THE WEDDING.
In the mean time Fergus, dull as he was to doubt his own importance
and success--for did not the public acknowledge both?--yet by degrees
lost heart and hope so far as concerned Ginevra, and at length told the
laird that, much as he valued his society, and was indebted for his
kindness, he must deny himself the pleasure of visiting any more at the
cottage--so plainly was his presence unacceptable to Miss Galbraith.
The laird blustered against his daughter, and expostulated with the
preacher, not forgetting to hint at the ingratitude of forsaking him,
after all he had done and borne in the furthering of his interests:
Jenny must at length come to see what reason and good sense required
of her! But Fergus had at last learned his lesson, and was no longer
to be blinded. Besides, there had lately come to his church a certain
shopkeeper, retired rich, with one daughter; and as his hope of the
dignity of being married to Ginevra faded, he had come to feel the
enticement of Miss Lapraik’s money and good looks--which gained in
force considerably when he began to understand the serious off-sets
there were to the honour of being son-in-law to Mr. Galbraith: a nobody
as was old Lapraik in himself and his position, he was at least looked
upon with respect, argued Fergus; and indeed the man was as honest as
it is possible for any worshipper of Mammon to be. Fergus therefore
received the laird’s expostulations and encouragements with composure,
but when at length, in his growing acidity, Mr. Galbraith reflected on
his birth, and his own condescension in showing him friendship, Fergus
left the house, never to go near it again. Within three months, for
a second protracted courtship was not to be thought of, he married
Miss Lapraik, and lived respectable ever after--took to writing hymns,
became popular afresh through his poetry, and exercised a double
influence for the humiliation of Christianity. But what matter, while
he counted himself fortunate, and thought himself happy! his fame
spread; he had good health; his wife worshipped him; and if he had
had a valet, I have no doubt he would have been a hero to him, thus
climbing the topmost untrodden peak of the world’s greatness.
When the next evening came, and Fergus did not appear, the laird
fidgeted, then stormed, then sank into a moody silence. When the second
night came, and Fergus did not come, the sequence was the same, with
exasperated symptoms. Night after night passed thus, and Ginevra began
to fear for her father’s reason. She challenged him to play backgammon
with her, but he scorned the proposal. She begged him to teach her
chess, but he scouted the notion of her having wit enough to learn. She
offered to read to him, entreated him to let her do something with him,
but he repelled her every advance with contempt and surliness, which
now and then broke into rage and vituperation.
As soon as Gibbie returned, Ginevra let him know how badly things were
going with her father. They met, consulted, agreed that the best thing
was to be married at once, made their preparations, and confident that,
if asked, he would refuse his permission, proceeded, for his sake, as
if they had had it.
One morning, as he sat at breakfast, Mr. Galbraith received from Mr.
Torrie, whom he knew as the agent in the purchase of Glashruach, and
whom he supposed to have bought it for Major Culsalmon, a letter, more
than respectful, stating that matters had come to light regarding the
property which rendered his presence on the spot indispensable for
their solution, especially as there might be papers of consequence in
view of the points in question, in some drawer or cabinet of those he
had left locked behind him. The present owner, therefore, through Mr.
Torrie, begged most respectfully that Mr. Galbraith would sacrifice
two days of his valuable time, and visit Glashruach. The result, he
did not doubt, would be to the advantage of both parties. If Mr.
Galbraith would kindly signify to Mr. Torrie his assent, a carriage and
four, with postilions, that he might make the journey in all possible
comfort, should be at his house the next morning, at ten o’clock, if
that hour would be convenient.
For weeks the laird had been an unmitigated bore to himself, and the
invitation laid hold upon him by the most projecting handle of his
being, namely, his self-importance. He wrote at once to signify his
gracious assent; and in the evening told his daughter he was going to
Glashruach on business, and had arranged for Miss Kimble to come and
stay with her till his return.
At nine o’clock the schoolmistress came to breakfast, and at ten a
travelling-carriage with four horses drew up at the door, looking
nearly as big as the cottage. With monstrous stateliness, and a
fur-coat on his arm, the laird descended to his garden gate, and got
into the carriage, which instantly dashed away for the western road,
restoring Mr. Galbraith to the full consciousness of his inherent
grandeur: if he was not exactly laird of Glashruach again, he was
something quite as important. His carriage was just out of the street,
when a second, also with four horses, drew up, to the astonishment
of Miss Kimble, at the garden gate. Out of it stepped Mr. and Mrs.
Sclater! then a young gentleman, whom she thought very graceful until
she discovered it was that low-lived Sir Gilbert! and Mr. Torrie,
the lawyer! They came trooping into the little drawing-room, shook
hands with them both, and sat down, Sir Gilbert beside Ginevra--but
nobody spoke. What could it mean! A morning call? It was too early.
And four horses to a morning call! A pastoral visitation? Four horses
and a lawyer to a pastoral visitation! A business call? There was
Mrs. Sclater! and that Sir Gilbert!--It must after all be a pastoral
visitation, for there was the minister commencing a religious
service!--during which however it suddenly revealed itself to the
horrified spinster that she was part and parcel of a clandestine
wedding! An anxious father had placed her in charge of his daughter,
and this was how she was fulfilling her trust! There was Ginevra being
married in a brown dress! and to that horrid lad, who called himself
a baronet, and hobnobbed with a low market-woman! But, alas! just as
she was recovering her presence of mind, Mr. Sclater pronounced them
husband and wife! She gave a shriek, and cried out, “I forbid the
banns,” at which the company, bride and bridegroom included, broke into
“a loud smile.” The ceremony over, Ginevra glided from the room, and
returned almost immediately in her little brown bonnet. Sir Gilbert
caught up his hat, and Ginevra held out her hand to Miss Kimble. Then
at length the abashed and aggrieved lady found words of her own.
“Ginevra!” she cried, “you are never going to leave me alone in the
house!--after inviting me to stay with you till your father returned!”
But the minister answered her.
“It was her father who invited you, I believe, not Lady Galbraith,”
he said; “and you understood perfectly that the invitation was not
meant to give her pleasure. You would doubtless have her postpone her
wedding-journey on your account, but my lady is under no obligation to
think of you.”--He had heard of her tattle against Sir Gilbert, and
thus rudely showed his resentment.
Miss Kimble burst into tears. Ginevra kissed her, and said,
“Never mind, dear Miss Kimble. You could not help it. The whole thing
was arranged. We are going after my father, and we have the best
horses.”
Mr. Torrie laughed outright.
“A new kind of runaway marriage!” he cried. “The happy couple pursuing
the obstinate parent with four horses! Ha! ha! ha!”
“But after the ceremony!” said Mr. Sclater.
Here the servant ran down the steps with a carpet-bag, and opened
the gate for her mistress. Lady Galbraith got into the carriage; Sir
Gilbert followed; there was kissing and tears at the door of it; Mrs.
Sclater drew back; the postilions spurred their horses; off went the
second carriage faster than the first; and the minister’s party walked
quietly away, leaving Miss Kimble to declaim to the maid of all work,
who cried so that she did not hear a word she said. The schoolmistress
put on her bonnet, and full of indignation carried her news of the
treatment to which she had been subjected to the Rev. Fergus Duff, who
remarked to himself that it was sad to see youth and beauty turn away
from genius and influence to wed money and idiocy, gave a sigh, and
went to see Miss Lapraik.
Between the second stage and the third, Gibbie and Ginevra came in
sight of their father’s carriage. Having arranged with the postilions
that the two carriages should not change horses at the same places,
they easily passed unseen by him, while, thinking of nothing so little
as their proximity, he sat in state before the door of a village inn.
Just as Mr. Galbraith was beginning to hope the major had contrived a
new approach to the place, the carriage took an unexpected turn, and he
found presently they were climbing, by a zig-zag road, the height over
the Lorrie burn; but the place was no longer his, and to avoid a sense
of humiliation, he avoided taking any interest in the change.
A young woman--it was Donal’s eldest sister, but he knew nothing of
her--opened the door to him, and showed him up the stair to his old
study. There a great fire was burning; but, beyond that, everything,
even to the trifles on his writing table, was just as when last he left
the house. His chair stood in its usual position by the fire, and wine
and biscuits were on a little table near.
“Very considerate!” he said to himself. “I trust the major does not
mean to keep me waiting, though. Deuced hard to have to leave a place
like this!”
Weary with his journey he fell into a doze, dreamed of his dead wife,
woke suddenly, and heard the door of the room open. There was Major
Culsalmon entering with outstretched hand! and there was a lady--his
wife doubtless! But how young the major was! he had imagined him a man
in middle age at least!--Bless his soul! was he never to get rid of
this impostor fellow! it was not the major! it was the rascal calling
himself Sir Gilbert Galbraith!--the half-witted wretch his fool of
a daughter insisted on marrying! Here he was, ubiquitous as Satan!
And--bless his soul again! there was the minx, Jenny! looking as if the
place was her own! The silly tears in her eyes too!--It was all too
absurd! He had just been dreaming of his dead wife, and clearly that
was it! he was not awake yet!
He tried hard to wake, but the dream mastered him.
“Jenny!” he said, as the two stood for a moment regarding him, a little
doubtfully, but with smiles of welcome, “what is the meaning of this? I
did not know Major Culsalmon had invited you! And what is this person
doing here?”
“Papa,” replied Ginevra, with a curious smile, half merry, half
tearful, “this person is my husband, Sir Gilbert Galbraith of
Glashruach; and you are at home in your own study again.”
“Will you never have done masquerading, Jenny?” he returned. “Inform
Major Culsalmon that I request to see him immediately.”
He turned towards the fire, and took up a newspaper. They thought it
better to leave him. As he sat, by degrees the truth grew plain to
him. But not one other word on the matter did the man utter to the day
of his death. When dinner was announced, he walked straight from the
dining-room door to his former place at the foot of the table. But
Robina Grant was equal to the occasion. She caught up the dish before
him, and set it at the side. There Gibbie seated himself; and, after a
moment’s hesitation, Ginevra placed herself opposite her husband.
The next day Gibbie provided him with something to do. He had the
chest of papers found in the Auld Hoose o’ Galbraith carried into his
study, and the lawyer found both employment and interest for weeks
in deciphering and arranging them. Amongst many others concerning
the property, its tenures, and boundaries, appeared some papers
which, associated and compared, threw considerable doubt on the way
in which portions of it had changed hands, and passed from those of
Gibbie’s ancestors into those of Ginevra’s--who were lawyers as well
as Galbraiths; and the laird was keen of scent as any nose-hound after
dishonesty in other people. In the course of a fortnight he found
himself so much at home in his old quarters, and so much interested in
those papers and his books, that when Sir Gilbert informed him Ginevra
and he were going back to the city, he pronounced it decidedly the
better plan, seeing he was there himself to look after affairs.
For the rest of the winter, therefore, Mr. Galbraith played the grand
seigneur as before among the tenants of Glashruach.