Oona's mind had been much disturbed, yet in no painful way, by the
meeting with Mrs. Methven. The service which she had done to Walter's
mother, the contact with her, although almost in the dark, the sense of
approach to another woman whose mind was full of anxiety and thought for
him, agitated her, yet seemed to heal and soften away the pain which
other encounters had given her. It gave her pleasure to think of the
half-seen face, made softer by the twilight, and of the tremor of
expectation and anxiety that had been in it. There was somehow in this a
kind of excuse to herself for her involuntary preoccupation with all
that concerned him. She had felt that there was an unspoken sympathy
between her and the stranger, and that it was something more than chance
which brought them together. As the boat pushed off into the loch, and
she felt she had left the mother to a certain happiness in her son, her
heart beat with a subdued excitement. She felt with them both, divining
the soul of the mother who came to him with trembling, not approving
perhaps, not fully trusting, but loving; and of the son who was at
fault, who had not shown her the tenderness which her love merited in
return. The sense of that union so incomplete in fact, and so close in
nature, filled Oona with emotion. As the boat glided along the
glittering pathway of the lake between the reflected banks, her mind was
full of the two who had gone away together arm and arm into the soft
darkness. How mysterious was that twilight world, the eye incapable in
the dimness of perceiving which was the substance and which the shadow
of those floating woods and islands! Sometimes the boat would glide into
the tangled reflections of the trees, sometimes strike through what
seemed a headland, a wall of rock, a long projecting promontory in this
little world of water, where nothing was as it seemed. But it was not
half so mysterious as life. It was but lately that this aspect of
existence had struck the healthful soul of the Highland girl. Till the
last year all had been open and sweet as the day about her ways and
thoughts. If she had any secrets at all they had been those which even
the angels guard between themselves and God, those sacred enthusiasms
for the one Love that is above all: those aspirations towards the
infinite which are the higher breath of gentle souls; or perhaps a
visionary opening into the romance of life in its present form, which
was scarcely less visionary and pure. But nothing else, nothing more
worldly, nothing that her namesake, "heavenly Una with her milkwhite
lamb," need have hesitated to avow.
But since then Oona had gone far and wandered wide in a shadowy world
which she shared with no one, and in which there were mystic forces
beyond her fathoming, influences which caught the wanderer all
unwitting, and drew her hither or thither unawares, against her will.
She was no longer the princess and sovereign of life as she had been in
the earlier portion of it, but rather its subject or possible victim,
moved by powers which she could not understand nor resist, and which
overcame her before she was aware of their existence. She thought of all
this as her boat made its way, propelled by the long, strong strokes of
Hamish, amid the shadows; but not angrily, not miserably as she had
sometimes done, with a sadness which (if it was sadness at all) was
sweet, and a secret exhilaration for which she could not account. The
mother seemed somehow to step into the visionary conflict which was
going on, a half-seen, unknown, but powerful champion on the side
of----Was it on the side of Oona? She shrank a little from that
identification, and said to herself, on the side of good. For that there
was a struggle going on between good and evil, which in some mysterious
way centred in Lord Erradeen, she was mysteriously aware, she could not
tell how.
"Yon young lord will be the better of his mother," Hamish was saying,
his voice coming to her vaguely, running on without any thought of
reply, mingled with the larger sound of the oars upon the rowlocks, the
long sweep of them through the loch, the gurgle and tinkle of the water
as the boat cut through. Hamish was faintly visible and even retained
till it grew quite dark some trace of colour in his favourite garment.
"He'll be the better of his mother," he said; "there will aye be a want
when there's no a leddy in the house. Weeman servants are no to lippen
to. A young man when he has not a wife, he will be muckle the better for
his mother."
Oona heard the words vaguely like a chant amid all those sounds of the
loch which were the music and accompaniment of her own being. She ran up
the slope when they landed, and burst into the little drawing-room which
was so bright after the darkness of the evening world, with a pleasure
in her little adventure, and in having something to tell which is only
known in the deep recesses, the unbroken quiet of rural life. Mrs.
Forrester was just beginning, as she herself said, to "weary" for Oona's
return. She had put down her knitting and taken a book. Again she had
put aside her book and taken the knitting. Oona was late. Oona meant the
world and life to the solitary lady on the crest of the isle. The house,
the little retired nest amid the trees, was full and cheerful when she
was there, and though Mysie and the cook, "ben the house," gave now and
then a sign of life, yet nothing was complete until the sound of the
boat drawn up on the shingle, the unshipping oars, the light firm foot
on the path, followed by the heavier tread, scattering the gravel, of
Hamish, gave token that all the little population were gathered within
the circle of their rocks and waters. Then Mrs. Forrester brightened and
turned her face towards the door with cheerful expectation: for it
became a little too cold now to go down to the beach to meet the boat,
even with the fur cloak upon her shoulders, which had been her wont on
summer nights, and even on wintry days.
"His mother, poor young man! Dear me, that is very interesting, Oona. I
was not sure he had a mother. That's good news: for I always took an
interest in Lord Erradeen, like one of our own boys. Indeed, you know,
Oona, I always thought him like Rob, though their complexions are
different. Dear me! I am very glad you were on the spot, and able to
show her a little civility. But he should have been there, oh! he should
have been there, to meet her. If any of the boys were to do that to me,
I would not know what to think--to leave me to the civility of any
person that might be passing. Oh, fie! no, I would not know what to
think."
"I know what you would think," said Oona, "that there must have been
some mistake, that they did not know the hour of the train, or did not
know which train, or that they had been too late of starting,
or--something. You would be sure to find a good reason, mamma."
"Well, that's true, Oona; no doubt it would be something of that kind,
for it is impossible that a nice lad (and Lord Erradeen was always
that) would show himself neglectful of his mother. Poor lady! and she
would be tired after her journey. I am very glad you were there to show
her a little attention. She will perhaps think, as so many of those
English do, that we're cold and distant in the north. My dear, you can
just ring for the tea: and we'll go and call upon her to-morrow, Oona.
Well, perhaps not to-morrow; but wait till she is well rested. We'll go
on Thursday, and you can just mention it about, wherever you are
to-morrow, that everybody may know. It is such a fine thing: for a young
man to have his mother with him (when he has not a wife), that we must
give her a warm welcome, poor lady," Mrs. Forrester said. She had no
reason to call Mrs. Methven poor, but did it as a child does, with a
meaning of kindness. She was in fact much pleased and excited by the
news. It seemed to throw a gleam of possible comfort over the head of
the loch. "The late lord had no woman about him," she said to herself
after Oona had left the room. She had quite forgotten that she was
beginning to "weary." "Did you hear, Mysie," she went on when "the tea"
appeared with all its wealth of scones, "that Lord Erradeen was
expecting his mother? I am almost as glad to hear it as if one of our
own boys had come home."
"It is a real good thing for the young lord, mem," said Mysie; "and no
doubt you'll be going to see her, being such near neighbours, and my
lord such great friends with the isle."
"I would not say very great friends, oh no," said Mrs. Forrester,
deprecatory, but with a smile of pleasure on her face. "There is little
to tempt a young gentleman here. But no doubt we will call as soon as
she is rested--Miss Oona and me."
This formed the staple of their conversation all the evening, and made
the little room cheerful with a sentiment of expectation.
"And what kind of a person did you find her, Oona? And do you think she
will be a pleasant neighbour? And he was at the water-side to meet her,
when he saw the boat? And was he kind? and did he show a right feeling?"
These questions Mrs. Forrester asked over and over again. She put
herself in the place of the mother who had arrived so unexpectedly
without any one to meet her.
"And you will be sure to mention it, whoever you see to-morrow," she
repeated several times, "that she may see we have all a regard for him.
I know by myself that is the first thing you think of," Mrs. Forrester
added with a pleasant smile. "The boys" were everything they ought to
be. There were no eccentricities, nothing out of the way, about them to
make public opinion doubtful. Wherever they went, their mother, pleased,
but not surprised, heard everything that was pleasant of them. She "knew
by herself" that this was what Walter's mother would want to hear.
And Oona "mentioned it" to the Ellermore Campbells, with whom she had
some engagement next morning, and where she met Miss Herbert from the
Lodge. Julia was already popular with her nearest neighbours, and had an
attendant at her side in the shape of a friend invited by Sir Thomas as
an ardent sportsman, but of whom Julia had taken the command from his
first appearance. She was in high spirits, finding everything go well
with her, and slightly off her balance with the opening up of new
prosperity. She threw herself into the discussion with all the certainty
of an old acquaintance.
"I don't understand why you should be so pleased," said Julia. "Are you
pleased? or is it only a make-believe? Oh, no, dear Oona; I do not
suppose you are so naughty as that. You never were naughty in your
life--was she? Never tore her pinafore, or dirtied her frock? It is
pretty of you, all you girls, to take an interest in Walter's mother;
but for my part I like young men best without their mothers," Miss
Herbert said, with a laugh, and a glance towards the attendant squire,
who said to himself that here was a girl above all pretences, who knew
better than to attempt to throw dust in the eyes of wise men like
himself.
Some of the Ellermore girls laughed, for there is nothing that girls and
boys are more afraid of than this reputation of never having dirtied
their pinafores; while their mother, with the easy conviction of a
woman so full of sons and daughters that she is glad, whenever she can,
to shirk her responsibilities, said:
"Well, that is true enough: a young man should not be encumbered with an
old woman; and if I were Mrs. Methven----"
"But thank Heaven, you are not at all like Mrs. Methven," said Julia.
"She is always after that unfortunate boy. It did not matter where he
went, he was never free of her. Sitting up for him, fancy! making him
give her an account of everything. He had to count up how many times he
came to see me."
"Which perhaps would be difficult," some one said.
Julia laughed--that laugh of triumph which disturbs feminine nerves.
"He did come pretty often," she said, "poor fellow. Oh, most innocently!
to get me to play his accompaniments. Don't you know he sings? Oh, yes,
very tolerably: if he would but open his mouth, I used to tell him; but
some people like to be scolded, I think."
"By you," said the attendant in an undertone.
Julia gave him a look which repaid him.
"I always had to take his part. Poor Walter!" she said with a sigh. "And
then when I had him by myself I scolded him. Isn't that the right way? I
used to get into great trouble about that boy," she added. "When one
has known a person all one's life one can't help taking an
interest----And he was so mismanaged in his youth."
"Here is a Daniel come to judgment," said Jeanie Campbell: "so much
wiser than the rest of us. Lord Erradeen must be years older than you
are. Let us call, mother, all the same, and see what sort of a dragon
she is."
"I shall call, of course," the mother said; "and I don't want to hear
anything about dragons. I am one too, I suppose. Thank you, Oona, for
telling me. I should not like to be wanting in politeness. Your mother
will be going to-morrow, I shouldn't wonder? Well, we shall go the next
day, girls. Erradeen marches with Ellermore, and I know your father
wishes to pay every respect."
"I suppose when you're a lord," said Tom, who was very far down in the
family, and of no account, "you can go upon a rule of your own; but it
would be far greater fun for Erradeen if he would mix himself up more
with other people. Did anybody ever find out who that fellow was that
was staying with him? Braithwaite thought he must be something very fine
indeed--a foreign prince, or that sort. He said such a fellow couldn't
be English without being well known. It seems he knew everybody, and
everything you could think of. A tremendous swell, according to
Braithwaite. Oona, who was he? you ought to know."
At this all eyes turned to Oona, who grew red in spite of herself.
"I have no way of knowing," she said. "I saw such a person once--but I
never heard who he was."
"I am not superstitious," said Mrs. Campbell, "but there are people seen
about that old castle that--make your blood run cold. No, I never saw
anything myself; but your father says----"
"My father never met this fellow," cried Tom. "He wasn't a fellow to
make any mistake about. Neither old nor young--oh, yes, oldish: between
forty and fifty; as straight as a rod, with eyes that go through and
through you; and a voice--I think Erradeen himself funks him. Yes, I do.
He turned quite white when he heard his voice."
"There are all kinds of strange stories about that old castle," said one
of the Campbell sisters in an explanatory tone, addressing Julia. "You
must not be astonished if you hear of unearthly lights, and some
dreadful ordeal the heir has to go through, and ghosts of every
description."
"I wish, Jeanie," said Tom, "when a fellow asks a question, that you
would not break in with your nonsense. Who is talking of ghosts? I am
asking who a fellow was--a very fine gentleman, I can tell you;
something you don't see the like of often----" The young man was much
offended by his sister's profanity. He went to the door with Oona,
fuming. "These girls never understand," he said; "they make a joke of
everything. This was one of the grandest fellows I ever saw--and then
they come in with their rubbish about ghosts!"
"Never mind," Oona said, giving him her hand. The conversation somehow
had been more than she herself could bear, and she had come away with a
sense of perplexity and indignation. Tom, who was hot and indignant too,
was more in sympathy with her than the others who talked about ghosts,
which made her angry she could scarcely tell why.
"Let me walk with you," said Julia Herbert, following. "I have sent
Major Antrobus to look after the carriage. He is a friend of my cousin
Sir Thomas, and supposed to be a great sportsman, but not so devoted to
slaughter as was hoped. Instead of slaughtering, he is slaughtered, Lady
Herbert says. I am sure I don't know by whom. Do let me walk with you a
little way. It is so nice to be with you." Julia looked into Oona's face
with something of the ingratiating air which she assumed to her victims
of the other sex. "Dear Miss Forrester----" and then she stopped with a
laugh. "I don't dare to call you by your Christian name."
"It must be I then that am the dragon, though I did not know it," Oona
said; but she did not ask to be called by her Christian name.
"I see--you are angry with me for what I said of Mrs. Methven. It is
quite true, however; that is the kind of woman she is. But I don't
excuse Walter, for all that. He was very wicked to her. Ever since he
was a boy at school he has been nasty to his mother. Everybody says it
is her own fault, but still it was not nice of him, do you think? Oh,
_I_ think him very nice, in many ways. I have known him so long. He has
always been most agreeable to me--sometimes _too_ agreeable," said Julia
with a smile, pausing, dwelling upon the recollection. "But his mother
and he never got on. Sometimes those that are the very nicest out of
doors are rather disagreeable at home. Haven't you seen that? Oh, I
have, a hundred times. Of course the mother is sure to be to blame. She
ought to have made a cheerful home for him, you know, and asked young
people, and cheerful people, instead of a set of fogies. But she never
would do that. She expected him to put up with her old-fashioned ways."
Oona made no reply. She was disturbed in the ideal that had been rising
within her--an ideal not all made up of sunshine and virtue, but where
at least the darker shades were of a more elevated description than
petty disobediences on one hand and exactions on the other. Life becomes
mean and small when dragged down to this prosaic level, which was the
natural level in Julia's mind, not pitiful and debasing, as it appeared
to Oona. As there was no response to what she had said, Julia resumed,
putting her hand with a great show of affection within Oona's arm.
"I want you to let me be your friend," she said, "and I don't want you
to be deceived. I fear you think too well of people; and when you hear
anything against them, then you feel displeased. Oh, yes, I know. You
are not pleased with me for telling the truth about the Methvens."
"I wonder rather," said Oona, somewhat coldly, "that being so much a
friend of Lord Erradeen you should--betray him; for we should never have
known this without you."
"Oh, betray him; what hard words!" cried Julia, making believe to shrink
and hide her face. "I would not betray him for worlds, poor dear Walter,
if I had a secret of his. But this is no secret at all," she added, with
a laugh; "everybody knows they never got on. And between ourselves,
Walter has been a sad bad boy. Oh, yes, there is no doubt about it. I
know more of the world than a gentle creature like you, and I know that
no man is very good. Oh, don't say a word, for you don't understand.
There are none of them very good. What goes on when they are knocking
about the world--we don't know what it is: but it is no good. Everybody
that knows human nature knows that. But Walter has gone further, you
know, than the ordinary. Oh, he has been a bad boy. He took up with
Captain Underwood before he knew anything about Kinloch Houran, while he
was not much more than a boy: and everybody knows what Captain Underwood
is. He has gambled and betted, and done a great many still more dreadful
things. And poor Mrs. Methven scolded and cried and nagged: and that
has made everything worse."
Oona's countenance changed very much during this conversation. It
flushed and paled, and grew stern with indignation, and quivered with
pity. It seemed to her that all that was said must be true: it had not
the air of an invention. She asked, with a trembling voice, "If this is
so, how is it that you still care for him? still----" she would have
said--pursue him; but Oona's womanly instincts were too strong for this,
and she faltered and paused, and said, feebly, "still--keep him in your
thoughts?"
"Oh, we must not be too hard, you know," said Julia, smiling; "a man
must sow his wild oats. Oh, I should myself had I been a man. I should
not have been content with your humdrum life. I should have stormed all
over the place and had a taste of everything. Don't you think it is
better for them when they have been downright bad? I do; it makes them
more humble. They know, if you came to inquire into them, there would
not be a word to say for them. I think it is a good thing, for my part;
I don't mind. I am not afraid of it. But still it must be confessed that
Walter has been, oh! very bad! and unkind to his mother; not what people
call a good son. And what is the use of her coming here? She is coming
only to spoil sport, to poke her nose into everything. I have no
patience with that kind of woman. Now I can see in your face you are
quite shocked with me. You think it is I who am bad. But you know I
have taken a great fancy to you, and I want you to know."
"I have no wish to know," said Oona. She had grown very pale--with the
feeling of having been out in a storm and exposed to the beating of
remorseless rain, the fierce hail that sometimes sweeps the hills. She
heard Julia's laugh ringing through like something fiendish in the midst
of her suffering. She was glad to escape, though beaten down and
penetrated by the bitter storm. The silence was grateful to her, and to
feel herself alone. She scarcely doubted that it was all true. There was
something in Miss Herbert's tone which brought conviction with it: the
levity and indulgence were abhorrent to Oona, but they sounded true.
Julia pressed her hand as she turned back, saying something about Major
Antrobus and the carriage, with a laugh at Oona's startled looks, "Don't
look so pale; you are too sensitive. It is nothing more than all of them
do. Good-bye, dear," Julia said. She bent forward with a half-offer of a
kiss, from which Oona shrank: and then went away laughing, calling out,
"People will think you have seen one of those ghosts."
A ghost! Oona went upon her way, silent, aching in heart and spirit.
What was a ghost, as they said, in comparison? No ghost but must know
secrets that would at the least make levity and irreverence impossible.
Nothing but a human voice could mock and jibe at that horror and
mystery of evil before which Oona's spirit trembled. She had walked some
way alone upon the daylight road, with the wholesome wind blowing in her
face, and the calm of nature restoring her to composure, but not
relieving the ache in her heart, before she came to the edge of the
bank, and called in her clear voice to Hamish in the boat.