AFTER THOUGHTS.
There are generally two distinct sets of people at every country
entertainment carrying out the principle of 'pig-iron that looks down
on tenpenny nails;' but Lady Dunkeld's garden-party was voted a
charming gathering. She had a special skill for assorting her
guests, and did so accordingly, though some of our _dramatis personæ_
assorted themselves; and the result was so far harmony,
apparently--we say apparently, for it was not universal.
Thus Blanche Galloway was displeased with the manner in which Leslie
Colville hovered about Mary Wellwood, while Colville, and more
especially Robert Wodrow, were both displeased by the conspicuous
absence of Sir Redmond and Ellinor. Robert knew not where they had
been, and somehow never thought of looking in the conservatories, and
probably would not have done so had the idea occurred to him.
He had not been near her all day, and he was now, more than ever,
beginning to realise bitterly that the girl he had loved so well all
these years past, and who, he certainly thought, loved him, was going
out of his life as completely as if she had never existed. Yet he
could not relinquish her without another effort--another last appeal;
though he quitted the gaieties of Craigmhor early with a sore and
swollen heart.
The evening was far advanced when the sisters returned to
Birkwoodbrae.
There was a letter lying on the dining-room table addressed to
Ellinor in the familiar handwriting of Robert Wodrow. Why did he
write to her now when he lived so close by, as a hedge only separated
Birkwoodbrae from the glebe? unless to tell her what he dared not
trust his lips to do; and her heart foreboded this.
The letter lay almost beneath her hand white and glaring in the last
flush of the sunset; but, until Elspat had retired and Mary had
followed on some household matter intent, she did not trust herself
to open it.
Then when there was no one by to observe her, she slowly opened the
letter of the lover who too truly feared he had been supplanted by
another.
Line after line--though it was brief--the words were loving and
tender, but ended in bitterness and upbraiding; passion made them
eloquent, and they burned into the heart of the girl as the eyes and
voice of Robert haunted her; but she felt besotted by this new and
showy admirer, he was so different from homely, honest, Robert
Wodrow--so different from any man she had ever met before; and why
should Robert, who was only her friend--her old playmate, she strove
to think, but with much sophistry, attempt to compete with him and
control her movements.
'I must give you up, Robert,' she half whispered to herself; and then
the idea occurred to her, 'would she have done so had she never met
Sir Redmond Sleath?'
The letter had a postscript:--
'My darling, the windows of your room face mine over the orchard
wall. If you have not cast me utterly out of your heart, for pity
sake give me some sign then to-morrow--place a vase of flowers upon
your window-sill, and I shall know the token.'
But Robert Wodrow next day, from earliest dawn till morn was long
past, looked and watched in vain for the sign, but none was given to
him; for though the heart of Ellinor Wellwood was wrung within her,
she was too completely under a new and baleful influence now, and the
old love was fast being forgotten.
To do her a little justice, we must admit that her first impulse had
been to accord the poor fellow the token for which his soul thirsted.
A vase of flowers, sent to her but that morning from Sir Redmond by
the hands of his valet, was on the mantelpiece. She put her hands
towards it mechanically, as if she would have placed it on her window
sill in obedience to that pitiful letter; but strange to say the
flowers were all dead--already dead and withered!
Why was this?
Something superstitious crept over the girl's heart as she looked on
them; she turned away--and the token was not given.
Robert, we have said, watched with aching heart and aching eyes in
vain. Had the postscript escaped her notice? It might be so; and to
this straw, like a drowning man, he clung. So the day passed on; and
Ellinor began to think she had done wisely in not raising hopes only
to crush them, and gave herself up to thoughts of Sir Redmond, and
the secret contemplation of his beautiful gift.
Sir Redmond had poured into her ear much of love, of passion, of
admiration, and so forth, certainly; but even to Ellinor's
unsophisticated mind his proposal of marriage seemed a strange one.
Each sister had ample food for her own thoughts. Mary was rehearsing
over and over again the cutting of the initials on the tree, and the
manner of Colville to herself. If he really was engaged to Blanche
Galloway (of which she had no positive proof), it was not flattering
to either of them; yet the expression of his eyes seemed ever sweet,
candid, and honest; and she gave fully her confidence to Ellinor.
The latter, who had never a secret to keep from her sister before,
felt with shame and compunction that she had one now--one of vast
importance to them both; but Sir Redmond had bound her to secrecy for
a little time, and she could but trust; so fondly she thought over
that scene in the conservatory--his proposal, a dazzling one, for
would she not one day be Lady Sleath, proud, wealthy, and independent
of all the world?
Even her parents, who were lying in their graves, with all their love
of her, had never in their proudest and most exultant moments
pictured for either of their children a future like this!
So she seemed to live in an enchanted world, out of which the figure
of Robert Wodrow faded. 'Once in our lives,' says a writer,
'Paradise opens for all of us out of the dull earth, and moments,
golden with the light of romance, shine upon us with a radiance like
unto no other radiance of time, and we do not stay to count the cost
of the bitter desolation that follows. For Eve herself would
scarcely have surrendered one memory of Eden for all the joys to be
found upon earth.'
Colville, when in the solitude of his own room, overlooking the woods
of Craigmhor, was full of his own thoughts, some of which were not
very pleasant, as he was dissatisfied with himself. He had a little
plan he wished to carry out, as we shall show in time, and he felt
perhaps that he was acting foolishly. He had come from London with
the Dunkeld family, who evidently expected more from him in regard to
Blanche than he had yet evinced, and the rumour of their engagement
was a false one.
He had also come with his mind inspired with doubt, indifference,
even prejudice against some of those he had met, the Wellwood sisters
in particular; and, instead of finding them objectionable in any way,
they were far more refined than himself, the 'curled pet' of many a
Belgravian drawing-room.
Many a fair face in these regions was forgotten now, and his thoughts
were all of Mary Wellwood--more than he dared acknowledge to himself.
Though he had seen so little of her, he felt--was it the result of
some magnetic affinity?--as if he had known her all his life; as if a
full knowledge of her character had suddenly crept into his heart,
and yet this was impossible just then.
'Mary Wellwood!' he murmured to himself.
He had heard of Colonel Wellwood's daughters in London more than
once, from one who should have befriended them, but always omitted to
do so, and whose views and opinions of two friendless girls were ever
slighting and hostile; and now that he met and knew them, Colville
despised himself for some of the thoughts in which he had first
indulged concerning them, and the more tenderly he thought of Mary
the more reproachful of himself he grew.
He had made no declaration--no; he was neither so rash nor so foolish
as that yet, with all his romance, if the object of her regard was
Mr. Robert Wodrow.
Of her feelings towards himself he could not form the slightest idea,
and her manner was a source of perplexity. One moment she was frank,
genial, and without restraint; but the next, if he became in the
least degree tender, she grew retiring, distant, and cold; and,
though he knew it not, this bearing was born of the rumours
concerning Blanche Galloway, and he was all unaware how local gossip
had mixed up his name with that of this young lady.
On one occasion he suspected that Mary avoided him, and once she
seemed nearly to dislike him; thus he was pleased that he had not too
formally committed himself, and so, until he could put the matter 'to
the touch, to win or lose it all,' he would but torment himself with
doubts and fears in the way usual to all lovers; but ere the time
came, events were to occur which, though in some measure caused by
himself, the bitter issue of them he could never have foreseen.
The two chief episodes of the garden-party were of course well known
to the two ladies at Craigmhor, as Mademoiselle Rosette had two
bright and sharp French eyes in her head, and knew perfectly well how
to use them.
'I don't like the conduct of Sir Redmond, of course, Blanche,' said
Lady Dunkeld, 'and have no wish that he should involve himself with
an obscure girl whom he met in our house.'
'I believe it to be all nothing more than a mere _coquetterie de
salon_,' said Lord Dunkeld. 'Sleath is not a marrying man.'
'And Captain Colville's conduct with the other sister, wandering away
into remote parts of the ground; I suppose that was a _coquetterie de
salon_ too, mamma,' said Blanche, her eyes sparkling with anger,
while she shrugged her shoulders, and briskly used her dark blue and
bronzy green fan of peacocks' feathers.
'What--how?'
'They strolled away from everyone together, and were absent ever so
long.'
'This is intolerable; but men will be men, you see, Blanche. If Miss
Wellwood had been a married lady it would not have mattered so much.
I think when a young man is attached to a married lady it keeps him
out of harm's way,' said Lady Dunkeld; 'however, we must take some
decided measures with Miss Wellwood, and with Captain Colville too.'
'Dear mamma!' cooed Miss Blanche Galloway, and she laughed that
worldly little laugh of hers, which was so indicative of her
character.
The result of all this was that, when Mary and Ellinor called
ceremoniously shortly after the garden-party, Lady Dunkeld, who was
seated at one of the drawing-room windows, on seeing them approach,
rose hastily and retired.
'No one was at home.'
Next day the sisters were scarcely noticed by Lady Dunkeld and her
daughter at church.
Other persons were not slow to remark this, and the surmises
thereon--though the two girls knew nothing about them--were the
reverse of pleasant or flattering.
Mary observed the absence of Captain Colville, who was not in the
Dunkeld pew; and on the following day she felt a keen pang on
learning that he was gone for a few days to shoot with Lord Dunkeld
in the Forest of Alyth.
So he had gone without paying her a farewell visit, thought Mary.
'He is to return in a fortnight,' said her informant, Mrs. Wodrow,
near whose chair Mary was seated on a tabourette in the cosy manse
parlour, making up a gala-cap for the old lady; and near her crouched
Jack, watching the process.
The parlour was a pretty apartment, neither morning-room nor boudoir,
though somewhat of both, with many indications of a woman's presence.
Rare old china was disposed in odd nooks, and china bowls with roses
freshly gathered from the garden; and the furniture, if
old-fashioned, and pertaining to the early days of Mrs. Wodrow's
homecoming to the manse as a young wedded wife, was all polished to
perfection. On a shelf was an imposing row of the 'Wodrow Society's'
religious publications, including 'The Last Words of My Lady
Coltness,' 'Of My Lady Anne Elcho,' the life of the gallant
Covenanter, Sergeant John Nisbet of Hardhill, and so forth.
'_Apropos_ of Captain Colville,' said the old lady, looking down on
her young friend, 'I hope you have not lost your heart to him, Mary?'
'I should think not,' replied Mary, stoutly, but colouring so deeply,
nevertheless, that Mrs. Wodrow could see how the crimson suffused
even her delicate neck.
'That is well, Mary; mischief enough has been wrought among us
already,' resumed Mrs. Wodrow, her benign old face becoming cloudy.
Mary knew to what she referred, but seemed, or affected to seem,
wholly intent on the cap; and Mrs. Wodrow looked admiringly and
affectionately down on her dimpled wrists and little white hands.
'I do wish I had something nice and fresh for trimming!' she
exclaimed, as she twirled round the cap for inspection. 'I think
these rosebuds will do with this spray of ivy,' she added, searching
a flower-box, and putting her head meditatively on one side.
'Then, Mrs. Wodrow,' she exclaimed, 'if I fail to please you, you
must be a dreadful coquette, you old dear!'
'Thanks, pet Mary; when did you ever fail to please me?' said the old
lady, caressing the girl's head, and adding, anxiously, 'You do not
look well, Mary; where were you this morning? Not in the clachan, I
hope, as I hear there is scarlatina there.'
'I have no fear; I took a kind message from Robert about a sick baby.
I fear it is dying, and God pity the poor mother, the only light of
whose life is likely to go out in darkness.'
'You have a tender heart, Mary. Robert, poor Robert; you know he has
failed to pass, Mary?'
'Yes; I am so sorry, and so is Ellinor.'
'Ellinor may well be,' said Mrs. Wodrow, with some asperity.
'Why?' asked Mary, her colour deepening again.
'Because her fair face has come between him and his wits, poor
fellow, and I shouldn't wonder if we lose him altogether.'
'Lose him!' repeated Mary, in a breathless voice; 'how?'
'He seems desperate and says that rather than slave for another
session at college he will go for a soldier.'
'Oh, never, never think of such a thing!'
'He and Ellinor seem to have quarrelled.'
'Quarrelled--surely not! About what or who?'
'That man Sir Redmond Sleath, and his attentions to her.'
'They will make up this quarrel as they have made up others long
ago,' said poor Mary, cheerfully, as she little knew to what a crisis
the baronet's admiration for her sister was coming--nay, had come.
She knew nothing of the scene in the conservatory and other minor
scenes, of the present of jewellery, of utterances and promises. She
believed the whole affair was only a lovers' quarrel, stimulated by
jealousy on Robert's part, and vanity on that of Ellinor; and
meantime she sympathised with Mrs. Wodrow, and would have done so
with Robert had he been there, but he was fully and painfully
occupied elsewhere at that precise time.
'As children--as boy and girl, they may have quarrelled, Mary; but
this affair will be a serious one for both, for Robert especially.
His studies are neglected, his appetite is gone, and he looks the
ghost of himself.'
Mary knew not what more to urge, as she had seen, with some anxiety,
Sir Redmond's admiration of her sister, and said, after a pause,
'I wonder what manner of man Sir Redmond is?'
'Judging by the little I saw of him at the garden-party--where the
mischief seems to have been done--not a good man, Mary dear--not a
good man, though a handsome one in his way, and to a young girl, I
doubt not, fascinating. Yet I would rather see my daughter dead, if
I had one, than married to a man with eyes so cold, so cruel and
shifty.'
'But _who_ is thinking of marriage?' said Mary, with a slight laugh,
little knowing that it was a contingency as remote from the thoughts
of Sir Redmond as her own.
'And I don't think that Captain Colville--for all that Dr. Wodrow
seems to like him so much--can be good in every way if he has such a
friend or companion as Sir Redmond Sleath,' said the old lady,
shaking her head.
These provoking words haunted Mary for weeks after, as the tormenting
fragment of a song or air will haunt us--not because we like it,
though it will recur again and again. Then he had gone without the
formality of a farewell visit. Had the Dunkeld ladies aught to do
with that? Mary's heart foreboded that they had.
Mrs. Wodrow was full of indignation at the worry and humiliation
undergone by her son, and even the doctor was not disinclined to
inveigh against garden-parties and such-like gatherings, as his
ancestor did against theatres--'those seminaries of idleness,
looseness, and sin,' as he termed them in _Analecta Scotica_.
The peaceful current of the sisters' life--the life they led at
bonnie Birkwoodbrae, was soon to be roughly disturbed now, and events
were to occur which they could never have foreseen.