“Eh, bless me, no: she was aye ower feared about him, puir man, wha has won out o’ a’ trouble this night. Maybe ye wad like to see him? He’s a bonnie—”
Jacky interrupted her hurriedly. In that imaginative, solemn awe of hers, she could not endure the ghastly admiration which one hears so often expressed by persons of Marget’s class for the dead, about whom they have been employed.
“Ye’ll be wearied?” said Jacky, hastily.
“Ay, lass, I’m wearied: it’s no like I could be onything else wi’ a’ that I have to do—and that sair hoast, and the constant fecht I hae wi’ my breath—it’s little the like o’ you ken—forbye being my lane in the house. If ye’ll just bide and look to the door, I’ll gang an get some o’ the neighbor wives to come in beside me: there’s nae saying when Miss Kirstin may be hame.”
“Miss Anne’s coming hersel,” said Jacky, eagerly. “And if ye would lie down and get some rest, I’ll do the work—and I’m no feared to be my lane—and if ye had a guid sleep, ye would be the better o’t.”
“I’ll no’ say but what I would,” said Marget, graciously; “and ye’re a considerate lass to think o’t. Tak a cup o’ tea—it’s no right to gang out in the morning fasting—and I daresay I’ll just tak your counsel. It doesna do for an auld body like me to be out o’ my bed a’ night.”
So Jacky got Marget disposed of, and remained with much awe, and some shadow of superstitious fear, alone within the house of Schole—supported by the sunshine round about her as she lingered at the door—for Marget, in decent reverence, had drawn a simple curtain across the window. The other rooms were shuttered and dark—the natural homage of seemly awe and gravity in the presence of death.
Anne had no difficulty in inducing Miss Crankie to take upon her those matters of sad external business, which she herself was not qualified to manage. With more delicacy than she expected, Miss Crankie undertook them immediately. Mrs. Yammer was “in sore distress with rheumatics in my back, and my head like to split in twa wi’ the ticdoloureux—and it’s a’ yon awfu’ nicht—and I dinna believes Miss Ross, I’ll ever get the better o’t.—Johann and you, that are strong folk, fleeing out into the storm, and me, a puir weak creature, left, to fend my lane—forbye being like to gang out o’ my judgment wi’ fricht, for you and the perishing creatures in the ship. Eh! wha would have thought of a weak man like yon saving them—and so he’s ta’en to his rest! Weel I’m sure, Miss Ross, you’ve been uncommon kind to them—they canna say but they’ve found a friend in need.”
“They are my relatives,” said Anne: “I mean we are nearly connected.”
Miss Crankie opened her little dark eyes wide. Mrs. Yammer began, with an astonished exclamation, to recollect the pedigree of the Lillies, and acquaint herself with this strange relationship.—Her sister stopped her abruptly.