Inchbracken Part 14

'What are you havering about, now, gude-wife?--man of Belial?--speak plain English or honest Scotch!'

'It's true! James Sangster, Roderick Brown is a man of sin!'

'We're all sinners, my dear. If you'd only mind that always, and that it includes yourself, you'd speak more charitably of your neighbours.

I wish I was as sure of myself, or you either, as I am of young Brown.

He's a true christian--the very salt of the earth!'

'The salt has lost its savour, then, for he's a bad man!'

'Oh fie, Mrs. Sangster! And it's not a month yet since you were talking of marrying him to our Sophia! and I really felt like agreeing with you for once. He'd make a better man for her than that whiskered gomeral down stairs--for all his siller. I'm thinking its the Englishman's bawbees, mistress, have changed your tune.'

'I am _not_ mercenary!' retorted Mrs. Sangster, stiffening herself in her dignity and her best English; 'and you well know it! Though but for my christian prudence, your standing in the world, and your balance at the bank, which is more within your narrow comprehension, would not be what they are!'

'Hoity toity, woman! no offence! Well! you've woke me up, at any rate now, (the pertinacity of these weaker vessels!) so say your say and have done!' and thereupon he sat up in bed, adjusting the white nightcap with its tufted summit over his red sun-burnt face. The clouds of sleep had entirely dispersed themselves, and with them every shadow of ill-humour; but there was a twinkle at the corner of his eye at the absurdity of his wife's vehemence, which she found harder to bear up against. 'Tell away, my dear, I'm listening.'

His wife cleared her voice and opened her lips, but nothing came.

'A mountain in labour and out comes a mouse! "_ridiculus mus_" we used to say at the Grammar School of Forfar.'

'There's nothing ridiculous about it!' retorted the lady, s.n.a.t.c.hing at an excuse to become indignant again, and so bear up under the tranquil cynicism in her husband's face. 'But you men are always for casting ridicule on serious things. You think it shows your superiority, I suppose.'

'Never mind, my dear, go on with your story.'

'Well, as I said already, he's a bad man. He has brought the innocent confiding daughter of that poor lone, widow Tirpie to harm, and now he is not only concealing his sin, but, as one may say, glorying in it, and trading on it to get a reputation for beneficence before the whole parish. He brings it home as a poor foundling rescued from the sea, persuades his sister to adopt it, and actually has the effrontery and the profanity to hold it up for baptism, and take on himself the vows before the whole congregation.'

'Did old Tibbie Tirpie tell you all that? Is she publis.h.i.+ng the disgrace of her own child?'

'It wasn't she who told me, but I have no doubt when you call her and the girl up before you in the Kirk Session, they will confess the whole.'

'And if Tibbie is not your informant, pray is it the daughter? And what corroborating evidence can she show? I wonder you would lend so ready an ear to the a.s.sertions of a designing quean, whose conduct, by her own confession, has shaken her claim to credit.'

'Oh you men! you are all hard alike, and scornful, when a weak woman is the sufferer--is that your manliness? But it was not the girl who confessed to me. I venture to think that not the most impudent would come to _me_ with such a tale. I trust my character as a virtuous matron stands high enough to save me from contamination such as that.'

'No doubt, my dear--I should not like to be in her shoes, at any rate, if she did venture so far--your virtue would be too much for her--and would not spare her.'

'I hope not, Mr. Sangster! Though you say it as though it were a disparagement. The evidence is all circ.u.mstantial, as it must necessarily be, in a case of secret sin and hypocrisy; but it fits so well together, and is so conclusive, I have no doubt whatever in the matter. Less has hung a man before now; but then that was in cases of sheep stealing--a very different affair. Sheep are property, and you men are keen enough where that is concerned. This is a case of souls, and till women and ministers get a voice in your law-making, there's little justice to be looked for.'

'The Lord grant I may be removed before that day arrives. The women and the ministers ride us roughly enough at home, but when it comes to making our laws, and governing us publicly I hope I shall be away--But, to return to our mutton--not the sheep-stealing, but the matter in hand--what is your circ.u.mstantial evidence? And where did you hear it?'

'The most startling circ.u.mstances, as far as I can recollect them at present, are, that it was on that dark night of the storm, that the girl returned home after a long and unexplained absence. That same night, as I am informed, in the dark and storm, when n.o.body could see him, he stole away, and the next morning brought in the child. Observe the coincidence. Then there was the conduct of the girl at the child's baptism. It was quite startling as described to me. So like the workings of an awakened conscience! And the unwillingness she showed to look at the destroyer of her peace. She actually rose and left the meeting before he stood up to offer the child for baptism. As I was not an eye-witness of that, however, I cannot express it so strongly to you as it was impressed on me. Then he has been seen coming out of the Tirpie cottage, after dark. Oh! repeatedly! And he has been giving them large sums of money. The old woman has carried pounds of it into the village, and it is known that no people about here pa.s.s notes of the Peterhead bank except the Browns. Now! what do you say to all that, James Sangster?'

'Nothing, my dear, at present. Who told you it all?'

'It came to me in quite a providential way, seeing that I felt rather under an obligation to Roderick Brown just then, and therefore softened to him in the matter of his courts.h.i.+p to our Sophia. We got lost in the mist this forenoon on Craig Findochart, and we all got scattered. If it had not been for Roderick Brown, I believe I might have been there yet. But we got down at last, and came right upon a shepherd's s.h.i.+eling, where I waited and got dried, till a vehicle could be sent for me from the inn. The shepherd's wife,--Boague is her name, and I owe her some flannel for her hospitality,--seems a very worthy woman, and an earnest adherent of the church, and it was she told me it all. Told it in a very proper spirit. I believe she is a worthy woman, and seemed to deplore most properly the sad falling away of one of our office-bearers. But do you not agree with me, such a man should be made an example of?'

'Made an example of? Whom would I make an example of? I would make an example of the idle tattling woman who makes free with the names and reputations of her betters! If I lived in the good old times when my father was Provost of Forfar, and if I filled his shoes, I would have her tawed through the town at the cart's tail, and so teach her to weigh her words. And as for you, Kirsty! I am surprised that a good woman should lend so ready an ear to foolish slander, without a shred of proof to support it. You have known the Browns all their lives, and yet you will let the idle blathers of an ignorant cottar wife set you against them! I thought you had set your mind on getting the girl for Peter. How will circulating slanders against the brother help you there?'

'The girl, Mr. Sangster, has other views, it would appear. She left Peter in the mist and rode away with Captain Drysdale to Inchbracken.

Brother and sister seem both tarred with the same stick. But she shall never have it to say that she jilted my Peter! When her brother is disgraced that 'will be reason enough why Peter should not press his suit with the young lady.'

'Don't let your tongue run away with you, my dear. I see no prospect, and I hope there _is_ none, of your ever disgracing Roderick Brown, and I warn you never to repeat to any one the trumpery story you have woke me up to listen to; your husband will have heavy damages to pay, if you so far forget yourself.'

'But it is a spiritual matter, and will go before the Church Courts.'

'Even if it did, my dear, a civil action would lie, so you had better take care. The damages would be perhaps a thousand pounds, besides expenses.'

'But what did we leave the Establishment for, if we are still to be answerable to the Court of Session.'

'If we left it for that purpose, my dear, it was a false move, for we are still the Queen's'subjects, and liable to be sued in all her courts. If you circulate a slander to a man's civil injury, you must pay for it, and your circulating it through the Courts of the Free Church will not save you from the consequences, and very properly, too! So take my advice for once, and say no more about it. Now, get to bed.'

Mrs. Sangster had much too high an opinion of her own perspicacity to be moved an inch from her belief in the minister's wrong-doing, by anything her spouse could say; in fact, as a superior woman, she felt bound to believe it all the more on that account. At the same time his plain common sense impressed her uncomfortably, and though she would have scouted to own its influence, she yet had no wish to meet it in collision. She therefore forbore to say anything on the subject next day, though it was much in her thoughts; just as the owner of some delicate fancy article will be careful how he brings it within the brutal swing of a sledge hammer, though he does not therefore part with his property.

Sophia had a bad cold, and Peter was laid up with toothache, swelled face, rheumatism, and most of the other aches and pains possible to frail humanity after being drenched to the skin. Mr. Sangster had gone off to attend a fair, and only the hostess was left to amuse the guest. Mr. Wallowby had sauntered round the garden, the stable, and the cattlepens, consuming much tobacco as he went, and now he was returned indoors. Mrs. Sangster had provided him with newspapers, magazines and such light reading as she could lay her hands on; he had looked at them and laid them down; and now the two were confronting each other in the drawing-room making themselves miserable in abortive conversation. Neither was more stupid or worse informed than people in general; on the contrary, both were sharp enough; but by no device could they contrive to make their ideas run in parallel trains.

Whatever was said by the one was answered by the other at cross purposes, till both felt themselves sinking into helpless fatuity.

Wallowby held up his book that he might yawn behind it, the lady went to the window, that she might take the same relaxation undisturbed.

The sight of a carriage approaching was a welcome apparition, mingled too with a little surprise as she descried the Inchbracken liveries, and bethought her that there was no election in prospect; for it was seldom, save for reasons of state and the good of the nation, that Lady Caroline vouchsafed the light of her countenance on the dwellers at Auchlippie.

Mrs. Sangster was immensely gratified by the kind interest in her welfare which had prompted Miss Finlayson's visit, and was pathetic in her regrets for the severe headache which had deprived her of the sight of her ladys.h.i.+p in person that forenoon.

Miss Finlayson then turned to Mr. Wallowby, enquired the length of his stay in the neighbourhood, and expressed Lady Caroline's regret that she had not seen him at dinner the day he shot with Captain John, and mentioned the many interesting things they had been disappointed of showing him.

Mr. Wallowby was a radical, and therefore enjoyed the idea of having excited interest in a t.i.tled lady--all democrats like distinguished company. The American variety live, when possible, exclusively among Colonels and Judges; but in England where these are few, a lord or a lady is a being whom it is happiness to have spoken to. He expressed his wish to call before leaving the neighbourhood, and she, by enumerating the real or imaginary engagements of her ladys.h.i.+p for all the days but one, secured that if the visit were made it should be on a day when the gentlemen would be absent. She dared not inflict a distasteful guest upon them, but she knew she could coax Lady Caroline into complaisance for one afternoon. She also produced a few of her best smiles and pretty speeches, and offered them tentatively to the gentleman, who rose to them freely; and, to change the metaphor, was indeed in very high feather.

When the visit came to an end, he manifested considerably more _empress.e.m.e.nt_ in seeing the lady to her carriage than Mrs. Sangster thought was at all called for, and she went up stairs at once to her daughter's room to see if she could not be brought down, and make a little way with him in his present lively mood, or show at least how much handsomer she was than the agreeable young person who had just driven away. Alas! poor Sophia's cold in the head was too severe, her face was swollen and flushed, her eyes were watery, and several letters of the alphabet were beyond her power of speech. The mother sighed, but had the wisdom to admit she was best in her own room.

Wallowby went up to see Peter, who was trying to deaden his pains with tobacco, to tell what a remarkably fine girl had just left the house.

Peter would not admit the fineness, but he mentioned what told more strongly in her favour-her relations.h.i.+p to the n.o.ble family of Pitthevlis.

'Really aristocratic!' said Wallowby. 'I knew it, the moment I saw her. A most elegant person, and she seems to know a well-looking Englishman when she sees one. Most remarkable, Peter, how well we got on together!--seemed to understand each other from the very first. You know I am rather a stiff and reserved fellow in general, with perhaps just a shade of hauteur. But somehow, we just dropped into each other's way at once. Most remarkable!' Somehow he forgot to say anything about the intended visit to Inchbracken. In fact he meant to make that alone, and he trusted to Peter's rheumatism lasting long enough to prevent his wis.h.i.+ng to accompany him.

CHAPTER XVII.

_RODERICK_.

When Mary reached home she found her brother already in bed, where he lay tossing uneasily in search of the rest and slumber which he could not attain.

His cheeks were flushed with incipient fever, and the tangled hair hung about his face in matted locks. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in inaudible mutterings, as he turned restlessly from one side to the other. He complained of an acute pain in his side which caught his breath, and a dull aching that smouldered like fire in his bones and joints, which he fancied he could count by their separate twingings.

The sight of his sister seemed to do him good, and when he felt the coolness of her hand on his brow, he closed his eyes and fell into a kind of slumber; but the sleep was not of very long duration, and it was restless and disturbed. The nightmares of the night before fell on him again; groaning and muttering he tossed to and fro, and presently awoke.

The surgeon arrived in due course, and shook his head gravely, while he enjoined the greatest care, as pleurisy or rheumatic fever, or both, appeared to be impending. Roderick lay and muttered, righting with the dismal visions that floated like mists about his brain, and struggling to keep hold of the reality.

In that, however, he found little solace, it seemed more dismal than aught a fevered fancy could conjure up to distress him. Visions of Cain driven forth from home and kindred, to wander over the face of the earth an outcast and a stranger; Abram sent forth to find him a new home in a strange and unknown country, turning his back on all that he had ever known or loved; Job with his children all slain in a single hour; those who had cast away a right hand or plucked out a right eye for the sake of the kingdom of righteousness; all the forlorn and desolate and bereaved he had ever heard or dreamed of, pa.s.sed in melancholy procession before him, and hailed him as their fellow. He looked upon the stricken train, and questioning each as to the nature of his sorrow; it seemed to him that in their misery, they all had justice or hope or consolation. But his? It stood alone among them all, unmerited, unreasonable, without purpose and without pity.

There was nothing he had held too dear to part with, nothing he had kept back, when he laid down all to follow his Church into the wilderness. Then why had this new grief come upon him? and what good end was to be served by enacting anew in his case the parable of the prophet Nathan, and robbing him of the one ewe lamb he cherished in his bosom? Since his boyhood, the whole pure love of his heart had been given to Sophia. Her image had filled a shrine in his inmost thoughts, and he had clothed it in all he knew of pure and holy, and held it for a symbol of unseen good. He had waited till in all reasonableness and truth he could win her for his wife, and she and her parents, in some unspoken measure at least, had consented to his resolve.