At the very time this conversation was in progress, one strangely
dissimilar was being carried on between George Selwyn and Helen
Crawford. They were sitting in the sweet, old-fashioned garden and
Selwyn had been talking of the work so dear to his heart, but a
silence had fallen between them. Then softly and almost hesitatingly
Helen said "Mr. Selwyn, I cannot help in this grand evangel, except
with money and prayers. May I offer you £300? It is entirely my own,
and it lies useless in my desk. Will you take it?"
"I have no power to refuse it. 'You give it to God, durst I say no?'
But as I do not return at once, you had better send it in a check to
our treasurer." Then he gave her the necessary business directions,
and was writing the address of the treasurer when the laird stopped in
front of them.
"Helen, you are needed in the house," he said abruptly; and then
turning to Selwyn, he asked him to take a walk up the hill. The young
man complied. He was quite unconscious of the anger in the tone of the
request. For a few yards neither spoke; then the laird, with an
irritable glance at his placid companion, said, "Mr. Selwyn,
fore-speaking saves after-speaking. Helen Crawford is bespoke for
young Farquharson of Blair, and if you have any hopes o' wiving in my
house--"
"Crawford, thank you for your warning, but I have no thoughts of
marrying any one. Helen Crawford is a pearl among women; but even if I
wanted a wife, she is unfit for my helpmate. When I took my curacy in
the East End of London I counted the cost. Not for the fairest of the
daughters of men would I desert my first love--the Christ-work to
which I have solemnly dedicated my life."
His voice fell almost to a whisper, but the outward, upward glance of
the inspired eyes completely disconcerted the aggressive old
chieftain. His supposed enemy, in some intangible way, had escaped
him, and he felt keenly his own mistake. He was glad to see Colin
coming; it gave him an opportunity of escaping honorably from a
conversation which had been very humiliating to him. He had a habit
when annoyed of seeking the sea-beach. The chafing, complaining waves
suited his fretful mood, and leaving the young men, he turned to the
sea, taking the hillside with such mighty strides that Selwyn watched
him with admiration and astonishment.
"Four miles of that walking will bring him home in the most amiable of
moods," said Colin. And perhaps it would, if he had been left to the
sole companionship of nature. But when he was half way home he met
Dominie Tallisker, a man of as lofty a spirit as any Crawford who ever
lived. The two men were close friends, though they seldom met without
disagreeing on some point.
"Weel met, dominie! Are you going to the Keep?"
"Just so, I am for an hour's talk wi' that fine young English
clergyman you hae staying wi' you."
"Tallisker, let me tell you, man, you hae been seen o'er much wi' him
lately. Why, dominie! he is an Episcopal, and an Arminian o' the vera
warst kind."
"Hout, laird! Arminianism isna a contagious disease. I'll no mair tak
Arminianism from the Rev. George Selwyn than I'll tak Toryism fra
Laird Alexander Crawford. My theology and my politics are far beyond
inoculation. Let me tell you that, laird."
"Hae ye gotten an argument up wi' him, Tallisker? I would like weel to
hear ye twa at it."
"Na, na; he isna one o' them that argues. He maks downright
assertions; every one o' them hits a body's conscience like a
sledge-hammer. He said that to me as we walked the moor last night
that didna let me sleep a wink."
"He is a vera disagreeable young man. What could he say to you? You
have aye done your duty."
"I thought sae once, Crawford. I taught the bairns their catechism; I
looked weel to the spiritual life o' young and old; I had aye a word
in season for all. But maybe this I ought to hae done, and not left
the other undone."
"You are talking foolishness, Tallisker, and that's a thing no usual
wi' you."
"No oftener wi' me nor other folk. But, laird, I feel there must be a
change. I hae gotten my orders, and I am going to obey them. You may
be certain o' that."
"I didna think I would ever see Dominie Tallisker taking orders from a
disciple o' Arminius--and an Englishman forbye!"
"I'll tak my orders, Crawford, from any messenger the Lord chooses to
send them by. And I'll do this messenger justice; he laid down no law
to me, he only spak o' the duty laid on his own conscience; but my
conscience said 'Amen' to his--that's about it. There has been a
breath o' the Holy Ghost through the Church o' England lately, and the
dry bones o' its ceremonials are being clothed upon wi' a new and
wonderfu' life."
"Humff!" said the laird with a scornful laugh as he kicked a pebble
out of his way.
"There is a great outpouring at Oxford among the young men, and though
I dinna agree wi' them in a' things, I can see that they hae gotten a
revelation."
"Ou, ay, the young ken a' things. It is aye young men that are for
turning the warld upside down. Naething is good enough for them."
The dominie took no notice of the petulant interruption. "Laird," he
said excitedly, "it is like a fresh Epiphany, what this young Mr.
Selwyn says--the hungry are fed, the naked clothed, the prisoners
comforted, the puir wee, ragged, ignorant bairns gathered into homes
and schools, and it is the gospel wi' bread and meat and shelter and
schooling in its hand. That was Christ's ain way, you'll admit that.
And while he was talking, my heart burned, and I bethought me of a
night-school for the little herd laddies and lasses. They could study
their lessons on the hillside all day, and I'll gather them for an
hour at night, and gie them a basin o' porridge and milk after their
lessons. And we ought not to send the orphan weans o' the kirk to the
warkhouse; we ought to hae a hame for them, and our sick ought to be
better looked to. There is many another good thing to do, but we'll
begin wi' these, and the rest will follow."
The laird had listened thus far in speechless indignation. He now
stood still, and said,
"I'll hae you to understand, Dominie Tallisker, that I am laird o'
Crawford and Traquare, and I'll hae nae such pliskies played in either
o' my clachans."
"If you are laird, I am dominie. You ken me weel enough to be sure if
this thing is a matter o' conscience to me, neither king nor kaiser
can stop me. I'd snap my fingers in King George's face if he bid me
'stay,' when my conscience said 'go,'" and the dominie accompanied the
threat with that sharp, resonant fillip of the fingers that is a
Scotchman's natural expression of intense excitement of any kind.
"King George!" cried the laird, in an ungovernable temper, "there is
the whole trouble. If we had only a Charles Stuart on the throne there
would be nane o' this Whiggery."
"There would be in its place masses, and popish priests, and a few
private torture-chambers, and whiles a Presbyterian heretic or twa
burned at the Grass-market. Whiggery is a grand thing when it keeps
the Scarlet Woman on her ain seven hills. Scotland's hills and braes
can do weel, weel without her."
This speech gave the laird time to think. It would never do to quarrel
with Tallisker. If he should set himself positively against his scheme
of sending his clan to Canada it would be almost a hopeless one; and
then he loved and respected his friend. His tall, powerful frame and
his dark, handsome face, all aglow with a passionate conviction of
right, and an invincible determination to do it, commanded his
thorough admiration. He clasped his hands behind his back and said
calmly,
"Tallisker, you'll be sorry enough for your temper erelong. You hae
gien way mair than I did. Ye ken how you feel about it."
"I feel ashamed o' mysel', laird. You'll no lay the blame o' it to my
office, but to Dugald Tallisker his ain sel'. There's a deal o'
Dugald Tallisker in me yet, laird; and whiles he is o'er much for
Dominie Tallisker."
They were at the gate by this time, and Crawford held out his hand and
said,
"Come in, dominie."
"No; I'll go hame, laird, and gie mysel' a talking to. Tell Mr. Selwyn
I want to see him."