“Two peaceful days. And what should hap in these,
But things of common life? He will return
As safe as he went hence.”
LATE in the end of October, when Katie Calder began to speak of
Hallow’een, and to consult with Jeanie Armstrong at Allender Mains, on
the best place to pull the “kail-stocks,” and practise the other spells
proper to the occasion, Harry told his anxious household that he was
going to Edinburgh. They had observed that he was gloomy and depressed
for some days before, though he had been less than usual from home. Now
he told them vaguely about money which was wanted, and expenses which
had been incurred, and that his errand to Edinburgh was on business
very important to him. When Martha and Agnes pressed for more definite
information, Harry fell back upon his morose and gloomy silence. It was
useless to be make inquiries, for many a thing must have been told, if
Harry had begun to satisfy them, which he would never suffer to reach
their ears.
And no one went with him to Stirling this time to see him off. When
even Gilbert Allenders proposed to go, Harry answered him with an
instant and not very courteous negative, and Agnes’s wistful looks
passed quite unnoticed. He rode away, silently, too much abstracted, as
it seemed, to turn back and wave his hand to his wife and his sisters
at their window, as he was wont to do; but when he was past the gate
and almost out of sight upon the road--out of sight entirely to eyes
less eager--they saw him start and turn round, and wave back to them
the usual gesture of farewell. Agnes thrust herself half out of the
window of the drawing-room to return it, with tears in her eyes; and
then she saw his head droop again upon his breast, and he rode away.
On the third night after, he had instructed them to send John with his
horse to meet him in Stirling. He expected to arrive there at four or
five in the afternoon, and to be home immediately after. With the most
zealous care, Agnes recorded all Harry’s directions, and impressed them
on the mind of John when he returned. He had seen his master safely off
upon the coach, and so far all was well.
The third night following was Hallowe’en, and even Lettie, absorbed
with the expectation of entertaining her little sentimental friend from
Blaelodge, and one or two other children, with the appropriate pastimes
of the night, forgot that Harry was coming home. But punctually to
the hour, John and the horse trotted out from the gate of Allenders,
followed by the wistful eyes of Agnes. Agnes longed to send the
carriage; but such was not Harry’s will, and in his present mood she
could not contradict him.
Great fires blazed in the two family sitting-rooms, for the night
was damp and cold, and needed this cheerful gleam to brighten it for
the traveller. Some special delicacies for Harry’s dinner were being
superintended in the kitchen by Agnes herself, and the glittering
tea-service sparkled already before the drawing-room fire, while Rose
saw that Harry’s own room grew bright and warm with firelight, and that
everything he needed lay ready for his comfort. The early night fell
when they were thus employed; but when everything was done that could
be thought of, and preparations made as great as if he had been a year
away, they sat down in the twilight, crowding about the window, and
looking out from the warm flush of light within upon the uncertain grey
which lay upon the sky and hills.
But the grey tints vanished, and the full gloom of night blotted out
the landscape--blotted out even the gate and its trees--the very walnut
on the lawn--and palpable blackness pressed upon the window, and upon
the eyes which still looked steadily out on this comprest, uncreviced
gloom--and Harry did not come.
They would not light candles to remind them that he was late--they
would not hear the clock strike hour by hour. Sometimes with faint
smiles they spoke to each other of the childish mirth whose sounds
they could hear ascending from below, but oftenest they were entirely
silent, except for a whispered “Listen! I hear the horse on the road,”
or “This is Harry now;” but it never was Harry. And the sound of
horses’ hoofs seemed to echo perpetually through the starless solemn
night. And midnight came, and still they watched--now in a very agony.
At last they heard the sound of the opened gate, and a single horseman
became slowly perceptible approaching through the gloom. Throwing down
the chair she had been seated on, in haste and excitement, Agnes ran
down stairs, and Martha and Rose, putting restraint upon themselves,
followed a little more slowly. But they had not reached the hall when
they heard the voice of John, reporting how Allenders had sent him on
before to tell them that the coach had been detained much beyond its
time, and that he himself was on the road, and would be immediately at
home.
Poor little Agnes turned from the door, and, hiding her face in
Martha’s breast, wept quietly tears of deferred hope. And Rose went
forward to the door in the darkness, anxious, if it were possible, to
hear something of Harry’s looks from John.
“Was my brother much wearied?” said Rose timidly. “The road is very
dark. I am sorry you left him, John--he does not know the way so well
as you.”
“Allenders was very thoughtful-like,” said John, with a quick
apprehension of what she meant; “and I ken the coach was lang after
its time; but I dinna think Allenders was wearied, to speak o’. And
he guides the horse better than ony ither body now, and he was very
anxious to be hame.”
She could not ask, nor be told more, and they went back to their
window to watch again; while Rose, begging to be told whenever they
heard Harry, had the fires hastily renewed, herself assisting sleepy
Mysie, who, though she nodded by the kitchen fire would not go to bed,
and leave them watching alone.