'I see na muckle in yer story, William,' said Angus, 'but I think the gentles micht hae better to do, nor prankin' wi' the gude name o' a puir lass 'at ne'er wranged them. An' ye're ill-aff for a job yersel' to be carryin' their clashes about the country side.'
'But ye hae na heard me out yet. It was that same dark nicht the minister gaed ower til Inverlyon. An' next mornin' he brings hame the bairn. An' wha suld he meet on the brae-head, think ye, but Captain Drysdale, (the auld captain). An' the captain speers "wha's acht the bairn," an' the minister he durstna tell, an' he looket terrible blate. An' the captain he leugh, an' the minister he grew mad, an' the captain he says--says he, "keep up yer heart," or, "dinna be ower down-cast, it's nae great matter, gin it be a bairn--it's a verra sma' ane"--an' that's the captain's ain words.'
'Preserve us a'!' ejaculated Mrs. Boague, 'Diz the sin grow heavier wi' the wecht o' the bairn? Fau'se doctrine I'se wager! But that comes o' sittin' under a moderate minister! There's saul's bluid lyin' at the door o' that prophet o' Baaul, up by at Kilrundle.'
'But wha wad hae thocht the like o' Roderick Brown?' said Angus, 'an' I maun hae pruif or I can tak it in. I hae kenned him man an' laddie sin afore he kenned himsel', an' I kenned auld Doctor Brown weel,--an' a gude man he was--an' I canna thole to think he cud gang sae far astray.'
'It hings thegither tho',' said Peter Malloch, 'an' I'm sair misdoubtin' but things are na a' thegither as they suld be. An' that minds me, as I was gaun til Inverlyon no lang syne, we lichted frae the coach gaun doon the brae, an' wha suld be comin' up but Mester Brown. It maun hae been that verra day, for he had a bundle in's arms, an' says my neighbour to me, laughin'-like, it micht be a bairn, that i' the minister's arms. An' as for him he wadna forgather, like he may hae been blate, but juist gaed by wi' hardly the time o' day to throw til a dug. An' me the Convener o' the Deacons' Coort! I ance thocht him a gude young man, but he's verra pridefu'. An' he winna be guidet by them 'ats aulder an' mair experienced nor himsel'. An' pride ye ken comes afore destruction, an' a hauchty speerit afore a fa'. So says scripter. Pride's deadly sin, ye ken, an' wan sin brings on anither. I'm sair misdoubtin' but there may be some fundation. But it's terrible to think on. A minister o' the Free Protestin' Kirk o' Scotland, and our minister--hiz 'at's corned out o' Egyp', leavin' kirk and steeple an' a' ahint us, intil the leeteral wilderness, wi' naething but a bit umbrelly belike to keep aff the ren an' the snaw. Hiz wha's praise is in all the churches, as Mester Dowlas tells us, for our persecuitions--to think our minister suld gae wrang! My certie, we's cast out the unclean thing frae amang us, to perish like anither Aachan without the camp!'
'An' him sae young! an' sae gude to the puir folk!' said Mrs. Kilgour. 'I'se no believe the like o' him or ony ither minister, till it's pruived on him.'
'Ministers are but men, woman,' sighed Mrs. Boague, 'an' the flesh is weak. I'm misdoubtin' but it's an ower true tale.'
The subject of this discussion concluded his Gaelic sermon in due course, all unconscious of the havoc that was being made of his reputation. Ere he left the tent he was addressed by the assiduous Joseph, who described to him the case of Widow Tirpie, reduced to sad straits and threatened with destitution as the consequence of the long and severe illness of her daughter. Like others whose charity takes the form of urging their neighbours to give, Joseph used his very best skill to rouse his master's sympathy, and grew both picturesque and pathetic in describing these paragons of honest independence and virtuous poverty;--the empty meal girnel, the daughter weakened by sickness, perhaps sinking into a decline and unable to work, and the mother depriving herself of such necessary food as still remained to nourish her child, and stave off a little longer the inevitable day when they must come on the parish. The eloquence was so far useless, in that Roderick would in any case have done what he could for any one in want, but he was surprised as well as rejoiced to have discerned at last so fervid a charity in one he had hitherto regarded as cold and worldly. He made no doubt that Joseph's deeds had been guided by the same warm sympathy as his words, and while promising to see the widow that evening or the next day, he made him a present to reimburse him for any imprudent outlay into which his feelings might have led him. Joseph accepted it, and when, later in the evening he added it to the 'pose' which awaited his next journey to Inverlyon and the Savings Bank, he chuckled over the good young man's simplicity and his own shrewdness.
When Roderick arrived at home he found Mary at liberty at last. Peter Sangster and Mr. Wallowby had both accompanied her from church with Eppie Ness and the baby, and had even lingered on for some time, despite the manifest displeasure of Mrs. Sangster, as she drove away with Sophia and Mr. Dowlas; but the young men had set themselves to watch each other, and see each that the other made no advance in Mary's favour to his own detriment. Neither would withdraw and leave the other in possession of the field--rivalry having made both fancy themselves more interested than either would have been but for the competition.
Peter believed he had a prior claim owing to his previous acquaintance, which he had meant to strengthen during his present visit to the North, though perhaps on a more condescending footing than he saw he need now attempt. He had thought to maintain an intimacy without committing himself, and eventually, in the uncertain future, if it suited, to come forward with his proposal, and be accepted of course. Like a timid bather standing breast-high in the water, he found himself pushed from his shelf of standing ground into deep water, where he must strike out at once or go under. He was aggrieved that his guest should so deliberately and immediately set himself to cut him out, and he thought, too, that his sister was being slighted most ungraciously.