Inchbracken Part 19

Julia was a wily sportswoman. She had often heard Captain John describe the method of tickling a trout, and here was a gudgeon whom she was minded to try her hand on, and capture, if possible, by that delicate process. Wallowby opened out and spread himself in the bland warmth of her approving smiles, like a very sunflower. He had truly never before realised what a remarkably fine fellow he was, and the revelation was delightful; and so, too, in consequence, was the fair prophetess who had disclosed it. Loch Gorton was fine, no doubt, and so too were the purple shadows slumbering among the hills beyond; but what were these in comparison to the heights and depths, long concealed under mists of modest diffidence, in the wondrous soul of Augustus Wallowby? The man fairly s.h.i.+mmered like a moonlit fountain, with coruscations of self-surprising wit and gratified vanity, while Circe cooed genially in response, still leading him onward into deeper quagmires of idiocy. Through gardens and shrubberies she led the way, and he followed closely behind, with ears laid luxuriatingly back; as the donkey whose poll has been deftly scratched will rub himself up against his new found friend, and court a continuance of the t.i.tillating process. Julia was actually discomposed by the rapidity of her success. Had she been in fun it would have been amusing, but she was a practical woman who meant business and a settlement for herself, so she feared to proceed too fast. Too speedy an inflation applied to so little solid substance might burst it, like a gla.s.s blower's freak, in a shower of spangles, to the mere idle glorification of the man himself; whereas if there was to be gla.s.s blowing, it was a useful goblet for _her_ that was wanted. To change the tune, therefore, she now led the way to the old square tower overtopping the shrubbery, which was all that remained of the ancient family residence. Here a larger share of the conversation devolved on herself, Scotch antiquities and history being altogether unfamiliar to her Southern friend. He listened, however, with respectful interest to her account of the early Drysdales. When a man is uncertain who may have been his own grandfather, or whether such a person ever existed, there is something impressive in the long line of progenitors claimed by other people, and their certainty as to the possession. Here among the crumbling walls they once inhabited, it was impossible to doubt about them,--a very legion of haughty shadows who had once ruled the surrounding country,--or not to feel a positive reverence for their surviving representative. This train of thought naturally led to Lady Caroline, and as Julia phrased it, 'my Cousin, Lord Pitthevlis.' In the presence of that n.o.ble house the pretensions of the Drysdales dwindled considerably,--came down almost within reach, as it were, of Mr. Wallowby's unhistoric self; and yet this magnificent family were cousins of the engaging maiden who stood before him and discoursed so graciously of their grandeur. It was a delightful idea to realize, and he endeavoured to bring it well within his grasp, by desiring to know the precise degree of cousins.h.i.+p. She replied that the relations.h.i.+p was through George, the thirteenth Earl. It appeared to be difficult to particularize very exactly. An honourable Cornelius somebody, and a Lady Mary somebody else, besides other important people, had all been implicated some generations back in Miss Finlayson's introduction on this sublunary scene; 'but Lord Pitthevlis always calls me cousin, and so do the rest of the family, so of course it is so,' she concluded, and Wallowby was satisfied. There was apparently no prospect of her ever being a countess in her own right, but she was evidently very highly connected, so that when she died, her husband would be able to put up a hatchment with eight quarterings in front of his house; and Mr. Wallowby actually called up in his mind's eye a momentary vision of his own residence in the outskirts of Manchester so adorned, just to see how it would look. Poor man! I fear he was far gone.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Through gardens and shrubberies she led the way." Page 162.]

During those few minutes when the lady left him in the morning room, while she went to remove her bonnet before luncheon, he drew a long breath and asked himself, 'could it be that at last he really was in love?' A long train of captives pa.s.sed through his memory, the supposed victims of his fascinations--or his fortune, was it? But what were any of them to this incomparable person? So elegant, so accomplished, and so appreciative! It seemed very sudden; but then, was not love at first sight the truest, the best, the highest form of that delightful emotion? And was not the attraction mutual? With his long and intimate knowledge of the s.e.x, _he_ knew all the signs. He was sure of that, and could not be mistaken in this case. He was indeed a sad rogue, so he told himself. He could not help that, but he felt for the poor girl in a serene and benevolent sort of way, and resolved that she should not sigh in vain. Yet he must be circ.u.mspect and do nothing precipitate! Although he was to return to England in three days' time, and could not without making explanations to an inquisitive world come again to see her; that was a matter he must break to her gently, and he would ask leave to correspond with her.

Meanwhile he must practise reserve--veil his radiance somewhat, lest the poor child should be reduced to a heap of ashes--another Semele--before the fitting time for a proposal had arrived. So far his reflections had got, as he stood looking from the windows, and pulling out the corners of his whiskers to their extremest length, when he was interrupted by a summons to luncheon.

In the dining-room the ladies were already seated, one being Lady Caroline whom he had not yet seen; and whether it was merely the presence of a third person, or the silent claim of superiority on the part of that lady, the atmosphere appeared to have undergone a change.

Life was no longer a river at high tide rolling to a triumphal march from 'the Caliph of Bagdad,' but a very ordinary stream indeed, oozing along between monotonous banks, over a flat and muddy bottom. Instead of a prized and congenial friend, he was now reduced to the part of stranger, and rather an unknown stranger too. Lady Caroline led the conversation as was her wont, but more interrogatively, and less as an exclusive monologue than when addressing persons with whom she was better acquainted. Having been called on to express his admiration for Scotland and the Scotch, on this his first visit to the country, he was next asked if he had been induced to attend any of the open-air conventicles which his friends so much affected, and how he liked them. He said he had been at one, and that it was a picturesque gathering in a stagy sort of way, and something very different from anything he had ever seen before.

'I should think so,' said Lady Caroline; 'it seems to me a species of madness which has fallen upon the people. I wonder the authorities do not put it down, for it is utterly subversive of order, and all good government. I feel quite ashamed whenever I hear of it coming under the notice of people from another country. They must form so strange an opinion of us. If you spend another Sunday in the neighbourhood you must persuade your friends to send you over to the parish church. It is not far from here.'

Mr. Wallowby replied that he would be returning to England before another Sunday came round. 'But I was not aware,' he added, 'that there were any but Presbyterian chapels for many miles round here. I felt compunction about attending the ministrations of an unordained person, it seemed to me so much a burlesque on the offices of religion, but I was told that except in towns and a very few country places far north, there are no clergymen in Scotland at all. And yet the Scotch claim to be very religious. I did not know before that people could be religious without church or parson, and now I have seen it I do not like it.'

'Yes! English people are all alike! They insist upon choosing for themselves, and having done so, they would impose their choice upon everybody else. That is not so bad perhaps when they stick to the old-fas.h.i.+oned ways--in my young days we all got on most comfortably together; but now when they have adopted so many new notions, apostolical succession for instance, which we never used to hear of, it seems a trifle unreasonable that people who have so much difficulty in knowing their own views should expect others to accept them too.

For myself, I find the Act of Parliament and the law of the land the best religious director, and wherever I live I mean to conform to the Established Church of the country--always excepting France, and I never will live there. I have not forgot yet how we used to be threatened with Popery and wooden shoes if ever the French should land upon our sh.o.r.es. Now, the English Church people are dissenters in Scotland, just as Presbyterians are in England. But I hate the very name of dissenter, as of all disloyalty, and therefore I attend the English Church when in England, just as I do the Scotch in Scotland.'

'But if the ministers of the Scotch form of wors.h.i.+p are not priests, how can they const.i.tute a Church? That is my difficulty.'

'The Act of Settlement says that they do, and there is no going behind the law of the land. The Archbishop of Paris probably does not consider the Archbishop of Canterbury a priest, or able to const.i.tute a Church; but no Englishman would be worth his salt who cared for what a Frenchman said. As for the clergy in different countries, they are all most excellent people, but they require a Queen Elizabeth or some such person to keep them in their own place. They are all, priests and presbyters alike, inclined to be meddlesome and tyrannical; and if we would only let them, they would rule us with a rod of iron. I am quite familiar with your prejudices, and even respect them, so far; my brother Pitthevlis is a Scotch Episcopalian, and I was so brought up myself, but I fear I must say they are a little narrow, and too like your own new disturbers (Puseyites, you call them, I think), ever to be possible as a national Church.'

Mr. Wallowby bridled slightly. He thought he was a Puseyite himself, and had great scorn for the Low Church party; but in those pre-ritualistic days his High Churchism was, like most other laymen's, little more than a taste for illuminated windows, surpliced choirs, intoned prayers, and a musical service; and that rather on account of its 'swellness,' than as a means of edification; and he would have been as prompt as any Low Churchman to cry out 'Popery' against the modern developments. Thirty years have pa.s.sed since then, and many things have changed. Mr. Wallowby had raised his head to do battle for his faith, but meanwhile Lady Caroline had meandered on to other themes, so what he might have said can never be known.

The chicken, the salad, and the toast were at length consumed. All rose from table, and Augustus felt that it was time for him to withdraw. Julia accompanied him to the door, there was some low-toned conversation, and he was gone.

'Well! my dear Julia,' said Lady Caroline, 'I do not know what I should do without your kind good-nature, to take the bores off my hands. It must be between three and four hours since that misguided man arrived, and you have been with him all the time! Does your head ache?'

'Oh no, dear Lady Caroline, I have got through the visit very pleasantly. He does not talk so much as to weary one, and yet he has plenty to say.'

'Ah? Then I may save my condolences. So much the better! He strikes me as being almost good-looking, if he were only a gentleman, and not quite so tightly b.u.t.toned into his clothes. Men laugh at women's tightlacing, but how they endure all these wisps of muslin round their throats I cannot think. And I am sure they are quite as ridiculous.'

'I thought Mr. Wallowby dressed rather nicely; and as to his manners--of course he has never gone into society, and he is not the least like a guardsman; but then he has never had the chance to see one. And, who knows? he may have a son in the army at least, perhaps even a field-marshal, or a Lord-Chancellor, for I hear he is very rich, and even the greatest families must have a first man, or perhaps, as you would say, the man before that.'

'Julia, my dear, you are a philosopher! The gentleman must have merit, or he would not have won over my critical young cousin so soon. He is rich you say?'

'Yes, Lady Caroline. Miss Brown, who was living with the Sangsters says he is very rich; and it would be too absurd in a penniless girl like me to be critical and fastidious in judging a man of his substantial fortune.'

'Fastidious! my dear? Then there is a chance of his being submitted to your approval?'

Julia coloured. 'Indeed Lady Caroline, it is so hard for a girl to say. But if you will not think me absurd, I almost fancy there might perhaps be a possibility of something like that.'

'Ah, then, my dear, that alters the question altogether. I have no daughter of my own, and there is no one whose settlement in life I have more nearly at heart than yours. Confide in me, child! I have every wish to be a mother to you.'

Julia kissed her hand very sweetly. 'I shall find out all about him,'

continued the old lady, through old MacSiccar, and you may trust me not to compromise you in any way. If his circ.u.mstances are satisfactory, it might probably be a very judicious step on your part; One cannot have everything you know; but enough to live upon is a thing it is impossible to do without. And as to the rest, under your guidance, I see no reason why he should not make a perfectly presentable figure in society. I am sure you will make an admirable and attached wife, whoever you marry; but marrying for love, instead of with it, as every good girl of course will, often turns out to be a mistake. You know, my dear, I was not very young myself when I married, and a few years earlier I was very nearly doing something foolish of that kind. The gentleman had high rank and was really very charming; but my dear papa discovered the unsuitableness of the connection in time, and though I was really infatuated, he carried us all down to Pitthevlis, and kept us there for two years. In the meantime, what papa expected occurred, the gentleman ruined himself.

His property was put under trustees, and he himself has been living at Boulogne and such places ever since, on the few hundreds a year allowed by his creditors. I shudder sometimes when I think how narrowly I escaped----. Shortly after that my dear General came forward, and I need not say how thankful I am that I was saved from my earlier folly. Rank and position are most desirable things, but a solid income is indispensable. There are so many girls now, too, and the men have grown so mercenary, that a girl without fortune or a t.i.tle cannot look for more than a younger son, which is merely a sort of decent dependence on the family, and often a most painful position.

So my dear,' added the old lady, who had been gradually warming under her own eloquence, 'I wish you every success, always provided the _parti_ should prove worthy your acceptance,' and thereupon she rose, and bending over Julia, kissed her on the forehead, like a fairy G.o.dmother, or some other superior spirit, animated by the most beneficent intentions. She was thinking that if Kenneth should marry and settle down at Inchbracken, as his father desired, a third lady in the household would be one too many.

CHAPTER XXII.

_IN SESSION_.

The joint meeting of elders and deacons broke up as described, and left the minister alone. They did not separate, however, for Ebenezer Prittie stood without the cottage door, and begged them so urgently to come round to the Post Office that they consented.

The Post Office proved a meeting place still more restricted than the one they had left, but it was private. The shop having been closed, they seated themselves on the counter and sundry kegs of nails, and waited the opening of the proceedings.

Ebenezer moved that Mr. Sangster should take the chair (a tall slender-legged stool), and that the proceedings should be minuted in the Session books, as a continuance after adjournment of the meeting which had just broken up. Mr. Sangster objected to so irregular a course, and declined to mount the chair. He would be happy to hold an informal conversation with his friends there a.s.sembled, but he would take no part in a hole-and-corner meeting not duly called, and held without the knowledge of their minister, who of right should preside.

Ebenezer coughed behind his hand, cleared his voice, and stood forth.

He had been planning something very energetic in the way of resolutions and minutes of Session, which by and by would be produced in the Presbytery with his name as prime mover and leader; but now he had got them together, it did not appear such plain sailing as he had antic.i.p.ated, and he began to have qualms and misgivings. The position of prosecutor or accuser did not appear so desirous, now that he stood in the midst of that silent and expectant circle, as it had done when he was merely planning it. He coughed again, but the silence remained unbroken. No one else desired to speak, so he had to go on. He told them that it was unnecessary for him to name the reason for his having requested them to rea.s.semble there, as they knew it already. Mr.

Sangster interrupted, that he for one had not an idea of the object of their meeting, and was waiting to hear it. Ebenezer replied that the whole glen was ringing with reports of the evil living of the person acting as pastor over them,--that it was a crying scandal, and that the enemy would have good cause to exult over the subversion of their Zion, if they did not cast the unclean thing out from among them.'

'What do you allude to. Mr. Prittie?' asked Mr. Sangster.

'To the minister's bairn, sir!' replied Ebenezer; 'ye hardly need to speer that.'

'But Mr. Brown's adoption of a foundling infant affords no ground of censure that I can see. I confess, indeed, that I have always thought he had set us an example of Christian charity we would do well to copy.'

'Do ye mean to say, sir, ye dinna ken wha's acht that bairn?'

'I do. Whose is it?'

'His ain, of course!'

'How do you know?'

'A' body kens that by noo, 'at bides in Glen Effick.'

'_I_ don't, for one; and I should like to know how _you_ know it.'

'What a' body says maun be true! Ye'll allow _that_, Mester Sangster.

An' what's mair, the mither's kenned as weel.'

'And who is the mother? Has she said so?'

'A body wadna just look for that, ye ken, sir. Folk dizna cry stinkin'

fish e'y open market. An' ye wadna be lookin' to hear auld Tibbie Tirpie cryin' 'cuttie' after her ain dochter!'

'How then do you make it out? For myself, I don't believe one word of it.'

'Do ye mean to say 'at I'm leein', Mester Sangster? I'm but a puir man to you, I ken weel; an' I'm mindin' 'at ye're the Laird of Auchlippie; but I was ordeened to the elders.h.i.+p o' the kirk the same day ye was yoursel', an' I'm thinkin' we're baith brithers in the house o' G.o.d, whaur there's no respect of persons; an' I kenna what for ye suld think I'm leein' ony mair nor yersel'.'

'Whisht, man!' remonstrated Peter Malloch. 'The Laird never thocht to mis...o...b.. _you_. It's just a way o' speakin' folk's gotten. But I'm sayin', Mester Sangster, I cud gang a lang gate mysel' e'y pruivin' o'

thae suspeecions. I hae seen the minister wi' my ain een, slinkin'