CHAPTER XIV.
_SCANDAL_.
When Mrs. Sangster found herself safe in a human habitation, sherelaxed the tense control in which she had held her faculties, and letnature have its way.
She sank into a chair beside the fire, and trembled and shivered andwept profusely for some time. Mrs. Boague heaped fuel on the fire,removed her shoes, chafed her feet, disencumbered her by degrees ofher outer and wetter garments, which she hung up to dry, and wrappedher in warm plaids and blankets. The warm cup of tea which she thenoffered was fortified with a dash from her husband's private bottle,very privately added and not mentioned. It acted like a charm inrestoring vigour and composure to the way-worn lady.
'Your tea is most refreshing, Mrs. Boague. I feel greatly better, andvery thankful to you for your kind attention.'
'An' kindly welcome ye are, mem, an' mair I wad like to do gin I juistkenned what ye wad like. It's no often a kenned face, or ony face avafor that matter, comes by here-awa, forbye a wheen gillies, raxin'their breekless shanks alang the braes ahint the gentles. I'm a laichcountry woman mysel', an' I hae sma' brew o' the hieland folk, wi'their kilts an' their pipes, the daft antics. An' forbye that, we'reno e'y Hielands here! Ye'll gang twenty mile afore ye'll come on theGaelic. It's juist a maggit the General's gotten intil's heid, to pethis folk in kilts like a curran playactors, an' please my leddy whacam frae the North. An' are ye comin' round, mem? Ye were sairforfuchan whan ye gat down first.'
'Greatly better, thank you; I think I could take another cup of yourtea, it seems quite to invigorate me. The rich cream, I suppose, andthe fine mountain air. You have many mercies, Mrs. Boague, manymercies, and I hope you are duly thankful.'
'Ou ay, mem. Rael thankfu'; but I'm thinkin' it's what cam fraeStephen's crame pat 'at maks the tea sae nappy. It's Luckie Tuppeny'sgill stoup gae that crame, an' no the kye here-awa I'm thinkin'. An'as for thankfu'ness for our mercies, we beut a' to hae that, as theminister says. It's o' the Lord's mercies we're no consumed, gentleand simple thegither; we're a' John Tamson's bairns sae far as thatgangs, or aiblins Auld Nick's, wha kens? gin we dinna repent.'
'Ah! very true, and a solemn thought,' said Mrs. Sangster. She wasaccustomed to do the Scripture quoting and solemn warnings herself,when she visited her poorer neighbours, sandwiching her dole-breadwith rich and succulent slices of good advice; but here for once thetables were turned. It was Mrs. Boague this time, who was performingthe act of mercy, and she realized the privileges of her position.While proud and pleased to show hospitality to Mrs. Sangster, she wasnot going to submit to exhortation such as flesh and blood can onlytolerate in view of an eleemosynary accompaniment. Mrs. Boague saw inMrs. Sangster a fellow-member of the Free Church, a Christian sister,and was disposed to be very sisterly indeed. Mrs. Sangster likedChristian sisterhood too, but it was sisterhood with Lady GrizelPitlochrie, and other Free Churchwomen of noble birth. We all like tolook upwards, even in bestowing our best and purest affections, andfeel it easier to realize the brotherhood of man in connection withLord Dives in his coach, than with poor Lazarus who sweeps thecrossing, and gets the mud spatters from his Lordship's wheels.
Mrs. Sangster held the old-fashioned notion, that God, having made hera lady, meant her to rule, instruct, rebuke and direct the lowerclasses in the paths of holiness; but, alas! the Free Church movement,which gave this idea increased occupation, was sapping the foundationson which it rested. A secession from, and a protest against authorityin Church and State, it asked the rich to induce and influence thepoor, while itself courted them by dwelling strongly on their equalstanding in the Church. It has certainly led to a more democraticstate of feeling in the country, and this may or may not be a goodthing, according as the democracy is wise or the reverse. Meanwhile,it has loosened old ties of interdependence, and helped to widen thegulf between the classes; but then all advancement has to be paidfor--Adam and Eve got their eyes opened, but, to compensate, they wereturned out of the garden. The question in either case is, is the gainworth the price paid for it?
The price Mrs. Sangster had to pay for her entertainment, and she wasquick enough to see it at once and to submit, was familiarity: so sherepeated, 'Very true, indeed, Mrs. Boague, and really Stephen'scream-pot brings out the flavour of the tea. It's a grand idea, I mustgive Mr. Sangster some the next time he is kept late at a meeting ofthe Presbytery or the Kirk-session. He comes home so tired sometimes.These are searching times, Mrs. Boague, we have all need to keep ourloins girded and our lamps burning. But you know that yourself, Mrs.Boague. And a sweet quiet home you have here, and such fine healthychildren. It must be sweet to live here in the great solitude ofnature, and most imposing. Away from the temptations of the world, youmust have much time for meditation and the perusal of the Word.
'I'm no sae sure o' that, mem. Gin ye had sax bairns to tent an' skelpan' do for, ye'd find yer haunds braw an' fu', no to mention the itherclout that's aye wantin' on yer gudeman's breeks. It's sma' time I haefor Bible readin' 'at canna get a steek peuten in my ain claes whiles.Whaur wad I be gin I gaed meditatin', an' a' thae bairns wi' naethingi' their wee wames, skirlin' for a piece, round a teum aumbry? Na, na,mem! The better pairt's no for puir folk! gin that means glowerin' atprint. It maun be for you gentles, 'at gars ither folk do yer wark,an' sits a' day fornent the fire toastin' yer hirdies.'
'Ah, Mrs. Boague! wealth and station bring great anxieties, duties,and temptations. The rich are not to be envied.'
'Belike no, mem; but I ne'er saw the ane wad gie up the siller saelang as they cud hing on til't. An' as for the solitude o' natur, whatthocht ye o't yersel', whan ye cam spielin' doun the braeside an hoursyne?'
'Ah! Indeed, Mrs. Boague, that was a painful experience, and verythankful I am to be in bigget land again. Indeed, I almost gave uphope of ever coming down alive, and if it had not been for RoderickBrown, that good young man, I believe I would have stuck fast. It wasa fearsome road. We came through burns and down crags, but he hasbrought me safe down, like the good pastor he is, guiding thetrembling steps of a lamb of his flock.'
'Ou ay, mem; mony's the time my gudeman Stephen diz the same, whan hefinds some teough auld yow stucken faur up amang the scaurs. He juistpu's her doon by the lug an' the horn, an' she'll come hirplin' hameahint him, juist sic like as it micht be yersel'.'
'Ah yes! a shepherd's work. It seems an appropriate thing to have beendone by my pastor. Reminds one of many beautiful passages, and bringsthem home with a force which I feel most improving. I shall certainlymention it to the next minister I meet. Poor Roderick. He's young yet,and I could hardly expect him to guide me, that might be his mother,through the rough places of dark and difficult doctrines; but he hasdone his part in the physical difficulty, and no doubt in future yearshe may have a like privilege in spiritual things. Oh yes, a good youngman, and a faithful shepherd!'
'Wha kens? Gin a' the folk says be true, he's liker the wolf insheep's clothin' 'at's mentioned in Scripter, than a faithfu'shepherd. Gin I had a dochter come to the age o' speerin' for, its nohim suld come keekin' round my toun wi' his souple tongue an' his holysough, I'se warrant. But ye ken yer ain business, mistress, an', onygate, ye were wise to keep him in yer ain hands, an' no hae himdanderin' round wi' the lassie.'
'What do ye mean, woman? I have known Roderick Brown since he wasborn, and there never was a better, steadier, or more pious young manin the parish. Man or boy, you will hardly find his like between hereand Edinburgh.'
'Belike mem!--belike--Folk's a' gude till they're fand out. Wha kenswhaur ony o' us wad stand, gin a' was kenned? But ye see mem, it'slike a' to be fand out concernin' his misdoin's, an' it's but acracket pig, or a broken cistern his repitation's like to pruive whana's kenned.'
'Woman!--What do ye mean?'
'Wummin yersel' mem! I ken I'm a wummin, an' sae are ye! But I'm adecent man's wife, an' his name's Stephen Boague. Sae dinna misca' me.I'm no beggin'.'
'But what can you mean? No calumny
surely could touch the character ofMr. Brown!'
'I ken naething o' calumny, an' I never lee. But gin ye like to hearas was telled to me ye're walcome. Ye'll ken auld Tibbie Tirpie 'atbides down by Glen Effick, an' belike ye'll mind her lassie; youngTib, folk ca's her, a pridefu' scart 'at shoos whiles at the castle,an' cocks her neb ower ither folic, wi' her veil an' her parrysol an'the gumflowers in her mutch, like's decent folk was na gude eneugh forher! Aweel mem, an' wae I am to say the like o' ony puir lass, butshe's gane wrang, an' wha but the minister to blame for't.'
'Nonsense! Mrs. Boague, I don't believe a word of it!'
'Juist what I said mysel', mem. But bide a wee, till ye hear thepruifs. Ye see, mem, the lass gaed awa, naebody kenned whaur, an'fient a word spak her mither about it. An' lang she stayed, till aedark nicht, yon terrible nicht, ye'll mind it? Hame she comes e'ycoach, a' happit up, an' hidin' like, an' greetin' sair, an' out sheslinks at her mither's door, an' nane wad hae kenned ocht about it butfor Mistress Briggs my leddy's woman, down by. An' that same nicht,aff gaes the minister, in a' yon wind an' ren. It was lang afterdecent folk was in their beds, an' naebody was steerin' to see himgang. An' next day he brings hame a bairn, an' gies't til his sisterto tak tent on--the puir young leddy! To mak a fule o' her that gate,wi' a merry-begotten wein! That caps a', says I, whan I heard it. An'syne naething maun do but baptis't, an' mak a fule o' the Kirk'ssolemn ordinance. An' there was Tib, I saw her wi' my ain e'en, keekinower the folk's heads, like's she thocht shame to be at the preachin'ava, an sae weel she micht. An whan it cam to bringin' out the bairns,awa she slinks hame, wi the niepkin stappit in her mouth to keep inthe greet. I saw't a' mysel', mem, an what mair pruif wad a body hae?Folk dinna do their deeds o' darkness in day licht an' a' body lookin'on, sae it's juist by pettin' that an' that thegither, ye can houp tofind them out. But there's mair yet. O' Sawbith nicht whan a' wasdark, wha suld be seen comin' out o' Tibbie s door but the minister?An' wha gangs down to Peter Malloch's shop o' Monday mornin' butTibbie? an' she had siller wi'her, a pund note an' nae less. A note o'the Bank o' Peterhead, 'at naebody round here ever has but MesterBrown, an' his siller a' comes frae there. Noo, what say ye til a'that? Mistress Sangster. The wicked man diz his deeds e'y dark but theLord will bring them t'ey licht, that's what I say, an it's scriptur,or gye an like it. Belike it was a minister I heard preachin't--Butis't no terrible?'
'I am confounded, Mrs. Boague! Who ever could have supposed it? Butthe evidence is so circumstantial, it is impossible to doubt. It seemsprovidential that I should have come here to learn all this. And thathe should have presumed to come to Auchlippie, philandering afterSophia! Would nothing less than _my_ daughter do for him? Thereprobate! But oh! He shall smart for it!'
'Ca' canny! mem. Has the young leddy a kindness for him, think ye?It's sair wark to bawk young luve. He's a likely chield eneugh, an'micht mak no sae ill a gudeman, noo the daffin's by. It's no aye thewarst o' the men gangs wrang about the lasses. As for that limmer, TibTirpie, I'd bring her to shame. The cuttie stule's a' she's gude for,wi' her gumflowers an' her veils, cockin' her neb at decent folk, an'scancin' at my tuscan bonnet, that was gien me by my ain gudeman, theyear he married me. But, as I was sayin', gin the young leddy had arael kindness for him, ye're no bund to ken a' 'at gaed afore; and letbyganes be byganes. It'll a' blaw ower.'
'But there's nothing. He no doubt has paid my daughter some attention,or at least has come a great deal to the house; but she is far toowell-principled a young woman, to have any liking for a man who hasnot proposed and been accepted by her parents. In our rank of life,Mrs. Boague, things are not done exactly as they are in yours.'
'Aiblins no, mem. Ye think ower muckle o' the gear for that!' said theother, the radical once more rising within her, and the colour comingto her face. But the rattle of wheels without and a knock at the doorchanged the current of their thoughts, before the two had time to joinin wordy battle, in which, perhaps, victory might not have chosen thegentlewoman's side.
Mrs. Sangster, with profuse thanks and salutations, climbed into thetax-cart, while the anxious mother busied herself in pulling hernumerous brood from among the horse's feet. The vehicle at length wassafely started on its return down the glen, without damage done to anyof the children. Mrs. Boague returned indoors, bearing the mostrefractory of her offspring in her arms, and the last that was heardof her was the sound of maternal discipline and the wails of theculprit, echoing down the glen till it was smothered in the mist.
Arrived at the inn, Mrs. Sangster found the gentlemen ready fordinner. She grumbled at the delay, but submitted; she would, however,on no account allow the minister's repose to be disturbed, and assuredMrs. Tuppeny that with his delicate constitution, it might be as muchas his life was worth, to let him get up again that afternoon.
Having dined, the party made haste to be gone, under pressure of theold lady's impatience; for of all the anxieties of that anxious daythe most harassing to her now was that Roderick would come down andjoin them on the home-going. That would be dreadful, yet how was sheto forbid him? He had come as her guest, and he had, in allprobability, saved her life a few hours since on the hill. It neededadvice and consideration to decide what she should do or say at theirnext meeting, in view of the dreadful revelations of his depravitywhich had been made to her.
She wanted to sleep over it, and felt, to use her own pietisticphrase, deeply thankful, when at last the inn was safely vanishing inthe distance, without her having met him.
Had she but known she might have spared her fears. Roderick was reallyill; too ill to observe that she neither came nor sent to enquire forhim. He tossed about on the bed where he had lain down some hoursbefore, hardly asleep and not quite awake. The heat of a fire and afeather bed, too many blankets, and Mrs. Tuppeny's toddy, had thrownhim into something like a fever, yet fatigue and general oppressionhad stupified him past seeking relief. When the stupor lessened, adull hot aching was in every joint, and he moved restlessly on thebed. Then the heavy eyes would close again in a kind of slumber, butthe restless thoughts refused to go to sleep. An inarticulate anxietyclung to him, and he climbed up endless precipices in his dreams. Upand up he would drag himself, and anon Sophia would appear higher upstill on a peak above him, and he would climb and climb to reach her.As he approached, her features would change, and, slowly taking thelikeness of her mother, she would spurn him, and then with a cry hewould lose his hold, and begin to fall down and down through endlessdepths of nothing, till at last in utter panic his limbs would move,and the spell of the nightmare broken, he would awake.
Thus between waking and sleeping, the afternoon and the weary longnight wore away. The sun was shining at last upon another day, andthough manifestly ill, he was able to get into a gig and be drivenhome to Glen Effick.