“And what do you say till the hay?” asked John, who was a pessimist, “and a’ the low land about Eden in flood already.”
But he, too, comforted himself by getting out the oldest plate, and giving it “a guid clean,” which was an occupation he kept for this kind of weather; it is easier to endure a wet day when you are old than when you are young. Jeanie was less well off. When her work was done, she was not happy enough to take out the stocking, with which every woman in Fife is provided against a moment’s leisure. To sit down tranquilly and turn the heel was not in Jeanie’s power. She went up to her little turret room, and began to turn over her little possessions, and there found a keepsake or two from Rob, poor Jeanie! which filled her already dewy eyes with tears. But even that was an occupation, and Margaret, who had no occupation, was worst off of all. She flitted all over the house, up-stairs and down, sometimes disturbing Sir Ludovic with restless movements, taking down books and putting them up again, then flying down-stairs to warm her hands by the fire and tease the long-suffering Bell.
“Eh, Miss Margaret, if you would but try something to do! To see you aye coming and going makes my head gang round and round.”
“How can you sit there with your stocking?” cried Margaret, “as if you were a part of the day? Will nothing happen—will nothing ever happen? Will it go on till dinner-time, and then till bed-time, and nobody come?”
“Wha would come, or what should happen?” said Bell, startled. It was a new idea to her that succor should come from without. “I ken nobody that is such a fool as to come out of their ain house on such a day. But, bless me! what is that?” And lo! in a moment as they listened, making Bell wonder and Margaret clap her hands, there came—blessed sound—a knock at the door!
CHAPTER XI.
“Papa,” cried Margaret, rushing in, her face bright with excitement and pleasure. Some one stood behind her on a lower step of the winding stair. They filled up that narrow ascent altogether with their youth and the importance of their presence, and of all they had to say and do. She went in lightly, her eyes dancing, her light figure full of eagerness, a large portfolio in her hands. She had no doubt either that this advent of something to break the tedium would be agreeable to her father too, or that he must feel, as she did, the influence of the falling rain and heaviness of the monotonous sky. She went in, taking him amusement, variety, all that she would herself have rejoiced to see coming. It was the best of introductions, she felt, for the new-comer. As for Rob, he stood behind, ready to follow, with a little tremor in him, wondering how he would be received. He had never been in the company of any one so dignified as Sir Ludovic before, never had addressed a titled personage, upon terms of anything like equality; and this of itself was enough to make him nervous.
It seemed like an introduction into a new world to Rob. Then Sir Ludovic had the name of being a great scholar, a man of learning as well as a man of rank and position, and in every way above the range of a farmer’s son; and, last of all, he was Margaret’s father, and much might depend on the way in which he allowed the new visitor, who felt himself out of place at Earl’s-hall, even while he felt himself “as good as” any one whom he might meet anywhere. Altogether it was an exciting moment. Rob was moved by the joyful welcome Margaret had given him, perhaps, to a higher idea of himself than he had ever entertained before. He had felt the flattery of it penetrate to his very heart. She had rushed out of the lower room, where she had been with Bell, almost meeting him at the door. She had spoken before he had time to say anything, exclaiming how glad she was to see him.
Rob had forgotten the rain. Notwithstanding that his mother had brought forth that very argument, bidding him “Go away with you; they would be glad to see you the day, if they never let you in again;” yet in the pleasure of being so received he had forgotten the very chiefest cause of his welcome. The brightened looks, the eager greeting, were too pleasant, too flattering, to be taken unmoved. It was not possible to believe that it was not for himself; and all these things had worked upon Rob to an extent he was scarcely aware of. He who had at first approached the young lady so respectfully, and with so little ulterior motive, and who had been half shocked, half amused at his mother’s treatment of the renewed acquaintance between them, came almost with a bound to his mother’s conclusion when he saw the brightness of Margaret’s eyes this particular rainy morning. There could be no doubt that she was glad to see him; he was here by her own invitation. She was eager to associate him with herself in the interests of the old house, and anxious to accept the lessons he offered, and to “put herself under an obligation” to him in this way.
Margaret, entirely unacquainted with money and the value of things, never thought of any “obligation;” but he did, who was accustomed to consider the price of lessons, and to whom money’s-worth would never be without importance. He was very willing, very anxious to confer this favor; but he could not help attaching a certain significance to her acceptance of it, a significance entirely unjustified by any idea in Margaret’s innocent mind. She was willing to accept the obligation; therefore, was it not at least permissible to think that some other way of clearing it, making up to him for his kindness, was in her mind? If she had any dawning thought of bestowing all she had upon him, of giving him herself and her money, her heiressship altogether, that would indeed be a very good reason for laying herself “under an obligation” to him. Thus Rob had come to think with a beating heart that there was meaning in the innocent girl’s happy reception of him, in her eagerness to introduce him to her father, and warm desire that he should please him. And thus the moment was very serious to him, like nothing he had experienced before.