Chapter Twenty Two.
Young Mr Petrie.
That night Mr Dawson came to invite them to pass a few days at Saughleas. He “wearied” there alone in the mornings and the long evenings, and there was no good reason why he should be alone, when they could come to visit him without leaving any one but Nannie to miss them. Nannie putting in her word, said she would not object to being left since the change would be good for them both.
“And as Mrs Petrie asked you for a few days, Marion, my dear, if you like you can go there instead.”
“Oh! Miss Jean! If you please?”
Marion’s face fell so decidedly that Mr Dawson laughed and insisted that Marion must come also, and Miss Jean had nothing to urge against it since both were pleased.
“Mrs Petrie is very kind, but she canna really care very much; and I see some of them every day,” said Marion, fearing to appear ungrateful.
“Miss Jean will be all the better o’ her company when ye’re in the toon,” said Nannie privately to Mr Dawson. “And as to thae Petrie’s—we ha’e eneuch o’ some o’ them at a’ conscience;” which was Marion’s opinion also.
The days passed happily at Saughleas. Marion enjoyed the garden and the woods and fields, and every growing thing in them, as only they who have been long shut up in a dull house in a dull city street can do, and her delight in all that Saughleas had to offer was pleasant to see. Mr Dawson went to the town every day, but some days he did not stay there long, and Marion and he grew as friendly among the flowers and fields, as they had been among the wonderful sights of London during the first days of their acquaintance. The shyness which old associations had brought back since she came to Portie, passed quite away, and the frankness which had been her chief charm to the old man returned, and they took pleasure in each other’s company.
“I’m going over to the brae to see a fine new plough that Mr Maclean has got. Have ye a mind for a walk, my lassie?” said Mr Dawson as they met one afternoon in the kitchen garden behind the house.
Marion had been longing for a walk and was delighted to go. There was a cold wind blowing from the sea, and she went to the house for a shawl, but came back in a minute with a clouded face.
“The Petrie’s—at least young Mr Petrie is at the gate,” said she.
“And ye would rather bide at home? Weel—”
“Oh! no! But if I go in for the shawl he will see me; and it is not so very cold.”
“I doubt ye may find it some cold on the hill, but run ye away through the wood, and I’ll ask Phemie for a wrap of some kind.”
“And it winna be rude?—to Miss Jean, I mean—I’m no’ caring for Jamie Petrie.”
Mr Dawson laughed.
“He’ll think the mair o’ your company when ye come back,” said he.
It was a successful afternoon on the whole. They walked quickly at first through the fields, but when they got over the hill, they took it leisurely. Then Mr Dawson said a word about young Mr Petrie’s disappointment, and Marion looked grave.
“He is very kind—they are all very kind, and I am afraid you will think me ungrateful. Oh! yes, I like him well enough, but it was only the other night that he was at Miss Jean’s—”
“And I dare say he will come back again.”
“Oh! yes, I dare say he will. Oh! I like him well enough, but I get tired of him whiles.”
“Well, never think about it.”
“I’m no’ caring for him. But I hope Miss Jean winna be ill-pleased.”
“She needna ken that ye saw him,” said Mr Dawson much amused.
Marion shook her head.
“I doubt I’ll need to tell her.”
“Nonsense! It was my fault. Ye would ha’e stayed if I had bidden you.”
“Yes, that is true. And Miss Jean must see that I would far rather please you than Jamie Petrie.”
“That’s as may be, but for once in a way you may be excused.”
Though they were away for a long time, they found Mr Petrie sitting with Miss Jean when they returned.
“Come awa’,” said Miss Jean. “Where have ye been? and what can have keepit ye sae lang? Mr James and I have been wearyin’ for our tea.”
“Oh! well, ye’ll enjoy it all the mair for that, and so will we,” said Mr Dawson.
Marion went away to arrange her hair which the wind had blown about, and when she returned Mr Dawson was asking Mr James what news the afternoon’s post had brought. But Mr James had left before the post came in.
“Then you must have been here a good while. It is a pity that ye hadna been in time to go with us. We went over to the brae to see the new plough that the farmer has gotten. Miss Marion explained the philosophy of the thing to us.”
“Miss Marion is in some danger of becoming a learned woman, I hear,” said Mr James, with an uncomfortable smile on his lips.
“In danger? Oh! weel, I dare say ye’re right. I’m no’ sure but there is danger in it. I canna say that I think very learned women are best fitted for the kind o’ work that most commonly falls to a woman’s hand.”
“But for the work of a schoolmistress,” said Marion eagerly. “I am going to be a schoolmistress,—not a governess, not a teacher in a school merely, but the mistress of a school.”
“You mean if you cannot do better,” said Mr Petrie. “Better? But that is what I have been thinking about all my life. My plans are all laid—only—”
“But then you could just let them all drop, if any thing better should present itself, as James says. But what are your plans? if it be fair to ask,” said Mr Dawson. Marion did not laugh, but answered gravely, “First I must make ‘a learned woman’ of myself, and that will take a good while. I used to think I would have a young ladies’ school, but I have changed my mind. Young ladies are troublesome, and I think I would prefer to teach boys.”
Mr James whistled. Mr Dawson said, “Well, and what would you teach them?”
“Whatever they needed to learn. I can hardly tell yet about it. But Mrs Manners has promised me her boys.”
“She is to lose no time it seems,” said Miss Jean smiling.
“Oh! but you forget, I have to educate myself first. I am afraid I should have to be a great deal older before people would trust their boys to me. But that is what I mean to do.” Marion spoke gravely.
“And ye’ll do it too, if you set yourself to do it,” said Mr Dawson.
“And she could hardly set herself to a better work,” said Miss Jean.
But Mr Petrie by no means agreed with them, and expressed himself to that effect with sufficient decision. He ridiculed the idea, and being very much in earnest, he was not so guarded as he might have been, and allowed a tone of contempt to mingle with the banter which he meant to be playful, and at the same time severe. Marion answered lightly enough, and was in no danger of being angry as Miss Jean feared, and as, after a time, Mr James hoped she might be. The necessity of making his peace with her would have pleased the young man better, than her laughing indifference to his opinions, or to his manner of expressing them. But she was so friendly in her manner, and so willing to oblige him by singing his favourite songs when Miss Jean sent her to the piano, that he had no excuse for returning to the subject again.
His errand, he told them when he rose to go, was to ask Miss Marion to join his sisters and some of their friends in walking to the Castle the next day, and after an inquiring glance at Miss Jean the invitation was accepted with sufficient readiness.
“And if the day should not be fine, it is understood that you will spend it with my sisters, and the Castle can wait till fair weather.”
To this also Marion assented with a good grace, and the young man went away assuring himself that he ought to be content. He might have been less so, had he seen the shrug of her pretty shoulders, and heard her voice as she said to Miss Jean,—
“What should the like of James Petrie ken?”
When she was gone for the night, Mr Dawson, laughing, told Miss Jean of the manner of their departure for the brae that afternoon. Miss Jean looked grave.
“Ye dinna mean to say that ye think the lassie did any thing out of the way?” said Mr Dawson. “She said she doubted she would need to tell you, though I’m sure I canna see why.”
“I wasna thinking about that I was wondering whether after all, I had done a wise thing in bringing her down here.”
“I have wondered at that myself, whiles, though I acknowledge I had a part in bringing her. But it depends on what ye brought her for.”
Miss Jean said nothing.
“If it were to do young Petrie a pleasure, I think ye ha’e nothing to regret.”
But Miss Jean shook her head.
“I’m no’ so sure o’ that,” said she.
“As to how his father may be pleased, that is another matter.”
To this Miss Jean made no answer.
“And if I mind right, ye once thought Jamie Petrie would ha’e little temptation to look that way, and little chance of success if he did.”
“That is just what I thought, but I was wrong it seems as to the temptation. As to the success—I canna say, but—”
“But why should you be downcast about it?”
“It is for the lad I am sorry, because I doubt he has disappointment before him. He should have been content to bide awhile. She is but a lassie, with no such thoughts in her mind.”
“She looks like a woman.”
“Ay, she does that. But she is but a bairn in some things. She is no’ thinkin’ o’ him. She doesna even amuse herself with him. He is just Jamie Petrie to her, and that is all. I’m wae for the lad.”
“His father and mother will be all the better pleased.”
“That may be, but I dinna think it.”
Then Miss Jean told in few words a story to which Mr Dawson listened with varying feelings,—the story of James Petrie’s love and what was like to come of it.
He had seen her in London about six months since, Miss Jean said, and had made his admiration very evident to the mother whose surprise was great; for like the rest of the world she had given him credit for a degree of worldly wisdom greater than a serious attachment to a penniless girl would seem to imply. He made no formal declaration of his suit, to which indeed Mrs Calderwood would not have listened, as Marion was in her eyes little more than a child. In her heart she believed and hoped that his fancy would pass away, or be put by prudent thoughts out of his head, without a word spoken.
For she did not want him for her daughter. He was a rich man’s son, and would be a rich man himself one day. By years of steady attention to business, and by exemplary conduct generally, he had proved himself worthy of a certain confidence and respect. But whatever other people might think of him, he was not in the opinion of Mrs Calderwood worthy to have as his wife her beautiful and intelligent Marion, and she determined that he should not speak if she could prevent him.
Marion was pleased when he came, and liked him as she liked all the rest of the folk of Portie, who had been kind to her all her life, liking them all the more that she had left them, and saw little of them. Her mother feared that, flattered by his admiration, she might fancy it was more than liking that she felt for him, and that should he ask her to become his wife, she might accept him, and repent it all her life as many another woman has done. She must hear nothing of this till she was old enough to know her own mind about it, and wise enough to make no such terrible mistake.
But by and by, when there came friendly advances from the father and mother, showing that they were aware of their son’s feelings and intentions, and at least did not disapprove of them, Mrs Calderwood was much moved. Marion might at feast hope for a kindly welcome among the Petries. She was not sure that she was right in wishing that nothing might come of it.
There was another view to be taken of the matter. Her own health was by no means firm, and she had no expectation of living many years. Her son in his profession could hardly hope to give a home to his sister for years to come, nor could he give her personal care and guardianship should she be left alone. It was well enough for Marion to talk about making herself independent by keeping a school. Her mother had given her every chance to prepare herself for it, if such was to be the work of her life. But the girl was too young and too pretty to be fit for any such position for years to come, and the mother’s heart shrank from the thought of the struggle and the weariness that even in the most favourable circumstances such a life must bring to her child.
Was it right for her to hesitate when a home among her own people was opened to her? Might she not live a quiet and happy life, beloved and safe from the manifold difficulties and dangers that beset even the most successful women, making their own way in the world? A word of encouragement from her would make the young man speak, but whether to give it or withhold it she could not decide.
In the discomfort of her indecision she sought counsel of Miss Jean. But what could Miss Jean say but just what she had said to herself, that it must depend on Marion’s own feeling whether such a word should be spoken.
Out of this had come Miss Jean’s desire to bring Marion to Portie for a little while. The girl would learn to know the young man with so many pleasant chances of intercourse, as she never could do in his brief and infrequent visits to London, and she would also come to a better understanding of her own feelings with regard to him. It is likely that Mrs Calderwood understood her motive and intention, though no word passed between them with regard to it. All this Miss Jean told in as few words as might be to her brother. “I doubt it hasna answered,” added she. “Such plans seldom answer. But why should you take it to heart. They maun please themselves,” said Mr Dawson impatiently. “I acknowledge I am surprised that old Petrie should pitch on a penniless lass for his son. It is nae what I should ha’e expected of him, and I ken him weel.”
“He didna pitch on her, I doubt it is but making the best of a bad matter, with him. Mrs Petrie was ay fond o’ Marion, and she is a peacemaker. And James is as determined as his father and not altogether dependent on him. And the old man has the sense to see that his son must judge for himself. And any thing is better than dispeace in a family. And now that he has seen her again, the father likes Marion.”
“And are ye satisfied that such a marriage would be the wisest thing for her? James Petrie is a good business man, capable and honest. But when ye ha’e said that, it’s a’ there is to say. As for her—ye ken best about her.”
“There are few like her, and there are plenty like him. But if they loved one another, that would make them equal in a sense, and they might live happily enough. But she’s no’ thinkin’ about him.”
“But why should you vex yoursel’ about it.”
“I doubt I was wrong to bring her. And I’m sorry for the young man.”
“Oh! as to that, he’ll win over it, as he has done before. There is no fear.”
But Miss Jean still looked grave and troubled. “That was different. Our Jean was the most beautiful woman and the best match in the town, and no doubt he believed that he was in love with her, but this is different; and it will do him harm, I fear.”
“Well, I canna see that you are needing to make yourself responsible for Jamie Petrie’s well-being, if that is all.”
But that was not all. Miss Jean had anxious thoughts about others besides James Petrie. Her anxiety she could not share with her brother however, and she said no more.
Nor was Mr Dawson more inclined to carry on the conversation. The pain of past years was sharply stirring within him, though even his sister did not guess it from his words or his manner. Indeed he hardly knew it himself, till they fell into silence; but that night his head pressed a wakeful pillow, and the ghosts of old troubles came back upon him.
How vividly it came back to him, all that he had suffered in those nights long ago when he could not sleep for the pain and the anger and the utter disappointment in his hopes for his son! In those nights he had sometimes had a doubt whether he had wrought wisely toward the desired end, but he had never doubted as to the wisdom of that end—till to-night.
Was John Petrie, whose judgment when exercised beyond the even routine of business, he had never highly valued—was John Petrie showing himself wiser in yielding to the wishes of his son, than he had been in resisting the wishes of his?
What an influence for good in a man’s life must be the love of such a girl as Marion Calderwood. Had bonny Elsie been one like her? Remembering the sweet, calm eyes of the girl so long dead and gone, the gentle strength, the patient firmness by which she withstood not him alone, but her own mother whom she loved, rather than break her promise to the lad who loved her, he could not but doubt whether he had judged wisely then, and whether he had afterward dealt wisely with his son.
Ah, well! That was all past now, and good had come out of it to George. But would he ever forget? Would there ever come to his son’s home in future years one who would be to him all that Mary Keith had been to him. “He has not forgotten her,” he said to himself, remembering his pale looks when first his eyes fell on Elsie’s sister. But he was young yet, scarce five and twenty, and his life was before him, and all might be well. At any rate nothing could be changed now.
He had a troubled, restless night, and the first sight he saw when he looked out in the early morning was Marion walking up and down among the flowers. She was walking slowly, with a graver and more thoughtful face than she was used to wear in his presence. She saw the beautiful things around her, for she stooped now and then over a flower as she passed, and touched tenderly the shining leaves as she bent her head beneath the overhanging branches. But she was evidently thinking of other things, and paused now and then looking out upon the sea.
“A strong, fair woman,” he said. “She will make a man of James Petrie, if there’s stuff enough in him to work on—which I doubt. If they love one another—that is the chief thing, as Jean says, and the folk that ken them both will mostly think that she has done well.”
Miss Jean went in to Portie that day, having her own special work to attend to there, and it was understood that for this time the visit at Saughleas was over.
Marion went to the Castle with the rest, but she did not go with them to Mr Petrie’s house to pass the evening. She came straight to Miss Jean’s, having Mr James Petrie as her escort, and it so happened that Mr Dawson met them both on their way thither.
“Something has come to her since morning,” he thought as he watched her approaching.
She was walking rapidly and steadily, carrying her head high and looking straight before her, with the air of being occupied with her own thoughts, rather than with Mr Petrie’s eager, smiling talk.
“I’ll hear about it from Jean,” said Mr Dawson to himself, with a feeling of discomfort which he did not care to analyse.
But he heard nothing from Miss Jean. If she had any thing to tell, it could not be that which he had at first expected to hear. For young Mr Petrie, whom he saw as he saw him every day, did not carry himself like a triumphant lover, neither did he look downcast, as though he had met with a rebuff. He was just as usual, seemingly content with himself and with the world generally.
“I dare say it was but my own imagination,” said the old man, wondering a little that he thought about it at all.
He did not see Marion the next day when he called at Miss Jean’s house, nor the next, nor for several days, and friendly though they had become, he still felt a certain disinclination to ask Miss Jean about her. He caught a glimpse of her on the third morning as he was coming down the High-street, but she turned toward the shore before he came near. She had not seen him, he thought.
When he did see her at last, sitting sedately, her eyes and her hands occupied with her work in Miss Jean’s parlour, the same thought came into his mind.
“Something has happened to her. Some one has been saying something to vex her, whatever it may be. But young lasses are whiles easily vexed.”
The next time that Miss Jean was asked to spend a day at Saughleas, it rained heavily, and she could not go, and when she was asked again, Marion was engaged to go somewhere else, and Miss Jean went alone.
“Oh! ay, she is quite right to please hersel’,” said Mr Dawson coldly, when Miss Jean explained that it was necessary that she should go and visit Miss Spence that day, because the visit had been put off more than once before.
“Miss Spence was a friend of her mother lang syne,” said Miss Jean.
Mr Dawson did not ask, as he had meant to do, what had happened to vex the girl, though he guessed from Miss Jean’s manner, that whatever happened, it was known to her.