Mrs. Ross was inspired--how or by what means we are not sufficiently
good metaphysicians to be able to specify--but inspired she was! It
might be that all the court that had been paid to her of late had
softened the adamantine heart: it only concerns us to know that softened
it was. She took immediate counsel with May; she had fires lighted in
half a dozen bed-chambers. Then the wainscotted parlor was made
radiant--a fire in its grate "enough," as Duncan said with an
involuntary grumble, "to keep the decent folk at the Brig of Oran in
eliding frae this till Canlemas"--and additional candles upon its table.
Then Mrs. Ross did something more wonderful than all this--the very
climax and copestone of her unwonted melting of heart. She sent Duncan
mysteriously up stairs to the attic lumber-room with secret
instructions. May and Barbara lingered in wonder to what was coming.
A great thing was coming--covered with dust, and grumbling audibly,
Duncan re-appeared in ten minutes, carrying in his arms a picture--the
portrait of the lost son of the house of Merkland--the boy's face of the
exiled Norman, dethroned from its standing in his father's house for
eighteen weary year.
It was restored again now, and when Mrs. Ross having dismissed the
servants sat down alone in her bright room, through the dark polished
walls of which the warm lights were gleaming pleasantly, to wait for her
guests; the unclouded sunshine of the bold, frank, fearless boy's face
shone upon her for the first time. It had enough of the indefinite
family resemblance, to bring her own Lewis before her mind. Lewis had
gone up to the Tower, but was to return immediately. His mother sat in
the parlor alone, more cheerily than was her wont, for the blood was
warming about her heart.
And then they arrived--the whole of them, with all their different
manifestations of joy; the mother Marion starting in delight at what she
thought the portrait of her own bright Lawrie, and Norman himself
heaping up in such generous measure his delicate amends of honor and
attention to the step-mother, whom he fancied he had wronged. She
remembered him so different once, in his impetuous youth, that the
compliment was all the greater now.
Christian and Anne sat by the fire in a quiet corner. Lawrie, proud of
his new kindred, and bashfully exultant over them all, hovered between
them and the uncle Lewis, whose good looks and independent young manhood
already powerfully attracted the boy: while on either side of Mrs. Ross
herself sat Norman and Marion, and Lilie loyal to the newly-come mamma,
joining her childish talk to theirs; and all so willing and eager to do
honor to the head of the household--the sole remnant of an older
generation. Deep peace fell upon Merkland that night in all its many
chambers--deeper than had been there before for years.
The evening was not far spent when Archibald Sutherland stole in among
them, not unwelcome, and with him to the gate of Merkland--no
further--came Marjory Falconer; she had one word to say to Anne. Anne
went to her at the gate; it was almost a relief in all this gladness to
have a minute's breathing time.
"I came to congratulate you, Anne," said Marjory breathlessly. The moon
was up, and at some little distance a tall dark shadow fell across the
Oran, which Anne smiled to see. "To wish you manifold joy of all the
arrivals--_all_, Anne. If I come down to-morrow, will you introduce me
to your brother?"
"Surely, Marjory," said Anne, "but why not come to-night?"
"I might have come if you had married Ralph," said Marjory laughing,
"but as it is, a stranger must not intermeddle with your joy. No,
no--but I shall come to see them all to-morrow. By the by--"
"What, Marjory?"
"Oh, not much--only speaking of Ralph--I have found her at last; I have
fairly laid my hands upon her. To-morrow I shall have her safely housed
in Falcon's Craig!"
"Who is it?--what do you mean?"
"The daughter of Nimrod! the mighty huntress! I have got her all safe,
Anne. I invite you to a wedding at Falcon's Craig in three months. I
give them three months to do it in."
"You should know the necessary time," said Anne smiling.--"Shall there
not be two, Marjory?"
"Hush," said Marjory gaily, "or I will retaliate. Now I must go. Mrs.
Catherine is quite out of sorts for the want of you, Anne; and Alice is
drooping as prettily as possible. Why did not your Norman come last
night, and then we might--all of us--have rejoiced over him at the
Tower?"
The next morning, the first excitement of their joy over, the three
sisters sat together in the Merkland parlor. Mrs. Ross was
superintending various domestic matters. Lewis was at the Tower. Norman
had gone out with his son. Christian, Marion, and Anne were sitting
together, with Lilie on her stool at their feet, communing "of all that
was in their heart"--and that was much.
"It was very strange to us," said Marion, "I cannot tell you how
strange, to hear from Mr. Sutherland--of Merkland, of you, of ourselves.
He told us our own story--so much as he knew of it, and sought our
sympathy and pity for his friends. Strangely--most strangely--did we
feel as he spoke."
"I did not think Archie would have spoken of a thing so private," said
Anne.
"Nay, do not blame him," said Marion. "He saved our Lawrie's life a few
days after his arrival; and that of course, even if he had possessed
fewer good qualities of his own, must have at once opened our hearts,
and our house to him. But we liked him for himself, and he seemed to
like us; and then as we knew him better, the home he spoke of, the names
he mentioned, were very music to Norman's ears. I cannot tell you,
Anne--you cannot fancy--how your brother has longed and yearned for the
home we dared not return to."
There was a pause.
"And then," continued Marion, "as he gradually became, a member of our
family, and a very dear friend, we gradually received his confidence. He
spoke one night of 'little Alice Aytoun.' The name startled us both.
Norman asked who she was--and then, Anne--by degrees we heard our own
story--very sad and mysterious he thought it, although he knew not,
Christian, the half of its sadness. But Anne, he said, was convinced of
the innocence of her dead brother, and was full of hope for the
vindication of his memory. 'Who is Anne?' I asked. Mr. Sutherland looked
astonished for a moment, and then slightly embarrassed. He seemed to
think it strange that there should be any one who did not know. Anne;
and, sister Anne, he did you justice. We were strangely excited that
night, Norman and I. I could not prevail upon him to go to rest. He
walked about the room with a mixture of joy and fear on his face, that
only people who have known such a position as ours could realize,
repeating to himself, 'Anne--the child--my little sister Anne!' It was
balm to him to think that you had faith in him, and hope for him; and
yet he was full of fear lest he should endanger"--
Marion paused--the tears came into her eyes; she looked at Christian.
"Go on, Marion," said Christian, leaning her head upon her hand. "Go
on--he is safe now, and past all peril."
"Our poor Patrick!" exclaimed his younger sister, "my gentle,
broken-hearted, sad brother! At that time when the eighteenth year was
nearly past, Norman was afraid--Norman was full of terror, lest any
exertion made for him should disturb the peace of Patrick. He was as
willing to suffer for him then, as he was when he went away--that
terrible time!"
"Do not think of it," said Christian. "We are all at peace now, Marion,
living and dead; and he the safest, peacefullest, most joyous of us
all."
"And then he told us of Lilie," said Marion after a long silence. "And
how you, Anne, became attached to the little stranger child; and we
listened, endeavoring to look as if we did not know or care--I wonder at
myself how I succeeded."
"And did you never tell him?" said Anne.
"No. Norman reserved it as a surprise to him when they should reach
Strathoran. He wondered, I could see, why we were so anxious to come
here, but he did not ask. Norman regards him almost as a younger
brother. He is very anxious that he should have a situation more
suitable for him, than the one he held at Buenos Ayres; but he will
tell you his arrangements himself;--where is Norman?"
He was out, no one knew where he was.
He was at that moment stooping his lofty head, to enter the door-way of
a solitary cottage--a very mean and poor one--at some distance from the
Brig of Oran. Its inhabitant in former days had known Mr. Norman of
Merkland well. She had been an old woman when he left home--she was a
very old woman, decrepid and feeble, now; yet on the first day after his
return, his kindly remembrance of old days carried the restored Laird,
the great merchant, to the cottage of the "old Janet," who had given him
apples and bannocks in his youth.
And in the long walk they took, the father and son made many similar
visits, to the great amazement of Lawrie, who knowing his father a
reserved grave man, called proud by strangers, was very greatly at a
loss how to account for these many friendships. The hearty kindliness of
these old cottage people, in which there was fully as much affection as
awe, and the frank familiarity of his father, puzzled Lawrie mightily.
He did by no means understand it.
They had begun with Esther Fleming's house--they ended with the Tower.
Between these two, besides the cottage visitations we have mentioned,
with all the joyful wonder of their recognitions, they visited a
grave--a grave which had received another name since Norman Rutherford
left his fatherland, and on which Lawrie read with awe and reverence,
names of his ancestry the same as his own, and near the end, that of
"Lawrence Ross, aged 15," his own age, who was his uncle.
In the meantime, at a solemn private conference in the little room, Mrs.
Catherine was receiving Archibald's report.
"Mr. Sinclair's proposal to me," said Archibald, "is of so liberal a
kind that I feel almost ashamed to accept it. Mr. Lumsden, the manager
at Glasgow, has been received as junior partner into the firm, and is
intended to succeed Mr. Sinclair at Buenos Ayres. Mr. Sinclair offers me
Mr. Lumsden's situation in Glasgow, in the meantime, as he says, with a
speedy prospect of entering the house. He himself intends to withdraw,
and he talks of my chance of taking his place in the firm. This for me,
who went out a poor clerk only a year ago, looks ridiculously Utopian;
but the managership--Mr. Lumsden's situation, is sure--and it is higher
than, in ordinary circumstances, I could have hoped to rise for years."
"I am glad of it--I am heartily glad to hear it, Archie," said Mrs.
Catherine. "That you should leave your lawful labor is no desire of
mine; but I have that to tell that concerns you more than even this.
Have you heard any tidings yet, of the cattle you left in Strathoran?"
Archibald changed color, and said "No."
"Then it has not been told you that your father's house is within your
reach again; that Strathoran is to be sold."
"To be sold!" Archibald started to his feet; his temples began to throb,
his heart to beat--within his reach and yet how very far removed, for
where could he find means to redeem his inheritance. "To be sold!"
"Yes. Archie Sutherland, to be sold--what say you to that?" He did not
say anything to it; he pressed his hand to his brow and groaned.
"What ails you? sit down upon your seat this moment, and hearken to me;
what say you to that?"
"I have nothing to say, Mrs. Catherine; it takes from me my great hope.
There is no possibility of recovering it now, and what chance is there
of any opportunity again. It is not likely to change hands thrice in one
life-time."
"Archie," said Mrs. Catherine, "you are but a silly heart, after all. I
thought not to have seen the beads on your brow for this matter. Sit
down upon your seat I bid you, and hearken to me. I am not without
siller as you know, seeing it is no such great space of time since a
Laird of Strathoran made petition to me, to serve him in this Mammon;
that you should have forgotten. I was slow then, for you were in the way
of evil, Archie; but ill as you were, you know I was nearly tempted to
cast away my siller, into the self-same mire in which you lost
Strathoran, for the sake of Isabel Balfour and him that was her trysted
bridegroom.--Now, Archie Sutherland, it is my hope that your eyes are
opened to see the right course of man; which is not idleset and the mean
pleasures of it, but honorable work and labor that the sun may shine
upon, and God and your fellows see. Think not that I mean the making of
siller; I mean a just work, whatsoever, is appointed you, to be done in
honor and bravery, and in the fear of God. So as it is my hope you
perceive this at last, you shall have your lands again, Archie. Not,
that I desire you to return to Strathoran, as if you had never done ill.
Go your ways and labor: you will return a better and a blyther man, that
you have redeemed your inheritance with the work of your own hands. In
the meantime, I myself will redeem it for you; I give you back the name
your fathers have borne for ages. See that it descends to your bairns
for their inheritance, Strathoran. And now I see Norman Rutherford at
the door; go and take counsel with him for your further travail and
leave me to my meditations."
And with kindly violence Mrs. Catherine shut the door of her sanctuary
upon the bewildered Archibald--then she seated herself opposite the
portrait of her brother, and gazed upon it long and earnestly. "Ay,
Sholto Douglas, he is Isabel's son, and what would you have left undone
for the bairn of Isabel?--and if he had been yours also, what is there
within the compass of mortal might, that I would have halted at for him?
He is Isabel's son--and it had not been ordered in a darker way, he
would have been your first-born, Sholto Douglas; the shadow of your
tenderness is upon the youth--he has none in this earth so near to him
as me."
That day, there were various visitors at Merkland--Mrs. Catherine, the
Aytouns, Marjory Falconer; they met together at night in the Tower, all
joyous, hopeful, and at peace.
But in the vicinity of the Tower, that evening, there hovered a knot of
stalwart men, uncertain as it seemed whether to enter or no. The younger
ones were for pressing forward; the most eager among them was Angus
Macalpine, himself longing to become the head of a household, and
remembering Flora's limit "no till we get back to the glen;" but the
highest and most potent of the group hung back.
"Man, Duncan, we're no wanting to vex him. I've as muckle honor for the
Laird as on a' man o' my name--only it's our right to have an answer. If
he's no gaun to buy back the land, maybe we could make favor wi' whaever
does. We belong to the ground, and the ground to us, Duncan--we've a
right to seek an answer at the hands of our chief."
"It a' sounds very just that, Angus," said Big Duncan Macalpine; "but
the Laird's a distressed man, that hasna siller to give for the
redemption of his inheritance and ours. Think ye onything but extremity
could have garred him time the lands as he did? or think ye there can be
siller enough gathered in ae year to buy back Strathoran? I tell ye,
lads, I ken the Laird, and if he's maybe wasted his substance like a
prodigal--I dinna dispute he has, and we're a' bearing the burden--he
keeps aye a kind heart. Now, here are we, coming to him, young men and
auld of us, that have been hunted from our hames. He kens it's his wyte,
and he kens he canna mend it; and what can we do but gie him a sair
heart, and what can he say but that it grieves him? If he had the power
we wad be hame again the morn; but he hasna the power, and wherefore
should we make his cup bitterer wi' putting our calamity before him and
saying it's his blame?"
The reasoning of Big Duncan was strong like himself--the men fell
back--but Angus was still eager.
"The auld man at the ingleside wrestles night and day to get quiet
deein' in his ain house in the glen. He's wandered in his mind since
ever yon weary day--aye, when he's no at his exercise--he's clear enough
then; and if ye heard him, just to get hame that he may fa' asleep in
peace, ye wadna be sae faint-hearted. I'm no meaning that you're
faint-hearted either; but the Laird hasna had sae muckle thought o' us,
that we should be sae mindfu' o' him."
"You're an inconsiderate lad, Angus," said Big Duncan; "but for the auld
man's sake we may wait a while here. Maybe the Laird may pass this
gate--yonder's somebody."
"It's the Laird," exclaimed Angus--forward as he had been before, he
shrank back now. The man who had opposed the measure was left to be the
spokesman.
Archibald had observed them from a window, and came towards them
rapidly. Duncan lifted his bonnet--no servile sign, as smaller spirits
in the arrogance of their so-called equality would assert, but the
independent respect of an honorable poor man, who in his chief's good
fame had an individual stake, and was himself honored. He was at some
loss how to frame his speech.
"I trust," said Archibald, hastily, "I trust I shall have it in my power
very shortly to redress your wrongs. You have suffered innocently--I
justly; but we have both had some trials of faith and patience since we
last met. Trust me the power shall not be in my hands a moment sooner
than the will, to make amends to you for your loss--the bitterest hour
of all this bitter twelvemonth was the one in which I heard of your
wrong. There are two months yet between us, and the time which shall
decide the proprietorship of Strathoran. I hope then, through my
friend's help, to be able to redeem my inheritance and yours--if I
succeed, have no fear--I will not spend an hour in unnecessary delay
till you again enter Oranmore in peace."
These men did not cheer him--we are by no means loud in our
demonstrations in Scotland--but their rough features moved and melted,
and some eyelids swelled full. Archibald was a little excited too.
"So far as I have caused this, Macalpines, you forgive your chief?" He
held out his hand--it was grasped with a silent fervor which spoke more
eloquently than words. Tall Angus Macalpine, who touched his chief's
hand last of all, could have thrown himself down at his feet, and craved
his pardon. He did not do that; but would have rejoiced with mighty joy,
as he flew down Oranside that night, to tap at the nursery window of
Woodsmuir and carry Flora the news, to have had an opportunity of
_douking_, knocking down, or in any way discomfiting "ony man that
daured to mint an ill word of the Laird!"
Upon the appointed day little Alice Aytoun was married--Ada Mina
Coulter, as having experience of the office, serving her in the capacity
of bridesmaid, while Anne and Marjory were merely lookers on; the latter
not without consideration of the proprieties of this same momentous
ceremony, so soon to be repeated in a case where she could not be merely
a spectator.
For Marjory's bold experiment was succeeding beautifully. Her visitor,
Sophy Featherstonehaugh, the mighty huntress over whom she exulted, was
half a Northumbrian, and half a maiden of the Merse--the daughter of a
foxhunting Squire, a careless, good-humored, frank, daring girl, who
could guide a vicious horse, or sing you "a westerly wind, and a cloudy
sky," with any sportsman in the land. Poor Sophy was an only
child--motherless from her infancy; the lands of her weak, boisterous,
indulgent father were strictly entailed, and he seemed to have deadened
any fatherly anxieties he might have had for leaving his daughter
penniless, by fooling her to the top of her bent, so long as he remained
lord of his own impoverished acres. But he died at last--and with an
immense mastery over horses, and sufficiently cunning in all sports of
the field to have filled the place of huntsman to some magnifico, and
withal with a dowry of two hundred pounds, Sophy Featherstonehaugh, the
daughter of an old and honorable family, was thrown upon the charities
of the world.
A precise aunt in Edinburgh, with a great nursery-full of children, gave
her a reluctant invitation. The innocent lady fancied Sophy's services
might be turned to good account as a sort of unpaid nursery-governess.
She was not long in discovering her mistake. Sophy had not been a week
in charge, when the walls of the nursery rang with a shrill "Tally-ho!"
of many juvenile voices. The next morning, Master Harry demanded from
his astonished papa a horse, and coolly proposed turning over his pony
to his sister, little Sophy, who earnestly seconded the embryo
sportsman. Their mother was dismayed. She resolved to have a solemn
forenoon conference with her unpaid nursery-governess, to ascertain what
all this meant. When she reached the schoolroom door, she paused to
listen. Alas! it was not any lesson that kept that little group so
steadily round their teacher. It was one of those barbarous ballads with
which a "northern harper rude" horrified the ears of the cultured
Marmion, in Norham's castled keep, celebrating the exploits of a
Featherstonehaugh. The aunt stood horror-stricken at the door--not long,
however, for Sophy, with her loud, frank, good-humored voice, was
already transgressing still more unpardonably, and in a moment after the
boisterous chorus of "A hunting we will go--eho--eho--eho!" pierced the
ears of the hapless mother, ringing from the shrill, united voices of
all her children.
There was no more to be said after that: in unutterable wrath, poor
Sophy was sent off immediately, in spite of her indignant remonstrances,
and her twenty years, to a boarding-school in the neighborhood of
Strathoran, the principal of which was informed of her past riotous
behavior, and begged, with much bitterness by the aunt, to do what she
could to make the girl human.
The girl's bold spirit rose at this--she, a Featherstonehaugh? But she
had no kindred in the wide world to turn to, and even her poor two
hundred pounds was mulcted for the payment of the year's stipend to the
boarding-school. In these circumstances, Marjory Falconer became
acquainted with her, and in a week thereafter, free from all
governesses, or attempts to humanize, the bold Featherstonehaugh was
triumphantly reining the wildest horse in the Falcon's Craig stables,
while Ralph rode in delight and admiration by her side, and Marjory,
standing at the door, said joyously, within herself:
"She has a firm hand--she can hold the reins--she will do!"
Marjory was by far too wise, however, to trust Ralph with her intention;
but she made much of the frank, good-humored Sophy, and looked forward
in good hopes.
The day arrived for the re-purchase of Strathoran, and Mr. Foreman and
Mr. Ferguson, in the abscence of all competitors, joyfully redeemed the
inheritance of Archibald Sutherland, at a price considerably below its
real value.
"Come light--gang light," said the lawyer, emphatically. "We give them
more for it than they gave us."
There had been negotiations entered into with the Southland
sheep-farmer, whose farm comprised the glen of Oranmore, and he readily
accepted in lieu of it, for the justice sake, and to oblige the Laird,
an equal extent of land elsewhere. In wild eagerness, the Macalpines
threw themselves into their glen, and wrought so furiously at their
dismantled houses, that in a very short time after the sale the
longed-for homes stood complete again, ready for the joyful flitting.
And then, upon a balmy day of early April the clansfolk returned, in
solemn procession, to their home. The bustle of removal was over--the
lofty tone of those mountain people made a grave ceremonial of their
return. In the glen, beneath the soft, blue sky, and genial spring
sunshine, they gathered together to thank God; and, with the blue
heights rising over them, and the fair low-country swelling soft and
green at their feet, and the peaceful cottar houses round, with fire
upon their hearths, and lowly, protecting roofs once more, they lifted
up their voices in psalms:
"Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place
In generations all,
Before Thou ever hadst brought forth
The mountains great and small.
Ere ever Thou hadst formed the earth,
Or all the world abroad,
Even Thou from everlasting art
To everlasting God."
And then, their minister standing by the while, Duncan Macalpine the
elder, of Oranmore, rendered thanks to God.
Archibald Sutherland denied himself this gladness. It invigorated him in
the dingy manager's room of the Glasgow counting-house to hear of it,
but he felt he had no claim to the triumph. Mr. Ferguson was there,
radiant with honest glee, and Mr. Lumsden from Portoran, his face
covered with a dark glow of simple delight and sympathy. And there was
little Lilie, and Mary Ferguson, solemnly invited to take tea with Flora
and Angus, on their first entry into their new house, and Anne and
Marjory, with Lawrie for their gallant, were in charge of the children
and a straggling back-ground of well-wishers from Merkland and the
Tower, filled up the rear.
The months wore peacefully on. Esther Fleming's son had returned to her,
and only did not become captain of a schooner, which called Norman owner
now, because he had enough, and preferred comfortably dwelling at home,
greatly honored by his foster-brother, and very proud of the
relationship, while, withal, his mother's little housekeeper-niece did
so seriously incline to hear his stories of sea perils and victories,
that the rustic neighbors already in prophetic anticipation, had some
half dozen times proclaimed the banns of William Fleming.
Norman Rutherford and his family were settled peacefully in the now
bright and cheerful house of Redheugh. Anne was with them. Little Alice,
the blythest of young wives, kept Merkland bright and busy. There was
word in Edinburgh of some rich young Indian lady, who had thrown her
handkerchief on James.
And before the three months were fully expired, Anne Ross accepted
Marjory Falconer's invitation, and was present at a wedding-party in
Falcon's Craig. A double wedding--at which Mr. Lumsden, of Portoran,
placed in the stout hand of Sophy Featherstonehaugh the reins of the
ruder animal Ralph Falconer, of Falcon's Craig, and immediately
thereafter submitted in his turn to the same important ceremony,
performed in his case by the brother Robert, of Gowdenleas, in the midst
of an immense assemblage of kindred, Andrew of Kilfleurs standing by.
And prosperous were these weddings. Good-humored, kindly, and of
tolerable capacity, the bold Sophy had improved under her
sister-in-law's powerful tutorage. She _had_ a firm hand. The boisterous
Ralph felt the reins light upon him, yet was kept in bounds, and
by-and-by Sophy left the management of wild horses entirely in his
hands. She got other important things to manage--obstreperous atoms of
humanity, wilder than their quadruped brethren, and scarce less strong.
And with her old chimeras scattered to the winds, in lofty lowliness,
and chastened strength, Marjory Falconer entered her Manse, the
minister's stout-hearted and pure-minded wife. One hears no more of the
rights of women now--bubbles of such a sort do not float in the rare
atmosphere of this household--there is nothing in them congenial with
the sunshine of its blythe order and freedom.
For granting that our Calvinism is gloomy, and our Presbyterian
temperament sour, one wonders how universal this household warmth and
joyousness should be beneath the roof-trees of those strong, pure men,
whom the intolerant world upbraids with the names of bigot, hypocrite,
and pharisee. One could wish to have this same intolerant bigot world
make a tour of these Scottish Manses, from which it might return,
perchance, able to give a rational judgment on the doctrine and order of
Christ's Holy Evangel, as we have held it in Scotland from the days of
our fathers until now; at least might have its evil speaking hushed into
silence before the devout might, which labors for the hire, not of
silver and gold, but of saved souls--and the sunny godliness which is
loftiest gain.
There is a rumor in the Lumsden family that, upon one evening shortly
after the marriage, a certain chapter of the Epistle to the Ephesians,
containing a verse which married ladies do mightily stumble at, was read
in regular course: on which occasion, says the mirthful Sister Martha of
the Portoran Manse, one could detect the shadow of a comic inflection in
the voice of the household priest, while his wife with a certain grave
doggedness, slightly bowed her strong head before the unpalatable
command.
We cannot tell how the truth of this story may be, but Sister Martha
laughs when she tells it, and Marjory blushes her violent blush, and the
minister looks on with his characteristic smile of simple
unsophisticated glee. But we can vouch for it, that Mrs. Lumsden of
Portoran has become a renowned church-lawyer, mighty in the "Styles,"
and great in the forms of process; whose judgment maintains itself
triumphantly in face of a whole Synod, and whose advice in complicated
matters, of edicts, or calls, or trials, youthful reverends scant of
ecclesiastical jurisprudence, would do well to take.
Only there is growing up in the Manse of Portoran a host of little
sun-burnt, dark-haired heads--all prosperity and increase to the
sparkling eyes and bold brows of them!--over whose rejoicing band a
little fairy sister, the joy of the minister's heart, exercises her
capricious sway, and sovereign tyranny. They are growing up, all of
them, to call Marjory blessed--already for their generous nurturing
"known in the gates" as hers--and hereafter still more to rejoice in the
strong, gladsome, sunshiny nature to which they owe their healthful
might and vigor. The prophecy and hope of her friend and counsellor is
fulfilled in full: "Strength and honor are her clothing. She opens her
mouth with wisdom, and in her lips is the law of kindness."
The months passed on, and lengthened into years. Archibald Sutherland,
after good work in the manager's room, entered the firm triumphantly as
Norman's successor; before that, he had succeeded to the well-ordered
house in the vicinity of Blythswood Square, which had been occupied by
his predecessor Mr. Lumsden. People said it certainly needed a mistress,
and very wonderful were the rapidity of those successive occasions, on
which the Laird of Strathoran, clear-headed as men called him, found it
absolutely necessary to repair to Redheugh to seek counsel of his
friend.
His sister Isabel had made a brilliant marriage; they had scarcely any
intercourse--unless some new misfortune should befall her she was lost
to her early friends. Mrs. Catherine and Mr. Ferguson, under Mr.
Coulter's advice, were managing his estate. Sentences oracular and
mysterious were sometimes heard falling from Mrs. Catherine's lips, in
which the names of "Archie" and "Anne" were conjoined. The house of
Strathoran had been thoroughly purified. Mrs. Catherine had made sundry
important additions to its plenishing; it was always kept in such order,
that its now prosperous and rising possessor might return to it, at
once. Anne was resident at the Tower sometimes, and knew of these
processes. They tended to some new change in the eventful life of Archie
Sutherland.
The Rosses of Merkland were visiting the Rutherfords of Redheugh. In the
large sunny drawing-room, from whose ample windows sloped a lawn of
close and velvet greensward, the whole family were assembled. The elder
Mrs. Ross was mollified and melted; the younger gay and rejoicing. Lewis
was in high spirits--under the regimen approved and recommended by Mr.
Coulter, Lewis hoped to raise the rent-roll of Merkland a half more than
it had ever been. You could see now in the large wistful dark eyes of
Christian Lillie, only the subdued and serious tone proper to those who
have borne great griefs without brooding over them. There was an aspect
of serene peace and healthful pleasure over all the house. The three
sisters, Marion, Christian, and Anne, were sisters indeed.
Without was a merrier group. Lilie Rutherford, with her youthful
gallant, Charlie Ferguson, now a High School boy, lodged in a closet of
his brother Robert's rooms, and frequent in his Saturday visits to
Redheugh; and Lawrie, growing a young man now, as he thought, and
dubious as to the propriety of keeping company with lesser boys and
girls, to whom he was very patronizing and condescending, stood by the
sun-dial; while in the background was Jacky, now waiting gentlewoman to
Miss Lilias Rutherford, a very great person indeed, and little Bessie,
young Mrs. Ross of Merkland's own maid.
Lilie was coquetishly making inquiries of Bessie, touching the welfare
of Harry Coulter, whereat Charlie Ferguson grew irate and sulky.
"And the young gentleman's biding at the Tower," said Bessie; "he's a
lord noo his ainsel--and he's been twice at Harrows."
"Who is that?" said little Lilie.
"Oh, if ye please, Miss Lilie," said Jacky, "it's a young gentleman that
was a lord's son, and now he's a lord himsel--and he's gaun to be
married to Mr. Harry's sister."
"Eh, Jacky, what gars ye say such a thing?" cried Bessie. "If ye please,
Miss Lilie, naebody kens--only he's been twice at Harrows; but maybe
he's no courting Miss Coulter for a' that."
"_I_ should think not," exclaimed Charlie Ferguson, indignantly. "Ada
Coulter married to a lord! Yes, indeed--and they can't talk of a single
thing at Harrows but fat pigs, and prize cattle, and ploughing matches.
Why, Lilie, do you mind what Harry gave you when you were at Merkland--a
plough! what can ladies do with ploughs?"
"Mrs. Catherine has a great many ploughs, Charlie," said Lilie,
gravely--"and it was very good of Harry; and Mary and me might have
played with it all our lane, and we would not have needed you. I dinna
like boats--folk can plough at hame--but in boats they go over the sea."
"And, eh, Jacky!" exclaimed Bessie, curiously, as Charlie followed his
capricious liege lady, to efface if he could this unfortunate
recollection of Harry Coulter and his gift--"isna young Strathoran awfu'
often at Redheugh?"
"He's here whiles," said Jacky, briefly.
"Johnnie Halflin says," said Bessie, "and it's a' through the
parish--and folk say Mrs. Catherine's just waiting for't, and that it's
to be in the Tower, and Mr. Lumsden is to do it, and Mrs. Lumsden kens
a' about it--"
"About what?"
"Oh, ye just ken better than me for a' you'll no say--just that young
Strathoran's coming out of yon muckle reekie Glasgow, hame to his ain
house, and then he's to be married to Miss Anne. Tell us, woman,
Jacky--I'll never tell a mortal body again, as sure as I'm living."
Jacky's dark face lighted up--she knew this secret would bear telling,
even though Bessie broke faith.
"We're a' gaun to the Tower at the New year--like the time Redheugh came
hame; Miss Lilie and Miss Anne, and a' the house--and young Strathoran's
to be there too. And Miss Anne has gotten a grand goun, a' of white
silk, shining like the snaw below the moon, and a shawl--ye never saw
the like o't--it's as lang as frae Merkland to the Tower. And maybe
something will happen then, and maybe no--Miss Anne wasna gaun to tell
me!"
THE END.
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
Strathoram=> Strathoran {pg 16}
Its not so much here=> It's not so much here {pg 19}
hypocondriac=> hypochondriac {pg 24}
Little Allice=> Little Alice {pg 26}
dont=> don't {pg 29}
strangers character=> stranger's character {pg 30}
Mrs. Euphan Morrison=> Mrs. Euphan Morison {pg 26}
downfal=> downfall {pg 44 & 45}
its=> it's {pg 45}
Archilbald Sutherland=> Archilbald Sutherland {pg 46}
Mrs. Morrison=> Mrs. Morison {pg 51}
peplexed=> perplexed {pg 53}
momento=> memento {pg 56}
Mrs. Euphan Morrison=> Mrs. Euphan Morison {pg 70}
downfal=> downfall {pg 93}
cousulting=> consulting {pg 68}
dried and dyring=> dried and drying {pg 70}
Bobert Ferguson=> Robert Ferguson {pg 72}
with may messages=> with many messages {pg 78}
Mr. Furguson=> Mr. Ferguson {pg 78}
the the sad wayfaring man=> the sad wayfaring man {pg 88}
and ruin and ruin=> and ruin {pg 93}
her commads=> her commands {pg 93}
where whispering=> were whispering {pg 94}
orginal property=> original property {pg 97}
There? there!=> There! there! {pg 97}
stange unwonted=> stange unwonted {pg 99}
sick mouth of waiting=> sick month of waiting {pg 106}
sorow=> sorrow {pg 111}
kneeling before his portait=> kneeling before his portrait {pg 112}
Jackie Morison=> Jacky Morison {pg 116}
petulent=> petulant {pg 122}
tremulousley down again=> tremulously down again {pg 123}
one littlemonth ago=> one little month ago {pg 126}
solemn occassion=> solemn occasion {pg 127}
the tears stealing over he cheeks=> the tears stealing over her cheeks
{pg 130}
sinc ehe is=> since he is {pg 138}
acrifice myself=> sacrifice myself {pg 139}
Noman's guilt=> Norman's guilt {pg 141}
Catherin'e lips=> Catherine's lips {pg 144}
whose very nams=> whose very name {pg 145}
passible opening=> possible opening {pg 146}
elementary knowledged=> elementary knowledge {pg 146}
lilie's learning=> Lilie's learning {pg 156}
iu a lowland country=> in a lowland country {pg 158}
Orandside=> Oranside {pg 162}
desparate energy=> desperate energy {pg 167}
houshold=> household {pg 172}
Young Simpelton rose=> Young Sympelton rose {pg 177}
remebrance=> remembrance {pg 182}
disagreeble=> disagreeable {pg 189}
undeserved repoofs from her=> undeserved reproofs from her {pg 195}
Mr. Catherine's=> Mrs. Catherine's {pg 196}
Mr. Suter=> Mr. Sutor {pg 198}
well-dresed=> well-dressed {pg 198}
Mrs. Duncome=> Mrs. Duncombe {pg 199}
overbriming=> overbrimming {pg 199}
the macalpines=> the macalpines {pg 205}
Simson, begin your work=> Simpson, begin your work {pg 208}
leave it instanly=> leave it instantly {pg 208}
siting=> sitting {pg 215}
The chaise had drived off=> The chaise had driven off {pg 216}
Giles Sympleton=> Giles Sympelton {pg 217}
people cofined within the limits=> people confined within the limits {pg
226}
in ectasies=> in ecstasies {pg 234}
guant woman=> gaunt woman {pg 236}
contained the books Mrs. Yammer's household=> contained the books of
Mrs. Yammer's household {pg 237}
having settle itself=> having settled itself {pg 242}
terminated ar last=> terminated at last {pg 246}
complete acquital=> complete acquittal {pg 246}
Afer all=> After all {pg 247}
Annes' heart=> Anne's heart {pg 247}
and unven wall=> and uneven wall {pg 249}
mahogony=> mahogany {pg 250}
unceremniously=> unceremoniously {pg 251}
bligted=> blighted {pg 255}
Fizherbert=> Fitzherbert {pg 267}
rustice wit=> rustic wit {pg 268}
and when he rose a last=> and when he rose at last {pg 269}
widow-still=> window-still {pg 271}
Falcan's Craig=> Falcon's Craig {pg 271}
smilling=> smiling {pg 273}
I'ts my hope=> It's my hope {pg 278}
three or foor miles=> three or four miles {pg 280}
woud have done=> would have done {pg 280}
descent=> decent {pg 280}
cabages=> cabbages {pg 280}
discusseed=> discussed {pg 281}
betweeu=> between {pg 283}
on the shore the sternly silent=> on the shore is sternly silent {pg
289}
earthernware=> earthenware {pg 293}
seperate=> separate {pg 307}
Chrsitian's=> Christian's {pg 310}
Mr. Yammer=> Mrs. Yammer {pg 313}
litle=> little {pg 313}
not come to soon=> not come too soon {pg 318}
friends house=> friend's house {pg 319}
sooth=> soothe {pg 320}
thine own heaven=> Thine own heaven {pg 321}
youg ladies=> young ladies {pg 332}
Iu the first place=> In the first place {pg 333}
the lest remembrance=> the least remembrance {pg 336}
calmity=> calamity {pg 338}
Christian Lillie had=> Christian Lilie had {pg 340}
Christs holy=> Christ's holy {pg 343}
the the end=> the end {pg 343}
An odler man leaned on his arm=> An older man leaned on his arm {pg 348}
as of he knew it=> as if he knew it {pg 348}
Ail the three were half weeping ye=> All the three were half weeping ye
{pg 353}
nuturing=> nurturing {pg 365}