III

Southern travellers wandering over Scotland in their simplicity have a

dim perception that the Scot and the Celt are not of one kind, and, as

all racial characteristics go back to the land, they might be helped by

considering the unlikeness between a holding in Fife and a croft in

a western glen. The lowland farm stands amid its neighbours along the

highway, with square fields, trim fences, slated houses, cultivated

after the most scientific method, and to the last inch a very type of a

shrewd, thrifty, utilitarian people. The Highland farm is half a dozen

patches of as many shapes scattered along the hillside, wherever there

are fewest stones and deepest soil and no bog, and those the crofter

tills as best he can--sometimes getting a harvest and sometimes seeing

the first snow cover his oats in the sheaf, sometimes building a rude

dyke to keep off the big, brown, hairy cattle that come down to have

a taste of the sweet green corn, but often finding it best to let his

barefooted children be a fence by day, and at certain seasons to sit up

all night himself to guard his scanty harvest from the forays of the red

deer. Somewhere among the patches he builds his low-roofed house, and

thatches it over with straw, on which, by-and-bye, grass with heather

and wild flowers begins to grow, till it is not easy to tell his home

from the hill. His farm is but a group of tiny islands amid a sea of

heather that is ever threatening to overwhelm them with purple spray.

Any one can understand that this man will be unpractical, dreamy,

enthusiastic, the child of the past, the hero of hopeless causes, the

seer of visions.

Magdalen had milked her cows at midday and sent them forth to pasture,

and now was sitting before her cottage among wallflower and spring

lilies, reading for the third time the conclusion of Rutherford's last

letter:--

“Here I was interrupted by the coming of an elder, a mighty man in

the religious world, and very powerful in St Bede's. He tells me that

something has been heard of our engagement, and I have taken counsel

with him with the result that it seems best we should be married without

delay. After loving for four years and there being nothing to hinder,

why should you be lonely on your croft in Glenalder and I in my rooms

at Glasgow? Answer me that, 'calf of my heart' (I do not attempt the

Gaelic). But you cannot. You will only kiss the letter, since I am not

at your side, and next week I shall come north, and you will fix the

day.

“My head is full of plans, and I do not think that joy will let me sleep

to-night for thinking of you and all that we shall do together. We'll

be married early in the morning in the old kirk of Glenalder, as soon as

the sun has filled the Glen and Nature has just awaked from sleep. Mona

Macdonald will be your bridesmaid, I know, and she will wear white roses

that shall not be whiter than her teeth. Yes, I have learned to notice

all beautiful things since I knew you, Magdalen. My best man will be

Carmichael of Drumtochy, who is of Highland blood himself and a goodly

man to look upon, and he has his own love-story. All the Glen will come

to our wedding, and will grudge that a Lowland Scot has spoiled the

Glen of the Flower of Dalnabreck--yes, I know what they call you. And we

shall have our breakfast in the manse, for the minister has pledged

us to that, and it is he and John Carmichael that will be making the

wonderful speeches! (You see how I've learned the style.) But you and I

will leave them and catch the steamer, and then all the long June day

we shall sit on the deck together and see distant Skye, and the little

isles, and pass Mull and Ardnamurchan, and sail through Oban Bay and

down Loch Fyne, and thread our way by Tighnabruaich, and come into the

Firth of Clyde when the sun is going down away behind Ben Alder. Won't

it be a glorious marriage day, among lochs and hills and islands the

like of which travellers say cannot be found in all the world?

“Then I want to take you to Germany, and to show you the old University

town where I lived one summer, and we will have one good day there, too,

my bride and I. Early in the morning we shall stand in the market-place,

where the women are washing clothes at the fountain and the peasants

are selling butter and fruit, and the high-gabled houses rise on three

sides, and the old Rathhaus, on whose roof the storks build their nests,

makes the fourth. We'll go to my rooms near the Kirche, where I used to

write a letter to you every day, and here is what old Frau Hepzacker

will say, 'Mein Gott, der Schottlander und ein wunderschones madchen*

(you will English and Gaelic this for yourself), and we will drink a

glass of (fearfully sour) wine with her, and go out with her blessing

echoing down the street Then we will watch the rafts coming down the

Neckar from the Black Forest, and walk among the trees in the Vorstadt,

where I lay and dreamed of you far away in Glenalder. And we will go to

the University where you sent me... but that is never to be mentioned

again; and the students in their wonderful dress will come and go--red

hats and blue, besides the white, black and gold I used to wear. And

in the evening we will drive through the vines and fruit-trees to

Bebenhausen, the king's hunting-seat. And those will only be two days

out of our honeymoon, Magdalen. It seems too good to be my lot that

I should be minister of Christ's evangel--of which surely I am not

worthy--and that you should be my bride, of which I am as unworthy.

Next Monday I shall leave this smoky town and meet you at the Cairn of

Remembrance on Tuesday morning.

“Meanwhile and ever I am your faithful lover,

“Henry Rutherford.”

Magdalen kissed the name passionately and thrust the letter into her

bosom. Then she went to the edge of the heather and looked along the

Glen, where she had been born and lived her twenty-two years in peace,

from which she was so soon to go out on the most adventurous journey of

life. When a pure-bred Highland woman loves, it is once and for ever,

and earth has no more faithful wife, or mother, or daughter. And

Magdalen loved Rutherford with all her heart. But it is not given unto

her blood to taste unmixed joy, and now she was haunted with a sense of

calamity. The past flung its shadow over her, and the people that were

gone came back to their deserted homes. She heard the far-off bleating

of the sheep and the wild cry of the curlew; she crooned to herself a

Gaelic song, and was so carried away that she did not see the stranger

come along the track through the heather till he spoke.

“Good evening; may I ask whether this is eh... Dalnabreck? and have I

the pleasure of addressing Miss Macdonald?”

“Yes, I am Magdalen Macdonald”--and as she faced him in her beauty the

visitor was much abashed. “Would you be wanting to see me, sir?”

“My name is Thompson, and I have the privilege of being an elder in St

Bede's, Glasgow, and as I happened to be passing through Glenalder--just

a few days' rest after the winter's work--how the soul wears the

body!--I thought that it would be... a pleasure to... pay my respects

to one of whom I have... heard from our dear pastor. Perhaps,

however,”--this with some anxiety--“Mr. Rutherford may have mentioned my

humble name.”

“There are so many good people in St Bede's, and they are all so kind

to him, that... Henry”--the flush at her lover's name lent the

last attraction to her face and almost overcame the astute iron

merchant--“will not be able to tell me all their names. But I will be

knowing them all for myself soon, and then I will be going to thank

every person for all that has been done to... him. It is very gracious

of you to be visiting a poor Highland girl, and the road to Dalnabreck

is very steep; you will come in and rest in my house, and I will bring

you milk to drink. You must be taking care of the door, for it is low,

and the windows are small because of the winter storms; but there is

room inside and a heart welcome for our friends in our little homes.

When I am bringing the milk maybe you will be looking at the medals on

the wall. They are my grandfather's, who was a brave man and fought well

in his day, and two will be my father's, who was killed very young and

had not time to get more honour.”

The elder made a hurried survey of the room, with its bits of black

oak and the arms on the wall, and the deer-skins on the floor, and

bookshelves hanging on the wall, and wild flowers everywhere; and,

being an operator so keen that he was said to know a market by scent, he

changed his plan.

“I took a hundred pounds with me,” he explained afterward to a friend of

like spirit, “for a promising ministry was not to be hindered for a

few pounds! I intended to begin with fifty and expected to bring back

twenty-five, but I saw that it would have been inexpedient to offer

money to the young woman. There was no flavour of spirituality at

all about her, and she was filled with pride about war and such-like

vanities. Her manner might be called taking in worldly circles, but

it was not exactly... gentle, and she might have... been rude, quite

unpleasant, if I had tried to buy her... I mean arrange on a pecuniary

basis. Ah, Juitler, how much we need the wisdom of the serpent in this

life!”

“What a position you are to occupy, my dear friend,” began the simple

man, seated before the most perfect of meals--rich milk of cows, fed on

meadow grass, yellow butter and white oat cakes set among flowers. “I

doubt not that you are often weighed down by a sense of responsibility,

and are almost afraid of the work before you. After some slight

experience in such matters I am convinced that the position of a

minister's wife is the most... I may say critical in Christian service.”

“You will be meaning that she must be taking great care of her man, and

making a beautiful home for him, and keeping away foolish people, and

standing by him when his back will be at the wall. Oh, yes, it is a

minister that needs to be loved very much, or else he will become stupid

and say bitter words, and no one will be wanting to hear him”--and

Magdalen looked across the table with joyful confidence.

“Far more than that, I'm afraid”--and Mr. Thompson's face was full of

pity. “I was thinking of the public work that falls to a minister's wife

in such a church as St Bede's, which is trying and needs much grace. The

receiving of ladies alone--Providence has been very good to our people,

twelve carriages some days at the church door--requires much experience

and wisdom.

“Mrs. Drummer, who has been much used among the better classes, has

often told me that she considered tact in society one of her most

precious talents, and I know that it was largely owing to her social

gifts, sanctified, of course, that the Doctor became such a power. Ah,

yes”--and Mr. Thompson fell into a soliloquy--“it is the wife that makes

or mars the minister.”

“Glasgow then will not be like Glenalder”--and Magdalen's face was much

troubled--“for if any woman here will tell the truth and speak good

words of people, and help when the little children are sick, and have an

open door for the stranger, then we will all be loving her, and she will

not hurt her man in anything.”

“Be thankful that you do not live in a city, Miss Macdonald, for the

world has much more power there; they that come to work are in the thick

of the battle and need great experience, but you will learn in time and

maybe you could live... quietly for a year or two... you will excuse

me speaking like this... you see it is for our beloved minister I am

anxious.”

Magdalen's face had grown white, and she once or twice took a long, sad

breath.

“As regards the public work expected of a minister's wife--but I am

wearying you, I fear, and it is time to return to the inn. I cannot tell

you how much I have enjoyed this delicious milk..

“Will you tell me about the... the other things... I want to know all.”

“Oh, it was the meetings I was thinking of, for of course, as I am sure

you know, our minister's wife is the head of the mothers' meeting. Mrs.

Drummer's addresses there were excellent, and her liberality in giving

treats--gospel treats, I mean, with tea--was eh, in fact, queenly. And

then she had a Bible-class for young ladies that was mentioned in the

religious papers.”

Magdalen had now risen and was visibly trembling.

“There is a question I would like to ask, Mister...”

“Thompson--Jabez Thompson.”

“Mister Thompson--and you will be doing a great kindness to a girl that

has never been outside Glenalder, and... is not wanting to be a sorrow

to the man she loves, if you will answer it Do you know any minister

like... your minister who married a country girl and... what happened?”

“Really, my dear friend, I... well, if you insist, our neighbour in St

Thomas's--a very fine young fellow--did, and he was a little hindered at

first; but I am sure, in course of time, if he had waited--yes, he left,

and I hear is in the Colonies, and doing an excellent work among the

squatters, or was it the Chinese?... No, no, this is not good-bye. I

only hope I have not discouraged you.... What a lovely glen! How can we

ever make up to you for this heather?”

For three days no one saw Magdalen, but a shepherd attending to

his lambs noticed that a lamp burned every night in the cottage at

Dalnabreck. When Rutherford arrived at the cairn on Tuesday he looked

in vain for Magdalen. Old Elspeth, Magdalen's foster-mother, was waiting

for him and placed a letter in his hands, which he read in that very

place where he had parted from his betrothed.

“Dearest of my Heart,--

“It is with the tears of my soul that I am writing this letter, and it

is with cruel sorrow you will be reading it, for I must tell you that

our troth is broken and that Magdalen cannot be your wife. Do not be

thinking this day or any day that she is not loving you, for never have

you been so dear to me or been in my eyes so strong and brave and wise

and good, and do not be thinking that I do not trust you, for it is this

girl knows that you would be true to me although all the world turned

against me.

“Believe me, my beloved, it is because I love you so much that I am

setting you free that you may not be put to shame because you have

married a Highland girl, who has nothing but two cows, and who does not

know the ways of cities, and who cannot speak in public places, and who

can do nothing except love.

“If it had been possible I would have been waiting for you at the Cairn

of Remembrance, and it is my eyes that ache to see you once more, but

then I would be weak and could not leave you, as is best for you.

“You will not be seeking after me, for I am going far away, and nobody

can tell you where, and this is also best for you and me. But I will

be hearing about you, and will be knowing all you do, and there will be

none so proud of you as your first love.

“And, Henry, if you meet a good woman and she loves you, then you must

not think that I will be angry when you marry her, for this would be

selfish and not right I am going away for your sake, and I will be

praying that the sun be ever shining on you and that you become a great

man in the land. One thing only I ask--that in those days you sometimes

give a thought to Glenalder and your faithful friend,

“Magdalen Macdonald.”