Little Alice could not answer; the blood flushed over her face and neck. She stammered and trembled. Mrs. Aytoun looked at her, in alarm and wonder.
“Read this letter, mother,” whispered Alice, at last, putting Mrs. Catherine’s letter into her mother’s hands, and sinking upon a stool at her feet. “It will tell you all.”
James had left the room, a minute before. Mrs. Aytoun, somewhat agitated, opened the letter, and Alice laid her head upon her mother’s knee, and hid it in the folds of her dress. Mrs. Aytoun read:
“I herewith send back to you, kinswoman, your pleasant bairn, who has been a great comfort and solace to me, though my old house was maybe too dark a cage for a singing bird like her. I am by no means confident either whether I will ever undertake the charge of any such dangerous gear again; for in the ordinary course of nature, the bit gay spirit and bonnie face of her have been making mischief in Strathoran; and besides having my door besieged by all manner of youthful company, there is one lad, who, I am feared, has crossed my threshold too often, maybe, for your good pleasure.
“The lad is Lewis Ross, of Merkland, a gallant of good outward appearance and competent estate, with no evil condition that I can specially note about him, except having arrived at that full period of years, when it is the fashion of young men to give themselves credit for more wisdom than any other mortal person can see. In other things, so far as I can judge, the two are well enough matched: for Lewis is the representative of a family long settled in the countryside, and has his lands free of any burden or encumbrance, besides being in all matters of this world a prudent, sensible, and managing lad.
“I would have put in a reservation, however, till your pleasure was known, but doubtless the deliberate ways of age differ from the swift proceedings of youth; and the two had plunged themselves beyond power of redemption, before I had any inkling of the matter. I see no good way of stopping it now, and I think you may trust your Burd Alice in the hands of Lewis Ross, without fear.
“And now, kinswoman, there comes a graver and darker matter into the consideration. I will not ask you if ye mind the beginning of your widowhood. It is pain and grief to me to say a word that may bring that terrible season back to ye, even in the remembrance; only it has so happened, in the wonderful course of Providence, that it should have an unhappy connection with the troth-plighting of these two bairns. Kinswoman you are younger than me, and have seen less of this world’s miseries, though your own trials have not been light. But what think you of a young man, in the bloom of his years and his hopes, with a pleasant heritage and a fair name, suddenly covered with the shame and dishonor of a great crime—threatened with a shameful death—exposed to the hatred of all men, that bore the love of God and their neighbors in honest hearts,—and him innocent withal? What think you of a lad—generous, upright, honorable—as true and single-minded a youth as the eye of day ever looked upon, suddenly plunged into a horror of darkness like this—knowing himself everywhere condemned, yet, in his true and honest heart, knowing himself guiltless? I say, what think you of this? Was there ever a darker or more terrible doom, in this world of ills and mysteries?
“I knew him—kinswoman, from his birth-year to the time of his blight, I knew this unhappy heart: the truthfulness of him—the honoring of others above himself, that was inherent in his simple, manly nature—the strength of gentleness and patience, that might have been crowning an old and wise head, instead of being yoked with the impetuous spirit of youth! All this I knew; and yet, painfully and slowly, I also was permitted to believe that his pure hand had blood upon it—that he had done this crime.
“My eyes are opened. I am humbled to the ground in my rejoicing, that I should have dared, even in my own secret spirit, to malign the gracious nature I knew so well. Kinswoman, the violent death of your husband, by whom or wherefore done I know not, brought this sore doom undeserved upon Norman Rutherford. The bridal tryst of your pleasant bairn Alice, will clear his dishonored name again.
“You think he killed your husband. I am not given to hasty judgment, nor am I easily misguided. He did not do it; and when I tell you that your bairn Alison is plighted to a near kinsman of Norman Rutherford’s, I lay my charge upon you not to let your heart sink within you, or suffer the bairn’s bit gentle spirit to be broken again. I pledge you my word, that they will seek no further consent from you, till Norman’s righteousness is clear to your eyes as the morning light. There are two urgent reasons pressing them—I am meaning Lewis Ross, and his sister, my own Anne,—on this work; the winning of your pleasant bairn and the clearing of their brother’s lost fame and honor.