"And when is Duncan coming home?" asked Flora.
"To-morrow, or the day after, we hope," said Annas.
I noticed that she had less of the Scots accent than Flora; and Mr
Keith has it scarcely at all. I found after a while that Lady Monksburn
is English, and that Annas has spent much of her life in England. I
wanted to know what part of England it was, and she said, "The Isle of
Wight."
"Why, then you do really come from the South!" cried I. "Do tell me
something about it. Are there any agreeable people there?--I mean,
except you."
Annas laughed. "I hope you have seen few people from the South," said
she, "if that be your impression of them."
"Only two," said I; "and I did not like either of them one bit."
"Well, two is no large acquaintance," said Annas. "Let me assure you
that there are plenty of agreeable people in the South, and good people
also; though I will not say that they are not different from us in the
North. They speak differently, and their manners are more polished."
"But it is just that polish I feel afraid of," I replied. "It looks to
me so like a mask. If we are bears in the North, at least we mean what
we say."
"I do not think you need fear a polished Christian," said Annas. "A
worldly man, polished or unpolished, may do you hurt."
"But are we not all Christians?" said I. And the words were scarcely
out of my lips when the thoughts came back to me which had been
tormenting me as we walked up from old Mirren's cottage. Those two
roads! Did Annas mean that only those were Christians who took the
higher one? Only, what was there in the air of Abbotscliff which seemed
to make people Christians? or in that of Brocklebank, which seemed
unfavourable to it?
"Those are Christians who follow Christ," said Annas. "Do you think
they who do not, have a right to the name?"
"I should like to think more about it," I answered. "It all looks
strange to me."
"Do think about it," replied Annas.
When we came to Monksburn, which is about a mile from the manse, I found
it was a most charming place on the banks of the Tweed. The lawn ran
sloping down to the river; and the house was a lovely old building of
grey stone, in some places almost lost in ivy. Annas said it had been
the Abbots grange belonging to the old Abbey which gives its name to
Abbotscliff and Monksburn, and several other estates and villages in the
neighbourhood. Here we found Lady Monksburn in the drawing-room, busied
with some soft kind of embroidered work; and I thought I could have
guessed her to be the mother of Mr Keith. Then when the Laird came in,
I saw that his grey eyes were Annas's, though I should not call them
alike in other respects.
Lady Monksburn is a dear old lady; and as she comes from the South, I
must never say a word against Southerners again. She took both my hands
in her soft white ones, and spoke to me so kindly that before I had
known her ten minutes I was almost surprised to find myself chattering
away to her as if she were quite an old friend--telling her all about
Brocklebank, and my sisters, and Father, and my Aunt Kezia. I could not
tell how it was,--I felt so completely at home in that Monksburn
drawing-room. Everybody was so kind, and seemed to want me to enjoy
myself, and yet there was no fuss about it. If those be southern
manners, I wish I could catch them, like small-pox. But perhaps they
are Christian manners. That may be it. And I don't suppose you can
catch that like the small-pox. However, I certainly did enjoy myself
this afternoon. Mr Keith, I find, can draw beautifully, and they let
me look through some of his portfolios, which was delightful. And when
Annas, at her mother's desire, at down to the harpsichord, and sang us
some old Scots songs, I thought I never heard anything so charming--
until Flora joined in, and then it was more delicious still.