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There was worse advice, the Laird thought, than this; and, after some further remarks to the same effect, he really did set off for Camrachle with the express intention of doing everything in his power to heal the breach, and to conciliate again the affection and gratitude of his nephew.

CHAPTER LXXIII

As soon as the carriage had left the door, the Leddy resumed the conversation with her granddaughter.

‘Noo, Beenie Walkinshaw,’ said she, ‘I maun put you to the straights o’ a question. Ye’ll no tell me, lassie, that ye hae na flung stoor in your father’s een, after the converse that we had thegither by oursels the other day; therefore and accordingly, I requeesht to know, what’s at the bottom o’ this black art and glamour that ye hae been guilty o’? – whatna scamp or hempy is’t that the cutty has been gallanting wi’, that she’s trying to cast the glaiks in a’ our een for? – Wha is’t? – I insist to know – for ye’ll ne’er gar me believe that there’s no a because for your jookery pawkrie.’

‘You said,’ replied Miss, half blushing, half laughing, ‘that you would lend a helping hand to me with Walkinshaw Milrookit.’

‘Eh! Megsty me! I’m sparrow-blasted!’ exclaimed the Leddy, throwing herself back in the chair, and lifting both her hands and eyes in wonderment. – ‘But thou, Beenie Walkinshaw, is a soople fairy; and so a’ the time that thy father, – as blin’ as the silly blin’ bodie that his wife gart believe her gallant’s horse was a milch cow sent frae her minny, – was wising and wyling to bring about a matrimony, or, as I should ca’t, a matter-o’-money conjugality wi’ your cousin Jamie, hae ye been linking by the dyke-sides, out o’ sight, wi’ Walky Milrookit? Weel, that beats print! Whatna novelle gied you that lesson, lassie? Hech sirs! auld as I am, but I would like to read it. Howsever, Beenie, as the ae oe’s as sib to me as the ither, I’ll be as gude as my word; and when Dirdumwhamle and your aunty, wi’ your joe, are here the day, we’ll just lay our heads thegither for a purpose o’ marriage, and let your father play the Scotch measure or shantruse, wi’ the bellows and the shank o’ the besom, to some warlock wallop o’ his auld papistical and paternostering ancestors, that hae been – Gude preserve us! – for aught I ken to the contrary, suppin’ brimstone broth wi’ the deil lang afore the time o’ Adam and Eve. Methuselah himself, I verily believe, could be naething less than half a cousin to the nine hundred and ninety-ninth Walkinshaw o’ Kittlestonheugh. Howsever, Beenie, thou’s a – thou’s a – I’ll no say what – ye little dooble cutty, to keep me in the dark, when I could hae gi’en you and Walky sae muckle convenience for courting. But, for a’ that, I’ll no be devoid o’ grace, but act the part of a kind and affectionate grandmother, as it is well known I hae ay been to a’ my bairns’ childer; only I never thought to hae had a finger in the pye o’ a Clarissy Harlot wedding.’

‘But,’ said Robina, ‘what if my father should succeed in persuading James still to fall in with his wishes? My situation will be dreadful.’

‘’Deed, an that come to a possibility, I ken na what’s to be done,’ replied the Leddy; ‘for ye know it will behove me to tak my ain son, your father’s part; and as I was saying, Jamie Walkinshaw being as dear to me as Walky Milrookit, I can do no less than help you to him, which need be a matter of no diffeequalty, ’cause ye hae gart your father trow that ye’re out o’ the body for Jamie; so, as I said before, ye maun just conform.’

Miss looked aghast for a moment, and exclaimed, clasping her hands, at finding the total contempt with which her grandmother seemed to consider her affections, —

‘Heaven protect me! I am ruined and undone!’

‘Na, if that’s the gait o’t, Beenie, I hae nothing to say, but to help to tak up the loupen-steek in your stocking wi’ as much brevity as is consistent wi’ perspicuity, as the minister o’ Port Glasgow says.’

‘What do you mean? to what do you allude?’ cried the young lady terrified.

‘Beenie Walkinshaw, I’ll be calm; I’ll no lose my composity. But it’s no to seek what I could say, ye Jerusalem concubine, to bring sic a crying sin into my family. O woman, woman! but ye’re a silly nymph, and the black stool o’ repentance is oure gude for you!’

Robina was so shocked and thunderstruck at the old lady’s imputations and kindling animadversions, that she actually gasped with horror.

‘But,’ continued her grandmother, – ‘since it canna be helped noo, I maun just tell your father, as well as I can, and get the minister when we’re thegither in the afternoon, and declare an irregular marriage, which is a calamity that never happened on my side of the house.’

Unable any longer to control her agitation, Robina started from her seat, exclaiming, ‘Hear me, in mercy! spare such horrible – ’

‘Spare!’ interrupted the Leddy, with the sharpest tone of her indignation, – ‘An’ ye were my dochter as ye’re but my grand-dochter, I would spare you, ye Israelitish handmaid, and randy o’ Babylon. But pride ne’er leaves its master without a fa’ – your father’s weel serv’t – he would tak nane o’ my advice in your education; but instead o’ sending you to a Christian school, got down frae Manchester, in England, a governess for miss, my leddy, wi’ gum-flowers on her head, and paint on her cheeks, and speaking in sic high English, that the Babel babble o’ Mull and Moydart was a perfection o’ sense when compar’t wi’t.’

‘Good heavens! how have you fallen into this strange mistake?’ said Robina, so much recovered, that she could scarcely refrain from laughing.

‘Beenie, Beenie! ye may ca’t a mistake; but I say it’s a shame and a sin. O sic a blot to come on the ’scutcheon of my old age; and wha will tell your poor weakly mother, that, since the hour o’ your luckless clecking, has ne’er had a day to do weel. Lang, lang has she been sitting on the brink o’ the grave, and this sore stroke will surely coup her in.’

‘How was it possible,’ at last exclaimed Robina, in full self-possession, ‘that you could put such an indelicate construction on anything that I have said?’

The Leddy had by this time melted into a flood of tears, and was searching for her handkerchief to wipe her eyes; but, surprised at the firmness with which she was addressed, she looked up as she leant forward, with one hand still in her pocket, and the other grasping the arm of the elbow chair in which she was seated.

‘Yes,’ continued Robina, ‘you have committed a great error; and though I am mortified to think you could for a moment entertain so unworthy an opinion of me, I can hardly keep from laughing at the mistake.’

But although the Leddy was undoubtedly highly pleased to learn that she had distressed herself without reason, still, for the sake of her own dignity, which she thought somehow compromised by what she had said, she seemed as if she could have wished there had been a little truth in the imputation; for she said, —

‘I’m blithe to hear you say sae, Beenie; but it was a very natural delusion on my part, for ye ken in thir novelle and play-actoring times nobody can tell what might happen. Howsever, I’m glad it’s no waur; but ye maun alloo that it was a very suspectionable situation for you to be discovered colleaguing wi’ Walky Milrookit in sic a clandestine manner; and, therefore, I see that na better can be made o’t, but to bring a purpose o’ marriage to pass between you, as I was saying, without fashing your father about it till it’s by hand; when, after he has got his ramping and stamping over, he’ll come to himsel, and mak us a’ jocose.’

The conversation was continued with the same sort of consistency as far as the old lady was concerned, till Mrs. Milrookit and Dirdumwhamle, with their son, arrived.

Young Milrookit, as we have already intimated, was, in point of personal figure, not much inferior to James; and though he certainly was attached to his cousin, Robina, with unfeigned affection, he had still so much of the leaven of his father in him, that her prospective chance of succeeding to the estate of Kittlestonheugh had undoubtedly some influence in heightening the glow of his passion.

A marriage with her was as early and as ardently the chief object of his father’s ambition, as the union with his cousin Walkinshaw had been with her’s; and the hope of seeing it consummated made the old gentleman, instead of settling him in any town business, resolve to make him a farmer, that he might one day be qualified to undertake the management of the Kittlestonheugh estate. It is, therefore, unnecessary to mention, that, when Robina and her lover had retired, on being told by their grandmother they might ‘divert themselves in another room’, Dirdumwhamle engaged, with the most sympathetic alacrity, in the scheme, as he called it, to make the two affectionate young things happy. But what passed will be better told in a new chapter.

CHAPTER LXXIV

‘Indeed, Leddy,’ said the Laird of Dirdumwhamle, when she told him of the detection, as she called it, of Robina’s notion of his son – ‘Blood ye ken’s thicker than water; and I have na been without a thought mysel that there was something by the common o’ cousinship atween them. But hearing, as we often a’ have done, of the great instancy that my gude-brother was in for a match tweesh her and James, I could na think of making mysel an interloper. But if it’s ordaint that she prefers Walky, I’m sure I can see nae harm in you and me giving the twa young things a bit canny shove onward in the road to a blithesome bridal.’

‘I am thinking,’ rejoined his wife, ‘that, perhaps, it might be as prudent and more friendly to wait the upshot o’ her father’s endeavours wi’ James, – for even although he should be worked into a compliancy, still there will be no marriage, and then Robina can avow her partiality for Walky.’

‘Meg,’ replied the Leddy, ‘ye speak as one of the foolish women – ye ken naething about it; your brother Geordie’s just his father’s ain gett, and winna be put off frae his intents by a’ the powers of law and government – let him ance get Jamie to conform, and he’ll soon thraw Beenie into an obedience, and what will then become o’ your Walky? – Na, na, Dirdumwhamle, heed her not, she lacketh understanding – it’s you and me, Laird, that maun work the wherry in this breeze – ye’re a man o’ experience in the ways o’ matrimony, having been, as we all know, thrice married, – and I am an aged woman, that has na travelled the world for sax-and-seventy years without hearing the toast o’ “Love and opportunity”. Now, have na we the love ready-made to our hands in the fond affection of Beenie and Walky? – and surely neither o’ us is in such a beggary o’ capacity, that we’re no able to conceit a time and place for an opportunity. Had it been, as I had at ae time this very day, a kind of a because to jealouse, I’ll no say what – it was my purpose to hae sent for a minister or a magistrate, and got an unregular marriage declared outright – though it would hae gi’en us a’ het hearts and red faces for liveries. Noo, Laird, ye’re a man o’ sagacity and judgement, dinna ye think, though we hae na just sic an exploit to break our hearts wi’ shame and tribulation, that we might ettle at something o’ the same sort? – and there can be no sin in’t, Meg; for is’t no commanded in Scripture to increase and multiply? and what we are wis’ing to bring about is a purpose o’ marriage, which is the natural way o’ plenishing the earth, and raising an increase o’ the children of men.’

Much and devoutly as the Laird of Dirdumwhamle wished for such a consummation, he was not quite prepared for proceedings of so sudden and hasty a character. And being a personage of some worldly prudence, eagerly as he longed for the match, he was averse to expose himself to any strictures for the part he might take in promoting it. Accordingly, instead of acquiescing at once in his mother-in-law’s suggestion, he said jocularly,

‘Hooly, hooly, Leddy; it may come vera weel off Walky and Robina’s hands to make a private marriage for themselves, poor young things, but it never will do for the like o’ you and me to mess or mell in the matter, by ony open countenancing o’ a ceremony. It’s vera true that I see nae objection to the match, and would think I did nae ill in the way o’ a quiet conneevance to help them on in their courtship, but things are no ripe for an affhand ploy.’

‘I’m glad to hear you say sae,’ interposed Mrs. Milrookit; ‘for really my mother seems fey about this connection; and nae gude can come o’ ony thing sae rashly devised. My brother would, in my opinion, have great cause to complain, were the gudeman to be art or part in ony such conspiracy.’

The Leddy never liked to have her judgement called in question; (indeed, what ladies do?) and still less by a person so much her inferior in point of understanding (so she herself thought) as her daughter.

‘My word, Meg,’ was her reply, ‘but t’ou has a stock o’ impudence, to haud up thy snout in that gait to the she that bore thee. – Am I one of these that hae, by reason of more strength, amaist attain’t to the age of fourscore, without learning the right frae the wrang o’ a’ moral conduct, as that delightful man, Dr. Pringle o’ Garnock, said in his sermon on the Fast Day, when he preached in the Wynd Kirk, that t’ou has the spirit o’ sedition, to tell me that I hae lost my solid judgement, when I’m labouring in the vineyard o’ thy family? – Dirdumwhamle, your wife there, she’s my dochter, and sorry am I to say’t, but it’s well known, and I dinna misdoot ye hae found it to your cost, that she is a most unreasonable, narrow, contracted woman, and wi’ a’ her ’conomical throughgality – her direction-books to mak grozette wine for deil-be-lickit, and her Katy Fisher’s cookery, whereby she would gar us trow she can mak fat kail o’ chucky stanes and an auld horse shoe – we a’ ken, and ye ken, Laird, warst o’ a’, that she flings away the peas, and maks her hotch-potch wi’ the shawps, or, as the auld bye-word says, tynes bottles gathering straes. So what need the like o’ you and me sit in council, and the Shanedrims of the people, wi’ ane o’ the stupidest bawkie birds that e’er the Maker o’t took the trouble to put the breath o’ life in? Fey, did ye say? – that’s a word o’ discretion to fling at the head o’ your aged parent. Howsever, it’s no worth my condescendence to lose my temper wi’ the like o’ her. But, Meg Walkinshaw, or Mrs. Milrookit, though ye be there afore your gudeman, the next time ye diminish my understanding, I’ll may be let ye ken what it is to blaspheme your mother, so tak heed lest ye fall. And now to wind up the thread o’ what we were discoursing anent – It’s my opinion, Dirdumwhamle, we should put no molestation in the way o’ that purpose o’ marriage. So, if ye dinna like to tell your son to gang for a minister, I’ll do it mysel; and the sooner it’s by hand and awa, as the sang sings, the sooner we’ll a’ be in a situation to covenant and ’gree again wi’ Beenie’s father.’

The Laird was delighted to see the haste and heartiness with which the Leddy was resolved to consummate the match; but he said, —

‘Do as ye like, Leddy – do as ye like; but I’ll no coom my fingers wi’ meddling in ony sic project. The wark be a’ your ain.’

‘Surely neither you nor that unreverent and misleart tumphy your wife, our Meg, would refuse to be present at the occasion?’

‘’Deed, Leddy, I’m unco sweert; I’ll no deny that,’ replied Dirdumwhamle.

‘If it is to take place this day, and in this house, gudeman, I’m sure it will be ill put on blateness, both on your part and mine, no to be present,’ said Mrs. Milrookit.

‘Noo, that’s a word o’ sense, Meg,’ cried her mother, exultingly; ‘that’s something like the sagacity o’ a Christian parent. Surely it would be a most Pagan-like thing, for the father and mother o’ the bridegroom to be in the house, to ken o’ what was going on, and, fidging fain, as ye baith are, for the comfort it’s to bring to us a’, to sit in another room wi’ a cloud on your brows, and your hands in a mournful posture. Awa, awa, Dirdumwhamle, wi’ the like o’ that; I hae nae brow o’ sic worldly hypocrisy. But we hae nae time to lose, for your gude-brother will soon be back frae Camrachle, and I would fain hae a’ o’er before he comes. Hech, sirs! but it will be a sport if we can get him to be present at the wedding-dinner, and he ken naething about it. So I’ll just send the lass at ance for Dr. De’ilfear; for it’s a great thing, ye ken, to get a bridal blessed wi’ the breath o’ a sound orthodox; and I’ll gae ben and tell Beenie and Walky, that they maun mak some sort o’ a preparation.’

‘But, when they are married, what’s to become o’ them? – where are they to bide? – and what hae they to live upon?’ – said Mrs. Milrookit, anxiously.

‘Dinna ye fash your head, Meg,’ said her mother, ‘about ony sic trivialities. They can stay wi’ me till after the reconciliation, when, nae doot, her father will alloo a genteel aliment; so we need na vex oursels about taking thought for to-morrow; sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. But ye hae bonny gooses and a’ manner o’ poultry at the Dirdumwhamle. So, as we’ll need something to keep the banes green, ye may just send us a tasting; na, for that matter, we’ll no cast out wi’ the like o’ a sooking grumphie; or, if ye were chancing to kill a sheep, a side o’ mutton’s worth house-room; and butter and eggs, – I’m no a novice, as the Renfrew Doctor said, – butter and eggs may dine a provice, wi’ the help o’ bread for kitchen.’

In concluding this speech, the Leddy, who had, in the meantime, risen, gave a joyous geck with her head, and swept triumphantly out of the room.

CHAPTER LXXV

In the meantime, Kittlestonheugh, as, according to the Scottish fashion, we should denominate Squire Walkinshaw, had proceeded to Camrachle, where he arrived at his sister-in-law’s door just as Mrs. Eadie was taking her leave, with the intention of writing to her relation Mr. Frazer in behalf of James. As the carriage drove up, Mrs. Charles, on seeing it approach, begged her to stop; but, upon second thoughts, it was considered better that she should not remain, and also that she should defer her letter to Glengael until after the interview. She was accordingly at the door when the Laird alighted, who, being but slightly acquainted with her, only bowed, and was passing on without speaking into the house, when she arrested him by one of her keen and supreme looks, of which few could withstand the searching brightness.

‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said she, after eyeing him inquisitively for two or three seconds, ‘before you go to Mrs. Charles, I would speak with you.’

It would not be easy to explain the reason which induced Mrs. Eadie so suddenly to determine on interfering, especially after what had just passed; but still, as she did so, we are bound, without investigating her motives too curiously, to relate the sequel.

Mr. Walkinshaw bowed, thereby intimating his acquiescence; and she walked on towards the manse with slow steps and a majestic attitude, followed by the visitor in silence. But she had not advanced above four or five paces, when she turned round, and touching him emphatically on the arm, said, —

‘Let us not disturb the minister, but go into the churchyard; we can converse there – the dead are fit witnesses to what I have to say.’

Notwithstanding all his worldliness, there was something so striking in her august air, the impressive melancholy of her countenance, and the solemn Siddonian grandeur of her voice, that Kittlestonheugh was awed, and could only at the moment again intimate his acquiescence by a profound bow. She then proceeded with her wonted dignity towards the churchyard, and entering the stile which opened into it, she walked on to the south side of the church. The sun by this time had exhaled away the morning mists, and was shining brightly on the venerable edifice, and on the humble tombs and frail memorials erected nigh.

‘Here,’ said she, stopping when they had reached the small turfless space which the feet of the rustic Sabbath pilgrims had trodden bare in front of the southern door, – ‘Here let us stop – the sun shines warmly here, and the church will shelter us from the cold north-east wind. Mr. Walkinshaw, I am glad that we have met, before you entered yon unhappy house. The inmates are not in circumstances to contend with adversity: your sister loves her children too well not to wish that her son may obtain the great advantages which your proposal to him holds out; and he has too kind and generous a heart, not to go far, and willingly to sacrifice much on her account. You have it therefore in your power to make a family, which has hitherto known little else but misfortune, miserable or happy.’

‘It cannot, I hope, madam,’ was his reply, ‘be thought of me, that I should not desire greatly to make them happy. – Since you are acquainted with what has taken place, you will do me the justice to admit, that I could do nothing more expressive of the regard I entertain for my nephew, and of the esteem in which I hold his mother, than by offering him my only child in marriage, and with such a dowry, too, as no one in his situation could almost presume to expect.’

Mrs. Eadie did not make any immediate answer, but again fixed her bright and penetrating eye for a few seconds so intensely on his countenance, that he turned aside from its irresistible ray.

‘What you say, sir, sounds well; but if, in seeking to confer that benefit, you mar for ever the happiness you wish to make, and know before that such must be the consequence, some other reason than either regard for your nephew, or esteem for his mother, must be the actuating spring that urges you to persevere.’

Firm of purpose, and fortified in resolution, as Kittlestonheugh was, something both in the tone and the substance of this speech made him thrill from head to foot.

‘What other motive than my affection can I have?’ said he.

‘Interest,’ replied Mrs. Eadie, with a look that withered him to the heart, – ‘Interest; nothing else ever made a man force those to be unhappy whom he professed to love.’

‘I am sorry, madam, that you think so ill of me,’ was his reply, expressed coldly and haughtily.

‘I did not wish you to come here, that we should enter into any debate; but only to entreat that you will not press your wish for the marriage too urgently; because, out of the love and reverence which your nephew has for his mother, I fear he may be worked on to comply.’

‘Fear! Madam – I cannot understand your meaning.’

The glance that Mrs. Eadie darted at these words convinced him it was in vain to equivocate with her.

‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said she, after another long pause, and a keen and suspicious scrutiny of his face – ‘it has always been reported, that some of my mother’s family possessed the gift of a discerning spirit. This morning, when I saw you alight from your carriage, I felt as if the mantle of my ancestors had fallen upon me. It is a hallowed and oracular inheritance; and, under its mysterious inspirations, I dare not disguise what I feel. – You have come to-day – ’

‘Really, madam,’ interrupted the merchant testily, ‘I come for some better purpose than to listen to Highland stories about the second-sight. I must wish you good morning.’

In saying this, he turned round, and was moving to go away, when the lady, throwing back her shawl, magnificently raised her hand, and took hold of him by the arm —

‘Stop, Mr. Walkinshaw, this is a place of truth – There is no deceit in death and the grave – Life and the living may impose upon us; but here, where we stand, among the sincere – the dead – I tell you, and your heart, sir, knows that what I tell you is true, there is no affection – no love for your nephew – nor respect for his mother, in the undivulged motives of that seeming kindness with which you are, shall I say plainly, seeking their ruin?’

The impassioned gestures and the suppressed energy with which this was said, gave an awful and mysterious effect to expressions that were in themselves simple, in so much that the astonished man of the world regarded her, for some time, with a mingled sentiment of wonder and awe. At last he said, with a sneer, —

‘Upon my word, Mrs. Eadie, the minister himself could hardly preach with more eloquence. It is a long time since I have been so lectured; and I should like to know by what authority I am so brought to book?’

The sarcastic tone in which this was said provoked the pride and Highland blood of the lady, who, stepping back, and raising her right arm with a towering grandeur, shook it over him as she said, —

‘I have no more to say; – the fate of the blood of Glengael is twined and twisted with the destiny of Mrs. Charles Walkinshaw’s family; but at your dying hour you will remember what I have said, and, trembling, think of this place – of these tombs, these doors that lead into the judgement-chamber of Heaven, and of yon sun, that is the eye of the Almighty’s chief sentinel over man.’

She then dropped her hand, and, walking slowly past him, went straight towards the manse, the door of which she had almost reached before he recovered himself from the amazement and apprehension with which he followed her with his eye. His feelings, however, he soon so far mastered in outward appearance, that he even assumed an air of ineffable contempt; but, nevertheless, an impression had been so stamped by her mystery and menace, that, in returning towards the dwelling of Mrs. Charles, he gradually fell into a moody state of thoughtfulness and abstraction.