“I have been a fool,” said Lily. “I have not said any thing that I meant
to say. I had a great many good reasons all ready, and I did not say one
of them. I just said silly things. He played upon me like a fiddle; he
made me so angry I could not endure myself, and then I had either to
hold my tongue or say things that were silly and that I ought not to
have said.”
“Oh, dear me, dear me,” cried Robina, “I just thought you would do that.
If I had only been behind the door to give ye a look, Miss Lily. Ye are
too impetuous when you are left to yourself.”
“I was not impetuous; I was just silly,” Lily said. “He provoked me till
I did not know what I was saying, and then I held my tongue at the wrong
places. But it would just have come to the same whatever I had said.
He’ll not yield, and I’ll not yield, and what can we do but clash? We’re
to start off for Dalrugas to-morrow, and that’s all that we have to
think of now.”
“Oh, Miss Lily!” cried Robina. She wrung her hands, and, with a look of
awe, added: “It’s like thae poor Poles in ‘Elizabeth’ going off in
chains to that place they call Siberée, where there’s nothing but snow
and ice and wild, wild forests. Oh, my bonnie lamb! I mind the woods up
yonder where it’s dark i’ the mid of day. And are ye to be banished
there, you that are just in your bloom, and every body at your feet? Oh,
Miss Lily, it canna be, it canna be!”
“It will have to be,” said Lily resolutely, “and we must make the best
of it. Take all the working things you can think of; I’ve been idle, and
spent my time in nothings. I’ll learn all your bonnie lace stitches,
Beenie, and how to make things and embroideries, like Mary, Queen of
Scots. We’ll be two prisoners, and Dougal will turn the key on us every
night, and we’ll make friends with somebody like Roland, the page, that
will make false keys and let us down from the window, with horses
waiting; and then we’ll career across the country in the dead of night,
and folk will take us for ghosts; and then--we’ll maybe ride on
broomsticks, and fly up to the moon!” cried Lily, with a burst of
laughter, which ended in a torrent of tears.
“Oh, my bonnie dear! oh, my lamb!” cried Beenie, taking the girl’s head
upon her ample breast. It is not to be imagined that these were
hysterics, though hysterics were the fashion of the time, and the young
ladies of the day indulged in them freely at any contrariety. Lily was
over-excited and worn out, and she had broken down for the moment. But
in a few minutes she had raised her head, pushed Beenie away, and got up
with bright eyes to meet her fate.
“Take books too,” she cried, “as many as you can, and perhaps he’ll let
us keep our subscription to the library, and they can send us things by
the coach. And take all my pencils and my colors. I’ll maybe turn into a
great artist on the moors that Uncle Robert says are so bonnie. He went
on about his sunsets and his moonlights till he nearly drove me mad,”
cried Lily, “mocking! Oh, Beenie, what hard hearts they have, these old
men!”
“I would just like,” cried the faithful maid, “to have twa-three words
with him. Oh, I should like to have twa-three words with him, just him
and me by our twa sels!”
“And much good that would do! He would just turn you outside in with his
little finger,” said Lily in high scorn. But naturally Robina was not of
that opinion. She was ready to go to the stake for her mistress, and
facing Sir Robert in his den was not a bad version of going to the
stake. It might procure her instant dismissal for any thing Beenie knew;
he might tell old Haygate, the old soldier-servant, who was now his
butler, and an Englishman, consequently devoid of sympathy, to put her
to the door; anyhow, he would scathe her with satirical words and that
look which even Lily interpreted as mocking, and which is the most
difficult of all things to bear. But Beenie had a great confidence that
there were “twa-three things” that nobody could press upon Sir Robert’s
attention but herself. She thought of it during the morning hours to the
exclusion of every thing else, and finally after luncheon was over, when
Lily was occupied with some youthful visitors, Beenie, with a beating
heart, put her plan into execution. Haygate was out of the way, too, the
Lord be praised. He had started out upon some mission connected with the
wine-cellar; and Thomas, the footman, was indigenous, had been Tommy to
Robina from his boyhood, and was so, she said, like a boy of her own. He
would never put her to the door, whatever Sir Robert might say. She went
down accordingly to the dining-room, after the master of the house had
enjoyed his good lunch and his moment of somnolence after it (which he
would not for the world have admitted to be a nap), and tapped lightly,
tremulously, with all her nerves in a twitter, at the door. To describe
what was in Beenie’s heart when she opened it in obedience to his call
to come in was more than words are capable of: it was like going to the
stake.
“Oh, Beenie! so it is you,” the master said.
“’Deed, it’s just me, Sir Robert. I thought if I might say a word----”
“Oh, say a dozen words if you like; but, mind, I am going out, and I
have no time for more.”
“Yes, Sir Robert.” Beenie came inside the door, and closed it softly
after her. She then took up the black silk apron which she wore,
denoting her rank as lady’s maid, to give her a countenance, and made an
imaginary frill upon it with her hands. “I just thought,” she said, with
her head bent and her eyes fixed on this useful occupation, “that I
would like to say twa-three words about Miss Lily, Sir Robert----”
“Oh,” he said, “and what might you have to say about Miss Lily? You
should know more about her, it is true, than any of us. Has she sent you
to say that she has recovered her senses, and is going to behave like a
girl of sense, as I always took her to be?”
Beenie raised her eyes from her fantastic occupation, and looked at Sir
Robert. She shook her head. She formed her lips into a round “No,”
pushing them forth to emphasize the syllable. “Eh, Sir Robert,” she said
at last, “you’re a clever man--you understand many a thing that’s just
Greek and Hebrew to the likes of us; but ye dinna understand a lassie’s
heart. How should ye?” said Beenie, compassionately shaking her head
again.
Sir Robert’s luncheon had been good; he had enjoyed his nap; he was
altogether in a good humor. “Well,” he said, “if you can enlighten me on
that point, Beenie, fire away!”
“Weel, Sir Robert, do ye no think you’re just forcing her more and more
into it, to make her suffer for her lad, and to have nothing to do but
think upon him and weary for him away yonder on yon solitary moor? Eh,
it’s like driving her to the wilderness, or away to Siberée, that awfu’
place where they send the Poles, as ye will read in ‘Elizabeth,’ to make
them forget their country, and where they just learn to think upon it
more and more. Eh, Sir Robert, we’re awfu’ perverse in that way! I would
have praised him up to her, and said there was no man like him in the
world. I would have said he was just the one that cared nothing for
siller, that would have taken her in her shift--begging your pardon for
sic a common word; I would have hurried her on to fix the day, and made
every thing as smooth as velvet; and then just as keen as she is for it
now I would have looked to see her against it then.”
“I allow,” said Sir Robert, with a laugh, “that you have a cloud of
witnesses on your side; but I am not quite sure that I put faith in
them. If I were to hurry her on to fix the day, as you say, I would get
rid, no doubt, of the trouble; but I am much afraid that Lily, instead
of starting off on the other tack, would take me at my word.”
“Sir,” said Beenie in a lowered voice, coming a step nearer, “if we were
to leave it to him to show her the contrary, it would be more effectual
than any thing you could say.”
“So,” said Sir Robert, with a long whistle of surprise, “you trust him
no more than I do? I always thought you were a woman of sense.”
“I am saying nothing about that, Sir Robert,” Beenie replied.
“But don’t ye see, you silly woman, that he would take my favor for
granted in that case, and would not show her to the contrary, but would
marry her in as great haste as we liked, feeling sure that I had
committed myself, and would not then draw back?”
“He would do ye nae justice, Sir Robert, if he thought that.”
“What do you mean, you libellous person? You think I would encourage her
in her folly in the hope of changing her mind, and then deceive and
abandon her when she had followed my advice? No,” he said, “I am not so
bad as that.”
“You should ken best, Sir Robert,” said Beenie, “but for me, I would not
say. But if ye will just permit me one more word. Here she has plenty of
things to think of: her parties and her dress, and her friends and her
other partners--there’s three young leddies up the stair at this moment
talking a’ the nonsense that comes into their heads--but there she would
have no person----”
“Not a soul, except Dougal and his wife,” said Sir Robert, with a
chuckle.
“And nothing to think of but just--him. Oh, Sir Robert, think what ye
are driving the bairn to! No diversions and no distractions, but just to
think upon him night and day. There’s things she finds to object to in
him when he’s by her side--just like you and me. But when she’s there
she’ll think and think upon him till she makes him out to be an angel o’
light. He will just get to be the only person in the world. He will
write to her----”
“That he shall not do! Dougal shall have orders to stop every letter.”
Beenie smiled a calm, superior smile. “And ye think Dougal--or any man
in the world--can keep a lad and lass from communication. Eh, Sir
Robert, you’re a clever man! but just as ignorant, as ignorant as any
bairn.”
Sir Robert was much amused, but he began to get a little impatient. “If
they can find means of communicating in spite of the solitude and the
miles of moor and Dougal, then I really think they will deserve to be
permitted to ruin all their prospects,” he said.
“Sir Robert!”
“No more,” he said. “I have already heard you with great patience,
Beenie. I don’t think you have thrown any new light on the subject. Go
and pack your boxes; for the coach starts early to-morrow, and you
should have every thing ready both for her and yourself to-night.”
Beenie turned away to the door, and then she turned round again. She
stood pinching the imaginary frill on her apron, with her head held on
one side, as if to judge the effect. “Will that be your last word, Sir
Robert?” she said. “She’s your brother’s bairn, and the only one in the
family--and a tender bit thing, no used to unkindness, nor to be left
all her lane as if there was naebody left in the world. Oh, think upon
the bit thing sent into the wilderness! It is prophets and great men
that are sent there in the way of Providence, and no a slip of a lassie.
Oh, Sir Robert, think again! that’s no your last word?”
“Would you like me to ring for Haygate and have you turned out of the
house? If you stay another minute, that will be my last word.”
“Na,” said Beenie, “Haygate’s out, Sir Robert, and Tommy’s not the
lad----”
“Will you go, you vixen?” Sir Robert shouted at the top of his voice.
“I’ll go, since I cannot help it; but if it comes to harm, oh, Sir
Robert! afore God the wyte will be on your head.”
Beenie dried her eyes as she went sorrowfully upstairs. “The wyte will
be on his head; but, oh, the sufferin’ and the sorrow that will be on
hers!” Beenie said to herself.
But it was evident there was no more to be said. As she went slowly
upstairs with a melancholy countenance, she met at the door of the
drawing-room the three young ladies who had been--according to her own
description--“talking a’ the nonsense that came into their heads,” with
Lily in the midst, who was taking leave of them. “Oh, there is Robina,”
they all cried out together. “Beenie will tell us what it means. What is
the meaning of it all? She says she is going away. Beenie, Beenie,
explain this moment! What does she mean about going away?”
“Eh, my bonnie misses,” cried Beenie, “who am I that I should explain my
mistress’s dark sayings? I am just a servant, and ken nothing but what’s
said to me by the higher powers.”
There was what Beenie afterward explained as “a cackle o’ laughing” over
these words, which were just like Beenie, the girls said. “But what do
you know from the higher powers? And why, why is Lily to be snatched
away?” they said. Robina softly pushed her way through them with the
superior weight of her bigness. “Ye must just ask herself, for it is
beyond me,” she said.
Lily rushed after her as soon as the visitors were gone, pale with
expectation. “Oh, Beenie, what did he say?” she cried.
“What did who say, Miss Lily? for I do not catch your meaning,” said the
faithful maid.
“Do you mean to say that you did not go down stairs----”
“Yes, Miss Lily, I went down the stairs.”
“To see my uncle?” said the girl. “I know you saw my uncle. I heard your
voice murmuring, though they all talked at once. Oh, Beenie, Beenie,
what did he say?”
“Since you will have it, Miss Lily, I did just see Sir Robert. There was
nobody but me in the way, and I saw your uncle. He was in a very good
key after that grand dish of Scots collops. So I thought I would just
ask him if it was true.”
“And what did he say?”
Beenie shook her head and said, “No,” in dumb show with her pursed-out
lips. “He just said it was your own doing, and not his,” she added,
after this impressive pantomime.
“Oh, how did he dare to say so! It was none of my doing--how could he
say it was my doing? Was I likely to want to be banished away to
Dalrugas moor, and never see a living soul?”
“He said you wouldna yield, and he wouldna yield; and in that case, Miss
Lily, I ask you what could the like of me do?”
“_I_ would not yield,” said Lily. “Oh, what a story! what a story! What
have I got to yield? It was just him, him, his own self, and nobody
else. He thinks more of his own will than of all the world.”
“He said you would not give up your love--I am meaning young Mr.
Lumsden--no, for any thing he could say.”
“And what would I give him up for?” cried Lily, changing in a moment
from pale to red. “What do I ever see of Sir Robert, Beenie? He’s not up
in the morning, and he’s late at night. I have heard you say yourself
about that club---- I see him at his lunch, and that’s all, and how can
you talk and make great friends when your mouth is full, and him so
pleased with a good dish and angry when it’s not to his mind? Would I
give up Ronald, that is all I have, for Sir Robert with his mouth full?
And how does he dare to ask me--him that will not do a thing for me?”
“That is just it,” said Beenie, shaking her head; “you think a’ the
reason’s on your side, and he thinks a’ the reason is on his; and he’ll
have his own gate and you’ll have your will, and there is no telling
what is to be done between you. Oh, Miss Lily, my bonnie dear, you are
but a young thing. It’s more reasonable Sir Robert should have his will
than you. He’s gone through a great deal of fighting and battles and
troubles, and what have you ever gone through but the measles and the
king-cough, that couldna be helped? It’s mair becoming that you should
yield to him than he should yield to you.”
“And am I not yielding to him?” said Lily. “I just do whatever he tells
me. If he says, ‘You are to come out with me to dinner,’ though I know
how wearisome it will be, and though I had the nicest party in the world
and all my own friends, I just give in to him without a word. I wear
that yellow gown he gave me, though it’s terrible to behold, just to
please him. I sit and listen to all his old gentlemen grumbling, and to
him paying his compliments to all his old ladies, and never laugh. Oh,
Beenie, if you could hear him!” and here Lily burst into the laugh which
she had previously denied herself. “But when he comes and tells me to
give up Ronald for the sake of his nasty, filthy siller----”
“Miss Lily, that’s no Mr. Ronald’s opinion.”
“Oh!” cried Lily, stamping her foot upon the ground, while hot tears
rushed to her eyes, “as if that did not make it a hundred times worse!”
she cried.
And then there was a pause, and Beenie, with great deliberation, began
to take out a pile of dresses from the wardrobe, which she opened out
and folded one after another, patting them with her plump hands upon the
bed. Lily watched her for some moments in silence, and then she said
with a faltering voice: “Do you really think, then, that there is no
hope?”
Robina answered in her usual way, pursing out her lips to form the “No”
which she did not utter audibly. “Unless you will yield,” she said.
“Yield--to give up Ronald? To meet him and never speak to him? To let
him think I’m a false woman, and mansworn? I will never do that,” Lily
said.
“But you’ll no marry him, my lamb, without your uncle’s consent?”
“He’ll not ask me!” cried Lily, desperate. “Why do you torment me when
you know that is just the worst of all? Oh, if he would try me! And who
is wanting to marry him--or any man? Certainly not me!”
“If you were to give your uncle your word--if you were to say, ‘We’ll
just meet at kirk and market and say good-even and good-morrow,’ but nae
mair. Oh, Miss Lily, that is not much to yield to an old man.”
“I said as good as that, but he made no answer. Beenie, pack up the
things and let us go quietly away, for there is no help for us in any
man.”
“A’ the same, if I were you, I would try,” said Robina, taking the last
word.
Lily said nothing in reply; but that night, when she was returning with
Sir Robert from a solemn party to which she had accompanied him, she
made in the darkness some faltering essay at submission. “I would have
to speak to him when we meet,” she said, “and I would have to tell him
there was to be no more--for the present. And I would not take any step
without asking you, Uncle Robert.”
Sir Robert nearly sprang from his carriage in indignation at this
halting obedience. “If you call that giving up your will to mine, I
don’t call it so!” he cried. “‘Tell him there is to be no more--for the
present!’ That is a bonnie kind of submission to me, that will have none
of him at all.”
“It is all I can give,” said Lily with spirit, drawing into her own
corner of the carriage. Her heart was very full, but not to save her
life could she have said more.
“Very well,” said Sir Robert; “Haygate has his orders, and will see you
off to-morrow. Mind you are in good time, for a coach will wait for no
man, nor woman either; and I’ll bid you good-by now and a better
disposition to you, and a good journey. Good-night.”
And at seven o’clock next morning, in the freshness of the new day, the
North mail sure enough carried Lily and Robina away.