In the fulfilment of our promise of "a future story," which we made at
the termination of "The Ghost of Howdycraigs," we may premise thus:--
It would be both trite and bombastic to say, as some orators have
done, that "time rolls on;" and yet it is wholly owing to their having
been so often repeated, that such sayings excite no interest, and the
subjects to which they refer pass unnoticed; for, however we may
forget the truth, or however the regular recurrence of evening and
morning, summer and winter, seed-time and harvest, may make us callous
to the result which these revolutions are destined to produce, nothing
can be more certain than that Time never pauses in his career. His
progress may be observed, not only in those great events which give
birth to new eras in the history of the world--in the overthrow of
ancient empires, the extinction of ancient dynasties, and the
discovery of new countries: it may be traced in the occurrences of
every year, every month, and almost of every day. The connections of
families, the numbers of which they are composed, their relative
position in society, and their prospects in life, are undergoing
perpetual changes. Changeable as are the fortunes, so are the minds
and the emotions of men: one hour they laugh, another they weep; and,
perhaps, the very next hour they laugh again; while events the most
important and the most trifling, the most solemn and the most
ludicrous, mingle together, and follow each other by a law which fools
our powers of investigation, and baffles our understanding.
Eighteen years had nearly elapsed since the period at which the
former part of this history concludes; and _the Ghost of Howdycraigs_
was nearly forgotten. Betsy Braikens, who was then only a girl, was
now a full-grown woman, who, for the last eight or nine of the
above-mentioned years, would not have been irreconcilably offended
with a well-looking sweetheart for proposing to make her his wife. Her
brother James, who, in the same interval, had arrived at man's estate,
had been endeavouring, not very successfully, for some time past to
establish himself as a merchant in Perth; and his cousin, Sandy
Crawford, whom the reader will recollect as the herd laddie at
Howdycraigs, had, by the death of his father, been promoted to be
tacksman of Gairyburn; upon which place he resided with his mother.
Jenny Jervis, too, with whose birth the preceding story concludes, was
by this time a lass upon whom those who were neither too young nor too
old might have looked with as much interest at least as it is common
to bestow on a maiden in her eighteenth year. It is also probable that
she herself had begun to steal an occasional glance at the young men
of the district, as she saw them passing on the road, or assembled at
their rustic sports; and to recollect, when her mind was otherwise
unoccupied, that one was tall, that another had dark eyes, that a
third had a smiling countenance; and, perhaps, that a fourth united
all these charms in his proper person.
It was the middle of winter, or what is commonly called "the daft
days," which has long been a season of festivity to the rich, and, in
so far as circumstances will permit, to the poor also. The cottagers
were invited to each other's houses, to spend an evening in
forgetfulness of care. Cakes, cheese, and ale, supplied them with a
cheap, and, at the same time, a cheery repast. The old people talked
of bygone times, and the feats of dexterity or strength which they had
performed in their youth, with all the enthusiasm of heroes when
"fighting their battles over again;" while the young ones looked in
each other's faces, and laughed heartily at little jests.
Unpremeditated compliments were paid in off-handed profusion; old and
incredible stories were revived; and, in the words of Goldsmith, "news
much older than their ale went round;" but, whatever might be their
age, at such seasons they were certain to produce as much merriment as
upon the occasion when they were first produced. To conclude the
picture--
"The nappy reek'd wi' mantling 'ream,
And shed a heart-inspiring stream;
And luntin pipe and sneeshin mill
Were handed round wi' richt guid-will."
Sandy Crawford and his mother had been invited to "get their cakes,"
and spend the evening with John Jervis and his wife. They came,
according to custom; and, after the cheese, the oaten bread, and the
ale had been sent round in the usual manner--
"Troth, Nelly," said Margaret Crawford, addressing her hostess, "your
Jenny's turned a perfect woman, I declare. Sic an odds there's on her
within the last twalmonth! Mony a time I look at her when she's gaun
past; and, to say the truth, ye may weel be proud o' yer dochter, for
I dinna see a bonnier lassie i' the hale country-side than she is."
"Beauty is only skin-deep," said Nelly, with a smile of satisfaction,
which showed how highly she appreciated the quality in her daughter
which she pretended to undervalue. "But the lassie's weel aneugh,
though she were nae freend o' mine. And noo, Sandy," she continued, in
a jesting tone, and turning from the mother to the son as she spoke,
"what think ye o' her for a wife? Yer mither seems to be unco weel
pleased wi' her; I'm sure I would like weel to see ye gang thegither,
and I dinna think our Jock would say onything against sic a marriage."
"Hoot, woman," interrupted her husband, "were I to haver like you, I
would say that, if I thought she would only turn out half as guid a
wife to him as you've dune to me, I would maist advise him to tak her;
but she's our ain bairn, and we should haud our tongues."
"That's as true as ye hae said it," rejoined Nelly; "fathers and
mithers should say little on sic a subject; but as this is a nicht on
which a'body haver, ye maun just allow me to haver too: when folk only
haver for diversion, it can do little ill. And sae, as I was gaun to
say," she continued, again addressing Sandy, "yer mither seems to be
pleased; I'm weel pleased; Jock's no that sair set against the match,
and noo there's naebody's consent awantin but your ain."
"Ay," said Sandy, "there's anither yet, though you've forgotten about
it; ye maun get her consent too afore it can be a bargain. Jenny has a
heart as weel as her neebors, I'll warrant her," he continued,
stealing a look at the object of whom he spoke, "and I'm maybe no
amang the folk she likes best."
"Weel, Jenny, it's a' at your door noo, I declare," said her mother,
laughing outright. "What say ye to this affair?"
"Oh, if ye would only haud your tongue!" said Jenny, blushing, and
still keeping her eyes fixed upon a rather profitless occupation in
which she had been engaged for some time past--namely, that of folding
and unfolding the corners of her apron with great assiduity; but the
rest of the company, if we except Sandy, perhaps, were so deeply
engaged in their own nonsensical conversation, that they took no
notice of this circumstance.
"That's just the way wi' a' young folk," said Nelly, still laughing;
"the lad thinks the lass has some ither body that she likes better
than him, and the lass thinks the lad pays mair attention to anither
than he does to her; she daurna say a word unless she maybe tak the
dorts and misca him; he hesitates to speak for fear he should be
refused; and between them they aften contrive to torment ane anither
for years, when twa words micht settle the matter, and mak them baith
happy. But I'm sure, Margaret, if they would only leave the thing to
you and me, we could mak a bargain for them the nicht yet."
"It's likely, at least, that we would mak a bargain sooner than they
would do," said the other. But the sigh with which she concluded
bespoke some emotion which accorded ill with the lightness of the
previous conversation. There was a something, too, in her manner,
which seemed to say that, while she was not averse to the proposed
match, she did not altogether relish the jest in which its immediate
consummation had been spoken of.
Mothers have frequently thrown serious obstacles in the path of young
people when they supposed themselves travelling on the highway to
happiness; but sometimes, too, they seem inclined to give them an
opportunity of forming that liking for each other, without which,
according to the popular creed, no happiness can exist. Nelly now
proposed that, while the guidman was suppering the horse, Margaret
should go with her to the byre and see the cow, the yearling, and the
calf, which, she said, "were in wonderfu guid order, considerin how
little they had to gie them." Sandy and Jenny were thus left to
themselves; but upon this occasion they seemed to have the greatest
difficulty in keeping up a sort of intermitting conversation upon the
weather, the state of the roads, and some other subjects of the same
kind. Each wished to appear witty and amiable in the eyes of the
other; but somehow their wits seemed to have forsaken them, and they
appeared to be perfectly ignorant of the means by which their wishes
could be accomplished. Perhaps the former conversation had awakened,
or rather called into a state of activity, some feelings which they
knew not how to express; and it might be that, while these feelings
predominated, they could not think of anything else in such a manner
as to talk of it to the purpose; or perhaps it was only the mere
awkwardness of finding themselves, for the first time since they were
children, thus left to each other, which in a great measure locked up
their conversational powers. Be the matter as it may, with the "eldern
dames" it was otherwise.
When they got to the byre, Margaret appeared more willing to resume
the former subject than to look at her neighbour's chattels. "Ye would
maybe think," said she, "that I didna seem sae frank as I micht hae
done when ye spoke about Jenny and Sandy; but, for a' that, I've aften
thought, if ever it were the laddie's luck to get a wife, Jenny would
mak a better ane than ony ither young woman I ken. But after him
that's now awa began to tak death till himsel," she continued,
lowering her voice to a confidential whisper, "when he made owre the
tack to Sandy, he left me as a burden upon Gairyburn. Noo, the place
is but sma, as ye ken, and there's but ae house on't, and, if he were
to marry, I dinna ken how a'thing would answer."
"Hoot, woman," rejoined the other, "ye've a _butt and a ben_; the
house would haud ye a' brawly. And, though our lassie's owre young to
be a wife to onybody, and I was only passin a joke about her and
Sandy, if she were a year or twa aulder, and if a'thing were
agreeable, I canna say but I would like weel to see them gang
thegither. For it's just the gate o' a' mithers--they would aye like
to see their ain bairns gettin guid bargains. No that I would care a
snuff for the lassie gettin a man wi' a hantle riches; but I would
like to see her get ane that would ken how to guide her, and how to
guide the warld too. Noo, Sandy is baith a canny and a carefu chield;
and, if they dinna thrive, I'm sure it wouldna be his faut."
"It's a' true ye say," responded Margaret; "and weel it pleases me to
hear your guid opinion o' my son. He has a wark wi' the lassie
already, if I'm no far deceived; for ony time when she comes owre to
our house, I've remarkit that he's aye kinder to her than to ony ither
body. But there's a proverb that says, 'young wives seldom like auld
guidmithers'--and that's what troubles me."
"But that needna trouble ye owre muckle either," was the reply;
"for--what's this I was gaun to say, again?--ou ay--wi' respect to
Jenny, puir thing, if it were her guid fortune to draw his affection,
I'm sure she would strive, as far as lay in her power, to mak ye
comfortable."
"I dinna doubt a single word o' what ye say," rejoined the other.
"Jenny is a dutiful and a kind-hearted lassie; I ken that weel. But,
as the auld sayin is, ilka body kens their ain sair best; and, though
it's nae doubt a weakness, I maun e'en tell ye a'. When I was
married--I mind as weel as yesterday--baith David and me thought we
could live happy wi' his mither; and we did live happy, for aught days
or sae; but, after that, I could do naethin to please her. If I tried
to 'earn the milk, it was either owre het or owre cauld when I put in
the 'earning; if I began to wash the dishes, she aye milkit the kye
first, and then she wondered how some folk had sae little sense. I
could neither mak the parritch, nor wash, nor spin, nor mak up a hasp
o' yarn--no, nor soop in the very house, to please her; and, though I
tried, as far as was in my power, to do a'thing her way, it gae me
mony a sleepless nicht, and cost him that's awa nae little vexation.
And weel do I mind mony a time I wondered what pleasure she could tak
in distressin me; but I think noo it was just a frailty o' our
nature--a something that auld folk canna help. And I think, too, I've
discovered the cause o' her grumlin since I began to see the prospect
o' Sandy takin a wife. Now, ye'll nae doubt think it strange," she
continued, in a hesitating tone--"ye'll nae doubt think it strange,
Nelly; but, dearly as I like my ain son--and weel as I would like to
see him happy wi' a woman wha loved him better than a' the warld
beside--still there's a something in the idea o' anither comin in to
be the mistress o' the hoose whaur I've had the management sae lang,
that aye distresses me when I think on't."
"I dinna wonder ava at what ye say," responded Nelly. "If I were in
your place, a' that troubles you would trouble me. But there's naebody
without something to distress them; and we maun just look upon things
o' that kind as a _crook in our lot_, a something that maun be borne.
But, after a', woman, if the twa were to gang thegither, could ye no
come owre here? Ye have only him, and we have only her; the little
gear we hae maun a' gang to him at last; and, if the young folk could
live thegither in ane o' the places, the auld folk micht surely do the
same in the tither."
"Thank ye, Nelly--thank ye!" said Margaret; "ye're aye the same
guid-hearted creature yet. But a body's ain hame's aye kindly. And
yet, if sic a thing were to happen, I would rather come here, than
gang to ony freend I hae." As she uttered these words, she made an
involuntary motion forward, and would have fallen, had she not
supported herself by the wall.
"Dear me, Margaret, what's the matter wi' ye?" said Nelly, in a tone
of evident alarm.
"It's a dizziness i' my head, woman," was the reply. "I've never been
mysel since that illness I had afore the term. Thae curious turns come
owre me aye, noo and then," she continued, her voice sinking and
saddening as she spoke; "and, for the last six weeks, it's been borne
in upon me, that I'm no to be lang to the fore. Now, if I was taen
awa, Sandy would be sair to mean wi' naebody about the house but a
servant; and that gars me sometimes think I would maist like to see
him married to some carefu lass like your Jenny afore my head be laid
down."
"Wheesht, Margaret!" said the other; "never let thae thoughts come
owre ye, for there's an auld proverb that says, _thought can kill and
thought can cure_. And I doubt I've driven the joke owre far already.
But, though it's natural aneugh for young lasses to like to get
husbands, and natural aneugh, too, for their mithers to like to see
them weel married, I would ten times owre see our Jenny live and dee
without a man a'thegither, rather than see her married to the best man
on earth, if her marriage were to gie you real vexation, or be the
means o' shortenin your days."
"It's no that," said Margaret, in the same low solemn tone in which
she had before spoken--"it's no onything ye have said that has hurt
me, for I've thought about a' thae things afore. When I had that ill
turn afore Martinmas, when folk thought I was deein, I began to
consider wha would be maist likely to keep a comfortable hame to my
ain bairn; and then, I confess, my thoughts turned upon your Jenny.
This made me look mair attentively at baith him and her than I had
ever done before; and twa or three times, when she cam owre to see how
I was, I thought I saw something like the first symptoms of affection
in his manner as weel as hers; and I felt glad at the sicht. But, as I
began to get a little better, and to be able to gang about again, the
things that had happened wi' my ain guidmither came fresh to my
memory, and I thought I would like to manage the house mysel, and do
for the best as lang as I was able. But I fear," she added, with a
deep sigh, "this complaint, whatever it is, will weather me afore it's
lang."
"Na, Margaret; I hope better things," said the other; "and ye maun
strive to hope for better things too. Though ye mayna be sae stout
through the winter, when the warm weather comes in ye'll gather
strength again; and, if ance ye had yer fit on a May gowan, ye'll be
as hale and hearty as the best o' us."
"It's lang to the month o' May," said Margaret, in a voice unwontedly
solemn; "and, afore that time come round, hundreds that are laughin
and makin muckle sport the nicht may be cauld in their graves. But
promise, if I'm taen awa, that ye'll do yer best to supply my place,
and to bring the twa thegither if ye can."
Nelly was really distressed to think that this gloomy presentiment had
taken such firm hold of her neighbour's mind; but, fancying that it
had been in some measure suggested by their former conversation, and
hoping that it would soon pass off, she promised to comply with her
wishes, and then urged her to rejoin the company within.
They accordingly went into the house, where they found the little
party--which, in their absence, consisted of only three--engaged in a
cheerful conversation. Freed at length from that embarrassment which
they had experienced while alone, the others soon recovered their
spirits and their freedom of speech. Margaret, however, could not so
easily recover her former cheerfulness. She strove, indeed, to appear
as merry as the rest; but her late indisposition, though only of a
momentary nature, seemed to have left an effect upon her spirits which
did not immediately pass away. There was also a something in the
fitfulness of her manner, and the expression of deep solemnity into
which her countenance frequently relapsed after a laugh, which told
too plainly that her merriment came not from the heart. These symptoms
were soon observed, and by degrees her sadness appeared to communicate
itself to the rest of the company.
In this state of things, they seemed to feel as if an early separation
would have been a relief, and almost the only relief of which the case
would admit. When the propriety of a measure is felt by a whole
company, some one or other of their number in general stammers upon
the wishes of the rest; and here, shortly after the above-mentioned
feeling had begun to prevail, Margaret Crawford said that--"As the
nicht was dark and micht end in rain, she thought it would be best for
her and Sandy to gang hame afore it was late." To this proposal Nelly
and her husband made a friendly show of resistance such as is common
on these occasions, and urged, as reasons for delaying their guests,
that "it was not late yet," and that "they would be hame in braw time,
though they staid anither hour." But this resistance, though
reiterated, was so faint, that it was at once felt to be formal; and
Margaret, who had no very great temptation to do otherwise, seemed
inclined to adhere to her first intention. She therefore repeated her
reasons for going home; and, at the same time expressed a hope, "if
_naething extrordinar_ cam i' the way, that she would see John and
Nelly, and Jenny too, at Gairyburn, some nicht neist week, to spend
the e'enin wi' her"--after which, the little company broke up.
The night was far advanced before Jenny could close her eyes; and when
at last she did sink into the arms of the "leaden god," it was only to
dream of having lost her way, along with Sandy Crawford, in some wide
and wildering desert which she had never seen before. At first the
scene seemed solitary, shaded with lofty yews, and tangled with
trailing shrubs; dark clouds spread a gloom over it; mists rested on
the top of every rock; and the night-dews hung heavily from every
branch and every blade of grass. Then the prospect appeared to
brighten: the landscape assumed a variety of charms; every hour
disclosed some new beauty, or opened up some glowing vista which she
had not before seen. The sun gradually dissipated the clouds which
hitherto had concealed him, and, bursting through, dried up the
superfluous moisture from the earth; the air became pure, and the day
delightfully warm; and, though as yet she had discovered no road by
which she could return, she did not feel greatly perplexed. But the
pleasing prospect was soon overcast: clouds appeared to gather round
them; anon she was separated from her companion by rocks and
unfathomable gulfs, the nature and extent of which she could not
distinctly see. At times she fancied he was lost, and felt inclined to
weep at the thought that she should never see him more; then she
obtained a glimpse of him, as if he still waited for her, and then her
heart panted to come up with him; then he disappeared, and she knew
not which way to turn. At last she thought Betsy Braikens came up to
her, and offered to conduct her to where he was; but at that moment
the sky grew dark, and the storm raged so terribly, that she could not
stir a step to follow her. It soon ceased, however; the day again
cleared; she seemed to see him advancing to meet her, with a smile of
welcome upon his countenance; and, just as he was about to throw his
arms around her waist, she started aside to avoid his embrace, struck
her arm upon the post of the bed, and the pain which the circumstance
occasioned, aided by an importunate knocking at the door, awakened
her. On being thus made aware that some one wanted admittance, she
started up, threw on a part of her clothes, snatched up the poker,
broke the _gathering-coal_, and stirred the fire, which instantly
burst forth in a blaze; and then she hastened to open the door.
The present visiter was Sandy Crawford, in most respects the very same
as she had seen him in her dream; but the _smile_ with which that
illusion had presented her was wanting, and in its stead she thought
she could discover, by the light of the fire, marks of anxiety,
perturbation, and fear, upon his countenance. The contrast was so
striking, that she almost forgot one part of it was only a dream. At
the very first glance, she felt certain that something was wrong; and
she would have inquired what it was, but, before she could speak, he
told her, in terms which betrayed his own agitation, that his mother,
without having previously complained of being worse than her ordinary,
had been struck with what appeared to be _palsy_ in the course of the
night, that she was now wholly deprived of speech, and nearly
deprived of motion in one side, and that he had hastened thither as
soon as she could be left, to beg either her or her mother to come
over and watch her till he could procure further assistance. He would
have said something more--he would have hinted the probability of the
fatal termination of his mother's disease, and the further probability
that this termination might occur in a few hours, both of which were
painfully impressed upon his heart; but he shrank from the idea of
speaking on such a subject, as though he apprehended some mysterious
connection between his own words and the fate of his mother, and that
what he was about to say might hurry on the crisis which he wished to
avert. He was therefore silent; while Jenny, between the effects of
her dream, and the alarming intelligence which she had just heard,
knew not what to answer, or what she should do. In general, she
possessed activity, and all that was necessary to enable her to render
assistance in any case with which she was acquainted; but she was
susceptible of strong impressions--those who are so seldom act with
ease in an untried situation--and she was now placed in one which was
perfectly new to her. In her agitation, she would have stood where she
was, like a statue, or she would have accompanied him without taking
time to put on what remained of her clothes, had he repeated his
request; but her mother, who had been awakened by the opening of the
door, on overhearing the conversation which followed, had dressed
herself with characteristic despatch, now came to her daughter's
relief.
"Dinna forget to milk the cow, lassie," said she, "nor to mak yer
father's parritch about eight o'clock, and I'll rin owre mysel, and
see what's the matter wi' puir Margaret Crawford. But, if I'm no back
afore dinner-time, mind ye to come and see how she is." With these
brief orders, Nelly wrapped herself up in her cloak, and hastened to
carry her services where they were most wanted.
On reaching Gairyburn, they found Margaret, as she had been
represented, very ill. The shock, however, did not, as there was at
first some reason to fear, prove immediately mortal; and about noon,
when Jenny arrived, her mother proposed that she herself should go
home, leaving her in constant attendance, and promising, at the same
time, to return as often as possible, and give them all the assistance
in her power. This arrangement appeared satisfactory to all parties;
but, at the end of three weeks, a second shock brought rest to the
sufferer, and mourning to the house of Gairyburn.
This mournful event, as is common in such cases, brought together the
whole of the friends and relations of the deceased; and among the rest
came Betsy Braikens and her brother. Betsy had been for some time past
residing with that brother in Perth; but, as soon as it was known that
she had arrived, those who pretended to take an interest in the
affairs of her cousin hastened to represent to her in the strongest
terms the necessity of her coming "to _keep his house_;" and, yielding
to their representations, she did offer her services. These were
declined, however, from the consideration that it would be
inconvenient for her brother to want her assistance. But, as soon as
it was understood that she had made such an offer, the very
individuals who had advised her to make it began to search for other
motives than their own advice, and they soon discovered what they
considered a sufficient reason for her doing so, in the embarrassed
circumstances of her brother. It was generally believed that his trade
had never been very flourishing, and some surmises had lately reached
them of the failure of a merchant in Glasgow, with whom he was
understood to be connected, which would involve him in very
considerable pecuniary difficulties. Putting these things together,
they deemed them a sufficient warrant for supposing that Betsy had her
cousin's _hand_ as well as his house in view, and that, if she did not
succeed in securing one of them at least, she might soon have no
house to keep.
This supposition was not altogether without a foundation; for all his
endeavours had been so unsuccessful of late, that her brother had now
come to the determination of dropping business, as soon as he could
sell off his stock, and wind up his affairs; but, as it would be
several months before this could be done with any prospect of
advantage, he still continued to keep his intentions a perfect secret.
And this being the case, it was agreed on the evening of the funeral
that he and his sister should set off, early next morning, for Perth.
The weather, however, did not appear to favour their intentions. For
the last eight days it had been fair, and uncommonly mild, with slight
frosts during the night, so that, in the estimation of the country
people, "the earth was prepared for a storm." But, on the day alluded
to, the atmosphere had become loaded with stagnant vapours; a
continuous mass of dark, leaden-coloured cloud, which seemed to rest
upon the nearest hills, arched the concave; not a single speck of blue
sky had been visible since morning; and in the evening, one of those
dense and wildering falls of snow, which have frequently misled the
traveller, came on.
The night was one which, in most respects, seemed to accord with the
sorrowful feelings of the little party at Gairyburn. It was gloomy and
silent; while the snow continued to accumulate around the house, as if
to exclude everything which might have a tendency to disturb their
recollections of the solemn scene in which they had been so lately
engaged. At times, a sort of conversation, carried on in subdued
tones, prevailed for a season; and then it was followed by
considerable intervals of silence, broken only by an occasional sigh,
a casual observation on the stillness of the night, or an injunction
to stir the fire. Anon, the colloquial powers of the party seemed to
gather strength from the repose which they had been permitted to
enjoy; and the discourse was again renewed, to continue for a season,
and then to flag, as it had done before. In most respects, this
conversation bore a striking resemblance to the evening fire of the
poor widow, which is only kept alive by an occasional handful of
brushwood thrown upon the expiring embers; after which it emits a
flickering flame for a short while, and then gradually decays, till
the last spark is scarcely perceptible, and it is only prevented from
utter extinction by a repetition of the same process.
In one of these intervals of silence, Betsy Braikens had gone to the
door--partly to pass the time which hung so heavily, and partly to see
if there was any prospect of being able to travel in the morning.
While thus reconnoitring, her attention was attracted by a whistle,
followed by a faint cry for assistance, which, though evidently at a
distance, was, owing to the stillness of the night, distinctly heard.
This made her listen more attentively. The whistle and the cry were
repeated, which satisfied her that they proceeded from some one in
distress; and she now thought it time to give notice of what she had
heard to those within. On hearing the circumstance, her brother and
cousin immediately set off in the direction which she had pointed out;
and in a short time they returned, bringing along with them a
stranger, who had lost his way when it grew dark; and, after having
wandered for several hours among the hills, without knowing where he
was going, had at last stumbled over a bank into a miry slough, where,
as he was unable to extricate himself from the mud, he would in all
probability have perished, but for the assistance which he had
received.
The care of ministering to the new guest devolved principally upon
Betsy Braikens, who had been the first to give notice of his previous
distress; and for such an office she was better qualified than any
other female who, at the time, could have been found, within several
miles--both from that knowledge of the conventionalities of society
which she had acquired during her residence in Perth, and from a
disposition which was naturally kind. With that alacrity which is
common to her sex, she made the necessary preparations for enabling
him to shift such parts of his clothes as were wet. A repast
calculated to refresh him, after the fatigues of his journey, was next
provided; and, as there was no inn or other place of accommodation
within reach, and the night was one in which no stranger could find
his way, she represented the necessity of his remaining where he was
till morning; and then he might travel with her and her brother, if he
chanced to be journeying in that direction; and, if his road was
different, he would at least have the advantage of daylight to direct
his steps.
To this proposal the stranger did not seem to be averse. In such
circumstances, men are often more grateful for a mere trifle than, in
others, they would be for the greatest favours. He seemed highly
sensible of the kindness with which he was treated, and soon began to
regard his entertainers with a feeling of respect. Upon further
conversation, it was discovered that his name was Robert Walker--that
he was the son of the Glasgow merchant whoso failure has been already
noticed as having been prejudicial to the interests of James Braikens;
and, on learning that he was in the society of one who had been in the
habit of dealing with his father, he proceeded to give them a brief
sketch of his story.
After his prospects had been obscured by the bankruptcy of his father,
he had succeeded in procuring for himself a situation in Aberdeen;
and, as he was a good pedestrian--and had, moreover, a liking for
rural scenery, rural manners, and unfrequented roads--these
considerations, backed by motives of economy, had induced him to
undertake the journey on foot. He had accordingly proceeded by
Kinross, intending to make his line as straight as possible, without
paying much attention to the highways; and, on reaching the village of
Strathmiglo, he had been directed across a part of the Ochils as the
nearest road to Newburgh--at which part he intended to cross the Tay.
He had taken these directions, and pushed forward, in the expectation
that he would reach the last-mentioned place before it was late; but
the snow coming on, he soon lost all traces of the road, and, what was
worse, he soon after lost everything like an idea of what direction he
was travelling in. He had, however, no alternative but to proceed.
Exertion was indispensable to prevent his limbs from being benumbed
with cold; but the dense fall of snow prevented him from seeing any
distant object upon which he might direct his course, and thus arrive
at some place of shelter. In this state of uncertainty, he had
wandered he neither knew where nor how long, when--stumbling over the
bank, as already noticed, and being unable to extricate himself--he
was beginning to fear that he had reached the end of his journey
before his deliverers reached him.
On the following morning, which was fair, though the clouds still
appeared to be far from having discharged the whole of their contents,
the stranger was easily induced to accompany Betsy Braikens and her
brother to Perth--alleging, as his reason for doing so, a wish to see
the town, and the possibility of his being there able to procure some
mode of conveying himself to Aberdeen less laborious than travelling
had now become. They accordingly set forward together; but before they
had reached the head of Abernethy Glen, the snow again began to fall,
accompanied by gusts of wind, which whirled whole wreaths into the air
at once, and drove the dazzling particles before them with such
violence, that suffocation seemed to be the inevitable consequence of
being long exposed to the fury of the storm. In a short time the snow
had accumulated to such a depth in the hollows as to render
travelling a most laborious operation; and it was with some difficulty
that the party reached the domicile of Andrew Braikens, where they
thought it best to take shelter for the present, and postpone their
further journey till the weather should be more favourable. The storm
continued for nearly forty-eight hours without intermission, so that,
dating from the time at which they set out, it was not till the
evening of the third day that they reached Perth.
Whatever loss in the way of business this delay might have occasioned,
the merchant found, on his arrival, that it was only his absence which
had saved him from being declared bankrupt, and, in all probability,
imprisoned for debt at the same time. But, on the previous day, one of
his most clamorous creditors had been suddenly taken ill. A temporary
respite was thus obtained; and, with the assistance of Robert Walker,
who exerted all his oratorical powers in his behalf, matters were
again patched up, and he was allowed to go on with the concerns of his
shop as before. These things being settled, this new friend
strenuously advised him to retain his business if possible, assuring
him, at the same time, that there was nothing like perseverance, and
then went on his way, whither we follow him not.
At Gairyburn things went on much in the same way as they had done
before, except that the management of the house was now committed to
the care of a servant-girl. But some circumstances soon transpired
which led the people around to suppose that the girl might, in due
time, be promoted to be mistress of what at present she only managed
for another. Sandy Crawford had bought rather a better suit of
mournings for Jenny Jervis than it was common to give to a servant;
and this, along with a number of other incidents and occurrences, too
minute to be enumerated here, but not so minute as to escape the
notice of a country population, was made the subject of discussion at
the firesides of the neighbouring cottages. But as neither men nor
women, since the world began, were ever known to agree about either
religion or politics, or any other important matter whatever, so here
there was a difference of opinion; and many were the conferences and
disputes which ensued. With one party, the buying of the gown, and the
other corroborating circumstances, were deemed incontestable evidence;
and they affirmed that Sandy and Jenny only waited till the proper
season for laying aside their mournings, to be married. In this
marriage they saw, or at least fancied they could see, such a number
of advantages as would render it most desirable. "Jenny," they said,
"was a thrifty lassie, and wad mak a guid wife. She kenned a' about
the management o' the kye, and she wad aye hae her mither at hand to
apply to in ony strait." Another party differed from them entirely,
both as to the conclusiveness of the evidence, and the advantages to
be derived from the marriage. "The buyin o' the gown," they
maintained, "was naething. Jenny Jervis was a young, thoughtless
lassie, wha wad be soon aneugh married four or five years hence; and
they were sure Sandy wad be far better wi' his cousin Betsy, wha was
baith a weel-faured and a weel-conditioned cummer, and had some
experience in the management o' a house." They said, further, that
"Betsy, they were sure, wad be the woman; for Sandy was a thoughtfu
callant; and though he might be led awa, for a time, wi' twa blue een,
a slender waist, and the red and white on a lassie's face, he wad soon
come to see that ither things were needfu to a man fechtin for his
bread, and strugglin for the rent o' a farm." A third party presumed
to differ from both of these in every particular save one. They
admitted, indeed, that Sandy "was a thoughtfu callant;" but from that
very admission they drew a quite contrary conclusion. "Baith Betsy and
Jenny," they averred, "might remain _single_ lang aneugh for him; and
if he ever took a wife ava, they were sure it wadna be in ony hurry."
They also pointed out several advantages which were likely to accrue
to him from adopting this theory, and several disadvantages which
would infallibly result from his adoption of any other. "The place,"
they said, "was but sma', and the rent high; and as lang as he had
only a servant, he had naething but her bit year's wage to pay at the
term. But, were he to tak a wife, he wad hae to get new beds, and new
chairs, and a hantle whigmaleeries forby, that wad cost him nae little
siller; he wad hae to buy _fykes_ to her in ilka market, and in ilka
shop he cam past--not to mention bairns' meat and bairns' claes--mair
o' baith, maybe, than the place wad afford." Thus, as the great
political world is at present divided into Tories, Whigs, and
Radicals, this little sequestered district was divided into parties,
which, for the sake of distinction, we shall denominate _Jervisines_,
_Braikenites_, and _Malthusians_.
Though Betsy Braikens had not been at Gairyburn for several years
before the death of her aunt, after that occurrence she continued to
pay occasional visits there; and it was observed, by those who knew
and could interpret the signs of the times, that her cousin always
looked more thoughtful for a day or two after she went away, than was
his usual. This seemed to favour the theory of the _Jervisines_, who
said that he was pestered with her visits, and did not know how to get
quit of her. The _Braikenites_, on the other hand, maintained, that,
if he did not give her some encouragement, she would not return so
often; and that his thoughtful looks were occasioned by regret at her
absence.
Several months after the death of Margaret Crawford, and just as the
first party were beginning to be certain that their theory was the
correct one, and that they would, ere long, obtain a notable victory
over their opponents, both Betsy and her brother paid a visit to
Gairyburn. They stayed a night and a day with their cousin; and, after
they had taken their departure, it was observed that he looked more
thoughtful than he had done on any former occasion, with the
additional aggravation of his thoughtfulness not passing away in a day
or two, as it had done before. At the end of a fortnight, the
neighbours said to each other--"Preserve us a'! saw ye ever sic an
alteration as has come owre Sandy Crawford! He's surely seen something
that's no canny, and daurna speak aboot it." At the end of a month,
they might have made the same observation; but by that time they had
become accustomed to the change, and they only said--"Puir fellow!
he's as sair altered as though that cummer frae Perth had ta'en awa
his last penny."
He was indeed changed, though not to the extent which they seemed to
suppose. He managed the whole of his concerns as he had done before;
in company or conversation there was little perceptible difference;
but, when silent or alone, there was frequently an expression of
resignation on his countenance, as if some misfortune were impending
which he could not avert, and which, if it should fall, he had
determined to endure with patience. Strict observations were now made
on his conduct towards Jenny; and here, too, an alteration was
discovered, though that alteration did not seem to admit of being
explicitly expressed in words. It was agreed, however, by the wise
women who had made the observations, that he appeared like one who had
determined never again to urge his suit, and that he had certainly
made up his mind to see her give her hand to another. This conclusion
was favourable to the Malthusians: they repeated their assertion, that
"he was a thoughtfu callant, and that he had determined not to marry
at all;" while the others, if they did not "hide their diminished
heads," were at least compelled to hold their peace.
But of all who were puzzled by the mysterious change in the manners
of the should-be bridegroom, none were more so than poor Jenny
herself, who really loved him, and who had been led to suppose that he
loved her in return, though hitherto he had never directly declared
his intention of marrying her. Her mother was equally puzzled to
assign a satisfactory reason for the change; but she was not equally
affected by it. In her younger years, she had learned, from
experience, that there is nothing more mutable than the heart of a
lover; and she fancied, even in ordinary cases, that it was only by
practising a great deal of art and finesse that a husband could be
secured. This, in her estimation, being the case, she determined
that--if the experience which she had acquired in these matters could
be rendered available--her daughter should not remain so long
unmarried as she had done herself; and she immediately set her head to
work to contrive the means of bringing about a marriage as speedily as
possible. Nelly recollected some years ago having had a young _pig_,
which could not be prevailed upon to take its victuals. She had tried
to feed it, or, in other words, to thrust meat into its mouth, in the
hope that it would then swallow it; but this only served to make it
more obdurate in its resistance. It seemed determined to starve itself
to death, and she knew not what to make of it. Her husband, however,
bethought him of a scheme which proved successful: on the following
day, he brought home another, which was put in beside its refractory
kinsman, and afterwards, when she came with the victuals, they
immediately commenced fighting about their respective shares. It was
then _who should get most_; and each would have eaten up the whole, if
its skin would have contained as much. The bee is said to gather honey
from every flower; and there are some people who will learn something
from every incident. Nelly instantly discovered a strong analogy
between the case of the single _pig_ and its victuals, and the case of
a young woman with a single sweetheart; and, having discovered an
analogy in the cases, she felt certain that there must also be an
analogy in the cures. The present emergency seemed to be a most
favourable opportunity for trying the correctness of this theory by
that best of all possible tests--an experiment; and she forthwith
resolved, were the thing practicable, that Jenny should have a new
sweetheart, if peradventure his presence would produce a favourable
revolution in the sentiments of the old one.
Measures were accordingly adopted, and the most feasible schemes were
laid--schemes which, with proper management, could hardly have failed
of success. Jenny also received such hints and instructions as were
deemed necessary to enable her to act her part. But Jenny was, as her
mother phrased it, "an even-forrit, silly, simple lassie;" and in her
hands nothing succeeded. It was with the utmost difficulty that she
could be brought to give the slightest encouragement to a new lover,
and if at any time she did muster sufficient resolution to smile upon
a rival in the presence of Sandy Crawford, her eye immediately turned
upon the latter, to see if he approved of what she had done; and when,
in his guarded look, she could read neither approbation nor
disapprobation, a deep sigh commonly revealed her apprehensions for
having done wrong. The preposterousness of such conduct needs no
remark; its evident tendency was, to keep him free from the slightest
suspicions of having a competitor for her hand, and the most distant
idea that he was in any danger of losing her--and all this in the
midst of schemes intended to produce a contrary effect!
It is probable that other schemes might have been devised, or the same
ones might have been prosecuted to a still greater extent; but what
had been already done, aided by his own observation, had opened his
eyes to some things of which he was not before fully aware. Hitherto,
he seemed to have supposed that he was himself the only sufferer; but
he now discovered that there was another whom he was making unhappy,
and her unhappiness evidently pained him, adding, at the same time, to
his other causes of anxiety, whatever they were, and consequently to
the thoughtfulness of his looks. But still he seemed to fear coming to
an explanation, as much as if he had been certain that such a step
would destroy his last remains of hope. He could not, however, long
endure such an idea; and adopting what had become the least painful
alternative, he seemed to have made up his mind to the unfolding of
that secret which, hitherto, he had kept to himself.
"Jenny," said he, one day, after a long and thoughtful silence, "for
some months I have scarcely known what it was to be happy for a single
hour; and, strange as ye may think it, _love_ has been one of the
principal causes of my misery. Had it not been for _that_, I could
have thought lightly of poverty and everything else. I have acted
foolishly, perhaps, and made myself altogether unworthy of the woman
whom I love; but, yet, I would fain hope that she will not despise me,
and I am now resolved----"
At hearing these words, Jenny's heart had begun to palpitate
violently. But, just as he uttered the word "_resolved_," a rap was
heard at the door; and, on its being opened, Betsy Braikens came in,
and saluted her cousin with a profusion of smiles; while poor Jenny,
to conceal her own agitation, was glad to make an excuse for leaving
the house.
As soon as Betsy's coming was known, people were on the alert. On
Sabbath she accompanied her cousin to the church, and, on the road
thither, it was observed that the thoughtful expression of his
countenance had passed away--that, after making the proper allowance
for the solemnity of the day, he was to all appearance as cheerful as
ever he had been in his life; and that he behaved to his relation
with the greatest kindness, accompanied by an easiness of manner for
which the wise women could only account by supposing that a still
nearer relationship was in contemplation, or, in other words, that the
marriage-day was already set. The star of the _Braikenites_ was now in
the ascendant; they began to feel certain that their opinions had all
along been correct; and they upbraided their opponents for their
slowness of belief, and their backwardness to place implicit
confidence in the understanding of those who were evidently wiser than
themselves.
The Tuesday following was that on which _Auchtermuchty Market_
occurred. Betsy remained until that important day; went to the market
with her cousin like a betrothed damsel; while Jenny, who had also
been invited to accompany him, preferred staying at home; and, to
place the matter beyond further dispute, he bought and presented the
former with a gown, so fine and so costly, that those who had seen it
declared "there wasna anither like it selled that day i' the town." No
man, it was affirmed, would thus throw away money in buying gowns,
unless he expected to be benefited by the wearer--and the triumph of
the Braikenites was now almost complete.
While these important events were passing, it was not to be expected
that Jenny should remain an unconcerned spectator. She had been the
first to notice that remarkable change for the better which his
cousin's presence had produced in the looks and manners of Sandy
Crawford. She saw his cheerfulness restored--she saw his kindness to
Betsy; and, for the first time in her life, she believed that he
_really_ loved her.
On the day after the market, Betsy Braikens was to go home, and her
cousin gallantly offered to accompany her as far as her father's.
Shortly after they were gone, Jenny hastened to tell her mother what
she had seen and heard. Nelly now considered that her own character
for prudence and management was at stake; and Jenny was prevailed upon
to adopt her views, and to promise to be directed by her advice.
In the evening, when Sandy Crawford returned from escorting his
cousin, he was in high spirits; it was also evident that he had drunk
a _glass_ or two more than was his usual, though not so much as to
injure his understanding; and he now appeared most anxious to obtain a
private conference with Jenny. Between her and the _herd laddie_ a
sort of tacit understanding appeared now to exist, for he did not
leave the house to follow his pastime, as was his wont; and, when his
master bade him "gang and clean out his byre," the boy told him that
he had done so already. He next desired him to "bring some water from
the well for a drink, as he was thirsty." But Jenny, who answered for
him, said that, "as the cow had been _tigging_ in the afternoon, he
would be tired with chasing her;" and she took the pitcher and went to
obey the order herself. The individual who had given it followed her
out; but she was at the well, and had filled her pitcher, before he
could come near enough to speak. When he had almost come up with her,
he repeated her name, in that low, earnest tone, which people
sometimes use when they wish to draw the attention of a listener; but
she either did not hear, or did not _wish_ to hear him. He made
certain of meeting her, however, as she returned; but here also he was
deceived, for she went round by the other side of the _kailyard_, for
the purpose, as it appeared, of taking with her a handful of sticks,
with which to kindle up the fire next morning. On seeing this
manoeuvre, he jumped over the dike, repeating her name as he had
done before; but, on the present, as on the former occasion, she
either heard him not, or pretended not to hear him; and, by hastening
her pace, she had reached the house-door before he could intercept
her. As a _dernier_ resource, the last-mentioned personage was now
ordered to "gang and water the horse." And he rose to obey; but here
again Jenny seemed to sympathise with him in his labours. "As the cow
had _tiggit_ i' the afternoon," she said, "it was like aneugh the
horse micht rin awa i' the e'enin; and, as the laddie, puir thing, had
chased the cow till he was ready to fa' down, it couldna be expeckit
that he would be able to chase the horse, and sae she would gang and
help him."
If ever Jenny Jervis had been puzzled to account for the conduct of
Sandy Crawford, he was now as much puzzled to account for the change
which had come over her. He thought of the subject without being able
to come to any conclusion, and then thought of it again to as little
purpose as he had done before, till at last, wearied out with vain
conjectures, he flung himself upon his bed in a state of mind not easy
to be described; and when Jenny, who was in no great haste to return,
came in, his heavy breathing told that he was already asleep. On
stealing a glance into the apartment where he was, she saw that he was
still lying with his clothes on, and that his sleep was of that
profound sort which commonly lasts for the night.
Sandy Crawford had fallen asleep, little dreaming of either alarm or
danger; but, about midnight, he was disturbed by an indistinct and
inarticulate sound, which, though it conveyed no meaning to his ear,
was loud enough to awake him. Slowly and heavily he opened his eyes;
but it was not dark, as he expected it to be. On the contrary, a
strange light glimmered around him, and, on turning his head to see
whence it proceeded, he saw in the middle of the floor a spectre,
which might have well appalled the heart of a hero. The ghost of
Howdycraigs, to which his present visiter bore a striking resemblance,
rushed back upon his memory, and he would have trembled, but that he
did not recollect any bad consequences which followed that memorable
event. Thus, in time, even ghosts might fail to terrify, were they to
repeat their visits too often. In the present instance, it were
difficult to say if Sandy was not strengthened for the sight by some
faint hope that this might be a second marriage-making expedition of
the same benevolent spirit, and that it might eventually help him to a
_wife_, the getting of which thing he had begun to regard as no easy
matter.
The ghost of Gairyburn, however, at first bade fair for being as
famous in its day and generation as the ghost of Howdycraigs had been;
and doubtless it had succeeded in a less hazardous enterprise. Like
the other, its head was tied up in a white handkerchief, its body was
carefully wrapped in the folds of an ample winding-sheet. On its feet
it wore white stockings, but no shoes--the absence of which exhibited
a finely-turned ankle to such advantage, that any male onlooker might
have been excused for wishing it a substantial woman. But then its
face and hands were as white as the finest flour or the whitest chalk
could have made them--thus setting every earthly feeling, except fear,
at defiance. In one hand it carried a candle, which burned as blue as
any spiritual light ever burned, while with the other it managed its
apparel, which was scrupulously clean--thus making it appear that it
had been washed since it left its subterranean abode, from which
circumstance it were reasonable to infer that it was either a female
ghost, or had got a wife to do these things for it.
Though we have thus detained the reader, by describing it, _it_
detained not its auditor; for, as soon as he appeared to be fully
awake--"Sandy Crawford," it said. But it was evidently an apprentice
in the task it had undertaken, and knew but little of the manner in
which a message should be delivered; for here its voice faltered, and
its hands trembled in a most curious manner--thus making it evident
that ghosts have feelings as well as mortals, and that they may
sometimes be sent upon errands they dislike. The shaking of its hands
caused the blue flame to fall from the candle, which immediately
burned out with a clear and natural light; while that which had fallen
hissed and sputtered on the floor. In attempting to remedy this
mistake, by restoring the blue flame to its proper place, it seemed to
burn its fingers--at least it drew back its hand with the appearance
of pain, drawing in its breath, and starting up rather hurriedly at
the same time. While performing the last mentioned of these
operations, it unfortunately struck its head against the back of a
chair, which chanced to be standing near, and ruffled its head-dress,
from under which a most enchanting ringlet of fair hair escaped, and
began to play about its white temples. One mistake followed another:
in attempting to replace the hair, it passed a portion of the
winding-sheet, in which it was muffled up, over its face; and when it
was removed, its lips were no longer pale, but provokingly red--one
cheek was of the same hue, and the deep blush of the other was now
beginning to shine through its treacherous covering. As a further
proof of its inexperience, it heaved a deep sigh, and was about to
retire in apparent confusion, when Sandy, who had overcome his fear so
far as to look at it steadily for the last minute or two, started up,
with a heroism which has seldom been equalled, and, endeavouring to
catch it in his arms, he exclaimed--
"Jenny, ye daft limmer, what set ye to playin thae mad pranks at this
time o' nicht?"
In this emergency the ghost, confused as it was, contrived to make its
escape; but not before it had thrown the winding-sheet which it wore
around the very woman for whom he had mistaken it. By some "cantrip
slight," it had no doubt brought her there to be ready in case of
accidents, and it now left her to be caught in its stead. Jenny, not
being a ghost, could not escape so easily; and, though she struggled
a little when she found herself in the arms of a man, she did not
appear extremely anxious to get away, while Sandy was so much pleased
at having got her by herself at last, that he soon forgot the terrors
of the ghost.
"Jenny," he continued, still mistaking her for his spiritual visiter,
"if I hadna _liket_ ye better than every ither living cratur, since ye
was a lassie, I declare I would never kenned ye dressed up as ye are
in a' that trumpery. But now that I've gotten ye, I maun keep ye, for
I've been wishing to tell ye something this lang time; but ye aye ran
frae me as if I had been a _ghost_, though ye see I've catched you
when ye was tryin to act ane."
The candle which the ghost had left was now placed in a candlestick;
and as Jenny appeared perfectly willing to listen to whatever he might
have to say, he proceeded to give her such information as served in a
great measure to clear up the whole of the mystery.
Though he had been long attached to her, and had felt a growing
inclination to call her his wife, his mother's death had prevented him
from speaking of the subject for a time. During this interval, Betsy
Braikens had come oftener than once, soliciting assistance for her
brother; upon these occasions, he had always given her what
ready-money he could command, and, at last, to save him from
bankruptcy, he had become security for a hundred pounds, which was
considerably more than his whole effects were worth. No sooner had he
done this than he began to doubt the possibility of his cousin ever
being able to redeem his debts; in which case his own prospects were
ruined. The idea that it would be criminal to involve an unsuspecting
female in misery and poverty made him resolve to say nothing of his
affections, till he should see what was to be the issue; and for a
time he had kept his resolution. But he had determined to make a
candid confession of his circumstances, and run any risk which she
might be willing to share, when he was interrupted by Betsy Braikens,
who had come expressly for the purpose of telling him that her brother
had redeemed the whole of his debts, and was now in prosperous
circumstances. In a few days thereafter Jenny went to reside with her
mother for a short time; and one evening, as Sandy bade her
good-night, he gave her a clap on the shoulder, and called her his
"spectre bride." On the following week they went to Perth; and Jenny
Jervis and Betsy Braikens were married on the same day--the former to
Sandy Crawford, and the latter to Robert Walker, who had kept up a
regular correspondence with her ever since the night on which he lost
his way among the snow.