THE AVALANCHE
And now there was a second and longer probation in that gaunt town of
Edinburgh, without any miniature to lie beside me on my work-table like
a tickless watch, and help along the weary hours. And though the session
before I had thought but little of the letters (and indeed there was
nothing in them), yet this time there were none at all, which suited me
far worse. For, as it seemed, the mere sight of the hand-of-write would
have cheered me.
Henceforward I could only learn, as it were, by ricochet what was going
on. My grandmother never set pen to paper. Her tongue to guide was
trouble enough to her without setting down words on paper to rise up in
judgment against her. True, my father wrote regularly to inquire if my
professor had any new light on the high things of Plato, the Iberian
flavour in Martial's Epigrams, and such like subjects which were better
fitted to interest a learned dominie who had lost the scholar of his
choice than to comfort a young fellow who has only lost his sweetheart.
For her part Agnes Anne wrote me reams about Charlotte, but never
mentioned a word as to the Maitlands, though she did say that Charlotte
was a good deal at Heathknowes, and (a trifle spitefully, perhaps) that
she did not know what took her there unless it were to see Uncle Rob!
This poor Uncle Rob of ours--his reputation was in everybody's mouth,
certainly. He had been, so they said, a runagate, a night-raker, and in
the days of his youth a trifle wild. But now with the shadows of forty
deepening upon him, it was not fair that all the hot blood of his teens
and twenties should rise up in judgment against him. Still so it was.
And the reason of it was, he had not, as he ought, married and settled.
For which sin of omission, as the gossips of Eden Valley said, "there
was bound to be a reason!"
Charlotte herself did not send a line, excepting always the letters I
was to forward to Tom Gallaberry at his farm of Ewebuchts on the Water
of Ae. This at the time I judged unkind, but afterwards I found that
Cousin Tom had insisted upon it, on the threat of going to her father
and telling him the whole affair. For, in spite of all, Cousin Thomas
was jealous--as most country lads are of college-bred youths, and he
pinned Charlotte carefully down in her correspondence. However, I made
him pay his own postages, which was a comfort, and as Agnes Anne and
often my father would slip their letters into the same packet, after all
I had only the extra weight to pay.
Still, I did think that some of them might have told me something of
Irma. But none did, till one great day I got a letter--from whom think
you? I give you fifty guesses--well, from my Aunt Jen. And it contained
more than all the rest put together, though all unconsciously, and
telling me things that I might have gone a long time ignorant of--if she
had suspected for a moment I was keen about them.
Heathknowes, this the thirteenth Aprile.
"Dear Nephew Duncan,
"Doubtless you will be having so many letters that you will not be
caring for one from a cross auld maid, who is for ever finding fault
with you when ye are at home. But who, for all that, does not forget
to bear ye up in the arms of her petitions before the Throne--no,
night and morning both.
"This is writ to tell you that I have sent ye, by the wish of my
mither, one cheese of seven pounds weight good, as we are hearing
that you are thinking to try and find something to do in Edinburgh
during the summer time. Which will be an advisable thing, if it be
the Lord's will--for faint-a-hait do ye do here except play ill
pranks and run the country.
"However, what comes o't we shall see. Also there is a pig of
butter. It may be the better of a trifle more salt, that is, if the
weather is onyway warm. So I have put in a little piece of board and
ye can work the salt in yourself. Be a good lad, and mind there are
those here that are praying for ye to be guided aright. Big towns
are awful places for temptation by what they say, and that ye are
about the easiest specimen to be tempted, that I have yet seen with
these eyes. Howsomever, maybe ye will have gotten grace, or if not
that, at least a pickle common-sense, whilk often does as well--or
better.
"It's a Guid's blessing that ye have been led to stop where ye are.
For that lassie Charlotte Anderson is going on a shame to be seen.
Actually she is never off our doorstep--fleeing and rinning all
hours of the day. At first I thought to mysel', it was to hear news
of you. But she kens as weel as us when the posts come in, besides
the letters she gets from Agnes Anne--some that cost as muckle as
sevenpence--a ruination and a disgrace!" [Tom Gallaberry must have
been prolix that week.] "Then I thought it was maybe some of the
lads--for, like it or no, ye had better ken soon as syne, that
maiden's e'e is filled with vanity and the gauds o' grandeur,
disdaining the true onputting of a meek and quiet spirit!
"But, for your comfort, if ye are so far left to yourself as to take
comfort in the like--and the bigger fool you--it is no the lads
after all. It's just Irma Maitland!
"I declare they two are never sindry. They will be out talk-talking,
yatter-yattering when the kye are being milked in the morning. Irma
makes her carry the water, that's one comfort. But I wonder at that
silly auld clocking hen, Seraphina Huntingdon. It's a deal of work
she will be getting, but I suppose the premium pays for all, and she
will not care a farthing now that Charlotte's market is made. Not
that I would trust you (or any student lad) the length of my
stirabout potstick--or indeed (not to shame my own father) anything
that wears hose and knee-breeches. And maybe that's the reason every
silly birkie thinks he has the right to cast up to me that I am an
auld maid. Faith, there's few that wear the wedding ring with whom I
would change places. But what of that?
"The folk are all well here, both bairns and grown folk, and we will
be blithe to hear from you, and if you have the time to send a
scraps of your pen to your auld maiden aunt, that mony a time
(though Lord knows not half often enough) has garred your lugs ring
for your misdeeds--she will be pleased to hear if the butter and
cheese were some kitchen to your tasteless town's bread.
"Your obdt. servt. and affectionate aunt,
"Janet Lyon."
From this information I hoped great things--at least a letter demanding
pardon from Irma, or an account of how she had confessed all from that
graceless and thankless forgetful besom Charlotte. But I heard nothing
further till, one day going past after another, about a twelvemonth
after amazing word came. It was when I was busy with some literary work
I had gotten from one of the printers in the town--correcting proofs and
looking out for misspellings in the compositions of an eminent hand. I
will be plain--it was poor work, and as poorly paid. But I could live on
it, and in any case it was better than slaving at tutoring. That is, as
tutoring was at that time in Edinburgh--a dull boy whom none could make
anything of, insolent servants, sneering elder sisters and a guinea a
month to pay for all. However, I tried it and made some of them stop
sneering--at least the sisters.
I was, I say, in the Rankeillor Street lodgings and Amelia was going out
at the door with my tea-things--as usual calling me names for "idling
within doors" when Fred was out at his classes. Freddie had private
permission from one of the professors to read in his library, so often
did not come home till late. But I stuck to my arm-chair and my
printer's slips like a burr to homespun. Suddenly there was a great
noise on the stairs. "There," cries Amelia, "that's one of your
countrymen, or I'm no judge of the Galloway bray!"
For, as I have indicated before, Amelia was far from imitating her
mother's English politeness.
The next moment the front door was driven in with a mighty brange
against the wall (for Amelia had been out the moment before on the
landing to throw some turnip-tops on the ash "backet"). A huge man in
many swathes of riding-coat dashed in and caught me by the throat.
Amelia had the two-pronged carving fork in her hand, and seeing her
mother's lodger (as she thought) in danger of being choked to death,
without having regulated his week's bill, she threw herself upon my
assailant and struck vehemently with the fork.
The huge man in the many capes doubtless suffered no grievous harm. It
had hardly been possible for a pistol-ball to penetrate such an
armature, but still the sudden assault from behind, and perhaps some
subtle feminine quality in Amelia's screams, made him turn about to see
what was happening.
The man was Fighting Anderson of Birkenbog himself, and he kept crying,
"Where have you hidden her, rascal, thief? I will kill you, villain of a
scribbler! It was because you were plotting this that you dare not show
your face in the country!"
But every time he threw himself upon me, Amelia, who did not want for
spunk, dug at him with the two-pronged fork, and stuck it through so
many plies of his mantle till he was obliged to cry out, "Here, lassie,
lay down that leister, or ye will hae me like miller Tamson's riddle,
that the cat can jump through back-foremost."
After adjusting his coat collar he turned to me and demanded, in a more
sensible and quiet way, what had become of his daughter.
At the question, Amelia went into one of her foolish fits of laughter
and cried out, "What, anither of them?"
Whereupon to prevent misunderstandings, I explained that the young lady
was my landlady's daughter, and a friend of Freddy Esquillant's.
"Oh, you students," he said, and sat down to wipe his brow, having seen
from the most cursory examination of our abode, wholly open to the view,
and exiguous at the best, that certainly Charlotte was not hidden there.
"She left home three days syne as if to go to Miss Huntingdon's," he
said, "and ever since her mother has gone from one hysteric to another.
So, knowing nothing better to do, and maybe judging you by myself in my
own young days (for which I am sure I ask your pardon) I started out to
make sure that everything had been done decently and in order. Though as
sure as my name is Robert Anderson, I cannot think why you did not come
and wed the lass decently at home----"
We were at this point in our explanation, Amelia's ear was (doubtless)
close to the back of the door, and Birkenbog was relapsing into his
first belief, when I heard the key in the lock and the light foot of
Freddy in the passage.
It came as a huge relief, for here was my witness.
He entered, and, seeing the visitor, bowed and deposited his books in
the corner. He was for going out again, doubtless thinking that
Charlotte's father and I were at business together. So, indeed, we
were--but not such as I wished to keep anyways private between us. I
could not, with any self-respect, go on depending any longer on Amelia's
two-pronged fork.
So I said, "Freddy, bear me witness that I have not been out of the
house this week, except to go to the printer's with my work----"
"Fegs," cried a voice through the jar of the door, "there is no need for
Freddy to bear ye out in that. You have only to look at the carpet under
the legs of your chair. It has gotten a tairgin', as if all the hosts of
King Pharaoh had trampled over it down to the Red Sea!"
But I would not keep the old man any longer in suspense.
"I fear, Birkenbog," I said, "that you have given yourself a bootless
journey. From what I suspect, your flown bird will be nested nearer
home."
"Where?" he cried; "tell me the scoundrel's name."
"Fairly and soothly, Birkenbog," said I, "peace is best among near
friends--not to speak of kinsfolk!"
"Aye," said he, "fairly and soothly be it! But I have to ken first that
it is fairly and soothly. Who is the man?"
"I do not know for certain," I said, "but I have every reason to believe
that your daughter is at this moment Mistress Thomas Gallaberry of
Ewebuchts, on the Water of Ae!"
"Oh, the limmer," he cried, and started up as if to fly at me again. His
face was indeed a study. First there appeared the usual hot wrath,
overlapping in ruddy fold on fold, and revealing the owner's full-fed
intent to punish. This gradually gave way to a look of humorous
appreciation, and then all of a sudden, he slapped his thigh in an agony
of joyous appreciation.
"Oh, the limmer," he cried, "only a week since my kinsman Tam Gallaberry
asks me brave and canny for the lend of five hundred to stock his Back
Hill. He offered decent enough security, and as usual I took Charlotte's
opinion on the business. For it's her that has the great head for the
siller. Oh yes, she has that. And as soon as they gat the tocher, he's
off wi' the lassie. Certes, but he is the cool hand."
"If you allow me to judge, I should say the cool hand was Charlotte!" I
ventured.
"Right, man," he cried, "little do I doubt it! Tam Gallaberry has led a
grey mare to his stable that will prove the better horse, and that he
will ken before he is a fortnight older."
Then he turned upon me, short and sharp.
"You have kenned this some while, I'm jaloosin'?"
"Yes," said I, for I felt that he might have me awkwardly trapped if he
went on, "that is one of the reasons why I did not come home. I knew
that Charlotte had made up her mind never to marry me----"
"And ye took it like that?" he cried; "man, ye havena muckle spunk!"
"It was not generally so thought at the time of the assault on the great
house of Marnhoul," I answered; "and indeed I remember one old gentleman
about your figure, with a white crape over his nose, that shook me by
the hand and took my name down in his book----"
"_Wheesht--wheesht_," he said, looking about uneasily, "siccan things
are better never minted so close to the Parliament House where bide the
Red Fifteen!"
"Well," said I, "that's as may be, but I cannot have it said by you or
any man that I lack spunk!"
"Oh," said he, "though I never was troubled that gate mysel'--there's
mony a bold man has turned hen-hearted when it came to a question of the
lasses. There's Freddy here, one wad never think it of him, but there
has he gotten yon lass that nearly did for me with her twa-pronged fork.
She's a smart hizzy, and will make a lively wife to some man. But I maun
e'en be riding back to put a question or so to the man that has stown
awa' my bit ewe-lamb and put her in fold by the Water of Ae."
At that moment Amelia came in with a triumphant smile. "It's a laddie
from the post, and he winna gie up the letter unless you pay him
sevenpence for postage dues and a penny for himself!"
"There's the sevenpence, and clash the door in his face!" I cried. For I
was bravely well acquainted with the exigencies of these post-office
"keelies."
But Birkenbog, who was in good humour at the way he had been done by his
daughter, threw a handful of copper "bodles" across the table to Amelia.
"There's for the messenger!" he said. And I could see that he looked at
the letter when it came with some anxiety.
As I supposed, it was from Charlotte, and the thinnest and least bulky
of her billets that had ever come up these stairs. I handed it across to
him, where he sat newly glooming at me.
"Open it!" I said.
"Since when has Robert Anderson of Birkenbog taken to opening letters
addressed to other men?"
"Never heed--not till this very minute, maybe. Open that one, at any
rate!" And I ran my finger along the sealed edge.
This was Charlotte's letter to me.
From our home at Ewebuchts, Tuesday.
"Dear Duncan,
"How can we ever make it up to you? We were married yesterday by Mr.
Torrance, the minister at Quarrelwood, and came home here in time
for the milking of the cows. My father has kindly given my Thomas
five hundred on account of my marriage portion, but he does not know
it yet. I left all well. Thomas joins in kind messages to all
inquiring friends. He is looking over my shoulder now, as perhaps
you may be already aware from the style of composition.
"Yours truly,
"Charlotte Gallaberry.
"P.S.--Oh, I forget to tell you, it will be as well to barricade
your door. For I left word with one of the servant lasses that I was
off to Edinburgh. Father will likely call to see you, and he is sure
to have with him the whip wherewith he downed the highwayman. But I
know well your bravery, and do sincerely thank you for all you may
have to undergo for me.
"Charlotte."
"Humph," said her father, as he flung it across the table to me, "in my
opinion ye are well shut of her! She will twist that Tam Gallaberry
round her finger and then--whizz--she will make him spin like a peerie!"
He rose, and without any adieus stamped his way down the stairs,
sniffing as he went at every landing. We stood at the window watching
his progress along the street--capes swaying, broad bonnet of blue
cocked at an angle on top, red double-chinned face looking straight
ahead. Amelia came over to my shoulder and looked too.
But all she said was, "And now, when it's past and gone, will ye tell me
if _Yon_ is what you learned folk caa' an avalanche?"