Alick Duff went away from the valley of the Rugas, calling on heaven and
earth to witness that he would never be seen there more, and that from
henceforward he was to be considered as an altogether shipwrecked and
ruined man. “There is nobody that will contradict you there,” the
minister said sternly, “and nothing but the grace of God, my man, for
all you threep and swear to make my poor Eelen meeserable, that would
ever have made any difference.” “And who will say,” cried Duff, “that it
was not just _her_ that would have been the grace o’ God?” The minister
shook his head, yet was a little startled by the argument. As for Helen,
she said little more to her strange lover. “It is no use speaking now.
There is nothing more to say. I cannot leave my father.” Lily, to whom
this story had come like a revelation in the midst of the quiet country
life which seems, especially in Scotland, never to be ruffled by
emotion, much less passion, and on whom it acted powerfully, restoring
her mental balance and withdrawing at least a portion of her thoughts
from herself, was a great deal at the Manse during this agitating
period, which was all the more curious that nothing was ever said about
it on the surface of the life which flowed on in an absolutely unbroken
routine, as if there was no impassioned despairing man outside in the
darkness waiting the moment to fling himself and his terrible needs and
wishes at Helen’s feet, and no terrible question tearing her heart
asunder. That it was there underneath all the time was plain enough to
those who were in the secret. The minister had an anxious look, even
when he laughed and told his stories; and Helen, though her serenity was
extraordinary, grew pale and red with an unconscious listening for every
sound which Lily divined. He might burst in at any moment and make a
scene in the quiet Manse parlor, destroying all the pretence of
composure with which they had covered their life, or, worse still, he
might do something desperate--he might disappear in the river or end his
existence with a shot, leaving an indelible shame on his memory, and
upon those who belonged to him, and upon her who, as the country folk
would say, “had driven him to it.” If she had married Alick Duff and
gone away with him, there would have been an unanimous cry over her
folly; but if in his despair he had cut the thread in any such
conclusive way, Helen never would have been mentioned afterward but as
the woman who drove poor Alick Duff to his death. There was a thrill of
this possibility even in the air of the little town, where he was seen
from time to time wandering about the precincts of the Manse, and where
every-body knew him and his story. But the most exciting thing of all to
Lily was to see the face and watch the ways of the excellent young
minister, Mr. Blythe’s assistant and successor, who went and came
through these troubled days, talking of the affairs of the parish,
sedulously restraining himself that he might not appear to think of, or
be conscious of, any thing else, but with a countenance which reflected
Helen’s, which followed every change of hers, yet when her attention was
attracted toward him, closed up in a moment, with the most extraordinary
effort dismissing all meaning from his countenance. Lily became
fascinated by Mr. Douglas, through whom she could read, as in a mirror,
every thing that was happening. He said not a word on this subject,
which, indeed, nobody spoke of, nor did he betray any consciousness of
the other man’s presence, about which even the maid in the kitchen and
the minister’s man, who never had been so assiduous in the discharge of
his duties as now, were so perfectly informed; but yet she felt sure
that something in him tingled to the neighborhood of his rival like an
elastic chord. He would come in sometimes pale, with a stern look in his
closely drawn mouth, and then Lily would feel sure that he had seen
Alick Duff in the way, waiting till Helen should appear. And sometimes
the lines of his countenance would relax, so that she felt sure he had
heard good news and believed that haunting figure to have gone away; and
then at a sound which was no sound outside, at the most trifling change
in Helen’s face, the veil, the cloud, would shut again over his face.
The manner in which Lily attained the possibility of making these
studies was that by the minister’s invitation, seconded, but not with
very much warmth, by Helen, she had come to the Manse on a visit of a
few days. Whatever prejudice Mr. Blythe had against her--and she was
sure he had a prejudice, though she could not imagine any cause for
it--had disappeared under the pressure of his own sore need. He himself
was helpless either to watch over or to protect his daughter, and in
despair he had thought of the other girl, herself caught in a tangle of
the bitter web of life, and full of secret knowledge of its
difficulties, who, though she was so much younger, had learned to some
degree the lesson which Helen was so slow to learn. “She’s but a girl,
but I’ll warrant she could give Eelen a fine lesson what it is to lippen
to a man,” the minister said to himself. He had no high view of human
nature, for his part. To lippen to a man seemed to him, though he had
been in that respect severely virtuous himself, the last thing that a
woman should do. For his own part he lippened to, that is, trusted,
nobody very much, and thought he was wise in so doing. To have Lily
there, seeing every thing with those young eyes, no doubt throwing her
weight on the other side, allowing it at least to be seen that a man was
not so easily turned round a woman’s little finger as poor Helen
thought, would be something gained in the absence of all other help. Mr.
Blythe had a tacit conviction that Lily’s influence would be on the
opposite side, though his chief reason for thinking so was one that was
fictitious.
This was how Lily came to be acquainted with all that was going on. They
all appealed to her behind backs, each hoping he or she was alone in
calling for her sympathy. “You will tell her better than I can; they
all distrust an old man. They think the blood’s dry in his veins and he
has forgotten he was once like the rest. And she will listen to him at
the last. The thought that he’s going away, to fall deeper and deeper,
and that strong delusion she has got that she can save him, will
overcome her, and I’ll be left in the corner of the auld Manse sitting
alone.”
“Oh, no, Mr. Blythe, never think that; Helen will not leave you.”
“I would not trust her, nor one of them,” he cried, and there in the
dark, sitting almost unseen beside the fire, his voice came forth
toneless, like that of a dead man. “I have never been thought to make
much work about my bairns: one has gone and another has gone, and it has
been said that the minister never minded. But there was once an auld man
that said: ‘When I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved.’”
Lily put her hand upon the large, soft, limp hand of the old minister in
quick sympathy. “She will never leave you,” she repeated: “you need fear
nothing for that--she will never go away.”
He shook his head and put his other hand for a moment over hers. “You
may have been led astray,” he said, “poor little thing! but your heart
is in the right place.”
Lily did not think or ask herself what he meant about being led astray.
She was too much occupied with Helen, who came in at the moment with the
thrill and quiver in her which was the sign that she had seen her lover.
The waning sunset light from the window which had seen so many strange
sights indicated this movement too, the tremor that affected her head
and slight shoulders like a chill of colder air from without. She said
softly as she passed Lily: “There is one at the door would fain speak a
word to you.” It was not a call which Lily was very ready to obey. She
had kept as far as possible out of the reach of Duff, and she had not
the same sympathy for him as for the others involved; indeed, it must be
allowed that, notwithstanding the charm of the romance, Lily’s feelings
were far more strongly enlisted on the side of the gentle and patient
young minister than on any other. She lingered, putting away some scraps
of work which had been on the table, until she could no longer resist
Helen’s piteous looks. “Oh, go, go!” she whispered close to Lily’s ear.
It was a blustering March night, the wind and the dust blowing in along
the passage when the Manse door was opened, and Lily obeyed, very
reluctantly, the gesture of the dark figure outside, which moved before
her to a corner sheltered by the lilac bushes, which evidently was a
spot very familiar. She felt that she could almost trace the steps of
Helen on the faint line which was not distinct enough to be a path, and
that opening among the branches--was it not the spot where she had
leaned for support through many a trying interview? Duff tacitly ceded
that place to Lily, and then turned upon her with his eyes blazing
through the faint twilight. “You are with them all day, you hear all
they’re saying. They’re all in a conspiracy to keep me hanging on, and
no satisfaction. Tell me: am I to be cast off again like an old clout,
or is there any hope that she’ll come at the last?”
“There is no hope that she’ll come; how could she?” cried Lily. “Her
father is old and infirm, Mr. Duff, she has told you. It is cruel to
keep her like this, always in agitation. She cannot; how could she? Her
father----”
“Confound her father!” he cried, swinging his fist through the air.
“What’s her father to her own life and mine? You think one person should
swamp themselves for another, Lily Ramsay. You’ve not been so happy in
doing that yourself, if all tales be true.”
“What tales?” cried Lily, breathless with sudden excitement; and then
she paused and said proudly: “Take notice, Mr. Duff, that I am not Lily
Ramsay to you!”
“What are you, then?” he cried, with a laugh of scorn. “If you’ve kept
your father’s name, you are just Lily Ramsay to Alick Duff, and nothing
else. Our forefathers have known each other for hundreds of years. There
was even a kind of a cousinship, a grandmother of mine that was a
Ramsay, or yours that was a Duff, I cannot remember; but if you expect
me, that knew you before you were born, to stand on ceremony--and
Lumsden too,” he added, in a lower tone, “whatever you may be to him.”
“If it was my concerns you asked me out here to discuss, I think I will
go in,” said Lily, “for it is cold out of doors, and I have nothing to
say to you.”
“You know well whose concerns it was. Is she coming? Does she understand
that it’s for the last time? I know what she thinks. I’ve been such a
fool hitherto she thinks I will be as great a fool as ever, and come
hankering after her to the stroke of doom. If she thinks that, let her
think it no more. This time I will never come back. I will just let
myself go. Oh, it’s easier, far easier, than to hold yourself in, even a
little bit, as I’ve done. I’ve always had the fear of her before my
eyes. I’ve always said to myself: ‘Not that! not that! or she will never
speak to me again;’ but now----” He swung his fist once more with a
menacing gesture through the dim air. It seemed to Lily as if he were
shaking it in the face of Heaven.
“And you don’t think shame to say so!” cried Lily, tremulous with cold
and agitation, and finding no argument but this, which she had used
before.
“Why should I think shame? There are things a woman like Eelen Blythe
can look over, but there are some you would not let her hear of, not to
save your soul. It’s a matter of saving a man’s soul, Lily Ramsay,
whatever ye may think. The worst is she knows every word I have to say:
there’s nothing new to tell her--except just this,” he said with
vehement emphasis: “that this time I will never come back!”
“And that is not new either. I have heard you tell her so fifty times.
Oh, man,” cried Lily, “cannot you go and leave her at peace? She will
never forget you, but she will accept what cannot be helped. Me, I fight
against it, but I have to submit too. And Helen will not fight. She will
just live quiet and say her prayers for you night and day.”
“Her prayers! I want herself to stand by my side and keep my heart.”
“You would be better with her prayers than with many a woman’s company.
Your heart! Can you not pluck up a spirit and stand for God and what is
right without Helen? How will you do it with her, then? You would mind
her at first--oh, I do not doubt every word she said--but then you would
get impatient, and cry: ‘Hold your tongue, woman!’”
“Is that,” he cried quickly, “what he says to you? He is just a sneaking
coward, and that I would tell him to his face!”
“You are a coward to call any man so that is not here to defend
himself!” cried Lily, wild with rage and pain, “though who you mean I
know not, and what you mean I care not. Never man spoke such words to
me, but you would do it, you are of the kind to do it. You have thought
and thought that she could save you, and then when you found it was not
so, you would be fiercer at her and bitterer at her than you have been
at your own self. Oh, let Helen be! She will never forget you, but she
will never go with you so long as her old father sits there and cannot
move in his big chair.”
“If I thought that----” he said, then paused. “If that’s what’s to come
of it all after more than a dozen years! Would I have been a vagabond on
the face of the earth if she had taken me then? I trow no. You will
think I am not the kind good men are made of? Maybe no; but there’s more
kinds than one, even of decent men. I would not drag what was her name
in the dust.”
“You think not,” said Lily, “but if you have dragged your father’s----”
“You little devil,” he cried, “to mind me of that!” and then he took off
his hat stiffly, and with ceremony, and said: “I beg your pardon, Miss
Ramsay, or whatever your name may be.”
“You are very insulting to me!” said Lily. “Why should I stand out here
and let you abuse me? What are you to me that I should bear it?” But
presently she added, softening: “I’m very sorry for you, all the same.”
She was hurrying away when he seized her by the arm and held her back.
“Do you see that? Am I to stand still and see that, and hold my peace
forever?”
The corner among the lilacs had this advantage, carefully calculated,
who could doubt, years ago? that those who stood there, though unseen
themselves, could see any one who approached the door of the Manse. The
young minister, Mr. Douglas, had come quietly in while they were
speaking: his footstep was not one that made the gravel fly. He stood,
an image of quietness and good order, on the step, awaiting admittance.
Scotch ministers of that date were not always so careful in their dress,
so regardful of their appearance, as this young Levite. He had his coat
buttoned, his umbrella neatly folded. He was not impatient, as Duff
would have been in his place, but stood immovable, waiting till Marget
in the kitchen had snatched her clean apron from where it lay, and tied
it on to make herself look respectable before she answered the bell.
Duff gripped Lily’s arm, not letting her go, and shaking with fierce
internal laughter, which burst forth in an angry shout when the door was
closed again and the assistant and successor admitted. “Call that a
man!” he said, “with milk in his veins for blood; and you’re all in a
plot to take her from me, and give her to cauld parritch like that!”
“He would keep her like the apple of his eye. There would no wind blow
rough upon her if he could help it!” cried Lily, shaking herself free.
“And you think that a grand thing for a woman?” he cried scornfully,
“like a petted bairn, instead of the guardian of a man’s life.”
“Oh, Alick Duff!” cried Lily, half exasperated, half overcome, “come
back, come back an honest man, for her father will not live forever.”
“What would I want with her then if I was all I wanted without her?” he
said, with another harsh laugh, and then turned on his heel, grinding
the gravel under his foot, and without another word stalked away.
How strange it was to go in with fiery words ringing in her ears and the
excitement of such a meeting in her veins, and find these people
apparently so calm, sitting in the little dimly lighted parlor, where
two candles on the table and a small lamp by Mr. Blythe’s head on the
mantel-piece were all that was thought necessary! Lily was too much
moved herself to remark how they all looked up at her with a certain
expectation: Helen wistful and anxious, the old minister closing his
open book over his hand, the young one rising to greet her, with almost
an appealing glance. They seemed all, to Lily’s eyes, so harmonious, the
same caste, the same character, fated to spend their lives side by side.
And what had that violent spirit, that uncontrollable and impassioned
man, with his futile ideal, to do in such a place? Mr. Douglas belonged
to it and fell into all its traditions, but the other could never have
had any fit place within the little circle of those two candles on the
table. When the pause caused by her entrance--a pause of marked
expectation, though none of the party anticipated that she would say a
word--was over, the usual talk was resumed, the conversation about the
parish folk who were ill, and those who were in trouble, and those to
whom any special event had happened. John Logan and the death of his
cows, poor things, who were the sustenance of the bairns; and the
reluctance of poor Widow Blair to part with her son, who was a
“natural,” and had just an extraordinary chance of being received into
one of those new institutions where they are said to do such wonderful
things for that kind of poor imbecile creature: this was what Helen and
her friend were talking of. The minister himself had a more mundane
mind. He held his _Scotsman_ fiercely, and read now and then out loud a
little paragraph; and then he looked fixedly at Lily behind the cover of
the newspaper, till his steady gaze drew her eyes to him. Then he put a
question to her with his lips and eyes, without uttering any sound, and
finding that unsuccessful, called her to him. “See you here, Miss Lily:
there’s something here in very small print ye must read to me with your
young eyes.”
“Can I do it, father?” said Helen.
“Just let me and Miss Lily be. She will do it fine, and not grudge the
trouble. Is that man hovering about this house? Is he always there? I
will have to send for the constable if he will not go away.”
“I hope he is gone for to-night, Mr. Blythe.”
“For to-night--to be back to-morrow like a shadow hanging round the
place. You’re a young woman and a bonnie one, and that carries every
thing with a man like him. Get him away! I cannot endure it longer. Get
him away!”
“Mr. Blythe----”
“I am saying to you get him away!” said the minister in incisive, sharp
notes. And then he added: “After all, the old eyes are not so much worse
than the young ones. Many thanks to you all the same.”