The Guinea Stamp: A Tale of Modern Glasgow

by Annie S. Swan

owards the end of the second week Liz began to exhibit certain signs of restlessness, which ought to have warned those concerned in her welfare that the quiet and seclusion of Bourhill were beginning to pall upon her. As she improved in her bodily health her mind became more active, and she began to pine for something more exciting than country walks and drives. They were not altogether unobservant of the growing change in her, of course, but attributed it to a returning and healthful interest in the simpler pleasures of life. All this time George Fordyce had not come to Bourhill, nor had any letters passed between him and his promised wife. It would be too much to say that Gladys was quite indifferent to this; if her feelings were not very deeply involved, her pride was touched, and the first advances were not at all likely to emanate from her. Liz had lived in secret dread, mingled with a kind of happy anticipation, of meeting George Fordyce at Bourhill, and as the days went by, and there was no sign or talk of his coming, she began to wonder very much what it all meant. She was a remarkably shrewd person, and it did occur to her to connect her visit and the absence of Miss Graham's lover. One day, however, she put a question to Teen as they sauntered through the spring woods on the hill behind the house.

'I say, is't true that she is gaun to mairry Fordyce, Teen? It's no' like it. What way does he never look near?'

Teen looked keenly into her companion's face, to which that fortnight of complete rest and generous living had restored the bloom of health. Without planning very much, or artfully seeking to mislead the little seamstress, Liz had thrown her entirely off the scent. Such careless mention of her old lover's name, and her apparent indifference as to whether they should or should not meet at Bourhill, had entirely convinced Teen that he had no share in that part of Liz's life which she had elected to keep a sealed book.

'It's quite true that they are engaged,' she replied tranquilly; 'but maybe he's awa' frae hame. But nane o' them hae been here for a long time.'

'She disna seem to be much in earnest,' put in Liz flatly. 'I dinna believe mysel' that she cares a button for ony o' the lot; do you?'

'I dinna ken,' answered Teen truthfully. 'It disna maitter to us, onyway.'

'Maybe no'. Let's sit doon here a meenit, Teen; the sun's fine an' warm,' said Liz, and plumped down among the bracken, while Teen stood still under the jagged branches of an old fir tree, and looked 'her fill,' as she expressed it, of the lovely world at her feet. It was still a spring world, clothed in a most delicate and exquisite garb of green, waiting only for the touch of later summer to give it a deeper hue. There were many touches of white and pink bloom, showing in exquisite contrast where the hawthorn and the gean were in flower. Nor was the ground left with its more sombre hues unrelieved; the blue hyacinth, the delicate anemone, the cowslip, and the primrose grew thickly on every bare hillside and in all the little valleys, making the air heavy with their rich perfume.

And all the fields now made glad the hearts of those who had in faith dropped their seed into the brown soil, and the whole earth, down to the sun-kissed edge of the sea, rejoiced with a great joy. Nor was the sea less lovely, with the silvery sheen of early summertide on its placid bosom, and the white wings of many boats glistening in the sun.

'It's jist like heaven, Liz,' said the little seamstress, to whom these things were a great wonder, revealing to her a depth and a meaning in life of which she had not before dreamed. But to these hidden lovelinesses of Nature the eyes of Liz were closed; her vision being too much turned in upon herself, was dimmed to much that would have made her a happier and a better girl.