“It is then exactly as I suspected. You two have done me a great injury, and one that will not be easily wiped away. I hope neither of you intended it; but I would gladly know what trait in my character justified the conclusion you made? I think you might both have known my dispositions better than to have so readily believed that I would injure youth and beauty, that had already been unfortunate in the world—that I would add to her state of wretchedness, by annihilating for ever that innate principle of virtue and modesty, inherent in every young female’s breast, which never man loved more, or delighted more to view, exerting all its primitive and untainted sway. If you had reflected at all, you could not have believed me capable of it. You have taken the readiest means in your power of injuring my character in the eyes of the world. It must naturally be concluded, that there was a profligate and criminal intercourse subsisting between us, which rendered such an act of cruelty and injustice necessary. You have hurt my honour and my feelings, and wronged a defenceless and amiable young woman. It is on my account that she is thus innocently suffering, and I am determined, for my own satisfaction, to see her righted, as far as redress is in my power, though equivalent for an injured reputation there is none; but every vile insinuation on my account shall be fairly dispelled. To make, therefore, an end of all reflections at once, I warn you, Robin, that if she is not found, and restored to her rights, in less than a fortnight at farthest, you need not be surprised if you are some day removed on as short notice as you gave to her.”
The old lady and farmer had an inward view of matters in a different light: They perceived that the world would say he had brought her back to keep her there as his mistress, but this elegant and inflated harangue they were unable to answer. The young man’s conscience was hurt, and they were no casuists. The lady, it is true, uttered some involuntary sounds as he was speaking, but it was not easy to determine whether they were groans or hems of approbation. If one might have judged from her countenance, they were like the former, but the sounds themselves were certainly modulations of the latter. She was dependant on her son! Robin was studying a friendly reply, by way of remonstrance, all the time of the speech; but Robin was a widower, had a good farm, a large family, and was a tenant at will, and the conclusion of the said speech was a stumbling-block to Robin.
Pray, gentle reader, did you ever see a country maiden baking pease-meal bannocks? If you ever did you must have noted, that before she committed them one by one to the gridiron, she always stood straight up, with her head gracefully turned to one side, and moulded them with her two hands to an orb, as nearly resembling the full moon as she could. You must likewise have remarked, that while engaged in this becoming part of her avocation, she was never once looking at her work, but that while her head had that sly cast to the one side, her eyes were ever and anon fixed on the window, noting what was going on without, looking perhaps for her lad coming from the hill, or whistling at the plough. If you have ever seen this, you can easily comprehend the attitude I mean—if you have never, it is a great pity!
Exactly in such a situation stood our honest farmer, Robin Muckerland, plying his bonnet round with both hands in the same way—his head was likewise turned to one side, and his eyes immoveably fixed on the window—it was the girl’s position to a hair. Let any man take his pen and describe the two attitudes, there is not the slightest shade of difference to be discerned—the one knee of both is even slackened and bent gently forward, the other upright and firm, by its own weight made steadfast and immoveable. Yet how it comes I do not comprehend, and should like much to consult my friend, David Wilkie, about it—it is plain that the attitudes are precisely the same, yet the girl’s is quite delightful—Robin’s was perfectly pitiable. He had not one word to say, but baked his bonnet and stood thus.
“This is my determination,” continued Lindsey, “and you may pay what attention to it you please.”
“Od, sir, I’m excessively vexed at what has happened, now when ye hae letten me see it in its true light, an’ I sal do what I can to find her again, an’ mak her what amends I am able. But, od ye see, naebody kens where she’s ye see. She may be gane into the wild Highlands, or away to that outlandish country ayont the sea that they ca’ Fife, an’ how am I to get her? therefore, if I canna an’ dinna get her, I hope you will excuse me, especially as neither the contrivance nor the act was mine.”
“You and my honoured mother settle that betwixt you. I will not abate a tittle of that I have said; but, to encourage your people in the search, or whomsoever you are pleased to employ, I shall give ten guineas to the person who finds her and restores her to her home.”
“Aweel, son Lindsey,” said the lady, moving her head like the pendulum of a clock, “your mother meant ye good, an’ nae ill, in what she has done; but them that will to Cupar maun to Cupar. For the sake o’ Robin and his family, and no for the neighbourhood o’ this whilly-wha of a young witch, I shall gi’e the body that finds her half as muckle.”
“And I,” said Robin, “shall gi’e the same, which will make up the reward to twenty guineas, an’ it is mair than I can weel spare in sic hard times. I never saw better come o’ women’s schemes, as I say whiles to my titty Meg.”
The company parted, not on the most social terms; and that night, before Robin dismissed his servants to their beds, he said, “Lads, my master informs me that I am to be plaguit wi’ the law for putting away that lassie Jeany an’ her bit brat atween term-days. I gi’e ye a’ your liberty frae my wark until the end o’ neist week, if she be not found afore that time, to search for her; and whoever finds her, and brings her back to her cottage, shall have a reward o’ twenty guineas in his loof.”