When Charles parted from Isabella, he returned thoughtfully towards
Grippy, which was situated on the south side of the Clyde, at the foot
of the Cathkin hills. His road, after passing the bridge, lay across
the fields as far as Rutherglen, where it diverged towards the higher
ground, commanding at every winding a rich and variegated prospect.
The year was waning into autumn, and the sun setting in all that
effulgence of glory, with which, in a serene evening, he commonly at
that season terminates his daily course behind the distant mountains
of Dumbartonshire and Argyle. A thin mist, partaking more of the lacy
character of a haze than the texture of a vapour, spreading from the
river, softened the nearer features of the view, while the distant were
glowing in the golden blaze of the western skies, and the outlines
of the city on the left appeared gilded with a brighter light, every
window sparkling as if illuminated from within. The colour of the trees
and hedges was beginning to change, and here and there a tuft of yellow
leaves, and occasionally the berries of the mountain ash, like clusters
of fiery embers, with sheaves of corn, and reapers in a few of the
neighbouring fields, showed that the summer was entirely past, and the
harvest time begun.
The calm diffused over the face of the landscape--the numerous images
of maturity and repose everywhere around--were calculated to soothe
the spirit, to inspire gentle thoughts, and to awaken pleasing
recollections; and there was something in the feelings with which
the lovers had separated, if not altogether in unison with the
graciousness of the hour, still so much in harmony with the general
benignity of nature, that Charles felt his resolution and self-denial
elevated with a sentiment of devotion, mingled with the fond enthusiasm
of his passion. ‘It is but a short time--a few months--and we shall be
happy,’ he exclaimed to himself; ‘and our happiness will be the dearer
that we shall have earned it by this sacrifice to prudence and to duty.’
But Charles and Isabella had estimated their fortitude too highly. They
were both inexperienced in what the world really is; and her tender and
sensitive spirit was soon found incapable of withstanding the trials
and the humiliation to which she found herself subjected.
It was part of her business to carry home the dresses made up for Miss
Mally’s customers; and although the Glasgow ladies of that time were
perhaps not more difficult to please with the style or fashion of their
gowns and millinery than those of our own day, yet some of them were
less actuated by a compassionate consideration for the altered fortunes
of Isabella than all our fair contemporaries would undoubtedly have
been. The unfortunate girl was, in consequence, often obliged to suffer
taunts and animadversions, which, though levelled against the taste or
inattention of her mistress, entered not the less painfully into her
young and delicate bosom. Still, however, she struggled against the
harsh circumstances to which she was exposed; but her sensibilities
were stronger than her courage, and her beauty betrayed what she felt,
and soon began to fade.
Charles was in the practice of accompanying her in the evenings when
she commonly performed her disagreeable errands, and relieved her
of the burden of her band-box, joyfully counting how much of the
probationary year was already past, and cheering her with the assurance
that her misfortunes had only endeared her to him the more. It
happened, however, that, one Saturday, being late of reaching the place
of rendezvous--the foot of the staircase which led to Miss Mally’s
dwelling--Isabella had gone away before he arrived, with a new dress to
Mrs. Jarvie, the wife of the far-famed Bailie Nicol, the same Matty who
lighted the worthy magistrate to the Tolbooth, on that memorable night
when he, the son of the deacon, found his kinsman Rob Roy there.
Matty at this time was a full-blown lady; the simple, modest,
bare-footed lassie, having developed into a crimson, gorgeous,
high-heeled madam,--well aware of the augmented width and weight
of the bailie’s purse, and jealous a little too much of her own
consequence, perhaps, by recollecting the condition from which she had
been exalted. The dress made up for her was a costly _negligée_; it
not only contained several yards of the richest brocade more than any
other Miss Mally Trimmings had ever made, but was adorned with cuffs
and flounces in a style of such affluent magnificence, that we question
if any grander has since been seen in Glasgow. Nor was it ordered for
any common occasion, but to grace a formal dinner party, which Provost
Anderson and his lady intended to give the magistrates and their
wives at the conclusion of his eighth provostry. It was therefore not
extraordinary that Mrs. Jarvie should take particular interest in this
dress; but the moment she began to try it on, poor Isabella discovered
that it would not fit, and stood trembling from head to heel, while the
bailie’s wife, in great glee and good humour with the splendour of the
dress, was loud in her praises of the cut of the ruffle-cuffs and the
folds of the flounces. Having contemplated the flow of the _negligée_
on both sides, and taken two or three stately steps across the room, to
see how it would sweep behind, Mrs. Jarvie took the wings of the body
in her hands, and, drawing them together, found they would not nearly
meet.
Isabella, with a beating heart and a diffident hand, approached to
smooth the silk, that it might expand; but all would not do. Mrs.
Jarvie stood a monument of consternation, as silent as Lot’s wife, when
she looked back, and thought of the charming dresses she had left
behind.
‘O Chrystal!’ were the first words to which the ci-devant Matty could
give utterance. ‘O Chrystal! My God, is nae this moving? Your mistress,
doited devil, as I maun ca’ her, ought to be skelpit wi’ nettles for
this calamity. The goun’s ruin’t--my gude silk to be clippit in this
nearbegaun way--past a’ redemption. Gang out o’ the gait, ye cutty, and
no finger and meddle wi’ me. This usage is enough to provoke the elect!
as am a living soul, and that’s a muckle word for me to say, I’ll hae
the old craighling scoot afore the Lords. The first cost was mair than
five and twenty guineas. If there’s law and justice atween God and man,
she shall pay for’t, or I’ll hae my satisfaction on her flesh. Hither,
maiden, and help me off wi’ it. Siccan beauty as it was! Tak it wi’
you; tak it to you; out o’ the house and my presence. How durst ye dare
to bring sic a disgrace to me? But let me look at it. Is’t no possible
to put in a gushet or a gore, and to make an eik?’
‘I’ll take it home and try,’ said Isabella, timidly folding up the
gown, which she had removed from Mrs. Jarvie.
‘Try,’ said the bailie’s wife, relapsing; ‘a pretty like story, that
sic a gown should stand in the jeopardy o’ a try; but how could Miss
Mally presume to send a silly thing like t’ee on this occasion? Lay
down the gown this precious moment, and gae hame, and order her to come
to me direkilty: it’s no to seek what I hae to say.’
The trembling and terrified girl let the unfortunate _negligée_ fall,
and hastily, in tears, quitted the room, and, flying from the house,
met, in the street, her lover, who, having learnt where she was, had
followed her to the house. A rapid and agitated disclosure of her
feelings and situation followed. Charles, on the spot, resolved, at
all hazards, rather to make her his wife at once, and to face the
worst that might in consequence happen from his father’s displeasure,
than allow her to remain exposed to such contumelious treatment.
Accordingly, it was agreed that they should be married, and on the
Monday following, the ceremony was performed, when he conducted her to
a lodging which he had provided in the interval.