Inchbracken Part 18

As when, on the aching head of a fevered invalid buzzing with a thousand delirious fancies, a cool soft hand is laid, banis.h.i.+ng uneasy nightmares, and bringing back the patient to waking common sense, even so the innocent friendliness of Mary's glance dissipated the whole swarm of crazy suspicions for the moment, and brought Ebenezer's thoughts back to their wonted wholesome tenor; and though the little thing crowed in its nurse's arms more than once, he forgot about its being perhaps an imp, or at any rate something unholy, and would even have admitted in words that it was a 'bonny bairn,' but that Peter Malloch sat at his elbow.

The minister had been looking to see some of his elders all the afternoon, and in the end had jotted down on paper his desire that Mr.

Sangster, Mr. Prittie, and another of the elders should each give a prayer, and that Ebenezer should read to the people a chapter of the Saints' Rest, as a subst.i.tute for the usual sermon, and call a meeting of the Session and Deacons' Court for Monday evening. There was no business therefore to transact, Joseph was despatched to Auchlippie with the message for Mr. Sangster, and the others withdrew.

Ebenezer felt relieved when he was once more in the open air and there was no further possibility of an interview with the minister, for he had thought it would be but right, and accordingly had screwed up his courage to say a word in season if the opportunity should occur. At the same time he was full of dread as to how it would be taken; indeed he could conceive of no possible way in which it could be taken that would not be unpleasant, and therefore he felt positively rejoiced when the danger was past. Nothing disagreeable had happened, and yet he could stand up boldly before his conscience, as one who had not s.h.i.+rked a duty however painful; and when, in the privacy of his home, he went over the events of the day, he was indeed a proud man under the praises which that incarnate conscience, the wife of his bosom, bestowed upon her steadfast and faithful Ebenezer.

CHAPTER XX.

_IN A SICK ROOM_.

When Roderick had written his letter he fell into a long and deep sleep, and it was daylight before he awoke. He was calmer in mind than he had been since he was taken ill, but it was the stillness of exhaustion. His fevered thoughts had been labouring up and down a never-ending gamut of feeling, like a prisoner tramping hopelessly up a revolving wheel, ever the same mountain of misery and despair rising before him, toil to surmount it as he might. He had climbed and climbed unceasingly--purposeless and hopeless, unable to stop, till at length, worn out, he had, as it were, fallen back in complete prostration. His waking was like that of one who has fallen from a height--stunned, the returning of far-ebbed consciousness was slow, and he would, if he could, have pushed it back again, and returned to oblivion.

He closed his eyes and turned from the light, courting the retreating footsteps of beneficent sleep, but that gentle healer refused to be detained, and he was awake. By-and-by he saw his letter carried away to its address, and he set himself to wait patiently for the return of his messenger, some time in the afternoon.

The rheumatic symptoms which had added greatly to his unrest, the day before, were abated, and his medical adviser expressed strong hope of being able to remove them altogether; but the distress in his chest had increased, his breathing was laboured and painful, threatening to develop into a serious attack.

The surgeon looked round the room, it was not a promising sick-room for an affection of the lungs. The walls, where they could be seen behind the book shelves, were stained with moisture; there was the cold earthen floor beneath the carpet, and a pervading flavour of mouldy dampness through the room, which seemed to grow only more perceptible when more fuel was piled on the hearth. When the weather was dry the windows could be opened, and with the help of a bright fire, a moderately sweet atmosphere could be obtained after a time; but whenever rain without necessitated the closing of the windows, the stuffy savour of mouldiness again took possession of the place.

Roderick lay and waited. He tried to read, but his eyes soon grew weary, and his thoughts would not fix themselves on the page, though he tried one book after another. It pained his chest to converse, and he could only possess his soul in patience, and wait Joseph's return.

But Joseph came not. Noon pa.s.sed, the shadows crept round and lengthened, but still no sign. It might be that Sophia required time to consider his letter. In that there was at least this much of hope, that if she had become engaged to the Englishman there would have been no occasion for her to delay in saying so. He grew restless as the afternoon advanced, and by evening was so flushed and increasingly feverish that they gave him a composing draught, and so got him to sleep.

In the morning he was dull and stupid for some hours, but gradually the fumes of the night's potion dissipated. His first enquiry was what letters or messages had come. There had been none. It seemed strange that no member or office-bearer of his. .h.i.therto attached flock should have come near him. Some of the more remote and scattered would not know, but it was strange the villagers should hold aloof. Could they have imagined that his illness might be infectious? and yet they were not wont thus to avoid contagion. The very elders, part of whose duty it was to visit the sick, had kept away; and although they might have been expected to take some interest in seeing the pulpit filled, they yet had allowed Sat.u.r.day to pa.s.s without coming near him. Even Mr.

Sangster, the presiding elder had not come, although the illness had been brought on in attending upon his wife, and he must have known all about it. He would know also of the letter to Sophia. Could it be on account of that that he did not come? Yet why? If he had other views for the settlement of his daughter, why did he not say so? The silence was getting unbearable.

Sunday proved to be rainy, greatly to Mrs. Sangster's relief. She availed herself of the excuse to remain at home, her son and daughter were both laid up with severe colds, and Mr. Wallowby was not inclined to get himself wet. Mr. Sangster was therefore the sole occupant of the phaeton, and he did not reach the village till the church hour had arrived, and he had to hasten straight to the tent. There, with the a.s.sociates Roderick had named, he did his best to extemporize some resemblance to a church service to the few shepherds (proof to rain and tempest) and old women crouching under umbrellas, who alone, defying the elements, had a.s.sembled as usual for their weekly meal of doctrine.

The diet of public wors.h.i.+p was got over as speedily as possible, and at the conclusion a few paris.h.i.+oners knocked in pa.s.sing to enquire after the minister's health. They were so few, however, as to excite the surprise of Mary, as well as her brother, and there had been no elder or deacon among them.

In the end Mr. Sangster did appear, he was admitted to the sick-room, and manifested the most cordial sympathy in Roderick's illness. He explained that the previous day being a market in a neighbouring town, he had gone thither, and had only got home a few minutes before Roderick's message, requesting him to a.s.sist at public wors.h.i.+p, had been delivered.

He returned the heartiest thanks for Roderick's care of his wife, and was in every way as friendly as possible, but he made no allusion to the letter to Sophia or to the proposal which it contained, which is not remarkable seeing he had not heard of it.

Roderick lay and listened. The free and friendly tone did not look as if his suit had been received unfavourably, and yet it was alluded to in no way whatever. He gathered courage at last to enquire for Sophia, and was answered that she was laid up with a severe cold, but the manner of the reply was the most simple and ordinary, and showed no sign of an idea that more could be meant by the enquirer than met the ear.

Roderick inferred that the old man was favourable to his suit, and that the young lady was taking time to make up her mind. For the moment, therefore, his hopes rose, his mind grew easier, his body more at rest, and he spent a calmer evening and night than the preceding.

On Monday morning he was very hopeful. She had had a long Sunday undisturbed by the possibility of doing anything else, for it had rained steadily, to reflect on his pet.i.tion, and she must surely return him an answer to-day.

Neither message, letter, or visitor appeared, however. 'Ah well,' he concluded at last, 'her father will no doubt bring it with him in the evening, when he comes to be present at the meeting of Session.'

The evening came. Roderick's study had been transferred as far as possible into a fitting meeting-place. The screen which closed off his sleeping corner from the room was removed, the writing table and books moved aside as well as might be, and a dozen chairs or more arranged in front of his bed.

The clock over the fireplace marked the quarter to seven, but no one came. It seemed strange that all that day no one should have come to see him. He had lived in the completest harmony with his people, and when in health had had some one always dropping in for a 'crack,' so that it had often been difficult for him to secure the privacy necessary to prepare his sermons. The sudden change was altogether inexplicable to him. Every one seemed to stand aloof, and he seemed to be put under a taboo by the entire population of the glen.

Mary went to the window. No one appeared to be coming, she then went to the door, but the village street was deserted save by a few grimy children tumbling in the gutter. Looking across the road, however, where a lane ran down to the waterside, she descried one or two figures standing. They stood well up to the wall of a house and were nearly hidden from where she stood. Indeed she would have supposed they were actually hiding themselves there and watching, but that she could imagine no possible reason for such a proceeding.

While she stood looking, Peter Malloch came out of his door and walked towards her. Here at any rate was one man coming to the meeting. It was getting late, but then the village time would get astray sometimes. It depended on the watch of the stage coach guard, a not very accurate timekeeper, as its hands would sometimes be moved twenty minutes forward or half an hour back that the coach might arrive at its different stages in time, whereby its internal economy would become deranged, and it would be sent for a fortnight to recruit at the watchmaker's.

Farther down the street she now descried Ebenezer Prittie. No doubt it was the clocks which were to blame. But no! When Peter Malloch reached the corner of the lane, he stopped short for an instant, and then hastily turned down it and disappeared. Ebenezer marched steadily along till he came to the same point, but then he also stopped and straightway vanished, like the other. What could it mean? Roderick was restless and very ill. It would require all his strength to get through the proceedings in the quietest way possible, and she could not think of fretting him, neither could she say anything to Eppie now.

That good soul had been rather tiresome as it was, for the past few days. She was always kind and attentive, though a trifle more motherly than Mary considered the circ.u.mstances to warrant, for she objected to the old woman's view of her as a helpless young thing who needed to be clucked over, and protected with beak and feather, like some unfledged nurseling of the poultry yard. Of late Eppie's commiserating sympathy and sad devotion had become nearly overpowering, as Mary could divine no possible ground for anything so pathetic; things had appeared to be going much as usual, the only unwonted circ.u.mstance having been her own return home a day or two before in the Inchbracken dog-cart, driven by Kenneth. Eppie must have got it into her head that she was falling under the influence of those black persecutors, the Drysdales, and that her soul was in danger; and that was too provokingly absurd altogether and not to be tolerated.

Mary flushed slightly to think of it, though there came also a light into her eye, as though in some aspects the idea was not so grievous after all. But it must be put down, whether or no, and she had been endeavouring to a.s.sume a deportment of severe and dignified distance, which would put the old body back in her proper place. Poor child! Her attempts at offended reserve were like the snaps of a toothless puppy, they had small resemblance to biting, and were far more likely to tickle the offending hand than to hurt it.

The next person to appear along the village street was Mr. Sangster.

He appeared to think he was late, and strode quickly along. He reached the end of the lane. Would _he_ also turn down? No; Mary saw him wave his hand in salutation, which showed that the others were still concealed there, but he stepped briskly across, and, with a cordial greeting to herself in pa.s.sing, entered her brother's room.

He had scarcely done so, when, round the corner of the lane, there came the whole Kirk-Session and Deacons' Court,--some ten or a dozen persons in all,--like a crowd of urchins late for school. They hurried forward in a sort of knot, each unwilling to go first, as though there were an irate pedagogue to confront, yet no one wished to be last, as if he expected the dominie's cane to descend on his shoulders. They were all oppressed by the dreadful rumours in circulation, as to the minister's iniquity, and all wished to wreak vengeance on the defiler of their church. But how to set about it? Something vigorous and memorable must be done; but what was it to be?

A posse of the lieges called out to a.s.sist in capturing some notorious offender, half-a-dozen dogs holding a wild cat at bay--their fingers tingle to collar, their fangs glance fiercely ready to throttle; they stand all eager, all fierce, all cruel,--but who shall be the first to lay hold? and what may not befall that impetuous individual? Knocking down, braining, scratching of eyes out; even in the case of these zealous Free-churchmen, flooring in some metaphorical but very actual though imagined sense. No man was prepared to tackle the offender, yet all were so sure of his wrong-doing, that each felt as if he were bound to do it, if he should encounter him alone or first. But now Auchlippie had gone in, he, the ruling elder, their official head, was the proper person to do the undevised deed, or, if he did not, to bear the 'wite' of leaving it undone.

Roderick brightened up on the entrance of Mr. Sangster, and looked enquiringly in his face, but he did not venture to ask the question that was so near his lips. Mr. Sangster was cordial even beyond his wont, and answered his enquiries about the different members of his family at full length; but he did not say what Roderick was so impatient to hear; he could not, for his wife had told him nothing about it.

The entrance of the elders and deacons made further personal converse impossible. They walked up to the bed, took the sick man's hand one after another, but could scarcely command their lips to frame the ordinary inquiries after his health. Singularly to them, the minister received them with perfect composure, and all his wonted friendliness, while their eyes fell and wandered while the words died away upon their lips. 'Who was the sinner?' Ebenezer Prittie very nearly inquired aloud. Here were they, twelve just men and righteous, endowed in their own sight and that of their neighbours with all the virtues and christian graces in plenteous abundance, and yet this one impenitent sinner, laid out before them, snared in the full bloom and luxuriance of his iniquity, was able to outface them all, while they, his judges and accusers could scarce look him straight in the face, and had not a word to say.

The proceedings began in the usual manner. Roderick however, found he could scarce even whisper the opening prayer, and he therefore requested Mr. Sangster to act in his stead. They had been called together to make the concluding arrangements as to their new church.

Widow Forester had come to terms about the ground, and they were therefore to set to work with all the expedition in their power, to raise the walls and secure a roof to shelter them, before the arrival of the winter storms. The day before had given them warning if that were needed, that the fine summer weather was drawing to a close, and that in a very few weeks the season of cold and storm would be upon them.

It was decided to commence work without any delay whatever, and that on the Thursday they should hold a religious service to inaugurate the work. Roderick had already bespoken the a.s.sistance of Mr. Dowlas, who had agreed to come over from his own parish whatever day he might be summoned. All therefore that had to be done was to notify him that Thursday was to be the day, and that owing to Roderick's illness he would have to a.s.sume the whole duty himself, instead of merely taking part, unless on so short notice he could induce his neighbour Mr.

Geddie to accompany him.

No one present seemed disposed to speak unnecessarily, a somewhat unusual circ.u.mstance, for the deacons especially, being new to office, were p.r.o.ne to eloquence on ordinary occasions. Roderick accepted this taciturnity as a mark of consideration for his weakness and felt grateful. Indeed no more judicious mode of showing consideration could have been devised, for he felt himself getting worse under the stir and excitement very quickly. The meeting broke up as speedily as possible, and he was left alone, for Mr. Sangster had been carried away by the rest. He had been counting on another talk with him and perhaps of yet hearing from him the thing he most desired, but his own voice had entirely gone, so it was but natural his friend should not think of remaining with him when he could not speak.

He lay back on his pillow and solaced himself by thinking all manner of good of the men who had just left. The poor, the lower cla.s.ses, who are thought so gross and rude in their perceptions! What people could have shown a more delicate intuition of what would be grateful to him in his weakness, than those rough-spoken, hard-handed men? He had been vexing himself with thoughts of their indifference and neglect, during his illness, but see how considerate and forbearing they had been this evening, notwithstanding the well known crotchets of this one and that, which would certainly have been brought out on any other occasion.

It was a beautiful thought, though not, in the circ.u.mstances a very accurate one, and helped him much in dropping peacefully to sleep not long after.

CHAPTER XXI.

_CIRCE_.

On Monday morning Mr. Wallowby was the first to appear in the breakfast-room,--an unusual circ.u.mstance. There was meditation in the noiseless tread of his slippered feet, and he rubbed his hands thoughtfully, one over the other. So, a reflective cat will softly move her paws and undulate her tail, while she is planning her next raid on a neighbouring mouse hole. His enquiries after Peter's health were solicitous and tender, and the regret and disappointment at his being still confined to his room, perhaps excessive, considering his strong recommendations over-night, that the patient should keep his bed altogether next day, and, by making a regular lay up of it, get well the sooner. He asked Mr. Sangster to lend him a horse and trap to drive over to Inchbracken, still lamenting Peter's indisposition and deploring the necessity of having to go alone, but persistently deaf to the suggestion that he should wait a day or two till Peter got better.

The trap was ordered round as desired, the old gentleman being thankful that in default of Peter's help the guest should take his amus.e.m.e.nt into his own hands, and not fall back on him, James Sangster, who had been resignedly counting on a day of self-sacrifice and boredom in the young man's company. He would have yielded the day freely enough, and submitted to the boredom with a fair grace, but he feared the young man would be as much bored as himself; and that, somehow, he did not relish. We are all of us so accustomed to being bored by our fellows, that none but the very young think of complaining, but that our fellows might be bored with us, is a suggestion our self-love would rather not entertain. Mrs. Sangster did not approve the idea; she would have had Peter go to consolidate his intimacy with the county magnates, and what could it possibly matter to Wallowby? she thought. She proposed a postponement, but Wallowby was already deep in a discussion of the relative merits of Hungarian rye-gra.s.s and timothy with her spouse, and so continued not to hear.

The hour arrived, so likewise did the trap, and Mr. Wallowby issued from his chamber glorious as a sunbeam. He had dressed himself with the greatest care, and he really looked very well, if only he could have run against somebody or something, so as to derange the get-up in some slight degree, and make the whole more human. He was of sufficient stature, and his face was well enough, if a trifle vacant; so that in this faultless array, without crease or plait or pucker, he resembled one of the figures in a tailor's fas.h.i.+on plate considerably more than a gentleman of the period. Mrs. Sangster met him on the stairs and was vastly impressed. She would have liked Sophia to see him; but, alas! that could be managed only by peeping from behind a blind, for Sophia herself was still the victim of catarrh, and forced to remain invisible.

Reaching Inchbracken, Mr. Wallowby was received by Julia. Lady Caroline had not yet left her room, but sent word that she hoped to see him at luncheon, and the gentlemen were from home. It was Julia's acquaintance, however, which he had already made; and as the other lady was to appear later, he resigned himself with perfect satisfaction to be entertained by that agreeable person. They walked about the grounds admiring the broad sweep of the lake, which, lapping round Inchbracken on three sides, swept far away into the shadow of the overhanging hills. Mr. Wallowby was charmed to discover in himself a remarkably just appreciation of scenery, which he had never before been conscious of possessing; but then he was not sure that it had ever before fallen to his lot to have it so well called forth, or to have met so appreciative a companion. It was quite remarkable and very pleasant to find on how many subjects their opinion exactly agreed, not on scenery only, for that was not a theme to last long, but in general views of life and society, even politics and religion, though these, as heavy matters, were only glanced at in pa.s.sing; 'but it is so pleasant to meet with a woman capable of understanding one on such higher and more masculine subjects,' at least so thought Mr.

Wallowby.