THE SCHOOLMASTER.
Coquette would have given much to have recalled these words. She
felt that they implied a promise; and that if she kept her promise
she would find herself hampered by the weight of a secret. Now, the
girl abhorred every sort of restraint that interfered with the
natural cheerfulness and lightness of her heart; and no sooner had
Lord Earlshope disappeared, than she began to dread this thing that
she had done. Why had he asked her to meet him? Why did not he come
to the Manse? And while she stood irresolute, wondering how she
could free herself from the chains that seemed likely to bind her,
the Whaup and his brother made a dash at the place of her concealment.
"Hillo!" cried her cousin Tom, "how did you come here?"
"I came in search of you," she said, glancing nervously round to see
that Lord Earlshope was out of sight.
"And you were spying on us, were you?" said the Whaup, with a laugh.
"Why do you ill-treat your brother so?" she said.
"It is no ill-treatment," he said, in his best English. "It is the
execution o' a sentence passed on him last night by the whole of us.
We are the Vehmgericht of this neighbourhood, Miss Coquette, and when
any one injures you appeal to us. You have only to name him and we
hamstring his cattle, set fire to his barns, and seize himself and
pull out his teeth. Eh, boys?"
There was a general chorus of assent.
"But you must not call me by that name any more," said the young
lady, with a blush.
"Not Coquette any more? I shall withdraw the name when I see you
don't deserve it," said the Whaup, with cool insolence. It was clear
he had "broken out."
The Whaup now dismissed his brothers, and proceeded to escort
Coquette back across the moor. He explained, however, that he did
not think it advisable for him to go into the Manse just then.
"Why?" said Coquette. "I told Mr. Cassilis all about it--he does not
think you to blame."
"That means," said her companion, "that you took the blame on
yourself. But you only know the half."
With which the Whaup broke into another fit of laughter. When he had
recovered, he told her the story. That morning, on issuing out, he
heard Andrew and Leezibeth talking about his cousin in a not very
complimentary fashion, and at once determined on revenge. There was
an outhouse in which were kept garden utensils, coals, and various
other things, and this outhouse had a door which was occasionally
obstinate. Now the Whaup seeing Andrew at the far end of the garden,
informed him that Mr. Cassilis wanted a spade brought to him; and
Andrew muttered "by and by." Meanwhile, the Whaup made his way to
the outhouse, opened the door, and shut himself in. Two or three
minutes afterwards, Andrew came and lifted the latch. The door would
not open. He shoved and shook; it would not open--for the simple
reason that the Whaup, who could see through a chink, had his foot
against it. At last, Andrew, obviously very angry, retired a few
yards--made a race--and threw the whole of his weight upon the door.
There was a crash, a stumble, a cry, and then a great pealing shriek
of merriment as the Whaup jumped out of the place, leaving Andrew
lying among a heap of tumbled pitchforks and hand-barrows. The door
had yielded so easily that Andrew had precipitated himself upon the
floor of the outhouse, and now lay groaning.
"I don't know what he said," remarked the Whaup, as he recounted the
adventure with great glee, "but it didna sound to me like the Psalms
of David."
"Tom," said his cousin, "you are a wicked boy. Why do you not give
up these school jokes? You are tall and strong enough to be a man:
why you behave as if you were at school?"
The Whaup was not in a repentant mood.
"I'm only half and between," said he. "I am a man some days--a boy
others. You can't expect me to change all at once, Miss Coquette."
"You must net call me that name," said she. "It is not fair--I am
not Coquette."
"Oh, indeed," said he. "When did you see Lord Earlshope?"
"This morning," said she, with a pout.
The Whaup was instantly sobered.
"Was Earlshope at the Manse?" he asked, coldly.
Now was the time for Coquette to make a full confession. Indeed, she
had admitted having seen Lord Earlshope that morning for the very
purpose of telling the Whaup all about her half-promise, and so
relieving her mind from its burden of secrecy. But as she looked at
him, she saw that his face had grown implacable. She had not the
courage to tell him. She said, in a timid way--
"He met me as I was coming to look for you, and walked a bit of the
way with me."
"How far?"
Coquette drew herself up somewhat.
"You have not the right to ask me such questions."
"I understand now," said the Whaup, calmly, "how you looked caught
when I found you at the bushes, and why you turned to look over the
moor. I daresay he had come there with you, and sneaked away----"
"Sneaked!--sneaked!" said Coquette, warmly (although she only guessed
at the meaning of the word), "I do not know what it is; but Lord
Earlshope is not afraid to be seen. Why should he be? What is wrong
in his going with me there? And you think I do not know what is
right for me to do?"
"Ah, well," said the Whaup, with an air of resignation. "I give you
up. I see you are just like other women."
"What do you mean?" said Coquette, angrily, though she kept her eyes
down.
"Nothing of any importance," said the Whaup, with a forced
carelessness. "You profess you were doing what was right and
fitting; but you have not explained why you should have sent
Earlshope away--after all, he is a man, and would not have sneaked
off except at your bidding--or why you carefully hid from the whole
of us that you had just left him. What was the reason of all that
concealment and hypocrisy?" he added, with a touch of indignation.
"I know you were doing no wrong--I have no fear in that way for one
that bears the name of Cassilis. But why make the pretence of having
done wrong? Why try to hide it? Isn't that very woman-like?--isn't
that very deceitful?--and I thought you were something different from
other women."
She was nearly confessing the truth to him--that she had resorted to
this unfortunate bit of concealment merely because she was afraid of
him. But she knew that if she made this admission she would probably
break down; and, as she would not show any such symptom of weakness,
she merely replied to him, with an air of proud indifference--
"I cannot help it, if I am a woman."
Thereafter, dead silence. The two walked across the moor, some
little distance apart, without uttering a word. When they reached
the Manse, Coquette went to her own room and shut herself up, feeling
very stern, determined, and wretched.
The Whaup, on the other hand, rendered desperate, resolved to deliver
himself up into the hands of justice. He walked into his father's
study in order to impeach himself and demand punishment (the Whaup
felt that banishment from Airlie would almost have been welcome
then), but Mr. Cassilis was outside in the garden. When the Whaup at
length perceived his father and approached him, he found that the
Schoolmaster was seeking an audience.
The Schoolmaster was a short, stout, red-haired man, with horn-rimmed
spectacles. He had a bushy red beard, and held his head well drawn
back; so that, but for his defective stature, he would have looked a
person of importance. However, Nature, not generous as regards
inches, had been kinder to him in his voice, which was deep and
sonorous; and it was the especial pride of Mr. Æneas
Gillespie--Schoolmaster, Parish Clerk, and Grand Aumoner of
Airlie--that he spoke a species of idiomatic English superior to the
talk of the common people his neighbours. It was only on rare
occasions that he forgot himself, and relapsed into the familiar and
expressive phraseology of the district.
"It is a fine--I might even say a beautiful--morning," he observed to
Mr. Cassilis, as he came up.
"A beautiful morning, indeed," said the Minister.
At this moment the Whaup made his appearance, and was at once saluted
by the Schoolmaster.
"Come along, young man," he said, in his stately tones, "we may ask
your aid, or, as I may say, your assistance, in this matter. Mr.
Cassilis, may I inquire of you what is your opinion of the present
Lord Earlshope--by which, I mean, do you think him a fit companion
for one o' your household?"
The Schoolmaster planted himself before the Minister, and fixed the
glare of his horn-rimmed spectacles on him.
"The question is a wide one, Mr. Gillespie," said the Minister, with
a smile. "I do not think we ought to set ourselves up in judgment
upon our neighbours who may have been brought up under different
lights from ours, and may surprise us at times, I admit, by their
conduct. Nor would it be fitting for them who try to walk according
to the Word to cut themselves off from all communication with people
who are less particular--for these might benefit by example and the
kindly teaching of acquaintanceship."
Mr. Gillespie shook his head.
"I would not interfere with your section of the public duties of this
parish," observed the Schoolmaster. "You are the arbiter of morals
and conduct, while I do my humble best--my endeavour, as I may
say--with the education of our joint charge. But if ye will let me
remark, sir, that we may be too easy with our judgment, and encourage
ungodliness by associating therewith. For I would ask ye, Mr.
Cassilis, if we are to draw no line between the good and the bad,
what is the good--what is the good, as I may say--of being good?"
The Whaup grew very red in the face, and "snirted" with laughter.
"There are, Mr. Cassilis," continued the Schoolmaster, without
pausing for an answer, "there are those who err knowingly, and should
not be encouraged; there are those who err in ignorance, and should
be informed. Of these last, by way of example, is Mrs. Drumsynie,
the wife of a carter in Dairy, who was taken home on Tuesday last
with a broken leg. Now, this woman had so far misconstrued the
workings of Providence, as I may say, that when her husband was
brought in to her on a shutter, she exclaimed, 'I thank the Lord we
will get something out o' the Society at last'--meaning the Benefit
Society, of which I am the secretary. This woman, as I judge, was
not to be taken as an irreverent or wicked woman, but as one
suffering from--or labouring under, as I may say--a misapprehension."
"I perceive, Mr. Gillespie," said Mr. Cassilis, gravely, "but ye were
observing----?"
"I am coming to the point, sir. And I think I cannot do better than
premise with a simple statement of fact. At this moment, or instant,
as I may say, your niece is out walking alone with Lord Earlshope."
The Whaup's face flushed with something else than laughter this
time--when he saw the object of the Schoolmaster's visit.
"Ye may premise what ye like," said the lad, indignantly, "but that's
a _doggont lee_!"
"Thomas!" cried the Minister, "ye shall answer for this afterward."
But the Whaup was determined to have it out with his enemy.
"At this moment, or instant, as I may say," he remarked (and the
Schoolmaster dared scarcely believe he was listening to such
insolence from a boy whom he had many a time thrashed), "Mr.
Cassilis's niece is in this house, and not with Lord Earlshope at
all. And suppose she had been, what then? Is it a crime for a girl
even to speak to him if she meets him? Is it worse than for an old
man to come spying and telling tales? And if an honest woman must
not walk with Earlshope, would an honest man sit down at his table?
And who was it, Mr. Gillespie, proposed Lord Earlshope's health at
the last tenantry dinner?"
This was a deadly thrust; and, having delivered it, the Whaup walked
off. He was angry that he had been goaded into defending Lord
Earlshope; but his zeal in the cause of Coquette had carried him
beyond such considerations. He looked up at her window rather sadly
as he passed.
"I suppose I shall be sent to Glasgow for this," he said to himself;
"and she does not know it was done for her sake."
The Schoolmaster and the Minister were left looking at each other.
"I am apprehensive of that lad's future," remarked the Schoolmaster,
"if he gives way to such unruly gusts of passion, and betrays the
symptoms--the evidences, I might even say--of a lawless and
undisciplined mind."
"We will leave that for the present, Mr. Gillespie," said the
Minister, rather impatiently. "I will examine his conduct later on.
In the meantime, you have something to say about my niece."
"She may be in the house----," began the Schoolmaster.
"She _is_ in the house," said the Minister, decisively. "None of my
boys has ever been known to tell a lie."
"At all events, Mr. Cassilis, with my own eyes did I see her walking
with that young man. That is all I have to say. I leave it to you
to judge whether such conduct is becoming to one who may be regarded,
or considered, as your daughter; or, indeed, whether it is safe for
herself. We have a duty--an obligation, I might even call it--to
consider how our actions look in the eyes of our neighbour, so as not
to offend, but to walk decently and uprightly----"
"Mr. Gillespie," said the Minister, interrupting him somewhat rudely,
"you may depend on it that my niece has no clandestine relations with
Lord Earlshope. It is not many days since they met each other for
the first time. I have no doubt that when you saw them together it
was but a chance meeting. You would not have them fly from each
other?"
The Schoolmaster shook his head. He was beginning a serious
discourse on the duties of "professors," when the Minister was forced
to remind his visitor that this was the morning on which he began his
studies for the succeeding Sabbath, and that he would be obliged to
postpone further mention of the matter at present.
"We may return to it again at a more convenient season," said the
Schoolmaster, as he took his leave, "seeing the importance of one in
your position, Mr. Cassilis, being above reproach in all your ways
and actions in this parish."
All that day, and all that evening, Coquette was very silent, proud,
and miserable. Once only she saw the Whaup; but he went away from
her in another direction. It was understood in the Manse that
something serious with regard to the Whaup was in the wind. For more
than an hour in the afternoon he was in his father's study; and when
he came out, he spent the rest of the day in looking over his live
pets--he supported a considerable stock of animals--and visiting his
favourite haunts in the neighbourhood, just as if he were going away.
Next morning Coquette met him at breakfast; he did not speak to her.
If he had even said good morning, she fancied she would have burst
into tears and begged his forgiveness, and told him all that
oppressed her. But again, as she saw him silent and reserved--grave,
indeed, far beyond his wont--she put it down to pride; and then she
in her turn grew proud, and closed her lips with an inflexible air,
and felt supremely wretched.
Some little time after they had dispersed from the breakfast table,
the Whaup saw Coquette cross the courtyard, with her small hat and
shawl on. When she perceived him, she walked rather timidly to him,
and said,
"I am going for a walk; I shall be glad if you will come with me."
"Where are you going?" he asked, coldly.
"In the direction I went yesterday. I promised to go; I do think it
likely I shall meet Lord Earlshope, that is why I want you to come
with me."
"You promised to meet him, and now ask me to join; no, thank you. I
should be the third wheel of the cart."
He turned and went away. She looked after him. A few minutes before
she had resolved she would not go for this walk; she would rather
break that slightly-given promise. Bub when she saw him go away like
that, her lips were again pressed proudly and determinedly together;
and she raised the latch of the green gate and passed out into the
moorland road.