MY TALENTS BROUGHT STILL MORE IN REQUISITION.
Mrs Kennedy and I persevered, with the asperity o' hedgehogs, echini asperitate, (Pliny,) in our watch. Ae day, as I was sitting ben the house, where the parish register lies, the puir woman cam rinnin into the room, in a state of dreadful agitation, crying—
"There he's—there he's passing the very window—comin in, nae doubt, to gie in the names. Ah, traitor!"
"Be quiet, foolish woman," said I. "Awa again to the kitchen. There he is!" (there was now a loud knocking at the door;) "awa wi' ye to the kitchen!"
And I hurried her, obtorto collo, by the neck and shoulders, (for the exigency of the case obliterated every trace of my usual gallantry,) to the kitchen, whereinto I locked her, as firmly as guid smith's wark would permit. The prudence o' this preliminary step needs nae elucidation to them wha ken the nature o' a deserted wife. I then walked calmly to the door, which I opened slowly and decently, as became a session clerk.
"How do you do, Mr Willison?" said a man, with large, black, routhy whiskers, and a prominent nose, o' the aquiline, or romantic cut.
It was the very apparition o' the fever I caught in the Warlocks' Glen. He pretended never to have seen me before; but a blue mark on my forehead tingled the moment it caught his eye; and, as I unconsciously raised my hand to gie it the relief it asked, he smiled—a fair detection; but I said naething to shew that I recognised him.
"As weel as can be expected," answered I, without mair significancy or intelligence than a babe or suckling would have exhibited.
"That is the answer of a lying-in wife in Scotland," said he, still smiling.
"Unfortunately, nane o' us hae ony experience o' that yet," said I, "if I can guess your errand to a parish clerk."
"You do guess rightly," said he. "I came here to request you, sir, to publish these banns, on the next three successive Sabbaths."
I received the paper he held out. It contained the names and designation o' the twa parties—George Webster, residing at Burnfoot; and May Walker, dochter o' Gilbert Walker, residing at Langacres.
"Where are your certificates o' residence?" said I.
He handed me a certificate, signed and attested wi' apparent regularity, but which I was predetermined to doubt, wi' a' the obstinacy o' a guid dogmatic sceptic.
"I fancy you'll be the George Webster mentioned here yersel, Mr Hugh Kennedy," said I.
He started, at the very least, three guid thumb-measured inches, frae my floor. The stroke was nearly as pithy as that he applied to me in the Warlocks' Glen.
"That is my name in the certificate, there," said he, recovering.
"I ken that brawly, Mr Kennedy," said I. "George Webster's your present name; but I forget neither auld names nor auld friends. Some folk, wi' new-fangled notions, hae, now-a-days, three names. Even Mr Meiklejohn, guid man, baptized his son Finlay Johnstone Meiklejohn, to the admiration o' the twa-named congregation o' St Fillan's; but it canna be expected that, when the laddie comes up, we are aye to address him by his three names. It would be owre great an expense o' wind and time."
"I have neither wind nor time to spend in this foolery," said he. "That is my name in the paper, and there are your fees."
"I dinna want to quarrel wi' you, Mr Kennedy," said I, "because I hae owre muckle respect for Mrs Kennedy—Lucy Græme, the dochter o' Arthur Græme o' Sunnybrae, on Tweedside—and her bonny bairn, to get into a dispute wi' the husband o' the ane and the father o' the other. But I can keep a secret, man. What are ye alarmed about? Though ye knocked me doun in the Warlocks' Glen, I hae nae ill-will to ye. I dinna object to cry ye next Sabbath, wi' May Walker; but ae gude turn deserves anither—ye can do me a service."
This statement utterly confounded Mr Kennedy. He tried first to bluster and swear, denied the truth of my assertion, calmed, blustered again; in short, gaed through a' thae useless and affected turns and movements that a hooked salmon taks the unnecessary trouble to do before it turns up the white o' its wame.
"Calm yoursel, my dear sir," said I. "Mrs Lucy Kennedy is in my power, under my key. She daurna stir. Ye may be married and awa lang afore she kens onything about it, puir thing. We can settle a bit o' ordinar business without the interference o' a woman. I pledge ye ye'll neither hear nor see her, if ye'll promise to do me the favour I want aff ye."
He fell back again into a rantin fit—swore he didna understand me—threatened to lick me—seized me by the cravat—took awa his hand again—gaed to the door—returned—calmed—rose, and calmed again.
"What a trouble ye put yersel to, Mr Kennedy!" said I, calmly. "I want naething frae ye o' ony consequence. Ye're quite welcome to May Walker." (A sentimental whine here treacherously insinuated itself into my speech.) "She's a braw lass, and will be a rich lass. Her faither's ga' blether's fu' o' ga' stanes, or as my faither ca'es them, ga' nuts—a decided icterus or jaundice. My parent (ye ken he's sexton) says he's sure o' him in sax weeks, and, consequently, ye're sure o' yer tocher in that sma' period o' time. I dinna want to deprive ye o' a' thae blessings, though it's in my power, and I might be urged to't by baith love and revenge."
"What is't ye want, then?" roared he, at last, in a voice higher than Stentor's, while the fire flashed frae his ee in almost palpable scintillations o' fury.
"Just get yer sweetheart, May Walker," said I, softly, "to write twa lines to Simon Begley, or Beagle, as they ca' him, the fiscal o' the shire, passin frae her charge against me; and ye'll be cried on Sabbath, afore the congregation meets, and Mrs Kennedy will never hear o't."
"I'll admit naething aboot Mrs Kennedy," said he, as doggedly as a mule—"it's all an invention of the brain of a subtle dominie; but I'll get ye the line ye want, on condition that these idle fancies are lodged again safely in the addle-noddle where subtlety or folly engendered them, and when self-interest brought them to aid ye in a bad cause."
"It's dune," said I; "but mark ye, nae cryin till I get the discharge; at least, if I'm forced, as I may be, to do my duty, and ca' the names, there'll be somebody in the front seat o' the gallery to answer me. Ye understand, Mr Kennedy?"
Dartin a furious look at me, no unlike what a person might fancy o' the minotaur, he flew oot o' the hoose. As he passed the window, the yells o' Mrs Kennedy resounded through the house, and even, I believe, followed hard on the heels o' her husband, if they didna owretak him a'thegither, as he birred through the neeborin plantin like an incorporated personification o' fear. The moment he was oot o' sight, I liberated the puir, unfortunate woman frae her place o' confinement.
"Whar is my husband?" she cried—"whar is that dear man, wha, in spite o' a' his guile and treachery, I maun see ance mair, though it were only to hauld up in his face this bairn, and then drap doun at his feet, and dee?"
"Calm yersel, my bonny woman," said I, dautin her on the back like a bairn. "It's time enough to talk o' deein—a subject my faither likes better than I do—when I hae renounced my endeavours to get ye back yer husband. It's a' in a fair way. He's got the shot. Ye may see by the way he ran, he's got something better than sparrow hail. Be assured he'll come doun. A deevil couldna flee wi' the weight o' cauld lead he carries under his wing."
"God bless ye!" said she, "and prosper yer efforts! I'll wait yer time."
In twa hours after this, a man on horseback, bespattered wi' the red loam o' the Warlocks' Glen up to the chin, arrived at my door. He cam frae Langacres, and carried a letter, he said, for the session-clerk o' St Fillan's. I snatched the letter frae his hands in an instant; tearin it open wi' a' the anxiety o' a creature strugglin for his precious reputation. It was just what I wanted. I asked the man to come in and get some refreshment; and the very instant I had him fairly within the house, I shut the door on him, and, mountin his swift, roan-coloured mare, flew like lightnin to Simon Begley's. He was at hame. I handed him the letter. He said it was just the very thing he wanted, for he acknowledged that the public authorities had no wish to prosecute a case involvin the ruin o' a puir man; but, until they got out the discharge o' the private prosecutor, they had nae power to relinquish their proceedins. He assured me that everything was now at an end, and the sough o' the country would dree the fate o' a seven days' wonder.