Strange to say, Ellinor, the romantic and volatile, did not seemed so much cast down after a time. She had her own secret hopes, thoughts, and ambition, in which Mary had no share, or of which she had no exact knowledge as yet; but to the latter to leave Birkwoodbrae, to see no more the kind old folks at the cosy manse; to see no more her pensioners, her feathered pets, and flowers, the hills, the glen, the rockbound stream, and the 'siller birks' that shaded it—to be far away from all and everything that was dear—to lose, more than all, the dawning love of her young heart—was indeed a catastrophe hitherto unlooked for, and at times her soul seemed to die within her. But she was more often in those moods to which the young are said to be subject in time of trouble—'in which the existing alone seems unendurable, and anything better than what is.'
CHAPTER XVII.
MARY'S PREPARATIONS.
Greatly to the chagrin of Lady Dunkeld, there seemed no chance of extracting a proposal from Captain Colville, the rumour of whose engagement to her daughter was simply provincial gossip, and as for Sir Redmond Sleath, for certain cogent reasons of his own, perhaps he dared not make one, even if dazzled by the fair Blanche Galloway.
The invitation to Craigmhor seemed to be a failure as yet, so far as the former was concerned, for after the shooting began on the 12th of August, when not on the moors, he spent much of his time most provokingly immersed in correspondence concerning the property to which he had succeeded and his peerage claim—both circumstances that greatly enhanced his value in the eyes of such a match-making mother as my Lady Dunkeld.
He was often found closeted in consultation with Doctor Wodrow, with whom he seemed to stand high in favour, and it was noted that they always separated in high good humour; so the supposition was, that the latter was seeking the wealthy Guardsman's good offices for his son Robert. What other matter could they have in hand?
Lady Dunkeld was therefore not sorry when Captain Colville took his temporary departure to shoot in the forest of Alyth, trusting to a change on his return.
If she had flattered herself that, amid the somewhat secluded life all led at Craigmhor, any fancy Colville had for Blanche would speedily manifest itself, she was doomed to disappointment—angry disappointment, and worse; for, if the stories Mademoiselle Rosette told were true, the captain had spent somewhat too much of his time wandering, rod in hand, on the banks of the May, and tarrying for afternoon tea at Birkwoodbrae.
The result of all this was that Mary and Ellinor had become painfully conscious that many who were their friends before had now begun to view them coldly and distantly, why or wherefore, in their innocence, they knew not, because they were ignorant of malevolent hints regarding them dropped to chance visitors at Craigmhor, by elevation of the eyebrows, shrugs of the shoulder, or the impatient wave of a fan, if their names were mentioned; the ladies there—mother and daughter—were leaving nothing undone to injure them in the estimation of all, and even spoke of them as 'young women who were above doing their duty in that state of life to which Providence had called them.'
A consciousness of all this added to their new mortification, and increased their anxiety to be gone, and they worked away at their arrangements in a species of suppressed excitement, and Dr. Wodrow was still in Edinburgh.