Then she rose, and with her hair streaming over her shoulders, and the tears running down her cheeks, she clasped his hands, and said, "Oh, Mr Blair! you have been so kind. But what am I to do? what am I to do? The doctor says that mother's condition is very serious, and that another attack may be fatal, and I shall be left alone in the world with nobody to care for me." And here she broke down again.
Now, what could this unsophisticated lad do, wrought up as he was by various causes into a high state of excitement? What could he do but take her hand, and pat her on the shoulder, and, in his anxiety to soothe her, protest that he would take care of her? And other tender promises he made which he was afterwards told about, but which he did not remember.
Next morning he awoke with a curious, confused feeling which cannot be described. Amid all the confusion, however, there still started up the impression that he had said to Miss Bourhill many things which he ought not to have said. He feared, in fact, that he had given her the impression that he really loved her; and he resolved to lose no time in disabusing her mind. He would represent it as an ordinary flirtation, and would apologise most earnestly and humbly for trifling with her feelings. He was not going to allow his future prospects to be blighted, and he must set himself right at once, and at all hazards. But, unfortunately, this resolute plan of his was utterly foiled by unforeseen circumstances. No sooner had he stepped out of his bedroom into the passage than Miss Bourhill, radiant with the consciousness of one who was both loving and beloved, and looking really beautiful, had thrown her arms around his neck and was embracing him; and her mother, glowing with recovered health, came up and saluted him also.
"Mother," said the daughter, "this is my future husband."
And the mother, blessing them fervently, protested that he was the very one whom she herself would have chosen, and congratulated him upon his having secured such a priceless jewel.
"She canna," said she, "strum on the pianny, but she can darn stockins and mak shirts. She'll no be able to jabber French, but she'll scrub and cook and keep yer manse comfortable. And she's high-spirited too, and she'll keep the members o' the congregation in their proper places. She was jist born to be a minister's wife."
Now what could the fated Malcolm do, involved as he was in such a witches' coil! He felt that if he didn't speak out and protest at once he was lost; but the smiles, caresses, and blandishments that were rained upon him, drugged and chloroformed his powers, and literally shut his mouth; and he remained speechless and helpless. Two days afterwards, Malcolm Blair left St Andrews an engaged man. The one fatal mistake had been made.
During the six months of the summer vacation that Scotch students enjoy, Malcolm Blair had been accustomed to continue his studies under the most exhilarating circumstances. What a pleasant change it was from the closeness and monotony of St Andrews' lecture-rooms to the airy canopy and ever-changing glories of nature! And oh, the delight, at daybreak, when the ploughman drove his team afield amid the thousand melodies of morn; or at noon, when a golden haze brooded over the pastures and cornfields, and the silence was broken only by the hum of the bee; or in the evening, when the scent of flowers was in the air and the coo of the cushat came from the firry woodland—oh, the delight! to dwell upon the country scenes of the Mantuan Bard, or roll out the winged words of Homer, or trill "the native wood-notes wild" of the Swan of Avon. Standing on the same green earth, under the same glorious sky, and amid the same perennial influences, he was able to look at things from their point of view and in their spirit, and thus virtually to realise—to make real to himself—their thoughts and feelings regarding Nature.
But now, what a difference! He moped about the fields and hedges a blighted being. The consciousness of his calamity, like a frosty cloud, enveloped his imagination; and, seen through this cloud, the world had lost its glory. And before he had been a week at home there came from his betrothed a letter which brought the blush to his cheek. With unsteady pen and bad spelling, the poor girl had laboured to express her affection, but, alas! had only betrayed her meagre and undeveloped mind. As he read this epistle at breakfast, his mother was watching him; and he knew that she was wondering who his illiterate correspondent could be; and to give her no more ground for suspicion, he was mean enough to bribe Marjory, the servant, to bring his letters in future directly to himself, and not to lay them on the breakfast table.