‘Noo, that’s a word o’ sense, Meg,’ cried her mother, exultingly; ‘that’s something like the sagacity o’ a Christian parent. Surely it would be a most Pagan-like thing, for the father and mother o’ the bridegroom to be in the house, to ken o’ what was going on, and, fidging fain, as ye baith are, for the comfort it’s to bring to us a’, to sit in another room wi’ a cloud on your brows, and your hands in a mournful posture. Awa, awa, Dirdumwhamle, wi’ the like o’ that; I hae nae brow o’ sic worldly hypocrisy. But we hae nae time to lose, for your gude-brother will soon be back frae Camrachle, and I would fain hae a’ o’er before he comes. Hech, sirs! but it will be a sport if we can get him to be present at the wedding-dinner, and he ken naething about it. So I’ll just send the lass at ance for Dr. De’ilfear; for it’s a great thing, ye ken, to get a bridal blessed wi’ the breath o’ a sound orthodox; and I’ll gae ben and tell Beenie and Walky, that they maun mak some sort o’ a preparation.’
‘But, when they are married, what’s to become o’ them?—where are they to bide?—and what hae they to live upon?’—said Mrs. Milrookit, anxiously.
‘Dinna ye fash your head, Meg,’ said her mother, ‘about ony sic trivialities. They can stay wi’ me till after the reconciliation, when, nae doot, her father will alloo a genteel aliment; so we need na vex oursels about taking thought for to-morrow; sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. But ye hae bonny gooses and a’ manner o’ poultry at the Dirdumwhamle. So, as we’ll need something to keep the banes green, ye may just send us a tasting; na, for that matter, we’ll no cast out wi’ the like o’ a sooking grumphie; or, if ye were chancing to kill a sheep, a side o’ mutton’s worth house-room; and butter and eggs,—I’m no a novice, as the Renfrew Doctor said,—butter and eggs may dine a provice, wi’ the help o’ bread for kitchen.’
In concluding this speech, the Leddy, who had, in the meantime, risen, gave a joyous geck with her head, and swept triumphantly out of the room.
CHAPTER LXXV
In the meantime, Kittlestonheugh, as, according to the Scottish fashion, we should denominate Squire Walkinshaw, had proceeded to Camrachle, where he arrived at his sister-in-law’s door just as Mrs. Eadie was taking her leave, with the intention of writing to her relation Mr. Frazer in behalf of James. As the carriage drove up, Mrs. Charles, on seeing it approach, begged her to stop; but, upon second thoughts, it was considered better that she should not remain, and also that she should defer her letter to Glengael until after the interview. She was accordingly at the door when the Laird alighted, who, being but slightly acquainted with her, only bowed, and was passing on without speaking into the house, when she arrested him by one of her keen and supreme looks, of which few could withstand the searching brightness.
‘Mr. Walkinshaw,’ said she, after eyeing him inquisitively for two or three seconds, ‘before you go to Mrs. Charles, I would speak with you.’
It would not be easy to explain the reason which induced Mrs. Eadie so suddenly to determine on interfering, especially after what had just passed; but still, as she did so, we are bound, without investigating her motives too curiously, to relate the sequel.
Mr. Walkinshaw bowed, thereby intimating his acquiescence; and she walked on towards the manse with slow steps and a majestic attitude, followed by the visitor in silence. But she had not advanced above four or five paces, when she turned round, and touching him emphatically on the arm, said,—
‘Let us not disturb the minister, but go into the churchyard; we can converse there—the dead are fit witnesses to what I have to say.’