tone which was in itself a complaint.
"Dear me, Margate," rejoined Nelly, "what's wrang? I have not seen ye
look so ill for many a day, as ye do this precious morning. Something is
distressing ye, I doubt."
"May the Lord have mercy upon me and mine!" ejaculated Margaret, wiping
away a tear as she spoke; "but, saving His holy will, I fear I have
_owre_ guid reason to be distressed."
"Sorry am I to hear that!" responded Nelly, catching almost
unintentionally the low impressive tone of her neighbour. "But what
is't, woman, if I may speer?"
This was exactly what Margaret wanted, to enable her to unburden her
mind; and she now proceeded to tell the cause of her distress. Some time
about midnight, or it might be toward morning, she could not be certain
which, she had been awakened from her sleep, by what she described as "a
sharp rap upon the window, followed by a lang laigh sough, like the wind
whistling in a toom house." She rose stealthily from her bed, to
ascertain, if possible, the cause of these unwonted noises, and, while
she stood irresolute in the middle of the floor, she heard a low, husky,
indistinct voice, which, she said, "resembled that of a dying man,"
pronounce the word _Mary_. "At hearing that voice," she continued,
"every hair on my head stood on end, and my very flesh shook as if it
would have fa'n from my banes; but a mother's affection for her ain
bairn, and my anxiety anent Mary's distress, made me desperate; and, to
be satisfied whether it was onything earthly which had uttered that
word, I opened the door, and there I saw her wraith standing at the
window as clear as ever I saw hersel!--Oh sirs! oh sirs! That sight gars
my flesh a' creep whenever I think on't! It was a' dressed in white
except the head, and that was as black as our Mary's, and it's black
aneugh, ye ken. It was just about her size, too, as nearly as I could
guess; but as soon as it saw me it glided round by the end of the house,
without moving foot or hand, and was out of sight in an instant. And
now, let a' the doctors, and a' the neighbours on earth say what they
will, I believe that my Mary, poor thing, is fa'en into a decline, and
that this was naething but a _warning_!--Wo's me!--wo's me!"
"Hout, woman!" said Nelly, who had listened to this mournful
recapitulation, not without some indications of doubt as to its
authenticity--"hout, woman; yesterday was _pay-day_, as they ca't, among
the bleachers, and I'll warrant the wraith was just some scamp frae the
bleachfield, wha had gotten himself half-fou, and wanted to get a
while's daffin wi' the lassie, Sabbath morning though it was."
"O Nelly, Nelly!" rejoined the other, "I wonder to hear ye speak at that
rate, after what happened in Nanny Ferly's last summer!"
Finding that she was not likely to meet with much sympathy here,
Margaret left the house rather abruptly. But her mind was in a state of
perturbation which forbade her to rest, and she hastened forthwith to
Nanny Ferry, her next neighbour, to whom she told the same story, word
for word, and had the satisfaction--if satisfaction it can be called--of
seeing every circumstance listened to with the deepest attention, and
every syllable believed as readily as if it had been part of a sermon.
"Ay, ay, Margate," said her auditor, when she had heard the story to an
end, "it's a warning, shure aneugh; and that will be seen before lang;
for I never kenned a warning fail. I'll mind that nicht as lang as I
live, when the warning came for my sister's dochter, Lizzy Lawmont; and
weel I wat she was as dear to me as if she had been my ain bairn--though
I've aye been spared the fashery o' bairns. Aweel, the doctor said she
was greatly better; and sae, as I was complainin at the time, she was
taen ben the house, to let me get some rest; and Lizzy Duncan--glaikit
hizzy! as she has turned oot--cam to sit up for the nicht. The doors
were baith steekit, and the lamp was blawn out in the expectation that
she would fa' asleep, and I was lying waukin, with the _worm in my lug_,
when I hears a rap at the windock, just as ye heard it, and something
said _Lizzy_, as laigh and as plain as I'm saying it enoo. Aweel, I
startit up, expecting to find the dear lassie a corpse, but it was some
time before I could gang ben to see; and when I did gang ben, I found
her waukening frae a sleep; and Lizzy Duncan said she had sleepit mair
than twa hours. But, from that minute, I kenned brawly what was to
happen, and from that minute she grew waur and waur, till the neist
nicht about ten o'clock, when the speerit left her weel-faured clay to
the worms. Sae, Margate, never build yoursel up in Nelly's nonsense
about _lads_; she's a puir haverin body; and, as shure as the sun rises
and sets, your Mary is gaun fast from this world, e'en as my Lizzy gaed
before her."
The poor mother was affected to tears by these lugubrious observations.
The propriety of apprising Mary of her approaching fate was next
adverted to by Nanny. Margaret did not adopt her views of the matter at
first; but when the culpability of allowing her daughter to indulge in
the vanities of the world, when so near her end, was represented to her,
she gave her consent, with a flood of tears; and, after making some
arrangements for communicating the necessary information, they parted.
The day, for one in the middle of winter, appeared to be uncommonly
inviting, and Mary, who now fancied herself quite well, proposed going
to church. To this proposal she expected a number of objections from her
mother, but she was rather agreeably disappointed, for Margaret only
observed, in an unusually solemn tone, that "folk should gang to the
kirk as lang as they were able," and she accordingly went. When the
congregation was dismissed, the air was almost as mild as if it had been
summer; the sun shone faintly but cheerfully upon the faded scene,
giving an unwonted appearance of warmth to the southern slopes and sunny
side of the hedges. Some feathery songsters were still warbling their
"wilde notes" from the leafless trees, and, on her way home, Mary felt
her spirits cheered, and her whole frame invigorated, by the fresh air
and the universal calm. The scene, the season, and the sacred day, alike
seemed to "woo the heart to meditation;" and she was proceeding a short
way in advance of the other worshippers, doubtless wrapped in some
reverie, when her thoughts, whatever they might be, were dissipated by
Nanny Ferly, who, puffing and panting from the effects of rapid
travelling, now came up and addressed her from behind.
"That's a braw gown ye have on the day, Mary," were her first words,
uttered in a tone of more than sepulchral solemnity.
"Nae brawer than ordinary," was Mary's reply.
This did not appear to be exactly the answer which had been anticipated,
and Nanny--who, like other far-sighted individuals, had no doubt
calculated the chances of the conversation, and provided herself with
sentiments suitable to the occasion--seemed to feel rather _out_. She
soon recovered, however, and adjusting her sails to the wind, proceeded
upon a new tack.
"I was just thinking, as I came up behint you," she went on, "what vain
and frail creatures we a' are! We labour to deck out our bodies in
dainty claes, and to appear strong and healthful, and engaging in the
eyes of others, when we should be thinking of our winding-sheets and our
coffins, and meditating on the worms which are shortly to prey upon us
in darkness. And maybe at the very time when we are bestowing the
greatest care upon thae worldly vanities, death may be hovering owre
us, with his hand stretched out to smite, and giving us _warning_ to
prepare for our last gasp, and that sma' house which is theekit wi' the
lang grass o' the kirkyard."
"A' that may be true," rejoined Mary; "but what, if I may speir, has
gi'en sic a kirkyard turn to your conversation the day? I am better now,
I assure you, and I hope you dinna think that, because I had the cauld
aught days since, and because I have on a new gown the day, I maun die
neist week."
"That's just the way with foolish young creatures in general, and you
amang the lave," resumed her companion, waxing yet more solemn in her
tone and manner of speaking. "They aye keep the day of distress and of
death far away from themselves: but death stays not his dart for their
folly, and the messenger will come at his time, whether they will think
of his coming, or whether they will keep their thoughts fixed upon
worldly vanity."
"What _is_ the meaning of all this?" said Mary, who now began to feel
somewhat alarmed. "Has anybody persuaded you that I am really dying, or
that I am not as likely to live as others of my age, because I have had
a slight cold, from which I am now perfectly recovered? Tell me at once
for I can endure your mysterious hints no longer."
"Then I must tell you the truth," said Nanny, whose voice had now
reached the uttermost pitch of solemnity which it could compass--"I must
tell you the truth, though I had meant to prepare you, but in part, for
what is before you. And think not lightly of it, I beseech you, for it
is indeed a terrible thing to go down to the grave in the bloom of
youth, and to be a feast for _snails_ and worms, when we are promising
ourselves many days of worldly enjoyment. But, as I said, I maun e'en
tell you the truth, as I telled my ain dear Lizzy Lawmont, when she was
on her death-bed; and weel it was that I did tell her without delay;
for, from that minute, puir Lizzy postit to her grave."
Here she went over the whole story of the _warning_, with such
additions, emendations, and exaggeration, as were necessary to give it
its full effect. In this department of literary science she displayed a
power of contrivance and an ingenuity which might have done honour to a
professed _story-teller_. But in the present instance her art seemed to
be almost thrown away; for, after she had given the finishing touch to
the picture--and she did it with a master-hand--
"Is that a'?" said Mary, with a smile, which showed that her heart was
greatly, if not wholly relieved--"is that a'?" she repeated, in a tone
which made her fellow-traveller turn her eyes to heaven with a feeling
of pious indignation.
"Ay, that's a'," rejoined Nanny, with a degree of pique in her manner
which she could not conceal; "and little effect it _a'_ seems to hae
upon you! But I maun go and spier for auld John Gavel, wha has been sair
distressed for mair than a fortnight; and sae, guid-day." As she spoke
the last word, she left Mary to pursue her journey alone, and turned
down another road, with the friendly intention, no doubt, of persuading
Mr Gavel that he was beyond all hope of recovery.
Wonderful as it may seem, after what had happened, Mary continued to
enjoy good health, and what was still more unaccountable, excellent
spirits, for a whole fortnight. Without making any direct allusion to
the _warning_, from which she evidently wished to keep at as great a
distance as possible, she did everything in her power to dissipate her
mother's apprehensions on that subject; but at the end of this period,
the fears of the latter were again awakened in all their force, and as
soon as the neighbours were astir, she again hastened to lay the burden
of her distress before Nanny Ferly.
"O Nanny, Nanny!" said she, wringing her hands, as she entered the
domicile, "sic a night as I've passed? If the Lord should give me
strength to endure, I must not complain; but, I fear, if thae awfu
things continue to happen about our house, I'll no stand it lang, or if
I do stand it, I'll surely lose my reason."
"What have you seen or heard?" inquired Nanny, eagerly, as soon as she
could get in a word.
"I've heard as muckle as micht drive a mither oot o' her senses," was
the reply; "and it has driven rest frae my bed, and ilka Sabbath-day's
thocht out o' my head. But, to tell ye what it was:--Some time after
midnight, I heard the very same sharp rap at the window that I heard
yesternight was a fortnight; and, as I've never sleepit sound since that
awfu nicht, I started up, and listened. Aweel, after awhile, the rap was
repeated, but naething spake; and then I heard a deep, low sound upon
the window-frame, which I could compare to naething save the noise of
bringing in an empty coffin; and then Nelly Jackson's dog gae a bark,
and I heard nae mair. I was aye trying to convince mysel that it micht
be only a trick the first time, and this conviction gathered strength
when I saw the lassie keep her health frae day to day; but I doubt, I
doubt, something _is_ gaun to happen now!"
"Ay, ay!" was Nanny's response; and as she spoke her voice assumed its
gravest tone; "it's owre like something _will_ happen, and that before
it's lang. Puir John Gavel's wife heard a soughing i' the lum twa nichts
afore he died; and I telled baith her and him what wad happen, and
happen it did, sure aneugh."
Unquestionable as these warnings had been considered, their fulfilment,
to Nanny's great discomfiture, did not follow so speedily as had been
expected. The new-year season again came round, without anything
extraordinary having happened; and with it came Jenny Jackson's wedding.
Jenny's scheme, like the "schemes" of the before-mentioned "mice and
men," had entirely failed. With a degree of vanity which may be easily
pardoned, she had been led to suppose that James Duff was really
attached to her, while he, in reality, only bestowed some attention upon
her for the purpose of _plaguing_ Andrew, and to amuse himself when he
had nothing else to do; but, from the evening on which he first saw Mary
M'Kenzie, he had become less and less assiduous in these attentions,
till, in the end, she began to grow fearful of "losing the market"
altogether, and was glad to accept an offer of marriage from Andrew,
almost as soon as it was made. But, though the said James, in country
phrase, had _drawn back_, he had carefully avoided everything like a
quarrel; and, as they had been fellow-servants, and had, moreover, been
upon the most friendly terms up to the very day on which they parted, he
was invited to the wedding.
Passing over the ceremony, and all that concerned it, Mary Mackenzie was
also among the wedding guests, and she did not appear to be forgotten by
James Duff; for he embraced the first opportunity which presented itself
of renewing their old acquaintance, by placing himself beside her. Upon
this occasion, she appeared to receive him with more open frankness than
she had ever done before, while he appeared highly gratified with the
change of sentiment which she now manifested towards him. For a time,
they carried on a sort of exclusive conversation, in very low and
confidential tones; and, when Mary afterwards complained that she felt
uncomfortably warm, from the number of people congregated in the small
room, James proposed to take a walk in the open air. This proposal was
readily agreed to; and, the evening being calm and still, though dark
and cloudy, they sauntered for some distance along the road, in the
direction which led out of the village. James did not seem to suppose
that any one would expect their return; he seemed to have forgotten
everything except his companion; and he would have wandered on,
neglectful alike of the distance from home and the lapse of time, had
not Mary ventured to remind him of the possibility of their being missed
from the company, if they should prolong their walk, and hinted the
propriety of immediately returning.
This hint--gentle in itself, and sounded, or rather whispered in his
ear, by a voice the very gentlest imaginable--nevertheless, seemed to
strike him as something wholly unexpected; and, while they turned to
retrace their steps, he appeared rather at a loss what to say. The truth
was, he had been thinking for some time past of introducing a subject in
which he felt he was deeply interested; but, as he had never in his life
before had occasion to introduce such a subject to the notice of a
woman, he knew not how to begin, and hence his inattention to the matter
of miles and furlongs, and the length of their walk. Fearing, however,
that another opportunity equally favourable might not soon occur, or
perhaps he might be influenced by the idea that some one more favourably
situated might supersede him--it matters little which--at length he did
make out to declare his affection; with what tones, or in what words,
has not been recorded.
The days, at this season of the year, being nearly at the shortest, and
the nights at the longest, the evening's festivity was early begun, and
the bridal merriment had lasted at least five hours before ten o'clock.
By this time, James Duff, who had a number of miles to travel before he
could reach his master's farm, and who, moreover, had to attend his work
next day, began to think of taking his departure. But, while the mirth
and festivity had been proceeding within, the weather had been getting
gradually more and more stormy without. For the last half-hour, the wind
had been howling furiously and loud around the house; the few stars
which were visible "sent down a sklintin light;" the clouds, previously
accumulated, had begun to career overhead; and, at the time spoken of,
a blinding fall of snow came on. James, however, would have proceeded on
his journey; but Mary, as soon as she saw the state of the weather,
insisted on the propriety, or rather necessity, of his stopping till
morning. With her wishes in this respect he declared himself ready to
comply, if she could only find some place of shelter where they might
pass what remained of the night, and promise to keep him company. But
with this she was not to be satisfied. Though he seemed to set little
value on his health, she said that she could not consent to see him
wilfully throwing it away. The night was now piercing cold; and as he
must be fatigued with his previous journey, and would have to work hard
next day, she insisted on being allowed to provide him with a bed. Beds,
however, were not easy to be found in the neighbourhood--there being in
most of the houses no more accommodation than what was necessary for the
families they contained; but the ingenuity of woman, when really and
fairly set to work, is seldom baffled. She soon recollected a female
acquaintance who slept alone; and, by taking up her quarters with this
individual, her own bed would be left for the reception of him for whose
comfort she now seemed to consider it her duty to provide. This
arrangement completed, she conducted him to her mother's, where no
opposition was offered to her scheme; and, after placing a light for him
in her own little room, and bidding him an affectionate good-night, she
left him to his repose, which, as the sequel will show, was not destined
to be unbroken.
Both pleased and excited by the occurrences of the evening, the blood
coursed his veins too rapidly to admit of sleep for a time. He had,
however, closed his eyes, and a dream had begun to operate upon his
imagination. It was a dream of a house which he could call his own, a
clean hearth, and a cheerful fire, with himself snugly seated in an
arm-chair on one side of it, and Mary sitting on the other, knitting a
stocking; and, ever as he addressed her, bending on him a pair of
smiling eyes. Alas! what is the happiness of man, in most instances,
save a dream--sometimes a waking one, sometimes a sleeping one--but
seldom real! From this pleasing illusion he was awakened by a noise at
the window; and the house, clean hearth, cheerful fire, arm-chair, along
with Mary and her stocking, at once disappeared in darkness. He heard
her name repeated in a low whisper; and, after a considerable pause, the
noise increased. Upon this occasion, it appeared to be something worse
than an ordinary _warning_--bad as that might be--for it continued. At
first jealousy took possession of his heart. "Could it be possible that
Mary was making a dupe of him, while she really preferred another? And
could it be that _other_ who was now making a noise for the purpose of
awakening her?" These were questions which, in his first surprise, he
naturally put to himself, without being exactly able to answer them.
Something more serious, however, than the awakening of young women
seemed to be in the wind, and his next thought was of robbers. This
idea, upon farther consideration, he was also forced to reject; for he
had remarked that, except the bed upon which he was lying, a table, a
small mirror, and some trifling articles of female attire, there was
neither chest, chest of drawers, nor anything else in the apartment
which could possibly conceal treasure; and it was not likely that
practised robbers would put themselves to much trouble for beds, tables,
and six-inch mirrors. Upon these things he had ample time to reflect;
for the operations at the window neither appeared to be scientific nor
successful. They consisted of a sort of half-cautious rubbing and
scratching, which was kept up with little intermission; and at last he
felt inclined to think that the whole might be the work of some one who
had sat too long at the bottle, and, after being deserted by his
companions, had forgotten to go to bed. But, then, unless he were in
some way or other connected with Mary, or unless his visits at least
had, on some former occasion, been sanctioned by her, what reason could
he have for selecting that particular window as the scene of his
nocturnal operations? A certain degree of reviving jealousy, mingled
with a strong feeling of curiosity, now took full possession of the
doubtful lover's mind; and having, to his own astonishment, remained so
long silent, he resolved to await the issue without uttering a word.
Fortunately he had heard nothing of warnings, and but little of ghosts;
the little which he had heard he entirely discredited; and, by
attributing the whole directly to _natural_ and not _supernatural_
agency, he felt strengthened to abide by his resolution--a circumstance
which could have hardly occurred, had he held, in its full perfection,
the doctrine of the _visibility_ of spirits.
The noise continued for nearly an hour and a-half; and when it ceased,
after something like a gentle wrench bestowed upon the window-frame, he
heard a foot cautiously approaching the bed on which he lay; and, by
compressing his lips with a desperate effort, and almost stifling his
very breath, he suppressed an involuntary inclination to start up, and
either place himself in a posture of defence, or give the alarm. In
half-a-minute more, he felt a cold, rough, clammy hand pass over his
face. A freezing sense of terror, which had nearly converted him from
his scepticism with respect to ghosts, shot directly to his heart, and a
chill perspiration was bursting from his brow; with the next breath he
had probably started to his feet, and attempted to fly; but at that
instant he was relieved by hearing a voice with which he was well
acquainted, in soft and tremulous accents, pronounce the word _Mary_.
That he might be certain as to the identity of the speaker, he waited
till he heard the name repeated, and then spoke.
"Friend," said he, in a stern voice, "I doubt you seek one who is not
here;" and, as he spoke, he made an attempt to grasp the former speaker.
But his words, few and commonplace as they were, had produced a more
instantaneous effect upon that individual than the most powerful
exorcism of a Catholic priest ever produced upon rats, mice, or any
other pest of humanity. The moment the first syllable sounded in his
ears, he made a hasty retreat; and after the intruder was gone, the
little that remained of the night passed without farther disturbance.