Lily kept the secret to herself as long as it was in mortal power to do
so. She sent Beenie off to bed, entirely mystified and unable to explain
to herself the transformation which had taken place, while she herself
lay down under the canopies of the “best bed” and watched the misty
moonlight on the moor, and pictured to herself that Ronald would be only
now arriving, after his long walk, at his homely lodging. But what did
it matter to him to be late, to walk so far, to traverse, mile after
mile in the dark, that lonesome road? He was a man, and it was right and
fit for him. If he had been walking half the night, it would have been
just what the rural lads do, proud of their sweethearts, for whom they
sacrifice half their rest.
“I’ll take my plaid and out I’ll steal,
And o’er the hills to Nannie O.”
That was the sentiment for the man, and Lily felt her heart swell with
the pride of it and the satisfaction. She had thought--had she really
thought it?--that he was too careful, too prudent, more concerned about
her fortune than her happiness, but how false that had all been! or how
different he was now! “To carry you off some day and laugh at Sir
Robert, for that is what it must come to, Lily.” Ah, she had always
known that this was what it must come to; but he had not seen it, or at
least she had thought he did not see it in the Edinburgh days. He had
learned it, however, since then, or else, which was most likely, it had
always been in him, only mistaken by her or undeveloped; for it takes
some time, she said to herself, before a man like Ronald, full of faith
in his fellow-creatures, could believe in a tyranny like Sir Robert’s,
or think that it was any thing but momentary. To think that the
heartless old man should send a girl here, and then go away and probably
forget all about her, leaving her to pine away in the wilderness--that
was a thing that never would have entered into Ronald’s young and
wholesome mind. But now he saw it all, and that passiveness which had
chilled and disappointed Lily was gone. That was what it must come to.
Ah, yes, it was this it must come to: independence, no waiting on an old
man’s caprices, no dreadful calculations about a fortune which was not
theirs, which Lily did not grudge Sir Robert, which she was willing,
contemptuously, that he should do what he pleased with, which she would
never buy at the cost of the happiness of her young life. And now Ronald
thought so too. The little flat high up under the tiles of a tall old
Edinburgh house began to appear again, looming in the air over the wild
moor. What a home it would be, what a nest of love and happiness! Ronald
never should repent, oh, never, never should he repent that he had
chosen Lily’s love rather than Sir Robert’s fortune. How happy they
would be, looking out over all the lights and shadows with the great
town at their feet and all their friends around! Lily fell asleep in
this beatitude of thought, and in the same awakened, wondering at
herself for one moment why she should feel so happy, and then
remembering with a rush of delightful retrospection. Was it possible
that all the world had thus changed in a moment, that the clouds had
all fled away, that these moors were no longer the wilderness, but a
little outlying land of paradise, where happiness was, and every thing
that was good was yet to be?
Beenie found her young mistress radiant in the morning as she had left
her radiant when she went to bed. The young girl’s countenance could not
contain her smiles; they seemed to ripple over, to mingle with the
light, to make sunshine where there was none. What could have happened
to her in that social hour when Robina was at supper with her friends,
usually one of the dullest of the twenty-four to lonely Lily? Whom could
she have seen, what could she have heard, to light those lamps of
happiness in her eyes? But Robina could not divine what it was, and Lily
laughed and flouted, and reproached her with smiles always running over.
“You were so busy with your supper you never looked what might be
happening to me. You and Katrin and Dougal were so full of your cracks
you had no eyes for a poor lassie. I might have been lost upon the moor
and you would never have found it out. But I was not lost, you see, only
wonderfully diverted, and spent a happy evening, and you never knew.”
“Miss Lily,” said Beenie, with tears, “never more, if I should starve,
will I go down to my supper again!”
“You will just go down to your supper to-night and every night, and have
your cracks with Dougal and Katrin, and be as happy as you can, for I am
happy too. I am lonely no more. I am just the Lily I used to be before
trouble came--oh, better! for it’s finer to be happy again after trouble
than when you are just innocent and never have learned what it is.”
“The Lord bless us all!” cried Beenie solemnly, “the bairn speaks as if
she had gone, like Eve, into the thickest of the gairden and eaten of
the tree----”
“So I have,” said Lily. “I once was just happy like the bairn you call
me, and then I was miserable. And now I know the difference, for I’m
happy again, and so I will always be.”
“Oh, Miss Lily,” said Beenie, “to say you will always be is just flying
in the face of Providence, for there is nobody in this world that is
always happy. We would be mair than mortal if we could be sure of that.”
“But I am sure of it,” said Lily, “for what made me miserable was just
misjudging a person. I thought I understood, and I didn’t understand.
And now I do; and if I were to live to a hundred, I would never make
that mistake again. And it lies at the bottom of every thing. I may be
ill, I may be poor, I may have other troubles, but I can never, never,”
said Lily, placing piously her hands together, “have that unhappiness
which is the one that gives bitterness to all the rest--again.”
“My bonnie lady! I wish I knew what you were meaning,” Beenie said.
Lily kept her hands clasped and her head raised a little, as if she were
saying a prayer. And then she turned with a graver countenance to her
wondering maid. “Do you think,” she said, “that Dougal or Katrin--but I
don’t think Katrin--writes to Uncle Robert and tells him every thing I
do?”
“Dougal or Katrin write to Sir Robert? But what would they do that for?”
said Beenie, with wide-open eyes.
“Well, I don’t know--yes, I do know. I know what has been said, but I
don’t believe it. They say that Sir Robert’s servants write every thing
to him and tell all I do.”
“You do nothing, Miss Lily. What should they write? What do they ken?
They ken nothing. Miss Lily, Sir Robert, he’s a gentleman. Do you think
he would set a watch on a bit young creature like you? He may be a hard
man, and no considerate, but he is not a man like that.”
“That’s what I said!” cried Lily; “but tell me one thing more. Do they
know--did he tell them why--what for he sent me here?”
A blush and a cloud came over her sensitive face, and then a smile
broke forth like the sunshine, and chased the momentary trouble away.
“Not a word, Miss Lily, not a word. Was he likely to expose himsel’ and
you, that are his nearest kin? No such thing. Many, many a wonder they
have taken, and many a time they have tried to get it out of me; but I
say it was just because of having no fit home for a young lady, and him
aye going away to take his waters, and to play himself at divers places
that were not fit for the like of you. They dinna just believe me, but
they just give each other a bit look and never say a word. And it’s my
opinion, Miss Lily, that they’re just far fonder of you, Mr. James’s
daughter, than they are of Sir Robert, for Dougal was Mr. James’s ain
man, and to betray you to your uncle, even if there was any thing to
tell--which there is not, and I’m hoping never will be--is what they
would not do. You said yourself you did not believe that Katrin would
ever tell upon you; and I’m just as sure of Dougal, that is very fond of
you, though he mayna show it. And then there’s the grand security of a’,
Miss Lily, that there is nothing to tell.”
“To be sure, that is, as you say, the grand security of all!” Then
Lily’s face burst into smiles, and she flung discretion to the winds.
“Beenie,” she said, “you would never guess. I was very lonely at the
window last night, wondering and wondering if I would just bide there
all my life, and never see any body coming over the moor, when, in a
moment, I saw somebody! He was standing among the heather at the foot of
the tower.”
“Miss Lily!”
“Just so,” said the girl, nodding her head in the delight of her heart,
“it was just--him. When every thing was at the darkest, and my heart was
broken. Oh, Beenie! and it’s quite different from what I thought. I
thought he was more for saving Uncle Robert’s fortune than for making me
happy. I was just a fool for my pains. ‘If he stands out, we must just
take it in our own hands; it must come to that; you must just prepare
your mind for it, Lily.’ That was what he said, and me misjudging and
making myself miserable all the time. That is why I say I will never be
miserable again, for I will misjudge Ronald no more.”
“Eh, Miss Lily!” Beenie said again. Her mind was in a confusion even
greater than that of her young mistress; and she did not know what to
say. If Lily had misjudged him, so had she, and worse, and worse, she
said to herself! Beenie had not been made miserable, however, by the
mistake as Lily had been, and she was not uplifted by the discovery, if
it was a discovery; a cold doubt still hovered about her heart.
“I will tell you the truth. I will not hide any thing from you,” said
Lily. “He is at Kinloch-Rugas; he is staying in the very town itself. He
has come here for the fishing. He’ll maybe not catch many fish, but
we’ll both be happy, which is of more importance. Be as long as you like
at your supper, Beenie, for then I will slip out and take my walk upon
the moor, and Dougal and Katrin need never know any thing except that I
am, as they think already, a silly lassie keeping daft-like hours. If
they write that to Uncle Robert, what will it matter? To go out on the
moor at the sunset is not silly; it is the right thing to do. And the
weather is just like heaven, you know it is, one day rising after
another, and never a cloud.”
“’Deed, there are plenty of clouds,” said Beenie, “and soon we’ll have
rain, and you cannot wander upon the moor then, not if he were the
finest man in all the world.”
“We’ll wait till that time comes, and then we’ll think what’s best to
do; but at present it is just the loveliest weather that ever was seen.
Look at that sky,” said Lily, pointing to the vault of heavenly blue,
which, indeed, was not cloudless, but better, flushed with beatific
specks of white like the wings of angels. And then the girl sprang out
of bed and threw herself into Robina’s arms. “Oh, I’ve been faithless,
faithless!” she cried; “I’ve thought nothing but harm and ill. And I was
mistaken, mistaken all the time! I could hide my face in the dust for
shame, and then I could lift it up to the skies for joy. For there’s
nothing matters in this world so long as them you care for are good and
true and care for you. Nothing, nothing, whether it’s wealth or poverty,
whether it’s parting or meeting. I thought he was thinking more of the
siller than of true love. The more shame to me in my ignorance, the
silly, silly thing I was. And all the time it was just the contrary, and
true love was what he was thinking of, though it was only for an
unworthy creature like me.”
“I wouldna be so humble as that, my bonnie dear. Ye are nane unworthy;
you’re one that any person might be proud of to have for their ain. I’m
saying nothing against Mr. Ronald, wha is a fine young man and just
suits ye very well if every thing was according. Weel, weel, you need
not take off my head. Ye can say what you like, but he would just be
very suitable if he had a little more siller or a little more heart. Oh,
I am not undoubting his heart in that kind of a way. He’s fond enough of
you, I make no doubt of that. It’s courage is what he wants, and the
heart to take things into his own hands.”
“Beenie,” said the young mistress with dignity, “when the like of you
takes a stupid fit, there is nothing like your stupidity. Oh! it’s worse
than that--it is a determination not to understand that takes the
patience out of one. But I will not argue; I might have held my tongue
and kept it all to myself, but I would not, for I’ve got a bad habit of
telling you every thing. Ah! it’s a very bad habit, when you set
yourself like a stone wall, and refuse to understand. Go away now, you
dull woman, and leave me alone; and if you like to betray me and him to
those folk in the kitchen, you will just have to do it, for I cannot
stop you; but it will be the death of me.”
“_I_ betray you!” said Beenie with such a tone of injured feeling as all
Lily’s caresses, suddenly bestowed in a flood, could not calm; but peace
was made after a while, and Robina went forth to the world as
represented by Katrin and Dougal with an increase of dignity and
self-importance which these simple people could not understand.
“Bless me, you will have been hearing some grand news or other,” said
Katrin.
“Me! How could I hear any news, good or bad, and me the same as in
prison?” said Beenie, upon which both her companions burst into derisive
laughter.
“An easy prison,” said Katrin, “where you can come and gang at your
pleasure and nobody to say, ‘Where are ye gaun?’”
“You’re on your parole, Beenie,” said Dougal, “like one of the officers
in the time of the war.”
“That is just it,” said Robina; “you never said a truer word. I’m just
on my parole. I can go where I please, but no go away. And I can do what
I please, but no what I want to do. That’s harder than stone walls and
iron bars.”
“But what can ye be wanting to do sae out of the ordinary?” said Katrin.
“Me, I thought we were such good friends just living very peaceable, and
you content, Beenie, more or less, as weel as a middle-aged woman with
nothing happening to her is like to be.”
“I wasna consulting you about my age or what I expected,” Beenie replied
with quick indignation. It was a taunt that made the tears steal to her
eyes. If Katrin thought it was such a great thing to be married, and
that she, Robina, had not had her chance like another! But she drew
herself up and added grandly: “It is my young lady that is in prison,
poor thing, shut out from all her own kind. And how do I ken that you
two are not just two jailers over her, keeping the poor thing fast that
she should never make a step, nor see a face, but what Sir Robert would
have to know?”
The two guardians of Dalrugas consulted each other with a glance. “Oh,
is that hit?” said Katrin. It is seldom, very seldom, that a Scotch
speaker makes any havoc with the letter _h_, but there is an occasional
exception to this rule for the sake of emphasis. “Is that hit” is a
stronger expression than “is that it.” It isolates the pronoun and gives
it force. Dougal for his part pushed his cap off his head till it hung
on by one hair. It had been Robina’s object to keep them in the dark;
but her attempt was not successful. It diverted rather a stream of light
upon a point which they had not yet taken into consideration at all.
Many had been the wonderings at first over Lily’s arrival, and Sir
Robert’s reason for sending her here, but no guidance had been afforded
to the curious couple, and their speculations had died a natural death.
But Robina’s unguarded speech woke again all the echoes. “It will just
be a lad, after a’,” Katrin said to her spouse, when Robina, perceiving
her mistake, retired.
“I wouldna say but what it was,” answered Dougal.
“And eh, man,” said his wife, “you and me, that just stable our beasts
real peaceable together, would not be the ones to make any outcry if it
was a bonnie lad and one that was well meaning.”
“If the lad’s bonnie or not is naething to you or me,” said the husband.
“I’m no speaking of features, you coof, and that ye ken weel; but one
that means weel and would take the poor bit motherless lassie to a hame
of her ain: eh, Dougal man!” said Katrin, with the moisture in her eyes.
“How do we ken,” said Dougal, “if there is a lad--which is no way
proved, but weemen’s thoughts are aye upon that kind of thing--that he
is no just after Sir Robert’s fortune, and thinking very little of the
bonnie lass herself?”
“Eh, but men are ill-thinking creatures,” said Katrin. “Ye ken by
yourselves, and mind all the worldly meanings ye had, when a poor lass
was thinking but of love and kindness. And what for should the gentleman
be thinking of Sir Robert’s fortune? He has, maybe, as good a one of his
ain.”
“No likely,” said Dougal, shaking his head. But he added: “I’ll no play
false to Maister James’s daughter whatever, and you’ll no let me hear
any clashes out of your head,” he said, with magisterial action striding
away.
“When it was me that was standing up for her a’ the time!” Katrin cried
with an indignation that was not without justice.