{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_23736/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_23736","id":"gutenberg_23736","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23736","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Romance","Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEW OF THEIR YOUTH\n\nBy\nS. R. CROCKETT\n\nAuthor Of\n'The Lilac Sunbonnet,' 'The Black Douglas,' 'Strong Mac,'\n'Rose Of The Wilderness,' etc.\n\nHODDER AND STOUGHTON\nLONDON--MCMX\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nRichard Clay & Sons, Limited,\nBread Street Hill, E.C., and\nBungay, Suffolk.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n                          CONTENTS\n\n                           PART I\n\n                          CHAPTER I\n                                                         PAGE\nThe Haunted House of Marnhoul                                1\n\n                          CHAPTER II\n'In the Name of the Law!'                                   10\n\n                         CHAPTER III\nMiss Irma gives an Audience                                 18\n\n                          CHAPTER IV\nFirst Foot in the Haunted House                             22\n\n                          CHAPTER V\nThe Censor of Morals                                        33\n\n                          CHAPTER VI\nThe Apotheosis of Agnes Anne                                42\n\n                         CHAPTER VII\nThe Doctor's Advent                                         51\n\n                         CHAPTER VIII\nKate of the Shore                                           62\n\n                          CHAPTER IX\nThe Eve of St. John                                         73\n\n                          CHAPTER X\nThe Crowbar in the Wood                                     82\n\n                          CHAPTER XI\nAgnes Anne's Experiences as a Spy                           87\n\n                         CHAPTER XII\nThe Fight in the Dark                                       96\n\n                         CHAPTER XIII\nA World of Ink and Fire                                    101\n\n                         CHAPTER XIV\nThe White Free Traders                                     109\n\n                           PART II\n\n                          CHAPTER XV\nMy Grandmother speaks her Mind                             118\n\n                         CHAPTER XVI\nCastle Connoway                                            127\n\n                         CHAPTER XVII\nThe Man 'Doon-the-hoose'                                   133\n\n                        CHAPTER XVIII\nThe Transfiguration of Aunt Jen                            138\n\n                         CHAPTER XIX\nLoaded-pistol Pollixfen                                    146\n\n                          CHAPTER XX\nThe Real Mr. Poole                                         155\n\n                         CHAPTER XXI\nWhile we sat by the Fire                                   162\n\n                           PART III\n\n                         CHAPTER XXII\nBoyd Connoway's Evidence                                   170\n\n                        CHAPTER XXIII\nThe Sharp Spur                                             184\n\n                         CHAPTER XXIV\nThe College of King James                                  193\n\n                         CHAPTER XXV\nSatan Finds                                                201\n\n                         CHAPTER XXVI\nPerfidy, thy Name is Woman!                                209\n\n                        CHAPTER XXVII\nThen, Heigh-ho, the Molly!'                                218\n\n                        CHAPTER XXVIII\nLove and the Logician                                      227\n\n                         CHAPTER XXIX\nThe Avalanche.                                             233\n\n                         CHAPTER XXX\nThe Vanishing Lady                                         244\n\n                         CHAPTER XXXI\nwice Married                                              254\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXII\nThe Little House on the Meadows                            262\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXIII\nAnd the Door was Shut                                      268\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXIV\nA Visit from Boyd Connoway                                 274\n\n                         CHAPTER XXXV\nThe Valley of the Shadow                                   280\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXVI\nThe Supplanter                                             288\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXVII\nThe Return of the Serpent to Eden Valley                   297\n\n                       CHAPTER XXXVIII\nBy Water and the Word                                      305\n\n                        CHAPTER XXXIX\nThe Wicked Flag                                            313\n\n                          CHAPTER XL\nThe Great 'Tabernacle' Revival                             322\n\n                         CHAPTER XLI\nIn the Wood Parlour                                        330\n\n                         CHAPTER XLII\nThe Place of Dreams                                        338\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n\n\n\nPART I\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHE HAUNTED HOUSE OF MARNHOUL\n\n\nI, Duncan MacAlpine, school-master's son and uncovenanted assistant to\nmy father, stood watching the dust which the Highflyer coach had left\nbetween me and Sandy Webb, the little guard thereof, as he whirled\nonward into the eye of the west. It was the hour before afternoon\nschool, and already I could hear my father's voice within declaiming as\nto unnecessary datives and the lack of all feeling for style in the\nLatin prose of the seniors.\n\nA score of the fifth class, next in age and rank, were playing at\nrounders in an angle of the court, and I was supposed to be watching\nthem. In reality I was more interested in a group of tall girls who were\npatrolling up and down under the shade of the trees at the head of their\nplayground--where no boy but I dare enter, and even I only officially.\nFor in kindly Scots fashion, the Eden Valley Academy was not only open\nto all comers of both sexes and ages, but was set in the midst of a wood\nof tall pines, in which we seniors were permitted to walk at our guise\nand pleasure during the \"intervals.\"\n\nHere the ground was thick and elastic with dry pine needles, two or\nthree feet of them firmly compacted, and smelling delightfully of resin\nafter a shower. Indeed, at that moment I was interested enough to let\nthe boys run a little wild at their game, because, you see, I had found\nout within the last six months that girls were not made only to be\ncalled names and to put out one's tongue at.\n\nThere was, in especial, one--a dark, slim girl, very lissom of body and\nthe best runner in the school. She wore a grey-green dress of rough\nstuff hardly ankle-long, and once when the bell-rope broke and I had\nsprained my ankle she mounted instead of me, running along the rigging\nof the roofs to ring the bell as active as a lamplighter. I liked her\nfor this, also because she was pretty, or at least the short grey-green\ndress made her look it. Her name was Gertrude Gower, but Gerty\nGreensleeves was what she was most frequently called, except, of course,\nwhen I called the roll before morning and afternoon.\n\nI had had a talk with Sandy Webb, the guard, as he paused to take in the\nmails. My father was also village postmaster, but, though there was a\ngirl in the office to sell stamps and revenue licences, and my mother\nbehind to say \"that she did not know\" in reply to any question\nwhatsoever, I was much more postmaster than my father, though I suppose\nhe really had the responsibility.\n\nSandy Webb always brought a deal of news to Eden Valley. And as I had\nofficial and private dealings with him--the public relating to way-bills\nand bag-receipts, and the private to a noggin of homebrewed out of the\nbarrel in the corner of our cellar--he always gave me the earliest news,\nbefore he hurried away--as it were, the firstlings of the flock.\n\n\"There's a stir at Cairn Edward,\" he said casually, as he set down his\nwooden cup. \"John Aitken, the mason, has fallen off a scaffolding and\nbroken----\"\n\n\"Not his leg?\" I interrupted anxiously, for John was a third cousin of\nmy mother's.\n\n\"No, more miraculous than that!\" the guard averred serenely.\n\n\"His back?\" I gasped--for John Aitken, as well as a relation, was a\nfellow-elder of my father's, and the two often met upon sacramental\noccasions.\n\n\"No,\" said Sandy, enjoying his grave little surprise, \"only the trams of\nhis mortar-barrow! And there's that noisy tinkler body, Tim Cleary, the\nShire Irishman, in the lock-up for wanting to fight the Provost of\nDumfries, and he'll get eight days for certain. But the Provost is\npaying the lodgings of his wife and family in the meantime. It will be a\nrest for them, poor things.\"\n\nIt was at this moment that Sandy Webb, square, squat, many-wrinkled man,\nsounded his horn and swung himself into his place as the driver, Andrew\nHaugh, gathered up his reins. But I knew his way, and waited\nexpectantly. He always kept the pick of his news to the end, then let it\noff like a fire-cracker, and departed in a halo of dusty glory.\n\n\"Your private ghost is making himself comfortable over yonder at the\nHaunted House. I saw the reek of his four-hours fire coming up blue out\nof the chimbly-top as we drove past!\"\n\nIt was thus that the most notable news of a decade came to Eden Valley.\nThe Haunted House--we did not need to be told--was Marnhoul, a big,\ngaunt mansion, long deserted, sunk in woods, yet near enough to the\nCairn Edward road to be visible in stray round towers and rows of\nchimneys, long unblacked by fire of kitchen or parlour. It had a great\nforest behind it, on the verges of which a camp of woodcutters and a\nrude saw-mill had long been established, eating deeper and deeper in,\nwithout, however, seeming to make any more difference than a solitary\nmouse might to a granary.\n\nWe boys knew all about the Haunted House. Since our earliest years it\nhad been the very touchstone of courage to go to the gate on a moonlight\nnight, hold the bars and cry three times, \"I'm no feared!\" Some had done\nthis, I myself among the number. But--though, of course, being a\nschool-master's son, I did not believe in ghosts--I admit that the\nreturn journey was the more pleasant of the two, especially after I got\nwithin cry of the dwellings of comfortable burgesses, and felt the\nwindows all alight on either side of me, so near that I could almost\ntouch them with my hand.\n\nNot that I _saw_ anything! I knew from the first it was all nonsense. My\nfather had told me so a score of times. But having been reared in the\nsuperstitious Galloway of the ancient days--well, there are certain\nchills and creeps for which a man is not responsible, inexplicable\ntwitchings of the hairy scalp of his head, maybe even to the breaking of\na cold sweat over his body, which do not depend upon belief. I kept\nsaying to myself, \"There is nothing! I do not believe a word of it! 'Tis\nnaught but old wives' fables!\" But, all the same, I took with a great\ndeal of thankfulness the dressing-down I had got from my father for\nbeing late for home lessons on a trigonometry night. You see, I was born\nand reared in Galloway, and I suppose it was just what they have come to\ncall in these latter days \"the influence of environment.\"\n\nWell, at that moment, who should come up but Jo Kettle, a good fellow\nand friend of mine, but of no account in the school, being a rich\nfarmer's son, who was excused from taking Latin because he was going to\nsucceed his father in the farm. Jo had a right to the half of my\nsecrets, because we both liked Gerty Greensleeves pretty well; and I was\ncertain that she cared nothing about Jo, while Jo could swear that she\ncounted me not worth a button.\n\nSo I told Jo Kettle about the Haunted House, and he was for starting off\nthere and then. But it was perfectly evident that I could not with these\nfifth class boys to look after, and afternoon school just beginning. And\nif I could not, I was very sure that he had better not. More than once\nor twice I had proved that it was his duty to do as I said. Jo\nunderstood this, but grew so excited that he bolted into school in a\nmoment with the noise of a runaway colt. His entrance disarranged the\nattention of the senior Latiners of the sixth. My father frowned, and\nsaid, \"What do you mean, boy, by tumbling through the classroom door\nlike a cart of bricks? Come quietly; and sit down, Agnes Anne!\"\n\nThis was my poor unfortunate sister, aged fourteen, whom a pitiless\nparent compelled to do classics with the senior division.\n\nJo Kettle sat down and pawed about for his mensuration book, which he\nstudied for some time upside down. Then he extracted his box of\ninstruments from his bag and set himself to do over again a proposition\nwith which he had been familiar for weeks. This, however, was according\nto immemorial school-boy habit, and sometimes succeeded with my father,\nwho was dreamy wherever the classics were not concerned, and regarded a\nmere land-measuring agricultural scholar as outside the bounds of human\ninterest, if not of Christian charity.\n\nIn two minutes my father was again immersed in Horace, which (with\nTacitus) was his chief joy. Then Jo leaned nearer to Agnes Anne and\nwhispered the dread news about the Haunted House. My sister paled,\ngasped, and clutched at the desk. Jo, fearful that she would begin,\naccording to the sympathetic school phrase, \"to cluck like a hen,\"\nthreatened first to run the point of his compasses into her if she did\nnot sit up instantly; and then, this treatment proving quite inadequate\nto the occasion, he made believe to pour ink upon her clean cotton\nprint, fresh put on that morning. This brought Agnes Anne round, and,\nwith a face still pale, she asked for details. Jo supplied them in a\nvoice which the nearness of my father reduced to a whisper. He sat with\nhis fingers and thumbs making an isosceles triangle and his eyes gently\nclosed, while he listened to the construing of Fred Esquillant, the\npale-faced genius of the school. At such times my father almost purred\nwith delight, and Agnes Anne said that it was \"just sweet to watch him.\"\nBut even this pleasure palled before the tidings from the Haunted House\nas edited and expanded by Jo Kettle.\n\n\"Yes, Duncan had told him, and Sandy Webb had told _him_. There were\ndaylight ghosts abroad about Marnhoul. Everybody on the coach had seen\nthem----\"\n\n\"What were they like?\" queried Agnes Anne in an awestruck whisper; so\nwell poised, however, that it only reached Jo's ear, and never caused my\nenraptured father to wink an eyelid. I really believe that, like a good\nCalvinist with a sound minister tried and proven, my father allowed\nhimself a little nap by way of refreshment while Fred Esquillant was\nconstruing.\n\nNothing loath, Jo launched headlong into the grisly. Through the matted\nundergrowth of years, over the high-spiked barriers of the deer-park,\nthe Highflyer had seen not only the familiar Grey Lady in robes of\nrustling silk (through which you could discern the gravel and weeds on\nthe path), but little green demons with chalk-white heads and long ears.\nThese leaped five-barred gates and pursued the coach and its shrieking\ninmates as far as the little Mains brook that passes the kirk door at\nthe entrance of the village. Then there was a huge, undistinct, crawling\nhorror, half sea-serpent, half slow-worm, that had looked at them over\nthe hedge, and, flinging out a sudden loop, had lassoed Peter Chafts,\nthe running footman, whose duty it was to leap down and clear stones out\nof the horses' hoofs. Whether Little Peter had been recovered or not, Jo\nKettle very naturally could not tell. How, indeed, could he? But, with\nan apparition like that, it was not at all probable.\n\nJo was preparing a further instalment, including clanking chains, gongs\nthat sounded unseen in the air, hands that gripped the passengers and\ntried to pull them from their seats--all the wild tales of Souter\nGowans, the village cobbler, and of ne'er-do-well farm lads, idle and\nreckless, whose word would never have been taken in any ordinary affair\nof life. Jo had not time, however, for Agnes Anne had a strong\nimagination, coupled with a highly nervous organization. She laughed out\nsuddenly, in the middle of a solemn Horatian hush, a wild, hysterical\nlaugh, which brought my father to his feet, broad awake in a second. The\nclass gazed open-mouthed, the pale face of Fred Esquillant alone\ntwitching responsively.\n\n\"What have you been saying to Agnes Anne MacAlpine?\" demanded my father,\nwho would sooner have resigned than been obliged to own son or daughter\nas such in school-time.\n\n\"Nothing!\" said Jo Kettle, speaking according to the honour that\nobliges schoolboys to untruth as a mode of professional honour. Then\nJo, seeing the frown on the master's face, and forestalling the words\nthat were ready to come from his lips, \"But, sirrah, I saw you!\" amended\nhastily, \"At least, I was only asking Agnes Anne to sit a little farther\nalong!\"\n\n\"What!\" cried my father, with the snap of the eye that meant punishment,\n\"to sit farther along, when you had no interest in this classical\nlesson, sir--a lesson you are incapable of understanding, and--all the\nlength of an empty bench at your left hand! You shall speak with me at\nthe close of the lesson, and that, sirrah, is now! The class is\ndismissed! I shall have the pleasure of a little interview with Master\nJoseph Kettle, student of mensuration.\"\n\nJo had his interview, in which figured a certain leathern strap, called\n\"Lochgelly\" after its place of manufacture--a branch of native industry\nmuch cursed by Scottish school-children. \"Lochgelly\" was five-fingered,\nwell pickled in brine, well rubbed with oil, well used on the boys, but,\nexcept by way of threat, unknown to the girls. Jo emerged tingling but\ntriumphant. Indeed, several new ideas had occurred to him. Eden Valley\nAcademy stood around and drank in the wondrous tale with all its ears\nand, almost literally, with one mouth. Jo Kettle told the story so well\nthat I well-nigh believed it myself. He even turned to me for\ncorroboration.\n\n\"Didn't he tell you that, Duncan? That was the way of it, eh, Duncan?\"\n\nI denied, indeed, and would have stated the truth as it was in Guard\nWebb. But my futile and feeble negations fell unheeded, swept away by\nthe pour of Jo's circumstantial lying.\n\nFinally he ran off into the village and was lost to sight. I have\nlittle doubt that he played truant, in full recognition of pains and\npenalties to come, for the mere pleasure of going from door to door and\n\"raising the town,\" as he called it. I consoled myself by the thought\nthat he would find few but womenfolk at home at that hour, while the\nshopkeepers would have too much consideration for their tills and\ncustomers to follow a notorious romancer like Jo on such a fool's\nerrand.\n\nI cannot tell how that afternoon's lessons were got over in Eden Valley\nAcademy. The hum of disturbance reached even the juniors, skulking\npeacefully under little Mr. Stephen, the assistant. Only Miss\nHuntingdon, in the Infant Department, remained quiet and neat as a dove\nnew-preened among her murmuring throng of unconscious little folk.\n\nBut in the senior school, though I never reported a boy to my father\n(preferring to postpone his case for private dealing in the playground),\nthe lid of the desk was opened and snapped sharply every five minutes to\ngive exit and entrance to \"Lochgelly.\" Seldom have I seen my father so\nroused. He hated not to understand everything that was going on in the\nschool. He longed to ask me what I knew about it, but, according to his\nhabit, generously forbore, lest he should lead me to tell tales upon my\nfellows. For, though actually junior assistant to my father, I was still\na scholar, which made my position difficult indeed. To me it seemed as\nif the clock on the wall above the fireplace would never strike the hour\nof four.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\"IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!\"\n\n\nAt last--at last! The door between the seniors and Mr. Stephen's juniors\nwas thrown open. My father, making his usual formal bow to his\nassistant, said, \"When you are ready, Mr. Stephen!\" And Mr. Stephen was\nalways ready. Then with his back to the hinges of the door, and his\nstrong black beard with the greying strands in it set forward at an\nangle, Mr. John MacAlpine, head-master of Eden Valley Academy, said a\nfew severe words on the afternoon's lack of discipline, and prophesied\nin highly coloured language the exemplary manner in which any repetition\nof it would be treated on the morrow. Then he doubled all home lessons,\nbesides setting a special imposition to each class. Having made this\nclear, he hoped that the slight token of his displeasure might assure us\nof his intention to do his duty by us faithfully, and then, with the\nverse of a chanted psalm we were let go.\n\nClass by class defiled with rumble of boots and tramp of wooden-soled\nclogs, the boys first, the girls waiting till the outside turmoil had\nabated--but, nevertheless, as anxious as any to be gone. I believe we\nexpected to tumble over slow serpents and nimble spectres coming\nvisiting up the school-loaning, or coiling in festoons among the tall\nScotch firs at the back of the playground.\n\nWe of the sixth class were in the rear--I last of all, for I had to\nlock away the copybooks, turn the maps to the wall, and give my father\nthe key. _But_ I had warned the other seniors that they were not to\nstart without me.\n\nAnd then, what a race! A bare mile it was, through the thick fringes of\nwoods most of the way--as soon, that is, as we were out of the village.\nAlong the wall of the Deer Park we ran, where we kept instinctively to\nthe far side of the road. We of the highest class were far in front--I\nmean those of us who kept the pace. The Fifth had had a minute or two\nstart of us, so they were ahead at first, but we barged through their\npack without mercy, scattering them in all directions.\n\nThere at last was the gate before us. We had reached it first. Five of\nus there were, Sam Gordon, Ivie Craig, Harry Stoddart, Andrew Clark and\nmyself--yes, there was another--that forward Gerty Greensleeves, who had\nkilted her rough grey-green dress and run with the best, all to prove\nher boast that, but for the clothes she had to wear, she was as good a\nrunner as the best boy there. Indeed, if the truth must be told, she\ncould outrun all but me.\n\nThe tall spikes, the massive brass padlock, green with weathering, in\nwhich it was doubtful if any key would turn, the ancient \"Notice to\nTrespassers,\" massacred by the stones of home-returning\nschoolboys--these were all that any of us could see at first. The\nbarrier of the deer-park wall was high and unclimbable. The massy iron\nof the gates looked as if it had not been stirred for centuries.\n\nBut a tense interest held us all spellbound. We could see nothing but\nsome stray glimpses of an ivy-clad wall. A weathercock, that had once\nbeen gilded, stood out black against the evening sky. The Grey Lady in\nthe rustling silk, through whom you could see the rain drops splash on\nthe gravel stones, was by no means on view. No green demons leaped these\nsullen ten-foot barricades, and no forwandered sea-serpent threw oozy\nwimples on the green-sward or hissed at us between the rusty bars.\n\nIt was, at first, decidedly disappointing. We ordered each other to stop\nbreathing so loudly, after our burst of running. We listened, but there\nwas not even the sough of wind through the trees--nothing but the\nbeating of our own hearts.\n\nWhat had we come out to see? Apparently nothing. The school considered\nitself decidedly \"sold,\" and as usual prepared to take vengeance, first\nupon Jo Kettle and then, as that youth still persisted in a discreet\nabsence of body, on myself.\n\n\"You spoke to Sandy Webb, the guard,\" said Gertrude-of-the-Sleeves,\nscowling upon me; \"what did he say?\"\n\nBefore I could answer Boyd Connoway, the village do-nothing,\nenterprising idler and general boys' abettor, beckoned us across the\nroad. He was on the top of a little knoll, thick with the yellow of\nbroom and the richer orange of gorse. Here he had stretched himself very\ngreatly at his ease. For Boyd Connoway knew how to wait, and he was\nwaiting now. Hurry was nowhere in Boyd's dictionary. Not that he had\never looked.\n\nIn a moment we were over the dyke, careless of the stones that we sent\ntrickling down to afflict the toes of those who should come after us. We\nstood on the top of the mound. Connoway disturbed himself just enough to\nsit up for our sakes, which he would not have done for a dozen grown\nmen. He removed the straw from his mouth, and pointed with it to the\nend chimney nearest to the great wood of Marnhoul.\n\nWe gazed earnestly, following the straw and gradually we could see,\nrising into the still air an unmistakable \"pew\" of palest blue\nsmoke--which, as we looked, changed into a dense white pillar that rose\nsteadily upwards, detaching itself admirably against the deep green\nblack of the Scotch firs behind.\n\n\"There,\" said Connoway gravely, \"yonder is your ghost mending his fire!\"\n\nWe stood at gaze, uncomprehending, too astonished for speech. We had\ncome, even the unbelievers of us, prepared for the supernatural, for\nsomething surpassingly eery, and anything so commonplace as the smoke of\na fire was a surprise greater than the sight of all Jo Kettle's\nimaginations coming at us abreast.\n\nYet the people who owned the great house of Marnhoul were far away--few\nhad ever seen any of them. Their affairs were in the hands of a notable\nfirm of solicitors in Dumfries. How any mortal could have entered that\ngreat abode, or inhabited it after the manner of men, was beyond all\nthings inexplicable. But there before us the blue reek continued to\nmount, straight as a pillar, till it reached the level of the trees on\nthe bank behind, when a gentle current of air turned it sharply at right\nangles to the south.\n\nNow we heard the tramp of many feet, and beneath us we saw Jo Kettle\nwith half-a-dozen of his father's workers, and the village constable to\nmake sure that all was done in due and proper order. To these was joined\na crowd of curious townsmen, eager for any new thing. All were armed to\nthe teeth with rusty cutlasses and old horse pistols, which, when\nloaded, made the expedition one of no inconsiderable peril.\n\nThe man with the crowbar applied it to the rusty chain of the padlock.\nTwo others assisted him, but instead of breaking the chain, the iron\nstandard of the gate crumbled into so much flaky iron rust, while\npadlock and attachments swung free upon the other. It was easy enough to\nenter after that.\n\n\"In the name of the law!\" cried the constable, taking a little staff\nwith a silver crown upon it in his hand. And at the word the gate\ncreaked open and the crowd pressed in.\n\nBut the constable held up his hand.\n\n\"'In the name of the law,' I said. I _might_ have put it, 'In the King's\nname,' but what I meant was that we are to proceed in decency and\norder--no unseemly rabbling, scuffling, or mischief making--otherwise ye\nhave me to reckon with. Let no word of ghosts and siclike be heard. The\ncase is infinitely more serious----\"\n\n\"Hear to Jocky wi' his langnebbit words!\" whispered Boyd Connoway in my\near.\n\n\"Infinitely more so, I say. It is evident to the meanest capacity--\"\n\n\"Evidently!\" whispered Connoway, grinning.\n\n\"--that a dangerous band of smugglers or burglars is in possession of\nthe mansion of Marnhoul, and we must take them to a man!\"\n\nThese words brought about a marked hesitation in the rear ranks, a\nwavering, and a tendency to slip away through the breach of the broken\ngate into the road.\n\n\"Halt there,\" cried Constable Black, holding the staff of office high.\n\"I call upon you, every man, to assist his Majesty's officers. You are\nspecial constables, as soon as I get time to swear you in. Praise be,\nhere's good Maister Kettle! He's a Justice of the Peace. He will hold\nyou to it now and be my witness if ye refuse lawful aid. Now, forward!\nQuick march!\"\n\nAnd this formidable armed band took its way along the overgrown gravel\navenue up to the front of the great house of Marnhoul. We boys (and\nGreensleeves close to my elbow) played along the flanks like\nskirmishers. All our spiritual fears were abated. At the name of the\nlaw, and specially after the display of the silver-crowned staff, we\nentered joyously into the game. If it had only been the arm of flesh we\nhad to encounter, we were noways afraid--though it was a sad downcome\nfrom the solemn awe of coming to grips with the prince of darkness and\nhis emissaries.\n\n\"You that have pistols that will go off, round with you to guard the\nback doors!\" cried Constable John Black. \"It's there the thieves have\ntaken up their abode. The smoke is coming from the kitchen lum. I see it\nwell. The rest, not so well armed, bide here with me under the\nprotection of the law!\"\n\nAnd with that Constable Black, commonly called Jocky, elevated once more\nhis staff in the air, and marched boldly to the fatal door. He went up\nthe steps by which the Grey Lady was wont to descend to the clear\nmoonlight to take her airing in the wood. A little behind went Connoway,\nin the same manner holding a \"bourtree\" pop-gun which he had just been\nfashioning for some lucky callant of his acquaintance.\n\nAlmost for the first time in his life Boyd Connoway had all the humour\nto himself. Nobody laughed at his imitation of Officer Jocky's pompous\nways. They would do it afterwards in the safety of their own dwellings\nand about the winter fire. But not now--by no means now.\n\nEven though supported by the majestic power of the law, the crowd kept\nrespectfully edging behind wall and trees. Their eyes were directed\nwarily upwards to the long array of windows from which (legend\nrecounted) the Maitlands of Marnhoul had once during the troubles of the\nCovenant successfully defended themselves against the forces of the\nCrown.\n\nNow be it understood once for all, the inhabitants of Eden Valley were\npeaceful and loyal citizens, except perhaps in what concerned the excise\nlaws and the ancient and wholesome practice of running cargoes of\ndutiable goods without troubling his Majesty's excise officers about the\nmatter. But they did not wish to support the law at the peril of their\nlives.\n\nAn irregular crackle of shots, the smashing of window glass in the back\nof the mansion, with two or three hurrahs, put some courage into them.\nOn the whole it seemed less dangerous to get close in under the great\nvaulted porch. There, at least, they could not be reached by shot from\nthe windows, while out in the open or under the uncertain shelter of\ntree boles, who knew what might happen? So there was soon a compact\nphalanx about the man in authority.\n\nConstable Black, being filled with authority direct from the\nLord-Lieutenant of the County, certainly had the instinct of magnifying\nhis office. He raised his arm and knocked three times on the bleached\nand blistered panels of the great front door.\n\n\"Open, I command you! In the name of the law!\" he shouted.\n\nAfter the knocking there befell a pause, as it might be of twenty\nbreaths--though nobody seemed to draw any. Such a silence of listening\nhave I never heard. Yes, we heard it, and the new burst of firing from\nthe rear of the house, the cheers of the excited assailants hardly\nseemed to break it, so deeply was our attention fixed on that great\nweather-beaten door of the Haunted House of Marnhoul.\n\nAgain Jocky, his face lint-white, and his voice coming and going\njerkily, cried aloud the great name of the law. Again there was silence,\ndeeper and longer than before.\n\nAt last from far within came a pattering as of little feet, quick and\nlight. We heard the bolts withdrawn one by one, and as the wards of the\nlock rasped and whined, men got ready their weapons. The door swung back\nand against the intense darkness of the wide hall, with the light of\nevening on their faces, stood a girl in a black dress and crimson sash,\nholding by the hand a little boy of five, with blue eyes and tight\nyellow curls.\n\nBoth were smiling, and before them all that tumultuary array fell away\nas from something supernatural. The words \"In the name of----\" were\nchoked on the lips of the constable. He even dropped his silver-headed\nstaff, and turned about as if to flee. As for us we watched with dazzled\neyes the marvels that had so suddenly altered the ideas of all men as to\nthe Haunted House of Marnhoul.\n\nBut for a space no one moved, no one spoke. Only the tall young girl and\nthe little child stood there, like children of high degree receiving\nhomage on the threshold of their own ancestral mansion, facing the\nlifted bonnets and the pikes lowered as if in salutation.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nMISS IRMA GIVES AN AUDIENCE\n\n\n\"My name is Irma Maitland, and this is my brother Louis!\" Such were the\nfamous words with which, in response to law and order in the person of\nConstable Jacky Black, the tall smiling girl in the doorway of the\nHaunted House of Marnhoul saluted her \"rescuers.\"\n\n\"And how came you to be occupying this house?\" demanded Mr. Josiah\nKettle, father of Joseph the inventive. He was quite unaware of the\nghastly terrors with which his son had peopled the Great House, but as\nthe largest farmer on the estate he felt it to be his duty to protect\nvested rights.\n\n\"In the same way that you enter your house,\" said the girl; \"we came in\nwith a key, and have been living here ever since!\"\n\n\"Are you not feared?\" piped a voice from the crowd. It was afterwards\nfound that it was Kettle junior who had spoken.\n\n\"Afraid!\" answered the girl scornfully, holding her head higher than\never; \"do you think that a few foolish people firing at our windows\ncould make us afraid? Can they, Louis?\" And as she spoke she looked\nfondly down at her little brother.\n\nHe drew nearer to his sister, looking up at her with a winning\nconfidence, and said in as manly a voice as he could compass, \"Certainly\nnot, Irma! But--tell them not to do it any more!\"\n\n\"You hear what my brother says,\" said the girl haughtily. \"Let there be\nno more of this!\"\n\n\"But--in right of law and order, I must know more about this!\" cried\nConstable Jacky, lifting up his staff again. Somehow, however, the magic\nhad gone from his words. Every one now knew that his thunder had a\nhollow sound.\n\n\"Ah, you are the _gendarme_--the official--the officer!\" said the tall\ngirl, with a more pronounced foreign accent than before, making him a\nlittle bow; \"please go and tell your superiors that we are here because\nthe place belongs to us--at least to my brother, and that I am staying\nto take care of him.\"\n\n\"But how did you come?\" persisted the man in authority.\n\nThe tall girl looked over his head. Her glance, clear, cool,\npenetrating, scanned face after face, and then she said, as it were,\nregretfully, \"There are no gentlefolk among you?\"\n\nThere was the slightest shade of inquiry about words which might have\nseemed rude as a mere affirmation. Then she appeared to answer for\nherself, still with the same tinge of sadness faintly colouring her\npride. \"For this reason I cannot tell you how we came to be here.\"\n\nMr. Josiah Kettle felt called upon to assert himself.\n\n\"I have reason to believe,\" he said pompously, \"that I am as good as any\non the estate in the way of being a gentleman--me and my son Joseph. I\nam a Justice of the Peace, under warrant of the Crown, and so one day\nwill my son Joseph--Jo, you rascal, come off that paling!\"\n\nBut just then Jo Kettle had other fish to fry. From the bad eminence of\nthe garden palisade he was devouring the new-comer with his eyes. As for\nme, I had shaken the hand of the lately adored Greensleeves from my arm.\n\nThe girl's glance stayed for an instant and no more upon the round and\nrosy countenance of Mr. Josiah Kettle, Justice of the Peace. She smiled\nupon him indulgently, but shook her head.\n\n\"I am sorry,\" she said, with gentle condescension, \"that I cannot tell\nanything more to you. You are one of the people who broke our windows!\"\n\nThen Josiah Kettle unfortunately blustered.\n\n\"If you will not, young madam,\" he cried, \"I can soon send them to you\nwho will make you answer.\"\n\nThe young lady calmly took out of her pocket a dainty pair of ivory\nwriting tablets, such as only the minister of the parish used in all\nEden Valley, and he only because he had married a great London lady for\nhis wife.\n\n\"I shall be glad of the name and address of the persons to whom you\nrefer!\" said Miss Irma (for so from that moment I began to call her in\nmy heart).\n\n\"The factors and agents for this estate,\" Josiah Kettle enunciated\ngrandly. The writing tablets were shut up with a snap of disappointment.\n\n\"Oh, Messrs. Smart, Poole & Smart,\" she said. \"Why, I have known them\never since I was as high as little Louis.\"\n\nThen she smiled indulgently upon Mr. Kettle, with something so easily\ngrand and yet so sweet that I think the hearts of all went out to her.\n\n\"I suppose,\" she said, \"that really you thought you were doing right in\ncoming here and firing off guns without permission. It must be an\nastonishing thing for you to see this house of the Maitlands inhabited\nafter so long. I do not blame your curiosity, but I fear I must ask you\nto send a competent man to repair our windows. For that we hold you\nresponsible, Mr. Officer, and you, Mr. Justice of the Peace--you and\nyour son Jo! Don't we, Louis?\"\n\n\"I will see to that myself!\" a voice, the same that had spoken before,\ncame from the crowd. Miss Irma searched the circle without, however,\ncoming to a conclusion. I do think that her glance lingered longer on my\nface than on any of the others, perhaps because Gerty Greensleeves was\nleaning on my shoulder and whispering in my ear. (What a nuisance girls\nare, sometimes!) So the glance passed on, with something in it at once\ncalm and simple and high.\n\n\"If any of the gentlefolk of our station will call upon us,\" she went\non, \"we will tell _them_ how we came to be here--the clergyman of the\nparish--or----\" here she hesitated for the first time, \"or his wife.\"\n\nInstinctively she seemed to feel the difficulty. \"Though we are not of\ntheir faith!\" she added, smiling once more as with the air of serene\ncondescension she had shown all through.\n\nThen she nodded, and swept a curtsey with an undulating grace which I\nthought to be adorable, in spite of the suspicion of irony in it.\n\n\"Good-bye, good people,\" she said, letting her eyes again run the\ncircuit of the sea of faces, reinforced by those who had been firing\ntheir blunderbusses and horse-pistols (now carefully concealed) so\nuselessly at the back windows of the house. \"We are obliged for your\nvisit. Salute them, Louis!\"\n\nObediently the child carried his hand to the curls on his brow in the\nsame fashion I had seen soldiers do at the militia training on the\nDumfries sands, but with the same smilingly tolerant air of receiving\nand acknowledging the homage of vassals which both of them had shown\nfrom the beginning.\n\nThen Miss Irma smiled upon us all once more, nodded to me (I am sure of\nit), and without another word, shut the door in our faces.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nFIRST FOOT IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE\n\n\nTo understand what a sensation these strange events made in Eden Valley,\nit is necessary that you should know something of Eden Valley itself and\nhow it was governed.\n\nGoverned, you say? Was it not within the King's dominions, and governed\nlike every other part of these his Majesty's kingdoms? Had we of the\nWide Valley risen against constituted authority and filled all Balcary\nBay between Isle Rathan and the Red Haven with floating tea-chests?\n\nWell, not exactly; but many a score of stealthy cargoes had been carried\npast our doors on horse-back, pony-back, shelty-back--up by Bluehills\nand over the hip of Ben Tudor. And often, often from the Isle of Man\nfleet had twenty score of barrels been dropped overboard just in time to\nprevent the minions of the law, as represented by H.M. ship _Seamew_,\nsloop-of-war, from seizing them. So you will observe that the revolt of\nEden Valley against authority, though not quite so complete as that of\nthe late New England colonies, yet proceeded from the same motives.\n\nOnly, as it typo happened, the tea-chests which were spilt in Boston\nHarbour were finished so far as the brewing of tea was concerned, while\nthe kegs and firkins dropped overboard were easily recoverable by such\nas were in the secret. In a day or two, the tide being favourable and\nthe nights dark enough, these same kegs would be found reposing in bulk\nin the recesses of Brandy Knowe, next by Collin Mill--save for a few,\nleft in well defined places--one being left at the Manse for the Doctor\nhimself. That was within the very wall of the kirkyard, and under the\nshadow of the clump of yews which had dripped upon the tombstones that\ncovered at least three of his predecessors. A second reposed under the\nprize cabbages belonging to General Johnstone (who, as a young officer\nof Marines, had simulated the courage of Admiral Byng before Minorca,\nand like that gallant seaman, narrowly escaped being shot for his\npains). General Johnstone's gardener knew well where this keg was\nhidden. But it contained liquid well-nigh sacred in the eyes of his\nmaster, and he had far too much common-sense ever to presume to find it.\nA third came to anchor under a peat-stack belonging to Mr. Shepstone\nOglethorpe, the only Episcopalian within the parish bounds, and the\ndescendent of an English military family which had once held possession\nof the Maitland estates during the military dragonnades of Charles II\nand James II, but had been obliged to restore the mansion and most of\nthe property after the Prince of Orange made good his landing with his\n\"Protestant wind\" at Torbay. Enough, however, remained to make Mr.\nShepstone Oglethorpe the next man in the parish after the minister and\nthe General. He was, besides, a pleasant, gossipy, young-old, fluttery\nbachelor--a great acquisition at four-hours tea-drinkings, and much more\nof a praise to them that do well than any sort of a terror to\nevil-doers.\n\nThese three constituted the general staff of our commonwealth, and in\nspite of occasional forgetfulnesses as to the declaration of the\naforesaid kegs, parcels of French silks and Malines lace, to H.M.'s\nSupervisor of Customs, King George had no more loyal subjects than\nthese highest authorities in Eden Valley, ecclesiastical, military and\ncivil. Then, after due interval, came the farmers of Eden Valley,\nhonest, far-seeing, cautious men, slow of action, slower still of\nspeech--not at all to be judged by the standard of the richest of them,\nMr. Josiah Kettle. He was, in fact, a mere incomer, who had been\npromoted a Justice of the Peace because, on the occasion of the last\nscare as to a French invasion, he had made and carried out large and\nremunerative contracts for the supply of the militia and other troops\nhastily got together to protect the Solway harbours from Dryffe Sands to\nthe Back Shore.\n\nThe siege of the Haunted House of Marnhoul happened on a Friday, the\nlast school-keeping day of the week. Saturday was employed by the parish\nin digesting the news and forming opinions for the consumpt of the\nmorrow. Meantime there was a pretty steady stream of the curious along\nthe Marnhoul road, but the padlock had been replaced, and only the\nbroken bar bore token of the storm which had passed that way.\n\nOn Sunday, however, a small oblong scrap of white attracted the\nattention of the nearer curious. It was attached, at about the level of\nthe eyes, to the unbroken bar of the gate of Marnhoul, and on being\napproached with due care, was found to bear the following mysterious\ninscription--\n\n    \"Sir Louis Maitland of Marnhoul, Bart., and Miss\n    Irma Sobieski Maitland receive every afternoon from\n    2 to 5.\"\n\n    Marnhoul, Galloway, June 21.\n\n\"Keep us a'!\" was the universal exclamation of Eden Valley as it read\nthis solemnizing inscription. It was generally believed to be a\nchallenge to the lawyers and the powers in general to come at these\nhours and turn the young people out.\n\nAnd many were the opinions as to the legality of such a course. Law was\nnot generally understood in the Galloway of that date, and though the\nSheriff Substitute rode through the village once a month to spend a\nnight over the \"cartes\" with his friend the General, he too only laughed\nand rode on. He was well known to me at the head of his profession, and\nto have the ear of the Government. Such studied indifference, therefore,\ncould only be put down to a desire to wink at the proceedings of the\nchildren, illegal and unprecedented as these might be.\n\nBut I must now say something about my own folk.\n\nThough undoubtedly originally Highland, and, as my father averred, able\nto claim kindred with the highest of his name, the MacAlpines had long\nbeen domiciled in the south. My father was the son of a neighbouring\nminister, and had only escaped the fate of succeeding his father in the\ncharge by a Highland aversion to taking the sacrament at the age when he\nwas called upon to do so--in order that, by the due order of the Church\nof Scotland, he might be taken on his trials as a student in Divinity.\nHe had also, about that date, further complicated matters by marrying my\nmother, Grace Lyon, the penniless daughter of a noted Cameronian elder\nof the parish of Eden Valley.\n\nIn order to support her, and (after a little) _us_, John MacAlpine had\naccepted a small school far up the glen, from which, after a year or\ntwo, on the appointment of Dr. Forbes to the parish, he had followed his\nold college friend to Eden Valley itself. Under his care the little\nacademy had gradually been organized on the newest and best scholastic\nlines known to the time. Even for girls classics and mathematics played\na prominent part. Samplers and knitting, which had previously formed a\nnotable branch of the curriculum, were banished to an hour when little\nMiss Huntingdon taught the girls, locked in her own department like\nWykliffites in danger of the fires of Tower Hill. And at such times my\nfather almost ran as he passed the door of the infant school and thought\nof the follies which were being committed within.\n\n\"Samplers,\" he was wont to mutter, \"samplers--when they might be at\ntheir Ovid!\"\n\nMy mother--Gracie Lyon that was--had none of the stern blood of her\nCameronian forebears, nor yet my father's tempestuous Norland mood. She\nwas gentle, patient, with little to say for herself--like Leah,\ntender-eyed (in the English, not in the Hebrew sense)--and I remember\nwell that as a child one of my great pleasures was to stroke her cheek\nas she was putting me to sleep, saying, \"Mother, how soft your skin is.\nIt is like velvet!\"\n\n\"Aye,\" she would answer, with a sigh gentle as herself, \"so they used to\ntell me!\"\n\nAnd I somehow knew that \"they\" excluded my father, but whom it included\nI did not know then nor for many a day after.\n\nBut my grandmother, my mother's mother--ah, there indeed you were in a\ndifferent world! She dwelt in a large house on the edge of the Marnhoul\nwoods. My grandfather had the lease of the farm of Heathknowes, with\nlittle arable land, but a great hill behind it on which fed black-faced\nsheep, sundry cattle in the \"low parks,\" and by the river a strip of\ncorn land sufficient for the meal-ark and the stable feeding of his four\nstout horses. Also on my father's behalf my uncles conducted the lonely\nsaw-mill that ate and ate into the Great Wood and yet never got any\nfarther. There might be seen machinery for making spools--with\nwater-driven lathes, which turned these articles, variously known as\n\"bobbins\" and \"pirns,\" literally off the reel by the thousand. It was a\nsweet, birch-smelling place and my favourite haunt on all holidays.\nWilliam Lyon, my grandfather, had had a tempestuous youth, from which,\nas he said, he had been saved \"by the grace of God and Mary Lyon.\"\n\n\"Many a sore day she had with me,\" he would confess to me, for he took\npleasure in my society, \"but got me buckled down at last!\"\n\nAs my grandmother also kept me in the most affectionate but complete\nsubjection, the fact that neither one nor the other of us dared disobey\n\"Mary Lyon\" was a sort of bond between us. Yet my grandmother was not a\nvery tall nor yet to the outward eye a powerful woman. You had to look\nher in the eye to know. But there you saw a flash that would have cowed\na grenadier. There was something masterful and even martial in her walk,\nin the way she attacked the enemy of the moment, or the work that fell\nto her hand. All her ways were dominating without ever being\ndomineering. But in the house of Heathknowes all knew that she had just\nto be obeyed, and there was an end to it.\n\nWhen my father and she clashed, it was like the meeting of Miltonic\nthunderclouds over the Caspian. But on the whole it was safe to wager\nthat even then grandmother got her way. John MacAlpine first discharged\nhis Celtic electricity, and then disengaged his responsibility with the\nshrug of the right shoulder which was habitual to him. After all, was\nthere not always Horace in his pocket--which he would finger to calm\nhimself even in the heat of a family dispute?\n\nA great school-master was my father, far ben in the secrets of the\nancient world--and such a man is always very much of a humanist. My\ngrandmother, alert, clear, decided on all doctrinal points,\nargumentative, with all her wits fine-edged by the Shorter Catechism,\ncould not abide the least haziness of outline in religious belief.\n\nShe did not agree with my grandfather's easier ways, but then he did not\nargue with her, being far too wise a man.\n\n\"Eh, William,\" she would say, \"ye will carry even to the grave some rag\nof the Scarlet Woman. And at the end I will not be surprised to find ye\nsitting on some knowetap amang the Seven Hills!\"\n\nBut at least my grandfather was a Cameronian elder, in the little kirk\ndown by the ford, to which the Lyons had resorted ever since the days of\nthe societies--long before even worthy Mr. MacMillan of Balmaghie came\ninto the Church, ordaining elders, and, along with the pious Mr. Logan\nof Buittle, even ordaining ministers for carrying on the work of the\nfaithful protesting remnant.\n\nBut my father, John MacAlpine, both by office and by temperament,\nbelonged to the Kirk of Scotland as by law established. So indeed did\nnine-tenths of the folk in the parish of Eden Valley. The band of\nCameronians at the Ford, and the forlorn hope of Episcopalians in their\nhewn-stone chapel with the strange decorations, built on the parcel of\nground pertaining to Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe, were the only\nnon-Establishers in the parish. Yet both, nevertheless, claimed to be\nthe only true Church of Scotland, claimed it fiercely, with a fervour\nsharpened by the antiquity of their claims and the smallness of their\nnumbers. This was especially true of the Cameronians, who were ever\nready to give a reason for the faith that was in them. The\nEpiscopalians lacked the Westminster Catechisms as a means of\nintellectual gymnastic. So far, therefore, they were handicapped, and\nindeed reduced to the mere persistent assertion that they, and they\nalone, were the apostolic Church, and if any out of their communion were\nsaved, it must only be by the uncovenanted mercies of God.\n\nYet, though not within the sacred triangle of gentility (as it was known\nin Eden Valley), of which the manse, the General's bungalow, and the\nresidence of Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe occupied the three angles, my\ngrandmother was the first caller upon the lonely children in the great\nhouse of Marnhoul.\n\nI shall never forget her indignation when I went in to the dairy and\ntold her in detail what had happened--of the forcing of the gates, and\nthe firing upon the back windows. My grandfather, seated within doors,\nin his great triangular easy-chair at his own corner of the wide\nfireplace, looked up and remarked in his serene and far-off fashion that\n\"such proceedings filled him with shame and sorrow.\"\n\nThe words and still more the tone roused my grandmother.\n\n\"William Lyon,\" she said, standing before him in the clean middle of the\nhearth which she had just been sweeping, and threatening him with the\nbrush (she would not have touched him for anything in the world, for she\nrecognized his position as an elder). \"Hear to ye--'shame and sorrow'!\nAye, well may ye say it. Had I been there I would have 'sinned and\nsorrowed' them. To go breaking into houses with swords and staves, and\nfiring off powder and shot--all to frighten a pair of poor bairns!\nCertes, but I would have sorted them to rights--with tongue, aye, and\nwith arm also.\"\n\nAnd at this point Mary Lyon advanced a step so fiercely and with such\nmartial energy, that, well inured as my grandfather was to the generous\noutbursts of his wife, he moved his chair back with a certain alacrity.\n\n\"Mary,\" he remonstrated, \"Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe was with them. So at\nleast I understand, and also Mr. Kettle, who is a Justice of the\nPeace--these in addition to the constable----\"\n\nHe got no further. My grandmother swooped upon the names, as perhaps he\nexpected. It was by no means the first time that, in order to draw off\nthe hounds of his wife's wrath, he had skilfully drawn a red herring\nacross the trail.\n\n\"Shepstone--Shepstone!\" she cried, \"a useless, daidling body! What was\nhe ever good for in this world but to tie his neckcloth and twirl his\ncane? Oh aye, he can maybe button his 'spats'! That is, if he doesna get\nthe servant lass to do it for him. And Josiah Kettle! William, I wonder\nyou are not shamed, goodman--to sit there in your own hearth-corner and\nname such a hypocrite to me----\"\n\n\"Stop there, Mary,\" said her husband; \"only a man's Maker has the right\nto call him a hypocrite----\"\n\n\"Well, I am an Elder's wife, and I'll e'en be his Viceroy. Josiah Kettle\n_is_ a hypocrite, and I hae telled him so to his face--not once, but a\nscore of times. He has robbed the widow. He has impoverished the orphan.\nFegs, if I were a man, I could not keep my hands off him, and, 'deed, I\nhave hard enough work as it is. If there was a man about the house worth\nhis salt----\"\n\n\"Forgive your enemies----\" suggested my grandfather, \"do good----\"\n\n\"So I would--so I would,\" cried my grandmother, \"but first I would give\nthe best cheese out o' the dairy-loft to see Josiah ducked head over\nheels in Blackmire Dub! Forgive--aye, certainly, since it is commanded.\nBut a bit dressing down would do the like o' him no harm, and then the\nLord could take His own turn at him after!\"\n\nThus did my grandmother address all who came into contact with her, and\nthere is every reason to believe that she had more than once similarly\nexhorted Mr. Josiah Kettle, rich farmer and money-lender though he was.\nYet it is equally certain that if Mr. Kettle had been stricken with a\ndangerous and deadly malady which made his nearest kin flee from him, it\nwould have been my grandmother who would have flown to nurse him with\nthe same robust and forcible tenderness with which she oversaw the\nteething and other ills incidental to her daughter's children.\n\n\"As for Jocky Black,\" continued my grandmother, \"the pomp of the\natomy--'In the name of the law,' says he--I'd law him! I would e'en nip\nhis bit stick from his puir twisted fingers and gie him his paiks--that\nis, if it were worth the trouble! As for me, get me my bonnet, Jen--my\nbest Sunday leghorn with the puce _chenille_ in it--I must look my\nfeatest going to a great house to pay my respects. And you shall come\ntoo, Duncan!\" (She turned to me with her usual alertness.) \"Run home and\ntidy--quick! Bid your mother put on your Sunday suit. No, Jen, I will\n_not_ take you to fright the poor things out of their wits. Afterwards,\nwe shall see. But at first, Duncan there, if he gets over his blateness,\nwill be more of their age, and fear them less.\"\n\n\"If all I hear be true,\" said my Aunt Jen, pursing up her mouth as if\nshe had bitten into a crab apple, \"the lassie is little likely to be\nfeared of you or any mortal on the earth!\"\n\n\"Maybe aye--maybe no,\" snapped my grandmother, \"at any rate be off with\nyou into the back kitchen and see that the dishes are washed, so as not\nto be a show to the public. You and Meg have so little sense that whiles\nI wonder that I am your mother.\"\n\n\"You are not Meg's mother that I ken of!\" her daughter responded\nacridly.\n\n\"I am her mistress, and the greater fool to keep such a handless hempie\nabout the house! You, Janet, I have to provide for in some wise--such\nbeing the will of the Lord--His and your father's there. Now then,\nclear! Be douce! Let me get on my cloak and leghorn bonnet.\"\n\nMy grandmother being thus accoutred, and I invested with a black jacket,\nknee-breeches, shoes, and the regulation fluffy tie that tickled my\nthroat and made me a week-day laughing stock to all who dared, Mistress\nMary Lyon and I started to make our first call at the Great House of\nMarnhoul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE CENSOR OF MORALS\n\n\nAs my grandmother and I went down the little loaning from Heathknowes\nFarm she had an eye for everything. She \"shooed\" into duty's path a\nyoungling hen with vague maternal aspirations which was wandering off to\nfound a family by laying an egg in the underbrush about the saw-mill.\nShe called back final directions to her daughter Jen and maidservant\nMeg, and saw that they were attended to before she would go on. She\nlooked into the saw-mill itself in the by-going, and made sure that Rob\nMcTurk was in due attendance on the whirling machinery which was turning\noff the spools, as it seemed to me, with the rapidity of light. She\ninquired as to the whereabouts of her husband.\n\n\"Oh, he was in a minute since!\" said the politic Rob, who knew very well\nthat my grandfather had climbed into the bark storage loft, and was at\nthat moment sitting on a bundle, with a book in his hand and content in\nhis heart at having escaped the last injunctions of his wife.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said Mistress Mary Lyon, \"tell him from me----\" And, as\nusual, a long list of recommendations followed.\n\n\"I'll see to it that he hears,\" said Rob McTurk imperturbably, knowing\nfull well that his master could by no means help hearing, since my\ngrandmother, in order to drown the noise of the whirling spindles and\nclattering cogs, had raised her voice till her every word must have\npenetrated to the pleasant, bark-scented place where, under his solitary\nskylight, Mr. William Lyon was so calmly reading his favourite _Memoirs\nof the Life of Thomas Boston of Ettrick_.\n\nBesides my clothes, there were two things which interfered with the\nhappiness of my jaunt. One was the presence of a third and most\nuncertain party to the affair--our rough, red house-collie Crazy, and\nthe other was a doubt as to the way in which we would be received. For,\nbe it remembered, I had seen Miss Irma Maitland shut the great door at\nthe top of the Marnhoul steps on the raging crowd of assailants, and I\nwondered if we would not also find it slammed in our faces.\n\nI had, however, confidence in my grandmother.\n\nOn the way to the padlocked gate at the entrance of the avenue which led\nto the Haunted House, my grandmother had abundant room for the exercise\nof her gifts. Never was there a woman who came across so many things\nthat \"she could not abide.\"\n\nSuch, for instance, were Widow Tolmie's ideas as to disposal of her\nnocturnal household rubbish on the King's highway. Into the Tolmie house\nwent Mistress Mary Lyon, well aware that words would have no avail. In a\nminute she had requisitioned broom, bucket, and \"claut,\" or byre-rake.\nIn other three minutes all was over. Widow Tolmie had a clean frontage.\nThe utensils had been washed and hung up, and my grandmother was\ndelivering a lecture from one of the most frequently-quoted texts which\nare not to be found in Holy Writ, while she drew again upon her strong,\nenergetic old hands the pair of lisle thread \"mitts\" she had taken off\nin order to effect her clean sweep.\n\nAfter she had duly lectured the Widow Tolmie, she bade her in all amity\n\"Good-day,\" and started to reform Crazy, who had been gyrating furiously\nacross her path, trying apparently to bite his tail out by the roots.\nCrazy was, it appeared, a useless, good-for-nothing beast, a disgrace to\na decent Elder's house, and I was ordered to stone him home.\n\nNow I did not particularly wish Crazy to go with us to the Great House.\nI thought of the smiling carelessness of the girl's face I had seen\nthere. Crazy might, and very likely would, misbehave himself. But still,\nCrazy was my friend, my companion, my joy. _Stone Crazy!_ It was not to\nbe thought of. He would certainly consider it some new kind of game and\nrun barking after the missiles. I therefore shot so far beyond that the\npebbles fell over the hedge, till my grandmother, whose sole method was\nan ungainly cross between a hurl and a jerk, took up the fusillade on\nher own account, with the result that Crazy was wrought up to the\nhighest point of excitement, and, as I had foreseen, brought each stone\nback to my grandmother, barking joyously and pulling at her skirts for\nher to throw again.\n\n\"And just wait till I get you home,\" gasped Mrs. Mary Lyon, shaking her\nrough white head, \"there shall a rope be put about your neck, my lad!\"\n\nBut whether for the purpose of mere tying up, or to carry out the\nextreme sentence of the law, I did not gather. I resolved that, in the\nlatter case, Crazy should come with me to the school-house. There was a\nplace I knew of there, a crib at the end of the stick-cellar, which at a\npinch would do admirably for Crazy. And I felt sure that Crazy, wholly\nincompetent at his own business of shepherding, would be a perfect\n\"boys' dog\" and a permanent acquisition to the Academy of Eden Valley.\nThere was, of course, my father to consider. But I did not stop to think\nof that. The classics and Fred Esquillant were enough for him at the\nmoment.\n\nAs she passed various cottage doors my grandmother had several bouts\nwith joiners who blocked the road with unfinished carts and diffusive\npots of red paint, with small wayside cowherds in charge of animals\nwhich considered the hedge-rows as their appointed pasturage, with boys\ngoing fishing who had learned at school that a straight line is the\nshortest distance between two points, and who practised their Euclid to\nthe detriment of their neighbours' fences.\n\nBut nothing of great moment occurred till, on the same knoll from which\nhe had summoned us to view the smoke of the ghost's afternoon fire at\nMarnhoul, we encountered Boyd Connoway. He was stretched at length, as\nusual, one leg crossed negligently over the other. He had pivoted his\nhead against a log for the purpose of seeing in three directions about\nhim--towards the Great House, and both up and down the main road. A\nstraw, believed to be always the same, was in his mouth.\n\nA red rag to a bull, a match to tinder, are weak metaphors--quite\nincapable of expressing a tenth of what my grandmother felt at the sight\nof the pet idler of Eden Valley.\n\nShe rushed instantly to the assault, much as she would have led a\nforlorn hope. The dragoons who plunged their swords into great mows of\nstraw in Covenanting barns, the unfortunates who pursued a needle\nthrough a load of hay, were employed in hopeful work when compared with\nMistress Mary Lyon, searching with her tongue in this mass of\nself-sufficiency for any trace of Boyd Connoway's long-lost conscience.\n\n\"Why are you not at home?\" she cried; \"I heard Bridget complaining as I\ncame by, that she could not feed the pig because she had nobody to bring\nher wood for her boiler fire--and she in the middle of her blanket\nwashing!\"\n\nThe husband whom fate and her own youthful folly had given to Bridget\nConnoway, took off his battered and weather-beaten hat with the native\npoliteness of a born Irishman. He did not rise. That would have been too\nmuch to expect of him. But he uncrossed his legs and recrossed them the\nother way about.\n\n\"Mistress Lyon,\" he said indolently, but with the soft, well-anointed\nutterance of the blarneying islander, which does not die away till the\nthird generation of the poorest exile from Erin, \"now, misthress dear,\nconsider!\"\n\n\"I have considered you for seven years, and seven to the back of that,\nBoyd Connoway, and you are a lazy lout! Every year you get worse!\"\n\nMy grandmother counted nothing so stimulating as truth spoken to the\nface. She acted, with all save her male grandchildren, on the ancient\nprinciple that \"Praise to the face is an open disgrace!\" And Boyd, in\nhis time, had been singularly exempt from this kind of disgrace, so far\nas my grandmother was concerned.\n\n\"But consider, Mrs. Lyon,\" he went on tranquilly, while my relative\nstood in the road and eyed him with bitter scorn, \"there's my wife, now\nshe's up early and late. She's scrubbing and cleaning, and all for\nwhat?--just that yonder pack o' children o' hers should go out on the\nroad and come trailing back in ten minutes dirtier than ever. She runs\nto Shepstone Oglethorpe's to give his maid a help in the mornings, all\nfor a miserable three shillings a week. She takes no rest to the sole of\nher foot, nor gives nobody any either! Poor Bridget--I am sorry for\nBridget. 'Take things easier, and you will feel better, Bridget,' I say.\n'Trust in Providence, Bridget!' 'Think on what the Doctor said three\nSundays but one ago from the very pulpit.' And would ye believe me,\nMistress Lyon, that poor woman, being left to herself, threw all the\nweights at me one after the other--aye, and would have thrown the scales\ntoo if I had not come away!\"\n\nHere Connoway sighed and stretched himself luxuriously, rubbing the\nstiff fell of his hair meditatively as he did so.\n\n\"Ah, poor Bridget,\" he continued, with pathos in his voice, \"Bridget is\nso dreadfully unresigned, Mistress Lyon. Often have I said to her, 'Be\nresigned, Bridget--trust in Providence, Bridget!' But as sure as I point\nout Bridget's duty, there is something broken in our house!\"\n\n\"Pity but it was your head, Boyd Connoway! Come away, child!\" cried my\ngrandmother, \"quick--lest I do that man an injury. He puts me in such a\nstate that I declare to goodness I am thankful I have not a poker in my\nhand! Now there's your grandfather----\"\n\nBut she went no further in the discussion of her own lesser household\nburden. For there right in front of us was the great gate, the battered\nnotice to trespassers, the broken standard on which the padlock, now\nremoved, had worn a rusty hollow, and in its place we read the little\nwhite notice concerning the hours at which the mistress of the mansion\ncould receive visitors.\n\n\"Oh, the poor young things!\" said my grandmother, her anger (as was its\nwont) instantly cooling, and even Boyd Connoway dropping back into his\nown place as perhaps a necessary factor in an ill-regulated but on the\nwhole rather bearable world.\n\nThe gate creaked open slowly. My grandmother drew herself up. For did she\nnot come of the best blood of the Westland Whigs, great-granddaughter\nof that Bell of Whiteside, kinsman of Kenmure's, who was shot by Lag\non the moor of Kirkconnel, near to the Lynn through which the Tarff\nfoams white?\n\nFor me, I was chiefly conscious of the bushes and shrubs on either side\nthe avenue, broken and trampled in the tumultuous rush of the populace\non the day of the discovery. I felt guilty. By that way Gerty\nGreensleeves and I had passed, Gerty very close to my elbow. And now,\nlike the rolling away of a panorama picture in a show, Gerty\nGreensleeves, and all other maids save one, had passed out of my life.\nOr so, in my ignorance, I thought at the time.\n\nFor no woman ever passes wholly out of any man's life--that is, if he\nlives long enough. She steals back again with the coming of life's\ngloaming, with the shadows of night creeping across the hills, or the\nmorning mists swimming up out of the valley. Sometimes she is weeping,\nbut more often smiling. For there is time enough, since the man last\nthought of her, for all tears to be wiped from her eyes. But come she\nwill. Yet sometimes it is not so. She does not smile. She only stands on\nthe threshold of a man's soul with reproachful eyes, and lips drawn and\nmute. Then it is not good to be that man.\n\nBut in those days, being a boy, carried along in the waft of my\ngrandmother's skirt, I knew nothing about such things.\n\nI watched my grandmother take the antique knocker between her fingers,\nnoting with housewifely approval that it had recently been polished. I\nhave seldom passed a more uncomfortable time of waiting, than that\nbetween the resounding clatter of grandmother's knocking reverberating\nthrough the empty house, and the patter of feet, the whispering, and at\nlast the opening of the door.\n\nThen I saw again the tall girl with the proudly angled chin, the crown\nof raven curls, and the pair of brave outlooking eyes that met all the\nworld with something that was even a little bold.\n\nI had been afraid that my grandmother, so indiscriminating in her\nadmonitions, might open fire upon this forlorn couple, isolated in the\ngreat haunted house of Marnhoul. But I need not have troubled.\n\nMy grandmother had the instinct of caressing maternity for all the\nyoung, the forlorn, the helpless. So she only opened her arms and cried\nout, \"Oh, you dears--you poor darlings!\"\n\nAnd the little boy, moved by the instinctive yearning of all that needed\nprotection, of everything of tender years and little strength towards\nthe breast that had suckled and the hands that had nursed, let go his\nsister's hand and ran happily to my grandmother. She caught him in her\narms and lifted him up with the easy habitual gesture of one long\ncertified as a mother in Israel. He threw his little arms about my\ngrandmother's neck, nestling there just as the rest of us used to do\nwhen we were in any trouble.\n\n\"I like you! You are good!\" he said.\n\nMiss Irma and I were therefore left eye to eye while Louis Maitland, in\nspite of his title, was so rapidly making friends with the actual head\nof our family.\n\nIrma eyed me, and I did the like to Miss Irma--that is, to the best of\nmy ability, which in this matter was nothing to hers. She seemed to look\nme through and through. At which I quailed, and then she appeared a\nlittle more content.\n\nWith the child still in her arms, and her voice, lately so harsh in\nrebuke, now tuned to the cooing of a nesting dove, my grandmother\nintroduced herself.\n\n\"Child,\" she said to Miss Irma, \"I am your nearest neighbour. Who should\ncome to welcome you if not I? You will find me at the farm of\nHeathknowes. It is my goodman's saw-mills that you hear clattering from\nwhere you stand, and I am come to see if there is anything I can do to\nhelp you.\"\n\n\"I thank you----\" began the girl, and then hesitated. She had meant to\ndeclare that they wanted for nothing, perhaps to indicate that the wife\nof a tenant was hardly a fitting \"first-foot\" to venture over the\nthreshold of a baronet of ancient name and of the sister who acted as\nhis sponsor, tutor and governor.\n\nBut then Miss Irma did not know my grandmother as Eden Valley did, still\nless as we who were, as one might say, of Caesar's household.\n\n\"Let me come in--I will soon see for myself!\" quoth my grandmother, and\nmarched straight into the front hall of the Maitlands, that immense\ndusky cavern I had only once looked into over the pikes and pitchforks.\nShe carried Sir Louis, tenth baronet of that name, on one arm. With her\nfree right hand she went hither and thither, sweeping her hand along the\nledges of great oak cabinets, blowing at the dust on the stone\nmantelpiece, and finally clearing the great curtained south-western\nwindow to let in the sun in flakes and patches of scarlet and gold.\n\nThen she turned to Miss Irma and said in the tone of an expert who has\ninspected a grave piece of work and not found it wanting, \"You have done\nvery well, my dear!\"\n\nAnd at this Miss Irma changed the fashion of her countenance. Pleasure\nshone scarce concealed. It was certain that up to that moment she had\nregarded my grandmother somewhat in the light of an intruder, but she\ncould not bear up against such an appeal from housewife to housewife.\n\n\"Will you come up-stairs?\" she said, \"I have hardly got begun here yet.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE APOTHEOSIS OF AGNES ANNE\n\n\nNo word or look included me in the invitation which Miss Irma tendered\nto my grandmother. Nevertheless I followed, not knowing what else to do.\nI felt huge, awkward, clumsy of build and knotty of elbow and knee. I\nwas conscious that my knuckles were red. I felt in the way and unhappy.\nIn short, I hulked. Indeed, but that I was able to watch two eyes of\ndarkest grey beneath a wisp of untamed curls on a small and shapely\nhead, and the look of the thing, I would far rather have stopped out on\nthe doorstep with Crazy.\n\nAnd perhaps that would have been the best place for me, all things\nconsidered.\n\nAfter we had passed two or three rooms in review, all of which were, as\nit appeared to me, garnished with the ordinary sheets and coverlets of a\nbedroom, my grandmother abruptly turned upon Miss Irma.\n\n\"Let me see your hands!\" she said, in her ordinary brusque manner. I was\nin terror lest we should be shown to the door. But the freemasonry of\nwork, the knowledge of things feminine, the fine little nod of\nappreciation at a detail which is perfectly lost on a man, the flush of\nanswering approbation had done their perfect work between the old woman\nand the girl.\n\nSuch things were not within my ken, and my grandmother promptly banished\nme. She set down the little baronet at the same time with a \"Run and\nplay, my doo!\" She issued directions for me to charge myself with the\nresponsibility. I would much rather have stayed to hear what grandmother\nand Miss Irma had to say one to the other, because I was more interested\nin that. But the choice was not given to me. Go I must.\n\nAnd with her first personal word of acknowledgment that I was a human\nbeing, Miss Irma, calling me by name, indicated the \"drawing-room\" as\nthe place where we might await the end of this first congress of the\nHoly Alliance.\n\nI was some little alarmed at the place, the name of which so far I had\nonly seen in books, but little Sir Louis whispered in my ear as he took\nmy hand, \"We can play there. That's only what sister Irma calls it!\"\n\nWhen my grandmother and Miss Irma appeared after an absence of\nhalf-an-hour they found the two of us deep in a game of bat-ball. I made\nan attempt to hide the ball, fearing lest Miss Irma might think I\nusually carried such things about with me (I had confiscated it in class\nthat day). But I need not have troubled, she paid no attention whatever\nto me, continuing to hold my grandmother's hand and look into the wise,\nstormy, tender, emphatic, much-enduring old face. And I wondered at my\nrelative, and saw in this marvel one more proof of her own\ninfallibility.\n\n\"You must not stay any longer in this great house alone,\" she was\nsaying, \"I will send you--somebody.\"\n\nThen she looked again at Miss Irma's hands, and though I did not see\nwhy, nor understand at the time, she added, \"No--no--it will never\ndo--never do!\" I wish I could say that on this first occasion of our\nmeeting, Miss Irma devoted a little of her attention to me. But the\ntruth is, she had eyes for nobody but Mistress Mary Lyon of\nHeathknowes. True, a glance occasionally came my way, which caused me\ninstinctively to straighten myself up and square my shoulders, as I did\nin the playground when acting as drill sergeant to the juniors. But the\nvery same glance with quite as much personality in it, passed on to\nCrazy, who, to the exuberant delight of little Louis, had by this time\nintruded himself. It was impossible for the most self-conceited to bring\naway much comfort or encouragement from favours so slight as these.\n\nEven Louis, after the advent of Crazy, considered me only as his\ndrill-sergeant, and valued me according as Crazy consented to show off\nhis tricks at the word of command from me.\n\n\"Behave, sir! You are in the kirk!\" cried I. And lo! to the boy's wonder\nCrazy, who had been gambolling about on the bare floor, sank down with\nhis head between his paws and his eyes hypocritically closed, till I\ngave the signal, \"Now fight the French!\" Upon which uprose Crazy like a\ndancing bear on his hind legs, and jumped about with flaming eyes,\nbarking with all his might. This, being the performance which pleased\nCrazy most, was also the favourite with the young Sir Louis.\n\nIndeed leavetaking was difficult, though by no means on my account. For\nMiss Irma was all taken up with grandmother and little Louis with Crazy.\nNobody minded me, and Miss Irma did not so much as reach me a finger,\nthough at the last she just nodded, and Sir Louis had to be removed\nwailing, because he wished to keep his arms tight about the shaggy neck\nof Master Crazy, that singularly indifferent sheep-dog, but excellent\nvariety entertainer.\n\nIt was, however, promised that Crazy should return, and as I knew that\nCrazy would by no means perform without me, considering himself bound to\nme by hours of patient labour and persistent fellow truantry, I saw some\nlight on the horizon of an otherwise dark future. I must go back too.\nBut in the meantime Louis wept uncomforted, and \"batted\" his sister with\nbaby palms in the impotence of his anger as she carried him within.\n\nMy grandmother said nothing of any importance on the way home. She was\nevidently thinking deeply, and confined herself to \"Hush, you there!\"\nand \"Do ye hear what I was saying to ye?\" Under a fire of suchlike\nremarks, delivered more or less at random, and without the least\ndiscrimination between the barking of Crazy (the effect) and me (the\ncause)--I kept a little in the rear so that I might have a sober face on\nme when she turned round, while the less subtle Crazy galloped in\nfurious circles yapping and leaping up even in my grandmother's face. He\nwas, however, useful in drawing her fire, and though I had to keep a\nsharp look-out for the stones she caught up to throw at Crazy (who ran\nno personal danger) our home-coming was effected in good order and with\nconsiderable amusement to myself.\n\nBut on her arrival at Heathknowes, Mrs. Mary Lyon found that there were\nforces in the universe which even she was powerless to conquer.\n\nMeg, the \"indoor\" lass at Heathknowes, refused point-blank to go one\nfoot in the direction of the \"Ghaist's Hoose.\" She persisted in her\nrefusal even when addressed by the awe-inspiring baptismal name of\nMargaret Simprin Hetherington, and reminded of the terms of her\nengagement.\n\nNo, Margaret Simprin Hetherington would not--could not--dared not--stay\na night in the great house of Marnhoul. Whatever my grandmother might\nsay it was not so nominated in the bond. She had been hired to serve\nabout the farmhouse of Heathknowes, and she did not mind carrying their\ndinners to the workmen in the saw-mill----\n\n\"No,\" interpolated my grandmother, \"nor taking an hour-and-a-half to do\nit in!\"\n\nUpon which, as if stirred by some association of ideas, Meg added that\nshe would go none to Marnhoul Big Hoose, \"because not a soul would come\nnear the place.\" It did not matter whether _she_ believed in Grey Ladies\nwith rain-drops pattering through them or not--other people did, and she\nwould not be banished \"among the clocks and rattons\"--no, not for double\nwages!\n\nMy grandmother, indeed, explained that there was no question of ladies\ngrey or rain-drops pattering, but of obedience to her legal mistress.\n\nBut she knew that the cause was lost, and I am quite sure anticipated\nthe reply of Margaret Simprin Hetherington, which was to the effect that\nno lass, indoor or outdoor, was more willing to obey her mistress than\nshe, but it would be in the place in which she had been hired to\nserve--there and not elsewhere.\n\nFor once my grandmother was nonplussed. Being a good Galloway woman she\nknew that of all things it is most impossible to run counter to the\nsuperstitions of her people. Perhaps she retained a touch of these\nherself. But, as she said, \"The grace of the Lord can overcome all the\nwiles of the Evil One! And Mary Lyon would like to see witch or warlock,\nghost or ghostling, that would come in her road when she went forth\nunder His banner.\" On the darkest night she marched unafraid, conquering\nand to conquer, having the superstitions born in her, but knowing all\nthe same (and all the better for that knowledge) on which side were the\nbigger battalions.\n\nIt was no use to send my Aunt Jen, who had once been \"in a place\"\nbefore. Aunt Jen would go, but--she would take her tongue with her. She\nhad her mother's command of language, but was utterly destitute of her\ntact, lacking also, as was natural, the maternal instinct. As, in a\nmoment of exasperation my grandmother once said of her, \"Our Jinnet is\ndried up like a crab-tree in the east wind!\"\n\nShe would certainly undo all that Mistress Mary Lyon had done, and \"that\npuir young lassie\" (as she called Miss Irma) carried a warlike flash in\nher eye which warned the rugged grandmotherly heart that she and our\nAunt Jen could not long bide at peace in the same house.\n\nMy mother might have done, as far as temper was concerned, but she\nwanted what grandmother called the \"needcessary birr.\" Besides which she\nhad more than enough to do in caring for her own house, mending my\nfather's clothes and misinforming the public as to Post Office\nregulations. On the whole, though she loved her married daughter, I\nthink Mary Lyon was not a little sorry for my father, John MacAlpine, in\nhis choice of a housekeeper. I could see this by the occasional descents\nshe made upon our house, and the way she had of going about the rooms,\nsetting things to rights, silent save for a running comment of soft\nsniffs upon the nose of contempt--the while my mother, after a\nsympathetic glance at me, devoted herself to silent prayer that\ngrandmother would not light upon anything very bad.\n\nWith my grandmother, to fail in the due ordering of a house was a\ncardinal sin. And my poor mother sinned, not indeed by intention,\nhardly even in labour, but in that appearance of easy perfection, which\nin a household is the result of excellent plans thoroughly and timeously\ncarried out. She was apt to be found late of an afternoon in a chair\nwith a book--and the dinner dishes still unwashed. Then Agnes Anne, my\nsister, would come in without a word. Her school frock would be quickly\nshrouded under a great coarse apron. If I happened to be within doors I\nwas beckoned to assist. If not, not--and Agnes Anne did them herself\nwhile my mother slept on.\n\nBut I do not think that grandmother knew this, for she very generally\nignored Agnes Anne altogether, having a decided preference for boys in a\nfamily. It fell out, therefore, that when she came a little shamefacedly\nto consult my father, as she sometimes did in days of difficulty--for\nunder a show of contempt she often really submitted to his judgment--it\nwas given to Agnes Anne to say suddenly, \"Let me go to Marnhoul,\ngrandmother!\" If Balaam's ass (or say, Crazy), had spoken these words,\ngrandmother could not have been more astonished.\n\nMore so still when John MacAlpine nodded approval.\n\n\"Yes, let the lassie go--let her put her hand to the work. The burden\ncannot be too soon laid on young shoulders--that is, if they are strong\nenough.\"\n\nMary Lyon stared, as if both he and his daughter had suddenly taken\nleave of their senses.\n\n\"Why, what can the lassie _do_?\" she cried; \"I thought you were making\nher nothing but a don in the dead languages!\"\n\n\"I can bake, and brew, and wash, and keep a house clean,\" said Agnes\nAnne, putting in her testimonials, since there was no one so well\nacquainted with them. My father nodded. He was not so blind as many\nmight suppose. My mother said, \"Aye, 'deed, she can that. Agnes Anne is\na good lass. I know not what I should do without her!\"\n\nMy grandmother looked about at the new air of tidiness, and for the\nfirst time a suspicion crossed her mind that, out of a pit from which\nshe was expecting no such treasure, some one in her own image might\npossibly have been digged among her descendants of the second\ngeneration. She looked at Agnes Anne with a ray of hope. Agnes Anne\nstood the awful searching power of that eye. Agnes Anne did not flinch.\nMary Lyon nodded her head with its man's close-cropped locks of rough\nwhite hair in lyart locks about her ears.\n\n\"You'll do, Agnes Anne, you'll do,\" she said, adding cautiously, \"that\nis, after a time\"--so as not to exalt the girl above measure. It was,\nhowever, recognized by all as a definite triumph for my sister. My\ngrandmother, a rigid Calvinist, who believed in Election with all her\nintellect, and acted Free Will with all her heart, elected Agnes Anne\nupon the spot. Had the girl not willed to rise out of the pit of sloth\nand mere human learning? And lo! she had arisen. Thenceforth Agnes Anne\nstood on a pedestal, and for a while one sturdy disciple of Calvin's\nthought heretically of the pure doctrine. Here was a human being who had\nwilled, and, according to my grandmother, had made of herself a miracle\nof grace.\n\nBut she recalled herself to more orthodox sentiments. The steel was out\nof the sheath, indeed, but it had to be tried. Even yet Agnes Anne might\nbe found wanting.\n\n\"When will you be ready to start?\" she said, turning her black twinkling\neyes upon her granddaughter.\n\n\"In five minutes,\" said Agnes Anne boldly.\n\n\"And you are not frightened?\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Of these vain tales--ghosts, hauntings, and so forth. Our Meg Simprin\n(silly maid!) would not move a foot, and you are far younger.\"\n\n\"I am no younger than those who are in the house already,\" said Agnes\nAnne, with great sense, which even I would hardly have expected from\nher, \"and if ghosts are spirits, as the Bible says, I do not see that\nthey can interfere with housework!\"\n\nMy grandmother rose solemnly from her seat, patted Agnes Anne on the\ntop-knot of her hair, shook hands with John MacAlpine, nodded meaningly\nat my mother, and said, \"Come along, young lass,\" in a tone which showed\nthat the aged shepherdess had unexpectedly found a lamb whom she long\ncounted lost absolutely butting against the door of the sheep-fold.\n\nThis was the apotheosis of Agnes Anne. Her life dates from that evening\nin our kitchen, even as mine did from the afternoon when one half the\nfools of Eden Valley were letting off shot-guns at the back windows of\nMarnhoul Great House, while Miss Irma withstood the others on the\nthreshold of the front door.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE DOCTOR'S ADVENT\n\n\nThe firm of lawyers in Dumfries, the agents for the Maitland properties,\ndid not seem to be taking any measures to dispossess Miss Irma and young\nSir Louis. Perhaps they, too, had private information. Perhaps those who\nhad brought the children to Marnhoul may have been in the confidence of\nthat notable firm of Smart, Poole & Smart in the High Street. At any\nrate they made no move towards ejection. They may also have argued that\nany one who could dispossess the ghosts and make Marnhoul once more a\nhabitable mansion, was welcome to the tenancy.\n\nIt was the Reverend Doctor Gillespie who, first of all the distinguished\nmen of the parish, received in some slight degree the confidence of Miss\nIrma. Grandmother knew more, of course, and perhaps, also, Agnes Anne.\nBut, with the feeling of women towards those whom they approve, they\nbecame Irma's accomplices. Women are like that. When you tell them a\nsecret, if they don't like you, they become traitors. If they do, they\nare at once confederates. But the Doctor visited Marnhoul as a\ndeputation, officially, and also for the purpose of setting the minds of\nthe genteel at rest.\n\nThe Doctor's lady gave him no peace till he did his duty. The General's\nwomenfolk at the Bungalow were clamorous. It was not seemly. Something\nmust be done, and since the action of Mr. Shepstone Oglethorpe on the\noccasion of the assault on the house had put _him_ out of the question,\nand as the General flatly refused to have anything to do with the\naffair, it was obvious that the duty must fall to the Doctor.\n\nNor could a better choice have been made. Eden Valley has known many\npreachers, but never another such pastor--never a shepherd of the sheep\nlike the Doctor. I can see him yet walking down the manse avenue--it had\nbeen just \"the Loaning\" in the days before the advent of the second Mrs.\nDoctor Gillespie--a silver-headed cane in his hand, everything about him\ncarefully groomed, and his very port breathing a peculiarly grave and\nsober dignity. Grey locks, still plentiful, clustered about his head.\nHis cocked hat (of the antique pattern which, early in his ministry, he\nhad imported by the dozen from Versailles) never altered in pattern.\nBuckles of unpolished silver shone dully at his knee and bent across his\nsquare-toed shoes.\n\nAbove all spread his neckcloth, spotless, enveloping, cumbrous,\nreverence-compelling, a cravat worthy of a Moderator. And indeed the\nDoctor--our Doctor, parish minister of Eden Valley, had \"passed the\nChair\" of the General Assembly. We were all proud of the fact, even\ntop-lofty Cameronians like my grandmother secretly delighting in the\nthought of the Doctor in his robes of office.\n\n\"There would be few like him away there in Edinburgh,\" she would say.\n\"The Doctor's a braw man, and does us credit afore the great of the\nland--for a' that he's a Moderate!\"\n\nAnd had he been the chief of all the Moderates, the most volcanic and\naggressive of Moderates, my grandmother would have found some good thing\nto say of a fellow-countryman of so noble a presence--\"so personable,\"\nand \"such a credit to the neighbourhood.\"\n\nWisdom, grave and patient, was in every line of his kindly face.\nSomething boyish and innocent told that the shades of the prison-house\nhad never wholly closed about him. It was good to lift the hat to Dr.\nGillespie as he went along--hat a little tip-tilted off the\nbroadly-furrowed brow. In the city he is very likely to stop and regard\nthe most various wares--children's dolls or ladies' underpinnings. But\nthink not that the divine is interested in such things. His mind is\nabsent--in communion with things very far away. Lift your hat and salute\nhim. He will not see you, but--it will do _you_ good!\n\nWilliam Gillespie was the son of a good ministerial house. His father\nhad occupied the same pulpit. He himself had been born in his own\nmanse--which is to say, in all the purple of which our grey Puritan land\ncan boast. We were proud of the Doctor, and had good reason therefor. I\nhave said that even my field-preaching grandmother looked upon the\nErastian with a moisture quasi-maternal in her eyes, and as for us who\n\"sat under him and listened to his speech,\" we came well-nigh to worship\nhim.\n\nYet \"the Doctor\" was self-effacing beyond many, and only our proper\nrespect for the \"Lady of the Manse\" kept the parishioners in their\nplaces. Discourses which he had preached in the callow days of his youth\non the \"Book of the Revelation\" had brought hearers from many distant\nparishes, and at that time the Doctor had had several \"calls\" and\n\"offers\" to proceed to other spheres on account of their fame. But he\nhad always refused to repeat any of them.\n\n\"I have changed my mind about many things since then,\" he would say;\n\"young men are apt to be hasty! The greatest of all heresies is\ndogmatism.\"\n\nBut among the older saints of the parish that \"series of expositions\"\nwas not forgotten. \"It was\" (they averred) \"like the licht o' anither\nworld to look on his face--just heeven itsel' to listen to him. Sirce\nme, there are no such discourses to be heard now-a-days--not even from\n_himsel'_!\"\n\nAnd be it remembered that our dear Doctor could unbend--that is, in\nfitting time and place. From the seats of the mighty, from Holyrood and\nthe Moderator's chair our Cincinnatus returned to shepherd his quiet\nflock among the bosky silences of Eden Valley. He wore his learning, all\nhis weight of honour lightly--with a smile, even with a slight shrug of\nthe shoulder. The smile, even the jest, rose continually to his lips,\nespecially when his wife was not present. But at all times he remembered\nhis office, and often halted with the ancient maxim at the sight of some\nintruder, \"Let us be sober--yonder comes a fool!\" And many of his\nvisitors noticed this sudden sobriety without once suspecting its cause.\n\nEven the Cameronians agreed that there was \"unction\" in the Doctor. For\nhis brave word's sake they forgave the heresies of his church about the\nCivil Magistrate, and said freely among themselves that if in every\nparish there was such a minister as Dr. Gillespie, the civil magistrate\nwould be compelled to take a very back seat indeed. But it was on\nCommunion Sabbath days that the Doctor became, as it were, transfigured,\nthe face of him shining, though he wist not of it.\n\nSomething of the spirit of the Crucified was poured forth that day upon\nmen and women humbly bowing their heads over the consecrated memorials\nof His love.\n\nA silence of a rare and peculiar sanctity filled the little bare,\ndeep-windowed kirk. The odour of the flowering lilacs came in like\nNature's own incense, and the plain folk of Eden Valley got a foretaste,\nfaint and dim, but sufficient, of the Land where the tables shall never\nbe withdrawn.\n\nBetter preachers than the Doctor?--We grant it you, though there are\nmany in the Valley who will not agree, but not one more fitted to break\nthe bread of communion before the white-spread tables.\n\nIt was Agnes Anne who opened the door of Marnhoul, and stood a moment\nastonished at the sight of the Doctor all in black and silver--hat,\ncoat, knee-breeches, silken hose and leathern shoes of the first, locks,\nstuds, knee-buckles, shoe-buckles all of the second.\n\nBut our Agnes Anne was truly of the race of Mary Lyon, so in a moment\nshe said, \"Pray come in, sir!\" with the self-respect of the daughter of\na good house, as well as the dutifulness which she owed to one so\nreverend and so revered.\n\nThe Doctor was not surprised. He smiled as he recognized the\nschool-master's daughter. But he betrayed nothing. He laid his hand as\nusual on her smooth locks by way of a blessing, and inquired if Miss\nMaitland and Sir Louis were at home.\n\n\"They are in the school-room,\" said Agnes Anne, in the most\nbusiness-like tone in the world; \"come this way, sir.\"\n\nIt was a very different house--that which Agnes Anne showed the\nDoctor--from the cobweb-draped, dust-strewn, deserted mansion of a few\nweeks ago. Simply considering them as caretakers, the Dumfries lawyers\nought to have welcomed their new tenants. So far as cleanliness went,\nMiss Irma had done a great deal--so much, indeed, as to earn the praise\nof that severest of critics, my grandmother.\n\nBut there was much that no girl could do alone. Chair-seats and\nsofa-cushions had been beaten till no speck of dust was left. This had\nhad to be carefully gone about. For though, apparently, no thieves had\nbroken through to steal, it was evident that the house had last been\noccupied by people of excessively careless habits, who had put muddy\nboots on chairs and trampled regardlessly everywhere. But the other half\nof the text held good. Moth and rust had certainly corrupted.\n\nHowever, Agnes Anne was handy with her needle, in spite of her father\nand his class on Ovid. There was always a good deal to do in our house,\nand since mother made no great effort, and was generally tired, it fell\nto Agnes Anne to do it.\n\nShe it was who had re-covered the worn old drawing-room chairs with\nbrocade found in the deep, cedar-wood lined cupboards, along with wealth\nof ancient court dresses, provision of household linen, and all that had\nbelonged to the Maitlands on the day when, after the falling of the head\nof their house upon Tower Hill, the great old mansion had been shut up.\n\nThe Doctor had been strictly enjoined to take good heed to write\neverything down on his mental tablets, and to give careful account to\nhis lady. He found the two young Maitlands seated at a table from which\nthe cloth had been lifted at one corner to make room for copybooks, ink,\npens and reading-books. Evidently Miss Irma was instructing her brother.\n\n\"Now, Louis,\" they heard her say as they came in, \"remember the destiny\nto which you are called, and that now is the time----\"\n\n\"The Doctor to call upon you!\" Agnes Anne announced in a tone of awe\nbefitting the occasion.\n\nThen the stately apparition in black and silver which followed her into\nthe room came slowly forward, smiling with outstretched hand. Miss Irma\nwas not in the least put out. She rose and swept a curtsey with bowed\nhead. Little Sir Louis, evidently awed by the sedate grandeur which sat\nso well upon the visitor, paused a moment as if uncertain how he ought\nto behave.\n\nHe was a little behind his sister, and completely out of the range of\nher vision, so he felt himself safe in sucking the ink from the side of\nhis second finger, and rubbing the wet place hard on his black velvet\nbreeches. Then, as Miss Irma glanced round, he fell also to his manners\nand bowed gravely--unconsciously imitating the grand manner of the\nDoctor himself.\n\nThe room used for lessons was a wide, pleasant place, rather low in the\nroof, plainly panelled and wainscotted in dark oak, with a single line\nof dull gold beading running about it high up. There was a large\nfireplace, with a seat all the way round, and a stout iron basket to\nhold the fire of sea-coal, when such was used. Brass and irons stood at\nthe side, convenient for faggots. A huge crane and many S-shaped\npot-hooks discovered the fact that at some time this place had been\noccupied as a kitchen, perhaps in the straitened days of the last\n\"attainted\" Maitlands.\n\nBut now the chamber was pleasant and warm, the windows open to the air\nand the song of the birds. Dimity curtains hung on the great poles by\nthe windows and stirred in the breeze, as if they had been lying for\nhalf a century in dusky cupboards. Agnes Anne looked carefully to see if\nthe darning showed, and decided that not even her grandmother could spy\nit out--how much less, then, the Doctor.\n\nShe was, however, annoyed that the tall, brass-faced clock in the\ncorner, dated \"Kilmaurs, 1695,\" could not be made to go. But she had a\npromise from Boyd Connoway that he would \"take a look at her\" as soon as\nhe had attended to three gardens and docked the tails of a litter of\npromising puppies.\n\nThe Doctor bowed graciously over the hand of Miss Irma, and shook hands\ngravely with Sir Louis, who a second time had rubbed his finger on his\nblack velvet suit, just to make assurance doubly sure.\n\nThe conversation followed a high plane of social commonplace.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Miss Irma, \"it is true that our family has been a long time\nabsent from the neighbourhood, but you are right in supposing that we\nmean to settle down here for some time.\"\n\nThen she deigned to enter into particulars. She had her brother to bring\nup according to his rank, for, since there was no one else to undertake\nthe charge, it fell to her lot. Luckily she had received a good\neducation up to the time when she had the misfortune----\n\n\"Ah,\" said the Doctor quickly, \"I understand.\"\n\nHe said nothing further in words, but his sympathetic silence conveyed a\ngreat deal, and was more eloquent and consolatory than most people's\nspeech.\n\n\"And where were you educated?\" asked the Doctor gently.\n\n\"My father sent me to the Ursuline Sisters in Paris,\" said Miss Irma\ncalmly.\n\nThe Doctor was secretly astonished and much disappointed, but his face\nexpressed nothing beyond his habitual good nature. He replied, \"Then\nyour father has had you brought up a Catholic, Miss Maitland?\"\n\n\"Indeed, no,\" answered Miss Irma, \"only he had often occasion to be away\non his affairs, and to keep me out of mischief he left me with the\nUrsulines and my aunt the Abbess. At my father's death I might have\nstayed on with the good sisters, but I left because I was not allowed to\nsee my brother.\"\n\n\"Then am I right in thinking that--that--in fact--you are a\nPresbyterian?\" said the Doctor, playing with the inlaid snuffbox which\nhe carried in his hand. The amount of time he occupied in tapping the\nlid and the invisibility of the pinches he had ever been seen to take\nwere alike marvels in the district.\n\n\"I have no religious prejudices,\" said Miss Irma to the Doctor, in a\ncalm, well-bred manner which must have secretly amused that\ndistinguished theologian, fresh from editing the works of Manton.\n\n\"I did not speak of prejudices, dear young lady\" (he spoke gently, yet\nwith the thrill in his voice which showed how deeply he was moved), \"but\nof belief, of religion, of principles of thought and action.\"\n\nMiss Irma opened her eyes very wide. The sound of the Doctor's words\ncame to her ears like the accents of an unknown tongue.\n\n\"The sisters were very good people,\" she said at last; \"they give\nthemselves a great deal of trouble----\"\n\n\"What kind of trouble?\" said the Doctor.\n\n\"Kneeling and scrubbing floors for one thing,\" said Miss Irma; \"getting\nup at all hours, doing good works, praying, and burning candles to the\nVirgin.\"\n\n\"I should advise you,\" said the Doctor, with his most gentle accent, \"to\nsay as little as possible about that part of your experience here in\nEden Valley.\"\n\nMiss Irma looked exceedingly surprised.\n\n\"I thought I told you they were exceedingly good people. They were very\nkind to me, though they looked on me as a lost heretic. I am sure they\nsaid prayers for me many times a day!\"\n\nThe Doctor looked more hopeful. He was thinking that after all he might\nmake something of his strange parishioner, when the young lady recalled\nhim by a repetition of her former declaration, \"As I said, I have no\nreligious prejudices!\"\n\n\"No,\" said the Doctor a little sharply--for him, \"but still each one of\nus ought to be fully persuaded in his own mind.\"\n\n\"And that means,\" Miss Irma answered, quick as a flash, \"that most of us\nare fully persuaded according to our father and mother's mind, and the\nway they have brought us up. But then, you see, I never _was_ brought\nup. I know very well that my family were Presbyterians. Once I read\nabout their sufferings in two great volumes by a Mr. Wodrow, or some\nsuch name. But then my grandfather lost most of his estates fighting for\nthe King----\"\n\n\"For the Popish Pretender,\" said the Doctor, who could speak no smooth\nthings when it was a matter of the Revolution Settlement and the\ngovernment of King George.\n\n\"For the man he believed to be king, while others stayed snugly at\nhome,\" persisted Miss Irma. \"Then my mother was a Catholic, and my\nfather too busy to care----\"\n\n\"My poor young maid,\" said the Doctor, \"it is wonderful to see you as\nyou are!\"\n\nAnd secretly the excellent man was planning out a campaign to lead this\nlamb into the fold of that Kirk of Scotland, for the purity of whose\ndoctrine and intact spiritual independence her forefathers had shed\ntheir blood.\n\n\"At any rate,\" said he, rising and bending again over the girl's hand\nwith old-fashioned politeness, \"you will remember that your family pew\nis in the front of our laft--I mean in the gallery of the parish kirk\nof Eden Valley.\"\n\nAnd the Doctor took his leave without ever remembering that he had\nfailed in the principal part of his mission, having quite forgotten to\nfind out by what means these two young things came to find themselves\nalone in the Great House of Marnhoul.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nKATE OF THE SHORE\n\n\nIt was, I think, ten days after Agnes Anne had left us for the old house\nof the Maitlands when she came to me at the school-house. My father had\nFred Esquillant in with him, and the two were busy with Sophocles. I was\nsitting dreaming with a book of old plays in my hand when Agnes Anne\ncame in.\n\n\"Duncan,\" she said, \"I am feared to bide this night at Marnhoul. And I\nthink so is Miss Irma. Now I would rather not tell grandmother--so you\nmust come!\"\n\n\"Feared?\" said I; \"surely you never mean ghosts--and such nonsense,\nAgnes Anne--and you the daughter of a school-master!\"\n\n\"It's the solid ghosts I am feared of,\" said Agnes Anne; \"haste you, and\nask leave of father. He is so busy, he will never notice. He has Freddy\nin with him, I hear.\"\n\nSo Agnes Anne and I went in together. We could see the man's head and\nthe boy's bent close together, and turned from us so that the westering\nlight could fall upon their books. Fred Esquillant was to be a great\nscholar and to do my father infinite credit when he went to the\nuniversity. For me I was only a reader of English, a scribbler of verses\nin that language, a paltry essayist, with no sense of the mathematics\nand no more than an average classic. Therefore in the school I was a\nmere hewer of wood and drawer of water to my father.\n\n\"Duncan is coming with me to bide the night at Marnhoul,\" said Agnes\nAnne, \"and he is going to take 'King George' with him to--scare the\nfoxes!\"\n\n\"From the hen-coops?\" said my father, looking carelessly up. \"Let him\ntake care not to shoot himself then. He has no nicety of handling!\"\n\nI am sure that really he meant in the classics, for his thoughts were\nrunning that way and I could see that he was itching to be at it again\nwith Freddy.\n\n\"Tell your mother,\" he said, adjusting his spectacles on his nose, \"and\nplease shut the door after you!\"\n\nHaving thus obtained leave from the power-that-was, the matter was\nbroken to my mother. She only asked if we had told John, and being\nassured of that, felt that her entire responsibility was cleared, and so\nsubsided into the fifth volume of Sir Charles Grandison, where thrilling\nthings were going on in the cedar parlour. It was my mother's favourite\nbook, but was carefully laid aside when my grandmother came--nay, even\nconcealed as conscientiously as I under my coat conveyed away the\nbell-mouthed, silver-mounted blunderbuss which hung over the hat-rack in\nthe lobby. Buckshot, wads, and a powderhorn I also secreted about my\nperson.\n\nOn our way I catechized Agnes Anne tightly as to the nature of the\ndanger which had put her so suddenly in fear. But she eluded me. Indeed,\nI am not sure she knew herself. All I could gather was that a letter\nwhich had reached Miss Irma that morning, had given warning of trouble\nof some particular deadly sort impending upon the dwellers in the house\nof Marnhoul. When Agnes Anne opened the door of the hall to let the\nsunshine and air into the gloomy recesses where the shadows still lurked\nin spite of the light from the high windows, she had found a folded\nletter nailed to the door of Marnhoul. The blade of a foreign-looking\nknife had been thrust through it deep into the wood, and the stag's-horn\nhandle turned down in the shape of a reversed capital V--the spring\nholding the paper firm. It was addressed to Miss Irma Maitland, and\nevidently had reference to something disastrous, for all day Miss Irma\nhad gone about with a pale face, and a pitiful wringing action of her\nfingers. No words, however, had escaped her except only \"What shall I\ndo? Oh, what shall I do? My Louis--my poor little Louis!\"\n\nThe danger, then, whatever it might be, was one which particularly\ntouched the boy baronet. I could not help hoping that it might not be\nany plot of the lawyers in Dumfries to get him away. For if I were\nobliged to fire off \"King George,\" and perhaps kill somebody, I\npreferred that it should not be against those who had the law on their\nside. For in that case my father might lose his places, both as chief\nteacher and as postmaster.\n\nI got Agnes Anne to look after \"King George,\" my blunderbuss, while I\nwent round to the village to see if anything was stirring about the\ndwelling of Constable Jacky. She would only permit me to do this on\ncondition that I proved the gun unloaded, and permitted her to lock it\ncarefully in one cupboard, while the powder and shot reposed each on a\nseparate shelf outside in the kitchen, lest being left to themselves the\nelements of destruction might run together and blow up the house.\n\nI scudded through the village, passing from one end of the long street\nto the other. Constable Jacky in his shirt sleeves, was peaceably\npeeling potatoes on his doorstep, while with a pipe in his mouth Boyd\nConnoway was looking on and telling him how. The village of Eden Valley\nwas never quieter. Several young men of the highest consideration were\nwaiting within call of the millinery establishment of the elder Miss\nHuntingdon, on the chance of being able to lend her \"young ladies\" stray\nvolumes of Rollin's _Ancient History_, Defoe's _Religious Courtship_, or\nsuch other volumes as were likely to fan the flame of love's young dream\nin their hearts. I saw Miss Huntingdon herself taking stock of them\nthrough the window, and as it were, separating the sheep from the goats.\nFor she was a particular woman, Miss Huntingdon, and never allowed the\nlightest attentions to \"her young ladies\" without keeping the parents of\nher charges fully posted on the subject.\n\nAll, therefore, was peace in the village of Eden Valley. Yet I nearly\nchanced upon war. My grandmother called aloud to some one as I passed\nalong the street. For a moment I thought she had caught me, in spite of\nthe cap which I had pulled down over my eyes and the coat collar I had\npulled up above my ears.\n\nIf she got me, I made sure that she would instantly come to the great\nhouse of Marnhoul with all the King's horses and all the King's men--and\nso, as it were, spoil the night from which I expected so much.\n\nBut it was the slouching figure of Boyd Connoway which had attracted her\nattention. As I sped on I heard her asking details as to the amount of\nwork he had done that day, how he expected to keep his wife and family\nthrough the winter, whether he had split enough kindling wood and\nbrought in the morning's supply of water--also (most unkindly of all)\nwho had paid for the tobacco he was smoking.\n\nTo these inquiries, all put within the space of half-a-minute, I could\nnot catch Connoway's replies. Nor did I wait to hear. It was enough for\nme to find myself once more safe between the hedges and going as hard as\nmy feet could carry me in the direction of the gate of Marnhoul.\n\nNo sooner was I in the kitchen with the stone floor and the freshly\nscoured tin and pewter vessels glinting down from the dresser, than I\nheard the voice of Miss Irma asking to be informed if I had come. To\nAgnes Anne she called me \"your big brother,\" and I hardly ever remember\nbeing so proud of anything as of that adjective.\n\nThen after my sister had answered, Miss Irma came down the stairs with\nher quick light step, not like any I had ever heard. With a trip and a\nrustle she came bursting in upon us, so that all suddenly the quaint old\nkitchen, with its shining utensils catching the red sunshine through the\nlow western window and the swaying ivy leaves dappling the floor of\nbluish-grey, was glorified by her presence.\n\nShe was younger in years than myself, but something of race, of\nrefinement, of experience, some flavour of an adventurous past and of\nstrange things seen and known, made her appear half-a-dozen years the\nsenior of a country boy like me.\n\n\"Has he come?\" she asked, before ever she came into the kitchen; \"is he\nafraid?\"\n\n\"Only of being in a house alone with two girls,\" said Agnes Anne, \"but I\nam most afraid of father's blunderbuss which he has brought with him.\"\n\n\"Nonsense,\" said Miss Irma, determination marked in every line of her\nface. \"We have a well-armed man on the premises. It is a house fit to\nstand a siege. Why, I turned away three score of them with a darning\nneedle.\"\n\n\"Not but what it is far more serious this time!\" she said, a little\nsadly. By this time I was reassembling the scattered pieces of \"King\nGeorge's\" armament, while Agnes Anne, in terror of her life, was\nsearching on the floor and along the passages for things she had not\nlost.\n\nAs soon as I had got over my first awe of Miss Irma, I asked her\npoint-blank what was the danger, so that I might know what dispositions\nto take.\n\nI had seen the phrase in an old book, thin and tall, which my father\npossessed, called _Monro's Expedition_. But Irma bade me help to make\nthe ground floor of the mansion as strong as possible, and then come\nup-stairs to the parlour, where she would tell me \"all that it was\nnecessary for me to know.\"\n\nI wished she had said \"everything\"--for, though not curious by nature, I\nshould have been happy to be confided in by Miss Irma. To my delight, on\ngoing round I found that all the lower windows had been fitted with iron\nshutters, and these, though rusty, were in perfectly good condition. In\nthis task of examination Miss Irma assisted me, and though I would not\nlet her put a finger to the sharp-edged flaky iron, it was a pleasure to\nfeel the touch of her skirt, while once she laid a hand on my arm to\nguide me to a little dark closet the window of which was protected by a\nhingeless plate of iron, held in position by a horizontal bar fitting\ninto the stonework on either side.\n\nThere was not so much to be done above stairs, where the shutters were\nof fine solid oak and easily fitted. But I sought out an oriel window of\na tower which commanded the pillared doorway. For I did not forget what\nI had seen when the Great House of Marnhoul was besieged by the rabble\nof Eden Valley. It was there that the danger was if the house should be\nattempted.\n\nBut I so arranged it, that whoever attacked the house, I should at least\nget one fair chance at them with \"King George,\" our very wide-scattering\nblunderbuss.\n\nIn the little room in which this window was, we gathered. It made a kind\nof watch-tower, for from it one could see both ways--down the avenue to\nthe main road, and across the policies towards the path that led up from\nthe Killantringan shore.\n\nI felt that it was high time for me to know against what I was to fight.\nNot that I was any way scared. I do not think I thought about that at\nall, so pleased was I at being where I was, and specially anxious that\nno one should come to help, so as to share with me any of the credit\nthat was my due from Miss Irma.\n\nAgnes Anne, indeed, was afraid of what she was going to hear. For as yet\nshe had been told nothing definite. But then she was tenfold more afraid\nof \"King George\"--mostly, I believe, because it had been made a kind of\nfetish in our house, and the terrible things that would happen if we\nmeddled with it continually represented to us by our mother. Finally, we\narranged that \"King George\" should be set in the angle of the oriel\nwindow, the muzzle pointing to the sky, and that in the pauses of the\ntale, I should keep a look-out from the watch-tower.\n\n\"It is my brother Louis--Sir Louis Maitland--whom they are seeking!\"\n\nMiss Irma made this statement as if she had long faced it, and now found\nnothing strange about the matter. But I think both Agnes Anne and I were\ngreatly astonished, though for different reasons. For my sister had\nnever imagined that there was any danger worse than the presence of\n\"King George\" in the window corner, and as for me, the hope of helping\nto protect Miss Irma herself from unknown peril was enough. I asked for\nno better a chance than that.\n\n\"We have a cousin,\" she continued, \"Lalor Maitland is his name, who was\nin the rebellion, and was outlawed just like my father. He took up the\ntrade of spying on the poor folk abroad and all who had dealings with\nthem. He was made governor of the strong castle of Dinant on the Meuse,\ndeep in the Low Countries. With him my father, who wrongly trusted him\nas he trusted everybody, left little Louis. I was with my aunt, the\nAbbess of the Ursulines, at the time, or the thing had not befallen. For\nfrom the first I hated Lalor Maitland, knowing that though he appeared\nto be kind to us, it was only a pretence.\n\n\"He entertained us hospitably enough in a suite of rooms very high up in\nthe Castle of Dinant above the Meuse river, and came to see us every\nday. He was waiting till he should make his peace with the English. Then\nhe would do away with my brother and----\"\n\nShe paused, and a kind of shuddering whiteness came across the girl's\nface. It was like the flashing of lightning from the east to the west\nthat my grandmother reads about in her Bible--a sort of shining of\nhatred and determination like a footstep set on wet sand. \"But no,\" she\nadded, \"he would not have married me, even if he had kept me shut up for\never in his Castle of Dinant on the Meuse!\"\n\nThen all at once I began very mightily to hate this Lalor Maitland,\nGovernor of the Castle of Dinant. I resolved to charge \"King George\" to\nthe very muzzle, wait till he was within half-a-dozen paces, and--let\nhim have it. For I made no doubt that it was he who was coming in\nperson to carry off Miss Irma and Sir Louis back again to his dungeons.\nFor though Irma had not called them that, I felt sure that she had been\nshamefully used. And though I did not proclaim the fact, I knew the name\nand address of a willing deliverer. I grew so anxious about the matter\nthat Agnes Anne three times bade me put down \"King George\" or I should\nbe sure to shoot some of them, or, most likely of all, little Louis in\nhis cot-bed up-stairs.\n\n\"However, at last we escaped\" (Miss Irma went on), \"and I will tell you\nhow--what I have not told to any here--not even to your good grandmother\nor the clergyman. It was through our nurse, a Kirkbean woman and her\nname Kate Maxwell, called Mickle Kate o' the Shore. Her father and all\nher folk were smugglers, as, I understand, are the most of the farmers\nalong the Solway side. Some of these she could doubtless have married,\nbut Kate herself had always looked higher. The son of a farmer over the\nhill, from a place called the Boreland of Colvend, had wintered sheep on\nher father's lands. Many a sore cold morning (so she said) had they gone\nout together to clear the snow from the feeding troughs. I suppose that\nwas how it began, but in addition the lad had ambition. He learned well\nand readily, and after a while he went into a lawyer's office in\nDumfries, while Kate o' the Shore went abroad with the family of a Leith\nmerchant, to serve at Rotterdam. She wanted to save money for the house\nshe was going to set up with the lawyer's clerk. So, rather than come\nback at the year's end, she took the place which the Governor of Dinant\nCastle offered her, and he was no other than our cousin Lalor.\n\n\"In a little while Kate of the Shore had grown to hate our cousin. Why,\nI cannot tell, for he always bowed to her as to a lady, and indeed\nshowed her far more kindness than ever he used to us. When we wanted a\nlittle play on the terrace or a sweetcake from the town, we tried at\nfirst to get Kate to ask for us. But afterwards she would not. And she\ngrew determined to leave the Castle of Dinant as soon as might be,\nmaking her escape and taking us with her. Her Boreland lad, Tam Hislop,\nhad told her all about the estates and the great house standing empty.\nSo nothing would do but that Kate o' the Shore would come to this house\nwith us, where we would take possession, and hold it against all comers.\n\n\"'It is very difficult,' said Kate's friend, the Dumfries clerk, 'to put\nany one out of his own house.' Indeed he did not think that even the\nvery Court of Session could do it.\"\n\n\"So during the governor's absence we brought little Louis from Dinant to\nAntwerp, where we hid him with some friends of Kate's who are Free\nTraders, and ran cargoes to the Isle of Man and the Solway shore. Kind\nthey were, stout bold men and appeared to hold their lives cheap\nenough--also, for that matter, the lives of those who withstood them.\n\n\"Many of them were Kirkbean men, near kinsfolk of Kate o' the Shore, and\nothers from Colvend--Hislops, Hendersons and McKerrows, long rooted in\nthe place. But when we were in mid-passage, we were chased and almost\ntaken by a schooner that fired cannon and bade us heave to, but the\nKirkbean men, who had Kate o' the Shore with them, bade our boat carry\non, and engaged the pursuer. We could see the flash of their guns a long\ndistance, and cries came to us mixed with the thunderclap of the\nschooner's guns. The Colvend men would have turned back to help, but\nthey had received strict orders to put us on shore, whatever might\nhappen, the which they did at Killantringan.\n\n\"After that\" (Miss Irma still went on) \"I had so much ado to look after\nmy brother, being fearful to let him out of my hands lest he should be\ntaken from me, that I only heard the names of a place or two spoken\namong them--particularly the Brandy Knowe, a dark hole in a narrow\nravine, under the roots of a great tree, with a burn across which we had\nto be carried. I remember the rushing sound of the water in the\nblackness of the night, and Louis's voice calling out, as the men\ntrampled the pebbles, 'Are you there, sister Irma?'\n\n\"But long before it was day they had finished stowing their cargo. We\nwere again on the march and the men took good care of us, leaving us\nhere according to their orders with plenty of provisions for a\nweek--also money, all good unclipped silver pieces and English gold.\nThey bade us not to leave the house on any account, and in case of any\nsudden danger to light the fire on the tower head!\n\n\"'For the present our duty is done,' said one of them, a kind of chief\nor leader who had carried me before him on his own horse, 'but there may\nbe more and worse yet to do, wherein we of the Free Trade may help you\nmore than all the power of King George--to whom, however, we are very\ngood friends, in all that does not concern our business of the private\nOver-Seas Traffic'--for so they named their trade of smuggling.\"\n\n\"I would like much to see this beacon,\" I said; \"perhaps we may have to\nlight it. At any rate it is well to be sure that we have all the\ningredients of the pudding at hand in case of need.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE EVE OF ST. JOHN\n\n\nWe went up the narrow stair--that is, Miss Irma and I--because, since I\ncarried my father's blunderbuss, Agnes Anne would not come, but stopped\nhalf-way, where the little Louis lay asleep in his cot-bed. On the top\nof the tower, and swinging on a kind of iron tripod bolted into the\nbattlements, we found an iron basket, like that in which sea-coal is\nburned, but wider in the mesh. Then, in the \"winnock cupboard\" at the\nturn of the stair-head, were all the necessaries for a noble blaze--dry\nwood properly cut, tow, tar, and a firkin of spirit, with some rancid\nbutter in a brown jar. There was even a little kindling box of foreign\nmake, all complete with flint, steel and tinder lying on a shelf,\nenclosed in a small bag of felt.\n\nWhoever had placed these things there was a person of no small\nexperience, and left nothing to chance. It was obvious that such a\nbeacon lit on the tower of the ancient house of Marnhoul would be seen\nfar and near over the country.\n\nWho should come to our rescue, supposing us to be beset, was not so\nclear. I did not believe that we could depend on the people of the\nvillage. They would, if I knew them, cuddle the closer between their\nblankets, while as for Constable Jacky, by that time of night he would\ncertainly be in no condition to know his right hand from his left.\n\n\"And the message fixed to the front door with the knife--of which my\nsister told me,\" I suggested to Miss Irma, \"what did it threaten?\"\n\nFor in spite of her obvious reluctance to tell me even necessary\nthings, I was resolved to make her speak out. She hesitated, but finally\nyielded, when I pointed out that we must decide whether it came from a\nfriendly or an unfriendly hand.\n\nShe handed it to me out of the pocket of her dress, the two of us\nstanding all the while on the top of the tower, the rusty basket\nwheezing in the wind, and her blown hair whipping my cheek in the sharp\nbreeze from the north.\n\nI may say that just at that moment I was pretty content with myself. I\ndo not deny that I had fancied this maid and that before, or that some\nfew things that might almost be called tender had passed between me and\nGerty Greensleeves, chiefly cuffing and pinching of the amicable\nScottish sort. Only I knew for certain that now I was finally and\nirrevocably in love--but it was with a star. Or rather, it might just as\nwell have been, for any hope I had with Miss Irma Maitland, with her\nancient family and her eyes fairly snapping with pride. What could she\never have to say to the rather stupid son of a village school-master?\n\nBut I took the paper, and for an instant Irma's eyes rested on mine with\nsomething different in them from anything I had ever seen there before.\nThe contemptuous chill was gone. There was even a kind of soft appeal,\nwhich, however, she retracted and even seemed to excuse the next moment.\n\n\"Understand,\" she said, \"it is not for myself that I care. It is\nfor--for my brother, Sir Louis.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Irma, do not forget that I----\" The words came bravely, but\nhalted before the enormity of what I was going to say. So I had perforce\nto alter my formation in face of my dear enemy, and only continued\nlamely enough, \"I had better see what the letter says.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered shortly, \"I suppose that is necessary.\"\n\nThe letter was written on a sheet of common paper, ruled vertically in\nred at either side as for a bill of lading. It had simply been folded\nonce, not sealed in the ordinary way, but thrust through sharply with\nthe knife which had pinned it to the wood, traversing both folds. The\nknife, which I saw afterwards down-stairs, was a small one, with a\nbroadish blade shaped and pointed like a willow leaf. I had it a good\nwhile in my hand, and I can swear that it had been lately used in\ncutting the commonest kind of sailor tobacco.\n\nThe message read in these words exactly, which I copied carefully on my\nkillivine-tablets--\n\n    \"The first danger is for this night, being the eve of Saint John.\n    Admit no one excepting those who bring with them friends you can\n    trust. Fear not to use the signal agreed upon. Help will be near.\"\n\nNow this seemed to me to be very straightforward. None but a friend to\nthe children would speak of the beacon so familiarly, yet so\ndiscreetly--\"the signal agreed upon.\" Nor would an enemy advise caution\nas to any being admitted to the house.\n\nBut Miss Irma had not passed through so many troubles without acquiring\na certain lack of confidence in the fairest pretences. She shook her\nhead when I ventured to tell her what I thought. She was willing to take\nmy help, but not my judgment.\n\nThe words, \"Admit no one, _excepting those who bring with them friends\nyou can trust_,\" did not ring true in her ear. And the phrase, \"the\nsignal agreed upon,\" might possibly show that while the writer made\nsure of there being a signal of some kind, he was ignorant of its\nnature.\n\nIn face of all this there seemed nothing for it but to wait--doors shut,\nwindows barred, \"King George\" ready charged, and the stuff for the\nbeacon knowingly arranged.\n\nAnd this last I immediately proceeded to set in order. I had had\nconsiderable experience. For during the late French wars we of Eden\nValley, though the most peaceful people in the world, had often been\nturned upside down by reports of famous victories. After each of these\nevery one had to illuminate, if it were only with a tallow dip, on the\npenalty of having his windows broken by the mob of loyal, but\nstay-at-home patriots. At the same time, all the boys of Eden Valley had\nfull permission to carry off old barrels and other combustibles from the\nhouses of the zealous, or even to commandeer them without permission\nfrom the barns and fences of suspected \"black-nebs\" to raise nearer\nheaven the flare of our victorious bonfires.\n\nWith all the ingredients laid ready to my hand, it was exceedingly\nsimple for me to put together such a brazier as could be seen over half\nthe county. Not the least useful of my improvements was the lengthening\nof the chain, so that the whole fire-basket could be hoisted to the top\nof the tripod, and so stand clear of the battlements of the tower,\nshowing over the tree-tops to the very cliffs of Killantringan, and\ndoubtless far out to sea.\n\nLast of all, before descending, I covered everything over with a thick\nmat of tarred cloth, which would keep the fuel dry as tinder even in\ncase of rain, or the dense dews that pearled down out of the clear\nheavens on these short nights of a northern June.\n\nIt is a strange thing, watching together, and in the case of young\npeople it is apt to make curious things hop up in the heart all\nunexpectedly. It was so, at least, with myself. As to Miss Irma I cannot\nsay, and, of course, Agnes Anne does not count, for she sat back in the\nshelter of a great cupboard, well out of range of \"King George,\" and\nwent on with her knitting till she fell asleep.\n\nHowever, Miss Irma and I sat together in the jutting window, where, as\nthe night darkened and the curtains of the clouds drew down to meet the\nsombre tree-tops, a kind of black despair came over me. Would \"King\nGeorge\" really do any good? Would I prove myself stout and brave when\nthe moment came? Would the beacon we had prepared really burn, and,\nsupposing it did, would any one see it, drowned in woods as we were, and\nfar from all folk, except the peaceable villagers of Eden Valley?\n\nBut I had the grace to keep such thoughts to myself, and if they visited\nMiss Irma, she did the like. The crying of the owls made the place of a\nstrange eeriness, especially sometimes when a bat or other night\ncreature would come and cling a moment under the leaden pent of the\nwindow.\n\nSuch things as these, together with the strain of the waiting on the\nunknown, drew us insensibly together--I do not mean Agnes Anne--but just\nthe two of us who were shut off apart in the window-seat. No, whatever\nher faults and shortcomings (too many of them recorded in this book),\nAgnes Anne acted the part of a good sister to me that night, and her\npeaceful breathing seemed to wall us off from the world.\n\n\"Duncan?\" queried Miss Irma, repeating my name softly as to herself;\n\"you are called Duncan, are you not?\"\n\nI nodded. \"And you?\" I asked, though of course I knew well enough.\n\n\"Irma Sobieski,\" she answered. And then, perhaps because everything\ninside and out was so still and lonely, she shivered a little, and,\nwithout any reason at all, we moved nearer to each other on the\nwindow-seat--ever so little, but still nearer.\n\n\"You may call me Irma, if you like!\" she said, very low, after a long\npause.\n\nJust then something brushed the window, going by with a soft _woof_ of\nfeathers.\n\n\"An owl! A big white one--I saw him!\" I said. For indeed the bird had\nseemed as large as a goose, and appeared alarming enough to people so\nstrung as we were, with ears and eyes grown almost intolerably acute in\nthe effort of watching.\n\n\"Are you not frightened?\" she demanded.\n\n\"No, Irma--no, Miss Irma!\" I faltered.\n\n\"Well, I am,\" she whispered; \"I was not before when the mob came,\nbecause I had to do everything. But now--I am glad that you are here\"\n(she paused the space of a breath), \"you and your sister.\"\n\nI was glad, too, though not particularly about Agnes Anne.\n\n\"How old are you, Duncan?\" she asked next.\n\nI gave my age with the usual one year's majoration. It was not a lie,\nfor my birthday had been the day before. Still, it made Irma thoughtful.\n\n\"I did not think you were so much older than your sister,\" she said\nmusingly; \"why, you are older than I am!\"\n\n\"Of course I am,\" I answered, gallantly facing the danger, and\ndetermined to brave it out.\n\nOn the spot I resolved to have a private interview with Agnes Anne as\nsoon as might be, and, after reminding her of my birthday just past,\ntell her that in future I was to be referred to as \"going on for\ntwenty\"--and that there was no real need to insert the words \"going on\nfor.\"\n\nIrma Sobieski considered the subject a while longer, and I could see her\neyes turned towards me as if studying me deeply. I wondered what she was\nthinking about with a brow so knotted, and I knew instinctively that it\nmust be something of consequence, because it made her forget the letter\nnailed to the door, and the warning which might veil a threat. She fixed\nme so long that her eyes seemed to glow out of the pale face which made\nan oval patch against the darkness of the trees. Irma's face was only\nstarlit, but her eyes shone by their own light.\n\n\"Yes, I will trust you,\" she said at last. \"I saw you the day when the\nmob came. You were ashamed, and would have helped me if you could. Even\nthen I liked your face. I did not forget you, and when Agnes Anne spoke\nof her brother who was afraid of nothing, I was happy that you should\ncome. I wanted you to come.\"\n\nThe words made my heart leap, but the next moment I knew that I was a\nfool, and might have known better. This was no Gerty Gower, to put her\nhand on your arm unasked, and let her face say what her lips had not the\nwords to utter.\n\n\"I want a friend,\" she said; \"I need a friend--a big brother--nothing\nelse, remember. If you think I want to be made love to, you are\nmistaken. And, if you do, there will be an end. You cannot help me that\nway. I have no use for what people call love. But I have a mission, and\nthat mission is my brother, Sir Louis. If you will consent to help me, I\nshall love you as I love him, and you--can care about me--as you care\nabout Agnes Anne!\"\n\nNow I did not see what was the use of bringing Agnes Anne into the\nbusiness. At home she and I were quarrelling about half our time. But\nsince it was to be that or nothing, of course I was not such a fool as\nto choose the nothing.\n\nAll the same, after the promising beginning, I was enormously\ndisappointed, and if only it had been lighter, doubtless my chagrin\nwould have showed on my face. It seemed to me (not knowing) the\ndeath-blow to all my hopes. I did not then understand that in all the\nunending and necessarily eternal game of chess, which men and women play\none against the other, there is no better opening than this.\n\nBut I was still crassly ignorant, intensely disappointed. I even swore\nthat I would not have given a brass farthing to be \"cared about\" by Irma\nas I myself did about Agnes Anne.\n\nDimly, however, I did feel, even then, that there was a fallacy\nsomewhere. And that, however much human beings with youthful hearts and\nanswering eyes may pretend they are brother and sister, there is\nsomething deep within them that moves the Previous Question--as we are\nused to say in the Eden Valley Debating Parliament, which Mr. Oglethorpe\nand my father have organized on the model of that in the _Gentleman's\nMagazine_.\n\nBut Irma, at least, had no such fear. She had, she believed, solved for\never a difficult and troublesome question, and, on easy terms, provided\nherself with a new relative, useful, safe and insured against danger by\nfire. Perhaps the underwriters of the city would not have taken the\nlatter risk, but at that moment it seemed a slight one to Irma Sobieski.\n\nAt any rate, to seal the new alliance, in all sisterly freedom she gave\nme her hand, and did not appear to notice how long I kept it in the\ndarkness. This was certainly a considerable set-off against the feeling\nof loneliness, and, if not quite content, I was at least more so. I\nwondered, among other things, if Irma's heart kept knocking in a choking\nkind of way against the bottom of her throat.\n\nAt least mine did, and I had never, to my knowledge, felt just so about\nAgnes Anne. Indeed, I don't think I had ever held Agnes Anne's hand so\nlong in my life, except to pick a thorn out of it with a needle, or to\npoint out how disgracefully grubby it was.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nTHE CROWBAR IN THE WOOD\n\n\nWe sat so long that I grew hungry. And then forethought was rewarded.\nFor as I well knew, Agnes Anne had much ado to keep the house supplied\n(and the larder too often bare with all her trying!), I had done some\ntrifle of providing on my own account. I had a flask of milk in my\npouch--the big one in the skirt of the coat that I always wore when\ntaking a walk in the General's plantations. Cakes, too, and well-risen\nscones cut and with butter between them, most refreshing. I gave first\nof all to Irma, and at the sound of the eating and drinking Agnes Anne\nawakened and came forward. So I handed her some, but with my foot\ncautioned her not to take too much, because it was certain that she\nwould by no means do her share of the fighting.\n\nBoth were my sisters. We had agreed upon that. But then some roses smell\nsweeter than others, though all are called by the same name.\n\nWe had just finished partaking of the food (and great good it did us)\nwhen Agnes Anne heard a sound that sent her suddenly back to her corner\nwith a face as white as a linen clout. She was always quicker of hearing\nthan I, but certain it is that after a while I did hear something like\nthe trampling of horses, and especially, repeated more than once, the\nsharp jingle which the head of a caparisoned horse makes when, wearied\nof waiting, it casts it up suddenly.\n\n_They were coming._\n\nWe said the words, looking at each other, and I suppose each one of us\nfelt the same--that we were a lot of poor weak children, in our folly\nfighting against men. At least this is how I took it, and a sick\ndisdain of self for being no stronger rose in my throat. A moment and it\nhad passed. For I took \"King George\" in hand, and bidding Irma see that\nlittle Louis was sleeping, I ran up the stairs to the open tower-top.\nHere I had thought to be alone, but there before me, crouched behind the\nramparts and looking out upon a dim glade which led down towards the\nlanding-place at Killantringan, was Agnes Anne. In answer to my question\nas to what she was doing there, she answered at first that she could see\nin the dark better than I, and when I denied this she said that surely I\ndid not think she was going to be left down there alone, nearest to the\nassailants if they should force a passage!\n\nOne should never encourage one's real sister in the belief that she can\never by any chance do right. So I said at once that whether she was\nbehind the door or sitting on the weathercock at Marnhoul Tower would\nmake no difference if the people were enemies and once got in.\n\n\"Hush!\" she said. \"What is that I hear now?\"\n\nAnd from away down the glade came slow and steady blows like those which\na man might make as he lifts his axe and smites into the butt. There was\na sort of reverberation, too, as if the tree were hollow. But that might\nonly be the effect of the night, the stillness, and the heavy covert of\ngreat woods which lay like a big green blanket all about us, and tossed\nevery sound back to us like a wall at ball-play.\n\n\"Oh, if we could only see what they were doing--who they are?\" I\ngroaned. \"I could go out quite safely by the door in the tower, but then\nwho would fire off 'King George'?\"\n\n\"Toc! Toc!\" came the sounds. And then a pause as if the woodsman had\nstraightened himself up and was wiping his brow. The timing of the\nstrokes was very slow. Probably, therefore, the labour itself was\nfatiguing. Sometimes, too, the axe fell with a different swing, as if\nother hands grasped it, but always with the same dull thudding and\nirritating slowness.\n\nThen Agnes Anne made an astonishing proposition.\n\n\"See here, Duncan,\" she whispered, \"let _me_ out by the little postern\ndoor at the foot of the tower. Miss Irma can watch behind it to let me\nin if I come running back, and you stay on the top ready with 'King\nGeorge.' I will find out for you everything you want to know.\" And I got\nready to say, brother-like, \"Agnes Anne, you are a fool--your legs would\ngive way under you in the first hundred yards.\"\n\nBut somehow she saw (or felt) the speech that was coming, and cut me\nshort.\n\n\"No, I wouldn't either,\" she said hurriedly and quite boldly. \"You think\nthat because I hate that great thing there filled with powder and slugs\n(which even you can't tell when it will go off, or what harm it will do\nwhen it does) that I am a coward. I am no more frightened than you are\nyourself--perhaps less. Who was the best tracker when we played at\nIndians and colonists, I should like to know? Who could go most quietly\nthrough the wood? Or run the quickest? Just me, Agnes Anne MacAlpine!\"\n\nWell, I had to admit it. These things were true. But then they had\nlittle to do with courage. This was serious. It was taking one's life in\none's hand.\n\n\"And pray what are we doing here and now?\" snapped Agnes Anne. \"If they\nare strong enough to break in one of the doors, or get through one of\nthe windows, what can we do? Till we know what is coming against us, we\nare only going from one blunder to another!\"\n\nNow this was most astonishing of our Agnes Anne. So I told her that I\nhad known that Irma was plucky, but not her. And she only said, very\nshortly, \"Better come and see!\"\n\nSo we went down and told Irma. At first she was all against opening any\ndoor, even for a moment, on any account. The strength of these defences\nwas our only protection. She would rather do anything than endanger\nthat. But we made her listen to the slow thud of the axe out in the\nwood, and even as we looked the figure of a man passed across the glade,\nblack against the greyish-green of the grass, on which a thick rise of\ndew was catching the starlight.\n\nThis figure wrapped in a sea-cloak, with head bent forward, passing\nacross the pale glimmer of the glade, sufficed to alter the mind of\nIrma. She agreed in a moment, and locking the door of little Louis's\nroom, she declared herself willing to keep watch behind the little\npostern door of the tower, ready to let Agnes Anne in again, on the\nunderstanding that I should be prepared from the open window above to\ndeal with any pursuer.\n\nI admit that in this I was persuaded against my judgment. For I felt\ncertain that though Agnes Anne could move with perfect stillness through\nwoods, and was a fleet runner, her nerve would certainly fail her when\nit came to a real danger. And so great was the sympathy of my\nimagination that I seemed already to feel the pursuer gaining at every\nstride, the muscles of my limbs failing beneath me and refusing to carry\nme farther, just as they do in a dream.\n\nBut Agnes Anne was serious and determined, and in the end had to have\nher way. I can see the reason now. She knew exactly what she meant to\ndo, which neither Irma nor I did--though of course both of us far\nbraver.\n\nWe got the door open quite silently--for it was the one Irma had used\nin her few and brief outgates. Then, shrouded in her school cloak of\ngrey, and clad, I mean, in but little else, Agnes flitted out as silent\nas a shadow along a wall.\n\nBut oh, the agony I suffered to think what my father, and still more my\ngrandmother, would say to me because I had let my sister expose herself\non such an errand. Twenty times I was on the point of sallying forth\nafter her. Twenty times the sight of the pale face of Irma waiting there\nstopped me, and the thought that I was the only protector of the two\npoor things in that great house. Also after all Agnes Anne had gone of\nher own accord.\n\nAll the same I shivered as I kneeled by the window above with the wide\nmuzzle of \"King George\" pointing down the path which led from the glade.\nEvery moment I expected to hear the air rent with a hideous scream, and\n\"King George\" wobbled in my hands as I thought of Agnes Anne lying slain\nin the glow-worm shining of that abominable glade, with that across her\nwhite neck for which my conscience and my grandmother would reproach me\nas long as I (and she) lived. One thing comforted me during that weary\nwaiting. The hollow thudding as of axe on wood never ceased for a\nmoment. So from that I gathered (and was blithe to believe) that the\nalarm had not been given, and that wherever Agnes Anne was, she herself\nwas still undiscovered.\n\nMy eyes were so glued to that misty glade that presently I got a great\nsurprise. \"There she is!\" cried Irma, looking round the door, and I saw\na figure flit out of the dusk of the copse-covert within two yards of\nthe postern door. The next moment, without advertisement or the least\nfuss, Agnes Anne was within. I heard the sliding of bolts, the hum of\ntalk, and then the patter of returning feet on the stair.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nAGNES ANNE'S EXPERIENCES AS A SPY\n\n\n\"Well, at first I did not think much about anything\" (said Agnes Anne),\n\"except keeping quiet and doing what Duncan did not believe I could do.\nBut I knew the wood. It was not so dark as one would think, and once out\nof the echo of the house walls I could hear far better. I leaned against\na larch, holding on to the trunk and counting the sticky rosettes on its\ntrailers to keep me from thinking while I listened. Twice I thought I\nhad made out exactly from which direction the sound came, and twice I\nfound I was mistaken. But the third time I followed the ditch under the\nsunk fence till I came to the mound which is shaped like a green hat at\nthe end next the house. The thudding came from there--I was sure of it.\nWhen I could hear men talking, I was (and I am not saying it to put\nDuncan in the wrong) more glad than afraid.\n\n\"The bottom of the ditch was full of all sorts of underbrush--hazel and\nbirch roots mostly--growing pretty close as I found when once I got\nthere, but rustling horribly while I was getting settled. However, there\nwas nothing for it, if I wanted to find out anything, but to go on. So\non I went. I was close to the mound now, and could hear the voices.\n\n\"'Quiet there a moment!' said some one, 'I'll swear I heard a noise in\nthe ditch!'\n\n\"And as I crouched something like a blade of a sword or maybe a pike\ncame high above me stabbing this way and that. Twigs and leaves pattered\ndown, but I was safe behind the stump of a fallen tree. Presently the\nsteel thing I had seen glinting struck the dead and sodden wood of the\ntree-trunk, and snapped with a sharp tang like a fiddle-string--a\nhayfork it may have been, or one of the long thin swords such as are\nhung up in the hall.\n\n\"But another and deeper voice--like that of a man somewhat out of\nbreath, said gruffly, 'Better get the job done! 'Tis only a fox or a\nrabbit--what else would be out here at this hour?'\n\n\"And then, with the noise of spitting on the hands, the sound of the\nheavy tool began again. It had a ring in it like steel on stone. I think\nthey had been chopping something with a pickaxe and had got through. For\nnow the clink was quite different, though that again might be because I\nwas nearer.\n\n\"'Have you found the passage? Surely it is long in showing?'\n\n\"That was the first voice again, the better educated one, I take it. He\nspoke like a gentleman, like the General or even the Doctor himself,\nthough there was much rudeness in the voice of the other when he\nanswered him.\n\n\"'D'ye think I am breaking my back over this stone-door for fun?'\ngrowled the man in panting gasps. 'If I imagined you were any hand at a\ntool, you should have a chance at this one quick enough!'\n\n\"'Steady, Dick!' said the first, always in his pleasant tone, 'it can't\nbe far away at the farthest now!'\n\n\"'Hang it, it may not be there at all. Did you ever hear of a mouldy old\ncastle but had its tale about a secret passage? And did anybody ever see\none? Better make the woman speak, I tell you!'\n\n\"'Well,' argued the first suavely, 'it may come to that, of course. But\nlet us give this a good trial first. To it, Dick--to it!'\n\n\"'Aye, \"To it, Dick--to it!\" And your own arm up to the elbow in your\nblessed pocket,' he grunted, and I could hear him set to work again with\nan angry snarl. 'If this doesn't fetch it--well--there's always the\nwoman!'\n\n\"'Aye--but it _will_ do it this time,' said the man with the soft voice.\n'I hear by the clink of the crow that you are nearly through. My uncle\nused often to tell me about this. The big green mound is the ice-house\nof Marnhoul. It was his father that made it, and the passage also to\nconnect with the cellar. See where it drains sideways into that ditch.\nThat is what makes the green stuff grow so rank about there!'\n\n\"Between the noise of the heavy crowbar and the dispute, I ventured to\nedge a bit closer, so that at last I could make out the two men, and\nbeyond them something that looked like a figure of a woman lying under a\ncloak. But all was under the dimness of the stars and the twinkling dew,\nso that I could see nothing clearly.\n\n\"But what I had heard was enough, for in the middle of the worker's\ngasping and cursing there came a sudden crash and a jingle.\n\n\"'She's through--I told you so. Uncle Edward was right!' cried the first\nand taller man, while the other only stared at the sudden disappearance\nof his tool, and stood looking blankly at his own empty hands.\n\n\"'What's to be done now?' said the tall man.\n\n\"'Lever it up with the nose of the pick!' growled the short thick man;\n'here, you--hang on to that!'\n\n\"And then I knew that the sooner Duncan and 'King George' were down in\nthe cellar of Marnhoul House, the better it would be for our lives.\"\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen Agnes Anne finished we sat a moment agape. But very evidently there\nwas no time to be lost. They would be among us before we knew it, if\nonce they got down into the passage. We tried to find out from Irma\nwhere the cellar was, but she was sunk in terrible thoughts, and for a\nlong while she could say nothing but \"Lalor Maitland--it is Lalor\nMaitland, come to kill my poor Louis!\"\n\nAnd indeed it was difficult to get her aroused sufficiently to help us.\nLeft to herself I do not doubt that she would have gone up-stairs and\nfled with the child in her arms in the hope of hiding him in the wood.\n\nAt last we got it out of her that the keys of the cellar were in the\ngreat cupboard behind the door. She directed us to a double flight of\nbroad stairs. Irma had only looked into the cellar when she first came,\nand had found it rifled, the barrels dry and gaping, full of dust,\ndry-rot and the smell of decay.\n\nBut she too had heard her father tell of the passage to the ice-house,\nand how he and his brothers had used it for their escapades when the\nhouse was locked up and the keys taken to their father's room.\n\nWe went down--I leading with \"King George\" under my arm and the two\ngirls following. But on the stairway a sudden terror leaped upon Irma.\nWhile we were all down in the cellar, might not Lalor and his companion\nenter by the front door, or by some unguarded window. So she turned and\nran back to the little boy's room to defend him with an old pistol I had\nfound on the wall and loaded for her with powder and ball.\n\nThen Agnes Anne and I made our way into the cellar. We had taken with\nus the lantern, which we had hitherto kept covered, lest by the moving\nof the light about the house we might be suspected of being on our\nguard.\n\nHastily I made the tour of the great cellar. The back of the place was\nfull of the _debris_ of ancient barrels, some intact, some with gaping\nsides, many held together with no more than a single hoop. But packed\ntogether in one corner and occupying a place about one third of the\nwhole area of the floor was something very different. Tarpaulined,\nfastened together by ropes, and guarded from damp by planks laid below\nthem, were some hundreds of kegs and packages--all, so far as I could\nsee, marked with curious signs, and in some cases the names of places.\nOne I remember, \"Sallet Ooil--Apuglia,\" gave me a sense of such distance\nand strangeness, that for a moment I seemed to be travelling in strange\ncountries and seeing curious sights, rather than going down to risk my\nlife in Miss Irma's quarrel with men I had never seen.\n\nIt was very evident that there could be but one place where the passage\nIrma had spoken of (on her father's information) could debouch upon the\ngreat cellar of Marnhoul. In the angle behind the mass of kegs was an\nopen space of some yards square, so clean that it looked as if it had\nbeen recently swept.\n\nBeyond this again and quite in the corner, there was a step or two\ndownwards, as if it were into the bowels of the earth. This was stopped\nwith a door of stone accurately arranged and fitted with uncommon skill.\nAnd I could see at a glance that it was probably one of the same kind\nthat the men whom Agnes Anne had seen were engaged in bursting by stroke\nof crow. I understood more than that. For there was all the winter in\nEden Valley scarce any other subject of talk than the Free Trade (which\nis to say, plainly, smuggling), and concerning the various \"ventures\" or\nboats and crews attached to some famous leader engaged in it.\n\nThere was, in fact, no particular moral wrong attaching to the business\nin Eden Valley or along the Solway shore high and low--rather a sort of\npiety, since the common folk remembered that the excise had first been\ninstituted by that perjured persecutor of the Church, Charles II. Even\nthe Doctor, though he denounced the practice from the pulpit in\nbefitting words, did so chiefly on the ground that the attractions of\nFree Trade, its dangers even, carried so many promising young men forth\nof the parish, and a goodly proportion of them to return no more.\n\nBut for all that, I never heard that he refused to partake of the anker\nof Guernsey which his lady found by chance in the milk-house among the\ncreaming-pans, or by the tombstones of his predecessors in the\n\"Ministers' Corner\" of the kirkyard.\n\nI looked at the means of defence, and hidden among the packages at the\nback I found two good muskets and one or two very worn ones--yet all\nbearing the marks of recent attention. So, since the smuggled casks\nformed a kind of breastwork right round the steps--up from the passage\nthat was blocked by the stone door--it came into my head that I could\nthere set up a kind of battery and run from one to the other of them,\nfiring--that is, if the worst came to the worst and the passage were\nforced. So, having plenty of powder and shot and the wrappings of the\nlace packages making excellent wads, I set about loading all the\nmuskets. I knew that Agnes Anne would be afraid of what I was doing,\nhaving had a horror of firearms ever since, as a child, she had seen\nFlorrie, our old dun cow, shot dead by Boyd Connoway to be our \"mart\" of\nthe year, and salted down for the winter's food in the big beef barrel.\nAgnes Anne would never be induced to eat a bit of Florrie, though indeed\nshe was very good and sweet, because forsooth she had been used to milk\nher and give her handfuls of fresh grass. Since then she had never\nforgiven Boyd Connoway, and had never been able to look upon a gun with\nany complaisance.\n\nYet when I told her to stand back and keep away from the powder horn and\nthe lantern (for it is none of the easiest to charge strange pieces in a\ndark cellar) she said that she would stand by \"King George\" while I was\nat hand--yes, and fire him off, too, if need were. Only I must show her\nhow to pull the trigger, and also adjust the muzzle so as to bear on the\nsteps by which the villains would come up!\n\nThis I relate to show how (for the time being) Agnes Anne was worked\nupon. For, as all have seen, she was naturally of a very timorsome and\nquavering disposition. At any rate I did get the muskets, all five of\nthem, loaded, and set in position with their noses cocked over the\nsquared bulwarks of Mechlin and Vallenceens, of Strasburg yarn, and\nItalian silver-gilt wire.\n\nAnd I can tell you they looked imposing in the light of the lantern,\nthough I was more than a little doubtful about some of them going off\nwithout blowing themselves up. But it was no time to cavil about small\nmatters like that, and I said nothing about this to Agnes Anne, who, for\nher part, continued to glance along the barrel of \"King George\" at the\nstone door with the fixity of my father viewing a star through his large\nbrass spy-glass. Only Agnes Anne, being unable to keep one eye shut and\nthe other open, had to hold the lid of the unoccupied organ hard down\nwith her left hand, as if it too were about to bounce out on us like the\ntwo men she had seen in the ice-house mound by the edge of the sunk\nfence.\n\nWe waited a good while with the light of the lamp smothered--all, that\nis, but barely sufficient to give air to the flame. And I tell you our\nhearts were gigotting rarely. Even Agnes Anne had taken a sudden liking\nto \"King George,\" and would not let him go as I proposed to her, now\nthat all the other muskets were loaded and ready.\n\n\"You would do better service with the lantern,\" I told her, \"you could\nhold it up to let us see them better.\"\n\nBut she answered that the lantern could take care of itself. She was\ngoing to do some of the real fighting, and so I should not scorn her any\nmore. But I knew very well that it was only a kind of hysteria and would\nall go off at the dangerous moment. Down she would go on the floor like\na bundle of wet rags!\n\nHowever, to encourage Agnes Anne (as one must do to a girl), I said that\nshe was not to fire till she saw the white of their eyes. I remembered\nthat my father, in speaking of some battle or other, told how the\ngeneral had given his men that order, so that they might not miss. I\nthought it very fine.\n\nBut Agnes Anne said promptly that she would not wait for the white of\nanybody's eyes. She would fire and run for it as soon as she saw their\nugly heads coming up out of the ground. This shows how little you can do\nwith a girl, even if she have occasional fits of bravery. And I do not\ndeny that Agnes Anne had, though not naturally brave like myself and\nMiss Irma.\n\nIt was anywhere between five minutes and a century before we heard the\nfirst stroke of the crow behind the barricade. It sounded dull and\npainful, as if inside of one's head. At first we heard no talking such\nas Agnes Anne had described at the entrance of the ice-house.\n\nAlso, as they had been a good while on the way; I believe that they had\nfound other difficulties which they had not counted upon in traversing\nthe passage. But they were very near now, for presently, after perhaps\ntwenty strokes we could hear the striker sending out his breath with a\n\"_Har_\" of effort each time he drove his crow home.\n\nIt was very dark in the cellar, for we had covered the lamp more\ncarefully and almost ceased to breathe. But we saw through certain\nchinks that our assailants had a light of some sort with them. We could\ndiscern a faint glimmering all round the upper portion of the stone, and\nstray rays also pierced at various places elsewhere.\n\nThe long line of light at the top suddenly split and seemed to break\nopen in the middle. There came a fierce \"_Hech_\" from the assailant, and\nthe point of his crowbar showed, slid, and was as sharply recovered.\nNext moment it came again.\n\n\"Lever it!\" cried the gruff voice, \"if you have the backbone of a\nwindlestraw, lever!\"\n\nAnd after a short, hard-breathing struggle, the stone door fell inwards,\nthe aperture was filled with intense light, dazzling, as it appeared to\nus--and in the midst we saw two fierce and set faces peering into the\ndark of the cellar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nTHE FIGHT IN THE DARK\n\n\nOne of the peering faces was hot and angry, bearded too, which few then\nused to do except such as followed the sea. The other was dark and\nbeaked like a hawk, so that the shadow of an aquiline nose fell on the\nman's chin as he held the lantern high above his head.\n\nAt first we could only see them to about the middle of the breast, as\nfor a little space of time they stood thus, hearkening with their heads\nthrust forward.\n\n\"Not a ratton--forward there, Dick!\" said the man behind, and the man\nwith the bushy beard advanced, rising as he did so till I could see the\nties of tarry cord with which he looped up his corduroy small-clothes.\n\nNow it was high time to act. The game had been played far enough.\n\n\"Hold there--stand!\" I cried. \"Not a step further or we fire!\"\n\nI suppose my voice was echoed and fortified by the hollow vault.\nCertainly in my own ears it roared like the sound of many waters. At any\nrate the men stood, dumb-stricken, the tarry sailorly man a little in\nfront with his mouth open and his yellow dog-teeth gleaming. The other,\nhe who had given the orders, held the lantern higher in the air almost\nagainst the stones of the vault, so as to see over the barricade of\nboxes and barrels.\n\n\"'Tis no more than the----\" he was beginning. But he never got the\nsentence completed. For I took good aim from a rest upon a package of\ncloth, and let fly with the best of the muskets--but at the clear lowe\nof the lantern, not at the man's face, as I had at first intended.\nSomehow, a kind of pity came over me. I did not want to slay such men,\nwho, taken in their iniquity, must go right to their accounts. But the\nlantern was hit clean, and the glass went jingling to the ground in a\nhundred fragments.\n\nI judge also that some of the slugs must have strayed a little, for out\nof the darkness came curses and the voice of the commander crying on\nDick to get back--that they were too strong for only two men. But the\nsailor man advanced till I could hear him actually pulling himself over\nthe breastwork, gasping (or, as we say, \"pech-\"ing) with the effort.\nThen I ran along my battery, and directing the next two of the old\nmuskets to the arched roof, I fired them off, bringing down with a crash\nhandfuls of rough lime and small bits of stone, mingled no doubt with\nthe ricocheted bullets themselves. At any rate our tarry Galligaskins\nsoon had enough of it. He turned and made good his retreat towards the\nstairs up which he had forced his way.\n\nThen Agnes Anne, who had no chivalrous ideas of sparing anybody who came\nassaulting the house of her friends, pulled the trigger of \"King\nGeorge,\" and in a moment all lesser sounds were drowned in a roar loud\nas of a piece of ordnance.\n\nThe blunderbuss had been trained on the opening with some care, and it\nwas lucky for the men that they happened to be in retreat, and so\npresenting their backs at the time--lucky, also, that only buckshot had\nbeen used instead of the bullets and slugs with which the other guns\nwere loaded. But even so it was enough. She was always careless and\nscattery, our old \"King George.\" And from the marks on the lintels\nafterwards she had sprinkled her charge pretty freely. Also there were\ntokens, besides the yells and imprecations of the assailants and the\nthreats of Galligaskins to come back and do for us, that both of them\n(as Constable Jacky would have said) \"carried off concealed about their\npersons an indictable quantity of my father's good lead drops.\"\n\nSo far, good. Better than good, indeed--better than we had the least\nreason to expect, all owing to my presence of mind, and the fortunate\nnervousness of Agnes Anne--which, however, in the case under review,\nProvidence directed to a wise and good end. I was for running\nimmediately back up the stairs to put the mind of Miss Irma at rest, but\nAgnes Anne, with that stubbornness which she will often manifest\nthroughout this history, withstood me.\n\n\"What is it now?\" I asked her, somewhat impatiently, I am bound to\nadmit. For I was all in a sweat to tell Irma about my victory, and how I\nfought--and also, of course, about Agnes Anne pulling the trigger of\n\"King George\" at random in the dark.\n\n\"This is the matter,\" said she, \"Irma can wait. But if we do not improve\nour victory, they will be back again with a whole army of men before we\ncan wink.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I answered, \"I will load the guns first and then go up!\"\n\n\"Loading the guns is good,\" said Agnes Anne. \"But before that we must\nblind up this hole by which they climbed in. We will give them something\nmore difficult to break through in this narrow passage than a stone door\nwhich they can make holes in with a crowbar!\"\n\nAnd I caught at the idea in a moment, wondering how I had not thought of\nit myself. But of course, though I did not actually suggest it, Agnes\nAnne could never have carried it through without me.\n\nWe set about the work immediately. I took the big stone they had\nloosened with their tools and tumbled it down the well of the stairway,\nwhere, after rebounding once, it stuck at the turn and made a good\nfoundation for the barrels, boxes and packages we threw down till the\nwhole space was choke full, and then I danced on the top and defied the\nlantern-man and Dick to get through in a week.\n\n\"_Now_ go and tell your Irma!\" said Agnes Anne, and I went, while she\nstopped behind with the lantern and a gun to watch if anything should be\nattempted against the cellar.\n\nBut I knew right well that no such thing was possible. Nothing short of\nsuch a charge of gunpowder as would rive the whole house of Marnhoul\nasunder would suffice to clear the staircase of the packing I had given\nit. So Agnes Anne might just as well have come her ways up-stairs with\nme. Still, I do not deny that it was thoughtful of her; Agnes Anne meant\nwell.\n\nIrma had heard the firing, and I found her with her little brother in\nher arms, sitting by the window of the parlour overlooking the pilasters\nof the front door. She held little Louis wrapped in a blanket, and kept\nboth herself and him out of sight as much as possible behind the\ncurtain. But she had the horse pistol I had given her on the ledge of\nthe sill close at her hand.\n\nShe listened to my tale with a white intensity which was very pitiful.\nHer eyes seemed so big that they almost overran her face, and there were\nlittle sparks of light like fairy candles lit at the bottom of each.\n\n\"Lalor Maitland--it was no other man!\" she said in an awed voice. \"And\nnow he is wounded he will be furious. He has many men always in his\npower. For he can make or mar a man in the Low Countries, and even bad\nmen will do much for his favour. He will gather to him all who are\nwaiting. They will be here immediately and burst in the doors. Oh, what\nshall we do? My poor, poor Louis!\"\n\n\"There is the woman whom Agnes Anne saw,\" I said. \"Can you guess what\nshe has to do with it? They said they would try her if they did not\nsucceed.\"\n\n\"Why not light the beacon now?\" said a voice from the door. It was Agnes\nAnne, who, being left to herself, the thought had come to her in the\ndark of the cellar, and had run up to propose it. For me, I was too much\noccupied with Irma, and I am sure that Irma was far too troubled\nconcerning her brother to think about the beacon. Yet it was the obvious\nthing to do, and if I had had a moment to spare I would have thought of\nit myself. So Agnes Anne had no great credit, after all, when you come\nto look at it rightly.\n\nBut the effect of the suggestion on Irma was very remarkable. It was as\nif the voice of my sister actually raised her from the place where she\nhad been listlessly sitting with her brother in her arms. She snatched\nthe lantern from the hands of Agnes Anne and put little Louis back on\nhis pillow, bidding him stay there till the time should come for him to\nget up.\n\n\"Are the bad men all killed, Irma?\" he asked.\n\n\"We are going to bring the good people to help us!\" she cried. And with\nthat she ran up-stairs, and I after her, in a great pother of haste. For\nthe candle in her hand was the only bit of fire we had, and I did not\nwant it blown out if I could help it.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nA WORLD OF INK AND FIRE\n\n\nThe idea of Irma's danger on the open house-top and in the full glare of\nthe beacon acted on me like a charm--yet people will say that there is\nnothing at all in such a relationship as ours. Why, I would not have\nbeen half as much concerned for Agnes Anne! And as a matter of fact, I\nhad not been so anxious down there behind the barrels and packages in\nthe cellar, when Lalor Maitland and Galligaskins were coming at us.\n\nBesides which, I knew that Irma, being unused to fire-building, would\nonly waste the excellent provision of kindling, and perhaps do us out of\nour beacon altogether.\n\nSo having joined her, it was not long till we had the tarred cloth off,\nand, through the interstices of the iron bucket, the little blue and\nyellow flames began chirping and chattering. But as I pulled the basket\nup to the height of its iron crane, the wind of the night sent the fire\noff with a mighty roar. The tops of the nearer trees stood out, every\nleaf hard and distinct, but the main body of the woods all about\nMarnhoul remained dark and solid, as if you could have walked upon them\nwithout once breaking through.\n\nI stood there watching, with the chain still in my hand, though I had\nrun the ring into the hoop on the wall. We had been very clever so far,\nand I was full of admiration for ourselves. But a bullet whizzing very\nnear my head, struck the basket with a vicious \"scat,\" doing no harm,\nof course, but extending to us an urgent invitation to get out of range,\nthat was not to be disregarded.\n\nIrma was close beside me, following with her eyes the mounting crackle\nof the beacon, the sudden jetting of the tall pale flames that ran\nupward into the velvet sky of night. For from a pale and haunting grey\nthe firmament had all of a sudden turned black and solid. Middle shades\nhad been ruled out instantly. It was a world of ink and fire.\n\nBut that sharp dash of danger cooled admiration in my heart. I caught\nIrma by the shoulders and, roughly enough, pulled her down beside me on\nthe platform behind the stone ramparts. For a moment I think she was\nindignant, but the next thankful. For half-a-dozen balls clicked and\nwhizzed about, passing through the square gaps that went all round the\ntower, as if the wall had had a couple of teeth knocked out at regular\ndistances every here and there.\n\nVery cautiously we crawled to the stair-head, leaving our invisible\nenemies cracking away at the fire basket, knocking little cascades of\nsparks out of it, indeed, but doing no harm. For the beacon was\nthoroughly well alight, and the chain good and strong.\n\nAs we descended the ladder I went first so as to help Irma. She was a\nlittle upset, as indeed she might well be. For it was quite evident that\nthe number of our assailants had singularly increased, and we did not in\nthe least know whether our signal would do us any good or not.\n\n\"It may waken Boyd Connoway,\" I thought, \"but that will be all. He will\ncome sneaking through the wood to see what is the matter so as to tell\nabout it, but he never used a weapon more deadly than a jack-knife with\na deer-horn handle.\"\n\nAs Irma's foot slipped on the bottom rung of the ladder, I caught her as\nshe swayed, and for a moment in that dark place I held her in my hands\nlike a posy, fresh and sweet smelling, but sacred as if in church. She\nsaid, without drawing herself away, at least not for a moment longer\nthan she need, \"Duncan, you saved my life!\"\n\nI had it on my tongue tip to reply, \"And my own at the same time, for I\ncould not live without you!\"\n\nWhen one is young it is natural to talk like that, but my old awe of\nMiss Irma preserved me from the mistake. It was too early days for that,\nand I only said, \"I am glad!\" And when we got down there was Agnes Anne,\nwith her finger on her lip, watching little Sir Louis sleeping. She\nwhispered to me to know why we had made such a noise firing on the top\nof the tower.\n\n\"It isn't like down in the cellar,\" she said, \"you came as near as you\ncan think to wakening him!\"\n\nI was so astonished that I could not even tell Agnes Anne that she would\nsoon find it was not we who had done the firing. The most part of the\nguns were in the cellar any way, as she might have remembered. Besides,\nwhat was the use? She had caught that fell disease, which is\nbaby-worship.\n\nInstead, I posted myself in the window, my body hidden in the red rep\ncurtain, and only my eyes showing through a slit I made with my knife as\nI peered along the barrel of \"King George.\" I had resolved that with an\narm of such short \"carry,\" I would not fire till I had them right\nbeneath the porch, or at least coming up the steps of the mansion.\n\nIt was in my mind that there would be a brutal rush at the door,\nperhaps with pickaxes, perhaps with one of the swinging battering-rams I\nhad read of in the Roman wars, that do such wondrous things when cradled\nin the joined hands of many men.\n\nBut in this I was much mistaken. The assailants were indeed rascals of\nthe same tarry, broad-breeched, stringfasted breed as Galligaskins of\nthe cellar door. But Galligaskins himself I saw not. From which I judge\nthat Agnes Anne had sorted him to rights with the contents of \"King\nGeorge,\" laid ready for her pointing at the top of the steps by which an\nenemy must of necessity appear.\n\nBut they had a far more powerful weapon than any battering-ram. We saw\nthem moving about in the faint light of a moon in her last quarter just\nrisen above the hills--a true moon of the small hours, ruddy as a fox\nand of an aspect exceedingly weariful.\n\nPresently there came toward the door two men with a strange and shrouded\nfigure walking painfully between them, as if upon hobbled feet. I could\nsee that one of the men was the tall man of the cave, he in whose hand I\nhad smashed the lantern. I knew him by a wrist that was freshly\nbandaged, and also by his voice when he spoke. The other who accompanied\nhim was a sailor of some superior grade, a boatswain or such, dressed in\ngood sea cloth, and with a kind of glazed cocked hat upon his head.\n\nIt was a very weird business--the veiled woman, the dim skarrow of the\nbeacon, the foxy old moon sifting an unearthly light between the\nbranches, everything fallen silent, and our assailants each keeping\ncarefully to the back of a tree to be out of reach of our muskets.\n\nThey came on, the two men leading the woman by the arms till they were\nout of the flicker of the flames both outside and under the shadow of\nthe house.\n\nThen the tall man, whom in my heart I made sure to be Lalor Maitland, as\nIrma said, held up his bandaged hand as a man does when he is about to\nmake a speech and craves attention.\n\n\"I have been ill-received,\" he cried, \"in this the house of my\nfathers----\"\n\n\"Because you have striven to enter it as a thief and a robber!\" cried\nIrma's voice, close beside me. She had passed behind me, slid the bolt\nof the window, and was now leaning out, resting upon her elbows and\nlooking down at the men below. She was apparently quite fearless. The\nappearance of her cousin so near seemed somehow to sting her.\n\n\"Your brother and yourself are both under my care--I suppose,\nMademoiselle Irma, you will not deny that?\"\n\n\"We were,\" Irma answered, in a clear voice; \"but then, Lalor Maitland, I\nheard what the fate was you were so kindly destining for me after having\nkilled my brother----\"\n\n\"And I know who put that foolishness into your head,\" said Lalor\nMaitland; \"she regrets it at this moment, and has now come of her own\nwill to tell you she lied!\"\n\nAnd with a jerk he loosened the apron which, as I now saw, had been\nwrapped about the head of the swathed figure. I shall never forget the\nface of the woman as I saw it then. The uncertain flicker of the flames\nand sparks from our beacon (which, though itself invisible, darkened and\nlightened like sheet lightning), the dismal umbery glimmer of the waning\nmoon, and the pale approach of day over the mountains to the east, made\nthe face appear almost ghastly. But I was quite unprepared for the\neffect which the sight produced upon Irma.\n\n\"Kate,\" she cried, \"Kate of the Shore!\"\n\nThe woman did not reply, though there was an obvious effort to speak--a\nstraining of the neck muscles and a painful rolling of the eyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lalor calmly, as if he were exhibiting a curiosity, \"this is\nyour friend to whom you owe your escape. She was doubtless to have\nreceived a reward, and in any case we shall give her a fine one. But if\nyou will return to your protector, and come with me immediately on board\nthe good ship _Golden Hind_, which in some considerable danger, is\nbeating off and on between the heads of Killantringen--then I promise\nyou, you will save the life of our friend Kate here. If not----\" (He\nwaved his hand expressively.)\n\n\"You dare not kill her,\" cried Irma; \"in an hour the country will be up,\nand you will be hunted like dogs.\"\n\n\"Oh, it is not I,\" said Lalor calmly, \"I do not love the shedding of\nblood, and that is why I am here now. But consider those stout fellows\nyonder. They are restive at having to wait for their pay, and the loss\nof their captain, wounded in aiding me in obtaining my rights in a quiet\nand peaceable manner, has by no means soothed them. I advise you,\nMistress Irma, to bring down the boy and let us get on board while there\nis yet time. No one in the house shall be harmed. But listen to\nKate--Kate of the Shore. She will speak to you better than I! But first\nwe must perform a little surgical operation!\"\n\nAnd with that he whipped out a bandanna handkerchief, which had been\nknotted and thrust into her mouth in the manner of a gag.\n\n\"Now then,\" he said, \"put a pistol to her head, Evans! Now, Kate, you\nhave told many lies about your master, the late Governor of the fortress\nof Dinant. Speak the truth for once in a way. For if you do not tell\nthese foolish children that they have nothing to fear--nay more, if you\ncannot persuade them to quit their foolish conduct and return to their\nrightful duty and obedience, it will be my painful duty to ask Evans\nthere, who does not love you as I do, to--well, you know what will\nhappen when that pistol goes off!\"\n\nBut even in such straits Kate of the Shore was not to be frightened.\n\n\"You hear me, Miss Irma,\" she said, \"I know this bad man. He is only\nseeking to betray you as he betrayed me. Defend your castle. Open not a\nwindow--keep the doors barred. They cannot take the place in the time,\nfor they have the tide to think of.\"\n\n\"I expected this,\" said Lalor, with a vaguely pensive air, \"it has ever\nbeen my lot to be calumniated, my motives suspected. But I have indeed\ndeserved other things--especially from you, Irma, whom (though your\nsenior in years, and during the minority of my ward Sir Louis, the head\nof the house), I have always treated with affectionate and, perhaps, too\nrespectful deference!\"\n\n\"Miss Irma,\" cried Kate of the Shore, \"take care of that man. He has a\npistol ready. I can see the hilt of it in his pocket. You he will not\nharm if he can help it, but if that be your brother whom I see at the\nfold of the window-hanging, bid him stand back for his life.\"\n\n\"Drop your pistol, Evans,\" commanded Lalor Maitland, \"this part of the\nplay is played out. She will not speak, or rather what she says will do\nus no good. Women are thrawn contrary things at the best, Evans, as I\ndare say you have noticed in your Principality of Wales. But take heed,\nyou and your precious defenders, I warn you that in an hour the house of\nMarnhoul shall be flaming over your heads with a torch that shall bring\nout, not your pitiful burghers from their rabbit-holes, but also the men\nof half a county.\n\n\"Hear me,\" he raised his voice suddenly to a strident shout, \"hear me\nall you within the house. Give up the girl and the child to their legal\nprotectors, and no harm shall befall either life or property. We shall\nbe on shipboard in half-an-hour. I shall see to it that every man within\nthe castle is rewarded from the Maitland money that is safe beyond seas,\nout of the reach of King George! Of that, at least I made sure, serving\ntwice seven years for it in the service of a hard master. I offer a\nhundred pounds apiece to whoever will deliver the boy and the maid!\"\n\nThis was a speech which pleased me much, for it showed that from the\nstoutness of our defence, and the many guns which had been shot off,\nLalor was under the impression that the house was garrisoned by a proper\nforce of men--when in truth there was only Miss Irma and me--that is,\nnot counting Agnes Anne.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nTHE WHITE FREE TRADERS\n\n\nBut the country was by no means so craven as Lalor supposed. There were\nbold hearts and ready saddles still in Galloway. The signal from the top\nof the beacon tower of Marnhoul was seen and understood in half-a-dozen\nparishes.\n\nNot that the young fellows who saw the flame connected it with the two\nchildren who had taken refuge in the old place of the Maitlands. In\nfact, most knew nothing about their existence. But their alacrity was\nconnected with quite another matter--the great cargo of dutiable and\nundutied goods stored away in the cellars of Marnhoul!\n\nThere was stirring, therefore, in remote farms, rattling on doors,\nhurried scrambling up and down stable ladders. Young men on the\noutskirts of villages might have been seen stealing through gardens,\nstumbling among cabbage-stocks and gooseberry bushes as they made their\nway by the uncertain flicker of our far-away beacon to the place of\nrendezvous.\n\nHerds rising early to \"look the hill\" gave one glance at the red dance\nof the flames over the tree-tops of Marnhoul great wood, and anon ran to\nwaken their masters.\n\nFor in that country every farmer--aye, and most of the lairds, including\na majority of the Justices of the Peace--had a share in the \"venture.\"\nSometimes the value of the cargo brought in by a single run would be\nfrom fifty to seventy thousand pounds. All this great amount of goods\nhad to be scattered and concealed locally, before it was carried to\nGlasgow and Edinburgh over the wildest and most unfrequented tracks.\n\nThe officers of the revenue, few and ill-supported, could do little.\nMost of them, indeed, accepted the quiet greasing of the palm, and\ncalled off their men to some distant place during the night of a big\nrun. But even when on the spot and under arms, a cavalcade of a couple\nof hundred men could laugh at half-a-dozen preventives, and pass by\ndefiantly waving their hands and clinking the chains which held the kegs\nupon their horses. The bolder cried out invitations to come and drink,\nand the good-will of the leaders of the Land Free Traders was even\npushed so far that, if a Surveyor of Customs showed himself pleasantly\namenable, a dozen or more small kegs of second-rate Hollands would be\ntipped before his eyes into a convenient bog, so that, if it pleased\nhim, he could pose before his superiors as having effected an important\ncapture.\n\nThe report which he was wont to edit on these occasions will often\ncompare with the higher fiction--as followeth:--\n\n    \"Supervisor Henry Baskett, in charge of the Lower Solway district,\n    reports as follows under date June 30th: Found a strong body of\n    smugglers marching between the wild mountains called Ben Tuthor and\n    Blew Hills. They were of the number of three hundred, all well\n    mounted and armed, desperate men, evidently not of this district,\n    but, from their talk and accoutrement, from the Upper Ward of\n    Lanerickshire. Followed them carefully to note their dispositions\n    and discover a favourable place for attack. I had only four men with\n    me, whereof one a boy, being all the force under my command.\n    Nevertheless, at a place called the Corse of Slakes I advanced\n    boldly and summoned them, in the King's name and at the peril of\n    their lives, to surrender.\n\n    \"Whereat they turned their guns upon us, each man standing behind\n    his horse and having his face hidden in a napkin lest he should be\n    known. But we four and the boy advanced firmly and with such\n    resolution that the band of three hundred law-breakers broke up\n    incontinent, and taking to flight this way and that through the\n    heather, left us under the necessity of pursuing. We pursued that\n    band which promised the best taking, and I am glad to intimate to\n    your Excellencies, His Majesty's Commissioners, that we were\n    successful in putting the said Free Traders to flight, and capturing\n    twenty-five casks best Hollands, six loads of Vallenceen, etc.,\n    etc., as per schedule appended to be accounted for by me as your\n    lordship's commissioners shall direct. In the hope that this will be\n    noted to our credit on the table of advancement (and in this connect\n    I may mention the names of the three men, Thomas Coke, Edward Loval,\n    Timothy Pierce, and the boy Joseph McDougal, whom I recommend as\n    having done their duty in the face of peril), I have the honour to\n    sign myself,\n\n                    \"My Lords and Hon. Commissioners of H. M. Excise,\n                    \"Your obedient, humble servant,\n                    \"Henry Baskett (Supervisor).\"\n\nThe other view of this transaction I find more concisely expressed in a\nmemorandum written in an old note-book belonging to my Uncle Tom.\n\n\"Baskett held out for forty best French, but we fobbed him off with\ntwenty-five low-grade Rotterdam--the casks being leaky, and some packs\nof goods too long left at Rathan Cave, which is at the back of the\nisle, and counted scarce worth the carrying farther. The night fine and\nbusiness most successful--thanks to an ever-watchful Providence.\"\n\nThe reader of these family memoirs will perhaps agree with me that, if\nany one could do without an ever-watchful Providence troubling itself\nabout him, that man was my Uncle Tom.\n\nWhile, therefore, we in the House of Marnhoul were in the wildest\nalarm--at least Agnes Anne was--forces which could not possibly be\nwithstood were mustering to hasten to our assistance. The tarry jackets\nof the _Golden Hind_ would doubtless have rushed the front door with a\nhurrah, as readily as they would have boarded a prize, but Lalor\nMaitland ordered them to bring wood and other inflammable material. At\nleast, so I judge, for presently I could see them running to and fro\nabout the edges of the wood. They had now learned the knack of keeping\nin shelter most of the way. But I did not feel really afraid till I saw\nsome of them with kegs of liquor making towards the porch. There they\nstove them in, and proceeded to empty the contents on the dry branches\nand fuel they had collected. The matter was now beginning to look really\nserious. To make things worse, they were evidently digging out the\nbottom of our cellar-stair barricade, and if they succeeded in that they\nwould turn our position and take us in the rear.\n\nSo I sent down Agnes Anne (she not being good for much else) to the\ncellar to see how things were looking there, bidding her to be careful\nof the lantern, and to bring back as many of the five muskets as she\ncould carry, so that I might keep the fellows in check above.\n\nAgnes Anne came flying back with the worst kind of news. A great flame\nof fire was springing up out of the well of the staircase into which we\nhad tumbled the barrels and boxes. It threatened, she said, to blow us\nsky-high, if there were any barrels of powder among the goods left by\nthe smugglers.\n\nAt any rate, the flame was rapidly spreading to the other packages which\nhad formed our breastwork of defence, and was now like to become our\nruin.\n\nFor, once fairly caught, the spirit would flame high as the rigging of\nMarnhoul, and we should all be burnt alive, which was most likely what\nLolar Maitland meant by his parting threatening.\n\n\"And it is more than likely,\" Agnes Anne added, \"that some of the\nbarrels burst as we threw them down the stairs, and so, with the liquor\nflowing among their feet, the assailants got the idea of thus burning us\nout.\"\n\nAt all events something had to be done, and that instantly. So I had\nperforce to leave Agnes Anne in charge of \"King George\" again,\ncautioning her not to pull the trigger till she should see the rascals\nactually bending to set fire to the pile underneath the porch of the\nfront door. I also told her not to be frightened, and she promised not\nto.\n\nThen I went down to the cellar. The heat there was terrible, and I do\nnot wonder that Agnes Anne came running back to me. A pillar of blue\nflame was rising straight up against the arched roof of the cellar. I\ncould hear the cries of the men working below in the passage.\n\n\"Hook it away--give her air--she will burn ever the brisker and smoke\nthe land-lubbers out!\"\n\nSome few of the boxes in the front tier were already on fire, and still\nmore were smouldering, but the straightness of the vent up which the\nflame was coming, together with the closeness and stillness of the\nvault, made the flame mount straight up as in a chimney. I therefore\ndivined rather than saw what remained for me to do. I leaped over and\nbegan, at the risk of a severe scorching, to throw back all the boxes\nand packages which were in danger. It was lucky for me that the\nsmugglers had piled them pretty high, and so by drawing one or two from\nnear the foundation, I was fortunate enough to overset the most part of\nit in the outward direction.\n\nBut the fierceness of the flame was beginning to tell upon the\nbuilding-stone of Marnhoul, which was of a friable nature--at least that\nwith which the vault was arched.\n\nLuckily some old tools had been left in the corner, and it struck me\nthat if I could dig up enough of the earthen floor or topple over the\nmound of earth which had been piled up at the making of the underground\npassage, the fire must go out for lack of air; or, better still, would\nbe turned in the faces of those who were digging away the barrels and\nboxes from the bottom of the stair-well.\n\nThis, after many attempts and some very painful burns, I succeeded in\ndoing. The first shovelfuls did not seem to produce much effect. So I\nset to work on the large heap of hardened earth in the corner, and was\nlucky enough to be able to tumble it bodily upon the top of the column\nof fire. Then suddenly the terrible column of blue flame went out, just\nas does a Christmas pudding when it is blown upon. And for the same\nreason. Both were made of the flames of the French spirit called cognac,\nor brandy.\n\nThen I did not mind about my burns, I can assure you. But almost\ngleefully I went on heaping mould and dirt upon the boxes in the well of\nthe staircase, stamping down the earth at the top till it was almost\nlike the hard-beaten floor of the cellar itself. I left not a crevice\nfor the least small flame to come up through.\n\nThen I bethought me of what might be going on above, and the flush of my\ntriumph cooled quickly. For I thought that there was only Agnes Anne,\nand who knows what weakness she may not have committed. She would never\nhave thought, for instance, of such a thing as covering in the flame\nwith earth to put it out. To tell the truth, I did think very\nmasterfully of myself at that moment, and perhaps with some cause, for\nnot one in a thousand would have had the \"engine\" to do as I had done.\n\nWhen I got to the top of the stairs, I heard cries from without, which\nhad been smothered by the deepness of the dungeon in which I had been\nlabouring to put out the fire. For a moment I thought that by the\nfailure of Agnes Anne to fire off \"King George\" at the proper moment,\nthe door had been forced and we utterly lost. Which seemed the harder to\nbe borne, that I had just saved all our lives in a way so original and\nhappy.\n\nBut I was wrong. The shouting came not from the wicked crew of the\nprivateersman, but from the shouting of a vast number of people, most of\nthem mounted on farm and country horses, with some of finer limb and\nbetter blood, managed by young fellows having the air of laird's sons or\nothers of some position. None of these had his face bare. But in place\nof the black highwayman masks of the followers of Galligaskins, these\nwore only a strip of white kerchief across the face, though, as I could\nsee, more for the form of the thing than from any real apprehension of\ndanger.\n\nIndeed, in the very forefront of the cavalcade I saw our own two cart\nhorses, Dapple and Dimple, and the lighter mare Bess, which my\ngrandfather used for riding to and fro upon his milling business. I had\nnot the least doubt that my three uncles were bestriding them, though I\nnever knew that there were any arms about the house except the old\nfowling-piece belonging to grandfather, with which on moonlight nights\nhe killed the hares that came to nibble the plants in his cabbage\ngarden.\n\nSoon the sailors and their abettors were fleeing in every direction.\nBut, what took me very much by surprise, there was no firing or cutting\ndown, though there was a good deal of smiting with the flat of the\nsword. And at the entrance of the ice-mound I saw a great many very\nscurvy fellows come trickling out, all burned and scorched, to run the\ngauntlet of a row of men on foot, who drubbed them soundly with cudgels\nbefore letting them go.\n\nSeeing this, I opened the window and shouted with all my might.\n\n\"Apprehend them! They are villains and thieves. They have broken into\nthis house and tried to kill us all, besides setting fire to the cellar\nand everything in it!\"\n\nThe men without, both those on foot and those on horseback, had been\ncalm till they heard this, and then, lo! each cavalier dismounted and\nall came running to the door, calling on us to open instantly.\n\n\"Not to you any more than to the others!\" I cried. For, indeed, I saw\nnot any good reason. It appeared to me, since there was no real\nfighting, that the two parties must be in alliance, or, at least, have\nan understanding between them.\n\nBut Agnes Anne called out, \"Nonsense, I see Uncle Aleck and Uncle\nEbenezer. I am going to open the door to them, whatever you say!\"\n\nSo all in a minute the house of Marnhoul, long so desolate and silent,\nwherein such deeds of valour and strategy had recently been wrought,\ngrew populous with a multitude all eager to win down to the cellar. But\nAgnes Anne brought up my three uncles (and another who was with them)\nand bade them watch carefully over the safety of Louis and Miss Irma.\n(For so I must again call her now that she had, as it were, come to her\nown again.)\n\nAs for me they carried me down with them, to tell all about the attempt\nto burn the goods in the cellar. And angry men they were when they saw\nso many webs of fine cloth, so many bolts of Flanders lace, so many kegs\nof rare brandy damaged and as good as lost. But when they understood\nthat, but for my address and quickness, all would have been lost to\nthem, they made me many compliments. Also an old man with a\nsilver-hilted sword, who carried himself like some great gentleman, bade\nme tell him my _name_, and wrote it down in his note-book, saying that I\nwas of too good a head and quick a hand to waste on a dominie.\n\nAnd, indeed, I was of that mind (or something very much like it) myself.\nAn old haunted house like Marnhoul to defend, a young maid of high\nfamily to rescue (and adopt you as her brother for a reward) did somehow\ntake the edge off teaching the Rule of Three and explaining the _De\nBello Gallico_ to imps who cannot understand, and would not if they\ncould.\n\n\n\n\nPART II\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nMY GRANDMOTHER SPEAKS HER MIND\n\n\n\"There is no use talking\" (said my grandmother, as she always did when\nshe was going to do a great deal of it), \"no, listen to me, there is no\nuse talking! These two young things need a home, and if _we_ don't give\nit to them, who will? Stay longer in that great gaol of a house, worse\nthan any barn, they shall not--exposed day and night to a traffic of sea\nrascals, thieves and murderers, _they shall not_----\"\n\n\"What I want to know is who is to keep them, and what the safer they\nwill be here?\"\n\nIt was the voice of my Aunt Jen which interrupted. None else would have\ndared--save mayhap my grandfather, who, however, only smiled and was\nsilent.\n\n\"Ne'er you mind that, Janet,\" cried her mother, \"what goes out of our\nbasket and store will never be missed. And father says the same, be sure\nof that!\"\n\nMy grandfather did say the same, if to smile quietly and approvingly is\nto speak. At any rate, in a matter which did not concern him deeply, he\nknew a wiser way than to contradict Mistress Mary Lyon. She was quite\ncapable of keeping him awake two-thirds of the night arguing it out,\nwithout the faintest hope of altering the final result.\n\n\"The poor things,\" mourned my grandmother, \"they shall come here and\nwelcome--that is, till better be. Of course, they might be more grandly\nlodged by the rich and the great--gentlefolk in their own station. But,\nfirst of all, they do not offer, and if they did, they are mostly\nwithout experience. To bring up children, trust an old hen who has\nclucked over a brood of her own!\"\n\n\"Safer, too, here,\" approved my grandfather, nodding his head; \"the\ntarry breeches will think twice before paying Heathknowes a visit--with\nthe lads about and the gate shut, and maybe the old dog not quite\ntoothless yet!\"\n\nThis, indeed, was the very heart of the matter. Irma and Sir Louis would\nbe far safer at the house of one William Lyon, guarded by his stout\nsons, by his influence over the wildest spirits of the community, in a\nhouse garrisoned by a horde of sleepless sheep-dogs, set in a defensible\nsquare of office-houses, barns, byres, stables, granaries, cart-sheds,\npeat-sheds and the rest.\n\n\"And when the great arrive to call,\" said Aunt Jen, with sour insight,\n\"you, mother, will stop the churning just when the butter is coming to\nput on your black lace cap and apron. You will receive the lady of the\nmanse, and Mrs. General Johnstone, and----\"\n\n\"And if I do, Jen,\" cried her mother, \"what is that to you?\"\n\n\"Because I have enough to do as it is,\" snapped Jen, \"without your\nbutter-making when you are playing the lady down the house!\"\n\nGrandmother's black eyes crackled fire. She turned threateningly to her\ndaughter.\n\n\"By my saul, Lady Lyon,\" she cried, \"there is a stick in yon corner that\nye ken, and if you are insolent to your mother I will thrash you\nyet--woman-grown as ye are. Ye take upon yourself to say that which none\nof your brothers dare set their tongue to!\"\n\nAnd indeed there is little doubt but that Mary Lyon would have kept her\nword. So far as speech was concerned, my Aunt Jen was silenced. But she\nwas a creature faithful to her prejudices, and could express by her\nsilence and air of injured rectitude more than one less gifted could\nhave put into a parliamentary oration.\n\nHer very heels on the stone floor of the wide kitchen at Heathknowes,\nwhere all the business of the house was transacted, fell with little\nraps of defiance, curt and dry. Her nose in the air told of contempt\nlouder than any words. She laid down the porridge spurtle like a queen\nabdicating her sceptre. She tabled the plates like so many protests,\nsigned and witnessed. She swept about the house with the glacial chill\nwhich an iceberg spreads about it in temperate seas. Her displeasure\nmade winter of our content--of all, that is, except Mary Lyon's. She at\nleast went about her tasks with her usual humming alacrity, turning work\nover her shoulder as easy as apple-peeling.\n\nBeing naturally lazy myself (except as to the reading of books), I took\na great pleasure in watching grandmother. Aunt Jen would order you to\nget some work if she saw you doing nothing--malingering, she called\nit--yes, and find it for you too, that is, if Mary Lyon were not in the\nhouse to tell her to mind her own business.\n\nBut you might lie round among grandmother's feet for days, and, except\nfor a stray cuff in passing if she actually walked into you--a cuff\ngiven in the purest spirit of love and good-will, and merely as a\nwarning of the worse thing that might happen to you if you made her\nspill the dinner \"sowens\"--you might spend your days in reading anything\nfrom the _Arabian Nights_ in Uncle Eben's old tattered edition to the\nmighty _Josephus_, all complete with plans and plates--over which on\nSundays my grandfather was wont to compose himself augustly to sleep.\n\nWell, Miss Irma and Sir Louis came to my grandmother's house at\nHeathknowes. Yes, this is the correct version. The house of Heathknowes\nwas Mary Lyon's. The mill in the wood, the farm, the hill\npastures--these might be my grandfather's, also the horses and wagons\ngenerally, but his power--his \"say\" over anything, stopped at the\nthreshold of the house, of the byre of cows, at the step of the rumbling\nlittle light cart in which he was privileged to drive my grandmother to\nchurch and market. In these places and relations he became, instead of\nthe unquestioned master, only as one of ourselves, except that he was\nneither cuffed nor threatened with \"the stick in the corner.\" All the\nsame, this immunity did not do him much good, for many a sound\ntongue-lashing did he receive for his sins and shortcomings--indeed, far\nmore so than all the rest of us. For with us, my grandmother had a short\nand easy way.\n\n\"I have not time to be arguing with the likes of you!\" she would cry.\nAnd upon the word a sound cuff removed us out of her path, and before we\nhad stopped tingling Mary Lyon had plunged into the next object in hand,\nsatisfied that she had successfully wrestled with at least one problem.\nBut with grandfather it was different. He had to be convinced--if\npossible, convicted--in any case overborne.\n\nTo accomplish this Mary Lyon would put forth all her powers, in spite of\nher husband's smiles--or perhaps a good deal because of them. Upon her\nexcellent authority, he was stated to be the most irritating man betwixt\nthe Brigend of Dumfries and the Braes of Glenap.\n\n\"Oh, man, say what you have to say,\" she would cry, when reduced to\nextremities by the obvious unfairness of his silent mode of controversy,\n\"but don't sit there girning like a self-satisfied monkey!\"\n\n\"Mother!\" exclaimed Aunt Jen, horrified. For she cherished a secret\ntenderness for my grandfather, perhaps because their natures were so\ndifferent, \"How can you speak so to our father?\"\n\n\"Wait till you get a man of your ain, Janet,\" my grandmother would\nretort, \"then you will have new light as to how it is permitted for a\nwoman to speak.\"\n\nWith this retort Aunt Jen was well acquainted, and had to be thankful\nthat it was carried no further, as it often was in the case of any\ncriticisms as to the management of children. In this case Aunt Jen was\nusually invited not to meddle, on the forcible plea that what a score of\nold maids knew about rearing a family could be put into a nutshell\nwithout risk of overcrowding.\n\nThe room at Heathknowes that was got ready for the children was the one\noff the parlour--\"down-the-house,\" as it was called. Here was a little\nbed for Miss Irma, her washstand, a chest of drawers, a brush and comb\nwhich Aunt Jen had \"found,\" producing them from under her apron with an\nexceedingly guilty air, while continuing to brush the floor with an air\nof protest against the whole proceeding.\n\nFrom the school-house my father sent a hanging bookcase--at least the\nthing was done upon my suggestion. Agnes Anne carried it and Uncle Ebie\nnailed it up. At any rate, it was got into place among us. The cot of\nthe child Louis had been arranged in the parlour itself, but at the\nfirst glance Miss Irma turned pale, and I saw it would not do.\n\n\"I have always been accustomed to have him with me,\" she said; \"it is\nvery kind of you to give us such nice rooms--but--would you mind letting\nhim sleep where I can see him?\"\n\nIt was Aunt Jen who did the moving without a word, and that, too, with\nthe severe lines of disapproval very nearly completely ruled off her\nface. It was, in fact, better that they should be together. For while\nthe parlour looked by two small-paned windows across the wide courtyard,\nthe single casement of the little bedroom opened on the orchard corner\nwhich my grandfather had planted in the first years of his taking\npossession.\n\nThe house of Heathknowes was of the usual type of large Galloway farm--a\nplace with some history, the house ancient and roomy, the office houses\nbuilt massively in a square, as much for defence as for convenience. You\nentered by a heavy gate and you closed it carefully after you. From\nwithout the walls of the quadrangle frowned upon you unbroken from their\neminence, massy and threatening as a fortress. The walls were loopholed\nfor musketry, and, in places, still bore marks of the long slots through\nwhich the archers had shot their bolts and clothyard shafts in the days\nbefore powder and ball.\n\nExcept the single gate, you could go round and round without finding any\nplace by which an enemy might enter. The outside appearance was\ncertainly grim, unpromising, inhospitable, and so it seemed to Miss Irma\nand Sir Louis as they drove up the loaning from the ford.\n\nBut within, everything was different. What a smiling welcome they\nreceived, my grandfather standing with his hat off, my grandmother with\nthe tears in her motherly vehement eyes, gathering the two wanderers\ndefiantly to her breast as if daring all the world to come on. Behind a\nlittle (but not much) was Aunt Jen, asserting her position and rights in\nthe house. She did not seem to see Miss Irma, but to make up, she never\ntook her eyes off the little boy for a moment.\n\nThen my uncles were ranged awkwardly, their hands lonesome for the grip\nof the plough, the driving reins, or the water-lever at the mill in the\nwoods.\n\nUncle Rob, our dandy, had changed his coat and put on a new neckcloth,\nan act which, as all who know a Scots farm town will understand, cost\nhim a multitude of flouts, jeers and upcasting from his peers.\n\nI was also there, not indeed to welcome them, but because I had\naccompanied the party from the house of Marnhoul. The White Free Traders\nhad established a post there to watch over one of their best\n\"hidie-holes,\" even though they had removed all their goods in\nexpectation of the visit of a troop of horse under Captain Sinclair,\nknown to have been ordered up from Dumfries to aid the excise\nsupervisor, as soon as that zealous officer was sure that, the steed\nbeing stolen, it was time to lock the stable door.\n\nBut when the dragoons came, there was little for them to do. Ned\nHenderson, the General Surveyor of the Customs and head of the district\nin all matters of excise, was far too careful a man to allow more to\nappear than was \"good for the country.\" He knew that there was hardly a\nlaird, and not a single farmer or man of substance who had not his\nfinger in the pie. Indeed, after the crushing national disaster of\nDarien, this was the direction which speculation naturally took in\nScotland for more than a hundred years.\n\nIn due time, then, the dragoons arrived, greatly to the interest of all\nthe serving lasses--and some others. There was, of course, a vast deal\nof riding about, cantering along by-ways, calling upon this or that\ninnocent to account for his presence at the back of a dyke or behind a\nwhin-bush--which he usually did in the most natural and convincing\nmanner possible.\n\nThe woods were searched--the covers drawn. Many birds were disturbed,\nbut of the crew of the _Golden Hind_, or the land smugglers by whose\narrival the capture and burning of Marnhoul had been prevented, no trace\nwas found. Even Kate of the Shore's present address was known to but\nfew, and to these quite privately. There was no doubt of her\nfaithfulness. That had been proven, but she knew too much. There were\nquestions which, even unanswered, might raise others.\n\nSeveral young men, of good family and connections, thought it prudent to\nvisit friends at a distance, and at least one was never seen in the\ncountry more.\n\nOne of his Majesty's frigates had been sent for to watch the Solway\nports, much to the disgust of her officers. For not only had they been\nexpected at the Portsmouth summer station by numerous pretty ladies, but\nthe navigation between Barnhourie and the Back Shore of Leswalt was as\nfull of danger as it was entirely without glory. If they were unlucky,\nthey might be cashiered for losing the ship. If lucky, the revenue men\nwould claim the captured cargo. If they secured the malefactors they\nwould sow desolation in a score of respectable families, with the\ndaughters of which they had danced at Kirkcudbright a week ago.\n\nIn Galloway, though a considerable amount of recklessness mingled with\nthe traffic, and there were occasional roughnesses on the high seas and\nabout the ports and anchorages of Holland and the Isle of Man, there was\nnever any of the cruelty associated with smuggling along the south coast\nof England. The smugglers of Sussex killed the informer Chater with\nblows of their whips. A yet darker tragedy enacted farther west,\nbrought half-a-dozen to a well-deserved scaffold. But, save for the\nlosses in fair fight occasioned by the intemperate zeal of some new\nbroom of a supervisor anxious for distinction, the history of Galloway\nsmuggling had, up to that time, never been stained with serious crime.\n\nMeantime the two Maitlands, Sir Louis and Miss Irma, were safely housed\nwithin the defenced place of Heathknowes, guarded by William Lyon and\nhis three stout sons, and mothered by all the hidden tenderness of my\ngrandmother's big, imperious, volcanic heart.\n\nOnly my Aunt Jen watched jealously with a half-satisfied air and took\ncounsel with herself as to what the end of these things might be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nCASTLE CONNOWAY\n\n\nMeanwhile Boyd Connoway was in straits. Torn between two emotions, he\nwas pleased for once to have found a means of earning his living and\nthat of his family--especially the latter. For his own living was like\nthat of the crows, \"got round the country somewhere!\" But with the\nlightest and most kindly heart in the world, Boyd Connoway found himself\nin trouble owing to the very means of opulence which had brought content\nto his house.\n\nOn going home on the night after the great attack on Marnhoul, weary of\ndirecting affairs, misleading the dragoons, whispering specious theories\ninto the ear of the commanding officer and his aides, he had been met at\nthe outer gate of his cabin by a fact that overturned all his notions of\ndomestic economy. Ephraim, precious Ephraim, the Connoway family pig,\nhad been turned out of doors and was now grunting disconsolately,\nthrusting a ringed nose through the bars of Paradise. Now Boyd knew that\nhis wife set great store by Ephraim. Indeed, he had frequently been\ncompared, to his disadvantage, with Ephraim and his predecessors in the\nnarrow way of pigs. Ephraim was of service. What would the \"poor\nchilder,\" what would Bridget herself do without Ephraim? Bridget was not\nquite sure whether she kept Ephraim or whether Ephraim kept her. At any\nrate it was not to Boyd Connoway that she and her offspring were anyways\nindebted for care and sustenance.\n\n\"The craitur,\" said Bridget affectionately, \"he pays the very rint!\"\n\nBut here, outside the family domain, was Ephraim, the beloved of his\nwife's heart, actually turned out upon a cold and unfeeling world, and\nwith carefully spaced grunts of bewilderment expressing his discontent.\nIf such were Ephraim's fate, how would the matter go with him? Boyd\nConnoway saw a prospect of finding a husband and the father of a family\nturned from his own door, and obliged to return and take up his quarters\nwith this earlier exile.\n\nThe Connoway family residence was a small and almost valueless leasehold\nfrom the estate of General Johnstone. The house had always been\ntumbledown, and the tenancy of Bridget and her brood had not improved it\nexternally. The lease was evidently a repairing one. For holes in the\nthatch roof were stopped with heather, or mended with broad slabs of\nturf held down with stones and laboriously strengthened with wattle--a\nmarvel of a roof. It is certain that Boyd's efforts were never\ncontinuous. He tired of everything in an hour, or sooner--unless\nsomebody, preferably a woman, was watching him and paying him\ncompliments on his dexterity.\n\nThe cottage had originally consisted of the usual \"but-and-ben\"--that is\nto say, in well regulated houses (which this one was not) of a\nkitchen--and a room that was not the kitchen. The family beds occupied\none corner of the kitchen, that of Bridget and her husband in the middle\n(including accommodation for the latest baby), while on either side and\nat the foot, shakedowns were laid out \"for the childer,\" slightly raised\nfrom the earthen floor on rude trestles, with a board laid across to\nreceive the bedding. There was nothing at either side to provide against\nthe occupants rolling over, but, as the distance from the ground did\nnot average more than four inches, the young Connoways did not run much\ndanger of accident on that account.\n\nDisputes were, however, naturally somewhat frequent. Jerry or Phil would\ndescribe himself as \"lying on so many taturs\"--Mary or Kitty declare\nthat her bedfellow was \"pullin' every scrap off of her, that she was!\"\n\nTo quell these domestic brawls Bridget Connoway kept at the head of the\nmiddle bed a long peeled willow, which was known as the \"Thin One.\" The\nThin One settled all night disputes in the most evenhanded way. For\nBridget did not get out of bed to discriminate. She simply laid on the\nspot from which the disturbance proceeded till that disturbance ceased.\nThen the Thin One returned to his corner while innocent and guilty\nmingled their tears and resolved to conduct hostilities more silently in\nfuture.\n\nIn the daytime, however, the \"Thick One\" held sway, which was the\nwork-hardened palm of Mistress Bridget Connoway's hand. She was\nambidextrous in correction--\"one was as good as t'other,\" as Jerry\nremarked, after he had done rubbing himself and comparing damages with\nhis brother Phil, who had got the left. \"There's not a fardin' to pick\nbetween us!\" was the verdict as the boys started out to find their\nfather, stretched on his favourite sunny mound within sight of the\nHaunted House of Marnhoul--now more haunted than ever.\n\nBut on this occasion Boyd Connoway was on his return, when he met the\nexiled Ephraim. His meditations on his own probable fate have led the\nhistorian into a sketch of the Connoway establishment, which, indeed,\nhad to come in somewhere.\n\nFor once Boyd wasted no time. With his wife waiting for him it was well\nto know the worst and get it over. He opened the door quickly, and\nintruding his hat on the end of his walking stick, awaited results. It\nwas only for a moment, of course, but Boyd Connoway felt satisfied. His\nBridget was not waiting for him behind the door with the potato-beetle\nas she did on days of great irritation. His heart rose--his courage\nreturned. Was he not a free man, a house-holder? Had he not taken a\ndistinguished part in a gallant action? Bridget must understand this.\nBridget should understand this. Boyd Connoway would be respected in his\nown house!\n\nNevertheless he entered hastily, sidling like a dog which expects a\nkick. He avoided the dusky places instinctively--the door of the \"ben\"\nroom was shut, so Bridget could not be lying in wait there. Was it in\nthe little closet behind the kitchen that the danger lurked? The\nchildren were in bed, save the two youngest, all quiet, all watching\nwith the large, dreamy blue (Connoway) eyes, or the small, very bright\nones (Bridget's) what his fate would be.\n\nHe glanced quaintly, with an interrogative lift of his eyebrows, at the\nbed to the left. Jerry of the twinkling sloe-eyes answered with a quick\nupturn of the thumb in the direction of the spare chamber.\n\nBoyd Connoway frowned portentously at his eldest son. The youth shook\nhis head. The sign was well understood, especially when helped out with\na grin, broad as all County Donegal 'twixt Killibegs and Innishowen\nLight.\n\nThe \"Misthress\" was in a good temper. Reassured, on his own account, but\ninwardly no little alarmed for his wife's health in these unusual\ncircumstances, Boyd began to take off his boots with the idea of\ngliding safely into bed and pretending to be asleep before the wind had\ntime to change.\n\nBut Jerry's mouth was very evidently forming some words, which were\nmeant to inform his father as to particulars. These, though\nunintelligible individually, being taken together and punctuated with\njerks in the direction of the shut door of \"doon-the-hoose,\" constituted\na warning which Boyd Connoway could not afford to neglect.\n\nHe went forward to the left hand bed, cocked his ear in the direction of\nthe closed door, and then rapidly lowered it almost against his son's\nlips.\n\n\"She's gotten a hurt man down there,\" said Jerry, \"she has been runnin'\nwi' white clouts and bandages a' the forenight. And I'm thinkin' he's no\nvery wise, either--for he keeps cryin' that the deils are comin' to tak'\nhim!\"\n\n\"What like of a man?\" said Boyd Connoway.\n\nBut Jerry's quick ear caught a stirring in the room with the closed\ndoor. He shook his head and motioned his father to get away from the\nside of his low truckle bed.\n\nWhen his wife entered, Boyd Connoway, with a sober and innocent face,\nwas untying his boot by the side of the fire. Bridget entered with a\nsaucepan in her hand, which, before she deigned to take any notice of\nher husband, she pushed upon the red ashes in the grate.\n\nFrom the \"ben\" room, of which the door was now open, Boyd could hear the\nlow moaning of a man in pain. He had tended too many sick people not to\nknow the delirium of fever, the pitiful lapses of sense, then again the\nvague and troubled pour of words, and at the sound he started to his\nfeet. He was not good for much in the way of providing for a family. He\ndid a great many foolish, yet more useless things, but there was one\nthing which he understood better than Bridget--how to nurse the sick.\n\nHe disengaged his boot and stood in his stocking feet.\n\n\"What is it?\" he said, in an undertone to Bridget.\n\n\"No business of yours!\" she answered, with a sudden hissing vehemence.\n\n\"I can do _that_ better than you!\" he answered, for once sure of his\nground.\n\nHis wife darted at him a look of concentrated scorn.\n\n\"Get to bed!\" she commanded him, declining to argue with such as he--and\nbut for the twinkling eyes of Jerry, which looked sympathy, Boyd would\nhave preferred to have joined the exiled Ephraim under the dark pent\namong the coom of the peat-house.\n\nHe looked to Jerry, but Jerry was sound asleep. So was Phil. So were all\nthe others.\n\n\"Very well, daeaerlin'!\" said Boyd Connoway to himself as his wife left\nthe room. \"But, sorrow am I for the man down there that she will not let\nme nurse. She's a woman among a thousand, is Bridget Connoway. But the\ncraitur will be after makin' the poor man eat his poultices, and use his\nbeef tay for outward application only!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nTHE MAN \"DOON-THE-HOOSE\"\n\n\nBut Bridget Connoway, instant and authoritative as she was, could not\nprevent her down-trodden husband from thinking. Who was the mysterious\nwounded man \"down-the-house\"? One of the White Smugglers? Hardly. Boyd\nhad been in the thick of that business and knew that no one had been\nhurt except Barnboard Tam, whose horse had run away with him and brushed\nhim off, a red-haired Absalom in homespuns, against the branches in\nMarnhoul Great Wood.\n\nOne of the crew of the _Golden Hind_, American-owned privateersman with\nFrench letters of marque? Possibly one of the desperate gang they had\nlanded called the Black Smugglers, scum of the Low Dutch ports, come to\ndraw an ill report upon the good and wholesome fame of Galloway Free\nTrade.\n\nIn either case, Boyd Connoway little liked the prospect, and instead of\ngoing to bed, he remained swinging his legs before the fire in a musing\nattitude, listening to the moaning noises that came from the chamber he\nwas forbidden to enter. He was resolved to have it out with his wife.\n\nHe had not long to wait. Bridget appeared in the doorway, a bundle of\ndark-stained cloths between her palms. She halted in astonishment at the\nsight which met her eyes. At first it seemed to her that she was\ndreaming, or that her voice must have betrayed her. She gave her husband\nthe benefit of the doubt.\n\n\"I thought I tould ye, Boyd Connoway,\" she said in a voice dangerously\nlow and caressing, \"to be getting off to your bed and not disturbin' the\nchilder'!\"\n\n\"Who is the man that had need of suchlike?\" demanded Boyd Connoway,\nsuddenly regaining his lost heritage as the head of a house, \"speak\nwoman, who are ye harbouring there?\"\n\nBridget stood still. The mere unexpectedness of the demand rendered her\nsilent. The autocrat of all the Russias treated as though he were one of\nhis own ministers of state could not have been more dumbfounded.\n\nWith a sudden comprehension of the crisis Bridget broke for the poker,\nbut Boyd had gone too far now to recoil. He caught at the little\nthree-legged stool on which he was wont to take his humble frugal meals.\nIt was exactly what he needed. He had no idea of assaulting Bridget. He\nrecognized all her admirable qualities, which filled in the shortcomings\nof his shiftlessness with admirable exactitude. He meant to act strictly\non the defensive, a system of warfare that was familiar to him. For\nthough he had never before risen up in open revolt, he had never counted\nmere self-preservation as an insult to his wife.\n\n\"_Whack!_\" down came the poker in the lusty hand of Bridget Connoway.\n\"_Crack!_\" the targe in the lifted arm of Boyd countered it. At\narm's-length he held it. The next attack was cut number two of the\nmanual for the broad-sword. Skilfully with his shield Boyd Connoway\nturned it to the side, so that, gliding from the polished oak of the\nwell-worn seat, the head of the poker caught his wife on the knee, and\nshe dropped her weapon with a cry of pain. Jerry and the other children,\nin the seventh heaven of delight at the parental duel, were sitting up\nin their little night-shirts (which for simplicity's sake were\nidentical with their day-shirts); their eyes, black and blue, sparkled\nunanimous, and they made bets in low tones from one bed to another.\n\n\"Two to one on Daddy!\"\n\n\"Jerry, ye ass, I'll bet ye them three white chuckies[1] he'll lose!\"\n\n\"Hould your tongue, Connie--mother'll win, sure. The Thick 'Un will get\nhim!\"\n\nSuch combats were a regular interest for them, and one, in quiet times,\nquite sympathized in by their father, who would guide the combat so that\nthey might have a better view.\n\n\"Troth, and why shouldn't they, poor darlints? Sure an' it's little\nenough amusement they have!\"\n\nHe had even been known to protract an already lost battle to lengthen\nout the delectation of his offspring. The Caesars gave to their people\n\"Bread and the circus!\" But they did not usually enter the arena\nthemselves--save in the case of the incomparable bowman of Rome, and\nthen only when he knew that no one dared stand against him. But Boyd\nConnoway fought many a losing fight that his small citizens might\nwriggle with delight on their truckles. \"The Christians to the lions!\"\nYes, that was noble. But then they had no choice, while Boyd Connoway, a\nwilling martyr, fought his lioness with a three-legged stool.\n\nThis time, however, the just quarrel armed the three-legged, while cut\nnumber two of Forbes's Manual fell, not on Boyd Connoway's head, for\nwhich it was intended, but on Bridget's knee-cap. Boyd of the tender\nheart (though stubborn stool), was instantly upon his knees, his\nbuckler flung to the ground and rubbing with all his might, with\nmurmurings of, \"Does it hurt now, darlint?--Not baeaed, sure?--Say it is\nbetter now thin, darlint!\"\n\nBoyd was as conscience-stricken as if he had personally wielded the\npoker. But the mind of Bridget was quite otherwise framed. With one hand\nshe seized his abundant curly hair, now with a strand or two of early\ngrey among the straw-colour of it, and while she pulled handfuls of it\nout by the roots (so Boyd declared afterwards), she boxed his ears\nheartily with the other. Which, indeed, is witnessed to by the whole\ngoggle-eyed populace in the truckle bed.\n\n\"Didn't I tell ye, Jerry, ye cuckoo,\" whispered Connie, \"she'd beat him?\nHe's gettin' the Thick 'Un, just as I told ye!\"\n\n\"But it's noways fair rules,\" retorted Jerry; \"father he flung down his\nweepon for to rub her knee when she hurt it herself wid the poker!\"\n\nJerry had lost his bet, as indeed he usually did, but for all that he\nremained a consistent supporter of the losing side. Daily he\nacknowledged in his body the power of the arm of flesh, but the vagrant\nbutterfly humour of the male parent with the dreamy blue eyes touched\nhim where he lived--perhaps because his, like his mother's, were\nsloe-black.\n\nNevertheless, in spite of mishandling and a scandalous disregard of the\nrules of the noble art of self-defence (not yet elaborated, but only\nroughly understood as \"Fair play to all\"), Boyd Connoway carried his\npoint.\n\nHe saw the occupant of the bed \"doon-the-hoose.\"\n\nHe was a slim man with clean-cut features, very pale about the gills and\nwaxen as to the nose. He lay on the bed, his head ghastly in its white\nbandages rocking from side to side and a stream of curses, thin and\nsmall of voice as a hill-brook in drought, but continuous as a\nmill-lade, issuing from between his clenched teeth.\n\nThese adjurations were in many tongues, and their low-toned variety\nindicated the swearing of an educated man.\n\nBoyd understood at once that he had to do with no vulgar Tarry-Breeks,\nno sweepings of a couple of hemispheres, but with \"a gentleman born.\"\nAnd in Donegal, though they may rebel against their servitude and meet\nthem foot by foot on the field or at the polling-booths, they know a\ngentleman when they see one, and never in their wildest moods deny his\nbirthright.\n\nBoyd, therefore, took just one glance, and then turning to his wife\nuttered his sentiment in three words of approval. \"I'm wid ye!\" he said.\n\nHad it been Galligaskins or any seaman of the _Golden Hind_, Boyd would\nhave had him out of the house in spite of his wife and all the wholesome\ndomestic terror she had so long been establishing.\n\nBut a Donegal man is from the north after all, and does not easily take\nto the informer's trade. Besides, this was a gentleman born.\n\nYet he had better have given hospitality to Galligaskins and the whole\ncrew of pirates who manned the _Golden Hind_ than to this slender,\nclear-skinned creature who lay raving and smiling in the bedroom of\nBoyd Connoway's cabin.\n\n[Footnote 1: \"Chuckies,\" white pebbles used, in these primitive times,\ninstead of marbles.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nTHE TRANSFIGURATION OF AUNT JEN\n\n\nNever was anything seen like it in our time. I mean the transformation\nof Aunt Jen, the hard crabapple of our family, after the entrance of the\nMaitland children into the household of Heathknowes. Not that my aunt\nhad much faith in Irma. She had an art, which my aunt counted uncanny,\nindeed savouring of the sin of witchcraft. It mattered not at all what\nIrma was given to wear--an old tartan of my grandmother's Highland Mary\ndays when she was a shepherdess by the banks of Cluden, a severe gown\ndesigned on strictly architectural principles by the unabashed shears of\nAunt Jen herself, a bodice and skirt of my mother's, dovelike in hue and\ncarrying with them some of her own retiring quality in every line. It\nwas all the same, with a shred or two of silk, with a little undoing\nhere, a little tightening there, a broad splash of colour cut from one\nof my Uncle Rob's neckcloths--not anywhere, but just in the right\nplace--Irma could give to all mankind the impression of being the only\nperson worth looking at in the parish. With these simple means she could\nand did make every other girl, though attired in robes that had come all\nthe way from Edinburgh, look dowdy and countrified.\n\nAlso she had the simple manner of those who stand in no fear of any one\ntaking a liberty with them. Her position was assured. Her beauty spoke\nfor itself, and as for the old tartan, the slab-sided merino, the\nretiring pearl-grey wincey, their late owners did not know them again\nwhen they appeared in the great square Marnhoul pew in the parish\nchurch, which Irma insisted upon occupying.\n\nI think that a certain scandal connected with this, actually caused more\nstir in the parish than all the marvel of the appearance of the children\nin the Haunted House. And for this reason. Heathknowes was a Cameronian\nhousehold. The young men of Heathknowes were looked upon to furnish a\nsuccessor to their father as an elder in the little meeting-house down\nby the Fords. But with the full permission of my grandmother, and the\ntacit sympathy of my grandfather, each Sabbath day Miss Irma and Sir\nLouis went in state to the family pew at the parish kirk (a square box\nlarge enough to seat a grand jury). The children were perched in the\nfront, Irma keeping firm and watchful guard over her brother, while in\nthe dimmer depths, seen from below as three sturdy pairs of shoulders\nagainst the dusk of a garniture of tapistry, sat the three Cameronian\nyoung men of Heathknowes.\n\nNothing could so completely and fully have certified the strength of my\ngrandmother's purpose than that she, a pillar of the Covenant, thus\ncomplacently allowed her sons to frequent the public worship of an\nuncovenanted and Erastian Establishment.\n\nBut there was at least one in the house of Heathknowes not to be so\nmisled by the outward graces of the body.\n\n\"Favour is vain and the eye of Him that sitteth in the heavens regardeth\nit not,\" she was wont to say, \"and if Rob and Thomas and Ebenezer come\nto an ill end, mother, you will only have yourself to thank for it!\"\n\n\"Nonsense, Jen,\" said her mother, \"if you are prevented by your\ninfirmities from talkin' sense, at least do hold your tongue. Doctor\nGillespie is a Kirkman and a Moderate, but he is--well, he is the\nDoctor, and never a word has been said against him for forty year, walk\nand conversation both as becometh the Gospel----\"\n\n\"Aye, but _is_ it the Gospel?\" cried Jen, snipping out her words as with\nscissors; \"that's the question.\"\n\n\"When I require you, Janet Lyon, to decide for your mother what is\nGospel and what is not, I'll let ye ken,\" said my grandmother, \"and if I\nhave accepted a responsibility from the Most High for these children, I\nwill do my best to render an account of my stewardship at the Great\nWhite Throne. In the meantime, _you_ have no more right to task me for\nit, than--than--Boyd Connoway!\"\n\n\"There,\" cried Jen, slapping down the last dish which she had been\ndrying while her mother washed, \"I declare, mother, I might just as well\nnot have a tongue at all. Whatever I say you are on my back. And as if\nsnubbing me were not enough, down you must come on me with the Great\nWhite Throne!\"\n\nHer aggrieved voice made my grandmother laugh.\n\n\"Well-a-well!\" she said, in her richly comfortable voice of a mother of\nconsolation, \"you are of the tribe of Marthas, Jen, and you certainly\nwork hard enough for everybody to give your tongue a right to a little\ntrot now and then. You will have all the blessings, daughter\nJanet--except that of the peacemaker. For it's in you to set folk by the\nears and you really can't help it. Though who you took it from is more\nthan I can imagine, with a mother as mild as milk and a father----\"\n\n\"Well, what about the father--speak of the--um-um--father and he will\nappear, I suppose!\"\n\nIt was my grandfather who had come in, his face bronzed with the sun\nand a friendly shaving tucked underneath his coat collar at the back,\nwitnessing that some one of his sons, in the labours of the pirn-mill,\nhad not remembered the first commandment with promise.\n\nHis wife removed it with a smile, and said, \"I'll wager ye that was yon\nrascal Rob. He is always at his tricks!\"\n\n\"Well, what were you saying about me, old wife?\" said grandfather,\nlooking at his wife with the quiet fondness that comes of half-a-century\nof companionship.\n\n\"Only that Jen there had a will-o'-the-wisp of a temper and that I knew\nnot how she got it, for you only go about pouring oil upon the waters!\"\n\n\"As to that, you know best, guidwife,\" he answered, smiling, \"but I\nthink I have heard of a wife up about the Heathknowes, who in some\nmeasure possesses the power of her unruly member. It is possible that\nJen there may have picked up a thorn or two from that side!\"\n\nWilliam Lyon caught his daughter's ear.\n\n\"Eh, lass, what sayest thou?\" he crooned, looking down upon her with a\ntenderness rare to him with one of his children. \"What sayest thou?\"\n\n\"I say that you and mother and all about this house have run out of your\nwits about this slip of a girl? I say that you may rue it when you have\nnot a son to succeed you at the Kirk of the Covenant down by the Ford.\"\n\nThe fleeting of a smile came over my grandfather's face, that quiet\namusement which usually showed when my grandmother opposed her will to\nhis, and when for once he did not mean to give in.\n\n\"It's a sorrowful thing--a whole respectable household gone daft about\na couple of strange children;\" he let the words drop very slowly.\n\"Specially I was distressed to hear of one who rose betimes to milk a\ncow, so that the cream would have time to rise on the morning's milk by\ntheir porridge time!\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Jen, \"that was for the boy bairn. He has not been brought\nup like the rest of us, and he does not like warm milk with his\nporridge.\"\n\n\"Doubtless--ah, doubtless,\" said William Lyon; \"but if he is to bide\nwith us, is it not spoiling him thus to give way to suchlike whims? He\nwill have to learn some day, and when so good a time as now?\"\n\nAunt Jen, who knew she was being teased, kept silence, but the shoulder\nnearest my father had an indignant hump.\n\n\"Wheesht, William,\" interposed grandmother good-naturedly, \"if Jen rose\nbetimes to get milk for the bairn, ye ken yoursel' that ye think the\nbetter of her for it. And so do I. Jen's not the first whose acts are\nkindlier than her principles.\"\n\nBut Jen kept her thorns out and refused to be brought into the fold by\nflattery, till her father said, \"Jen, have ye any of that fine\nhomebrewed left, or did the lads drink it a' to their porridges? I'm a\nkennin' weary, and nothing refreshes me like that!\"\n\nJen felt the artfulness of this, nevertheless she could not help being\ntouched. The care of the still-room was hers, because, though my\ngrandmother could go through twice the work in the day that her daughter\ncould, the brewing of the family small beer and other labours of the\nstill-room were of too exact and methodical a nature for a headlong\ndriver like Mary Lyon.\n\nMy grandfather got his ale, of the sort just then beginning to be\nmade--called \"Jamaica,\" because a quantity of the cheap sugar refuse\nfrom the hogsheads was used in its production. In fact, it was the\nancestor of the \"treacle ale\" of later years. But to the fabrication of\nthis beverage, Jen added mysterious rites, during which the door of the\nstill-room was locked, barred, and the keyhole blinded, while Eben and\nRob, my uncles, stood without vainly asking for a taste, or simulating\nby their moans and cries the most utter lassitude and fatigue.\n\nWilliam Lyon sat sipping his drink while Jen eyed him furtively as she\nwent about the house, doing her duties with the silence and exactitude\nof a well-oiled machine. She was a difficult subject, my aunt Jen, to\nlive with, but she could be got at, as her father well knew, by a\nhumanizing vanity.\n\nHe sat back with an air of content in his great wide chair, the chair\nthat had been handed down as the seat of the head of the house from many\ngenerations of Lyonses. He sipped and nodded his head, looking towards\nhis daughter, and lifting the tankard with a courtly gesture as if\npledging her health.\n\nJen was pleased, though for a while she did not allow it to be seen, and\nher only repentance was taking up the big empty goblet without being\nasked and going to the still-room to refill it.\n\nDuring her absence my grandfather shamelessly winked at my grandmother,\nwhile my grandmother shook her fist covertly at her husband. Which\npantomime meant to say on the part of William Lyon that _he_ knew how to\nmanage women, while on his wife's side it inferred that she would not\ndemean herself to use means so simple and abject as plain flattery even\nwith a \"camsteary\" daughter.\n\nBut they smiled at each other, not ill-content, and as my grandmother\npassed to the dresser she paused by the great oak chair long enough to\nmurmur, \"She's coming round!\" But my grandfather only smiled and looked\ntowards the door that led to the still-room, pantries and so forth, as\nif he found the time long without his second pot of sugar ale.\n\nHe was something of a diplomat, my grandfather.\n\nIt was while sitting thus, with the second drink of harmless \"Jamaica\"\nbefore him, my aunt and grandmother crossing each other ceaselessly on\nsilent feet, that a knock came to the front door.\n\nNow in Galloway farm houses there is a front door, but no known use for\nit has been discovered, except to _be_ a door. Later, it was the custom\nto open it to let in the minister on his stated visitations, and later\nstill to let out the dead. But at the period of which I write it was a\ndoor and nothing more.\n\nBoth of these other uses are mere recent inventions. The shut front door\nof my early time stood blistering and flaking in the hot sun, or\nsoaking--crumbling, and weather-beaten--during months of bad weather.\nFor, with a wide and noble entrance behind upon the yard, so\nwell-trodden and convenient, so charged with the pleasant press of\nentrants and exodants, so populous with affairs, from which the chickens\nhad to be \"shooed\" and the moist noses of questing calves pushed aside\ntwenty times a day--why should any mortal think of entering by the front\ndoor of the house. First of all it was the front door. Next, no one knew\nwhether it would open or not, though the odds were altogether against\nit. Lastly, it was a hundred miles from anywhere and opened only upon a\nstuffy lobby round which my grandmother usually had her whole Sunday\nwardrobe hung up in bags smelling of lavender to guard against the\nmoths.\n\nNevertheless, the knock sounded distinctly enough from the front door.\n\n\"Some of the bairns playing a trick,\" said my grandmother tolerantly,\n\"let them alone, Janet, and they will soon tire o't!\"\n\nBut Jen had showed so much of the unwonted milk of human kindness that\nshe felt she must in some degree retrieve her character. She waited,\ntherefore, for the second rap, louder than the first, then lifted a wand\nfrom the corner and went \"down-the-house,\" quietly as she did all\nthings.\n\nAunt Jen concealed the rod behind her. Her private intention was to wait\nfor the third knock, and then open suddenly, with the deadly resolve to\nteach us what we were about--a mental reservation being made in the case\nof Baby Louis, who (if the knocker turned out to be he) must obviously\nhave been put up to it.\n\nThe third knock fell. Aunt Jen leaped upon the door-handle. Bolts\ncreaked and shot back, but swollen by many rainy seasons, the door held\nstoutly as is the wont of farm front doors. Then suddenly it gave way\nand Aunt Jen staggered back against the wall, swept away by the energy\nof her own effort. The wand fell from her hand, and she stood with the\ninner door handle still clutched in nervous fingers before a slight\ndapper man in a shiny brown coat, double-breasted and closely buttoned,\neven on this broiling day--while the strident \"_weesp-weesp_\" of brother\nTom down in the meadow, sharpening his scythe with a newly fill\n\"strake,\" made a keen top-note to the mood of summer.\n\n\"Mr. Poole,\" said the slim man, uncovering and saluting obsequiously,\nand then seeing that my aunt rested dumb-stricken, the rod which had\nbeen in pickle fallen to the floor behind her, he added with a little\nmincing smile and a kind of affected heel-and-toe dandling of his body,\n\"I am Mr. Wrighton Poole, of the firm of Smart, Poole, and Smart of\nDumfries.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nLOADED-PISTOL POLLIXFEN\n\n\nNow Aunt Jen's opinion of lawyers was derived from two sources,\nobservation and a belief in the direct inspiration of two lines of Dr.\nWatts, his hymns.\n\nIn other words, she had noticed that lawyers sat much in their offices,\ntwiddling with papers, and that they never went haymaking nor stood\nerect in carts dumping manure on the autumnal fields. So two lines of\nDr. Watts, applicable for such as they, and indeed every one not so\naggressively active as herself, were calculated to settle the case of\nMr. Wrighton Poole.\n\n    \"Satan finds some mischief\n    For idle hands to do.\"\n\nIndeed, I had heard of them more than once myself, when she caught me\nlying long and lazy in the depths of a haymow with a book under my nose.\n\nAt any rate Aunt Jen suspected this Mr. Poole at once. But so she would\nthe Lord Chancellor of England himself, for the good reason that by\nchoice and custom he sat on a woolsack!\n\n\"I'd woolsack him!\" Aunt Jen had cried when this fact was first brought\nto her notice; \"I'd make him get up pretty quick and earn his living if\nhe was my man!\"\n\nMy grandfather had pointed out that the actual Lord Chancellor of the\nmoment was a bachelor, whereupon Aunt Jen retorted, \"Aye, and doubtless\nthat's the reason. The poor body has nobody to do her duty by him!\"\n\nFor these excellent reasons my Aunt Jen took a dislike to Mr. Wrighton\nPoole (of the firm of Smart, Poole, and Smart, solicitors, Dumfries) at\nthe very first glance.\n\nAnd yet, when he was introduced into the state parlour with the six\nmahogany-backed, haircloth-seated chairs, the two narrow arm-chairs, the\nfour ugly mirrors, and the little wire basket full of odds and ends of\ncrockery and foreign coins--covered by the skin of a white blackbird,\nfound on the farm and prepared for stuffing--he looked a very dapper,\nrespectable, personable man. But my Aunt Jen would have none of his\ncompliments on the neatness of the house or the air of bien comfort that\neverything about the farm had worn on his way thither.\n\nShe drew out a chair for him and indicated it with her hand.\n\n\"Bide there,\" she commanded, \"till I fetch them that can speak wi' you!\"\nAn office which, had she chosen, Jen was very highly qualified to\nundertake, save for an early and deep-rooted conviction that business\nmatters had better be left to the dealing of man and man.\n\nThis belief, however, was not in the least that of my grandmother. She\nwould come in and sit down in the very middle of one of my grandfather's\nmost private bargainings with the people to whom he sold his spools and\n\"pirns.\" She had her say in everything, and she said it so easily and so\nmuch as a matter of course that no one was ever offended.\n\nGrandfather was at the mill and in consequence it was my grandmother who\nentered from the dairy, still wiping her hands from the good, warm\nbuttermilk which had just rendered up its tale of butter. There was a\nkind of capable and joyous fecundity about my grandmother, in spite of\nher sharp tongue, her masterful ways, the strictness of her theology and\nher old-fashioned theories, which seemed to produce an effect even on\ninanimate things. So light and loving was her hand--the hand that had\nloved (and smacked) many children, brooded over innumerable hatchings of\nthings domestic, tended whole byrefuls of cows, handled suckling lambs\nwith dead mothers lying up on the hill--aye, played the surgeon even to\nrobins with broken legs, for one of which she constructed a leg capable\nof being strapped on, made it out of the whalebone of an old corset of\nher own for which she had grown too abundant!\n\nSo kindly was the eye that could flash fire on an argumentative\nEpiscopalian parson--and send him over two pounds of butter and a dozen\nfresh-laid eggs for his sick wife--that (as I say) even inanimate\nobjects seemed to respond to her look and conform themselves to the wish\nof her finger tips. She had been known to \"set\" a dyke which had twice\nresolved itself into rubbish under the hands of professionals. The\nuseless rocky patch she had taken as a herb garden blossomed like the\nrose, bringing forth all manner of spicy things. For in these days in\nGalloway most of the garnishments of the table were grown in the garden\nitself, or brought in from the cranberry bogs and the blaeberry banks,\nwhere these fruits grew among a short, crumbly stubble of heather, dry\nand elastic as a cushion, and most admirable for resting upon while\neating.\n\nWell, grandmother came in wiping her hands. It seems to me now that I\nsee her--and, indeed, whenever she does make an entry into the story, I\nalways feel that I must write yet another page about the dear,\nwarm-hearted, tumultuous old lady.\n\nShe saw the slender lawyer with the brown coat worn shiny, the scratch\nwig tied with its black wisp of silk, and the black bag in his hand. He\nhad been taking a survey of the room, and started round quickly at the\nentrance of my grandmother. Then he made a deep bow, and grandmother,\nwho could be very grand indeed when she liked, bestowed upon him a\ncurtsey the like of which he had not seen for a long while.\n\n\"My name is Poole,\" he said apologetically. \"I presume I have the honour\nof speaking to Mistress Mary Lyon, spouse and consort of William Lyon,\ntacksman of the Mill of Marnhoul with all its lades, weirs, and\npendicles----\"\n\n\"If you mean that William Lyon is my man, ye are on the bit so far,\"\nsaid my grandmother; \"pass on. What else hae ye to say? I dinna suppose\nthat ye cam' here to ask a sicht o' my marriage lines.\"\n\n\"It is, indeed, a different matter which has brought me thus far,\" said\nthe lawyer man, with a certain diffidence, \"but I think that perhaps I\nought to wait till--till your husband, in fact----\"\n\n\"If you are waiting for Weelyum,\" said Mary Lyon, \"ye needna fash. He is\no' the same mind as me--or will be after I have spoken wi' him. Say on!\"\n\n\"Well, then,\" the lawyer continued, \"it is difficult--but the matter\nresolves itself into this. I understand--my firm understands, that you\nare harbouring in or about this house a young woman calling herself Irma\nSobieski Maitland, and a child of the male sex whom the aforesaid Irma\nSobieski affirms to be the rightful owner of this estate--in fact, Sir\nLouis Maitland. Now, my firm have been long without direct news of the\nfamily whom they represent. Our intelligence of late years has come from\ntheir titular and legal guardian, Mr. Lalor Maitland, Governor of the\ndistrict of the Upper Meuse in the Brabants. Now we have recently heard\nfrom this gentleman that his wards--two children bearing a certain\nresemblance to those whom, we are informed, you have been\nharbouring----\"\n\nMy grandmother's temper, always uncertain with adults with whom she had\nno sympathy, had been gradually rising at each repetition of an\noffending word.\n\n\"Harbouring,\" she cried, \"harbouring--let me hear that word come out o'\nyour impident mouth again, ye upsettin' body wi' the black bag, and I'll\ngie ye the weight o' my hand against the side o' your face. Let me tell\nyou that in the house of Heathknowes we harbour neither burrowing rats\nnor creepin' foumarts, nor any manner of unclean beasts--and as for a\nlawvier, if lawvier ye be, ye are the first o' your breed to enter here,\nand if my sons hear ye talkin' o' harbourin'--certes, ye stand a chance\nto gang oot the door wi' your feet foremost!\"\n\n\"My good woman,\" said the lawyer, \"I was but using an ordinary word, in\nperfect ignorance of any----\"\n\n\"Come na, nane o' that crooked talk! Mary Lyon is nae bit silly Jenny\nWren to be whistled off the waa' wi' ony siccan talk. Dinna tell me that\na lawvier body doesna ken what 'harbouring rogues and vagabonds'\nmeans--the innocent lamb that he is--and him reading the _Courier_ every\nWednesday!\"\n\n\"But,\" said the solicitor, with more persistent firmness than his\nemaciated body and timorous manner would have led one to expect, \"the\nchildren are here, and it is my duty to warn you that in withholding\nthem from their natural guardian you are defying the law. I come to\nrequire that the children be given up to me at once, that I may put them\nunder their proper tutelage.\"\n\n\"Here, William,\" my grandmother called out, recognizing the footsteps\nof her husband approaching, \"gae cry the lads and lock the doors!\nThere's a body here that will need some guid broad Scots weared on him.\"\n\nBut the lawyer was not yet frightened. As it appeared, he had only known\nthe safe plainstones of Dumfries--so at least Mary Lyon thought. For he\ncontinued his discourse as if nothing were the matter.\n\n\"I came here in a friendly spirit, madam,\" he said, \"but I have good\nreason to believe that every male of your household is deeply involved\nin the smuggling traffic, and that several of them, in spite of their\nprofessions of religion, assaulted and took possession of the House of\nMarnhoul for the purpose of unlawfully concealing therein undutied goods\nfrom the proper officers of the crown!\"\n\n\"Aye, and ken ye wha it was that tried to burn doon your Great House,\"\ncried my grandmother--\"it was your grand tutor--your wonderfu' guardian,\neven Lalor Maitland, the greatest rogue and gipsy that ever ran on two\nlegs. There was a grandson o' mine put a charge o' powder-and-shot into\nhim, though. But here come the lads. They will tell ye news o' your\ntutor and guardian, him that ye daur speak to me aboot committing the\npuir innocent bairns to--what neither you nor a' the law in your black\nbag will ever tak' frae under the roof-tree o' Mary Lyon. Here, this way,\nlads--dinna be blate! Step ben!\"\n\nAnd so, without a shadow of blateness, there stepped \"ben\" Tom and Eben\nand Rob. Tom had his scythe in his hand, for he had come straight from\nthe meadow at his father's call, the sweat of mowing still beading his\nbrow, and the broad leathern strap shining wet about his waist. Eben\nfolded a pair of brawny arms across a chest like an oriel window, but\nRob always careful for appearances, had his great-grandfather's sword,\nknown in the family as \"Drumclog,\" cocked over his shoulder, and carried\nhis head to the side with so knowing an air that the blade was cold\nagainst his right ear.\n\nLast of all my grandfather stepped in, while I kept carefully out of\nsight behind him. He glanced once at his sons.\n\n\"Lads, be ashamed,\" he said; \"you, Thomas, and especially you, Rob. Put\naway these gauds. We are not 'boding in fear of weir.' These ill days\nare done with. Be douce, and we will hear what this decent man has to\nsay.\"\n\nThere is no doubt that the lawyer was by this display of force somewhat\nintimidated. At least, he looked about him for some means of escape, and\nfumbled with the catch of his black hand-bag.\n\n\"Deil's in the man,\" cried Mary Lyon, snatching the bag from him, \"but\nit's a blessing I'm no so easy to tak' in as the guidman there. Let that\nbag alane, will ye, na! Wha kens what may be in it? There--what did I\ntell you?\"\n\nUnintentionally she shook the catch open, and within were two pistols\ncocked and primed, of which Eben and Tom took instant possession.\nMeanwhile, as may be imagined, my grandmother improved the occasion.\n\n\"A lawvier, are you, Master Wringham Poole o' Dumfries,\" she cried? \"A\nbonny lawvier, that does his business wi' a pair o' loaded pistols. Like\nmaster, like man, I say! There's but ae kind o' lawvier that does his\nbusiness like that--he's caa'ed a cut-purse, a common highwayman, and\nends by dancing a bonny saraband at the end o' a tow-rope! Lalor\nMaitland assaulted Marnhoul wi' just such a band o' thieves and\nrobbers--to steal away the bairns. This will be another o' the gang.\nLads, take hold, and see what he has on him.\"\n\nBut with one bound the seemingly weak and slender man flung himself in\nthe direction of the door. Before they could move he was out into the\nlobby among the lavender bags containing Mary Lyon's Sunday wardrobe,\nand but for the fact that he mistook the door of a preserve closet for\nthe front door, he might easily have escaped them all. But Rob, who was\nyoung and active, closed in upon him. The slim man squirmed like an eel,\nand even when on the ground drew a knife and stuck it into the calf of\nRob's leg. A yell, and a stamp followed, and then a great silence in\nwhich we looked at one another awe-stricken. Mr. Wringham Poole lay like\na crushed caterpillar, inert and twitching. It seemed as if Rob had\nkilled him; but my grandfather, with proper care and precautions drew\naway the knife, and after having passed a hand over the body in search\nof further concealed weapons, laid him out on the four haircloth chairs,\nwith a footstool under his head for a pillow.\n\nThen, having listened to the beating of the wounded man's heart, he\nreassured us with a nod. All would be right. Next, from an inner pocket\nhe drew a pocket-book, out of the first division of which dropped a\nblack mask, like those worn at the assault upon Marnhoul, with pierced\neyeholes and strings for fastening behind the ears. There were also a\nfew papers and a card on which was printed a name--\n\n\"Wringham Pollixfen Poole\"; and then underneath, written in pencil in a\nneat lawyer-like hand, were the words, \"Consultation at the Old Port at\nmidnight to-morrow.\"\n\nAt this we all looked at one another with a renewal of our perturbation.\nThe firm of Smart, Poole and Smart had existed in Dumfries for a long\ntime, and was highly considered. But in these troubled times one never\nknew how far his neighbour might have been led. A man could only answer\nfor himself, and even as to that, he had sometimes a difficulty in\nexplaining himself. One of the firm of lawyers in the High Street might\nhave been tempted out of his depth. But, at any rate, here was one of\nthem damaged, and that by the hasty act of one of the sons of the house\nof Heathknowes--which in itself was a serious matter.\n\nMy grandfather, therefore, judged it well that the lawyers in Dumfries\nshould be informed of what had befallen as soon as possible. But Mr.\nWringham Pollixfen Poole, if such were his name, was certainly in need\nof being watched till my grandfather's return, specially as of necessity\nhe would be in the same house as Miss Irma and Sir Louis.\n\nNone of the young men, therefore, could be spared to carry a message to\nDumfries. My father could not leave his school, and so it came to pass\nthat I was dispatched to saddle my grandfather's horse. He would ride to\nDumfries with me on a pillion behind him, one hand tucked into the\npocket of his blue coat, while with the other I held the belt about his\nwaist to make sure. I had to walk up the hills, but that took little of\nthe pleasure away. Indeed, best of all to me seemed that running hither\nand thither like a questing spaniel, in search of all manner of wild\nflowers, or the sight of strange, unknown houses lying in wooded\nglens--one I mind was Goldielea--which, as all the mead before the door\nwas one mass of rag-weed (which only grows on the best land), appeared\nto me the prettiest and most appropriate name for a house that ever was.\n\nAnd so think I still.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nTHE REAL MR. POOLE\n\n\nSo in time we ran to Dumfries. And my grandfather put up at a hostelry\nin English Street, where were many other conveyances with their shafts\ncanted high in the air, the day being Wednesday. He did not wait a\nmoment even to speak to those who saluted him by name, but betook\nhimself at once (and I with him) to the lawyers' offices in the High\nStreet--where it runs downhill just below the Mid Steeple.\n\nHere we found a little knot of people. For, as it turned out (though at\nthe time we did not know it), Messrs. Smart, Poole and Smart were agents\nfor half the estates in Dumfriesshire, and our Galloway Marnhoul was\nboth a far cry and a very small matter to them.\n\nSo when we had watched a while the tremors of the ingoers, all eager to\nask favours, and compared them with the chastened demeanour of those\ncoming out, my grandfather said to me with his hand on my shoulder, \"I\nfear, Duncan lad, we shall sleep in Dumfries Tolbooth this night for\nmaking so bauld with one of a house like this!\"\n\nAnd from this moment I began to regard our captive Mr. Poole with a far\ngreater respect, in spite of his pistols--which, after all, he might\ndeem necessary when travelling into such a wild smuggling region as, at\nthat day and date, most townsbodies pictured our Galloway to be.\n\nWe had a long time to wait in a kind of antechamber, where a man in a\nlivery of canary and black stripes, with black satin knee-breeches and\npaste buckles to his shoes took our names, or at least my grandfather's\nand the name of the estate about which we wanted to speak to the firm.\n\nFor, you see, there being so many to attend to on market day, they had\nparted them among themselves, so many to each. And when it came to our\nturn it was old Mr. Smart we saw. The grand man in canary and black\nushered us ben, told our name, adding, \"of Marnhoul estate,\" as if we\nhad been the owners thereof.\n\nWe had looked to see a fine, noble-appearing man sitting on a kind of\nthrone, receiving homage, but there was nobody in the room but an old\nman in a dressing-gown and soft felt slippers, stirring the\nfire--though, indeed, it was hot enough outside.\n\nHe turned towards us, the poker still in his hand, and with an eye like\na gimlet seemed to take us in at a single glance.\n\n\"What's wrong? What's wrong the day?\" he cried in an odd sing-song;\n\"what news of the Holy Smugglers? More battle, murder, and sudden death\nalong the Solway shore?\"\n\nI had never seen my grandfather so visibly perturbed before. He actually\nstammered in trying to open out his business--which, now I come to think\nof it, was indeed of the delicatest.\n\n\"I have,\" he began, \"the honour of speaking to Mr. Smart the elder?\"\n\n\"It is an honour you share with every Moffat Tam that wants a new roof\nto his pigstye,\" grumbled the old man in the dressing-gown, \"but such as\nit is, say on. My time is short! If ye want mainners ye must go next\ndoor!\"\n\n\"Mr. Smart,\" said my grandfather, \"I have come all the way from the\nhouse of Heathknowes on the estate of Marnhoul to announce to you a\nmisfortune.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried the old fellow in the blanket dressing-gown briskly, \"has\nthe dead come to life again, or is Lalor Maitland turned honest?\"\n\nBut my grandfather shook his head, and with a lamentable voice opened\nout to the head of the firm what had befallen their Mr. Poole, how he\nhad come with pistols in his bag, and gotten trodden on by Rob, my\nreckless uncle, so that he was now lying, safe but disabled, in the\nsmall wall cabinet of Heathknowes.\n\nI was expecting nothing less than a cry for the peace officers, and to\nbe marched off between a file of soldiers--or, at any rate, the\nconstables of the town guard.\n\nBut instead the little man put on a pair of great glasses with rims of\nblack horn, and looked at my grandfather quizzically and a trifle\nsternly to see if he were daring to jest. But presently, seeing the\ntransparent honesty of the man (as who would not?), he broke out into a\nsnort of laughter, snatched open a door at his elbow, and cried out at\nthe top of his voice (which, to tell the truth, was no better than a\nscreech), \"Dick Poole--ho there, big Dick Poole!--I want you, Dickie!\"\n\nI could see nothing from the next room but a haze of tobacco smoke,\nwhich presently entering, set the old man in the dressing-gown\na-coughing.\n\n\"Send away thy rascals, Dick,\" he wheezed, \"and shut that door, Dickie.\nThat cursed reek of yours would kill a hog of the stye. Hither with you,\ngood Dick!\"\n\nAnd after a clinking of glasses and the trampling of great boots on the\nstairs, an immense man came in. His face was a riot of health. His eyes\nshone blue and kindly under a huge fleece of curly black hair. There was\nred in his cheeks, and his lips were full and scarlet. His hand and arm\nwere those of a prizefighter. He came in smiling, bringing with him such\nan odour of strong waters and pipe tobacco that, between laughing and\ncoughing, I thought the old fellow would have choked. Indeed, I made a\nstep forward to pat the back of his dressing-gown of flannel, and if\nMary Lyon had been there, I am sure nothing would have stopped her from\ndoing it.\n\nEven when he had a little recovered, he still stood hiccoughing with the\ntears in his eyes, and calling out with curious squirms of inward\nlaughter, \"Dick, lad, this will never do. Thou art under watch and ward\ndown at the pirn-mill of Marnhoul! And it was a wench that did it. Often\nhave I warned thee, Dick! Two pistols thou hadst in a black bag.\nDick--for shame, Dick--for shame, thus to fright a decent woman! And her\nson, Rob (I think you said was the name of him), did trample the very\nlife out of you--which served you well and right, Dickie! Oh, Dickie,\nfor shame!\"\n\nThe big man stood looking from one to the other of us, with a kind of\ncomical despair, when, hearing through the open door between the old\ngentleman's room and his own, the sounds of a noisy irruption and the\nclinking of glasses beginning again, he went back, and with a torrent of\nrough words drove the roysterers forth, shutting and locking the door\nafter them.\n\nThen he came strolling back, leaned his arm on the mantelpiece, and bade\nmy grandfather tell him all about it. I can see him yet, this huge ruddy\nman, spreading himself by the fireplace, taking up most of the room\nwith his person, while he of the flannel dressing-gown wandered about\n_tee-heeing_ with laughter--and, round one side or the other, or between\nthe legs of the Colossus, making an occasional feeble poke at the fire.\n\nIt was curious also to see how my grandfather's serene simplicity of\nmanner and speech compelled belief. I am sure that at first the big man\nDick had nothing in his mind but turning us out into the street as he\nhad done the roysterers. But as William Lyon went on, his bright eye\ngrew more thoughtful, and when my grandfather handed him the slip with\nthe name of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole upon it, he absolutely broke\ninto a hurricane of laughter, which, however, sounded to me not a little\nforced and hollow--though he slapped his leg so loud and hard that the\nlittle man in the dressing-gown stopped open-mouthed and dropped his\npoker on the floor.\n\n\"It seems to me,\" he cried shrilly, \"that if you hit yourself like that,\nDick Poole, you will split your buckskin breeches, which appear to be\nnew.\"\n\nBut the big man took not the least notice. He only stared at the scrap\nof paper, and then started to laugh again.\n\n\"Oh, don't do that!\" cried his partner. \"You will blow my windows out,\nand you know how I hate a draught!\"\n\nAnd indeed they were rattling in their frames. Then the huge Dick went\nforward and took my grandfather by the hand.\n\n\"You are sure you have got him?\" he inquired; \"remember, he is slippery\nas an eel.\"\n\n\"My wife is looking after him--my three sons also,\" said William Lyon,\n\"and I think it likely that the stamp he got from Rob will keep him\ndecently quiet for a day at least. You see,\" he added apologetically,\n\"he drave the knife into the thick of the poor lad's leg!\"\n\n\"Wringham?\" cried the big man, \"why, I did not think he had so muckle\nspunk!\"\n\n\"Is he close freend of yours?\" my grandfather inquired a little\nanxiously. For he did not wish to land himself in a blood-feud with the\nkin of a lawyer.\n\n\"Friend of mine!\" cried the big man, \"no, by no means a friend--but, as\nit may chance, some sort of kin. However that may be, if you have indeed\ngot Pollixfen safe, you have done the best day's work that ever you did\nfor yourself and for King George, God bless him!\"\n\n\"Say you so?\" said my grandfather. \"Indeed, I rejoice me to hear it. I\nhave ever been a loyal subject. And as to the Maitland bairns--you see\nno harm in their making their home with my goodwife, where the lads can\ntake care of them--in the unsettled state of the country!\"\n\nThe senior partner at last got in a poke at the fire, for which he had\nbeen long waiting his chance.\n\n\"And you, Master Lyon, that are such a good kingsman,\" he kekkled, \"do\nyou never hear the blythe Free Traders go clinking by, or find an anker\nof cognac nested in your yard among the winter-kail?\"\n\n\"Mr. Smart,\" said the big man, \"this is a market day, but I shall need\nto ride and see if this is well founded. You will put on your coat\ndecently and take my work. Abraham has already as much as he can do. Be\nshort with them--they will not come wanting to drink with you as they do\nwith me! If what this good Cameronian says be true at this moment, as I\nhave no doubt it was when he left Marnhoul, the sooner I, Richard\nPoole, am on the spot the better.\"\n\nSo he bade us haste and get our beast out of the yard. As for him he was\nbooted and spurred and buckskinned already. He had nothing to do but\nmount and ride.\n\nAll this had passed so quickly that I had hardly time to think on the\nstrangeness of it. _Our_ Mr. Poole, he to whom my uncle Rob had given\nsuch a stamp, was not the partner in the ancient firm of Smart, Poole\nand Smart of the Plainstones. Of these I had seen two, and heard the\nbusy important voice of the third in another room as we descended the\nstairs. They were all men very different from the viper whom my\ngrandmother had caught as in a bag. Even Mr. Smart was a gentleman. For\nif he had a flannel dressing-gown on, one could see the sparkle of his\npaste buckles at knee and instep, and his hose were of the best black\nsilk, as good as Doctor Gillespie's on Sacrament Sabbath when he was\ngoing up to preach his action sermon. But our Mr. Wringham Pollixfen\nPoole--I would not have wiped my foot on him--though, indeed, Uncle Rob\nhad made no bones about that matter.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nWHILE WE SAT BY THE FIRE\n\n\nThrough the deep solitude of Tereggles Long Wood, past lonely lochs on\nwhich little clattering ripples were blowing, into a west that was all\nbarred gold and red islands of fire, we rode. Or rather grandfather and\nI went steadily but slowly on our pony, while beside us, sometimes\ngalloping a bit, anon trotting, came big Mr. Richard Poole on his black\nhorse. Sometimes he would ride off up a loaning to some farm-town where\nhe had a job to be seen to, or rap with the butt of his loaded whip at\nthe door of some roadside inn--the Four Mile house or Crocketford, where\nhe would call for a tankard and drain it off, as it were, with one toss\nof the head.\n\nIt was easy to be seen that, for some reason of his own, he did not wish\nto get to Heathknowes before us. Yet, after he had asked my grandfather\nas to the children, and some details of the attack on the house of\nMarnhoul (which he treated as merely an affair between two rival bands\nof smugglers) he was pretty silent. And as we got nearer home, he grew\naltogether absorbed in his thoughts.\n\nBut I could not help watching him. He looked so fine on his prancing\nblack, with the sunset glow mellowing his ruddy health, and his curious\nhabit of constantly making the thong of his horsewhip whistle through\nthe air or smack against his leg.\n\nI had met as big men and clever men, but one so active, so healthy, so\nbeautiful I had never before seen. And every time that a buxom wife or a\nwell-looking maid brought him his ale to the door of the change-house,\nhe would set a forefinger underneath her chin and pat her cheek, asking\nbanteringly after the children or when the wedding was coming off. And\nthough they did not know him or he them, no one took his words or acts\namiss. Such was the way he had with him.\n\nAnd about this time I began to solace myself greatly with the thought of\nthe meeting there would be between these two--the false Poole and the\ntrue.\n\nAt last we came in the twilight to the Haunted House of Marnhoul, and\nMr. Richard made his horse rear almost as high as the unicorn does in\nthe sign above the King's Arms door, so suddenly did he swing him round\nto the gate. He halted the beast with his head against the very bar and\nlooked up the avenue. The grass in the glade was again covered with dew,\nfor the sky was clear and it was growing colder every minute. It shone\nalmost like silver, and beyond was the house standing like a dim\ndark-grey patch between us and the forest.\n\n\"This gate has been mended,\" he remarked, tapping the new wooden post\nthat had come down from the mill a day or two before.\n\n\"I saw to that myself, sir,\" said my grandfather. \"I also painted it.\"\n\n\"Ha, well done--improving the property for your young guests!\" said Mr.\nRichard, and then quite suddenly he turned moodily away. All at once he\nlooked at my grandfather again. \"You had better know,\" he said, \"that\nthe girl will have no money. So she ought to be taught dairymaking. I am\npartial to dairymaids myself! If she favours the Maitlands, she ought to\nmake a pretty one.\"\n\nMy grandfather said nothing, for he did not like this sort of talk, and\nwas utterly careless whether Miss Irma were penniless or the greatest\nheiress in the country.\n\nThen the long whitewashed rectangle of the Heathknowes office-houses\nloomed above us on their hill. In a minute more we were at the gate. My\ngrandfather called, and through the door of the kitchen came a long\nvertical slab of light that fell in a broad beam across the yard. Then\none of the herd-lads hurried across to open the barred \"yett\" and let us\nin.\n\n\"Is all safe?\" said my grandfather.\n\n\"As ye left him,\" was the answer. \"The mistress and the lads have never\ntaken their eyes off him for a moment!\"\n\n\"Take this gentleman's horse, Ben,\" said my grandfather. But Mr. Richard\npreferred to be his own hostler, nor did he offer to go near the house\nor speak a word of his business till he had seen his splendid black duly\nstalled.\n\nThen my grandmother was summoned, the children brought down, and\nimmediately stricken, Sir Louis with an intense admiration of the great\nstrong man in riding boots, and Miss Irma with a dislike quite as\nintense. I could see her averting her eyes and trying to hide it. But\nover all the other women in the house he established at once a paramount\nempire. Even my Aunt Jen followed him with her eyes, so much of the room\ndid he take up, so large and easy were his gestures, and with such a\nmatter-of-course simplicity did he take the homage they paid him.\n\nYet he seemed to care far more about Miss Irma than even my grandmother,\nor the fellow of his name whom he had ridden so far to see.\n\nHe asked her whether she would rather stay where she was or come to\nDumfries, to be near the theatre and Assembly balls. As for a chaperon,\nshe could make her choice between Mrs. Hope of the Abbey and the\nProvost's lady. Either would be glad to oblige the daughter of a\nMaitland of Marnhoul--and perhaps also Mr. Richard Poole.\n\nThen, after hearing her answer, he asked for pen and paper and wrote a\nfew lines--\n\n    \"As Miss Irma Maitland urgently desires that her brother and she\n    should remain under the care of Mr. William Lyon and his wife at\n    Heathknowes, and as the aforesaid William and Mary Lyon are able and\n    willing to provide for their maintenance, we see no reason why the\n    arrangement should not be an excellent and suitable one, at least\n    until such time as Sir Louis must be sent to school, when the whole\n    question will again come up. And this to hold good whatever may be\n    the outcome of this interview with the person calling himself\n    Wringham Pollixfen Poole,\n\n                                        \"For Smart, Poole and Smart,\n                                        \"R. Poole.\"\n\nHe handed the paper across to my grandmother, in whom he easily\nrecognized the ruling spirit of the household.\n\n\"There, madam,\" he said, \"that will put matters on a right basis with my\nfirm whatever may happen to me. And now, if you please, I should like to\nsee my double at once. I suspect a kinsman, but do not be afraid of a\nvendetta. If Master Robin, of whose prowess I have already heard, has\ncrushed in a rib or two, so much the better. Even if he had broken my\nworthy relative's back, I fear me few would have worn mourning!\"\n\nThey found the three young men still in the room, and my grandmother did\nno more than assure herself of the presence of the still white-wrapped\nfigure on the shakedown in the corner, before leading Mr. Richard into\nthe parlour.\n\nHe went out from us with a jovial nod to my father, a low bow to Miss\nIrma, and mock salutation to little Sir Louis, his head high in the air,\nhis riding whip swinging by its loop from his arm, and as it seemed, a\nvigour of blood sufficient for a dozen ordinary people circulating in\nhis veins.\n\n\"Thank you, gentlemen,\" he said to my uncles, as soon as he had looked\nat the bed and lifted the kerchief which Mary Lyon had laid wet upon the\nbrow. \"I recognize, as I had reason to expect, a scion of my house,\nhowever unworthy, with whom it will be necessary for me to communicate\nprivately. But if you will retire to the kitchen, I shall easily signal\nyou should your services become again necessary.\"\n\nHe stood with the edge of the door in his hand, and with a slight bow\nushered each of my uncles out. I was there, too, of course, seeing what\nwas to be seen. His eye lighted on me, and a slinking figure I must have\npresented in spite of my usual courage, for he only turned one thumb\nback over his shoulder with a comical smile, and bade me get to bed,\nbecause when he was young he, too, knew what keyholes were good for.\n\nThe word \"too\" hurt me, for it meant that he thought I was going to\neavesdrop, whereas I was merely, for the sake of Irma and the family,\nendeavouring to satisfy a perfectly legitimate curiosity.\n\nI did, however, hear him say as he shut and locked the parlour door,\n\"Now, sir, the play is played. Sit up and take off that clout. Let us\ntalk out this affair like men!\"\n\nIt was now night, and we were gathered in the kitchen. I do not think\nthat even Rob took much supper. I know that but for my grandfather the\nhorses would have had to go without theirs--and this, the most sacred\nduty of mankind about a farm, would for once have been neglected. We\nsat, mainly in the dark, with only the red glow of the fire in our\nfaces, listening to the voice of a man that came in stormy gusts. The\nlamp had been left on the parlour table to give them light, and somehow\nwe were so preoccupied that none of us thought of lighting a candle.\n\nThe great voice of Mr. Richard dominated us--so full of contempt and\nanger it was. We could not in the least distinguish what the impostor\nsaid in reply. Indeed, Rob and I could just hear a kind of roopy\nclattering like that of a hungry hen complaining to the vague Powers\nwhich rule the times and seasons of distribution from the \"daich\" bowl.\n\nThere was something very strange in all this--so strange that when my\ngrandfather came back, for the first time in the history of Heathknowes,\nno chapter was read, no psalm sung or prayer read. Somehow it seemed\nlike an impiety in the face of what was going on down there. Mr. Richard\ntalked far the most. At first his mood was all of stormy anger, and the\nreplies of the other, as I have said, almost inaudible.\n\nBut after a while these bursts of bellowing became less frequent. The\nlow replying voice grew, if not louder, more persistent. Mr. Richard\nseemed to be denying or refusing something in short gruff gasps of\nbreath.\n\n\"No, no--no! By heaven, sir, NO!\" we heard him cry plainly. And somehow\nhearing that, Irma crept closer to me, and slid her hand in mine, a\nthing which she had not done since the night of watching in the Old\nHouse of Marnhoul.\n\nSomehow both of us knew that it was a question of herself.\n\nThen suddenly upon this long period of to-and-fro, there fell (as it\nwere) the very calmness of reconciliation. Peace seemed to be made, and\nI think that all of us were glad of it, for the suspense and an\nincreasing tension of the nerves were telling on us all.\n\n\"They are shaking hands,\" whispered my grandmother; \"Mr. Richard has\nbrought him to his senses. Fine I knew he would.\"\n\n\"I wonder if they will put him in prison or let him off because of the\nfamily?\" said Rob, adjusting the bandage about his wounded leg. \"Anyway,\nI am glad of the bit tramp he got from my yard clogs!\"\n\n\"Wheesht!\" whispered my grandfather, inclining his ear in the direction\nof the parlour door. We all listened, but it was nothing. Not a murmur.\n\n\"They will be writing something--some bond or deed, most likely.\"\n\n\"They are long about it,\" said William Lyon uneasily.\n\nThe silence endured and still endured till an hour was passed. My\ngrandfather fidgeted in his chair. At last he said in a low tone, \"Lads,\nwe have endured long enough. We must see what they are at. If we are\nwrong, I will bear the weight!\"\n\nAs one man the four moved towards the door, through the keyhole of which\na ray of light was stealing from the lamp that had been left on the\ntable.\n\n\"Open!\" cried my grandfather suddenly and loudly. But the door remained\nfast.\n\n\"Is all right there, Master Richard?\" he shouted. Still there was\nsilence within.\n\n\"Put your shoulders to it, lads!\" Eben and Tom were at it in a moment,\nwhile strong Rob, springing from the far side of the passage, burst the\nlock and sent the door back against the inner wall, the hinges snapped\nclean through.\n\nMr. Richard was sitting in a quiet room, his head leaning forward on his\nhands. His loaded riding whip was flung in a corner. The window was wide\nopen, and the night black and quiet without. Sweet odours of flowers\ncame in from the little garden. The lamp burned peacefully and nothing\nin the room was disturbed. But Mr. Wringham Pollixfen was not there, and\nwhen we touched him, Mr. Richard Poole was dead, his head dropped upon\nhis arms.\n\n\n\n\nPART III\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nBOYD CONNOWAY'S EVIDENCE\n\n\nThe loop of the riding-whip on Mr. Richard's wrist was broken, and\nbehind his ear there was a lump the size of a small hen's egg. There\nwere no signs of a struggle. The two men had been sitting face to face,\neye to eye, when by a movement which must have been swift as lightning,\none had disarmed and smitten the other.\n\nTom, Eben and Rob armed themselves and went out. But the branches of\nMarnhoul wood stood up against the sky, black, serried and silent. The\nfields beneath spread empty and grey. The sough of the wind and the\nfleeing cloud of night was all they saw or heard. They were soon within\nthe house again, happy to be there and the door barred stoutly upon\nthem.\n\nExcept for little Louis, who was already in bed on the other side of the\nhouse where his chamber was, and so knew nothing of the occurrence till\nthe morning, there was no sleep for any that night at Heathknowes. At\nthe first clear break of day Tom and Eben took the cart-horses and rode\nover to tell Dr. Gillespie, General Johnstone, and Mr. Shepstone\nOglethorpe, who were all Justices of the Peace, of what had happened.\nThey came, the General the most imposing, with a great army cloak and a\nstar showing beneath the collar.\n\nIn the little detached sitting-room, which till the coming of the\nMaitlands had been used as a cheese-room, Mr. Richard Poole sat, as he\nhad been found, his head still bowed upon his arms, but on his face,\nwhen they raised it to look, there was an absolute terror, so that even\nthe General, who had seen many a day of battle, was glad to lay it down\nagain.\n\nThey took such testimony as was to be had, which was but little, and all\ntending to one startling conclusion. Suddenly, swiftly, noiselessly,\nwithin hearing of eight or nine people, in a defensible house, with arms\nat hand, Mr. Richard Poole, of the firm of Smart, Poole and Smart, had\nbeen done to death.\n\nYet he had known something, though perhaps not the full extent of his\ndanger. We recalled his silences, his moodiness as he approached the\nfarm--the manner in which he had at once put aside all claims, even on a\nmarket Wednesday, that he might ride and speak with a man who, if he\nwere not a felon, was certainly no honourable acquaintance for such as\nMr. Richard.\n\nThe three gentlemen looked at each other and took snuff from the\nDoctor's gold box.\n\n\"Very serious, sir!\" said Mr. Shepstone tentatively. For indeed he had\nnot many ideas--a fact which the others charitably put down to his being\nan Episcopalian. Really he wanted to find out what they thought before\ncommitting himself.\n\n\"Tempestuous Theophilus!\" cried the General, who in the presence of the\nDoctor always swore by unknown saints--to relieve himself, as was\nthought--\"but 'tis more serious than you think. A fellow like this\nalive, at large, in our parish----\"\n\n\"In _my_ parish----\" corrected the Doctor, who was the only man alive\nwith a legal right to speak of Eden Valley parish as his own.\n\nAbout noon the Fiscal, responsible law officer of the Crown, arrived\nfrom Kirkcudbright escorted by Tom and Eben. The evidence was all heard\nover again, the chamber--ex-cheese room, present parlour--again\ninspected, but nothing further appeared likely to be discovered, when a\nshadow fell across the threshold.\n\nFor some time, indeed, I had sat quaking in my corner, all cold with the\nfear of a flitting figure, appearing here and there, seen with the tail\nof the eye, and then disappearing like the black cat I see in corners\nwhen my eyes are overstrained with Greek.\n\nOf course I thought at once of the murderer Wringham Pollixfen lurking\ncatlike among the office-houses in the hope of striking again, perhaps\nat Miss Irma--perhaps, also, as I now see, at Sir Louis. But indeed I\nnever thought of him, at least not at the time. It was not the pretended\nPoole, however. It was a presence as quick, as agile, but more perfectly\nacquainted with the hidie-holes of the farmyard--in fact, Boyd Connoway.\n\nLong before the others I got my eyes on him, and with the joy of a boy\nwhen a visitor enters the school at the dreariest hour of lessons, I\nrushed after him. To my surprise he went round the angle of the barn\nlike a shot. But I had played at that game before. I took one flying\nleap into the little orchard from the window of the parlour which had\nbeen given up to the Maitlands, Louis and Miss Irma. Then I glided among\nthe trees, choosing those I knew would hide me, and leaped on Master\nBoyd from behind as he was craning his neck to peer round the corner in\nthe direction of the house door.\n\nTo my utter amaze he dropped to the ground with a throttled kind of cry\nas if some one had smitten him unawares. Here was surely something that\nI did not understand.\n\n\"Boyd, Boyd,\" I said in his ear, for I began to grow a little concerned\nmyself--not terrified, you know, only anxious--\"Boyd, it is only\nDuncan--Duncan MacAlpine from the school-house.\"\n\nHe turned a white, bewildered face to me, cold sweats pearling it, and\nhis jaw worked in spasms. \"Oh yes,\" he muttered, \"Agnes Anne's brother!\"\n\nNow I did not see the use of dragging Agnes Anne continually into\neverything. Also I was one of the boys who had gone with Boyd Connoway\noftenest to the fishing in Loch-in-Breck, and he need not have been\nafraid of me. But I think that he was a little unsettled by fear.\n\nHe did not explain, however, only bidding me shudderingly, \"not to come\nat him that way again!\" So I promised I would not, all the more readily\nthat I heard him muttering to himself, \"I thought he had me that\ntime--yes, sure!\"\n\nThen I knew that he too was afraid of the man who called himself\nWringham Pollixfen Poole and had killed the real Mr. Richard in our old\ncheese-room. But I was not a bit afraid, for had I not jumped through\nthe orchard window, and run and clapped my hand on his shoulder without\na thought of the creature ever crossing my mind.\n\nAt any rate I took him in with me--that is, Boyd Connoway. I cannot say\nthat he wanted very much to go \"before them Justices,\" as he said. But\nat least he preferred it to stopping outside. I think he was frightened\nof my coming out again and slapping down my hand on his shoulder. Lord\nknows he need not have been, for I promised not to. At any rate he came,\nwhich was the main thing.\n\nHe did not enjoy the ceremony, but stood before them with his blue coat\nwith the large rolling collar, which had been made for a bigger man,\nbuttoned about his waist, and his rig-and-furrow stockings of green,\nwith home-made shoes called \"brogues,\" the secret of making which he had\nbrought with him from a place called Killybegs in County Donegal. He was\nall tashed with bits of straw and moss clinging to him. His knees too\nwere wet where he had knelt in the marsh, and there was a kind of white\nshaking terror about the man that impressed every one. For Boyd Connoway\nhad ever been the gayest and most reckless fellow in the parish.\n\nWhen he was asked if he knew anything about the matter he only\nstammered, \"Thank you kindly, Doctor, and you, General, and hoping that\nI have the honour of seein' you in good health, and that all is well\nwith you at home and your good ladies and the childer!\"\n\nThe General, who thought that he spoke in a mood of mockery, cautioned\nhim that they were met there on a business of life and death, and were\nin no mood to be trifled with. Therefore, he, Boyd Connoway, had better\nkeep his foolery for another time!\n\nBut the Doctor, being by his profession accustomed to diagnose the moods\nof souls, discerned the laboured pant of one who has been breathed by a\nlong run from mortal terror--who has, as my father would have said,\n\"ridden a race with Black Care clinging to the crupper\"--and took Boyd\nin hand with better results. He agreed to tell all he knew, on being\npromised full and certain protection.\n\nAnd it was something like this that he told his story, as it proved the\nonly direct evidence in the case, at least for many and many a day.\n\n\"Doctor dear,\" he began, \"ye are a married man yourself, and you will\nnot be misunderstanding me when I ask that anything I may say shall not\nbe used against me?\"\n\nThe Fiscal looked up quickly.\n\n\"I warn you that it will,\" he said, \"if you have had any hand in this\nmurder!\"\n\n\"Murder, is it?\"--(Boyd Connoway gave a short grunting laugh)--\"Aye,\nmaybe, but 'tis not the murder that has been, but the murder that will\nbe, if my wife Bridget gets wind of this! That's why I ask that it\nshould be kept between ourselves--so that Bridget should not know!\"\n\n\"Women,\" said the Fiscal oracularly, \"must not be allowed to interfere\nwith the evenhanded and fearless administration of justice.\"\n\n\"Then I take it,\" said Boyd, with a twinkle of the old mirth flickering\nup into his white and anxious face, \"that your honour is not a married\nman!\"\n\n\"No,\" said the Fiscal, with a smile.\n\n\"Then, if I may make so bould, your honour knows nothing about how it is\n'twixt Bridget and me. His riverence the Doctor now----\"\n\n\"Tell us what you know without digressions,\" said the Fiscal; \"no use\nwill be made of your evidence save in pursuing and bringing to justice\nthe criminal.\"\n\n\"He's gone,\" said Boyd Connoway solemnly, \"and a good riddance to the\nparish!\"\n\n\"Wha-a-at?\" cried the three magistrates simultaneously. And the Fiscal\nstarted to his feet.\n\n\"Who has gone?\" he cried, and mechanically he drew from his pocket a\nsilver call to summon his constables from the kitchen, where my uncles\nand they were having as riotous a time as they dared while so many great\nfolk sat pow-wowing in the parlour near at hand.\n\n\"Who?\" repeated Boyd Connoway, \"well, I don't know for certain, but\nperhaps this little piece of paper will put you gentlemen on the track.\"\n\nAnd he handed over a letter, much stained with sea-water and sand. The\nheel of a boot had trodden upon and partly obliterated the writing, the\nink having run, and the whole appearance of the document being somewhat\ndraggle-tailed.\n\nBut there was no doubt about the address. That was clearly written in a\nfine flowing English hand, \"To His Excellency Lalor Maitland, late\nGovernor of the Meuse, Constable of Dinant, etc., etc. _These_\"--\n\nWe all looked at each other, and the Fiscal began to doubt whether the\nnew evidence as to the suspected murderer would prove so valuable after\nall.\n\n\"Your Excellency\" (the letter ran), \"according to the promise made to\nyou, the lugger _Bloomendahl_, of Walchern, Captain Vandam, has been\ncleared of cargo and is exclusively reserved for your Excellency's use.\nIt will be well, therefore, to dispatch your remaining business in\nScotland, as it is impossible to send back the _Golden Hind_ or a vessel\nof similar size without causing remark. At the old place, then, a little\nafter midnight of Thursday the 18th, a boat will be waiting for you at\nthe eastern port or the western of Portowarren according to the wind.\nThe tide is full about one.\"\n\n\"How came you by this?\" the Fiscal demanded.\n\n\"Shall I tell ye in bits, sorr?\" said Boyd, \"or will ye have her from\nthe beginning?\"\n\n\"From the beginning,\" said the Fiscal, \"only with as few digressions as\npossible.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said Boyd innocently, \"I got none o' them about me. Your honour\ncan saarch me if ye like!\"\n\n\"The Fiscal means,\" said the Doctor, \"that you are to tell him the story\nas straightly and as briefly as possible.\"\n\n\"Straightly, aye, that I will,\" said Boyd, \"there was never a crooked\nword came out of my mouth; but briefly, that's beyond any Irishman's\npower--least of all if he comes from County Donegal!\"\n\n\"Go on!\" cried the Fiscal impatiently.\n\n\"As all things do in our house, it began with Bridget,\" said Boyd\nConnoway; \"ye see, sorr, she took in a man with a wound--powerful sick\nhe was. The night after the 'dust-up' at the Big House was the time, and\nshe nursed him and she cured him, the craitur. But, whatever the better\nBridget was, all that I got for it was that I had to go to Portowarren\nat dead of night, and that letter flung at me like a bone to a dog, when\nI told him that I might be called in question for the matter of my\nwife.\"\n\n\"'Aye, put it on your wife,' says he, 'they will let you off. _You_ have\nnot the pluck of a half-drowned flea!'\n\n\"But when I insisted that I should have wherewith to clear me and\nBridget also, he cast the letter down, dibbling it into the pebbles and\nsand with his heel just as he was going aboard.\n\n\"'There,' he cried, 'now you can put it on me!'\"\n\n\"Lalor Maitland,\" said the Fiscal, ruminating, with his brow knit at the\nletter in his hand. \"Where is that maid? Bring her here!\"\n\nI sprang away at once to knock on Irma's door, and bid her come, because\nthe great folk were wanting her. And it seemed as if she had been\nexpecting the summons too, for she was sitting ready close by little\nLouis. She cast a white shawl about her shoulders, crossed the kitchen\nand so into the room where the four gentlemen were sitting about the\ntable--the Fiscal with his papers at the end, and behind the curtains\ndrawn close about the press-bed where lay that which it was not good for\nyoung eyes to see.\n\n\"Miss Maitland, will you describe to us your cousin, Lalor Maitland, of\nwhom you have already spoken to me?\"\n\nIt was the Doctor who took her hand, while on the other side Boyd\nConnoway in his flapping clothes of antique pattern with brass buttons\nstood waiting his turn. Irma took one look about which I intercepted.\nAnd I think my nod together with the presence of my grandmother gave her\ncourage, for she answered--\n\n\"Lalor Maitland? What has he to do with us? He shall not have us. We\nwould kill ourselves if we could not run away. You would never think of\ngiving us up to him----?\"\n\n\"Never while I am alive!\" cried my grandmother, but Dr. Gillespie signed\nto her to be silent.\n\n\"Will you describe him to us?\" suggested the Doctor suavely, \"what sort\nof a man, dark or fair, stout or spare, how he carries himself, what he\ncame over to this country for, and where he is likely to have gone, if\nwe find that he has left it?\"\n\nIrma thought a moment and then said, \"Perhaps I shall not be quite just\nbecause I hated him so. But he was a man whom most call handsome, though\nto me there was always something dreadful about his face. His hair was\ndark brown mixed with grey. His features were cut like those of a\nstatue, and his head small for his height. He was slender, light on his\nfeet, and walked silently--_ugh_--yes, like a cat.\"\n\nThe Fiscal looked an interrogation at Boyd Connoway.\n\n\"That is the man,\" he answered unhesitatingly, \"though most of the time\nwhile he stayed with Bridget and me he kept his bed. Only from the way\nhe got along the cliff by Portowarren, I judge he was only keeping out\nof sight and by no means so weak with his wound as he would have had us\nbelieve.\"\n\n\"And tell us what you saw of him yesterday, Wednesday?\"\n\nIt was the Fiscal who asked the question, but I think all of us held our\nbreaths to catch Boyd Connoway's answer. He shook his head with a\ndisconcerted air like a boy who is set too hard a problem.\n\n\"I was from home most of the day, and when I came in, with a hunger\nsharp-set with half-a-dozen hours struggling with the wind, Bridget bade\nme be off at once to the Dutchman's Howff, which is in Colvend, just\nwhere the Boreland march dyke comes down to the edge of the cliff. I was\nto wait there on the edge of the heugh till one came and called me by\nname. When I complained of hunger, she put some dry bread into my hand,\ncrying out that I might seek meat where I had worked my work.\n\n\"I saw that the 'ben' room was empty, and the blankets thrown over the\nthree chair backs. But when I asked where the sick man was, Bridget\nstamped her foot and bade me attend to my business and she would take\ncare of hers. But Jerry, my oldest boy, had a word with me before I left\nfor the march dyke. He told me that the man 'down-the-house' had gone\nthat morning as soon as my back was turned, after paying his mother in\ngold sovereigns, which she had immediately hidden.\n\n\"So I went and waited by the Boreland march dyke--a wild place where\neven the heather is laid flat by the wind. The gulls and corbies were\ncalling down the cliff, and at the foot the sea was roaring through a\nnarrow gully and spreading out fan-shaped along the sands of the\nDutchman's Howff.\n\n\"I waited long, having nought to eat except the sheaf of loaf bread I\ngat with such an ill grace from Bridget, and at the end I was beginning\nto lose patience, when from the other side of the gully I heard a crying\nand a voice bade me follow the dyke upwards and stand by to help.\n\n\"So upon the top of the wall I got, and there beneath me was the man I\nhad last seen lying in Bridget's best bed, cossetted and cared for as\nif he were a prince. But for all that he was short and angry, bidding me\ndispatch and help him or he would lose his tide.\"\n\n\"And did he wear the same clothes as when last you saw him?\" said\nShepstone Oglethorpe, with a shrewd air.\n\nAt which Boyd Connoway laughed for the first time since he had come into\nthe presence of his betters.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"for the last time I saw him he was under the sheets with\none of my sarks on, and Bridget's best linen sheet tied in ribbons about\nhis head.\"\n\n\"And how, then, was he dressed?\" said the Fiscal, with a glance of scorn\nat Shepstone.\n\n\"Oh,\" answered Boyd Connoway, \"just like you or me. I took no particular\nnotice. More than that, it was an ill time for seeing patterns, being\nnigh on to pit mirk. He bade me lead the way. And this, to the best of\nmy knowledge and ability, I did. But the track is not canny even in the\nbroad of the day. Mickle worse is it when the light of the stars and the\nglimmer o' the sea three hunder feet below are all that ye hae to guide\nye! But the man that had been hidden in our 'ben' room was aye for going\non faster and faster. He stopped only to look down now and then for a\nriding light of some boat. And I made so bold, seeing him that anxious,\nas to tell him that if it were a canny cargo for the Co'en lads, waiting\nto be run into Portowarren, never a glim would he see.\"\n\n\"'You trust a man that kens,' I said to him, 'never a skarrow will wink,\nnor a lantern swing. The Isle o' Man chaps and the Dutchmen out yonder\nhave their business better at their fingers' ends than that. But I will\ntell ye what ye may hear when we get down the hill by the joiner's\nshop--and that's the clink o' the saddle irons, and the waff o' their\nhorses' lugs as they shake their necks--them no liking their heads tied\nup in bags.'\n\n\"'Get on,' he said, 'I wish your head were tied up in a bag!' And he\ntugged at my tail-coat like to rive it off me, your honour. 'Set me on\nthe shore there at Portowarren before the hour of two, or maybe ye will\nget something for your guerdon ye will like but ill.'\n\n\"This was but indifferent talk to a man whose bread you have been eating\n(it is mostly porridge and saps, but no matter) for weeks and weeks!\n\n\"We climbed down by the steep road over the rocks--the same that Will of\nthe Cloak Moss and Muckle Sandy o' Auchenhay once held for two hours\nagain the gaugers, till the loaded boats got off clear again into deep\nwater. And when we had tramped down through the round stones that were\nso hard on the feet after the heather, we came to the edge of the sea\nwater. There it is deep right in. For the tide never leaves\nPortowarren--no, not the shot of a pebble thrown by the hand. Bending\nlow I could see something like the sail of a ship rise black against the\npaler edge of the sea.\n\n\"Then it was that I asked the man for something that might clear me if I\nwas held in suspicion for this night's work--as also my wife Bridget.\n\n\"After at first denying me with oaths and curses, he threw down this bit\npaper that I have communicated to your worship, and in a pet trampled it\ninto the pebbles among which the sea was churning and lappering. He\npushed off into the boat, sending it out by his weight.\n\n\"'There,' he cried back, 'let them make what they will of that if ye be\ncalled in question. And, hear ye, Boyd Connoway, this I do for the sake\nof that hard-working woman, your wife, and not for you, that are but a\ncareless, idle good-for-nothing!'\"\n\n\"Deil or man,\" broke in my grandmother, who thought she had kept silence\nlong enough, \"never was a truer word spoken!\"\n\nBoyd Connoway looked pathetically about. He seemed to implore some one\nto stand up in his defence. I would have liked to do it, because of his\nkindness to me, but dared not before such an assembly and on so solemn\nan occasion.\n\n\"I put it to the honourable gentlemen now assembled,\" said Boyd\nConnoway, \"if a man can rightly be called a lazy good-for-nothing when\nhe rose at four of the morning to cut his wife's firewood----\"\n\n\"Should have done it the night before,\" interrupted my grandmother.\n\n\"And was at Urr kirkyard at ten to help dig a grave, handed the service\nof cake and wine at twelve, rung the bell, covered in the corp, and\nsodded him down as snug as you, Mr. Fiscal, will sleep in your bed this\nnight----!\"\n\n\"That will do,\" said the Fiscal, who thought Boyd Connoway had had quite\nenough rope. \"Tell us what happened after that--and briefly, as I said\nbefore.\"\n\n\"Why, I went over to Widow McVinnie's to milk her cow. It calved only\nlast Wednesday, and I am fond of 'beesten cheese.' Besides, the\nscripture says, 'Help the widows in their afflictions'--or words to that\neffect.\"\n\n\"After this man Lalor Maitland had got into the boat, what happened?\"\n\nThe Fiscal spoke sharply. He thought he was being played with, when, in\nfact, Boyd was only letting his tongue run on naturally.\n\n\"Nothing at all, your honour,\" said Boyd promptly. \"The men in the boat\njust set their oars to the work and were round the corner in a jiffey. I\nran to the point by the narrow square opening into the soft sandstone\nrock, and lying low on my face I could see a lugger close in under the\nheugh of Boreland, where she would never have dared to go, save that the\nwind was off shore and steady. But after the noise of the oars in the\nrowlocks died away I heard no more, and look as I would, I never saw the\nlugger slip out of the deep shadow of the heughs. So, there being\nnothing further to be done, I filled my pockets with the dulse that\ngrows there, thin and sweet. For nowhere along the Solway shore does one\nget the right purple colour and the clean taste of the dulse as in that\nof Portowarren, towards the right-hand nook as you stand looking up the\nbrae face.\"\n\nHaving tendered this very precise indication to whom it might concern,\nBoyd bowed to the company and took his leave.\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Fiscal was for holding him in ward lest he should escape, being such\na principal witness. But the three Justices knew well that there was no\ndanger of this, and indeed all of them expressed their willingness to go\nbail for the appearance of Boyd Connoway whenever he should be wanted.\n\n\"And a great many times when he is not!\" added my grandmother, with tart\nfrankness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nTHE SHARP SPUR\n\n\nThough, therefore, the mystery remained as impenetrable as ever, I think\nthat the fact of the absence of Lalor Maitland put new vigour into all\nof us. Richard Poole was buried in Dumfries, where all the \"good jovial\nfellows\" of a dozen parishes gathered to give him an impressive funeral.\nThe firm closed up its ranks and became merely Messrs. Smart and Smart.\nThere was a new and loquacious tablet in St. Michael's relating in\ndetail (with omissions) the virtues and attainments of the deceased Mr.\nRichard. But of the other Mr. Poole, calling himself Wringham Pollixfen,\nnot a trace, not a suggestion, not a suspicion of his whereabouts had he\nleft behind since he stepped out of our window into the dark.\n\nBut, nevertheless, in Eden Valley the air was clearer, the summer day\nlonger and brighter, and the land had rest. It was an impressive day\nwhen Irma brought Louis to my father's school. The Academy remembers it\nyet.\n\nThe morning had opened rather desolately. With the dawn the slate-grey\nfingers of the rain clouds had reached down, spanning from Criffel to\nScreel. The sea mist did what faith also can do. It removed mountains.\nOne after another they faded and were not. A chillish wind began to blow\nup from the Solway, and even in Eden Valley was heard the distant roar\nof the surf, through the low pass which is called the Nick of Benarick.\nThe long grass first stood in beads and then began to trickle. Flowers\ndrooped their heads if of the harebell sort, or stood spikily defiant\nlike the yellow whin and the pink thistle.\n\nI had got ready cloaks and hoods, you may be sure. I was on the spot at\nmy grandmother's door a full hour before the time. Within I found Mary\nLyon raging. Neither of the bairns should go out of her house on such a\nday! What for could they not be content to take their learning from\nDuncan and Agnes Anne? Miss Irma, she was sure, was well able to teach\nthe bairn. It was all a foolishness, and very likely would end in\nsomething uncanny. If it did--well, let nobody blame her. She had lifted\nup her testimony, and thrown away her wisdom on deaf ears.\n\nWhich, indeed, was something not unlike the case.\n\nFor just then the sun shone out. The clouds divided to right and left,\nfollowing the steep purpling ridges on either side of Eden Valley--and\nin the middle opening out a long sweet stream of brightness. Little\nLouis clapped his hands. He ached for the company of his kind. He talked\n\"boys.\" He dreamed \"boys\"--not grown-up boys like me, but children of\nhis own age. He despised Irma because she was a girl. Only Agnes Anne\ncould anyways satisfy him, when she put on over her dress a pair of her\ngrandfather's corduroy trousers, buttoned them above her shoulder, and\npretended to give orders as in the pirn-mill. Even then, after a happy\nhour with the toys which Agnes Anne contrived for him, all at once Louis\ngrew whimpering disappointedly, stared at her and said, \"You are not a\nreal little boy.\"\n\nAnd I, who had the pick of the Eden Valley boys on my hand every time I\nwent near my father's (and knew them for little beasts), wondered at his\ntaste, when he could have Irma's company, not to speak of Agnes Anne's.\nBut I resolved that I should keep a bright look-out and make the little\nvillains behave. For at an early age our Eden Valley boys were just\nsavages, ready to mock and rend any one of themselves who was a little\nbetter dressed, who wore boots instead of clogs with birch-wood soles,\nor dared to speak without battering the King's English out of all\nrecognition.\n\nMy father and Miss Huntingdon would, of course, be ready to protect our\nsmall man as far as was in their power. But they, especially my father,\nwere often far removed in higher spheres of work, while Miss Huntingdon\nwas never in the boys' playground at all. But I had none of these\ndisabilities. I was instructed, sharp-eyed, always on the spot, with\nfists in good repair--armed, too, with a certain authority and the habit\nof using it to the full.\n\nSo little Louis found himself among his boys. I picked him out\nhalf-a-dozen of the most peaceable to play with, after he had received\nhis first lesson from a very proud and smiling Miss Huntingdon. Miss\nIrma, after being formally introduced to the school, left the sort of\nthrone which had been set for her beside my father, to go and sit beside\nAgnes Anne at the top of the highest form of girls.\n\nHer presence made a hush among the elder boys, and such of the young men\nas happened to be there that day. For though we had scholars up to the\nage of twenty, most of these were at work during the summer and came\nonly in the winter season--though in the interval betwixt sowing and\nhay-harvest and between that again and the ripening of the corn we would\nreceive stray visits from them, especially in the long wet spells of\nweather.\n\nIt was at noon and the girls were walking in their playground talking\nwith linked arms, apart from the noisy sportings of the boys, when I\ncaught my first glimpse of Uncle Rob. He was standing right opposite the\nschool in the big door of the Eden Valley Mill. I wondered what he was\ndoing there, for it was not the season for grinding much corn. Besides,\nit would have been handier to send it down and call for it again during\nsuch a busy season on the farm.\n\nSo I ran across and asked him what he was doing there. I could hardly\nhear his answer, for the loud _plash-plash_ of the buckets of water as\nthey fell into the great pool underneath the wheel.\n\nI understood him, however, to say that it was open to me to attend to my\nown business and leave him to look after his.\n\nIn a moment the demon of jealousy entered into my soul. Could it be that\nhe came there to be near Irma--Irma, whom I had fought for and saved\nhalf-a-dozen times over all by myself--for it is not worth while going\nback to what Agnes Anne did, as it were, accidentally. I was so angry at\nthe mere thought that there and then I charged him with his perfidy. He\nlaughed a short, contemptuous laugh.\n\n\"And what for no,\" he answered; \"at least _I_ have a trade at my\nfinger-ends. I can drive a plough. I can thresh a mow. At a pinch I can\neven shoe a horse. But you--you have quit even the school-mastering!\"\n\nI do not know whether or not he said it unwittingly or with intent to\nsting me. But at any rate the thrust went home. I could hardly wait till\nmy father had got through with his work that night, and was stretched in\nhis easy-chair, his long pipe in one hand and a volume of Martial in the\nother. I broke in upon him with the words, \"Father, I want to go to\ncollege with Freddie Esquillant!\"\n\nMy father looked at me in surprise. I can see him still staring at me\nbemazed with his pipe half-way to his mouth, and the open book laid face\ndownward upon his knee.\n\n\"Go to college--you?\" His surprise was more cutting than Uncle Rob's\nmockery. Because, you see, my father knew. That is, he knew my\nscholarship. What he did not know was how much of my grandmother's\nspirit there was in me, and how I could keep working on and on if I had\nthe chance.\n\n\"You have thought of this long?\" he asked.\n\n\"No, father!\"\n\n\"Ah, well, what put it into your head?\" he asked kindly.\n\nThis I could hardly tell him without entering into my furious foolish\njealousy of Uncle Rob, his waiting at the mill, and our exchange of\nwords. So I only said, \"It just came to me that I would like to get\nlearning, father!\"\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" he meditated, \"that is mostly the way. It is like heavenly\ngrace. It comes to a man when he least expects it--the desire for\nlearning. We seek it diligently with tears. It comes not. We wake in the\nmorning and lo! it is there!\"\n\nIt is characteristic of my father that even then he did not concern\nhimself about ways and means. For at the colleges of our land are\n\"bursaries\" provided by pious patrons, once poor themselves, and often\nwith a thirst for knowledge unquenched--boys put too early to the bench\nor the counter. Now my father had the way of winning these for his\npupils. He did not teach them directly how to gain them, but he supplied\nthe inspiration.\n\n\"Read much and well. Get the spirit. Learn the grammar, certainly. But\nread Latin--till you can speak Latin, think Latin. It is more difficult\nto think Greek. Our stiff-necked, stubborn Lowland nature, produce of\nhalf-a-score of conquering nations, has not the right suppleness. But if\nthere is any poetry in you, it will find you out when you read\nEuripides.\"\n\nSo though certainly I never got so far--the verbs irregular giving me a\ndistaste for the business--at least I fell into line, and in due\ntime--but there I am anticipating. I am writing of the day, the\nwonderful day when the sharp spur of Uncle Rob's reproach entered into\nmy soul and I resolved to be--I hardly knew what. A band of little boys,\nall eager to see the pirn-mill in the Marnhoul wood, volunteered to\naccompany Louis home. They went on ahead, gambolling and shouting. Agnes\nAnne would have come also, but I suggested to her that she had better\nstay and help her mother.\n\nShe gave me one look--not by any means of anger. Rather if Agnes Anne\nhad ever permitted herself to make fun of me, I should have set it down\nto that. But I knew well that could not be. She stayed at home,\ncontentedly enough, however.\n\nI went home with Irma. I did so because I had the cloaks and hoods to\ncarry. Also I had something to tell her. It seemed something so\nterrible, so mighty, so full of risk and danger that my heart failed me\nin the mere thinking of it. I was to go away and leave her, for many\nyears, seeing her only at intervals. It seemed a thing more and more\nimpossible to be thought upon.\n\nAt the least I resolved to make myself out a martyr. It would be a blow\nto Irma also, and the thought that she would feel it so almost made up\nto me for my own pain, an ache which at the first moment had been of\nthe nature of a sudden and deadly fear.\n\nYet I might have saved myself the trouble. Irma looked upon the matter\nin a very different light. She was not moved in the least.\n\n\"Yes, of course,\" she said, \"you are only wasting your time here. Men\nmust go out and see things in the world, that afterwards they may do\nthings there. Here it is very well for us who have no friends and\nnowhere else to go. But as soon as Louis is at school or has to leave\nme--oh, it will happen in time, and I like looking forward--I shall go\ntoo.\"\n\n\"But what could you do?\" I cried in amazement, for such a thing as a\ngirl of her rank finding a place for herself was not dreamed of then.\nOnly such as my grandmother and Aunt Jen worked \"in the sphere in which\nProvidence had placed them,\" as the minister said in his prayer.\n\n\"Never trouble your head,\" said Irma, \"there never was a Maitland yet\nbut gat his own will till he met with a Maitland to counter him!\"\n\n\"Lalor!\" I suggested. At the name she twisted her face into an\nexpression of great scorn.\n\n\"Lalor!\" she said; \"well, and have I not countered him?\"\n\nShe had, of course, but as far as I remembered there was something to be\nsaid about another person who had at least helped. Now that is the worst\nof girls. They are always for taking all the credit to themselves.\n\nIt was a grave day when I quitted Eden Valley for the first time. Every\none was affected, the women folk, my mother, my grandmother, even Aunt\nJen, went the length of tears. That is, all with only two exceptions, my\nfather and Miss Irma. My father was glad and triumphant--confident\nthat, though never the scholar Freddie Esquillant was bound to be, I was\nyet stronger in the more material parts of learning--those which most\npleased the ordinary run of regents and professors.\n\nI had already seen Irma early in the morning in that clump of trees\nbeyond the well where the flowering currants made a scented wall, and in\nthe midst the lilac bushes grow up into a cavern of delicately tinted,\nconstantly tremulous shade.\n\nI told her of my fears, whereat she scorned them and me, bidding me go\nforward bravely.\n\n\"I have never promised to be anybody's friend before,\" she said; \"I\nshall not break my word!\"\n\n\"But, Irma,\" I urged, for indeed I could not keep the words back, they\nbeing on the tip of my tongue, \"what if in the meantime, when I am away\nso far and seeing you so little, you should promise somebody else to be\nmore than a friend!\"\n\nShe stood a moment with the severe look I had grown to fear upon her\nface. Then she smiled at me, at once amused and forgiving.\n\n\"You are a silly boy,\" she said; \"but after all, you are but a boy. You\nwill learn that I do not say one thing one day and another the next.\nThere--I promised you a guerdon, did I not? That is the picture of my\nmother. You can open the back if you like!\"\n\nI set my thumb-nail to it, and there, freshly cut and tied with a piece\nof the very blue ribbon she was wearing, lay a lock of her hair, a curl\ncuriously and as it seemed wilfully twisted back upon itself, as if it\nhad refused to be so imprisoned--just, in fact, like Irma herself.\n\nI should have kissed her hand if I had known how, but instead I kissed\nthe lock of hair. When I looked up I am afraid that there was most\nunknightly water in my eyes.\n\n\"Come,\" she said, \"this will never do. There must be none of that if you\nare to carry Irma Sobieski's pledge. Stand up--smile--ah, that is\nbetter. Look at me as if I were Lalor Maitland himself, rather than cry\nabout it. You have my pledge, have you not--signed, sealed, and\ndelivered? There!\"\n\nBut how the legal formula was carried out by Miss Irma is nobody's\nbusiness except our own--hers and mine, I mean. But at all events I went\nforth from the lilac clump by the well, and picked up my full water cans\nwith a heart wondrously strengthened, and so up the path to Heathknowes\nwith a back straight as a ramrod, because of the eyes that I knew were\nwatching me through the chinks in the wall of summer blossom.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nTHE COLLEGE OF KING JAMES\n\n\nI arrived at Edinburgh with the most astonishing ache in my heart (or,\nat least, in the parts adjoining), and had I met with the least\npitifulness I think I should have broken down entirely. But I found a\nvery necessary stimulus in the details of the examination for the\nbursary. I had no doubt as to being nominated, but when the results were\nposted I felt shame to be whole three places in front of Freddie\nEsquillant, my master in all real scholarship, almost as much as my\nfather was--but who, on the day of trial, had spent his time in\nanswering thoroughly half-a-dozen questions without attempting the\nothers.\n\nAt any rate it was none such bad news to send by the carrier, who put up\nat the Black Bull in the Grassmarket, down to my mother and grandmother\nin Eden Valley. I wrote to them separately, but to my father first,\nbecause he understood such things and I knew that his heart was set on\nFreddie and myself, though he thought (and rightly) that I was a mere\nclodhopper at my books compared to Fred. As far as the classics went, my\nfather was in the right of it. But then Freddie could not write English,\nexcept in a kind of long-winded, elaborate way, as if he were\ntranslating from Cicero, which very likely was the case.\n\nWell, the need of keeping my head for the examiners' questions, the\nmending of my pens, the big barren room with the books about and the\nother fellows scribbling away for dear life, the landladies in this\nclose and that square, with faces hardened and tempers sharpened by\ngenerations of needy students, out of whom they must nevertheless make\ntheir scanty livings, the penetrating Edinburgh airs, the thinness of my\ncloak and the clumsiness of my countrified rig--these all kept me\nsingularly aware of myself, and prevented any yielding to the folly of\nhomesickness, or, as in my case, \"Irma-sickness,\" to give the trouble\nits proper name.\n\nAfter long search I took up my lodging in a new house at the end of\nRankeillor Street, in a place where there was the greenness of fields\nevery way about, except behind in the direction of the college. It was\nthe very last house, and from my garret window I could see the top of\nArthur's Seat and the little breakneck path feeling its way round the\nfoot of the Salisbury Crags, afterwards to be widened into the\n\"Radicals' Road.\" Southward all was green and whaup-haunted to the grey\nhip of Pentland, and we saw the spread of the countryside when we--that\nis, Freddie and I--went down the Dalkeith Road to the red-roofed hamlet\nof Echobank. Here, four times a week we bought a canful of milk that had\nto do us two days. For there was something about the taste of the town\nmilk that scunnered us--Freddie especially being more delicately\nstomached than I.\n\nHere, too, was a red-cheeked serving maid who provoked us--but more\nespecially poor Fred, who asked nothing better than that the wench\nshould let him alone. But I cared not so greatly--though, of course, she\nwas nothing to me. How could she be with the gage of Miss Irma hard\nunder my armpit, just where the Eden Valley tailor had placed my inside\npocket?\n\nWhich reminds me that Fred, fluttering the leaves of his lexicon, or\nmooning over his beloved Greek verses (which the professor discouraged\nbecause he could not make as good himself), would sigh a little ghost\nof a sigh as often as he saw me take it out and lay it on the table\nbeside me like a watch. For long I thought it was because he feared it\nwould make me neglect my work, but now, looking back, I can see with\ngreat clearness that it was because he felt that love and suchlike were\nruled out of his life. It was quite a year before I first mentioned Irma\nto him by name. Yet he never asked, nor showed that he noticed at all,\nsave for that quick, gentle sigh.\n\nAs portrayed in the miniature, Irma's mother was a gentle fair-haired\nwoman, with a face like a flower sheltered under a broad-brimmed white\nbeaver hat, the very mate and marrow of those I have since seen in the\npictures by the great Sir Joshua. She had a dimpled chin that nested in\na fluffy blurr of lace. She was as unlike as possible to my dear brave\nIrma, with her curls like shining jet, and the clean-cut, decisive\nprofile. But I saw at once from whom Baby Louis had gotten his fair soft\ncurls, his blue eyes, and the wistful appeal of his smile. They were\nalways before me as I sat with my elbows on the ink-splattered table,\nand I did all my work conscious of the rebellious twist of raven curl\nthat was on the other side. I did not open this often, only when by\nmyself, and then with extreme care, for the glass, being old, was a\nlittle loose, and it seemed as if the vivid life in the swirl of hair\nactually moved it out of its place. For even so much of Irma as a curl\nof her locks perforce retained something of her extraordinary vitality.\n\nIt often used to come to me that Irma must be like her father over\nagain, only with all his faults turned to good, strengthened by the\ndetermination he lacked. She had his restlessness, his brilliancy, his\npower over men and women. Only along with these she had strength to\nguide herself (which he, poor man, never had), and enough over for me\nalso. And I have my father's word and my own consciousness that I needed\nthat guidance.\n\nCollege life is strange and solitary at these northern\nuniversities--especially at those in the two great cities of Edinburgh\nand Glasgow. The lad comes up knowing perhaps one other of his age and\nstanding. If he has a family one or two elder students will be ordered\nby their people to look him up. Seldom do they repeat the visit. Their\ncircle is formed. They want no \"yellow nebs.\"\n\nFor the rest he is alone, protected from the devil and the young lusts\nof the flesh by the memory of his mother, perhaps by the remembrance\nthat about that time his father is striving hard to pinch to pay his\nfees, but lastly, chiefly and most practically by those empty pockets.\n\nIf he have a family in the town, he is hardly a student like the others.\nHe has his comrades within cry, his houses of call, girls here and there\nwhom he has met at dances in friendly houses, sisters and cousins of his\nown or of his friends--in short, all the machinery of social life to\ncarry him on.\n\nBut for the great majority life is other and sterner. As Milton\nlamenting his blindness, the stranger student mourns wisdom and life \"at\none entrance quite shut out.\" The influence of women, sweeter than that\nof the Pleiades, is absent, save in the shape of seamy-faced\ngrim-mouthed landladies, or, in a favourable case, which was ours (or\nmight have been), our red-cheeked, frank-tongued, oncoming wench in the\nmilk-house at Echobank, and the baker's daughter across the way.\n\nThe first result of this is a great outbreak of sentimentality among the\ncallowlings. They have pictures (oh, such caricatures!) to carry in\nbreast-pockets--or locks of hair, like mine. Their hearts are\ninflammable as those of the flaxen-haired youths I met afterwards in the\nuniversities of Germany, only living on oatmeal, without sausages, and\nless florid with beer. Yet on the whole, the aforesaid empty purse\naiding, we were filled with not dishonest sentiment, keen as\nsleuth-hounds on the track of knowledge, and disputatious as only lads\nof Calvinistic training can be.\n\nOur landladies were much alike, our rooms furnished with the same\nSpartan plainness. Only in Mistress Craven I happened on a good one, and\nabode with her all the days of my stay at College, till the way opened\nout for me to wider horizons and a humaner life.\n\nBut I can see the room yet, and the narrow passage which led to it.\nHere, close to the door, was a clock with a striking apparatus of\nsurprising shrillness to warn us of the flight of the half-hours.\n\"Ting!\" another gone! Then, as the hour drew near, this academic clock\ncleared its decks for real action--almost it might be said that it\ncleared its throat, such a roopy gasping crow did it emit. This was\ntechnically called \"the warning.\"\n\nAnd three times a day at the sound of it we rose, gathered our books and\nfled fleetfoot for the college. The clock at Mistress Craven's was set\nten minutes fast, so as to leave us time to flee down the Pleasance,\ndodge through a side alley, cut Simon's Square diagonally, debouch upon\nDrummond Street (shunning Rutherford's change-house, with its \"kittle\"\nstep down into the cellar), and lo! there, big, barren, grey, grave,\ncauldrife as a Scots winter, was the College of King James--with the\nbell, unheard in the side-streets, fairly \"gollying\" at us--an appalling\nvolume of sound--yet one which, on the whole, we minded less than the\nskirl and rasp of Mistress Craven's family clock.\n\nI have been speaking for myself. Fred Esquillant was always in time,\neasy, quiet, letting nothing interfere with his duty. But for me I was\nnot built so. I watched for adventure and followed it. The dog I had met\nyesterday looked not in vain for a pat. A girl waved a kerchief to the\nstudent passing with the books under his arm. She did not know me, nor I\nher. But in the general interests of my class I had to wave\nback--without prejudice, be it said, to the black lock behind the\nminiature in my pocket.\n\nWe came back, as we had occasion, from our classes to the crowded stair\nof our \"land\"--with its greasy handrail, and the faint whiff of humanity\nclinging about the numbered doorways. Our key grated in the lock. Mrs.\nCraven opened the kitchen door with a cry that our dinners would be\nready in a jiffey. We were done with the world for the day. Henceforth\nfour walls contained us. Many books lay tumbled about, or had to be\nheaped on the floor whenever the half of the table was laid for a meal.\n\nI sat farthest from the fire, but facing it. Above and directly before\nmy eyes was a full-rigged ship, sailing among furious painted billows\ndirectly against the lofty cliffs of a lea-shore, the captain on the\nbridge regarding this manoeuvre with the utmost complaisance. Beneath\nwas a china shepherdess without the head--opposite a parrot with a bunch\nof waxen cherries in its beak.\n\nWhen we took the room, the backs of the chairs had been covered with\nnewly-washed embroidery in raspy woollens and starched linen thread.\nThere had also been a tablecloth, and upon it (neatly arranged by Mrs.\nCraven's daughter Amelia) a selection of the family \"good books\"--to\nwit, the Holy Bible containing entries of the Craven family, with the\ndates of birth altered or erased, Josephus with steel pictures, the\n_Saint's Rest_ and some others. These had at once been removed,\naccording to agreement made before taking possession, and now, wrapped\nin the tablecloth, reposed in a cupboard.\n\nOnly _The Cloud of Witnesses_ and Fox's _Martyrs_ were spared at my\nspecial request. As for Freddie, he needed no other literature than his\ntext-books, and set himself to win medals like one who had been fitted\nby machinery for that purpose.\n\nMrs. Craven was an Englishwoman who had brought herself to this by\nmarrying a carter from Gilmerton. So she retained a pleasant habit of\ncurtseying which her daughter, born in Edinburgh and given to snuffing\nup the east wind, did not in the least strive to imitate, so far at\nleast as we were concerned.\n\nBut on the whole those rooms in Rankeillor Street were pleasant and even\nmodel lodgings. Many a fine gentleman settled in the new town fared\nworse, even artistically. We had on the wall in little black frames many\nbrowned prints by a man of whom we had never heard, one Hogarth by name,\nsome of the details of which made Freddie blush and me laugh aloud. But\nthese doubtful subjects were counterbalanced by an equal number\nillustrative of the Pilgrim's Progress, beginning at the sofa-back with\nthe Slough of Despond, going through the Wicket Gate, past fierce Giant\nPope and up craggy Hills of Difficulty to a flaming Celestial City\napparently being destroyed by fire with extreme rapidity.\n\nIn a glass-fronted corner cupboard were memorials of the late Mr.\nCraven. To wit, a large punch-bowl, remarkable for having melted down a\nflourishing business in the \"carrying\" way, four pair of horses with\nwagons to match, a yard and suitable stabling, and, finally, Mr.\nCraven, late of Gilmerton, himself.\n\nOn the top shelf was all that remained of the tea-service he had\npresented to his \"intended\" when he was still at the head of the\nGilmerton \"yard\"--she being at the time lady's-maid at Dalkeith Palace\nand high in favour with \"her Grace.\" Much art was needed in dusting\nthese and arranging them to make cups and saucers stand so that their\nchipped sides would not show.\n\nI was strictly forbidden ever to dance, flap my long arms, or otherwise\ndisport myself near this sacred enclosure, as I sometimes did when the\nblood ran high or the temperature low. As for Freddie, he could do no\nwrong. At least, he never did. I was in despair about him, and foresaw\ntrouble.\n\nAs to situation, we had the Meadows behind us, and (except the Sciennes\nand Merchiston), all was free and open as far as Bruntsfield and the\nBorough Muir. But towards Holyrood and the College, what a warren! You\nentered by deep archways into secluded yards. Here was a darksome\npassage where murder might be (and no doubt had been) done. Here was an\nechoing gateway to a coaching inn, with a watchman ready to hit evil\nboys over the head with his clapper if they tried to ring his bell, the\nbell that announced the arrival of the Dumfries coach \"Gladiator\" after\nthirty hours' detention at the Beeftub in Moffatdale, or the shorter\nbreathed \"four\" from Selkirk and Peebles that had changed horses last at\nCockmuir Inn at the back of Kingside.\n\nAll this I describe so minutely, once for all, because there is more to\ncome of it, and these precincts on the southern border of Edinburgh,\nwhere Cromwell had once encamped, were mightily familiar to me before\nall was done.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nSATAN FINDS\n\n\nOf course Christmas time soon came, when we collegers had our first\nvacation, and Fred and I footed it down to Eden Valley. They had been\npreparing for us, and the puddings, white and black, hung in rows along\nthe high cross-bars in the kitchen.\n\nEverybody was glad to see us, except, as it appeared at first, Miss\nIrma. I called her Irma when I thought of the round locket with the hair\nand her mother's picture in it, also the letters she had sent me--though\nthese were but few, and, for all that was in them, might have been\nwritten to the Doctor. But when I returned and met her full in the\ndoorway of my grandmother's house, she gave me her hand as calmly as if\nshe had clean forgotten all that had ever been between us.\n\nFor me, I was all shaken and blushing--a sight to be seen. So much so\nthat Aunt Jen, coming in with the milk for the evening's porridge,\ncocked an eye at me curiously. But if Irma felt anything, I am very sure\nthat it did not show on her face. And that is one of the greatest\nadvantages girls have--care or not care, they can always hide it.\n\nMy mother shed tears over me. My father took stock of my progress, and\nasked me for new light on certain passages we had been reading, but soon\ndeserted me with the familiar contemptuous toss of the head, which meant\nthat he must wait for Fred Esquillant. He might have learned by this\ntime. At anything practical I was miles ahead of Freddie, who had no\nworld outside of his classical books. But then my father was of the same\ntype, with, in addition, the power of imparting and enthusing strong in\nhim--_his_ practical side, which Freddie did not possess--indeed, never\nfelt the lack of, much less the ambition to possess. He was content to\nknow. He had no desire to impart his knowledge.\n\nI spent six mornings and five evenings out of my scanty twenty days at\nthe little thicket by the well. But the lilac was leafless now, and the\npath which led back to the house of Heathknowes empty and deserted.\n\nOnce while I was in hiding my Uncle Rob came and stood so long by his\nwater-pails, looking across the hills in the direction of the Craig\nFarm, that I made sure he had found me out, or was trying for a talk\nwith Miss Irma on his own account.\n\nBut Rob, as I might have known, was far too inconstant. As the saying\nwent, \"He had a lass for ilka day in the week and twa for the Sabbath.\"\nIt is more than likely that his long rumination at the well was the\nresult of uncertainty as to whether it was the turn of Jeannie at the\nCraig or Bell down by at Parkhill.\n\nAt any rate, it had no connection with me, for he went off home with his\nburden, where presently I could hear him arranging with Eben as to the\nfoddering of the \"beasts\" and the \"bedding\" of the horses. For my three\nuncles kept accounts as to exchanges of work, and were very careful as\nto balancing them, too--though Rob occasionally \"took the loan\" of\ngood-tempered Eben without repayment of any sort.\n\nAfter my fifth solitary vigil among the rustling of the frozen stems and\nthe dank desolation of the icebound copse on the edge of the marsh, I\nbegan to go about with a huge affectation of gloom on my face. It was\nclear that I was being played with. For this I had scorned the\nred-cheeked dairy-lass at Echobank, and the waved kerchiefs of the\nbaker's daughter opposite. And the more unhappy and miserable I looked,\nthe closer I drew my inky cloak about me, the gayer, the more\nlight-hearted became Miss Irma.\n\nI plotted deep, dark, terrible deeds. She urged me to yet another help\nof dumpling. She had made the jam herself, she said. Or the\nshortbread--now there _was_ something like shortbread, made after a\nrecipe learned in Brabant! (I wondered the word did not choke her,\nthinking of Lalor--but, perhaps, who knew? she would not after all be so\nunwilling!) I had shed my blood for naught--not that I had really shed\nany, but it felt like that. I had gone forth to conquer the world for\nthe sake of a faithless girl--though, again, I had not even done quite\nthat, seeing that Freddy Esquillant bade fair to beat me in all the\nclasses--except, perhaps, in the Mathematic, for which he had no taste.\nBut the principle was the same. I was deserted, and my whole aspect\nbecame so dejected that my mother spoke to my father about my killing\nmyself in Edinburgh with study, which caused that good (and instructed)\nman to exclaim, \"Fiddlesticks!\" Then she went to my grandmother, who\nprescribed senna tea, which she brewed and stood by till I had drunk. I\nresolved to wear my heart a little less on my sleeve, and always after\nthat assured my grandmother that I was feeling very well indeed. Also I\nmade shift to eat a little, even in public, contriving it so, however,\nthat the effort to appear brave and gay ought to have been evident even\nto Miss Irma.\n\nEvery day Louis and she went to the Academy, and I went with them, one\nof the uncles--generally Eben, the universally disposable--following to\nthe village with a loaded pistol in his tail-coat pocket.\n\nFor though there had been, as yet, no more than the ordinary winter\ntraffic by the well-recognized Free Traders of the Solway board, no man\ncould tell when the lugger from the Texel, or even the _Golden Hind_\nherself might try again the fortune of our coasts. The latter vessel had\nbeen growing famous, multiplying her captures and cruelties; indeed,\nbehaving little otherwise than if she carried the black flag with the\nskull and cross-bones. And though a large part of his Majesty's navy had\nbeen trying to catch her, hardly a monthly number of the _Scots\nMagazine_ came to my father without some new exploit being deplored in\nthe monthly chronicle over near the end.\n\nNearer home, Messrs. Smart and Smart had offered by post to occupy\nthemselves with the future of the young baronet Sir Louis, on condition\nthat he should be given up to them to be sent to school, but in their\ncommunication nothing was said about Miss Irma. So my grandfather sent\nword that, subject to the law of the land, he would continue to protect\nboth the children whom Providence had placed in his care. And this was\ndoubtless what the Dumfries lawyers expected. The care and culture of\nthe estate during a long minority was what they thought about as being\nmost to their advantage, and it was quite evident that little Louis, for\nthe present, could hardly be better situated than at Heathknowes.\nMessrs. Smart and Smart sent a man down to spy out the land, on pretext\nof offering compensation, but his report must have been favourable both\nas to the security of the farm-town and as to my grandfather's repute\nfor generosity and open-handedness. For he did not return, and as to\npayment, nothing more was ever heard at Heathknowes about the matter.\n\nThe young people were now quite fixtures there, and though they were\nspoken of as Miss Irma and Master Louis, Irma had carried her main\npoint, which was that they should be treated in all respects as of the\nfamily. The sole difference made was that now the farm lads and lasses,\nand the two men from the pirn-mill (whom my grandfather's increasing\ntrade with the English weavers had compelled him to take on), had their\nmeals at a second table, placed crosswise to that at which the family\ndined and supped. But this was chiefly to prevent little Louis from\noccupying himself with watching to see when they would swallow their\nknives, and nudging his neighbours Irma and Aunt Jen to \"look out,\" at\nany particular dangerous and intricate feat of conjuring.\n\nAs for me, I could not at all understand why Irma cold-shouldered me\nduring these first Christmas vacations, and indeed I had secretly\nresolved to return no more to the house of Heathknowes till I had made\nsure of a better reception. I began to count it a certainty that Irma,\nfeeling that she had gone too far and too fast with me before I went\noff, was now getting out of the difficulty by a regime of extraordinary\ncoldness and severity. And if that were the case, I was not the man to\nbaulk her.\n\nFor about this time a man I began to count myself.\n\nWorst of all, going home to the school-house there came into my head one\nof the most stupid ideas that had ever got lodging there--though,\naccording to my grandmother, I am rather a don at harbouring suchlike.\n\nIt occurred to me that a plan I had read of in some book or other might\nsuit my case. If I could only make Irma jealous, the tables might be\nturned, and she become as anxious and desirous of making up as I was.\n\nIt seemed to me a marvellously original idea. Irma had cared enough to\ngive me her mother's miniature. She had cut off a lock of her hair,\nwhich she had not done for all the world of her admirers--else she would\nlong have gone bald.\n\nNow it happened that though there were a good many dressmakers in Eden\nValley, including some that worked out for so much a day, there was only\none Ladies' Milliner and Mantua-maker. This was the sister of our\ninfant-mistress, Miss Huntingdon. Her establishment was in itself a kind\nof select academy. She had an irreproachable connection, and though she\nworked much and well with her nimble fingers, she got most of her labour\nfree by an ingenious method.\n\nShe initiated into her mysteries none of the poorer girls of the place,\nwho might in time be tempted to \"set up for themselves,\" and so spoil\ntheir employer's market. She received only, as temporary boarders,\ndaughters of good houses, generally pretty girls looking forward with\nsome confidence to managing houses of their own. At that time every girl\nwho set up to be anything in our part of the country aspired to make her\nown dresses and build the imposing fabric of her own bonnets.\n\nSo Miss Huntingdon had a full house of pretty maidens who came as\n\"approvers\"--a fanciful variation of \"improvers\" invented by Miss\nHuntingdon herself, and used whenever she spoke of \"My young ladies,\"\nwhich she did all day long--or at least as often as she was called into\nthe \"down-stairs parlour,\" where (as in a nunnery) ordinary business was\ntransacted.\n\nA good many of the elder girls whom I had known at the Academy had\nmigrated there at the close of their period of education--several who,\nthough great maidens of seventeen or eighteen, had hardly appeared upon\nmy father's purely classical horizon--seen by him only at the Friday's\ngeneral review of English and history, and taught for the rest of the\nweek by little Mr. Stephen, by myself--and in sewing, fancy-work, and\nthe despised samplers by Miss Huntingdon, the ever diligent, who, to\nsay the truth, acted in this matter as jackal to her elder sister's\nlion.\n\nIn return she got a chamber, a seat at the table with the young ladies,\nand a home. Nor will I say that Miss Seraphina, Ladies' Milliner and\nMantua-maker, was not a good and kind sister to Miss Rebecca, the little\nteacher at thirty pounds a year in the Infant Department at the Academy\nof Eden Valley.\n\nBut my mother in her time--Aunt Janet, even--had passed that way, though\nMiss Huntingdon considered Jen one of her failures because she had not\n\"married from her house.\" Most of the well-to-do farmers within ten\nmiles sent their daughters to complete their education at Miss\nHuntingdon's academy of the needle and the heavy blocking-iron. My\nfather, when he passed, did not know them, so great in his eyes was\ntheir fall. Yet by quiet persistence, of which she had the secret, my\nmother wore him down to winking at her sending Agnes Anne there for\nthree hours a day.\n\n\"I'm sure,\" she said, \"I used to watch for _you_ every time you went by\nto school, and one day the frill of your shirt sleeve was hanging down,\ntorn on a nail. I was sorry, and wished that I could have run out and\nmended it for you!\"\n\nWhat this reminiscence had to do with Agnes Anne's being allowed to go\nto Miss Huntingdon's I do not quite see. But learned men are much like\nothers, and somehow the little speech softened my father. So Agnes Anne\nwent, as, indeed, my mother had resolved from the beginning that she\nshould. And it was through Agnes Anne that my temptation came.\n\nShe made a friend there. Agnes Anne always must have one bosom friend of\nher own sex. For this Irma was too old, as well as too brilliant, too\nfitful, fairylike, changeful in her mood to serve long. Besides, she\nawed Agnes Anne too much to allow her to confide in her properly. And\nwithout hour-long confessions all about nothing, Agnes Anne had no use\nfor any girl friend. There was an unwritten convention that one should\nlisten sympathetically to the other's tale of secrets, no matter how\nlong and involved, always on the supposition that the service should be\nmutual.\n\nCharlotte Anderson was the name of Agnes Anne's friend. In a week's time\nthese two were seldom separate, and wandered about our garden, and under\nthe tall pine umbrellas with bent heads and arms lovingly interlaced.\nCharlotte was a pretty girl, blooming, fresh, rosy, with a pair of bold\nblack eyes which at once denied and defied, and then, as it were,\nsuddenly drooped yieldingly. I was a fool. I might have known--only I\ndid not.\n\nNow my idea was to make just as much love to Charlotte as would warn\nMiss Irma that she was in danger of losing me and to assist me in this\n(though I did not reveal my intention of merely baiting my trap with\nher) who more willing than Charlotte Anderson!\n\nBut I had counted without two somewhat important factors--Miss Irma, and\nMiss Seraphina Huntingdon. I was utterly deceived about the character of\nIrma, and I had no idea of the extreme notions of rigid propriety upon\nwhich Miss Seraphina conducted her business, nor of the explanation of\nthe large proportion of successful weddings in which the lady\nmantua-maker had played the part of subordinate providence.\n\nIndeed, certain of the light-minded youth of Eden Valley called the\nparlour with the faded red velvet chairs by the name of \"Little\nHeaven\"--because so many marriages had been made there.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nPERFIDY, THY NAME IS WOMAN!\n\n\nOld Robert Anderson of Birkenbog was known to me by sight--a huge,\njovial, two-ply man, chin and waistcoat alike testifying to good cheer.\nHe wore a large horse-shoe pin in his unstiffened stock. A watch that\nneeded an inch-thick chain to haul up its sturdy Nuremburg-egg build,\nstrained the fob on his right side, as if he carried a mince-pie\nconcealed there. His laugh dominated the market-place, and when he stood\nwith his legs wide apart pouring a sample of oats slowly from one hand\ninto the palm of the other, his red face with the cunning quirks in it\nhad always a little gathering of admirers, eager for the next\nhigh-spiced tale. He had originally come from the English border, and in\nhis \"burr\" and accent still bore token of that nationality.\n\nNevertheless, he had his admirers, some of them fervent as well as\nconstant.\n\nCochrane of the Holm would be there, his hand on the shoulder of\nBlethering Johnny from the Dinnance. These two always laughed before a\nword was uttered. They thought Birkenbog so funny that everything he\nsaid was side-splitting even before he had said it.\n\nI remember being a great deal impressed myself by Old Birkenbog. He was\na wonderful horseman as a boy, and when he came to the market alone he\nrode a big black horse of which even the head ostler stood in awe in the\nyard of the King's Arms. Once he had thrashed a robber who had assailed\nhim on his way to pay his rent, and had brought him into town trotting\ncross-handed at his horse's tail, the captive of his loaded whip and\nstout right arm. It is doubtful if this draggled Dick Turpin, lying in\nBridewell, appreciated Birkenbog's humour quite so much as did Cochrane\nand Blethering Jock when he told them the story afterwards.\n\nIf I had any common-sense I might have seen that Birkenbog was not a\nsafe man to trouble in the matter of an only daughter, without the most\nserious intentions in the world. But, truth to tell, I never thought of\nhim knowing, which was in itself a thing quite superfluous and\naltogether out of my calculations. I had had some small experience of\ngirls even before Miss Irma came to change everything. And the fruit of\nmy observations had been that, though girls tell each other's secrets\nfreely enough, they keep a middling tight grip on their own. Nay, they\ncan even be trusted with yours, in so far as these concern\nthemselves--until, of course, you quarrel with them--and then--well,\nthen look out!\n\nCertainly I found lots of chances to talk to Charlotte. In fact Agnes\nAnne made them for me, and coached me on what to say out of books. Also\nshe cross-examined Charlotte afterwards upon my performances, and\nsupplemented what I had omitted by delivering the passage in full. My\npoor version, however, pleased Charlotte just as much, for merely being\n\"walked out\" gave her a standing among Miss Seraphina's young ladies,\nwho asked her what it felt like to be engaged.\n\nAll had to be gone about in so ceremonious a manner, too, at least at\nfirst--when I made my formal call on Miss Huntingdon, who received me in\nher parlour with prim civility, as if I had come to order a leghorn hat\nof the best.\n\n\"My mother's compliments, and might Miss Charlotte Anderson be allowed\nto accompany Agnes Anne to tea at four hours that day? I would be\nresponsible--yes, I knew Miss Huntingdon to be most particular upon this\npoint--for the convoy of the young ladies to the school-house, and would\nsee Miss Anderson safe home again.\"\n\nMy mother winked at these promenades, because in her heart of hearts she\nwas more than a little jealous of Irma. Charlotte Anderson she could\nunderstand. She was of her own far-off kin, but Irma and her brother had\ndescended upon us, as it were, from another world.\n\nWhy Agnes Anne meddled I cannot so well make out, unless it were the\nmania which at a certain age attacks most nice girls--that of\ndistributing their brothers among their dearest friends--as far, that\nis, as they will go round.\n\nSo Charlotte and I walked under the tall firs of the Academy wood in the\nhope that Irma might be passing that way. I escorted her home in full\nsight of all Eden Valley--that was always on the look-out for whatever\nmight happen in the way of courtship about the shop of the famous\nmantua-maker.\n\nAnd yet (I know people will think I am lying) never, I say, did I find\nMiss Irma so desirable in my eyes as when I saw her at Heathknowes\nduring these days of folly. It was not that she was kinder to me. She\nappeared not to think of me either one way or the other. She curtsied to\nme, like a bird, flirting the train of her gown like a wagtail on a\nstone by the running stream. One forenoon she met us, strolling with\nlittle Louis by the hand, her black hair crowned with scarlet\nhips--those berries of the wild dog-rose which grow so great in our\ncountry lanes. She waved us a joyous little salute from the top of a\nstile, on which she perched as lightly as if joyful graces were\nfluttering about her, and she herself ready to take wing.\n\nBut she never so much as looked wistful, but let me go my way with a\nsingle flirt of a kerchief she was adjusting about her brother's neck.\nAs for me I was ready to hang myself in self-contempt and hatred of poor\ninnocent Charlotte Anderson, who smiled and imagined, doubtless, that\nshe was fulfilling the end for which she had come to Miss Huntingdon's.\n\nAfter we had separated I went to thinking sadly on the stupidity of my\nperformances. This field of thought was a large one and the\nconsideration of it, patch by patch, took some time. It was market day.\nThe bleating of flocks was about me, a pleasant smell of wool and tar\nand heather--and of bullocks blowing clouds of perfumed breath that\ncondensed upon the frosty air. I was leaning my arms upon the stone dyke\nof the Market Hill and thinking of Irma, now by my own act rendered more\ninaccessible than ever--when a hand, heavy as a ham falling from a high\nceiling, descended upon my shoulder. A voice of incomparable richness, a\nlittle husky perhaps with the morning's moistening at the King's Arms,\ncried out, \"So ho, lad! thou dost not want assurance! Thinking on the\nlasses at thy age! You're the chap, they tell me, that's been walkin'\nout my daughter in broad daylight! Well, well, cannot find it in my\nheart to be too hard--did the like mysel' thirty years ago, and never\nregretted it. School-master's son, aren't ye? Thought I kenned ye by\nsight! Student lad at the College of Edinburgh? Yes, yes--knew thy\nfather any time ever since he came from the North. No man has anything\nto say again thy father! Except that he does not lay on the young\nrascals' backs half heavily enough! I dare say thou would be noways the\nworse of a dressing down thysel'!\"\n\nAll this time he was thumping me on my back, and I was standing before\nhim with such a red face, and (I doubt not) such a compound of idiocy\nand black despair upon it, that I might have been listening to my doom\nbeing pronounced by the mouth of some full-blooded, jovial red judge,\nwith a bunch of seals the size of your fist dangling from his fob and\nthe loaded whip with which he had brought down the highwayman, under his\narm.\n\n\"Come thou up to the King's Arms!\" he cried; \"don't stand there looking\nlike a dummy. Let's have the matter out! Thour't noan shamed, surely!\nThere's no reason for why. At thy age, laddie--hout-hout--there's no\nwrong as young folks go. Come thy ways, lad!\"\n\nObediently I followed in his wake as he elbowed a way through the crowd,\nsalutations pouring in upon him on every side.\n\n\"Ah, Birkenbog, what's brought you into the market this day--sellin'\nlambs?\"\n\n\"That's as may be--buyin' calves more belike!\"\n\nThis was for my benefit, and the old brute, tasting his sorry jest,\nturned and slapped me again, winking all the time with his formidable\nbrows in a spasmodic and horrible manner, that was like a threat.\n\nNow, I did not mind Lalor Maitland or Galligaskins when my blood was up.\nBut now it was down--far down--indeed in my very boots.\n\nAll the time and every step of the way, I was trying in a void and empty\nbrain to evolve plans of escape. I could only hear the rich port-wine\nchuckle of that great voice, and watch the gleam of those huge silver\nspurs.\n\nAnd so presently we came to the King's Arms. Never was bold wooer in a\nmore hopeless position. Whichever way I turned the case was\ndesperate--if I resisted, I could not expect to fare better than Tam\nHaggart, whom that whip shank had beaten to the ground on the Corse o'\nSlakes. If I let myself drift, then farewell all hope of Irma Maitland.\n\nI hesitated and was lost. But who in my place could have bettered\nit--save by not being such a portentous fool to begin with? But when\nthat is in a man, it will out.\n\nI entered the King's Arms meekly, and before I knew what I was doing I\nhad been presented to three or four solid-thighed, thick-headed,\nstout-legginged farmers as \"Our Lottie's intended.\" They laughed, and\ncame near to shaking my hand off. I felt that if I backed out after\nthat, I never could show my face in Eden Valley again.\n\nThen we proceeded to business. I had not been accustomed to drink\nanything stronger than water, and I was not going to begin now--so much\nof sense I had left in me. So as often as the mighty farmer of Birkenbog\nhad his tankard pointed at the cornice of the commercial room of the\nKing's Arms, I poured the contents of mine carefully among the sawdust\non the floor.\n\nAnd then my formidable \"future\" father-in-law got to the root of the\nmatter.\n\n\"Father know about this?\" He shot out the question as from a catapult.\n\n\"No, sir,\" said I, \"I did not think of troubling him just yet--till----\"\n\n\"Till what?\"\n\n\"Till things were a bit more settled,\" I faltered. He put his loosely\nclenched fist on my knee. It appeared as large as the flat part of a\npair of smith's bellows.\n\n\"Well, that's what we are here now for, eh?\" he said. \"I doan't blame\nye, you young dog. Now I like a fine up-standing wench myself, well\nfilled out, none o' your flails done up in a bean-sack, nor yet a\ntea-pot little body that makes the folk laugh as they see her trotting\nalongside a personable man like me. Lottie will do ye fine. She's none\ngreat at the books--takes after her mother in that, but she's a good\ngirl, and I'll warrant ye, she will keep up her end of an argument well\nenough after a year or two's practice. But, mind you, lad, there's to be\nnothing come of this till I see you safe through college as a doctor.\nFees? Nonsense! Go to the hospitals, man, I'll pay for that part. It can\ncome off what I have put aside to give the man that took Lottie off my\nhands! A doctor--yes, that's the business, and one sore needed here in\nthis very Eden Valley! _Whisht_--there--who think ye bought old Andrew\nLeith's practice and house? Who keeps the lads from the college there\nand sends them packing at the end of every six months? Why, me--Anderson\nof Birkenbog. So haste ye fast, and when ye are ready, the house is\nready, and the practice and the tocher--and as for the lass ye have made\nit up with her yourself, as I understand.\"\n\nNever was there a poorer-spirited wooer! No, never one. The very pour of\nwords stunned me. Had it not been for the coming and going of\nDutch-girthed brother-farmers, dumping bags of \"samples\" on the table,\nand hauling at purses tied with leathern strings out of tight breeches\npockets, the \"What's your will, sir?\" of Tom the drawer, and the clink\nof cannikins, I must have been found out even then.\n\nBut the part of the trouble which was to be mine personally was coming\nto an end. After all, his daughter's future was only an item in\nBirkenbog's programme of the day.\n\n\"Well, then, lad\"--he clapped me again on the shoulder (I sitting there\nwith the soul of an oyster)--\"we have arranged everything\ncomfortable--eh? Now you can go and tell Lottie. Aye, and ye can say to\nMiss--what's her name--Thimbolina, the old dowager with the\ncorkscrews--with my compliments, that there's a sweet-milk cheese\nripening on the dairy shelves for her at Birkenbog. Hear ye that, lad?\"\n\nI took my leave as best I could. I felt I had hopelessly committed\nmyself. For though I had not said a word, I had not dared to reveal to\nthis fierce father, that being in love with another, I had been using\nhis daughter as a stalking horse.\n\n\"And, look here, Duncan lad,\" he said, \"I'll just step up and have a\nword with your father. The clearer understanding there is between\nfamilies on such like arrangements, the less trouble there will be in\nthe future!\"\n\nAnd he strode away out into the yard, halting, however, at the door to\ncall out in a voice that could be heard all over the neighbourhood,\n\"Come thy ways up to Birkenbog on Sunday and take a bit o' dinner wi'\nus! Then thou canst see our Lottie and tell her how many times sweeter\nshe is than a sugar-plum! Ho, ho!\"\n\nHe was gone at last and I fairly blushed myself down the street, pushing\nmy way between the ranks of the market stalls and the elbowing farmers.\n\n\"Are ye blind or only daft?\" one apple wife called out, as I shook her\nrickety erection of trestles and boards. She was as red in the face as\nBirkenbog himself, for a cur with a kettle tied to its tail had taken\nrefuge under her stall, and she had been serving a writ of ejectment\nwith the same old umbrella with which she whacked thievish boys and\nsheltered her goods on rainy days.\n\nBut I heeded not. I was seeking solitude. I felt that I wanted nothing\nfrom the entire clan of human beings. I had lost all that I should ever\nreally love. Irma--Irma! And here was I, settled for life with one for\nwhom I cared not a penny!\n\nBy the time I had reached this stage, I had come out upon the bare woods\nthat mount the path by the riverside. I came to the great holly, a cave\nof green shade in summer, and now a warm shelter in these tall solitudes\nof wattled branches standing purple and black against the winter sky.\n\nAh, there was some one there already. I stepped out again quickly, but\nnot too fast to see that it was Charlotte Anderson herself I had\nstumbled upon--_and that she was crying_!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\n\"THEN, HEIGH-HO, THE MOLLY!\"\n\n\n\"Charlotte!\" said I, taking in a sudden pity a step nearer and holding\nout my hand; but she only snatched her arm away fretfully and cried the\nmore bitterly.\n\n\"Has your father been speaking unkindly to you?\" I asked her, being much\nsurprised.\n\nShe shook her head, and a wet handkerchief plashed on my hand like a sob\nas she shook it out.\n\n\"What is it, then?\" I asked, more and more amazed at the turn things\nwere taking. Never had I thought for a moment that Charlotte would not\nbe as pleased and happy to have me as I was the reverse.\n\n\"Oh,\" she burst out at last, sobbing between each hurried phrase, \"I\ndon't blame you, Duncan. It's all that horrid old cat, Miss\nSeraphina--Diabolina, the girls call her--she writes everything we do to\nour people at home. She's always writing, and she spies on us, too, and\nlistens--opens our letters! She has brought all this on me----\"\n\n\"Brought what on you?\" I inquired blankly.\n\n\"Having to marry you and all!\" she said, and had recourse to her wet\nhandkerchief again. But that being altogether too sodden to afford her\nany relief, she signalled to me, as if I had been Agnes Anne or another\ngirl, to pass her mine. Fortunately for once I could do so without\nshame. For Miss Irma had been teaching me things--or at least the desire\nto appear well in her eyes.\n\nCharlotte Anderson did not appear to notice, but went on crying.\n\n\"And don't you want to marry me, Lottie?\" I said softly, taking her\nhand. She let me now, perhaps considered as the proprietor of the\nhandkerchief.\n\n\"Of course I don't,\" said she. \"Oh, how could I?\"\n\nNow this, considered apart, was certainly hurtful to my pride. For,\nhaving frequently considered my person, as revealed in my mother's big\nSunday mirror, I thought that she could very well. On my side there was\ncertainly nothing to render the matter impossible. Moreover, how about\nour walks and talks! She had, then, merely been playing with me. Oh,\nPerfidy, thy name is Woman!\n\nI was silent and paused for an explanation. I soon got it, considered as\nbefore, as the sympathetic owner of the handkerchief.\n\n\"It's Tam Galaberry,\" she said, \"my cousin, you know, Duncan. He used to\ncome to see me ... before ... before you! But his sister went to\nDumfries to learn the high-class millinery, and since then Miss\nSeraphina cannot thole him. As if he had anything to do with that. And\nshe wrote home, and my father threatened Tam to shoot him with the gun\nif he came after me--all because we were cousins--and only seconds at\nany rate. Oh-h-h-h! What _shall_ I do?\"\n\nI had to support Charlotte here--though merely as handkerchief-holder\nand in the purest interests of the absent Mr. Thomas Gallaberry.\n\nBut the relief to my own mind, in spite of the hurt to my pride, was\nimmediate and enormous. But a thought leaped up in my heart which cooled\nme considerably.\n\n\"Oh, Lottie,\" I said, as sadly as I could, \"you have been false and\ndeceitful. You have come near to breaking my heart----\"\n\n\"I ken I have--I ken I have!\" she cried. \"Oh, can you ever forgive me?\"\n\n\"Only, Charlotte,\" I answered nobly, \"because I care for your happiness\nmore than for my own!\"\n\n\"Oh, Duncan, but you are good!\" She threw herself into my arms. I really\nthink she mistook me for Agnes Anne for the moment. But any consolations\nI applied were, as before, in the interests of Tam Gallaberry.\n\n\"I knew I was wicked and wrong all the time,\" she said, \"but when we\nwalked out, you remember the dyke we used to lean against\" (she glanced\nup at me with simple child-like eyes, tear-stained), \"you must remember?\nWell, one of the stones was loose. And Tam used to put one letter there,\nand I took it out and slid it in my pocket, and put mine back the same!\nAgnes Anne was looking the other way, of course, and you--you----\"\n\n\"Was otherwise employed than thinking of such deceit!\" I said grandly.\n\n\"You were kissing me! And I let you--for Tam's sake,\" Charlotte\nmurmured, smiling. \"Otherwise the poor fellow would have had five miles\nto come that next day, and I could not bear that he should not find his\nletter!\"\n\n\"No!\" I answered dryly, \"it would certainly have been a pity.\"\n\nShe looked at me curiously.\n\n\"Do you know,\" she said, \"I always thought that _you_ were playing,\ntoo!\"\n\n\"Playing!\" I exclaimed tragically. \"Is it possible? Oh, Lottie!\"\n\n\"Oh, I just thought it,\" she said remorsefully. \"I am sorry if it was\ntrue--if you do really care about me so much--as all that!\"\n\nI was still thinking of Tam Gallaberry. So apparently was she.\n\nVirtue is its own reward, and so is mutual consolation. It is very\nconsoling. Half the happy love stories in the world begin that way--just\nwith telling about the unhappy ones that went before. You take my word\nfor it--I, Duncan MacAlpine, know what I am talking about. Charlotte\nAnderson too.\n\nSo finally, after a while, I became very noble and said what a fine\nthing it was to give up something very precious for others. And I asked\nher if she could think of anything much nobler than willingly to give up\nas fine a girl as herself--Charlotte Anderson--for the sake of Tam\nGallaberry? She thought awhile and said she could not.\n\nSo I told her we must keep up appearances for a time, till we had made\nour arrangements what to do. Charlotte said that she had no objections\nas long as Tam Gallaberry did not know. So I said that she could write a\nlong letter that very night, and give it to Agnes Anne in the morning,\nand I would go out to the stone, and put it underneath.\n\nThen she cried, \"Oh, will you?\" And thanked me ever so sweetly, asking\nif, when I was about it, would I bring back the one I found there and\nsend it to her by my sister, in another envelope--\"just over the top,\nyou know, without breaking the seal. Because such letters were sacred.\"\n\nI said she need not trouble herself. I was only doing all this for her\nsake. I did not want to see what another man had to say to her!\n\nAnd, if you will believe me, she was delighted, and said, \"Now I know\nthat you were not all pretending, but do care for me a little wee bit!\"\n\nIndeed, Charlotte was so delighted that it was perhaps as well for the\nsmooth flowing of their love story that Tam Gallaberry was at that\nmoment investigating their joint post office. For Lottie was a generous\ngirl when her heart was moved, and though she kept the grand issues\nclear, she often confused details--as, for instance, whether the\nhandkerchief was mine or my sister's, and whether I was myself or Tam\nGallaberry.\n\nBut I considered such slips as these pardonable at twenty. At that age\nforgetfulness is easy. Afterwards the prison doors close, and now I am\nnot mistaken for Tam Gallaberry any more--and what is more, I don't want\nto be. However, after a while I brought Charlotte to earth again, out of\nthe exaltation of our mutual self-sacrifice, by the reminder that at\nthat moment our fathers would be arranging as to our joint future--and\nthat without the least regard for our present noble sentiments, or those\nof the happily absent Mr. Thomas Gallaberry.\n\nShe got down and looked at me, affrighted, her lips apart, and all\npanting like a bird newly ta'en in the hand.\n\n\"Oh, Duncan,\" she cried, \"you will help me, won't you? You see how fond\nI am of you!\"\n\nI saw, exactly, but refrained from telling her that she had a strange\nway of showing it.\n\n\"I would do anything in the world for you,\" she added,--\"only I want to\nmarry Tom. Ye see? I have always meant to marry Tom! So I can't help it,\ncan I?\"\n\nHer logic had holes in it, but her meaning was starry clear. I thanked\nher, and said that the best thing we could do was to take counsel\ntogether. Which we did there under the shelter of the great holly-bush.\nSo much so that any one passing that way might have taken us for foolish\nlovers, instead of two people plotting how to get rid the one of the\nother.\n\nWhat helped the illusion greatly was that it was a cold day, with every\nnow and then a few driving flecks of snow. I had on a great rough\nInverness cloak of my father's, far too large for me. I asked Charlotte\nif she were warm. She said she was, but did not persist too much in the\nstatement. So we left Tom Gallaberry out of the question, and set\nourselves to arrange what we were to say to our two fathers.\n\n\"It will be terrible hard to pretend!\" I said, shaking my head.\n\n\"It will be a sin--at least, for long!\" she answered.\n\nI exposed the situation. There was to be no immediate talk of marriage.\nEven her father had allowed that I must get through college first. He\nwas to pay my fees as a doctor. I did not want to be a doctor. Besides,\nI could not take her father's money----\n\nHere Charlotte turned with so quick a flounce that she nearly landed\nherself in the little gutter which I had made with my stick to carry off\nthe drainage of the slope behind.\n\n\"Not take the money? Nonsense!\" she cried. \"Father has more than he\nknows what to do with!\"\n\nShe paused a while, finger on lip, meditating, the double ply of\ncalculation, stamped on her father's brow, very strongly marked on hers.\n\n\"Look here, Duncan,\" she said caressingly, like a grown woman wooing to\nget her own way, so deep her voice was, \"daddy is giving you that money\nbecause you are going to marry me, isn't he?\"\n\nI signed, as well as I could, that Mr. Robert Anderson of Birkenbog\nconsidered himself as so doing.\n\nShe clapped her hands and cried out, as if she had stumbled on the\nsolution of some exceedingly difficult problem, \"Why, then, take the\nmoney and give it to Tom! He needs it for his farm--oh, just dreadful.\nHe says the hill is not half stocked, and that a hundred or two more\newes would just be the saving of him!\"\n\n\"But,\" said I, \"I shall be entering into an agreement with your father,\nand shall have to give him receipts!\"\n\n\"Well,\" she continued boldly, \"Thomas will enter into an agreement with\nyou, if he doesn't marry me--that is, if I am left on your hands--he\nwill pay you the money back--or else give you the sheep!\"\n\nIt will hardly be believed the difficulty I had to make Charlotte see\nthe impossibility--nay, the dishonesty of an arrangement which appeared\nso simple to her. She thought for a while that I was just doing it out\nof jealousy, and she sulked.\n\nI reasoned with her, but I might as well have tried logic on the\nGallaberry black-faced ewes. She continued to revolve the project in her\nown mind.\n\n\"Whatever you--I mean _we_--can get out of father is to the good,\" she\nsaid. \"He will never miss it. If you don't, I will ask him for the money\nfor your fees myself and give it to Tom----\"\n\n\"If you do!\" I cried in horror,--\"oh--you don't know what you are\ntalking about, girl!\"\n\n\"You don't love me a bit,\" she said. \"What would it matter to you?\nBesides, if it comes to giving a receipt, I can imitate your signature\nto a nicety. Agnes Anne says so.\"\n\n\"But, Charlotte, it would be forgery,\" I gasped. \"They hang people for\nforgery.\"\n\n\"No, they don't--at least, not for that sort,\" she argued, her eyes very\nbright with the working of her inward idea. \"For how can it be forgery\nwhen it is _your_ name I write, and I've told you of it beforehand? It's\nmy father's money, isn't it, and he gives it to you for marrying me?\nVery well, then, it's yours--no, I mean it's Tom's because he means to\nmarry me. At least I mean to marry him. Anyway, the money is not my\nfather's, because he gives it freely to you (or Tom) for a certain\npurpose. Well, Tom is going to be the one who will carry out that\npurpose. So the money is his. Therefore it's honest and no forgery!\"\n\nThese arguments were so strong and convincing to Charlotte that I did\nnot attempt to discuss them further, salving my conscience by the\nthought that there remained his Majesty's post, and that a letter\naddressed to her father at the Farmers' Ordinary Room, in care of the\nKing's Arms, would clear me of all financial responsibility. But this I\ntook care not to mention to Lottie, because it might have savoured of\ntreachery and disturbed her.\n\nOn the other hand, I began urging her to find another confidant than\nAgnes Anne. She would do well enough for ordinary letters which I was to\nsend on to Cousin Tom. But she must not know they were not for me. She\nmust think that all was going on well between us. This, I showed her,\nwas a necessity. Charlotte felt the need also, and suggested this girl\nand that at Miss Seraphina Huntingdon's. But I objected to all. I had to\nthink quick, for some were very nice girls, and at most times would have\nserved their country quite well. But I stuck to it that they were too\nnear head-quarters. They would be sure to get found out by Miss\nHuntingdon.\n\n\"It is true,\" she meditated, \"she _is_ a prying old cat.\"\n\n\"I don't see anybody for it but Miss Irma, over at my grandmother's!\" I\nsaid, boldly striking the blow to which I had been so long leading up.\n\nCharlotte gazed at me so long and so intently that I was sure she smelt\na rat. But the pure innocence of my gaze, and the frank readiness with\nwhich I gave my reasons, disarmed her.\n\n\"You see,\" I said, \"she is the only girl quite out of the common run to\nwhom you have access. You can go to Heathknowes as often as you like\nwith Agnes Anne. Nobody will say a word. They will think it quite\nnatural--to hear the latest about me, you know. Then when you are alone\nwith Miss Irma, you can burst into tears and tell her our secret----\"\n\n\"All----?\" she questioned, with strong emphasis.\n\n\"Well,\" I hastened to reply, \"all that is strictly necessary for a\nstranger to know--as, for instance, that _you_ don't want to marry me,\nand that _I_ never wanted to marry you----\"\n\n\"Oh,\" she cried, moving in a shocked, uneasy manner, \"but I thought\n_you_ did!\"\n\n\"Well, but--,\" I stammered, for I was momentarily unhinged, \"you see you\nmust put things that way to get Miss Irma to help us. She can do\nanything with my father, and I believe she could with yours too if she\ngot a chance.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, she couldn't!\"\n\n\"Well, anyway, she would serve us faithfully, so long as we couldn't\ntrust Agnes Anne. And you know we agreed upon that. If you can think of\nanything better, of course I leave it to you!\"\n\nShe sat a long while making up her mind, with a woman's intuition that\nall the cards were not on the table. But in the long run she could make\nno better of it.\n\n\"Well, I will,\" she said; \"I always liked her face, and I don't believe\nshe is nearly so haughty as people make out.\"\n\n\"Not a bit, she isn't----\" I was beginning joyously, when I caught\nLottie's eye; \"I mean--\" I added lamely, \"a girl always understands\nanother girl's affairs, and will help if she can--unless she has herself\nsome stake in the game!\"\n\nAnd in saying this, I believe that for once in a way I hit upon a great\nand nearly universal truth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nLOVE AND THE LOGICIAN\n\n\nI knew that the Yule Fair was going on down in the village, and that on\naccount of it all Eden Valley was in an uproar. The clamour was\ndeafening at the lower end of the \"clachan,\" where most of the show folk\ncongregated. The rooks were cawing belatedly in the tall ashes round the\nbig square--into which, in the old times of the Annandale thieves, the\ncountry folk used to drive the cattle to be out of the way of Johnstones\nand Jardines.\n\nI skirted the town, therefore, so as not to meet with the full blast of\nthe riot. With such an unruly gang about, I kept Charlotte Anderson well\nin sight till I saw her safe into Miss Seraphina's. Of course, nobody\nwho knew her for a daughter of Fighting Rob of Birkenbog would have laid\nhand upon her, but at such a time there might be some who did not know\nthe repute of her father.\n\nThe great gong in front of the \"Funny Folks\" booth went \"Bang! bang!\"\nOpposite, the fife and drum spoke for the temple of the legitimate\ndrama. At the selling-stalls importunate vendors of tin-ware rattled\ntheir stock-in-trade and roared at the world in general, as if buyers\ncould be forced to attend to the most noisy--which, indeed, they mostly\ndid.\n\nFrom the dusky kennels in which the gipsies told fortunes and mended the\nrush-bottomed chairs of the Valley goodwives came over the wall a faint\nodour of mouldy hay, which lingered for weeks about every apartment to\nwhich any of their goods were admitted.\n\nAs for me, I had had enough of girls for one day, and I was wondering\nhow best to cut across the fields, take a turn about the town, and so\nget home to my father's by the wood of pines behind the school, when\nsuddenly a voice dropped upon me that fairly stunned me, so unexpected\nit was.\n\n\"Mr. Duncan MacAlpine,\" it said, \"I congratulate you on your choice of a\nfather-in-law. You could not have done better!\"\n\nIt was Miss Irma herself, taking a walk in a place where at such a time\nshe had no business to be--on the little farm path that skirts the woods\nabove the town. Louis was with her, but I thought that in the far\ndistance I could discern the lounging shadow of the faithful Eben.\n\nI stood speechless straight before her, but she passed on, lightly\nswitching the crisped brown stalks of last year's thistles with a little\nwand she had brought. I saw that she did not mean to speak to me, and I\nturned desperately to accompany her.\n\n\"I will thank you to pass your way,\" she said sharply. \"I am glad you\nare to have such a wife and such a dowry. Also a father-in-law who will\nbe at the kind trouble of paying your college fees till you are quite\nready to marry his daughter. It is a thing not much practised among\ngentlefolk, but, what with being so much with your mantua-makers, you\nwill doubtless not know any better!\"\n\n\"Irma--Irma,\" I cried, not caring any more for Eben, now in the nearer\ndistance, \"it is all a mistake--indeed, a mistake from the beginning!\"\n\n\"Very possibly,\" she returned, with an airy haughtiness; \"at any rate,\nit is no mistake of mine!\"\n\nAnd there, indeed, she had me. I had perforce to shift my ground.\n\n\"I am not going to marry Charlotte Anderson,\" I said.\n\n\"Then the more shame of you to deceive her after all!\" she cried. \"It\nseems that you make a habit of it! Surely I am the last person to whom\nyou ought to boast of that!\"\n\n\"On the contrary, you are the first!\"\n\nBut she passed on her way, her head high, an invincible lightness in the\nspring of every footstep, a splash of scarlet berries making a star\namong her dark hair, and humming the graceless lilt which told how--\n\n    \"Willie's ga'en to Melville Castle,\n    Boots an' spurs an' a'--!\"\n\nAs for me, I was ready to sink deep into the ground with despondency,\nwishful to rise never more. But I stopped, and though Uncle Eben was\nalmost opposite to me, and within thirty yards, I called after her, \"The\nday will come, Irma Maitland, when you will be sorry for the injustice\nyou are doing!\"\n\nFor I thought of how she would feel when Charlotte told about her cousin\nTam Gallaberry and all that I had done for them--though, indeed, it was\nmostly by accident. Only I could trust Charlotte to keep her thumb upon\nthat part of it.\n\nI did not know what she felt then, nor, perhaps, do I quite know yet;\nbut she caught a tangle of wild cut-leafed ivy from a tree on which I\nhad long watched it grow, and with a spray of small green leaves she\ncrowned herself, and so departed as she had come, singing as if she had\nnot a care in the world, or as if I, Duncan MacAlpine, were the last and\nleast of all.\n\nAnd yet I judged that there might be a message for me in that very act.\nShe had escaped me, and yet there was something warm in her heart in\nspite of all. Perhaps, who knows, an angel had gone down and troubled\nthe waters; nor did I think, somehow, that any other would step in there\nbefore me.\n\nAfter that I went down to see Fred Esquillant, who listened with sad yet\nbrilliant eyes to my tangled tale.\n\n\"You are the lucky one,\" I said, \"to have nothing to do with the lasses.\nSee what trouble they lead you into.\"\n\nHe broke out suddenly.\n\n\"Be honest, Duncan,\" he said, \"if you must boast! If you are bound to\nlie, let it not be to me. You would not have it otherwise. You would not\nbe as I am, not for all the gold of earth. No\"--he held his breath a\nlong while--\"no, and I, if I had the choice, would I not give all that I\nhave, or am ever likely to have, for--but no, I'm a silent Scot, and I\ncanna speak the word----\"\n\n\"I'm the other sort of Scot,\" I cried, \"and I'll speak it for you. Man,\nit's the first decent human thing I have ever heard come out o' your\nmouth. You would give all for LOVE!\"\n\n\"Oh, man,\" he cried, snatching his fingers to his ears as if I\nblasphemed, \"are ye not feared?\"\n\n\"No, I'm not,\" I declared, truly enough; \"what for should I be feared?\nOf a lassie? Tell a lassie--that ye--that ye----\"\n\n\"No, no,\" cried Fred Esquillant, \"not again!\"\n\n\"Well, then, that ye 'like' her--we will let it go at that. She will\nwant ye to say the other, but at least that will do to begin on. And\ncome, tell me now, what's to hinder ye, Fred?\"\n\n\"Oh, everything,\" he said; \"it's just fair shameless the way folk can\nbring themselves to speak openly of suchlike things!\"\n\n\"And where would you have been, my lad, if once on a day your faither\nhad not telled your mither that she was bonny?\"\n\n\"I don't know, and as little do I care,\" he cried.\n\n\"Well, then,\" said I, \"there's Amaryllis--what about her?\"\n\n\"That's Latin,\" said Fred, waving his arm.\n\n\"And there's Ruth, and the lass in the Song of Solomon!\"\n\n\"That's in the Bible,\" he murmured, as if he thought no better of the\nSacred Word for giving a place to such frivolities.\n\n\"Fred,\" I said, \"tell me what you would be at? Would you have all women\nslain like the babes of Bethlehem, or must we have you made into a monk\nand locked in a cell with only a book and an inkhorn and a quill?\"\n\n\"Neither,\" he said; \"but--oh, man, there is something awesome,\ncoarse-grained and common in the way the like o' you speak about women.\"\n\n\"Aye, do ye tell me that?\" I said to try him; \"coarse, maybe, as our\nfather Adam, when he tilled his garden, and common as the poor humanity\nthat is yet of his flesh and blood.\"\n\n\"There ye go!\" he cried; \"I knew well that my words were thrown away.\"\n\n\"Speak up, Mr. Lily Fingers,\" I answered; \"let _us_ hear what sort of a\nworld you would have without love--and men and women to make it.\"\n\n\"It would be like that in which dwell the angels of heaven--where there\nis neither marrying nor giving in marriage!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"speaking for myself and most lads like me, we will mend\nour ways before we get a chance of trying that far country! And in the\nmeantime here we are--our feet in the mire, and our heads not so very\nnear the sky. Talk of angels--where are we to get their society? And the\nlikest to them that I have ever heard tell of are just women--good\nwomen, innocent lasses, beginning to feel the stir of their own\npower--and all the better and the stronger are they for that! Oh, Fred,\nI saw an angel within the last half-hour! There she stood, her eyes\nshooting witcheries, poised for flight like a butterfly, the dimples\nplaying hide-and-seek on her face, and her whole soul and body saying to\nthe sons of men, 'Come, seek me on your knees--you know you can't help\nloving me! It is very good for you to worship me!\"\n\n\"And you are not ashamed, Duncan MacAlpine, to speak such words?\"\n\n\"Oh, ye Lallan Scot!\" I cried; \"ye Westland stot! Is there no hot blood\nof the Celt in you? What brought _you_ to Galloway, where the Celt sits\non every hill-top, names every farm and lea-rig, and lights his\nBaal-fires about the standing stones on St. John's Eve?\"\n\n\"Man,\" said Fred, shaking his head, \"I aye thought ye were a barbarian.\nNow I know it. If you had your way, you would raid your neighbours'\nwomenfolk and bring them in by the hair of their heads, trailing them\ntwo at a time. For me, I worship them like stars, standing afar off.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said I, \"that would be a heap of use to the next generation, and\nthe lasses themselves would like it weel!\"\n\nBut what Freddy Esquillant said about the next generation was unworthy\nof him, and certainly shall not sully this philosophic page. Besides, he\nspake in his haste.\n\nAll the same, I noticed that, if ever any of the stars came near to his\nearth, it would be a certain very moderately brilliant planet, bearing\nthe name of Agnes Anne or, more scientifically, MacAlpine Minima, which\nwould attract Master Fred's reluctant worship.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nTHE AVALANCHE\n\n\nAnd now there was a second and longer probation in that gaunt town of\nEdinburgh, without any miniature to lie beside me on my work-table like\na tickless watch, and help along the weary hours. And though the session\nbefore I had thought but little of the letters (and indeed there was\nnothing in them), yet this time there were none at all, which suited me\nfar worse. For, as it seemed, the mere sight of the hand-of-write would\nhave cheered me.\n\nHenceforward I could only learn, as it were, by ricochet what was going\non. My grandmother never set pen to paper. Her tongue to guide was\ntrouble enough to her without setting down words on paper to rise up in\njudgment against her. True, my father wrote regularly to inquire if my\nprofessor had any new light on the high things of Plato, the Iberian\nflavour in Martial's Epigrams, and such like subjects which were better\nfitted to interest a learned dominie who had lost the scholar of his\nchoice than to comfort a young fellow who has only lost his sweetheart.\n\nFor her part Agnes Anne wrote me reams about Charlotte, but never\nmentioned a word as to the Maitlands, though she did say that Charlotte\nwas a good deal at Heathknowes, and (a trifle spitefully, perhaps) that\nshe did not know what took her there unless it were to see Uncle Rob!\nThis poor Uncle Rob of ours--his reputation was in everybody's mouth,\ncertainly. He had been, so they said, a runagate, a night-raker, and in\nthe days of his youth a trifle wild. But now with the shadows of forty\ndeepening upon him, it was not fair that all the hot blood of his teens\nand twenties should rise up in judgment against him. Still so it was.\nAnd the reason of it was, he had not, as he ought, married and settled.\nFor which sin of omission, as the gossips of Eden Valley said, \"there\nwas bound to be a reason!\"\n\nCharlotte herself did not send a line, excepting always the letters I\nwas to forward to Tom Gallaberry at his farm of Ewebuchts on the Water\nof Ae. This at the time I judged unkind, but afterwards I found that\nCousin Tom had insisted upon it, on the threat of going to her father\nand telling him the whole affair. For, in spite of all, Cousin Thomas\nwas jealous--as most country lads are of college-bred youths, and he\npinned Charlotte carefully down in her correspondence. However, I made\nhim pay his own postages, which was a comfort, and as Agnes Anne and\noften my father would slip their letters into the same packet, after all\nI had only the extra weight to pay.\n\nStill, I did think that some of them might have told me something of\nIrma. But none did, till one great day I got a letter--from whom think\nyou? I give you fifty guesses--well, from my Aunt Jen. And it contained\nmore than all the rest put together, though all unconsciously, and\ntelling me things that I might have gone a long time ignorant of--if she\nhad suspected for a moment I was keen about them.\n\n    Heathknowes, this the thirteenth Aprile.\n\n    \"Dear Nephew Duncan,\n\n    \"Doubtless you will be having so many letters that you will not be\n    caring for one from a cross auld maid, who is for ever finding fault\n    with you when ye are at home. But who, for all that, does not forget\n    to bear ye up in the arms of her petitions before the Throne--no,\n    night and morning both.\n\n    \"This is writ to tell you that I have sent ye, by the wish of my\n    mither, one cheese of seven pounds weight good, as we are hearing\n    that you are thinking to try and find something to do in Edinburgh\n    during the summer time. Which will be an advisable thing, if it be\n    the Lord's will--for faint-a-hait do ye do here except play ill\n    pranks and run the country.\n\n    \"However, what comes o't we shall see. Also there is a pig of\n    butter. It may be the better of a trifle more salt, that is, if the\n    weather is onyway warm. So I have put in a little piece of board and\n    ye can work the salt in yourself. Be a good lad, and mind there are\n    those here that are praying for ye to be guided aright. Big towns\n    are awful places for temptation by what they say, and that ye are\n    about the easiest specimen to be tempted, that I have yet seen with\n    these eyes. Howsomever, maybe ye will have gotten grace, or if not\n    that, at least a pickle common-sense, whilk often does as well--or\n    better.\n\n    \"It's a Guid's blessing that ye have been led to stop where ye are.\n    For that lassie Charlotte Anderson is going on a shame to be seen.\n    Actually she is never off our doorstep--fleeing and rinning all\n    hours of the day. At first I thought to mysel', it was to hear news\n    of you. But she kens as weel as us when the posts come in, besides\n    the letters she gets from Agnes Anne--some that cost as muckle as\n    sevenpence--a ruination and a disgrace!\" [Tom Gallaberry must have\n    been prolix that week.] \"Then I thought it was maybe some of the\n    lads--for, like it or no, ye had better ken soon as syne, that\n    maiden's e'e is filled with vanity and the gauds o' grandeur,\n    disdaining the true onputting of a meek and quiet spirit!\n\n    \"But, for your comfort, if ye are so far left to yourself as to take\n    comfort in the like--and the bigger fool you--it is no the lads\n    after all. It's just Irma Maitland!\n\n    \"I declare they two are never sindry. They will be out talk-talking,\n    yatter-yattering when the kye are being milked in the morning. Irma\n    makes her carry the water, that's one comfort. But I wonder at that\n    silly auld clocking hen, Seraphina Huntingdon. It's a deal of work\n    she will be getting, but I suppose the premium pays for all, and she\n    will not care a farthing now that Charlotte's market is made. Not\n    that I would trust you (or any student lad) the length of my\n    stirabout potstick--or indeed (not to shame my own father) anything\n    that wears hose and knee-breeches. And maybe that's the reason every\n    silly birkie thinks he has the right to cast up to me that I am an\n    auld maid. Faith, there's few that wear the wedding ring with whom I\n    would change places. But what of that?\n\n    \"The folk are all well here, both bairns and grown folk, and we will\n    be blithe to hear from you, and if you have the time to send a\n    scraps of your pen to your auld maiden aunt, that mony a time\n    (though Lord knows not half often enough) has garred your lugs ring\n    for your misdeeds--she will be pleased to hear if the butter and\n    cheese were some kitchen to your tasteless town's bread.\n\n                    \"Your obdt. servt. and affectionate aunt,\n                                                     \"Janet Lyon.\"\n\nFrom this information I hoped great things--at least a letter demanding\npardon from Irma, or an account of how she had confessed all from that\ngraceless and thankless forgetful besom Charlotte. But I heard nothing\nfurther till, one day going past after another, about a twelvemonth\nafter amazing word came. It was when I was busy with some literary work\nI had gotten from one of the printers in the town--correcting proofs and\nlooking out for misspellings in the compositions of an eminent hand. I\nwill be plain--it was poor work, and as poorly paid. But I could live on\nit, and in any case it was better than slaving at tutoring. That is, as\ntutoring was at that time in Edinburgh--a dull boy whom none could make\nanything of, insolent servants, sneering elder sisters and a guinea a\nmonth to pay for all. However, I tried it and made some of them stop\nsneering--at least the sisters.\n\nI was, I say, in the Rankeillor Street lodgings and Amelia was going out\nat the door with my tea-things--as usual calling me names for \"idling\nwithin doors\" when Fred was out at his classes. Freddie had private\npermission from one of the professors to read in his library, so often\ndid not come home till late. But I stuck to my arm-chair and my\nprinter's slips like a burr to homespun. Suddenly there was a great\nnoise on the stairs. \"There,\" cries Amelia, \"that's one of your\ncountrymen, or I'm no judge of the Galloway bray!\"\n\nFor, as I have indicated before, Amelia was far from imitating her\nmother's English politeness.\n\nThe next moment the front door was driven in with a mighty brange\nagainst the wall (for Amelia had been out the moment before on the\nlanding to throw some turnip-tops on the ash \"backet\"). A huge man in\nmany swathes of riding-coat dashed in and caught me by the throat.\nAmelia had the two-pronged carving fork in her hand, and seeing her\nmother's lodger (as she thought) in danger of being choked to death,\nwithout having regulated his week's bill, she threw herself upon my\nassailant and struck vehemently with the fork.\n\nThe huge man in the many capes doubtless suffered no grievous harm. It\nhad hardly been possible for a pistol-ball to penetrate such an\narmature, but still the sudden assault from behind, and perhaps some\nsubtle feminine quality in Amelia's screams, made him turn about to see\nwhat was happening.\n\nThe man was Fighting Anderson of Birkenbog himself, and he kept crying,\n\"Where have you hidden her, rascal, thief? I will kill you, villain of a\nscribbler! It was because you were plotting this that you dare not show\nyour face in the country!\"\n\nBut every time he threw himself upon me, Amelia, who did not want for\nspunk, dug at him with the two-pronged fork, and stuck it through so\nmany plies of his mantle till he was obliged to cry out, \"Here, lassie,\nlay down that leister, or ye will hae me like miller Tamson's riddle,\nthat the cat can jump through back-foremost.\"\n\nAfter adjusting his coat collar he turned to me and demanded, in a more\nsensible and quiet way, what had become of his daughter.\n\nAt the question, Amelia went into one of her foolish fits of laughter\nand cried out, \"What, anither of them?\"\n\nWhereupon to prevent misunderstandings, I explained that the young lady\nwas my landlady's daughter, and a friend of Freddy Esquillant's.\n\n\"Oh, you students,\" he said, and sat down to wipe his brow, having seen\nfrom the most cursory examination of our abode, wholly open to the view,\nand exiguous at the best, that certainly Charlotte was not hidden there.\n\n\"She left home three days syne as if to go to Miss Huntingdon's,\" he\nsaid, \"and ever since her mother has gone from one hysteric to another.\nSo, knowing nothing better to do, and maybe judging you by myself in my\nown young days (for which I am sure I ask your pardon) I started out to\nmake sure that everything had been done decently and in order. Though as\nsure as my name is Robert Anderson, I cannot think why you did not come\nand wed the lass decently at home----\"\n\nWe were at this point in our explanation, Amelia's ear was (doubtless)\nclose to the back of the door, and Birkenbog was relapsing into his\nfirst belief, when I heard the key in the lock and the light foot of\nFreddy in the passage.\n\nIt came as a huge relief, for here was my witness.\n\nHe entered, and, seeing the visitor, bowed and deposited his books in\nthe corner. He was for going out again, doubtless thinking that\nCharlotte's father and I were at business together. So, indeed, we\nwere--but not such as I wished to keep anyways private between us. I\ncould not, with any self-respect, go on depending any longer on Amelia's\ntwo-pronged fork.\n\nSo I said, \"Freddy, bear me witness that I have not been out of the\nhouse this week, except to go to the printer's with my work----\"\n\n\"Fegs,\" cried a voice through the jar of the door, \"there is no need for\nFreddy to bear ye out in that. You have only to look at the carpet under\nthe legs of your chair. It has gotten a tairgin', as if all the hosts of\nKing Pharaoh had trampled over it down to the Red Sea!\"\n\nBut I would not keep the old man any longer in suspense.\n\n\"I fear, Birkenbog,\" I said, \"that you have given yourself a bootless\njourney. From what I suspect, your flown bird will be nested nearer\nhome.\"\n\n\"Where?\" he cried; \"tell me the scoundrel's name.\"\n\n\"Fairly and soothly, Birkenbog,\" said I, \"peace is best among near\nfriends--not to speak of kinsfolk!\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said he, \"fairly and soothly be it! But I have to ken first that\nit is fairly and soothly. Who is the man?\"\n\n\"I do not know for certain,\" I said, \"but I have every reason to believe\nthat your daughter is at this moment Mistress Thomas Gallaberry of\nEwebuchts, on the Water of Ae!\"\n\n\"Oh, the limmer,\" he cried, and started up as if to fly at me again. His\nface was indeed a study. First there appeared the usual hot wrath,\noverlapping in ruddy fold on fold, and revealing the owner's full-fed\nintent to punish. This gradually gave way to a look of humorous\nappreciation, and then all of a sudden, he slapped his thigh in an agony\nof joyous appreciation.\n\n\"Oh, the limmer,\" he cried, \"only a week since my kinsman Tam Gallaberry\nasks me brave and canny for the lend of five hundred to stock his Back\nHill. He offered decent enough security, and as usual I took Charlotte's\nopinion on the business. For it's her that has the great head for the\nsiller. Oh yes, she has that. And as soon as they gat the tocher, he's\noff wi' the lassie. Certes, but he is the cool hand.\"\n\n\"If you allow me to judge, I should say the cool hand was Charlotte!\" I\nventured.\n\n\"Right, man,\" he cried, \"little do I doubt it! Tam Gallaberry has led a\ngrey mare to his stable that will prove the better horse, and that he\nwill ken before he is a fortnight older.\"\n\nThen he turned upon me, short and sharp.\n\n\"You have kenned this some while, I'm jaloosin'?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said I, for I felt that he might have me awkwardly trapped if he\nwent on, \"that is one of the reasons why I did not come home. I knew\nthat Charlotte had made up her mind never to marry me----\"\n\n\"And ye took it like that?\" he cried; \"man, ye havena muckle spunk!\"\n\n\"It was not generally so thought at the time of the assault on the great\nhouse of Marnhoul,\" I answered; \"and indeed I remember one old gentleman\nabout your figure, with a white crape over his nose, that shook me by\nthe hand and took my name down in his book----\"\n\n\"_Wheesht--wheesht_,\" he said, looking about uneasily, \"siccan things\nare better never minted so close to the Parliament House where bide the\nRed Fifteen!\"\n\n\"Well,\" said I, \"that's as may be, but I cannot have it said by you or\nany man that I lack spunk!\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said he, \"though I never was troubled that gate mysel'--there's\nmony a bold man has turned hen-hearted when it came to a question of the\nlasses. There's Freddy here, one wad never think it of him, but there\nhas he gotten yon lass that nearly did for me with her twa-pronged fork.\nShe's a smart hizzy, and will make a lively wife to some man. But I maun\ne'en be riding back to put a question or so to the man that has stown\nawa' my bit ewe-lamb and put her in fold by the Water of Ae.\"\n\nAt that moment Amelia came in with a triumphant smile. \"It's a laddie\nfrom the post, and he winna gie up the letter unless you pay him\nsevenpence for postage dues and a penny for himself!\"\n\n\"There's the sevenpence, and clash the door in his face!\" I cried. For I\nwas bravely well acquainted with the exigencies of these post-office\n\"keelies.\"\n\nBut Birkenbog, who was in good humour at the way he had been done by his\ndaughter, threw a handful of copper \"bodles\" across the table to Amelia.\n\n\"There's for the messenger!\" he said. And I could see that he looked at\nthe letter when it came with some anxiety.\n\nAs I supposed, it was from Charlotte, and the thinnest and least bulky\nof her billets that had ever come up these stairs. I handed it across to\nhim, where he sat newly glooming at me.\n\n\"Open it!\" I said.\n\n\"Since when has Robert Anderson of Birkenbog taken to opening letters\naddressed to other men?\"\n\n\"Never heed--not till this very minute, maybe. Open that one, at any\nrate!\" And I ran my finger along the sealed edge.\n\nThis was Charlotte's letter to me.\n\n    From our home at Ewebuchts, Tuesday.\n\n    \"Dear Duncan,\n\n    \"How can we ever make it up to you? We were married yesterday by Mr.\n    Torrance, the minister at Quarrelwood, and came home here in time\n    for the milking of the cows. My father has kindly given my Thomas\n    five hundred on account of my marriage portion, but he does not know\n    it yet. I left all well. Thomas joins in kind messages to all\n    inquiring friends. He is looking over my shoulder now, as perhaps\n    you may be already aware from the style of composition.\n\n                                        \"Yours truly,\n                                                \"Charlotte Gallaberry.\n\n    \"P.S.--Oh, I forget to tell you, it will be as well to barricade\n    your door. For I left word with one of the servant lasses that I was\n    off to Edinburgh. Father will likely call to see you, and he is sure\n    to have with him the whip wherewith he downed the highwayman. But I\n    know well your bravery, and do sincerely thank you for all you may\n    have to undergo for me.\n\n                                                \"Charlotte.\"\n\n\"Humph,\" said her father, as he flung it across the table to me, \"in my\nopinion ye are well shut of her! She will twist that Tam Gallaberry\nround her finger and then--whizz--she will make him spin like a peerie!\"\n\nHe rose, and without any adieus stamped his way down the stairs,\nsniffing as he went at every landing. We stood at the window watching\nhis progress along the street--capes swaying, broad bonnet of blue\ncocked at an angle on top, red double-chinned face looking straight\nahead. Amelia came over to my shoulder and looked too.\n\nBut all she said was, \"And now, when it's past and gone, will ye tell me\nif _Yon_ is what you learned folk caa' an avalanche?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nTHE VANISHING LADY\n\n\nDuring the next three years (and that is a long driech time) I made many\nexcuses for not going down to Eden Valley. I cannot say whether I\nmanaged to get myself believed or not. But the fact of the matter is,\nthat, as things were, I could not bring myself to face Irma again and so\nbring back the pain. My father had come up to see me twice. Once he had\nbrought my mother, of whom Mrs. Craven had made much, recognizing a\nkindred refinement of spirit. But Amelia and my Aunt Jen (who came at\nthe time of the General Assembly) learned to respect one another--all\nthe more that they had been highly prejudiced before meeting.\n\n\"She seems a weel-doing lass, wi' no feery-faries aboot her!\" declared\nmy aunt, speaking of Amelia Craven. While that young woman, delivering\nher mind after the departure of Miss Janet Lyon, declared that she was a\n\"wiselike woman and very civil--but I'll wager she came here thinking\nthat I was wanting ye. Faith, no, I wadna marry any student that ever\nstepped in leather--_I ken ower muckle aboot them_!\"\n\n\"There's Freddie!\" I suggested.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Amelia shortly, \"he's different, I allow. But then, there's a\nmedium. One doesna want a man with his nose aye in a book. But one that,\nwhen ye spit at him, will spit back!\"\n\n\"Try me!\" I said, daring her in conscious security.\n\n\"Goliah of Gath,\" cried she, \"but I wad be sair left to mysel'!\"\n\nWe continued, however, to be pretty good friends always, and in a\ngeneral way she knew about Irma. She had seen the oval miniature lying\non the table. She had also closely interrogated Freddy, and lastly she\nhad charged me with the fact, which I did not deny.\n\nFreddy was now assistant to the professor of Humanity, which is to say\nof the Latin language, while besides my literary work on the _Universal\nReview_ I was interim additional Under-secretary to the University\nCourt. In both which positions, literary and secretarial, I did the work\nfor which another man pocketed the pay.\n\nBut after all I was not ill-off. One way and another I was making near\non to a hundred pounds a year, which was a great deal for the country\nand time, and more than most ministers got in country parts. I wrote a\ngreat many very learned articles, though I signed none. I even directed\nforeign affairs in the _Review_, and wrote the most damaging indictments\nagainst \"the traditional policy of the house of Austria.\"\n\nThen the other man, the great one in the public eye, he who paid me--put\nin this and that sonorous phrase, full of echoing emptiness, launched an\nantithesis which had done good service a time or two on the hustings or\nin the House of Commons, and--signed the article. Well, I do not object.\nThat was what I was there for, and after all I made myself necessary to\nthe _Universal Review_. It would never have appeared in time but for me.\nI verified quotations, continued articles that were too short by\nhalf-a-dozen pages, found statistics where there were blanks in the\nmanuscript, invented them if I could not find them, generally bullied\nthe printers and proof-readers, saw to the cover, and never let go till\nthe \"Purple-and-Green,\" as we were called, was for sale on all the\ncounters and speeding over Britain in every postboy's leathers.\n\nNow one of my employers (the best) lived away among the woods above\nCorstorphine and another out at the Sciennes--so between them I had\npretty long tramps--not much in the summer time when nights hardly\nexisted, but the mischief and all when for weeks the sun was an\nunrealized dream, and even the daylight only peered in for a morning\ncall and then disappeared.\n\nBut at the time of which I write the days were lengthening rapidly. I\nwas deep in our spring number of the _Universal_. Only the medical\nstudents were staying on at the University, and the Secretary's spacious\noffice could safely be littered with all sort of printing _debris_. My\ngood time was beginning.\n\nWell, in one of my walks out to Corstorphine, I was aware, not for the\nfirst time, of the figure of a girl, carefully veiled, that at my\napproach--we were always meeting one another--slipped aside into a\nclose. I thought nothing of this for the first two or three times. But\nthe fourth, I conceived there was something more in it than met the eye.\nSo I made a detour, and, near by the end of George Street--unfinished at\nthat time like all the other streets in that new neighbourhood--I met my\nvanishing lady face to face as she emerged upon the Queensferry Road.\nShe had lifted her veil a little in order the better to pick her way\namong the building and other materials scattered there.\n\nIt was Irma--Irma Maitland herself, grown into a woman, her eyes\nbrighter, her cheeks paler, the same Irma though different--with a\nlittle startled look certainly, but now not proud any more, and--looking\nevery day of her twenty-two years.\n\n\"Irma!\" I gasped, barring the way.\n\nShe stopped dead. Then she clutched at her skirt, and said feverishly,\n\"Let me pass, sir, or I shall call for help!\"\n\n\"Call away,\" I answered cheerfully. \"I will only say that you have run\noff from the home which has sheltered you for many years, and that your\nfriends are very anxious about you. Where are you staying?\"\n\nI glanced at her black dress. It was not mourning exactly, but then Irma\nnever did anything like any one else. A fear took me that it might be\nlittle Louis who was dead, and yet for the life of me I dared not ask,\nknowing how she loved the child.\n\nWhen I asked where she was staying, she plucked again at her skirt,\nlifting it a little as when she was being challenged to run a race. But\nseeing no way clear, she answered as it were under compulsion, \"With my\nAunt Kirkpatrick at the Nun's House!\"\n\nAt first I had the fear that this might prove to be some Catholic place\nlike the convent to which she had been sent in Paris. But it turned out\nto be only a fine old mansion, standing by itself in a garden with a\nsmall grey lodge to it, far out on the road to the Dean.\n\n\"Take me there!\" I said, \"for I must tell my grandmother what I have\nseen of you, or she will be up here by the coach red and angry enough to\ndry up the Nor' Loch!\"\n\nIrma walked by my side quite silent for a while, and I led her cunningly\nso as not to get too soon to our destination. I knew better than to ask\nwhy she had left Heathknowes. If I let her alone, she would soon enough\nbegin to defend herself. And so it was.\n\n\"The lawyers took Louis away to put him to a school here,\" she said. \"It\nwas time. I knew it, but I could not rest down there without him. So I\ncame also. I left them all last Wednesday. Your grandmother came herself\nwith me to Dumfries, and there we saw the lawyers. They had not much to\nsay to your grandmother, while she----\"\n\n\"I understand,\" said I; \"she had a great deal to say to them!\"\n\nIrma nodded, and for the first time faintly smiled.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered, \"the little old man in the flannel dressing-gown,\nof whom you used to tell us, forgot to poke the fire for a long time!\"\n\n\"So you left them all in good heart about your coming away?\" I said.\n\n\"Oh, the good souls,\" she cried, weeping a little at the remembrance,\n\"never will I see the like till I am back there again. I think they all\nloved me--even your Aunt Jen. She gave me her own work-basket and a\npsalm book bound in black leather when I came away.\"\n\nAnd at the remembrance she wept afresh.\n\n\"I must stop this,\" she said, dabbing her eyes with a very early-April\nsmile, \"my Aunt Kirkpatrick will think it is because of meeting you. She\nis always free with her imagination, my Lady Kirkpatrick--a clever woman\nfor all that--only, what is it that you say, 'hard and fyky!' She has\nseen many great people and kings, and was long counted a great beauty\nwithout anything much coming of it.\"\n\nI thought I would risk changing the subject to what was really uppermost\nin my mind.\n\n\"And Charlotte?\" I ventured, as blandly as I could muster.\n\n\"I wonder you are not shamed!\" she said, with a glint in her eye that\nhardly yet expressed complete forgiveness. \"I know all about that. And\nif you think you can come to me bleating like a sore wronged and\ninnocent lamb, you are far mistaken!\"\n\nSo this was the reason of her long silence. Charlotte had babbled. I\nmight have known. Still, I could not charge my conscience with anything\nvery grave. After all, the intention on both sides--Charlotte's as well\nas mine,--had been of the best. She wanted to marry her Tam of the\nEwebuchts, which she had managed--I, to wed Irma, from which I was yet\nas far off as ever.\n\nSo I made no remark, but only walked along in a grieved silence. It was\nnot very long till Irma remarked, a little viciously, but with the old\ninvoluntary toss of her head which sent all her foam-light curls dipping\nand swerving into new effects and combinations--so that I could hardly\ntake my eyes off her--\"Would you like to hear more about Charlotte?\"\n\n\"Yes!\" said I boldly. For I knew the counter for her moods, which was to\nbe of the same, only stronger.\n\n\"Well, she has two children, and when the second, a boy, was born, she\nclaimed another five hundred pounds from her father to stock a farm for\nhim--the old man called it 'a bonny bairn-clout' for our Lottie's\nDuncan!\"\n\n\"What did you say the bairn's name was?\"\n\n\"Duncan--after you!\" This with an air of triumph, very pretty to see.\n\n\"And the elder, the girl?\" I asked--though, indeed, that I knew--from\nthe old letters of my Aunt Jen.\n\n\"Irma!\" she answered, some little crestfallen.\n\n\"After you?\"\n\nShe had barely time to nod when we passed in at the lodge gate of the\nNun's House. The old porter came to the gate to make his reverence, and\nno doubt to wonder who the young lady, his mistress's kinswoman, had\ngotten home with her.\n\nI found the Lady Kirkpatrick--Lady by courtesy, but only known thus by\nall her circle--to be a little vivid spark of a white-haired woman,\nsitting on a sofa dressed in the French fashion of forty years ago, and\nwith a small plume of feathers in a jewelled turban that glittered as\nshe moved. At first she was kind enough to me.\n\n\"Hey, Master-of-Arts Duncan MacAlpine, this is a bonny downcome for your\ngrandfather's son, and you come of decent blood up in Glen Strae--to be\ngreat with the Advocate, and scribbling his blethers! A sword by your\nside would have suited ye better, I'm thinking!\"\n\n\"Doubtless, my lady,\" I answered, \"if such had been my state and\nfortune. Nevertheless, I can take a turn at that too, if need be.\"\n\n\"Aha, ye have not lost the Highland conceit, in drawing water from the\nwells of Whiggery!\"\n\n\"If I mistake not,\" I replied, \"your ladyship did not care to bide\nalways about a king's court when she had the chance.\"\n\nFor I knew her history, as did everybody in Edinburgh--a little\ngossiping town at that time--now, they say, purged of scandal--which is\na Heaven's miracle if ever there was one.\n\n\"Och, hear him!\" she cried, throwing up her fan with a jerk to the end\nof its tether with a curious flouting disdain, \"politics are very well\nwhen it is 'Have at them, my merry men a'!' But after, when all is done\nand laid on the shelf like broken bairns'-plaiks, better be a Whig in\nthe West Bow than a Jesuit in a king's palace abroad!\"\n\nAnd, like enough (so at least it was whispered), the choice had been\noffered her.\n\nThen all in a moment she turned to me with a twinkle in her eye that was\nhardly less than impish. Indeed, I may say that she flew at me much like\nan angry wasp when a chance of your walking-stick stirs its nest.\n\n\"It's prophesied,\" she said, \"that some day a Kirkpatrick of Closeburn\nwill be greater than a queen. For me it was, 'Thank you kindly! I would\nrather dwell in the Nun's House of the Dean than possess the treasures\nof Egypt!' But this lass is a Kirkpatrick too, though only through her\ngrandmother, and I troth it may be her that's to wear the crown. At any\nrate, mind you, no dominie's son with his fingers deep in printer's ink,\nand in the confidence of our little Advocate that rideth on the white\nhorse--only it's a powny--must venture any pretensions----\"\n\n\"You mistake me,\" said I, suddenly very dignified, \"my family----\"\n\n\"Fiddlesticks,\" cried the old lady; \"there's Bellman Jock wha's faither\nwas a prince o' the bluid. But what the better is he o' that? Na, na,\nthere's to be no trokin', nor eyesdropping, nor yet slipping of notes\ninto itching palms, nor seeing one another to doors!--Och, aye, I ken\nthe gait o't fine. Mony is the time I have seen it travelled. This young\nleddy is for your betters, sirrah, and being but the son of a village\ndominie, and working for your bread among Leein' Johnny's hundred black\nmen in Parliament Close, ye may--an it please ye, and _if_ ye please,\ngie this door a wide gae-by. For if ye come a second time, Samuel Whan,\nthe porter, will have his orders to steek the yett in your face!\"\n\n\"Madame,\" said I, very fine, \"it shall not be done twice!\"\n\nI stole a glance at Irma, who was standing with her face white and her\nlips trembling.\n\n\"No,\" said she, \"nor yet once. I came here at your request, Aunt\nKirkpatrick. For years and years my brother and I have sorned on the\nfamily of this gentleman--you yourself grant he is that----\"\n\n\"No such thing!\" snapped my lady Kirkpatrick, \"gentleman indeed--a\nnewsmonger's apprentice! That's your gentrice!\"\n\n\"We dwelt there, my brother and I,\" Irma went on, \"none of my family\ntroubling their heads or their purses about us, yet without a plack we\nwere treated as brother and sister by all the family.\"\n\n\"Be off, then, with your brother, since you are so fond of him!\" cried\nthe fiery old lady, rising with a long black cane in her hand, a terrier\nyelping and snapping at her heels. \"I am for London next week, and I\ncannot be at the chairge of a daft hempie, especially one of such low,\ncommon tastes.\"\n\nAt these words, so unexpected and uncalled for, Irma put out her hand\nand took mine. She spoke very gently.\n\n\"Duncan,\" she said, \"we are not wanted here. Let us be going!\"\n\n\"But--Irma----!\" I gasped, for even then I would take no advantage.\n\"Whither shall I conduct you? Have you other friends in Edinburgh?\"\n\n\"Before a minister!\" she said. \"That will be best. I have no friends\nbut you!\"\n\n\"Aye, there ye are!\" cried the old lady, \"I was sure there was something\nat the back of this sudden flight to Edinburgh. The dear little\nbrother--oh, but we were that fond of him--the poor, poor innocent\nbairn. Such a comfort for him to know his sister near at hand! Yet,\nthough I have done with you, Mistress Irma Sobieski, I may say that I\nwish you no ill. Make a better use of your youth than maybe I have done.\nIf ye need a helping hand, there's my sister Frances out at the\nSciennes. She's fair crammed like a Strasburg goose wi' the\n_belles-lettres_. She will maybe never let ye within the door, but a\nshilling a week of outdoor relief ye are sure of--for she sets up for\nbeing full of the milk of human kindness. She set her cap at John Home\nwhen he came home from London. She would never even allow that Davie\nHume was an atheist, whilk was as clear as that I hae a nose to my\nface!---- Off with you to Fanny's at the Sciennes. And a long guid day to\nthe pair of ye--ye are a disobedient regardless lassock, and ye are\nheapin' up wrath again the day of wrath, but for all that I'm no sayin'\nthat I'll forget you in my will! There are others I like waur nor you,\nwhen all's said and done!\"\n\n\"I would not take a penny of yours if I were starving on the street!\"\ncried Irma.\n\n\"Save us!\" said the old lady, lifting up her black wand, \"ye will maybe\nthink different when ye are real hungrysome. The streets are nae better\nthan they are caa'ed. But off wi' ye, and get honestly tied up! Bid\nSamuel Whan shut the yett after ye!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nTWICE MARRIED\n\n\nNow I have never to this day been able to make up my mind whether the\nLady Kirkpatrick was really stirred with such anger as she pretended,\nwhether she was only more than a little mad, or if all was done merely\nto break down Irma's reserve by playing on her anger and pride.\n\nIf the last was the cause of my lady's strange behaviour to us, it was\nshiningly successful.\n\n\"We will not go a step to find my Lady Frances,\" said Irma when we were\noutside; \"if she be so full of all the wisdoms, she would very likely\ntry to separate us.\"\n\nAnd certainly it was noways my business to make any objections. So,\nhardly crediting my happiness, I went southwards over the Bridges, with\nIrma by my side, my heart beating so rarely that I declare I could\nhardly bethink me of a minister to make me sure of Irma before she had\ntime to change her mind. As was usual at that hour at the Surgeon's\nHall, we met Freddy Esquillant coming from the direction of Simon\nSquare. Him I sent off as quickly as he could to Rankeillor Street for\nAmelia Craven. I felt that this was no less than Amelia's due, for many\na time and oft must she have been wearied with my sighs and\ncomplaints--very suitable to the condition of a lover, but mightily\nwearisome to the listener.\n\nIrma said nothing. She seemed to be walking in a dream, and hardly\nnoticed Freddy--or yet the errand upon which I sent him.\n\nIt came to me that, as the matter was of the suddenest, Amelia Craven\nmight help us to find a small house of our own where we might set up our\nhousehold gods--that is, when we got any.\n\nAn unexpected encounter preceded the one expected. I was marching along\nto our rendezvous with Freddy and Amelia at the crossing from Archers'\nHall to the Sciennes, when all of a sudden whom should we meet right in\nthe face but my rosy-cheeked, bunchy little employer--my Lord Advocate\nin person, all shining as if he had been polished, his face smiling and\nsmirking like a newly-oiled picture, and on his arm, but towering above\nhim, a thin, dusky-skinned woman, plainly dressed, and with an enormous\nbonnet on her head, obviously of her own manufacture--a sort of tangle\nof black, brown and green which really had to be seen to be believed.\n\n\"Aha!\" cried my Lord Advocate; \"whither away, young sir? Shirking the\nproofs, eh, my lad? And may I have the honour to be presented to your\nsister from the country--for so, by her fresh looks, I divine the young\nlady to be.\"\n\n\"If you will wait a few minutes till we can find a minister, I will say,\n'This, sir, is my wedded wife,'\" I declared manfully.\n\n\"And is the young lady of the same mind?\" quoth my Lord, with a quick,\ngleg slyness.\n\n\"I am, sir--if the business concerns you!\" said Irma, looking straight\nat him.\n\n\"What, and dare you say that you will take a man like this for your\nwedded husband?\" he demanded, with the swift up-and-down play of his\nbushy brows which was habitual to him.\n\n\"I see not what business it is of yours,\" Irma answered, as sharply,\n\"but I do take him for my husband.\"\n\n\"There!\" cried the lawyer, pulling out his snuffbox and tapping it\nvehemently, \"it is done. I have performed my first marriage, and all the\nGeneral Assembly, or the Gretna Green Welder himself, could not have\ndone it neater or made a better job. Declaration before witnesses being\nsufficient in the eye of the law of Scotland, I declare you two man and\nwife!\"\n\nIrma looked distressed.\n\n\"But I do not feel in the least married,\" she said; \"I must have a\nminister!\"\n\n\"You can have all the ministers in Edinburgh, my lass, but you have been\nduly wedded already in the presence of the first legal authority of your\nkingdom, not to mention that of the Lady Frances Kirkpatrick----\"\n\n\"My aunt Frances, after all!\" cried Irma, suddenly flushing.\n\n\"Who may you be?\" said the tall lady, with the face like sculptured\ngingerbread.\n\n\"Who _was_ she, you mean, my Lady Frances?\" said the Advocate blandly,\nhelping himself to a pinch of snuff. \"I can tell you who she is--Mrs.\nDuncan MacAlpine, wife of my private assistant and the sub-editor of the\n_Universal Review_.\"\n\nIt was the first time he had given me that title, which pleased me, and\nled me to hope that he meant to accompany the honour by a rise in\nsalary.\n\n\"I am--I was--Irma Sobieski Maitland,\" the answer was rather halting and\nfaint, for Irma was easily touched, and it was only when much provoked\nthat she put on her \"No-one-shall-touch-me-with-impunity\" air.\n\n\"If the bride be at all uneasy in her mind,\" said the Lord Advocate,\n\"here we are at Mr. Dean's door. I dare say he will step down-stairs\ninto the chapel and put on his surplice. From what I judge of the\nlady's family, she will probably have as little confidence in a\nPresbyterian minister as in a Presbyterian Lord Advocate!\"\n\nFreddy and Amelia were waiting across the street. I beckoned to them,\nand they crossed reluctantly, seeing us talking with my Lord Advocate,\nwhom, of course, all the world of Edinburgh knew. I was not long in\nmaking the introductions.\n\n\"Miss Craven, late of Yorkshire, and Mr. Frederick Esquillant, assistant\nto Professor Greg at the College.\"\n\n\"Any more declarations before witnesses to-day?\" said my Lord, looking\nquaintly at them. \"Ah--the crop is not ripe yet. Well, well--we must be\ncontent for one day.\"\n\nAnd he vanished into a wide, steeply-gabled house, standing crushed\nbetween higher \"lands.\"\n\n\"The Dean will officiate, never fear,\" said Lady Frances. \"So you have\nbeen staying with my sister, and of course she turned you out. Well, she\nsent you to me, I'll wager, and you were on your way. You could not have\ndone better than come direct to me.\"\n\n\"Indeed it was quite an accident,\" said Irma, who never would take\ncredit for what she had not deserved; \"you see, I did not know you, and\nI thought that one like my Lady Kirkpatrick was quite enough----\"\n\n\"Hush, hush,\" said the tall brown woman; \"perhaps she means better than\nyou give her credit for. She is a rich woman, and can afford to pay for\nher whimsies. Be sure she meant some kindness. But, at any rate, here\ncomes the Advocate with our good Dean.\"\n\nWe mounted into a curiously arranged house. At first one saw nothing but\nflights on flights of stairs, range above range apparently going\nsteeply up to the second floor, without any first floor rooms at all.\n\nMr. Dean was a handsome old man with white hair, and he took our hands\nmost kindly.\n\n\"My friend here,\" he said, smiling at my Lord Advocate, \"tells me that\nhe has not left very much for me to do from a legal point of view. But I\nlook upon marriage as a sacrament, and though the bridegroom is not, as\nI hear, of our communion, I have no difficulty in acceding to the\nrequest of my Lord--especially since our good Lady Frances has deigned\nto be present as a near relative of the bride.\"\n\nHe called something into a sort of stone tube. Then bidding us to be\nseated, he went into another room to array himself in his surplice, from\nwhich, presently, he came out, holding a service-book in his hand.\n\nWe followed him down-stairs--I with Lady Frances on my arm, the Lord\nAdvocate preceding us with Irma, whom he was to give away. He appeared\nto take quite a boyish interest in the whole affair, from which I\naugured the best for our future.\n\nWe were rather hampered at the turning of the stair, and had to drop\ninto single file again, when Irma clutched suddenly at my hand, and in\nthe single moment we had together in the dusk, she whispered, \"Oh, I am\nso glad!\"\n\nLady Frances told me as we passed into the little half-underground\nchapel, low and barrel-shaped as to the roof, with the candles ready\nalight on the altar, that all this secrecy had come down from the time\nwhen the service according to the Episcopal form had been strictly\nforbidden in Edinburgh--at least in any open way.\n\nI cannot describe what followed. I must have stood like a dummy,\nmuttering over what I was prompted to say. But the responses came to\nIrma's lips as if she had many times rehearsed them--which perhaps was\nthe case--I know now that she had always kept her father's King Edward\nprayer-book, and read it when alone. We stood by the rails of what I now\nknow to have been the altar. All about was hung with deep crimson, and\nthe heavy curtains were looped back with golden cord. A kind of glory\nshone behind the altar, in the midst of which appeared, in Hebrew\nletters, the name of God. Irma, who was far more self-possessed than I,\nfound time to wonder and even to ask me what it meant. And I,\ntranslating freely (for I had picked up somewhat of that language from\nFreddy Esquillant), said, \"Thou, God, seest me.\"\n\nWhich, at any rate, if not exactly correct, was true and apt enough.\n\n\"Well, are you well married now, babes?\" said the Advocate, and I tried\nto answer him as we made our way to the vestry--I stumbling and\nself-abased, Irma with the certainty and calmness of a widow at least\nthrice removed from the first bashfulness of a bride.\n\nWe signed the register, in which (the Advocate took care to inform us)\nwere some very distinguished names indeed. Which, however, was entirely\nthe same to me.\n\nThen as I thanked Mr. Dean for his kindness, not daring to offer any\npoor fee, the Advocate chatted with Amelia Craven with great delicacy\nand understanding, inquiring chiefly as to Freddy's attainments and\nprospects.\n\nBut what was my surprise when, as soon as we were on the cobble stones,\nthe Lady Frances turned sharply upon Irma, and said, quite in the style\nof my Lady Kirkpatrick, \"And now, Irma Maitland, since your husband has\nno house or any place to take you to, you had better come to my house\nin the Sciennes till he can make proper arrangements. It is not at all\nsuitable that a Maitland should be on a common stair like a travelling\ntinker looking for lodgings.\"\n\nHearing which the neat, shining, dimpling little Advocate turned his\nbright eyes from one to the other of us, and tapped his tortoise-shell\nsnuffbox with a kind of elvish joy. It was clear that we were better\nthan many stage-plays to him.\n\nAs for Irma, she looked at me, but now sweetly and innocently, as if\nasking for counsel, not haughty or disdainful as had been her wont. The\naccusation of poverty touched me, and I was on the point of telling her\nto choose for herself, that I would find her a house as soon as\npossible, when Amelia Craven thrust herself forward.\n\nUp to this point she had kept silent, a little awed by the great folk,\nor perhaps by the church, with the red hangings and twinkling,\nmysterious candles on the altar.\n\n\"I do not know a great deal,\" she said, \"but this I do know, that a\nwife's place is with her husband--and especially when the 'love, honour\nand obey' is hardly out of her mouth. She shall come home to my mother's\nwith me, even if Duncan MacAlpine there has not enough sense to bid\nher.\"\n\nUpon which the Advocate strove (or at least appeared to strive) to please\neverybody and put everybody in the right. It was perhaps natural that,\ntill arrangements were completed, so young a bride should remain with\nher family. But, on the other hand, young people could not begin too\nsoon to face the inevitable trials of life. The feelings of the young\nlady who had expressed her mind in so lively a manner--Miss--Miss--ah\nyes, Craven--Miss Amelia Craven--did her all honour. It only remained\nto hear the decision of--of (a smirk, several dimples and a prolonged\ntapping on the lid of his snuffbox)--_Mistress Duncan MacAlpine_.\n\n\"I will go with my husband,\" said Irma simply.\n\n\"There's for you, Frances!\" cried the Advocate, turning to his companion\nwith a little teasing \"hee-hee\" of laughter, almost like the neigh of a\nhorse; \"there spoke all the woman.\"\n\nBut Lady Frances had very deliberately turned about and was walking,\nwithout the least greeting or farewell, in the direction of her own\nhouse of Sciennes.\n\n\"There goes a Kirkpatrick,\" said the Advocate, tapping his box\ncynically; \"cry with them, they will hunt your enemies till they drop.\nCry off with them, and it's little you will see of them but the back of\ntheir hand.\"\n\nHe touched my Irma on her soft cheek with the tips of his fingers. \"And\nI wish, for your goodman's sake,\" he said, \"that this little lady's\nqualities do not run in the female line.\"\n\n\"I hope,\" said Irma, \"that I shall always have grace to obey my\nhusband.\"\n\n\"Graces you have--overly many of them, as it is easy to see,\" quoth the\ngallant Advocate, taking off his hat and bowing low, \"but it is seldom\nindeed that ladies use either Grace or their graces for such a purpose!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTHE LITTLE HOUSE ON THE MEADOWS\n\n\nIrma and I had a great seeking for the little house, great enough for\ntwo, with such convenience as, at the time, could be called modern, and\nyet within reach of our very moderate means. First of all Freddy and I\nhad gone to the Nun's House to ask for Irma's box and accoutrement.\nThese made no great burden. Nevertheless, we borrowed a little \"hurley,\"\nor handcart, from the baker's girl opposite, who certainly bore no\nmalice. I had our marriage lines in my pocket, lest any should deny my\nrights. But though we did not see the Lady Kirkpatrick, the goods were\nall corded and placed ready behind the door of the porter's lodge. We\nhad them on the \"hurley\" in a minute. The Lady Frances passed in as we\nwere carrying out the brass-bound trunk of Irma's that had been my\ngrandmother's. She went by as if she had not seen us, her curiously\nmahogany face more of the _punchinello_ type than ever--yet somehow I\ncould not feel but that most of this anger was assumed. These women had\nshown Irma no kindness, indeed had never troubled themselves about her\nexistence, all the long time she had stayed at Heathknowes. Why, then,\nbegin so suddenly to play upon the sounding strings of family and long\ndescent?\n\nIndeed, we two thought but little more about the matter. Our minds were\nfully enough occupied. The wonder of those new days--the unexpected,\nunforeseen glory of the earth--the sudden sweetness of love,\nunbelievable, hardly yet realized, overwhelmed and confounded us.\n\nAnd, more than all, there was the search for a house. The Advocate met\nme every day with his queer smile, but though he put my salary on a more\nsecure basis, and arranged that in future I should be paid by the\nprinter and not by himself, the sum total of my income was not\nmaterially altered.\n\n\"What's enough for one is abundance for two!\" was his motto. And the\naphorism rang itself out to his tiny rose-coloured nails on the lid of\nthe tortoise-shell snuffbox. Then he added a few leading cases as became\none learned in the law.\n\n\"I began the same way myself,\" he said, \"and though I have a bigger\nhouse now and serving men in kneebreeks and powder in their hair, I\nnever go by that cottage out by Comely Bank without a 'pitter-patter' of\nmy sinful old heart!\"\n\nHe thought for a while, and then added, \"Aye, aye--there's no way for\nyoung folk to start life like being poor and learning to hain on the\ngowns and the broadcloth! What matter the trimmings, when ye have one\nanother?\"\n\nAs to the house, it was naturally Irma who did most of the searching.\nFor me, I had to be early at the secretary's office, and often late at\nthe printer's. But there was always some time in the day that I had to\nmyself--could I only foresee it before I left home in the morning.\n\"Home\" was, so far, at Mrs. Craven's, where the good Amelia had given us\nup her chamber, and Freddy rose an hour earlier, so that his wall-press\nbed might be closed and the \"room\" made ready for Irma's breakfast\nparlour.\n\nAll the three begged that we might stay on. We were, they declared with\none voice, not putting them to the smallest inconvenience. But I knew\ndifferent, and besides, I had a constant and consuming desire for a\nhouse of mine own, however small.\n\nEver since I first knew Irma, a dream had haunted me. In days long past\nit had come, when I was only an awkward laddie gazing after her on the\nEden Valley meadows. Often it had returned to me during the tedious\nsilences of three years--when, quite against the proverb, love had grown\nby feeding upon itself.\n\nAnd my dream was this.\n\nI was in a great city, harassed by many duties, troubled by enemies open\nand concealed. There was the drear emptiness of poverty in my pocket,\npresent anxiety in my heart, and little hope in the outlook. But I had\nwork--I did not know in my dream what that work was--only that it\nsufficed to keep body and soul together, but after it was done I was\nweak and weary, a kind of unsatisfied despondency gnawing at my heart.\n\nThen I got loose for an hour or so from my unknown tasks. My path lay\nacross a kind of open place into which many narrow streets ran, while\nsome dived away into the lower deeps of the city. People went their ways\nas I was doing mine, dejected and sad. But always, as I crossed toward\nthe opening of a wide new street, where against the sky were tall\nscaffoldings and men busy with hod and mortar, I saw Irma coming towards\nme. She was neat and youthful, but dressed poorly in plain\nthings--homespun, and in my dream, I judged, also home-made.\n\nI saw her afar off, and the heart within me gave a great leap. She came\ntowards me smiling, and lo! I seemed to stand still and worship the\nlithe carriage and elastic step. The world grew all sweet and gay. The\nlift above became blue and high. The sun shone no longer grey and\nbrown, but smiling and brilliant--as--as the face of Irma.\n\nStrangely enough she did not greet me nor hold out her hand as\nacquaintances do. She came straight up to me as if the encounter were\nthe merest matter-of-course, while as I stood there, with the hunger and\nthe wretchedness all gone out of me, the weariness and misery melted in\nthe grace of that radiant smile, she uttered just these words, \"I have\nfound the Little House Round the Corner!\"\n\nNow I will tell of a strange thing--so strange that I have consulted\nIrma about it, whether I should write it down here or keep it just for\nourselves.\n\nAnd she said, \"It is true--so why not set it down?\" Well, this is what\nhappened. One day I had arranged to meet Irma at the corner of the\nquaint little village of Laurieston, which, as all the world knows,\nlooks down on the saughs of the Meadows and out upon the slopes of\nBruntsfield where, among the whins, the city golfers lose their balls.\n\nAt that time, as all the world knows, there was undertaken a certain\nwork of opening out that part of the ancient wall which runs westward\nfrom Bristo Port at the head of the Potter Row. Some great old houses\nhad gone down, and I mind well that I was greatly attracted by the first\nview of the Greyfriars Kirk that ever I had from that quarter. (It was\nsoon lost again behind new constructions, but for a time it was worth\nseeing, with its ancient \"through\" stones, and the Martyrs' Monument\nshowing its bossy head over the low wall.)\n\nSo much taken up with this was I, that I did not notice the altered\naspect of the place. Yet I looked about me like one who is suddenly\nconfronted by something very familiar. There was the wide space. There\nwere the narrow streets I knew so well. Yonder was the Candlemaker Row\ndiving down into the bowels of the earth. Away towards the Greyfriars\nwere the tall \"lands\" which the masons were pulling down. Nearer were\nmen climbing up ladders with hods on their shoulders. Highest of all,\nagainst the blue sky, naked as a new gibbet, stood out the framework of\na crane.\n\nIt was the very place of my dream. I knew it well enough, indeed, but\nnever until that day it had looked so. And there, coming smiling down\nthe midst, easily as one might down the aisle of an empty church, was\nIrma herself, as plain and poor in habiliment as my dream, but\nsmiling--ah, with a smile that turned all my heart to water, so dear it\nwas. It was good of God to let us love each other like that--and be\npoor.\n\nAnd as she came nearer, she did not hold out her hand, nor greet me--but\nwhen she was quite close she said, exactly as in the dream, \"I have\nfound the Little House round the Corner!\" Yet she had never heard of my\ndream before.\n\nThat this is true, we do solemnly bear witness, each for our own parts,\nthereof, and hereto append our names--\n\n                        Duncan MacAlpine.\n                        Irma MacAlpine.\n\n                 *       *       *       *       *\n\nIrma had found it, indeed, but as I judged at the first sight of the\nhouse, it was bound to be too expensive for our purses. I immediately\ndecided that something must be wrong somewhere, when I heard that we\ncould have this pleasant cottage with its scrap of garden, long and\nnarrow certainly, but full of shade and song of birds, for the\ninconsiderable rent of ten pounds a year. We thought of many dangers and\ninconveniences, but Irma was infinitely relieved when it came out to be\nonly ghosts. Servants, it appeared, could not be got to stay.\n\n\"Is that all?\" said Irma scornfully. \"Well, then, I don't mean to keep\nany servants, and as for ghosts, Louis and I have lived in a big house\nin a wood full of them from cellar to roof-tree! You let ghosts alone,\nthey will let you alone! 'Freits follow them that look for them!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nAND THE DOOR WAS SHUT\n\n\nWe were poor, very poor indeed in these days. Irma had many a wrinkled\nbrow and many an anxious heart over the weekly expenses--so much to be\nset aside for rent, so much for mysterious things called taxes--which,\nseeing no immediate good arise from them, my little rebel hated with all\nher heart, and devised all sorts of schemes to evade.\n\nBut every week there was the joy of a victory won. Untoward\ncircumstances had been vanquished--the butcher, the baker had been\nsettled with or--done without. For sometimes Amelia Craven came to give\nus a day's baking, and an array of fragrant scones and girdle-cakes,\nwhich I was taken into the kitchen to see on my return home, gave us the\nassurance of not having to starve for many days yet.\n\nI was glad, too, for it was my busy season, and I had to be much from\nhome. There was, indeed, a certain nondescript Mistress McGrier, who\ncame to help with the heavier duties of the house. She was the daughter\nof one janitor at the college, the wife of yet another (presently\nsuspended for gross dereliction of duty), and she did some charing to\nearn an honest penny. But there was little human to be found about her.\nWhisky, poor food, neglect, and actual ill treatment had left her mind\nafter the pattern of her countenance, mostly blank. Yet I was not sorry\nwhen she stayed, especially as the autumnal days shortened, till near\nthe time of my return. Mrs. McGrier frankly tarried for her tea, and her\nconversation was not enlivening, since she could talk of little save\nher sorrows as a wife, and how she was trusting to some one in the\noffice (meaning me) for the future reinstatement of her erring janitor.\n\nSometimes, on Sundays, she would bring him, as it were framed and glazed\nto a painful pitch of perfection. His red hair was plastered with\npomatum, identical with that which had been used upon his boots. Janitor\nMcGrier had been a soldier, and always moved as if to words of command\nunheard to other mortals. If he had only two yards to go, he started as\nif from the halt. His pale blue eyes were fixed in his head, and he\nchewed steadily at lozenges of peppermint or cinnamon to hide the\nperfume of the glass of \"enlivener\" with which his wife had bribed him\nas an argument for submitting to get up and be dressed.\n\nIt was only on such show occasions that Mrs. McGrier was voluble. And\nthat, solely, because \"Pathrick\" said nothing. Even as I remembered him\nin the days of his pride at the door of the Greek classroom, Pathrick\nhad always possessed the shut mouth, the watery, appealing eye, and the\nindicative thumb which answered the question of a novice only with a\nquick jerk in the requisite direction.\n\nI think Pathrick sometimes conceived dark suspicions that I had changed\nIrma in the intervals of his visits. You see, this small witch had but\ntwo dresses that were any way respectable--that is to say, street-going\nor Sabbath-keeping. But then she had naturally such an instinct of\narrangement that a scrap of ribbon, or the lace scarf my grandmother had\ngiven her, made so great a difference that she seemed to have an entire\nwardrobe at her command. No doubt a woman would have picked out the\nfundamental sameness at a glance. But it did very well for men, who\nonly care for the effect.\n\nEven the Advocate would look in on his way to or from the Sciennes for a\ncup of tea from Irma. And in our little parlour he would sit and rap on\nhis snuffbox, talking all the while, and forgetting to go till it was\ndark--as gentle and human as any common man.\n\nWhen Freddy and Amelia Craven came in he would give the student advice\nabout his work, or ask Amelia when she was going to call in his\nassistance to get married--which was his idea of jocularity, and, I must\nadmit, also, that of Amelia. Indeed, we were wonderfully glad to see\nhim, and he brightened many a dull afternoon for Irma.\n\nSometimes, if I got away early, I would find him already installed, his\nhat stuck on his gold-headed cane in the corner--as it were, all his\nhigh authority laid aside, while he regarded with moist eyes the\nwork-basket in which Irma kept her interminable scraplets of white\nthings which I would not have meddled with the tip of one of my fingers,\nbut which the Advocate turned over with an ancient familiarity, humming\na tune all the while--a tune, however, apt to break off suddenly with a\n\"_Humph_,\" and an appeal to the much-enduring lid of the tortoise-shell\nsnuffbox.\n\nBut I think the dearest and best remembered of all these early\nexperiences happened one winter's evening in the midst of the press and\nbustle which always attended the opening of the autumn session. The\nwinter number of the _Universal_ was almost due, and we were backward,\nhaving had to wait for the copy of an important contributor, whose\ncommunication, in the present state of affairs, might even overturn a\npolicy--or, at least, in the opinion of the Advocate, could not be done\nwithout. I need not say that the article in question represented his\nown views with remarkable exactitude, and he looked to it to further his\nrising influence in London. As he grew greater, he was more often in the\nsouth, and we saw less and less of him. On the other hand, the practical\nwork of the _Review_ fell more and more upon me.\n\nSo this night, as I say, I was late, and on turning out into the\nsouth-going street which leads past the Surgeons' Hall and St. Patrick's\nSquare--my mind being busy with an extra article which I must write to\ngive our readers the necessary number of sheets--for the first and\ncertainly for the last time in my life I continued my train of thought\nwithout remembering either that I was a married man, or that my little\nIrma must be tired waiting for me.\n\nIn mitigation of sentence I can only urge the day-long preoccupations in\nwhich I had been plunged, and the article, suddenly become necessary,\nwhich I must begin to write instanter. But at any rate, excuse or no\nexcuse, it is certain that I woke from my daydream to find myself in\nRankeillor Street, almost at the foot of the old Craven stairs which, as\na bachelor, I had climbed so often.\n\nThen, with a sudden shamed leap of the heart and a plunge of the hand\ninto my breeches pocket for my door key, I turned about. I had\nforgotten, though only for a moment, the little wife working among her\ncloud of feathery linen and trimmings, and the little white house round\nthe corner above the Meadows. You may guess whether or no I hurried\nalong between ash \"backets\" of the most unparklike Gifford Park, how\nsharply I turned and scudded along Hope Park, dodging the clothes' posts\nto the right, from which prudent housewives had removed the ropes with\nthe deepening of the twilight.\n\nThe dark surface of the Meadows spread suddenly before me in an\namplitude of bleakness. A thin, sleety scuff of passing snow-cloud beat\nin my face. A tall man wrapped in a cloak edged suspiciously nearer as\nif to take stock of me, but my haste, and perhaps a certain wildness in\nthe disorder of my dress and hat made him think better of it--that is,\nif indeed he ever thought ill of it--and with a muttered \"Good-e'en to\nye,\" he passed upon his way.\n\nI could see it now. The light in the window, the two candles that were\nalways set at the elbow of the busy little housewife, the supper, frugal\nbut well-considered, simmering on the hob, the table spread white and\ndainty, with knives and forks of silver (the Advocate's gift) laid out\nin order.\n\nThen all the warm and loving things that sleep in the breast of a man\nrose up within me. The long, weary day was forgotten. The article I must\nwrite was shoved into a corner out of the way. For this one hour, in\nspite of whistling wintry winds and scouring sleet-drifts, the little\nlight yonder in the window was sufficient.\n\nTwo farthing dips, a hearth fire, and a loving heart! Earth had nothing\nmore to give, and my spirit seemed glorified within me. I had a curious\nfeeling of melting within me, which was by no means a desire to weep,\nbut rather as if all the vital parts of the man I was had been suddenly\nturned to warm water. I cannot tell if any one has ever felt the like\nbefore, but certainly I did that night, and \"warm water\" comes as near\nto the real thing as I can find words to express.\n\nIt seemed an age while I was crossing the short, stubbly grass of the\nMeadows. The light within beaconed redder and warmer. On the\nwindow-blind I saw a gracious silhouette. Then there was the putting\naside the edge of the blind with exploring finger--sure sign that my\nlittle wife had been regarding the clock and finding me a little late in\ngetting home.\n\nAs I ran up the short path to the gate I blew into my key. The latch of\nthe garden-gate clicked in the blast which swept across from the\nBlackfords. But there at last before me was the door. The key glided,\nwell-accustomed, into its place, not rattling, but with the slide of\nlong-polished and intimate steel--soft, like silk on silk.\n\nBut the key never turned. The door opened, seemingly of itself, and,\ngloriously loving, a candle held high in her hand, her full, white\nhouse-gown sweeping to her feet, the little wife stood waiting.\n\nI said nothing about the overplus of work that had filled my head as I\nturned from the high, bleak portals of the University--nothing of how,\nall unknowing, my traitor feet had carried me to the stairway in\nRankeillor Street--nothing of the long way, or the suspicious man in the\ncloak, of the blast and the bent and the sting of the sleet in my face.\n\nI was at home, just she and I--the two of us alone. And upon us two the\ndoor was shut.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\nA VISIT FROM BOYD CONNOWAY\n\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Irma one Saturday morning when, by a happy accident, I\nhad no pressing need to go from home, so could stay and linger over\nbreakfast with my little wife like a Christian, \"I wonder what that man\nis doing down there? He has been sitting on the step outside our gate\never since it was light, and he looks as if he were taking root there!\"\n\nI made but one bound from the table to the window. For I remembered the\ncloaked man who had crossed me in the Meadows the other night. Also my\ninbred, almost instinctive curiosity as to the purposes and antecedents\nof lurking folk of all kinds, pricked me. We were easy enough to get on\nwith in Eden Valley once you knew us, but our attitude towards strangers\nwas distinctly hostile.\n\nThis man was muffled to the nose in a cloak, and might very well have\nbeen my inquiring friend of the other night. But when I had opened the\ndoor and marched with the firm ringing steps of a master down the paven\nwalk towards the gate, the face I saw turned to my approach, altered my\nmood in a second.\n\n\"Why, Boyd Connoway,\" I cried, \"who would have thought of seeing you\nhere? What are you doing in Edinburgh? But first come in--there is a\nfriend here who will be glad to see you!\"\n\n\"Eh, Mr. Duncan, but I am not sure that I dare venture. 'Tis no more\nthan decent I am, and the young lady, your wife--oh, but though to see\nher sweet face would be a treat for poor Boyd Connoway, what might she\nnot be sayin' about me dirtying her carpets, the craitur? And as for\nsittin' in her fine arm-chairs----\"\n\n\"Come your ways in, Boyd,\" I cried. \"Have you had any breakfast?\nNo--then you are just in time! And you will find that our chairs are\nonly wood, and you would not hurt our fine carpets, not if you danced on\nthem with clogs!\"\n\n\"D'ye tell me, now?\" said Boyd, much relieved. \"Sure, and it's a told\ntale through the whole parish that you are livin' in the very lap of\nluxury--with nothing in the world to do for it but just make\nscratch-scratches on paper with a quill-pen!\"\n\nBy this time Irma was at the door, hiding herself a little, for she had\nstill the morning apron on--that in which she had been helping Mrs.\nPathrick. But she was greatly delighted to see Boyd, who, if the truth\nmust be told, made his best service like an Irishman and a\ngentleman--for, as he said, \"Even five-and-thirty years of Galloway had\nnot wiped the sclate of his manners!\"\n\nNow Boyd was always a favourite with Irma, and I fear that she was\nfonder of him than she ought to have been, instead of pitying his\nhard-driven Bridget--just because Bridget had not his beautiful manners.\nPresently, as his mouth ceased to fill and empty itself so wonderfully\nexpeditiously, Boyd began to talk.\n\n\"As to what fetched me, Miss Irma,\" he said, in answer to questions,\n\"faith, I walked all the road, taking many a house on the way where\nkenned folk dwelt. Here were pigs to kill and cure. And I killed and\ncured them. Farther on there were floors to lay, and I laid them, or\nfish-hooks to busk, and I busked them.\"\n\nI put a question here.\n\n\"Oh, Bridget,\" he said, shrugging his shoulders with a wearied air,\n\"Bridget doesn't know when she's well off. Och, the craitur! It began\nwith the night of the September Fair. Now, it is known to all the\ncountryside that Boyd Connoway is no drinker. He will sit and talk, as\nis just and sociable, but nothing more. No, Miss Irma. And so I told\nBridget. But it so chanced that Fair Monday was a stormy day, which is\nthe most temptatious for poor lads in from the country, with only two\nholidays in the year, most of them. And what with the new watch and the\ncouncilmen being so strict against disorder--why, I could not let a dog\nget into trouble if I could help it. So I spent the most of the night\nseeing them home out of harm's way--and if ever there was a work of\nnecessity and mercy, that was.\n\n\"But Bridget, she thought different, and declared that I had never so\nmuch as thought of her and the childer all day, but left her at the\nwash-tub, while they, the poor craiturs, were poppin' out and in of the\nstalls and crawlin' under the slatting canvas of the shows, as happy as\nlarks, having their fun all for nothing, and double rations of it when\nthey were caught, cuffed, and chased out. Well, Bridget kept it up on me\nso long and got so worked up that she would not have a bite ready for me\nwhen I came home tired and weary, bidding me go and eat my meat where I\nhad worked my work. So it seemed a good time for me to be off somewhere\nfor my health. But--such was my consideration, that not to leave Bridget\nin distress I went asking about till I got her the washin' at General\nJohnstone's--the minister's she had before--so there was Bridget well\nprovided for, Miss Irma--and here am I, Boyd Connoway, a free man on my\ntravels!\"\n\nWe asked news of friends and acquaintances--the usual Galloway round of\nquestions.\n\n\"Faith,\" said Boyd, \"but there's just one cry among them--when are ye\ncoming down to let us have a look at your treasure, Mister Duncan? Sure,\nit's selfish ye are, now, to keep her all this long time to yourself!\nThe little chap's holidays! Ah, true for you. We had forgotten him. And\nye are sure that he is well done to, and safely lodged where they have\nput him, Miss Irma?\"\n\n\"If you bide a minute or two, Boyd,\" said Irma, smiling, well-pleased,\n\"you may very likely have the chance of judging for yourself. For it is\nalmost his time to be here, for to-day is a holiday!\"\n\nIn fact, it was not a quarter of an hour before a shout, the triumphal\nopening of the outer gate with a rush and a clang, and a merciless\npounding on the front door announced the arrival of Sir Louis. He had\ngrown out of all knowledge, declared the visitor, \"but no doubt the\nyoung gentleman had forgotten old Boyd Connoway.\"\n\n\"Oh, no,\" said Louis; \"come and show me some more cat's cradles; I know\ntwo more 'liftings' already than any boy in the school. But _you_ can do\nat least a dozen!\"\n\nAnd so, with the woven string about his long clever fingers, Louis\nwatched the deft and sure manipulation of Boyd Connoway as he \"lifted\"\nand wove, changing the pattern indefinitely. For the time being the\nvillage \"do-nothing\"--in the sense that he was the busiest man in the\nplace about other folk's business--was merely another boy at Louis's\nschool. And as he worked, he talked, delightfully, easily, dramatically.\nHe made the old life of Eden Valley pass before us. We heard the brisk\ntongue of my grandmother from the kitchen, that of Aunt Jen ruling as\nmuch of the roost as was permitted to her, but constantly made aware of\nherself by her mother's dominating personality.\n\nWith equal facility he recalled my father in his classes, looking out\nfor collegers to do him credit, my mother passing silently along her\nretired household ways, Agnes Anne dividing her time between helping her\nmother in the house, and teaching the classes for which I used to be\nresponsible in the school.\n\nIt was a memorable day in the little house above the Meadows. Louis\nplayed with Boyd Connoway all the time, learning infinite new tricks\nwith string, with knife-blades, perfecting himself in the art of making\nfly-hooks, of kite manufacture, and the art of lighting a fire.\n\nHe had presented to him Boyd's spare \"sulphur\" box, in which were\ntinder, flint and steel, matches dipped in brimstone, and a pair of\nshort thick candles which could be set one at a time in a socket formed\nby the box itself, the raised lid sheltering the flame from the wind.\n\nNever was a happier boy. And when the Advocate looked in, the surprising\nboyishness of Boyd rubbed off even on him. We did not inform our old\nfriend of the high place which \"the Advocate\" held in the judicial\nhierarchy of his country. For we knew well that nothing Boyd said in our\nhouse would ever be used as evidence against him.\n\nBut no doubt my lord gained a great deal of useful information as to the\nhabits of smugglers, their cargoes, destinations, ports of call and\nsympathizers. Boyd crowned his performances by inviting the Advocate\ndown to undertake the defence of the next set of smugglers tried at the\nassizes, a task which the Advocate accepted with apparent gratitude and\nhumility. For from the little man's snuff-taking and easy-going, idling\nways, Boyd had taken him for a briefless advocate.\n\n\"Faith, sir, come to Galloway,\" he cried open-heartedly--\"there's the\nplace to provide work for the like of you lads. And it's Boyd Connoway\nwill introduce you to all the excise-case defendants from Annan Port to\nLoch Ryan. It's him that knows every man and mother's son of them! And\nwho, if ye plaise, has a better right?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nTHE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW\n\n\n\"The strongest mental tonic in the world is solitude, but it takes a\nstrong mind, fully equipped with thoughts, aims, work, to support it\nlong without suffering. But once a man has made his best companion of\nhis own mind, he has learned the secret of living.\"\n\nSo I had written in an essay on Senancour during the days when the\nlittle white house was but a dream, and Irma had never come to me across\nthe cleared space in front of Greyfriars Kirk amid the thud of mallets\nand the \"chip\" of trowels. But Irma taught me better things. She knew\nwhen to be silent. She understood, also, when speech would slacken the\ntension of the mind. As I sat writing by the soft glow of the lamp I\ncould hear the rustle of her house-dress, the sharp, almost inaudible,\n_tick-tick_ of her needle, and the soft sound as she smoothed out her\nseam. Little things that happen to everybody, but--well, I for one had\nnever noticed them before.\n\nIt seemed as if this period of contentment would always continue. The\npresent was so good that, save a little additional in the way of income,\nI asked for no better.\n\nBut one day the Advocate rudely shook my equanimity.\n\n\"You must have some of your family--some good woman--to be with Irma.\nWrite at once!\"\n\nI could only look at him in amazement.\n\n\"Why, Irma is very well,\" I said; \"she never looked better in her life.\"\n\n\"My boy,\" said the Advocate, laying his hand gently on my arm, \"I have\nloved a wife, and I have lost a wife who loved me; I do not wish to\nstand by and let you do the same for the want of a friend's word. Write\nto-night!\"\n\nAnd he turned on his heel and marched off. At twenty steps' distance he\nturned. \"Duncan,\" he said, \"we will need all your time at the _Review_;\nyou had better give up the Secretary's office. I have spoken to Morrison\nabout it. I shall be so much in London for a year or two that you will\nbe practically in charge. We will get a smart young colleger to take\nyour place.\"\n\nThat night I wrote to my Aunt Janet. It was after Irma, fatigued more\neasily than was usual with her, had gone to bed. Four days afterwards, I\nwas looking over some manuscript sheets which that day had to go to the\nprinter. Mistress Pathrick, who had just arrived to prepare the\nbreakfast (I had lit the kitchen fire when I got up), burst in upon me\nwith the announcement that there was \"sic a gathering o' folk\" at the\ndoor, and a \"great muckle owld woman coming in!\"\n\nI hastened down, and there in the little lobby stood--my grandmother.\nShe was arrayed in her oldest black bombazine. A travel-crushed beaver\nbonnet was clapped tightly on her head. The black velvet band about her\nwhite hair had slipped down and now crossed her brow transversely a\nlittle above one bushy eyebrow, giving an inconceivably rakish\nappearance to her face. She held a small urchin, evidently from the\nGrassmarket or the Cowgate, firmly by the cuff of his ragged jacket. She\nwas threatening him with her great blue umbrella.\n\n\"If ye hae led me astray, ye skirmishing blastie, I'll let ye ken the\nweight o' this!\"\n\nThe youth was guarding himself with one hand and declaring alternately\nthat, \"This is the hoose, mem,\" and, \"I want my saxpence!\"\n\nA little behind two sturdy porters, laden with a box apiece, blocked up\nthe doorway, and loomed large across the garden.\n\n\"Eh, Duncan, but this is an awesome place,\" cried my grandmother. \"So\nmany folk, and it's pay this, and so much for that! It's a fair\ndisgrace. There's no man in Eden Valley that wadna hae been pleased to\ngie me a lift from the coach wi' my bit boxes. But here, certes, it's\nsae muckle for liftin' them up and sae muckle more for settin' them\ndoon, and to crown a' a saxpence to a laddie for showin' me the road to\nyour house! It's a terrible difference to Heathknowes, laddie. Now, I\nwadna wonder if ye hae to pay for your very firewood!\"\n\nI assured her that we had neither peat nor woodcutting privileges on the\nMeadows, and to change the subject asked her if she would not go up and\nsee Irma.\n\n\"A' in guid time,\" she said. \"I hae a word or two to ask ye first,\nladdie. No that muckle is to be expected o' a man that wad write to puir\nJanet Lyon instead o' to _me_, Duncan MacAlpine!\"\n\nAs I did not volunteer anything, she exclaimed, stamping her foot,\n\"Dinna stand there glowering at me. Man alive, Duncan lad, ye can hae no\nidea how like an eediot ye can look when ye put your mind to it!\"\n\nI had been reared in the knowledge that it was a vain thing to argue\nwith my grandmother, so I listened patiently to all she had to say, and\nI answered, to the best of my ability, all the questions she asked. Most\nshe seemed to have no need to ask at all, for she knew the answers\nbefore they were out of my mouth, and paid no attention to my words\nwhen I did get in a word.\n\n\"Humph, you are stupider than most men, and that's saying no trifle!\"\nwas her comment when all was finished.\n\nI asked Mary Lyon if there was nothing I could do to assist her--help\nwith her unpacking, or any trifle like that.\n\n\"Aye, there is,\" she answered, with her old verve, \"get out o' the\nhouse, man, and leave me to my work while you do yours.\"\n\nI took my hat, the cane which the Advocate had given me, and with them\nmy way to the office of the _Universal Review._ I had a busy day, which\nperhaps was as well, for all the time my mind was wandering disconsolate\nabout the little white house above the Meadows.\n\nI returned to find all well, my supper laid in the kitchen and the\ncontents of grandmother's trunks apparently filling the rest of the\nhouse. Irma gave me a little, perfunctory kiss; said, \"Oh, if you could\nonly----!\" and so vanished to where my grandmother was unfolding still\nmore things and other treasures to the rustle of fine tissue paper, and\nthe gasps and little hand-clappings of Irma.\n\nThose who know my grandmother do not need to be told that she took\npossession of our house and all that was therein, of Irma so completely\nthat practically I was only allowed to bid my wife \"Good-morning\" under\nthe strictest supervision, and of Mistress Pathrick--who, after one sole\ntaste of my grandmother's tongue, had retired defeated with the muttered\ncriticism that \"that tongue o' the auld leddy's could ding a' the\nLuckenbooths--aye, and the West Bow as weel.\" However, once subjected,\nshe proved a kindly and a willing slave. I have, however, my suspicions\nthat in these days Mr. Pathrick McGrier, ex-janitor of the Latin\nclassroom, had but a poor time of it so far as the preparation of his\nmeals went, and as to housekeeping she was simply not there.\n\nFor she slept now under the stairs in a lair she had rigged up for\nherself, which she said was \"rale comfortable,\" but certainly to the\nunaccustomed had an air of great stuffiness.\n\nBut I need not write at large what, after all, is no unique experience.\nOne night, upon my grandmother's pressing invitation, I walked out on\nBruntsfield Links, and kicked stones into the golfers' holes for\nsomething to do. It was full moon, I remember, and away to the north the\ncity slept while St. Giles jangled fitfully. I had come there to be away\nfrom the little white house, where Irma was passing through the first\nperil of great waters which makes women's faces different ever after--a\nfew harder, most softer, none ever the same.\n\nTen times I came near, stumbling on the short turf, my feet numb and\nuncertain beneath me, my limbs flageolating, and my heart rent with a\nman's helplessness. I called upon God as I had not done in my life\nbefore. I had been like many men--so long as I could help myself, I saw\nno great reason for troubling the Almighty who had already so much on\nHis hands. But now I could do nothing. I had an appalling sense of\nimpotence. So I remembered that He was All-powerful, and just because I\nhad never asked anything with true fervour before, He would the more\nsurely give this to me. So at least I argued as I prayed.\n\nAnd, sure enough, the very next time I coasted the northern shore of the\nMeadows, as near as I dared, there came one running towards me, clear\nin the moonlight--Mistress Pathrick it was and no other.\n\n\"A laddie--a fine laddie!\" she panted, waving both her hands in her\nenthusiasm.\n\n\"And Irma?\" I cried, for that did not interest me at that moment, no,\nnot a pennyworth.\n\n\"A bhoy--as foine a bhoy----\"\n\n\"Tell me, how is Irma?\" I shouted--\"quick!\"\n\n\"Wud turn the scale at eleven, divil a ounce less----\"\n\n\"Woman, tell me how is my wife!\" I thundered, lifting up my hands, \"or\nI'll twist your foolish neck!\"\n\n\"Keep us!\" said Mrs. Pathrick, \"why, how should she be? Did ye expect\nshe would be up and bating the carpets?\"\n\nIn half-a-dozen springs, as it seemed, I was within the gate. Then the\nclear, shrill wail with which a new soul prisoned in an unfamiliar body\ntrumpets its discontent with the vanities of this world stopped me dead.\nScarce knowing what I did, I took off my boots. I trod softly.\n\nThere was a hush now in the house--a sudden stoppage of that shrill\nbugle-note. I came upon my grandmother, as it seemed, moulding a little\nruddy bundle, with as much apparent ease and absence of fuss as if it\nhad been a pat of butter in the dairy at home.\n\nAnd when she put my firstborn son into my arms, I had no high thoughts.\nI trembled, indeed, but it was with fear lest I should drop him.\n\nPresently his nurse took him again, grumbling at the innate and\nincurable handlessness of men. Could I see Irma? Certainly not. What\nwould I be doing, disturbing the poor thing? Very likely she was asleep.\nOh, I had promised to go, had I? Well, she had nothing to do with that.\nBut Irma would be expecting me! Oh, as to that, lad, lad, do not trouble\nyourself. She will be resting in a peace like the peace of the Lord, as\nyou might know, if ever a man could know anything about such things.\n\nJust for a minute? Well, then--a minute, and no more. Mind, she, Mary\nLyon, would be at the door. I was not to speak even.\n\nAs I went in, Irma lifted her arms a little way and then let them fall.\nThere was a kind of shiny dew on her face, little but chill to the touch\nof my lips. And, ah, how wistful her smile!\n\n\"Your ... little ... girl,\" she whispered, \"has deserved ... well ... of\nher country. I hope he will be brave ... like his father. I prayed all\nmight be well ... for your sake, my dear. His name is to be Duncan....\nYes, Duncan Louis Maitland!\"\n\nI had been kneeling at the bedside, kneeling and, well--perhaps sobbing.\nBut at that moment I felt a hand on my collar. The next I was on my\nfeet, and so, with only one glimpse of Irma's smile at my fate, I found\nmyself outside the room.\n\n\"What was it I telled ye?--Not to excite her! Was it no?\"\n\nAnd Mary Lyon showed me the way down to the kitchen, which I had\nforgotten, where, on condition of not making a noise, I was to be\npermitted for the present to abide.\n\n\"But mind you,\" she added, threateningly, \"not a foot-sole are ye to set\non thae stairs withoot my permission. Or, my certes, lad, but ye will\nhear aboot it!\"\n\nDecidedly I was a man under authority. The extraordinary thing was that\nI was cautioned to make no noise, and there in the next room was that\nred imp yelling the roof off, yet neither of his female relatives\nseemed to mind in the least, though his remarks interfered very\nseriously with the article on \"Irrigation Systems of Southern Europe,\"\nwhich I was working up for the _Universal_.\n\nBut when was a mere man (and breadwinner) considered at such times?\n\nIn all truly Christian and charitable cities refuges should be built for\ntemporarily dispossessed, homeless, and hungry heads of families.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI\n\nTHE SUPPLANTER\n\n\nNever did I realize so clearly the difference between what interests the\npeople in a great city and those inhabiting remote provinces as when, in\nmid-August, I took Irma and my firstborn son down to the wholesome\nbreath and quiet pine shadows of Heathknowes. I had seen the autumnal\nnumber of the _Universal_ safe into its wrapper of orange and purple. In\nEdinburgh the old town and the new alike thrilled and hummed with the\nnoise of a contested election. There were processions, hustings, battles\nroyal everywhere, the night made hideous, the day insupportable.\n\nBut here, looking from the door out of the sheltering arms of Marnhoul\nwood into the peace of the Valley, the ear could discern only the hum of\nthe pirn-mill buzzing like a giant insect in the greenest of the shade,\nand farther off the whisper of the sea on the beaches and coves about\nKillantringan.\n\nNow we had taken rather a roundabout road and rested some nights on the\nway, for I had business at Glasgow--a great and notable professor to\nvisit at the college, and in the library several manuscripts to consult.\nSo Irma remained with the Wondrous Duncan the Second at the inn of the\nWhite Horse, where the coach stopped.\n\nWhen I came back I thought that Irma's face looked a trifle flushed. I\ndiscovered that, having asked the hostler to polish her shoes, he had\nrefused with the rudeness common to his class when only rooms of the\ncheaper sort are engaged. Whereupon Irma, who would not let her temper\nget the better of her, had forthwith gone down to the pantry, taken the\nutensils and done them herself.\n\nI said not much to her, but to the landlord and especially to the man\nhimself I expressed myself with fulness and a vigour which the latter,\nat least, was not likely to forget for some time.\n\nIt was as well, however, that my grandmother was not there. For in that\ncase murder might have been done, had she known of the scullion's answer\nand what Irma had done. Well also, on the whole, for us that she had\nrefused to keep us company. For having been only once in a great city in\nher life, and never likely to be there again, Mary Lyon made the most of\nher time. She had had two trunks when she came to our gate. Four would\nnot have held all that she travelled with on her way back. And when we\nremonstrated on the cost, she said, \"Oh, fidget! 'Tis many a day since I\ncost anything to speak of to the goodman. He can brave and weel afford\nto pay for a trifle o' luggage.\"\n\nAccordingly she never passed a fruit stall without yearning to buy the\nentire stock-in-trade \"for the neighbours that have never seen siccan a\nthing as a sweet orange in their lives--lemons being the more marketable\ncommodity in Eden Valley.\"\n\nShe had also as many commissions, for which she looked to be paid, as if\nshe had been a commercial traveller. There were half-a-dozen \"swatches\"\nto be matched for Aunt Jen--cloth to supply missing \"breadths,\" yarn to\nmend the toes of stockings, ribbons which would transform the ancient\ndingy bonnet into a wonder of beauty on the day of the summer communion.\nShe had \"patterns\" to buy dress-lengths of--from the byre-lasses brown\nor drab to stand the stress of out-of-door--checked blue and white for\nthe daintier dairy-worker among her sweet milk and cheese.\n\nEven groceries, and a taste of the stuff they sell in town for \"bacon\nham\"--to be sniffed at and to become the butt for all the goodwives in\nthe parish--no tea, for Mary Lyon knew where that could be got better\nand cheaper, but a _Pilgrim's Progress_ for a neighbour lad who was\nknown to be fond of the reading and deserved to be encouraged--lastly,\nas a vast secret, a gold wedding-ring which could not be bought without\ntalk in Eden Valley itself. Grandmother did not tell us for whom this\nwas intended. Nor did we know, till the little smile lurking at the\ncorner of her mouth revealed the mystery, when Agnes Anne came home from\nthe kirk and named who had been \"cried\" that day. It was no other than\nour sly Eben--and Miss Gertrude Greensleeves was the name of the\nbride--far too young for him, of course, but--he had taken his mother\ninto his confidence and not a man of us dared say a word. Doubtless the\nwomen did, but even they not in the hearing of Mary Lyon.\n\nBut now we were at rest, and quite ten days ago grandmother had arrived\nwith her cargo. The commissions were all distributed. The parish had had\na solid week to get over its amazement. And, to put all in the\nbackground, there had been a successful run into Portowarren and another\nthe same night to Balcary--a thing not often done in the very height of\nsummer. Yet, because the preventive men were not expecting it, perhaps\nsafer then than at any other time.\n\nAnd above all and swamping all the endless talk of a busy, heartsome\nfarm-town! Ah, how good it was. Even the little god in the \"ben\" room,\nMaster Duncan Maitland MacAlpine, had times and seasons without a\nworshipper, all because there was a young farmer's son in the kitchen\ntelling of his experiences \"among the hills,\" with the gaugers behind\nthem, and the morn breaking fast ahead.\n\nHow they must get to a place where they could hide, a place with water,\nwhere they could restore their beasts and repose themselves, a place of\ngreat shadowing rocks in a weary land. For of a certainty the sun would\nsmite by day, even if the moon afforded them guidance over the waste by\nnight.\n\nOr Boyd Connoway would tell of the _Golden Hind_ having been seen out in\nthe channel, of rafts of \"buoyed\" casks sunk to within three foot of the\nbottom, to be fished up when on a dark night the herring craft slipped\nout of Balcary or the Scaur, silent as a shadow.\n\nOr mayhap (and this, married or single, Irma liked best of all) there\ncame in some shy old farmer from the uplands, or perhaps a herd, to\nwhose boy or girl \"out at service\" the mistress of Heathknowes had\nbrought home a Bible. These had come to thank Mary Lyon, but could not\nget a word out. They sipped their currant wine as if it were medicine\nand moved uneasily on the edges of their chairs. They had excellent\nmanners stowed away somewhere--the natural well-bredness of the hill and\nthe heather, but in a place like that, with so many folk, it seemed as\nif they had somehow mislaid them.\n\nThen was Irma's time. She would glide in, her face still pale, of\ncourse, but with such a gracious sweetness upon it that the shyest was\nsoon at his ease. Here was a cup, an embarrassment to the hand. She\nwould fill its emptiness, not with Aunt Jen's currant wine, but with\ngood Hollands--not to the brim, because the owner would spill it over\nand so add the finishing touch to his bashfulness. She sat down by the\noldest, the shaggiest, the roughest, and in a moment (as if, like a\nfairy of Elfland, she had waved her wand) old Glencross of Saltflats,\nwho only talked in monosyllables to his own wife, was telling Irma all\nabout the prospects of his hay crop, and the bad look-out there was\nalong the Colvend shore owing to the rabbits breeding on the green hill\npastures.\n\n\"Oh, but I'll thin them, missie,\" he affirmed, in response to her look\nof sympathy, \"ow aye, there are waur things than hare soup and rabbit\npie. Marget\" (his wife) \"is a great hand at the pie. Ye maun come ower\nsome day and taste--you and your guidman. I will send ye word by that\ndaft loon Davie.\"\n\nThen with hardly an effort, now that the ice was broken, turning to my\ngrandmother, \"Eh, mistress, but it was awesome kind and mindfu' o' you\nto fetch the laddie a Bible a' the road frae Enbra. I hae juist been\npromising him a proper doing, a regular flailing if he doesna read in it\nevery nicht afore he says his prayers.\"\n\nNeedless to say Davie had promised--but as to Davie's after performance\nno facts have been put on record. Still, he had his Bible and was proud\nof it.\n\nThen Irma, safe in her married state, would set herself down by some\nshy, horny-fisted fellow, all nose and knuckles. She would draw him away\nfrom his consciousness of the Adam's apple in his throat (which he\nprivately felt every one must be looking at) and give him a good\nsympathetic quarter of an hour all to himself. She would smile and smile\nand be a villain to her heart's content, till the lad's tongue would at\nlast be loosened, and he would tell how he tried for first prize at the\nlast ploughing match, and boast how he would have been first only for\nhis \"coulter blunting on a muckle granite stane.\" He would relate with\nexactness how many queys his father had, the records of mortality among\nthe wintering sheep, the favourable prospects of the spring\nlambs--\"abune the average--aye, I will not deny, clean abune the\naverage.\"\n\nSo he would sit and talk, and gaze and gaze, till there entered into his\nsoul the strong desire to work, to rise up and conquer fate and narrow\nhorizons--so that in time, like a certain Duncan MacAlpine (whom very\nlikely, as a big country fellow, he had thrashed at school), it might\nhappen to him to have by his fireside something dainty and sweet and\nwith great sympathetic eyes and a smile--_like that_!\n\nWe had only a little while of this, however, for on the morrow Louis was\nto arrive from school, safely escorted by Freddy Esquillant and\nhalf-a-dozen students, who had made a jovial party all the way from\nEdinburgh.\n\nNow I may write myself down a selfish brute by the confession I am going\nto make. But all the same, the thing is true and had better be owned up\nto, all the more in the light of what afterwards happened. I had no\ngreat wish that Louis should join our little party, which with the\nadvent of little Master Red Knuckles, had been rendered quite complete.\nIt was, I admit, an unworthy jealousy. But I thought that as Irma had\nalways been so passionately devoted to Louis--and also because she had,\nas I sometimes teased myself by imagining, only come to me because she\nhad lost Louis--his coming back would--_might_, I had the grace to say\non second thoughts, deprive me of some part of my hard-earned\nheritage--the love of the woman who was all to me. For with me, his\nunworthy father, even Duncan Maitland had not yet begun to count. With\na man that comes later.\n\nThis is my confession, and once made, let us pass on. I had even then\nthe grace to be ashamed--at least, rather.\n\nLouis arrived. He had grown into a tall lad with long hair of\nstraw-coloured gold, that shone with irregular reflections like muffled\nmoonlight on a still but gently rippling sea. He was quieter, and seemed\nsomehow different. He was now all for his books and solitude, and sat\nlong in the room that had been given him for a bedroom and study--that\nwith the window looking out on the wood. It was the quietest in the\nhouse--not only because of our youthful bull of Bashan and his roaring,\nbut because it was at the farthest end of the long rambling house, away\nfrom the stables and cattle sheds.\n\nHowever, he seemed delighted to see Irma, and sat a long time with her\nhand in his. But I, who knew her well, noticed that there was not now on\nher face the old strained attention to all that her brother said or did.\nIt was in another direction that her ears and thoughts were turned, and\nat the first cry from baby's cot she rose quietly, disengaging her hand\nwithout remark before disappearing into the bedroom-nursery. In another\nmoment I could see my grandmother pass the window drying her hands on\nher apron. I knew from the ceasing of the plunging thud of the dasher\nthat she had called a substitute to the churning. The dasher was now in\nthe hands of Aunt Jen, who handled it with a shorter, more irrascible\nstroke.\n\nLeft alone with him, I talked to Louis a while of his studies, of the\ngames the boys played at school, of the length of the holidays. But to\nall these openings and questionings he responded in a dull and\nuninterested fashion. I could not but feel that he resented bitterly\nthe marriage which had come between his sister and himself. He had had,\nof course, a place to come to on Saturdays and Sunday afternoons, but I\nhad seen little of him then. My work was generally absorbing, and when I\nhad time to give to Irma, I wanted her all to myself. So I had fallen\ninto a habit, neither too kind nor yet too wise, of taking to my writing\nor my proofs as often as Louis came to our house.\n\nNow, from the glances he cast at the door by which Irma had gone out, I\nsaw that he too was suffering from jealousy--even as I had done. He was\njealous of that inarticulate Jacob which comes into so many houses as a\ntiny Supplanter--the first baby!\n\nAfter a quarter of an hour he rose and got out of the room quickly. I\ncould hear him go to his own room and shut the door. When Irma and Mary\nLyon had reduced our small bundle of earthquake to a sulky and plaintive\nreason, she came back to talk to her brother. Finding him gone, she\nasked where Louis was, and immediately followed him to his chamber,\ndoubtless to continue their conversation.\n\nBut she returned after a while with a curious gleam on her face, saying\nthat doubtless travel had given her brother a headache. He had shut his\ndoor with the bolt, and was lying down.\n\nI was on the point of asking Irma if he had answered when she called to\nhim, but remembered in time that I had better not meddle in what did not\nconcern me. If Louis behaved like a bear, it would only throw Irma the\nmore completely upon me. And this, at the time, I was selfish enough to\nwish for.\n\nAfterwards--well, I had, as all men have, many things to reproach myself\nfor--this stupid jealousy being by no means the least or the lightest.\n\nStill, on the whole I had a great deal of peace and the composure of\nthe quiet mind during these first days at Heathknowes. My father, almost\nfor the first time in his life, withdrew himself from his desk, and took\na walk beyond the confines of the Academy Wood to see his grandson,\nkeeping, however, his hands still behind him according to his custom in\nschool. My mother, even, arranged with Agnes Anne to take the\npost-office duties during her absence, and seemed pleased in her quiet\nway to hold the boy in her arms. In this, however, she was not\nencouraged by Mary Lyon, who soon took Duncan away on the plea that he\ncried, except with her. Duncan the Second certainly stopped as soon as\nhe felt my grandmother's strong, well-accustomed hands grasp him. Yet\nshe was not in the least tender with him. On the contrary, she heaved\nhim, as it were promiscuously, over one shoulder with his head hanging\ndown her back, and tucking his swathed legs under one armpit she\nproceeded about her household business, as if wholly disembarrassed--all\nthe while Duncan never uttering a word.\n\nBut through all the talk of the weather and the crops, the night runs to\nKirk Anders and the Borgue shore, the capture made by the preventives at\nthe Hass of the Dungeon, the misdoings of Tim Cleary who had got seven\ndays for giving impudence to the Provost of Dumfries in his own\ncourt-room, there pierced the strange sough of politics.\n\nThe elections were upon us also in Galloway, and the Government\ncandidate was reported to be staying at Tereggles with the Lord\nLieutenant. He had not yet been seen, but (it was, of course, Boyd\nConnoway who brought us word) his name was the Honourable Lalor\nMaitland, late Governor of the Meuse--a province in the Low Countries.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII\n\nTHE RETURN OF THE SERPENT TO EDEN VALLEY\n\n\nI did not tell Irma, and I enjoined silence on all about the house. But\nthere was no keeping such a thing, and perhaps it was as well. Jo\nKettle's father, always keen to show his wit at the expense of his\nbetters, cried out to me in the hearing of Irma, \"How much, besides his\npardon, has that uncle of yours gotten in guineas for his treachery?\"\n\nAnd when I protested ignorance, he added, \"I mean the new grand\nGovernment candidate, that has been sae lang in the Netherlands, and was\na rebel not so long ago--many is the braw lad's head that he has garred\nroll in the sawdust, I warrant.\"\n\nFor it was currently reported of Lalor in his own day that he had been a\nspy for the King of France as well as for King George--aye, and\nafterwards against the emigrants at Coblentz in the service of the\nRevolution. Indeed, I do think there is little doubt but that, at some\ntime of his life, the man had been in such a desperate way that he had\nspied and betrayed whoever trusted him to whomsoever would pay for his\ntreachery.\n\n\"Lalor Maitland--is he, then, in the country?\" said Irma, with a white\nand frightened look. \"I must get home--to Baby!\"\n\nSo completely had her heart changed its magnetic pole. Poor Louis, small\nwonder he was jealous--and rightly, not of me, but of the small and\nleathern-lunged person who from his cot ruled the order of the house,\nand made even the cheerful hum of the fireside, the yard cock-crowing of\nthe fowls, and the egg-kekkling in the barn yield to his imperious\nwill. For he had them banished the precincts and shut up till his\nhighness should please to awaken.\n\nBut when we got to the Heathknowes road-end, we beheld a yellow coach,\nwith four horses, a coachman and two outriders, all three in\ncanary-coloured suits.\n\nIt was early days for such equipages to be seen in Galloway, where,\nexcluding the post-road on which the Irish mail ran from Dumfries to\nStranraer, there were few roads and fewer bridges which would bear a\ncoach-and-four. Owing to the pirn-mill, our bridges were a little\nstronger than usual, though the roads were worn into deep ruts by the\n\"jankers,\" or great two-wheeled wagons for the transport of trees out of\nthe woods.\n\nThe carriage drove right up to the outer gate of the yard of\nHeathknowes, half the idle laddies of Eden Valley running shouting after\nit. The \"yett,\" as usual, was barred, and it is more than doubtful\nwhether, even if open, the coach could safely have passed within--so\nnarrow was the space between post and post.\n\nBut the man inside put his head out of the window and gave a short,\nsharp order. Whereupon the postilions leaped down and stood to their\nhorses' heads. The canary coachman held his hands high, with the reins\ndrooping upon his knees. A footman jumped out of a little niche by the\nside of one window in which his life must have been almost shaken out of\nhim. He opened the door with the deepest respect, and out there stepped\nthe bravest and finest-dressed gentleman that had ever been seen.\n\nHe was middle-sized and slight, no longer young, but of an uncertain\nage. He wore a powdered wig, with sky-blue coat and shorts, a white\nwaistcoat embroidered with dainty sprig patterns of lavender and\nforget-me-not. He had on white silk stockings and the most fashionable\nshoes, tied with blue-and-gold governmental favours instead of ordinary\nbuckles. By his side was a sword with a golden hilt--in short, such a\ncavalier had never been seen in Galloway within living memory.\n\nAnd at the sight of him Louis ran forward, calling, \"Uncle, uncle!\" But\nIrma sank gently down on my shoulder, so that I had to take her in my\narms and carry her to her chamber.\n\nAt first I stood clean dumfounded, as indeed well I might. When Lalor\ncame last to Eden Valley he had been one of the Black Smugglers, a great\nman on the _Golden Hind_--little better, to be brief, than a common\npirate. He and his had assaulted the house of Marnhoul, with a pretence\nof legal purpose, no doubt, but really merely levying war in a peaceful\ncountry.\n\nNow here he was back, arrayed sumptuously, the favourite of the\nGovernment at London, the guest of the Lord Lieutenant of the county.\n\nI could not explain it, and, indeed, till Irma came to herself, I had\nlittle time or inclination to think the matter out. But afterwards many\nthings which had been dark became clear, while others, though still\nremaining mysterious, began to have a certain dim light cast upon them.\n\nWhat seemed clear was that Lalor had all along benefited by mysterious\nprotections, and the authorities, though apparently anxious for his\ncapture, never really put themselves about in the least. They did not\nwant to catch or imprison Lalor Maitland. He was much more useful to\nthem elsewhere. Whereas the children of a disaffected rebel, considered\nas claimants to the Maitland estates, were of little account.\n\nBut the action of Louis Maitland for the first time opened my eyes to\nanother matter. A corner of the veil which had hid a plot was lifted.\nDuring all the time that Irma had been with her Aunt Kirkpatrick, ever\nsince Louis entered Sympson's Classic Academy (kept by Dr. Sympson,\ngrandson of the old Restoration Curate of Kirkmabreek), Lalor had been\nin Edinburgh, pursuing his plans in secret, perhaps (who knows?) with\nthe learned assistance and council of Mr. Wringham Pollixfen Poole, that\nexpert with the loaded riding-whip.\n\nWe had been far too busy with our own affairs--the marriage, the little\nhouse, my work at the _Review_, and more recently the appearance and\nproviding for of Duncan the Second. We had seen Louis on Saturdays, and\non Sundays, too, at times. But, to our shame be it said, we knew very\nlittle about his life at school, who were his friends, what his actual\nthoughts. For this I shall never cease to reproach myself--at least\noccasionally, when I think about it.\n\nBut Lalor had appeared in splendour at Dr. Sympson's, had introduced\nhimself as an uncle from abroad. He was in high favour with the\nGovernment. He had the most magnificent coach in the city, and,\napparently, plenty of money. He had early warned Louis that we--that is,\nIrma and I--must hear nothing of his visits, otherwise these pleasant\njaunts would be stopped--the afternoon treats to Duddingstone and\nLochend, the sails on the Firth with young Walter, the Doctor's son, as\nhis companion. For Lalor was so wise that he never asked him out alone.\nSo Louis had been silent, bribed by the liberty and the golden guineas,\nwhich were as plentiful with Lalor as they were scarce with Irma and\nmyself. The Doctor was charmed with his visitor, the ex-governor of a\ngreat province in the Netherlands (which he looked out in the\nEncyclopaedia and lectured upon)--and as for Walter, his son, at that\ndate he would have bartered his soul for five hours' absence from the\npaternal academy and a dozen sticks of toffee.\n\nThen with what unwonted and flattering deference the boy's entertainer\nhad treated him. To him he was Sir Louis, the head of the house. He\nwould heir its great properties, the value and extent of which had been\nhidden from him by Irma and myself. Doubtless we had our own reasons for\nthus concealing the truth, but Uncle Lalor's position with the\nGovernment enabled him to assure Sir Louis that, through his influence,\nall its ancient dignities would be restored to the family.\n\nHence it was that, at the first sight of the slim man with the powdered\nwig tied in a gay favour behind his back, Louis had run and flung\nhimself into his arms. Perhaps, also, it had something to do with his\ndisappointment in Irma, and it was in this open way that he chose to\npunish her.\n\nYet when Lalor Maitland had come into the parlour, and I had spoken with\nhim, the man's frank and smiling recognition of the circumstances, his\nhigh, easy manner, an old-world politeness as of one long familiar with\ncourts, yet a kindly gentleman withal, prepossessed me in his favour\neven against myself.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, with that rare smile which distinguished him, \"here we\nhave the fortune of war. You and I have met before, sir, and there are\nfew that have faced me as you did, being at the time only a boy--and not\nmyself only, but Dick, the boldest man on the _Golden Hind_.\"\n\nHe tapped a careless tattoo on the table with his fingers.\n\n\"Ah, they were good days, after all,\" he said; \"mad days--when it was\nwin ten thousand or walk the plank every time the brig put her nose\noutside the harbour bar!\"\n\n\"It turned out the ten thousand, I presume?\" I said, without too much\nunbending.\n\n\"Oh,\" he answered lightly, \"as to myself, I was never very deeply\nentered. I had ever an anchor out to windward. It was rare that I acted\nwithout orders, and, having been in a high official position, it was in\nmy power to render certain important services to the Government of this\ncountry--for which, I may say, they have not proved themselves less\nungrateful than is the way of governments.\"\n\n\"So it would seem,\" I answered.\n\n\"But,\" he continued, \"I called chiefly to renew my acquaintance with my\nsometime wards--though one of them has sought another and a better\nguardian\" (here he bowed very gracefully to me), \"and the other--well,\nLouis lad, what have you to say to your old uncle?\"\n\nThe boy came bounding up, and stood close by his chair, smoothing the\nlace of Lalor's sleeve, his eyes full of happiness and confidence. It\nwas a pretty sight, and for a moment I confess I was baffled. Could it\nbe that after all Louis was right and Irma wrong? Could this man have\nsupposed that the children were being held against their will and\ninterest, or at least fraudulently removed from their legal guardian,\nwhen he assaulted the old house of Marnhoul?\n\nPerhaps, as I began to surmise, we had on that occasion really owed our\nlives to him. For had the _Golden Hinds_ all come on at a time, they\nwould undoubtedly, being such a crew of cut-throats, have rushed us and\neaten us up in no time.\n\nWomen, I tried to persuade myself, had dislikes even more inexplicable\nthan their likings. Some early, unforgiven, childish prejudice, perhaps.\nWomen do not easily forgive, except those whom they love, and even these\nonly so long as they continue to love them. For many women the phrase in\nthe Lord's Prayer, \"as we forgive them that trespass against us,\" had\nbetter be expunged. It is a dead letter. The exceptions are so rare as\nto prove the rule--and even they, though they may forgive their enemies,\ndraw the line at forgiving their neighbours.\n\n\"And am I not to see my fair enemy, Madame--ah, Duncan MacAlpine? I wish\nto have the honour of felicitating her infinite happiness, and I have\ntaken the liberty of bringing her an old family jewel for her\nacceptance.\"\n\n\"My wife, sir,\" I said, \"is not yet well. She is subject to sudden\nshock, and I fear----\"\n\n\"Ah, I understand,\" he said, bowing gravely, and with a touch of\nmelancholy which became him vastly; \"I never had the good fortune to\nplease the lady--as you have done.\"\n\nHe smiled again, and waved away a clumsy attempt of mine to reply.\n\n\"But that is my misfortune--perhaps, though unconsciously, my fault.\nStill, there is the trinket. I leave it in your hands, in trust for\nthose of your wife. My respectful duty and service to her and--to the\nheir of your house! Come, Louis, will you have a ride in the coach as\nfar as the bridge and back? I have left my Lord Lieutenant there\nvisiting some of his doubtful tenants. I will pick him up when he is\nready, and then bring this little friend of mine back.\"\n\nThat night Louis wept and stamped in a black anger.\n\n\"I don't want to stop here,\" he said; \"I want to go with Uncle Lalor in\nthe gilded coach.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII\n\nBY WATER AND THE WORD\n\n\nDuring my holidays at Heathknowes I found myself necessarily in frequent\ncommunication with my Lord Advocate. For though I was the actual, he was\nthe ultimate editor of the _Universal Review_. I felt that he had done\nso much for me, and that we were now on such terms that I might without\npresumption ask him a private question about Lalor Maitland. Because,\nknowing the man to have been mixed with some very doubtful business, I\nwondered that a man of such honour and probity as the Advocate would in\nany circumstances act by such means--much less countenance his being put\nforward in the Government interest at a contested election.\n\nI will give the text of the Advocate's reply in so far as it deals with\nLalor: \"Have as little as possible to do in a private capacity with\n'your Connection by Marriage'\" (for so he continued to style him). \"In\npublic affairs we must often use sweeps to explore dark and tortuous\npassages. Persons who object to fyle themselves cannot be expected to\nclean drains. You take my metaphor? Your 'Relative by Marriage' has\nproved himself a useful artist in cesspools. That is all. He has not\nswept clean, but he has swept. He has, on several occasions, been useful\nto the Government when a better man would never have earned salt to his\nkail. Publicly, therefore, he is an estimable servant of the Government.\nPrivately I would not touch him with the point of my shoe. For in\npersonal relations such men are always dangerous. See to it that you\nand yours have as little to do with him as possible.\"\n\nThere in a nutshell was the whole philosophy of politics. \"For dirty\njobs use dirty tools\"--and of such undoubtedly was Lalor Maitland.\n\nBut I judged that, having come through so many vicissitudes, and moving\nnow with a certain name and fame, he would, for his own sake, do us no\nopen harm. Rather, as witness little Louis, he would exploit the ancient\nrenown of the Maitlands, their standing in Galloway, and his friendship\nwith the heir of their estates.\n\nIt seemed to me that Louis was entirely safe, especially in the good\nhands of the Lord Lieutenant, and that the great rewards which Lalor\nMaitland had received from the Government constituted in some measure\nthe best security against any dangerous plotting.\n\nAnd in all the electoral campaign that followed, certain it is that\nLalor showed only his amiable side, taking all that was said against him\nwith a smiling face, yet as ready with his sword as with his tongue, and\nso far as courage went (it must be allowed) in no way disgracing the old\nand well-respected name of the Maitlands of Marnhoul. But I must tell\nyou of the fate which befell the jewel he had left in my hands for Irma.\nWhether it had ever belonged to the family of Maitland or not, I should\ngreatly doubt. It was a hoop of rubies set with brilliants, which at\nwill could make a bracelet for the wrist, or a kind of tiara for the\nhair. It was placed in a lined box of morocco leather, called an\n\"ecrin,\" and stood out as beautifully against the faded blue of the\nvelvet as a little tangled wisp of sunset cloud lost in an evening sky.\n\nBut Irma flashed out when I showed it her.\n\n\"How dare you?\" she cried, and seizing the box she shut it with a snap\nlike her own white teeth. Then, the window being open, she threw it into\nthe low shrubbery at the orchard end, whence, after she had gone to\nbaby, I had no great trouble in recovering it. For it seemed to me too\ngood to waste, and would certainly be of more use to me than to the\nfirst yokel who should pass that way.\n\nUnder ordinary circumstances Lalor would certainly have been defeated.\nFirst of all, though doubtless belonging to an ancient family of the\ncountry, he was, with his gilded coach and display of wealth gotten no\none could just say how or where, in speech and look an outsider. His\nopponent, Colonel MacTaggart of the Stroan, called familiarly \"The\nCornel\" was one of the brave, sound, stupid, jovial country gentlemen\nwho rode once a week to market at Dumfries, never missed a Court day at\nKirkcudbright, did his duty honourably in a sufficiently narrow round,\nand was worshipped by his tenantry, with whose families he was on terms\nof extraordinary fondness and friendship. Altogether, to use the vulgar\nidiom, \"The Cornel\" was felt to be a safe man to \"bring back Galloway\nfish-guts to Galloway sea-maws.\" Or, in other words, he would see to it\nthat patronage, like charity, should begin at home--and stop there.\n\nTo set off against this, there was a strong feeling that Galloway had\nbeen long enough in opposition. There appeared to be (and indeed there\nwas) no chance of overturning the Government. Why, then, should Galloway\ndwell for seven more years in the cold and hungry shades of\nopposition--able to growl, but quite unable to get the bone?\n\nLalor was brim-full of promises. He had been, if not a smuggler, at\nleast an associate of smugglers, and all along Solwayside that was no\ndisadvantage to him--in a country where all either dabbled in the\nillicit traffic, or, at best, looked the other way as the jingling\ncaravans went by.\n\nBriefly, then, his Excellency Lalor Maitland, late Governor of the\nProvince of the Meuse, now a law-abiding subject of King George, was\nduly elected and sent to Westminster to take his seat as representing\nthe lieges. The excitement calmed down almost at once. The gold coach\nwas seen no more. The preventive men and supervisors of excise were\nneither up nor down. Galloway felt vaguely defrauded. I think many of\nthose who voted for Lalor imagined that the excisemen and coastguards\nwould at once be recalled, and that henceforward cargoes from the Isle\nof Man and Rotterdam would be unloaded in broad daylight, instead of by\nthe pale light of the moon, without a single question being asked on\nbehalf of the revenue officers of King George.\n\nAfter Lalor's disappearance Louis Maitland was heavy and depressed for\nseveral days, staying long in his room and returning the shortest\nanswers when spoken to. Suddenly one morning he declared his intention\nof going to Dumfries, and so on the following Wednesday my grandfather\nand he drove thither by the coach road while I followed behind on\nhorseback. It was the purpose of Louis Maitland to have speech with the\nlawyers. So, knowing the temper in which he had been since his uncle's\ndeparture, I let him go up alone, but afterwards had speech with the\nyounger Mr. Smart on my own account.\n\nHe smiled when I mentioned Sir Louis and his mission.\n\n\"He wishes to go up to London to his cousin--he calls him his uncle,\nMr. Lalor, your fine new Government member for the county!\"\n\n\"I judged as much,\" said I, \"but I hope you have not given him any such\npermission.\"\n\n\"He can take all the permission he wishes after he is twenty-one,\" said\nMr. Smart; \"at present he has a good many years before him at Sympson's\nAcademy. There he may occupy himself in turning the old curate's _Three\nPatriarchs_ into Latin. As to his holidays, he can spend them with his\nsister or stay on in Edinburgh with the Doctor. But London is not a\nplace for a young gentleman of such exalted notions of his own\nimportance--'You bury me at a farmhouse with a family of boors!'--was\nwhat he said. Now, that smells Mr. Lalor a mile off. But the lad is not\nmuch to blame, and I hope you will not let it go any farther.\"\n\n\"Certainly not,\" said I, \"the boy was only quoting!\"\n\nI returned from this interview considerably relieved, but for some days\nSir Louis was visibly cast down.\n\nHowever, I said nothing to Irma, only advising her to devote herself a\nlittle more to her brother, at times when the exigencies of Duncan the\nSecond would leave her time and opportunity.\n\n\"Why!\" she said, with a quick gasp of astonishment, \"I never forget\nLouis--but of course baby needs me sometimes. I can't help that!\"\n\nIf I had dared, I should have reminded her that baby appeared to need\nevery woman about the house of Heathknowes--to whom may be added my\nmother from the school-house, Mrs. Thomas Gallaberry (late Anderson),\nand a great and miscellaneous cloud of witnesses, to all of whom the\ncommonest details of toilet--baby's bath, his swathing and unbandaging,\nthe crinkling of his face and the clenching of his fists, the curious\ncurdled marbling upon his fat arms, even the inbending of his toes, were\nobjects of a cult to which that of the Lama of Thibet was a common and\nopen secret.\n\nEven fathers were excluded as profane on such occasions, and the gasps\nof feminine delight at each new evidence of genius were the only sounds\nthat might be heard even if you listened at the door, as, I admit, I was\noften mean enough to do. Yet the manifestations of the object of\nworship, as overheard by me, appeared sufficiently human and ordinary to\nbe passed over in silence.\n\nI admit, however, that such was not the opinion of any of the regular\nworshippers at the shrine, and that the person of the opposite sex who\nwas permitted to warm the hero's bath-towel at the fire, became an\nobject of interest and envy to the whole female community. As for my\ngrandmother, I need only say that while Duncan the Second abode within\nthe four walls of Heathknowes, not an ounce of decent edible butter\npassed out of her dairy. Yet not a man of us complained. We knew better.\n\nThere still remained, however, a ceremony to be faced which I could not\nlook forward to with equanimity. It had been agreed upon between us,\nthat, though by the interference of our good friend the Advocate, we had\nbeen married in the old private chapel attached to the Deanery, we\nshould defer the christening of Duncan the Second till \"the Doctor\"\ncould perform the office--there being, of course, but one \"Doctor\" for\nall Eden Valley people--Doctor Gillespie, erstwhile Moderator of the\nKirk of Scotland.\n\nI had long been under reproach for my slackness in this matter.\nInuendoes were mixed with odious comparisons upon Mary Lyon's tongue.\nIf her daughter had only married a Cameronian, the bairn would have been\nbaptized within seven days! Never had she seen an unchristened bairn so\nlong about a house! But for them that sit at ease in an Erastian\nZion--she referred to my father, who was not only precentor but also\nsession-clerk, and could by no means be said to sit at ease--she\nsupposed anything was good enough. It was different in her young days.\nShe, at least, had been properly brought up.\n\nFinally, however, I went and put the case to the Doctor. He was ready to\ncome up to Heathknowes for the baptism. After his usual protest that\naccording to rule it ought to be performed in sight of all the\ncongregation, he accepted the good reason that my grandfather and\ngrandmother, being ardent Cameronians, could not in that case be\npresent. The Doctor had, of course, anticipated this objection. For he\nknew and respected the \"kind of people\" reared by four generations of\n\"Societies,\" and often (in private) held them up as ensamples to his own\nflock.\n\nSo to Heathknowes, the house of the Cameronian elder, there came, with\nall befitting solemnity, Doctor Gillespie, ex-Moderator of the Kirk of\nScotland. Stately he stepped up the little loaning, followed by his\nsession, their clerk, my father at their head. At the sight of the\nDoctor arrayed in gown and bands, his white hair falling on his neck and\ntied with a black ribbon, the whole family of us instinctively uncovered\nand stood bareheaded. My grandfather had gone down to the foot of the\nlittle avenue to open the gate for the minister. The Doctor smilingly\ninvited him to walk by his side, but William Lyon had gravely shaken his\nhead and said, \"I thank you, Doctor, but to-day, if you will grant me\nthe privilege, I will walk with my brethren, the other elders of the\nKirk of God.\"\n\nAnd so he did, and as they came within sight of the house I took Irma by\nthe hand. For she trembled, and tears rose to her eyes as she saw that\nsimple but dignified procession (like to that which moved out of the\nvestry on the occasion of the Greater Sacrament) approaching the house.\nThe lads stood silent with bared heads. For once Duncan lay quiet in the\narms of Mary Lyon--who that day would yield her charge to none, till she\ngave him to the mother, when the time should come, according to the\nPresbyterian rite, to stand up and place the firstborn in his father's\narms.\n\nThere was only one blank in that gathering. Louis had gone to his own\nroom, pretexing a headache, but really (as he blurted out afterwards)\nbecause his Uncle Lalor had said that Presbyterianism was no religion\nfor a gentleman.\n\nHowever, it was only afterwards that he was missed.\n\nThe Doctor was great on such occasions. A surprising soft radiance,\nalmost like a halo, surrounded his smooth snowy locks. A holy calm,\nexhaling from half a century of spotless life lived in the sight of all\nmen, spoke in every word, moved in every gesture. The elders stood about\ngrave and quiet. The great Bible lay open. The psalm of dedication was\nsung--of which the overword is, \"Lo, children are God's heritage,\" and\nthe conclusion the verse which no Scot forgets the world over, perhaps\nbecause it contains, quite unintentionally, so delightful a revelation\nof his own national character--\n\n    \"O happy is the man that hath\n      His quiver filled with those:\n    _They unashamed in the gate\n      Shall speak unto their foes._\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX\n\nTHE WICKED FLAG\n\n\n\"There's Boyd Connoway has been sitting on my front doorstep,\" cried my\nAunt Jen, \"and if I've telled the man once, I've telled him twenty\ntimes!\"\n\n\"But how do ye ken, Janet?\" said her mother out of the still-room where\nshe was brewing nettle-beer. \"He is not there now!\"\n\n\"How do I ken--fine that!\" snapped Jen. \"Do I no see my favourite check\npattern on his trousers!\" said Jen, which, indeed, being plain to the\neye of every beholder, admitted of no denial--except perhaps, owing to\npoint of view, by the unconscious wearer himself. He had sat down on\nthese mystic criss-crossings and whorls dear to the Galloway housewife\nfor her floor ornaments, while the whiting was still wet.\n\n\"It's no wonder,\" Jen pursued vengefully, \"they may say what they like.\nAn I were that man's wife, I wad brain him. Here he has been the\nlivelong day. Twa meals has he eaten. Six hours has he hung about\nmalingering. He came to roof the pigstye. He tore off the old thatch,\nand there it lies, and there will lie for him. If there is frost,\nGirzie's brood will be stiff by the morning. Then he 'had a look' at my\nroasting-jack and ... there it is!\"\n\nShe indicated with an indignant sweep of the hand what she designated \"a\nrickle o' rubbish\" as the net proceeds of Boyd's industry.\n\nThe artist explained himself between the mouthfuls at his third repast.\n\n\"Ye see, Miss Lyon, there's nocht that spoils good work like worry on\nthe mind. The pigs will do fine. I'll put a branch or two over them and\na corn-sack over that. If a drap o' rain comes through it will only\nharden the wee grunties for the trials o' life. Aye\" (here Boyd relapsed\ninto philosophy), \"life is fu' o' trials, for pigs as weel as men. But\nmen the worst--for as for pigs, their bread is given them and their\nwater is sure. Now as for myself----\"\n\n\"Yourself,\" cried Aunt Jen, entering into one of her sudden rages, \"if\nye were half as much worth to the world as our old sow Girzie, ye wad be\nsalted and hanging up by the heels now! As it is, ye run the country\nlike Crazy, our collie, a burden to yourself and a nuisance to the world\nat lairge!\n\n\"Eh, Miss Jen, but it's the word ye have, as I was sayin' to Rob McTurk\nup at the pirn-mill last Tuesday week. 'If only our Miss Jen there had\nbeen a man,' says I, 'it's never Lalor Maitland that would have been\nsent to sit in King George's High House o' Parliament.'\"\n\nAgain Boyd Connoway took up his burden of testimony.\n\n\"Aye, Miss Jen, there's some that's born to trouble as the sparks fly\nupward. That's me, Miss Jen. Now there's my brother that's a farmer in\nCounty Donegal. Niver a market night sober--and _yet_ he's not to say\naltogether content. An' many is the time I say to our Bridget, 'What\nwould you do if I was Brother Jerry of Ballycross, coming home to ye in\nthe box of the gig, and the reins on the horse's neck?'\n\n\"'Ye never _had_ a horse,' says she, and thinks that an answer! Women's\nheads are born void of logic, and what they fill them with--axing your\npardon, Mistress Lyon, ah, if they were all like you--'tis a happier\nplace this world would be!\"\n\n\"Finish, and let us get the dishes cleared away!\" said my grandmother,\nwho did not stand upon fashions of speech, least of all with Boyd\nConnoway.\n\nBoyd hastened to obey, ladling everything within reach into his mouth as\nfast as knife and spoon could follow each other.\n\nHe concluded, crooning over his eternal ditty, by way of thanksgiving\nafter meat--\n\n    \"If I was in bed and fast asleep\n    I wouldn't get up for a score of sheep.\"\n\nThis distich had the gift of always infuriating Aunt Janet.\n\n\"You may well say so,\" she cried, clattering away with an armful of\ndishes in a way that was a protest in itself; \"considering all you are\ngood for when you _do_ get up, you might just as well be in bed fast\nasleep, and----\"\n\n\"Now there you're wrong, Miss Janet,\" said Boyd. \"It was only last\nSunday that I gave up all my evil courses and became one of Israel\nKinmont's folk. My heart is changed,\" he added solemnly; \"I gave it to\nthe Lord, and He seen fit to convart me!\"\n\nThe whole household looked up. Anything bearing on personal religion\ninstantly touched Scots folk of the humble sort. But Aunt Jen was\nobdurate. Long experience had rendered her sceptical with regard to Boyd\nConnoway.\n\n\"We'll soon see if you are converted to the Lord,\" she said. \"_He_ is a\nhard worker. There are no idlers on His estates. If it's true, we may\nget these pigs covered in to-night yet.\"\n\n\"Never trouble your head about the pigs, Miss Janet,\" said Boyd, \"they\nwill surely sleep safe under a roof this night. Strive to fix your mind\non higher things, Miss Jen. There's such a thing as makin' a god of this\nhere transient evil world, as I said to Bridget when the potatoes went\nbad just because I got no time to 'pit' them, having had to play the\nfiddle at four kirns'[2] in different parishes during potato-lifting\nweek!\"\n\n\"Never mind about that,\" said my grandfather from his seat in the\nchimney corner, \"tell us about your 'conversion'!\"\n\nFor the word was then a new one in Galloway, and of no good savour\neither among orthodox Cameronians or pillars of the Kirk as by law\nestablished. But Israel Kinmont had been a sailor to far ports. In his\nyouth he had heard Whitefield preach. He had followed Wesley's folk afar\noff. The career of a humble evangelist attracted him, and when in his\nlatter days he had saved enough to buy the oldest and worst of all\nluggers that ever sailed the sea, he devoted himself, not to the gainful\ntraffic of smuggling, but to the unremunerative transport of sea-coal\nand lime from Cockermouth and Workington to the small ports and inlets\nof the Galloway coast.\n\nNo excisemen watching on the cliffs gave more than a single glance at\n\"Israel's Tabernacle,\" as, without the least irreverence, he had named\nhis boat. But, using the same ports as the smugglers, he was often\nbrought into close relations with them. They asked him for information\nwhich was freely given, as from one friend to another. They trusted him,\nfor though often interrogated by the supervisor and riding officers,\nIsrael could develop upon occasion an extraordinary deafness, so that\nthe questions to which he could give a clear answer were never such as\nto commit any one. In exchange for this the smugglers would go aboard\nthe Tabernacle and allow Israel to preach to them. And woe betide the\nirreverent on these occasions! Black Rob o' Garlies or Roaring Imrie\nfrom Douglas-ha' thought nothing of taking such a one by convenient\nparts of his clothing and dropping him overboard.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Boyd, encouraged by my grandfather's request, \"Israel\nKinmont has made a new man of many a hardened sinner!\"\n\n\"I dare you to say so,\" cried my grandmother; \"only the Lord that is on\nHigh can do that.\"\n\n\"But He can make use of instruments,\" argued Boyd, who had learned his\nlesson, \"and Israel Kinmont is one of them. He has showed me where to\nget grace.\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" snapped Jen, that unswerving Calvinist, \"seeing is believing.\nBoyd Connoway _may_ have got grace. I put no limit to the Almighty's\npower. But it takes more than grace to convert a man from laziness!\"\n\nBoyd lifted his hand with a gesture so dignified that even from the\ngood-for-nothing it commanded respect.\n\n\"'Tis from the Lord, Miss Jen, and it behoves us poor mortals noways to\nresist. Israel Kinmont never would smuggle, as ye know, and yet he never\nhad any luck till the highest tide of the year brought the 'Old\nTabernacle' up, with a cargo of sea-coal in her, half-way between\nKillantringan Village and the Nitwood.\n\n\"'She's settling, Israel,' said his son Jacob, that's counted soft, but\ncan raise the tune at meeting--none like him for that.\n\n\"'Even so,' said Israel, 'the will of the Lord be done!'\n\n\"'She's settling fast! Both my feet are wet!' said Jacob, holding on to\na rope.\n\n\"'Amen!' cried Israel, 'if it only were His will that she should come\nten yards higher up, she would be on the very roadside. Then I would\nopen a door into the hold of her after the coal is out, and you and I,\nJacob, could rig up seats and windows like a proper Tabernacle--fit for\nMr. Whitefield himself to preach in! Truly the service of the Lord is\njoyful. His law doth rejoice the heart.'\n\n\"So said Israel, and, just as I am tellin' you, there came a great\ninward swirling of the tide, a very merracle, and lo! the _Tabernacle_\nwas laid down as by compass alongside the Nitwood road, whence she will\nnever stir till the day of Final Judgment, as the scripture is. And\nIsrael, he cuts the door, and Jacob, he gets out the coals and sells\nthem to the great folk, and the supervisor, he stands by, watching in\nvain till he was as black as a sweep, for the brandy that was not there.\nBut he petitioned Government that Israel should have a concession of\nthat part of the foreshore--being against all smuggling and maybe\nthinking to have him as a sort of spiritual exciseman.\n\n\"Yes, Mr. Lyon,\" Boyd went on, gratified by the interest in his tale,\n\"'tis wonderful, when you think on't. Empty from stem to stern she is,\nwith skylights in her deck and windows in her side! Why, there are\nbenches for the men and a pulpit for Israel. As for Jacob, he has\nnothing but his tuning-fork and a seat with the rest.\n\n\"And indeed there's more chance that Israel will put a stop to the\nFree-trading than all the preventives in the land. He preaches against\nit, declaring that it makes the young men fit for nothing else, like\nevery other way of making money without working for it.\"\n\n\"Ah, Israel's right there!\" came from my grandfather.\n\n\"But every light has its shadow, and he's made a failure of it with Dick\nWilkes, and may do the like with my wife, Bridget.\n\n\"For Bridget, she will be for ever crying at me these days, 'Here, you\nTabernacle man, have you split the kindling wood?' Or 'No\npraise-the-Lord for you, lad, till your day's work is done! Go and mend\nthat spring-cart of the General's that his man has been grumbling about\nfor a month!'\n\n\"And sometimes I have to fill my mouth with the hundred and twenty-first\npsalm to keep from answering improper, and after all, Bridget will only\nask if I don't know the tune to that owld penny ballad. 'Tis true enough\nabout the tune\" (Boyd confessed), \"me having no pitch-pipe, but Bridget\nhas no business to miscall scripture, whether said or sung!\n\n\"As to Dick Wilkes, that got his lame leg at the attack on--well, we\nneed not go opening up old scores, but we all know where--has been\nstaying with us, and that maybe made Bridget worse. Aye, that he has.\nThere's no one like Bridget for drawing all the riff-raff of the\ncountryside about her--I know some will say that comes of marrying me.\nBut 'tis the ould gennleman's own falsehood. You'll always find Boyd\nConnoway in the company of his betters whenever so be he can!\n\n\"But Dick Wilkes had our 'ben' room, and there were a little, light,\nactive man that came to see him--not that I know much of him, save from\nthe sound of voices and my wife Bridget on the watch to keep me in the\nkitchen, and all that.\n\n\"But Old Israel would never give up Dick Wilkes. He kept coming and\ncoming to our house, and what he called 'wrestling for Dick's soul.'\nSometimes he went away pleased, thinking he had gotten the upper hand.\nThen the little light man would come again, and there was Dick just as\nbad as ever. 'Backsliding' was what Israel called it, and a good name, I\nsay, for then the job was all to do over again from the beginning. But\nit was the Adversary that carried off Dick Wilkes at the long and last.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" came a subdued groan from all the kitchen. Boyd gloomily nodded\nhis head.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"'tis a great and terrible warning to Bridget, and so I\ntell her. 'Twas the night of the big meeting at the Tabernacle, when\nIsrael kept it up for six hours, one lot coming and another going--the\nIsle o' Man fleet being in--that was the night of all nights in the year\nthat Dick Wilkes must choose for to die in. Aught more contrary than\nthat man can't be thought of.\n\n\"It happened just so, as I say. About four o'clock we were all of us\nshut up in the kitchen, and by that we knew (Jerry and I, at least) that\nDick Wilkes had company--also that so far as repentance went, old\nIsrael's goose was cooked till he had another turn at his man. And then\nafter six we heard him shouting that he was going to die--which seemed\nstrange to us. For we could hear him tearing at his sea-chest and\nstamping about his room, which is not what is expected of a dying man.\n\n\"But Dick knew better. For when we went down and peeped at the keyhole,\nhe heard us, and called on us all to come our ways in. And--you will\nnever guess in a thousand years--he had routed a flag out of his\nsea-chest. The 'Wicked Flag' it was,--the pirates' flag--black, with the\nDeath's Head and cross-bones done in white upon it, the same that he had\nhoisted on seas where no questions were asked, when he commanded the\nold _Golden Hind_. And wrapping himself in that, he said, 'Tell old\nIsrael that I died _so_!' And we, thinking it was, as one might say,\nbraving the Almighty and his poor old servant, kept silence. And then he\nshouted, 'Promise, ye white-livered rascals, or I've strength to slit\nyour wizzards yet. Tell him I died under the Black!'\n\n\"And Bridget, who was feared herself, said, 'Whist, for God's sake, do\nnot bring a curse on the house!'\n\n\"And then he just cursed the house from flooring to roof-tree, and so\nwent to his own place!\n\n\"Dead? Well, yes--dead and buried is old Dickie Wilkes. But poor Israel\nKinmont is quite brokenhearted. He says that Dick was the first that\never broke away, and that he is not long for this world himself now that\nhe has lost Dick. It was always cut-and-come-again when you were\nconverting Dick.\n\n\"But Israel has an explanation, poor old fellow.\n\n\"'It was not Grace that missed fire,' he says, 'but me, the unworthy\nmarksman. And for that I shall be smitten like the men who, with\nunanointed eyes, looked on the ark of God that time it went up the\nvalley from Ekron to Bethshemish, with the cows looking back and lowing\nfor their calves all the way. I were always main sorry for them cows!'\nold Israel says.\"\n\n[Footnote 2: Harvest home merrymakings.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL\n\nTHE GREAT \"TABERNACLE\" REVIVAL\n\n\nThough Boyd Connoway had not said anything directly threatening the\nhouse of Heathknowes or its inmates, his story of his own \"conversion\"\nand the death of Dick Wilkes under the Black Flag somehow made us\nvaguely uneasy. The door of the house was locked at eight. The gates of\nthe yard barricaded as in the old time of the sea raids from the _Golden\nHind_.\n\nSo strong was the feeling that Irma would gladly have returned before\nour time to the little White House above the meadow flats, and to the\nview of the Pentlands turning a solid green butt towards the Archers'\nHall of the Guid Toon of Edinburgh.\n\nBut it was not so easy to quit Heathknowes. My grandmother held tightly\nto Duncan the Second. I found myself in good case, after the fatigues of\nthe town, to carry out some work on my own account. This, of course, for\nthe sake of my wife's happiness, I would have given up, but after all\nIrma's plans went to pieces upon the invincible determination of Sir\nLouis to remain. He was now a lad of seventeen, but older looking than\nhis age. He had his own room at Heathknowes, his books, his occupations.\nIndeed we seldom saw him except at meals, and even then often in the\nmiddle of dinner he would rise, bow haughtily to the company, and retire\nwithout uttering a word. He had learned the lesson from Lalor that plain\nfarm people were no society for such as he. He went as far as he could\nin the way of insolence, making us pay for the refusal of the lawyers\nto let him go to London with the member for the county.\n\nI could see the blush rise crimson to Irma's neck and face after such a\nperformance. But by some mysterious divine law of compensation, no\nsooner had she Baby in her arms, than she forgot all about the sulky\nboy, sitting moping among his books in the wood parlour, looking out on\nthe red-boled firs of Marnhoul forest.\n\nIsrael Kinmont used to frequent us a good deal about this time. He never\npreached to us, nor indeed would he talk freely of his \"experiences\"\namongst such Calvinists as my grandfather and grandmother.\n\n\"The gold of the kingdom doth not need the refiner's art!\" he had said\nonce when this remissness was made a reproach to him. Since the loss of\nhis boat, the _Tabernacle_, he had bought first one donkey and then two\nwith his little savings. These he loaded with salt for Cairn Edward and\nthe farms on the way, and so by a natural transition, took to the trade\nof itinerant voyager on land instead of on the sea, bringing back a\nstore of such cloths and spices as were in most request among the\ngoodwives of the farm-towns.\n\nHe had been so long a sailor man that he could not help it, if a certain\nflavour of the brine clung to him still. Besides, there were jerseys and\ngreat sea-boots to be worn out. Neddy and Teddy, his two fine donkeys,\nwere soon fitted with \"steering gear,\" among the intricacies of which\ntheir active heels often got \"foul.\" They \"ran aground\" with alarming\nfrequency, scraping their pack-saddles against the walls of narrow\nlanes. Their master knew no peace of mind till, having passed the\nnarrows, he found on some moor or common \"plenty o' sea-room,\"\nnotwithstanding the danger that \"plenty o' sea-room\" might induce the\ntoo artful Teddy to \"turn topsails under,\" or in other words indulge in\na roll upon the grass.\n\nFinally, Neddy and Teddy were \"brought to anchor\" in some friendly\nstable, in none oftener than in ours of Heathknowes, where cargo was\nunloaded and sometimes even the ships themselves \"docked\" and laid up\nfor repairs. For this merciful Israel was merciful to his beasts, and\noften went into repairing dock for a saddle gall, which another would\nnever have even noticed.\n\nWhen the pair were browsing free in the field he would call them \"to\nreceive cargo,\" and hoist the Blue Peter by a sounding, \"Neddy, ahoy!\nAhoy there, Teddy!\" And if, as was likely, they only flourished their\nheels and refused with scorn to come and be saddled, he uttered his\nsternest summons, \"Ship's company, all hands on deck!\" which meant that\nhis son Jacob--starboard watch, must come and help port watch--Israel\nhimself, to capture Teddy and Neddy.\n\nNeddy was generally willing enough, unless when led from the plain\ncourse of maritime duty by Teddy. On these occasions Israel used to\nquote from the \"articles\" relating to the Mutiny Act, and has even been\nknown to go so far as threaten Teddy with \"a round dozen\" at the\nmain-mast as soon as he could lay hands on a \"rope's end.\"\n\nThe which was all the same to Teddy.\n\nIt was beautiful to see the flotilla navigating the level surface of\nKillantringan moor--level, that is, by comparison. For first there were\nthe little waves of the sheep-tracks, then the gentle rollers of the\nmoss-hags, and, last of all, certain black dangerous Maelstroms from\nwhich last year's peats had been dug, in which a moment's folly on the\npart of Neddy or Teddy might engulf the Armada for ever.\n\nAs they set sail Jacob Kinmont was first and second mate, but in\nparticular, look-out-man. He went ahead, keeping a wary eye for dangers\nand obstacles, and on the whole the donkeys followed docilely enough in\nhis wake. Israel's post as captain was behind at the tiller-ropes,\nwhence he shouted exact instructions with nautical exactitude, such as\n\"A point to the west, Neddy!\" Or, pathetically, \"DID I say\nnor'-nor'-east, Teddy, or didn't I?\"\n\nThis last had a ring of affection in it, for, in spite of his naughty\nhabits (or because of them) Teddy was distinctly the favourite. Also he\nhad a habit of nuzzling his moist nose into the breast of the old man's\nreefer coat in search of sweet things, a trick which the more patient\nand reliable Neddy never acquired. And if Teddy forgot to come inquiring\nafter the hidden sweets, Israel was quite heart-broken.\n\nAt first the boys from the village would follow and perhaps imitate\nthese naval manoeuvres--in the hope, never fulfilled, of catching\n\"Ranter Israel\" using some nautical language, such as old Pirate Wilkes\nhad made but too familiar to their ears. But they never caught him, for\nIsrael's \"yea\" remained \"yea\" and his \"nay\" \"nay,\" even when navigating\ndonkeys over the trackless waste of Killantringan Common. But in\nrevenge, every now and then, Israel would get hold of a village lad and\nlead him triumphantly to his meeting, whence he would not come forth\ntill, as like as not, \"he had gotten the blessin'.\"\n\nThe fathers of Eden Valley held in utter contempt the theology of \"Old\nTabernacle Israel,\" but the mothers, seeing a troublesome boy forsaking\nthe error of his ways and settling down to be the comfort of his\nfolk--looked more to results, and thanked God for old Israel and his\nTabernacle. After a while the fathers also came to be of his opinion.\nAnd on one memorable occasion, the great Doctor Gillespie himself went\nin by the door of Israel's tar-smelling Tabernacle, and seated himself\nin all the glory of his black coat and ruffled shirt on the back seat\namong the riff-raff of the port, just as if he were nobody at all.\n\nAt first Israel did not see him, so quietly had he entered. He went on\nwith his prayer that \"sinners might be turned from their way, and saints\nconfirmed in their most holy faith.\"\n\nBut when he had opened his eyes, and beheld the white head and reverend\ncountenance of Doctor Gillespie the human soul within him trembled a\nlittle. Nevertheless, commanding himself, he descended the narrow aisle\ntill he came to where the minister was seated. Then with head humbly\nbent and a voice that shook, he begged that \"the Doctor might to-day\nopen up the Word of Life to them.\" Which accordingly, with the simplest\ndirectness, the Doctor did, using as his pulpit the middle section of a\nlongboat, which had been sawn across and floored for Israel. The Doctor\ntold the story of Peter walking on the waters, and of the hand stretched\nout to save. And this the Doctor, as Israel said afterwards, \"fastened\ninto them with nails.\"\n\n\"Some of you will believe anything except the Gospel,\" was one of these.\nYet all he said was the simplest evangel. The Doctor was a Justice of\nthe Peace, but this time he spoke of another peace--that of believing.\nHe had an audience of smugglers, but he never mentioned Caesar. He only\nadvised them to \"Render unto God the things that are God's.\"\n\nAnd when he finished, after the last solemn words of exhortation, he\nadded very quietly, \"I will again preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ in\nthe Parish Kirk, next Sabbath at noonday.\"\n\nAnd so when the Sabbath came and in the Tabernacle those of Israel's\nsowing and gleaning were gathered together, the old Ranter addressed\nthem thus: \"All hands on deck to worship with the Doctor! He hath kept\nhis watch with us--let us do the like by him!\"\n\nAnd so the astonishing thing was seen. The great Spence gallery of Eden\nValley Parish Kirk was filled with such a mixed assembly as had never\nbeen seen there before. Smugglers, privateersmen, the sweepings of\nports, home and foreign, some who had blood on their hands--though with\nthe distinction that it had been shed in encounters with excisemen. But\nthe blessing had come upon some of them--others a new spirit had\ntouched, lighted at the fire of an almost apostolic enthusiasm.\n\nIt was the proudest moment in Israel Kinmont's life when he heard the\nDoctor, in all the panoply of his gown and bands, hold up his hands and\nask for a blessing upon \"the new shoot of Thy Vine, planted by an aged\nservant of Thine in this parish. Make it strong for Thyself, that the\nhills may be covered with the shadow of it, and that, like the goodly\ncedar, many homeless and wayfaring men under it may rest and find\nshelter.\"\n\nAnd in the Spence gallery these sea- and wayfaring men nudged each\nother, not perhaps finding the meaning so clear as they did at the\nTabernacle, but convinced, nevertheless, that \"He means us--and our old\nIsrael!\"\n\nAnd so in faith, if not wholly in understanding, they listened to the\nsermon in which the Doctor, all unprepared for such an invasion,\ninculcated with much learning the doctrine of submission to the civil\nmagistrate with the leading cases of Saint Paul and Saint Augustine\nillustrated by copious quotations from the original.\n\nThey sat with fixed attention, never flinching even when the Doctor,\ndoing his duty, as he said, both as a magistrate and as a Christian man,\ngave the Free Traders many a word to make their ears sing. They were in\nhis place, and every man had the right to speak as he chose in his own\nhouse. But when Israel led them back to the old Tabernacle, with its\npleasant smell of tar obscuring the more ancient bilge, and had told\nthem that they were all \"a lot of hell-deserving sinners who, if they\nmissed eternal damnation, it would be with their rags badly singed,\"\nthey sighed a blissful sigh and felt themselves once more at home,\nsitting under a man who understood them and their needs.\n\nNevertheless, when Israel gave out the closing hymn it was one which, as\nhe explained, \"prays for the Church of God visible upon the earth, as\nwell in the Parish Kirk as in their own little Tabernacle.\" \"Now then,\nmen,\" he concluded, \"let us have it with a will. Put all that you have\ngot between your beards and your shoulder-blades into it. If I see a man\nhanging in stays, he shall sing it by himself!\"\n\nSo the Ranters sang till the sound went from the little dissenting\nBethel on the shore up to the stately Kirk of the parish cinctured with\nits double acre of ancient grave-stones--\n\n    \"I love Thy Kingdom, Lord,\n      The house of Thine abode:\n    The Church our blest Redeemer saved\n      With His own precious blood.\n\n    For her my tears shall fall,\n      For her my prayers ascend:\n    To her my cares and toils be given\n      Till toils and cares shall end!\"\n\n\"_And_ three cheers for the Doctor!\" shouted swearing Imrie, who had\nbeen worked up by the events of the day to such a pitch of excitement\nthat only the sound of his own thunderous voice had power to calm him.\n\nAnd douce Cameronians coming over Eden Valley hill stood still and\nwondered at the profanation of the holy day, not knowing. Even sober\npillars of the Kirk Erastian going homeward smiled and shook their heads\npityingly.\n\n\"It was doubtless a good thing,\" said my father to a fellow elder, a\ncertain McMinn of the Croft, \"to see so many of the wild and regardless\nat the Kirk, but I'm sore mistaken if there's not some of the old Adam\nleft in the best of them yet, to judge by the noise they are making down\nyonder.\"\n\n\"Except Israel himsel'!\" said McMinn of the Croft, \"man, dominie, since\nhe converted Jock, my ploughman, he hasna been drunk yince, and I get\ntwice the work oot o' the craitur for the same wage.\"\n\nWhich, being the proof of the pudding, settled the question.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI\n\nIN THE WOOD PARLOUR\n\n\nOn the 19th of October the sky overhead was clear as sapphire, but all\nround the circle of the horizon the mists of autumn blurred the\nlandscape. The hills stood no more in their places. Gone were the Kips,\nwith their waving lines. Of the Cruives, with the heather thick and\npurple upon them, not a trace. Gone the graceful swirl of the Cooran\nHill, which curls over like a wave just feathering to break.\n\nTo Irma it had been a heavy and a sorrowful day. She had actually wept,\nand even gone on her knees to her brother to beg him tell her what\nstrange thing had come between them. He would only answer, \"You have\nchosen your path without consulting me. Now I choose mine.\"\n\nShe charged him with listening to one who had always been an enemy of\nall who had been good to him ever since he was a little child--of\nsetting himself against those on whose bounty they had lived.\n\nHe replied, \"If I have lived on their bounty, they know very well that\nthey will not lose by it.\"\n\nShe mentioned Lalor Maitland's name, and told him the history of the\nearly attacks on the house of Marnhoul. Louis answered, \"He has\nexplained all that. It was done to save me from these people who were\nalready besetting me, in order to rob me.\"\n\nWhen she mentioned all that I had done for him, he put on an air of\nfrigid detachment.\n\n\"You are right, no doubt, to stand up for your husband,\" he said; \"but,\nthen, I have not the same reasons. I can judge for myself.\"\n\nThen she went on to show that there was no motive for the Lyons of\nHeathknowes showing them any interested kindness. As for me, she had\nonly brought me herself and her love--no money, nor would she ever have\nany money--I had married her for herself.\n\n\"So would Lalor Maitland,\" he retorted, \"and he is a gentleman.\"\n\nAfter this Irma discussed no more. She felt it to be useless. Naturally,\nalso, she was hurt to the heart that Louis, once her own little Louis,\nshould compare her husband to Lalor Maitland. Well, for that I do not\nblame her.\n\nAll day long Louis stayed in the Wood Parlour with his books. I was busy\nwith an important article on the \"Moors in Spain,\" suggested by my\nrecent researches into the history of the irrigation of fields and\ngardens in the south of Europe.\n\nLouis came down to dinner at twelve, or a few minutes after. He seemed\nsomewhat more cheerful than was usual with him, and actually spoke a\nlittle to me, asking me lend him my grandfather's shotgun, to put it in\norder for him, and that powder and ball might be placed in his chamber.\nHe had seen game-birds feeding quite close, and thought that by opening\nthe window he might manage to shoot some of them.\n\nI did as he asked me before going back to my work. Irma smiled at me,\nbeing well pleased. For it seemed to her that Louis's ill-temper was\nwearing away. Now my grandmother and Aunt Jen were inveterate\ntea-lovers, which was then not so common a drink in the country as it is\nnow. Irma sometimes took a cup with them for company, and, because it\nalso refreshed me in my labours, I also joined them. But with me it was\ndone chiefly for the sake of the pleasant talk, being mostly my\ngrandmother's reminiscences, and sometimes for a sight of my mother, who\nwould run across of a sunny afternoon for a look at baby.\n\nThat day we sat and talked rather longer than usual. A certain strain\nseemed to have departed from the house. I think all of us believed that\nthe humour of Louis, execrable as it had been, was the effect of the\ninsinuations of a wicked man, and that after a time he would be restored\nto us again the simple, pleasant-faced boy he had been in former years.\n\nHe did not come down to tea, but then he seldom did so. Indeed, none of\nthe men-folk except myself had taken to the habit, and I (as I say)\nchiefly for the sake of the talk, which sharpened my wits and refreshed\nmy working vocabulary. But as I passed back to my writing-den I could\nhear my brother-in-law moving restlessly about his room, and talking to\nhimself, which was a recently-acquired habit of his. However, I took\nthis as a good sign. Anything in the way of occupation was better than\nhis former chill indifference to all that went forward about\nHeathknowes.\n\nIt was, as it chanced, a busy day at the pirn-mill. The labours of the\nfarm being fairly over for the year, the mill had been shut down for\nhasty repairs, which Alec McQuhirr had come down from Ironmacannie to\nsuperintend. He was, so they said, the best mill-wright in the\nhalf-dozen counties of the south and west. He had, however, the one\nfault common to all his tribe, that of dilatoriness. So my grandfather,\nwho had his \"pirn\" contracts to be shipped for England on certain days,\nused to call his sons about him, and devote himself and all of them to\nthe service of repairing. Boyd Connoway, also, usually gave us the\nbenefit of his universal genius for advice, and, when he chose, for\nhandiness also.\n\nAfter tea some provisions had been carried to the mill by my mother on\nher way home. \"One of the boys\"--meaning my uncles--was to bring back\nthe basket.\n\nThat night, also, supper was somewhat later than usual. Up in the mill\nmen were still crawling about along the machinery with carefully\nprotected lanterns. Buckets of water stood handy. For a pirn-mill is no\nplace in which to play with fire. The sound of male voices and the thud\nof wooden mallets did not cease till long after dark. Supper was,\ntherefore, later than usual, and the moon had risen before the sound of\ntheir footsteps was heard coming down among the tree-roots in the\nclearing which they themselves had made. The kitchen, which was also the\nliving-room of Heathknowes, glowed bright, and the supper-table was\na-laying. Aunt Jen bustled about. I had laid aside my writing, satisfied\nwith a goodly tale of sheets to my credit. My grandmother was in the\nmilk-house, but every now and then made darts out to the fire on which\nthe precious \"het supper\" was cooking--roast fowl, bacon, and\npotatoes--traditional on occasions when the men had been \"working late\nat the mill and had brought home company.\"\n\nIt was a bright and cheerful sight. The high dresser, the kitchen pride\nof Galloway, was in a state of absolute perfection. Aunt Jen despised\nmen, but she had a way of reproving their congenital untidiness by the\nshine of her plates and the mirror-like polish of her candlesticks. She\nhad spent a couple of hours over the dresser that afternoon, answering\nall the taunts of her mother as to her occupation, \"It's true, mither,\n_they_ will never ken the difference; but, then, I will!\"\n\n\"Go up, Irma, and tell your brother that we are waiting,\" said my\ngrandmother. But as Irma was busy with Duncan the Second, I offered\nmyself instead. I remember still the long corridor, and I wondered at\nthe moment why no ray of light penetrated through the keyhole of Sir\nLouis's door. He must be sitting in the dark, and I smiled to myself as\nI thought how I had been wasting a couple of my grandmother's best\ncandles for an hour. The explanation was that Louis, in fear of being\nspied upon, had carefully plugged up the keyhole and every crack of the\ndoor. But this I only knew later.\n\nI stood a moment in the passage, keeping very still. I could hear his\nvoice. He seemed in some way indignant. But the sound was dulled by the\nthickness of the walls and the care with which the chinks of the door\nhad been \"made up.\" Then I also heard--what sent the blood chill to my\nheart--another voice, shorter, harsher, older. For a moment I was struck\ndumb, and then--I laughed at myself. Of course the lad was simply\nstage-struck. For some time he had been reading and declaiming Hamlet,\nJulius Caesar, and anything he could lay his hands upon, as well as\nscraps of the Greek tragedies he had learnt at school.\n\nBut as I leaned nearer, there pierced sharp as a pang to my heart the\ncertainty that the other voice which I heard was not that of any of the\ncharacters of _Julius Caesar_. A trembling horror of what I had once seen\nin that very room, and a memory of the great hearty Richard Poole\nentering there in all his amplitude of vivid life, quickly arrested me.\n\nI rapped and called vehemently, trying the latch and feeling that the\ndoor resisted. I could hear a trampling beneath me. Men were on the way\nto my assistance. At the door I sprang. The bolts were as old as the\ndoor, and the nails of the lintel fastening only knocked in after its\nformer rough handling.\n\nI got one waft of light as the door opened, half from the candle on the\ntable, half from the moonlight falling dim without. I saw something that\ncrouched--manlike indeed, but with bearded face and head held between\nits shoulders--leap from the window into the darkness. I did not see\nLouis clearly. His head was lying on the table, and immediately all the\ncircumstances of the former drama came back to me. But this time I\nwasted no time. Something glittered on the table, hilt towards me--knife\nor sword, I hardly knew which. I only knew that with it in my hand I was\narmed. I sprang through the window and gave chase.\n\nThen very loud in my ears I heard the crack of a pistol, but felt no\nwound. I now think it had not even been fired at me. I pursued with the\nenergy of a young stag. My mornings on the hills with Eben looking for\nthe sheep now stood me in good stead--that is, good or bad according as\nto whether the man in front of me had another loaded pistol ready or\nnot.\n\nBehind me, but alas, too far to be any help, I could hear the shouting\nof men. Heathknowes was alarmed. Then came the pounding of feet, but I\nknew that none of them could run with me, while the thing or man in\nfront proved fresher, and, as I feared at first, fleeter.\n\nBut, after all, I was young, and though I panted, and had a burning pain\nin my side, I held to it till I began to get my second wind. Then I made\nsure that, barring accidents, I could run him down. What should happen\nthen I did not know. I had a vision, only for a moment but yet very\nclear and distinct, of Irma in the black gown of a young widow. But\neven this did not make me slacken in my stride.\n\nSomehow the shine of the steel in my hand gave me courage, as also the\ncrying of the men behind, albeit they did not seem to gain but rather to\nlose ground. Thirty yards ahead I could see my man running, his head\nvery low, his arms close to his sides, a slender figure with a certain\nlook of deformity. A long beard of some indeterminate colour like hay\nwas blown back over one shoulder. Ever and anon he glanced round as he\nran to measure my progress.\n\nSuddenly the root of a tree tripped him and he went headlong. But he was\nagile too, for before I could be upon him, he was up again, and with\nsomething that shone like a long thin dagger in his hand, he threw\nhimself upon me as if to take me by surprise. Now, it is very difficult\nwhen running hard to put oneself at once into a proper position of\ndefence. And so, as it happened, I was nearly done. But I had been\ncarrying the sword in my hand almost at arm's length. I was conscious of\nno shock. Only all suddenly my assailant doubled and lay writhing, his\ndagger still shining in his hand.\n\nI stopped and kept wide circling about him, fearing a trick. The moon\nwas shining full on the open clearing of the glade where he had fallen.\nIt was the little lawyer--he who had called himself Wringham Pollixfen\nPoole. Yet somehow he was different. His beard had grown to be of a\ncurious foreign fashion and colour--but that perhaps might be the effect\nof the moonlight.\n\nHe never took his eyes off the shining steel in my hand.\n\n\"It is poisoned,\" he groaned, his hand clapped to his breast, \"I am a\ndead man--poisoned, poisoned!\"\n\nAnd looking more carefully at what I had simply snatched in haste, I\nsaw that I had in my hand the golden-hilted sword of honour which Lalor\nMaitland had given to the boy Louis to seal their friendship.\n\nBut immediately a greater wonder oppressed me, and rendered speechless\nthose who now came panting up--my uncles and Boyd Connoway. The\nhay-coloured beard and disguises came away, snatched off in the man's\ndeath-agony. The shiny brown coat opened to show a spotless ruffled\nshirt beneath. The wounded man never ceased to exclaim, \"It is poisoned!\nIt is poisoned! I am a dead man!\" The wig fell off, and as life gave\nplace to the stillness of death, out of the lined and twisted lineaments\nof the half-deformed lawyer Poole emerged the pale, calm, clear-cut\nfeatures of Lalor Maitland.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII\n\nTHE PLACE OF DREAMS\n\n\nThe key of the mystery was brought us by one who seemed the most\nunlikely person in the world, Boyd Connoway.\n\n\"And her to come of decent folk down there by Killibegs,\" he exclaimed\nin opening the matter; \"no rapparees out of Connemara--but O'Neil's\nblood to a man, both Bridget and all her kindred before her!\"\n\n\"What's the matter now?\" said the Fiscal, who with much secret\nsatisfaction had come to have that made plain which had troubled him so\nsorely before. So Boyd and Jerry brought Bridget Connoway in to the\nouthouse where the dead man lay.\n\n\"Tis all my fault--my fault,\" wailed Bridget, \"yet 'twas because him\nthat's me husband gave me no help with the arning of money to bring up\nthe childer. So I was tempted and took in this man after the Black\nSmugglers had tried to burn the great house of Marnhoul.\n\n\"Well might I think so, indeed, your honours. For wounded the man was\nright sore, and I nursed him for the sake of the goold he gave me.\nLashin's of goold, and the like had never been seen in our house since\nbefore Boyd Connoway there, that now has the face to call himself a\nconvarted man, was the head of it.\"\n\n\"What did this man call himself?\" the Fiscal demanded.\n\n\"Sure, he called himself Wringham Pollixfen Poole, my lord, and it was\nnot for me to be disbelievin' him.\"\n\n\"And after, when he was under strong suspicion of having wilfully made\naway with Mr. Richard Poole of Dumfries, why did you say nothing?\"\n\n\"Now, your honour,\" exclaimed Bridget, holding up her hands, \"wad I be\ntelling aught like that to bring worse and worse on the head of any man\nin trouble? If it had been yourself, now, how wad you have liked that,\nyour honour?\"\n\n\"Leave me alone, Bridget. Answer what you are asked,\" said the Fiscal;\n\"when did you find out that this man was not what he pretended to be?\"\n\n\"Is it the name he gave you mean, sorr?\" said Bridget.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Fiscal, watching her.\n\n\"Faith, then, just when he towld it me!\" was the unexpected answer. And\nthen, moving a little nearer, she added confidentially in the Fiscal's\near, \"Would you have believed yourself, my lord, that a Black Smuggler,\nnewly off the _Golden Hind_, and a shipmate of old Dick Wilkes, that\ndied under the Wicked Flag, would be likely to give his true name and\naddress?\"\n\n\"Then, by your story, you never knew that the deceased was in truth Mr.\nLalor Maitland, a member of his Majesty's present loyal parliament?\"\n\n\"Faith, as to that, no,\" said Bridget, \"and it's the saints' own pity,\nfor if I had known that in time--it's independent I would have been. No\nmore wash-tubs for Bridget Connoway!\"\n\n\"For shame on you, Bridget, you that are an O'Neil, and the wife of a\nConnoway!\" cried Boyd indignantly.\n\n\"And the less you say of that, the better will the butter lie on your\nbread!\" said Bridget, advancing a step towards him threateningly. \"Your\nlordship, hearken to me--not an honest day's work has that man done\nfrom January to December--nay, nor dishonest either, for the matter o'\nthat! 'Tis ashamed of himself he ought to be.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Fiscal, \"it is a very good thing for you, Mrs.\nConnoway, that young Sir Louis is likely to recover after the knock on\nthe head he got from your friend. But the wonder to me is that you did\nnot speak more plainly when there was a former fatal assault in the same\nplace.\"\n\n\"Now, I put it to ye, sorr, what was a poor woman like me to know about\nthe affairs of the great, my lord?\" said Bridget. \"Now, in my country,\ntwo gentlemen sit late at the wine, and maybe there's a little\ndifference of opinion, the cartes, or politics, or a lady--or maybe just\na differ for the sake of a differ. And wan gives t'other a skelp on the\nside of the head, and if the man's skull's sound, where's the harm? 'Tis\ndone every day in Donegal and nobody a bit the worse! For it's O'Neil's\ncountry, my lord, and the skulls there are made thicker on purpose--such\nbeing the intintion of a merciful providence that created nothing in\nvain.\"\n\n\"And can you give us no light on why Mr. Lalor Maitland wished harm to\nMr. Richard Poole?\"\n\nBridget shook her head slowly.\n\n\"Doubtless,\" she said, \"'twas something about property and a lass. For\nif money's the root of all evil, as the Book says, sure and\nt'other--(that's the woman) is the trunk and branches, the flowers, and\nthe fruit!\"\n\nThe mystery of the death of Mr. Richard Poole was never wholly cleared\nup. If anything was found among the private correspondence of the late\nmember of the firm of Smart, Poole and Smart, certainly the firm did not\nallow it to transpire. It is practically certain that Bridget told all\nshe knew. But, poring over the mystery afterwards, and putting all\nthings carefully together, I became convinced that, under the name of\nWringham Pollixfen Poole, Mr. Richard had mixed himself up in some\nhighly treasonable business, which put his life within the power of the\ninformer and traitor Lalor.\n\nConsequently when the latter, an expert in disguises, found it necessary\nto take refuge with Bridget Connoway after the failure of the attack on\nMarnhoul, he could not have chosen a safer name or disguise.\n\nMr. Richard, he knew, could not betray him. If any trouble befell he\nwould come at once and see him. So, in fact, when Richard Poole arrived,\nhe demanded that, by the influence of his firm, the children should be\nat once returned to his tutelage. That Lalor dreamed of marrying Irma is\nevident, and what he meant to do with little Louis is equally clear--for\nhis death would leave him heir to the properties.\n\nBut Richard proved unexpectedly stubborn. He refused flatly to have\nanything to do with Lalor's schemes--whereupon the wild beast in the man\nbroke loose. He struck and escaped. But it was a sudden fit of anger,\nprobably repented of as soon as done, because it rendered unsafe a\nuseful disguise.\n\nIn the case of Sir Louis the plot was deeper laid. From the boy's\nborrowing of the gun, I believe that Louis had made up his mind to\nescape with his so-called uncle. But some condition or chance word of\nLalor's had caused a shadow of suspicion to arise in Louis's mind. He\nhad drawn back at the last moment. Whereupon, exasperated by failure,\nand possibly shaken by hearing me thundering at the door, Lalor had\nsmitten, just as he had done in the case of Mr. Richard. Happily,\nhowever, with less result. The necessary weapon was not to his hand.\nThe poisoned sword, with which he no doubt expected the boy to play till\nhe pricked himself, was lying with the handle turned away from him.\n\nAt any rate he missed his stroke. But it was only by a hair's breadth,\nand had it not been for his own sword and my fleetness of foot, the\nfalse Wringham Pollixfen might for the second time have vanished as\ncompletely as before, while if Louis had died, no one would have\nsuspected as his murderer a man so important as his Excellency Lalor\nMaitland, Member of Parliament for the county, and presently carrying\nout the commission of the lieges within the precincts of the city of\nWestminster.\n\nAs to Sir Louis, it was many months before we could obtain any account\nof his experiences from him, and even then he shrank from all reference\nto that night in the Wood Parlour. Indeed, he grew up to be a silent,\nrather moody young man, and as soon as he could obtain permission from\nthe lawyers he went abroad, where at the University of Heidelberg he\nsettled himself with his books and fencing foils. All this happened ten\nyears ago, yet he manifested not the least desire to come home. His\naffairs are safe in the hands of the Dumfries lawyers, while my\ngrandfather, not to all appearance aged by a day, cares on the spot for\nhis more immediate concerns. Sir Louis has, however, made Duncan the\nSecond laird of the farm and lands of Heathknowes, on the condition that\nduring the tenancy of my grandfather and grandmother they are to sit\nrent free. Irma and I are still in the house above the meadows, and\nDuncan has just begun to attend Dr. Carson at the High School. We have\nbeen able to buy the Little White House, and have made many\nimprovements, including a couple of servants' bedrooms. But we were\njust as happy when I rose to make the fire in the morning, and Mrs.\nPathrick came over early on washing days to \"get them clothes out on the\nline at a respectable hour!\"\n\nMy father still teaches his Ovid, and looks to Freddy Esquillant to\nsucceed him. He is now first assistant and has taken a house for Agnes\nAnne. In a year or two they expect to begin thinking about getting\nmarried. But really there is no hurry. They have only been engaged\ntwelve years, and an immediate purpose of marriage would be considered\nquite indecent haste in Eden Valley. And Aunt Jen ... is still Aunt Jen.\nNo man, she says, has ever proved himself worthy of her, but I myself\nthink that, if there is no infringement of the table of consanguinity on\nthe first page of the Bible after \"James, by the Grace of God, King of\nGreat Britain, France, and Ireland,\" she has an eye on Duncan the\nSecond, when he shall shed the trappings of the school-boy and endue\nhimself with the virility of knee-breeches, cocked hat, and a coat with\nadult tails.\n\nAt least she certainly shows more partiality to him than to any one, and\nwonders incessantly how he managed to pick up so unworthy and\nharum-scarum a father.\n\nFor the rest, Heathknowes stands where it did, excepting always the Wood\nParlour, which _my_ grandfather had pulled down. And where it stood the\nfull-rounded corn-stacks almost lean against the blind wall, so that the\nmaids will not pass that way unattended--for fear of Wringham Pollixfen,\nor poor hot-blooded, turbulent Richard, his victim, or perhaps more\nexactly the victim of his own unstable will.\n\nAnd as for Irma, years have not aged her. She has the invincible gift of\nyouth, of lightsome, winsome, buoyant youth. She still has that way of\npoising herself for flight, like a tit on a thistle, or a plume of\ndandelion-down, ready to break off and float away on any wind, which I\ntell her is not respectable in a married woman of her age and standing.\nBut my Lord Advocate does not agree with me. He rests from his\nlabours--not in the grave, thank goodness, but in his house on the\nbright slopes of Corstorphine.\n\nAlso the Dean sings an \"Amen\" to his praises of Irma, but neither of the\nKirkpatricks has ever deigned to cross our doorstep.\n\n\"They were glad to be rid of you!\" I tell Irma.\n\n\"Dear place!\" she answers. And she does not mean either the house at\nSciennes or the Kirkpatrick mansion near the Water of Leith. She is\nthinking of that once open space by the Greyfriars where, to the\naccompaniment of keen chisel-stroke and dull mallet-thud, once on a day\nshe came to me, more dream-like than my dream, and said, \"I have found\nit, the Little White House!\"\n\nTHE END\n\n\nRichard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\nTranscriber's note: block relocated from front matter:\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR\n\nROSE OF THE WILDERNESS        6/-\nPRINCESS PENNILESS            6/-\nDEEP MOAT GRANGE              6d.\nTHE CHERRY RIBBAND       net 1/-\nLAD'S LOVE                    6d.\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------","title":"The Dew of Their Youth","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":100445}