Claud was sitting at the window when he discovered his mother-in-law
coming slowly towards the house, and he said to his wife,--
‘In the name o’ gude, Girzy, what can hae brought your mother frae the
town on sic a day as this?’
‘I hope,’ replied the Leddy of Grippy, ‘that nothing’s the matter wi’
Charlie, for he promised to be out on Sabbath to his dinner, and never
came.’
In saying these words, she went hastily to the door to meet her mother,
the appearance of whose countenance at the moment was not calculated
to allay her maternal fears. Indeed, the old lady scarcely spoke to
her daughter, but walking straight into the dining-room where Grippy
himself was sitting, took a seat on a chair, and then threw off her
cloak on the back of it, before she uttered a word.
‘What’s wrang, grannie?’ said Claud, rising from his seat at the
window, and coming towards her.--‘What’s wrang, ye seem fashed?’
‘In truth, Mr. Walkinshaw, I hae cause,’ was the reply--‘poor
Charlie!’--
‘What’s happen’d to him?’ exclaimed his mother.
‘Has he met wi’ ony misfortunate accident?’ inquired the father.
‘I hope it’s no a misfortune,’ said the old lady, somewhat recovering
her self-possession. ‘At the same time, it’s what I jealouse, Grippy,
ye’ll no be vera content to hear.’
‘What is’t?’ cried the father sharply, a little tantalized.
‘Has he broken his leg?’ said the mother.
‘Haud that clavering tongue o’ thine, Girzy,’ exclaimed the Laird
peevishly; ‘wilt t’ou ne’er devaul’ wi’ sca’ding thy lips in other
folks’ kail?’
‘He had amaist met wi’ far waur than a broken leg,’ interposed the
grandmother. ‘His heart was amaist broken.’
‘It maun be unco brittle,’ said Claud, with a hem. ‘But what’s the need
o’ this summering and wintering anent it?--Tell us what has happened?’
‘Ye’re a parent, Mr. Walkinshaw,’ replied the old lady seriously, ‘and
I think ye hae a fatherly regard for Charlie; but I’ll be plain wi’
you. I doubt ye hae na a right consideration for the gentle nature of
the poor lad; and it’s that which gars me doubt and fear that what I
hae to say will no be agreeable.’
Claud said nothing in answer to this, but sat down in a chair on the
right side of his mother-in-law, his wife having in the meantime taken
a seat on the other side.--The old lady continued,--
‘At the same time, Mr. Walkinshaw, ye’re a reasonable man, and what
I’m come about is a matter that maun just be endured. In short, it’s
nothing less than to say, that, considering Fatherlans’ misfortunes, ye
ought to hae alloo’t Charlie and Isabella to hae been married, for it’s
a sad situation she was placed in--a meek and gentle creature like her
was na fit to bide the flyte and flights o’ the Glasgow leddies.’
She paused, in the expectation that Claud would make some answer, but
he still remained silent.--Mrs. Walkinshaw, however, spoke,--
‘’Deed, mither, that’s just what I said--for ye ken it’s an awfu’ thing
to thwart a true affection. Troth is’t, gudeman; and ye should think
what would hae been your ain tender feelings had my father stoppit our
wedding after a’ was settled.’
‘There was some difference between the twa cases,’ said the Dowager
of Plealands dryly to her daughter;--‘neither you nor Mr. Walkinshaw
were so young as Charlie and Miss Fatherlans--that was something--and
maybe there was a difference, too, in the character of the parties.
Hows’ever, Mr. Walkinshaw, marriages are made in heaven; and it’s no
in the power and faculty of man to controvert the coming to pass o’
what is ordained to be. Charlie Walkinshaw and Bell Fatherlans were a
couple marrowed by their Maker, and it’s no right to stand in the way
of their happiness.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Claud, now breaking silence, ‘it can ne’er be said
that I’m ony bar till’t. I would only fain try a year’s probation in
case it’s but calf-love.’
Mrs. Hypel shook her head as she said,--‘It’s vera prudent o’ you, but
ye canna put auld heads on young shouthers. In a word, Mr. Walkinshaw,
it’s no reasonable to expek that young folk, so encouraged in their
mutual affection as they were, can thole so lang as ye would wish. The
days o’ sic courtships as Jacob’s and Rachel’s are lang past.’
‘I but bade them bide a year,’ replied Claud.
‘A year’s an unco time to love; but to make a lang tale short, what
might hae been foreseen has come to pass, the fond young things hae
gotten themselves married.’
‘No possible!’ exclaimed Claud, starting from his chair, which he
instantly resumed.--
‘Weel,’ said Mrs. Walkinshaw,--‘if e’er I heard the like o’ that!--Our
Charlie a married man! the head o’ a family!’
The old lady took no notice of these and other interjections of the
same meaning, which her daughter continued to vent, but looking askance
and steadily at Claud, who seemed for a minute deeply and moodily
agitated, she said,--
‘Ye say nothing, Mr. Walkinshaw.’
‘What can I say?’ was his answer.--‘I had a better hope for Charlie,--I
thought the year would hae cooled him,--and am sure Miss Betty Bodle
would hae been a better bargain.’
‘Miss Betty Bodle!’ exclaimed the grandmother, ‘she’s a perfect tawpy.’
‘Weel, weel,’ said Grippy, ‘it mak’s no odds noo what she is,--Charlie
has ravelled the skein o’ his own fortune, and maun wind it as he can.’
‘That will be no ill to do, Mr. Walkinshaw, wi’ your helping hand.
He’s your first born, and a better-hearted lad never lived.’
‘Nae doubt I maun help him,--there can be nae doubt o’ that; but he
canna expek, and the world can ne’er expek, that I’ll do for him what I
might hae done had he no been so rash and disobedient.’
‘Very true, Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said the gratified old lady, happy to
find that the reconciliation was so easily effected; and proud to be
the messenger of such glad tidings to the young couple, she soon after
returned to Glasgow. But scarcely had she left the house, when Claud
appeared strangely disturbed,--at one moment he ran hastily towards his
scrutoire, and opened it, and greedily seized the title-deeds of his
property,--the next he closed it thoughtfully, and retreating to his
seat, sat down in silence.
‘What’s the matter wi’ you, gudeman? ye were na sae fashed when my
mother was here,’ said his wife.
‘I’ll do nothing rashly--I’ll do nothing rashly,’ was the mysterious
reply.
‘Eh, mither, mither,’ cried Walter, bolting into the room,--‘what would
you think, our Charlie’s grown a wife’s gudeman like my father.’
‘Out o’ my sight, ye ranting cuif,’ exclaimed Claud, in a rapture of
rage, which so intimidated Walter that he fled in terror.
‘It’s dreadfu’ to be sae tempted,--and a’ the gude to gang to sic a
haverel,’ added Claud, in a low troubled accent, as he turned away and
walked towards the window.
‘Nae doubt,’ said his wife, ‘it’s an awfu’ thing to hear o’ sic
disobedience as Charlie in his rashness has been guilty o’.’
‘It is, it is,’ replied her husband, ‘and many a ane for far less hae
disinherited their sons,--cut them off wi’ a shilling.’
‘That’s true,’ rejoined the Leddy of Grippy. ‘Did na Kilmarkeckle gie
his only daughter but the legacy o’ his curse, for running away wi’ the
Englisher captain, and leave a’ to his niece Betty Bodle?’
‘And a’ she has might hae been in our family but for this
misfortune.--When I think o’ the loss, and how pleased her father
was when I proposed Charlie for her--It’s enough to gar me tak’ some
desperate step to punish the contumacious reprobate.--He’ll break my
heart.’
‘Dear keep me, gudeman, but ye’re mair fashed than I could hae thought
it was in the power o’ nature for you to be,’--said Mrs. Walkinshaw,
surprised at his agitation.
‘The scoundrel! the scoundrel!’ said Claud, walking quickly across
the room--‘To cause sic a loss!--To tak’ nae advice!--to run sic a
ram-race!--I ought, I will, gar him fin’ the weight o’ my displeasure.
Betty Bodle’s tocher would hae been better than the Grippy--But he
shall suffer for’t--I see na why a father may na tak’ his own course as
weel as a son--I’ll no be set at naught in this gait. I’ll gang in to
Mr. Keelevin the morn.’
‘Dinna be oure headstrong, my dear, but compose yoursel’,’--said the
lady, perplexed, and in some degree alarmed at the mention of the
lawyer’s name.--
‘Compose thysel, Girzy, and no meddle wi’ me,’ was the answer, in a
less confident tone than the declaration he had just made, adding,--
‘I never thought he would hae used me in this way. I’m sure I was ay
indulgent to him.’
‘Overly sae,’ interrupted Mrs. Walkinshaw, ‘and often I told you that
he would gie you a het heart for’t, and noo ye see my words hae come to
pass.’
Claud scowled at her with a look of the fiercest aversion, for at that
moment the better feelings of his nature yearned towards Charles,
and almost overcame the sordid avidity with which he had resolved to
cut him off from his birthright, and to entail the estate of Grippy
with the Plealands on Walter,--an intention which, as we have before
mentioned, he early formed, and had never abandoned, being merely
deterred from carrying it into effect by a sense of shame, mingled
with affection, and a slight reverence for natural justice; all
which, however, were loosened from their hold in his conscience, by
the warranty which the imprudence of the marriage seemed to give him
in the eyes of the world, for doing what he had so long desired to
do. Instead, however, of making her any reply, he walked out into the
open air, and continued for about half an hour to traverse the green
in front of the house, sometimes with quick short steps, at others
with a slow and heavy pace. Gradually, however, his motion became
more regular, and ultimately ended in a sedate and firm tread, which
indicated that his mind was made up on the question which he had been
debating with himself.