“I have aye word from John,” said Agnes, with a tone of indignation; “whatever happens, he never misses his day.”
“But you’ve come to nae settlement yet about what’s to be done. It’s a wise bargain you’ve made, him and you—as wise almost as some other folk; to wait—till when?”
“Till I’m gone, mother!” said Isabell. “Oh, if you would have patience! I’ll no be long. I feel the wheel breaking at the fountain, and the silver chain being sundered, as the Bible says. When I’m gone, there will be nae motive for keeping up all this trouble. I’ve been making a terrible stir and commotion, I know that; no for me—and yet I mustna conceal the truth—I had some thought for myself, too; to die so young is sore enough without shame. But if God will have me bear shame, I must put up with it; and you must put up with it, Agnes. John’s a good man; he’ll never upbraid you with your poor sister, that ye did so much for; and you’ll take my bairn. He’ll never ken he had a mother but you—and you’ll be good—oh, you’ll be good to him! No, why should I greet?” she went on, looking with apparent surprise at a tiny drop that fell on her coverlet; “we must accept what God sends.”
“Oh, hold your tongue, hold your tongue!” cried the mother; “God never sent wickedness. I’ll no be contradictit in my own house—though, to be sure, it’s no my house, for that matter. We were a’ proud of your bonnie face, and your genty ways; and our pride’s had a fa’; yes, you may see, even your bonnie leddy that you were so sure of—your man’s sister, as ye say—has come back no more. She’s given ye up like a’ the rest; and everybody will give ye up—till you humble yourself, Bell, and put away all your pretences, and do what Magdalen did. But naebody in heaven or earth will show mercy to a lie.”
“Mother, you’re that hard that ye make me sick,” cried Agnes. “It’s no a lie.”
“Let her prove it, then!” said the mother solemnly. She was in accord with Mr. Charles, with Fanshawe, with all others except Marjory, who had heard the tale. As for Agnes, she started up from her seat as if unable to bear any more.
“I maun be away again,” she cried; “I canna stand it longer. If your grand leddies and your fine gentlemen will do nothing for her, I’ll take up my work again, myself—and I’ll clear ye yet, Bell. I’ll away to Edinburgh this very day, and see John; maybe him and me can think of something else. I’m ’maist glad they’ve failed ye!” cried the girl, with tears in her eyes; “for now I’ll never rest day or night till I’ve done it myself.”
“You’ll think first what you’re doing,” said the mother; “going to visit a man that has no heart to marry ye; mind what’s happened to your sister, and take heed for yourself.”
“Oh, woman!” cried Agnes, turning upon her wildly—while poor Isabell, struck by this unexpected assault, lay back upon her pillows feebly sobbing; and it was at this moment that Marjory knocked at the cottage door.