CHAPTER XXIV.
[LUCKIE HOWDEN].
Roderick was certainly growing worse, although the rheumatic symptoms had disappeared. His voice was scarcely audible now, and he spoke with great difficulty. All through Tuesday there was a look of waiting and anxiety on his face. A step in the passage without, or a passing wheel on the road, and he would turn his eyes to the door, as though he expected some one. But no one came, wheels and footsteps alike passed on their way; and he would heave a weary sigh, turning his face to the wall. On Wednesday he was more restless, more depressed and certainly worse. He had not slept the night before, and at early daylight he had begun again to watch for coming steps, and to sigh as each passed on without turning in to him. Mary sat by him, and sat alone. Excepting the Doctor and Eppie Ness, no one came to share her watching, or to enquire how he was--their minister, for whom they had hitherto professed such regard, and to whose bounty so many were indebted for substantial pecuniary aid.
'I think it very unkind of Mrs. Sangster never to have come to ask after him,' she said, 'and it is strange as well, seeing that it was in her service he got so wet; but I am quite confounded at the neglect the rest of the parishioners are showing him.'
'Can you account for it, Eppie?'
'No, mem. Gin it bena just the way o' the world. "Them 'at gets, forgets." It's an auld sayin', and it looks as gin it was a true ane. An' they're a' that gleg, to tak up ilka daftlike clash 'at ony donnart haverel may set rinnin'. Whan a man has gaed out an' in amang them, an' gien them his strength an' his gear sae free, they micht think shame.' Here she stopped abruptly and in some confusion, as one whose tongue had outrun her discretion. She caught the look of bewildered surprise in Mary's face. 'But I'm thinkin' my ain tongue's rinnin' awa wi' me. I'm just clean angered wi' the doited gomerels.'
'I don't understand you, Eppie. There must be something going on we don't know about. What is it?'
'Hoot, mem, there's just naething ava! But I'm thinkin' ye'll better gae ben, the minister's steerin!'
Mary returned to her brother's bedside, but he told her he had not called. She took one of his books and strove to interest him by reading aloud, while she ran over in her mind all that had occurred in the neighbourhood for weeks past, and how it could in any way bear on their relations with the people. Roderick grew drowsy in time under the monotony of her voice, and she herself would shortly have fallen asleep, when the click of the latch was heard.
Both were awake in a moment, and starting round, beheld Kenneth Drysdale standing in the doorway.
'Is any body in?' he exclaimed, as he stepped into the room with a laugh. 'I have knocked three times and got no answer. You must both have been asleep. Ah! I see. A good book! That is just like my mother's reading on a Sunday afternoon. Good books give such peace of mind and repose of conscience, that the body shares in it too. One is sure to find her extended on her sofa any time between luncheon and the dressing bell. 'Meditating with her eyes closed,' she calls it; but from the regularity of her breathing, I would venture to call it by another name. Julia, now, reads French novels, and you won't catch her napping. Roderick, old man! Laid up?'
Roderick took his old friend's hand in both his own. It was a great and unexpected pleasure to see him. The stand he had taken on the Church question appeared to have severed him altogether from the family at Inchbracken, and it was by no means the least of the sacrifices he had felt bound to make for the truth. He had heard of Mary's visit to Inchbracken before taking to his bed at Gortonside, but since then his own physical pains, and the misery in his mind about Sophia's being about to marry the Manchester man, had so possessed him, that he had not spoken to her on the subject. If he had, he would have been less surprised at Kenneth's appearance; that is to say, if she had or could have explained; for in converse where looks and tones of the voice go so far to modify and even replace spoken language, it may be doubted whether she would have found anything she could have reported. She understood, and Kenneth understood, and each knew that the other understood; and yet what was there after all to tell? Until you found it necessary to make a disclosure to your mamma, dear Madam, and the gentleman now your husband made a formal statement to your papa,--pray what could you have said in your own case? And would it not have been impossible for you to say anything at an earlier period to enlighten your elders and save them from afterwards moralizing on the remarkable secrecy and cleverness of the young people in managing their tender affairs? A good deal of the same sort of thing passed on the present occasion. Kenneth talked mostly to Roderick, and both were happy to renew the old friendship. Mary sat by perfectly content. The portion of the conversation that fell to her share was not large, but there were looks and softenings of the voice, quiet smiles and comings and goings of a flush, that supplied all she waited to hear or desired to say.
Roderick felt refreshed by the visit, and when Kenneth, promising to come again very shortly, at last withdrew, the burden of living appeared lighter to him, and he lay back armed with new fortitude to bear and wait.
Kenneth had been gone but a few minutes when Eppie Ness in her turn had a visitor--an old woman, toothless and bent, limping on a staff, and with a covered basket on her arm. A grizzled elf-lock or two had escaped from the white sowback mutch which was bound to her head by a winding of broad black ribbon, and hung down over the glittering beadlike eyes. A hook nose and projecting chin nearly met in a bird-like beak over the fallen-in mouth, whence one surviving fang protruded with a grim witch-like effect. Her dress was dark blue linsey, and over it she wore, as on all occasions of ceremony, the scarlet cloak in which she had been 'kirket' as a bride fifty years before, and had worn unfailingly ever since, summer and winter, to kirk and market. It was Luckie Howden. She pushed open the door without ceremony, and stood in the middle of the kitchen looking about her. Eppie, with the child in her lap, sat by the fire and was crooning some old song in the endeavour to make it sleep.
'Hear til her noo! wi' her daft sinfu' sangs. Wraxin' the thrapple o' her like some screighin' auld craw! "Like draws to like," folk says, an' aiblins ye're no that faur wrang, gude wife, to be skirlin' the like til a merry-begotten wee din raiser, as that wein's like to turn out. But wadna "Bangor," noo, or "Saunt Neot's," or some douce tune like that, an' belike ane o' the waesome Psaulms o' penitence be fitter baith for the puir bairn an' its ill-doin' faither?'
'Haud yer lang, ill-scraipet tongue, Luckie Howden! We a' ken what maks ye sae bitter on the puir bairn. Gin ye'd gotten the tentin' o' her, an' three shillin's the week forby the feedin', ye'd hae thocht nae wrang; an' ye wadna hae been sae gleg to hearken to senseless lees, 'at ony body no clean doited micht ken better nor mind.'
'Ye ill-tongued limmer! Hoo daur ye even me to the like?'
'Ou ay! Ye're rael heigh, are na ye? But ye gaed fleechin' to Miss Mary for a' that, to get the bairn awa frae me, an' ye said ye'd tent her for half-a-crown. I'm thinkin' she'd no hae fared ower weel, the bonny lamb, gin ye'd hae gotten yer way. Ye'd hae shotten't by, wi' ait meal brue, an' drank the sweet milk yersel'!'
'An' gin I did speer Miss Brown for the bairn, was there ony wrang kenned anent it than? An' what for suld I no? Wad it no hae been weel for the bairn gin I had gotten my way! I hae raised twal o' my ain, an' I'm granny to naar twa score. But you! ye ne'er had but ane, an' ye kenned na hoo to guide it--made sae puir a job o't the Lord ne'er chanced ye wi' anither.'
'The Lord forgie ye! ye ill-tongued witch,' cried Eppie, while her brimming eyes overflowed. The image of her long-lost darling rose before her in all its winsome beauty, and she gathered up the baby in her lap, more closely to her motherly breast, and pressed it fondly for the sake of the one that was gone.
'An' sae gin ye hae the merry-begotten brat, an' the siller, ye maun e'en tak the disdain as weel. I'm blythe for mysel' noo, 'at the half-crowns didna come my gate. There war nane but decent men's bairns e'er lay in thae arms.' She stretched her spider-like tentacles, while the contents of her basket gave a warning rattle, 'An' that minds me I maun do my errand wi' the young man--I winna ca' him a minister, for the gown suld be strippet frae his shouthers; an' that's what it will be afore lang.'
'My certie! An' ye'se gang nae sic gate,' cried Eppie, rising and preparing to block the way. 'The minister's lyin' sair sick, an' he maunna be fashed wi' a randie auld tinkler wife's daft blathers. Set ye down! Though I winna say ye're walcome, an' I'se fesh Miss Brown.'
Miss Brown was fetched accordingly, she had overheard high words, and entered in some surprise.
'Mrs. Howden,' she said holding out her hand, 'so you have come at last to ask for the minister. The people seem to have cast us off altogether. Since he has been sick scarcely one has come to enquire for him.'
'Aweel, Miss Mary, an' it's no juist that has brocht me, ill doin' ye ken maun bring ill feelin'. Whan folk sees the abomination o' desolation sittin' in the holy place, as the Scripter micht word it, an the steward o' the Kirk's mysteries gien ower to the lusts o' the flesh, the douce Christi'n folk beut to hand awa. Touch not, taste not, haunel not, ye ken what the word says. An' I hae been thinkin', seein' hoo things hae come round, ye'll be best to tak tent o' yer bits o' dishes yersel', gin Eppie there can gar it gree wi' her walk an' conversation as a Christi'n wumman to mind that ill-faured scart o' a bairn, I see na at she may na keep yer teapat as weel!' So saying she lifted the cover of her basket, and proceeded to lay out the cups and saucers on the dresser.
Mary was too much astonished to say anything. She was glad to see the ware once more brought within reach of use, seeing that hitherto it had been a mere embellishment to the glass cupboard in the corner of Luckie Howden's cabin, a testimony to her piety and helpfulness to the church; but the cause and the manner of the restitution were beyond her comprehension. She glanced at Eppie for some explanation, but Eppie sat with lips compressed in determined silence, a flame of scarlet indignation burning on either cheek.
Luckie Howden went on arranging and counting the pieces of crockery. 'Twall cups an' twall sacers, four bread plates, an' twa bowls. Ye'll find that a' richt, Miss Brown. An' here's the bits o' siller things,' producing the teapot, over which she passed her hand with a regretful stroking motion, 'It's gotten neither clure nor dint i' my haunds. A' siller say ye? An' weel I wat it's bonny. Aiblins it's no sae bricht an' glintin' as it ance was. "Yer goold an' yer siller are become dim, yer garments are moth-eaten," that's what the Prophet Ezekil said til back-slidin' Isril lang syne, an' it's true yet! Wae's me, Miss Brown! 'at the white raiment o' yer puir wanderin' brither, 'at we ance thocht sae clean an' white, suld be spotted wi' the flesh after a'! But what's been dune i' the secret chaumer sall be proclaimed on the house heads afore lang. My certie! but he's been the lad to draw iniquity wi' cart ropes! an' to sin wi' the high haund! But it's a' fand out at last, he'll be peuten til open shame, an' be nae mair a steward o' the gospel mysteries in Glen Effick!'
"Ye'll find that a' richt, Miss Brown."
Page 190.
'I don't understand one word you say, Mrs. Howden,' cried Mary in open-eyed amazement. 'If our things are in your way you are perfectly right to bring them back, and it will not inconvenience us in the least to have them here. It was kind in you to give them house-room when we came to live in the village, and we are obliged to you for having taken such good care of them. But I don't understand what ground of offence my brother can have given you, or why you should speak of him in such extraordinary language.'
'I'm thinkin' ye'll hae to thole waur langidge nor that afore a's o'er, Miss Brown. An' aiblins ye ken mair nor ye wad like to let-on. I'm no yer judge, but we hae scripter for't, 'at refuges o' lees winna stand.'
'Think shame, woman!' cried Eppie, unable altogether to keep silence, though she still restrained herself, fearful of provoking a tempest and disturbing the sick man.
'An' what wad I think shame for? It's the ill doer 'at fears the ill word. I hae cleared my skirts this day. I shack the stour frae my very feet, an' I'm dune wi' the De'il an' a' his warks!' And shaking out the folds of her red cloak, with a stamp of either foot, she hobbled away.
'What does she mean, Eppie? And whatever it is, the rest of the people must think it too--Don't deny it, Eppie! you know all about it. I have seen so much as that in your face for several days. What is it?'
'It's naething ony sensible body wad heed. Just a wheen senseless havers. Ne'er fash yer thoomb, Miss Mary! It'll a' blaw ower.'
Miss Mary was resolute, however, and would be told. She sat herself down on a stool beside Eppie, and between coaxing and sheer pertinacity she at last prevailed on the old woman to speak. They sat together for some time with their heads very close, conversing in whispers.
'Oh how could any one believe so monstrous an invention?' she cried at last, her face suffused with crimson, while she kissed the sleeping baby, the innocent cause of so much confusion, and returned to her brother's room.