?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, I div think that, Steenie. But to tell the trowth, I'm + no sure she'll think verra aft aboot what ye did for her!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ow, na! What for sud she? There's no need for that! It was + for hersel, no for her think-aboot-it, I tried. I was jist + fain to du something like wash the feet o' her. Whan I cam in + that day—the day efter ye broucht her hame, ye + ken—the luik of her puir, bonny, begrutten facy jist + turnt my hert ower i' the mids o' me. I maist think, gien I + hadna been able to du onything for her afore she gaed, I wud + hae come hame here to my ain hoose like a deein sheep, and + lain doon. Yon face o' hers comes back til me noo like the + face o' a lost lammie 'at the shepherd didna think worth + gaein oot to luik for. But gien I had sic a sair hert for + her, the bonny man maun hae had a sairer, and he'll du for + her what he can—and that maun be muckle—muckle! + They ca' 'im the gude Shepherd, ye ken!' + </p> + <p> + He sat silent for some minutes, and Kirsty's heart was too + full to let her speak. She could only say to + her-self—'And folk ca's him half-wuttit, div they! + Weel, lat them! Gien he be half-wuttit, the Lord's made up + the ither half wi' better!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay!' resumed Steenie, 'the gude shepherd tynes + (<i>loses</i>) no ane o' them a'! But I'll miss her dreidfu'! + Eh, but I likit to watch the wan bit facy grow and grow till + 't was roon' and rosy again! And, eh, sic a bonny reid and + white as it was! And better yet I likit to see yon + hert-brakin luik o' the lost are weirin aye awa and awa till + 't was clean gane!—And noo she's back til her father, + bricht and licht and bonny as the lown starry + nicht!—Eh, but it maks me happy to think o' 't!' + </p> + <p> + 'Sae it maks me!' responded Kirsty, feeling, as she regarded + him, like a glorified mother beholding her child walking in + the truth. + </p> + <p> + 'And noo,' continued Steenie, 'I'm richt glaid she's gane, + and my min' 'll be mair at ease gien I tell ye what + for:—I maun aye tell you a'thing 'at 'll bide tellin, + Kirsty, ye ken!—Weel, a week or twa ago, I began to be + troubled as I never was troubled afore. I canna weel say what + was the cause o' 't, or the kin' o' thing it was, but + something had come that I didna want to come, and couldna + keep awa. Maybe ye'll ken what it was like whan I tell ye 'at + I was aye think-thinkin aboot Phemy. Noo, afore she cam, I + was maist aye thinkin aboot the bonny man; and it wasna that + there was ony sic necessity for thinkin aboot Phemy, for by + that time she was oot o' her meesery, whatever that was, or + whatever had the wyte (<i>blame</i>) o' 't. I' the time afore + her, whan my min' wud grow a bit quaiet, and the pooers o' + darkness wud draw themsels awa a bit, aye wud come the face + o' the bonny man intil the toom place, and fill me fresh up + wi' the houp o' seein him or lang; but noo, at ilka moment, + up wud come, no the face o' the bonny man, but the face o' + Phemy; and I didna like that, and I cudna help it. And a + scraichin fear grippit me, 'at I was turnin fause to the + bonny man. It wisna that I thoucht he wud be vext wi' me, but + that I cudna bide onything to come atween me and him. I teuk + mysel weel ower the heckles, but I cudna mak oot 'at I cud + a'thegither help it. Ye see, somehoo, no bein made + a'thegither like ither fowk, I cudna think aboot twa things + at ance, and I bude to think aboot the ane that cam o' 'tsel + like. But, as I say, it troubled me. Weel, the day, my hert + was sair at her gangin awa, for I had been lang used to seein + her ilka hoor, maist ilka minute; and the ae wuss i' my hert + at the time was to du something worth duin for her, and syne + dee and hae dune wi' 't—and there, I doobt, I clean + forgot the bonny man! Whan she got intil the doctor's gig and + awa they drave, my hert grew cauld; I was like ane deid and + beginnin to rot i' the grave. But that minute I h'ard, or it + was jist as gien I h'ard—I dinna mean wi' my lugs, but + i' my hert, ye ken—a v'ice cry, "Steenie! Steenie!" and + I cried lood oot, "Comin, Lord!" but I kent weel eneuch the + v'ice was inside o' me, and no i' my heid, but i' my + hert—and nane the less i' me for that! Sae awa at ance + I cam to my closet here, and sat doon, and hearkent i' the + how o' my hert. Never a word cam, but I grew quaiet—eh, + sae quaiet and content like, wi'oot onything to mak me sae, + but maybe 'at he was thinkin aboot me! And I'm quaiet yet. + And as sune 's it's dark, I s' gang oot and see whether the + bonny man be onywhaur aboot. There's naething atween him and + me noo; for, the moment I begin to think, it's him 'at comes + to be thoucht aboot, and no Phemy ony mair!' + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie,' said Kirsty, 'it was the bonny man sent Phemy til + ye—to gie ye something to du for him, luikin efter ane + o' his silly lambs.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay,' returned Steenie; 'I ken she wasna wiselike, sic as you + and my mither. She needit a heap o' luikin efter, as ye + said.' + </p> + <p> + 'And wi' haein to luik efter her, he kenned that the thouchts + that troubled ye wudna sae weel win in, and wud learn to bide + oot. Jist luik at ye noo! See hoo ye hae learnt to luik efter + yersel! Ye saw it cudna be agreeable to her to hae ye aboot + her no that weel washed, and wi' claes ye didna keep tidy and + clean! Sin' ever ye tuik to luikin efter Phemy, I hae had + little trouble luikin efter you!' + </p> + <p> + 'I see't, Kirsty, I see't! I never thoucht o' the thing + afore! I micht du a heap to mak mysel mair like ither fowk! I + s' no forget, noo 'at I hae gotten a grip o' the thing. Ye'll + see, Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's my ain Steenie!' answered Kirsty. 'Maybe the bonny + man cudna be aye comin to ye himsel, haein ither fowk a heap + to luik til, and sae sent Phemy to lat ye ken what he would + hae o' ye. Noo 'at ye hae begun, ye'll be growin mair and + mair like ither fowk.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but ye fleg me! I may grow ower like ither fowk! I maun + awa oot, Kirsty! I'm growin fleyt.' + </p> + <p> + 'What for, Steenie?' cried Kirsty, not a little frightened + herself, and laying her hand on his arm. She feared his old + trouble was returning in force. + </p> + <p> + ''Cause ither fowk never sees the bonny man, they tell me,' + he replied. + </p> + <p> + 'That's their ain wyte,' answered Kirsty. 'They micht a' see + him gien they wud—or at least hear him say they sud see + him or lang.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but I'm no sure 'at ever I did see him, Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + 'That winna haud ye ohn seen him whan the hoor comes. And the + like's true o' the lave.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, for I canna du wantin him—and sae nouther can + they!' + </p> + <p> + 'Naebody can. A' maun hae seen him, or be gaein to see him.' + </p> + <p> + 'I hae as guid as seen him, Kirsty! He was there! He helpit + me whan the ill folk cam to pu' at me!—Ye div think + though, Kirsty, 'at I'm b'un' to see him some day?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm thinkin the hoor's been aye set for that same!' answered + Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty,' returned Steenie, not quite satisfied with her + reply, 'I'll gang clean oot the wuts I hae, gien ye tell me + I'm never to see him face to face!' + </p> + <p> + 'Steenie,' rejoined Kirsty solemnly, 'I wud gang oot o' my + wuts mysel gien I didna believe that! I believe 't wi' a' my + heart, my bonny man.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, and that's a' richt! But ye maunna ca' me yer bonny + man, Kirsty; for there's but ae bonny man, and we 're a' + brithers and sisters. He said it himsel!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's verra true, Steenie; but whiles ye're sae like him I + canna help ca'in ye by his name.' + </p> + <p> + 'Dinna du't again, Kirsty. I canna bide it. I'm no bonny! No + but I wud sair like to be bonny—bonny like him, + Kirsty!—Did ye ever hear tell 'at he had a father? I + h'ard a man ance say 'at he bed. Sic a bonny man as that + father maun be! Jist think o' his haein a son like + <i>him</i>!— Dauvid Barclay maun be richt sair + disappintit wi' sic a son as me—and him sic a man + himsel! What for is't, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'That 'll be are o' the secrets the bonny man's gaein to tell + his ain fowk whan he gets them hame wi' him!' + </p> + <p> + 'His ain fowk, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, siclike's you and me. Whan we gang hame, he'll tell's a' + aboot a heap o' things we wad fain ken.' + </p> + <p> + 'His ain fowk! His ain fowk!' Steenie went on for a while + murmuring to himself at intervals. At last he said, + </p> + <p> + 'What maks them his ain fowk, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'What maks me your fowk, Steenie?' she rejoined. + </p> + <p> + 'That's easy to tell! It's 'cause we hae the same father and + mither; I hae aye kenned that!' answered Steenie with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + She had been trying to puzzle him, he thought, but had + failed! + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, the bonny man and you and me, we hae a' the same + father: that's what maks us his ain fowk!—Ye see noo?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, I see! I see!' responded Steenie, and again was silent. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty thought he had plenty now to meditate upon. + </p> + <p> + 'Are ye comin hame wi' me,' she asked, 'or are ye gaein to + bide, Steenie?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll gang hame wi' ye, gien ye like, but I wud raither bide + the nicht,' he answered. 'I'll hae jist this ae nicht mair + oot upo' the hill, and syne the morn I'll come hame to the + hoose, and see gien I can help my mither, or maybe my father. + That's what the bonny man wud like best, I'm sure.' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty went home with a glad heart: surely Steenie was now in + a fair way of becoming, as he phrased it, 'like ither fowk'! + 'But the Lord's gowk's better nor the warl's prophet!' she + said to herself. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch022"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + THE HORN + </h3> + <p> + The beginning of the winter had been open and warm, and very + little snow had fallen. This was much in Phemy's favour, and + by the new year she was quite well. But, notwithstanding her + heartlessness toward Steenie, she was no longer quite like + her old self. She was quieter and less foolish; she had had a + lesson in folly, and a long ministration of love, and knew + now a trifle about both. It is true she wrote nearly as much + silly poetry, but it was not so silly as before, partly + because her imagination had now something of fact to go upon, + and poorest fact is better than mere fancy. So free was her + heart, however, that she went of herself to see her aunt at + the castle, to whom, having beheld the love between David and + his daughter, and begun to feel injured by the little notice + her father took of her, she bewailed his indifference. + </p> + <p> + At Mrs. Bremner's request she had made an appointment to go + with her from the castle on a certain Saturday to visit a + distant relative, living in a lonely cottage on the other + side of the Horn—a woman too old ever to leave her + home. When the day arrived, both saw that the weather gave + signs of breaking, but the heavy clouds on the horizon seemed + no worse than had often shown themselves that winter, and as + often passed away. The air was warm, the day bright, the + earth dry, and Phemy and her aunt were in good spirits. They + had purposed to return early to Weelset, but agreed as they + went that Phemy, the days being so short, should take the + nearer path to Tiltowie, over the Horn. By this arrangement, + their visit ended, they had no great distance to walk + together, Mrs. Bremner's way lying along the back of the + hill, and Phemy's over the nearer shoulder of it. + </p> + <p> + As they took leave of each other a little later than they had + intended, Mrs. Bremner cast a glance at the gathering clouds, + and said, + </p> + <p> + 'I doobt, lassie, it's gaein to ding on afore the nicht! I + wuss we war hame the twa o' 's! Gien it cam on to snaw and + blaw baith, we micht hae ill winnin there!' + </p> + <p> + 'Noucht's to fear, auntie,' returned Phemy. 'It's a heap ower + warm to snaw. It may rain—I wudna won'er, but there'll + be nae snaw—no afore I win hame, onygait.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, min', gien there be ae drap o' weet, ye maun change + ilka stic the minute ye're i' the hoose. Ye're no that stoot + yet!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll be sure, auntie!' answered Phemy, and they parted + almost at a right angle. + </p> + <p> + Before Phemy got to the top of the hill-shoulder, which she + had to cross by a path no better than a sheep-track, the wind + had turned to the north, and was blowing keen, with gathering + strength, from the regions of everlasting ice, bringing with + it a cold terrible to be faced by such a slight creature as + Phemy; and so rapidly did its force increase that in a few + minutes she had to fight for every step she took; so that, + when at length she reached the top, which lay bare to the + continuous torrent of fierce and fiercer rushes, her strength + was already all but exhausted. The wind brought up heavier + and heavier snow-clouds, and darkness with them, but before + ever the snow began to fall, Phemy was in evil case—in + worse case, indeed, than she could know. In a few minutes the + tempest had blown all energy out of her, and she sat down + where was not a stone to shelter her. When she rose, afraid + to sit longer, she could no more see the track through the + heather than she could tell without it in which direction to + turn. She began to cry, but the wind did not heed her tears; + it seemed determined to blow her away. And now came the snow, + filling the wind faster and faster, until at length the + frightful blasts had in them, perhaps, more bulk of blinding + and dizzying snowflakes than of the air which drove them. + They threatened between them to fix her there in a pillar of + snow. It would have been terrible indeed for Phemy on that + waste hillside, but that the cold and the tempest speedily + stupefied her. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty always enjoyed the winter heartily. For one thing, it + roused her poetic faculty—oh, how different in its + outcome from Phemy's!—far more than the summer. That + very afternoon, leaving Steenie with his mother, she paid a + visit to the weem, and there, in the heart of the earth, made + the following little song, addressed to the sky-soaring + lark:— + </p> + <pre> + What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? + On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + + A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in, + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! + The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi' a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + + Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, + Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + + But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! + I'm noucht but a herplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + + Len' me yer throat to sing throuw, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, + And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! +</pre> + <p> + Long before she had finished writing it, the world was dark + outside. She had heard but little heeded the roaring of the + wind over her: when at length she put her head up out of the + earth, it seized her by the hair as if it would drag it off. + It took her more than an hour to get home. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Steenie had been growing restless. Coming + wind often affected him so. He had been out with his father, + who expected a storm, to see that all was snug about byres + and stables, and feed the few sheep in an outhouse; now he + had come in, and was wandering about the house, when his + mother prevailed on him to sit down by the fireside with her. + The clouds had gathered thick, and the afternoon was very + dark, but all was as yet still. He called his dog, and + Snootie lay down at his feet, ready for what might come. + Steenie sat on a stool, with his head on his mother's knee, + and for a while seemed lost in thought. Then, without moving + or looking up, he said, as if thinking aloud,— + </p> + <p> + 'It maun be fine fun up there amang thae cloods afore the + flauks begin to spread!' + </p> + <p> + 'What mean ye by that, Steenie, my man?' asked his mother. + </p> + <p> + 'They maun be packit sae close, sae unco close i' their + muckle pocks, like the feathers in a feather-bed! and syne, + whan they lat them a' oot thegither, like haudin the bed i' + their twa ban's by the boddom corners, they maun be smorin + thick till they begin to spread!' + </p> + <p> + 'And wha think ye shaks oot the muckle pocks, Steenie?' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna ken. I hae aften thoucht aboot it. I dinna think + it's likly to be the angels. It's mair like wark for the + bairnies up yoner at the muckle ferm at hame, whaur ilk ane, + to the littlest littlin, kens what he's aboot, and no ane o' + them's like some o' 's doon here, 'at gangs a' day in a + dream, and canna get oorsels waukent oot o' 't. I wud be + surer but that I hae thoucht whiles I saw the muckle angels + themsels gaein aboot, throu and throu the ondingin flauchter + o' the snaw—no mony o' them, ye ken, but jist whiles + ane and whiles anither, throu amo' the cauld feathers, gaein + aye straught wi' their heids up, walkin comfortable, as gien + they war at hame in't. I'm thinkin at sic a time they'll be + efter helpin some puir body 'at the snaw's like to be ower + muckle for. Eh me! gien I cud but get rid o' my feet, and win + up to see!' + </p> + <p> + 'What for yer feet, Steenie? What ails ye aye at yer feet? + Feet's gey usefu' kin o' thing's to craturs, whether gien + them in fours or twas!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, but mine's sic a weicht! It's them 'at's aye haudin me + doon! I wad hae been up and awa lang syne gien it hadna been + for them!' + </p> + <p> + 'And what wud hae been comin o' hiz wantin ye, Steenie?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye wad be duin sae weel wantin me, 'at ye wud be aye wantin + to be up and efter me! A body's feet's nae doobt usefu to + hand a body steady, and ohn gane blawin aboot, but eh, + they're unco cummarsum! But syne they're unco guid tu to hand + a body ohn thoucht owre muckle o' himsel! They're fine + heumblin things, a body's feet! But, eh, it'll be fine wantin + them!' + </p> + <p> + 'Whaur on earth gat ye sic notions aboot yer feet? Guid kens + there's naething amiss wi' yer feet! Nouther o' ye hes ony + rizzon to be ashamit o' yer feet. The fac is, your feet's by + ordinar sma', Steenie, and can add but unco little to yer + weicht!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a' 'at ye ken, mother!' answered Steenie with a smile. + 'But, 'deed, I got my information aboot the feet o' fowk frae + naegate i' this warl'! The bonny man himsel sent word aboot + them. He tellt the minister 'at tellt me, ance I was at the + kirk wi' you, mother—lang, lang syne— twa or + three hun'er years, I'm thinkin'. The bonny man tellt his ain + fowk first that he was gaein awa in order that they michtna + be able to do wantin him, and bude to stir themselves and + come up efter him. And syne he slippit aff his feet, and gaed + awa up intil the air whaur the snaw comes frae. And ever sin + syne he comes and gangs as he likes. And efter that be telled + the minister to tell hiz 'at we was to lay aside the weicht + that sae easy besets us, and rin. Noo by <i>rin</i> he maun + hae meaned <i>rin up</i>, for a body's no to rin frae the + deevil but resist him; and what is't that hauds onybody frae + rinnin up the air but his feet? There!—But he's + promised to help me aff wi' my feet some day: think o' + that!—Eh, gien I cud but get my feet aff! Eh, gien they + wad but stick i' my shune, and gang wi' them whan I pu' them + aff! They're naething efter a', ye ken, but the shune o' my + sowl!' + </p> + <p> + A gust of wind drove against the house, and sank as suddenly. + </p> + <p> + 'That'll be ane o' them!' said Steenie, rising hastily. + 'He'll be wantin me! It's no that aften they want onything o' + me ayont the fair words a' God's craturs luik for frae ane + anither, but whiles they do want me, and I'm thinkin they + want me the nicht. I maun be gaein!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoots, laddie!' returned his mother, 'what can they be + wantin, thae gran' offishers, o' siclike as you? Sit ye doon, + and bide till they cry ye plain. I wud fain hae ye safe i' + the hoose the nicht!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a' his hoose, mother! A' theroot's therein to him. He's + in's ain hoose a' the time, and I'm jist as safe atween his + wa's as atween yours. Didna naebody ever tell ye that, + mother? Weel, I ken it to be true! And for wantin sic like as + me, gien God never has need o' a midge, what for dis he mak + sic a lot o' them?' + </p> + <p> + ''Deed it's true eneuch ye say!' returned his mother. 'But I + div won'er ye're no fleyt!' + </p> + <p> + 'Fleyt!' rejoined Steenie; 'what for wud I be fleyt? What is + there to be fleyt at? I never was fleyt at face o' man or + wuman—na, nor o' beast naither!—I was ance, and + never but that ance, fleyt at the face o' a bairn!' + </p> + <p> + 'And what for that, Steenie? + </p> + <p> + 'He was rinnin efter his wee sister to lick her, and his face + was the face o' a deevil. He nearhan' garred me hate him, and + that wud hae been a terrible sin. But, eh, puir laddie, he + bed a richt fearsome wife to the mither o' him! I'm thinkin + the bonny man maun hae a heap o' tribble wi' siclike, be they + bairns or mithers!' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but ye're i' the richt there, laddie!—Noo hearken + to me: ye maunna gang the nicht!' said his mother anxiously. + 'Gien yer father and Kirsty wad but come in to persuaud ye! + I'm clean lost wi'oot them!' + </p> + <p> + 'For the puir idiot hasna the sense to ken what's wantit o' + him!' supplemented Steenie, with a laugh almost merry. + </p> + <p> + 'Daur ye,' cried his mother indignantly, 'mint at sic a word + and my bairn thegither? He's my bonny man!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, mother, na! <i>He's</i> the bonny man at wha's feet I + sall ae day sit, clothed and i' my richt min'. He <i>is</i> + the bonny man!' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank the Lord,' continued his mother, still harping on the + outrage of such as called her child an idiot,' 'at ye're no + an orphan—'at there's three o' 's to tak yer part!' + </p> + <p> + 'Naebody can be an orphan,' said Steenie, 'sae lang's God's + nae deid.' + </p> + <p> + 'Lord, and they ca' ye an idiot, div they!' exclaimed Marion + Barclay.— 'Weel, be ye or no, ye're ane o' the babes in + wha's mooth he perfecteth praise!' + </p> + <p> + 'He'll du that some day, maybe!' answered Steenie. + </p> + <p> + 'But! eh, Steenie,' pursued his mother, 'ye winna gang the + nicht!' + </p> + <p> + 'Mother,' he answered, 'ye dinna ken, nor yet do I, what to + mak o' me— what wits I hae, and what wits I haena; but + this ye'll alloo, that, for onything ye ken, the bonny man + may be cryin upon me to gang efter some puir little yowie o' + his, oot her lane i' the storm the nicht!' + </p> + <p> + With these words he walked gently from the kitchen, his dog + following him. + </p> + <p> + A terrible blast rushed right into the fire when he opened + the door. But he shut it behind him easily, and his mother + comforted herself that she had known him out in worse + weather. Kirsty entered a moment after, and when her father + came in from the loft he called his workshop, they had their + tea, and sat round the fire after it, peacefully talking, a + little troubled, but nowise uneasy that their Steenie, the + darling of them all, was away on the Horn: he knew every foot + of its sides better than the collie who, a moment ago asleep + before the fire, was now following at his master's heel. + </p> + <p> + The wind, which had fallen immediately after the second gust + as after the first, now began to blow with gathering force, + and it took Steenie much longer than usual to make his way + over height and hollow from his father's house to his own. + But he was in no hurry, not knowing where he was wanted. I do + not think he met any angels as he went, but it was a pleasure + to think they might be about somewhere, for they were sorry + for his heavy feet, and always greeted him kindly. Not that + they ever spoke to him, he said, but they always made a + friendly gesture—nodding a stately head, waving a + strong hand, or sending him a waft of cool air as they went + by, a waft that would come to him through the fiercest + hurricane as well as through the stillest calm. + </p> + <p> + Before, strong-toiling against the wind, man and dog reached + their refuge among the rocks, the snow had begun to fall, and + the night seemed solid with blackness. The very flakes might + have been black as the snow of hell for any gleam they gave. + But they arrived at last, and Steenie, making Snootie go in + before him, entered the low door with bent head, and closed + it behind them. The dog lay down weary, but Steenie set about + lighting the peats ready piled between the great stones of + the hearth. The wind howled over the waste hill in + multitudinous whirls, and swept like a level cataract over + the ghastly bog at its foot, but scarce a puff blew against + the door of their burrow. + </p> + <p> + When his fire was well alight, Steenie seated himself by it + on the sheepskin settle, and fell into a reverie. How long he + had sat thus he did not know, when suddenly the wind fell, + and with the lull master and dog started together to their + feet: was it indeed a cry they had heard, or but a moan + between wind and mountain? The dog flew to the door with a + whine, and began to sniff and scratch at the crack of the + threshold; Steenie, thinking it was still dark, went to get a + lantern Kirsty had provided him with, but which he had never + yet had occasion to use. The dog ran back to him, and began + jumping upon him, indicating thus in the dark recess where he + found him that he wanted him to open the door. A moment more + and they were in the open universe, in a night all of snow, + lighted by the wide swooning gleam of a hidden moon, whose + radiance, almost absorbed, came filtering through miles of + snow-cloud to reach the world. Nothing but snow was to be + seen in heaven or earth, but for the present no more was + falling. Steenie set the lighted lantern by the door, and + followed Snootie, who went sniffing and snuffing about. + </p> + <p> + Steenie always regarded inferior animals, and especially + dogs, as a lower sort of angels, with ways of their own, into + which it would be time to inquire by and by, when either they + could talk or he could bark intelligently and + intelligibly—in which it used to annoy him that he had + not yet succeeded. It was in part his intense desire to enter + into the thoughts of his dog, that used to make him imitate + him the most of the day. I think he put his body as nearly + into the shape of the dog's as he could, in order thus to aid + his mind in feeling as the dog was feeling. + </p> + <p> + As the dog seemed to have no scent of anything, Steenie, + after considering for a moment what he must do, began to walk + in a spiral, beginning from the door, with the house for the + centre. He had thus got out of the little valley on to the + open hill, and the wind had begun to threaten reawaking, when + Snootie, who was a little way to one side of him, stopped + short, and began scratching like a fury in the snow. Steenie + ran to him, and dropped on his knees to help him: he had + already got a part of something clear! It was the arm of a + woman. So deep was the snow over her, that the cry he and the + dog had heard, could not surely have been uttered by her! He + was gently clearing the snow from the head, and the snow-like + features were vaguely emerging, when the wind gave a wild + howl, the night grew dark again, and in bellowing blackness + the death-silent snow was upon them. But in a moment or two + more, with Snootie's vigorous aid, he had drawn the body of a + slight, delicately formed woman out of it's cold, white + mould. Somehow, with difficulty, he got it on his back, the + only way he could carry it, and staggered away with it toward + his house. Thus laden, he might never have found it, near as + it was, for he was not very strong, and the ground was very + rough as well as a little deep in snow, but they had left + such a recent track that the guidance of the dog was sure. + The wise creature did not, however, follow the long track, + but led pretty straight across the spiral for the hut. + </p> + <p> + The body grew heavy on poor Steenie's back, and the cold of + it came through to his spine. It was so cold that it must be + a dead thing, he thought. His breathing grew very short, + compelling him, several times, to stop and rest. His legs + became insensible under him, and his feet got heavier and + heavier in the snow-filled, entangling, impeding heather. + </p> + <p> + What if it were Phemy! he thought as he struggled on. Then he + would have the beautiful thing all to himself! But this was a + dead thing, he feared—only a thing, and no woman at + all! Of course it couldn't be Phemy! She was at home, asleep + in her father's house! He had always shrunk from death; even + a dead mouse he could not touch without a shudder; but this + was a woman, and might come alive! It belonged to the bonny + man, anyhow, and he would stay out with it all night rather + than have it lie there alone in the snow! He would not be + afraid of her: he was nearly dead himself, and the dead were + not afraid of the dead! She had only put off her shoes! But + she might be alive, and he must get her into the house! He + would like to put off his feet, but most people would rather + keep them on, and he must try to keep hers on for her! + </p> + <p> + With fast failing energy he reached the door, staggered in, + dropped his burden gently on his own soft heather-bed, and + fell exhausted. He lay but a moment, came to himself, rose, + and looked at the lovely thing he had laboured to redeem from + 'cold obstruction.' It lay just as it had fallen from his + back, its face uppermost: it <i>was</i> Phemy! + </p> + <p> + For a moment his blood seemed to stand still; then all the + divine senses of the half-witted returned to him. There was + no time to be sorrowful over her: he must save the life that + might yet be in that frozen form! He had nothing in the house + except warmth, but warmth more than aught else was what the + cold thing needed! With trembling hands he took off her + half-thawed clothes, laid her in the thick blankets of his + bed, and covered her with every woollen thing in the hut. + Then he made up a large fire, in the hope that some of its + heat might find her. + </p> + <p> + She showed no sign of life. Her eyes were fast shut: those + who die of cold only sleep into a deeper sleep. Not a trace + of suffering was to be seen on her countenance. Death alone, + pure, calm, cold, and sweet, was there. But Steenie had never + seen Death, and there was room for him to doubt and hope. He + laid one fold of a blanket over the lovely white face, as he + had seen a mother do with a sleeping infant, called his dog, + made him lie down on her feet, and told him to watch; then + turned away, and went to the door. As he passed the fire, he + coughed and grew faint, but recovering himself, picked up his + fallen stick, and set out for Corbyknowe and Kirsty. Once + more the wind had ceased, but the snow was yet falling. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch023"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE STORM AGAIN + </h3> + <p> + Kirsty woke suddenly out of a deep, dreamless sleep. A white + face was bending over her—Steenie's—whiter than + ever Kirsty had seen it. He was panting, and his eyes were + huge. She started up. + </p> + <p> + 'Come; come!' was all he was able to say. + </p> + <p> + 'What's the metter, Steenie?' she gasped. For a quarter of a + minute he stood panting, unable to speak. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm no thinkin onything's gane wrong,' he faltered at length + with an effort, recovering breath and speech a little. 'The + bonny man—' + </p> + <p> + He burst into tears and turned his head away. A vision of the + white, lovely, motionless thing, whose hand had fallen from + his like a lump of lead, lying alone at the top of the Horn, + with the dog on her feet, had overwhelmed him suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty was sore distressed. She dreaded the worst when she + saw him thus lose the self-restraint hitherto so remarkable + in him. She leaned from her bed, threw her arms round him, + and drew him to her, kneeled, laid his head on her bosom, and + wept as she had never known him weep. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll tak care o' ye, Steenie, my man!' she murmured. 'Fear + ye naething.' + </p> + <p> + It is amazing how much, in the strength of its own divinity, + love will dare promise! + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, Kirsty, I ken ye wull, but it's no me!' said Steenie. + </p> + <p> + Thereupon he gave a brief, lucid account of what had occurred + in the night. + </p> + <p> + 'And noo 'at I hae telt ye,' he added, 'it luiks a' sae + strange 'at maybe I hae been but dreamin, efter a'! But it + maun be true, for that maun hae been what the angels cam + cryin upo' me for. I'm thinkin they wud hae broucht me + straucht til her themsels—they maistly gang aboot in + twas, as whan they gaed and waukent the bonny man—gien + it hadna been 'at the guid collie was aiqual to that!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty told him to go and rouse the kitchen fire, and she + would be with him in a minute. She sprang out of bed, and + dressed as fast as she could, thinking what she had best take + with her. 'The puir lassie,' she said to herself, 'may be + growin warm, and sleepin deith awa; and by the time we win + there she'll be needin something, like the lassie 'at the + Lord liftit!' But in her heart she had little hope: it would + be a sad day for the schoolmaster. + </p> + <p> + She went to her father and mother's room, found them awake, + and told them Steenie's tale. + </p> + <p> + 'It's time we war up, wuman!' said David. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay,' returned his wife, 'but Kirsty canna bide for 's. Ye + maun be aff, lassie! Tak a wee whusky wi' ye; but min' it's + no that safe wi' frozen fowk. Het milk's the best thing. Tak + a drappie o' that wi' ye. I s' be efter ye wi' mair. And + dinna forget a piece to uphaud ye as ye gang; it'll be ill + fechtin the win'. Dinna lat Steenie gang back wi' ye; he + canna be fit. Sen' him to me, and I'll persuaud + him.—Dauvid, man, ye'll hae to saiddle and ride; the + doctor maun gang wi' ye straught to Steenie's hoose.' + </p> + <p> + 'Lat me up,' said David, making a motion to free himself of + the bedclothes. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty went, and got some milk to make it hot. But when she + reached the kitchen, Steenie was not there, and the fire, + which he had tried to wake up, was all but black. The + house-door was open, and the snow drifting in. Steenie was + gone into the storm again! She hurriedly poured the milk into + a small bottle, and thrust it into her bosom to grow warm as + she went. Then she lighted a lantern, chiefly that Steenie + might catch sight of it, and set out. + </p> + <p> + She started running, certain, she thought, to overtake him. + The wind was up again, but it was almost behind her, and the + night was not absolutely dark, for the moon was somewhere. + She was far stronger than Steenie, and could walk faster, + but, keen as was her outlook on all sides, for the snow was + not falling too thick to let her see a little way through it, + she was at length near the top of the Horn without having + caught a glimpse of him. Had he dropped on the way? Had she + in her haste left him after all in the house? She might have + passed him; that was easy to do. One thing she was sure + of—he could not have got to his house before her! + </p> + <p> + As she drew near the door she heard a short howl, and knew it + for Snootie's. Perhaps Phemy had revived! But no! it was a + desolate, forsaken cry! The next moment came a glad bark: was + it the footstep of Kirsty it greeted, or the soul of Phemy? + </p> + <p> + With steady hand, and heart prepared, she opened the door and + went in. The dog came bounding to her: either he counted + himself relieved, or could bear it no longer. He cringed at + her feet; he leaped upon her; he saw in her his saviour from + the terrible silence and cold and motionlessness. Then he + stood still before her, looking up to her, and wagging his + tail, but his face said plainly: <i>It is there</i>! + </p> + <p> + Kirsty hesitated a moment; a weary sense of uselessness had + overtaken her, and she shrank from encountering the + unchanging and unchangeable; but she cast off the oppression, + and followed the dog to the bedside. He jumped up, and lay + down where his master had placed him, as if to say he knew + his duty, had been lying there all the time, and had only got + up the moment she came. It was the one warm spot in all the + woollen pile; the feet beneath it were cold as the snow + outside, and the lovely form lay motionless as a thing that + would never move again. Kirsty lifted the blanket: there was + Phemy's face, blind with the white death! It did not look at + her, did not recognise her: Phemy was there and not there! + Phemy was far away! Phemy could not move from where she lay! + </p> + <p> + Hopeless, Kirsty yet tried her best to wake her from her + snow-sleep, shrinking from nothing, except for the despair of + it. But long ere she gave up the useless task, she was + thinking far more about Steenie than Phemy. + </p> + <p> + He did not come! 'He must be safe with his mother!' she kept + saying in her heart; but she could not reassure herself. The + forsaken fire, the open door haunted her. She would succeed + for a moment or two in quieting her fears, calling them + foolish; the next they would rush upon her like a cataract, + and almost overwhelm her. While she was busy with the dead, + he might be slowly sinking into the sleep from which she + could not wake Phemy! + </p> + <p> + She laid the cold snow-captive straight, and left her to + sleep on. Then, calling the dog, she left the hut, in the + hope of meeting her mother, and learning that Steenie was at + home. + </p> + <p> + Now and then, while at her sad task, she had been reminded of + the wind by its hollow roaring all about the hill, but not + until she opened the door had she any notion how the snow was + falling; neither until she left the hollow for the bare + hill-side did she realize how the wind was raging. Then + indeed the world looked dangerous! If Steenie was out, if her + mother had started, they were lost! She would have gone back + into the hut with the dead, but that she might get home in + time to prevent her mother from setting out, or might meet + her on the way. At the same time the tempest between her and + her home looked but a little less terrible to her than a sea + breaking on a rocky shore. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch024"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + HOW KIRSTY FARED + </h3> + <p> + It was quite dark, and round her swept as it were a whirlpool + of snow. The swift fakes struck at her eyes and ears like a + swarm of vicious flies. In such a wind, the blows of the soft + thin snow, beating upon her face, now from one quarter, now + from another, were enough to bewilder even a strong woman + like Kirsty. They were like hail to a horse. After trying for + a while to force her way, she suddenly became aware of utter + ignorance as to the direction in which she was going, and, + for the first time in her life, a fell terror possessed + her—not for herself, but for Steenie and her father and + mother. To herself, Kirsty was nobody, but she belonged to + David and Marion Barclay, and what were they and Steenie to + do without her! They would go on looking for her till they + too died, and were buried yards deep in the snow! + </p> + <p> + She kept struggling on, her head bent, and her body leaning + forward, forcing herself against, it hardly seemed through, + the snow-filled wind—but whither? It was only by the + feel of the earth under her feet, that she could tell, and at + times she was by no means sure, whether she was going up or + down hill. She kept on and on, almost hopeless of getting + anywhere, certain of nothing but that, if once she sat down, + she would never rise again. Fatigue that must not yield, and + the in-roads of the cold sleep, at length affected her brain, + and her imagination began to take its own way with her. She + thought herself condemned to one of those awful dust-towers, + for she had read Prideaux, specially devilish invention of + the Persians, in which by the constant stirring of the dust + so that it filled the air, the lungs of the culprit were at + length absolutely choked up. Dead of the dust, she revived to + the snow: it was fearfully white, for it was all dead faces; + she crushed and waded through those that fell, while + multitudes came whirling upon her from all sides. Gladly + would she have thrown herself down among them, but she must + walk, walk on for ever! + </p> + <p> + All the time, she felt in her dim suffering as if not she but + those at home suffered: she had deserted them in trouble, and + do what she might she would never get back to them! She + could, she thought, if she but put forth the needful energy, + but the last self-exhaustive effort never would come! + </p> + <p> + Where was the dog? He had left her! he was nowhere near her! + She tried to call him, but the storm choked every sound in + her very throat. He would never have left her to save + himself! He who makes the dogs must be at least as faithful + as they! So she was not left comfortless! + </p> + <p> + Then she heard, or thought she heard the church-bell, and + that may have had something to do with the strange dream out + of which she came gradually to herself. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch025"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY'S DREAM + </h3> + <p> + Her dream was this:— + </p> + <p> + She sat at the communion-table in her own parish-church, with + many others, none of whom she knew. A man with piercing eyes + went along the table, examining the faces of all to see if + they were fit to partake. When he came to Kirsty, he looked + at her for a moment sharply, then said, 'That woman is dead. + She has been in the snow all night. Lay her in the vault + under the church.' She rose to go because she was dead, and + hands were laid upon her to guide her as she went. They + brought her out of the church into the snow and wind, and + turned away to leave her. But she remonstrated: 'The man with + the eyes,' she said, 'gave the order that I should be taken + to the vault of the church!'—'Very well,' answered a + voice, 'there is the vault! creep into it.' She saw an + opening in the ground, at the foot of the wall of the church, + and getting down on her hands and knees, crept through it, + and with difficulty got into the vault. There all was still. + She heard the wind raving, but it sounded afar off. Who had + guided her thither? One of Steenie's storm-angels, or the + Shepherd of the sheep? It was all one, for the storm-angels + were his sheep-dogs! She had been bewildered by the terrible + beating of the snow-wind, but her own wandering was another's + guiding! Beyond the turmoil of life and unutterably glad, she + fell asleep, and the dream left her. In a little while, + however, it came again. + </p> + <p> + She was lying, she thought, on the stone-floor of the + church-vault, and wondered whether the examiner, + notwithstanding the shining of his eyes, might not have made + a mistake: perhaps she was not so very dead! Perhaps she was + not quite unfit to eat of the bread of life after all! She + moved herself a little; then tried to rise, but failed; tried + again and again, and at last succeeded. All was dark around + her, but something seemed present that was known to + her—whether man, or woman, or beast, or thing, she + could not tell. At last she recognised it; it was a familiar + odour, a peculiar smell, of the kind we call earthy:—it + was the air of her own earth-house, in days that seemed far + away! Perhaps she was in it now! Then her box of matches + might be there too! She felt about and found it. With + trembling hands she struck one, and proceeded to light her + lamp. + </p> + <p> + It burned up. Something seized her by the heart. + </p> + <p> + A little farther in, stretched on the floor, lay a human form + on its face. She knew at once that it was Steenie's. The feet + were toward her, and between her and them a pair of shoes: he + was dead!—he had got rid of his feet!—he was gone + after Phemy—gone to the bonny man! She knelt, and + turned the body over. Her heart was like a stone. She raised + his head on her arm: it was plain he was dead. A small stream + of blood had flowed from his mouth, and made a little pool, + not yet quite frozen. Kirsty's heart seemed about to break + from her bosom to go after him; then the eternal seemed to + descend upon her like a waking sleep, a clear consciousness + of peace. It was for a moment as if she saw the Father at the + heart of the universe, with all his children about his knees: + her pain and sorrow and weakness were gone; she wept glad + tears over the brother called so soon from the nursery to the + great presence chamber. 'Eh, bonny man!' she cried; 'is 't + possible to expec ower muckle frae your father and mine!' + </p> + <p> + She sat down beside what was left of Steenie, and ate of the + oatcake, and drink of the milk she had carried forgotten + until now. + </p> + <p> + 'I won'er what God 'll du wi' the twa!' she said to herself. + 'Gien <i>I</i> lo'ed them baith as I did, <i>he</i> lo'es + them better! <i>I</i> wud hae dee'd for them; <i>he</i> did!' + </p> + <p> + She rose and went out. + </p> + <p> + Light had come at last, but too dim to be more than gray. The + world was one large white sepulchre in which the earth lay + dead. Warmth and hope and spring seemed gone for ever. But + God was alive; his hearth-fire burned; therefore death was + nowhere! She knew it in her own soul, for the Father was + there, and she knew that in his soul were all the loved. The + wind had ceased, but the snow was still falling, here and + there a flake. A faint blueness filled the air, and was + colder than the white. Whether the day was at hand or the + night, she could not distinguish. The church bell began to + ring, sounding from far away through the silence: what + mountains of snow must yet tower unfallen in the heavens, + when it was nearly noon, and still so dark! But Steenie was + out of the snow—that was well! Or perhaps he was beside + her in it, only he could leave it when he would! Surely + anyhow Phemy must be with him! She could not be left all + alone and she so silly! Steenie would have her to teach! His + trouble must have gone the moment he died, but Phemy would + have to find out what a goose she was! She would be very + miserable, and would want Steenie! Kirsty's thoughts cut + their own channels: she was as far ahead of her church as the + woman of Samaria was ahead of the high priest at Jerusalem. + </p> + <p> + Thus thinking, thinking, she kept on walking through the snow + to weep on her mother's bosom. Suddenly she remembered, and + stood still: her mother was going to follow her to Steenie's + house! She too must be dead in the snow!—Well, let + Heaven take all! They were born to die, and it was her turn + now to follow her mother! She started again for home, and at + length drew near the house. + </p> + <p> + It was more like a tomb than a house. The door looked as if + no one had gone in there or out for ages. Had she slept in + the snow like the seven sleepers in the cave? Were the need + and the use of houses and doors long over? Or was she a ghost + come to have one look more at her old home in a long dead + world? Perhaps her father and mother might have come back + with like purpose, and she would see and speak to them! Or + was she, alas! only in a dream, in which the dead would not + speak to her? But God was not dead, and while God lived she + was not alone even in a dream! + </p> + <p> + A dark bundle lay on the door-step: it was Snootie. He had + been scratching and whining until despair came upon him, and + he lay down to die. + </p> + <p> + She lifted the latch, stepped over the dog, and entered. The + peat-fire was smouldering low on tho hearth. She sat down and + closed her eyes. When she opened them, there lay Snootie, + stretched out before the fire! She rose and shut the door, + fed and roused the fire, and brought the dog some milk, which + he lapped up eagerly. + </p> + <p> + Not a sound was in the house. She went all over it. Father + nor mother was there. It was Sunday, and all the men were + away. A cow lowed, and in her heart Kirsty blessed her: she + was a live creature! She would go and milk her! + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch026"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + HOW DAVID FARED + </h3> + <p> + David Barclay got up the moment Kirsty was out of the room, + dressed himself in haste, swallowed a glass of whisky, + saddled the gray mare, gave her a feed of oats, which she ate + the faster that she felt the saddle, and set out for Tiltowie + to get the doctor. Threatening as the weather was, he was + well on the road before the wind became so full of snow as to + cause him any anxiety, either for those on the hill or for + himself. But after the first moment of anxiety, a very few + minutes convinced him that a battle with the elements was at + hand more dangerous than he had ever had to fight with armed + men. For some distance the road was safe enough as yet, for + the storm had not had time to heap up the snow between the + bordering hills; but by and by he must come out upon a large + track recovered by slow degrees and great labour from the + bog, and be exposed to the full force of the now furious + wind, where in many places it would be far easier to wander + off than to stay upon a road level with the fields, and not + even bounded by a ditch the size of a wheel-track. When he + reached the open, therefore, he was compelled to go at a + footpace through the thick, blinding, bewildering + tempest-driven snow; and was not surprised when, in spite of + all his caution, he found, by the sudden sinking and + withdrawing of one of his mare's legs with a squelching + noise, that he had got astray upon the bog, nor knew any more + in what direction the town or other abode of humanity lay. + The only thing he did know was the side of the road to which + he had turned; and that he knew only by the ground into which + he had got: no step farther must in that direction be + attempted. His mare seemed to know this as well as himself, + for when she had pulled her leg out, she drew back a pace, + and stood; whereupon David cast a knot on the reins, threw + them on her neck, and told her to go where she pleased. She + turned half round and started at once, feeling her way at + first very carefully. Then she walked slowly on, with her + head hanging low. Again and again she stopped and snuffed, + diverged a little, and went on. + </p> + <p> + The wind was packed rather than charged with snow. Men said + there never was a wind of the strength with so much snow in + it. David began to despair of ever finding the road again, + and naturally in such strait thought how much worse would + Kirsty and Steenie be faring on the open hill-side. His wife, + he knew, could not have started before the storm rose to + tempest, and would delay her departure. Then came the + reflection, how little at any time could a father do for the + wellbeing of his children! The fact of their being children + implied their need of an all-powerful father: must there not + then be such a father? Therewith the truth dawned upon him, + that first of truths, which all his church-going and + Bible-reading had hitherto failed to disclose, that, for life + to be a good thing and worth living, a man must be the child + of a perfect father, and know him. In his terrible + perturbation about his children, he lifted up his + heart—not to the Governor of the world; not to the God + of Abraham or Moses; not in the least to the God of the Kirk; + least of all to the God of the Shorter Catechism; but to the + faithful creator and Father of David Barclay. The aching soul + which none but a perfect father could have created capable of + deploring its own fatherly imperfection, cried out to the + father of fathers on behalf of his children, and as he cried, + a peace came stealing over him such as he had never before + felt. + </p> + <p> + Then he knew that his mare had been for some time on hard + ground, and was going with purpose in her gentle trot. In + five minutes more, he saw the glimmer of a light through the + snow. Near as it was, or he could not have seen it, he failed + repeatedly in finding his way to it. The mare at length fell + over a stone wall out of sight in the snow, and when they got + up they found themselves in a little garden at the end of a + farmhouse. Not, however, until the farmer came to the door, + wondering who on such a morning could be their visitor, did + he know to what farm the mare had brought him. Weary, and + well aware that no doctor in his senses would set out for the + top of the Horn in such a tempest of black and white, he + gratefully accepted the shelter and refreshment of which his + mare and he stood by this time in much need, and waited for a + lull in the storm. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch027"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + HOW MARION FARED + </h3> + <p> + In the meantime the mother of the family, not herself at the + moment in danger, began to suffer the most. It dismayed her + to find, when she came down, that Steenie had, as she + thought, insisted on accompanying Kirsty, but it was without + any great anxiety that she set about preparing food with + which to follow them. + </p> + <p> + She was bending over her fire, busy with her cooking, when + all at once the wind came rushing straight down the chimney, + blew sleet into the kitchen, blew soot into the pot, and + nearly put out the fire. It was but a small whirlwind, + however, and presently passed. + </p> + <p> + She went to the door, opened it a little way, and peeped out: + the morning was a chaos of blackness and snow and wind. She + had been born and brought up in a yet wilder region, but the + storm threatened to be such as in her experience was + unparalleled. + </p> + <p> + 'God preserve 's!' cried the poor woman, 'can this be the en' + o' a'thing? Is the earth turnin intil a muckle snaw-wreath, + 'at whan a' are deid, there may be nae miss o' fowk to beery + them? Eh, sic a sepulchrin! Mortal wuman cudna carry a basket + in sic a leevin snaw-drift! Losh, she wudna carry hersel far! + I maun bide a bit gien I wad be ony succour till them! It's + my basket they'll be wantin', no me; and i' this drift, + basket may flee but it winna float!' + </p> + <p> + She turned to her cooking as if it were the one thing to save + the world. Let her be prepared for the best as well as for + the worst! Kirsty might find Phemy past helping, and bring + Steenie home! Then there was David, at that moment fighting + for his life, perhaps!—if he came home now, or any of + the three, she must be ready to save their lives! they must + not perish on her hands. So she prepared for the possible + future, not by brooding on it, but by doing the work of the + present. She cooked and cooked, until there was nothing more + to be done in that way, and then, having thus cleared the way + for it, sat down and cried. There was a time for tears: the + Bible said there was! and when Marion's hands fell into her + lap, their hour—and not till then, was come. To go out + after Kirsty would have been the bare foolishness of suicide, + would have been to abandon her husband and children against + the hour of their coming need: one of the hardest demands on + the obedience of faith is—to do nothing; it is often so + much easier to do foolishly! + </p> + <p> + But she did not weep long. A moment more and she was up and + at work again, hanging a great kettle of water on the crook, + and blowing up the fire, that she might have hot bottles to + lay in every bed. Then she assailed the peat-stack in spite + of the wind, making to it journey after journey, until she + had heaped a great pile of peats in the corner nearest the + hearth. + </p> + <p> + The morning wore on; the storm continued raging; no news came + from the white world; mankind had vanished in the whirling + snow. It was well the men had gone home, she thought: there + would only have been the more in danger, the more to be + fearful about, for all would have been abroad in the drift, + hopelessly looking for one another! But oh Steenie, Steenie! + and her ain Kirsty! + </p> + <p> + About half-past ten o'clock the wind began to abate its + violence, and speedily sank to a calm, wherewith the snow + lost its main terror. She looked out; it was falling in + straight, silent lines, flickering slowly down, but very + thick. She could find her way now! Hideous fears assailed + her, but she banished them imperiously: they should not sap + the energy whose every jot would be wanted! She caught up the + bottle of hot milk she had kept ready, wrapped it in flannel, + tied it, with a loaf of bread, in a shawl about her waist, + made up the fire, closed the door, and set out for Steenie's + house on the Horn. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch028"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + HUSBAND AND WIFE + </h3> + <p> + Two hours or so earlier, David, perceiving some Assuagement + in the storm, and his host having offered to go at once to + the doctor and the schoolmaster, had taken his mare, and + mounted to go home. He met with no impediment now except the + depth of the snow, which made it so hard for the mare to get + along that, full of anxiety about his children, he found the + distance a weary one to traverse. + </p> + <p> + When at length he reached the Knowe, no one was there to + welcome him. He saw, however, by the fire and the food, that + Marion was not long gone. He put up the gray, clothed her and + fed her, drank some milk, caught up a quarter of cakes, and + started for the hill. + </p> + <p> + The snow was not falling so thickly now, but it had already + almost obliterated the footprints of his wife. Still he could + distinguish them in places, and with some difficulty + succeeded in following their track until it was clear which + route she had taken. They indicated the easier, though longer + way—not that by the earth-house, and the father and + daughter passed without seeing each other. When Kirsty got to + the farm, her father was following her mother up the hill. + </p> + <p> + When David reached the Hillfauld, the name he always gave + Steenie's house, he found the door open, and walked in. His + wife did not hear him, for his iron-shod shoes were balled + with snow. She was standing over the body of Phemy, looking + down on the white sleep with a solemn, motherly, tearless + face. She turned as he drew near, and the pair, like the + lovers they were, fell each in the other's arms. Marion was + the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + 'Eh Dauvid! God be praised I hae yersel!' + </p> + <p> + 'Is the puir thing gane?' asked her husband in an awe-hushed + tone, looking down on the maid that was not dead but + sleeping. + </p> + <p> + 'I doobt there's no doobt aboot that,' answered Marion. + 'Steenie, I was jist thinkin, wud be sair disapp'intit to + learn 'at there was. Eh, the faith o' that laddie! H'aven to + him's sic a rale place, and sic a hantle better nor this + warl', 'at he wad not only fain be there himsel, but wad hae + Phemy there—ay, gie it war ever sae lang afore himsel! + Ye see he kens naething aboot sin and the saicrifeece, and he + disna un'erstan 'at Phemy was aye a gey wull kin' o' a + lassie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe the bonny man, as Steenie ca's him,' returned David, + 'may hae as muckle compassion for the puir thing i' the hert + o' 'im as Steenie himsel!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ow ay! Whatfor no! But what can the bonny man himsel du, a' + bein sattlet?' + </p> + <p> + 'Dinna leemit the Almichty, wuman—and that i' the verra + moment whan he's been to hiz—I wunna say mair gracious + nor ord'nar, for that cudna be—but whan he's latten us + see a bit plainer nor common that he is gracious! The Lord o' + mercy 'ill manage to luik efter the lammie he made, ae w'y or + ither, there as here. Ye daurna say he didna du his best for + her here, and wull he no du his best for her there as weel?' + </p> + <p> + 'Doobtless, Dauvid! But ye fricht me! It souns jist rank + papistry— naither mair nor less! What <i>can</i> he du? + He canna dee again for ane 'at wudna turn til 'im i' this + life! The thing's no to be thoucht!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoo ken ye that, wuman? Ye hae jist thoucht it yersel! Gien + I was you, I wudna daur to say what he cudna du! I' the + meantime, what he maks me able to houp, I'm no gaein to fling + frae me!' + </p> + <p> + David was a true man: he could not believe a thing with one + half of his mind, and care nothing about it with the other. + He, like his Steenie, believed in the bonny man about in the + world, not in the mere image of him standing in the precious + shrine of the New Testament. + </p> + <p> + After a brief silence— + </p> + <p> + 'Whaur's Kirsty and Steenie?' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'The Lord kens; I dinna.' + </p> + <p> + 'They'll be safe eneuch.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's no likly.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's sartin,' said David. + </p> + <p> + And therewith, by the side of the dead, he imparted to his + wife the thoughts that drove misery from his heart as he sat + on his mare in the storm with the reins on her neck, nor knew + whither she went. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, ay,' returned his wife after a pause, 'ye're unco richt, + Dauvid, as aye ye are! And I'm jist conscience-stricken to + think 'at a' my life lang I hae been ready to murn ower the + sorrow i' <i>my</i> hert, never thinkin o' the glaidness i' + God's! What call hed I to greit ower Steenie, whan God maun + hae been aye sair pleased wi' him! What sense is there in + lamentation sae lang's God's eident settin richt a'! His + hert's the safity o' oors. And eh, glaid sure he maun be, wi + sic a lot o' his bairns at hame aboot him!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay,' returned David with a sigh, thinking of his old comrade + and the son he had left behind him, 'but there's the prodigal + anes!' + </p> + <p> + 'Thank God, we hae nae prodigal!' + </p> + <p> + 'Aye, thank him!' rejoined David; 'but <i>he</i> has + prodigals that trouble him sair, and we maun see til't 'at we + binna thankless auld prodigals oorsels!' + </p> + <p> + Again followed a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but isna it strange?' said Marion. 'Here's you and me + stanin murnin ower anither man's bairn, and naewise kennin + what's come o' oor ain twa!—Dauvid, what can hae come + o' Steenie and Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'The wull o' God's what's come o' them; and God hand me i' + the grace o' wussin naething ither nor that same!' + </p> + <p> + 'Haud to that, Dauvid, and hand me till't: we kenna what's + comin!' + </p> + <p> + 'The wull o' God's comin,' insisted David. 'But eh,' he + added, 'I'm concernt for puir Maister Craig!' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, lat's awa hame and see whether the twa bena there + afore 's!—Eh, but the sicht o' the bonny corp maun hae + gien Steenie a sair hert! I wudna won'er gien he never wan + ower't i' this life!' + </p> + <p> + 'But what'll we du aboot it or we gang? It's the storm may + come on again waur nor ever, and mak it impossible to beery + her for a month!' + </p> + <p> + 'We cudna carry her hame atween's, Dauvid—think ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na; it's no as gien it was hersel! And cauld's a fine + keeper— better nor a' the embalmin o' the Egyptians! + Only I'm fain to hand Steenie ohn seen her again!' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, lat's hap her i' the bonny white snaw!' said Marion. + 'She'll keep there as lang as the snaw keeps, and naething + 'ill disturb her till the time comes to lay her awa!' + </p> + <p> + 'That's weel thoucht o'!' answered David. 'Eh, wuman, but + it's a bonny beerial compared wi' sic as I hae aften gien + comrade and foe alike!' + </p> + <p> + They went out and chose a spot close by the house where the + snow lay deep. There they made a hollow, and pressed the + bottom of it down hard. Then they carried out and laid in it + the death-frozen dove, and heaped upon her a firm, white, + marble-like tomb of heavenly new-fallen snow. + </p> + <p> + Without re-entering it, they closed the door of Steenie's + refuge, and leaving the two deserted houses side by side, + made what slow haste they could, with anxious hearts, to + their home. The snow was falling softly, for the wind was + still asleep. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch029"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE + </h3> + <p> + Kirsty saw their shadows darken the wall, and turning from + her work at the dresser, ran to the door to meet them. + </p> + <p> + 'God be thankit!' cried David. + </p> + <p> + Marion gave her daughter one loving look, and entering cast a + fearful, questioning glance around the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + 'Whaur's Steenie?' she said. + </p> + <p> + 'He's wi' Phemy, I'm thinkin,' faltered Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Lassie, are ye dementit?' her mother almost screamed. 'We're + this minute come frae there!' + </p> + <p> + 'He <i>is</i> wi' Phemy, mother. The Lord canna surely hae + pairtit them, gangin in maist haudin hans!' + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty, I haud ye accoontable for my Steenie!' cried Marion, + sinking on a chair, and covering her face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + 'It's the wull o' God 'at's accoontable for him, wuman!' + answered David, sitting down beside her, and laying hold of + her arm. + </p> + <p> + She burst into terrible weeping. + </p> + <p> + 'He maun be sair at hame wi' the bonny man!' said Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Lassie,' said David, 'you and me and yer mither, we hae + naething left but be better bairns, and gang the fester to + the bonny man!—Whaur's what's left o' the laddie, + Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'Lyin i' my hoose, as he ca'd it. Mine was i' the yerd, his + i' the air, he said. He was awa afore I wan to the kitchen. + He had jist killt himsel savin at Phemy, rinnin and fechtin + on, upo' the barest chance o' savin her life; and sae whan he + set off again to gang til her, no bidin for me, he was that + forfouchten 'at he hed a bluid-brak in 's breist, and was + jist able, and nae mair, to creep intil the weem oot o' the + snaw. He didna like the place, and yet had a kin' o' a notion + o' the bonny man bein there whiles. I'm thinkin Snootie maun + hae won til him, and run hame for help, for I faund him maist + deid upo' the door-step.' + </p> + <p> + David stooped and patted the dog. + </p> + <p> + 'Na, that cudna be,' he said, 'or he wud never hae left him, + I'm thinkin.—Ye're a braw dog,' he went on to the + collie, 'and I'm thankfu' yer no lyin wi yer tongue + oot!—But guid comes to guid doggies!' he added, + fondling the creature, who had risen, and feebly set his paws + on his knee. + </p> + <p> + 'And ye left him lyin there! Hoo hed ye the hert, Kirsty?' + sobbed the mother reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + 'Mother, he was better aff nor ony ither ane o' 's! I winna + say, mother, 'at I lo'ed him sae weel as ye lo'ed him, for + maybe that wudna be natur—I dinna ken; and I daurna say + 'at I lo'e him as the bonny man lo'es his brithers and + sisters a'; but I hae yet to learn hoo to lo'e him better. + Onygait, the bonny man wantit him, and he has him! And whan I + left him there, it was jist as gien I hield him oot i' my + airms and said, "Hae, Lord; tak him: he's yer ain!"' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're i' the richt, Kirsty, my bonny bairn!' said David. + 'Yer mither and me, we was never but pleased wi' onything 'at + ever ye did.—Isna that true, Mar'on, my ain wuman?' + </p> + <p> + 'True as his word!' answered the mother, and rose, and went + to her room. + </p> + <p> + David sought the yard, saw that all was right with the + beasts, and fed them. Thence he made his way to his workshop + over the cart-shed, where in five minutes he constructed, + with two poles run through two sacks, a very good stretcher, + carrying it to the kitchen, where Kirsty sat motionless, + looking into the fire. + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty,' he said, 'ye're 'maist as strong's a man, and I + wudna wullinly ony but oor ain three sels laid finger upo' + what's left o' Steenie: are ye up to takin the feet o' 'im to + fess him hame? Here's what'll mak it 'maist easy!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty rose at once. + </p> + <p> + 'A drappy o' milk, and I'm ready,' she answered. 'Wull ye no + tak a moofu' o' whusky yersel' father?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na; I want naething,' replied David. + </p> + <p> + He had not yet learned what Kirsty went through the night + before, when he asked her to help him carry the body of her + brother home through the snow. Kirsty, however, knew no + reason why she should not be as able as her father. + </p> + <p> + He took the stretcher, and they set out, saying nothing to + the mother: she was still in her own room, and they hoped she + might fall asleep. + </p> + <p> + 'It min's me o' the women gauin til the sepulchre!' said + David. 'Eh, but it maun hae been a sair time til + them!—a heap sairer nor this hert-brak here!' 'Ye see + they didna ken 'at he wasna deid,' assented Kirsty, 'and we + div ken 'at Steenie's no deid! He's maybe walkin aboot wi the + bonny man—or maybe jist ristin himsel a wee efter the + uprisin! Jist think o' his heid bein a' richt, and his een as + clear as the bonny man's ain! Eh, but Steenie maun be in grit + glee!' + </p> + <p> + Thus talking as they went, they reached and entered the + earth-house. They found no angels on guard, for Steenie had + not to get up again. + </p> + <p> + David wept the few tears of an old man over the son who had + been of no use in the world but the best use—to love + and be loved. Then, one at the head and the other at the + feet, they brought the body out, and laid it on the bier. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty went in again, and took Steenie's shoes, tying them in + her apron. + </p> + <p> + 'His feet's no sic a weicht noo!' she said, as together they + carried their burden home. + </p> + <p> + The mother met them at the door. + </p> + <p> + 'Eh!' she cried, 'I thoucht the Lord had taen ye baith, and + left me my lane 'cause I was sae hard-hertit til him! But noo + 'at he 's broucht ye back—and Steenie, what there is o' + him, puir bairn!—I s' never say anither word, but jist + lat him du as he likes.—There, Lord, I hae dune! Pardon + thoo me wha canst.' + </p> + <p> + They carried the forsaken thing up the stair, and laid it on + Kirsty's bed, looking so like and so unlike Steenie asleep. + Marion was so exhausted, both mind and body, that her husband + insisted on her postponing all further ministration till the + morning; but at night Kirsty unclothed the untenanted, and + put on it a long white nightgown. When the mother saw it + lying thus, she smiled, and wept no more; she knew that the + bonny man had taken home his idiot. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch030"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + FROM SNOW TO FIRE + </h3> + <p> + My narrative must now go a little way back in time, and a + long way from the region of heather and snow, to India in the + year of the mutiny. The regiment in which Francis Gordon + served, his father's old regiment, had lain for months + besieged in a well known city by the native troops, and had + begun to know what privation meant, its suffering aggravated + by that of not a few women and children. With the other + portions of the Company's army there shut up, it had behaved + admirably. Danger and sickness, wounds and fatigue, hunger + and death, had brought out the best that was in the worst of + them: when their country knew how they had fought and + endured, she was proud of them. Had their enemies, however, + been naked Zulus, they would have taken the place within a + week. + </p> + <p> + Francis Gordon had done his part, and well. + </p> + <p> + It would be difficult to analyze the effect of tho punishment + Kirsty had given him, but its influence was upon him through + the whole of the terrible time—none the less beneficent + that his response to her stinging blows was indignant rage. I + dare hardly speculate what, had she not defended herself so + that he could not reach her, he might not have done in the + first instinctive motions of natural fury. It is possible + that only Kirsty's skill and courage saved him from what he + would never have surmounted the shame of—taking revenge + on a woman avenging a woman's wrong: from having deserved to + be struck by a woman, nothing but repentant shame could save + him. + </p> + <p> + When he came to himself, the first bitterness of the thing + over, he could not avoid the conviction, that the playmate of + his childhood, whom once he loved best in the world, and who + when a girl refused to marry him, had come to despise him, + and that righteously. The idea took a firm hold on him, and + became his most frequently recurrent thought. The wale of + Kirsty's whip served to recall it a good many nights; and + long after that had ceased either to smart or show, the + thought would return of itself in the night-watches, and was + certain to come when he had done anything his conscience + called wrong, or his judgment foolish. + </p> + <p> + The officers of his mess were mostly men of character with + ideas better at least than ordinary as to what became a man; + and their influence on one by no means of a low, though of an + unstable nature, was elevating. It is true that a change into + a regiment of jolly, good-mannered, unprincipled men would + within a month have brought him to do as they did; and in + another month would have quite silenced, for a time at least, + his poor little conscience; but he was at present rising. + Events had been in his favour; after reaching India, he had + no time to be idle; the mutiny broke out, he must bestir + himself, and, as I have said, the best in him was called to + the front. + </p> + <p> + He was specially capable of action with show in it. Let eyes + be bent upon him, and he would go far. The presence of his + kind to see and laud was an inspiration to him. Left to act + for himself, undirected and unseen, his courage would not + have proved of the highest order. Throughout the siege, + nevertheless, he was noted for a daring that often left the + bounds of prudence far behind. More than once he was + wounded—once seriously; but even then he was in four + days again at his post. His genial manners, friendly + carriage, and gay endurance rendered him a favourite with + all. + </p> + <p> + The sufferings of the besieged at length grew such, and there + was so little likelihood of the approaching army being able + for some time to relieve the place, that orders were issued + by the commander-in-chief to abandon it: every British person + must be out of the city before the night of the day + following. The general in charge thereupon resolved to take + advantage of the very bad watch kept by the enemy, and steal + away in silence the same night. + </p> + <p> + The order was given to the companies, to each man + individually, to prepare for the perilous attempt, but to + keep it absolutely secret save from those who were to + accompany them; and so cautious was the little English colony + as well as the garrison, that not a rumour of the intended + evacuation reached the besiegers, while, throughout the lines + and in the cantonments, it was thoroughly understood that, at + a certain hour of the night, without call of bugle or beat of + drum, everyone should be ready to march. Ten minutes after + that hour the garrison was in motion. With difficulty, yet + with sufficing silence, the gates were passed, and the + abandonment effected. + </p> + <p> + The first shot of the enemy's morning salutation, earlier + than usual, went tearing through a bungalow within whose + shattered walls lay Francis Gordon. In a dining-room, whose + balcony and window-frame had been smashed the day before, he + still slumbered wearily, when close past his head rushed the + eighteen-pounder with its infernal scream. He started up, to + find the blood flowing from a splinter wound on his temple + and cheek-bone. A second shot struck the foot of his long + chair. He sprang from it, and hurried into his coat and + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + But how was all so still inside? Not one gun answered! Firing + at such an hour, he thought, the rebels must have got wind of + their intended evacuation. It was too late for that, but why + did not the garrison reply? Between the shots he seemed to + <i>hear</i> the universal silence. Heavens! were their guns + already spiked? If so, all was lost!—But it was + daylight! He had overslept himself! He ought to have been + with his men—how long ago he could not tell, for the + first shot had taken his watch. A third came and broke his + sword, carrying the hilt of it through the wall on which it + hung. Not a sound, not a murmur reached him from the + fortifications. Could the garrison be gone? Was the hour + past? Had no one missed him? Certainly no one had called him! + He rushed into the compound. Not a creature was there! He was + alone—one English officer amid a revolted army of + hating Indians! + </p> + <p> + But they did not yet know that their prey had slid from their + grasp, for they were going on with their usual gun-reveille, + instead of rushing on flank and rear of the retreating + column! He might yet elude them and overtake the garrison! + Half-dazed, he hurried for the gate by which they were to + leave the city. Not a live thing save two starved dogs did he + meet on his way. One of them ran from him; the other would + have followed him, but a ball struck the ground between them, + raising a cloud of dust, and he saw no more of the dog. + </p> + <p> + He found the gate open, and not one of the enemy in sight. + Tokens of the retreat were plentiful, making the track he had + to follow plain enough. + </p> + <p> + But now an enemy he had never encountered before—a + sense of loneliness and desertion and helplessness, rising to + utter desolation, all at once assailed him. He had never in + his life congratulated himself on being alone—not that + he loved his neighbour, but that he loved his neighbour's + company, making him less aware of an uneasy self. And now + first he realized that he had seen his sword-hilt go off with + a round shot, and had not caught up his revolver—that + he was, in fact, absolutely unarmed. + </p> + <p> + He quickened his pace to overtake his comrades. On and on he + trudged through nothing but rice-fields, the day growing + hotter and hotter, and his sense of desolation increasing. + Two or three natives passed him, who looked at him, he + thought, with sinister eyes. He had eaten no breakfast, and + was not likely to have any lunch. He grew sick and faint, but + there was no refuge: he must walk, walk until he fell and + could walk no more! With the heat and his exertion, his + hardly healed wound began to assert itself; and by and by he + felt so ill, that he turned off the road, and lay down. While + he lay, the eyes of his mind began to open to the fact that + the courage he had hitherto been so eager to show, could + hardly have been of the right sort, seeing it was + gone—evaporated clean. + </p> + <p> + He rose and resumed his walk, but at every smallest sound + started in fear of a lurking foe. With vainest regret he + remembered the long-bladed dagger-knife he had when a boy + carried always in his pocket. It was exhaustion and illness, + true, that destroyed his courage, but not the less was he a + man of fear, not the less he felt himself a coward. Again he + got into a damp brake and lay down, in a minute or two again + got up and went on, his fear growing until, mainly through + consciousness of itself, it ripened into abject terror. + Loneliness seemed to have taken the shape of a watching + omnipresent enemy, out of whose diffusion death might at any + moment break in some hideous form. + </p> + <p> + It was getting toward night when at length he saw dust ahead + of him, and soon after, he descried the straggling rear of + the retreating English. Before he reached it a portion had + halted for a little rest, and he was glad to lie down in a + rough cart. Long before the morning the cart was on its way + again, Gordon in it, raving with fever, and unable to tell + who he was. He was soon in friendly shelter, however, under + skilful treatment, and tenderly nursed. + </p> + <p> + When at length he seemed to have almost recovered his health, + it was clear that he had in great measure lost his reason. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch031"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT + </h3> + <p> + Things were going from bad to worse at castle Weelset. + Whether Mrs. Gordon had disgusted her friends or got tired of + them, I do not know, but she remained at home, seldom had a + visitor, and never a guest. Rumour, busy in country as in + town, said she was more and more manifesting herself a slave + to strong drink. She was so tired of herself, that, to escape + her double, she made it increasingly a bore to her. She never + read a book, never had a newspaper sent her, never inquired + how things were going on about the place or in any part of + the world, did nothing for herself or others, only ate, + drank, slept, and raged at those around her. + </p> + <p> + One morning David Barclay, having occasion to see the factor, + went to the castle, and finding he was at home ill, thought + he would make an attempt to see Mrs. Gordon, and offer what + service he could render: she might not have forgotten that in + old days he had been a good deal about the estate. She + received him at once, but behaved in such extraordinary + fashion that he could not have any doubt she was at least + half-drunk: there was no sense, David said, either to be got + out of her, or put into her. + </p> + <p> + At Corbyknowe they heard nothing of the young laird. The + papers said a good deal about the state of things in India, + but Francis Gordon was not mentioned. + </p> + <p> + In the autumn of the year 1858, when the days were growing + short and the nights cold in the high region about the Horn, + the son of a neighbouring farmer, who had long desired to + know Kirsty better, called at Corbyknowe with his sister, + ostensibly on business with David. They were shown into the + parlour, and all were sitting together in the early gloamin, + the young woman bent on persuading Kirsty to pay them a visit + and see the improvements they had made in house and garden, + and the two farmers lamenting the affairs of the property on + which they were tenants. + </p> + <p> + 'But I hear there's new grief like to come to the auld + lairdship,' said William Lammie, as he sat with an elbow on + the tea-table whence Kirsty was removing the crumbs. + </p> + <p> + 'And what may the wisdom o' the country-side be puttin furth + the noo?' asked David in a tone of good-humoured irony. + 'Weel, as I hear, Mistress Comrie's been to Embro' for a week + or twa, and's come hame wi' a gey queer story concernin the + young laird—awa oot there whaur there's been sic a + rumpus wi' the h'athen so'diers. There's word come, she says, + 'at he's fa'en intil the verra glaur o' disgrace, funkin at + something they set him til: na, he wudna! And they hed him + afore a coort-mairtial as they ca' 't, and broucht it in, she + says, bare cooardice, and jist broke him. He'll hae ill + shawin the face o' 'm again i' 's ain calf-country!' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a lee,' said Kirsty. 'I s' tak my aith o' that, whaever + took the tellin o' 't. There never was mark o' cooard upo' + Francie Gordon. He hed his fauts, but no ane o' them luikit + that gait. He was a kin' o' saft-like whiles, and unco easy + come ower, but, haein little fear mysel, I ken a cooard whan + I see him. Something may hae set up his pride—he has + eneuch o' that for twa deevils—but Francie was never + nae cooard!' + </p> + <p> + 'Dinna lay the lee at my door, I beg o' ye, Miss Barclay. I + was but tellin ye what fowk was saying.' + </p> + <p> + 'Fowk's aye sayin, and seldom sayin true. The warst o' 't is + 'at honest fowk's aye ready to believe leears! They dinna lee + themsel's, and sae it's no easy to them to think anither wad. + Thereby the fause word has free coorse and is glorifeed! + They're no a' leears 'at spreads the lee; but for them 'at + maks the lee, the Lord silence them!' + </p> + <p> + 'Hoots, Kirsty,' said her mother, 'it disna become ye to + curse naebody! It's no richt o' ye.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's a guid Bible-curse, mother! It's but a w'y o' sayin + "His wull be dune!"' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye needna be sae fell aboot the laird, Miss Barclay! He was + nae partic'lar frien o' yours gien a' tales be true!' + remarked her admirer. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm tellin ye tales is maistly lees. I hae kenned the laird + sin' he was a wee laddie—and afore that; and I'm no + gaein to hear him leed upo' and haud my tongue! A lee's a lee + whether the leear be a leear or no!—I hae dune.' + </p> + <p> + She did not speak another word to him save to bid him + good-night. + </p> + <p> + In the beginning of the year, a rumour went about the country + that the laird had been seen at the castle, but it died away. + </p> + <p> + David pondered, but asked no questions, and Mrs. Bremner + volunteered no information. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty of course heard the rumour, but she never took much + interest in the goings on at the castle. Mrs. Gordon's doings + were not such as the angels desire to look into; and Kirsty, + not distantly related to them, and inheriting a good many of + their peculiarities, minded her own business. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch032"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + IN THE WORKSHOP + </h3> + <p> + One night in the month of January, when the snow was falling + thick, but the air, because of the cloud-blankets overhead, + was not piercing, Kirsty went out to the workshop to tell her + father that supper was ready. David was a + Jack-of-all-trades—therein resembling a sailor rather + than a soldier, and by the light of a single dip was busy + with some bit of carpenter's work. + </p> + <p> + He did not raise his head when she entered, and heard her as + if he did not hear. She wondered a little and waited. After a + few moments of silence, he said quietly, without looking + up— + </p> + <p> + 'Are ye awaur o' onything by ord'nar, Kirsty? + </p> + <p> + 'Na, naething, father,' answered Kirsty, wondering still. + </p> + <p> + 'It's been beirin 'tsel in upo' me at my bench here, 'at + Steenie's aboot the place the nicht. I canna help imaiginin + he's been upo' this verra flure ower and ower again sin' I + cam oot, as gien he wad fain say something, but cudna, and + gaed awa again.' + </p> + <p> + 'Think ye he's here at this moment, father?' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, he's no.' + </p> + <p> + 'He used to think whiles the bonny man was aboot!' said + Kirsty reflectively. + </p> + <p> + 'My mother was a hielan wuman, and hed the second sicht; + there was no mainner o' doobt aboot it!' remarked David, also + thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + 'And what wad ye draw frae that, father?' asked Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Ow, naething verra important, maybe, but just 'at possibly + it micht be i' the faimily!' + </p> + <p> + 'I wud like to ken yer verra thoucht, father!' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, it's jist this: I'm thinkin 'at some may be nearer the + deid nor ithers.' + </p> + <p> + 'And, maybe,' supplemented Kirsty, 'some o' the deid may win + nearer the livin nor ithers!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, that's it! that's the haill o' 't!' answered David. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty turned her face toward the farthest corner. The place + was rather large, and everywhere dark except within the + narrow circle of the candle-light. In a quiet voice, with a + little quaver in it, she said aloud: + </p> + <p> + 'Gien ye be here, Steenie, and hae the pooer, lat's ken gien + there be onything lyin til oor han' 'at ye wuss dune. I'm + sure, gien there be, it's for oor sakes and no for yer ain, + glaid as we wud a' be to du onything for ye: the bonny man + lats ye want for naething; we're sure o' that!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay are we, Steenie,' assented his father. + </p> + <p> + No voice came from the darkness. They stood silent for a + while. Then David said: + </p> + <p> + 'Gang in, lassie; yer mother 'll be won'erin what's come o' + ye. I'll be in in a meenit. I hae jist the last stroke to gie + this bit jobby.' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch033"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + A RACE WITH DEATH + </h3> + <p> + Without a word, but with disappointment in her heart that + Steenie had not answered them, Kirsty obeyed. But she went + round through the rickyard that she might have a moment's + thought with herself. Not a hand was laid upon her out of the + darkness, no faintest sound came to her ears through the + silently falling snow. But as she took her way between two + ricks, where was just room for her to pass, she + felt—felt, however, without the slightest sense of + <i>material</i> opposition, that she could not go through. + Endeavouring afterward to describe what rather she was aware + of than felt, she said the nearest she could come to it, but + it was not right, was to say that she seemed to encounter the + ghost of solidity. Certainly nothing seemed to touch her. She + made no attempt to overcome the resistance, and the moment + she turned, knew herself free to move in any other direction. + But as the house was still her goal, she tried another space + between two of the ricks. There again she found she could not + pass. Making a third essay in yet another interval, she was + once more stopped in like fashion. With that came the + conviction that she was wanted elsewhere, and with it the + thought of the Horn. She turned her face from the house and + made straight for the hill, only that she took, as she had + generally done with Steenie, the easier and rather longer + way. + </p> + <p> + The notion of the presence of Steenie, which had been with + her all the time, naturally suggested his house as the spot + where she was wanted, and thither she sped. But the moment + she reached, almost before she entered it, she felt as if it + were utterly empty—as if it had not in it even air + enough to give her breath. + </p> + <p> + When a place seems to repel us, when we feel as if we could + not live there, what if the cause be that there are no souls + in it making it comfortable to the spiritual sense? That the + <i>knowledge</i> of such presence would make most people + uneasy, is no argument against the fancy: truth itself, its + intrinsic, essential, necessary trueness unrecognised, must + be repellent. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty did not remain a moment in Steenie's house, but set + her face to go home by the shorter and rougher path leading + over the earth-house and across the little burn. + </p> + <p> + The night continued dark, with an occasional thinning of the + obscurity when some high current blew the clouds aside from a + little nest of stars. Just as Kirsty reached the descent to + the burn, the snow ceased, the clouds parted, and a faint + worn moon appeared. She looked just like a little old lady + too thin and too tired to go on living more than a night + longer. But her waning life was yet potent over Kirsty, and + her strange, wasted beauty, dying to rise again, made her + glad as she went down the hill through the snow-crowned + heather. The oppression which came on her in Steenie's house + was gone entirely, and in the face of the pale ancient moon + her heart grew so light that she broke into a silly song + which, while they were yet children, she made for Steenie, + who was never tired of listening to it: + </p> + <pre> + Willy, wally, woo! + Hame comes the coo— + Hummle, bummle, moo!— + Widin ower the Bogie, + Hame to fill the cogie! + Bonny hummle coo, + Wi' her baggy fu' + O' butter and o' milk, + And cream as saft as silk, + A' gethered frae the gerse + Intil her tassly purse, + To be oors, no hers, + Gudewillie, hummle coo! + Willy, wally, woo! + Moo, Hummlie, moo! +</pre> + <p> + Singing this childish rime, dear to the slow-waking soul of + Steenie, she had come almost to the bottom of the hill, was + just stepping over the top of tho weem, when something like a + groan startled her. She stopped and sent a keen-searching + glance around. It came again, muffled and dull. It must be + from the earth-house! Somebody was there! It could not be + Steenie, for why should Steenie groan? But he might be + calling her, and the weem changing the character of the + sound! Anyhow she must be wanted! She dived in. + </p> + <p> + She could scarcely light the candle, for the trembling of her + hand and the beating of her heart. Slowly the flame grew, and + the glimmer began to spread. She stood speechless, and + stared. Out of the darkness at her feet grew the form, as it + seemed, of Steenie, lying on his face, just as when she found + him there year before. She dropped on her knees beside him. + </p> + <p> + He was alive at least, for he moved! 'Of course,' thought + Kirsty, 'he's alive: he never was anything else!' His face + was turned from her, and his arm was under it. The arm next + her lay out on the stones, and she took the ice-cold hand in + hers: it was not Steenie's! She took the candle, and leaned + across to see the face. God in heaven! there was the mark of + her whip: it was Francie Gordon! She tried to rouse him. She + could not; he was cold as ice, and seemed all but dead. But + for the groan she had heard she would have been sure he was + dead. She blew out the light, and, swift as her hands could + move, took garment after garment off, and laid it, warm from + her live heart, over and under him—all save one which + she thought too thin to do him any good. Last of all, she + drew her stockings over his hands and arms, and, leaving her + shoes where Steenie's had lain, darted out of the cave. At + the mouth of it she rose erect like one escaped from the + tomb, and sped in dim-gleaming whiteness over the snow, + scarce to have been seen against it. The moon was but a + shred—a withered autumn leaf low fallen toward the dim + plain of the west. As she ran she would have seemed to one of + Steenie's angels, out that night on the hill, a newly + disembodied ghost fleeing home. Swift and shadowless as the + thought of her own brave heart, she ran. Her sense of power + and speed was glorious. She felt—not + thought—herself a human goddess, the daughter of the + Eternal. Up height and down hollow she flew, running her race + with death, not an open eye, save the eyes of her father and + mother, within miles of her in a world of sleep and snow and + night. Nor did she slacken her pace as she drew near the + house, she only ran more softly. At last she threw the door + to the wall, and shot up the steep stair to her room, calling + her mother as she went. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch034"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <h3> + BACK FROM THE GRAVE + </h3> + <p> + When David came in to supper, he said nothing, expecting + Kirsty every moment to appear. Marion was the first to ask + what had become of her. David answered she had left him in + the workshop. + </p> + <p> + 'Bless the bairn! what can she be aboot this time o' nicht?' + said her mother. + </p> + <p> + 'I kenna,' returned David. + </p> + <p> + When they had sat eating their supper for ten minutes, vainly + expecting her, David went out to look for her. Returning + unsuccessful, he found that Marion had sought her all over + the house with like result. Then they became uneasy. + </p> + <p> + Before going to look for her, however, David had begun to + suspect her absence in one way or another connected with the + subject of their conversation in the workshop, to which he + had not for the moment meant to allude. When now he told his + wife what had passed, he was a little surprised to find that + immediately she grew calm. + </p> + <p> + 'Ow, than, she'll be wi' Steenie!' she said. + </p> + <p> + Nor did her patience fail, but revived that of her husband. + They could not, however, go to bed, but sat by the fire, + saying a word or two now and then. The slow minutes passed, + and neither of them moved save David once to put on peats. + </p> + <p> + The house-door flew open suddenly, and they heard Kirsty cry, + 'Mother, mother!' but when they hastened to the door, no one + was there. They heard the door of her room close, however, + and Marion went up the stair. By the time she reached it, + Kirsty was in a thick petticoat and buttoned-up cloth-jacket, + had a pair of shoes on her bare feet, and was glowing a + 'celestial rosy-red.' David stood where he was, and in half a + minute Kirsty came in three leaps down the stair to him, to + say that Francie was lying in the weem. In less than a minute + the old soldier was out with the stable-lantern, harnessing + one of the horses, the oldest in the stable, good at + standing, and not a bad walker. He called for no help, yet + was round at the door so speedily as to astonish even Kirsty, + who stood with her mother in the entrance by a pile of + bedding. They put a mattress in the bottom of the cart, and + plenty of blankets. Kirsty got in, lay down and covered + herself up, to make the rough ambulance warm, and David drove + off. They soon reached the <i>weem</i> and entered it. + </p> + <p> + The moment Kirsty had lighted the candle, + </p> + <p> + 'Lassie,' cried David, 'there's been a wuman here!' + </p> + <p> + 'It luiks like it,' answered Kirsty: 'I was here mysel, + father!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, ay! of coorse, but here's claes—woman's claes! + Whaur cam they frae? Wha's claes can they be?' + </p> + <p> + 'Wha's but mine?' returned Kirsty, as she stooped to remove + from his face the garment that covered his head. + </p> + <p> + 'The Lord preserve 's!—to the verra stockins upo' the + han's o' 'm!' + </p> + <p> + 'I had no dreid, father, o' the Lord seem me as he made me!' + </p> + <p> + 'Lassie,' cried David, with heartfelt admiration, 'ye sud hae + been dother til a field-mershall.' + </p> + <p> + 'I wudna be dother til a king!' returned Kirsty. 'Gien I bed + to be born again, I wudna be born 'cep it was to Dauvid + Barclay.' + </p> + <p> + 'My ain lassie!' murmured her father. 'But, eh,' he added, + interrupting his own thoughts, 'we maun hand oor tongues till + we've dune the thing we're sent to du!' + </p> + <p> + They bent at once to their task. + </p> + <p> + David was a strong man still, and Kirsty was as good at a + lift as most men. They had no difficulty in raising Gordon + between them, David taking his head and Kirsty his feet, but + it was not without difficulty they got him through the + passage. In the cart they covered him so that, had he been a + new-born baby, he could have taken no harm except it were by + suffocation, and then, Kirsty sitting with his head in her + lap, they drove home as fast as the old horse could step out. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Marion had got her best room ready, and warm. + When they reached it, Francie was certainly still alive, and + they made haste to lay him in the hot feather-bed. In about + an hour they thought he swallowed a little milk. Neither + Kirsty nor her parents went to bed that night, and by one or + other of them the patient was constantly attended. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty took the first watch, and was satisfied that his + breathing grew more regular, and by and by stronger. After a + while it became like that of one in a troubled sleep. He + moved his head a little, and murmured like one dreaming + painfully. She called her father, and told him he was saying + words she could not understand. He took her place and sat + near him, when presently his soldier-ears, still sharp, heard + indications of a hot siege. Once he started up on his elbow, + and put his hand to the side of his head. For a moment he + looked wildly awake, then sank back and went to sleep again. + </p> + <p> + As Marion was by him in the morning, all at once he spoke + again, and more plainly. + </p> + <p> + 'Go away, mother!' he said. 'I am not mad. I am only troubled + in my mind. I will tell my father you killed me.' + </p> + <p> + Marion tried to rouse him, telling him his mother should not + come near him. He did not seem to understand, but apparently + her words soothed him, for he went to sleep once more. + </p> + <p> + He was gaunt and ghastly to look at. The scar on his face, + which Kirsty had taken for the mark of her whip, but which + was left by the splinter that woke him, remained red and + disfiguring. But the worst of his look was in his eyes, whose + glances wandered about uneasy and searching. It was clear all + was not right with his brain. I doubt if any other of his + tenants would have recognized him. + </p> + <p> + For a good many days he was like one awake yet dreaming, + always dreading something, invariably starting when the door + opened, and when quietest would lie gazing at the one by his + bedside as if puzzled. He took in general what food they + brought him, but at times refused it quite. They never left + him alone for more than a moment. + </p> + <p> + So far were they from giving him up to his mother, that the + mere idea of letting her know he was with them never entered + the mind of one of them. To the doctor, whom at once they had + called in, there was no need to explain the right by which + they constituted themselves his guardians: anyone would have + judged it better for him to be with them than with her. David + said to himself that when Francie wanted to leave them he + should go; but he had sought refuge with them, and he should + have it: nothing should make him give him up except legal + compulsion. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch035"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <h3> + FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF + </h3> + <p> + One morning, Kirsty sitting beside him, Francis started to + his elbow as if to get up, then seeing her, lay down again + with his eyes fixed upon her. She glanced at him now and + then, but would not seem to notice him much. He gazed for two + or three minutes, and then said, in a low, doubtful, almost + timid, voice, + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay; what is't, Francie?' returned Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'Is't yersel, Kirsty?' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, wha ither, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Are ye angry at me, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'No a grain. What gars ye speir sic a queston?' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, but ye gae me sic a are wi' yer whup—jist here + upo' the haffit! Luik.' + </p> + <p> + He turned the side of his head toward her, and stroked the + place, like a small, self-pitying child. Kirsty went to him, + and kissed it like a mother. She had plainly perceived that + such a scar could not be from her blow, but it added + grievously to her pain at the remembrance of it that the poor + head which she had struck, had in the very same place been + torn by a splinter—for so the doctor said. If her whip + left any mark, the splinter had obliterated it. + </p> + <p> + 'And syne,' he resumed, 'ye ca'd me a cooard!' + </p> + <p> + 'Did I du that, ill wuman 'at I was!' she returned, with + tenderest maternal soothing. + </p> + <p> + He laid his arms round her neck, drew her feebly toward him, + hid his head on her bosom, and wept. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty put her arm round him, held him closer, and stroked + his head with her other hand, murmuring words of much meaning + though little sense. He drew back his head, looked at her + beseechingly, and said, + </p> + <p> + '<i>Div</i> ye think me a cooard, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'No wi' men,' answered the truthful girl, who would not lie + even in ministration to a mind diseased. + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe ye think I oucht to hae strucken ye back whan ye + strack me? I <i>wull</i> be a cooard than, lat ye say what ye + like. I never did, and I never will hit a lassie, lat her + kill me!' + </p> + <p> + 'It wasna that, Francie. Gien I ca'd ye a cooard, it was 'at + ye behaved sae ill to Phemy.' + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, the bonny little Phemy! I had 'maist forgotten her! Hoo + is she, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'She's weel—and verra weel,' answered Kirsty; 'she's + deid.' + </p> + <p> + 'Deid!' echoed Gordon, with a cry, again raising himself on + his elbow. 'Surely it wasna—it wasna 'at the puir wee + thing cudna forget me! The thing's no possible! I wasna worth + it!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, na; it wasna ae grain that! Her deein had naething to du + wi that— nor wi you in ony w'y. I dinna believe she was + a hair waur for ony nonsense ye said til her—shame o' + ye as it was! She dee'd upo' the Horn, ae awfu' tempest o' a + nicht. She cudna hae suffert lang, puir thing! She hadna the + stren'th to suffer muckle. Sae awa she gaed!—and + Steenie efter her!' added Kirsty in a lower tone, but Francis + did not seem to hear, and said no more for awhile. + </p> + <p> + 'But I maun tell ye the trowth, Kirsty,' he resumed: 'forby + yersel, there's them 'at says I'm a cooard!' + </p> + <p> + 'I h'ard ae man say't, only ane, and him only ance.' + </p> + <p> + 'And ye said til 'im, "Ay, I hae lang kenned that!" + </p> + <p> + 'I tellt him whaever said it was a leear!' + </p> + <p> + 'But ye believt it yersel, Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wad ye hae me leear and hypocrite forby, to ca' fowk ill + names for sayin what I believt mysel!' + </p> + <p> + 'But I <i>am</i> a cooard, Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye are <i>not</i>, Francie. I wunna believe't though yersel + say 't! It's naething but a dist o' styte and nonsense 'at's + won in throu the cracks ye got i' yer heid, fechtin. Ye was + aye a daft kin' o' a cratur, Francie! Gien onybody ever said + it, mak ye speed and get yer health again, and syne ye can + shaw him plain 'at he's a leear.' + </p> + <p> + 'But I tell ye, Kirsty, I ran awa!' + </p> + <p> + 'I fancy ye wud hae been naething but a muckle idiot gien ye + hadna!—Ye didna ley onybody in trouble!—did ye + noo?' + </p> + <p> + 'No a sowl 'at I ken o'. Na, I didna do that. The fac + was—but nae blame to them—they a' gaed awa and + left me my lane, sleepin. I maun hae been terrible tired.' + </p> + <p> + 'I telled ye sae!' cried Kirsty. 'Jist gang ower the story to + me, Francie, and I s' tell ye whether ye're a cooard or no. I + dinna believe a stime o' 't! Ye never was, and never was + likly to be a cooard. I s' be at the boddom o' 't wi' whaever + daur threpe me sic a lee!' + </p> + <p> + But Francis showed such signs of excitement as well as + exhaustion, that Kirsty saw she must not let him talk longer. + </p> + <p> + 'Or I'll tell ye what!' she added: '—ye'll tell father + and mother and me the haill tale, this verra nicht, or maybe + the morn's mornin. Ye maun hae an egg noo, and a drappy o' + milk—creamy milk, Francie! Ye aye likit that!' + </p> + <p> + She went and prepared the little meal, and after taking it he + went to sleep. + </p> + <p> + In the evening, with the help of their questioning, he told + them everything he could recall from the moment he woke to + find the place abandoned, not omitting his terrors on the + way, until he overtook the rear of the garrison. + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna won'er ye was fleyt, Francie,' said Kirsty. 'I wud + hae been fleyt mysel, wantin my swoord, and kennin nae God to + trust til! Ye maun learn to ken <i>him</i>, Francie, and syne + ye'll be feart at naething!' + </p> + <p> + After that, his memory was only of utterly confused shapes, + many of which must have been fancies. The only things he + could report were the conviction pervading them all that he + had disgraced himself, and the consciousness that everyone + treated him as a deserter, and gave him the cold shoulder. + </p> + <p> + His next recollection was of coming home to, or rather + finding himself with his mother, who, the moment she saw him, + flew into a rage, struck him in the face, and called him + coward. She must have taken him, he thought, to some place + where there were people about him who would not let him + alone, but he could remember nothing more until he found + himself creeping into a hole which he seemed to know, + thinking he was a fox with the hounds after him. + </p> + <p> + 'What's my claes like, Kirsty?' he asked at this point. + </p> + <p> + 'They war no that gran',' answered Kirsty, her eyes smarting + with the coming tears; 'but ye'll ne'er see a stick + (<i>stitch</i>) o' them again: I pat them awa.' + </p> + <p> + 'What w'y 'ill I win up, wantin' them?' he rejoined, with a + tremor of anxiety in his voice. + </p> + <p> + 'We'll see aboot that, time eneuch,' answered Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'But my mither may be efter me! I wud fain be up! There's no + sayin what she michtna be up til! She canna bide me!' + </p> + <p> + 'Dreid ye naething, Francie. Ye're no a match for my leddy, + but I s' be atween ye and her. She's no sae fearsome as she + thinks! Onygait, she disna fleg <i>me</i>.' + </p> + <p> + 'I left some guid eneuch claes there whan I gaed awa, and I + daursay they're i' my room yet—gien only I kenned hoo + to win at them!' + </p> + <p> + 'I s' gang and get them til ye—the verra day ye're fit + to rise. But ye maunna speyk a word mair the nicht.' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch036"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF + </h3> + <p> + They held a long consultation that night as to what they must + do. Plainly the first and most important thing was to rid + Francis of the delusion that he had disgraced himself in the + eyes of his fellow-officers. This would at once wake him as + from a bad dream to the reality of his condition: convinced + of the unreality of the idea that possessed him, he would at + once, they believed, resume his place in the march of his + generation through life. To find means, then, for the + attainment of this end, they set their wits to work; and it + was almost at once clear to David that the readiest way would + be to enter into communication with any they could reach of + the officers under whom he had served. His regiment having by + this time, however, with the rest of the Company's soldiers, + passed into the service of the Queen, a change doubtless + involving many other changes concerning which Francis, even + were he fit to be questioned, could give no information, + David resolved to apply to sir Haco Macintosh, who had + succeeded Archibald Gordon in the command, for assistance in + finding those who could bear the testimony he desired to + possess. + </p> + <p> + 'Divna ye think, father,' said Kirsty, 'it wud be the surest + and speediest w'y for me to gang mysel to sir Haco?' + </p> + <p> + ''Deed it wud be that, Kirsty!' answered David. 'There's + naething like the bodily presence o' the leevin sowl to gar + things gang!' + </p> + <p> + To this Marion, although at first not a little appalled at + the thought of Kirsty alone in such a huge city as Edinburgh, + could not help assenting, and the next morning Kirsty + started, bearing a letter from her father to his old officer, + in which he begged for her the favour of a few minutes' + conference on business concerning her father and the son of + the late colonel Gordon. + </p> + <p> + Sir Haco had retired from the service some years before the + mutiny, and was living in one of the serenely gloomy squares + of the Scots capital. Kirsty left her letter at the door, and + calling the next day, was shown to the library, where lady + Macintosh as well as sir Haco awaited, with curious and + kindly interest, the daughter of the man they had known so + well, and respected so much. + </p> + <p> + When Kirsty entered the room, dressed very simply in a gown + of dark cloth and a plain straw bonnet, the impression she at + once made was more than favourable, and they received her + with a kindness and courtesy that made her feel herself + welcome. They were indeed of her own kind. + </p> + <p> + Sir Haco was one of the few men who, regarding constantly the + reality, not the show of things, keep throughout their life, + however long, great part of their youth, and all their + childhood. Deeper far in his heart than any of the honours he + had received, all unsought but none undeserved, lay the + memory of a happy and reverential boyhood. Sprung from a + peasant stock, his father was a man of 'high erected thought + seated in a heart of courtesy.' + </p> + <p> + He was well matched with his wife, who, though born to a far + higher social position in which simplicity is rarer, was, + like him, true and humble and strong. They had one daughter, + who grew up only to die: the moment they saw Kirsty, their + hearts went out to her. + </p> + <p> + For there was in Kirsty that unassumed, unconscious dignity, + that simple propriety, that naturalness of a carriage neither + trammeled nor warped by thought of self, which at once awakes + confidence and regard; while her sweet, unaffected 'book + English,' in which appeared no attempt at speaking like a + fine lady, no disastrous endeavour to avoid her country's + utterance, revealed at once her genuine cultivation. Sir Haco + said afterward that when she spoke Scotch it was good and + thorough, and when she spoke English it was Wordsworthian. + </p> + <p> + Listening to her first words, and reminded of the solemn + sententious way in which sergeant Barclay used to express + himself, his face rose clear in his mind's eye, he saw it as + it were reflected in his daughter's, and broke out + with— + </p> + <p> + 'Eh, lassie, but ye're like yer father!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye min' upon him, sir?' rejoined Kirsty, with her perfect + smile. + </p> + <p> + 'Min' upon him! Naebody worth <i>his</i> min'in upo' could + ever forget him! Sit ye doon, and tell's a' aboot him!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty did as she was told. She began at the beginning, and + explained first, what doubtless sir Haco knew at least + something of before, the relation between her father and + colonel Gordon, whence his family as well as himself had + always felt it their business to look after the young laird. + Then she told how, after a long interval, during which they + could do nothing, a sad opportunity had at length been given + them of at least attempting to serve him; and it was for aid + in this attempt that she now sought sir Haco, who could + direct her toward the procuring of certain information. + </p> + <p> + 'And what sort of information do you think I can give or get + for you, Miss Barclay?' asked sir Haco. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll explain the thing to ye, sir, in as feow words as I + can,' answered Kirsty, dropping her English. 'The young laird + has taen 't intil his heid that he didna carry himsel like a + man i' the siege, and it's grown to be in him what they ca' a + fixt idea. He was left, ye see, sir, a' himlane i' the + beleaguert toon, and I fancy the suddent waukin and the + discovery that he was there his lee lane, jist pat him beside + himsel.' + </p> + <p> + Here she told the whole story, as they had gathered it from + Francis, mingling it with some elucidatory suggestions of her + own, and having ended her narration, went on thus:— + </p> + <p> + 'Ye see, sir, and my leddy, he was little better nor a + laddie, and fowk 'at sair needs company, like Francie, misses + company ower sair. Men's no able—<i>some</i> men, my + leddy—to tak coonsel wi' their ain herts, as women + whiles learns to du. And sae, whan he cam oot o' the fricht, + he was ower sair upon himsel for bein i' the fricht. For it + seems to me there's no shame in bein frichtit, sae lang as ye + dinna serve and obey the fricht, but trust in him 'at sees, + and du what ye hae to du. Naebody 'at kenned Francie as I + did, cud ever believe he faun' mair fear in 's hert nor was + lawfu' and rizzonable—sae lang, that is, as he was in + his richt min': ayont that nane but his maker can jeedge him. + I dinna mean Francie was a pettern, but, sir, he was no + cooard—and that I ken, for I 'm no cooard mysel, please + God to keep me as he 's made me. But the laddie—the + man, I suld say—he's no to be persuaudit oot o' the + fancy o' his ain cooardice; and I dinna believe he'll ever + win oot o' 't wantin the testimony o' his fellow-officers, + wha o' them may be left to grant the same. And I canna but + think, gien ye'll excuse me, sir, that, for his father's + sake, it wud be a gracious ac' to tak him intil the queen's + service, and lat him baud on fechtin for 's country, + whaurever it may please her mejesty to want him.—Oot + whaur he was afore micht be best for him—I dinna ken. + It wad be to put his country's seal upo' their word.' + </p> + <p> + 'Surely, Miss Barclay, you wouldn't set the poor lad in the + forefront of danger again!' said lady Macintosh. + </p> + <p> + 'I wud that, my lady! I canna but think the airmy, savin for + this misadventur—gien there be ony sic thing as + misadventur—hed a fair chance o' makin a man o' + Francie; and whiles I canna help doobtin gien onything less + 'ill ever restore him til himsel but restorin him til 's + former position. It wud ony gait gie him the best chance o' + shawin til himsel 'at there wasna a hair o' the cooard upon + him.' + </p> + <p> + 'But,' said sir Haco, 'would her majesty be justified in + taking the risk involved? Would it not be to peril many for a + doubtful good to one?' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty was silent for a moment, with downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + I'm answert, sir—as to that p'int,' she said, looking + up. + </p> + <p> + 'For my part,' said lady Macintosh, 'I can't help thinking + that the love of a good woman like yourself must do more for + the poor fellow than the approval of all the soldiers in the + world.—Pardon me, Haco.' + </p> + <p> + 'Indeed, my lady, you're perfectly right!' returned her + husband with a smile. + </p> + <p> + But lady Macintosh hardly heard him, so startled, almost so + frightened was she at the indignation instantly on Kirsty's + countenance. + </p> + <p> + 'Putna things intil ony held, my leddy, 'at the hert wud + never put there. It wad be an ill fulfillin o' my father's + duty til his auld colonel, no to say his auld frien, to + coontenance sic a notion!' + </p> + <p> + 'I beg your pardon, Miss Barclay; I was wrong to venture the + remark. But may I say in excuse, that it is not unnatural to + imagine a young woman, doing so much for a young man, just a + little bit in love with him?' + </p> + <p> + 'I wud fain hae yer leddyship un'erstaun,' returned Kirsty, + 'that my father, my mother, and mysel, we're jist are and nae + mair. No are o' 's hes a wuss that disna belang to a' three. + The langest I can min', it's been my ae ambition to help my + father and mother to du what they wantit. I never desirit + merriage, my leddy, and gien I did, it wudna be wi' sic as + Francie Gordon, weel as I lo'e him, for we war bairnies, and + laddie and lassie thegither: I wudna hae a man it was for me + to fin' faut wi'! 'Deed, mem, what fowk ca's love, hes + neither airt nor pairt i' this metter!' + </p> + <p> + Not to believe the honest glow in Kirsty's face, and the + clear confident assertion of her eyes, would have shown a + poor creature in whom the faculty of belief was undeveloped. + </p> + <p> + Sir Haco and lady Macintosh insisted on Kirsty's taking up + her abode with them while she was in Edinburgh; and Kirsty, + partly in the hope of expediting the object of her mission + thereby, and partly because her heart was drawn to her new + friends, gladly consented. Before a week was over, like + understanding like, her hostess felt as if she were a + daughter until now long waiting for her somewhere in the + infinite. + </p> + <p> + The self-same morning, sir Haco sat down to his study-table, + and began writing to every officer alive who had served with + Francis Gordon, requesting to know his feeling, and that of + the regiment about him. Within three days he received the + first of the answers, which kept dropping in for the next six + months. They all described Gordon as rather a scatterbrain, + as not the less a favourite with officers and men, and as + always showing the courage of a man, or rather of a boy, + seeing he not unfrequently acted with a reprehensible + recklessness that smacked a little of display. + </p> + <p> + 'That's Francie himsel!' cried Kirsty, with the tears in her + eyes, when her host read, to this effect, the first result of + his inquiry. + </p> + <p> + Within a fortnight he received also, from one high in office, + the assurance that, if Mr. Gordon, on his recovery, wished to + enter her majesty's service, he should have his commission. + </p> + <p> + While her husband was thus kindly occupied, lady Macintosh + was showing Kirsty every loving attention she could think of, + and, in taking her about Edinburgh and its neighbourhood, + found that the country girl knew far more of the history of + Scotland than she did herself. + </p> + <p> + She would gladly have made her acquainted with some of her + friends, but Kirsty shrank from the proposal: she could not + forget how her hostess had herself misinterpreted the + interest she took in Francie Gordon. As soon as she felt that + she could do so without seeming ungrateful, she bade her new + friends farewell, and hastened home, carrying with her copies + of the answers which sir Haco had up to that time received. + </p> + <p> + When she arrived it was with such a glad heart that, at sight + of Francis in her father's Sunday clothes, she laughed so + merrily that her mother said 'The lassie maun be fey!' + Haggard as he looked, the old twinkle awoke in his eye + responsive to her joyous amusement; and David, coming in the + next moment from putting up the gray mare with which he had + met the coach to bring Kirsty home, saw them all three + laughing in such an abandonment of mirth as, though unaware + of the immediate motive, he could not help joining. + </p> + <p> + The same evening Kirsty went to the castle, and Mrs. Bremner + needed no persuasion to find the suit which the young laird + had left in his room, and give it to her to carry to its + owner; so that, when he woke the next morning, Francis saw + the gray garments lying by his bed-side in place of David's + black, and felt the better for the sight. + </p> + <p> + The letters Kirsty had brought, working along, with returning + health, and the surrounding love and sympathy most potent of + all, speedily dispelled his yet lingering delusion. It had + occasionally returned in force while Kirsty was away, but now + it left him altogether. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch037"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVII + </h2> + <h3> + A GREAT GULF + </h3> + <p> + It was now midsummer, and Francis Gordon was well, though + thin and looking rather delicate. Kirsty and he had walked + together to the top of the Horn, and there sat, in the heart + of old memories. The sun was clouded above; the boggy basin + lay dark below, with its rim of heathery hills not yet in + bloom, and its bottom of peaty marsh, green and black, with + here and there a shining spot; the growing crops of the + far-off farms on the other side but little affected the + general impression the view gave of a waste world; yet the + wide expanse of heaven and earth lifted the heart of Kirsty + with an indescribable sense of presence, purpose, promise. + For was it not the country on which, fresh from God, she + first opened the eyes of this life, the visible region in + which all her efforts had gone forth, in which all the food + of her growth had been gathered, in which all her joys had + come to her, in which all her loves had had their scope, the + place whence by and by she would go away to find her brother + with the bonny man! + </p> + <p> + Francis saw without heeding. His heart was not uplifted. His + earthly future, a future of his own imagining, drew him. + </p> + <p> + 'This winna du ony langer, Kirsty!' he said at length. 'The + accusin angel 'll be upo' me again or I ken! I maunna be idle + 'cause I'm happy ance mair—thanks to you, Kirsty! + Little did I think ever to raise my heid again! But noo I + maun be at my wark! I'm fit eneuch!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm richt glaid to hear't!' answered Kirsty. 'I was jist + thinkin lang for a word o' the sort frae ye, Francie. I didna + want to be the first to speyk o' 't.' + </p> + <p> + 'And I was just thinkin lang to hear ye speyk o' 't!' + returned Francis. 'I wantit to du't as the thing ye wad hae + o' me!' + </p> + <p> + 'Even than, Francie, ye wudna, it seems, hae been doin 't to + please me, and that pleases me weel! I wud be nane pleast to + think ye duin 't for me! It wud gie me a sair hert, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + 'What for that, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + ''Cause it wud shaw ye no a man yet! A man's a man 'at dis + what's richt, what's pleasin to the verra hert o' richt. + Ye'll please me best by no wantin to please me; and ye'll + please God best by duin what he's putten intil yer hert as + the richt thing, and the bonny thing, and the true thing, + though ye suld dee i' the duin o' 't.—Tell me what + ye're thinkin o' duin.' + </p> + <p> + 'What but gaeing efter this new commission they hae promised + me? There's aye a guid chance o' fechtin upo' the + borders—the frontiers, as they ca' them!' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty sat silent. She had been thinking much of what Francis + ought to do, and had changed her mind on the point since the + time when she talked about him with sir Haco. + </p> + <p> + 'Isna that what ye wud hae me du, Kirsty?' he said, when he + found she continued silent. 'A body's no a fule for wantin + guid advice!' + </p> + <p> + 'No, that's true eneuch! What for wad ye want to gang + fechtin?' + </p> + <p> + 'To shaw the warl' I'm nane o' what my mither ca'd me.' + </p> + <p> + 'And shawn that, hoo muckle the better man wud ye be for 't? + Min' ye it's ae thing to be, and anither to shaw. Be ye maun; + shaw ye needna.' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna ken; I micht be growin better a' the time!' + </p> + <p> + 'And ye micht be growin waur.—What the better wud ony + neebour be for ye gane fechtin? Wudna it be a' for yersel? Is + there naething gien intil yer ban' to du—naething + nearer hame nor that? Surely o' twa things, are near and are + far, the near comes first!' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna ken. I thoucht ye wantit me to gang!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay, raither nor bide at hame duin naething; but michtna + there be something better to du?' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna ken. I thoucht to please ye, Kirsty, but it seems + naething wull!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay; that's whaur the mischief lies. Ye thoucht to please + me!' + </p> + <p> + 'I did think to please you, Kirsty! I thoucht, ance dune weel + afore the warl as my father did, I micht hae the face to come + hame to you, and say—"Kirsty, wull ye hae me?"' + </p> + <p> + 'Aye the same auld Francie!' said Kirsty, with a deep sigh. + </p> + <p> + 'Weel?' + </p> + <p> + 'I tell ye, Francie, i' the name o' God, I'll never hae ye on + nae sic terms!—Suppose I was to merry some-body whan ye + was awa pruvin to yersel, and a' the lave 'at never + misdoobted ye, 'at ye was a brave man—what wud ye du + whan ye cam hame?' + </p> + <p> + 'Naething o' mortal guid! Tak to the drink, maybe.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye tell me that! and ye think, wi' my een open to ken 'at ye + say true, I wud merry ye?—a man like you! Eh, Francie, + Francie! ye're no worth my takin' and ye're no like to be + worth the takin o' ony honest wuman!—Can ye possibly + imegine a wuman merryin a man 'at she kenned wud drive her to + coontless petitions to be hauden ohn despisit him? Ye mak my + hert unco sair, Francie! I hae dune my best wi' ye, and the + en' o' 't is, 'at ye're no worth naething!' + </p> + <p> + 'For the life o' me, Kirsty, I dinna ken what ye're drivin + at, or what ye wud hae o' me! I canna but think ye're usin me + as ye wudna like to be used yersel!' + </p> + <p> + ''Deed I wud not like it gien I was o' your breed, Francie! + Man, did ye never ance i' yer life think what ye hed to + du—what was gien ye to du—what it was yer duty to + du?' + </p> + <p> + 'No sae aften, doobtless, as I oucht. But I'm ready to hear + ye tell me my duty; I'm no past reasonin wi'!' + </p> + <p> + 'Did ye never hear 'at ye're to lo'e yer neebour as yersel?' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm duin that wi' a' my hert, Kirsty—and that ye ken + as weel as I du mysel!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye mean me, Francie! And ye ca' that lo'in me, to wull me + merry a man 'at 's no a man ava! But it's nae me 'at 's yer + neebour, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + 'Wha is my neebour, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'The queston's been speirt afore—and answert.' + </p> + <p> + 'And what's the answer til't?' + </p> + <p> + ''At yer neebour's jist whaever lies neist ye i' need o' yer + help. Gien ye read the tale o' the guid Sameritan wi' ony + sort o' gumption, that's what ye'll read intil 't and noucht + else. The man or wuman ye can help, ye hae to be neebour + til.' + </p> + <p> + 'I want to help you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye canna help me. I'm in no need o' yer help. And the + queston's no whar's the man I <i>micht</i> help, but whaur's + the man I <i>maun</i> help. I wantit to be <i>your</i> + neebour, but I cudna win at ye for the thieves; ye <i>wad</i> + stick to them, and they wudna lat me du naething.' + </p> + <p> + 'What thieves, i' the name o' common sense, Kirsty?' + </p> + <p> + 'Love o' yer ain gait, and love o' makin a show, and want o' + care for what's richt. Aih, Francie, I doobt something a heap + waur 'll hae to come upo' ye! A' my labour's lost, and I + dearly grudge it—no the labour, but the loss o' 't! I + grudge that sair.' + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty, i' the name o' God, wha <i>is</i> my neebour?' + </p> + <p> + 'Yer ain mither.' + </p> + <p> + 'My ain mither!—<i>her</i> oot o' a' the warl'?—I + never cam upo' spark o' rizzon intil her!' + </p> + <p> + 'Michtna she be that are, oot o' a' the warl', ye never + shawed spark o' rizzon til?' + </p> + <p> + 'There's nae place in her for reason to gang til!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye never tried her wi' 't! Ye wud arguy wi' her mair nor + plenty, but did ye ever shaw her rizzon i' yer behaviour?' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel ye <i>are</i> turnin agen me—you 'at 's saved my + life frae her! Diana I tell you hoo, whan I wan hame at last + and gaed til her, for she was aye guid to me when I wasna + weel, she fell oot upo' me like a verra deevil, ragin and + ca'in me ill names, 'at I jist ran frae the hoose— and + ye ken whaur ye faun' me! Gien it hadna been for you, I wud + have been deid: I was waur nor deid a'ready! What w'y + <i>can</i> I be neebour to <i>her</i>! It wud be naething but + cat and dog atween's frae mornin to nicht!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ae body canna be cat and dog baith! And the dog's as ill's + the cat— whiles waur!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ony dog wud yowl gien ye threw a kettle o' bilin watter ower + him!' + </p> + <p> + 'Did she that til ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'She mintit at it. I ran frae her. She bed the toddy-kettle + in her ban', and she splasht it in her ain face tryin to + fling't at me.' + </p> + <p> + 'Maybe she didna ken ye!' + </p> + <p> + 'She kenned me weel eneuch. She ca'd me by my ain as weel 's + ither names.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're jist croonin my arguyment, Francie! Yer mither's jist + perishin o' drink! She drinks and drinks, and, by what I + hear, cares for noucht else. A' 's upo' the ro'd to ruin in + her and aboot her. She hasna the brains noo, gien ever she + bed them, to guide hersel. Is Satan to grip her 'cause ye + winna be neebour til her and hand him aff o' her? I ken ye're + a guid son sae far as lat her du as she likes and tak 'maist + a' the siller, but that's what greases the exle o' the cairt + the deevil's gotten her intil! I ken weel she hesna been + muckle o' a mither til ye, but ye're her son whan a' 's said. + And there can be naething ye're callt upon to du, sae lang as + she's i' the grup o' the enemy, but rugg her oot o' 't. Gien + ye dinna that, ye'll never be oot o' 's grup yersel. Ye come + oot thegither, or ye bide thegither.' + </p> + <p> + Gordon sat speechless. + </p> + <p> + 'It's <i>im</i>possible!' he said at length. + </p> + <p> + 'Francie,' rejoined Kirsty, very quietly and solemnly, 'ye're + yer mother's keeper; ye're her neist neebour: are ye gauin to + du yer duty by her, or are ye not?' 'I canna; I daurna; I'm a + cooard afore her.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gien ye lat her gang on to disgrace yer father, no to say + yersel—and that by means o' what's yours and no hers, + I'll say mysel 'at ye're a cooard.' + </p> + <p> + 'Come hame wi' me and tak my pairt, and I'll promise ye to du + my best.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye maun tak yer ain pairt; and ye maun tak her pairt tu + against hersel.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's no to be thoucht o', Kirsty!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye winna?' + </p> + <p> + 'I canna my lane. I winna try 't. It wud be waur nor + useless.' + </p> + <p> + Kirsty rose, turning her face homeward. Gordon sprang to his + feet. She was already three yards from him. + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty! Kirsty!' he cried, going after her. + </p> + <p> + She went straight for home, never showing by turn of head, by + hesitation of step, or by change of carriage, that she heard + his voice or his feet behind her. + </p> + <p> + When they had thus gone two or three hundred yards, he + quickened his pace, and laid his hand on her arm. + </p> + <p> + She stopped and faced him. He dropped his hand, grew yet + whiter, and said not a word. She walked on again. Like one in + a dream he followed, his head hanging, his eyes on the + heather. She went on faster. He was falling behind her, but + did not know it. Down and down the hill he followed, and only + at the earth-house lifted his head: she was nearly over the + opposite brae! He had let her go! He might yet have overtaken + her, but he knew that he had lost her. + </p> + <p> + He had no home, no refuge! Then first, not when alone in the + beleaguered city, he knew desolation. He had never knocked at + the door of heaven, and earth had closed hers! An angel who + needed no flaming sword to make her awful, held the gate of + his lost paradise against him. None but she could open to + him, and he knew that, like God himself, Kirsty was + inexorable. Left alone with that last terrible look from the + eyes of the one being he loved, he threw himself in despair + on the ground. True love is an awful thing, not to the untrue + only, but sometimes to the growing-true, for to everything + that can be burned it is a consuming fire. Never more, it + seemed, would those eyes look in at his soul's window without + that sad, indignant repudiation in them! He rose, and crept + into the earth-house. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty lost herself in prayer as she went. 'Lord, I hae dune + a' I can!' she said. 'Until thou hast dune something by + thysel, I can do naething mair. He's i' thy han's still, I + praise thee, though he's oot o' mine! Lord, gien I hae dune + him ony ill, forgie me; a puir human body canna ken aye the + best! Dinna lat him suffer for my ignorance, whether I be to + blame for 't or no. I will try to do whatever thou makest + plain to me.' + </p> + <p> + By the time she reached home she was calm. Her mother saw and + respected her solemn mood, gave her a mother's look, and said + nothing: she knew that Kirsty, lost in her own thoughts, was + in good company. + </p> + <p> + What was passing in the soul of Francis Gordon, I can only + indicate, I cannot show. The most mysterious of all vital + movements, a generation, a transition, was there—how + initiated, God only knows. Francis knew neither whence it + came nor whither it went. He was being re-born from above. + The change was in himself; the birth was that of his will. It + was his own highest action, therefore all God's. He was + passing from death into life, and knew it no more than the + babe knows that he is being born. The change was into a new + state of being, of the very existence of which most men are + incredulous, for it is beyond preconception, capable only of + being experienced. Thorough as is the change, the man knows + himself the same man, and yet would rather cease to be, than + return to what he was. The unknown germ in him, the root of + his being, yea, his very being itself, the holy thing which + is his intrinsic substance, hitherto unknown to his + consciousness, has begun to declare itself, and the worm is + passing into the butterfly, the creeping thing into the + Psyche. It is a change in which God is the potent presence, + but which the man must <i>will</i>, or remain the gaoler who + prisons in loathsomeness his own God-born self, and chokes + the fountain of his own liberty. + </p> + <p> + Francis knew nothing of all this; he only felt he must knock + at the door behind which Kirsty lived. Kirsty could not open + the door to him, but there was one who could, and Francis + could knock! 'God help me!' he cried, as he lay on his face + to live, where once he had lain on his face to die. For the + rising again is the sepulchre. The world itself is one vast + sepulchre for the heavenly resurrection. We are all busy + within the walls of our tomb burying our dead, that the + corruptible may perish, and the incorruptible go free. + Francis Gordon came out of that earth-house a risen man: his + will was born. He climbed again to the spot where Kirsty and + he had sat together, and there, with the vast clear heaven + over his head, threw himself once more on his face, and + lifted up his heart to the heart whence he came. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch038"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE NEIGHBOURS + </h3> + <p> + He had eaten nothing since the morning, and felt like one in + a calm ethereal dream as he walked home to Weelset in the + soft dusk of an evening that would never be night, but die + into the day. No one saw him enter the house, no one met him + on the ancient spiral stair, as, with apprehensive + anticipation, he sought the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + He had just set his foot on the little landing by its door + when a wild scream came from the room. He flung the door open + and darted in. His mother rushed into his arms, enveloped + from foot to head in a cone of fire. She was making, in wild + flight, for the stair, to reach which would have been death + to her. Francis held her fast, but she struggled so wildly + that he had actually to throw her on the floor ere he could + do anything to deliver her. Then he flung on her the rug, the + table-cover, his coat, and one of the window-curtains, + tearing it fiercely from the rings. Having got all these + close around her, he rang the bell with an alarum-peal, but + had to ring three times, for service in that house was + deadened by frequent fury of summons. Two of the + maids—there was no manservant in the house + now—laid their mistress on a mattress, and carried her + to her room. Gordon's hands and arms were so severely burned + that he could do nothing beyond directing: he thought he had + never felt pain before. + </p> + <p> + The doctor was sent for, and came speedily. Having examined + them, he said Mrs. Gordon's injuries would have caused him no + anxiety but for her habits: their consequences might be very + serious, and every possible care must be taken of her. + </p> + <p> + Disabled as he was, Francis sat by her till the morning; and + the night's nursing did far more for himself than for his + mother. For, as he saw how she suffered, and interpreted her + moans by what he had felt and was still feeling in his own + hands and arms, a great pity awoke in him. What a lost life + his mother's had been! Was this to be the end of it? The old + kindness she had shown him in his childhood and youth, + especially when he was in any bodily trouble, came back upon + him, and a new love, gathering up in it all the intermittent + love of days long gone by, sprang to life in his heart, and + he saw that the one thing given him to do was to deliver his + mother. + </p> + <p> + The task seemed, if not easy, yet far from irksome, so long + as she continued incapable of resisting, annoying, or + deceiving him; but the time speedily came when he perceived + that the continuous battle rather than war of duty and + inclination must be fought and in some measure won in himself + ere he could hope to stir up any smallest skirmish of sacred + warfare in the soul of his mother. What added to the + acerbities of this preliminary war was, that the very nature + of the contest required actions which showed not only + unbecoming in a son, but mean and disgraceful in themselves. + There was no pride, pomp, or circumstance of glorious war in + this poor, domestic strife, this seemingly sordid and + unheroic, miserably unheroic, yet high, eternal contest! But + now that Francis was awake to his duty, the best of his + nature awoke to meet its calls, and he drew upon a growing + store of love for strength to thwart the desires of her he + loved. 'Entire affection hateth nicer hands,' and Francis + learned not to mind looking penurious and tyrannical, + selfish, heartless, and unsympathetic, in the endeavour to be + truly loving and lovingly true. He had not Kirsty to support + him, but he could now go higher than to Kirsty for the help + he needed; he went to the same fountain from which Kirsty + herself drew her strength. At the same time frequent thought + of her filled him with glad assurance of her sympathy, which + was in itself a wondrous aid. He neither saw nor sought to + see her: he would not go near her before at least she already + knew from other sources what would give her the hope that he + was trying to do right. + </p> + <p> + The gradually approaching strife between mother and son burst + out the same moment in which the devilish thirst awoke to its + cruel tyranny. It was a mercy to both of them that it + re-asserted itself while yet the mother was helpless toward + any indulgence of her passion. Francis was no longer afraid + of her, but it was the easier because of her condition, + although not the less painful for him to frustrate her + desire. Neither did it make it the less painful that already + her countenance, which the outward fire had not half so much + disfigured as that which she herself had applied inwardly, + had begun to remind him of the face he had long ago loved a + little, but this only made him, if possible, yet more + determined that not one shilling of his father's money should + go to the degradation of his mother. That she lusted and + desired to have, was the worst of reasons why she should + obtain! A compelled temperance was of course in itself + worthless, but that alone could give opportunity for the + waking of what soul was left her. Puny as it was, that might + then begin to grow; it might become aware of the bondage to + which it had been subjected, and begin to long for liberty. + </p> + <p> + In carrying out his resolution, Francis found it specially + hard to fight, along with the bad in his mother, the good in + himself: the lower forms of love rose against the higher, and + had to be put down. To see the scintillation of his mother's + eyes at the sound of any liquid, and know how easily he could + give her an hour of false happiness, tore his heart, while + her fierce abuse hardly passed the portals of his brain. Her + condition was so pitiful that her words could not make him + angry. She would declare it was he who set her clothes on + fire, and as soon as she was up again she would publish to + the world what a coward and sneak he showed himself from + morning to night. Had Francis been what he once was, his + mother and he must soon have come as near absolute hatred as + is possible to the human; but he was now so different that + the worst answer he ever gave her was, + </p> + <p> + 'Mother, you <i>know</i> you don't mean it!' + </p> + <p> + 'I mean it with all my heart and soul, Francis,' she replied, + glaring at him. + </p> + <p> + He stooped to kiss her on the forehead, she struck him on the + face so that the blood sprang. He went back a step, and stood + looking at her sadly as he wiped it away. + </p> + <p> + 'Crying!' she said. 'You always were a coward, Francis!' + </p> + <p> + But the word had no more any sting for him. + </p> + <p> + 'I'm all right, mother. My nose got in the way!' he answered, + restoring his handkerchief to his pocket. + </p> + <p> + 'It's the doctor puts him up to it!' said Mrs. Gordon to + herself. 'But we shall soon be rid of him now! If there's any + more of this nonsense then, I shall have to shut Francis up + again! That will teach him how to behave to his mother!' + </p> + <p> + When at length Mrs. Gordon was able to go about the house + again, it was at once to discover that things were not to be + as they had been. Then deepened the combat, and at the same + time assumed aspects and occasioned situations which in the + eye of the world would have seemed even ludicrously + unbecoming. The battle of the warrior is with confused noise + and garments rolled in blood, but how much harder and + worthier battles are fought, not in shining armour, but amid + filth and squalor physical as well as moral, on a field of + wretched and wearisome commonplace! + </p> + <p> + It was essential to success that there should be no traitor + among the servants, and Francis had made them understand what + his measures were. Nor was there in this any betrayal of a + mother's weakness, for Mrs. Gordon's had long been more than + patent to all about her. When, therefore, he one day found + her, for the first time, under the influence of strong drink, + he summoned them and told them that, sooner than fail of his + end, he would part with the whole house-hold, and should be + driven to it if no one revealed how the thing had come to + pass. Thereupon the youngest, a mere girl, burst into tears, + and confessed that she had procured the whisky. Hardly + thinking it possible his mother should have money in her + possession, so careful was he to prevent it, he questioned, + and found that she had herself provided the half-crown + required, and that her mistress had given her in return a + valuable brooch, an heirloom, which was hers only to wear, + not to give. He took this from her, repaid her the + half-crown, gave her her wages up to the next term, and sent + Mrs. Bremner home with her immediately. Her father being one + of his own tenants, he rode to his place the next morning, + laid before him the whole matter, and advised him to keep the + girl at home for a year or two. + </p> + <p> + This one evil success gave such a stimulus to Mrs. Gordon's + passion that her rage with her keeper, which had been abating + a little, blazed up at once as fierce as at first. But, + miserable as the whole thing was, and trying as he found the + necessary watchfulness, Gordon held out bravely. At the end + of six months, however, during which no fresh indulgence had + been possible to her, he had not gained the least ground for + hoping that any poorest growth of strength, or even any + waking of desire toward betterment, had taken place in her. + </p> + <p> + All this time he had not been once to Corbyknowe. He had + nevertheless been seeing David Barclay three or four times a + week. For Francis had told David how he stood with Kirsty, + and how, while refusing him, she had shown him his duty to + his mother. He told him also that he now saw things with + other eyes, and was endeavouring to do what was right; but he + dared not speak to her on the subject lest she should think, + as she would, after what had passed between them, be well + justified in thinking, that he was doing for her sake what + ought to be done for its own. He said to him that, as he was + no man of business, and must give his best attention to his + mother, he found it impossible for the present to acquaint + himself with the state of the property, or indeed attend to + it in any serviceable manner; and he begged him, as his + father's friend and his own, to look into his affairs, and, + so far as his other duties would permit, place things on at + least a better footing. + </p> + <p> + To this petition, David had at once and gladly consented. + </p> + <p> + He found everything connected with the property in a sad + condition. The agent, although honest, was weak, and had so + given way to Mrs. Gordon that much havoc had been made, and + much money wasted. He was now in bad health, and had lost all + heart for his work. But he had turned nothing to his own + advantage, and was quite ready, under David's supervision, to + do his best for the restoration of order, and the curtailment + of expenses. + </p> + <p> + All that David now saw in his intercourse with the young + laird, went to convince him that he was at length a man of + conscience, cherishing steady purposes. He reported at home + what he saw, and said what he believed, and his wife and + daughter perceived plainly that his heart was lighter than it + had been for many a day. Kirsty listened, said little, asked + a question here and there, and thanked God. For her father + brought her not only the good news that Francis was doing his + best for his mother, but that he had begun to open his eyes + to the fact that he had his part in the wellbeing of all on + his land; that the property was not his for the filling of + his pockets, or for the carrying out of schemes of his own, + but for the general and individual comfort and progress. + </p> + <p> + 'I do believe,' said David, 'the young laird wud fain mak o' + the lan's o' Weelset a spot whauron the e'en o' the bonny man + micht rist as he gaed by!' + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon's temper seemed for a time to have changed from + fierce to sullen, but by degrees she began to show herself + not altogether indifferent to the continuous attentions of + her inexorable son. It is true she received them as her + right, but he yielded her a right immeasurably beyond that + she would have claimed. He would play draughts or cribbage + with her for hours at a time, and every day for months read + to her as long as she would listen—read Scott and + Dickens and Wilkie Collins and Charles Reade. + </p> + <p> + One day, after much entreaty, she consented to go out for a + drive with him, when round to the door came a beautiful new + carriage, and such a pair of horses as she could not help + expressing satisfaction with. Francis told her they were at + her command, but if ever she took unfair advantage of them, + he would send both carriage and horses away. + </p> + <p> + She was furious at his daring to speak so to <i>her</i>, and + had almost returned to her room, but thought better of it and + went with him. She did not, however, speak a word to him the + whole way. The next morning he let her go alone. After that, + he sometimes went with her, and sometimes not: the desire of + his heart was to behold her a free woman. + </p> + <p> + She was quite steady for a while, and her spirits began to + return. The hopes of her son rose high; he almost ceased to + fear. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch039"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIX + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE + </h3> + <p> + It was again midsummer, and just a year since they parted on + the Horn, when Francis appeared at Corbyknowe, and found + Kirsty in the kitchen. She received him as if nothing had + ever come between them, but at once noting he was in trouble, + proposed they should go out together. It was a long way to be + silent, but they had reached the spot, whence they started + for the race recorded in my first chapter, ere either of them + said a word. + </p> + <p> + 'Will ye no sit, Kirsty?' said Francis at length. + </p> + <p> + For answer she dropped on the same stone where she was + sitting when she challenged him to it, and Francis took his + seat on its neighbour. + </p> + <p> + 'I hae had a some sair time o' 't sin' I shawed ye plain hoo + little I was worth yer notice, Kirsty!' he began. + </p> + <p> + 'Ay,' returned Kirsty, 'but ilka hoor o' 't hes shawn what + the rael Francie was!' + </p> + <p> + 'I kenna, Kirsty. A' I can say is—'at I dinna think + nearhan sae muckle o' mysel as I did than.' + </p> + <p> + 'And I think a heap mair o' ye,' answered Kirsty. 'I canna + but think ye upo' the richt ro'd noo, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + 'I houp I am, but I'm aye fin'in' oot something 'at 'ill + never du.' + </p> + <p> + 'And ye'll keep fin'in' oot that sae lang 's there 's + onything left but what 's like himsel.' + </p> + <p> + 'I un'erstan ye, Kirsty. But I cam to ye the day, no to say + onything aboot mysel, but jist 'cause I cudna du wantin yer + help. I wudna hae presumed but that I thoucht, although I + dinna deserve 't, for auld kin'ness ye wud say what ye wud + advise.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll du that, Francie—no for auld kin'ness, but for + kin'ness never auld. What's wrang wi' ye?' + </p> + <p> + 'Kirsty, wuman, she's brocken oot again!' + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna won'er. I hae h'ard o' sic things.' + </p> + <p> + 'It's jist taen the pith oot o' me! What <i>am</i> I to du?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye canna du better nor weel; jist begin again.' + </p> + <p> + 'I had coft her a bonny cairriage, wi' as fine a pair as ever + ye saw, Kirsty, as I daursay yer father has telled ye. And + they warna lost upon her, for she had aye a gleg ee for a + horse. Ye min' yon powny?—And up til yesterday, a' gaed + weel, till I was thinkin I cud trust her onygait. But i' the + efternune, as she was oot for an airin, are o' the horses + cuist a shue, and thinkin naething o' the risk til a human + sowl, but only o' the risk til the puir horse, the fule + fallow stoppit at a smithy nae farrer nor the neist door frae + a public, and tuik the horse intil the smithy, lea'in the + smith's lad at the held o' the ither horse. Sae what suld my + leddy but oot upo' the side <i>frae</i> the smithy, and awa + roon the back o' the cairriage to the public, and in! Whether + she took onything there I dinna ken, but she maun hae broucht + a bottle hame wi her, for this mornin she was fou—fou + as e'er ye saw man in market!' + </p> + <p> + He broke down, and wept like a child. + </p> + <p> + 'And what did ye du?' asked Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'I said naething. I jist gaed to the coachman and gart him + put his horses tu, and tak his denner wi' him, and m'unt the + box, and drive straucht awa til Aberdeen, and lea' the + carriage whaur I boucht it, and du siclike wi' the horses, + and come hame by the co'ch.' + </p> + <p> + As he ended the sad tale, he glanced up at Kirsty, and saw + her regarding him with a look such as he had never seen, + imagined, or dreamed of before. It lasted but a moment; her + eyes dropt, and she went on with the knitting which, as in + the old days, she had brought with her. + </p> + <p> + 'Noo, Kirsty, what am I to du neist?' he said. + </p> + <p> + 'Hae ye naething i' yer ain min'?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + 'Naething.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, we'll awa hame!' she returned, rising. 'Maybe, as we + gang, we'll get licht!' + </p> + <p> + They walked in silence. Now and then Francis would look up in + Kirsty's face, to see if anything was coming, but saw only + that she was sunk in thought: he would not hurry her, and + said not a word. He knew she would speak the moment she had + what she thought worth saying. + </p> + <p> + Kirsty, recalling what her father had repeatedly said of Mrs. + Gordon's management of a horse in her young days, had fallen + awondering how one who so well understood the equine nature, + could be so incapable of understanding the human; for + certainly she had little known either Archibald Gordon or + David Barclay, and quite as little her own son. Having come + to the conclusion that the incapacity was caused by + overpowering affection for the one human creature she ought + not to love, Kirsty found her thoughts return to the sole + faculty her father yielded Mrs. Gordon—that of riding a + horse as he ought to be ridden. Thereupon came to her mind a + conclusion she had lately read somewhere— namely, that + a man ought to regard his neighbour as specially + characterized by the possession of this or that virtue or + capacity, whatever it might be, that distinguished him; for + that was as the door-plate indicating the proper entrance to + his inner house. A moment more and Kirsty thought she saw a + way in which Francis might gain a firmer hold on his mother, + as well as provide her with a pleasure that might work toward + her redemption. + </p> + <p> + Francie,' she said, 'I hae thoucht o' something. My father + has aye said, and ye ken he kens, 'at yer mother was a by + ordinar guid rider in her young days, and this is what I wud + hae ye du: gang straucht awa, whaurever ye think best, and + buy for her the best luikin, best tempered, handiest, and + easiest gaein leddy's-horse ye can lay yer ban's upo'. Ye hae + a gey fair beast o' yer ain, my father says, and ye maun jist + ride wi' her whaurever she gangs.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'll du 't, Kirsty. I canna gang straucht awa, I doobt, + though; I fear she has whusky left, and there's no sayin what + she micht du afore I wan back. I maun gang hame first.' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm no clear upo' that. Ye canna weel gang and rype + (<i>search</i>) a' the kists and aumries i' the hoose she + ca's her ain! That wud anger her terrible. Nor can ye weel + lay ban's upon her, and tak frae her by force. A wuman micht + du that, but a man, and special a wuman's ain ae son, canna + weel du 't—that is, gien there's ony ither coorse 'at + can be followt. It seems to me ye maun tak the risk o' her + bottle. And it may be no ill thing 'at she sud disgrace + hersel oot and oot. Onygait wi' bein awa, and comin back wi' + the horse i' yer ban' ye'll come afore her like bringin wi' + ye a fresh beginnin, a new order o' things like, and that w'y + av'ide words wi' her, and words maun aye be av'idit.' + </p> + <p> + Francis remained in thoughtful silence. + </p> + <p> + 'I hae little fear,' pursued Kirsty, 'but we'll get her frae + the drink a'thegither, and the houp is we may get something + better putten intil her. Bein fou whiles, isna the main + difficulty. But I beg yer pardon, Francie! I maunna forget + 'at she's your mother!' + </p> + <p> + 'Gien ye wud but tak her and me thegither, Kirsty, it wud be + a gran' thing for baith o' 's! Wi' you to tak the half o' 't, + I micht stan' up un'er the weicht o' my responsibility!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm takin my share o' that, onygait, daurin to advise ye, + Francie!—Noo gang, laddie; gang straucht awa and buy + the horse.' + </p> + <p> + 'I maun rin hame first, to put siller i' my pooch! I s' hand + oot o' her gait.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gang til my faither for't. I haena a penny, but he has aye + plenty!' + </p> + <p> + 'I maun hae my horse; there's nae co'ch till the morn's + mornin.' + </p> + <p> + 'Gangna near the place. My father 'ill gie ye the gray + mear—no an ill are ava! She'll tak ye there in four or + five hoors, as <i>ye</i> ride. Only, min' and gie her a + pickle corn ance, and meal and watter twise upo' the ro'd. + Gien ye seena the animal yere sure 'ill please her, gang + further, and comena hame wantin 't.' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch040"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XL + </h2> + <h3> + MRS. GORDON + </h3> + <p> + When Mrs. Gordon came to herself, she thought to behave as if + nothing had happened, and rang the bell to order her + carriage. The maid informed her that the coachman had driven + away with it before lunch, and had not said where he was + going. + </p> + <p> + 'Driven away with it!' cried her mistress, starting to her + feet; 'I gave him no orders!' + </p> + <p> + 'I saw the laird giein him directions, mem,' rejoined the + maid. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon sat down again. She began to remember what her + son had said when first he gave her the carriage. + </p> + <p> + 'Where did he send him?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + 'I dinna ken, mem.' + </p> + <p> + 'Go and ask the laird to step this way.' + </p> + <p> + 'Please, mem, he's no i' the hoose. I ken, for I saw him + gang—hoors ago.' + </p> + <p> + 'Did he go in the carriage?' + </p> + <p> + 'No, mem; he gaed upo' 's ain fit.' + </p> + <p> + 'Perhaps he's come home by this time!' + </p> + <p> + 'I'm sure he's no that, mem.' + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon went to her room, all but finished the bottle of + whisky, and threw herself on her bed. + </p> + <p> + Toward morning she woke with aching head and miserable mind. + Now dozing, now tossing about in wretchedness, she lay till + the afternoon. No one came near her, and she wanted no one. + </p> + <p> + At length, dizzy and despairing, her head in torture, and her + heart sick, she managed to get out of bed, and, unable to + walk, literally crawled to the cupboard in which she had put + away the precious bottle:—joy! there was yet a glass in + it! With the mouth of it to her lips, she was tilting it up + to drain the last drop, when the voice of her son came + cheerily from the drive, on which her window looked down: + </p> + <p> + 'See what I've brought you, mother!' he called. + </p> + <p> + Fear came upon her; she took the bottle from her mouth, put + it again in the cupboard, and crept back to her bed, her + brain like a hive buzzing with devils. + </p> + <p> + When Francis entered the house, he was not surprised to learn + that she had not left her room. He did not try to see her. + </p> + <p> + The next morning she felt a little better, and had some tea. + Still she did not care to get up. She shrank from meeting her + son, and the abler she grew to think, the more unwilling she + was to see him. He came to her room, but she heard him + coming, turned her head the other way, and pretended to be + asleep. Again and again, almost involuntarily, she half rose, + remembering the last of the whisky, but as often lay down + again, loathing the cause of her headache. + </p> + <p> + Stronger and stronger grew her unwillingness to face her son: + she had so thoroughly proved herself unfit to be trusted! She + began to feel towards him as she had sometimes felt toward + her mother when she had been naughty. She began to see that + she could make her peace, with him or with herself, only by + acknowledging her weakness. Aided by her misery, she had + begun to perceive that she could not trust herself, and ought + to submit to be treated as the poor creature she was. She had + resented the idea that she could not keep herself from drink + if she pleased, for she knew she could; but she had not + pleased! How could she ever ask him to trust her again! + </p> + <p> + What further passed in her, I cannot tell. It is an unfailing + surprise when anyone, more especially anyone who has hitherto + seemed without strength of character, turns round and + changes. The only thing Mrs. Gordon then knew as helping her, + was the strong hand of her son upon her, and the + consciousness that, had her husband lived, she could never + have given way as she had. But there was another help which + is never wanting where it can find an entrance; and now first + she began to pray, 'Lead me not into temptation.' + </p> + <p> + There was one excuse which David alone knew to make for + her—that her father was a hard drinker, and his father + before him. + </p> + <p> + Doubtless, during all the period of her excesses, the soul of + the woman in her better moments had been ashamed to know her + the thing she was. It could not, when she was at her worst, + comport with her idea of a lady, poor as that idea was, to + drink whisky till she did not know what she did next. And + when the sleeping woman God made, wakes up to see in what a + house she lives, she will soon grasp at besom and bucket, nor + cease her cleansing while spot is left on wall or ceiling or + floor. + </p> + <p> + How the waking comes, who can tell! God knows what he wants + us to do, and what we can do, and how to help us. What I have + to tell is that, the next morning, Mrs. Gordon came down to + breakfast, and finding her son already seated at the table, + came up behind him, without a word set the bottle with the + last glass of whisky in it before him, went to her place at + the table, gave him one sorrowful look, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + His heart understood, and answered with a throb of joy so + great that he knew it first as pain. + </p> + <p> + Neither spoke until breakfast was almost over. Then Francis + said, + </p> + <p> + 'You've grown so much younger, mother, it is quite time you + took to riding again! I've been buying a horse for you. + Remembering the sort of pony you bought for me, I thought I + should like to try whether I could not please you with a + horse of my buying.' + </p> + <p> + 'Silly boy!' she returned, with a rather pitiful laugh, 'do + you suppose at my age I'm going to make a fool of myself on + horseback? You forget I'm an old woman!' + </p> + <p> + 'Not a bit of it, mother! If ever you rode as David Barclay + says you did, I don't see why you shouldn't ride still. He's + a splendid creature! David told me you liked a big fellow. + Just put on your habit, mammy, and we'll take a gallop + across, and astonish the old man a bit.' + </p> + <p> + 'My dear boy, I have no nerve! I'm not the woman I was! It's + my own fault, I know, and I'm both sorry and ashamed.' + </p> + <p> + 'We are both going to try to be good, mother dear!' faltered + Francis. + </p> + <p> + The poor woman pressed her handkerchief with both hands to + her face, and wept for a few moments in silence, then rose + and left the room. In an hour she was ready, and out looking + for Francis. Her habit was a little too tight for her, but + wearable enough. The horses were sent for, and they mounted. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch041"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLI + </h2> + <h3> + TWO HORSEWOMEN + </h3> + <p> + There was at Corbyknowe a young, well-bred horse which David + had himself reared: Kirsty had been teaching him to carry a + lady. For her hostess in Edinburgh, discovering that she was + fond of riding and that she had no saddle, had made her a + present of her own: she had not used it for many years, but + it was in very good condition, and none the worse for being a + little old-fashioned. That same morning Kirsty had put on a + blue riding-habit, which also lady Macintosh had given her, + and was out on the highest slope of the farm, hoping to catch + a sight of the two on horseback together, and so learn that + her scheme was a success. She had been on the outlook for + about an hour, when she saw them coming along between the + castle and Corbyknowe, and went straight for a certain point + in the road so as to reach it simultaneously with them. For + she had just spied a chance of giving Gordon the opportunity + which her father had told her he was longing for, of saying + something about her to his mother. + </p> + <p> + 'Who can that be?' said Mrs. Gordon as they trotted gently + along, when she spied the lady on horseback. 'She rides well! + But she seems to be alone! Is there really nobody with her?' + </p> + <p> + As she spoke, the young horse came over a + <i>dry-stane-dyke</i> in fine style. + </p> + <p> + 'Why, she's an accomplished horsewoman!' exclaimed Mrs. + Gordon. 'She must be a stranger! There's not a lady within + thirty miles of Weelset can ride like that!' + </p> + <p> + 'No such stranger as you think, mother!' rejoined Francis. + 'That's Kirsty Barclay of Corbyknowe.' + </p> + <p> + 'Never, Francis! The girl rides like a lady!' + </p> + <p> + Francis smiled, perhaps a little triumphantly. Something like + what lay in the smile the mother read in it, for it roused at + once both her jealousy and her pride. <i>Her</i> son to fall + in love with a girl that was not even a lady! A Gordon of + Weelset to marry a tenant's daughter! Impossible! + </p> + <p> + Kirsty was now in the road before them, riding slowly in the + same direction. It was the progress, however, not the horse + that was slow: his frolics, especially when the other horses + drew near, kept his rider sufficiently occupied. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon quickened her pace, and passed without turning + her head or looking at her, but so close, and with so sudden + a rush that Kirsty's horse half wheeled, and bounded over the + dyke by the roadside. Her rudeness annoyed her son, and he + jumped his horse into the field and joined Kirsty, letting + his mother ride on, and contenting himself with keeping her + in sight. After a few moments' talk, however, he proposed + that they should overtake her, and cutting off a great loop + of the road, they passed her at speed, and turned and met + her. She had by this time got a little over her temper, and + was prepared to behave with propriety, which meant—the + dignity becoming her. + </p> + <p> + 'What a lovely horse you have, Miss Barclay!' she said, + without other greeting. 'How much do you want for him?' + </p> + <p> + 'He is but half-broken,' answered Kirsty, 'or I would offer + to change with you. I almost wonder you look at him from the + back of your own!' + </p> + <p> + 'He is a beauty—is he not? This is my first trial of + him. The laird gave me him only this morning. He is as quiet + as a lamb.' + </p> + <p> + 'There, Donal,' said Kirsty to her horse, 'tak example by yer + betters! Jist luik hoo he stan's!—The laird has a true + eye for a horse, ma'am,' she went on, 'but he always says you + gave it him.' + </p> + <p> + 'Always! hm!' said Mrs. Gordon to herself, but she looked + kindly at her son. + </p> + <p> + 'How did you learn to ride so well, Kirsty?' she asked. + </p> + <p> + 'I suppose I got it from my father, ma'am! I began with the + cows.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ah, how is old David?' returned Mrs. Gordon. 'I have seen + him once or twice about the castle of late, but have not + spoken to him.' + </p> + <p> + 'He is very well, thank you.—Will you not come up to + the Knowe and rest a moment? My mother will be very glad to + see you.' + </p> + <p> + 'Not to-day, Kirsty. I haven't been on horseback for years, + and am already tired. We shall turn here. Good-morning!' + </p> + <p> + 'Good-morning, ma'am! Good-bye, Mr. Gordon!' said Kirsty + cheerfully, as she wheeled her horse to set him straight at a + steep grassy brae. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch042"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLII + </h2> + <h3> + THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER + </h3> + <p> + The laird and his mother sat and looked at Kirsty as her + horse tore up the brae. + </p> + <p> + 'She can ride—can't she, mother?' said Francis. + </p> + <p> + 'Well enough for a hoiden,' answered Mrs. Gordon. + </p> + <p> + 'She rides to please her horse now, but she'll have him as + quiet as yours before long,' rejoined her son, both a little + angry and a little amused at her being called a hoiden who + was to him like an angel grown young with aeonian life. + </p> + <p> + 'Yes,' resumed his mother, as if she <i>would</i> be fair, + 'she does ride well! If only she were a lady, that I might + ask her to ride with me! After all it's none of my business + what she is—so long as <i>you</i> don't want to marry + her!' She concluded, with an attempt at a laugh. + </p> + <p> + 'But I do want to marry her, mother!' rejoined Francis. + </p> + <p> + A short year before, his mother would have said what was in + her heart, and it would not have been pleasant to hear; but + now she was afraid of her son, and was silent. But it added + to her torture that she must be silent. To be dethroned in + castle Weelset by the daughter of one of her own tenants, for + as such she thought of them, was indeed galling. 'The + impudent quean!' she said to herself, 'she's ridden on her + horse into the heart of the laird!' But for the wholesome + consciousness of her own shame, which she felt that her son + was always sparing, she would have raged like a fury. + </p> + <p> + 'You that might have had any lady in the land!' she said at + length. + </p> + <p> + 'If I might, mother, it would be just as vain to look for her + equal.' + </p> + <p> + 'You might at least have shown your mother the respect of + choosing a lady to sit in her place! You drive me from the + house!' + </p> + <p> + 'Mother,' said Francis, 'I have twice asked Kirsty Barclay to + be my wife, and she has twice refused me.' + </p> + <p> + 'You may try her again: she had her reasons! She never meant + to let you slip! If you got disgusted with her afterwards, + she would always have her refusal of you to throw in your + teeth.' + </p> + <p> + Francis laid his hand on his mother's, and stopped her horse. + </p> + <p> + 'Mother, you compel me!' he said. 'When I came home ill, and, + as I thought, dying, you called me bad names, and drove me + from the house. Kirsty found me in a hole in the earth, + actually dying then, and saved my life.' + </p> + <p> + 'Good heavens, Francis! Are you mad still? How dare you tell + such horrible falsehoods of your own mother? You never came + near me! You went straight to Corbyknowe!' + </p> + <p> + 'Ask Mrs. Bremner if I speak the truth. She ran out after me, + but could not get up with me. You drove me out; and if you do + not know it now, you do not need to be told how it is that + you have forgotten it.' + </p> + <p> + She knew what he meant, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + 'Then Kirsty went to Edinburgh, to sir Haco Macintosh, and + with his assistance brought me to my right mind. If it were + not for Kirsty, I should be in my grave, or wandering the + earth a maniac. Even alive and well as I am, I should not be + with you now had she not shown me my duty' + </p> + <p> + 'I thought as much! All this tyranny of yours, all your late + insolence to your mother, comes from the power of that + low-born woman over you! I declare to you, Francis Gordon, if + you marry her, I will leave the house.' + </p> + <p> + He made her no answer, and they rode the rest of the way in + silence. But in that silence things grew clearer to him. Why + should he take pains to persuade his mother to a consent + which she had no right to withhold? His desire was altogether + reasonable: why should its fulfilment depend on the unreason + of one who had not strength to order her own behaviour? He + had to save her, not to please her, gladly as he would have + done both! + </p> + <p> + When he had helped her from the saddle, he would have + remounted and ridden at once to Corbyknowe, but feared + leaving her. She shut herself in her room till she could bear + her own company no longer, and then went to the drawing-room, + where Francis read to her, and played several games of + backgammon with her. Soon after dinner she retired, saying + her ride had wearied her; and the moment Francis knew she was + in bed, he got his horse, and galloped to the Knowe. + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch043"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIII + </h2> + <h3> + THE CORONATION + </h3> + <p> + When he arrived, there was no light in the house: all had + gone to rest. Unwilling to disturb the father and mother, he + rode quietly to the back of the house, where Kirsty's room + looked on the garden. He called her softly. In a moment she + peeped out, then opened her window. + </p> + <p> + 'Cud ye come doon a minute, Kirsty?' said Francis. + </p> + <p> + 'I'll be wi' ye in less time,' she replied; and he had hardly + more than dismounted, when she was by his side. + </p> + <p> + He told her what had passed between him and his mother since + she left them. + </p> + <p> + 'It's a rael bonny nicht!' said Kirsty, 'and we'll jist tak + oor time to turn the thing ower—that is, gien ye bena + tired, Francie. Come, we'll put the beastie up first.' + </p> + <p> + She led the horse into the dark stable, took his bridle off, + put a halter on him, slackened his girths, and gave him a + feed of corn—all in the dark; which things done, she + and her lover set out for the Horn. + </p> + <p> + The whole night seemed thinking of the day that was gone. All + doing seemed at an end, yea God himself to be resting and + thinking. The peace of it sank into their bosoms, and filled + them so, that they walked a long way without speaking. There + was no wind, and no light but the starlight. The air was like + the clear dark inside some diamonds. The only sound that + broke the stillness as they went was the voice of Kirsty, + sweet and low—and it was as if the dim starry vault + thought, rather than she uttered, the words she + quoted:— + </p> + <pre> + 'Summer Night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, + A still wave has flowed + Of Eternity!' +</pre> + <p> + At a certain spot on the ridge of the Horn, Francis stopped. + </p> + <p> + 'This is whaur ye left me this time last year, Kirsty,' he + said;'—left me wi' my Maker to mak a man o' me. It was + 'maist makin me ower again!' + </p> + <p> + There was a low stone just visible among the heather; Kirsty + seated herself upon it. Francis threw himself among the + heather, and lay looking up in her face. + </p> + <p> + 'That mother o' yours is 'maist ower muckle for ye, Francie!' + said Kirsty. + </p> + <p> + 'It's no aften, Kirsty, ye tell me what I ken as weel 's + yersel!' returned Francis. + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, Francie, ye maun tell <i>me</i> something the + night!—Gien it wudna mismuve ye, I wad fain ken hoo ye + wan throu that day we pairtit here.' + </p> + <p> + Without a moment's hesitation, Francis began the + tale—giving her to know, however, that in what took + place there was much he did not understand so as to tell it + again. + </p> + <p> + When he made an end, Kirsty rose and said, + </p> + <p> + 'Wad ye please to sit upo' that stane, Francie!' + </p> + <p> + In pure obedience he rose from the heather, and sat upon the + stone. + </p> + <p> + She went behind him, and clasped his head, round the temples, + with her shapely, strong, faithful hands. + </p> + <p> + 'I ken ye noo for a man, Francis. Ye hae set yersel to du + <i>his</i> wull, and no yer ain: ye're a king; and for want + o' a better croon, I croon ye wi my twa ban's.' + </p> + <p> + Little thought Kirsty how near she came, in word and deed, to + the crowning of Dante by Virgil, as recorded toward the close + of the Purgatorio. + </p> + <p> + Then she came round in front of him, he sitting bewildered + and taking no part in the solemn ceremony save that of + submission, and knelt slowly down before him, laying her head + on his knees, and saying,— + </p> + <p> + 'And here's yer kingdom, Francis—my heid and my hert! + Du wi' me what ye wull.' + </p> + <p> + 'Come hame wi' me, and help save my mother,' he answered, in + a voice choked with emotion. + </p> + <p> + 'I wull,' she said, and would have risen; but he laid his + hands on her head, and thus they remained for a time in + silence. Then they rose, and went. + </p> + <p> + They had gone about half-way to the farm before either spoke. + Then Kirsty said,— + </p> + <p> + 'Francie, there's ae thing I maun beg o' ye, and but + ane—'at ye winna desire me to tak the heid o' yer + table. I canna but think it an ungracious thing 'at a young + wuman like me, the son's wife, suld put the man's ain mother, + his father's wife, oot o' the place whaur his father set her. + I'm layin doon no prenciple; I'm sayin only hoo it affecs me. + I want to come hame as her dochter, no as mistress o' the + hoose in her stead. And ye see, Francie, that'll gie ye + anither haud o' her, agen disgracin o' hersel! Promise me, + Francie, and I'll sune tak the maist pairt o' the trouble o' + her aff o' yer han's.' + </p> + <p> + 'Ye're aye richt, Kirsty!' answered Francis. 'As ye wull.' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch044"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLIV + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY'S TOCHER + </h3> + <p> + The next morning, Kirsty told her parents that she was going + to marry Francie. + </p> + <p> + 'Ye du richt, my bairn,' said her father. 'He's come in sicht + o' 's high callin, and it's no possible for ye langer to + refuse him.' + </p> + <p> + 'But, eh! what am I to du wantin ye, Kirsty?' moaned her + mother. 'Ye min', mother,' answered Kirsty, 'hoo I wad be oot + the lang day wi' Steenie, and ye never thoucht ye hadna me!' + </p> + <p> + 'Na, never. I aye kenned I had the twa o' ye.' + </p> + <p> + 'Weel, it's no a God's-innocent but a deil's-gowk I'll hae to + luik efter noo, and I maun come hame ilka possible chance to + get hertenin frae you and my father, or I winna be able to + bide it. Eh, mother, efter Steenie, it'll be awfu' to spen' + the day wi' <i>her</i>! It's no 'at ever she'll be fou: I s' + see to that!—it's 'at she'll aye be toom!— aye + ringin wi' toomness!' + </p> + <p> + Here Kirsty turned to her father, and said,— + </p> + <p> + 'Wull ye gie me a tocher, father?' + </p> + <p> + 'Ay wull I, lassie,—what ye like, sae far as I hae 't + to gie.' + </p> + <p> + 'I want Donal—that's a'. Ye see I maun ride a heap wi' + the puir thing, and I wud fain hae something aneth me 'at ye + gae me! The cratur'll aye hing to the Knowe, and whan I gie + his wull he'll fess me hame o' himsel.—I wud hae likit + things to bide as they are, but she wud hae worn puir Francie + to the verra deid!' + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p><a name="ch045"><!--Marker--></a> + <h2> + CHAPTER XLV + </h2> + <h3> + KIRSTY'S SONG + </h3> + <p> + Mrs. Gordon manages the house and her reward is to sit at the + head of the table. But she pays Kirsty infinitely more for + the privilege than any but Kirsty can know, in the form of + leisure for things she likes far better than + housekeeping—among the rest, for the discovery of such + songs as this, the last of hers I have seen:— + </p> + <pre> + LOVE IS HOME. + + Love is the part, and love is the whole; + Love is the robe, and love is the pall; + Ruler of heart and brain and soul, + Love is the lord and the slave of all! + I thank thee, Love, that thou lovest me; + I thank thee more that I love thee. + + Love is the rain, and love is the air; + Love is the earth that holdeth fast; + Love is the root that is buried there, + Love is the open flower at last! + I thank thee, Love all round about, + That the eyes of my love are looking out. + + Love is the sun, and love is the sea; + Love is the tide that comes and goes; + Flowing and flowing it comes to me; + Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows! + Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide! + My sea, and my shore, and all beside! + + Light, oh light that art by showing; + Wind, oh wind that liv'st by motion; + Thought, oh thought that art by knowing; + Will, that art born in self-devotion! + Love is you, though not all of you know it; + Ye are not love, yet ye always show it! + + Faithful creator, heart-longed-for father, + Home of our heart-infolded brother, + Home to thee all thy glories gather— + All are thy love, and there is no other! + O Love-at-rest; we loves that roam— + Home unto thee, we are coming home! +</pre> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + <p> + + </p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Heather and Snow, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HEATHER AND SNOW *** + +This file should be named hthsn10h.htm or hthsn10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, hthsn11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hthsn10ah.htm + +Produced by J. 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