The Laird of Mossgray sat at some little distance from the younger members of his family, and seemed to be busied with a book. He was not reading however; he was observing their different looks and feelings, and thinking of the strange conclusion which their presence in his house put to his solitary and recluse life. Both he had determined to keep at a distance from him; both had been shut out, by his grave and deliberate resolution, from his presence and his affection; and yet both were here. Secretly the old man smiled at himself, and at the trustful nature which now was too old to learn suspicion; secretly smiled at the vanity of those brittle barriers called resolutions, with which men stem, or try to stem, the tide of nature—resolutions made to be broken; and in his kindly philosophy he shook his head at his yielding self, and smiled.
The expected company began to arrive. A faint colour rose on the calm cheek of the youthful hostess as she received them, and the young representative of the Mossgray Graemes felt the ingenuous blood glow in his face as eye after eye fell upon him, and acquaintance after acquaintance was made. He felt that there was great consideration paid him, and that, however matters might eventually be decided, it was very clear that these dignified landed people looked upon him, Halbert Graeme, as the heir of Mossgray.
Helen Buchanan, feeling very shy and proud, and de trop, sat by herself in a corner. Near enough for her to hear every word of their conversation, were a group of ladies, old and young, whose glances fell upon her often, but who took no further notice of the humble guest. Girls were among them, gay and confident—mothers, kindly and solicitous, but all looked at her with cold, criticising eyes, and no one said a word of courtesy, or made the slightest attempt to admit her within their circle. They knew her very well; some had been specially introduced to her by her friend Lilias, who was at present occupied with other guests, yet they all suffered her to sit alone and in silence like a Pariah, while their cheerful, animated conversation went on so near. The proud heart swelled bitterly as she listened; for Helen had unconsciously attached importance to this invitation, and accepted it with a flutter of the heart. The disappointment was very painful; it brought the melancholy of her temperament upon her: had it not been for the bulwark of her pride, Helen, out of those downcast, indignant, gleaming eyes, could have shed bitter tears.
Her own shy frankness, which could not rest till it had established terms of kindly intercourse with all who came near her, and the pain it gave herself to see any one uneasy, made her feel the slight the more. So well it would have become one of those comely mothers to spread the shield of their protection over the stranger—so seemly it would have been for the well-endowed and many-friended girls beside her to have helped her with the frank friendship of youth. Helen drew back into her corner, and felt the pain of being alone in all its bitterness. She did not know that the gracious courtesy of which she thought, was a thing, like genius, born and not made—a gift in which the ignoble have no part.
The Reverend Robert Insches was there. He hovered about the group at Helen’s side, but he did not come near herself. She felt his desertion also a little. The Reverend Robert would have cheered her loneliness with all his heart, but he saw no other person who condescended to seek the society of the plebeian schoolmistress of Fendie; and the Reverend Robert was also by origin plebeian, and trembled for his acquired position. So he dared not draw all eyes upon himself, by volunteering the attention which no one else seemed inclined to give.
Lilias was fully occupied with other strangers at the opposite end of the room. Mrs Oswald, after she had saluted Helen with a kindness peculiarly delicate and cordial, thought it most expedient to remain at a distance from her; and William stood watching the changes of the sad, indignant, solitary face until he could bear the pain of the averted look no longer. There was a slight stir in the group of ladies, and among the attendant masculine hangers-on, as William Oswald came quietly to Helen’s side. The Reverend Robert became envious and jealous—the ladies looked towards the corner with suppressed whispers and tittering—the banker watched them with the dark hue of anger on his brow; and with no kind face anywhere, except the one by her side, whose look she would not meet, the bitterness swelled up almost to bursting within the heart of Helen.
Just then the Laird of Mossgray began to see how it fared with the one guest whose presence Lilias had desired, and in his graceful old-world courtesy he drew near to relieve her. As he passed on to Helen’s corner, his attention was claimed at every step; but Mossgray passed through the happier groups, smilingly parrying the attacks made upon him.
“I have something to say to Miss Buchanan.”
William Oswald silently made room for him, and the face of Helen lightened as she met the benign smile of the gracious old man. The group of ladies turned their eyes towards her, now with no tittering—the Reverend Robert insinuated his tall figure into the vacant space behind her chair, and in the distance the banker vainly resisted, as she could perceive, the strong curiosity which turned his eyes towards her. She was a little interested, in spite of herself, in the looks and attitudes of William’s father, and the new animation which lighted up her face had some pique in it. The mercurial temperament sprang up elastic and buoyant from the depths; and the bystanders who had so long ignored her presence, began to listen now, and to draw closer. One only moved to a greater distance than before, and the smile of proud pleasure on his face told well enough what feeling it was which prompted him to stand apart and only look on.
The banker was almost tempted to draw near himself, and ascertain whether the conversation, in which there were now various interlocutors, but the leaders of which were certainly the old man and the humble plebeian Helen, corresponded at all with the singularly variable face, to which his eyes were attracted against his will; but for very shame he could not make any advance. Mrs Oswald and Lilias were quietly conversing beside him. He could not quite hear what they said, but he could distinguish the frequent name of Helen; the obstinate man grew angrily inquisitive; they were all in a conspiracy against him.