It was all like a dream, a scene without light or sound, shadows moving
in the faint twilight, at first not a word said. Beenie remained at the
door, holding the handle to guard the entrance. Katrin had risen up too,
and stood against the wall, trembling very much, but not betraying it in
this faint light. These two were in the light side of the room, the half
made visible by the window with its fading sunset glimmer. The other two
passed into the darker side and were all but lost to sight. A sudden
flicker of the fire caught the color of Lily’s dress and revealed her
outline for the moment. She had taken off her hat, not knowing why, and
the soft beaver with its feather was hanging down by her side in her
hand. Katrin made a step forward and relieved her of it, trembling lest
some dreadful voice should come to her ears out of the darkness, though
not seeing the minister’s eyes, which shot upon her a fiery glance. Then
he broke that strange haunted silence, in which so many thoughts and
passions were hidden, by his voice suddenly rising harsh, sounding as if
it were loud: it was not at all loud, it was, indeed, a soft voice on
ordinary occasions, only in the circumstances and in the intense quiet
it had a strange tone. To Ronald it sounded menacing, to Lily only half
alarming, as she knew no reason why it should be less kind than usual;
the women were so awe-stricken already that to them it was as the voice
of fate. The brief little ceremony was as simple as could be conceived.
The troth was not given, as in other rites, by the individuals
themselves, but simply said by the old minister’s deepening voice, which
he was at pains to subdue after the shock of the first words, and
assented to by the bride and bridegroom, Lily, to the half horror of the
two women, who gripped each other wildly in their excitement at the
sound, giving an audible murmur of assent, while Ronald bowed, which was
the usual form. “Yon’ll be the English way,” Katrin whispered to Beenie.
“Oh, whisht, whisht!” said the other. And then in the darkness there
ensued a few rolling words of prayer, the long vowels solemnly drawn
out, the long words following each other slowly and with a certain
grandeur of diction in their absolute simplicity, and the formula common
to all: “Whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.” And then
there was a little stir in the darkness and all was over.
“But there’s just this to say to you, young man,” came out of the gloom
from the old voice, quavering a little with feeling or fatigue:
“Forasmuch as ye have been wanting before, so much the more are ye
pledged now to be all a man ought to be to this young creature that has
trusted herself to you. If ever I hear an ill word of your conduct or
your care, and me living, you will have one to answer to that will have
it in his power to do you an ill turn, and will not refrain. Mind you
this: if I am in the land of the living, and know of any hairm to this
poor lassie, _I will not refrain_; and ye know what I mean, and that I
am one that will do what I say.”
“If you think I require to be frightened into loving and cherishing my
bonnie wife----” said Ronald, confused and alarmed, but attempting to
take a high tone.
“Oh, Mr. Blythe!” cried Lily, “how little you know!” She could speak in
the dark, where no one could see, though the light would have reduced
her to silence and blushes. She put her hand with a pretty gesture
within Ronald’s arm.
“I, maybe, know more than I’m thought to do,” he said gruffly; “light
that candle that you’ll find on the mantel-piece, and let us get our
work done.” The candle brought suddenly to light the confused scene, all
the party standing except the figure of the minister, large and
shapeless in his big chair. And there was a moment of commotion, while
one by one they signed the necessary papers, the young pair quickly, the
women with a grotesqueness of awe and difficulty which might have
transferred the whole scene at once to the regions of the burlesque.
Both to Katrin and Robina it was a very solemn business, slowly
accomplished with much contortion both of countenance and figure.
“Women, can ye not despatch?” Mr. Blythe said sternly. “My daughter may
be here any minute, the time of my supposed rest is over, and this
sederunt should be over too. Marget will be in from the kitchen with the
lamp.”
“Oh, Beenie, be quick, quick!” murmured Lily. She had feared to be
entreated with the constant hospitality of the Manse to wait until Helen
came, and to take tea. It gave her a curious wound to feel that this was
not likely to be the case, even though she was most anxious to escape.
She was indeed a little frightened for Marget and the lamp, and for
Helen and the tea; but it hurt her that the minister who had just made
her Ronald’s wife should have any hesitation. Feelings are not generally
so fine in rural places. A bride is one to be eagerly embraced, not kept
out of sight. Though, indeed, she did not want to see Helen or any one,
she said almost indignantly to herself.
“And now there are your lines, Mistress Lumsden,” the minister said.
“Keep them safe and never let them out of your own hands, and I wish ye
all that is good. If it’s been a hasty step or an unconsidered, it’s you
that will probably have to bear the wyte of it. I will not deceive you
with smooth things; but if there has been error at the beginning----”
“Excuse me,” said Ronald in a low fierce voice, “but there is snow in
the sky, and it’s already dark, and I must take my wife away.”
“Don’t you interrupt me,” said the old minister, “or I will, maybe, say
more than I meant to say. If there’s been error at the beginning, my
poor lassie, take you care to be all the more heedful in time to come.
Do nothing ye cannot acknowledge in the face of day. And God bless you
and keep you and lift up the light of his countenance upon you,” he
said, lifting up his arms. The familiar action, the familiar words,
subdued all the group in a moment. He had not meant with these words to
bless the bride that had been brought before him as poor Lily had been,
but it had been drawn from him phrase by phrase.
And then the door opened, and Lily found herself once more outside in
the keen air touched with the foretaste of snow which is so distinct in
the North. The sky was heavy with it for half the circle from north to
south, but in the west was something of that golden radiance still, and
a clear blueness above, and one or two stars sparkling through the
frost. She lifted her eyes to these with relief, with a feeling of
consolation. Was that the light of His countenance that was to shine
upon her? But below all things were dark and dreary. To the hurry of
excitement which had possessed her before something vexing, troublous,
had come in. She had wished, and was eager to hurry away, to escape
Helen, but why had she been hurried away, made to perceive that she was
not intended to see Helen? It was more fantastic than could be put into
words. And Ronald too was in so great a hurry, eager to get her beyond
the observation of the people coming from the market, almost to hide
her in a sheltered corner, while he himself went to get the pony.
“Nobody will see you here,” he said. She wished that nobody should see
her, but yet an uncalled-for tear came to Lily’s eyes as she stood and
waited. It looked almost as if it was a path into heaven, the narrow way
which was spoken of in the Bible, that strip of golden light with the
stars shining above. But it was not to heaven she wanted to go in the
joy of her espousals, on her wedding day. She wanted the life that was
before her--the human, the natural, the life that other women had; to be
taken to the home her husband had made for her, to be free of the bonds
of her girlhood and the loneliness of her previous days. But Lily did
not know, not even a step of the path before her. It rushed upon her now
that he had never said a word, never one definite word. She did not know
what was going to happen to-morrow. To-night it was too late, certainly
too late, to go further than Dalrugas, but to-morrow! She remembered now
suddenly, clearly, that to all her questions and imaginings what they
were to do he had never made one distinct reply. He had allowed her to
talk and to imagine what was going to be, but he had said not a word.
There seemed nothing, nothing clear in all the world but that one golden
path leading up into the sky. “Lift up the light of His countenance upon
you.” That did not mean, Lily thought, half pagan as the youthful
thinker so often is, the blessing that is life and joy, but rather that
which is consolation and calm. And it was not consolation or calm she
wanted, but happiness and delight. She wanted to be able to go out upon
the world with her arm in her husband’s and her head high, and to shape
her new life as other young women did--a separate thing, a new thing,
individual to themselves, not any repetition or going back. Standing
there in the dark corner, hidden till he could find the pony and take
her up secretly out of sight, hurrying away not to be seen by any
one--Lily’s heart revolted at these precautions, even though it had been
to a certain extent her own desire they should be taken. But, oh! it
was so different, her own desire! that was only the bridal instinct to
hide its shy happiness, its tremor of novelty and wonder. It was not
concealment she had wanted, but withdrawal from the gaze of the crowd;
but it was concealment that was in Ronald’s thought, a thing always
shameful, not modest, not maidenly, but an expedient of guilt.
Perhaps Ronald was just a little too long getting the pony; but he was
not very long. He had her safely in the little geeg, with all her wraps
carefully round her, before fifteen minutes had passed; but fifteen
minutes in some circumstances are more than as many hours in others.
Lily was very silent at first, and he had hard ado to rouse her from the
reflections that had seized upon her. “What are we going to do?” she
said out of the heaviness of these reflections, when all that found its
way to his lips was the babble of love at its climax. Was it that she
loved him less than he loved her? He whispered this in her ear, with one
arm holding her close, while Rory made his way vigorously along the
road, scenting his stable, and also the snow that was coming. Lily made
no answer to the suggestion. Certainly that murmur of love did not seem
to satisfy her. She was overcome by it now and then, and sat silent,
feeling the pressure of his arm, and the consciousness that there was
nobody but him and herself in the world, with the seductive bewilderment
of emotion shared and intensified, yet from time to time awoke sharply
to feel the force over again of that question: “What are we going to
do?” Oh, why had she not insisted on an answer to it before? The night
grew darker, the snow began to fall in large flakes. They were more and
more isolated from the world which was invisible round them, nothing but
Rory tossing his shaggy ears and snorting at the snow that melted into
his nostrils. By the time they reached the Tower, discovering vaguely,
all at once, the glimmer of the lights and the voice of Dougal calling
to the pony to moderate the impatience of his delight at sight of his
own stable, they were so covered with snow that it was difficult for
Lily to shake herself clear of it as she stumbled down at the great
door. “Bide a moment, bide a moment; just take the plaid off her bodily.
It’s mair snaw than plaiden!” cried Dougal. “Ye little deevil, stand
still, will ye? Ye’ll get neither bite nor sup till your time comes.
Have ye no seen the ithers on the road? Silly taupies to bide so long,
and maybe be stormsted in the end!”
“They’re on the road, Dougal,” cried Lily, with humility, remembering
that she had never once thought of Katrin and Beenie. “I am sure they’re
on the road.”
“They had better be that,” he said angrily. “What keepit them, I’m
asking? Sir, if ye’ll be advised by me, ye’ll just bid good-by to the
young leddy and make your way to Tam’s as fast as ye can, for every
half-hour will make it waur. It’s on for a night and a day, or I have
nae knowledge of the weather.”
“Half-an-hour can’t make much difference, Dougal,” said Ronald, with a
laugh.
“Oh, can it no? It’s easy to see ye ken little of our moor. And the e’en
will be as black as midnicht, and the snaw bewildering, so that ye’ll
just turn round and round about, and likely lie down in a whin bush, and
never wake more.”
A half shriek came from Lily in the doorway, while Ronald’s laugh rang
out into the night. “It will be no worse in half-an-hour,” he said.
“Ay, will it! There’s a wee bit light in the west the noo, but there
will be nane then. Heigh! is’t you? Weel, that’s aye something,” Dougal
said, as the other little vehicle, with its weight of snow-covered
figures, came suddenly into the light; and in the bustle of the second
arrival, which was much more complicated than the first, nothing more
was said. Katrin and Beenie had shaken off the awe of their conspiracy.
They were full of spirits and laughter, and their little cart crowded
with parcels of every kind. They had found time to buy half the market,
as Dougal said, and they occupied him so completely with their talk,
and the bustle of getting them and their cargo safely deposited indoors,
that the young couple stole upstairs unnoticed. “Tam may whistle for me
to-night,” Ronald said, “and Dougal growl till he’s tired, and the snow
fall as much as it pleases. I’m safe of my shelter, Lily. A friend in
court is worth many a year’s fee.”
“Who is your friend in court?” she said, shivering a little. The cold
and the agitation had been a little too much for Lily. Her teeth
chattered, the light swam in her eyes.
It was Katrin who was the Providence of the young people. She it was who
ordained peremptorily, not letting Dougal say a word, that to send Mr.
Lumsden off to Tam’s cottage on such a night was such a thing as had
never been heard of.
“I wouldna turn out a dog,” she cried, “to find its way, poor beast,
across the moor.”
“I warned the lad,” said Dougal; “I tell’d him every half-hour would
make it waur. It is his ain fault if he is late. What have you and me to
do harboring a’ the young callants in the country, or out of it, that
may come here after Miss Lily? You’ve just got some nonsense about true
love in your head.”
“Am I the person,” said Katrin, “to have true love cast in my face, me
that have been married upon you, Dougal, these thirty year? Na, na! I’m
no that kind of woman; but I have peety in my heart, and there’s a dozen
empty rooms in this house. I think it’s just a shame when I think of the
poor bodies that are about, maybe sleepin’ out on the cauld moor. I’ll
not take the life of this young lad, turning him away, and neither shall
you, my man, if you want to have any comfort in your ain life.”
“I warned him,” said Dougal; “if he didna take my warning, it’s his ain
wyte.”
“It shanna be mine nor yours either,” said Katrin, and, indeed, even
Dougal, when he looked out, perceived that there was nothing to be said.
The snow had fallen so continuously since their arrival that already
every trace, either of wheels or hoofs, was filled up. The whiteness lay
unbroken in the court-yard and up to the very door, as if no one had
come near the house for days. Sandy was in the stable with his lantern,
hissing over the little black pony as he rubbed him down; but even
Sandy’s steps to the stable were wiped out by the snow-storm. It covered
every thing, fair things and foul, and, above all, every trace of a path
or road.
“I’m no easy in my mind about what Sir Robert would say,” he muttered,
pushing his cap to his other ear.
“And what would Sir Robert say? If it had been a lad on the tramp, a
gangrel person or selling prins about the road, he would never have
grudged him a bed, or at the worst a pickle straw in the stable, on such
a night. And this is a young gentleman of the family of the Lumsdens of
Pontalloch, kent folk, and as much thought of as any person. Is’t a
pickle straw the laird would have offered to a gentleman’s son like
that? He’s just biding here till the storm’s over, if it was a week or a
fortnicht, and I’ll answer for it to the laird!” Katrin cried.
Dougal looked at her in consternation. “A week or a fortnight! It’s no
decent for the young leddy,” he said.
“It’s just a grand chance for the young lady--company to pass the time
till her, and her all her lane. If he will bide--but maybe he will not
bide,” said Katrin, with a sigh. Katrin, too, was a little anxious, as
Lily was, for what to-morrow would bring forth. She had but taken the
bull by the horns, in Dougal’s person, saying the worst that could be
said. “But it’s my hope, Beenie,” she said afterward, with an anxious
countenance, “that he’ll just take his bonnie wife away to his ain house
as soon as the snaw’s awa’.”
“Oh, ay! ye needna have any doubt of that,” said Beenie, with a broad
smile of content.
“Then you’ll just take off your grand gown and serve them with their
dinner. I have naething but the birds to put to the fire, and that will
take little time; and if they never had a good dinner before nor after,
they shall have one that any prince might eat, between you and me,
Robina, poor things, on their wedding night.”