“Energy!” said Miss Jean, “it’s not energy that’s wanting. Marjory’s a young woman, and will think it’s not her place to interfere; but I’m not young to speak of, and I’ll not see the old house pass to a gamekeeper’s daughter without rhyme or reason. Hey, Bell! go and call John out of the kailyard, and bid him dress himself, and put to the horse. I’m going to St. Andrews; and put me up a change of linen, and a clean cap. Charlie’s an old fool! but I hope you’ll no say that I’m not a determined character, Doctor. I’ll know the rights of this before I’m a day older—and she’ll be a clever lass, cleverer than I have ever seen one of her kind, if she imposes upon me.”
“My dear Miss Jean,” said Dr. Murray, “we all bow to your sense and your experience; but these kind of cutties are often very clever. I would not encounter one of them myself unless it was strictly in the way of duty—and you know a lady—”
“Oh, ay! I know your opinion of a lady,” said Miss Jean, “which is very pleasant, and very fine, if we were all under five-and-twenty; but when a woman comes to be five-and-seventy, as I’m saying, that makes a difference. Johnnie Hepburn, this will be sore news for your friends up at Pitcomlie,” she added, quickly turning, with a gleam of enjoyment, to the other visitor, who had been listening with consternation to the strange story. “Ye’ll have a grand excuse to go and comfort Mrs. Chairles.”
“I don’t think my comfort is very much to Mrs. Charles,” said Hepburn, with rising colour; “but surely you don’t believe, for a moment, that such a story as this can be true.”
“Why should I no believe it?” said Miss Jean. She was profoundly sceptical, but she could not relinquish the opportunity of demolishing her adversaries, “these young women” at Pitcomlie. “We’re a great people, Johnnie, and Scotland, though she’s small, holds up her head with the best, and for my part I know none that can hold a candle to her—”
“That’s true—that’s very true,” said the Minister, “but when you think of all our spiritual advantages, and what Providence has done for us, it’s a terrible addition to our responsibility. That is what I always think of—a land that has been so favoured for generations—”
“But,” Miss Jean went on impatiently, “whether it is that some weakness is needful to show that we’re always human—these customs about private marriages are an awfu’ snare and burden. It’s a wonder to me that half the families in the land are no rent asunder with irregular marriages. There’s some special Providence, I’ve aye felt, that must watch over eldest sons. There never was one in our family that ever I heard of; and I ask your pardon, Dr. Murray, but Tom Heriot dying of a broken heart is beyond me; we’ve tough hearts in our family—they stand a good tug. He might have taken to drinking, or some other vice, to make himself amends; but to break his heart! Na—na—that’s more than I can believe.”
“I tell you what was told to me,” said Dr. Murray, “and no wonder, poor man. What would his father have said? and all his belongings? and the county that would never have taken any notice of him—and not the least, Miss Jean, you—”
“Me! He could have put up with the want of notice from me; the world, in general, is but little regardful of what’s said by a cankered auld maid. Most likely,” said Miss Jean with a twinkle of her bright eyes, “he would have said it was envy because I had never been married myself. But that’s neither here nor there. If it’s a determined character that’s wanting, Doctor, I’m away to St. Andrews. Chairlie is as weak as water, as you say—and Marjory will be a fool, and will not like to move.”
“Could I be of any use,” asked Hepburn eagerly.