THE MINISTER'S PUBLISHER.
On the morning of the day on which Lord Earlshope paid this sudden
visit to Airlie, the Minister came down into the parlour of the
Manse, where Leezibeth was placing the breakfast things.
"Miss Cassilis is coming home to-day," he said.
"Atweel, I'm glad to hear't," said Leezibeth, uttering that peculiar
sigh of resignation with which most elderly Scotchwomen receive good
news.
The boys were all rejoiced to hear that Coquette was coming; for they
had not forgotten the presents she had promised them; and they knew
from of old that she was as little likely to forget. This being
Saturday, and a wet Saturday, too, they unanimously resolved to stay
at home, and play at "bools" in the lobby until Coquette should
arrive from Glasgow. But the restraint of this form of amusement
became insufferable. Leezibeth's remonstrances about their
noise--the Minister being then engaged with his sermon--at last drove
them out of the house and up into the hay-loft, where they had
unlimited freedom of action and voice.
When Leezibeth delivered to Andrew the necessary orders about the
dog-cart it was in a somewhat defiant way--she knew he would not
regard very favourably the return of the young lady. But Andrew kept
most of his grumbling to himself; and Leezibeth only overheard the
single word "Jezebel!"
"Jezebel!" she cried, in a sudden flame of anger. "Wha is Jezebel?
Better Jezebel than Shimei the Benjamite, that will be kenned for
ever by his ill-temper and his ill-tongue."
Leezibeth stood there, as if daring him to say another word. Andrew
was a prudent man. He began to tie his shoe, and as he stooped he
only muttered--
"H'm! If Shimei had had a woman's tongue, David micht hae suffered
waur. And it's an ill time come to us if we are a' to bend the knee
to this foreign woman, that can scarcely be spoken o' withoot
offence. Better for us a' if the Minister's brither had been even
like Coniah, the son of Jehoiakim. As it was said o' him, 'I will
cast thee out, and thy mother that bare thee, into another country,
where ye were not born, and there shall ye die. But to the land
whereunto they desire to return, thither shall they not return.'"
"Od, I wish Maister Tammas could hear ye!" said Leezibeth, in
desperation at being out-talked.
"Ay, ay, Maister Tammas; it was an ill day for him that she came to
the Manse. Mark my words, the Minister 'll repent him o't when he
sees his auldest son a wreck and a ruin, and a by-word i' the
country-side. Ay, indeed: when the young man turns away from his ain
folk, Leezibeth, to marry ane o' the daughters o' Heth."
"What for no?" cried Leezibeth, boldly. "Where could he wale out a
bonnier lass? I wish ye'd stop yer yaumering, and look oot some
plaids and rugs for the dog-cairt, for there's wind and rain enough
to last us for the rest o' the year."
A very surly man was Andrew Bogue when he set out at mid-day to drive
over to the station. He was enveloped so that only the tip of his
nose could be seen; for the wind was dashing heavy showers over the
moor, and the sea was white with the breaking of the great waves. It
was not a day to improve a man's temper; and when, at last, Coquette
arrived, Andrew was not the most pleasant person to bid her welcome.
Coquette was alone. Sir Peter was for accompanying her on the brief
railway journey; but she would not hear of it, as she knew that the
dog-cart would await her arrival. Coquette came out into the little
station. She asked Andrew to get her luggage; and while he was gone
she turned and looked up to the high country beyond which Airlie lay.
How dismal it looked! The wind was moving heavy masses of dull grey
cloud across the sky; and between her and the gloomy landscape
hovered the mist of the rain, underneath which the trees drooped, and
the roads ran red. She had no view of the sea; but the plain of
tumbling waves would not have brightened the prospect much. And so
at last she took her seat on the dog-cart; and hid herself in thick
shawls and rugs; and was driven away through the dripping and
desolate country. It was so different from her first coming hither!
"They are all well at Airlie?" she said.
"Weel aneuch," said Andrew; and that was all the conversation which
passed between them on the journey.
They drew near Earlshope, and Coquette saw the entrance to the park,
and the great trees hanging wearily in the rain. There was the strip
of fir-wood, too, near which she had parted with Lord Earlshope but a
short time ago, on that pleasant summer morning. The place looked
familiar, and yet unfamiliar. The firs were almost black under the
heavy sky; and there was no living creature abroad to temper the
loneliness of the moor which stretched beyond. It seemed to Coquette
that she was now coming back to a prison, in which she must spend the
rest of her life. Hitherto all had been uncertainty as to her
future, and she had surrendered herself to the new and sweet
experiences of the moment with scarcely a thought. But now all the
past had been shut up as if it were a sealed book, and there remained
to her--what? Coquette began to think that she had seen the best of
life; and that she would soon feel old.
She went into the Manse. It did not look a cheerful place just then.
Outside, damp and cold; inside, the wind had blown the smoke down one
of the chimneys, and the atmosphere of the house was a dull blue.
But Leezibeth came running to meet her; and overwhelmed her with
fussy kindness about her wet garments; and hurried her upstairs; and
provided her with warm slippers, and what not; until Coquette--who
had abandoned herself into her hands--became aware that she was
ungratefully silent about those little attentions.
"You are very kind to me, Leesiebess," she said.
"'Deed no, I'm fair delighted to see ye back, miss," said Leezibeth,
"for the Manse has been like a kirkyaird since the day ye left it.
The Minister has been shut up in the study from mornin' till nicht;
the laddies at the schule; and that cantankerous auld Andrew
grumbling until a body's life was like to be worried out. And I'm
thinking Glasgow doesna agree wi' ye, miss. Ye are looking a wee bit
worn and pale; but running about the moor will soon set ye up again."
"It is not pleasant to go on the moor now," said Coquette, as she
looked out of the window on the dreary prospect.
"But it canna be aye rainin'--though it seems to try sometimes," said
Leezibeth. "I wish it had been ordained that we should get nae mair
weet than the farmers want--it is just a wastery o' the elements to
hae rain pourin' down like that."
Then Coquette began to inquire why her uncle had not yet come to see
her; and Leezibeth explained that the Minister was fairly buried
alive in his books ever since he had began seriously to work at his
Concordance. So she ran downstairs, and went into the study, and
went up to him and dutifully kissed him.
The Minister looked up with dazed eyes, and a pleased look came into
the sad grey face.
"You have come back, my bairn? And you are well? And you have
enjoyed yourself in Glasgow?"
He failed to notice the somewhat tired air that had not escaped
Leezibeth's keen scrutiny.
"You have been hard at work, uncle, I can see; and I am come back to
interrupt it."
"Why?" said the Minister, in some alarm.
"Because I cannot let you kill yourself with your books. When the
weather does become fine again, you will go out with me, and leave
your books alone for a time."
"I cannot do that," he said, looking at the sheets before him. "I
have purposed having this work finished by the end o' the year, so
that, if I am spared and in health, I might even undertake another
with the incoming o' the new year. But sometimes I fear my labour
will be thrown away. I am not familiar wi' the booksellers and such
persons as undertake to bring out new works. The expense of it would
be far too great for my own means, and yet I do not know how to
recommend it to the notice of those whose business it is to embark
money in such enterprises. I do not desire any profit or proceeds
from the sale of the book, but I am not sufficiently acquainted with
such things to know whether that will be an inducement. The cost of
bringing out such a work must be great--Mr. Gillespie, the
schoolmaster, did even mention so large a sum as one hundred pounds,
but I am afraid not with sufficient caution or knowledge."
Coquette knelt down beside the old man, and took his hand in both of
hers.
"Uncle," she said, "I am going to ask you for a great favour."
"And what is it?"
"No, you must promise first."
"It is impossible--it is contrary to the teaching of Scripture to
promise what it may be impossible to perform," said the Minister, who
was perhaps vaguely influenced by the story of the daughter of
Herodias.
"Ah, well, it does not matter. Uncle, I want you to let me be your
publisher."
"What do you mean, Catherine?"
"Let me publish your book for you. You know my papa did leave me
some money; it is useless to me; I do nothing with it; it becomes
more and more every year, and does nothing for anybody. This would
be an amusement for me. I will take your book, uncle; and you shall
have no more of bother with it; and I will get it printed; and my
Cousin Tom--he will send me word how the people do buy it in Glasgow."
"But--but--but--" stammered the Minister, who could scarcely
understand at first this astounding proposal, "my child, this
generosity you propose might entail serious loss, which I should feel
more than if it were my own. It is a grave matter, this publishing
of a book--it is one that young people cannot understand, and is not
lightly to be undertaken. We will put aside this offer of yours,
Catherine----"
"No, uncle, you must not," she said, gently, as she rose and put her
hand on his shoulder. And then she drooped her head somewhat, as if
in shame, and said to him in a low voice, quite close to his ear: "If
my mamma were here, she would do it for you, uncle, and so you must
let me."
And then she kissed him again, and went away to call the boys, who
were rather anxiously awaiting that summons. They were taken up to
her sitting-room, and thither also came Leezibeth, partly to preserve
order, and partly to open one of Coquette's boxes, which was placed
on a side-table. Coquette, by this time, had plucked up her spirits
a little bit. The fire was burning more brightly in the room; and
Leezibeth had prepared some tea for her. And so, when this box was
finally opened, she proceeded to display its contents in the fashion
of a small show-woman; delivering a grave lecture to the circle of
boys, who looked on as hungry-eyed as hawks. That decorum did not
last long. In a very little while there was a turmoil in the room,
and boyish shrieks of laughter over Coquette's ironical jokes went
pealing all over the house. For she had brought this for that
cousin, and that for the other one; and there was a great deal of
blushing, of confused thanks, and of outrageous merriment. Coquette
seemed to have purchased an inexhaustible store of presents; and what
astonished them more than all was the exceeding appropriateness and
exceptional value of those gifts.
"Look here, Coquette," said Dugald, "who told you I lost that knife
with the corkscrew and the gimlet and the file in it--for this ane is
jist the same?"
"Look here, Dugald," remarked the young lady, standing before him.
"Will you please to tell me how you addressed me just now?"
"Oh," said Dugald, boldly, "the Whaup never called ye anything else,
and ye seemed well enough pleased."
Here there was some covert laughter at Coquette's expense; for these
young gentlemen had formed their own notion of the relations between
their brother and Coquette.
"Then," she said, "when you are as tall as the Whaup, and as
respectful to me as he is, you may call me Coquette; but not till
then, Master Dugald."
In the midst of all this noise, a sudden lull occurred. Coquette
turned and saw the tall, spare figure of her uncle at the half-opened
door, where he had been for some time an unperceived and amused
spectator of the proceedings. One or two of the boys had caught
sight of him, and had instantly curbed their wild merriment. But
even although this was Saturday, it was clear the Minister was not in
an impatient mood with their uproar. On the contrary, he walked into
the room, and over to Coquette, and put his hand affectionately on
her head.
"You are a very good girl, Catherine," he said.
The boys looked on this demonstration of kindliness with the utmost
surprise. Seldom, indeed, had they seen their father forget that
rigour of demeanour which the people in many parts of Scotland retain
as the legacy of Puritanical reticence in all matters of the feelings
and emotions. And then the compliment he paid to her!
"I hope you are not being troubled by those unruly boys, who have
much to learn in manners," said the Minister, with a tranquil
gravity. "But Leezibeth must see to that; and so, since you are come
home, Catherine, I begin to think I should like to hear the sound of
music again. I think the Manse has not been quite so cheerful since
you left, somehow; and I have missed you much in the evenings. As
for music, I have had occasion lately to notice how much King David
was in the habit of speaking of it, and of musical instruments, and
the singing of the voice. Perhaps we in this country have an
unwarrantable prejudice against music--an exercise that we know the
chosen people of the Lord prized highly."
It was now Leezibeth's turn to be astonished. To hear the Minister
ask for music on a Saturday--the day of his studying the sermon; and
to hear him disagree with the estimation in which that godless
pastime was held by all decent, sober-minded, responsible folk, were
matters for deep reflection to her, and not a little surprise and
pain. Yet in her secret heart she was not sorry that Coquette sat
down to the piano. Had she dared, she would have asked her to sing
one of the old Scotch songs that had first drawn her towards the
young French girl.
But Coquette, also remembering that it was Saturday, began to play
"Drumclog;" and the beating of the wind and rain without was soon
lost in the solemn and stately harmonies of that fine old air. And
then, as in days gone by, she played it sharply and triumphantly; and
a thrill went through the Minister's heart. He drew his chair nearer
to the piano; and heard the close of the brief performance with a
sigh.
"Catherine," he said, rather absently, "was there not a song you used
to sing about returning to your home after being away from it for a
time? It was a French song, I think; and yet the music of it seemed
to me praiseworthy."
"I do know that song," said Coquette, in a low voice, "But--but--I
cannot sing it any more."
The Minister did not notice the distress that was visible on her face.
"Yet perhaps you remember the music sufficiently to play it on the
instrument without the help of the voice," said the grey-haired old
man--apparently forgetting altogether that the boys were in the room,
and Leezibeth at the door.
Coquette began to play the air. It was the song that told of the
happy return to France after three long years of absence. She had
returned to her home, it is true--leaving behind her many wild, and
sad, and beautiful memories; and now that she was back at Airlie, it
seemed as though the desolate wind and rain outside were but typical
of the life that awaited her here. Coquette played the air as if she
were in a dream; and, at last, her cousin Dugald, standing at the end
of the piano, was surprised to see her face get more and more bent
down, and her fingering of the keys more and more uncertain.
"What for are ye greetin'?" he said to her, gently; but Coquette
could make no answer.