ON THE BRINK.
Of a more nervous organisation than Mary, Ellinor, suffering from
reaction of spirits and a keen sense of all she had recently
undergone, was far from well, and, amid the bustle of preparation for
departure, remained much in the seclusion of her own room.
It was September now, we have said. The autumnal weather and
autumnal tints had come somewhat early, and occasional showers
brought coolness and freshness to the birchen woods, and pleasant
odours came from them and even from the dusty highway and the parched
meadows, where the rich after-grass was ready for the scythe, and the
grouse on the Perthshire hills had become but too fatally familiar
with the crack and clatter of the breech-loader in the heathery glens.
Mary Wellwood had of late worked hard, very hard, rising earlier and
going to bed later--so much so that her sweet face was beginning to
look thin and careworn, and old Elspat remonstrated that she did not
give herself time to take her meals, but 'was for ever think, think,
thinking and worrying over accounts and market-books.'
She had neither Dr. Wodrow nor Robert to advise or assist her then.
The former was detained in Edinburgh on clerical or other business,
and the latter absented himself for obvious reasons; so Mary worked
alone, but no new or growing cares could change the sweet and grave
expression of her face or the calm steadfastness of her violet eyes,
yet a startled expression certainly came into them when one evening
Captain Colville was suddenly ushered in upon her, looking so
handsome, brown, and ruddy from exposure among the hills.
There flashed upon Mary's mind the time, but a short space ago, when
she had been thinking of a chaperone for herself and Ellinor: but all
was changed since then, and there would be no need of one now.
He had just returned that morning from shooting in the forest of
Alyths had heard a rumour of their approaching departure, which the
half-dismantled aspect of the drawing-room seemed to confirm. Why
was it so?
He spoke so pleasantly and sympathetically as he seated himself near
her, and she felt all the glamour of his proximity, of his presence,
and her breast heaved tumultuously in spite of herself. She became
nervous, and her eyes suffused deeply.
'Tears, Miss Wellwood?' said he, inquiringly.
'We are going far away, Captain Colville--leaving this place for
ever.'
'I have heard something of it; but why leave Birkwoodbrae?' he asked,
smilingly.
Mary told him why.
'And, on leaving, whither do you mean to go?'
'London.'
'Is that not a rash scheme?'
'When the will is strong the heart is willing; and we never know what
a day may bring forth.'
He gazed down upon her tenderly, admiringly, and, making a half
effort to take her hand, paused and said,
'You surely did not mean to spend all your life in this old
tumbledown place, Miss Wellwood?'
'Don't call it tumbledown, please,' said Mary.
'I beg your pardon; but----'
'It is very dear to me, as the place where they lived and died,'
interrupted Mary, with a little break in her voice.
'They--who?'
'Papa and mamma. It seems like yesterday when he died in the room
above us, and when he said in a low, weak voice--"Don't cry, Mary
darling--don't cry so; our separation is only for a time;" and then
added, "Is that the daybreak?" "No," said I. "It is--it is--and _so
bright_!" he exclaimed, and then died. Oh, Captain Colville, the
light he saw must have been that of the other world, for just as he
expired the clock struck midnight, and the lamp was burning very low.'
'Poor old gentleman! But take courage,' said Colville, with a soft
smile, as he patted her shoulder; 'you have not yet left
Birkwoodbrae.'
'What can he mean by this!' thought Mary, with a slight sense of
annoyance, as she woke up from her dark dreamland.
'And your father, the colonel--he--he--pardon me, left you little
more than Birkwoodbrae when he died?'
'His blessing was the best he had: Birkwoodbrae, I have said, was not
his to leave. We have lived here on sufferance--Ellinor and I.'
Colville sat for a time silent, and Mary thought his question a very
strange one, unless he had a deeper interest in them both than she
thought he could possibly have; and, still pursuing a personal theme,
he said,
'I have heard from Dr. Wodrow that his son Robert was your sister's
admirer, and that they have quarrelled. Is not this to be regretted?'
'Regretted indeed!'
'You always seemed interested in him.'
'As Ellinor's lover--yes.'
'I always thought he was _yours_.'
'Mine--who said so?'
'Miss Galloway, repeatedly.'
'She had no authority for any such statement,' said Mary, upon whom a
kind of light was beginning to break, and Colville drew a little
nearer, as he seemed very much disposed to take up the thread of the
'old story' where he had left it off on the afternoon when he carved
their initials on the tree, carried off the bunch of berries, and
gave her in exchange the bouquet of Blanche Galloway, before he went
to Alyth.
'Is it not strange, Captain Colville,' said Mary, 'that day after day
passes, and yet we hear nothing more of this new heir--this usurper
of our poor little home--or of any special notice to quit
Birkwoodbrae?'
'Amid the world he lives in, he may forget.'
'He and his father before forgot us always. But still, there is one
patrimony of which he cannot deprive us--one near the churchyard
wall!' said Mary, bitterly. 'However, things are at the worst with
us now, and they will be sure to mend.'
He was observing the rare delicacy of her hand, as she caressed the
head of Jack resting on her knee.
'How you must loathe that cousin!' said he.
'Oh, no! Heaven forbid! He has never done us any active harm; yet
we Wellwoods are very unforgiving in our feuds.'
'So it would seem.'
'I must never, never see him, and am most anxious to get away before
he comes here, if he cares at all to visit so poor a place.'
'He might fall in love with you--nay, would be sure to do so,' said
Colville, stooping nearer her, and lowering his voice. 'Love, with
cousinship, soon develops, and he might marry you.'
'I would not marry him if there was not another man in the world!'
exclaimed Mary, reddening in positive anger, with a choking and half
smothered sob in her throat; and Colville laughed excessively at her
increased but momentary annoyance at his suggestion, which indeed was
far from being an unnatural one.
'If he saw you, he would certainly leave you in undisturbed
possession of Birkwoodbrae.'
'A speech meant to be gallant; but he shall not see me if I can help
it.'
He laughed again, and Mary felt piqued.
'From what I hear of all the matter,' he began, 'from what I know of
you----'
'Of me, Captain Colville--what can you know of _me_?' asked Mary,
almost petulantly.
'Shall I say, then, from what I know of your cousin Wellwood----'
'Well--quick; from what you know of him?'
'Which I do as well as one fellow can know another in the same
battalion, I am sure he would never dispossess so charming--two such
charming cousins.'
'Indeed! you have said something like this already.'
'Would you not write to him and ask--'
'Emphatically--no!'
'Allow me, then?' asked Colville, in his most persuasive tone.
'Never! I--we shall be beholden to none! I thought, small as it is,
that Birkwoodbrae was almost our patrimony; it proves to be his, so
let him have it.'
'And you----'
'Have the world wide before me,' she replied, with a quiver of her
sweet upper lip; 'with us--Ellinor and me--it may be as in
_Strathallan's Lament_--
"Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,
Not a hope may now attend;
The world wide is all before us,
But a world without a friend."
'Heaven! I hope not,' said he.
'Why does he continue on this distasteful subject,' thought Mary,
'unless to prolong the conversation?'
He now proceeded to pat Jack's head. and as he did so his hand came
more than once in contact with hers, and each touch sent a thrill to
his heart, while with that mysterious instinct which tells a girl of
the emotions with which she is inspiring an admirer, Mary, without
turning her head, knew that the fond gaze of Leslie Colville was bent
upon her.
What did he mean? To desert Blanche Galloway, or was he simply
amusing himself with her, or with both? Her pride revolted at the
idea. However, their acquaintanceship would soon be at an end, as he
would be leaving like herself; and as if he divined her thoughts, he
said something of his approaching departure.
'I hope you will have some pleasant memories to carry away with you?'
said Mary, and then she could have bitten her tongue for making the
surmise, and added, 'I shall have none but sad ones--though Invermay
is so lovely.'
'Yes; but there are some memories of it that will ever be dear to
me--the hours I have spent here at Birkwoodbrae.'
If he was betraying himself, he paused, and Mary could feel how her
heart was vibrating.
For a moment her long dark lashes flickered as she glanced at him
timidly, and thought how happy his avowed love would make her was he
at liberty to do so; and she remembered that when he was away at
Alyth how she had felt a void in her heart, till adversity brought
her other things to think of.
As Colville looked down on the ripples of the girl's golden hair and
on her saddened face, a great pity that was allied with something
warmer and dearer stirred his heart, and bending over her downcast
head, he lightly touched her hair with his lips.
'Poor child!' said he, and Mary drew haughtily back. She saw there
was a smile on his face; it was a very fond one, but she misjudged
it, and felt assured that no lover would smile at such a time. Thus
his manner perplexed her, so she said,
'Do not forget yourself, Captain Colville, and that you are engaged
to Miss Galloway.'
'Engaged--to--Miss Galloway!' be repeated, with genuine surprise and
annoyance. 'Not at all. Who on earth put that into your little
head?' he added, with a laugh.
'Mrs. Wodrow always told me so,' replied Mary, covered with
confusion, but feeling very happy nevertheless.
'Silly, gossiping old woman! No, Miss Wellwood: I am, thank Heaven,
a free man--as yet.'
Here was a revelation--if true.
He was gazing on her now with eyes that were full of admiration and
ardour, while the clasp of his hand seemed to infuse through her
veins some of the force and love that inspired him. In the glance
they exchanged each read the other's secret, and he drew her towards
him and kissed her. 'There are moments in life,' it is said, 'when
joy makes us afraid: and this was one'--to Mary at least, and she
shrank back--all the more quickly and confusedly that a visitor was
approaching; and a half-suppressed malediction hovered on the lips of
Colville as the portly Mrs. Wodrow was ushered in--ushered in at that
moment!
He rose with annoyance, and still retaining Mary's hand in his, said
hurriedly, and in a low tone, with a little laugh that was assumed to
cover her confusion,
'Promise me that in the matter of leaving Birkwoodbrae you will do no
more till I see you again _to-morrow_.'
'I promise,' replied Mary, trembling very much, and scarcely knowing
what she said; and, bowing to Mrs. Wodrow, Colville took his
departure, while the pressure of his hand seemed to linger on Mary's
heart. 'Who does not know,' says the authoress of 'Nadine,' 'the
magnetic thrill--the strange and subduing sense of soul-communion,
which sometimes lingers in a hand-clasp;' and with this thrill in her
veins Mary addressed herself to the task of talking commonplace to
old Mrs. Wodrow.
He had been on the brink of a proposal without doubt, yet none had
been made.